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An Honorary Aunt Turns 80

The featured photograph was taken twenty years ago, as my ‘Aunt’ Elaine turned sixty. Impossible to believe that she’s turning eighty tomorrow, mostly because she’s ten times more active than I am, and I’m getting tired just writing this. A lifetime of community activism and work is impressive; that she has barely slowed down in all this time is the veritable mark of legend. After making Amsterdam her home in the early 70’s, she not only set down roots, but crafted a legacy built through hard work, endless volunteering, and transformations that saw her evolve from wife and mother to Montessori school founder and teacher, to various Presidents of organizations (I lost count of all the Presidencies which she has earned and served as).  

She has played an active role in the General Federation of Women’s Clubs since 1979. Aside from basic life functions, I can’t think of anything I’ve done since 1979. As we gathered for a joint celebration of her birthday and her son Stephen’s marriage to Hye Sun, I was once again happily astounded by how she managed to elicit such a collection of people who have loved her all these years. 

No one else can bring people together in such a way, and she is the living embodiment of the old adage that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. It’s but one of the many things I have learned from watching her over the years.

I always wondered how she found the drive and energy to do all that she does. I’ve seen her traverse New York City and Europe in the span of three weeks, then return and have a pistachio cake on the table for an impromptu dinner. Her indefatigable spirit, even in the face of hardships and tragedies, is the stuff of hyperbolic myth, and events which might otherwise have derailed persons seemingly less-frail were surmounted in almost super-human fashion. Yet through all her personal pain she’s always devoted her life to serving her community. In a way, that became her purpose in life. It emboldened and fulfilled her in ways that the traditional confines of a stay-at-home Mom and widow could never allow. It never sacrificed her family life, not in any way I could see, and her example, coupled with my Mom’s, helped me become a person who never saw gender roles limit what any of us could become. That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult – it simply meant they worked extra hard to make sure none of us noticed.

A very modern woman who values history, she is the living embodiment of how we keep the stories of our families going – these stories that told us where we were from and how we got to be where we are today. Those stories are no longer being passed on as much, but she continues to do her best to ensure that they are not lost. Tomorrow, we pause to honor all that she has done, and also to celebrate how lucky we are to have her in our lives. Happy Birthday, ‘Aunt’ Elaine! 

 

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

I’m always surprised by the power of a mimosa on a Sunday morning.

Don’t pooh-pooh the mimosa.

#TinyThreads

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The Many Falls of Madonna

It’s been a while since we’ve had a Madonna Timeline and I’m just about to do the iPod shuffle to find the next entry, but before that let’s take a look back at some of her fall entries. Perhaps some of the most striking and memorable were the songs that came from her fall promotional push for ‘Evita‘ in 1996. ‘You Must Love Me‘ and ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina‘ are two classic timelines that have come to personify that autumn at Brandeis for me, for better or worse. ‘Buenos Aires‘ and ‘Rainbow High’ were slightly lighter fare, while ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall‘ brought us to the precipice of winter.

Going back a bit further, her ‘Bedtime Stories‘ album, released in early November of 1994, was her most fall-like album to date. It began with a sweet ‘Secret’ and was all about ‘Survival‘, though she waited until winter before deciding to ‘Take A Bow‘. That fall release set the precedent for 1995’s ‘Something to Remember‘ ballad collection. Two of the new songs from that somber beauty were ‘I Want You‘ and ‘You’ll See‘ – which are some of her most powerful and under-rated gems, and aligned with very distinct memories (not all of which have aged well – I was young and dumb!)

Speaking of youth, ‘Pray for Spanish Eyes‘ was my childhood memory of trying to find God or grace or something to keep me alive to the next day. I must have succeeded in some form as I ended up living to ‘Die Another Day‘. Both songs remind me of the somber season, when we start putting the land to bed for the long sleep of winter. The raking of leaves, the snaking of chimney smoke into a gray sky, and the hint of ghosts at the edge of a forest – all these ravaged the mind on the verge of Halloween, when masks are sanctioned for fun or protection. Falling like acorns or the last petals of a late-season rose – the tender sweetness of an unexpected delight. One final send-off of beauty, and all the while Madonna forged a fall soundtrack.

It wasn’t a good sign that I met an ex-boyfriend at the time she was about to release ‘The Power of Goodbye‘ from her glorious ‘Ray of Light’ opus. The video was an aqua and turquoise-tinted wonder, with shades of Joan Crawford’s ‘Humoresque’ – moody as all fuck, emotionally as rocky as its featured shores. That’s fall, though, isn’t it?

I’ll close this Madonna post out with ‘Masterpiece‘, from 2012’s uneven but still brilliant ‘MDNA‘ album. Coming as it did very late in the fall months (well before the album was released), we were just entering the high holiday season as it straddled the end of fall and the precipice of winter. The perfect sparkling gem for that special time of the year. We approach it now.

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Dare I Lose My Cherry Again?

Tom Ford’s upcoming Private Blend ‘Lost Cherry’ has the provocative name one has come to expect, and the typical mainstream tendencies that mar so many fragrance releases these days, with something that leans (at least on paper) decidedly toward the candy sweetness that is such a big turn-off for those of us who like something darker and richer. That said, I’m always surprised by my own reaction to those slightly fruity fragrances. On the paper of what I’d diagram as my preferences, I wouldn’t classify fruity as a favored note, but it turns out I’m fruitier than I ever thought possible. Maybe it’s time to embrace that and go with it. 

I’ll give you the official literature on ‘Lost Cherry’ and the next time I get a chance to try it out, I’ll let you know how it goes. Here’s the soundbite:

LUSCIOUS. TEMPTING. INSATIABLE.

TOM FORD LOST CHERRY IS A FULL-BODIED JOURNEY INTO THE ONCE-FORBIDDEN; A CONTRASTING SCENT THAT REVEALS A TEMPTING DICHOTOMY OF PLAYFUL, CANDY-LIKE GLEAM ON THE OUTSIDE AND LUSCIOUS FLESH ON THE INSIDE.

INNOCENCE INTERSECTS INDULGENCE WITH AN OPENING THAT CAPTURES THE CLASSIC PERFECTION OF THE EXOTIC CHERRY FRUIT€“BLACK CHERRY’S RIPE FLESH DRIPPING IN CHERRY LIQUEUR GLISTENS WITH A TEASING TOUCH OF BITTER ALMOND.

THE HEART BURSTS FORTH IN CHERRY WAVES OF SWEET AND TART. GRIOTTE SYRUP EXPRESSES THE TEXTURED MACERATION OF VOLUPTUOUS FRUITS WHILE BREATHTAKING FLORALS TURKISH ROSE AND JASMINE SAMBAC PENETRATE THE SENSES AND SOUL.

PERU BALSAM AND ROASTED TONKA AT THE DRYDOWN SUGGEST A NEW PORTRAIT OF AN ICONIC SYMBOL. WHEN BLENDED WITH AN UNEXPECTED MELANGE OF SANDALWOOD, VETIVER AND CEDAR, THE FINISH REACHES FANTASY-INSPIRING LEVELS OF INSATIABILITY.

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Lulled to Sleep by a Fountain in the Fall

Let’s begin with one of the most annoying aspects of our Boston abode: the drumbeat of a rainstorm as it falls on the air conditioner unit that hangs outside the bedroom window. I will never complain about having a bay window in the back of our condo; I’m told they are a luxury in Boston. But I need to find a way to combat the loud drumming of water falling on the metal AC. It is incredibly loud, like a snare drum that magnifies every drop of water, drilling it into your head in some mild form of water torture. Once in a while, it’s soft enough to be a comfort, but anything more than a sprinkling has it sounding off like a half-time show. I’ve thought of putting a piece of shag carpet out to lessen the impact, but I don’t want to make it too inviting for birds or other critters. Suggestions are welcome.

Now onto one of my favorite aspects of the Boston abode: sleeping with the windows open in the fall. When the nights just start turning cooler and the breeze blows in from the ocean, it’s time to open the windows and air out any remaining stuffiness of summer. I love hunkering down in a fuzzy robe, sitting by the window, and allowing the wind to rustle the curtains and remind me of how cozy the condo can be.

A few weeks ago I had the lucky circumstance to be in Boston and experience both extremes. The first night was ravaged by a storm, and I was awakened at about 3 in the morning by the rattling and pounding of rain upon the air conditioner. Tossing and turning in bed, I cursed the timing of the thing, even if I was glad to get it over with before the start of the next day. After getting its tears out, the next night was breezy and cool, but not taking any chances on a 3 AM wake up storm, I moved myself out onto the couch, which I will sleep on once in a great while. The front windows were open and the fountain in the middle of Braddock Park was trickling its water down in the most soothing fashion: the exact opposite of the tumult of the night before. Soon the fountain will be turned off for the season, and I was grateful to be there at that moment. A thick, plush blanket was all I needed as the night turned colder. The sounds of gently falling water and the occasional whisper of a breeze masked the distant noise of the city. Alone in the condo, I felt a profound feeling of peace settle over me as I settled into sleep.

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Stephen

My memories of Stephen are like those that come from a distant relative forever on the periphery of family events. I was rarely directly involved in his world, but got to see some of it in glimpses and passings-by. Holidays and birthdays and simple summer days, I was there for most of the major events thanks to our family’s friendship with the Ko family. As the third of the Ko children, nestled in between the dominant older boys and the youngest baby girl, Stephen somehow managed to shine as his own star, impressing both mother and father in the manner that everyone else tried in their own various ways to attain.

He’d avoided the brunt of being one of the first-two born, and the competitive destiny that befalls many of us brothers no matter how hard we fight against it. He was also several years removed from the baby girl of the family, Suzie, with whom I would grow up. As the youngest kids in most situations, Suzie and I went largely unnoticed. Maybe because of that we got to see a little bit more. Even with such cover, Stephen glided more or less outside of my radar, and the few memories I have of him are rather ephemeral and innocuous.

One day I was playing with the Barbie dolls in Suzie’s bedroom. That glorious room, with its pink gingham canopy bed, lost completely upon Suzie but absolutely adored by me, held a large collection of mostly-ignored dolls and doll houses, and every time I went over to visit I’d find a way to play with them. Suzie would be supremely bored and usually slip away to find something – anything – more exciting than dolls. I’d brush their golden hair and arrange them by the pool. I’d set them in a car and send them on a summer drive. I’d seek out the fanciest ball gown and change them into it. They simply didn’t get the proper treatment they deserved while under the careless watch of Suzie. Just as I was doing this, Stephen walked by the room and asked if I was playing with Barbie. I’m sure I said absolutely not, even if I wasn’t quite socially cognizant enough to feel shame. He passed on, heading out to play basketball or something, and never mentioned it.

A couple of years later he took us to see ‘The Sting’ when he was supposed to take us to a children’s movie. He told us not to tell anyone, and I hope I didn’t, but I was angered that we had to watch some boring adult movie, and greatly unimpressed with the selfishness of young men even when it came to their baby sister and her equally-selfish best friend.

There was something more sensitive about Stephen though, and while he would tease my brother and I as much as his older brothers did, we never felt the same fear that they could inspire. There was something gentler about him, an artistic temperament that seemed to feel things a little more keenly than the average person. He lived a charmed childhood, from my limited vantage point, and he had the kindness, confidence and laissez-faire attitude that may have been a result of his cushioned position in the family.

The world isn’t always kind to those who feel things more keenly, however, and I occasionally imagined his moments of torment and pain, especially when his father died. Everyone died a little on that day, and I don’t think anyone has fully recovered. There is no recovery from such a swift, gaping loss. A bit of it heals, a lot of it scars, and in the end it’s with us for life – the constancy of which may be the slightest bit of balm on such a sea of hurt.

Families survive, somehow, and those who live hopefully find happier moments with which to build new memories, which is the happy ending of this post. After marrying his fiancee Hye Sun earlier this year in South Korea, Stephen has returned to celebrate with those of us unable to make that journey. He and Hye Sun are sharing a grand party both for their wedding and his Mom’s 80thbirthday celebration (another post for another day). We will be joining them in our hometown of Amsterdam, NY – the city where we grew up – and for one of those rare moments our families will once again be together. That hasn’t happened in a very long time, and we’ve all missed it.

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

Co-worker: I would call CPS on you.

Me: Good. I want my name on that registry.

#TinyThreads

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How Do You Like Them ______?

Ahh, the apple. Fine fruit of the forest, or at least the carefully cultivated orchard. Fruit production is largely a messy scientific battle against pests and disease, and the apple trees of my youth – as sour and bitter as they were so sweetly forbidden – did not translate into any love for growing them as an adult. Leave that to the experts and the ones who can afford to keep the villainous insects at bay.

These days I’m happy just picking up a basket and having them on hand to snack on or put into a tart or crumble. If it’s an especially good day Andy might make an apple pie from scratch – a wonder of culinary execution, as he turns a buttery dough into a flaky crust, and the apples melt magically into their sweet sauce. (I’ve never had much success with cooking apples – they’re either hopelessly mushy in overdone overkill or quite crunchy and raw, entirely at odds with the soft slide of a properly-executed dessert confection.)

Their scent reminds me of fall afternoons after school, when we’d return to the garage and smell the white bag of them perfuming the dusty air as the sun slanted into the space and lit up the floating particles like magic. It was one of the happier memories of fall – all coziness and warmth – and though this likely never actually happened, it set to mind scenes of nibbling on a Macintosh while lazily reading a book beneath a brilliantly-hued tree. There were a few such places that might have afforded the opportunity – but if indeed it happened, it was only to eat the apple in a place of beauty – not to juggle the reading of a book along with it. I remember a patch of high field grass near a small grove of pine trees, where the pine needles dropped and dried in the warm afternoon sun, and a collection of pine cones littered the ground. I did stop there once or twice, but only to collect a few of the pine cones. How the space related to the apples, I cannot accurately recall. Memory fades…

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

Drinking La Croix sparkling water makes me feel fancy and idiotic all at once.

That also happens to be my resting state.

#TinyThreads

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Freaks in the Middle

With the fall season upon us, the sharp chill of the morning jolts me into getting back on the fashion high horse. (I tend to topple happily off that staid animal come summer heat.) In the brilliant ‘Unzipped’ documentary on Isaac Mizrahi, one of the ‘Vogue’ editors is talking about September. I paraphrase: “September is the January of fashion. This is when I get back on the high heels.” I’m not doing high heels until November at the earliest, but I am trying to tie the tie and arch the back on a more regular basis. Here’s a song for doing your best to be fabulous, and a sneak peek at some accessories for the upcoming months:

WE HAVE A FLAIR FOR THE SHADE AND THE IN-BETWEEN
WE LIKE TO RUN WITH THE WOLVES FROM THE DARKER SCENE
WHEN WE TURN THE SAFETY OFF, THE SHOTS ARE AUTOMATIC
ALL OUR FRIENDS TELL THEIR FRIENDS WE’RE SO DRAMATIC
WE’LL HAVE YOU WRAPPED AROUND OUR TRIGGER FINGER
QUEEN BEE YELLOW, YOU’RE THE SKIN FOR OUR STINGER
WE’LL MAKE YOU SWOON, MAKE IT HURT JUST A LITTLE
WE’RE THE BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE

WE KNOW THE HALLS YOU WALK ARE UNFORGIVING
IT’S NOT THE KIND OF PLACE TO FIND YOUR PLACE AMONG THE LIVING
WE HAVE A PLAN, WE’VE GOT THE MEANS FOR YOUR LIBERATION
YOU’LL ONLY HAVE TO BLUR THE LINES ON A FEW OCCASIONS
WE HAVE YOU WRAPPED AROUND OUR TRIGGER FINGER
QUEEN BEE YELLOW, YOU’RE THE SKIN FOR OUR STINGER
WE’LL MAKE YOU SWOON, MAKE YOU HURT JUST A LITTLE
WE’RE THE BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE
BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE
BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE

WE HAVE THE CURE FOR YOUR CRISIS NEVER PATENT PENDING
IF YOU COME ALONG WITH US THE DOORS ARE NEVER ENDING
IF YOU WANT TO RULE THE WORLD YOU’VE GOT TO STOP PRETENDING
IF YOU WANT TO RULE THE WORLD YOU’VE GOT TO STOP PRETENDING
SEE, WE’VE GOT THEM WRAPPED AROUND OUR TRIGGER FINGERS
QUEEN BEE YELLOW, THEY’RE THE SKIN FOR OUR STINGERS
WE’LL MAKE THEM SWOON, MAKE IT HURT JUST A LITTLE
WE’RE THE BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE
BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE
BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE
BOYS AND THE GIRLS AND THE FREAKS IN THE MIDDLE

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Barefoot But Still Not Pregnant: Programming Note

This coat was a find from a trip to Seattle, in a funky store in the Market. It’s more spring-like, with its soft cream color and delicate floral accents, but it can work in fall too, especially when the days still cling to summer’s lingering warmth. That’s the magic of October. Some of the best days of the year are to be found here. (It’s no coincidence that my husband was born in this month.)

This will also serve as a programming notice for regular readers of this blog. I’m about to switch into self-promotion mode (you won’t even be able to discern the difference) in support of a brand-new project. It’s the first since 2015’s ‘The Delusional Grandeur Tour‘ and it’s going to get a big promotional push because that’s what I do best. This has been one of the longer breaks between my creative projects and, truth be told even unto its innermost parts, I missed the creative process. My mind is able to rest better when it finds such an outlet. Anyone close to me can tell you that. Now that the project is done, I can work on the promotional stuff, which, if done properly, is an art form unto itself.

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

It’s October third. 

And it’s Wednesday.

Whatever. I’m getting cheese fries. 

#TinyThreads

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series!!!

“Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.” â€• F. Scott Fitzgerald

#TinyThreads!!!

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Fruit Not of the Loom: October Zaniness

This year the squirrels have been going mad over the dogwood trees in our yard. At any given time over the past few weeks you could find at least three perched in the branches, reaching out and nibbling on the pretty fruit that’s all but been devoured by this point. Personally I’ve never found the dogwood fruit appealing as far as taste and texture go (and I’ve tried it in a cocktail – if it doesn’t work there, it won’t work anywhere). The squirrels, on the other hand, are loving it. 

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

Is it not disturbing how we seem to be setting children up for a lifetime of cartoon cannibalism?

#TinyThreads

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