Julia Childs and Martha Stewart Unite

Calling all men/women of the "cloth"! I need Priests, Rabbis, Televangelists, and Ministers. Bring on Shamans and witchdoctors; lotions and potions are welcome. Come one, come all and "bless my plants" before it's too late. The sun came out and my "black thumb" was restless and itching for flowers! Flowers! I need flowers. I want to plant, plant, plant! Show me the Impatients, Petunias, and Geraniums, I'm rearin' to dig. Big deal my indestructable ferns died. Or did they commit suicide? They were supposed to outlive me. What did I do wrong? I loved them so. They hated me. Were they Republicans? Maybe I wasn't "there" for them. Maybe we should have gone into counseling.

It didn't deter me however. I can be Martha Stewart... I know I can, I know I can. Armed with a trowel, gloves, and trays and trays of beautiful flowers I set forth. I was ready! With love in my heart and tears in my eyes I placed Begonia plants in what I've nicknamed the "flower bed of death".... "good luck little red guys, the Impatients didn't make it out alive last year but I know you can". Onward and with fingers crossed I carefully placed purple Petunias in pots with red Geraniums hoping they would "just get along". I was crazed, a veritable mad woman...pot after pot after pot; I was a planting machine. I could barely stand upright yet couldn't stop.

By 5:00 my work still wasn't done, but with a glass of crisp Sauvignon Blanc in hand I kept planting. I was apologizing to the Petunias and blessing the Begonias, I was drunk; I was the Julia Childs of gardening! Anyone know a Rabbi who makes house calls?

Biblical times, bad hair days

Spring's over here in Chicago. It was one day. I put on a t-shirt , gym shorts and went outside. Wow, breezy, warm, the sun was out...I felt happy, light, and almost care free. Almost. The channel 5 weatherman wasn't grinning at me with his evil twisted smile forecasting snow. Although he did have a moment of joy in April when he said his favorite words "winter storm warning". "WHAT?!" I shreiked, running for the heavy medication and alcohol. "Snow??? It's April... April", I sobbed. "No, not snow, I can't take another flake. My parka, quick, where's my freaking parka? I'll be cold, alone, and covered in white"! I had to be blindfolded until the snow melted.

I was convinced after the very last teenie weenie flake melted that my meteorological panic attacks were over until November. Warm temperatures...short sleeves...no prescription drugs. Did I forget to mention I'm building an ark? The channel 5 weather devil is back and he's smiling in May. He's not allowed to smile in May! Rain, high winds, possibly "damaging" (his new favorite word) and flooding. Take cover, duck from the flying debris and be sure to carry an umbrella. Huh? It's downright biblical. My dog has mold between his toes and water wings on 24/7. Oh my God, my hair... look away or you'll go blind. I now use super glue as conditioner.

I'm not handy with wood or a hammer so ark building is quite a challenge. As for the "two by two" criteria; I don't think I have two of anything but I'm looking.

Step away from the buffet!

The Sunday Brunch Buffet! It strikes terror in my heart. A culinary weapon of mass destruction. I say ixnay to any long table filled with plates. Is there a greater test of personal "will" than a buffet? A more devastating event for dreams of wearing a bathing suit? A seismic caloric catastrophy! Yet nothing says Mother's Day like BRUNCH! I ran and hid in my closet clinging to my size 4 clothes and the life I knew..."No, no, anything but a buffet"! But it was too late...

I marched eyes staring straight ahead into the restaurant and no, I did not wear pants with a stretchy elastic waistband to join in the gastromic tsunami. I was a warrior determined to spread my mother's brand of Jewish guilt to all the over eaters at my table; if I wasn't going to have fun neither were they. "Don't you think that's enough cream cheese dear"? "Another piece of cake, really"? Then comes the stare, and trust me it's a miracle you don't turn to stone. I knew the drill. I was ready to face down my fellow diners and the two rooms filled with long white tables of....

Lox, bagels, caviar (in 3 primary colors!), smoked fish, oysters, shrimp, creamed and fresh fruit (why bother?), 3 bean salad (for picnics only), beets, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, eggs benedict, blintzes, swordfish, chicken breasts, carved turkey, ham, roast beef, ribs, seafood Newberg, saurkraut (huh?), salami, herring (pickled and creamed,nicely non demoninational), a mashed potato bar (because?), and last yet least and why...cheese cubes! Anyone still hungry? Or able to breathe? Eclairs, brownies, apple struedel, sweet rolls, cream puffs, pretzels (huh again?!?), chocolate chip cookies, Oreos (tacky and Costco), marshmallows, whip cream, rice pudding, jello (for the calorie conscious?), cupcakes, chocolate mousse, pie, cake, custard, petit fours, and a CHOCOLATE FOUNTAIN. Tums with your coffee?

I left with only a mild case of sugar shock and ok, ok, .... a pocket full of cheese cubes.

I'm "twitterish", are you?

HELP! I'm "twittering"! I know, I know , a month ago I thought it was a neurological condition or a bird in detox. See , people over 50 can change? I have no freaking idea what I'm doing but I'm twittering as fast as I can. And crap, I have one more password to add to the other 150 I can't remember , all because a 26 year old girl at a cocktail party told me I absolutely had to "twitter". Really? I thought I had to have another drink. It's the only way to meet, greet , move, shake and promote yourself these days she insisted. Ixnay to Facebook, Twitter was the path to hipdom and apparently salvation. I'm thinkin' she's over caffeinated and needed a cocktail, and she's thinkin' I'm from an era when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.

I was already on Facebook, a radical move given my technological fog. Yea me! Sadly it was a complete bust. I had no clue how to join in the folly. I was stumped. Only three people made me their "friend" which I think is the point but I'm still not sure. I felt unpopular and lonely. Was the internet high school hell? Then Todd suggested I join Open Salon.com to participate in a more intellectual type banter. Trust me, no one banters... they drone on and on and on about themselves. "The short version people...I don't have the time or patience for 17 up close and personal paragraphs about your latest thought". If I wanted a really long arduous story I'd read Tolstoy.

Now where Todd and cocktail party girl? After three twitters in three days the thrill is gone. FYI: If you need to find me I'll be out roaming the Earth.