Friday, May 30, 2014


How far is parental love and approval to go?

What is the limit at which a parent can say, "I think you are doing a self destructive, idiotic, stupid thing?"

Do we ALWAYS have to smile and pat our offspring on the head and accept their stupidity?

Why is it that when I convey my disagreement with stupidity I am judged to be the person who "Just doesn't get it."? or why am I labeled with the current phobe or  whatever word meant to keep me in line?


Dear Cousin,

     I had a wretched time visiting you this May. The dryer sheets you use made me physically ill and then you washed your dog in a disgusting smelling dog shampoo--all of which added to the cleaning products you use in your house and car resulted in my sinus infection and acute diarrhea.

   If you bitch about the book I just sent you as a "Thank You" present just send it back and I will put it in a white trash bag and dump it into the Walmart (your favorite store) trash can which is what I did to the cheesecake I bought for you when I was visiting you which you screamed at me for buying.

   How's the hanging plant I bought for you while I was there? I hope it dies.

   As to your habit of walking down to your friend's house every night so that you could have a little time with her to trash me--that was despicable. I know you took a walk for that purpose and guess what you are becoming just like your mother, since you told me that that is what she use to do to trash your father. I know what you were doing on your little walks because I read it on your grand-daughter's face when she returned before you. And guess what---someday she will be just like you.

   I found you again after 43 years (and have visited every year for 5 years) hoping to foster some kind of cousinly relationship but that is not going to happen. 

    Do you even know the names of my children? My husband? My dogs? In a healthy cousinly relationship interest is a two way street.

  Good-bye forever.


Dear shopper in line just after me:

     My grocery transaction is just as important as yours. My fans at home are hungry too, waiting for me to return and cook this fish, by golly. This is my time and space with the cashier so stop pushing me out through the register aisle because you think your food purchases are more important then mine. You are a man and I'll be damned if I will allow you to trundle me aside so you can get the harried cashier to ring up your order. Stay back, you bastard, until I have offered the cashier my money and he has counted it and handed me my change. Then, gee whiz, you can get this fella to ring up your oh so important goodies. I was unbelievably close to shoving your nasty cart (which by the way you pushed over my foot) back into you. 
    Watch out if you are ever behind me again.


Saturday, April 12, 2014


And at the end of the day,
your feet should be dirty,
your hair messy
and your eyes sparkling.


Saturday, April 5, 2014


you can always put your hands in your pockets 
and walk away.

John Huston

Friday, November 1, 2013

oceans and puddles

There comes a time
when you have to
stop crossing oceans
for people 
jump a puddle for you.

Friday, August 10, 2012


While on a recent group trip abroad I sat after dinner around a table as our previously unknown fellow travelers introduced themselves. We would be together for 10 days so the tour guide thought it would be helpful for us to get to know one another while we were still fresh (without counting the cheap ticket transatlantic flight exhaustion). Names, hometowns in the States, occupations. The introductions were going well and some people even acquired new (nice) nicknames which were to stay with them throughout the trip. I employed my usual habit when in a group of people. I remember the resume a person uses."Dentist" "Wine maker" "Canadian" "Retired school principle" I even imagine each person wearing a t-shirt with their resume printed on the front. "Hey, this is the definition of me." Then a vivacious blonde thirty woman told us her name and said, "I am a breast cancer survivor." That's her resume? That's what she wanted on her t-shirt? Well, okay. So that's how I remembered her throughout the trip. My recent biopsy (I think of it as a "bebopsy" like the aunt in the Greek wedding movie!) revealed...I have breast cancer. I did not run out to have printed a new t-shirt. I am not breast cancer.I am so many things other than breast cancer that I cannot find a t-shirt large enough to list them all. Actually, I might have been defined as breast cancer for just a few days anyway because yesterday a surgeon with an alliteratve name dug "it" out of me. So I am really still the "so many things" which won't fit on a t-shirt. Which brings me to Nora Ephron's "Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim."