For Whatever Time We Have Them, Friends are a Gift from God
March 29, 2020
Dear Sheldon:
I've been searching for the right words that may comfort both of us. I am very very saddened by Doris passing, that goes without saying yet I will say it.
Doris and I have known each other for 75! years, ever since kindergarten. I say "have" rather than "had" because she will always be alive in my heart. I've been using this down time to purge and I came across a few pictures of us in grade school that attests to this!
We went through our school years together, talking endlessly on the phone, getting together, going to the beach and the boardwalk, the Laurel Theater and our homes. We studied together, we laughed together, we cried together. We shared a lot. We never had one fight. Doris had Freda to fight with -- and they did fight as only sisters can, and I had my brother who used to pick on me mercilessly. When Doris was at UConn I visited her several times, and of course, the Summers were ours.
And then you came along. I do remember the day I introduced the two of you on the LIRR. And life was never the same for any of us. I was so happy you found each other and wedded. I moved to NYC around that time and our times together were less. I had a different life than Doris or Laura did, but there was always the phone. And then I moved to California. We saw each other once a year, when I would go back to LB to visit with my father. I spent time in your home in Oceanside which I really enjoyed visiting, especially admiring the greenhouse you built. And then came your kids -- Gary, Pam and Howie. I remember actually "baby sitting" for them for a few days when the two of you took off. Howie and I played cards. I think he was 10 at the time! The years rolled by but we always kept in touch -- phones and letters and in person visits when possible. It was such a gift that Peter and I got to spend time with you last November and me and Joseph again in January. I never thought I'd be going to Florida twice in a three month period.
I shall miss Doris a lot. I will remember how loving and brave she was, even to the end. Her soul is in my prayers nigh
Much love and good vibes to you and your family.
Namaste,
Allegreta
Dear Sheldon:
I've been searching for the right words that may comfort both of us. I am very very saddened by Doris passing, that goes without saying yet I will say it.
Doris and I have known each other for 75! years, ever since kindergarten. I say "have" rather than "had" because she will always be alive in my heart. I've been using this down time to purge and I came across a few pictures of us in grade school that attests to this!
We went through our school years together, talking endlessly on the phone, getting together, going to the beach and the boardwalk, the Laurel Theater and our homes. We studied together, we laughed together, we cried together. We shared a lot. We never had one fight. Doris had Freda to fight with -- and they did fight as only sisters can, and I had my brother who used to pick on me mercilessly. When Doris was at UConn I visited her several times, and of course, the Summers were ours.
And then you came along. I do remember the day I introduced the two of you on the LIRR. And life was never the same for any of us. I was so happy you found each other and wedded. I moved to NYC around that time and our times together were less. I had a different life than Doris or Laura did, but there was always the phone. And then I moved to California. We saw each other once a year, when I would go back to LB to visit with my father. I spent time in your home in Oceanside which I really enjoyed visiting, especially admiring the greenhouse you built. And then came your kids -- Gary, Pam and Howie. I remember actually "baby sitting" for them for a few days when the two of you took off. Howie and I played cards. I think he was 10 at the time! The years rolled by but we always kept in touch -- phones and letters and in person visits when possible. It was such a gift that Peter and I got to spend time with you last November and me and Joseph again in January. I never thought I'd be going to Florida twice in a three month period.
I shall miss Doris a lot. I will remember how loving and brave she was, even to the end. Her soul is in my prayers nigh
Much love and good vibes to you and your family.
Namaste,
Allegreta
The Berkshires
The Berkshires Episode 3
EPISODE 3
Getting to the other side of the country from Los Angeles was daunting. Aside from the usual airport hassles, we opted for a 9:00 pm flight which was to arrive on the East Coast at 6:00 a.m. (In LA, this was 3:00 pm). The plane ride was very turbulent. Then finding the rental car place, feeling sick and barely able to function, and Peter my husband driving (thank God) it was a 90 minute ride from the rental place to our condo. By then it was light out which was a big plus, along with the gps without which I could probably no longer travel. We went to bed almost immediately. For several hours.
The ensuing two weeks were filled with art, music, and all forms of culture which made the horrendous trip to get to the East Coast worth it.
I wrote about our experiences at Tanglewood in my last blog. Our next big event was a visit to The Mount, the mansion designed and lived in by Edith Wharton, also in Lenox. I didn't know much about Edith Wharton the person but a visit to her home proved to be very enlightening. I learned about her habits, her writing style, her lovers! A fabulous mansion, The Mount sits on 60 acres of gorgeous wild and formal gardens. Edith designed it in 1907; she wanted to be an architect but "settled" for being a Pulitzer prize winning author instead. A woman way ahead of her time, we know her for "Ethan Frome", "Age of Innocence" and "House of Mirth." She wrote "House of Mirth" entirely during her ten year stay at The Mount. All in all she wrote over thirty books.
We visited the manse twice -- once for a docent led tour of the home and gardens, and a second time on a Saturday evening, where on the large terrace at the rear of the house and overlooking the woods, a three piece jazz combo played, and excellent Mexican(!) food could be purchased. Large chairs and tables were scattered on the terrace and on the lawn beneath.
We took a longish walk through the woods at sunset. It was eerily beautiful. At the exit of the woods were three charming small formal gardens, in the French, Italian and English styles; all reflecting plants, flowers and statuary of the individual country.
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The town of Lenox is very charming. It has wonderful boutiques, many small galleries, a magnificent library built in the 1800s, cafes and great walking to and from the enormous mansions now open to the public as museums. Although our home away from home was a condo in Pittsfield, we spent a lot of time in Lenox, some 20 minutes South.
Williamstown is about as far North as you can get from Pittsfield without entering Vermont. It is definitely a destination city; Williamstown Theate Festival, Williams College, Williams College Art Museum, and motels and guest houses built in the late 1800s all dot the landscape.
But you ain't seen nothin' yet until you visit The Clark Museum. It is part of The Clark Institute, an international center for higher education, research and critical discussion of the visual arts. The Museum building sits on a huge reflecting pool , a restaurant is there as well, (one of three) and the whole Institute consists of a 140 acre campus surrounded by the Taconic, Green Mountain and Berkshire ranges, with many walking trails. The museum building is large, spacious, modern and brings the outdoors in. Most all walls not holding art are glass.
Ah yes. The art. Viewing and enjoying a very impressive collection of American, Impressionist, European paintings and decorative arts, I was particularly taken with its collection of pastels by Degas, Cassatt and Monet. These are in the permanent collection. In the current collection (June 11 to October 10, 2016) is Splendor, Myth and Vistion: Nudes from the Prado. Art not seen in this country previously. Glad we did not miss out on this one.
In our two weeks, we attended a street fair in Pittsfield, visited Jacob's Pillow in Becket (dance institution high in the hills), toured Hancock Shaker House Village (one of the few remaining), strolled Great Barrington, (old and charming city) and paid an overnight visit to see our cousins who live on Bantam Lake in Connecticut. We culminated our trip with an overnight stay at our friends' home in Milford, Connecticut.
It was a wonderful two weeks -- we could have stayed a month and not seen all the Berkshires had to offer. I went on to New York City for 10 more days. Yes, life is good!
Getting to the other side of the country from Los Angeles was daunting. Aside from the usual airport hassles, we opted for a 9:00 pm flight which was to arrive on the East Coast at 6:00 a.m. (In LA, this was 3:00 pm). The plane ride was very turbulent. Then finding the rental car place, feeling sick and barely able to function, and Peter my husband driving (thank God) it was a 90 minute ride from the rental place to our condo. By then it was light out which was a big plus, along with the gps without which I could probably no longer travel. We went to bed almost immediately. For several hours.
The ensuing two weeks were filled with art, music, and all forms of culture which made the horrendous trip to get to the East Coast worth it.
I wrote about our experiences at Tanglewood in my last blog. Our next big event was a visit to The Mount, the mansion designed and lived in by Edith Wharton, also in Lenox. I didn't know much about Edith Wharton the person but a visit to her home proved to be very enlightening. I learned about her habits, her writing style, her lovers! A fabulous mansion, The Mount sits on 60 acres of gorgeous wild and formal gardens. Edith designed it in 1907; she wanted to be an architect but "settled" for being a Pulitzer prize winning author instead. A woman way ahead of her time, we know her for "Ethan Frome", "Age of Innocence" and "House of Mirth." She wrote "House of Mirth" entirely during her ten year stay at The Mount. All in all she wrote over thirty books.
We visited the manse twice -- once for a docent led tour of the home and gardens, and a second time on a Saturday evening, where on the large terrace at the rear of the house and overlooking the woods, a three piece jazz combo played, and excellent Mexican(!) food could be purchased. Large chairs and tables were scattered on the terrace and on the lawn beneath.
We took a longish walk through the woods at sunset. It was eerily beautiful. At the exit of the woods were three charming small formal gardens, in the French, Italian and English styles; all reflecting plants, flowers and statuary of the individual country.
--------
The town of Lenox is very charming. It has wonderful boutiques, many small galleries, a magnificent library built in the 1800s, cafes and great walking to and from the enormous mansions now open to the public as museums. Although our home away from home was a condo in Pittsfield, we spent a lot of time in Lenox, some 20 minutes South.
Williamstown is about as far North as you can get from Pittsfield without entering Vermont. It is definitely a destination city; Williamstown Theate Festival, Williams College, Williams College Art Museum, and motels and guest houses built in the late 1800s all dot the landscape.
But you ain't seen nothin' yet until you visit The Clark Museum. It is part of The Clark Institute, an international center for higher education, research and critical discussion of the visual arts. The Museum building sits on a huge reflecting pool , a restaurant is there as well, (one of three) and the whole Institute consists of a 140 acre campus surrounded by the Taconic, Green Mountain and Berkshire ranges, with many walking trails. The museum building is large, spacious, modern and brings the outdoors in. Most all walls not holding art are glass.
Ah yes. The art. Viewing and enjoying a very impressive collection of American, Impressionist, European paintings and decorative arts, I was particularly taken with its collection of pastels by Degas, Cassatt and Monet. These are in the permanent collection. In the current collection (June 11 to October 10, 2016) is Splendor, Myth and Vistion: Nudes from the Prado. Art not seen in this country previously. Glad we did not miss out on this one.
In our two weeks, we attended a street fair in Pittsfield, visited Jacob's Pillow in Becket (dance institution high in the hills), toured Hancock Shaker House Village (one of the few remaining), strolled Great Barrington, (old and charming city) and paid an overnight visit to see our cousins who live on Bantam Lake in Connecticut. We culminated our trip with an overnight stay at our friends' home in Milford, Connecticut.
It was a wonderful two weeks -- we could have stayed a month and not seen all the Berkshires had to offer. I went on to New York City for 10 more days. Yes, life is good!
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Summer of 2016 -- Two Weeks in the Berkshires
Few people on the West Coast have heard of the Berkshire Mountains much less Tanglewood and Jacob's Pillow. Nestled in the Berkshires are the communities of Pittsfield, Great Barringon, Lenox, Lee, North Adams, Becket, Williamstown and more that are all homes to the arts. These towns of Massachusetts are close to each other and are resplendent with art museums, galleries, music halls, dance, theater, libraries, and magnificent old mansions.
Our home away from home is a condo in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Location is good as it is smack in the middle on the map of places we want to go; Lee, Lenox and Great Barrington to the South and North Adams, Becket and Williamstown to the North. Each place is less than an hour away. The view from our condo is green, green and more green but not especially pretty. A lot of flat trees. Our place is very comfortable and attractive which is a good thing because due to the horrific humidity and heat (hello, East Coast in the Summer) when we are not sightseeing, we spend a good amount of time indoors, reading and resting in powerful air conditioning.
Tanglewood One
Tanglewood, in the town of Lenox, is sort of like the Hollywood Bowl but not really. The campus consists of a gigantic shed called The Shed which houses 5,000 people, and a few smaller auditoriums on a gigantic lawn. Unlike the Hollywood Bowl which is completely outdoors, The Shed has a roof, a stage, and a floor, and the sides are open. The seats are all benches. But like the Hollywood Bowl, the stage is very very large . It is the Summer home of the Boston Symphony and the Boston Pop Orchestras. One must get tickets months in advance as this is the number one attraction in the Mountains.
Our first adventure was on a Saturday night just one day after leaving Los Angeles. The program featured the Boston Pops with John Williams conducting music from Star Wars and other epics for which he wrote scores. This "movie night" draws a packed house and the lawn holds 18,000 people! (Parking is a wonder -- suffice to say it is well handled by a large parking staff giving speedy directions -- it is self-parking.)
We were told to get there early --evidently even though we had tickets there is a long line to get in. We gave ourselves about three hours to get there and to enjoy lawn seating before we went into The Shed for the concert. Way too much time! And it was very hot and humid. Very. Lawn seating is very desirable as it is far less expensive than inside seating plus there are large screens dropped down the exterior of The Shed so one can view the concert while drinking a glass of champagne (or water) and relaxing on a lawn chair. But there is no protection from the elements, which we found out shortly after the concert began. We were really happy we had indoor seating.
People come with all the props necessary for comfort -- wagons full of chairs, umbrellas, sweaters, rain gear! food and drink. We found a spot on the lawn and looked around. The couple behind us had a lobster dinner, complete with small table, tablecloth, flowers in a small vase, wine and some kind of cool desert. I'm thinking baked Alaska. We graciously (and gratefully) accepted the glass of wine we were offered. We were meagerly prepared, munching on our lowly peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drinking bottled water and sitting on a spread out raincoat.
After way too much time laying on said plastic raincoat in sweltering heat, we entered The Shed -- the concert began promptly at 8:00 pm. About 45 minutes later the rains came. Or should I say teemed. The thunderstorm seemingly was not unexpected, except by us. The thunder and lightning was very loud, bright and exciting. John Williams stopped the concert and invited all those who could take shelter from the lawn into The Shed. We talked to many people; they all seemed intrigued by the fact that we came across the whole country to visit Tanglewood. After about 45 minutes the rain subsided and the concert resumed. John Williams and the musicians had a 45 minute rest and when they returned to play, it was truly magical.
We easily exited, jumping over puddles and go to our car and out onto the road with the guidance of the parking attendants.
Tanglewood Two -- an Entirely Different Experience
We had tickets for the following Friday night. The first Tanglewood night was the Boston Pops; the second was the Boston Symphony. While a very large number of people attended, it was nothing like the 24,000 plus (including the lawn people) of the previous Saturday night.
A few days previously, we discovered a lovely synagogue nestled in the woods surrounding Lenox. We went in to inquire about Friday night services. The lady in charge told us that on the next Friday night, the synagogue was to hold Friday night services on the Tanglewood lawn. They do this only once or twice a year. I told her this was perfect as we had tickets for the concert that started at 8:00 pm; she said services were at 6:30.
We decided to have a nice dinner in Lenox before we went to Tanglewood and not have to deal with bringing a picnic. Upon our arrival at Tanglewood we searched high and low and could not find the synagogue group. It is a humongous lawn! Acres and acres. We asked a couple if they knew where the services were to be held; they told us and actually walked us to the spot under a huge tree. Then this couple told us of a jazz concert being held the next night, Saturday night, at The Mount, Edith Wharton's home, on its terrace. You can buy food and sit on porch rocking chairs or on the vast lawn and listen to the music. We decided this was something we wanted to do.
Under the tree, we encountered a group of congregants whose very young Rabbi was leading Sabbath services. About a hundred men, women and children stood under a very large tree in the rear of the garden, chanted, sang and afterwards -- naturally! -- ate. The very large Oneg Shabbat (Friday night dessert) was on a very long table in the middle of the lawn. Yards and yards of sweets and wine. We chatted it up with the people who were very welcoming.
The concert was wonderful. Part of the concert was excerpts from an opera. At this time 160 men and women marched in to become the choir. Also on stage was about 100 musicians. Later, a very special treat was seeing and listening to two piano solos by Menahem Pressler. Mr. Pressler is 92(!) years old and is the head of the music department at Indiana University of Jacobs School of Music. He walked onto the stage with help, but once he started to play the very grand piano he became youthful and very alive. His performances were spirited and emotional. You could see how much he loved the music and the piano. Another great musical experience. We left feeling very rewarded and -- no rain.
Next -- Architecture and Literature -- two visits to The Mount in Lenox, Massachusetts a home designed and occupied by Edith Wharton in the early 1900s.
I'll save a seat for you. See you soon!
Few people on the West Coast have heard of the Berkshire Mountains much less Tanglewood and Jacob's Pillow. Nestled in the Berkshires are the communities of Pittsfield, Great Barringon, Lenox, Lee, North Adams, Becket, Williamstown and more that are all homes to the arts. These towns of Massachusetts are close to each other and are resplendent with art museums, galleries, music halls, dance, theater, libraries, and magnificent old mansions.
Our home away from home is a condo in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Location is good as it is smack in the middle on the map of places we want to go; Lee, Lenox and Great Barrington to the South and North Adams, Becket and Williamstown to the North. Each place is less than an hour away. The view from our condo is green, green and more green but not especially pretty. A lot of flat trees. Our place is very comfortable and attractive which is a good thing because due to the horrific humidity and heat (hello, East Coast in the Summer) when we are not sightseeing, we spend a good amount of time indoors, reading and resting in powerful air conditioning.
Tanglewood One
Tanglewood, in the town of Lenox, is sort of like the Hollywood Bowl but not really. The campus consists of a gigantic shed called The Shed which houses 5,000 people, and a few smaller auditoriums on a gigantic lawn. Unlike the Hollywood Bowl which is completely outdoors, The Shed has a roof, a stage, and a floor, and the sides are open. The seats are all benches. But like the Hollywood Bowl, the stage is very very large . It is the Summer home of the Boston Symphony and the Boston Pop Orchestras. One must get tickets months in advance as this is the number one attraction in the Mountains.
Our first adventure was on a Saturday night just one day after leaving Los Angeles. The program featured the Boston Pops with John Williams conducting music from Star Wars and other epics for which he wrote scores. This "movie night" draws a packed house and the lawn holds 18,000 people! (Parking is a wonder -- suffice to say it is well handled by a large parking staff giving speedy directions -- it is self-parking.)
We were told to get there early --evidently even though we had tickets there is a long line to get in. We gave ourselves about three hours to get there and to enjoy lawn seating before we went into The Shed for the concert. Way too much time! And it was very hot and humid. Very. Lawn seating is very desirable as it is far less expensive than inside seating plus there are large screens dropped down the exterior of The Shed so one can view the concert while drinking a glass of champagne (or water) and relaxing on a lawn chair. But there is no protection from the elements, which we found out shortly after the concert began. We were really happy we had indoor seating.
People come with all the props necessary for comfort -- wagons full of chairs, umbrellas, sweaters, rain gear! food and drink. We found a spot on the lawn and looked around. The couple behind us had a lobster dinner, complete with small table, tablecloth, flowers in a small vase, wine and some kind of cool desert. I'm thinking baked Alaska. We graciously (and gratefully) accepted the glass of wine we were offered. We were meagerly prepared, munching on our lowly peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, drinking bottled water and sitting on a spread out raincoat.
After way too much time laying on said plastic raincoat in sweltering heat, we entered The Shed -- the concert began promptly at 8:00 pm. About 45 minutes later the rains came. Or should I say teemed. The thunderstorm seemingly was not unexpected, except by us. The thunder and lightning was very loud, bright and exciting. John Williams stopped the concert and invited all those who could take shelter from the lawn into The Shed. We talked to many people; they all seemed intrigued by the fact that we came across the whole country to visit Tanglewood. After about 45 minutes the rain subsided and the concert resumed. John Williams and the musicians had a 45 minute rest and when they returned to play, it was truly magical.
We easily exited, jumping over puddles and go to our car and out onto the road with the guidance of the parking attendants.
Tanglewood Two -- an Entirely Different Experience
We had tickets for the following Friday night. The first Tanglewood night was the Boston Pops; the second was the Boston Symphony. While a very large number of people attended, it was nothing like the 24,000 plus (including the lawn people) of the previous Saturday night.
A few days previously, we discovered a lovely synagogue nestled in the woods surrounding Lenox. We went in to inquire about Friday night services. The lady in charge told us that on the next Friday night, the synagogue was to hold Friday night services on the Tanglewood lawn. They do this only once or twice a year. I told her this was perfect as we had tickets for the concert that started at 8:00 pm; she said services were at 6:30.
We decided to have a nice dinner in Lenox before we went to Tanglewood and not have to deal with bringing a picnic. Upon our arrival at Tanglewood we searched high and low and could not find the synagogue group. It is a humongous lawn! Acres and acres. We asked a couple if they knew where the services were to be held; they told us and actually walked us to the spot under a huge tree. Then this couple told us of a jazz concert being held the next night, Saturday night, at The Mount, Edith Wharton's home, on its terrace. You can buy food and sit on porch rocking chairs or on the vast lawn and listen to the music. We decided this was something we wanted to do.
Under the tree, we encountered a group of congregants whose very young Rabbi was leading Sabbath services. About a hundred men, women and children stood under a very large tree in the rear of the garden, chanted, sang and afterwards -- naturally! -- ate. The very large Oneg Shabbat (Friday night dessert) was on a very long table in the middle of the lawn. Yards and yards of sweets and wine. We chatted it up with the people who were very welcoming.
The concert was wonderful. Part of the concert was excerpts from an opera. At this time 160 men and women marched in to become the choir. Also on stage was about 100 musicians. Later, a very special treat was seeing and listening to two piano solos by Menahem Pressler. Mr. Pressler is 92(!) years old and is the head of the music department at Indiana University of Jacobs School of Music. He walked onto the stage with help, but once he started to play the very grand piano he became youthful and very alive. His performances were spirited and emotional. You could see how much he loved the music and the piano. Another great musical experience. We left feeling very rewarded and -- no rain.
Next -- Architecture and Literature -- two visits to The Mount in Lenox, Massachusetts a home designed and occupied by Edith Wharton in the early 1900s.
I'll save a seat for you. See you soon!
CUBA Redux
July 23, 2015 - Happy Birthday to ME!
Who wants to hear stuff about a place you only hear about when you get there? Or, in our case, after a long orientation (6 hours in two 3-hour sessions) in Miami before departing for Cuba?
Cuba is one of the more fascinating places one can visit. Here are some straight on facts:
The Cubanos are extremely nice and open. It is safe to go out at night alone. 80% of the populace is desperately poor. The older people who have lived like this since 1959 don't seem to care and manage. They remember the tyranny of Battista. A Cubano cannot buy property; the only way you can own a house is through inheritance. People who do own or rent homes take in tenants in order to make ends meet. A lot of the poorer city and country dwellers live in buildings that have no windows and in some cases, are missing a wall. The average Cubano makes 500 Cuban pesos a month; this is equal to about $25 in American dollars. Tourists get different money, called CUCS. Each Cuc is worth 25 pesos. That's the currency we used. There are no credit cards in Cuba, you must pay cash for anything and everything. There are no bank loans -- you can only buy what you can pay cash for on the spot.
Every Cubano has a roof over his head, free medical, free education and a monthly ration card for food. A waiter makes more than a lawyer or a doctor because he gets tips. Cuba's number one industry is tourism -- Canadians abound; we were the only visible Americans on the island. Other minor industries include cigar making and exporting, sugar cane, and rum.
We stayed in the best hotels and went to the best restaurants, meant strictly for out of country tourists. We resided in Havana at the Nacional, which was the hotel where Meyer Lansky lived when he was planning to make Havana into another Miami Beach. The hotel was built in 1930 and is very large and still very grand. The grounds, too, are large and the garden area overlooks the Malecon on the Atlantic Ocean.
The only way an American -- thus far -- can enter Cuba is with an "educational" group.
We attended lectures on politics and economics by renown authorities in their fields. There was a lot of talk about changes, about Fidel and Raoul, and about elections. And the coming change sure to happen when the American embargo is lifted. Music and art is plentiful everywhere. We attended concerts plus had live wonderful music with each and every meal.
We visited an art school and the home of a well known Cuban artist. Art, too, is in evidence in the reconstruction of several parts of the city. They have scant means and are "beautifying" the crumbling and decaying areas of the city with pieces of glass and metal and wood that is found.
We all got a chance to ride in the pre 1959 American cars; I think five of us, plus driver! in a gigantic 1953 Ford convertible. The favored car is the 1957 Bel Aire, two toned blue. The owners have to make and install the car parts that break -- there is no place to purchase these very outdated parts. There is no public transportation and only tourists can afford taxi cab rides.
We visited an old age home -- the elders have such grace and style. The women and the men sleep in dormitories on either end of the Home, 10 to a room in very small single beds. They have a few common rooms with 21" TV sets. There is a hospital of sorts with physical therapy and emergency care. They eat communally in a cafeteria. We spoke with them through an interpreter.
We visited with another older set of citizens who were part of a club -- they showed us how to dance the formal Latin dances with fans, how to play a game with a bat and ball they invented. They meet regularly and also play checkers and dominoes and the women knit, crochet and chat.
There is no WiFi except at the hotels and it is pricey. There are five national TV stations -- no CNN or ESPN -- but we did have these stations at our two hotels. Cuba is very cut off from the USA, even though Miami is 90 miles away! but we did meet a very young cab driver who told us he had Direct TV and liked to watch the Housewives shows. How he obtained this I didn't want to ask!
Historically, we visited the site of the Bay of Pigs invasion and its museum, Che Guevara's mausoleum and museum, Ernest Hemingway's large and lavish home and gardens, the Partagas cigar factory which has been in existence since 1884, an old huge fort, a synagogue built before The Revolution and still open, and the grand old buildings of Old Habana, all pre Revolution.
We took a cooking class; we had a Spanish language lesson. We were told that over 500,000,000 people in the world speak Spanish! And now, it is mandatory for each student to learn English from the second grade up until graduation. We visited with an after school program of ten year olds who asked us questions and then taught us to conga.
The country is downtrodden and there's no escaping the feeling of the exotic and complete difference from our own culture. We all recognized that of course the powers that be want us to go home to the USA as good will ambassadors. But really no heavy propaganda.
I encourage everyone to visit Cuba NOW before the big changes take place. So do go to a beautiful renovated cafe in Old Habana. Sit outside on the ancient cobble-stoned patio. Relax and have a mojito. On me.
July 23, 2015 - Happy Birthday to ME!
Who wants to hear stuff about a place you only hear about when you get there? Or, in our case, after a long orientation (6 hours in two 3-hour sessions) in Miami before departing for Cuba?
Cuba is one of the more fascinating places one can visit. Here are some straight on facts:
The Cubanos are extremely nice and open. It is safe to go out at night alone. 80% of the populace is desperately poor. The older people who have lived like this since 1959 don't seem to care and manage. They remember the tyranny of Battista. A Cubano cannot buy property; the only way you can own a house is through inheritance. People who do own or rent homes take in tenants in order to make ends meet. A lot of the poorer city and country dwellers live in buildings that have no windows and in some cases, are missing a wall. The average Cubano makes 500 Cuban pesos a month; this is equal to about $25 in American dollars. Tourists get different money, called CUCS. Each Cuc is worth 25 pesos. That's the currency we used. There are no credit cards in Cuba, you must pay cash for anything and everything. There are no bank loans -- you can only buy what you can pay cash for on the spot.
Every Cubano has a roof over his head, free medical, free education and a monthly ration card for food. A waiter makes more than a lawyer or a doctor because he gets tips. Cuba's number one industry is tourism -- Canadians abound; we were the only visible Americans on the island. Other minor industries include cigar making and exporting, sugar cane, and rum.
We stayed in the best hotels and went to the best restaurants, meant strictly for out of country tourists. We resided in Havana at the Nacional, which was the hotel where Meyer Lansky lived when he was planning to make Havana into another Miami Beach. The hotel was built in 1930 and is very large and still very grand. The grounds, too, are large and the garden area overlooks the Malecon on the Atlantic Ocean.
The only way an American -- thus far -- can enter Cuba is with an "educational" group.
We attended lectures on politics and economics by renown authorities in their fields. There was a lot of talk about changes, about Fidel and Raoul, and about elections. And the coming change sure to happen when the American embargo is lifted. Music and art is plentiful everywhere. We attended concerts plus had live wonderful music with each and every meal.
We visited an art school and the home of a well known Cuban artist. Art, too, is in evidence in the reconstruction of several parts of the city. They have scant means and are "beautifying" the crumbling and decaying areas of the city with pieces of glass and metal and wood that is found.
We all got a chance to ride in the pre 1959 American cars; I think five of us, plus driver! in a gigantic 1953 Ford convertible. The favored car is the 1957 Bel Aire, two toned blue. The owners have to make and install the car parts that break -- there is no place to purchase these very outdated parts. There is no public transportation and only tourists can afford taxi cab rides.
We visited an old age home -- the elders have such grace and style. The women and the men sleep in dormitories on either end of the Home, 10 to a room in very small single beds. They have a few common rooms with 21" TV sets. There is a hospital of sorts with physical therapy and emergency care. They eat communally in a cafeteria. We spoke with them through an interpreter.
We visited with another older set of citizens who were part of a club -- they showed us how to dance the formal Latin dances with fans, how to play a game with a bat and ball they invented. They meet regularly and also play checkers and dominoes and the women knit, crochet and chat.
There is no WiFi except at the hotels and it is pricey. There are five national TV stations -- no CNN or ESPN -- but we did have these stations at our two hotels. Cuba is very cut off from the USA, even though Miami is 90 miles away! but we did meet a very young cab driver who told us he had Direct TV and liked to watch the Housewives shows. How he obtained this I didn't want to ask!
Historically, we visited the site of the Bay of Pigs invasion and its museum, Che Guevara's mausoleum and museum, Ernest Hemingway's large and lavish home and gardens, the Partagas cigar factory which has been in existence since 1884, an old huge fort, a synagogue built before The Revolution and still open, and the grand old buildings of Old Habana, all pre Revolution.
We took a cooking class; we had a Spanish language lesson. We were told that over 500,000,000 people in the world speak Spanish! And now, it is mandatory for each student to learn English from the second grade up until graduation. We visited with an after school program of ten year olds who asked us questions and then taught us to conga.
The country is downtrodden and there's no escaping the feeling of the exotic and complete difference from our own culture. We all recognized that of course the powers that be want us to go home to the USA as good will ambassadors. But really no heavy propaganda.
I encourage everyone to visit Cuba NOW before the big changes take place. So do go to a beautiful renovated cafe in Old Habana. Sit outside on the ancient cobble-stoned patio. Relax and have a mojito. On me.
Courtesy of BeatlesBible
JOHN PAUL GEORGE RINGO and ALLEGRETA
February 12, 1964
"It was twenty years ago today Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play..." AND Just a little over FIFTY YEARS AGO! today I attended a live concert of The Beatles. It was held just three days after their appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964 at Carnegie Hall in New York City.
I was given two tickets (I took my younger brother who was as big a Beatles fan as I) for the 11:15 pm show by my employer, Billboard Magazine. My brother met me at work. We went to dinner and still had about three hours to kill; not really enough time to go to my tiny way uptown apartment, rest and come back downtown but a lot of time to spend wandering the streets. We went to the NYC Public Library on 42nd Street which was open late that night.
At approximately 10:00 pm we headed for Carnegie Hall. We were about five blocks away when we saw the gigantic crowds of teenage girls all in the area. We wedged our way through the crowd and got on a line. After about 45 minutes in the freezing cold, remember it was February in NYC, we gained entrance. We took our seats and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally the Fab Four came out. In a great flurry the teenyboppers left their seats and tried to rush the stage. I saw Happy Rockefeller the wife of the then Governor, Nelson Rockefeller, in an aisle seat close to the stage. She was nine months pregnant. She subsequently left about a half hour into the concert; I think she was fearful for her safety.
At last the boys started to sing. I didn't hear one note. Not one. As soon as they began the teenage girls started screaming, howling, crying. And this continued throughout the whole concert.
Although we couldn't hear anything, just being in the same venue as The Beatles was thrilling. Their charisma extended through the orchestra and leaped up to the mezzanine where we were sitting. And everyone was writhing and moving and joyous.
We stayed until the end; once outside we saw hundreds of teenagers outside the stage door entrance. We kept going --
I have never forgotten this experience --- I saw The Beatles in person! Right at the beginning of their fame. Reflecting on this -- exciting now as it was then -- has put me into a deep sea of nostalgia. Next blog -- having the J.D. Salinger experience.
February 12, 1964
"It was twenty years ago today Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play..." AND Just a little over FIFTY YEARS AGO! today I attended a live concert of The Beatles. It was held just three days after their appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964 at Carnegie Hall in New York City.
I was given two tickets (I took my younger brother who was as big a Beatles fan as I) for the 11:15 pm show by my employer, Billboard Magazine. My brother met me at work. We went to dinner and still had about three hours to kill; not really enough time to go to my tiny way uptown apartment, rest and come back downtown but a lot of time to spend wandering the streets. We went to the NYC Public Library on 42nd Street which was open late that night.
At approximately 10:00 pm we headed for Carnegie Hall. We were about five blocks away when we saw the gigantic crowds of teenage girls all in the area. We wedged our way through the crowd and got on a line. After about 45 minutes in the freezing cold, remember it was February in NYC, we gained entrance. We took our seats and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally the Fab Four came out. In a great flurry the teenyboppers left their seats and tried to rush the stage. I saw Happy Rockefeller the wife of the then Governor, Nelson Rockefeller, in an aisle seat close to the stage. She was nine months pregnant. She subsequently left about a half hour into the concert; I think she was fearful for her safety.
At last the boys started to sing. I didn't hear one note. Not one. As soon as they began the teenage girls started screaming, howling, crying. And this continued throughout the whole concert.
Although we couldn't hear anything, just being in the same venue as The Beatles was thrilling. Their charisma extended through the orchestra and leaped up to the mezzanine where we were sitting. And everyone was writhing and moving and joyous.
We stayed until the end; once outside we saw hundreds of teenagers outside the stage door entrance. We kept going --
I have never forgotten this experience --- I saw The Beatles in person! Right at the beginning of their fame. Reflecting on this -- exciting now as it was then -- has put me into a deep sea of nostalgia. Next blog -- having the J.D. Salinger experience.
Coffee and Prayer; Coffee as Prayer
I confess I've always disliked milk. Intensely. As a child, I was constantly being told how good it was for me and how important milk was for strong bones, strong teeth. And no manner of nagging, cajoling, rewarding or threatening would get me to drink this absurdly gigantic glass of white insipid liquid that was placed in front of me. The only way my mother could get me to drink was to pour a few drops of coffee from her cup into the glass. As time went by more and more coffee was needed. By the time I was ten years old I was drinking half milk half coffee. My parents were European and did not think that coffee was a bad thing for a kid to drink – they were brought up on highly sweetened Turkish coffee which was thick as molasses and as strong as espresso. They likened American coffee to dark hot water. And this delicious darkly black syrup was what they put in my milk.
My maternal grandmother lived with us. She could tell fortunes with demi tasse sized cups of Turkish coffee. After drinking the coffee, due to its thickness, a large residue is left on the bottom of the cup. She would turn the cup over and then quickly right it again. She would tell the fortune by looking at the coffee that had dripped to the inner side of the cup after it had been righted. I don’t remember what any particular designs meant – but I always got a positive reading. She was my grandmother, after all.
When I reached my teens I was drinking coffee in the morning and the percentage was about ¾ coffee to ¼ milk. At sixteen I abandoned milk altogether and took my coffee black, no cream, no sugar.
In my twenties, coffee was my most loyal friend. I could depend on it to warm me when I was cold, keep me company when I was reading or watching television and a cup of coffee and a cigarette in the morning ultimately resulted in staying regular. When I was dieting a good strong cup of coffee kept me on the straight and narrow. And most importantly, coffee was a major part of my social life. My friends and I would meet for a cup of coffee at a local coffee shop on an almost daily basis. And coffee with a Danish pastry to go was breakfast.
My relationship with coffee became a religious experience after moving to Southern California, when I started a walking regime. I worshiped at Starbuck’s Synagogue when the very first Starbucks opened in the Valley in Tarzana. And I didn't have to wait for a minion. I would drive to this house of worship, park my car and then take a two mile walk. Upon my return I would get a coffee and sit with it and the newspaper in the open air area in back of the shop.
When I moved to the beach area, I was delighted to find there were four Starbuck Synagogue branches within walking distance. Thus began my thrice weekly ritual. At first I just attended services at the Starbucks on Washington Street. How I would continue the experience would depend on which branch of the synagogue I attended. The Washington Street synagogue included a short walk, sitting on the beach, followed by a short walk home. The Waterside Marina del Rey branch had a fountain in front of it. I would sit there for a while, contemplate life, take a short walk around the mini mall and then visit a local health food store to buy nuts. I am always buying nuts. The Starbucks stop near Costco offered a shoring up for the Costco experience which sometimes takes a lot of stamina. Coffee first, Costco after. And finally, the Starbuck’s near the movie theater in the Marina would be visited on a day I would be going to the movies. The coffee would be purchased followed by me sneaking it into the theater, well placed under a sweater I would be carrying – for me sort of visiting one house of worship after coming from another.
Ordering the coffee involved ceremony. Not for me the Frappuccino’s, machaccinos, or whatever other blasphemous drinks they made. I followed Orthodox tradition when it came to the coffee I drank but how I ordered it definitely did not. I would belly up to the bar, say good morning and then tell the rabbi/server how I wanted my coffee – grande, double cupped, no sleeve, ¾ decaf ¼ regular, room for milk. (Mother's conditioning never left me.) After paying the exorbitant $1.85! I would put in a little bit of milk. And I usually eat a power or breakfast bar I brought with me,
I still prayed on my non synagogue days. The bible says we do not need a temple to worship, thus I make coffee at home. This, too, involves a ritual. I do not use Starbuck’s packaged coffee as it just doesn’t taste the same when made at home. I start with the beans of three different kinds of coffee; two decafs and one regular. I grind up enough for four or five cups and store what I don’t use that day in the refrigerator for the next few days. I use the same ¾ decaf to ¼ regular ratio. I drink this coffee at 8:15 a.m. after walking the dog. While sipping, I sometimes watch The Today Show, read the paper, or glance at incoming emails. Or all three at the same time.
Several years ago I went off coffee for two years. I was having health issues and at first simply could not abide coffee. After I was well, I kept off coffee simply to see how long I could, plus, I felt it was better for my health. Interestingly, although I no longer worshiped at Starbuck’s Synagogue, I felt virtuous. Maybe abstinence carries its own reward. Once in a great while I would order herbal tea at Starbucks but the delicious smells of coffee would be too great a temptation so I abandoned this practice. Coffee was Orthodox, tea was Reformed.
One day, without giving it a second thought, I went into Starbucks and ordered coffee, just as if the two prior years never happened. The rabbi/server treated me as if I had never left. Actually I think it was a different rabbi/server altogether. They do tend to wander ... How great the coffee tasted! Then I started reading about the health advantages of coffee – it is rich in antioxidants. And of course I ignored the negatives.
I read in the newspaper that several branches of Starbuck’s Synagogue are closing. They simply have to lower their prices if they want attendance to improve and membership to continue. What else can they do? Wait for the high holidays to take up a collection?
Meanwhile while they still exist I will continue to enjoy my houses of worship. Maybe you’ll join me? You don’t have to be a member.
GIRLS FROM LONG ISLAND DON'T SKI
For the first thirty years of my life I was blissfully unaware of any form of regimented exercise. Lucky to live by the beach, as a kid I swam in the Atlantic Ocean four months out of the year, rode my bike and walked all over the small Long Island town where I lived, all year round. The only way to get to school -- we were too close to the school to be on the bus line route but far enough that the walk was challenging -- or to a friend's house, the movies or anywhere for that matter, was to ride my bike or walk.
Our first car, a Nash was purchased when I was 15 but in terms of convenience it didn't mean much to my brother and me. We were always dependent on our own resources to get around. My parents felt that driving us anywhere -- unless the snow was a foot high in which case no one went anywhere anyway -- was frivolous. I got my driver's license when I was 16 years old, but as we only had one car and my brother and I were actually -- big shock! -- not given the deferential treatment kids take for granted today; we only had access to the car when my parents didn't want to use it. And we now had a Chevy. My hours behind the wheel were quite limited.
In my twenties, I moved to Manhattan and continued to walk everywhere. Everyone walked. I walked through Central Park. I walked Fifth and Madison Avenues, I walked "East side, West side, uptown and down. And that's why NY is my hometown" to paraphrase the song. It was a treat -- so much to see. The store windows were filled with fabulous things I could not afford to buy, but I didn't care. It was like visiting a museum -- things to admire but not take home.
And in the dead of winter, with freezing temperatures and surrounded by huge snow piles I did not have the choice of going underground and taking a subway -- there usually was a transit strike every January 2. And a garbage pickup strike as well, but that's for another story. No subways no buses. My job was two or so miles from my apartment, so I was expected to show up for work, no matter what the weather. I never minded walking and I never thought that walking was actually exercise. It was something that sometimes you wanted to do and sometimes you had to do.
During the cold winter months -- and they were COLD -- I hibernated on the weekends. This curtailed my walking, and encouraged the couch potato within. Plus I felt the need for lots of comfort, and warming, food. This is the beginning of my annual winter weight gain which started around January 2nd. I would deliberately polish off a bacon cheeseburger with a chocolate malted, french fries, and swear it would be my last fattening meal until the Spring solstice. All of my friends did this to one extent or another. It was a point of honor to declare how many calories we didn't consume -- sometimes I was the champ for the day with zero -- I lived on black coffee, cigarettes, Tab (the only diet soda available at the time), a lot of water and youth. Most of the time I could get by on 500 calories a day. Easy. I did this for a week, felt faint and ate just a few hundred calories more.
Once over a long holiday weekend I went on a four day fast. I accomplished this by going to two movies a day and chewing lots of gum. By the middle of the fifth movie, something about the Rolling Stones, which I think was entitled "Let it Bleed", or maybe not, I could swear that Mick Jagger was the spitting image of Paul McCartney. After coming down from my mini hallucination the diminished number on the scale was a fabulous payoff. I broke the fast with watered down Lipton's chicken broth. It tasted like heaven. And of course I walked to and from the movie theaters, at least a three mile walk each way, each day.
Then I moved to Los Angeles where no one walked! I never saw anyone on the streets. But they did all this other stuff -- and all of a sudden I had to learn a new language. What did these strange words mean: carbs, cardio, antioxidants, fiber, aerobics, jazzercise, basil metabolism, reps, jogging, personal trainers, step aerobics, bench pressing, abs, deltoids, ad infinitum.
What was all this about anyway? Everyone rode around in cars, no one walked. But people "worked out". I quickly learned that as a young woman, to be happy in Los Angeles was to be not only thin, but to be fit. I couldn't discern the difference. And then I learned. A female friend of mine who now lives in Oregon recently said to me "women are not allowed to age in California." As a New Yorker, I felt to be attractive I had to dress with savvy, adapt the current hairdo, wear flattering makeup, take classes, talk a lot about politics, books, theater, movies and concerts, and wear a huge overcoat in the winter that would hide a multitude of sins. In New York, getting ready for the Summer and the ensuing bathing suit season meant to seriously starve. In Los Angeles, where people wear shorts and tee shirts most of the year, life meant working out, and not just certain months of the year. In New York, one went to a shrink. In Los Angeles, one went to a gym.
So the struggle to get back into those size 8 jeans begins anew. Any size that was double digits meant you were fat. I dieted, worked out and guess what? I walked, swam in a pool, and rode my bike. Back to the roots. And it hasn't stopped with getting older. At least not for me.
I think it's all well and good to put physical health (for most of us this really only means appearance) before the desire for chocolate and Big Macs. But somehow all this ego centered emphasis on the physical has dimmed my brainpower. A few days ago I actually did read a totally thought provoking book called "Naming Names" which talks of the terrible blacklisting in America in the '50s. I was on the treadmill at the time.
====================
.
I confess I've always disliked milk. Intensely. As a child, I was constantly being told how good it was for me and how important milk was for strong bones, strong teeth. And no manner of nagging, cajoling, rewarding or threatening would get me to drink this absurdly gigantic glass of white insipid liquid that was placed in front of me. The only way my mother could get me to drink was to pour a few drops of coffee from her cup into the glass. As time went by more and more coffee was needed. By the time I was ten years old I was drinking half milk half coffee. My parents were European and did not think that coffee was a bad thing for a kid to drink – they were brought up on highly sweetened Turkish coffee which was thick as molasses and as strong as espresso. They likened American coffee to dark hot water. And this delicious darkly black syrup was what they put in my milk.
My maternal grandmother lived with us. She could tell fortunes with demi tasse sized cups of Turkish coffee. After drinking the coffee, due to its thickness, a large residue is left on the bottom of the cup. She would turn the cup over and then quickly right it again. She would tell the fortune by looking at the coffee that had dripped to the inner side of the cup after it had been righted. I don’t remember what any particular designs meant – but I always got a positive reading. She was my grandmother, after all.
When I reached my teens I was drinking coffee in the morning and the percentage was about ¾ coffee to ¼ milk. At sixteen I abandoned milk altogether and took my coffee black, no cream, no sugar.
In my twenties, coffee was my most loyal friend. I could depend on it to warm me when I was cold, keep me company when I was reading or watching television and a cup of coffee and a cigarette in the morning ultimately resulted in staying regular. When I was dieting a good strong cup of coffee kept me on the straight and narrow. And most importantly, coffee was a major part of my social life. My friends and I would meet for a cup of coffee at a local coffee shop on an almost daily basis. And coffee with a Danish pastry to go was breakfast.
My relationship with coffee became a religious experience after moving to Southern California, when I started a walking regime. I worshiped at Starbuck’s Synagogue when the very first Starbucks opened in the Valley in Tarzana. And I didn't have to wait for a minion. I would drive to this house of worship, park my car and then take a two mile walk. Upon my return I would get a coffee and sit with it and the newspaper in the open air area in back of the shop.
When I moved to the beach area, I was delighted to find there were four Starbuck Synagogue branches within walking distance. Thus began my thrice weekly ritual. At first I just attended services at the Starbucks on Washington Street. How I would continue the experience would depend on which branch of the synagogue I attended. The Washington Street synagogue included a short walk, sitting on the beach, followed by a short walk home. The Waterside Marina del Rey branch had a fountain in front of it. I would sit there for a while, contemplate life, take a short walk around the mini mall and then visit a local health food store to buy nuts. I am always buying nuts. The Starbucks stop near Costco offered a shoring up for the Costco experience which sometimes takes a lot of stamina. Coffee first, Costco after. And finally, the Starbuck’s near the movie theater in the Marina would be visited on a day I would be going to the movies. The coffee would be purchased followed by me sneaking it into the theater, well placed under a sweater I would be carrying – for me sort of visiting one house of worship after coming from another.
Ordering the coffee involved ceremony. Not for me the Frappuccino’s, machaccinos, or whatever other blasphemous drinks they made. I followed Orthodox tradition when it came to the coffee I drank but how I ordered it definitely did not. I would belly up to the bar, say good morning and then tell the rabbi/server how I wanted my coffee – grande, double cupped, no sleeve, ¾ decaf ¼ regular, room for milk. (Mother's conditioning never left me.) After paying the exorbitant $1.85! I would put in a little bit of milk. And I usually eat a power or breakfast bar I brought with me,
I still prayed on my non synagogue days. The bible says we do not need a temple to worship, thus I make coffee at home. This, too, involves a ritual. I do not use Starbuck’s packaged coffee as it just doesn’t taste the same when made at home. I start with the beans of three different kinds of coffee; two decafs and one regular. I grind up enough for four or five cups and store what I don’t use that day in the refrigerator for the next few days. I use the same ¾ decaf to ¼ regular ratio. I drink this coffee at 8:15 a.m. after walking the dog. While sipping, I sometimes watch The Today Show, read the paper, or glance at incoming emails. Or all three at the same time.
Several years ago I went off coffee for two years. I was having health issues and at first simply could not abide coffee. After I was well, I kept off coffee simply to see how long I could, plus, I felt it was better for my health. Interestingly, although I no longer worshiped at Starbuck’s Synagogue, I felt virtuous. Maybe abstinence carries its own reward. Once in a great while I would order herbal tea at Starbucks but the delicious smells of coffee would be too great a temptation so I abandoned this practice. Coffee was Orthodox, tea was Reformed.
One day, without giving it a second thought, I went into Starbucks and ordered coffee, just as if the two prior years never happened. The rabbi/server treated me as if I had never left. Actually I think it was a different rabbi/server altogether. They do tend to wander ... How great the coffee tasted! Then I started reading about the health advantages of coffee – it is rich in antioxidants. And of course I ignored the negatives.
I read in the newspaper that several branches of Starbuck’s Synagogue are closing. They simply have to lower their prices if they want attendance to improve and membership to continue. What else can they do? Wait for the high holidays to take up a collection?
Meanwhile while they still exist I will continue to enjoy my houses of worship. Maybe you’ll join me? You don’t have to be a member.
GIRLS FROM LONG ISLAND DON'T SKI
For the first thirty years of my life I was blissfully unaware of any form of regimented exercise. Lucky to live by the beach, as a kid I swam in the Atlantic Ocean four months out of the year, rode my bike and walked all over the small Long Island town where I lived, all year round. The only way to get to school -- we were too close to the school to be on the bus line route but far enough that the walk was challenging -- or to a friend's house, the movies or anywhere for that matter, was to ride my bike or walk.
Our first car, a Nash was purchased when I was 15 but in terms of convenience it didn't mean much to my brother and me. We were always dependent on our own resources to get around. My parents felt that driving us anywhere -- unless the snow was a foot high in which case no one went anywhere anyway -- was frivolous. I got my driver's license when I was 16 years old, but as we only had one car and my brother and I were actually -- big shock! -- not given the deferential treatment kids take for granted today; we only had access to the car when my parents didn't want to use it. And we now had a Chevy. My hours behind the wheel were quite limited.
In my twenties, I moved to Manhattan and continued to walk everywhere. Everyone walked. I walked through Central Park. I walked Fifth and Madison Avenues, I walked "East side, West side, uptown and down. And that's why NY is my hometown" to paraphrase the song. It was a treat -- so much to see. The store windows were filled with fabulous things I could not afford to buy, but I didn't care. It was like visiting a museum -- things to admire but not take home.
And in the dead of winter, with freezing temperatures and surrounded by huge snow piles I did not have the choice of going underground and taking a subway -- there usually was a transit strike every January 2. And a garbage pickup strike as well, but that's for another story. No subways no buses. My job was two or so miles from my apartment, so I was expected to show up for work, no matter what the weather. I never minded walking and I never thought that walking was actually exercise. It was something that sometimes you wanted to do and sometimes you had to do.
During the cold winter months -- and they were COLD -- I hibernated on the weekends. This curtailed my walking, and encouraged the couch potato within. Plus I felt the need for lots of comfort, and warming, food. This is the beginning of my annual winter weight gain which started around January 2nd. I would deliberately polish off a bacon cheeseburger with a chocolate malted, french fries, and swear it would be my last fattening meal until the Spring solstice. All of my friends did this to one extent or another. It was a point of honor to declare how many calories we didn't consume -- sometimes I was the champ for the day with zero -- I lived on black coffee, cigarettes, Tab (the only diet soda available at the time), a lot of water and youth. Most of the time I could get by on 500 calories a day. Easy. I did this for a week, felt faint and ate just a few hundred calories more.
Once over a long holiday weekend I went on a four day fast. I accomplished this by going to two movies a day and chewing lots of gum. By the middle of the fifth movie, something about the Rolling Stones, which I think was entitled "Let it Bleed", or maybe not, I could swear that Mick Jagger was the spitting image of Paul McCartney. After coming down from my mini hallucination the diminished number on the scale was a fabulous payoff. I broke the fast with watered down Lipton's chicken broth. It tasted like heaven. And of course I walked to and from the movie theaters, at least a three mile walk each way, each day.
Then I moved to Los Angeles where no one walked! I never saw anyone on the streets. But they did all this other stuff -- and all of a sudden I had to learn a new language. What did these strange words mean: carbs, cardio, antioxidants, fiber, aerobics, jazzercise, basil metabolism, reps, jogging, personal trainers, step aerobics, bench pressing, abs, deltoids, ad infinitum.
What was all this about anyway? Everyone rode around in cars, no one walked. But people "worked out". I quickly learned that as a young woman, to be happy in Los Angeles was to be not only thin, but to be fit. I couldn't discern the difference. And then I learned. A female friend of mine who now lives in Oregon recently said to me "women are not allowed to age in California." As a New Yorker, I felt to be attractive I had to dress with savvy, adapt the current hairdo, wear flattering makeup, take classes, talk a lot about politics, books, theater, movies and concerts, and wear a huge overcoat in the winter that would hide a multitude of sins. In New York, getting ready for the Summer and the ensuing bathing suit season meant to seriously starve. In Los Angeles, where people wear shorts and tee shirts most of the year, life meant working out, and not just certain months of the year. In New York, one went to a shrink. In Los Angeles, one went to a gym.
So the struggle to get back into those size 8 jeans begins anew. Any size that was double digits meant you were fat. I dieted, worked out and guess what? I walked, swam in a pool, and rode my bike. Back to the roots. And it hasn't stopped with getting older. At least not for me.
I think it's all well and good to put physical health (for most of us this really only means appearance) before the desire for chocolate and Big Macs. But somehow all this ego centered emphasis on the physical has dimmed my brainpower. A few days ago I actually did read a totally thought provoking book called "Naming Names" which talks of the terrible blacklisting in America in the '50s. I was on the treadmill at the time.
====================
.