April 7, 2024
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Introducing …

     She arrived unexpectedly last Friday, just like my son did years ago — don’t they always. But she is everything I wanted, and more — just like my son was. And in fact, my now-grown son was actually there with me at the dealership for the delivery.  

     Introducing my new Cadillac 2024 CT5 Premium Luxury, with a V-6 dual-turbo charged engine, in Raven Black with Sahara Beige interior! She is beautiful, if I say so myself.  I have named her “Sassy,” because she is smart and fast, just like me and just like I need her to be going forward. Of course, given all the new technology in cars since 2011, there is a significant learning curve for me to measure up to her smartness, but I’m getting there. A couple technology lessons at the dealership, a quick read through the owner’s manual (yes, thank goodness, they still provide one), and some fiddling around with settings and dashboard buttons while idling in my driveway are gradually getting me up to speed on information. Some inaugural drives up on open country roads are going to get me literally up to speed (but not this weekend with all the eclipse traffic here where I live).  

     Anyway, it’s good, it’s exciting, it’s necessary, it’s time. As one ages, it becomes not so much  about the age at which you need to quit driving, but rather about the time at which you have to recognize any physical and/or emotional limitations that impede safety. Any limitations at any age, of course, result in a waning of driver confidence behind the wheel and that makes any reasonable person afraid.. For example, I have friends who will no longer drive after dark because of limited peripheral vision or eye disease; friends who don’t drive on freeways because of heavy traffic and hesitant defensive-driving responses; others who won’t drive on  inter-states because they are intimidated by big trucks and high speeds, especially in bad weather. Those living in or near a big city or in a big state like Texas, where public transportation is virtually nonexistent, end up becoming daylight prisoners of their immediate neighborhoods or simply homebound altogether. 

     Yes, years of driving experience count, but self-confidence makes, and has always made, the difference between a good, able driver and a poor, timid one. I’ll admit that I am an aggressive driver, but when you live in place where other drivers are also aggressive, you need to be able to hold your own. And a big part of confidence, for me at least, is an automobile that drives the way I drive and one that I can absolutely trust through any and all driving condition. “Sista” did that for me, taking me through fracking country passing 18 wheelers, through floods and hurricanes and dust storms, in winds and fog and mud rain, over ice and hoar frost and even snow. Whatever it was, whatever the urgency that forced me to be behind the wheel at all, I knew I could count on her. “Sista” saved my life more than once.

     These days, the incredible navigation, communication and safety technology built into new automobiles should inspire even more confidence in the driver, as long as the driver learns how to properly manage it all.  It’s early yet in our relationship, but already I have a good feeling about “Sassy.” I hope she will prove as unfailingly steady and trustworthy as “Sista” was. As someone who lost her young father in a fatal car accident on the highway to Houston when she was six years old, I am keenly aware that my life, and the lives of those with me and around me, depend on it.

March 8, 2024
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Springing Forward

  Spring has come to South Texas, though it isn’t a spring as most people visualize it.  Spring here means clean-up, much like the fall season in New England, with leaf blowers whirring and edgers shaving and big lawnmowers riding over and over the grass to mulch the detritus of winter. Live Oaks have shed their leaves and covered the ground in February and then, in March, the buds start to appear for new growth. All the lawn maintenance crews are out and about and all the neighbors are assessing the damage from this winter’s brief, but significant, freezes. And so here we go again, another season of unexpected surprises in South Texas, which actually, has always characterized Texas weather.

     What has been nice these days is that the sun rises a little after 7 and so it is daylight by the time I get myself out to walk with the girls at 8. The daylight wakens me early enough that I can go in, do my recumbent bike, lift weights, and even strike some yoga poses before heading out for my walk. But, alas, that will change this weekend with the return of Daylight Savings Time. Springing forward an hour means that, at least for a few weeks, it will be dark again in the morning. Bummer. I am not a morning person to begin with.

     But what has come seemingly early this year are the bluebonnets, god bless ‘em. They are suddenly everywhere — down the side streets in my neighborhood, along all the highways and interstates, even in patches on individual farms and ranches. They seem especially plentiful this year — not sure why — maybe because there were a couple really deep cold freezes, and then a lot of rain in earlier January. A mystery, for sure, especially since grass and lawns aren’t yet green. But I’ll take it. Next to the expansive Texas sky, the bluebonnets along all the roadways are the most  beautiful, spirit-lifting signs Mother Nature has to offer. 

     So, I go down a side street where I walk every morning and where the bluebonnets are plentiful in the spring. I take my floral clippers, so as not to rip up the flowers by the roots, and I gather enough bluebonnets to make a bouquet for my kitchen and a small one for my desk. In Texas, if the law is the same as it was when I was growing up (I’m not sure it is, but I don’t care), people are free to cut wildflowers alongs roadsides as long as they are not along public Texas highways where TXDOT continues to seed them each year (and, given the speed limits, where you would be killed if you tried).  If you cut them early, like now, they are tall and sturdy; as they grow taller and stronger, over the next couple weeks, however, they block the sunlight for the ones coming up later, which are then shorter and weaker.

     As I have written here before, when I was a kid, my Mother and I would go down to Colletta Creek, out on the country roads south of Victoria, and we would pick bluebonnets and Indian pinks and Indian paintbrush by the buckets-full. There were sooo many. The biggest worry was not replenishing the beds, but the snakes that could be lurking underneath. This was always the week or so before Easter, and then we would come home and make huge wildflower arrangements for the house. I would use the leftovers to “feather” my Easter nest in front of the fireplace and the flowers would last, somehow, for days! 

     Wildflowers were the ultimate symbol of spring, but a distant cousin of ours, Mrs. Ernst, cultivated a yard full of Easter lilies for sale every year. A yard full — front and back, tall and white, like trumpets blowing in the breeze. Still can’t imagine how she did that, since I can’t ever get my purchased Easter lily to grow again even when I take meticulous care of it and try to follow all the instructions for saving and replanting. Anyway, from Mrs. Ernst we had vases full of regal, white Easter lilies in the house, which also lasted incredibly long. You don’t see Easter lilies as cut flowers anywhere anymore, and you only see a few potted ones for sale in garden centers for a short time. People used to put fresh lilies on gravesites at Easter, but you don’t see that anymore either. Everything these days is artificial — ain’t that the truth!

     Traditions, practices and, of course, trends change over time. Easter in Texas was always about lilies and wildflowers, new outfits and Easter bonnets, bunny nests and baked hams, holy week and the stations of the cross, and no meat on Good Friday, even if you weren’t a Catholic. Some of us hold on to the remnants of these practices in an attempt to keep faith and hope alive. 

     And then we spring forward from there, as in this weekend, in an effort to save the daylight in our hearts.

February 24, 2024
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Enjoy Now!

  I have always been a worrier, perhaps because I have always lived for the future. Plans, goals, benchmarks all dominated my thinking for many, many years, not only for myself, but for my family, my students, and my colleagues. I was so goal oriented that you would have called me driven. But then, how else would I have accomplished all of my goals and dreams from youth, as well as my other goals along the way into adulthood. That was until retirement; then I had to construct a whole new set of plans for the future. I would travel, I would write, I would continue learning, I would spend time with my friends, and I would support and enjoy my family. But even with those happy plans, I couldn’t get rid of worry. What if…? was always in the back of my mind.

     As one ages, one hopefully learns from experience that the things most feared rarely happen, while the things one never sees coming are the very threats that cause one’s undoing: death. loss, illness, natural disasters, domestic catastrophes, random accidents. As the old saying goes, “Whatever CAN go wrong probably will.”  Nevertheless, with the benefit of age and hindsight, patterns emerge, priorities begin to assert themselves, and the truth becomes remarkably clear: the past is over, the future hasn’t happened yet, and the present is all there is. 

     There is a big difference between worrying about the future and striving toward it. The current prevalence of mandates to “live in the present,” “practice mindfulness,” “develop an attitude of gratitude,” “live one day at a time,” “take time to smell the roses,” — all these mantras, while clichéd perhaps, contain a fundamental truth: you can’t foresee the future, and you certainly can’t control it.  All you really have is the present and, if you spend all your time worrying about what might happen in the future, you essentially squander the time you have to live right now.

     Younger generations, Millennials  (b.1980 – 1994) and Gen Z (b. 1995 -2009), have long since recognized their present reality and acknowledged rational limits to future possibilities. Some might say it’s because, sadly, that younger people don’t have the high aspirations or see the unlimited prospects that previous generations did. While that’s probably true, it’s still sad. Certainly, we Boomers thought we could have it all/do it all/be it all and we would kill ourselves trying. Yet, there is a certain solace, even a quiet power in recognizing limitations amid the reality of what is. “It is what it is,” as everyone quips today. Ironically, we are all, old and young  alike, now coming to understand that. My young friends, ie. my former students, call it “living in Realville.” Sounds right to me, though I have a more classic name for it.

        Stoicism is a school of philosophy that flourished in ancient Greece and Rome. Essentially, it professes that a well-lived life is achieved by the practice of virtue. In other words, it is not what you say, but how you behave that matters, and it is not what you accumulate, but what you do with what you accumulate, because things are neither good or bad in themselves. One of the main virtues of Stoicism is living in the present, and so “It is what it is” is merely the contemporary expression of that philosophy. Thinking about, worrying about, stressing over the past and the future is futile. It’s our loss when we nonchalantly ignore the positive realities of the present — the beauty of the sunrise, a clear blue sky, the crystal oceans, a magnificent landscape, the presence of the people we love — all the simple, natural wonders before us.  Appreciation and awareness of the now is perhaps our last hope to some solace and sanity in a complicated, chaotic, and often ugly world.

     Now I’m not suggesting that accepting the realities of present life situations is always easy; far from it. In times of great stress and difficulty, acceptance can be one of the hardest, most daunting challenges we face. But the powers of appreciation and awareness — and I don’t just mean “gratitude journals” — may soften the landing from a sudden fall into chasms sadness and desperation. I’m talking about waking up grateful for another day, deciding how to make that day the best day you can, and then embracing whatever is available that might make you happy. 

     Perhaps it is a new outfit, or an additional decorative touch to your hone. Maybe it is a small day trip, or reading a really good book, cleaning out a closet or talking to a friend. It doesn’t have to be a lavish indulgence or an expensive purchase; it just has to be something satisfying, like eating chocolate ice cream or watching a good movie or looking for shooting stars.

     I have been going through somewhat of a difficult time myself lately, and have thought a lot about what can make each day not only tolerable, but pleasurable and meaningful, because each day is all we have. There is a philosophy called “presentism,” which literally insists that the present is the ONLY reality and that nothing else, past or future, even exists. I can’t quite go that far, because we are all human, we all have memories of our past, and we all sometimes worry about the future whether we want to or not. But I have, at this late stage in my life, finally found a new mantra for living with life’s vicissitudes: Enjoy now, worry later!

     And that’s what I intend to do — especially when my new car arrives.

February 8, 2024
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Not Just a Figure of Speech

Cadillac was founded by Henry Leland in 1902. It was named after a French explorer, Antoine Laumet, a commoner who presumptuously changed his name to that of a nobleman, Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, when he founded Detroit in 1701. Hence, the moniker “Cadillac” as a symbol of noble excellence was embedded in the brand from the very beginning. 

     Over the years, the term Cadillac as a figure of speech has been used to laud  everything from Obama’s healthcare plan to comprehensive insurance coverage, from WW II fighter planes called the “Cadillacs of the skies,” to everyday consumer items like Huffy bicycles and home appliances. Even the extra large shrimp from the Texas Gulf Coast are called Cadillacs. While the reputations of the various models of the car itself may have waxed and waned over the years, the Cadillac name has endured as a synonym for luxury. 

     Today, it is the third most preferred luxury brand after Lexus and BMW, and its performance and reliability rank up there with the best of all autos. Currently, the CTS 5 (the latest incarnation of the Catera Touring Sedan first introduced 15 years ago) has a 5 star safety rating in all three NHTSA (National Highway Traffic Safety Administration) safety crash tests. Cadillac is owned and manufactured by General Motors and the cars are still made in the United States; way back in the 20th century, Cadillac was the first to introduce the idea of interchangeable parts to the industry, which revolutionized car production forever. 

     Incidentally, interchangeable parts among all General Motors brands, and Ford Motor Company brands, also explains why Cadillacs and Lincolns became the luxury vehicles of choice for wealthy landowners, ranchers and oilmen living and working out in the vast, remote areas of Texas. Rich or not, nobody wants to break down in the rural hinterlands driving a Maserati. 

     But back to Cadillac, which is where I came to be after pondering Sista’s looming repair bill. Since I hadn’t anticipated being in the market for a new car, I was unfamiliar with current models so I spent time on line researching what Cadillac was offering.  (According to market research data, car buyers these days spend approximately 14 hours researching their purchases on-line before actually shopping.)  A visit to my dealership to look at cars confirmed what I had seen. All the hype and most of the inventory featured the Lyriq, an EV, and the new XT6 SUVs. (My husband drives an XT5.)  Among the 134 vehicles on my local dealer’s lot, there was a smattering of Escalades (not for me since I’m not a rock star or a politician) and a few sedans like Sista, now called the CT4 and the CT5. It was clear that if I bought a new Cadillac, it would have to be one of those. 

     Even though the lot was not filled to capacity, it was still overwhelming to me considering how totally empty it had been all during Covid and for months thereafter. I had arranged to meet a sales advisor, but had also asked our son to meet us because he’s the real car enthusiast in the family and is always up on the latest automotive trends. Plus, he actually likes doing this sort of thing!

     So, we gathered for the test drives. First up was a CT4 turbo charged sedan. “Yes, it’s a 4 cylinder engine, but believe me, you’ll be surprised by the power,” said the salesman as we piled in. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I noticed that even with all the new technology and “infotainment” in the dashboard, the car did have some familiar features and a nicely-done interior. But it seemed small, close; the top of my head barely cleared the sunroof mechanism and the console between me and the passenger seat was small. 

     We took off.  Before I even exited the dealer lot, however, I was already feeling claustrophobic, though I did have to admit that there was a certain get-up-and-go when I pressed the accelerator. The ride was “zippy,” more like a sporty Baby Beamer than the smooth glide of a Cadillac, but then, as we headed up the on-ramp to the Interstate, there it was: the labored whirrr of the 4 cylinder engine, turbo or no turbo. “Nope,” I said. “This isn’t going to do.”  

     Back to the dealership. There I learned that if I wanted a 6 cylinder sedan, it had to be a CT5 V-6 dual turbo and there were only three of those models on the lot. The salesman pulled up in a white one with Sahara beige interior. Again we piled in, much more easily this time, I might add. We took out on the same route as before, but this ride was so much more comfortable. The car was only a few inches wider and longer than the CT4, but what a difference. The interior was roomier and the engine was smoother — no whirs or grinds as we ascended the on-ramp. “Yes,” I said, “this is much more like it.”

     We went back to the office “to negotiate.” I did like the car, but there were two main problems with this particular vehicle: there were some upgrades that I didn’t want and didn’t want to have to pay for, and then there was the biggest drawback: it was white!! Summit white!! I hate white. We discussed price, incentives, trade-in, but I kept coming back to the fact that the car was white. Finally he asked exactly what it would take for me to be “color blind.” I gave him a number and, surprisingly, he agreed (after checking with his boss). It was a good deal but, ultimately, I was still reluctant to confirm the sale that day. He wasn’t happy, but that’s the the way it goes…

     In between calls from the salesman and his boss, and in discussions with my husband and son, I continued to think about all this for a few days. This was a big decision and it boiled down to an existential issue: if this were to be my last car purchase, should I “settle” for something that wasn’t exactly what I wanted?

     My son suggested we get on line and configure the exact CT5 V-6 for me in Raven black with Sahara interior, a Bose sound system, and 20 inch wheels. I had no idea that nearly 30 percent of new car sales these days are completed this way in the “build-and-buy” programs of auto manufacturers through their local dealers. (No doubt this is another now-preferred practice resulting from low inventories during Covid.) Anyway, up she popped on screen: my next “Sista.” The following week, I took the order into the dealership. They got the sale and I’m happy. The car will be here in the spring.

     All I have to do now is think of a new name for her. I’m excited. Its arrival is something to look forward to, though I am still driving Sista with nostalgic affection these days. For me, Cadillac is not just a figure of speech, it is a love of the cars and a loyalty to the brand based on 40 years of good experiences. 

     And FYI: No, I am not getting any incentives from Cadillac for these posts. 

January 24, 2024
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About My Sista!

  I drive a 2011 Cadillac CTS V-6 , 3.6 L. She is raven black with ecru leather interior, she has a little over 100,000 miles on her, and she flat moves — in and out, over and under, around and through. I have driven this car through floods and hurricanes, hoar frost and ice storms, light snow and mud rain, debris-hurling winds and fog so dense that I couldn’t see the car in front of me. I have gone from zero to 60 in a few seconds and passed 18 wheelers pushing 100 mph. I have driven long miles in several states and long, hard miles all over Texas, especially through fracking country. This vehicle has saved my life more than once and I trust her implicitly. 

     In short, I love this car. I call her “Sista” because she has been, for 13 years now, my only companion, my sibling as it were, driving those hard miles back and forth to my hometown of Victoria to take care of my aging Mother. Truthfully, memories both good and bad of my retirement years here in Texas are heavily associated with this vehicle and, while I don’t generally form an emotional attachment to a physical object, I have to admit a real affection for “Sista.” I have taken good care of her and she has taken good care of me in return.

     So it was that a few weeks ago I found myself dismayed by the sounds she was suddenly making: was it arthritis? In spite of her good looks, was she suddenly showing her age? Part of it might have been the cold weather, as it often is with arthritis of any sort, but then, when it got warmer, the noises didn’t abate. So I called up my Cadillac service manager (with whom I have a long and steady relationship) and complained: “My car sounds like I’m driving an old bed with a mattress whose springs have sprung. Maybe we need a lube job or some shock absorbers?”

     I took Sista in for an evaluation. She was there for diagnostics for a couple days before my service manager got back to me. Yes, no surprise that she was a little creaky because all the struts, shocks, links, control arms, stabilizers, even the sway bar (whatever that is) — all original to the car—  needed to be replaced. And oh yes, while we were at it, there was the matter of the 100,000 mile routine maintenance that was now a bit overdue — fluids, filters, spark plugs, disks, wiper blades, etc. And I needed an oil change. 

     I was sitting down at my desk when he called, and it was a good thing because then I didn’t have far to fall when he gave me the estimate for all this: a tad under $8,500! While I was exclaiming in shock and starting to hyperventilate, he was quick to add that I didn’t have to do everything at once. The routine maintenance should be done now, but I could tackle the parts replacements bit by bit over a few months. “The creaks and groans may bother you, but the car isn’t going to fall apart or leave you stranded anywhere because it needs shock absorbers,” he assured me.

     I guess it was my heavy breathing and sudden silence that prompted him to add, “Why don’t you think about this and call me back when you decide what you want to do?”  

     Think about it indeed, and talk about it. I vacillated back and forth all day long. I called him back with questions, then got a valuation of my car, then called back with an initial go ahead, then called again to withdraw it. Everyone in the discussion, the service manager, my husband, and my son, was surprised at my indecision because they all realize how much I love Sista and they all know that she easily has another 100,000 miles or more ahead of her. But still …

     Lest you think this is all an ado about nothing, let me give you some backstory. I have been driving a Cadillac for 40 years. With the exception of my very first one, they have all been black with a light interior and a big engine. I drove Eldorados until they quit making them, and then I reluctantly moved into a V-6 when I bought the CTS. I have been driving since I was 13 years old (with a learner’s permit allowed in Texas at the time), and have always driven GM cars — first Pontiacs and then Oldsmobiles before Cadillac. And, lest you think I am some road-raging, gas-guzzling, speed demon, I hasten to add that I have never gotten a ticket and I have never, thank god, had a major accident. But I do insist on a car that will get out of its own way.

     These cars drive the way I drive and they possess the speed and the agility to drive defensively in the 16 lane freeways and 85 mph speed limits of Texas. They make me a confident driver and, at this point in my life, I don’t plan to change horses in the home stretch. But let me tell you that I was NOT ready to buy a new car right now. First of all, I hate buying cars: the whole “let me talk to my manager” routine, along with the test driving and the yada-yada-yada of negotiating price and then the rigamarole of financing. Even when you know what you want, it’s a hassle. Years ago, I used to just call up my Cadillac salesman at the local dealership and say that I wanted “another one.” But of course, these days post-Covid and with SUVs and EVs dominating the market, there is not likely “another one” to be had. 

     But back to Sista. I decided to get the oil changed and then to go pick her up and bring her home. Even then, with the cost of the diagnostic and the oil, I had a tab of just over $300. And that made me think about this whole situation. Even if I do all the work and Sista is “as good as new” for a while, there will inevitably be more repairs and maintenance along the way. Sure I love her and she can be on the road for another 100,000 miles or more, but can I?  How much more will I spend on upkeep in the coming years? And then, will I find myself approaching 80 years of age and having to buy a new car for however long I might be driving after that. Does any of this make sense?

     So now, a simple car repair has become an existential dilemma, forcing me to think about the future and to face the fact that whatever I decide and if I buy a new car, it is likely to be my last. I’m going to have to mull this over with Sista. Stay tuned.

January 16, 2024
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Savoring the Small Things

    I have never been person who clings to the past. I’m not terribly sentimental and I carry  forward neither grudges nor regrets. When I recall the past at all, it is because some small reminder, a photo or a song, conjures up usually happy memories of a person or a place that make me smile. Unfortunately, I have several friends who live perennially in the past, and as we age, they seem to disappear further and further into it. It’s probably no coincidence that Alzheimer’s patients regress in the same way.

     I have lived in the future all my life. My father died when I was just six years old, and so I learned early on that things change suddenly and that nothing is forever.  My “go like hell” race toward the future is an obvious result of this early trauma. My whole life has been about “what’s next”? And, as I’ve grown older and most of my goals have been achieved, I have found it increasingly difficult to settle into the “presence” of my life, especially my retired life.

     And then Covid came along. Funny how things happen. We basically sequestered ourselves for three years, and I found the isolation somehow comforting, and surprisingly creative. It was like a great, long snow day: no responsibilities, no social obligations, no travel, no guests, no plans, no  nothing. An excuse for just being. You couldn’t visualize the future, so you couldn’t live in it. It was all here and now, and for the first time in my life, that seemed to suit me just fine. Finally, all the admonitions to “live in the present,” to “take one day at a time,” to go slowly “step-by-step” and “take time to smell the roses” began to seem possible. 

     We’ve been hearing about “mindfulness” for years now, ever since Jon Kabat-Zinn, a Ph.D. professor of medicine at the University of Massachusetts  medical school, founded the Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program in 1979. Originally intended to help treat a variety of conditions in both healthy and unhealthy people, mindfulness practices have now become so commonplace both in healthcare and in popular culture as to border on cliché.  Of course we all need to pay attention, but to everything? Could it be that heightened attention to every event and experience collectively serves to contribute to a national epidemic of anxiety and depression?

     Maybe there’s another way. I’ve been reading and hearing a lot lately about a new movement afoot called “savoring.” While savoring is also a form of present-moment awareness, it is different from mindfulness in that it focuses on the positive and pleasurable rather than on all present-moment experiences. It is a matter of distance vs.intimacy, I think: mindfulness encourages people to observe their own experiences and thoughts in a more detached, objective way, whereas savoring promotes a deepening engagement with experiences that are specifically pleasurable. The theory is that the habit of savoring the moment, however fleeting and even under stressful conditions, can reduce overall anxiety by releasing positive emotion.

     Developing positive emotions during periods of high stress and anxiety in your life is not as simple as it sounds, however, and involves a great deal more than just the self-help advice found in books like The Power of Positive Thinking (Norman Vincent Peale, 1952).  Given the horror and chaos of the world around us today, telling someone to “be positive” is akin to telling a depressed person to “just cheer up.” Meanwhile the politics of fear and threats of violence and retribution that dominate our national discourse do nothing but promote the negative emotions of a primitive “fight-or-flight” response to everyday problems. Not a productive way to build resilience.

     Savoring, on the other hand, prompts us to slow down, be quiet, and consider alternative ways of  handling even difficult situations, perhaps even to find some positive meaning in them. We might, for example, savor the beauty of nature and  the sunrise of each day while stuck in heavy traffic, or we might notice the kindness of a stranger in the supermarket amid a long check-out line. We might savor our home environment through organizing and redecorating, appreciating anew the pleasure and security of our everyday surroundings. We might savor the thrill of anticipation of a future plan or purchase, or even relish a bit of sudden good news that we haven’t yet shared with anyone else. We can savor the meals we cook, the books we read, the memories we have, and above all, the people we love. We can let all the other nonsense go.

     To live in the present, you have to find those sustaining moments in your life and let go of the things that you cannot reliably anticipate or change. January is a good time to try to accomplish this, because January is a “non-month.” It is dark, cold, uneventful, and usually a quiet time, a month of less is more, much like the months of Covid were. Here we can find a respite from the craziness and chaos of the holidays, and if we turn off our cell phones and the incessant noise of the news feed, maybe even find time to think and reflect. And then maybe we can learn to  savor the small things. 

December 28, 2023
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Nots for New Year’s

Here we are again at the “intermezzo” of the year, before old becomes new again. We’re eating leftovers from Christmas, picking up all the trash, putting away dishes and gifts (if any), and settling down to write some notes, review the year, and yes — engage once again in that traditional year-end folly designed to assuage our guilt for lapses in character and behavior and to try anew by inscribing our high-minded ideals on paper. It’s time for New Year’s Resolutions.

     We all know how this goes. You want to improve, you want to be better, you want to bolster your efforts toward making positive choices going forward. For that reason, resolutions are almost always stated in the affirmative: to lose weight, to be more patient, to help those in need, to eliminate bad habits, etc. etc. If you’re like me, you might have a copy of the resolutions you made last year to help you assess your progress (or the lack of it) and reformulate your goals for this year. And again, if you’re like me, you might find that your new list becomes little more than a stronger reiteration of your old one. Oh well … self-improvement is a heavy life, even heavier as we get older, it seems. 

     This year, I have actually been brave enough to go back and review resolution lists going back ten years or so (yes, I keep a journal of these things), and guess what?  Many, too many I’m afraid, of the exact same resolutions have appeared over and over again year after year. Covid apparently made me lazy because, since then, I haven’t even bothered to change the language. I’ve just begun to add a snarky comment at the end of the old year— something like, “Hey! Six out of ten ain’t bad” or “Am I to be, or not to be, ever any better?” — before copying the old goals on to the new list.

     So after this unhappy stroll down memory’s Failure Lane, I have decided that maybe the problem is not so much my lackadaisical attempts at betterment, but rather simply a matter of the wording of my intentions, the point of view of the desired change, if you please. For example, I’ve always focused on positive statements, the things I want to do, but honestly, positivity is not my usual mode. So this year, I’m going to focus on the negative, the things I do NOT want to do. The list is a little shorter, which may portend a better success, but it is also born out of experience rather than aspiration. This may finally be my recipe for success with New Year’s Resolutions.

     To begin: First, I will not persevere in reading to the bitter end a book that I do not like out of a sense of guilt for not having finished it. This includes not only current new works I acquire, but also the classics which I have never finished such as Ulysses by James Joyce, The Hobbit by Tolkien and several of Shakespeare’s plays (Egads!). Now for an English professor, a writer and an undergrad drama major, this is a BIG step. I don’t take saying “no” to great (or supposedly great) literature lightly, but enough is enough. Besides, I’m downsizing my library and it’s time that many of these books find a home somewhere else.

     Secondly, I will not any longer say “yes” when I really mean “no,” nor will I hesitate with my response or try to make excuses as to why not. No is no, from here on out; it’s a matter of self-preservation. This includes everything from jobs and service for organizations, to social  invitations and professional events, to meaningless meetings on trivial topics, to favors for “friends” and accommodations for visitors. The answer is simply NO. (You can add a “thank you” if that makes you feel better.) We bring so much stress on ourselves in trying to meet other people’s needs and expectations, and we have no one but ourselves to blame for that. I am at an age, and a stage, where I simply cannot afford the additional anxiety that half-hearted commitments ultimately produce.

     Lastly, I will not ever take any flights longer than two hours in economy class, nor do I want to take anymore long-haul flights (over 8 hours) in any class at all! While we’re talking nots and nevers, I am also through racing through airports to make connections on flight schedules that were cutting it too close to begin with even before any unforeseen delays occur. For that matter, I’m through racing anywhere, for anything, on any kind of conveyance whatsoever — taxi, bus, train, plane, ship, tender, carriage, rickshaw, or camel. My husband and I have been fortunate to have traveled all over the world to six continents (no thank you to the Antartic), to roughly 50 countries, and to almost all of the U.S. states and possessions. I am forever grateful for the wonderful experiences I’ve had, the people I’ve known, and the resilience I’ve shown even in the worst travel moments. I’ve raced, trekked, hauled, climbed, and slept sitting up with the best of them, but I think I’m done with anything that isn’t slow, easy, and unabashedly luxurious 

     That’s it. It’s a short list, though considering how much of my life has been spent wrestling with these three NOTS, it pretty much covers everything I hope not to do again. Old habits may die hard, but acceptance of yourself and your limitations also comes with age. My time has come.

December 12, 2023
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Not Shopping, Just Looking

  My Mother loved Christmas, more than any holiday, or birthdays, or other special occasions.  She spent her career in retail as a personnel manager at a J. C. Penney store and, in spite of the extra long hours including nights and weekends during the holidays, she would still come home, tired and exhausted, but full of excitement about helping people, solving problems, and reveling in the joy of the decorations and good cheer at work. Bless her.

     A number of years later when I first moved to Stamford, CT, I took a job as a holiday worker in the Lord & Taylor store there. I thought I would get an introduction to my new community, while also benefitting from the 20% store discount (which I did). Lord & Taylor had been one of my favorite stores ever since I had lived in New York City, and it long continued to be a favorite department store in Connecticut.  My stint at L&T was simply a seasonal job, but I have to admit that I really caught the holiday spirit there, even though I worked in the credit department and was tasked with picking up charge cards from over-extended customers down on the sales floor. Ah yes .. a challenge even for a former teacher accustomed to unruly students. But I will never forget the thrill of riding down the escalator in that store hearing Christmas music and being flanked by beautiful poinsettias and tiny white lights and experiencing the retail beauty of the season. And then I understood my Mother.

     During my years living in New York and Connecticut, our grand holiday tradition was not necessarily going to Radio City performances or the NewYork City ballet presentation of “The Nutcracker, “ though we did do those things. No, our biggest tradition became going into the City to see all the magnificent window displays of the major Fifth Avenue department stores.  This was high art and inspiration in itself, plus the thrill of the hustle and bustle of Fifth Avenue shoppers, the ringing bells of the Salvation Army, and the smell of roasting chestnuts from street vendors. My Mother used to take vacation time to be with us at Christmas (which wasn’t easy for her as a member of management), and she continued to come up for longer visits after her retirement. Her arrival at La Guardia (weather be damned) and these holiday excursions into the City became the cornerstones of making family Christmas memories for many years.

     Christmas first truly exploded for me when I was newly-married and living in New York City. My most vivid memories are not of shopping, but of looking. The great department store windows were so spectacular as to be a destination in themselves, as the barriers and line ropes for crowds around them indicated.  And so when my Mother started coming up to visit during the holidays, the Christmas windows became our prime destination as well. 

     We would start at Macy’s (not technically on 5th  Avenue but on Herald Square at 34th Street), not so much because of their windows, but because of Santa’s culinary workshop in the basement called The Cellar showcasing gourmet cookware and delectable, beautifully decorated holiday pastries and candies. Then we walked straight across 34th Street over to B. Altman & Co. (34th and 5th, from 1906), my absolute favorite New York department store until it went out of business in 1989.  (An aside: Once during my lunch hour shopping at Altman’s when I was working in the Empire State Building across the street, I tried on a pair of cashmere-lined leather gloves at the counter there. As I put them on and admired them, I turned my head and there was Elizabeth Taylor right next to me. She smiled and shook her head in approval. The gloves were beyond my budget, but I bought them anyway — and yes, she really did have violet eyes!) 

     Anyway, continuing the trip up 5th Avenue, it was only a short walk to Lord & Taylor’s flagship store (at 5th Avenue and 39th Street), then the nation’s oldest department dating from 1826. Sadly, L&T closed its doors forever after the holidays in 2019; I was there for its final clearance sale (and bought a cashmere sweater). They always had fanciful, mechanized holiday displays which caused crowds ten-deep to spill out into the street. 

     The farther up 5th Avenue we window-shoppers went, the more sophisticated the displays and the more exclusive the merchandise seemed to be. Sak’s Fifth Avenue (5th and 50th Street, 1924 – present) was right across the street from Rockefeller Center and proved the perfect vantage point for taking that long-shot photograph of those angels with gold trumpets heralding the walk to the skating rink from the street. Just a bit farther, Tiffany’s (at 5th and 57th, 1940 to present), bedazzled enough as it has always been with its own merchandise, hardly needed much else to make store windows glitter and shine. 

     Bergdorf Goodman (5th and 58th, 1928 to present), known for its high-fashion and somewhat avant guarde window designs, is located in the old Cornelius Vanderbilt mansion right next to the famous Plaza Hotel at 59th and Central Park South. This was always a convenient location for taking a rest, either for lunch or tea in the Palm Court at the Plaza or for a relaxing carriage ride around Central Park. Afterward, we might have enough energy to venture East on 59th Street over to Bloomingdales’ flagship store (1861 to present), which promised the most hip, most current, most design-forward window displays anywhere.

     The New York Times recently featured this year’s department store windows in the City (“Holiday Windows Aim to Delight and Wow,” 11/26/23). Reading the article made me smile at the memories, but also a little sad. So many of the grand dames of retail have disappeared that only four major stores appeared in the article: Bergdorf’s, Macy’s, Bloomingdales, and Sak’s. True to a long tradition of “wowing,” however, this year’s windows showcase hours of work and creativity and lots of innovative technology making possible a ten-story “wheel-of-fortune” installation over the facade of the Sak’s building, and an interactive music display at Macy’s that encourages viewers to play the piano by pressing a set of keys on the glass window. And, while its windows weren’t featured in The Times, Tiffany’s now has a new feature of it own: visitors can enjoy “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” in the Blue Box Cafe, the new restaurant operated by Michelin-starred Chef Daniel Boulud. Decorated in that famous Tiffany’s turquoise blue, the Cafe offers a reasonably-priced light menu of seasonal items for under $50. 

     Now that IS a window shopper’s delight! 

November 27, 2023
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Give Thanks, Not Things

 So, here we are in the last week of November.  The year is winding down, the turkey has turned into leftovers, and shoppers on-line spent a record $9.8 billion this Black Friday (up 7.5%  from last year, according to Adobe Analytics). We have entered the season of plenty, or as I have come to see it over the years, the season of too much. Ho — ho — ho

     It IS all simply too much: the traffic, the frenetic shopping, the unrelenting advertising, the endless Christmas music, the parties and conviviality, the stress of  too little time and too many expectations, and the intense pressure to be merry and joyful no matter what. Now, especially four years post-Covid,  Americans want desperately to return to “normalcy,” whatever that was, and to recapture those idealized Norman Rockwell images of an era long gone. Certainly, that is a yearning strong enough to have fueled a major political campaign and birthed a national movement, but it has also created a national crisis of dissonance between the ideal and the reality, the truth and the lie.

     The American Psychological Association reports that 38% of Americans’ cite increased stress and depression during the holidays. That may be true in an average year (in years past), but consider where we are today. Americans were already experiencing unprecedented levels of anxiety and depression before the holidays even began. We are all living with the fear of mass shootings, for example; in fact, one of the largest malls in New Jersey was evacuated on Black Friday due to a bomb threat. The threat of crowd violence is everywhere, and massive crowds assembled this weekend in cities all across the country to protest the Israeli-Hamas War.  Shootings and violence make people wary of going into large, crowded places, hate crimes and road range make people nervous about dealing with others, and ugly political divisions even among friends and family members, never mind neighbors and community members, make most of us want to just avoid people altogether.

     This is hardly a climate conducive to good cheer and brotherhood. News of war blares from our televisions and bellows from the mouths of our politicians, while hate crimes and bigotry are on the rise. Conspiracy theories and false information inundate us on social media. Threats and retribution are in the air, and nations abroad are increasingly installing far-right populist leaders (most recently in Argentina and the Netherlands). Even here in America, a narcissistic demagogue leads the polls as a probable presidential nominee. Never mind the effects of holiday stress, there is enough doom and gloom in daily life to overwhelm us all.

     About now you are probably wondering if the original Grinch who stole Christmas is writing this post instead of someone who is, believe it or not, trying to find a positive angle on this angst. Well, while I admit that I’m hardly known for my bright-eyed optimism and perky platitudes, I can offer is some realistic advice learned through hindsight and my own life experience spent wrestling with anxiety attacks in every season of the year. 

     So here it is: we all need to reign it in, to assess who and what is most important in our lives, and to get a grip on ourselves and our emotions, whether those emotions are anger or sadness or fear, or even unbridled love. 

     As for the holidays in particular, we do NOT need to exhaust ourselves by racing to every party and honoring every request for help. This includes those “command performances” at family get-togethers or business events. Rather, to quote Nancy Reagan, we need to “just say no.” (You can add “thank you” if you want to be extra polite.) Like most women, it has taken me most of my life to simply be able to say NO, without excuses, without equivocation, and without guilt. We can’t exhaust ourselves by trying to do it all, and then blame everyone else for our exhaustion. 

     Nor do we need to strain our budgets and exhaust our patience by investing hours shopping for “stuff” for those who have everything. My closest friends and I have long-since agreed to no longer exchange gifts, not even of the fruit-food-gift card variety (because, eventually, these just become exchanges of like for like). As for tchotchkes and other gifty items, most of us have enough of those already to open our own gift shops; besides, we older folks are downsizing and donating anyway, and younger folks want no part of all the “stuff’ that we accumulated “back in the day.” Minimalism is in!

     What we do need to give, however, is time and attention to the people and the causes we care about most. Let those you love know how much you appreciate them with a call or a hand-written note, or even a zoom visit over a cup of tea. Offer to help a friend or neighbor with some small chore or to take them somewhere they need to go. If you have extra time and money, volunteer for a day at a soup kitchen or a clothing drive or make a donation to a special charity. Acknowledging the value of others is a gift of gratitude that both the giver and the receiver can enjoy.

     Life is short and some days can be very long indeed, especially if you are a planner and a worrier like me. The older I get, though, the more I try to live in the present: after all, the past is over and can’t be changed, and the future hasn’t happened yet. The present is really all we have, and if we can manage that, then we’re  doing okay. 

     This holiday, make memories, give blessings, and be grateful for who and what you have. These are the best, most enduring gifts for yourself and others, and they don’t cost a dime.

November 10, 2023
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A World of Kindness

  November 13 is World Kindness Day, and the whole week of November 13-19 is Kindness Week.  No doubt you’ve heard of “random acts of kindness,” such as paying for a stranger’s cup of coffee or leaving money for someone’s groceries in line behind you. Perhaps you’ve even performed some anonymous random kindnesses yourself.  Bless you. But who knew that a movement to make World Kindness Day an official observance every November 13 began back in 1998 with an international coalition of kindness NGOs (non-governmental organizations). I certainly didn’t. 

     The organization was first formalized in Swiss law and originally included Canada, Australia, Nigeria, and the United Arab Emirates; Singapore observed the Day for the first time in 2009, and Italy, India, and the United Kingdom soon followed.  Repeated appeals to the United Nations for recognition of a World Kindness Movement have been made, but so far nothing has been enacted. The movement’s original purpose was to highlight good deeds focusing on the community and the positive power of the common thread of kindness in humanity. Obviously, finding a “common thread” of any kind anywhere seems to be a challenge these days, especially here in America.

     There is no official recognition of World Kindness Day in the United States, though the whole kindness movement has spread to some extent throughout the world. Numerous programs have been developed for school children even in America, such as “Be Kind to People Projects” and “Cool to be Kind Awards.” There have been events such as “The Big Hug” in cities everywhere, and there was even a Global Dance for Kindness flashmob organized by an American in 2012 and held in 15 countries and 33 cities all over the world, images of which were projected onto the big screens in New York’s Times Square. (Visit www.lifevestinside.com for more information.)

     So, okay. Kindness counts. The cynic in me says, “Yeah,  right, and so…?” I’m not surprised that Kindness Day isn’t officially recognized in the US. I doubt if we could find any two politicians or government agencies to even agree on a definition of what kindness is, much less on how to celebrate it. In the current domestic climate of anger, violence, retribution, hatred, bullying, bigotry and anti-everything that pervades the US society, someone who really believes that a small random act of kindness (even a million of them), can somehow restore our divided people into a civil, reasonable, compassionate, tolerant unified nation that it once was, or was at least trying to be, is either not paying attention or, at worst, is totally delusional. 

     But back to the topic of kindness. I’ll admit that even I have some difficulty defining exactly what kindness is. Generally, I have always thought of kindness as basic etiquette, good manners: you hold the door for someone, give up your seat on a train for someone, let another vehicle into traffic ahead of you, say “please” or “thank you” or “excuse me” whenever you overstep or interrupt. You don’t intentionally offend, by language or action, anyone in either a public or a private space — which is rude — and you try, in general, to just be “nice”  and ignore any rudeness that comes your way. To me, kindness is simply restraint: if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Let it go because after all, who cares about what people you don’t know think anyway?

     Curiously, though, that’s the rub. I find it easier to be kind to strangers and, if the truth be told, I think most of us do. The small everyday acts of polite behavior that we extend to people we don’t know, might never see again, and have no personal relationship with, are sort of automatic — if we’ve “been raised right.” Giving a guy money at a traffic intersection for a meal, donating money for relief funds, any charitable giving actually, whether anonymous or not, is a sort of kindness that costs us nothing personally except money, and demands nothing in return — except perhaps a tax deduction.

     The real kindness challenge is to be kind with those we love and know well and with whom we interact everyday: our parents and spouses, our siblings, our children and family members, our dearest friends, our closest colleagues.  In other words, these are the people whom we tend to take for granted, whom we assume know us so well that any off-hand comment, any personal transgression, will be understood and forgiven. Because we assume their love and good intentions, we often omit even the most basic goodwill gestures, the pleases and thank yous, the cards and notes, the “you first” response — all the common courtesies that we routinely afford others without even thinking about it.

     But today is a different time and a different era, and if you’ll forgive me for sounding like a snob, the “raised right” manners and etiquette of a civilized society seem to have skipped a generation or two. Rude, brutish behavior and violent, threatening language have been normalized by our politicians, our media influencers, our celebrities, and our corporate leaders, and these are the models of behavior our younger generations have to emulate. In a society where success is defined by money, power and material acquisition rather than on personal character and dignity, there is little to distinguish human beings from animals — except that animals act out only when threatened and never with premeditated malice.

     I taught speech and communication to college freshmen for a number of years, and part of that curriculum was listening skills: how to listen, really listen, to what the other person was saying without thinking about your own retorts. It’s a lesson I taught, but one that has been hard for me to master. I am very quick-witted, often with humor, but also very direct and sometimes sarcastic. But I don’t yell and I don’t curse; I know that language matters and words lead to actions. The more serious the conversation, the more important it is to remember that. So, for me, my greatest kindness challenge is to ask myself before speaking, “Do I really need to say this?” It takes a lot of restraint to tell myself no and simply shut up.

     As I’ve gotten older, the issues personally, nationally and globally have gotten more serious, but perversely, the ones that I care enough to talk about have become fewer and fewer. I’m just so tired of it all, the endless arguments, empty gestures and pious platitudes when there really is little left to say. So my motto for Kindness Day, once again taken from my favorite poet T.S. Eliot and his poem The Wasteland, is: “Teach us to care and not to care; Teach us to sit still.”