My Funny Valentine

Lorenz Hart was one of the greatest lyricists of all time. Of course, the author of "Is your figure less than Greek? Is your mouth a little weak? When you open it to speak, are you smart?" ("My Funny Valentine") was an alcoholic, suffered from depression and had an all around difficult life--especially in his later years. Still, every Valentine's Day, it is this song (my favorite version is sung by Ella Fitzgerald) that sends me swooning.

He also wrote the lyrics for "Isn't it Romantic" and "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered," two of my favorites. On that note, I'll leave you with this:

"Romance, finis.
Your chance, finis.
Those ants that invaded my pants, finis.
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - no more"


Don't worry, Lorenz. You might not be here but your words are.

And would you be my Valentine?

Love,

Barbara

Breakfast, 1968

My mother waits for me in the kitchen, her yellow, flowered apron a cheerful contrast to the gloomy avocado wallpaper. My father sits reading his newspaper. He smokes. A long, gray curl rises above the head of Lyndon Johnson, an old man I have seen on the evening news and am only drawn to because of his extraordinarily long ear lobes. The front page story announces that Johnson will not run again for the presidency. "That damn war," says my father. A loud slurp can be heard behind the morning news. And then, like a thud he asks, "when is Bobby coming home?"

It is another morning in 1968. Bobby is my brother, my only brother, the one who comes home from graduate school next month and whose draft status has been the mealtime topic for all of us--despite the fact that he has been 3000 miles away for the last two years. No matter. Bobby's future has become a part of our scrambled eggs, our meatloaf, our sausage patties since he turned 18. His salvation from what what we fear is certain death lies at the Hudson County Draft Board, a place he will visit in early June when sunny California and a college deferment will no longer protect him from the possibility of war.

My mother lifts a pan of damaged oatmeal from the stove. "I burned it. I'm sorry," she says, her eyes not meeting mine.

Back to Joisey

After a year living in a small country town, I left that town and moved back to be nearer to the City, my family, my friends. Yes, it's back to New Jersey for me. Now not too sure it was just the small town isolation that was the problem. Had lots of friends there. Rather like a salmon returning to its hatching place, I'm here again, with the things around me that are known. Secure.

I'm hoping the next decade is a little better than the one we just left. I'll toast with a glass of Martinelli's Sparking Apple Cider to that one!

New Year Wishes

How happy am I to see this decade end? Oh, so happy you cannot believe. I liked it when you could name your decades, you remember: the sixties, the seventies, etc. The years 2000 to 2009 seemed sort of barren, as far as names are concerned, and the teens we're running up to don't have that much of a ring to them either, come to think of it. On that note, I leave you with this image of me kissing a boy. I was five. It was the sixties. Swinging, definitely.

Christmas, Airports and Black Ice

Picked up the little one (who is now 21 and was sized-up in a restaurant in Santa Barbara by Rob Lowe last night) at JFK. Nothing like a road trip with a little black ice, one that lasted three hours from northern NJ and went bumper-to-bumper from the NJ Turnpike to the necessary exit on the Belt Parkway. Glad to have her here, glad to be back from that road trip. Hope everyone drives safely this holiday season. And don't forget to wear that seatbelt and take the keys from anyone who's had a little bit too much.

That Time of Year

Love Christmas (not). But this year, I'm trying. Done with finals, done with term papers (last one out the door tonight), moving back to Jersey and moving, as we all know so well, sucks.
Glad that it should all be done in two weeks' time, the sorting and the packing makes me wonder how I've collected so much junk in a year's time: I'd done the zen thing and moved with just the basics...now it's time to minimalize again.
Shucks. Just when I thought I could enjoy a few weeks off.

Faces, Frozen in Time

You can pick up a box of old photographs and be amazed by what you see. Dad died this summer, and pictures of him are everywhere. One caught my attention: This one. I had seen it before but after scanning it, making it larger, it got to me. What was I seeing in those eyes, that handsome face? Frustration? Disgust? Anger that you had four kids and a mother-in-law at home? A small house and an unappreciative boss? Were you questioning your reason for being? Was the smoke curling up your nose as you took this shot? No matter. I've seen this face before.

Gosh, I loved you, Dad. Did you ever find out what you were so angry about?