Aging & Attitude

Minutiae

Traffic on Granada Street was light.  An intense Florida sun warmed the car’s interior and made the steering wheel hot.  My plan was to leisurely drive home along the Tomoka River, when a young woman walking caught my attention.  She could have been me forty years ago, her long oval face and golden blonde hair looked so familiar.

Circling the block for a second look, I saw she wore a lively yellow and tangerine colored sundress exposing the right amount of skin.  Spaghetti straps tied in bows relaxed on her shoulders.  The dress was vintage hippie.

I parked, got out of the car and stood in the shade.  In the distance, she sat on a bus stop bench, her straight back and firm chin taken for granted, a slouch bag at her side, intriguing me.   I approached her directly, “Excuse me, can you tell me where Found Treasures Consignment Shop is?”  It was a ruse.  I had been there the day before to leave clothing and knew the exact location.
Looking up, she smiled and repeated my question, “Found Treasures Consignment Store?  Sure, go across the street and see that alley between the buildings?  She raised a hand wearing a mood ring and pointed. “By the Oak tree there’s like a narrow path that like…. you know what; I’ll show you.”

Closer, I saw freckles on her nose like I had.  Her platform sandals looked comfortable and practical. Her toenails painted cherry red.  She looked stylish, as I remembered myself to be.

“That isn’t really necessary.”

“Oh hush, I love that store.”

“Thanks, I’m fairly new to Florida and never sure where I’m going.”

“Me too, I’m like forever lost.  Where are you from?”

“New Jersey, I retired and moved here two years ago.

She came to Daytona for bike week and met her boyfriend.
“You know that show Jersey Shore?  You know that guy Mike, “The Situation”?  That’s who my boyfriend looks like, only he’s got bigger muscles.”  She chewed gum and blew a pink bubble announcing, “No way was I going home.  He’s like not the one, but it’s cool.”

The traffic was heavy now. We stood on the sidewalk waiting for an opportunity to cross. Standing in the hot sun, my mind wandered to the time I was her age and realized how lost she was.

A yellow corvette exceeding the speed limit created an opening in the traffic.  She looped her hand through my elbow and we rushed arm and arm across the street.

Standing on the cracked sidewalk, she turned to face me, patted my thin windblown hair in place, and asked, “Did I tell you I’m going on tour with Tony Bennett?”

Tony Bennett, the singer?  I thought her too young to know a favorite of mine.

“Yes, THE Tony Bennett! You know cause of Daytona’s Music Festival, he, well, Mr. Bennett was performing at the Peabody.”

“Ms. Witch”, my friend Michelle, that’s what we call her cause she’s nasty, we’re like playing Beach Volley Ball and there’s this fight. Witch got into it, scratching, and pulling hair, using the F word and the N word.  I got my tanning lotion and walked away.  Mr. Bennett’s daughter, Toni, saw the whole thing.  She liked me, like right away.  Said I had character or something.  Like, she just gave me a backstage pass.  I started hanging around, helping, and now we’re going on tour.  You know, he’s not Lady Ga Ga, but it’s cool.”

We arrived at the Consignment Shop and opened the door.  A tinker bell jingle announced our entrance. Women’s cast off clothing, many with designer labels packed the shop.  Displayed on the walls were glass necklaces, teardrop crystal pendants, and Swarovski pearls.  Coordinated outfits in shades of green, their potential enhanced by pink accessories, were arranged on hangers.

“I love this stuff.  Look at this.”  She wrapped a four-inch wide black plastic belt with a rhinestone buckle around her waist, shook her head, and returned it to a rack.”

“Minutiae,” I mumbled.

“What did you say?” she giggled.

“Minutiae, little stuff, the details of life.”

“Mi-nooshee-sha, I love that word! What does it mean?”

“Small, insignificant things that don’t seem to matter, then do.”

“Oh, my God! I’m trying this on.”  She exclaimed and slipped into a dressing room carrying an old dress of mine.

It was made of rich black crepe fabric.  The neckline flowed off the shoulders leaving a v shape in the back. Two panels buttoned creating a peak-a-boo above the waistline of a pencil thin skirt.  Its hem had hit the crest of my calf.

“I’m buying this.  It’s like the perfect dress!” she said emphatically outside the dressing room, twirling, as I had done, her blue-green eyes so young and true. I smiled remembering that pleasure of certainty.

“You look great in it.”

She did. I felt light-headed as a wave of emotion cascaded through me.  I had worn that dress to a friend’s wedding, a business conference, and my fortieth birthday party.  “Do you need shoes?”  I asked reminiscing about an elegant pair worn with the dress.

Tasteful, is how to describe them, the heels not too high, the straps not too tight.  I kept them. They were barely worn.

“I got black flip-flops.”

At the cash register, she counted six singles and forty-two cents turning her head with perfect range of motion to ask, “Do you have children?”

“A daughter.”

We left to say goodbye.

“It’s been cool meeting you.”  She said hugging me.

Happy my dress would be going on an adventure, but not wanting to give my secret away, I hesitated then whispered, “Don’t live your life in regret.”

I strolled toward my car, looking back.  The late afternoon sun filtered through the oak trees creating a shadow on her diminutive figure and the sun’s glare caused me doubt she had really been here, while my wedding song, “We’ve Only Just Begun,” played in my head.

...just saying

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Aging & Attitude

The words limerick and lobbyist make me laugh.  A limerick is a nonsense poem that follows a strict rhyme scheme (AABBA). The intent is to be humorous and obscene, many consider a clean limerick an oxymoron. Edward Lear is credited with popularizing the amphibrachic meter.

A limerick needs to be bawdy if not dirty.  This video Grandma Sis’s dirty limerick  captures the art form wonderfully. Please note the yellow sectional couch wrapped in plastic they are sitting on.

Competing with Grandma Sis is not easy, but I hope my first attempt (using L words) will bring you a chuckle.

There once was a lady who worked in Londonderry

She was lazy, lascivious and ordinary

She dressed in the nude

And was extremely rude

But somehow was paid anyway

    Lobbying is the practice of trying to influence decisions made by government officials. President Ulysses S. Grant’s  frequent visits to the Willard Hotel lobby to enjoy a cigar and brandy popularized the term. The hotel is a short walk from the White House. Washington wheelers and dealers knew where to find him and  pay for his drinks.

I have come up with this ditty.

There once was a President who had a hobby

He liked to hang out in the Willard Hotel lobby

When he was there he’d collapse in a chair

Light up a cigar and blow smoke into the air

And listen to political folly

My next limerick hopefully captures more recent shenanigans.

In 1995 Congress strengthened lobby laws

Although compromised, registration still has flaws

With a flick of a pen, Super PAC’s are in

Lobbyist’s spend a fifth of their time drinking gin

We still hear politicians clapping their paws

If you would like to try writing  a limerick click here limerick poem.

Please share your efforts in the comments section. It was fun but harder than I thought.

….just saying

New Thoughts on Words

Remember looking through a kaleidoscope as a child, the view filled with wonder and excitement.

For me, it was like going to Lowe’s Paradise Theater on Fordham road in the Bronx. There was a hole in the ceiling that allowed patrons to peak at the moon and stars while enjoying a movie. I did not know it was pretend until a teen, and stepped outside to daylight after the show.

As with a kaleidoscope, once the device met my eye, I traveled to an exotic place where imagined shapes and colors lived.

The kaleidoscope, invented by David Brewster; a scientist experimenting with light polarization around 1815, quickly became a popular toy with sales reaching two hundred thousand in three months time.

Webster’s dictionary defines a kaleidoscope as an “optical instrument which by an arrangement of reflective surfaces exhibits an infinite variety of beautiful colors and symmetrical forms of its content.” The effect achieved by angling mirrors towards each other to create multiple reflections.  Usually bits of glass or paper are put in the cylinder’s “object chamber” to be reflected, although it could be anything, including liquid.

Paul Dewa explains how a kaleidoscope works in his you/tube video.

We are familiar with the inexpensive cardboard and wood cylinder type but there are many others resembling art forms.

Frank and Janet Higgins worked with stain glass for years and called their studio “Kaleidoscope”  but did not design and build kaleidoscopes until the mid-90′s. Their aim is “to make high-quality playthings for grown-ups, concentrating equally on innovative design, the internal images and the external presentation.”  That means, they strive to be the best.  You can view the slide show at Picture Trail.

What makes a kaleidoscope fascinating is perception. We reflect differently on the same thought or memory, and the hope that change will make life better.

….just saying

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Aging & Attitude

Mr. Wonderful, my husband of 41 years, walks into the kitchen and asks, “Have you seen that what-ch-ma- thing?”

I know exactly what he is asking about because he has on glasses and is holding a plastic tube of wood glue.

“You know that who-GA-ma-call-it you wanted put back.” He says stammering and shaking his head; eyes focused on a ceiling corner in an attempt to retrieve the information.

I enjoy his sputtering, because early he yelled at me, “You’re always right, you’re right, you’re right, but you can’t make me do it.” After a discussion on health became a fist fight about right or wrong.

Now, his stretched out slippers let his toes hang over the sole, so they smash into the floor molding. He hip hops about, flamingo style, scrunching his face like a shriveled prune and swearing, shit, shit, shit, but gets no sympathy.

Then he blurts out the real issue, “Why can’t we have a junk drawer?”

Yes, you heard right, we do not have a junk drawer. I am philosophically opposed to the concept and wonder why people accumulate items, they do not want and have no need for, useless items, in a kitchen drawer.

“Why would we need a junk drawer, we have somehow managed for forty years without a drawer of unwanted rubbish.”

“Marshal says every man needs a junk drawer, all the guys have one, I’m the only one who doesn’t.”

I get it, that the junk has possibility. It’s too good for the garbage and might some day have a use, or kept just in case.

“So Mr. Wonderful, if you had a junk drawer, what would you put in it?” I ask.

“The who-Ga-ma-call-it I’m looking for, golf balls and golf tees, I don’t know, STUFF!” He answers.

“Don’t you keep golf balls and tees in your golf bag? And the what-ch-ma-thing is in your tool box.” I reply.

“You’re right, you’re right, I hate it when you’re right!”

…just saying

       (Mr. Wonderful improvises)

New Thoughts on Words

What do Sheryl Sandberg, Susan Patton and Yvonne Brill have in Common? Indignation, all three women have reason to be angry about accusations thrown their way.

Megan Daum’s thoughts under a headline, “Mrs. Degree? Maybe” highlights the controversy and raises the question again, husband or career? Daum writes for the Los Angeles Times.

Susan Patton got herself into trouble writing a letter to the Daily Princetonian suggesting female students check out the pool of eligible man on campus before graduation. Then attempting to clarify, shot herself in the foot, suggesting a professional life is not fulfilling.

Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook and best-selling author, advises woman to “lean in”. Statistics confirm that women have a problem advancing and Sandberg outlines the criteria to fix it; sit at the table and keep your hand up, make partners real partners and don’t leave until you leave.

Yvonne Brill is deceased and cannot defend a preference to being called Mrs. and comments, “Good men are harder to find than a good job.” However many were offended by a New York Times obituary beginning with, “She made a mean beef stroganoff.”

A rocket scientist might consider that more of an accomplishment. The pertinent question, was she equally compensated with male counterparts?

These three women, unlike men, are being criticized in the media for their decisions regarding work, marriage and family.

Women are judged for their choices, and even Hilary Clinton was defined by her hair when Secretary of State, as will John Kerry.

Would we be having this discussion if Sandberg, Patton and Brill were male?

So what’s it all about Alfie?

The issue is a woman’s identity.

Women conflicted over life choices, feel guilty and a person’s identity cannot be founded on guilt.

If a man wishes to be a beer drinking- Belcher and farter, the world does not attempt to persuade him otherwise. If he wants to be president, that is fine too.

Some things are hard to swallow but we do and realize after, it was a mistake and indigestion is sure to follow.

Please pass me the pepto-bismol.

…just saying

New Thoughts on Words

H is for hanky panky, two words joined by alliteration, not meaning. We hear the lyrics of Tommy James and the Shondells, “My baby does the hanky panky”, and picture a couple making out in a 1966 Mustang convertible. There is a mischievous fooling around atmosphere and know the girl is easy.

But what is hanky panky?

Webster’s (Standard Reference Works Publishing Co. 1956) definition; The meaningless professional talk of a juggler or magician, jugglery or legerdemain.

Sounds like politicians talking about the sequestration.

The term hanky panky is sighted in the first edition of ‘Punch‘ magazine Volume 1 September 1841. In London court, a con-man said to the judge,

“Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three-presto-begone. I’ll show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your eye and taking it from your elbow, as you ever beheld.”

A later reference is from George Bernhard Shaw’s Geneva, 1939:

She: No hanky panky. I am respectable; and I mean to keep respectable.
He: I pledge you my word that my intentions are completely honorable.

Hanky panky defined as unethical, and referenced as Hocus Pocus or Hokey Pokey, grew in popularity when sexy and illicit acts were included.

It was playful and I recall teaching kindergartners the hokey pokey to practice eye hand coordination skills.

The closest we can get to that ridiculous fun for all is the Harlem Shake.

Google Hanky Panky and you will discover many companies sell lingerie and naughty items, but only one company makes the lace.

Klauber Brothers is a sixth generation family business and creators of an exclusive Signature Lace for Hanky Panky, a leader in intimate apparel.

The Klauber family was lucky to escape the treacherous trickery that forced them to surrender their business and never considered they would be in the  hanky panky business. They fled Nazis Germany on the SS Manhattan. It was the last boat to America in 1939.

Their story and craftmanship adds sobering thoughts to hanky panky, but I still hear lyrics in my head and think about a randition of the Harlem Shake, me mouthing the words…My baby does the hanky panky. I saw her walkin’ on down the line You know I saw her for the very first time A pretty little girl standin’ all alone “Hey pretty baby, can I take you home?”

…just saying

Aging & Attitude

The Alphabet Series – New Thoughts on Words

Gaudy is a word I heard as a child. My mother used the adjective to describe styles not to her liking. Designs she considered garish, ornate, flashy, kitschy, tasteless, vulgar, and extravagant. Our neighbor’s orange velvet sectional is a good example. The French Provincial Couch covered in plastic stuck to the back of your thighs in the summer and cracked when you sat in the winter. The iridescent fluted fruit bowl filled with shiny fake red apples and ornate oranges that decorated their dining room table was in my mother’s words, “poor taste.”

She told me “Gaudy is derived from an eccentric architect, famous for constructing some God-awful cathedral in Spain.”

The true impact of the word is captured by a visual of the works of Antoni Gaudi, the architect. As an adult I was fortunate to visit Barcelona and view the site she talked about.

Gaudi, born in 1852, is famous for his elaborate ornate architectural style. The Sagrada Familia  has been under construction since 1882 and expected to be completed in 2024. That is a 142 year project funded by private donations.

My mother knew about Gaudi but learned her sense of style from her father, Achilles DeSalvo, Pop-Pop to me.

Called Charlie, and never trendy, faddish or snazzy, he knew how to dress.  His family owned a tailor shop in Manhattan called DeSalvo & DeSalvo.

I loved him dearly.

Summertime, Saturday morning, Pop-Pop would take the Long Island Railroad to the Westbury station. He arrived wearing a blue seersucker suit, straw hat and spectator shoes, an afternoon addition of the Herald Tribune under his arm.

He wore cuff-links and his nails were polished.

We waited with great expectation for him to remove his suit jacket, and get comfortable in a chair. Surrounded by his four grandchildren he would unwrap one Mounds Bar and divide each half,  in half  for us to share.

But the best was yet to come.

Concealed in a breast pocket was a cigar.  The  cigar ban was presented to one of us and worn as a ring, for the day or week…depending on how long we made it last.

We never moaned or complained. We stood with hope and felt his love.

My grandfather got me my first real job at the Plaza Hotel.

Occasionally he would say, “Meet me on the northwest corner of 55th street and Madison on Tuesday at noon, and we’ll go to lunch”.

I did.

There was nothing ornate, flashy, gaudy or extravagant about his love. It was genuine. His style memorable.

 ….just saying

Filed under: Baby Boomer, Letters of the Alphabet, Remember, Writing Tagged: Antoni Gaudi, Mounds Candy Bar, New York Plaza ]]> http://claudiajustsaying.com/2013/03/25/g-is-for-gaudy/feed/ 12 claudiajustsaying 0143_zps07d94d32 http://claudiajustsaying.com/2013/03/11/f-is-for-flummoxed-filibuster/ http://claudiajustsaying.com/2013/03/11/f-is-for-flummoxed-filibuster/#comments Sun, 10 Mar 2013 22:30:41 +0000 claudiajustsaying http://claudiajustsaying.com/?p=3129 Continue reading →]]>   The Alphabet Series -  New Thoughts on Words

Things looked good for Senator Rand Paul, a Republican from Kentucky, this week when he announced he would filibuster the confirmation vote of John Brennan as Director of the CIA, the old- fashioned way, by talking and said, “I will speak until I can no longer speak.”

Evidently, the old-fashion filibuster has lost popularity and there is a non-talking version making a filibuster like phone sex. You do not need to moan, and staying on the phone is optional. Rand Paul could declare a filibuster and kept his mouth shut. Then, sixty votes would be necessary to break the gridlock and clear the floor for vote.

Visions of Jimmy Stewart in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” came to mind, and a general impression of Paul as a man of consciousness prevailed.

Rand Paul, the son of Ron Paul, said he did not oppose the confirmation, but this was an opportunity to make a point and find out for sure if the President’s policy on international use of drones includes shooting American citizens on United States soil. Attorney General Eric Holder’s letter did not eliminate the possibility.

Paul said in a statement, “The U.S. Attorney General’s refusal to rule out the possibility of drone strikes on American citizens and on American soil is more than frightening – it is an affront to the Constitutional due process rights of all Americans,”

Not everyone agreed and in the morning, people were flummoxed, you know confused bewildered and baffled when Senators John McCain and Lindsey Graham criticized Rand Paul calling the filibuster “a political stunt that cheapens the serious discussion about US policy to the realm of the ridiculous.”

Paul held his ground, would not admit to shooting himself in the foot, and considered Eric Holder’s letter of clarification released later in the day, a surrender.

You can agree with Paul, the government’s drone policy needs discussion.

Is that all this was about? Because it was a flummoxed filibuster.

…. just saying

New Thoughts on Words

Egghead is the word that comes to mind as the author walks into the room and stands by the podium arranging stuff. He is a real intellectual, not the Archie Bunker meat-head kind.

Stringy white hair is having a temper tantrum, Albert Einstein style, on his head and now out of the sun, his dark glasses change to un-tinted. A deliberate part in his hair suggests a highbrow image.

I imagine him a smart aleck fifth grader hissing answers beneath his breath to mock a teacher. Now he is all grown up, and an untidy appearance creates a scholar’s impression.

His introductory comments are about passion, and a halo of frizz triggers interest, as he instructs us to sit our ass in a chair and write.. His manner is not contemptuous, just slightly superior and mildly aloof. The overall effect tells the class who he is, or  wants to be, and leaves a contrived impression.

Doubt may be his intent.

He starts looking old after lunch.

Standing still, the laces on his Rockport shoes come undone. A knee cracks as he bends to ceremoniously tie the lace and continue to demonstrate his superior IQ, lecturing the would be writers about point of view.

The mystic and effervescence fad as the day ends, and it becomes clear it is a bad hair day. However, he did a good job of teaching character details, or am I being kind?

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New Thoughts on Words

D is for disappear as in the New York Times Best Seller novel, “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn.

Nick and Amy Dunne, two out of work New York City writers, move to Nick’s childhood home in North Carthage, Missouri when they learn Nick’s mother is fatally ill.

Nick is a journalist.

Amy writes surveys or opinion questionnaires.

Example; which of the following will lead to personal happiness.

A.  Caring more about others  than yourself

B.  Discovering a passion

C.  Exercising and eating well daily

D.  All of the above

E.  Other_________________________________

Nick persuades Amy to invest the last of her Trust Fund in a business for him and his twin sister, Margo. They name the bar, “The Bar” and Nick appears a loser when Amy disappears on their wedding anniversary.

The reader knows it is a matter of time for the husband to become the prime suspect.

Gillian Flynn has written a plot driven novel that I read quickly and was reviewed favorably, but I could have put the book down easily.

“As The Washington Post proclaimed, her work ‘draws you in and keeps you reading with the force of a pure but nasty addiction.’ Gone Girl’s toxic mix of sharp-edged wit with deliciously chilling prose creates a nerve-fraying thriller that confounds you at every turn.”

Amy’s disappearance is not as in vanish, perish or cease to exist. Her vanishing act is one of revenge and dysfunction, concocted when she discovers Nick’s infidelity. Victimized and  bamboozled Amy plans to get even and does.

On the other line of a happiness survey she would write all the below;

A.  If you can’t have the one you love make sure no one else can either.

B.  Make everyone who hurts or disappoints you suffer for the rest of their lives.

C.  Inflicting pain on others is key to personal happiness.

Gillian says “she was not a nice little girl,” and “Libraries are filled with stories on generations of brutal men, trapped in a cycle of aggression. I wanted to write about the violence of women”

“The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.”

Isn’t disappearing better?

…Just saying