Life is Beautiful

I am in Jamaica where the sun is hot, the water warm and the vibe totally relaxed. I am staying at Jake's in Treasure Beach, just a short walk from Liz and Giul's romantic cottage.

What do I love most about Jamaica--drinking Red Stripe light beer, eating lobster at Little Ochie on the beach, sleeping under a mosquito net while listening to the ocean, watching the sun sink into the sea at Dougies Bar, the amazing stars in the night sky, swimming at Old Wharf beach, eating a calaloo omelet for breakfast, drinking soursop or june plum juice, walking up the lane to see Liz and Giul. . .all good.

No Pain, No Gain

Today was an historic moment for me. I had my legs waxed for the first time ever! I fully expected extreme pain and suffering. I am the woman who cried the first time I had my eyebrows waxed just three years ago. I seriously contemplated having a drink before I went to the spa or even maybe popping an Ativan. But, like a brave soldier, I marched right in, took off my pants and got on the table. I had let the hair on my legs grow for over two months and they felt soft and fuzzy and actually quite acceptable. I was almost sorry to see my hairy legs go.

My Global Christmas

I've traveled around the world for Christmas this year. After seeing Steve off to Hawaii, I took a tour of Mumbai, India while watching Slumdog Millionare along with every other Jew in center city Philadelphia or so it seemed. I'm sure most of them were headed off to Chinatown for dinner but I tramped back updown for an Israeli hummus and tahini sandwich at the Maccabean, the only restaurant I saw open on my walk home. I enjoyed my sandwich with a glass of Italian wine while reading a Southeast Asian cookbook. Now I'm cuddled up in my study about to watch a film by the German director Werner Herzog Aquirre or The Wrath of God, which takes place in Peru. By the way, I'll be watching this film on my computer thanks to Netfix's latest offering, instant movies on demand. Cool!

Drinking Again

I've been thinking a lot about my mom lately. It's not surprising at this time of year. Her birthday was Christmas Eve and my dad's was the day after so every year the four of us--mom, dad, Max and I--would go out for a special dinner to celebrate their birthdays together Now that I think of it, our annual birthday dinner was a good excuse for getting into the Christmas spirit without sacrificing our Jewish principles.

The most memorable of those faux Christmas outings was a trek over the bridge to Zaberer's, a popular, upscale dining room that catered to groups and families. I remember we had to wait a while for our table to be ready and, in the spirit of the holidays, my mother drank a large martini rendering her a bit tipsy. Nothing messy, I remember, no tripping or spilling but just a lot of giggles. But nonetheless, I felt absolutely humiliated, convinced that everyone around us was witnessing my mother's descent into a disgraceful, drunken state. I was probably about 12 at the time with little tolerance for parental indiscretions--not that there were ever any to worry about from either of them. For years afterwards, Max and I teased my mom about getting "zaberized." It became a standing family joke but I wonder, like so many children looking up to and harshly judging their parents at the same time, we were really sending them an urgent message--Please, don't do anything to embarrass us.

The Best Anti-Depressive

It's cold and rainy and just downright miserable outside. (So...what else is new? Does the sun ever shine in Philadelphia?) I'm snuggled up with yet another depressing book. (Is that sentence an oxymoron?) The book is "The Endless War" by Dexter Filkins, who covered the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq for the NYT. Needless to say, there are no happy endings in this book--just horrible stories and unending pain.

So what's the best antidote to this misery? It's spending a few hours with my darling daughter in her cozy house while Ms. Sweet Pea Nourishment cooks up some great smelling meals for her very lucky clients.

Let the Oscillation do the Work

Okay, I admit it. Throughtout the years, I've spent way too money on way too much makeup. But if I no longer have the patience or the skill or the willingness to stare so long into an often cruelly magnifying mirror in order to apply the full regalia, I've never forsaken mascara. However, I have noticed an alarming decrease in the thickness of my eyelashes, yet another unfortunate and unforeseen sign of aging. What's the remedy I've recently discovered--a battery operated mascara that, I swear to god, does the trick. And it even hums. Will wonders never cease.

Enough Already!

Every day we are battered by the bad news. Economy is collapsing, more and more people are out of work, bombings in Iraq, terrorists in India, etc., etc., etc. It's almost numbing. But this story is actually heartbreaking. I can't get the images out of my mind.

Ten Reasons Why I Hate Winter

1. It's cold and I can no longer wear my fur coat without experiencing shame and disapproval. (But it's so warm and soft and cuddly.)
2. I can't wear flip flops.
3. There are no tomatoes, at least ones worth eating.
4. It gets dark way too early. I'm ready to have a glass of wine but then realize it's only 5 o'clock. Uh oh.
5. My lips are permanently chapped.
6. All outdoor sports call for far too much clothing. Who wants to bother.
7. I hate long underwear. It makes me feel fat.
8. I don't eat beef stew.
9. My best friend goes away to Telluride for 3 and a half months. It's beautiful there but I don't ski so what's the point of going.
10. I'm always losing gloves.

Life Update

I have come to the realization that there are certain things I will never get to do. Like, for instance, I will never climb Mount Kilamanjaro in Kenya. Maybe ten years ago but its not happening now. (But, goddammit, I will climb the Inca Trail to Macchu Pichu this spring.) Chances of my going to the North or South Pole are slim to none but, hey, I hate the cold anyway. And, let's face it, I keep saying I want to trek in Mongolia and sleep in a yurt but I wouldn't take bets on my showing up there anytime soon. Besides, there's nothing more disgusting than yak butter tea.

Closer to home, I don't think I will ever be much of a tennis player despite the loads of lessons I've taken with my ever so patient but must be ever so frustrated coach.

And will I ever read Proust or re-read Joyce's Ulysses? Would I understand even if I read them?

However, I feel a real sense of accomplishment at having finished my first novel in Italian, "Io Non Ho Paura." It took me forever because I had to look up so many words but I did it, proving the brain is still working and capable of learning new things. Will I ever be fluent in speaking Italian? Well, that I'm not so sure of but I will keep trying.