I'm in Love With a Wonderful Guy

For eight long years, I fled from the TV and put fingers in my ears whenever our former president appeared to make some inane and pointless speech with that horrible smirk on his face. But last night I rushed back from dinner, changed into my robe and slippers and sat myself right in front of the TV in order to watch President Barack Obama address the nation and the Congress. What a thrill! I still can't believe he is actually President of the United States. How did something so fabulous happen?! He's so cute, so intelligent, so charming, so wonderful in every way. And, yes, yes, yes, I am in love, heads over heels in love with Barack Obama. Afterwards, I wanted to rush up and kiss the screen. I felt like I was replaying a scene from one of those black and white wartime movies. The one where a family is huddled around the radio set listening in rapt attention to Churchill or Roosevelt report on the progress of the war.

Dear Diary

I have kept diaries at various points of my life and every once in a while, I pick them up and read through my entries. Usually a painful experience since most of the the writing, especially in my late teens, was all about boys, boys, boys, blah, blah, blah. I am so glad those days of endless angst are over.

I am especially fond of the very first diary I ever had--a small, red hard bound book with one lined page for each day of the week. The diary, written when I was probably nine or ten, is largely a chronicle of my crush on Becky Dietz, my best friend from camp, who was coming to visit me for a weekend in the city. That past summer, we had sawed a silver dollar in half and made matching necklaces for ourselves as a symbol of our eternal friendship. How I wish I had that necklace now! Becky was from Trenton, New Jersey and every time I take the train to NYC and pass over the bridge--Trenton Makes, the World Takes--I think of Becky, tall and thin and athletic with lots of adorable freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks.

Life Goes On

One of the great luxuries of not working is having the time to read during the day. What pleasure it is to sit down mid afternoon in some comfortable nook in my house and spend a solid hour or two with a good book. I particularly like to stretch out on the window seat in the kitchen. It faces west over the city and the sun pours in, fooling me into believing it might be warm outside. On a cold, February day it's as close as I can get to sitting on a beach with a book balanced on my lap. No ocean in the background but a view of roof tops and city streets.

Right now, I am still making my way slowly but steadily through "War and Peace." I am in no rush to finish and move on to the next book from the stack piled up on the floor of my study. Instead, I am content to savor the pleasure of living in Tolstoy's world for as long as it takes. Each time I pick it up I feel like I am diving underwater and when I come up for air, I know I have seen and felt wondrous things.

The Belt!!

Thanks to Judge Teresa Sarmina for forwarding this picture of the famous James Brown Sex Machine Belt at the historic moment when it was passed on to Steve Solms on Saturday night. The belt now has a place of honor on the headboard behind our bed, providing inspiration to its proud new owner.

PPLD

Well it had to happen, I know, but it's still pretty depressing. I'm suffering from a serious case of Post Party Let Down.

Last evening I went to bed with every intention of waking early this morning for my weekly tennis lesson but at 6:30AM when the alarm went off, I groaned, rolled over and went back to sleep. I feel like I've been underwater for two days, only surfacing to read a chapter or two of "War and Peace" before sinking again into a stupor.

Once you've scaled the heights, it's damn hard to come back down to earth.

Does This Man Look 70 Years Old?

My legs are aching, my head is spinning, my hearing is signifcantly less sharp. But it was all worth it. Last night, without a doubt, was the greatest party ever, all in honor of Steve's 70th birthday. With incredible food by Peach Tree (loved that crawfish monica and those gorgeous oysters), two hours of non stop music by the Lee Boys (Thank you, thank you, thank you to Alvin and his whole crew, you made the evening!)and over a hundred family and friends who found their way to the Crane Building.

There was love, love, love all around and non stop dancing until midnight but no one turned into a pumpkin. In fact, we reconvened for a lox and bagel brunch on Sunday morning and a serious post mortem.

Click here for a slideshow of the evening's festivities. Can you believe I don't have a picture of The Belt. If you do, send it along.

After All These Years...

In case you missed it in this morning's paper, here's a snapshot from the Sixers' game last night that features my husband. No, he's not the fit looking black man in the green uniform making the game winning shot in the final seconds of the game. Yes, he's the distraught fan in the striped sweater and glasses standing on the sidelines watching in shock as the Celtics "once again find a way to beat the Sixers." This last statement, a direct quote from my husband, needs to be accompanied by loud groans, gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair for full effectiveness.

And, yes, I was at the game last night. I think it was my first time in two years. When we first married eons ago I loyally went to every game but at some point I decided that one rabid Sixers fan was enough for our house. I couldn't handle the pressure.