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Hi Friends, this is my blog for March I slipped from pretty into good looking for her age quite without notice,
Perhaps Jane Fonda can handle both but, somehow, I couldn’t hang on I think it had something to do with those two quite significant swollen pieces of skin, on my face, one under each eye At first, I tried to think they were sensual and soulful, like Anna Magnani in a De Sica film, the images floating like a dream in my head. But reality knocked and, I had to face that they were from sleepless nights manifesting them selves by the loose skin of aging. Then there are the wrinkles, so if I had my eyes fixed, what would I do about them? As if I slip covered my couch , what about the club chairs ? If I told you my age, you would laugh at me because at 85 I still worry about these trivial things while I live in a time of roulette If we land on one number we live, one number we die Am I that shallow still or is it because I grew up in a house where our worth was judged by our beauty? If my destiny is to live another 15 years then I must learn to look at myself as a glorious piece of antique architecture, nicked and rained on but still interesting to behold
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  No more Santa Cookies, no more chocolate. NO more coffee cake, stuffing, ham, turkey sandwiches from leftovers, cranberry sauce, ice cream. No more loafing around on the coach! Time to stop spending money! It’s over! Let’s face it. We have milked it. It’s almost February. Time to go back to exercising full time, not once in a while. During the holidays, I was on a pill, that, as a side effect, made me lose weight (I didn’t take it for that), and then I got too thin! Can you imagine? I ate everything. I wanted and kept losing weight. It tricked me! Well, I went off the pill and still kept eating (the weight came running back on). All I can say is it’s: TIME TO STOP! Time to start writing, full time, walking every day, answer the emails that I said I’ll get to after the holidays. Time to get back to the dentist, and the doctors. Time to call the handy man, the plumber, the carpet cleaner, you know, like real life. In a way, it’s a big relief. Yeah, a schedule. Let me find one again. This was a long Holiday. It went on forever. We did a fun thing, in the middle, and went to LA and stayed at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel (with Sophia, of course) for a few days. The hotel had all the trimmings: a galore of Xmas trees, elves, mistletoes and on. It was beautiful!––And it felt like we went to New York without having to go to the airport, we walked up and down Rodeo like tourists. We had a tea at the hotel for our family. We celebrated Xmas Eve at my son and daughter-in-law’s house and Xmas morning at my daughters. We saw a movie on Xmas day and celebrated Hanukah in-between all this. The kids were all home from school. We spent time with all the children and grand children––they have all grown a foot since thanksgiving… or am I just shrinking that fast? Either way, It was great! They have all gone back to school and now we should go back to some kind of routine. It’s hard to remember what a routine is at this stage of our lives. Actually, no one cares if we stay in bed all day and watch the Simpsons from morning till night. So we have to make our own routines. Ones where we need to be accounted for. We can do this. We just have to remember what our life was made up of before the Holidays. Luckily, I have a few writing assignments to work on so that will take a while… once I remember how to write. As soon as I get one thought in my head, I’ll get right on this. The first step I have to do is accept the fact that walking the dog in my pj’s, slippers, a raincoat, bed head, and sunglasses is not OK. At least warm ups. Come on.  Dear Friends, We raise our glasses to wish you health, warmth, love and a big serving of happiness May all your dreams and wishes come true in this New Year. Sent with all our love, Beverlye and Bob  Capri, June 2019
 I thought I had forgotten how to cook… This really bothered me. There was a certain peace I derived from cooking for my family or friends, but the last few times I made my surefire dishes, it was a total failure. They weren’t cooked long enough, slightly burnt, lacked flavor, or just simply not good. Bob would say “I’m just not hungry,” but I knew he was. We had gotten into the habit of bringing in, taking out, late lunches, scrambled eggs, a cooked chicken from the market, or a turkey sandwich that would suffice for dinner. I realize that the joy of cooking a satisfying meal was a leftover from when my kids were young and would say “great meal, Mom,” and I would feel that all’s right with the world. My mothering was intact! Let’s face it, Bob did not marry me for my cooking, but when I would make him a meatloaf, chicken or brisket and he would say “I’m in heaven,” it gave me that great “mother knows best” kind-of-feeling again. I liked it! When those meals failed, I thought maybe my cooking days are over. Maybe it was the electric stove or that my timing was just… “off.” I didn’t know. I said to myself: that’s it. I’m through. Maybe, I just forgot until… But first, a little back story. Two days ago, I noticed Bob hadn’t been eating a lot lately; he looked thin, and not only was that unhealthy, but I felt guilty! I said to him, “I’m going to make you a meatloaf tomorrow. Enough of these catch-as-catch-can dinners. I’m going to try one more time. …We went to the market together, bought the ingredients together, and today, while he tried to remember how to play golf, I tried to remember how to cook… a meatloaf. Okay, Alexa. Play some Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars, and let’s go! As I peeled the potatoes, onions and carrots, I was singing and dancing. A girlfriend stopped by and we continued dancing as I was cooking. I had a good feeling about the whole thing! I took down my white and blue roasting pan with a top-cover (like the one we all had a million years ago), threw in my secret ingredients, and put it in the oven at 350. Game on. My Student-Assistant came over to help with some mysterious things I can’t do on the computer, and we worked for a couple of hours while Bob was watching a baseball game in the other room. Meanwhile, I kept checking on my meatloaf. I basted once or twice, and it looked good, but it did before, too…so you never know. There was a lot riding on this one. My Assistant left and I went to go see if dinner was done. It was. I told Alexa to play Tony Bennet and called Bob in to eat. I put the meatloaf, carrots, potatoes, onions and gravy on the plates, added a little applesauce, (always a must with meatloaf), and set the plates on the table. Bob took a bite and I held my breath. “I’m in heaven,” he said. “Maybe your best effort yet!” You can imagine how happy that made me. He cleaned his plate, BTW… Maybe I can still cook, if only for a night. I realized what cooking meant though; it’s more than a meal. It’s really a love note, and then you get a thank you note back. It’s a nurturing kind-of-thing that makes both parties feel good. I felt wifely, in a good kind-of-way. Tonight, it doesn’t matter what the news has to say. In our home, “all’s right with the world.” |
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March 2020
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