I know I said you wouldn’t be hearing from me until mid-September, but I felt compelled to interrupt my hiatus to comment on the current political dialogue. You’re a liar. No, you are. No, you are. You’re lying right now. Liar, liar pants on fire.
When it comes to decluttering, the world seems to consist of two types of people: those who are able to divest themselves of inanimate objects once they’ve outlived their usefulness, and those who would sentimentally cling to an old rubber band. Darned if I know why letting go of things is so difficult for some people,
No doubt my priorities are all screwed up. There’s so much going on in the world that cries out for serious attention and consideration, and here I sit, obsessing about Viagra commercials. Gun violence, Brexit, terrorist explosions, to say nothing of the upcoming political conventions during which two flawed candidates will be nominated to run
So why do I feel like I’m doomed to spend the rest of my days imprisoned in an old Groucho Marx quiz show? Or, during my time off for good behavior, my confinement is relocated to a Monty Python movie? Not just any Monty Python movie, but specifically “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” My
On any given day, there are countless reminders that I am an old person. Not least of which is the pain in my lower back when I uncurl my body from the driver’s seat of my car. There is also the fact that I now prefer to sit when putting on my panties, for fear
Admittedly, I’m not a big fan of nostalgia. My capacity for fondly recounting the good old days is about half a cup. Sure, I have pleasant memories of growing up in the 40s and 50s, but I’m not about to initiate a petition for the return of Howdy Dowdy, or lobby the fashion industry to
Six days and counting, and I continue to eat my way out of Florida. More good-bye dinners with friends we will not see for six months. So what if my clothes have gotten tighter? I am more than compensated by the fact that the non-use of my stove and dishwasher is a great energy-saver. “Where
April is a month that seems to inspire poetry. However, Chaucer, who praised April in his prologue to the “Canterbury Tales” would certainly not have agreed with the opening line of T.S. Eliot’s famous poem, “The Wasteland,” quoted above. But then again, Chaucer was not a woman who had to face the terror and humiliation
In a temporal sense, living in Florida as a Snowbird is a lot like experiencing a second childhood. Not only do we once again have more time to play, but our very concept of time itself has strayed from the calendar year. In reality, our days do not flow from January to December. As children,
I was in a doctor’s waiting room the other day catching up on my magazine reading (see “Death, Taxes, and the Annual Exam,” February 29, 2016), when the title of a particular article captured my attention: The Disappearance of Older Women. Had this been the National Enquirer, I would have assumed that it was another
