Perry and Della and Perry and Della...

Well Hallelujah, the President celebrated the 5000th Point of Light with the George Bush we all love.  And it was Open press.  No way the former President was going to allow this opportunity to help those points of light go unnoticed and uncovered – by the media.  So good for him and good for them both.  The picture they release is not so good, but at least you can see more than the White House photo if you want.  Tomorrow there is  a press briefing with Jay Carney, big whoop, and the President is being interviewed by a Hispanic TV show – I wonder if they’ll let the anchor in with his crew.  Needless to say, no one else will be there. We’re just sayin'…. Staff.

Two things:  First I am lighting 2 yahrzeit candles tonight, (also it’s a Jewish holiday called Tish’a Bav – which I always thought was a make –up holiday), so thanks for all the advice and suggestions.  Only this morning David asked if it was my mom who said, “I once asked my children if they had a happy childhood” in the documentary.  Yes it was,  but she never asked us if we were happy.  It was just assumed we were happy unless we were obnoxious in school. David got stung by two hornets tonight,  so we asked mom and dad to bless our  antihistamine.  My brother lit candles this morning, so we have the day pretty much covered. 

Second, and having nothing to do with anything…  it is always disturbing when I remember my dreams.  And lately that’s what has been happening.  Last night was a doozey. 

Perry Mason and Della Street were living together. It was before anyone knew Perry was gay.   Tipper Gore was visiting Barbara Stanwick  and she died. Everyone went to the funeral, which was somewhere out West in the 1800’s. I was invited and I went but somehow I found myself with three joints, which since I don’t smoke, I was going to use to trade for transportation. All of a sudden,  I was at a party and the police came and raided it,  but the dogs were happy to be with people and  didn’t find the joints.  Someone at the party said he would drive  me to the airport in my rental car, (I have no idea where I was going) but it didn’t matter since   he dropped me in the middle of nowhere and took the dope and the car.   So I started to walk in high heels (which I can neither walk nor balance in.) I had to get to the SF airport so somehow found a cab, which broke down and I started walking again, across some bridge. It was then that I got on a bus (I guess it picked me up on the side of the road).  I was carrying three suitcases.  They dropped me off at United Airlines, and I raced in carrying the luggage. It was well overweight, but the plane was about to leave and I had to run down three flights of stairs, having been able to skip paying the excess charge.  But on the stairwell a guy tried to rob me and I started to scream—and I woke up… Still screaming, David tells me.  I won’t even get into last night, although it involved cooking and shooting.  But it was not as memorable.

With that said, I understand dreams are a reflection of your inner thoughts and your fears.  If so, then I am clearly afraid of the wild west and carrying my own luggage.  We’re just sayin’… Iris

About That Candle

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It's the weekend so the " We're just sayin" staff will give the President a break:  he has no public events. What exactly does that mean? Does it mean he is doing nothing, or that he might be doing something, like playing golf, but no one is allowed to see it? (Oh, speaking of golf, today would have been President Ford’s 100th birthday and we think of him fondly.) But  we can wonder. With whom is the President  playing golf, and like with most corporate executives, will it further his career? 

 President Ford on the 18th, Rancho Mirage

It is also the 14th of July. Rosie Groman died on the 16th of July three years ago and I am in the yearly quandary. Do I light the yahrzeit candle on the 15th or 16^th,  or on the day of her death according to the Jewish calendar?  Last year I lit it on the 13th because dad died on the 10th and I thought that since they always wanted to share everything, they should share a yahrzeit candle. Really, I didn't do it to save money. The candle only costs $1.29. But I did do it because two yahrzeits within a week is just too painful for any one merely mortal child to suffer.

Two years ago, I went to the cemetery where they are buried and we had the same conversation we had when my dad had his leg removed, and mom had it buried in the plot they owned, all the way out in Long Island. It went something like this:

Mom & me...

Me:  "Mom, remember when you told me you were going to buy new plots in Newburgh and be buried with all your sisters. Well, you didn't fool us. We knew once the leg was buried, daddy had to go with it, and that eventually, if we wanted to have this conversation, it would mean we had to schlep all the way out in Long Island.  Yes, it is true that we, your children, could just speak to you in the Temple, or the kitchen, or maybe even the frozen food section at Shoprite, but then who would put a stone on your tombstone (as Aunt Peppy called it?) I always liked the idea of you having something that reminded me of a "gun slinger."  Anyway, you are not around to bless me with any guilt trip, but you are always in my head, reminding me that if I don't do it who will?” 

Mom:  “Jeffrey would like to,” you would say.  “But he lives all the way across the country. It's too far and too expensive to expect him to do it.  And I know you loved your father enough that once a year, you could go a little out of your way to say hello. As long as you are that close you might as well say hello to me. (We are, after all, under the same headstone!)   And your grandparents are only, you should pardon the joke, a stone’s throw away. While you are standing around, there is a little something I wanted to talk to you about. I was never good with plants. You know I killed anything green that was expected to flourish in my house. It’s why I liked plastic fruit and vegetables. 

And yes, I do forgive you for hanging my plastic onions on a tree in your yard to keep the deer away. As long as we are on the subject of green, is that why you decided not to sign up for perpetual grave care?   Daddy has it and when I look over, he's got bushes, but me, not so much.  Don't get me wrong I do like what you wrote on the stone, so you kids did something very nice, but could you get Els to clean up the green?  There is only one more thing I wanted to say until next year or whenever you do a stop by on the way to the airport -- which as long as you come -- is OK.  It's about the kids.  Since I am not around, you need to take special care not to hover. They need to grow strong and find their own direction. That's what I let you and Jeffrey do, maybe by situation, maybe because I was busy with your father or my sisters, but for whatever the reason, you both did all right. So, I won't say goodbye, because it's never goodbye. Stay well and remember, if you have your health....

One other thing.  You know, I never had duck; I am sorry for that, but don't worry, it's not your fault.  Love, Mom.”

We’re just sayin’… Iris

The Best Kind of Coverage of All: "Closed Press"

 
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Well, well, well. It seems that the White House has decided that there is no need to have any Open Press events.  This is certainly a change from previous Presidential administrations  (where there was at least pool coverage)  but if you want to control the message, both visually and on paper, then you use White House photos, and Press advisories.  Here’s what the staff of “We’re just Sayin …” thinks: 

It would be fun to see how a photographer would  cover a Closed Press event IF  they were allowed in.  That’s a pretty big IF.   This will be an ongoing and pithy commentary,  entertaining for all, especially for those who no longer have to race to the White House to actually cover an event.  And so we begin with the President’s schedule for July 11^th  where every event was Closed Press.  (Incidently, the term “Closed Press” was coined by the Nixon White House.)

DAILY GUIDANCE AND PRESS SCHEDULE FOR

THURSDAY, JULY 11, 2013

In the morning, the President and the Vice President will receive the Presidential Daily Briefing in the Oval Office. This meeting is closed press.

Later in the morning, the President and the Vice President will meet with Senator McCain and Senator Schumer to discuss commonsense immigration reform. This meeting in the Oval Office is closed press.

 LBJ meets with Everett Dirksen and Mike Mansfield

In the afternoon, the President will meet with the 1963 Loyola University of Chicago Ramblers championship basketball team in the Oval Office to honor the 50th Anniversary of the Ramblers championship title and acknowledge the key role the Ramblers played in breaking down racial barriers. This meeting in the Oval Office is closed press.

President Reagan and soccer star Pele with young athletes

Later in the afternoon, the President and the Vice President will meet with Chinese Vice Premier Wang Yang and State Councilor Yang Jiechi on the margins of the U.S. – China Strategic and Economic Dialogue. This meeting in the Oval Office is closed press.

 Presidents Nixon and Carter meet with Chinese Vice Premier Deng Xiao Ping

In the evening, the President will take part in a DNC event at the Jefferson Hotel in Washington, DC. This event is closed press.

President George HW Bush reads to his grandkids, a "kind" of an RNC event

Going forward, we’ll try highlight some of the other fascinating and illustrative White House  “Closed Press” events, since it rather looks like there be more of them in the future.  We’re Just Sayin’… Staff

Tresses

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A few years back, when I was living and teaching in Waltham, Mass., I happened to look in the mirror and discovered that I had a rash all over my chest.  It looked angry, like it was supposed to say, “that’s what you get for using that baby powder.”  It was late in the evening and I was in a panic.  It was not the first time I was in a panic. Over the years, I had some moments that can only be described as “total meltdown.” Like the time I ate munster cheese and my throat closed.  Doctors would describe it as an allergic reaction. I could only say, it was frightening not to be able to breathe or swallow, and additionally to think you are going to die. I drove myself to the hospital and when the resident looked at me (there were no real doctors available), she said, “Wow that’s really ugly.” 

It happened again when I was having some testing for an eye infection and they gave me a shot which had some kind of iodine dye as its base.  Hives, all over my body.  Big ones, like the size that bees would use for a vacation hotel.  And speaking of hives, it happened again when I put on a pair of nylons that must have had some foreign substance woven in the stocking.  Yep, hives, and not limited to my legs – they were all over my arms and chest, with a few on my face.

In addition to the hives and throat closing, my legs were pins and needles for about a year.  I knew my legs were there because I could see them, but as for feeling them – they felt like they were asleep. For a while I figured it would simply go away.  But after the first 6 months, I figured I would never have a normal relationship with my feet.  It did eventually go away. But not before I had some fluid injected in my spine, which must have had some iodine.  When the nurse saw my face she started to yell for me to get up. When you have this kind of test, if you raise your head – even a little, you get a debilitating headache. So, on top of the hives, I had a headache and legs I couldn’t feel in order to actually stand on them.  Not to worry, I know most of what I am allergic too and I can feel my legs.

However, once when I was teaching at American University, I tried to duplicate the hair color my cousin Honey discovered.  Don’t worry, it had no iodine and I did not have an allergic reaction.  But my hair was purple.  It was way before having different colors in you hair was fashionable. Cindy Lauper, take note.  I tried to remain calm. When that didn’t work I called the emergency number on the carton of the dye. Have you ever wondered about those emergency numbers?  Well, here is how the conversation went. I’ll skip the hellos.

Me:  Please help me, my hair is purple.

Them:  Purple huh.  What color did you use.

Me:  Richest Brown.

Them: Oh yes, sometimes that turns purple.  But don’t worry it will fade in 6 to 8 weeks.

Me: But I have to go to work tomorrow at a major American university. I cannot go with purple hair.

Them:  Well, you can try coloring over it – but that sometimes makes it worse.

Me:  So your answer is, no you can’t help me.

Them:  I never said that.

I hung up and called my friend’s beautician who gave me some suggestions, among which was, have a professional color your hair next time.

This blob is not a whine or a kvetch.  I went to the doctor yesterday, and when I opened my shirt, the intern working for her said, “Wow, that’s really ugly.” I don’t get hives and I am careful about hair coloring – my husband does mine.  But ugly is still ugly.  Some things just never change.  We’re just sayin’…Iris

Whats the Point?

We have decided to create a new category to our blog called, “whats the point?”  It was inspired by the White House denial of John Kerry ( our wealthy, yet industrious Secretary of State) being on his yacht in Nantucket during the crisis in Egypt.  At first the White House insisted he was not on his yacht.  Even after the White House was shown pictures of him on the yacht, they said he wasn’t. (Wouldn’t you love a transcript of THAT “image crisis meeting?”   Finally, the spokesperson said, yes he was, and she’d been misinformed. 

So I pose the question, what was the point of the denials and, in fact, lies?  There was no point. They only look inept and foolish, or worse.  Why not just say, “Yes, he was on his boat, but in ongoing communication with the White House.”  End of Issue. 

And what is the point of Paula Deen’s continued apologies and explanations.  She admitted she called someone the N word in a desposition.  In her truthful response, did it add to her credibility? Assuming that your pain would make it better only underlines how foolish she was.   Take a lesson from “Avenue Q”.  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jXz_xkrhXI)   Everyone’s an unintentional  racist at some point, and so we recognize it and move on. A few Mia Culpas and put it behind you. 

The Middle East and is in chaos.  They can’t seem to find a direction and head in it.  The military in Egypt insists there will be a democratically elected Government. But what’s the point of sharing that information, when no one thinks it’s true.  The demonstrations in the streets of Cairo looked like the fireworks on the Hudson. Only they were shooting bullets instead of starbursts.   And yesterday the Boko Haram (a radical Islamic group in Nigeria) killed almost three dozen students and teachers in a school in Northern Nigeria.   What’s the point of thinking you should be recognized as a religion of peace, when you cannot function without a violence so horrible, that it serves only to illustrate that you cannot be trusted with power of any kind.  The absence of outrage by moderate Islamic groups just illustrates  (CAIR??), there are no moderate Islamist groups. What’s the point of the people being angry when it’s easier to be happy.  And happy takes no energy and makes you feel so much better.  What’s the point? We’re just sayin’… Iris

Too Much To Ask?

 

It seems to me and I assume most right thinking people, that there are people who spend an inordinate amount of time pursuing ways to prevent other people from choosing the way they want to live their lives.  Take Rick Perry, (please take him anywhere away from the power of the elected official), he wants to decide whether or not women in Texas can have an abortion.  In order to achieve this, he launched personal attacks on his opposition like, ‘if her mother had had an abortion, where would she be today?’  I’ll bet everyone asked the same question knows the answer. But there are very few of us who would stoop low enough to ask that question.  He’s really such a horse’s ass. 

Whether it’s abortion, immigration, or gun control, there are so many people who are not forward thinking. Illegal immigrants are not going anywhere. They will be illegal  whether they have been here for one or twenty five years, unless there is a change in the law. The immigrants who want to stay, have their children and live a whole productive life, much like the immigrants of the pogroms in Russia, Jews from Germany, Irish from the potato famine, or Italians from the 20’s, are trying to pursue the American dream. Many of us, who are not immigrants, (OK we are all immigrants, but go with this), don’t understand the concept of the American Dream.  We have become cynical and jaded, and probably overpaid and overindulged.  Our parents and grandparents got it. They had dreams for their kids that were based on their belief that if you worked hard and were a productive individual, your kids would have opportunity beyond their wildest dream.

And speaking of wildest dreams, today, was July 4^th,  always one of my favorite holidays.  Well, not always but certainly when I moved to DC. The first year we were there, the Carters invited the staff and families to watch the fireworks from the “backyard” of the White House. Yes, it was thrilling.  And so it was for the next four years.  After which, we were invited to the Capitol, to watch from the Speaker’s office.  It was cool, but you couldn’t really see anything because the smoke was so thick when the fireworks were launched. It didn’t matter, it was still a trip.  When we no longer had access to the White House Lawn, or the Capitol, we would go to the rehearsal of the fireworks and the show on the lawn of the Capital. Anyone could go, but not a great many people knew about it, so there was no crowd or traffic but you got to see the acts, and could watch the fireworks from any number of places in the area.  We watched them from a hill near our house in Arlington and that was fun as well. Everything was fun when you were surrounded by people having a good time.

Ho hum, wildest dreams, making sense, having hopes and dreams.  What makes people who can only be described as narrow minded busy bodies,  think that they can insert themselves in lives, which they have no business being in?  Forgive me for ending my sentence in a preposition, but when I am trying to be articulate, it’s hard to do it and at the same time, think about perfect grammar. Too many things to think about, so little time to think at all. Here’s the truth – this blob is disjointed and may not make any sense.  That is the way I would describe most of my writing. However, every once in a while I make a point, that is quite pithy.  Like today, my point is, that people who have nothing to add to the conversation should sit down and shut up. They should watch fireworks, go home, lock themselves in a room, and never come out without taking a few courses in history and the humanities (which ought to include ‘humility’), or maybe in creating hysteria and in behaving like a human beings.   Is it too much to ask?  We’re just sayin’..Iris.

Coming Home: Again

Don’t you think it’s amazing that Rick Perry has nothing better to do than call the Texas legislature back so he could still abolish abortion. OK, maybe amazing isn’t the right word. Maybe idiocy works better.  Or maybe, the question is better asked by saying, don’t you think that horse’s ass, the Governor of Texas….  It is unbelievable that,  after the Senators heroic filibuster to prevent the passage of that legislation, anyone but a moron, would still forge ahead.  Who says there is no war on women?  Whether it is managed by the government, by the military, or by a general population of the men who actually don’t know better, there is an ongoing war against women.  But that’s not what I wanted to blob about.

David was invited to be the narrator of a terrifying Photography in War, exhibit at the Corcoran Museum.  It is not to be missed if you are in the area. And it should be a must for every member of Congress, because it does not whitewash the consequences of war.

But that’s not what I wanted to blob about either.  Anyway, as long as David was going, I decided to see my dentist. (As I was due for a check-up).  People think I’m nuts to still have a dentist in DC.  But Brad has been my dentist for over 30 years and he has promised me he won’t  retire until after I’m dead.  (This is part of the, “can you go home again,” blob, but only a part, because it’s not easy to find a good dentist, and I consider his office, part of my home away from home – in terms of overall health care.) 

It is always my intention to spend as much time as I can visiting with friends.  People who live in DC, always ask if I miss it.  No, I don’t miss Washington and all that means, but I sure miss my friends.  We managed to see Jane for dinner, the ageless Sara Ehrman for a drink, Mary, Jim and Dennis, at the Corcoran, and today I met with Marthena, Rick, and Ann at the State Department.  Which led to a conversation about “taking” a meeting.  I couldn’t remember if you “take” a meeting in the government, the theater, or  television/movies.  (Any help answering this question would be greatly appreciated.) Then, as I was walking back to the hotel, I stopped at the bank and saw Katherine, who lost her husband recently and we hadn’t been in proper touch.

With hope that I would see other friends, I texted, emailed, and called everyone who I thought might be available.  (Oh, one of the special things that happened, was that we rediscovered the old “Match Game” with the ever amusing Gene Rayburn on the Game Show network. That was a big part of going home for us, because when we lived in Va. we watched it everyday at about 3am.)

Moving on…   Is it possible to go home again?  If you work hard to keep your friendships with people you leave behind, alive and contemporary. Yes it is.   Because I think friendships, make a place a home. 

We live in a world where you easily keep in touch through many different kinds of communication. And does all the available technology keep your friendships ongoing?  No. While it simplifies the ability to communicate, you actually need for whatever friends you want to keep in your life, to understand that you want them in your life.  The communication can be surface or superficial, or it can be meaningful and add to your life.  There is no right or wrong, but if your relationship is deep and rewarding, then you won’t need to go home.  You are already there.  We're just sayin'... Iris

Trending: No, Really

It was Father’s day this past Sunday.  It was Mother’s day last month.  Every so often there is a birthday, anniversary, death, engagement, marriage, or a variety of holidays that we used to acknowledge with a card.  Now much of the greetings we send are on line. Anyway, cards are expensive, but I do prefer any kind of card being sent, to an e-mail. But that’s not what I wanted to blob about.

 
This year I decided to give David his Father Day cards.  Not just this year, I always give him his cards in person, because I see him with great frequency and why waste the 45 cents on a stamp.  As has become our tradition or habit, we send funny, rather than mushy cards, and we always write a little something special.  Two years ago I found a card that was so funny I laughed all day. Last year, I chose the same card.  It made me laugh all day again.  But when I gave it to David he said it was just as hilarious when he read it this time as when he read it the year before.

After that experience I made a decision never to sign a card I bought for David.  This new approach to holiday celebration is much like the practice of re-gifting, but with one major difference.  We don’t try to hide the fact that we have used the card before.  In fact, not only is it practical for couples who want to save money, but if you are off to a party or a dinner and you find yourself without exactly the right  card, chances are you will have at least one carefully chosen very funny card available, because you gave it to your beloved, but you didn’t sign it. 

You are probably thinking, a card that you give your husband, wife etc.? It may not be appropriate for someone who is not as close to you.  But funny is funny for whomever gets it.  So, this is what we are going to do .  We will buy a special card, appropriate to the occasion.   We will not sign it.  We will say little loving things to one another in person. Then we will put it away for use next year or for an emergency.

None of this is what I wanted to blob about.  But if enough people do it, it will become a new trend.  What does it take to become a new trend? I was curious to find out exactly how to use the word trending?  First of all, what used to be a verb  (there is a new trend to re-gift cards),  has become an noun,  (What are the hottest topics in trending).  I get the hottest topics.  We used to say, what are the hottest topics in the news?  But now you have to fight your way through a plethora of social media, (twitter, hashtags), before you can figure out something as simple as, what’s going o   Sometimes I just feel like people who try to make a living by inventing, yet another way, to be trendy i.e. confusing.  Whether skirts are long or short is a trend. Eating cicadas dipped in chocolate every seventeen years, is a trend - or just stupid.  My mom always said, always set the trend, never let anyone else determine what’s in or out.  And with that my friends, go get yourself a card and don’t sign it. It’s the latest trend.  We’re just sayin’…   Iris

Father's Day 2013

On Valentines Day, from the time I was about five, my dad always brought me a mini box of candy in a heart shaped box, which was decorated with lace and ribbons. He was working in New York at the time. So he would travel by bus, or maybe car and I would sit in my room just waiting for him to walk through the door.  At first he would pretend that he had forgotten it was Valentines Day. Then he would hide it behind his back and do a little dance.  But eventually, he would reveal what I thought, was the most gorgeous gift anyone could possibly receive.  

In the summer my grandparents rented a small bungalow on Long Beach, in NY. My mother and I would stay there all week, and my dad would come on weekends.  It was ok during the week because my grandfather was a pro at spoiling his "little jewels."  On the weekends, when my dad was there, it was like camp. We would dig all the way to China for crabs, ( that how deep the holes were), swim, and have races along the shore.  Just me and Milty, unless a cousin or two appeared with their mothers  for some R and R. My brother was not yet part of the picture, and my father was still walking, running, dancing, and vital.

When I was six, when my brother Jeff was born, I was ripped away from my twin cousin Stevie, (we had lived together in the same house from the time we were born). And my dad was diagnosed with MS.  My brother doesn't remember Milty walking without assistance. But Stevie and I watched him go from one cane to two canes, to a walker, to a wheelchair. No one ever thought of him as sick. He just couldn't walk.  But he never lost his spirit, or his sense of humor.

My parents spent a great deal of time traveling and looking for a cure. And lucky for us, we had enough other mothers to make it easier to be without them. We did not have other fathers. There was only one to fill the void, Uncle Phil.  On weekends he would take us horseback riding, to museums (he was a talented artist), out for lunch, to the movies, and anywhere we wanted to go. We missed the active dad we loved, but because we had Uncle Phil, we were never lonely. 

On fathers day, especially since they are both gone, I miss them, to the moon and back. I think about all the good times, and I think about the painful episodes, like when I was in college protesting the war and I called Uncle Phil an idiot because he thought the war was honorable.  Or when I said vile things to my mother and, because my father couldn't really move, I had to stand in front of him so he could spank me.  

Milty and Phil. They loved us despite the fact that we were always making mischief, and we knew were connected by a friendship so deep that it couldn't be explained with words. Being a parent is always complicated. Milty and Phil made it look easy at a time that was very difficult. And I miss having them both in my life. I am comforted by the fact that they are together, eating hard salami, drinking some good Scotch, Milty smoking his pipe,  and both of them thinking, “those are our kids -- where did we go wrong?”   We’re just Sayin’.. Iris

Movin' On

It occurred to me yesterday when I was driving somewhere and back, our entire lives are spent moving on.  For example, when we were kids, our mother prepared our breakfast, usually not lunch – unless you were my mother who left those wondrous tasks to Helen Costello, her housekeeper and our, for lack of a better description, our savior. 

Breakfast was usually some kind of hot cereal, which she cooked and cooked and cooked.  Here’s the good news, hot cereal doesn’t dry out (you have to keep adding water), it gets better. (Editor’s note: it was Fantastic!) But most of us moved on. Moved on from those days with morning time before school. There’s never enough time.  If we have cereal, it’s usually cold or instant.  No one would sit and wait for my mother’s hot cereal—it took forever.  Well worth the wait, but no we’re always in a hurry.

When we were in high school, we studied things that today would seem totally irrelevant.  But our social lives were worth remembering.  There was so much drama, and so much fun. The music, the heartbreaks, the dances, (where Howie Hubler and Kenny Kida were the only boys who danced), the elections and the selections . All worth noting, but we moved on.   There’s no time or interest in high school adventures, for most people.

Yesterday, (this has nothing to do with anything—or maybe it does), I went to Costco to pick up a few things among which were new dimmable LED lights.  When David saw them he said, “well they should last for a few years,” and I said, “On the package it says 22 years,” And he said, “But how will we know.” It’s something to think about.  But moving on…

Sometimes we move on from a mode of transportation, sometimes it’s a food, often, it’s a place where we lived or a place we enjoyed dining.  Life changes and it’s necessary to move on.

People have jobs that we thought might be forever, (not me, I have never had an actual go to work from 8-6,  get a paycheck and have weekends free kind of jot that lasted for more than 4 years). But a lot of people have jobs that they thought would be forever, and then the economy changed, tastes changed, technology changed, they got old or bored, and they moved on.  Do they keep in touch with people they left behind?  I really don’t know the answer to that question unless a number of people they knew went with them. David never moves on when to comes to people.  Even my people.  A few years ago he called my third grade boyfriend who lives in Denmark.  But he still calls friends he had in grade school who he hasn’t heard from in 50 years. I try never to disconnect from people who I loved, even in grade school. But here’s the problem with me.  There are so many dear people that are still in my life, it is really crowded.  So I have to move on from people who are not nice, or that I don’t care about.  There was a time when I wouldn’t move on because there was a history. Rule of thumb, if you can only talk about the past and have nothing in common for the future,  you must move on.

In fact, the only thing that you can never move on from are the people who are precious to us. It doesn’t matter if they are alive or dead.  They are always a permanent part of your life.   We’re just sayin’…. Iris

Top Secret, Part Sank

Having heard about ad-nausea (I know it’s not a word, it’s a condition) in the past few days, Top Secret may not be what we all think it is.  Yes, once again I have a story – but they are always so entertaining.

In 1977 I was working in the Carter Administration, as the Director of the International Visitor Office.  It happened that with my job came Top Security clearance. It was probably because we were bringing in persons of questionable character – like military murderers, but anyway, they gave the Office Top Security Clearance.

One day, as I was sitting around trying to figure out how to rid the Office of Military Murderers, (which I eventually did), some security person placed a Top Secret Communication on my desk.  To tell you the truth, when I saw it, I didn’t know what to do. The first thing that come to my mind was, “how do they know they can trust me with National Security secrets?”  I am a person who, when I have information that no one else has, I not only want to share it, I want to rub everyone’s nose in it.

Anyway, since I didn’t know, I put the papers in my underwear, and took the bus to Main State (aka “The State Department on C Street)  to find my Deputy, Pauline. (My office was in a building in Rosslyn across the river, and Pauline was a Civil Servant who I knew would have an answer to this security quandary.).  I called her out of an important meeting, (if anything can really be considered important at State), and explained the predicament.  “Don’t you think we should open it before we make a decision?” she suggested. And so that is exactly what we did.  Not only was  it not a Secret Document, it wasn’t even for me.  So yes, I put it back in my underpants, took it back across the river, and called the Bozos who mistakenly delivered the wrong document to the wrong person.

For the last week we have learned of Top Secret leaks about the Government spying on the public through their phones and internet.  The scariest part of this is not that they have access to who I may speak to and what I may write (I hope they are as entertained as the blob readership) but that they have no idea what they are doing. When someone has no idea what they are doing, the likelihood of screwing up,  is far greater than when they do.

Reread your e-mails and review your phone calls.  Is it not possible that something you wrote or said might be misconstrued by people who have no idea about your sense of humor, your intentions, or -- you should excuse the implications -- your politics.

Here’s what ticks me off.  The President is perfectly OK with this.  This Democratic President doesn’t think this is a big deal. Surely he must be kidding, or so clueless that he doesn’t get what the consequences of this policy can be, After perusing millions of e-mails and phone calls, they found one potential terrorist who was such a dope that before blowing up the subway he sent a message to another terrorist to ask for the instructions, which he had forgotten. This is not a bad thing. Although I am much more frightened about the young U.S. citizens  who want to shoot children, students, and just plain folks on the streets of whatever small town or city, for no apparent reason. Here’s what I want to leave you with.  My underwear was the only thing in jeopardy when I got my Top Security letter, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there is other underwear that will suffer from the same stupidity. We’re just sayin’….Iris

Yuckey!

Yesterday I was walking on Third Ave and happened upon a protest of some sort.  There were about 30 people with hand painted signs gathered on a corner.  They were in front of a restaurant, and they were shouting, but it didn’t appear to be an organized protest. And when I finally saw the sign, it said something about being “yuckey.” Maybe it was a protest because the place they appeared to be picketing was dirty, in violation of some sanitary codes, or maybe it was an eatery that received a low rating. On the next block, I saw a police officer, so I asked him what was so “yuckey” that 40 people showed up.   He looked at me like I was nuts (which should come as no surprise to anyone).  “What are you talking about?” he said. 

“Those people”, I said, “With the signs.”

He looked and started to laugh.  “Not Yuckey,” he said, “They are protesting about the violence in Turkey.”   See what can happen when your eyes don’t work anymore…..

Anyway, I have an Addendum to my blob about friends and reunions.  I don’t believe there are any bad friends.  It’s kind of an oxymoron… with the emphasis on the moron.  If you look at a definition of friend, you will see a whole list of things, like ally, pal, chum etc.  If there is someone on your list of friends who you would define as a bad friend, then they shouldn’t be on your list. Remove them, never speak to them, write them a goodbye letter, whatever, life is too short to waste on someone who simply isn’t going to be there for you.

Moving on.  There are a few things that either confuse me or piss me off, even if I am medicated.  On the top of the list is violence against women.  And I don’t mean just in the U.S., the U.S. military, or in the rest of the world – whether it be India, the Middle East, the north, south, east or west, or anywhere in between. I seriously don’t get it. Why do men, (as it turns out, all kinds), feel like they have the right to intimidate, beat, rape, or otherwise behave in a physically or emotionally threatening way toward women, or girls.  It makes me want to provide women and every little girl, who is born anywhere in the world, with weapons and instructions on how to use them to defend themselves.  And, as a peace loving Liberal Democrat, I mean that in the nicest possible way.  And of course the panels of mostly white military males, cannot make decisions about sexual impropriety in the military – because they have no idea what that means. In the words of the female Senator from New York, “they don’t know the difference between a slap on the ass and a rape.” 

If you have ever tried to drive in New York City you will notice that the streets are a mess.  It’s like a third world country.  The Mayor, who is so worried about how much sweets people drink, and the placement of cigarettes in stores, has done nothing to improve the condition of the roads, the sidewalks or the noise and disruption from the endless construction.  Rental bicycles in the city – a plan. But no concern about the space they take up, and the inconvenience to the people who actually reside in the city and pay taxes.  Bike lanes close to the curbs, with cars parked in the middle of the streets. Understand this, I am not anti-bike.  I love bikes,  However, when people think that they can fluctuate between being a bike and a car, it can only end badly. My favorite thing a biker does is either pay no attention to the lights (because they are a bike), or when the light turns red, they stop and pull up in front of the first car,  and force the car to follow behind them.

So, that’s what pisses me off today, you can be sure there’s more to come in the very near future – and that’s not yuckey.  We’re just sayin’… Iris

...That Brilliant Display....

Upon reflection. 

A few years ago I disappointed a friend about something, like forgetting   about her wedding.  OK, it wasn’t nice. And truthfully, it just happened.... no drugs or alcohol were involved. There were so many weddings that summer/fall, it just slipped my mind. 

After the wedding she composed a letter to me which started,   “Thank you for your brilliant display of friendship....”   It was almost a half century ago and I still remember it.  It took her ten years and many miles to forgive me, but eventually she did.   Maybe. 

This weekend was my 45th college reunion. If you are asked how old I am, please decline to answer. It’s not that my age is embarrassing, it is unbelievable.  How did it happen, and so fast?  My grandfather used to tell us, in broken English, that life is like a train:  for the first half of your life you are on the Local, and then somehow, you change to the Express.  Lately, it is impossible to remember what month, day, or year it is. It is equally impossible to remember what is suppose to happen every day. They all meld together like a colorful abstract painting.

This is not meant to be a whiny blob, because my life is full, adventurous, sometimes exciting, but usually fun.  It helps to be surrounded and supported by people I love, and I am grateful for that. But that’s not what I wanted to blob about.  What I wanted to blob about was friendship, new and old.

I’m not going to talk about new friends in this blob, but I’ll get there sometime.

There are  people who you have known for 50 years.  If you see them once a year, it’s enough.  That is not a bad thing. You love to know they are fine, doing well, their kids are thriving, and enjoying whatever life they chose to live.  So many of my college friends studied one thing in school but their lives took a turn and they are doing something entirely different.  It’s interesting to find out how that happened and nice to catch up, learn about their families and even the difficulties. Although at reunions, you mostly brag about the good and skip right over the bad.  It is surface conversation. And it’s lovely.

Then there are people who you may not even speak to once a year.  But when you run into them, it’s like you saw them yesterday.  You still have stuff to talk about, and it often revolves around more important subjects, like who they love and who they lost, and had any of their dreams come true. You hang on to those relationships because you know that if you need to, you can turn to them (or they to you) in a crisis and it won’t feel like an intrusion. You knew one another as children and there is a special bond. 

Lastly, there are the people, who no matter how much time you spend apart or how infrequently you are in touch, they are a solid part of your life.  You watched them grow into the people they are. You know their families, their pain, their joy.  It would never occur to you to do something important in your life and not include them. When you are together you pick up any conversation, from where you left off, but over the years the conversation has grown and developed and become much more intimate.  You might start by talking about things that happened in the past, but you move right into the present and the future.  It’s never boring, and surprisingly, no matter how long you’ve known them, it’s never the same.

The wonder of reunions is that you remember how precious and probably tenuous these connections can be. And you know that no matter the kind of friend they have become, you never ever want anyone of them to start a letter or email to you with, “Thank you for your brilliant display of friendship...”    We’re just sayin’…. Iris

The Last Five Years

Every five years, like clockwork, there is a reunion of some sort.  The one I am about to celebrate is not one that I can even believe is happening.  In fact, everyone who is of the same age, or close to it, can’t believe that time passed so quickly.  It happens… the difference between our generation and our parents, is that at 50 or 60 or 70, they didn’t feel like they were still 20, or 25, or 30. At least it never appeared so.  They were just what they were.

One of the things we are going to do at the class luncheon is to ask people to describe their lives in 2 minutes, Try it.  Unless you did absolutely nothing but pick your nose, it is almost impossible to narrow what you think was important into a two minute snapshot.

Here’s my snapshot (I knew you were desperate to know).

Got my Masters in Communication Theory (whatever that means), had a baby.  Left out getting married because that wasn’t one of my finest moments. Was a University Professor for sometime.  Accidentally found myself working in Presidential politics. Moved to Washington (where else would you do that). Got married again (this time it was great)  Had another baby. Wrote two political humor books and a documentary.  Decided to write and produce musical theater. Did it.  Moved to NY. Found new family.  Living happily ever after.

Probably left something out but since no one but my friends from college, who are still my friends, could even try to fill in the blanks.  Who cares about health concerns or emotional traumas. They seem not so important in such a great many years. Which brings us back to the reunion.  There are a number of people who are not coming, who we would  have liked to see.  But, for the most part, we see them or speak to them as much as is possible,  so they remain connected to our lives.  Keeping the people we love in our lives is hard work because everyone is somewhere else. But it is well worth the effort. Then, why are we at this reunion?  Did I want to be acknowledged for all my amazing accomplishments.  No, they aren’t so amazing.  Did I want people to say, “Oh, she looks so young. She hasn’t changed a bit.”  Even I, in my most distorted illusion, I know that’s simply not true, even for the people we knew when we were seventeen, and who might still see us through those seventeen year old eyes.

The truth is (and you know how I am about truth), visiting with my kids, seeing one of my best buddies, Soozie, and being able to take a break from Gefilte Fish Chronicles, the Musical, is, for me what this reunion is all about. Most of the professors we admired are dead, or don’t show up. I know, they can’t show up if they are dead. Duh. Oh, and of course, making fun of the people we never liked, is part of the overall joy.

There is too much thinking going on here. So, I’m just going to go to activities, drink a lot, and enjoy the weekend.  Nothing else to say – even though, We’re just Sayin….   Iris

Team Gefilte, at the White House

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Just to give you an idea of what our life has been like for the last few weeks, when I woke up last Wednesday morning (having returned very late from Washington DC and the Gefilte Fish Chronicles the Musical, command performance at the White House), David was packing his bags. “Where are you going?” I said. “To Australia, this afternoon”, he informed me.  “You’re kidding,“ I said.  “No,” He said.  “We have talked about it and its on every calendar we own.” And off he went. 

 

in front of the West Wing

A few weeks ago, my friend Steve Rabinowitz called me to find out if we would be interested in performing in the White House, some time in May for Jewish American Heritage Month.  Sure, I thought. It will never happen so it doesn’t hurt to say yes.  Two weeks ago I called him just to say, “I assume we are not going to the White House”.

“Don’t be so sure, I’ll get back to you,” he said.  Sure enough, he called me later in the day and said, “How does the 22nd work for you.” (It was May 7).  “It doesn’t give us much time,” I said.  “OK, I’ll call you right back” Which he did, to tell me that we were on for May 21st.

the Team Gefilte bus, flashing across the NJ Turnpike

During my political career, there were a number of times when putting an event together , last minute, was not uncommon. Of course, then I had staff and money was allocated, and there was an infrastructure. (None of which was the case this time.)  First I had to raise about $16,000. When you have an Equity level cast, it ain’t cheap.  Then there was  transportation, food, per diem, costumes & props, rehearsal space, technical needs, musical instruments, the people who played them, video, printing costs and those unexpected “miscellaneous” expenditures.

a warm up stretch

Most of Team Gefilte were working in other places. It was no easy task to put them back together -- that includes the director, stage manager, and casting director.  Oye, the repeated phone calls.  Of course, we could not forget the public relations, (D.C and NY-- we were in Broadway World and the NYTimes)) programs and materials for prospective investors.  It doesn’t sound like so much, but believe me, it was mind boggling. 

Team Gefilte 

From the time we knew we were going to do this, until we got to the White House, we never had a full cast rehearsal. What was supposed to happen was that we were supposed to have a two hour, full cast rehearsal AT the White House -- which would have happened if the security people had allowed all of us, cast and crew, in at the same time.  The entanglements of Sequestration (the excuse given for anything in government which isn’t operating fully according to form,) were the supposed excuse that the clearing Secret Service officer (it was down to one guy) didn’t get everyone properly cleared through the system.   By the time the rehearsal happened (in fast forward) we had an hour -- we thought. But then we were told that they were going to let the guests in at 1:30.  Which meant that maybe there was 45 minutes to work out all the kinks.  Did I mention that Matty and I had to rewrite the show because it is a two hour show and they only wanted an hour and 15.  The first time they fully ran the ‘wedding’ scene was when they ran the wedding scene in the show. 

Team Gefilte was amazing.  Not only did they pull it off, but they had people laughing and crying in all the right places.  It was truly a living, loving production about celebrating the power of family and the importance of Jewish Heritage. 

 

Ben and James prepping with no time to prep

We rented a bus which left NYC at 6am, we rehearsed and performed from 12:30 to 3:15 and then we went to a VIP reception with the Vice President.  We loaded up the bus at 6:30 and were back in NY by 11:30pm, with a stop at the nicest rest stop between NYC and Washington --- the Delaware Rest stop. 

 [Jordan and Ben did a stretch routine at the Rest Stop:   see a video version of it here!]

Anyway, it has been a non-stop couple of weeks. I for one, (I always wondered what that meant. How can you be more than one?), am exhausted.  But let’s be honest, a command performance at THE WHITE HOUSE, what could be more of a statement on the value of what we created. Broadway World was all over it.  And so were we.  We’re just sayin’…. Iris

http://dc.broadwayworld.com/article/Photo-Flash-GEFILTE-FISH-CHRONICLES-Performs-at-the-White-House-20130522

Smash(ed)

When it started, I was curious about how the TV people would present the development of a Broadway musical.  Well, all you have to know is that they have cancelled next season, so all those questions left unanswered will live forever in our minds…. unanswered. 

When I invest my valuable time in destination TV, it is usually because I like it.  This was not the case with “Smash.”  It was a terrible show. But for those of us in the theater, we were curious about how they would portray “us.”  Or, what we really wanted was to be able to explain to all the people who are curious about what we do, that we were certain characters on the show. Nothing I liked better than to say to folks, “have you ever watched “Smash?” --- well I’m kind of Angelica Huston.”  Although to tell you the truth, I like the Jerry character, because he’s a Producer with endless funds. 

When I started writing this blob, sometime about two weeks ago, I had no idea that a performance at the White House, was in my future.  Yes, that White House. But last week, Gefilte Chronicles the Musical, invited us to the White House in honor of Jewish Heritage Month.  Who knew there was a Jewish Heritage Month? Although it is certainly a Religion with lots of Heritage, and good fish. 

Anyway, I have been spending most of my time like Angelica Huston. Except, she has people who work for her.  One does the PR, in a kind of a sleazy way.  She plants false information with people on the Tony nominating committee which discourages them from voting for anyone but her client.  This woman is truly offensive. Yes, there are sleazy people in the business but never as obvious as this woman.  It’s important to keep reminding myself that it’s only a TV show.  And on television there has to be drama, tension, heroes, victims, liars, sex, villains, and most importantly, pithy dialogue.  Unfortunately, the scripts for “Smash” were terrible.  They made some wonderful talented actors into blithering idiots. Well, maybe they didn’t blither, but it came pretty close. 

So, was there any good news about “Smash?” Of course there was. It gave a great many out of work Broadway actors a salary and benefits for at least, the time it was on.  Plus six weeks.

Back to the White House.  We are thrilled and honored to have been invited.  We are kind of like “the little engine that could.” We just keep moving forward with our gem of a show, and eventually we will have audiences all over the country and maybe even the world…. Toot, toot, toot.   We’re just sayin’… Iris

Da Fridge

When I look at my fridge in the NYC apartment, ( I can’t do it in our place upstate because it is stainless and nothing sticks but fingerprints), I see a visual diary of moments and people that are important to me.  When did putting stuff on the fridge become something people did?  (Even Wikipedia doesn’t know). And why do we make it the place where we keep these treasured memories?  Even when we were going to sell the apartment and the real estate agent said that we had to remove anything that would divert the potential buyers attention from thinking about it as theirs, the first thing we did was remove all the stuff on the fridge.  It was lonely without those things in which I found such great comfort and so much of our history.

Here’s what we have in our kitchen behind a variety of amusing magnets:

Pictures of our grandchildren and those close enough to be grandchildren.

Pictures of our children and their friends who we have come to know and love enough to attend any performance we can, within a regional geographical distance.

Sweet little notes that remind us of special days.

Telephone numbers we don’t want to lose.

Remembrances of events we attended and we liked or we hated but the pictures were good.

Pictures of people we may not know, but would like to. For example, we have a picture of Amanda Green, who produced Law and Order SVU – which we love and could watch 24/7.  As it happens, her father is a photographer who David knows, and I have met.  He’s a lovely guy, and we told him we worshipped his daughter (I think that’s how we got the picture), but we failed to mention that Jordan wanted to be the dead body at the beginning of each show.  Still we admire her genius and she has earned a place right up there.

So what criteria does anyone use for refrigerator prominence? We mostly stick things up when we have nothing else to do with them. Then we search for a magnet that will hold it, until we replace it with something more timely or meaningful. We do not have special attractive magnets that might also mean something.  We just use giveaways – so as not to take away from the importance of the stuff.

 The most interesting memento on the fridge is a drawing given to Jordan by someone who’s name got wet, so we don’t know who it is --  Ann something. But we like it so it remains. Oh yes, and a lovely note from Julie Harris, a remarkable actress, also written to Jordan.

 

Anyway, take a look at what you have saved in this prominent place and see if it creates a picture of who you are or aspire to be – ours has nothing to do with any of that, but at least I know where to find the telephone number for the garage.