What do we remember? Or maybe the question should be: how well do we remember? Are our memories to be trusted? How much do we have invested in what we remember?

One of my daughters was hesitant to go play outside after a rainstorm. I asked her why. She said, “I’ll get a cold.” I told her, “You can’t get cold from being cold, you get colds from germs. You could even get a cold in the sunshine. Go outside, have fun.” (more…)

I’ve been scanning old photos. I’m trying to leave something for posterity, even though I realize that I’m the only one that cares about these images. When I came across this one, I started to wonder how much of all of our lives are kept alive in these old images. Let me explain.

The cake is for a 3rd birthday party, my 3rd birthday party. It looks like I made a good, but not overwhelming haul that day. The little box in the upper left looks like jewelry, maybe it’s a ring? I’d say that the one in the lower right was probably a book. Six presents for a 3-year old isn’t bad at all.

The most important thing in the photo is, of course, in the center: it’s the cake. That cake has assumed hagiographic proportions in my memories. It was a very special cake that had been ordered from the City of Paris bakery in San Francisco. The City of Paris was a department store where I would have one of my better tantrums as a child, but that’s not what this photo was about. It’s a beautiful cake. It’s almost too beautiful for a 3-year old. Therein hangs a tale.

Since my birthday was celebrated on the 4th of July, my cakes usually had a patriotic theme. There are three drum majors on the left of the cake. They are probably plastic. The red, white and blue roses, however, were definitely not plastic. They were made out of pure sugar. Evidently they could be saved “forever and ever.” Why anyone would want to save them forever and ever is beyond my comprehension. Yes, I ate them. I popped them in my mouth and thoroughly consumed those little American beauties. (more…)

Some say that the eyes are windows on the soul. I know better. They’re windows all right, but we don’t see with them. We see with our brains: the eyes are just windows. How do I know this? Well, my little ‘windows’ aren’t wired properly to my brain. I am amblyopic. I have a dominant eye and an amblyopic one. The amblyopic one looks lovingly across the bridge of my nose at the dominant one.

In the great scheme of things, this isn’t all that important. Most of my life I could see just fine with my one good eye. True, people at a distance of more then 5 feet away thought that I was looking at something over their right shoulder rather than at them. But, I could live with that. I did insist that photos be taken on my right side as it lessened the effect. Also, I never allowed it to be said that I had a “lazy” eye. ‘Lazy’ eye inferred that if my eye could just get its act together, all would be well. If only.

As a small child, I was taken to the famous Dr. Hans Barkan in San Francisco where we lived. He operated on my eyes when I was 3 years old. That procedure was only cosmetic, it didn’t fix the eyes. That solution would only be somewhere in my brain, my twisted little brain.

After we moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles I was sent back one June when I about 8 years old, on my own, to see Dr. Barkan. Well, I wasn’t entirely alone. I was put on a plane by my Mum and sent to Oakland because my Aunt Fritzie was there. Aunt Fritzie was newly married to Uncle Paul. Uncle Paul was a paraplegic and they were struggling financially to get along. It was made clear to me immediately by my auntie that I was an imposition, a burden. (more…)

I haven’t taken the Christmas decorations out yet. I’m thinking that I won’t. This year I can’t seem to find my Christmas spirit. Oh, I gave to Médecins sans Frontières. I bought gifts for the children. I’ve made and sent the cards long ago. But I haven’t bought a tree and I don’t intend to this year.

Maybe next year, maybe. So, I’ve been looking at Christmas’ past. Check out that little gingerbread man. Doesn’t he look cheery? It snowed on Christmas Eve that year. I had wanted snow and everyone had said, “Oh, it doesn’t snow here at Christmas.” But, it did snow for me. I was a child again. I put on my wellies and long johns and ran down the road in the snow. There wasn’t a lot of it; just enough for snow angels, but it was my snow. That Christmas no one could deny me my happiness or my snow.

(more…)

Anon is not the most sentimental of people. I’ve been accused of having ice water running through my veins, and that was my children. I’m comfortable with that assessment because, if they knew how soft-hearted I am about them, they would probably get totally sappy: that’s when my heart does shrivel up a couple of sizes.

All that said, this morning I found myself looking at my youngest, the principessa, sleeping just as I used to when she was a baby. And, as when she was little, I stood there watching her chest rhythmically move up and down. I’m thinking that most parents have done this when their children were sleeping.

We have been through the worst of her health crisis and the HB and I are heading home. Fingers crossed, we will be able to celebrate a healthy Christmas. The picture is from the Christmas when the principessa was conceived. So, in a way it was her first Christmas.

Love is a funny thing and it shows itself in many and odd ways. It often seems so awkward. But, here’s one that works for me: Buon natale, principessa. Ti voglio bene.

Oh yeah, and I’m still waiting for the south-facing room in the palazzo.

Here in the land of Anon, we are starting to think about the season again. Barring any unforeseen glitches, Christmas will arrive: God willin’ and the crick don’t rise. I have a conundrum though. We are in the snowy depths of NYC right now and I’m lovin’ it! Snow everywhere, freezy breezy, frosty breath, Jack Frost nipping at your nose: the whole works. We get inside and a hot toddy feels so good. There’s only one problem. Tomorrow we head back to Santa Tourista. It’s going to be sunshine and palms trees.

Now, the HB loves sunshine and palm trees. He can take that for all seasons. Anon, however, is of a different mind. I’m in the mood to go cross-country skiing. I want to make snow angels. Bottom line: Anon loves the cold, HB hates it. We are so amenable on so many levels, but not when it comes to winter weather.

The thought of lawn chairs under the tree are his idea of how to spend the holidays. When we get home, he will put the hammock back up and enjoy the sunshine. I’ll be inside pretending that it’s snowing and playing Harry Connick jr’s Christmas CD. Deep sigh right about now.

Speaking of CDs, I just got new solo one from pal Dom Chapman. It’s not released yet. It’s totally great, especially the cut, “You and the Stars.” We had a wonderful meal with Emilia and Dom in the Village the other day. I had my favourite drink: key lime martini.

Breathe in, breathe out. Life will now proceed as usual.

The cloud on the emotional horizon has passed for now and has been replaced by a real sky filled with snow. A little while ago the flakes were so big it looked as if someone had opened a heavenly pillow and snowy down was falling. Now, the snow has formed little mountains on cars that were parked overnight. (more…)

I looked out my window today, saw the sun, and put on a t-shirt and shorts. Then, I went outside. Big mistake. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and it’s colder than a witch’s hoo-fob.

Why is the sun so cold in the winter? It’s the same sun that brought us so much warm in the spring and summer. Just a few weeks ago, the rays of sun warmed my face. But, now the sun is emitting icicles.

Or, maybe it’s just my mood. I can’t find comfort anywhere. I’m distracted and angry. I want to become like Lear and rage and scream against the wind. But, when Lear lost his mind, he still found no relief. So, I’ll keep my marbles for now.

I am angry. I’m angry at people who haven’t carried their share. Not all people, I’m angry at some very specific people starting with someone I refer to as ‘El Pendejo.’ (more…)

Okay. It’s over but for the remains. No matter how little I try to eat each year, I waddle away from the table. I always swear that I’ll never do that again, knowing full well that in a year I’ll do the same damn thing. This year I felt particular pangs of conscience. There are, again, too many starving people in the world for me to eat the Thanksgiving meal without wondering how many our feast could feed.

Each year the turkey that we purchase gets smaller and smaller. No more the 25 lbs. behemoths. I’ve definitely said good bye Toms and hello to Hens. Yet, there’s still too much. The spirits don’t eat as much as I think they will. They still hover about me as I fix the meal. They critique and bemoan. They harp on and inveigle. Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same without them. Though I’d be willing to give it a go. (more…)

I’ve never had any patience for holiday drunks. Drinkers were a part of my growing up. I suppose they were functioning alcoholics, but no one ever called them that. Being around these souses, I learned, by the time I grew up, to avoid people with certain traits that would lead to drunkenness. My patience with the self-pitying drunk has been non-existent. What I especially had no time for was the drunk who started on that long holiday spiral downward.

I couldn’t understand what it was about the holidays that caused people to drop to the bottom of a bottle and not crawl out until after the New Year. After all, didn’t we all have dysfunctional families? Why the holiday bender?

Now, however, I am beginning to understand this yearly phenom a little better. As a matter of fact the thought of settling down to the holiday dinner with my nearest and dearest shakes me to the core and I want to reach for the gin bottle.

It isn’t the pressure of the actual meal. I’ve learned how to do any holiday meal with the least amount of effort possible. It isn’t fear of displeasure with my cooking. My turkey stuffing is famous near and far, and when my kids aren’t around I can put in all the nuts I want. My cranberry sauce is gone before the meal is over no matter how much I make. It isn’t the company. I can invite whom I want these days; I have no “required” guests anymore. (more…)