Paul Newman, No Failure To Communicate With Me

Warning: If you feel as I do about Paul Newman, this will make you cry.






No one can deny the timeless appeal of Paul Newman. No one will ever replace his precise blend of sex appeal, sensibility, intelligence and rare grace. As an actor, as a human being.

He was my first movie star crush, and no one's come close to this day. Not only because he was also undeniably gorgeous, but because of his reality and humanity, his unwavering devotion to his wife, his family, those less fortunate in the world.

Few celebrities genuinely fit the label Uses Power for Good, Not Evil. Paul Newman defined that concept. And lived life his way, with brio, bravery, honesty, commitment and even modesty.

I had the honor and--oh yeah--the thrill of meeting Paul Newman in 1979 at the Daytona 500. Pure. Magic. I was a guest of friends who owned part interest in Newman's race car company. (It's a business, believe me). They had a big deluxe RV parked in a prime spot inside the track. It was like a luxurious home inside, plenty of refreshments and facilities. We watched the races from swivel chairs bolted to the roof.

Newman didn't sit around and chat. He came and went, focused on the cars, his crew, the preliminary races. His presence was calm and electrifying at the same time. Not that tall, not a loud voice, dressed like all the other drivers. But there was something special about him, a supreme self-confidence and a charisma that pulled you into his orbit.

When we were introduced, he shook my hand with both of his, gave me his full attention, asked a few questions ... for a few brief golden moments making me feel important and yet totally at ease, as if we were old friends. I wish. Wow factor squared. And oh those extraordinary piercing blue eyes, as another friend once described, you could see from the back of his head.

My sister and I were just talking about him yesterday and I said, Is he sick? I've been having this feeling he's going to die. (I'm like that, get premonitions good and bad, always correctly predict the sex of my niece's babies, know when I'm going to hear from someone, stuff like that. My grandmother had it too.)

I so wish I'd been wrong this time. And I feel humbled too. Here I've been, whining about my stupid shoulder surgery, while I bet anything Paul Newman was dying as he lived, with dignity, grace, humor, bravery and love.

My heart goes out to his family and to all of us, his family of faithful fans.

Shouldering Some Surgery, See You in 3-4 Weeks

This is not me, I have much better muscle tone.

I'm serving notice to all you active young pups still south of 50: Beware Father Time. Especially if you're an athlete. Or a fitness freak. Or both. Trust me, that wonderful, endorphin-enhanced pounding high you're getting now will come back to bite you on the ass. Or, in my case, this time, the left shoulder.

Today I'm having major shoulder surgery. Two 3-centimeter full-thickness rotator cuff tears front and back, a nearly severed biceps tendon, bone spurs, a crack in my scapula (aka shoulder blade). My shoulder's so bad it partially dislocates (called subluxation) at the slightest movement. So the surgery will also include inserting pins for greater stability.

You'd think I was a Major League baseball pitcher. S'okay, I'm in good hands, my doctors treat our Philly teams.

By the time you read this --sometime Friday morning-- I'll be in the OR or in recovery. Drugged and needing it. Hoping to wake up and find the 5-hole arthoscopy did the trick, that they didn't have to open me up with a big nasty incision.

Of all the sports surgeries, they say shoulder is the hardest. Worse, they tell me, than having a hip replaced. (My hips are just fine, thank you). But at least I had fun getting here.

In my teens and 20's it was competitive swimming, volleyball, softball. Plus skiing and running. In my 30's switched full time to tennis, squash, racquetball. Nautilus. Free weights. Aerobics. All necessary not only for health, but stress relief, especially working in politics and journalism.

By the time I reached my 40's I was a full time mom with my own little wellness business on the side, contracted to run fitness centers in federal office buildings and at my local health club. My favorite task was conducting quarterly fitness testing for the FBI, the Secret Service, Customs agents. Damn, that was fun.

Running those guys up and down 10 flights of concrete stairs, making them hit the floor for 50 push ups, hold weights while running an obstacle course, calling them "Sissy maggots!" at the top of my voice. Oh, and did I mention I was doing everything they were doing too? Plus, in those days I was teaching 2-3 step and aerobics classes a day, 5 days a week.

Not. Any. More. Over the past 20 years I've had both knees "scoped" ... handled it pretty well. Also a wrist, an ACL, a small rotator cuff tear/frozen shoulder (the right one), my lower back twice. Less fun, yet manageable. My left hand last February. The worst so far. Hands freakin hurt.

Today they'll fix my left shoulder. I'll suck up the 3-week immobility cast and the pain as best I can. Then I'll start the 3-6 months of rehab. It's okay, I'm a PT fanatic. Physical therapy is my middle name. And my health club. I've been going there throughtout August 3 times a week in advance of this surgery to get in tip top shape for it.

My sister (a nurse, how convenient) will be staying with us to help me manage with only one arm. At least I'm right-handed. But still, fully immobilized left side -- I know from the hand surgery it isn't so easy having only one arm.

My respect for amputees and other disabled people soars when I'm in my 'temporary' situations. You can't cut your food. You can't push yourself into a sitting position in bed. You can't even pull your own pants up without a lot of circus-style contortions.

BUT: they promised me I'll be able to type in a few weeks. Maybe two, maybe three. You gotta know that's almost as high on my list as rehab and recovery. I can always dictate to my sister, but it's not the same. Although if something major breaks, my voice will get here somehow.

In the meantime, maybe this is a good thing. A break from the cerebral and the outrageous, some time for dumb TV shows, chick flicks, good quality heart-to-hearts with my sisters and friends. I'll get flowers and candy and maybe even (stay back, Freaky Troll!) cake.

And from now on, no more tennis and skiing. Instead it's the treadmill, the elliptical, yoga, Pilates, bands, lighter weights, more reps. I love it and it's good for me, health-wise. I have the blood pressure, cardio-vascular endurance, muscle strength, low cholesterol and body mass index of an active woman half my age.

And I have the joints of a worn-out, washed up pro football player.

So take my advice, be a little kinder to your joints while you still can.

I won't be doing any heavy lifting for a while, but I'll be thinking of you, and I wouldn't mind some kind thoughts and good karma from anybody willing to shoulder them on my behalf.

Heading Back to the Homeland

The picture above is from my nephew's wedding this February in Israel. There's nothing like a wedding to bring people together.

Our family's weddings in Israel do more than that -- they bring worlds together. I missed this one because I had surgery. I've finally gotten the go-ahead to fly and am leaving Tuesday (tomorrow!).

As always, I will be welcomed back with joy and excitement. As always, my family will shower me with unconditional love. As always I will offer my love in return, plus a warm welcome and some of Aunt Sally's special guidance to my nieces and the newest family bride. And as always, I will come away having learned more than I could ever teach.

There's much to admire about our family in Israel, but the level of their commitment to a Higher Power is highest on my list. There's something deeply comforting about the purity of religious rituals, both simple and complex.

They provide so much more than merely rules. They offer guidance. And a path toward inner peace. I wouldn't trade that for anything. And every time I visit, I find myself further along that path.

Though our Israel family is much more deeply religious, we're not really so different. In the end, we are the sum of our unique individualities. Which could be a positive way to walk the road to peace. Someday. We can hope.

So off I go. Have computer, will travel. If you don't hear from me for a while, I'll see you in July. Tawk amongst yourselves. I certainly know you can.

Air Travel Tips

"Today, most people consider just getting there to be the only remaining value in air travel." Zagat Survey

It's travel season and as a seasoned traveler I'm sharing some tips on how to make your airplane trip smoother, easier and a little safer.

Zen Approach
A realistic, even fatalistic attitude is the key to sane air travel. Today's reality means you will be dealing with underpaid, overworked people in positions of power without proper training or enough supervision.

Many of those people can--and will--abuse that power and make your life hell. If you let them. (I'll tell you how to minimize that in a minute).

Chant to yourself over and over before you leave the house, "It's out of my control. It's out of my control. It's out of my control."

And face facts: if you can't deal with the inevitability of being overcharged, underserved, ordered around, invaded, ignored, pushed, prodded, poked and possibly insulted ... all while enduring endless, boring waits, don't fly. Just stay home. Really.

Money Matters
Keep a collection of ones and fives in a separate small holder, in your pocket or in the top compartment of a carry-on. This is for tips. Don't be stingy. You can afford to hand out a total of twenty bucks to people making minimum wage schlepping heavy stuff for tired, cranky travelers.

Make sure your wallet is packed way down deep in a bag that never leaves your side. I stow my cash and credit cards in a make-up case or anything else that isn't all that interesting and doesn't resemble a wallet. Put some extra money and one credit card in a different place or on your person.

If you're traveling overseas, try to get some local currency before you leave. Do not change money in a foreign airport unless it's a local bank branch. And even with our economy and buying power at an all time low, everybody still wants American dollars.

Send yourself email with your passport info, including number and expiration date, your itinerary and your credit card and bank numbers.

Packing Lists
Make a Travel Packing List and save it on your computer. I have different lists for different destinations. Florida, Israel, California, Denver ... each requires different clothes and gear.

I also group my lists into categories, i.e. Backpack, Carry-On, Checked Luggage. When I'm ready to pack, I print the list and check things off as I put them in the bags.

Tape a copy of your list to the inside of each bag as a reminder so you don't leave anything behind on your return. Plus, it's a good way to keep track of your stuff ... and to let the airline know you're doing just that.

By the way, this is not overly anal. Disagree? Okay, get back to me when you reach your destination and realize you forgot your prescription reading glasses, special shampoo, camera or phone charger.

Pro Packing
Pack meds, toilet articles, iPod, etc. in see-thru cases and fold clothes into plastic packing bags and big zip-locks, which you can buy at Target or CVS.

Remember, your luggage will be searched over and over, your belongings moved and touched by strangers. Security screeners only wear those blue plastic gloves to protect them from the cooties in everybody's luggage.

If they can see everything through your clear plastic cases and bags, security personnel are less likely to open them and physically touch your stuff.

Important: Pack all medications, essential small toiletries, a set of underwear and one outfit in your carry-on to get you through at least a day of lost or late luggage. Include a pack of tissues. And a small bottle of hand sanitizer to use after you've visited the bathroom. Especially on the plane, you don't want the lavatory water even to touch your hands.

Lugging Luggage
If you travel with a lot of stuff, buy the cheapest, lightest luggage you can find. A $35 roomy 30" rolling upright from Walmart has lasted me six round trips and counting from Philly to Tel Aviv.

Mark the outside of your luggage front and back with duck tape. I write my last name in bold marker on the tape. I don't know why more people don't do this, but I can pick out my bags in a flash from the other side of the carousel, and so can a porter (or a kind stranger) if I'm exhausted and needing help.

Don't forget to put your name and address INSIDE your luggage. If those fancy monogrammed luggage tags you bought from Eddie Bauer fall off, how will the airline find you?

Take a digital picture of your bags inside and out and keep it on your camera (print a copy, too) in case the airline loses them. The copy of your travel packing list will come in real handy then too.

At the Airport
Have your ticket, ID or passport and a credit card all together up front where you can grab them instantly. How many times have you stood in line behind someone digging endlessly through her bag making everyone wait? Don't let that person be you.

Bring along a book or magazine, your iPod, take a pill if necessary. Whatever you can do to reduce stress, relieve boredom and let you go with the flow will save you a lot of aggravation.

It's a given you will stand in line quite a while to go through security. Seize that opportunity and use the time productively by preparing for the scanner. Dump the Pepsi. Take off your jacket. Get the laptop out. Unlace the shoes (slip-on's are so much smarter). Have your quart Ziploc ready to drop in the bin.

We all know we have to do this. Savvy travelers don't wait til they reach the belt to start the whole process. They also know you don't make jokes or conversation with TSA employees. Unless you need to point out the metal pins in your knee, the best approach is silent compliance.

While you're in the departure lounge be pleasant to people. Admire babies, smile sympathetically at the parents of crying or restless children. Help an older person with a bag or offer to get her a bottle of water. Strike up a conversation with the person next to you. All will make time pass and gain you points, if only in heaven.

And if you have a question or request for airline personnel, be nice, be patient, try to be courteous even if they're frazzled. Remember, they don't run the airline, their job mainly consists of stamping tickets and listening to angry people bitch and moan every hour of every single day.

On the Plane
Have your boarding pass (and ID if required) in your hand when boarding is called. If possible, have your book and glasses out or at the top of your carry-on too.

Read your boarding pass, figure out approximately where your seat is, find it fast, stow your bag(s) above and below your seat and sit down as quickly as possible.

Help your seat mate do the same if necessary.

You will have gone to the bathroom while waiting in the departure lounge.

Then you can settle back, open your book, embrace your Zen attitude and be well prepared to wait until the waiting's over.

Hillary's Last Stand?

HillaryClinton.com - Action

"A quitter never wins and a winner never quits. To quit while losing is to lose while quitting." Napoleon Hill

Here's the latest email from Hillary. It's called Florida and Michigan. Here's what it says:

Millions of voters in Florida and Michigan are depending on you to help make sure they have a voice in this race. Will you stand up for them today?

Thanks to your efforts, thanks to the hundreds of thousands of people who have already spoken out, the DNC's Rules and Bylaws Committee is meeting May 31 to make a decision about whether or not the votes in Michigan and Florida will count.

Now I need you to urge the DNC to make the right decision on May 31. I need you to remind them that in the Democratic Party, we count every vote.

Tell the Democratic National Committee to count the votes of Florida and Michigan.

On May 31, the DNC has a chance to make it clear that the people of Florida and Michigan have a voice in our party. The decision is especially critical given the important role these states will play in November.

And your voice could make the difference for the millions of people who went to the polls in those two states to make their choice for president.

Stand with me today and tell the DNC to count the votes in Florida and Michigan.

I have consistently said that every vote must count. It is such an important principle in our party. I really appreciate you standing up for the values we share.

Thank you,

Hillary Rodham Clinton

What do you think I did?

Right. I clicked on the link and I signed up and I wrote what I truly believe. Everybody who voted for Hillary Clinton should see their votes count. Not just in Florida and Michigan, but everywhere.

I'm not a quitter. I want my vote to count too. I chose my candidate because I believe in her and I think she can win. I'm with her to the bitter end. I don't bail without a damn good reason. And I haven't heard one yet.

I don't make pompous, regal endorsements in favor of one candidate, not because I like him or his positions but because, personally, I can't stand her. Kennedy? Kerry? Are you kidding me??

I don't endorse the candidate who seems to be winning so I can seem to be on the winning team. How unbelievably shallow can you get? NARAL? Are you kidding me??

I don't endorse the presumptive best shot to secure myself a cabinet post or who knows what else. John Edwards? Are you kidding me??

I don't jump on a bandwagon just because it looks like the cool kids are there. That bandwagon was created by the so-called cool kids. Who are so very often so very wrong.

I have a position, an ideology, a belief system, a candidate ... and I stand firm until it's really over.

Here's what I told the DNC:

The DNC rules are arbitrary and wrong. It's bad enough our party has been unable to stand up effectively against all the judicial rulings made in favor of Republicans over many elections ... we should not now turn against our own. All the Democratic voters in America should be heard, not just the endorsing-for-gain politicians and other opportunists. Too many convention battles in the past have shown us that it's not over until it's over.

Why did I say that?

Because it's true. And because I don't give up when it seems to become more fashionable to support the other guy. Especially since I don't think the other guy can win.

The Democratic Party has become a joke compared to the Republican Machine. Florida and Michigan are hugely pivotal states in the general election. They represent a pattern that predicts a Clinton win over McCain in November.

If we disallow those voters a real voice and allow nouveau uber liberal guilt to become our clarion call ... it will instead become our swan song.

When are we going to get over ourselves and play to win?

Jenna Bush, AKA J-BU

"I think this wedding is one of the most special ones we've done." Donald Trump

Okay, now that the pictures are out, I have to dish. I didn't think I'd care and really, I don't. But still, to see such crashing bad taste all in one place is just too much fun to overlook.

First of all, Oscar de la Renta or not, that low-cut, tightly fitted gown would look more fitting on say, Katherine Heigl than on Jenna Bush. It screams Hottie on the Red Carpet instead of murmuring Blushing Bride.

And I have to ask, what was up with Maid of Honor twin Barbara's Greek Goddess look, complete with wreath headdress? Jeez.

George and Barbara Bush Senior are conspicuously absent from the photos, which is okay since Laura choose a matronly, ugly dress more suitable for Grandmother of the Bride.

Then we had the two fathers and the groom in complimentary and matching ice blue ties. Again, Jeez.

These people have access to the best clothes and fashion advice that money can buy. Aside from a truly lovely engagement ring--which come to think of it came from the groom's side--and a glorious setting provided by nature, the wedding party's look was as tacky as the souvenirs being hawked all over Crawford.

It is sweet the wedding took place this weekend, but I bet that wasn't Jenna's idea. Releasing those pictures on Mother's Day is too good an opportunity for a sagging presidency to pass up.

Around here, there's no wedding, just the usual pride. Our son spent the weekend down in Boca with his grandparents (today is my Dad's birthday too). Tonight we'll pick him up at the airport and go to our favorite Italian restaurant for a relaxed Mother's Day dinner.

All that and roses too.

I won't be wearing Oscar de la Renta ... just the usual jeans. And a great big happy smile.

Hilton Headache

"Don't forget until too late that the business of life is not business but living." Barry C. Forbes

Another business trip to a vacation resort. This time it's Hilton Head, South Carolina. AKA "The Low Country." Not sure what that means but I get an image of creatures crawling through a swamp. Not my favorite kind of place.

Hilton Head is well known as a golfer's paradise. In fact, our taxi driver tells us, there are 44 golf courses on the island, the most per square mile in the world. Which would add the unique distinction of featuring the ugliest outfits in the world.

Hilton Head Island's full time local population is about 50,000 but at any given time swells to include 3/4 million visitors. Many of them golfers. But also tourists and everyday vacationers. And conventioneers.

As with any vacation destination, there are things to do ... theme parks, beaches, museums and shopping in addition to golf.

And the real bonus to many (though not I): Hilton Head Island is teeming with wildlife areas, marshes, maritime forests. There are tours galore to explore the island on foot, in sailboats or via guided nature-kayaking excursion. This unique barrier island is a nature-lovers paradise.

So what to do if it rains? Every. Single. Day.

Hey, no problem. I'm happy to stay indoors. There's also a Spa.

Are You A Feminist?

"Does feminist mean large unpleasant person who'll shout at you or someone who believes women are human beings. To me it's the latter, so I sign up." Margaret Atwood

I'm lucky--and free--enough to call myself a feminist. Women in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Darfur, too many other countries around the globe ...and right here in America... aren't so lucky.

Watch the video.

Then go here: Feminist Majority Foundation - Breaking News, Feminism from Affirmative Action to Sexual Harassment to Women's Sports

Then act. Why? Because you can.

Oh, and have a nice weekend. Because you can.

Cats and Cardio

lolcats.com

"There is something about the presence of a cat...that seems to take the bite out of being alone." Louis Camuti

At your next dinner party, forget politics, sex or religion. Just bring up the subject of cats and dogs and the fur will start to fly. Most pet owners have extreme, passionate opinions when it comes to the canine-feline debate.

If you don't have a pet, you may think you're smart but are probably a little lonely. Possibly a tiny bit misogynistic, truth be told. Pets require more communication and commitment than children. Or a spouse. And frankly, the return on investment is much better, unconditional-love-wise.

But back to the debate. Dog lovers tend to be loud, pedantic and well, often insufferable in defense of their various hairy breeds. They make disdainful faces at cat owners (you know the look), as if a cat isn't a "real" pet.

Ignorant philistines.

Cat owners never put dogs down. We just smile pleasantly and say, "How nice for you, I bet it's tiring to walk Bruiser late at night." We're a little smug because we know the magical, practical secret of cat ownership: big love, very little maintenance.

Plus, dog owners don't understand the cat gestalt. Cats are genuine, card-carrying pets. They're only independent when they have to be ... or when you force them to be. Most pet cats act pretty much like dogs. They bond with you. Sometimes on your head even.

Sure, not many cats sit up or roll over, but not many cat owners care about dumb animal tricks. We go for the grace, the pace, the purr, the personality. Our cats have habits and tendencies and behaviors as varied as our own.

They don't attack strangers. They don't sniff Uncle Ned's crotch or hump Grandma's leg. They might hiss if somebody brings a dog to visit (ours camps out on top of the fridge when my sister brings her Lab, Lucy), but mostly they show polite indifference.

With their owners, a different story. Far from standoffish, they vie endlessly for your attention. Your lap. Your hand stroking their fur. And the always popular, I Want To Playyyyy..... usually in the middle of the night.

They're so cute. Running sprints up and down the hall. Slamming into the slider at that bird on the other side. Meowing in all manner of voices: I need food, you left me alone all day/for three days, my litter's dirty, I'm gonna hurl, stop typing and pet me!

Nobody has to throw cats tennis balls, they play with their toys on their own. That's the good kind of independence. Playing, staying, eating, sleeping, eliminating ... they don't need you for any of it. But they want you. Love you. And if you want to love them, they're on you in a flash.

Now a new study from the University of Minnesota says cat owners are less at risk for heart attack and stroke. Less than those with dogs. Or no pets. The study doesn't mention children.

Our kid's grown and gone. Our cat's reading this over my shoulder and nodding sagely. I'm calm as could be. Maybe we'll change her name to Lipitor.

Hand Me Some Karma Please

"According to the karma of past actions, one's destiny unfolds, even though everyone wants to be so lucky." Sri Guru Granth Sahib

Here we go again. Surgery on my hand Friday. Left, which is good since I'm a righty. Still, I'll be one-handed for a while. So, not life-threatening but briefly life-altering.

My sister Judy's here from LA, staying for two weeks. She's a nurse, but it's more about helping me do those little personal things only a sister can be asked to do. What a pal. I'm going to work hard not to whine, kvetch, be a pain in the butt.

For those of you who know me and are laughing, STFU!

And to anybody who wants to throw some good karma my way, I can still catch it with my right hand.

I may not be back for a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, tawk amongst yourselves.

Another Valentine's Day

"It's true that it doesn't make sense straight off the bat that someone would shop for a Valentine's Day gift at Home Depot. But we do see a high volume of traffic just before the holiday." John Simley

There you go. Valentins's Day doesn't promote romance, it supports the economy.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Nobody should need a special holiday to express love and devotion. And after 26 years of marriage I can tell you romance is best enjoyed when it's least expected.

On the other hand, any day that promotes chocolate is okay with me.

Hope you enjoy some decadent chocolate, even if you bought it for yourself.

Florida - Parents, Not Politics

"Youth would be an ideal state if it came a little later in life." Herbert Henry Asquith

We've been in Florida. Just as well, since my head was about to explode, sending political fragments all over the place. I've been overwhelmed by Campaign Fatigue, Media Madness, Pundit Parlance and Candidate Combustion.

Frankly, I was also tired of the sound of my own voice. So I took some time off to visit my parents. Grab some sun. Hit the pool, then the hot tub. Read. Sleep. Relax.

My biggest decision was whether I'd cook or we'd go out to dinner.

I'm not going to write more about my folks. I've already said pretty much all I have to say. At least for now.

So go on over to Blinq and read about Dan Rubin's dilemma over what songs to put on his mom's iPod for her 80th birthday: Blinq: Loading Grandma's iPod.

Dan and I are both lucky to have parents who are not only alive but living active lives. Setting great examples for all of us on aging not only gracefully, but energetically.

Here's the perfect perspective ... the physical therapist suggested my dad use a cane just until his daily workouts on the weight machines made his legs stronger.

"No cane," said Dad, who'll be 92 in May. "It'll make me look like an old man."

Amy Z. Quinn - My New Friend

"Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living!" Amanda Bradley

You know that thrill you get when you meet someone and just click? I'm not talkin' sex here, people, although feel free to indulge your fantasies. I'm referring to kindred spirits, instant identification, karmic bonds, the sure knowledge you've found a great new friend.

Like Amy. We've become buds over time online. Today we met IRL, aka In Real Life. And may I just say, Bingo.

You can never have enough friends. At least I can't. Though I have to admit I'm choosy about my friends. They've got to be smart, funny, empathetic, brave, earthy, loyal, loving, forgiving, creative, passionate, engaged in life and in the world around them.

Just like Amy.

My friends cuss like sailors. And I don't care if they drink like sailors, just not around me. (I'm not anti-drink, I'm anti-drunk.) Some of them smoke a variety of things, just not in my bedroom. Sometimes if I'm in the mood, I'll join them for a butt on my front stoop or back patio.

They're all politically active. We might not agree on who should be the next president, but we definitely share a raging antipathy for Bush and Cheney and the rest of the crooks and liars who've driven America off the road and into a big stinking ditch.

My friends care about their families, schools, cities, states, country. If they're parents, they're good parents, involved and aware. If not, they're great aunts and uncles and kindhearted children to their own parents.

All of the above, just like Amy.

My good friends have a deep capacity for outrage at injustice. The desire to change at least some part of the world. And the ability to party like it's 1964 (whatever that means, I never have known).

They should also be --and this is a deal breaker-- sassy, sexy, self-confident smart-asses.

In other words, a lot like me.

And just exactly like my new friend, Amy Z Quinn.

1-2-3

"If last year was our Silver Anniversary, what's this year?" my husband
"This year is our Tire Iron Anniversary." me

Today is our wedding anniversary. We've been married 26 years, no small accomplishment. Friends used to ask if I chose January 23 --i.e. 1.23-- deliberately, to help my husband remember our anniversary date.

Nope, January 23 just happened to be the Saturday night all the elements came together ... including an unplanned humongous sleet storm.

In the interest of history--or boredom--I decided to find out what else happened on January 23, according to the New York Times.

It wasn't the best date for some people. Salvador Dali, Captain Kangaroo and Johnny Carson died on January 23, in different years of course.

But it's heartening to remember just two days after celebrating celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr that on January 23, 1964 Congress ratified the 24th Amendment, eliminating the poll tax in federal elections. And for some historic perspective, the TV mini-series "Roots" first aired January 23, 1977.

On the political front, how fitting that January 23 is the day in 1845 that Congress decreed national elections would be held on the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November.

Continuing in that theme, Franklin D. Roosevelt chose January 23, 1932 to announce his candidacy for the Democratic presidential nomination.

Richard Nixon announced an end to the Vietnam War on January 23, 1973, a day I'll never forget. Sitting on my bed all alone I watched him speak on TV, tears running down my cheeks in relief and grief for all the carnage and ruined lives.

January 23, 2009 would be a good day for our next president to announce an accord to end to the War in Iraq.

That will be an anniversary worth remembering.

MLK: If I Had Sneezed

"If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have had a chance...to try to tell America about a dream that I had had." Martin Luther King, Jr

I know an inside story about Dr. Martin Luther King. I bet most of you've never heard it. And it's time you did. Because the irony should escape none of us. And more, because it says something about the man whose life and accomplishments we honor today. It says he was human.

Human not in the sense of foibles and frailties, although he had those too. What man, great or small, does not? I mean human in the manner of his deep humility.

Human in his recognition not of the glory but of the opportunity to lead a movement that would change the course of history, not only for African Americans but for all Americans.

I was too young and never privileged to meet Dr. King, but in later years I knew and worked with his widow, Coretta Scott King through my association with C. DeLores Tucker. I knew and worked with Jesse Jackson in those years, when he was still steeped in the same humility that thrust him forward to carry on Dr. King's mission.

So many times back then during our efforts to put together a fundraiser, launch a voter registration campaign, organize a rally, even draft legislation, I would hear the words "If I Had Sneezed." Over and over. When frustration, exhaustion, fear or anger threatened to overwhelm us, someone would say, "If I Had Sneezed" and determined smiles would reappear, renewed energy emerge, efforts would double.

I eventually learned that "If I Had Sneezed" was insider code for something the general public knows in a whole different way. It's from the sermon Dr. King gave on April 3, 1968, at the Mason Temple (Church of God in Christ Headquarters) in Memphis, Tennessee.

That specific phrase is the final rallying cry --and some say a prescient prediction-- in perhaps Dr. King's most important speech. Read just this part of it, then read all of it and listen to Dr. King's immortal words in his own voice.

Let us rise up tonight with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, these days of challenge to make America what it ought to be. We have an opportunity to make America a better nation. And I want to thank God, once more, for allowing me to be here with you.

You know, several years ago, I was in New York City autographing the first book that I had written. And while sitting there autographing books, a demented black woman came up. The only question I heard from her was, "Are you Martin Luther King?" And I was looking down writing, and I said, "Yes." And the next minute I felt something beating on my chest. Before I knew it I had been stabbed by this demented woman. I was rushed to Harlem Hospital. It was a dark Saturday afternoon. And that blade had gone through, and the X-rays revealed that the tip of the blade was on the edge of my aorta, the main artery. And once that's punctured, your drowned in your own blood -- that's the end of you.

It came out in the New York Times the next morning, that if I had merely sneezed, I would have died. Well, about four days later, they allowed me, after the operation, after my chest had been opened, and the blade had been taken out, to move around in the wheel chair in the hospital. They allowed me to read some of the mail that came in, and from all over the states and the world, kind letters came in.

I read a few, but one of them I will never forget. I had received one from the President and the Vice-President. I've forgotten what those telegrams said. I'd received a visit and a letter from the Governor of New York, but I've forgotten what that letter said. But there was another letter that came from a little girl, a young girl who was a student at the White Plains High School. And I looked at that letter, and I'll never forget it. It said simply,

Dear Dr. King,

I am a ninth-grade student at the White Plains High School.

While it should not matter, I would like to mention that I'm a white girl. I read in the paper of your misfortune, and of your suffering. And I read that if you had sneezed, you would have died. And I'm simply writing you to say that I'm so happy that you didn't sneeze.

And I want to say tonight -- I want to say tonight that I too am happy that I didn't sneeze. Because if I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1960, when students all over the South started sitting-in at lunch counters. And I knew that as they were sitting in, they were really standing up for the best in the American dream, and taking the whole nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the Founding Fathers in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1961, when we decided to take a ride for freedom and ended segregation in inter-state travel.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in 1962, when Negroes in Albany, Georgia, decided to straighten their backs up. And whenever men and women straighten their backs up, they are going somewhere, because a man can't ride your back unless it is bent.

If I had sneezed -- If I had sneezed I wouldn't have been here in 1963, when the black people of Birmingham, Alabama, aroused the conscience of this nation, and brought into being the Civil Rights Bill.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have had a chance later that year, in August, to try to tell America about a dream that I had had.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been down in Selma, Alabama, to see the great Movement there.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn't have been in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers and sisters who are suffering.

I'm so happy that I didn't sneeze.

And they were telling me --. Now, it doesn't matter, now. It really doesn't matter what happens now. I left Atlanta this morning, and as we got started on the plane, there were six of us. The pilot said over the public address system, "We are sorry for the delay, but we have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And to be sure that all of the bags were checked, and to be sure that nothing would be wrong with on the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we've had the plane protected and guarded all night."

And then I got into Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers?

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.

And I don't mind.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!

And so I'm happy, tonight.

I'm not worried about anything.

I'm not fearing any man!

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!

I still get chills reading and hearing those words. Because the very next day, metaphorically, Dr. King did sneeze.

No matter your political party or candidate, no matter how many changes are still needed, you've got to imagine Dr. King's glorious satisfaction at the strides we've made toward the promised land.

And we all must say to him, GOD BLESS YOU!

Mexico - Include Me Out

ADW: Iguana iguana: Information

"A vacation is like love - anticipated with pleasure, experienced with discomfort and remembered with nostalgia." (but not always...)

We're home from our vacation at a ritzy all-included resort in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. My husband won the trip, airfare included. And--as I would learn on my first day under a lush palm tree--iguanas also included.

Never. Again.

There I was, two weeks after minor (yeah, right) back surgery. Still hammered by a respiratory trifecta: sinus infection, bronchitis and laryngitis (my Marge Simpson voice, for those who know and love it).

Awash in painkillers and antihistamines, I gamely head for the airport, craving the reward of rest and sun at the end of the long, dark Travel Tunnel.

Arrive Phila airport 6 AM. Arrive Puerto Vallarta airport, via Phoenix, 6 PM. Thirteen hours and three time zones in one day. Phew. Circadian whiplash.

(Puerto Vallarta's on Central Time, which seems odd since it's on Mexico's Pacific coast. But alas, no geography lesson included.)

Nevertheless. Never. Again.

To be fair, the resort is beautiful. Tile floors, open terraces, fountains, lush greenery, pools galore, white beaches, blue ocean. The rooms are spotless and comfortable, though we've never encountered mattresses so unyieldingly hard.

A nice touch: every room has its own fridge stocked and restocked on demand with Corona, Pepsi, 7-Up and bottled water ... all included. Also included, hanging above the fridge are bottles dispensing scotch, rum and tequila at a touch.

The crowning touch: perfect ocean view from broad balcony for glorious nightly sunsets ... all included.

The food is plentiful and edible, if not remarkable. The drinks are a bit watery, but you just keep 'em coming, since all food and drink is included too.

Entertainment runs along two lines: local music/dance and pool games/drinking contests. Since the crowd mostly includes families with young kids, Baby Boomers and beyond, music wins.

As does civilized conversation. We find congenial couples, discuss movies, books, politics. And of course, after a few too many margaritas, spill the more interesting family secrets.

In the end all agree our personal game of choice is Find English-Speaking Programs On TV. You haven't lived til you've seen Oprah in Spanish. Not to mention Heroes and Wheel of Fortune.

It turns out the BBC, CNN and ESPN are included. In English. Along with ER, Gilmore Girls, Grey's Anatomy and Cane. Plus, NFL games. While we watched little TV, I must confess to a longing for Law and Order and House on a few early nights or while escaping the midday heat.

One escape should be the Internet Cafe, aka the Sports Bar. Empty and quiet during the day. Rows of speedy laptops to jump on for $8 an hour. But the stench of stale beer and cigarettes is so overwhelming it's literally hard to breathe. Even this Internet junky only braves a few minutes to check email.

And here's the bottom line about free trips: they're never really free. Tips, gifts, phone calls and incidentals add up to a pretty penny.

Plus, who bastes in the sun any more? Not I. Used to get brown as a berry. Result: five basil cells removed from my face. A Boomer face which doesn't need any more sun-baked fine lines, thank you. Or, god forbid, melanoma.

My idea of a perfect vacation is Paris, Prague, Jerusalem and environs. Or if a sunny locale, Jamaica, Bali, Martinique. No spicy food. No need for bottled water. No tiny commuter planes.

And, worth repeating ... no iguanas.

Never. Again.

No matter what's included.

Giving Thanks

"If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is 'thank you', it will be enough." Meister Eckhart

When it comes to giving thanks, I wasn't so much in the mood this year. Our family's had a rough one. Life-threatening health issues. Car accidents. A divorce. The death of a beloved aunt. A close brush with disaster.

My husband had a benign (thank god) tumor removed from his eye. My mother broke a bone in her hip. I've had two surgical procedures on my back. One was last Friday, which is why I've been absent for a while.

I lost two friends and former bosses this year, Dick Doran and Mal Johnson.

And I could go on. But I'm not alone and I'm tired of whining. Many people have endured the same, if not more.

So this week I decided I'm counting my blessings. The old fashioned way. By keeping score.

Even though we saw a marriage break up, we also danced at a wedding.

Plus, my husband and I celebrated 25 years of marriage, no small feat.

My wonderful, unique nephew Kenny walked away from the car wreck shown in the photo above virtually without a scratch.

Another nephew and his wife, who's daily commute took them over the 35W bridge in Minneapolis, weren't on it when it collapsed.

The Phillies won the Division title and I met Ryan Howard.

Sad though it was, I spent some time at Dick Doran's funeral sharing stories with a home grown Archbishop who has just become a Cardinal.

My sister Judy survived her first year of widowhood with such courage and grace. I have more words of wisdom on coping from her to share next week.

Then there's my nephew Alex. My sister's grandson. He's 11 now, still fighting the rare cancer VHL with can-do spirit. The tumors in his eyes and on his spine are microscopic. He and his parents have to stay vigilant about signs and symptoms, but they're used to that. And anyway, he just snagged one of the lead roles in his school play. You go, guy!

And finally, Karen. Alex's mother, Judy's daughter, my niece. And my hero. She fought eye cancer and won. Karen had eye melanoma, which can travel through the body, most often to the liver. If it does that... well, let's not go there.

Tuesday she went for the first laser treatment after her radiation surgery. The laser's job is to remove any vestiges of the tumor and fry any blood vessels that have grown back so they don't become a conduit for traveling cancer cells.

The news was stupendously good ... laser not necessary, no new blood vessels and the tumor was not only gone, but, to quote the doctor, "dust." Her vision's a little blurry but her future--thank you, Dr. Shields, thank you, God--is very, very bright.

So as we gather for Thanksgiving dinner, I think we'll give thanks for what we've got. And celebrate life.

My Baldwin School Education

The Baldwin School

"It's the genteel anti-Semitism of the time. Jews were politely shut out of the country clubs and the higher echelons of WASP culture." Dan Wackerman

My alma mater's been in the news lately. Some parents claim a teacher mistreated their child. The school fired the teacher, who then sued. The parents counter-sued. Baldwin and the teacher just reached a settlement.

The parents who sued are Jewish. I don't know if it's relevant to the teacher's alleged attitude. Their own behavior has been over the top, so the whole thing comes down to "they said, she said." Plus, they pledged millions for a new athletic building, which blurs Baldwin's claim of impartiality.

I was a Jewish student at Baldwin in the 60's. This all brings back painful memories of what happened to me there. Blatant anti-Semitism. From a teacher. A department chair. The Headmistress. And thus, the school.

No firings back then. No lawsuits. Just a lesson in bigotry and intolerance that haunts me to this day.

The Baldwin I attended was far different. My sister and I were the only Jews in the school. Many of our WASP Main Line classmates had never met a Jew. Today Baldwin has a large Jewish population, parents active on the board and in school life.

But some things never change.

In my case it couldn't have been clearer. And it seemed to come out of nowhere.

I had a bad case of mono during Junior year. Teachers came to our home (for a fee) to help me keep up. I especially liked the Latin teacher. She seemed to appreciate my gift for languages and I thought we bonded.

So I requested her advanced Latin class for Senior year. But she was different. Cool and distant in class. Corrected my homework papers with big red slashes ... though I had made no mistakes.

Then I failed two quizzes in a row ... questions marked wrong that I'd gotten right. On the last quiz she included some new sentences I could translate into Latin to improve my grade. My father is a thief. My uncle and my aunt beat their children. Huh?

Okay, I thought, this is weird but I'll approach her in a mature way. "If I've done something to upset you," I said to her, "please tell me and I'll try to correct it."

Her answer was stunning. "There's nothing you can do," her voice was cold, dismissive. "I just don't like your kind."

At first I didn't know what she meant by "your kind."

Until she went on, "All you Jews are liars and cheats. I know you can't be trusted."

Wow. Such unapologetic anti-Semitism. From a teacher. To a student. Surely the school would intervene. Yeah, right.

I went in tears to the Senior class advisor, who said I must have misunderstood and sent me to the school's venerable Headmistress for clarification.

Rosamond Cross. A well-educated maiden lady of a certain age, straight-backed, white-haired, bespectacled, prim and proper. The perfect Protestant proprietress of an elite preparatory school for girls.

And a stone cold bigot.

Her reaction to the Latin teacher's unconscionable behavior? "Our teachers know best. You must try harder in class."

In answer to my mother's subsequent outrage, her tune didn't change. "We always support our teachers," she told her calmly. "There's nothing I can do."

Then the SAT AP scores came. I had taken French, Latin and History. My Latin score was the lowest: 651.

We appealed to the chair of the Latin Department, Mrs. Gamble, who, though bewildered, echoed the party line. "There's nothing I can do." And threw us a bone. "I'll tutor her myself this summer and make sure she passes."

Small consolation. No consolation.

There I was, an honor student in all classes ... except one. An F in Latin. Facing the shame of unwarranted summer school, not the exciting, carefree summer of transition from high school to college. My early decision acceptance to Penn put on hold. Ultimately rescinded.

There's more. Yeah, really.

I had to sit alone in disgrace at my own High School Graduation and watch my classmates march onto the stage to receive diplomas without me. A special indignity mandated by Miss Cross. If I didn't attend the ceremonies I would never receive a diploma, period.

My first day at Mrs. Gamble's house for summer tutoring. She handed me a page from Cicero to translate into English. I read it flawlessly. She said, "You've seen this before. You've practiced it."

I was so hurt and angry I wanted to scream. Throw something. Hit someone. But I sat quietly, ankles crossed, a Lady. "No Ma'am."

Three random pages later, she was finally convinced. "What did they do to you?" she cried.

I just looked at her. "Go home," she told me. "Your diploma and revised transcript will be mailed to you." As I was leaving, I heard her talking on the phone to Miss Cross. Heatedly.

Too little, too late. I spent the first half of my "freshman" year at Penn in the College of General Studies (i.e., night school for adult GED holders). Living at home. Humiliated. Frustrated. Bored to distraction.

My 4.0 grade average that first semester, new, even higher AP exam scores and --finally-- a letter from Baldwin earned me entrance as a full time Penn sophomore ... ironically ahead of my own class as a result of my quality Baldwin education.

Quality. Yeah, right.

Yes, I turned out okay. Received an advanced degree, am leading a varied and rewarding life. But you know as I know --no matter how much time passes or how great our achievements-- we never forget High School. Especially the pain.

This is the first time I'm taking this story public. All the principal characters are dead now. But their disgraceful actions will live with me forever.

Sally Swift, Comic Heroine

"Sally is, with her live-in companion, Frank Universal, one of the agency 's top agents. The WSU employs the services of a number of highly motivated, jungle-trained agents in Africa and Asia." Frank Universal and Sally Swift of the W.S.U.

Hmm.

Well, wait. I might be an agent -- though if I told you, I've have to kill you.

My live-in companion (i.e., husband) is in fact named Frank. And we do have a leopard of sorts ... if a night-prowling pussycat counts.

But anyone who knows me can tell you I would never pull jungle duty. Never. Not. Ever.

As for the rest of the story, I can also tell you this: we totally support the Defense of the Environment. But whatever The Dark Ones call themselves, including World Safety Unit, we would never work for the current administration. Never. Not. Ever.

I'll leave that to Homicron. Wait. Could that be Condi? Not so comic after all.

Daily Schmaily

tami-foto

"A moment's paws" Tami Curtis

Yeah, I know it says Daily Sally up there, but it's not like anybody's paying me or anything. In fact, sometimes I have to put the DS rants and ravings aside to meet deadlines on a paid gig.

However. I got a really sweet letter headed Where are you from a really amazing photographer who apparently has the DS blog on her to-read list.

havent had my daily sally in umm... Well a few days. Please get back to writing. You are missed.

What writer could resist that?

Plus I actually got a couple other letters in the same vein. Did somebody start a committee or something?

So I promise to try harder. Really.

In the meantime, go look at Life Inspired Art.