44

Let me put to rest any assumptions that readers of my book, The Ones That Got Away – A Dating Memoir, may be formulating by the title of this post. 

 

When I write '44' I am not referring to Kenny, my football player boyfriend from Jackson who proudly sported the number 44 on the back of his jersey.  I am referring, of course, to Barack Hussein Obama of Illinois, our newly inaugurated 44^th president of the United States of America. 

 

To say the hoopla leading up to the inauguration was frenzied is probably an understatement.  It seems that everywhere you looked – TV, newspapers, magazines – everyone was abuzz with anticipatory excitement and glee, and yet, I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Obama had begun to feel like the pretty girl who's given no credit for having a brain in her head – you know, like a model who's judged solely on her skin-deep beautiful packaging.  Don't get me wrong, this is an amazing milestone in the history of our country; but don't you think he must have felt like screaming, "I'm more than just the color of my skin."?  Honestly, no one was really talking about anything else.  It would have been nice to hear a little more about his achievements and accomplishments, as well as his future plans; after all, he does have some big issues to tackle.

 

-         He needs to create stimulus plans (hard to believe, but there was a time this wasn't a familiar colloquialism) that will hopefully boost our economy by creating jobs, restructuring taxes and curbing government spending.

 

-         There are domestic issues that vie for his attention: Healthcare, Education, Environment – of course, we can't mention the environment without bringing up off-shore drilling. (Drill, baby, drill!  I can't be the only one who has that chant lodged in her head – it's in there like Disney's "It's a Small World.")

 

-         Foreign issues still loom large:  We have the on-going war in Iraq, rampant terrorism and our sullied worldwide reputation.

 

Yes, the issues are certainly big and, as a nation, we are all hopeful for change.  Just look at some of the headlines from that monumental day:

 

   "MAKING HISTORY – DAWN OF A NEW ERA"

   "ON THE BRINK OF CHANGE"

   "HIGH HOPES, HARD TIMES – BOLD PLANS"

 

They say that just as in FDR's administration, the first 100 days will be key.  So, how did it all begin?  Well, we had the first ever inaugural oath hiccup which was followed by a whirlwind of parties, parades and celebrating; but after that, it got a little more serious. 

 

Day 1 started with taking the oath – again (an oath do-over, if you will).  Next he read the note left by George W. Bush.  (I wonder what that note said.  Do you think he quoted George Washington saying, "I am fairly out and you are fairly in! See which of us will be happiest!"?  I bet every president has probably used that line – and rightly so.)  Then, after 10 solemn minutes alone in the Oval Office, he emerged – I imagine with someone announcing in the background, "Let the term begin!" 

 

How to start? What to do first? Well, if you vowed to "begin again the work of remaking America" then you need to hit the ground running; so why not begin by signing a series of executive orders? A series. (Well, he is on the clock – 100 days and ticking…)

 

So let's see, where does this leave us, really?  We all know where we are now, and we know where we've been – but do we know where we're going? 

 

Vow of change?  I don't know what that means.  I hope it's for the good because we are in quite the pickle right now.  He does seem to have tremendous support – he was elected, after all.  It was reported that over 1.8 million people flocked to Washington for his inauguration, and 38 million more watched it on TV.  As Colin Powell said, "The whole country is excited."  And it is – about what, exactly, I'm not sure; but it is like Obama-mania has set in. 

 

True, our economy may be on the verge of collapse, but the fashion industry is buzzing about 'who' Michelle is wearing.  And, of all the pertinent topics of interest out there, a fair amount of reporting was done about the new First Dog – in fact, President Obama had called the issue of choosing a family dog "major" and said that it generated "more interest on our website than just about anything."

 

I sincerely hope his use of the word 'major' was taken out of context because he really has much bigger issues to deal with – ones that truly deserve the adjective 'major.'  It is nice to see, though, that Americans are checking in on what matters most to them. 

 

So, as America amuses itself with dogs and designers, he's busy signing executive orders – somehow I can't help but think of Billy Flynn's show-stopping number, "Razzle Dazzle," from the hit play Chicago.  (Chicago? That's kind of funny, huh?  Believe me when I tell you, that was not intentional.)

 

In any event, I wish him the best of luck – popularity is, after all, a fickle friend. 

 

Hail to the Chief!

 

 - M

Resolution Smezolution

Well, we're a good two weeks or so into the new year.  Hard to believe, huh?  But think about it, January is more than half over already.  Christmas decorations have been stowed, the leftover sweets and goodies have been tossed and resolutions are already out the window.

 

I've been thinking about resolutions lately – resolutions in general, and mine in particular.  If you recall, I purported to try and improve my patience this year.  Well, as I once learned in a seminar, 'trying' is merely looking good failing.  Oh, the sympathy that's garnered when you say, "But I tried."  Don't believe me? 

 

You know that person who's always trying to lose a few pounds?  What do you say about them?  "Look at poor so-and-so, still trying to lose that weight, my, how they try – and it just doesn't seem to come off."  The reason it doesn't come off is because they're actually 'not trying' to lose weight – they're only 'wanting' to lose weight.  In order to really 'try' one must take action – do something, like say, modify your diet and, oh, I don't know, perhaps add a little exercise.  But most people don't do that.  They just continue on in their Frito-Lay lifestyle and lament how the pounds are there for good – no matter how hard they try.  See, looking good failing…

 

My attempt to temper my Type A or Driver – whatever they're calling it now – personality is no different.  I claim I'd like to have more patience, but do I do anything about it?  Not really, nothing other than curse and swear when I lose it, that is.  I try, but I just can't seem to do it.  Oh, poor me – I try so hard. (Looking good failing – see how it works?)

 

And so, with that in mind, I get to what I've been thinking about these past two weeks.  I am beginning to think that people are not unlike (you're probably not expecting what's coming next) reinvented household products that are constantly being touted as "New and Improved."

 

Toothpastes have gone through so many incarnations of being 'new and improved' that, by now, our teeth should have all the sparkly shine of white twinkling Christmas lights.

 

And how about fabric softeners?  If they actually added half the soft, fluffy nap-restoring quality to fabrics that they claim to, we'd all be clad head-to-toe in the fuzziest fleece you've ever seen – think cotton Michelin Man on steroids. 

 

Then, of course, there is an endless stream of aromatherapeutic fragrances infused into these products: We have Mountain Rain, Spring Rain, Morning Rain – see what I mean?  Well, I live in the desert and all our rain smells like dirt, so I go for the lemon scents – Lemon Zingers, Lemon Boosters, Now 25% MORE Lemon – so freakin' lemony that you'll think you have an actual lemon grove right in your own home!

 

I'm very loyal to my products – much to my mother's chagrin (she is a marketer's dream – she'll try anything new).  I've been using Colgate since I was a kid – and teeth whitening formula or not, my teeth are not getting any whiter.  Likewise, even though I add a capful of Downy to every load, I still have washcloths that are so thin I can almost see through them. And, the lemon scent from my Pledge dissipates almost the minute I wipe the polish off the furniture. 

 

Does this mean that I stop using these products and go on a search for a toothpaste that will actually acid wash my tooth enamel, or for a fabric softener that will reinvigorate a 10-year old washcloth, or find a Pledge substitute that will squirt out actual lemon juice?  No, I don't.  And, why don't I?  Because they don't exist – and neither do 'new and improved' people.

 

If you're a smoker – you're a smoker, and the turn of a calendar page is not going to change that.  Now, when you get some sense into your head, you'll quit; but it won't be because of a resolution – it will more than likely be because your doctor found a spot on your lung.  Poor guy, he 'tried' to quit for years and now this.  

 

On a related topic, I happen to be an ex-smoker.  I 'tried' to quit several times in the course of the 13 years that I smoked – and did sometimes, for several months at a clip; but do you know what finally worked?  I just decided I didn't want to smoke anymore – not that I shouldn't smoke because of blah-blah-blah, but that I didn't want to; and that was that – pretty much anyway.  Oh sure, I still had moments of habit-conditioned desire (hard to imagine, I know), but I made up my mind.  That was 13 years ago.  So anyway, here's what I'm wondering about: I don't know if Nicorette actually works or not, but if it does, then maybe someone could get going on Choco-rette.  What do you think?

 

So, I managed to quit smoking – that was in October, though, and had nothing to do with resolutions.  I already eat right – generally (damn you Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough) – and exercise.  We've established that I am impatient and probably always will be – it's just how I'm wired. 

 

There is one thing I may be able to work on, though – and not as a resolution, necessarily, but just as an overall improvement, and that would be to stop cursing.  I realize that cursing is an unsophisticated way of expressing oneself… and I've never really been at a loss for ways to express myself, so I don't know why I struggle with this one.  Of course, I am from New Jersey so there's a good chance it's in my blood.  You know, it may actually be in my blood – men typically curse more than women, don't they?  I recently shared this theory with a fellow author:  I have come to suspect that I may have a ball gene lurking somewhere deep within my chromosomal makeup.  

 

You know, if that's really true then I'm off the hook for a lot of stuff – I may be an impatient, vulgar-mouthed, opinionated Jersey girl, but it's not my fault.  I try – but, seriously, what can you really expect from a girl with a ball gene?

 

 - M

Happy New Year

Christmas is over.

The new year's begun.

I've had it with winter;

I'm ready for sun.

 

I'm spoiled rotten –

I know it, it's true;

but I've lived here five years now,

so what can I do?

 

Temps in the 40s!

I can't take it that chilly.

I'm from the Northeast

so I know that sounds silly.

 

I don't mean to cry,

whine, mope or sulk,

but who can move

wrapped up in this bulk?

 

The turtlenecks, fleeces

and warm woolen sweaters

get the job done

but what would be better

 

Is if temperatures rose

up, just a bit, see

60 or 70

is quite nice to me.

 

But alas, I must wait

a little while longer

for our hot desert sun

to grow a bit stronger.

 

Just a few more weeks now –

not as long as you'd think.

In fact, summer will be here

before I can blink.

 

Why do I rush things

the way that I do?

Because I haven't got patience –

It's an elusive virtue. 

 

I'll work on that this year;

yes, that'll be fine

for a good resolution

for 2009.

 

I welcome the new year –

it's got a good start;

I heard from an old friend

and that warmed my heart.

 

So the future's before us –

wide open and clear;

embrace it fully,

and have a Happy New Year!

 

Here's to 2009…

 

 - M

 

PC is BS

The genesis of a movement:  First there's an idea, then views and opinions are shared, the bandwagon forms, people of all walks of life hop on and, before you know it, you have a full blown movement barreling through society like a runaway train.

 

Some movements are good: women should vote, for example; all people are equal and, therefore, should have equal rights; and, obviously, we should take care of the environment.  Others… well, some are just out of control.  How is it we've become a people who must walk on eggshells lest we offend someone?

 

Don't get me wrong, something needed to be done.  We couldn't continue to have Archie Bunker types roaming around, freely spouting off ethnically, insensitive racial slurs – but we are now so far off in the other direction that I had to recently tell my friend Kaoru, when she referred to herself as an Oriental person, that that was politically incorrect.  "It is?" she said.  "Yeah," I told her, "in fact, you really can't even say you're Japanese anymore."  "Why not?"  "Because it's insensitive and offensive," I said.  "You're Asian."  "Oh," was all she said as she processed this information.  After a beat, she added, "But I'm from Japan – I am Japanese."  "Nope, you're Asian."

 

Now here's another one I just don't understand.  First, let me ask you this: Who do you think listens to Christmas music on the radio?  People from the Jewish community? Muslims?  Jehovah's Witnesses?  See, I don't typically think those groups are tuning in to stations that broadcast Christmas music 24/7.  And, just to be clear, I don't have any problem with people from the Jewish community, Muslims or Jehovah's Witnesses; and, if there were radio stations that specifically geared their programming to these folks, I wouldn't care.  I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be tuning in; and I'm also pretty sure that I wouldn't feel offended or excluded by their very existence.

 

So, how is it that it's seemingly become politically incorrect to play Christmas (root word, Christ) songs that mention the birth of Christ?  There are a multitude of Christmas songs out there, probably thousands, but one local station here seems to have about 12 songs that they play over and over and over and over… I am telling you, at this point, I can hardly care any less that George Michael once had his heart broken at Christmas.  And, I really don't care, at all, if Clarence has been good this year and gets his new saxophone or not.  Furthermore, I do not need to be told, again and again, that there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas (of course there won't be snow, it doesn't snow there – a large majority of that continent is below the equator).

 

I don't understand why it's okay to continually walk in a winter wonderland, enjoy chestnuts from an open fire and deck the halls, but not hear anything from the angels up on high. 

 

Why can we roll out the holly and sing praises to our trees, but not go tell it on a mountain that away in a manger, in the little town of Bethlehem, Christ was born.  Why can't we join the herald angels and sing of joy to the world about that first Noel?  Why can't the faithful sing Oh come, Oh come, Oh come Emmanuel?

 

No, for some reason, we must stick with silver bells, jingle bells and sleigh bells.  Frosty the Snowman and frosty air – those don't offend.  We can hear Eartha Kitt, or Madonna, coo for goodies from that velvet suit wearing sugar daddy, Santa Baby.  It's okay to continually hear reports about Rudolph guiding Santa's sleigh.  And, we all know that Alvin is still hoping for a Hula-hoop.  We hope he gets one, too.  Don't misunderstand me, we all want Christmas to be merry and bright – it is the most wonderful time of the year, after all.

 

The thing is, Christmas is not a commercial/retail holiday – oh sure, that aspect has truly taken over, but don't ever forget that long ago, it came upon a midnight clear, when after the shepherds were asked, "Do you hear what I hear?" they met up with the three kings of Orient (Asia…well, Asia Minor) to welcome the baby Jesus on that holy, holy night.  

 

How can it be wrong to air these time-tested, traditional Christmas carols? As I asked before, who's tuning in that would be offended by these yuletide classics?  I gotta tell ya, I don't know how it is that we got in this particular handcart, and I don't know where it is, exactly, that we'll end up, but I did actually hear a version of Silent Night on the radio the other day, and in much the way that Christ's birth brought hope to the world, I thought that, perhaps, there may still be a little hope for us yet.  And that is what Christmas is all about.

 

God rest ye merry gentlemen (i.e., mankind – read: humankind)

 

 - M   

 

 

PS: For the loyal readers out there, I received another Vogel family greeting card this year (see 9-14-08 post Blast from the Past) which has left me, once again, shaking my head...

 

Fa la la la la la la la la J

 

 

Christmas with Danny Aiello

Well, Thanksgiving is already behind us and we're knee-deep into the holiday season.  For many, this time of year unleashes a slew of holiday traditions.

 

Generally, the festivities are kicked off with the aforementioned, unusually large, autumn-themed dinner – I mean, does anyone actually make parsnips at any other time of the year?

 

Then, before the bloating even subsides, there are those setting their alarm clocks for the early a.m. – so early, that for some, it's still considered night – just to dash off to the early-early-early-bird Black Friday special sales that insanely vie for all the overeager shoppers – hoping to nab their cash, increase their credit lines and decrease their debit balances.  Ah, capitalism.  Why each year even my stepsisters rush out at 4:00 a.m.  Why?  Are they just being thrifty?  I think it's more for the fun of it (4:00 a.m. – I know, you're having trouble seeing the fun – me, too, truth be told) and the tradition of doing it, and doing it together.

 

Since living in Arizona, Kanna invites me each year for the big Black Friday shopping bonanza, and each year, after thanking her for including me, I decline.  It's not just that I'm not that much of a shopper – I'm not, though; and it's not just that 12 hours in a mall would probably kill me – it probably would, though; and, it has little to do with the fact that, by Black Friday, nearly all my holiday shopping is done – but it is, though.  You see, I have my own way of spending the day after Thanksgiving.

 

I traditionally use this bonus day to put out all my Christmas decorations and ready the house for the season.  I have a wide variety of holiday decorations, knickknacks and chotchke that I've amassed over the years; plus, my friend Nancy and her husband, Calvin, have done more than their fair share of adding to my collection of holiday décor.  There is hardly an available square inch of space in my home that doesn't have a Christmas something, sitting there, beckoning good cheer.  Honestly, if I put price tags on everything that's displayed, my home would look like a gift shop!  Anyway, I am inordinately organized (with just a splash of OCD) so it's probably needless to say, but I have a system.  First, I stash away all my regular stuff, then I wax the furniture, then I bring in the boxes.

 

These boxes aren't just filled with tangible items – no, they're filled with memories, too.  Memories of decorating my first apartment, memories of chilly holiday shopping in Smithville, and through the nostalgia inspired by my Kinkade (Thomas, not Reuben) Christmas Village, many memories of Christmases past.  The thing is, with all these memories that I routinely unpack, there is one that I never seem to remember until I actually see it again.

 

I have a very large decorative bowl that I fill each year with red glass ornaments – they're not expensive, in fact, each box was less than five dollars, but they are fragile, and so, to protect them while they're stored away, I have them wrapped in a few sheets of newspaper – a sleeve for each box.  Filling this bowl is one of the first things I do as I begin to adorn the house – and that is when I'm reminded of Danny Aiello.  You may have been wondering when and how Danny was going to enter the picture.  See, there is a feature story about him, accompanied by a large photo, on one of the papers that covers the glass balls.  As I remove the ornaments from the sleeve, I usually smile, and then say to myself, "Ah, another Christmas with Danny Aiello."  Assuming the date on the paper is accurate, and there's no reason to think otherwise, he has been with me for 14 years.  14 years!  At this point, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without him…

 

You see, we all have our traditions

that keep the holidays hopping –

from turkey on Thanksgiving

to Black Friday shopping.

 

We have holiday lights and

decorations that charm,

and family trips

to the local tree farm.

 

We have Christmas wrappings

with ribbons and bows;

tinsel and garland

and Rudolph's nose.

 

We send greeting cards

to friends far and near;

and sing Christmas carols –

the ones we hold dear.

 

There's peppermint sticks,

and old St. Nick,

cookies and eggnog

that's creamy and thick.

 

There's Charlie Brown, Ralphie

and the Baileys, too;

but Christmas wouldn't be Christmas

without you know who…

 

Baby Jesus was born,

so tiny and small –

for you and for me,

for one and for all.

 

That's why we celebrate

Christmas each year.

That's why we're filled

with holiday cheer.

 

So hang up the mistletoe

and roll out the holly, 

Christmas is coming –

it's time to be jolly.

 

Have a very Merry Christmas –

and a Ho! Ho! Ho!

Warm wishes to you,

From me and Danny Aiello!

 

Enjoy the season…

 

 - M

 

Fashion Forward

My nephew Griffin, although he still gets a kick out of watching SpongeBob SquarePants, would not be caught dead outside of the house actually wearing SpongeBob anything – not a jacket, not a shirt, and certainly not the hat and scarf set I got him last year.

 

And so it now goes for my grandnephew, Little Timmy, who, as he approaches 7 years of age, is embarrassed by his once way-cool Spiderman coat.  Sorry, Spidey. 

 

As Timmy fought back tears while putting on his coat the other day, Linda confided to me that she was saddened by this unavoidable, evolutionary step in the maturing process of her grandson.  "It's normal," I said, before sharing with her how Griffin, apart from some pajamas, has all but retired his complete SpongeBob wardrobe.  Just to be fair, I suppose condolences should also go out to that bug-eyed, yellow, marine freak from under the sea.

 

"All kids go through this," I told her.  "Don't you remember how we hated when Mom and Dad would make us go places with them unannounced – leaving us little to no time to prepare ourselves for being seen out in public?"  "Yeah, when we were teens," she said, "not 7."  This got me thinking.

 

My niece Olivia once remarked that I don't care how I look – she meant it as a compliment.  I'm a no-muss, no-fuss person – a real jeans and T-shirt girl.  You almost can't get any more casual than I do – not as long as it's still considered inappropriate to go out in public in your PJs anyway. 

 

So, when did this happen, I wondered.  We already know why I'm not flaunting my… girly assets, will call them (see 7-20-08 post Conservative by nature?), but when did I give up the style ship?  When did I conclude that Levi Strauss would be the name brand for me?  When did I decide that one can never have too many white T-shirts?  When? When?  Well, I think it may have been as far back as sixth grade – that's right, at 11 years of age, I jumped off the fashion train.  (How many modes of mass transportation do you think I'll mention here?)

 

It was 1975 and I remember leafing through the Sears catalog – hey, it was 1975 – when a dark green pantsuit, yes, a pantsuit – it was 1975 – with a butterfly theme caught my eye.  It was beautiful.  The bell-bottom pants were complimented by a leisure-style, man-tailored jacket with a huge embroidered butterfly on it.  Completing the ensemble was a white shirt, also stitched with colorfully winged creatures – as I said, beautiful. 

 

I pined for this pantsuit.  When my birthday arrived, I was thrilled when I opened my grandmother's gift to find that lovely piece of polyester haute couture just lying in wait for me amid a bed of wispy tissue paper.  I could not wait to wear it to school. 

 

Unfortunately, it brought me a lot of unexpected attention – a lot: "What's with the suit?"  Huh?  "Whadya tryin' to look like a teacher?" Hm?  "Where'd you get that – the Sears catalog?" "NO! I said as defiantly as I could, trying to mask my embarrassment.  In those few moments all my previous excitement was completely obliterated, and when I got home that day, having miraculously survived the failed foray into fashion, with a sigh, I hung up my fancy pantsuit – never to be worn again.

 

Boy, when you couple that experience with the confirmation gown episode, it's almost a wonder that I ever leave the house at all.  Of course, I was never forced to go out in public in my bedroom slippers like my brother once was – but that's a whole different story.  Look out – here comes the Slipperman!

 

- M

Elena

Have you ever had anyone do something completely selfless for you? I mean completely selfless – going above and beyond – just for you? I have.

 

Last weekend I happened to be in New Jersey.  Yes, I took the redeye again, of course – and, no, I did not see Sonny again.  Thank goodness for the small things.  And I must say thanks for the big things – for the super-duper, really big, humongous, unexpected things.  My friend Elena is an amazing person.

 

As I said, I was in New Jersey last week where Elena turned what was supposed to be a small gathering with friends into my first official book signing for The Ones That Got Away – A Dating Memoir.  Elena orchestrated the whole affair:  A huge banner was hung, small signs adorned her yard, and people were invited.  She had finger foods, snacks, treats and goodies of all varieties, plus beer, wine, soda and juice – you name, she had it – if you wanted to eat or dink it, it was there!  A draped card table stood with an inviting potted Gerbera daisy beside a pile of unsigned books.  Manning this 'sales station' was her beautiful daughter, Lauren, smiling and eager to assist any attendees wishing to purchase an autographed copy of The Ones That Got Away – A Dating Memoir (not that anyone was obligated to buy).

 

Shortly after 3:00 p.m. people began to arrive.  Elena's husband Doug (a real trouper for allowing this event to take place at his home) helped me greet the neighbors who came in from all sides. 

 

First to arrive was Navy guy, Tom, who was joined by his wife, Karen.  Having already read the book, Karen knew all the sordid details of my past and, in a private conversation, she and I discussed certain 'details' pertaining to my story.

 

Dennis and Ellen came over shortly thereafter with their two boys.  Ellen cautioned her eldest, James, not to grow up like one of the ones that got away – James, looking quite uncomfortable, quickly left to go play with some of the other children frolicking in the yard. 

 

Many others arrived – Kathy, Kiley, Stephanie, Kathleen, Maryann, Kristina, Cheryl and Katie just to name a few – representing all types of women: teen, young adult, married, married with kids – each one obviously at different life stages, each one, a female with stories of her own.  One young girl shared with me that she loves to write and keeps a journal.  I encouraged her to keep writing, sharing with her how stumbling upon my 'Rita' story, penned at the age of 10, was the catalyst for the very book they were all there to support.

Some friends came from afar to partake in the event and help champion my cause.  There was Beth, a new friend, who only recently became acquainted with me through the reading of my book (don't compromise yourself just to appease your family – stay strong; there is nothing wrong with being single – do not settle!).  Trish was there – my college friend, a real-life character from my book (Chapter 24), who was as popular as I was to those who already read the story (you can see Trish Wednesday nights at The Squan).  And Sue, my childhood friend, came with her whole family just to be a part of it (lemon-curry!). 

It was quite the event.  I was blown away by all that Elena did for me.  Now here's the thing: I'm supposed to be a writer, and yet, I cannot come up with words adequate enough to express my appreciation for this unbelievably selfless act she did totally for me. 

See, this really exemplifies what I touch on near the end of my book.  You don't need to be in a committed relationship to experience love.  There are many types of love out there – love to give, love to take, love to share.  I don't want to burst into song here, but… love is all around.  There is the love you share with children, there is love expressed by neighbors responding to a friend's backyard book party, there's love on display when friends drive over an hour to share in an experience – showing support, and there is the love of a friend who spends over a week planning, preparing and hosting an event like this.

What Elena did reminds me of the Sex and the City movie.  I don't think I'll spoil anything here – didn't everyone see that movie already?  When I left that feel-good, fluffy, hangin' with the pals, NYC revisitation, I said to my sister-in-law, "That's what true love is all about," and I wasn't talking about Carrie and Big either – Kanna knew that.  I was talking about Carrie and her friends – Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte.  When the rug is pulled out from under Carrie's feet, and she's shattered, her girlfriends are there for her – 100% totally there – selflessly giving of their time, to help their friend.  There is nothing 'in it' for them – nothing other than the genuine concern for their friend.  That is true love.

I have always tried to do whatever I can to support my friends and loved ones – if there is a need that I can assist with, I'm more than happy to do it.  It's just my nature.  But to be on the opposite end of that, the receiving end… wow.  So, don't let me hear anyone say, "Oh, it's too bad she's single and doesn't have love in her life," because that's just not true.  I have true love, selfless love, pure love in my life.

Thanks Elena Sue – you're the best!

Filled with gratitude,

-M