Time in a Bottle

Jim Croce wanted to save time in a bottle, but that's just not possible – or is it?  While it may be true that we can't save up time, hoarding it away, keeping it stashed and on hand for some future use, can't we capture it – in little bits and pieces – and hold on to it?  The folks at Kodak thought so – remember the Kodak moment?

 

I have decades worth of time frozen images, albums upon albums, stored in my bedroom in a densely packed rattan wicker trunk – there at the ready, offering up a lifetime of memories.  I have sepia shots of my grandparents, my parents' pictures from my youth and a multitude of photos that detail my life's experiences which include a fairly large collection of snapshots from many of the community plays I've done.

 

I enjoy trodding the boards of Memory Lane, revisiting casts and crews, reliving rehearsals and performances, remembering the highlights – which often include when things didn't always go as planned (like when our set nearly collapsed on Lend Me A Tenor).  For those brief moments, I'm transported back in time.

 

And let me tell you, if an album can do that for me, just imagine what a video could do.  I have about a dozen performances on tape.  I haven't watched them in years – not since they were first recorded, actually – but this past Christmas, Tim and Kanna converted them to DVDs for me, so I've been watching them – reliving them.  From my couch, I've been spending time with old friends, people who were dear to me, some that have passed on – how great to see them so full of life; how great to interact with them again; how great to, once more, share a piece of my life with them.  

 

Albums and recordings are obvious means to capture memories, but for me, almost anything has that ability.  Last month I was back in NJ for my sister's wedding.  Driving around the State was like driving through shades of my history – ghosts of my past everywhere I looked.  That's one of the things I love best about going back there.  I lived there for 39 years.  I simply cannot go from Point A to Point B without recalling some memory.  It's impossible. As I cruise from here to there it's a constant barrage of I remember the time when… and oh, that's where so-and-so and I were… It's always something – some little slice from my life.  I enjoy that.

 

And the cool thing is that memories are always being formed.  Peter Gabriel penned, "Nothing fades as fast as the future and nothing clings like the past."  I wholeheartedly agree with that.  I don't live in the past, but as the present slips into it, I guess I do hang on – it's the fabric of my life.  It's who I am.  Some would call me a sensie (sensitive, sappy, sentimentalist) and that's okay.  I admitted long ago – in Chapter One of The Ones That Got Away, actually – that I'm very sentimental and that almost everything holds some special meaning for me.  And it's true. 

 

Case in point: I just received my December Visa bill.  Yes, the Visa bill stirred up feelings of nostalgia – scoff if you must.  As I scanned the details of account activity, it took me right back to the weekend of Linda's wedding.  The charge from the All Seasons Diner brought me back to Eatontown, NJ to the post-wedding brunch with the newlyweds.  The Lukoil entry placed me at the GSP Cheesequake rest area, sitting in my rental car, chatting with my dad – discussing why the gas was pumping so slowly and, more importantly, why that fool would pull into the pumps like that and block the flow of traffic.  And the Budget charge took me directly to Newark Airport – returning the car, hopping on the Airtrain, heading down to the gate – the magical weekend behind us, looking forward to going home. 

 

Our lives go by day by day, just like turning pages in a book.  Our experiences are what make up our individual books – our books of memories.  And the thing is, you never know what's going to stick. You think it will be the big things, but oftentimes, it's the little things: sharing ice cream with your brother, covering a flubbed line on stage or getting gas with your dad. 

 

Can you save time in a bottle?  No, you can't.  But, you can certainly store its treasures in your heart.

 

~ M.

 

Destined to Spend Christmas with Danny Aiello

One of the best things in life is that we don't know what the future holds.  This can be a double-edged sword, though.

 

I had no idea that last Christmas would be my last Christmas with Lillie and Izzie.  I lost them both this year.  I'm not complaining.  I was truly blessed to have them for nearly two decades.  I knew they wouldn't live forever, but it's been hard.  I still miss them.

 

Since their passing, I've been going through the expected this is the first so-and-so without Izzie, which became – much too soon – this is the first such-and-such without Izzie and Lillie.  And now, naturally, this is the first Christmas without them. 

 

As I began to decorate my house this year, I could not bring myself to fill my large decorative bowl with the red glass ornaments like I usually do.  Lillie always enjoyed sleeping in that bowl and, at Christmastime, Izzie always sat beside me while I filled it with the glass balls. No, this year, the bowl would remain empty.  I made that decision while holding the boxed ornaments in my garage.  Placing them back on the shelf, I saw the picture of Danny Aiello that's on the newspaper sleeve that safely protects them all year long.  Looking at it for an extended moment, I sighed, "My first Christmas without Lillie and Izzie… or Danny Aeillo." (See 12/7/08 post)  Or so I thought.

 

Shortly after Thanksgiving I received an email from – you'll never believe this – Danny Aiello's press agent.  It seems Danny released a Christmas CD and she wanted to give me a copy.  Whaaa?  I guess I was destined to spend Christmas with Danny Aiello, after all.  I graciously accepted her offer.

 

The CD is dedicated to his son – whom he lost this year to pancreatic cancer.  I lost my beloved pets.  He lost his son.  I can't even imagine what that's like.

 

The CD opens with a touching intro about Danny's youth, a time when life was simple – living was harder, but life was simpler.  The songs that follow are classics arranged in jazzy combos that give them a fresh fun feel.  As I listen, I can imagine sitting at a small cocktail table in an upholstered circular booth in a dimly lit intimate club watching the show live – I love it.  His version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" is reminiscent of something performed at Club Babalu – a welcome change to the over-played rendition by Bruce Springsteen.  (Sorry Springsteen fans.)  Rounding out the collection is a dedication to his son – a heartfelt "My Christmas Song for You" – a song about the simple joys of the season.

 

What we shouldn't forget is that this season is built around the celebration of the birth of Jesus.  Jesus came to give us hope, to redeem us, to save us – through him, life goes on. 

 

I know it sounds silly, but getting this CD reminds me of that very thing.  I didn't bring out those ornaments, and as such, thought this would be a Christmas without Danny Aiello, but then his CD shows up – a CD dedicated to his late son.  Life goes on – you can't stop living.

 

As I write this, like Lillie before her, Bailey's climbed into that bowl – good thing it's empty, I guess.  Next year will be different.  Next year – God willing – when decorating my house, I'll remove the Danny Aiello article to unwrap the red glass ornaments, I'll have him crooning Christmas carols in my living room and I'll look to Bailey and Zoe and say, "Well, girls, it's another Christmas with Danny Aiello."

 

Merry Christmas ~

 

M. 

 

Great Expectations

Who was it who said expectations were great?  You're thinking Charles Dickens, of course; but he didn't really say that.  His simply titled one of his stories Great Expectations – and there's a big difference.

 

Personally, I don't think expectations are so great.  In fact, I think they can be the pitfall to disappointment.  Sometimes when you eagerly anticipate something, the expectation grows, and more times than not, the reality cannot live up to the hype.  Here's a simple example, but you'll get the point:  You hear raves about the latest comedy – it was so funny, I was hysterical, just awesome – so you run out to see it, only to sit there wondering if this could possibly be the same movie you heard so much about. The same thing happens with circumstances and events in our lives – except we create the hype.  We build things up in our minds, setting ourselves up with unrealistic expectations.

 

Likewise, you can sometimes have expectations of unpleasant things, things you may be dreading – be it a business encounter, a personal confrontation or some future event.  It's the expectations that cause the dread to grow, and let me tell you – from experience – the reality is rarely as dreadful as what you were concocting in your head.  Plus, the reality only happens once, as opposed to the perpetual loop of doom that your imagination runs up until the time the incident actually comes to pass.  See, here again, expectations… not so great.  Truth is they almost never are.

 

I think the key to a peaceful existence lies in having little to no expectations.  But how can you go through life like that?  You can't.  Expectations are inherent with living.  As we go through life we're constantly experiencing things, and like it or not, those experiences set us up and mold our thoughts for the future.

 

I think, often times, our biggest disappointments come from other people letting us down – unfulfilled expectations.  Our feelings get hurt.  I'll tell you what, those blasted 'feelings' are another source of disappointment in life – that's a whole different topic, though.  But to digress for just a moment, how many people do you think are on anti-depressants or abusing drugs/alcohol because of how they feel?  Anyway…

 

Someone once said, "It's easier to please people you don't know than it is to please people you do know."  I agree with that – and it's all because of expectations.  We simply expect more from those we know.  But – and this is a big but – do we live our lives as if those we know are expecting more from us?  And then act in such a way as to fulfill those expectations?  I don't think so, but just imagine the world we'd be living in if we did – wouldn't that be a pip?

 

 ~ M.

 

 

What's in a Name?

It was Romeo who said, "What's in a name?  That which we call a rose by another name would smell just a sweet."  And while Shakespeare was certainly right about that, I think there's a little more to it.  A lot more, actually.

 

Growing up as a child I didn't realize that Wrigley's gum was named after the man whose company shared his name – how could I?  a.)  I was seven.  b.) I favored the less corporate-promoting variety, Juicy Fruit, and c.)  I was interested in the gum more for the wrappers – remember those super cool L-link chains you could make? 

 

So, it should be safe to assume that if I didn't realize the gum was named after the magnate, you can bet I didn't know Wrigley Field was named after the same guy.  Wrigley Field.  It just doesn't sound like an ego stroke.  It sounds like a ballpark.  Wrigley Field.

 

I feel the same way about Shea Stadium, which I just recently found out was actually named William A. Shea Municipal Stadium after – you guessed it – William A. Shea who is, as they say, the man responsible for bringing National League baseball back to New York.  With an accomplishment like that, it makes sense to dedicate a baseball stadium to him; but, again, it doesn't feel like an ego stroke when it's a bestowed honor; plus, it sounds like a ballpark.  Shea Stadium.

 

I touched on this topic in my book, The Ones That Got Away – A Dating Memoir, when I mentioned going to see a concert at The Spectrum.  The Spectrum.  Now that sounds like a stadium – especially if you say it with a deep reverberative tone:  The Spectrum.  It's not called that anymore.  I don't even know what it's called – or what it was called the last time I was there.  It was named after some bank, and with all the recent folds, mergers and acquisitions who knows what it might be called now.

 

I'm sure it's me, but I just don't care for those corporate named stadiums: Staples Center, Bank One Ballpark which, of course, has already been changed to Chase Field (which does sound a little better, but still) or University of Phoenix Stadium (that has a catchy ring to it, huh?) which has nothing to do with Phoenix, Arizona (and is actually located in Glendale).

 

I like a name that's rooted in history or tied to a specific area or team – think Candlestick Park, Fenway or The Astrodome.  Now those are stadium names.  So, what's in name?  Ego, that's what.

 

It's my understanding we have Anheuser-Busch to thank for the first corporate branded stadium.  See, that's what happens.  After the first one does it, everyone follows.  He did what?  I want to do that!  He has what?  I have to have that!  What worked for them?  Oh, let's do that!  I call it the "Me, too" syndrome. 

 

This doesn't just apply to ballparks, either.  Think back to old TV commercials.  Remember how, back in the day, struggling wanna-be actors used to portray normal everyday folks in an effort to hawk shampoos, beauty products and hair dyes, not to mention things like cereal and sneakers.  Now you'd be hard-pressed to see an ad for these types of products without an accomplished actor, model or athlete peddling these wares.  Why?  Because someone did it first and everyone else followed suit; and thanks to that person we'll probably never have another Mr. Wipple or Dunkin' Donuts guy.  These two no-names became icons – but those days are over.  It's all about the recognizable name now.

 

And the latest trend?  I read recently that Sheryl Crow – a breast cancer survivor – donated a large sum of money to an establishment which is now named The Sheryl Crow Imaging Center.  While I think it's great she made such a large donation, I can't help but wonder what this means for the future.  How many will now follow in these footsteps? It'd be different if the imaging center was named in memoriam – think Susan G. Komen – but it wasn't, and to me, there's something very ego-y about that.  She probably had nothing to do with it; it's likely the facility just wanted to publicly express their gratitude – hospital wings and the like are commonly named after their benefactors.  I just think it would have been a greater gesture had the donation been made anonymously.

 

But anonymity, my friends, has no name… and therein lies the rub!

 

~ M. 

 

Say, what?

"Gimme Shelter" used to be one of my favorite songs.  I suppose, in some way, it may still be.  That song is tied to a memory which will likely keep it tethered to my heart.  It's just that now I'd rather think of the memory and imagine the song without ever actually hearing it again.  Why?  Well, because I finally found out what they were saying. 

 

Prior to Rock Band, I had no idea what the majority of the lyrics were.  I liked the music, dug the melody… "Love, sister, it's just a kiss away, it's just a kiss away…"  You know I hesitate to even quote that, since it's probably wrong.  Anyway, one day – while basking in nostalgia – I watched my brother rack up a lot of points to this song as colorful blocks flew up the neck of his guitar.  The basking ended abruptly when the words "rape" and "murder" ticked along the screen.  I sat straight up.  "What?  Rape?  Murder?  Just what the heck is this song about?"  I'm sorry, but knowing the lyrics has ruined this song for me.  I simply cannot bop along belting out lyrics like "rape" and "murder."

 

I'm certainly not the first person to misunderstand lyrics.  Rosie O'Donnell thought "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" was about a girl with a bowel disorder – and who could blame her?  It does sound more like a girl with colitis goes by than a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.  And I once heard that Bob Dylan was shocked at what he thought was pure boldness on the part of The Beatles to sing "I get high" on "I Want to Hold your Hand" when, in fact, they're actually singing "I can't hide."

 

Everyone misunderstands lyrics.

 

For years my sister thought Jimmy Buffett cut his heel on a Pop-Tart before cruising back home.  Never mind that that doesn't make sense or the fact that I've told her multiple times it's 'pop-top' – to this day, in her mind, it was a Pop-Tart that lacerated his foot in "Margaritaville."

 

Sometimes we just sing along without ever considering if it makes sense or not; other times we may over think it – like Linda did with England Dan & John Ford Coley's "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight."  She'd sing, "I'm not talkin' 'bout the linen…"  Again I was there to set her straight (which I'm sure she loved).  I said, "It's not linen, it's movin' in."  She told me it was linen and that the word was being used as a metaphor for all the stereotypical duties a woman incurs when a man and a woman get together.  (See what I mean? A little over thought.)  I said, "It is not linen.  It is not a metaphor.  It's movin' in."

 

Then there are the times we get the lyrics right but miss the point.  Years ago, a friend of mine who loved The Kinks' classic "Lola" had no idea that Lola was a transvestite.  She actually sang the correct lyrics – for the whole song – and still didn't know.  I asked her what she thought the end meant when they say, "I'm glad I'm a man, and so is Lola."  She said Lola was happy the guy was a man.  And while I'm sure he was happy about that, I said, "That's not it.  Lola's a man, too."  All she said was, "Oh…" as the logic gently washed over her.

 

Back in the 70s long before PC was prevalent, my other sister, Laura, believed that Three Dog Night loved the natives when, in fact, it's the ladies they loved as they sang "Joy to the World."

 

Although I knew it didn't make any sense, for years I thought the boys of CCR didn't need a pinhead just to hang around "Down on the Corner" (even though pinheads are often fun to be with).  It wasn't until I paid attention to the word nickel in the next line that I figured out they must be saying 'penny.'

 

And while I had no idea why Billy Preston's Willie went 'round in circles (I first heard this song as a child when I really enjoyed spinning), I just thought we had that in common.

 

There are probably thousands of stories of misunderstood lyrics.  After my experience with the Rolling Stones, I think sometimes it may be better not to know.  As my friend Elena used to say, "I have no idea what they're saying, but I give it a 10 'cause I like the beat!"   

 

Rock on –

 

~ M.      

 

Place your Bets!

Pwish.  Plink.  Kerplunk.  "I'll set 'em up again," I said as my little brother reloaded the BBs.  Dad, calling out from the front porch, asked, "What are you kids doing?"  We responded in unison, "Shooting soda cans."  It was the mid '70s, BB guns weren't an issue and this was what you did when you grew up in a rural part of town.

 

"Let me have a shot," Dad said.  As he pumped the gun, he turned to us and offered what seemed to be a deal – an opportunity – too good to pass up.  "I'll bet you fifty cents that even with a 20 second lead I can hit you with a BB."  (I know what you're thinking, and you're right – good times.)  Timmy turned to me wide-eyed, but not in wonder, it was more like fear; while I, on the other hand, stared back with eyebrows raised as I took in the possibility of it all.  Fifty cents?  Hey, that was a couple of packs of chewing gum back then.

 

"I'll have a 20 second lead?"  I needed to verify some particulars before making my final decision.  "Yup."  "And you get one shot?"  "Right."  Hmm… I could run pretty fast… He won't hit me… Uhhmmm… "Alright, you're on," I blurted out with great enthusiasm. 

 

As my adrenaline began to pump, my dad pumped the gun.  "Go," he yelled, and I took off running.  I ran for all I was worth and as I neared the woods, I heard the shot – PWOOSH  – sail right past me.  Quite pleased with myself, I strode back toward my dad and brother.  Almost simultaneously, I said, "Well, I did it," as my dad said, "Double or nothing I'll get you with just a 10 second lead."  No time to bask in the glory, I guess.  Hmm… only a 10 second lead this time?  Still charged by my victory high, I accepted the challenge.  "I'll do it!" 

 

4-3-2-1, PWOOSH.  Missed again.  "Ha, I'm like lightning," I called out, "You owe me one dollar!"  Then he said these fatherly words that I will never forget, "Double or nothing I'll get you this time."  (Parenting was different then.)  "You're on!"  You have to remember, at this point, I was running for two bucks.  Two dollars was a lot of money back in 1976. 

 

3-2-1, PWOOSH – PWULPT!  I was hit.  That BB got me in the back of my right thigh just below my butt.  I went down with my hand clasped to my leg, "Arghhh!"  As I rolled on the ground writhing in pain, my dad walked over to me.  And with the BB still deeply embedded in my leg, held tightly beneath my white-knuckled hand, he said these words: "Gambling does not pay."

 

The welt only lasted a few days, the lesson a lifetime.

 

~ M.

 

Party On!

What'll they think of next?  Sure, debutantes have long had their balls, young Jewish girls their Bat Mitzvahs and Latino chicas their Quinceñeras.  But why are the festivities limited to only a select few?  Well, they're not – not really.  Why any girl has always had the opportunity to celebrate her Sweet Sixteen if she wants to.  And then there's this other thing…  Don't tell me you haven't heard about the latest reason to throw a party? 

 

I'm taking about menarcheal rituals.  For those not familiar with that term, it is the adjective form of the word menarche which is defined, according to Merriam-Webster, as the beginning of the menstrual function, especially the first menstrual period of an individual.  Apparently mothers everywhere are now hosting 'first period' parties.  Do I need to repeat myself?  What will they think of next?

 

I can see the Hallmark cards now:

 

Adolescence is over

It's come to an end

And now you have

A monthly friend

 

You've hit puberty

Let's shout for joy

Good-bye little girl

Oh, boy – oh, boy!

 

Expect some cramps

And bloating, too

Shedding a uterine lining

Is not easy to do

 

Your head may ache

And moods will swing

But, you can procreate –

That's a cool thing

 

So what if it's painful

And you retain water

You're a woman now

My sweet baby daughter

 

Congratulations on your first period Honey!

 

I realize this is a milestone in a young woman's life, but it just doesn't seem like something you'd actually celebrate…

 

Now later in life when 'your friend' may be tardy,

but shows up, after all, that's when you party!

 

~ M.