Category Archives: Writing

Dec 3 2013

Macgyvering the Menorah

Lighting the Chanukkah candles. It’s one of those time honored traditions that grounds me in my faith. And while I love both giving and receiving presents, my favorite thing is actually lighting the candles, singing the prayers and meditating on the flames as they burn down.

The problem is…year after year…the waxy buildup in the tiny holes is incredibly frustrating.

I dig out the mess with fork prongs, chopsticks, earring backs, pens, paint brush handles and paperclips. You name it, I’ve tried it. And while the wax eventually comes out…there are often scrapes, bruises, cuts and several band-aids which accompany the process.

Let’s face it, cleaning is not my specialty.

This year, when tasked with the daunting choice of which instrument to use to clean the menorah and subsequently maim myself… an idea was born.

Now, my appreciation of vino has come a long way since I first discovered wine coolers in college. Over the course of time and taste I’ve sampled a variety of alcohol from keg beer to piña coladas,  before my taste buds eventually committed to  full bodied reds. And with my slow education, came the evolution of my wine tools...gone are the days of the simple opener…it has been replaced by a melange of options. In fact, my instrument of choice, is the rabbit… which is not to be confused with the other popular rabbit women enjoy.

My rabbit corkscrew opens wine cleanly, efficiently and quickly.

But I never got rid of my original corkscrew. So, I rummaged through my junk drawer and found it nestled between a box of mismatched nails and a pile of multicolored ribbons. And I proceeded to uncork….my menorah.

Pretending the leftover wax was a cork, I plunged in the corkscrew and gently turned… and all of the wax from the last few decades pulled out…cleanly, efficiently and quickly.

I may not have invented the Internet or solved world peace…but I’m fairly proud of my new de-waxing menorah solution.

Oct 31 2013

It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown & how not to prepare for a fast

Sophomore year of college, I got mono.

A lot of kids get mono in college and, statistically,  most of them get it sophomore year. Although that may be a statistic which is primarily in my head as I tend to make statistics up.

I was so sick that I lost twenty pounds and I was already on the slender side to begin with — I was 19 — most people are on the slender side at nineteen. But, I digress. I remember weakly getting on the train to go home and ALL I wanted to do was watch It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown. I couldn’t swallow, I couldn’t sit, I just desperately wanted to find solace from Snoopy and his gang and have some pumpkin pie. And when my parents finally got me settled under the afghan onto the couch where I would sleep in a daze for the next two weeks – sure enough Charlie Brown was on. But I was so sick, I fell asleep. I missed both the movie and the pie.

Two and a half decades later, I am watching the same Charlie Brown in a slightly different situation. And although Snoopy and the gang look exactly the same, I managed to find the twenty pounds I lost, along with twenty more who wanted to come along for the ride. So…

Tomorrow, I start a fast.

There are innumerable reasons for this drastic step… one, I have finally come to terms with the fact that macaroni and cheese is not necessarily a healing food, two I am on a journey of self-discovery and three, I just watched  the fascinating documentary Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead. So, I’m going to go for it. Two weeks. Two longggggg weeks.  It might be hellish, but according to a stranger in a store who recently sold me an overpriced ring, “Sometimes you have to go through the darkness in order to get to the light.” 

And rather than traditionally start a fast the way one is supposed to traditionally start a fast: gently, gradually, gingerly… I stuff. I’m a stuffer.  In the last three hours, I have stuffed most of my refrigerator down my gullet.  There is no dairy and no grain on this fast, so, I have just

ingested sixteen mini doughnuts, three beers, a tub of tzatziki and a large anchovy pizza…. and this is after I dropped by the bagel store this afternoon to have a bagel, cream cheese and lox.

Gluttonous? absolutely. But as a foodie who loves her food and drink, I am NOT good at detoxing and perhaps this is my backasswards way of psychologically preparing my mind and my body.

Or at least during the first few days, I’ll be so disgusted with myself I’ll forget to be hungry… and when the two weeks are over… maybe I’ll watch the movie again… and have some Pumpkin pie.

Jun 16 2013

Getting back up on the bike: literally and figuratively

Two years ago, when I fell during the 600 mile AIDS lifecycle from San Francisco to Los Angeles, I thought it would be hard to get back on the bike. I was scared, sore and maimed…with 21 stitches stretching from my eye to my cheekbone. But I got back up…because it was just a physical fall. Superficial pain: A few scrapes, some bruises, a tear here and there and several stitches. Physical pain is manageable. It is easy to overcome and I was fine. Scared, but fine. Mainly because my biking partner was with me — my emotional rock, my safety net, my confidence booster, my best friend.

So, how do you get back on the bike when you fall off emotionally? How do you get back on the bike when your best friend is gone?

You lift one leg over the seat, clip in and ride.

You do it because he would have wanted you to do it.

Because it’s who you were. Who you are. Who you will be.

And even though you cry the entire ride — you embrace the sadness, letting your tears evaporate in the hot sun and get blown away by the steady wind. You accept the pain and the hurt and the memories of the pair of you riding. You attempt to cycle, hoping that a memory or two glides through the gaping hole in your heart and sneaks past the searing pain. You push up hills and remember. You race down hills and forget.  And with each gear you shift, you get slightly stronger.  And even though the entire experience reminds you of him and feels awkward and strange and sad without him, it is what you need to help you begin to find your balance again.

Getting back on the bike is hard. But life keeps spinning onwards and so must we.

May 7 2013

Life lessons from Italy #10 – Wine, a lesson in six bottles

Amarone, Barbaresco,  Barbera, Barolo  Brunello di Montalcino, Chianti, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and Valpolicella…I tried them all.

There was a lot of wine in Italy and I tried them all, often asking waiters for the best local wines they served. I sniffed, tasted, sipped, swished and drank. And I learned a few things.

1. In Italy wine is often cheaper than water.

2. In Italy, it is fairly easy to get a bottle of wine which has originated less than an hour away.

3. In Italy, everyone drinks wine

4. In Italy, trust your waiter. He/she usually can recommend a great bottle of wine.

5. In Italy, for a glass of wine simply say, “Posso avere una bicchiere di
 rosso?”

6. In Italy, it is best to say, “Una bottiglia di vino per favore (um, and apparently the ‘g’ is silent…but I didn’t learn that until AFTER I got home when an Italian friend politely told me about my mispronunciation)

I guess I’ll have to go back to Italy and try again!


 



May 5 2013

Life lessons from Italy #9 – The Italian Downton Abbey

 

I love Downton Abbey. From the first piano note of the rapturous theme song,  I have been addicted to the colorful conflicts of the fictional aristocrats and proletarians.  I can easily see myself in several of the characters: I’m a cross between Lady Sybil, without the wardrobe;  Isobel Crawley without the money and Mrs. Hughes without the patience.

So, when I had a few days at the end of my Italian journey, I chose to spend it in a castle….I figured that I could  have tea and enjoy witty banter and dress in formal clothes for dinner.

What I didn’t count on in my castle, was having the flu. My sequin A lined dress turned into a terry bathrobe and there wasn’t an aristocratic stranger on site to romantically hand me a silk handkerchief; rather, it was just me unromantically blowing my nose into wads of scratchy toilet paper.

I lived in my fairytale castle for two days, spending most of my time holed up in my room and coming up for air “to take supper” before returning to my personal farmacia of Italian meds.

 

I spent most of the time in my castle, bemoaning my fate, taking pictures of myself laying listlessly in bed and wondering what Bates would do.

The reality is, if I were in Downton Abbey, I would probably have succumbed to the plague.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


May 5 2013

Life lessons from Italy #8 – All pastas are not created equal


I’ve done Atkins… but I love carbs.

I’ve done Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig… but I love carbs.

I’ve done Lindora and Nutrisystem and South Beach… but I love carbs.

And Italy is the capital of carbs. To be a connoisseur of pasta, one has to learn the alphabet of pastas….or just try every single one of them. Which I did. Repeatedly.

A picture says 1,000 words.

So here are ten thousand words…

 

 

The irony of the whole thing…after two solid weeks of eating like this… I lost eight pounds.

May 4 2013

Life lessons from Italy #7 – The art of packing and why I love Scott Vests

My life as an amateur packer began when, at seven, I watched my mom packing for her vacation. I wasn’t quite sure why one needed eight black tee shirts. So, I became her mini consultant…putting her suitcase on an immediate diet. As I grew up and went on vacations of my own, I discovered that there are two ways to travel: with a suitcase or a carry-on. I’m a big believer in the latter. When you’re getting on and off of planes and trains, it’s easier to do so with a knapsack and a small duffle.

So…what are the priorities in a pack besides a passport and money?

phone. computer. clothes. shoes. accessories.

That’s it. The big five.

Monochrome is the way to go…easier to mix and match when you neither have to mix nor match. If you want color, add a scarf (the unsung hero of travel) or a headband; otherwise, stick to black. It’s fashionable, slimming and practical. And Scott Vest makes a sleek black lightweight multi-pocketed vest which can hold a phone, computer, passport, money and accessories. So, the packing is already half done.

A few pairs of black pants. A couple of shirts. A sturdy pair of shoes. And a black Scott vest.

Benvenuti in Italia

May 2 2013

Life lesson from Italy #6 – The importance of theatre and why I love actors

I had the privilege which I hope every playwright should have – I got to see my play performed in a different language: First Sister Cities in French…now The Affair in Italian.

Sitting in the eighth row of a gorgeous old theatre in a tiny Italian town, I got to be an anonymous patron and watch three brilliant actors portray Robert, Kathy and Stephanie…only they sounded so much classier as Roberto, Katarina and Stephania.

Gotta love the beauty of the language.

Although my Italian is spotty, I understood the show in its entirely thanks to terrific performances by Mariangela D’Abbraccio, Pino Quartullo and Chiara Noschese.

A long time believer that actors make the best directors, Chiara Noschese helmed the play flawlessly. Her pacing was EXACTLY what I like… Aaron Sorkin fast… No unnecessary precious pauses… Audience loved it.  I felt incredibly grateful to watch such a beautiful realization of my show. .. And in The heart of Italy! I can see why the reviews have been so stellar. Across the board— directing, acting, set, lighting, costumes… All top notch.

Molto bene.

 

 

May 2 2013

Life lesson from Italy #5 – When in Rome…

When I was in college, I saw Rome in a day. Literally.

Traveling the way only 20 year olds can travel…with a heavy knapsack and a light budget. And the budget dictated that I  could avoid spending the night in a hotel room if I took the train from Florence to Venice via Rome. Yes, if you look at a map it’s ridiculous…but I was 20 and you’re allowed to be ridiculous at twenty.

We arrived in Rome at 10am, stored our knapsacks at Stazione Termini and walked the city until our train left at 10pm. We visited Vatican City, saw the Pantheon, tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain and climbed the Spanish Steps.

We got the highlights and I was fairly nonplussed….in the way that 20 year olds often are.

Rome is about nuances. It is about stepping into a farmacia and trying to order cough drops, it’s about attempting to navigate a menu and order an entire meal in Italian, it’s about taking local trains and going to the theatre and buying local produce and taking a few deep breaths. Sure, Rome is about the highlights, but it’s also about the shadows.

A couple of decades after my first Roman holiday, I was able to do Rome in a few days. In addition to repeated trips to the original highlights, I explored the Trastevere, wandered through the Jewish Ghetto, and enjoyed meals which consisted of more than bread and cheese. I soaked in the history of the Roman Forum, the culture of Piazza Navona.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do…but try to take a few days to enjoy it.

May 1 2013

Life lesson from Italy #4 – The Art of the Slow Meal and how to unplug

I’m guilty.

I multitask when I eat, especially if I’m eating alone. Ambidextrous, I can eat with either my right or left hand while simultaneously checking my email, texting or Facebooking. Yes, the verb facebooking.

In Italy, I unplugged…because eating is not a side show, it is the main event.

It took me a while to make my dinner reservations for 8pm, still a tad early in European culinary circles, but much later than my usual 6:30. Eating in Italy is an art and to do it properly, you need to be 100% focused. And having an iPhone on the table would be consider gauche. Or as we say in Italian, a sinistra.


Traditional Italian meals consist of five parts…and far be it from me to buck tradition, so I always ordered all five parts:  Antipasti- appetizers. 

Primo – first course.

Secondo – second course.

Contorni – side dishes.

Dolce – dessert

 Waiters fully support the art of the slow meal because they will never bring you the check. Never. They’re not being rude, they simply want you to enjoy your dinner. So, after i was ready to be rolled back to my hotel room, I simply said  “Il conto per favore” and three hours after I had your first sip of wine, my meal was finally over.

And I didn’t pull out my iPhone once.