Manicurist, speaking English slowly:
How many children do you have?
Me, startled out of a foot massage stupor:
Uh… (I make the sign zero with my hand not soaking in water.)
Manicurist
Are you married?
Me, looking around at the women close beside me. I don’t want to be having this conversation:
Uh… (I shake my head no)
Manicurist, getting insistent:
Have you ever been married?
Me (I can’t believe this is happening. I shake my head no.)
Manicurist, raising her voice in disbelief:
NO? WHY NOT?
I’ve been thinking about Nora Ephron all day. By all accounts, she lived her life well.
The Summer Day is by the great poet, Mary Oliver. Illustration by Lisa Congdon.
Sometimes, I eat cookies for breakfast. I’m on Twitter when I should be reading a book. I refuse to give up my martini. What about you?
Image via this isn’t happiness
It was a quintessential California night. Immersed in a hot tub, framed by a eucalyptus grove near Santa Barbara, I looked up at a starry sky, and was blissed out. All I could feel was goodness. Back to L.A. grit 48 hours later, I’ve still got no complaints. That’s for another day.
Untitled, 1964, by Ellsworth Kelly
Update to Rummaging Around for a Superhero:
As a reward (or maybe bribe) to a few brawny friends who’ve agreed to haul a propane tank out of my car, through the garage, up the elevator, down the hallway and onto the patio, to connect it to the gas grill, I’m cooking dinner. It’s a wonderful recipe for Chicken in the Pot by Dorie Greenspan. Following dinner, the three of us humans, accompanied by our three dogs, are all driving to Santa Barbara for a summer solstice parade. (Surfboard not included.)
Photo by Yassine Ouhilal
Mulata Cartagenera, 1940, by Henrique Grau Araujo, is on view in New York as part of the exhibition, Caribbean: Crossroads of the World.
My therapist has a great response when I veer into the terrain of “if only….” She reminds me that I did the best I could with the information I had at the time.
Image by Christina Mazzalupo
In two months, one of my closest friends will be getting married. I’ve beeen asked by one of the grooms to be an official witness, which means signing the Ketubah – the wedding contract in a Jewish marriage. This is an honor for a great occasion, and I’m looking forward to it. As long as good friends surround me, and I have something wonderful to wear, I can lap up the joy.
June Brides by Gayle Kabaker