First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

The Art of Eating

Cooking soothes me. Battling my way through a congested market right before Thanksgiving, does NOT. My menu and guest list are set. We will be six for Thanksgiving dinner, an arty mix of close friends and acquaintances, varying in age, sexual preference and gender. What links us is being single, though that’s a coincidence, since I invited couples as well, who were unable to come.

Obsessively browsing through recipes this last week, I was reminded of the gifted writer, M.F.K. Fisher, who said in response to all those who questioned why her work was focused on food, eating and drinking:

The easiest answer is to say that, like most humans, I am hungry. But there is more than that. It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it.

(Illustration by Andy Warhol for a children’s book, The Little Red Hen, available at auction next month in New York.)

To Squeeze Or Not: 2009 Mammogram Debate

This has been a noisy week for women’s health. Just as we were getting revved up to battle against the horrific Stupak Amendment, two nonpartisan panels released recommendations suggesting that women would be better served by having fewer pap smears and mammograms than previously advised. Sounds GREAT to me. I have an annual mammogram scheduled for next month, but now, I’m thinking about canceling it. I’ll consult with my levelheaded gynecologist first, but not till after Thanksgiving, when her phone lines aren’t so jammed.

I’ve read a lot of pushback since these recommendations were announced, the most pathetic of which has come from politicians. I’m sorry, but I do not take kindly to agenda-driven men (with an agenda other than my well-being) telling me what to do about my body. But I share other women’s anxiety. For years, we’ve been led to believe that early detection is the holy grail. Please check out Gail Collins’ really smart column, The Breast Brouhaha in the New York Times. Sanity is so reassuring.

Update: My gynecologist is suggesting to all her patients to keep getting mammograms with the same frequency as before.

The Wedding Vow

Sharon Olds, described as one of America’s greatest living poets, is 67 years old today. In 2005, Olds declined the invitation by First Lady Laura Bush, to read from her work and attend festivities at the White House. Depending on my mood, I respond differently to Olds’ poem, The Wedding Vow. Sometimes reading it makes me sad that I’ve never had the altar experience, but more often, I’m grateful to momentarily wrap myself in the love and commitment she beautifully describes.

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Everything is Beautiful at the Ballet

I am not a real ballet dancer, but I pretend to be four times a week in ballet class. It’s a fool’s hobby, because even competence is hardly attainable, and yet, despite the long odds, I’m hooked. At Westside Ballet in Santa Monica, I have the privilege of studying with a master teacher, now 81, who gives me hope that maybe next time, I’ll land a perfect pirouette, or soar with graceful arms and pointed toes, during a grand jeté.

Frederick Wiseman, one of the great documentary filmmakers, focused his camera on one of the premier ballet companies, and the result, according to most reviewers, is one of the best dance films of all time. LA DANSE: PARIS OPERA BALLET is trickling out at movie theaters around the country (check release schedule) and I will be there opening weekend to look up and dream.

(More) Things I Can’t* Do Myself

Fasten the clasp of my mother’s heirloom watch
Peel Kabocha squash
Carve a turkey
Unlock twist pump dispensers
Anything automotive **
Zip up this one particular dress
Take a decent photo
Climb a ladder
Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve
Birthday **
Drive a car in Manhattan
Comprehend tectonic plates (relevant if you live in earthquake-prone California)
Rotate my mattress
Choose a paint color for the walls
Break down cartons for recycling
Attend a wedding

* If pressed, I could probably do most things on this list myself. (** Except for these.) But I’d prefer not to.

WHAT’S ON YOUR LIST?

How To Tie A Scarf

I used to be intimidated about wearing scarves, imagining it was best left to Upper East ladies with their latest Hermes. But I was wrong. All I needed was a little guidance and the eternally chilly weather in San Francisco, to convert me. Even now, living in L.A., I don’t hesitate during most seasons to grab a wrap. (They’re no longer as woolly). A friend recently admitted that she had no idea how to tie a scarf. Here’s a short video that demonstrates my two favorite ways of wearing one. Add some swagger and you’re on your way.

Why I Need A Husband…Or Maybe Not

Cartoon by Mick Stevens, appearing in The New Yorker, 11/16/09. Alternative solution by Oxo Good Grips jar opener.

How Not To Be Anxious For the Holidays, Part I

My holiday anxiety has started to kick in. And by anxiety, I mean, the fear of getting stuck ALONE on one of those iconic family-type days, where to be without company is to feel like a loser. I’m relieved that Thanksgiving is handled, now that my dear friend Miguel is driving down from San Francisco for the long weekend. I’ve decided to make a cozy dinner for six and try something new, by preparing a turkey breast, rather than fussing with a whole bird. No carving and no carcass is a real incentive. I have turned to my guide, the always-dependable Ina Garten, aka Barefoot Contessa, because during the holiday season, it’s especially important to have people you can count on. Here’s her recipe for Roasted Turkey Roulade, which will be making an appearance at my table: Continue reading »

What Are Friends For?

During the Clinton years, I learned to drink Manhattans at the 500 Club, a Mission district bar in San Francisco. I no longer remember how the custom got started, but for years, like clockwork, every Monday at 6:30, John, Doris, Fred and I would grab a cozy booth by the door and order cocktails. These seasoned drinkers would laugh as I slurped my Bloody Mary, a beverage they considered strictly brunch material. It took some coaching to acquire the grownup taste for Makers Mark Manhattans, but I’ve never looked back.

Our foursome set a few ground rules. No mates. No dates. No excuses. One by one, we would go around the table, and share our latest triumphs and defeats. It was comforting to begin the week with a standing date, timed just long enough to make us hungry for the next installment. I always left the 500 Club happy, and a little drunk, then grabbed a nearby burrito and went home.

Zen and the Art of Rejection

William, my Yoda-like best friend who is also a gifted psychotherapist, has a standard comeback whenever someone complains about being romantically spurned. “It’s not personal,” he says. “It’s not about you.” Today, when I’m licking my rejection wounds, this advice makes me crazy, even though on an intellectual level, I get what he’s talking about. And so I ask him, what about when there IS mutual attraction, and you bask in the healing that comes from feeling loved and appreciated. “It’s not about you then, either.” Huh. What exactly is it that makes someone drawn to us or not? William tells me it’s wiring. And whose eyes we looked up at from our cribs.