My Husband Always Makes Me Laugh!

 It's the secret of a great marriage. I had to share this one with you. We were watching some of the speculation on the upcoming wedding of Chelsea Clinton.

Erik said, "Wow. Think what it would be like to have Bill Clinton as your father-in-law. Imagine that Bachelor Party!"

I guess it depends on what your definition of "that" is...

My Secret Shame

This week I finally went to a meeting of my book club, and I had actually read the book! That is because the book was Ruth Riechl's memoir about her mother and can be read in an hour and a half. I loved it, but some people in our group hated it because they felt Ruth had given her mother short shrift. I think if you get any shrift at all from your kids after you're dead, it's a good thing. I am a writer, so I should be a voracious reader. But here is it is: I am anything but. In college I loved Dickens and Thomas Hardy. After college I moved on to People, the New Yorker and slim volumes of poetry. I am still like that: an eclectic mix of intellect, fluff, and pure junk. The guilt always gnaws at me, especially during commercials of NCIS--and especially when I'm watching an episode that I've seen before. Can one be a good storyteller without studying volumes of other storytellers? I cannot answer that without flinching. It's not that I never read, but I certainly do not read enough books. I love television and always have. Howdy Doody started my addiction, and I have been in the Peanut Gallery ever since. I do play Scrabble on my laptop while I watch Law and Order. It's not that I don't love words. I do, I do!

The other day I went to an Internet site that asked me to include my "personal profile." The screen prompted me with questions, such as: What would your last meal be? That was easy. CAKE! But one question made me queasy: Which one book have you read over and over?

My cheeks flushed with shame. My mouse wouldn't budge. (Not even on my Ouija Board mouse pad.) Finally I filled in the blank. Which book have you read over and over? I wrote: TV Guide. Ouch. The truth does hurt!

Zero to Sixty in A Flash

I haven't blogged for quite a while. I was on the treadmill. No, not the one at the gym; the treadmill of life: meeting deadlines and zooming off to Florida for my nephew's Miami beach wedding. I am the consummate non-traveler. When I was young, I loved taking planes. That was in the 70's, when you could cram more than your knees in the seat and get more to eat than a $10 pack of nuts and raisins. Planes rarely were late, and if there were issues, you were treated well. In 1974 I was on a 747 when the captain announced that one of the engines had quit. He said cheerfully that he could fly it with just one, but to be sure they were heading back to San Francisco so they could fix the problem. In the meantime, all the drinks were now free. So by the time we landed in San Francisco, nobody cared about the delay. When I started at Disney in 1979, the company still clung to Walt's long-standing policy of flying anyone in the company First Class. They sent little peon me to Chicago for a convention, and the stewardess came down the aisle with a rolling cart slicing steamship round of roast beef. Those days are gone like the Hindenburg. Oh, the humanity!

Flying is no longer glamorous for most of us. But I still enjoy people watching and listening in the airport. Best scene on this trip: two twenty-something women flounced by, and one was irritated with the other. She turned to her well-heeled friend and scowled, "Just because I like the Twilight movies doesn't mean I need therapy!" OMG, BFF.  

The wedding was beautiful, as all weddings are. Note the glorious seafoam beachy cake. And the morning of this wedding, my son called me from Israel to tell me that he and his girlfriend (also an American living in Israel) got engaged. Whew! What an emotional weekend. Of course, when it started, I was walking miles in the Dallas airport and eating steamed vegetables and brown rice. By Sunday I was shoving down coconut M & M's and soft pretzels dipped in butter and cinnamon sugar--all with diet Coke, of course.

By the time I headed back Sunday night I was exhausted, but I kept looking out the window. I always get a window seat. Well, I learned something more on this trip: my bladder now would much prefer the aisle. In between awkward treks to the bathroom, I looked dreamily out the window. We were flying west, so it was sunset skies all the way. How slowly we seemed to pass the patchwork quilt of farms and the shapeshifter clouds. I don't know why everything seems to go by in slow motion when you are flying 600 mph at 35,000 feet. I do know if we were on the ground at that speed, everything would be a blur. Something to do with perspective. And perspective is the key to so much. I realized that flying on a plane is yet another metaphor for life: it seems to be going by at a slow, leisurely pace--and yet, the years are zooming by. Wasn't I on that 747 yesterday? How could I have a son now engaged to be married? How did I go from zero to 60 so fast? Watch out. Don't take a second for granted. It could happen to you, too.