In these parts, the expression “S.O.L” doesn’t always refer to your crappy state of luck and mean you’ve all but run out of it. This is Detroit, after all, the resilient Motor City and home to “cars, bars and a few weirdos,” as they used to say. No, when Detroit sports fans think of SOL, it has only one meaning, particularly during the NFL season: “Same old Lions.” And with good reason. Like back in 2008 when they went 0-16, a record then but later matched by the 2017 Cleveland Browns. (Sorry, Bonnie.) One thing’s certain. I have never written a positive blog post about the Detroit Lions. I even did a search…
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Merry ‘muted’ Christmas
It’s a cruel world, babe, as my wise father used to say. Indeed. Wonder what he would say about this recent newsflash: Christmas is canceled in Bethlehem. I am not making this up. It’s the honest-to-God awful truth in this incredibly messed up world of ours. There’s no Christmas in Bethlehem this year. For real. With war raging between Israel and Hamas in Gaza, all holiday bets are off. Too much grief and devastation to justify any sort of festivities, even in the Holy Land. Some have dubbed it a “muted” Christmas. Hold the merry. Last month, a teaser headline about the Christmas cancellation showed up in my NYT digital…
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Steel magnolias
Thank goodness my mother was a saver. And not just those ubiquitous plastic margarine tubs, Ziplock bags and, well, actual money — after all, this is the woman who shamelessly tucked envelopes of garage sale profits inside her favorite designer jackets. Her “mad money,” as she called it. Luckily, she told her three daughters about the secret stash of closet cash before she died. Even 15 years later since she passed on this day in 2008, Mom still manages to surprise me. As Daughter #3, I knew my mother had kept mementos of me: a lock of hair, old baby shoes and all of my K-12 report cards. Much to…
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Three funerals and a pizza
What’s on your calendar? Perhaps it’s my maturity or the generation of most of my friends and family, but lately I’ve had more doctor’s appointments, physical therapy visits and drive-thru pharmacy pickups than date nights. Oh, and funerals. Last week I attended three. It was rather unnerving. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to be here to attend these celebrations of life and pay my respects to some outstanding people. But facing my own mortality as I wind down in what is my “third act” of life, I find that I am not done yet, and I intend to savor each and every day. Aside: I’ve got to say, one troubling aspect of…
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Terms of impairment
I recently saw the best hospital waiting room sign ever in Area C at Troy Beaumont: “Keep calm and don’t move the furniture.” What a world we live in. On top of war, pestilence, greed and disaster, there are actually people who rearrange waiting room furniture. Good grief. Who does that? Sufferers of serious PMS, I suppose. (Speaking from experience.) Or those who bring their entire immediate family, including bawling infants, to the hospital and set up camp. (Speaking from the experience of being subjected to this.) I know. I have a lot of experience, particularly in the wellness arena. I’m not a doctor, but I could play one on TV. Of…
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The Bluebird
“Nashville cats, play clean as country water Nashville cats, play wild as mountain dew Nashville cats, been playin’ since they’s babies Nashville cats, get work before they’re two” ~ Chorus from the 1966 hit ”Nashville Cats” by The Lovin’ Spoonful. If I were given a work life “do-over,” I’m pretty sure I would have chosen the music business instead of journalism. Not as a performing artist but the person who discovers them. The talent scout who sits in the audience listening to dozens of acts searching for the next big star. Or at least an asteroid. In sports, particularly major league baseball, elite scouts have what is called “the third…
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Hitsville
Can you imagine five native Detroiters with a combined total of living 300 years in Michigan who have yet to set foot in the Motown Museum? Holy, Hitsville USA! In late September, the five of us sought to redeem our sorry souls of that musical sacrilege by touring the museum, a small, two-story brick house in the middle of a residential section on Detroit’s West Grand Boulevard. Honestly, this place is a shrine to a magical time in pop history. For good measure, we threw in a Detroit Tigers ballgame as penance to assuage our guilt. (OK, that was gratuitous and mean, even for me.) Sadly, they lost, 7-5. We…
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Skywatching
I have been wanting to blog about this for quite sometime. Better late than never. Several weeks ago, a spectacular light show appeared over parts of the United States and Canada. The northern lights – or “aurora borealis” – are beautiful, colorful waves from above that captivate those lucky enough to see them. One account I had read called this atmospheric phenomenon “the Holy Grail of skywatching.” Indeed. Think of the darkest night sky you’ve ever seen. Add bursts of yellow and green staining the horizon. Maybe dollops of red and purple blotches that paint pillars and curtains. Imagine a geomagnetic storm of epic proportions. Right over your head. Science…
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Feeling the heat
Driving topless on a crisp fall afternoon with the wind in my hair and the blasting heat at my feet, I’m struck by how something so simple can make me smile so wide. Is it the sun peering behind a puffy cloud warming the autumn air? Maybe. Or the purr of this nearly 60-year-old vehicle being driven by a 60-plus woman with nothing but time on her hands out on the open road? OK, it’s Adams Road in Rochester. More suburban and hilly than open, I ‘spose. Could be. Or the fact that the convertible top is dropped (not mine!) and this classic 1965 Ford has hit her stride —…
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Barbies (and Ken)
It’s a rainy Saturday in August, so I asked Rebecca if she’d like to go see an afternoon matinee instead of cleaning out the garage. Her: Sure. What did you have in mind? Me: How about the “Barbie” movie? Her: Um, no, thanks. I’ll be in the garage. Point taken. As a feminist, I really should have no intention of ever seeing “Barbie.” From what I’ve heard and read, the Greta Gerwig film, which hit theaters in July, is an outright insult to women at a time when our rights (reproductive and otherwise) are under attack. But how bad can it be if the moral of the story is that both fake plastic…
