RANDOM MUSINGS FROM A JERSEY GAL …

I was one of those fortunate kids who got to experience a traditional Italian Thanksgiving while growing up. For those of us who are culturally bonded, you know the side dishes may have varied a bit from house to house, but the theatrical carte du jour never contrasted much.

I remember awakening on thanksgiving morning to savory aromas filling the house and the sound of sizzling bits simmering on the stove. The last minute bustle of a forgotten item was always a given, eased by the convenience of a local market a few blocks away. Dinner was served mid-to-late afternoon, but the real magic began with trays of my father’s indescribably delicious baked clams oreganata.  If heaven were encased in a sea shell, I have no doubt his unrivaled recipe of perfectly minced clams in its melange’ of delectable stuffing would construct the Pearly Gates. They were devoured within minutes of being set on the table, with heaps of empty shells and the smack of sated lips the only remnant that they ever existed.

• Watch the Woody Allen romantic fantasy “Alice,” starring Mia Farrow as an unfulfilled, wealthy NYC housewife seeking to find meaning in her otherwise shallow life. Mia’s character visits an enlightened and unorthodox doctor in Chinatown who prescribes various herbs as part of her treatment, one which comes with a side effect of making her invisible after drinking, allowing her to freely move about into the private lives of others whom she desires to know on a more truthful level. After you’ve thought, “hey, that would be a neat power to have…” ponder on where you would go or who you would drop in on if you were invisible. Have fun letting your mind drift as your eyebrows wiggle.

• Dance with abandon. Put on a pair of white gym socks, hit an uncarpeted floor in the house and crank up James Brown. Let it go. If you feel the urge to lip-sync because you’re a multi-talented entertainer, pick up a hairbrush but take care not to hold it too closely to your mouth. The gag reflex caused by a lip latching loose hair can derail even the smoothest moves. And since you’re going to be “dancing like no one is watching,” do be sure to first pull down the shades.

• Sort through boxes of old photos and pick out any of an ex love who has broken your heart. Scan the photo to your computer and download a version of photo editing software. Repeat the following affirmation: “My outer adult now forgives and releases you with love; my inner child gets a kick out of seeing you with donkey ears and nose hair.” Then start editing.

• Enjoy a glass of heady wine. Don’t enjoy it at home. Go to an inviting bar, plop yourself on a stool and seek out the oldest bartender you can find. Ask them, “So how’s life been treating YOU?”

• Eat nothing but finger-sized food items throughout the day … fancy canapes, miniature ears of corn, quail eggs, olives, melon balls, etc. Arrange them on a decorative plate before photographing and uploading to your Facebook page with the caption, “Having a nosh at the House of Windsor, btw Charles really is a stitch.”

• If finances permit, buy yourself something that only a slightly eccentric friend or relative would give as a gift … a chartreuse handbag with a monkey tail handle, “House of Hogwart” embossed cuff links or a trendy unisex fragrance called “Clean Dirt.” Look at it and nod with agreement, “yes, life IS too short not to have this wonderful item.”

• Send an email to someone you really like and haven’t communicated with in a while and ask them to tell you about something comical that has recently happened to them. Most people will jump at the chance to share the absurdities of life. If you add that your spirit is flagging a bit, chances are they’ll respond by channeling Milton Berle.

I just finished watching “Rocky II” on AMC.  I’m mesmerized by the Rocky story, both on-screen and off.   Even after watching it for the hundredth time, I still find myself at the beginning of each sequel wondering whether or not Rocky wins the fight at the end, and still yell at the screen “hit him, hit him” long after I remember that yeah, he is gonna land that punch.

At a time in society when I find it difficult to respect or hold in any regard many of the mainstream Hollywood actors or ”celebrities” of the day, Sylvester Stallone is an exception.  He’s more than just another “rags-to-riches” story, he’s a testament of a human spirit so tenacious, so dogged that failure was never an option, even when it was a very real probability during some of his darkest moments.  I envy people like him.  They have a “knowing” in their calling, an unshakeable faith in themselves that surpasses simply trusting in the future; they know without doubt what they’ve come to this earth to accomplish, even when all they can see in front of them is a muddled road riddled with uncertainty. A “knowing.”  What a gift that knowing is, but when success finally sidles up to a doorstep, it’s easy to forget that it often comes with a very large price tag attached.

If you’ve never heard the story of Sylvester Stallone’s “Rise to Rocky,” take a few minutes and listen to Tony Robbins in his own words speak about Sylvester’s triumph over seemingly insurmountable adversity.  Can you imagine a guy so confident in his destiny that as an unknown hungry and more often than not penniless screenwriter, he turned down an initial offer of $125,000 for his script, an offer made while he was so “dead broke” he actually had to resort to selling his beloved dog for $25?  More money than he could have ever imagined at the time was dangled in front of him and refused, all because he would have been denied the right star in his film, something he knew with certitude was part of a much bigger plan.  Subsequent offers of $250,000 and $325,000 followed, again declined by Stallone because he knew, he just knew, that he was born to play Rocky.  Now that’s what we Italians call “appuntamento con il destino,” a true date with destiny.

Most of us are aware of how Sylvester’s career turned out and the success he’s achieved.  But did you also know that when he finally sold his script for the rock-bottom price of $35,000, a price that granted him the exclusive right to play Rocky in the film, one of the first things he did was to track down the man who purchased his dog and pleaded to buy him back, negotiating an inflated fee of $3,000?  “Butkus,” his loyal canine companion went on to his own cameo role in the film as Rocky Balboa’s dog.  I just love a happy ending. Happy 4th of July.  Independence comes to those who stand firm in their beliefs even when it seems hard to do so.

Here’s Tony Robbins talking about about Sylvester Stallone and the Rocky story:

A tribute to my Dad, and all great Dads, on this Father’s Day:

The year was 1976 and Leo Sayer had just released what I thought was, in my uncultured teenage mind, one of  the greatest song ever recorded.  I remember jumping to my feet and dancing with delight whenever I would hear the intro start to play on the radio.

One Friday night after the album’s recent release, I pleaded with my mother to stop by Sam Goody’s and pick it up for me since she and my father were heading out to do a little shopping.  My mother, who wasn’t in the most charitable of moods that evening, halted my pleas with the excuse that they wouldn’t have the time to stop at the mall.  Just as my 15-year old heart was starting to deflate with resignation, I heard the creak of my bedroom door and saw my father’s face peeking in.  “Sam,” he said, “Write down the name of that album you want on a slip of paper.  Hurry up.”  I woke up the next morning to see Leo Sayer’s animated face smiling down at me, perched on my bedroom dresser.  37 years later, I still have the album.

It was just one of the many small acts of love my father bestowed upon me from the vast sea of larger ones.  He was an imperfect man in an imperfect world with one of the biggest hearts I have ever known.  While he wasn’t a particularly demonstrative man, his actions always spoke louder than his words, ensuring that those he loved never had to doubt his love for them.  Throughout the years I watched as he performed random acts of kindness for strangers and people he hardly knew, and was the first in line to help out a friend.

I lost my dad much too early in this game, but there’s hardly a day that his memory, or what he’s taught me, doesn’t present itself in my life.  If you were one of the lucky ones to be blessed with a great dad, take the time today to let him know how much he means to you.  Whether he’s in spirit or standing in front of you love is, after all, eternal.

To my Dad, until we see each other again … I hope you’re dancing.  Happy Father’s Day.

One of my favorite movies of the time-travel genre is “Peggy Sue Got Married.”  The poignancy of this movie always strikes a chord in my heart as I watch Kathleen Turner’s character goes back in time and struggle with the gift of “If I only knew then what I know now…” 

While I know life isn’t meant to be lived through the reflection in a rear-view mirror, there are so many things I wish I could go back and whisper into the ear of my younger self, little nuggets of insight that would have helped soften the regrets.  A few on my mind …

Don’t be so hard on yourself.  You’ll discover that life will present enough opportunity in the way of people and experiences along the path to do it for you.  If you remember to be kind to yourself at all times, it will reward you with a greater sense of self-esteem and serve you as well as any education you may gain along the way.  Be loving and forgiving of your mistakes at an early age, and it will nurture the resilient spirit you’ll come to rely on as an adult.

Never fear change.  As you mature, you’ll come to realize that change is an essential pathway to growth, and the one constant life has to offer.  If the inevitability of change presents itself with a frightening face, hold steady and be open to the possibility that adversity often comes disguised as a great portal of opportunity, one that will shift you to a more contented stage of your life.  If you can teach yourself to embrace change with an unburdened heart and an expansive mind, it will become your friend.

Marry someone who enjoys holding your hand.  As a young adult, you’ll mistakenly think that choosing a partner is about finding someone you feel passionately about.   While it’s certainly a wonderful and necessary element to any romantic relationship, the true secret for finding a blissful partnership is to find someone who actually likes you.

With a magic marker, write two words on a piece of paper and put it in a place where it will always be visible:  FAITH and HOPE.

Don’t be afraid to let your light shine.  Life isn’t meant to be lived in the shadows.

Play more.  Fun is never overrated.

The ominously named “Frankenstorm” has begun to announce its arrival here in the northeast.  As I took my afternoon walk down by the river, I noticed the water starting to swell and ripple with discomfort, like a pregnant woman a week past her due date.  The feral cats who usually greet me with a friendly meow had disappeared, no doubt seeking shelter underneath the rocky terrain.    I felt an agitated gust of wind push up against my back as if to move me out of its way as the usually playful seagulls shrieked in a frenzied pitch.

Between banal thoughts of whether I had purchased enough batteries or had an operable can opener, something more considerable hit my mind:  The timing of this storm, one week before our national election, is somewhat of a spiritual metaphor for the underlying sentiment brewing beneath the surface of this country.  Regardless of which side on the political fence you may sit, I think most of us can agree this is arguably the most polarizing and derisive election in our lifetime.  While both the storm and the election will pass, and we may be a little more worn for the wear, we are Americans and I have no doubt we’ll land collectively back on our feet.

And, just as the turkey is beginning to digest in our overstuffed stomachs, we’ll be approaching the mystical date of December 12, 2012 – a date anticipated with wonderment and an element of suspense, thanks to our ancient Mayan friends who have designated it as the period at the end of their sacred calendar’s sentence.   I don’t believe the world will physically end during that second week this December, but I do think we’re being ushered into a new age and time on this earth, one that begins with our ancestral brothers smiling down upon us and hoping we’ll get the message.

Fall is officially here.  I went for my early-evening stroll down by river tonight and felt the identifiable chill against my skin as I huddled inside my fleece-lined pullover, and the silky, smooth voice of Luis Miguel crooning through my ear buds for an added touch of warmth.)

Fall is zesty and spicy, like an Italian minestrone … it’s that great old saxophone player in your favorite lounge, cool to the bone and hitting all the high notes. It’s the last hurrah before the stillness of winter sets in, a going away party for the soul decorated in vibrant hues of red and gold.  There are so many things about the season that I love, but here are a few, in no particular order:

• The pumpkins, gourds and Indian corn that greet you as you enter a supermarket.

• Butternut squash soup, with a dollop of sour cream and a grind of pepper on top, served in my favorite Tuscan-style ceramic bowls.

• The way a robust glass of chianti tastes when you come in from a chilly afternoon.

• The Changing of The Perfume:  The crisp and citrusy scent of Rue Rance “Sublime” gets replaced with the warm and spicy notes of Balenciaga “Cristobal.”

• The little coats pet owners put on their dogs to keep them warm. Nothing conveys cuteness like tartan-plaid on a cocker spaniel.

• Leftover Halloween candy.  (Note: If a snickers bar is smaller than your thumb, the calories don’t count.)

• All kinds of sweaters: Pullovers, wraparounds, bulky wool and cashmere, of the non-itchy kind.

• Thanksgiving weekend.  It’s the only weekend of the year where it’s not only permissible but perfectly acceptable to live in your pajamas for three straight days, drinking and eating whatever suits your fancy sans the guilt.

• The aroma of logs burning on an outdoor fire in the cold night air.

• French music.  I love French music any time of year, but somehow it sounds better when you’re wearing leather gloves.

It’s hard to believe that it’s been eleven years since the devastating terrorist attacks on American soil, which left our country paralyzed with the enormity of lives lost and succeeded in the destruction of two of the most iconic towers in the world, occurred. Time has a permutable way of standing still or accelerating in one’s life depending on their perspective.  Ask a firefighter to recall the events of that infamous day as he braved the annihilation and he’ll elicit each detail with vivid clarity, as though it had happened yesterday.  Ask a parent or a spouse who lost a loved one on that most heartbreaking of days and they’ll reminisce how it feels like a lifetime since they felt their embrace.

I will never forget that morning. “Where were you on September 11th?” has joined the annals of conversation in recent years as “Where were you when Kennedy was shot?” did in past.  In retrospect, something did feel very different as the day began.  I remember waking to a stunningly beautiful morning in the northeast; the temperature was perfectly aligned with an Indian summer.  I also remember thinking, as I pulled open the shades to my terrace, that this was a “Wizard of Oz” type of day … a day where everything looks slightly ethereal, curiously exaggerated in its beauty.

The sky had a patina glaze to it, intense shades of blue set were set against the backdrop of a dazzling sun; there was a lucidity that glossed the atmosphere and seemed to intensify everything it touched, from the leaves of a tree to the feel of the air.  It was, ironically, a morning that would make a person feel grateful to be alive.

I remember looking out from the terrace of my apartment as smoke started to billow across the Hudson.  My first thoughts were that a huge fire had occurred downtown, something not uncommon in a city the size of Manhattan.  As I turned on the television to see if something would be reported on the morning news, I watched, simultaneously, as stunned news anchors reported that a plane had struck the first tower of the World Trade Center, and smoke intensified in the distance from the view of my terrace.  It appeared during those first few minutes that this was nothing more than a random and tragic accident.  The shock and mayhem that escalated as a second plane hit the second tower left little doubt to what was really happening and the truth became evident:  America was under attack.  It was a surreal moment.

I also remember distinctly, the immediate days that followed—the grief and heaviness that was suspended in the air, the public trauma and anger that rose with fluctuating emotions, and the pervasive feeling of helplessness coupled with an intense desire for retribution that seemed to grasp all Americans in unison.  With the heightened state of consciousness also came a sense of gentleness and interconnectedness that blanketed our communities through a collective grief:  People came together as one; the inessential annoyances and vents of frustration aimed at another that often accompany day-to-day life in the city seemed to dissipate, now replaced by a simple courtesy and compassionate nod that silently acknowledged “we’re in this together.”

As we honor those who lost their lives in this unforgettable attack, we can also use this symbolic day to reflect on the 9-11’s of our own lives.  No one gets through this journey called Life without the trials and tribulations that accompany it; each one of us must go through, at times, a difficulty we need desperately need strength for, whether the adversity comes in the form of an emotional, physical or circumstantial nature.  Remember … when the buildings of your life disintegrate and crumble, first rest in the embers and then rise from the ashes.  There are two things I know to be true:  You’re always stronger than you think, and life will go on.

“The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy.”  

(President John F. Kennedy)