Atypical 60

A couple of weeks ago, I was able to fly to Cincinnati and visit my daughter, Oona, my son-in-law, Sam, and my adorable grandsons, Owen, and Bennett. The weekend was a blast and it was wonderful to spend time with everyone.

On the way home, however, my plane was delayed.  By two hours.  And instead of going batshit crazy, as I would have in my younger days, I just shrugged and opened my phone to peruse social media sites.

And in Number One comes Candy Crush!!

And I as I started scrolling through Instagram, it appeared that every other post was either an annoying ad or an even more annoying reel of any given influencer—either young or our demographic showcasing, with a huge smile, their perfect home. The smile, most likely being “I have this and you only wish you did.”

Yeah Gweneth. We get it. You’re wealthy and we are not. Enough with your humblebragging.  

MY foyer looks like this:  Normal.  Shoes on the rug. A rack filled with jackets and dog leashes and little wicker draws stuffed with more shoes.  I’m humble.  And not bragging!

Watching the reels, I could view elaborate autumn décor not only inside their homes but outside on their porches and entryways.  Huge crescent-shaped driveways festooned with pumpkins, mums, corn husks and whatever else autumn brings our way.

Seriously, all those pumpkins would rot on my little porch..

This was MY version of being overly-ambitious.  And this morning when I took them out to the trash, they were rotten and moldy–and I had them for less than a week!

Overly ambitious tablescapes that made me think…. where do they place the food and plates? And it isn’t just autumn décor.  Some of these people have seasonal décor schemes for their entire homes! It was overwhelming for me to imagine doing this for every season in my own home. Where does one store all that stuff? It must be exhausting to decorate one’s home with a complete overhaul four times a year.

I’m not saying this isn’t great looking. Because it DOES look wonderful. But come on…when one works all day, all one wants is to have less shit on the table because it is less to clean up.

And this?  Beautiful but not realistic. Where does the food go?

What. Ever. Happened. To. The. Normal. Home.

I think back to my childhood.  When we lived in Queens, we lived in a two-family house. We were on the bottom level and my grandparents on the top level. It was a small home but it was charming. The floors were hardwood.  The walls solid plaster. No sheetrock and they were beautiful.  As our family grew, my parents turned the dining room into a living room and the old living room became their bedroom. It was nothing unusual.  Most families did that. Our kitchen was large enough to eat meals in and there was no question about bigger space.

This is a very old picture of our house in Ozone Park, New York. Queens. The elevated “A” train ran directly behind our home. My grandparents lived on top and we lived on the bottom. To this day, it is my favorite house. I don’t care how plain and basic it is. The inside was beautiful in an old-school way. 

When the family grew too big for the house, we moved to Long Island.  The house was bigger but not elaborate.  My mother kept the house in immaculate condition.  We may not have had the most expensive furniture, but it worked for a family with five kids, a stay-at-home mother, and a NYC police officer dad.

My parents and me.  Even back then I was prone to the snarky side-eye.  Even being cross-eyed!

I grew up in normal houses.

This is the NORMAL house we moved to from Queens.  Richland Blvd. in Bay Shore, NY! 

It got me to thinking.  Does anyone live in a house with a normal interior anymore?  Does everyone rip walls down and restructure their dwellings every so often?  Are their kitchens remodeled on a regular basis?  Am I the only one out there with a bathroom that is not a spa?

We have two bathrooms and a powder room. The closest to a spa that this one is, is that we are having it painted. Notice my sign on the color I prefer.  A bathroom serves two purposes. To clean your body and to eliminate waste. Oh yeah. Actually three. To store all the skincare!

It made me take stock of the interior of our own home.  We have been here for ten years.  We purchased it when it was approximately seven years old.  Essentially, our house is 17 years. The bones are great.  The walls, we like to keep white because white makes a room look bigger and white looks clean.

What I absolutely despise about our home is the carpeting. I hate it. We almost didn’t purchase it because of my hatred for carpeting.  But, in all the homes we looked at, carpeting was the one item that all the homes had.  We did replace the carpeting that was in the dining area with hardwood, thankfully because I cannot imagine eating in a room with a carpeted floor.

Good thing I am not a celebrity. I would be deemed “difficult” as I would refuse to walk the red carpet. THAT’S how much I despise carpeting!

In our living room we have two sofas.  One is about 16 years old—an Ethan Allen number that was very expensive.  The other, a sofa from Raymour and Flanagan.  I love both because they are an off white, both are slipcovered and I can remove the covers to clean them.  There is an antique dresser in which I house tablecloths and napkins.  It is functional as is aesthetically pleasing.

View of the living room.  It looks pretty nice. Doesn’t it?

Basic and pragmatic…

And here is what the sofas look like in every-day life. Covered in throws because Chippy lives and loves to lay over both of them…and snack on the throws as well. This, my friends, is our normal!

There is an armoire which houses the small TV set on the top portion and on the bottom games and such.  I love that piece so much because it is the first item I purchased while I was going through my divorce.  It was not cheap but wasn’t out-of-bounds expensive.  It is the first piece of furniture I bought on my own and I am very emotionally attached to it.

After I lose my house in the divorce, I moved into an apartment and purchased this armoire. It cost $700 and I will never get rid of it. It is a symbol of my hard times.  But UGH…that effing carpeting. I abhor it!

Our dining room table and chairs is casual farm style that we purchased when we moved here.  I like it. I like the normalcy of it.  It is large enough for me to use it as my “blogging” office and my husband and I eat all our meals there.  And during the holidays, it is just what we need.  Nothing fancy.  Nothing out-of-the-ordinary.  In my eyes, it is fine.

No elaborate tablescapes here. My laptop is my decor. However, on Christmas and on some Thanksgivings, as well as family dinners, I do dress it up a bit!

The autumnal décor in the house consists of autumn-colored flowers, two jack-o-lanterns that I carved yesterday and an autumnal wreath on the front door. That is it.

My autumn decor. A wreath, which, earlier this morning was replaced with a Christmas one.  Autumn flowers and the carved pumpkins that rotted within 6 days!

And the day after Halloween, I’ll go full tilt boogie into decorating for Christmas.  The bannisters will be festooned with greenery, lights and ribbons as will the two trees.  For the first time ever, we purchased a fake tree for the living room.  We are both too tired to get the real tree and pick up needles the remainder of the year.  As empty-nesters, Santa doesn’t visit us any more nor does that elf who cannot make up it’s mind which shelf to sit upon.

This is on the front door now!

The point is, I love my normal house. I love the big normal bed that welcomes us when we arrive home from our travels.

I love our big comfy bed.  I despise that shitty carpeting.

I love my sunroom.

My favorite spot in the house. I LOVE my loveseat. It’s broken in and not perfect. 

I love every normal room in our normal house just like I loved the normal kitchen with avocado appliances that we grew up with on Long Island.

My mother was such a fan of the avacado. TBH, it might not be to my taste but I look back at those appliances fondly.  

There is something warming, cozy and lovingly familiar with the normalcy of living in a normal house.

Even down to the tin dollhouses of the 1960’s. I love the normal aesthetic!

Tell me dear readers, what’s your take on this?  Are you happy to be in a normal house? I can bet you most definitely are!

As most of you most precious friends of this blog may recall, and simply because we are all around the same age—the 1963 movie “The Stripper” starring Joanne Woodward as the struggling, aging, actress who turned to stripping her clothing off and bumping and grinding her way, in her newly seedy existence to pay her bills.

Hmmm. I wonder what The Long Island Catholic newspaper rated this movie. It was most likely either A-f which was “Adults with Reservations” (whatever that meant ) or C for “Condemned”! 

Although, ever the precocious young music fan, I do remember loving the theme from the film, written, and composed by David Rose.  It was a huge hit and I’m pretty sure that one of my siblings was conceived to their Catholic rhythm method to the beats of that instrumental.

I’m sure one of my siblings was conceived to the rytthm of this song!

But that isn’t the sort of stripper I reach for—whether inward or outward.

I’m talking of the process of stripping my clothes off every weekday as I return home from work.  And a few other ways I enjoy less clothing.

And if I WAS a stripper, I would relate more to the Chris Farley (R.I.P) version! We have the same belly!

Now, do not get me wrong.  I love my clothes.  All those corporate ensembles I wore as an executive assistant—I adored them, and enjoyed the process of planning my daily outfits.  And as casual as the dress code is at the hospital in which I am employed, I become joyful in playing around with how I’m going to wear jeans, J. Crew pixie pants and the like.

In the year of working for the State Hospital, I no longer miss these ensembles. However, the tartan kilt will still be worn–it’s comfy!!

When traveling?  I’m your girl that doesn’t throw two weeks’ worth of clothing into a carryon.  My wigs go there.  I lug an oversized suitcase around with a month’s worth of cloths that I won’t even wear.  Having a choice is important to me.

Hey!  I’m going away for the weekend!  I’ll live in one pair of leggings and a Tee shirt but I love a choice!

And if there is an “occasion” such as a wedding or event (that I am usually not invited to), I can assure you that my entire being will be shoved into a great dress!  And heels (even though I won’t be able to walk in them.

As formally dressed as I was for Oona’s wedding, this Calvin Klein dress was incredibly comfortable. It had a built-in bra!

Running errands, from the most mundane to the full-on mall trip, will have me looking stylish.

 

I wore this to the mall after work last Friday. It was perfect for work and shopping!

However, something happens as soon as I arrive home from anywhere.  The clothes come off.  And no, I don’t run around the house naked.  My slob clothes come on.

Here’s how it rolls:

Clumsily, I open the front door.  Often, I’ll be carrying so much shit that it will take me at least ten minutes to turn the handle of the front door and carry myself through the threshold.

Basically, this is me at the front door arriving home from work every day. Except I am carrying more stuff!

Then, as I hit the first few steps, I reach into my shirt, any top, or if a dress, I hike up the bottom and, while the item is on, my hands will reach into the sleeve and magically take the bra off.

There’s nothing like disrobing up the stairs. And Chippy is always waiting to assist!

Next, the hair comes off.  By this point I figure this is my exercise for the day:  Running up the stairs.  Carrying the weight of my life. It requires strength!

And that is my same reaction as my wig is taken off!

Now that I’m on the second landing, I drop the purse and overfilled tote bag on the dining room table.   After all, the dining room table is the great multitasking piece of furniture.  From using it as my office (I’m writing my blog post on my laptop which is placed upon the dining room table), and using it to place all my stuff on. Oh yeah. We eat at this table too.

Yup!  My multi-tasking dining room table! 99.9 percent of the time it looks like this!

Wig and bra in hand, the shoes come off as I get ready to climb up the final set of stairs.  My finale to this obstacle course.

My clothing is finally thrown off my body!

WE NOW INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POST  TO GIVE YOU AN UNPAID, UNSPONSORED AD ABOUT MY NEW FAVORITE BRA!!!

I got tired of my titties being squished into bras that were underwired, digging into the soft, pillowy flesh of my bosom.  The overflow from side boobage was also annoying as were the bra straps that always fell down.

So I ordered these bras from Temu.

The cost was $17.99 for five bras. How could I resist?  The bras are front-closure and the straps really aren’t straps. They are a micro blend and wide and don’t fall down!

And even though the bras are softly padded, behind you will see two little insert pads (they did not come with the bras. I had these)

There’s a little pocket in the bra to place extra padding.  Don’t mind the dark spot on the pad, I washed it specifically for this post and it didn’t dry. The large fits my 36 C bust perfectly.

OK. BACK TO THE BLOG!!

In my panties, I carefully hang or fold my jeans.  If the top needs to be washed, it gets tossed into the laundry basket. If it can be worn again, it gets folded nicely and placed in a drawer.

And speaking of drawers…. the drawers on my body, or as the proper individual would refer to them as my panties or underpants, they get tossed in the laundry basket.

How lazy AM I?  The drawers, which are thrown on the floor, are picked up by my foot. I won’t even bend down.  I am a disgraceful individual.

Am I embarrassed by the jiggly bits my naked body is shaking?  Nah.  It’s me. They are my jiggly bits.  But I like to cover them.  Especially since I’m most-likely awaiting an Amazon delivery and don’t want to be arrested for answering the door in my birthday suit.

Instead, I slip into a pair of Old Navy Holiday pajamas.  Caveat: These are worn from October through May.  When the weather warms up, it’s an old sundress that has been stained from my sloppy cooking.

My favorite at-home clothing. Old Navy PJ’s.  As much as I love them at home, it disgusts me when I see people on airplanes wearing these.

Speaking for myself, I take extreme pleasure in dressing like the ultimate lazy, slovenly, piggy when I’m home.  Within the confines of our townchateau, I can plop on a sofa and read a book in my pajamas that are old, raggy, ripped in unmentionable places and not have to worry about bending down.

 

The Frenchman doesn’t mind this for I am the one who introduced this rather formal specimen into the joy of dressing down at home. By explaining that his cashmere sweaters or expensive trousers would live a longer life if he took them off when he is home and, instead, dresses in the one pair of sweats he owns and an old tee from his tennis club, he would be a happier person.  He has followed my advice and remains both grateful, happy, and buys less clothing so that I may buy more!

It goes a bit further though.  When family comes over for dinner—whether randomly visiting or for holidays, I don’t ask them to dress up.  Rather, I prefer casual comfort. The table will be beautifully set.  The food glorious food will be delicious.  And why should they wear clothing that they will be afraid to mar if a spot of gravy is spilled or if anything falls into their lap of clothing?  No. Come over. Wear what you want.  But dress for comfort!

The usual holiday table when guests come over..

The usual holiday table after the guests leave!

It’s an odd paradox.  Because when we do go out for dinner, I love to dress.

Sometimes dresses. Sometimes pants. But when we head out to dinner, I always dress up a bit!

I will make sure that, even heading to the mall, I will not be wearing sweats or pajama bottoms.

Do you roll the same way? I’m curious about this because I wonder if I am the anomaly or the norm?

As an aside, on this Tuesday, the first of October, I’m home from work.  I’m in a pair of Old Navy Holiday pajamas from last year because I took a sick day.

My ensemble today.  Holiday PJ’s. I did throw on some lipstick and a wig so I would feel slightly better but the wig is coming off.

I woke up yesterday with a bout of Gastroenteritis.  I’m prone to this stomach condition. For me, it is due largely to stress (think election).  But I must tell you, unless you have had this, you cannot imagine just how bad the stomach cramping is.  Those cramps are bend-over-forward cramps.  Birthing contractions are more enjoyable!

This was me yesterday. All I want for dinner tonight is chicken noodle soup.

When I was headed to work yesterday, I could feel the onset.  I honestly spent more time in the bathroom on the toilet than at my desk working.  Luckily, I can run fast or I would not have made it to the bathroom without soiling my jeans.  But to be safe, I shoved almost an entire roll of toilet paper into my panties.

A month ago, I had to prep for my Colonoscopy. At least I was home. Yesterday. I was NOT home. I had to run to the bathroom all day. I felt like this !

It. Was. Painstaking.

That said, we’re two months away from December. The remainder of the year is going to zoom no matter what we wear! No matter what we don’t wear. We will be making plans. We won’t be making plans. Overall, let’s enjoy the remainder of 2024!

When I worked in Corporate America, I dressed.  And by “dressed,” I mean that my attire consisted of a more professional vibe.  Blazer, pencil skirt, shirt, or sweater. And heels. Always heels.

Might I also add my admiration for a good showing of toe cleavage?  And I still have these shoes. Don’t wear them, but I still have them.

There was a particular type of heel that I wore.  For my feet, it was always the pointy-toed beauty that showcased a bit of toe cleavage.  My thinking was if I did not have ample cleavage from my breasts, then that of my toes would have to suffice.

Whether that heel be a higher one.  Or a middle-range one.  Or a purr-fect kitten heel.

And how adorable are these heels with tights and a shorter kilt? Be still my heartless heart!

And suffice it did.  My heels always made me feel wonderfully feminine. (My apologies to my feminist friends, but true feminism means being able to have choices in all aspects of life—down to the shoes you wear) Heels made my rather athletic calves always, okay almost always appear slenderer and longer.

Such beautiful memories of beautiful footwear!

I wore leather heels, suede heels, Orsay heels, Made-in-Italy heels, horsehair heels, faux leopard print heels, open-toed heels, slingback heels.  A heel storm from above.

I still have all of these heels. Exception being the floral ones in the front. They hurt me feet too much!

Could I run in any of those heels?  Oh yes. I could.  I was adept at running after yellow taxi cabs.  I showed finesse in speeding down as well as up the stairs leading to and out of the subway.  I could run to catch a bus.  Heel—I could even dance in them!

Put me up against any of Ru Paul’s competitors and I could outrun them.  Back in the day!

During my “mom” days, the heels were kept at bay. In a closet in my bedroom.  But I still wore them to PTO meetings.  School events.  Out for an evening or to a wedding or funeral.

The PTO meetings knew when PTO Queen me entered the school auditorium.  My heels meant business.

When I returned to work after my divorce, the heels were used again and I felt as though an old friend had returned into my life.

Then something very unusual happened.  When I started my job with the State, it was suggested to not wear heels.  This has everything to do with being in the units with patients.  It isn’t pragmatic to walk around civil or forensic patients clapping your high heels against the floors.  And even though I am not on the units, I do have to foray into the basement at times and, trust me, the only thing heels could do is make the “crunch” sound while walking on dead bugs louder.   (Don’t be alarmed. I love my job—that is the only downside).

And yes. I have worn heels a few times because I am at a desk all day but by the end of the day, my dawgs are barking!

Honestly, I don’t know if it’s age or what.  Heels are no longer my shoe of choice.  Maybe it’s the small bunions that have appeared after decades of wearing various heels.  Maybe my feet have just had it and need a break.  Maybe it’s just part of the aging process.

Don’t get me wrong.  I still have my heels. I can’t get rid of them.  Hmmm. Now I’m thinking.  Could I possibly be a “heel hoarder”?   If I am, they are placed neatly in a plastic shoe holder hanging over my closet door.

Now, I am in the “flat” days of my existence.   And speaking of the flat days, I did a thing. Bought two pairs of boots off Amazon.  A tall pair and a pair of those trendy “Chelsea” Boots.  Both are flat!

Well, they aren’t completely flat, they have small heels for support!

Last November, I spotted a ton of clunky short boots while we were in Paris.  Women of all ages were wearing them.  It was not a “love them” moment from me.  However, it was one of those trends that I figured, could turn into something more.  Still being on the fence, our upcoming visit to Paris got me thinking about our walking all day whether in Paris Centre or when we are out to discover new castles and sites.  I bit the bullet and made the purchase.  And since I didn’t want to spend a fortune, this inexpensive pair was found. It occurred to me that if I was not crazy about them, they could always be returned.

This ensemble is a bit too trendy for my personal taste but I have been intrigued by the Chelsea boots since seeing them in Paris last year.

Something odd happened the second my feet slid into them.  I loved them. They look great with black leggings and J. Crew pixie pants. They are comfortable as all get out. They slide onto the feet effortlessly. It was a shock to my system but wearing them around the house made me wish for actual Autumn weather (more about that later).

I LOVE these boots!  Here’s the link on Amazon and don’t forget, I make a very small commission:  Amazon Chelsea boots

The aesthetic of these short boots is simple yet, pragmatic. These will get a lot of wear!

Another pair, tall boots, also ordered from Amazon arrived. Again, if I did not like them, they could be returned.  As one with “athletic” (i.e. thick) calves, I was not expecting much in fit but the fit was excellent with bottoms such as leggings and J. Crew …. you guessed it—pixie pants! They will also look wonderful with skirts as they truly are a “tall” boot.  Shorter, below-the-knee boots make my legs appear both shorter and thicker.  These really are nice.

This is the tall pair.  They are really nice and will look great with skirts (the ones that still fit me)

Chippy may be disappointed these boots aren’t leather but I’m not.  Here’s another shameless plug on Amazon.  Tall boots.

Both pair are “vegan” leather.  In other words, fake leather.  Pleather. While I realize they will not breathe as well, if getting caught in heavy rain, they won’t be ruined.

That’s nice Jarod.  I’m not vegan but will wear non-leather items if they look good.

And both are flat!!!!!!!!!!!

Trying the boots on really made me wish for cooler weather.  And as this blog is being written on the first day of Autumn, let me tell you what I did yesterday.

Here’s a hint:  Before and After. Actually more “during” than “before”.

I changed out my summer clothing for the fall/winter clothing. What a stinking chore!  It’s up there with having an annual mammogram and a regularly-scheduled colonoscopy.  The sad thing was trying on wool skirts and not being able to zip them up.  Yup!  Weight was gained over the past year. Be that as it may, I’m struggling to lose the weight.  The only clothing that fits, are the ones with stretch.  Like J. Crew……………………. pixie pants! Luckily, I have 8 pairs!

My blazers are all colorized, the three skirts that actually fit. Thanks to elastic waistbands. Let’s throw some jeans on hangers too!

All my flats are organized by color! This should last about a week.

Don’t even get me started on my moronic choice to carry out this chore on summer’s last day.  Mother Nature must’ve fallen off a cloud laughing like a hyena over my choice to do so on an 80-degree day.

Yeah. Mother Nature is laughing at me while she’s chowing down on margarine! 

A day in which my husband decided that the air conditioner didn’t need to be turned on (until I complained like a Frenchman until he finally put me out of his misery and made it cooler in our chateau).  Summer clothing that fit was placed into tubs and brought down to the garage.  Clothing, both summer and winter that didn’t fit was placed into plastic garbage bags to be donated to the female patients at the hospital where I work.  I will tell you this much—they will be getting some nice clothes.  To be transparent with you, I thought of selling the clothes on Poshmark because, I could use the extra money.  However, I can’t be bothered with the process of someone wanting a refund because they decided they didn’t like the look or fit.  I can’t deal with that.  It’s easier and more useful to donate the clothing.

Bye bye summer clothing!

A portion of the donated clothing. Chippy is still sleuthing down leather.

And speaking of the weight gain, I took a deep breath. And did something.  At approximately 7:45 AM, I got dressed into leggings, a tee shirt, put sneakers on, placed Oona’s old Delta Gamma U of MD cap to cover my bald noggin and headed out, for the first time in years, to walk around our neighborhood.  My phone was in my pocket, ear buds were inserted and I listened to an “Earth, Wind, and Fire” playlist on Spotify!  It was delightful!

Oona’s baseball cap to cover my bald spots. No makeup. And walking around the neighborhood for my health!

Wild roses are still in bloom..

..but there are subtle hints that autumn has arrived.

Just me and the trees!

It was great to feel the burn on my thighs when arriving home and running up the stairs. And I realized that it is important to be mindful of my health even more these days. In addition, one is never too old to return to good habits!

 

That’s about it for today but I do have a question for you, my dear blog family.   I’ve been following a few blogs that women of our demographic write.  They are becoming less wordy and turning into ads.  Less words.  More photos of things you can buy.  Hey. I’m guilty in this post—I added links to my Amazon store if you are interested in the boots I wrote about.  I refuse to be a hypocrite but, I want to know if you think my posts are too “wordy.”

I hope you’re not saying “Make her STOP”. “She’s too wordy”. “I want less substance”!

Because I work all day, I do not write as often as I did when I wasn’t working.  But my point is, when I do write a blog post, I have a lot to say and don’t want to bore you.  And so, I beseech you—are you okay with my vents, pondering, long-winded posts?  I love writing. It’s fun.  It gives me a place to voice my opinion. What are your thoughts?  How can I improve?  It’s always great to ask.

Well, on this first day of Autumn 2024, let us hope for cooler weather.  Our hot flashes can keep us a tad warmer without sweating!

Oops. About the only thing I’m avoiding is smoking.  My fall/winter hot flashes will keep me warm!

Being born of the Baby Boomer generation, my demographic is the target of hate, mistrust, and a general attitude that we are dumb, set-in-our ways, are not tech-savvy and a plethora of other bullshit.

This is the stereotype of a boomer woman. Short, outdated hair, unfashionable sweater.  Yeah. OK Boomer!

Today’s post is a review. An honest review of just what it is like to be “old.”  To be a Baby Boomer.  To be part of the invisible woman to the beauty and fashion industries.  To be passed over when we, as women, can be fashionable and stylish and whatever else we can be.

We may be invisible to the beauty and fashion industry, but to each other, we are a visible demographic of women.  And we still wear the shorts!

Here goes.

Being old is a process.  It is a process that takes a lifetime.  The beginning of the “Road to Old” commences the second your screaming little nugget of a being exits mommy’s uterus, still attached to the umbilical cord.  Once the air hits you—you begin the process of aging from young to old.  Never forget that.  Not now. Not ever. Never!

This is childbirth. Moments before the baby is cleaned and is soft, cuddly and clean and beautiful.  But remember. This is how you arrived and you’ll look pretty-much the same when you hit the end of the “Road to Old”.

Society makes a big deal of t this, and as well it should, because I did this with all three of my children.  And for those who are childless, I know you did this with your nieces and nephews and your friends’ children!  That said, when our little ones took their first step, or used the toilet for the first time, or lost a tooth, or started school—all those milestones that we laughed and cried and bragged and found a sense of wonder in…. they were steps to the road to old.  Your kid was aging.  And so were you!

“Aim for the Cheerios and not my clean floor” was the mantra when the boys started to toilet train. To this day, they can’t eat Cheerios.  I wonder why? But it was a part of the process of aging! Even as a toddler. One day diapers, the next, underpants…and then decades later, back to diapers!

When we hit the age of 30, many of us thought, at the time, we were “old”.  Well, we were not old but we were entering the choo-choo train to the station of “Old.”

Don’t feel like driving?  Then take the choo-choo train instead. You can enjoy the sights along the rail road tracks on the road to old! And you can play Candy Crush when you get bored!

As our children graduated from school, then university, then went on to careers that were lucrative, we cheered them on and were proud—never fully understanding or broaching the subject of aging—for them and for us.

My three babies when they graduated. Jake now forty and Oona and Roman in their thirties.  They are now riding the Road to Old and don’t even realize it!

Okay, as to not turn this post into a novel, I’m going to fast forward to the present….

All aboard!  Come on the Road to Old!  I started off as a child on the road with a smile and no wrinkles.  Mid way on the road, I was still smiling..these days, I’m still smiling but in a more wrinkled way!

And then, social media suddenly appeared.  Making aging and being old both a thing of the past and somewhat criminal and something we do not often think about. That is because our society is youth-obsessed.

Check out several “older” influencers shilling makeup and skincare.  Most are using filters to make the public believe that, at 60 years, they have the visage of a 25-year-old. Honey. I have a bridge to sell ya.  And the beauty industry should be ashamed to allow this.  Quite frankly, if I want to buy a skincare item and I see a filtered woman or a young woman who is just out of her teens, I am not wasting my money.   Let’s have transparency in age. It isn’t a crime to be old.

This is the incredibly talented designer Vera Wang. She is 74 years old. She uses filters. That is such a pathetic denial of age if I’ve ever seen it.  Why does she hide the fact that she’s OLD!!!  She should be celebrating it and showcasing the affects of aging and NOT hiding them. JHC. I can’t even….

Check out Reddit if you are of the old demographic but enjoy a good interaction online.  There is a subreddit of “Boomers Being Fools.” This sub is chock-full of vitriol and hatred to anyone over 50, 60 years and up.  It is intriguing because I can understand that there are several boomers who are averse to change.  Many believe in politics that just do not work anymore.  Many believe the boomer generation is entitled and spoiled whereas boomers who disagree will argue that the younger generations are spoiled and entitled.

I happen to be a fan of Reddit but this sub is vile. I have never seen such hate spewed upon an older generation as I have here. And some day, those who hate will be the generation that younger ones hate. Think about that!

Some posters believe that “old” people won’t retire because they are money-hungry and don’t want younger generations to have their jobs.  Speaking for myself, that is the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever come across.  I work because my divorce left me with nothing. No savings. No nothing.  I spent everything on my children—and that’s fine. I am happy I was able to do so. My children deserved everything and I gave what I could. No regrets.  But don’t hate me because, at 69 years old, I have a job!

Presently, I work because I must.  My SS Benefits are not enough to allow me to not work.  And I am not complaining because work is good. It keeps your mind working.  And yes. There are days when I wake up and think “Ugh. I don’t feel like going to work today.” And when I was in my twenties and working on Wall Street, I would wake up sometimes and have the same thought.   And I can assure you that I am not alone.

We are all NOT that Boomer.  Many of us don’t yap about how long or hard we work or have worked. We just DO it.  We’re like Nike!

The Road to Old isn’t about looking back. It isn’t about remaining suspended in time either. It is about moving forward with your age.  Looking forward in a great and life-loving way.

Old means waking up one morning and seemingly overnight, your face is wrinkled.  Your hands have age spots.  Your eyebrows have thinned but the little hairs fell onto your chin. It

Its true. Textured skin. Wrinkles. Lady Whiskers.  Old looking hands. Turkey Neck.  What a process. But guess what. If you’re lucky–it’s going to happen to you!

The tweezer is your friend.  Car light is the best for plucking those lady whiskers off your chin.  Sunglasses are your friend.  You did not sleep well, throw those sunnies on—you don’t even need makeup.  And we won’t even discuss hair for if you are a regular reader, you know that wigs are an asset for aging, thinning tresses!   Aging can be daunting at first but then you stop and think… and grab the tweezers!

Owning a plethora of tweezers, this type works for  the thicker chin hairs that seemingly pop out of nowhere.

You don’t need to pack on the foundation anymore.  The overabundance of face makeup enhances those lines.   You suddenly realize— “Hey, my face looks so much better without all that stuff” and you prioritize your beauty routine with better skin care.  You fill in the brows and rely on mascara and a bit of eye shadow.  You glide lip balm or gloss across your lips.  Maybe a swipe of blush.  That beauty routine every morning is cut down to five minutes.

My naked face. While traveling on the road to old, I realized all that crap on my face was making me look older.  I’ll take my wrinkles with a grain of salt please.  It’s eye makeup these days and my routine is a lot shorter which helps me to focus on other things!  Such as ironing clothing.

The doctors.  Yes plural.  We have more than one doctor as we age because we have more doctor appointments for various parts of our bodies.  Men have urologists.  We have OB/Gyns.  And being old means you still must visit your OB/GYN annually.  You need to have a mammogram every year.  And those mammos can be incredibly stressful.  My last mammo had me having to come back for an ultrasound.  Luckily all was well, but I stress about my annual next year.

Seriously. As we age, the doctors as well as nurses, are our best friends!

The skin checks are semi-annual. Our generation, being of the baby oil and iodine one, know full-well that our chances of skin cancer are a winning lottery ticket.  We were not aware of sunscreen.  Tan was king.  And then we got skin cancer.  Those skin checks can save your life.  Stressful? Yeah.  But when your dermatologist finishes and says “See you in six months” you walk out of that office on cloud nine.

Then there is the colonoscopy. Some are fortunate of wait ten years between this lovely necessity.   Some, like me, wait five because of a propensity to garner polys in the intestines.  Every three years and, some annually.

Me. Before the anesthstic kicks on when I have my colonoscopy!

I recently had my five-year colonoscopy and one small polyp was found.  My doctor said he would see me in five years.  I asked him if I could do one better and come back in a year.  He said no. He knows me. He knows that I just want him to give me that delightful anesthetic before shoving that tube up my ass.

The worst part is the prep.  But the best part is getting it done. And the anesthetic.

Oy. The eye doctor!  More than half of us/you/they will have the displeasure of cataracts. You will have to have them removed.  With surgery.  And that surgery will not only allow you to regain your sight, but the drugs you receive are the greatest.  If I grew a set of cataracts back, I would be first in line to have that twilight sleep!

Hey!  You gotta have a sense of humor when aging.  After my cataract surgery, I had to wear an eye patch. I decided to draw an eye on it! Ya think anyone knew it was fake?

The Road to Old means more doctor’s appointments and being more aware of your mortality and what can happen if you don’t take these appointments seriously.

Our bodies change when we walk that road.

Our muscles and joints may not be as pliable as they were when we were younger. So far, I’ve made it on the road to not having to have a hip or knee replacement but I credit that with genetics.  I can run up and down the stairs at home and can get up off the floor without assistance.   Can I do it as spryly as when I was younger?  Hell no!  But the fact is I can still do these things. One exception though.  Even though I can outrun a four-year old, for some bizarre reason, I must hold on to the dresser as I place my foot into panties.  And yes—this will happen to you too!

Remember this commercial?  So far, I can get up. However,  due to blindness in my right eye, I bump into things like walls.

Our memories get a bit rewired.  At times I’ll call Jake Roman and I’ll call Roman Jake. But guess what?  I did that when I was in my thirties and forties.  I would call Oona, Ruby or Dorothy, the monikers of our dogs.  And I would often refer to calling my dogs Oona.  Keys are always kept in one place or otherwise can be “lost.”  Sunglasses that are “lost” are oftentimes on my head.

Me. Loaded with glee after realizing the sunglasses were on my head!

And regarding “private” matters.   Let’s just say at times our sphincter muscles aren’t working as well as they did in our younger days.  On the road to old, one must have baby wipes in the bathroom.   The humorous part about this is when we get old, some parts of our bodies revert to infancy!   Trust me on this, if you are not fortunate enough to own a bidet, get baby wipes, and might I suggest the brand “Water Wipes.”  They are gentle and do the job!

These are now purchased in bulk at my house. And it is for me. My husband doesn’t have the issues that I do.  (He wanted me to tell you…)

Speaking of the posterior element of the body, passing wind (as my father would lovingly use instead of the word “fart.”  I grew up in a proper household) becomes something with frequency that one cannot control.  In younger days we could use our cheeks to suck in that gas.  As we are older, those little toots play as we walk, as we run and as we go about our daily lives.  I have already warned my co-workers about this phenomenon and they get the giggles every time. Who needs the French Horn when you can march to the beat of your own bodily functions?

That is the beauty of getting old.  I shall pass gas whenever needed for my gas has not an iota of scent!  (Unless I am eating anything containing garlic)

At this stage in my life, I don’t even have to try…..

The fashion and style aspect.  This one drives me up a wall.  The “experts” pontificate what the older woman should not wear. WTF?  Do not ever tell me what I cannot and can wear. It’s akin to politicians telling a woman what she cannot do with her body.  Influencers and women’s magazines–don’t yap about your feminist ideologies when, at the same time, you are telling a woman she cannot have long hair, nor wear hoop earrings if she is over a certain age.  I’ll wear my long hair and hoop earrings until I am on the flight to heaven or the descent into hell.

I shan’t cease to wear my beloved hoops. Neither should you!!!!!!!!!

Jeans?  The great debate regarding skinny ones.  Now that wide-leg jeans are “on trend,” it seems that skinny jeans are more elusive.  We, on the road to old, are well-aware of what fits us and what our preferences are.  For me, it is the denim of the skinny.   For my body type, they are the most flattering.  They add length to my legs and I will always love them.  In fact, Old Navy is having a sale this weekend and I ended up purchasing a pair for $20.99.

Purchased these skinny jeans yesterday at Old Navy.  I swear to God, I watched two You Tube videos that stated skinny jeans were out of style.  Screw that. I’m wearing what I deem stylish.  

It doesn’t mean that other styles won’t do—because they will.  But for my old money, I’ll take the skinny jeans.

Driving while on the road to old can be annoying when one is ………. on the road!  All younger people need to be aware that one day, a few or couple of decades from now, you will be on that road and it will hit you.  You cannot stand the other drivers!

Yeah. This is basically how I drive these days. And allow me to say that when one is old, all those decades of pent-up anger are released while one is behind the steering wheel!

There was a time in my life when I loved to drive.  Driving my sons to sporting practices, games, guitar lessons was routine but it was fun.  Driving my daughter to Irish Dance practices and competitions was a necessity but it was an enjoyable one.

Back in the day, when mommy drove, I could have been a race car driver to get my kids where they needed to be on time.  Pop some Matthew Sweet in the CD player and go, go, go.  The road to old has changed that!

Driving to Wegman’s these days is a nasty chore. Not only are the drivers on the road an annoyance but…………the parking lot is worse.  People driving 50 mph in a lot filled with humans wheeling grocery carts and strollers with children do not need to have their lives endangered by the idiot with the bigly pickup truck who thinks he doesn’t have to follow the rules of the road—whether on the street or in a parking lot.

Don’t get me started on parking my car far from the store because I need to walk a bit more. Not one car is near my whip.  Then when I approach my vehicle after the shopping has been finished, I come back to someone who parked so close to me that I could swear my auto will give birth to a small scooter in nine months.

Yes. This is the stuff that all will experience as they advance up the road to old.

Remember the big deal about zero tolerance?  There’s a different type of zero tolerance as one is on that road to old.  It’s called impatience. At work, I lack the patience to sit at my desk while my old, state-owned, computer takes 15 minutes to load.  When at work, I want to work.  It isn’t productive to sit staring at the little round “wheel of life” as the computer loads.

This little circle tries my patience every day. Monday through Friday. 15 minutes. Every. Single. Work. Day.   As an older person, this annoys me to no end!

While I can be quite the hypocrite regarding time, when younger, I was always late.  I would be the one to saunter into a family party an hour or more after the festivities began.  My mindset was chill.  These days, I’m the first at every event. Even if I must sit in my car for 45 minutes, I am early.  Why?  Because the other drivers on the road bother me.

As I have gotten older; old, my patience has run out even aas soon as a red light turns green. GO! Stop looking at your phone. GO.GO!  When people are making a right-hand turn, how can it take them over ten seconds to do so? Beep. Beep. Beep.

Let us pretend it is 1965. You are young. And are at the second exit on the road to old. You are watching the TV show “Shindig”.  You pretend you are a “Go Go” dancer.  Take that thought when the light changes to green and “Go Go”!

And while we pull off the road at the “Curmudgeon” exit, it is the exit that, at one time or another, all younger generations will be getting off.

LOL. I love my husband but he’s been on the road to old and at times, he is a curmudgeon.  He becomes grumpy about little things I fail to do.

It is life.  It is a process. It is aging.  And, if you are incredibly lucky, you will be able to get on the road to old and remain on it until the road ends an does not go further.   Some aren’t lucky. Some leave that road as youngsters.  Some as young adults.  Some just before hitting middle age.

These pics are of my brother Pete. The bottom one was taken when we went to pick pumpkins when he was visiting from his AF post in Korea.  The top one was taken when he was on the USAF Honor Guard in DC.  He died young.  He was about halfway on the Road to Old and didn’t make it. Not a day goes by that he isn’t in my thoughts.  I wish he was still on the road…

And despite how cranky, how stubborn, how annoying we old people are, we are lucky to wake up every morning to a new day.  And that new day may or may not be perfect but we are even luckier to wake up the next day to a glimmer of hope that the day will be better.

Be like Snow White when you wake up.  Listen to the birds. Smell the flowers (if you haven’t passed wind).  Be happy!

Life has peaks nd valleys.  The road to old isn’t a smooth ride. It is bumpy. It is daunting. It is sad. It is full of angst and fear.  It is also full of happiness.  And fun.  And love.

Don’t fear the peaks. They are merely obstacles.

So, get in that car.  Ride the train.  Hike that road! Head for “The Road to Old” and no matter where you exit.  Enjoy the ride! Because the “Road to Old” is positive!

And whether you are grumpy, or impatient, or working or have to deal with “Boomer” hatred.  Smile through it all and realize that you are lucky!

Monday, September 2, 2024. It is Labor Day.  And I’m off from work.  Looking out our living room windows, I can see that the tree on our front lawn is fading in its glorious deep green to a faded version that reminds you in a few weeks, the warm hues of Autumn will be upon us.  The browns, and reds, yellows, and oranges will be present as the leaves made the descent upon the grown.  With that will be the autumnal scent of rotting leaves—which I like.  The nature scents such as freshly mowed grass and rain on concrete fill my senses with pleasure.

That deep summer green is fading as the leaves get ready to turn to Autumn  leave the trees barren.

It is SEPTSUMMER. My least favorite month of the year.  Despite the fact our wedding anniversary is tomorrow (we’re celebrating Saturday with a dinner at our favorite restaurant), and in 20 days it will be the first day of Autumn/Fall, I just don’t like September.

Don’t even get me started on Pumpkin Spice. Blech! It’s disgusting.

First, the weather remains hot, humid, and hazy. It is not sweater weather yet—it is “sweat her” weather.  My husband turns the off because evenings and mornings are cool. But from 10:00 AM until sundown, it is hot as balls.  Honestly, I feel as though I am being held hostage in a sweaty jock strap. (Not that I really know what it would feel like—I’ll just assume)

Yes. It is the heat and I’m tired of it.

And as hot as it was, we did not go to the beach this weekend because I have my skin check this week.  The last thing I want is to saunter into my dermatologist’s office with a trace of sunburn. It’s not good.

No beach this weekend.  Or until 2025. My life is one, long, skincheck!

Throughout the summer, I went minimalist with the makeup. The “French” tan I got in Theoule this summer made a great brownish foundation (and you wonder why I’m afraid to go to the dermatologist).   As my working hours are Monday through Friday from 7:30 AM to 3:30 PM, I couldn’t be bothered to apply a full face.  My morning routine ended up dwindling down to mascara, eyebrow pencil, and, when not lazy, lip balm. Otherwise, it was chapped lips all day.

Me. Today. Mascara and Brow product. My tan has faded into it’s ruddy, Irish genetics. And I’m too lazy to slap makeup on!

That’s the thing about aging.  You change your atheistic. Are you in agreement?  I’m not talking of turning into someone who no longer cares but you turn into someone who no longer cares how others see you.  It’s more about how you see yourself.

And so, the subject will now turn to clothing and how my “style” has begun to change as I approach my last six months until I face 70 years.

When I worked in Corporate, which I had for decades; exception being my time as a stay-at-home-mom, my mode of dress was professional to office casual.   Always wanting to appear businesslike, it was an easy task.

Now that I work at a State Hospital, there is no need for me to dress like a banker.  On the other hand, since I’m not in the Units, there is no need for me to wear scrubs.  I can pretty-much wear what I want.

No longer do I wear this as work attire..

Or this–but I think I will anyway..

These clothes will collect dust because I’m so lazy that I can’t even bring myself to have the energy to selll them on Poshmark. 

However, I do want to maintain a level of personal style. And that personal style has become more casual.  Looking back at my school uniform, which helped to pave the way for my style, the elements during the school year were: Blazer, shirt, skirt.  I remain in that frame of mind seasonally.  Once the weather gets cool enough it is blazer/jacket/sweater.  Shirt or pullover.  Skirt/pants/jeans.  Those elements are my comfort level.

Blazer/Shirt/Pants.  Trust me, this outfit is too dressy for the state hospital!

In addition, as I age, affordability is more important to me. I no longer want to spend over $50 or $60 or upwards for an item of clothing.  Shoes and bags?  Well, those are my vice but I am over spending a fortune on either. For me, it is more important to spend money on traveling to see my grandsons or travel in general.

Sometimes I can be so full of shit. I want to buy this Polene bag when we head to Paris in November.  Hopefully, I can get away to see my grandsons in October! 

Actually, I changed my mind regarding the above-pictured bag. After researching quality issues and poor customer service, it’s a hard pass.

Which brings me to this.  I purchased a few items for the oncoming cool-to-cold weather. Hopefully, in October, I will no longer be wearing sundresses and can dress in ensembles that appear to be more put together.

Trust me, I’m tired of dressing like this. I fear it’ll be November and I’ll be running around in sun dresses!

I’ll be honest with you here.  I ordered quite a few items from Temu.  While I realize several people have issues with the company being from China and perhaps questioning the quality of the goods, I have had no issues.  Besides, Dior uses fashion migrant workers to assemble bags and shoes that are approximately 38 USD in value and charge prices that border on thievery.  Who is in the wrong?

That said, I’ll give you a look-see at my recent purchases from Temu. I did purchase a new pair of jeans at J. Crew Factory for less than $50 and two pairs of Bass Weejuns.  Loafers are replacing heels in many instances.

Let us look! Shall we?

I’m diggin’ these jeans. They are ankle length when rolled down and I just like the way they look!

I am certainly no photographer but these jeans will suffice from late  Autumn into early Spring..

I’ll spend the money on pragmatic shoe styles.  No longer interested in heels over two inches, it’s the loafers for me.

The “Lady Jacket” below was $16.99 from Temu.  The quality is steller and…I am going on record with this. It fits better than my J. Crew Lady jacket that cost a lot more a few years back. I stinking LOVE this jacket!

Say what you want about fast fashion but this was better made than the J. Crew jacket..

I’m looking forward to the cold weather just to wear this.

The sweater below? At ten bucks it was an easy purchase. So easy I purchased another one in black. I’m also going on record with the brand’s sweaters.  I have a few from two years ago and they are holding up incredibly well!

And another thing.  This sweater doesn’t bunch at the titties! The fit is stellar!

Here it is worn with the cargo pants I purchased and with an old pair of J. Crew Dulci pumps. I love the cargo pants with heels athestic!

Speaking of cargo pants.  I purchased two pair. Black and tan. Neutrals. These will be perfect for working at the hospital.  I can’t justify dressing in my past “corporate” clothes anymore.

The tan cargo pants. I can eat a few meals due to the drawstring waist.  Trust me, I won’t get “Tight Pants Syndrome” wearing these!

These will be packed for our visit to Paris later this year. No more overdressing for me!

The outfit below?  I wore it to work this week because the A/C is being iffy.  My husband was practically begging me to wear a jacket because he felt the air was “frizzing” (his French accent for “freezing”).  I wore the blazer and took it off immediately as I entered the hospital. It was hot as balls!

Why am I smiling?  I want the cold weather to arrive and it is nowhere to be found!

On the other hand,  I had my five-year routine colonoscopy this past week.  My anxiety level was off-the-charts because of my polyp history.  One small polyp was found (when mentally I figured there would be at the least 32 polyps),  the doctor reminded me of my hemorrhoids and my diverticulosis which I have had for years and sent me off with a “see you in five years”.

I ALWAYS wear a dress to my colonoscopy. Not because I want to look nice but because if I have the urge to go after that prep, it’s easier to slide the panties down!

Add to that, on the way home from having that hose shoved up my ample ass,  my cell phone rang. It was my dermatologist reminding me to make an appointment for my skin check.  I swear the anxiety never ends.  I went this week.  Regretting swimming and sun bathing in France where the sun is much stronger and I was in a secret competition to become as caramel-colored as the natives.

The skin check was fine! I was relieved!

Waiting for Godot? No! Waiting for my dermatologist.  My husband suggested heading to the beach last week. I passed. The last thing I needed going for a skin check was the faintest burn from the sun!

Last night, we celebrated our wedding anniversary by heading to our favorite restaurant for dinner.  It was cool and rainy.  But it didn’t stop me from wearing a sleeveless dress.  In fact, I wore a wig with a lot of hair because it’s my  husband’s favorite!

 

Alden by Estetica is my husband’s favorite wig. I’m fond of it as well. In the winter, it keeps my head warm.

And so, with the first week of Septsummer behind us, I anticipate the arrival of cool and crisp weather sometime at the end of October.  For now, I’ll be wearing summer clothing.

Tell me, do you feel the same way?  About fashion and about the seasons.  Have you had your colonoscopy?  Your skin check?  Let us discuss!

Caveat:  Before reading further, if you are a regular reader of this blog, then you are aware of my political ideologies.  If you are a guest or dropped by into my blog neighborhood and are not familiar or if you disagree with me, and you get nasty, I will delete your comments and block you. 

This is my blog.  You can write about your thoughts on your own blog.

Let the post commence.

Since 2016, I have not displayed the American Flag on my property.  Nor have I displayed any image of it on a car window or bumper sticker.    And, as I grew up not wearing the flag or images on my person as my father said it was disrespectful to Old Glory, I have complied.

There was a time when ALL Americans loved to fly this flag. Until 2016 when those fake patriots took it as theirs and theirs only.

In 2016, one candidate won the popular vote but was not elected President due to our unfair and outdated Electoral College proving that these United States is not a true democracy.  Instead, a con-man, a TV personality, a friend of the Mafia and now, a convicted felon, was elected due to the process of this Electoral College.

Madame Popular Vote–you always exhibit class and a well-educated vibe!

During the four years of it’s Presidency, he did absolutely nothing for the middle class.  I drive around various neighborhoods in the Philadelphia suburbs in which I live and those dwellings—the ones with broken appliances on lawns, shutters hanging from windows on a thread, overgrown weeds that sported signs for the con man—have shown no improvement.  No improvements have been made. And I am sure these dwellers are on social programs—which, might I add will be taken away from them should their felon god be reelected this November.  Yet, they remain cultists.

Sorry bud. But if you think that other guy is going to make your housing situation better, think again.

Racist.  Misogynistic. Homophobic.  Hateful cultists. They are in a cult in which their leader praises Mein Kampf and holds the Good Book upside down.

That other candidate lies about never reading this vile book–yet he idolizes the author and can quote him.

But—enough of that.  I want to write about my hope.

Earlier this summer, when my husband and I were in France, we missed the debate between President Biden and that other person.

Through the reports of the news media, it appeared that Biden had failed. MSNBC, CNN were cruel and threw Joe under the bus referring to him as too old, too incoherent, not cognizant and the list goes on.  Not one of them mentioned the other candidate’s lies, his nastiness or his anger. It was all focused on Biden’s seemingly shortcomings.

He will always be President Biden to me!

A couple of weeks later, when my son Roman was visiting, we were just about to park my car upon entering an Asian market and the news came.  My Joe stepped down from the race.

I started to cry and my son comforted me. He told me that things would get better.  I doubted him.  And then something happened.

I started listening to Kamala Harris.  And I liked what I heard.  I liked what I saw.  I saw a strong woman who was focused on family values and restoring the class of the middle.  My emotional unwellness started to be taken care of.  Not healed mind you, because I am still traumatized and triggered by the results of 2016.  But I started to feel slightly hopeful.

The voice of the class of the middle. Of the melding pot of us–both immigrants and those born here.  I like her. She’s renewed my hope!

I grew impatient as one would wait for news of her running mate. Among them was my Governor and boss (of the hospital) Josh Shapiro.  He has done a lot for this State and I did not want him to be the running made because, selfishly, Pennsylvania needs him.

Ultimately, Tim Walz, Governor of the State of Minnesota was chosen.  Knowing little about him, I sure found out within days of the wonderful person he is.  He is also the personification of great dad.  He is that neighbor you wish you had.  He was a teacher, football coach and all-around good guy.   The polar opposite of the other guy’s running mate.

Our All-American, heartland Dad!

And anyone–especially Ann Coulter and other self-righteous, fake christian republicans who made fun of Gus Walz, Walz’s neurodivergent son, I will meet you in the schoolyard and will be ready to fight tooth and nail.  Gus–consider me one of your new aunties! Nobody puts Gus in a corner!

My hope started growing.

..and my hope continues to grow.

Then I faithfully watched the DNC for four nights. (Not on CNN or MSNBC because those stations are nothing more than make-believe journalists who threw Joe under the bus. Rachel, Chris, Anderson—I’m talking to YOU!).   C-Span was the choice.

Looking at the diversity made me happy.  Watching the excitement made me even happier and hopeful.  Then the speeches.  I think we cried happy tears more than we did not.

Republican speakers who wanted to protect their country as opposed to their party made me incredibly hopeful.

That other party needs to take note of their own Adam Kinzinger–he put his country before party and spoke at the DNC.  He’s a force!

Meh—I could have done without the celebrities but hey, you cannot have everything.

Women for women’s rights spoke which just about broke my heart of what they endured.  Their strength moved me.

Imagine being a 12 year-old who was raped and impregnated by her stepfather. That other party believes in rapist’s rights and not a woman’s right to chose.

First responders, those injured at the Insurrection, Union people.  All my kind of people bound together through hope for America to be America again.

Watching Stevie Wonder and Pink perform was astounding.

Be still my heartstrings! Pink. Stevie Wonder. And Pink’s daughter Willow all added to my hope.

Big Gretch and her lipstick.

Gretchen Whitmer “Big Gretch” is my new hero. She stands up to those weaklings.

Michelle and Barack Obama.

These two kids!  I love ’em! Their speeches were profound!

And yes.  My Joe.  All of this tied in a blue ribbon gave me enough hope to…………

Joe with his grandson. How could anyone not love this?

Go against my dad’s ban of wearing the flag.  I ordered a sweater with an image of Old Glory and I love it.  The weather is still too hot to wear it but I have my Harris/Walz tee shirts in the meantime.

It gives me great joy to wear this sweater. And I hope to wear it proudly and often.  Instead, wore this Kamala Tee Shirt.

I plan on going shopping and installing one of those flag holders so that I can, once again, display patriotism by waving the flag.  Waving it and taking it down at dusk and folding it properly because proper flag etiquette is paramount.

I am brought back to wonderful childhood memories of Memorial Day.  And Independence Day.  And Labor Day.  The three greatest American holidays to display our patriotism with parades, and cookouts and family and friends at parties.  And swimming.  And staying up late holding sparklers while looking skyward for beautiful displays of fireworks.

I long to return to the feeling I had when I was a child. Being so happy and proud to be an American!  I need that feeling back!

My America could very well be saved from a tyrannical beast.

Lady Liberty could stand tall again.  Welcoming immigrants the way she did my grandparents and other relatives.  And my friends’ ancestors.

Liberty Enlightening the World.  The greatest gift from France that stands regally in New York Harbor.  Back when I worked on Wall Street, I would love taking lunch to the Battery and looking with pride at her.  When my kids were young, I would take them for picnics on her grounds.  She welcomes everyone!

Today, I am cautiously hopeful because I am aware, that we, as Americans need to vote for our freedom and vote in massive numbers.  We need to take women’s rights back.  We need to re-work laws to get others onto the SCOTUS so that this kangaroo zoo is not a majority of extreme-righties.

We need to bring values and a moral compass back to our country.

I want that Memorial-Independence-Labor Day feeling of my childhood to be renewed.  I want my hope renewed.

I want the fireworks back!

And most of all, I want to have that feeling of the love I once had for my America.

And I will support those who support the middle class, family values and all things good for our America!

America the Brave.  America the Free. America the Beautiful!

 

Thursday, July 4^th

The Stars and Stripes are being replaced by Brioche and Baguettes this year.  We’re usually flying home on the 4^th but this year…we planned our trip for a few days later.

Missed out on the fireworks for another year!

Another sunny day and we decided to head to l’Estagnol.  If you are familiar with this blog, you will know that we drive to this beach every visit. It holds a sentimental place for my husband because he spent many summers nearby and loved this beach.

Back in the day, when he enjoyed visiting l”Estagnol, it wasn’t crowded. In fact, there were but a handful of people. Now it’s a bit different.  By 11:00 AM the small beach is packed.  He can’t stand the crowds.  In an odd way, I don’t normally care for crowds, but at the beach, if there’s room for my beach towel to lay on the sand, I’m fine.

The crowds appear strong because it IS a small beach.  It’s worth the crowds though.

We made sure Claire and Sophie were up very early because the drive is a little over an hour and Vincent wanted to enjoy a couple of hours before the crowds arrived.

Early in the mornin’ and we’re the first ones here. Exception being the boats!

Not quite the sea and not quite the bay. l’Estagnol is its own thing.  An inlet is more like it and you can float out till kingdom come while the water is still shallow. It is one of my favorite beaches.  Sophie and I amassed a lot of water time.

See how far out the shallows are? It’s my kind of beach!

It was an incredibly hot day and the sand was red hot.  I got lazy and stopped writing for the day.

Trust me, when I get lazy. I get lazy and all I wanted to do was recline on my towel!

But, again, I managed to cook dinner for everyone.  And we sat on the terrace enjoying the evening,

Friday, July 5^th

Okay. This second week has better weather than week one., We are back at the beach today. At St. Raphaël.   With a larger expanse of sand but crisp, cool water!  The drop is deeper, a couple of steps and I am in chest-deep sea—unlike the endless shallows of l’Estagnol!

Back at St. Raphael!

In the water a sizeable yellow and blue fish swims next to me then scurries away. Before leaving, my fish buddy touched my torso ever so slightly. I like to think he was greeting me with a deep sea “Bonjour”!  There is a current today. It is the strongest I have ever experienced here and it glides me sideways. I’ll enjoy it for a while.

So glad I found this pic online. This is the fish that was cozying up next to me! He’s lucky I didn’t eat him.

Morning gives way to afternoon, the wind picks up, persuading beach-goers to fold their umbrellas up or…it’ll be gone with the wind! The sun is playing peek-a-boo by hiding behind huge fluffy clouds then peeking out to say “I’m still here!”

The wind may have picked up but nobody is leaving!

The Praline Man is absent today but families are in the sea, volleying large orbs known as beach balls with each other. Older women floating by aimlessly with their noodles to keep afloat. Gulls are flying overhead in search of fishy snacks and other food items that might have been dropped in the sand.  A trio of sailboats is in the distance, their masts bare while swaying together in unison.

Book four in hand, I am emersed in the aftermath of the murder of the Imperial Romanoff family.

Late afternoon clouds roll in!

It is a good day.  And tomorrow is our last day before heading home.  Mentally, I’m packing for the return.  Emotionally, I’m sad but …then I think of my grandsons—I’ll be seeing them when we arrive home, so I’m fine! I also, odd as it seems, am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed!

It’ll be the last night of sitting on the terrace enjoying a long, lazy dinner that I cooked.  Our tradition has been to go out to dinner on our last night.

Our last dinner on the terrace with this view. 

Random Tip:  The beach has metered parking. The meters are not individually next to the cars. You gotta walk a bit.  I find the best thing is to take a photo of the license plate because you need to enter the number into the meter!

The meters are easy to use but make sure you take a photo of your license plate first or you’ll be getting exercise walking to and fro!

Saturday, July 6, th

Not gonna lie to you. All my happiness has turned to stress. It is the way I am.  Will our plane be delayed? Why did my husband not confide in my thoughts about traveling back home on a Sunday when I have to be at work on Monday. I do not get a day to unwind—and for one as self-centered as I am, that’s not good.

If I day drank, this would be me!

My packing is done. D.O.N.E.  I did my laundry.  Everything is clean. I’m being efficient and driving everyone else crazy!

Well, mostly clouds with a moment of sun at times.

We will stick to the pool today. It’s that mix of clouds and sun—perfect for reading and de-stressing. A yoga class is to our right.  In the pool is a student taking a lesson.  And after a few hours, the rain drops fall—but it isn’t that bad.

A last glance at the port from the pool. 

We headed into Cannes for a leisurely stroll at the port then headed to Au Mal Assis where dinner awaited us.  Not only that, but the server we had last year was there this year.  I got a nice greeting from him in the form of a bear hug.   I love the French.

Our last dinner of  our Summer trip to France 2024.

Our server from last summer!  I got a nice hug!

Dinner was nice. The restaurant isn’t haute cuisine but the food is good as is the atmosphere!   And the people-watching was stellar.

My prawn risotto was very, very good.  I might as well load up on as many carbs as I can.

Vincent started off with a salad but he wolfed his steak down in record time.

He eats so much steak that I swear he will come back as a cow!

I started off with Octopus salad!

That last night is always bittersweet.  You cannot believe that two weeks have flown by so quickly. You want to capture all the moments and replay them in the cinema of your mind, unlike the windmills of your mind-LOL!

Always fun to enjoy the boats on the port.

Look! The sun came out!

I tried to bribe this Lab with a treat but he still would not let me come aboard!

And this little guy didn’t give a merde!

Time to go to bed and try to sleep before heading to the airport!

Sunday, July 7^th

Early to rise to make everyone just as anxious as me!  Seriously, we had our last breakfast on the terrace, did the once-over to make sure all was in great shape and cleaned. Then packed the car and say au revoir to the apartment that has been our French home for the past 14 years.

The Last Breakfast!

Dropped the car off without a hitch.  Had to wait a while to check in but afterwards, did some last-minute shopping at Duty-Free.  Sailed by border control on my husband’s passport and relaxed until boarding.

Duty-Free was hopping!

Picked up my French recipe magazines to transcribe. This is so much fun!

The flight was full.  That is all I will say about that.  If I get my overhead space—I’m happy.

The welcome back to Philly pissed me off. Big time.

Vincent and I have Global Entry. We paid good money for this perk.  And, it is a blessing when traveling internationally.  We took our photos at the kiosk.  Our plan was to get all the luggage as Claire and Sophie do not have Global Entry and therefore had to wait on a long line.  Are you following?

We get to customs.  The not-so-pleasant customs agent, stopped my husband because, his Global Entry expired while we were away.  So, Mr. Pleasant would not allow my husband to go through.  He told him to wait on the long line.  Then Mr. Pleasant asked me if I would like to accompany my man.

My answer was a firm “No!”  I will go get the baggage.  I go to baggage and a while later Clair and Sophie show up and I explain what happened.  We wait.  We wait some more. And more. And no Vincent.  I could not call him because you cannot use your cell phones in the baggage area. (I miss New York). Finally, after 45 minutes my loving Frenchman shows up.  I asked him why he didn’t go on the Foreigner line.  He said there was none. Everyone had to stay on the same line.

And this my dear readers and friends is the shit show better known as Philadelphia International Airport!

Regardless, we got our baggage, met our driver-which was the greatest thing we’ve ever done because parking at Philly airport is even worse than the airport.

And when we arrived home, we unpacked immediately.  I took a nice relaxing bath and we had our aperitifs to wind down the vacation.  And, despite the weather, we had a wonderful time!

I hope you liked it!  Come along next summer!

I hope you enjoyed our summer 2024 trip to France!

Bye Theoule!

BONUS

I’ll show you the goodies I purchased.  As usual, the only pricey item is always the pair of Rondini sandals my husband treats me to.  And this year, he even picked out the sandals.  They are so incredibly comfortable. I’ve been wearing them a lot to work and for pleasure!

 

Picked up some lip gloss ans stick as well as a little blush at Auchan..

The tote on the left was two euros at the grocery store. I have one for Oona and she forgot to take it with her. The Cannes tote has been my work tote–it’s fun!

The back side of the grocery tote.

Bought a little purse-sized hand cream

Activity books for the grands

A very pleasant surprise. On the far left. Scent for hair. I’ve been using this on my wigs and it is great.  The waterproof mascara is incredible too. This brand Nocibe–I’ll be looking for it in Paris!

Bought this scent in St. Tropez. Doesn’t last long but it is nice and refreshing.

Still life of beauty! From the bottom: Biafine which is great for sunburn or any burn.  A313. This is supposed to be good. I’ve tried it a couple of times it’s not bad. On top of that is the scent from St. Trop and the Embryolisse rose-tinted face cream. It is FANTASTIC. I used it every morning.  Another scent.  More cream. Fragonard’s Lilas Limited Edition scent. I ended up buying it at Duty Free because I passed at the Fragonard boutique. It’s such a pretty lilac scent!

Salt and fake sugar tablets. I keep the fake sugar in my purse.

Fragonard Body Lotion (the absolute best) and bath gel–Fleur d’Oranger!

Cookies and candy for the grands.

And of course. New Rondini Sandals!

Saturday, June 29th

Vincent’s daughter and 14-year-old granddaughter are flying in from Philly today to join us.

My initial plan was “You go to the airport.”  “I’m going to the pool.”  That plan didn’t work in my favor because the clouds loomed overhead.  And quite frankly, I didn’t want my husband driving alone so I went with him.

It was so cloudy that the bubble palace was covered in a haze!

Understand something. I am not a fan of airports.   I have a plan when picking up family at Philly airport. I wait in the cellphone lot, play Candy Crush, and wait for their text that they are waiting for me outside.  We text keeping each other abreast in case of delays.

The worst part of any trip is the airport. There. I said it!

Hence, I went to the airport only for the love of my husband.

To be honest, I must say that going to Nice airport to pick people up was not a bad experience at all. Our timing was excellent.  The directions to the parking lot were clear and concise (HEY! PHILLY AIRPORT AND NEWARK AIRPORT—DO YOU HEAR ME??).  We parked at the terminal and headed inside for what I impatiently figured would be an hour or more. Instead, the wait was merely twenty minutes.

That said, we all got into the car and drove back to the apartment.  By this time, it was…. maybe two o’clock in the afternoon.

Heading back to the apartment on a cloudy afternoon.  I was lucky to get another pic of my favorite building that resembles a ship!

Our guests unpacked and we headed off to Auchan for groceries, of which the store was astounding to them.  My stepdaughter Claire is bilingual so she was able to move around like a local and Vincent’s granddaughter was in awe of the selection of cheeses and other goods.  Especially chocolate treats and Haribo gummies.

I took the opportunity to buy salt and fake sugar to haul back to the States.

Honestly, I never tire of food shopping in France.  Some want to head to Dior or Chanel. I want food.

With a bit of sun peeking out, we all headed to the pool, mainly to relax because the mix of sun and clouds wasn’t going to turn me into Georgia Hamilton by any means.

I can’t remember exactly what we had for dinner but I’m pretty sure I cooked separate meals for everyone.  All in all, it was a pleasant dinner because our guests were astounded at the view we had from the terrace.  In fact, they couldn’t wait to explore the territory.

After taking a walk (what’s that?  I’m so effing lazy), Claire and Sophie became obsessed with this cove, which they named “Mermaid Cove”. In 14 years I never saw this place.

An early night because Claire and Sophie were exhausted and I was annoyed at the weather.

Sunday, June 30^th

Ohhh. It is sunny outside.  We nixed the beach because on the weekends, the beaches are incredibly crowded.  The human French caramels need to make sure that beautiful color does not fade.  I just hope my freckles blend.

We went to the pool.  Got my sunscreen.  Got my book.  And off we went.    It was early and the French sleep in on Sunday—especially as this year, we didn’t see many foreigners (meaning Americans).  Except for staff and a few retirees, we had the area to ourselves. The lighting was gorgeous and I had a feeling that this would be a great day.

I’m hoarding any minute with sun.  Others thought the same thing!

Reading under the umbrella for a couple of hours—the weather took a swift turn.  Not with clouds. Not with rain.  With wind! I honestly thought the mistral was approaching.  Then it happened.  The umbrella that was protecting me, suddenly lifted off its bottom half and floated up to the sky.  Then it flew overhead in somewhere into the port.  I was floored. Not because the umbrella took flight, but because someone could have gotten hurt.

My umbrella literally picked up from the stand it was inserted into and flew. I was shocked!

I got up to head to the port in search of the shady apparatus, but the pool manager stopped me and explained (in French) that he would look for it.  Lucky for me I understand the language better than I can speak so all was well.  I have the luck of the Irish.

After a few dunks in the water, we headed back to the apartment and decided to head into Cannes so Claire could have her childhood memories refreshed and Sophie could experience the fun.

Now. Mind you. It was still ridiculously windy but Vincent assured me it was a one-off and not the mistral.  And on this now Sunday afternoon, the wind was picking up.

It was so windy–I’m glad my wig stayed put!

We walked along the port, admiring the boats.  I was trying to see if perhaps someone would invite us to their yacht for lunch but that never happened.  I swear I am delulu at times. It must be from working at a State hospital.

Allow me to add this random photo of an ad for the movie “The Count of Monte Cristo” staring Pierre Niney.  The book is my favorite of all time. I’ve seen movies based on the book. I wanted to see this because I KNOW it won’t come to the States. I’m still annoyed at my husband for not taking me to see this.  Random rant over.

Walking along the promenade, we saw that the beaches remained crowded despite the wind. In fact, I wish I had my bathing suit on because there were actual waves in the water and I would have jumped in.

It was so windy, there were waves!  I wanted to jump right in!

A couple of chefs on their break–a mural of Alain Delon on a building. It’s all about sights in Cannes.

We went window shopping and I purchased a dress from Benneton (which, a month later still needs to be ironed. I’m a lazy one, I am) and continued to enjoy the sights in Cannes.

This is the dress. Unwrinkled.

Despite the wind, at least the sun was out and it was a very comfortable day for wandering.

Monday, July 1^st.

It’s difficult to wrap my head around the fact that it’s July. Merde. Next week I’ll be back at work.   To make matters worse, the news was all about the SCOTUS and the horrific decision.  As this is my vacation, that’s all I’ll say—for now. But if you’ve been following this blog for a few years, you know how I feel.

On the way to Fondation Maeght, we drove through Antibes. If we didn’t stay in Theoule, Antibes would be our next choice.

 

I love the views of Antibes…

Even on a cloudy day!

Clouds are greeting us so we figured it would be a good day to head to Fondation Maeght.  We’ve been here multiple times and it’s one of my favorite museums.  The grounds have always been a calming and welcoming place for me, and I find their exhibits are meticulously curated.

I’m smiling because I made the walk from the parking lot all the way uphill without fainting. NOTE TO SELF: Please stop allowing your anxiety to be an excuse to not exercise when arriving home.

Fondation Maeght is one of my happy places on the Cote d’Azur.  

It is so calming with the many artfully wonderful water fountains..

 

..and outdoor sculptures. BTW, Germaine Richer, the sculptress responsible for the bottom one, was a friend of my husband’s family.  Captain Kangaroo was a friend of a friend of my parents. That is my claim to fame.

The views from Maeght are also beautiful.

Today’s visit was exceptional. We were lucky to visit while the museum was paying homage to Matisse and Bonnard.  For my husband, Bonnard is special because he was friends with his grandfather.  The exhibit did not fail.

Matisse..

Bonnard..

More great works. I took a ton of pics but don’t want to make you roll your eyes with the amount I took!

The Toilet at Fondation Maeght was a delight to use. Doors all the way to the ground and CLEAN!  NO–IMMACULATE! Why can’t restrooms in the States be as clean.

I could have spent the entire day there but we had other places to go to.

We drove to Cabris. This is special for Claire as she spent summers as a child with her maternal grandparents who lived there.

Cabris is always a great place to visit. And the sun came out!

I visited Saint Rita, as I do every year.  Lit a candle for my family, friends and said a prayer of thanks because that’s what going to Catholic school does to you.  Although allow me to say, I visited Cabris like a saint on their way to martyrdom would do.  Let me explain.  Cabris has tons of steps.  The steps are worn, giving them a sheen.  A lustrous sheen. That means the steps are slippery.  That means you must be careful. That means I had to take my sandals off and walk barefoot.

My annual visit to St. Rita. 

The Chapel dates back to 1761. It’s older than I am!

Yes. Barefoot. I’m that clumsy sort who walks better at times without footwear.  And I felt much safer holding my sandals in my hands then having the leather soles play slip ‘n slide with me in them.  I didn’t want to end up in a French ER exiting with a cast and crutches.

Yup. It was much easier and healthier for me to walk around like this. I can thank the summers of my youth for assisting me in walking around barefoot with no issue!

We stopped for a late lunch and it was great!  The servers were a lot of fun and we just had an all-around good time. We did some more exploring then headed back.

My husband, pondering what he will choose for his mid-day meal.

The perfect salad…

….more perfection and that melted cheese was incredible! Vincent and I split this. I ate most of it though.

If anyone says that the French are not friendly, please show them this photo of our servers!! They were fun!

Oh. All the walking. It was the only exercise I have had since we went to Paris last November.  It isn’t that I’m a lazy slob (maybe it is), it’s just that I’m at a computer 7 ½ hours a day at the hospital. Sitting.  And when I arrive home, I’m too emotionally exhausted to move my body, which gets softer by the day.

 

Random pics.out and about in Cabris! Aren’t they pretty?

Hopefully tomorrow will be a beach day!

Tuesday, July 2^nd

Finally.  Another sunny, hot, day.  We made sure to be extra pain-in-the-asses to ensure Claire and Sophie got up very early.  Hey. We’re the hosts.  And we headed back on the St. Raphaël trail to the beach.  We arrived at 8:30 AM.  YES!!!  You read it correctly. 8:30 AM.

We did, however, allow all to have breakfast before heading off.

We loaded the meter and headed across the street to the beach.  When nobody else is at the beach it is one of the most joyous feelings ever. It is as though you have a stretch of land belonging to you and only to you.  And little by little, the beach people arrived.

Early but the retirees were out for their morning swim!

The sea was as calm as a patient two or more prescriptions of anti-psychotics.  Like glass and it was perfect for swimming.  Sophie and I spent a good deal of the day in the water.

The sea was incredibly calm. Making it perfect for swiming.

More beach vibes

No makeup. No wig. Just sunscreen and cellulite!

My only complaint is the inability of going under the sea. My eyes are ridiculously sensitive and the salty sting lasts, for what seems, an eternity.  (Note to self:  please buy goggles).   Regardless, immersing myself into the sea is refreshing, cool and I allow myself float with the slight current.

A man wearing a snorkel mask with a protrusion that appears phallic makes us laugh. Older men in tiny Speedos seemingly proud of their wine-barrel bellies saunter by. Beach volleyball players take on a game.  It is a fun sight from the sea to land.

These snorkel masks are so bizarre looking. My dirty mind took me somewhere else when I saw that protusion sticking out of the sea!

Vincent is sleeping and unaware of the activity surrounding him.  Besides, he feels it is still too cold for him to swim.  I will not argue.  I will just keep floating away!\

Vincent is an expert at beach sleeping. Either that or he pretends to sleep so he doesn’t have to deal with me!

I can’t believe I let this slide by. I ate everything else in sight!

I get out to read my book and……………The Praline Man is back!  The chanting of “Chou chou les Pralines” is shouted from a baritone voice.  I buy a bag.  He notices my “NY” baseball cap and speaks in English and we have a very animated and humorous conversation. We both laugh and he hugs me.  I return to recline on my beach towel and Vincent gives me the side eye.  I make lots of friends in France!

“Chou chou les Pralines”. This guy. Tons of fun. I hope you run into him if you are on the beach at Frejus! Tell him I sent you!

A sampling of the conversation:

Praline Man: (In heavily-accented Provençal accent) “You know, my peanuss (meaning peanuts) will keep you skinny.”

Me: (Laughing out loud because I have no boundaries) “Ohhhh. I thought you said your penis would keep me happy”!

That is when Praline Man high-fived and hugged me.  Vincent was not amused.

Morale of the story. Just have a great time, joke around, and have fun.

Au revoir Praline Man.  Hope to see you next year. In the meantime, I’ll be chanting “Chou chou les pralines” until people tell me to shut the hell up!

Vincent and I headed back to add more money to the meter and on the way, a disabled woman was approaching.  A couple in front of us practically pushed her in their haste to get to lunch.  I stepped away so she could pass by and she thanked us, in French, to say it was nice there was still kind people in the world.  That made my day because I consider myself more polite than kind.

Back on the beach we witnessed two very young people.  A boy and a girl—maybe late teens or early twenties.  They were assisting an elderly man out of the water.  Was he a relative or were they being kind?  Who knows—but it was touching to see.

This photo really moved me. The young assisting the old. It was loving and respectful.  I got misty-eyed.

The paradoxes are incredible.  To our left was a woman sunbathing topless.  To our right three young Arab girls.  All in black clothing covering their bodies.  Two letting their beautiful dark hair cascade down their backs.  One wearing a Hijab.  It was an example of how anything is acceptable on the beaches in France!

Later, much later in the afternoon, Claire and Sophie decided to head across the street and to some local shopping.  Hitting both the pharmacie and a couple of dress shops.  In the evening when I saw their purchases, I was pissed at myself for not joining them. We did, however make our way to the pharmacie and I purchased more skincare. I can’t help it.  I am obsessed with French pharmacies.  If I lived there, every pharmacist in the area and I would be on a first-name basis.

I picked up a couple of items. I’ve been using the Embroylisse cream every day since we returned!

So long Ferris Wheel in St. Raphael!

One of the seemingly gazillion calanques along the coastline as we drive back to the apartment from a glorious day!

We arrived home in time for another spectacular evening of dinner on the terrace (that I cooked—which made it more spectacular) and it was an early-to-bed night because, weather permitting, the next day we would return to St. Tropez.

Wednesday, July 3

Caveat:  Before I move on, please allow me to apologize for my spelling.  In the last post I referred to St. Tropez as St. Troup.  My husband nearly had a vein burst because I should have written “St. Trop.”  However, I digress.  The spelling of St. Tropez in Provençal is “Sant-Troupès.”  I merely shortened the Provençal spelling.  Therefore, we were both correct.

I now return you to our scheduled blog post.

Not wanting to be redundant,  we drove to Saint-Maxime, this time a lot earlier.  Parked the car at the port and headed to the ferry.  The weather today was sunny but slightly cooler—which is a wonderful thing when walking around!  Arriving at St. Tropez early in the morning, it was a pleasure to beat the crowds.

Woke up to another sunny day. Cooler and we headed to St. Tropez!

Back to the ferry at Ste.-Maxime.

Back to a familiar sight!

Years later and I still haven’t made friends with anyone who owns these little dinghnies!

I do like these gold sculptures.

Claire purchased her first pair of Rondini sandals.  Step mommy was so proud!

Back to Rondini. Keepin’ it in the fam!

I should have gotten a second pair.

We headed over to La Ponche.

The little beach where my husband spent his early years.

Another reason I prefer being barefoot. I don’t want to ruin my Rondini sandals!

Who is this stunning couple?

We walked over to Dany’s grave, which Claire saw for the first time.

Entrance to the cemetary..

Hi Dany!  Until next year..

My husband at Dany’s gravesite. Dany is resting in peace with a beautiful view!

We headed to Dany’s museum and it was especially nice to have Claire and Sophie visit for the first time as well.

Heading to the Museum!

Other than butterflies, there’s paintings by Dany. This is one of my favorites. I’m trying to figure out how to take it  and stow it away with me.

Another painting of Dany’s that I would love hanging in our home. There are also quite a few videos of Dany.

Lartigue family photos on the way to the upstairs gallery. Vincent looks like his grandfather, Jacques-Henri Lartigue.

 

A little sampling of the endless number of butterflies scattered throughout.  For Two Euros, this is a great little museum to visit!

We went to the Musee Annociade.  Remember my experience there last year?  When I lost my cell phone?  Here is a link to refresh your mind:  My Cell Phone Debacle in St. Tropez.  Being the sentimental sort, I took a photo of the infamous chair I sat in before losing it.

Might I also recommend a visit to the Musee Annociade?  It is beautifully curated, not overwhelming and….

…one can pay homage to the chair that almost caused me to have a stroke over my lost iPhone!

On the way back to the ferry, we stopped for a glacé.  French ice cream is full fat delicious.  I enjoyed a hazelnut.  Did it matter what anyone else had?

Being a lover of Neroli, I picked this up in a pharmacie on St. Tropez before we left. It smells great!

Claire treated us to dinner at, our return to—L’air du Temps.  Dinner, again, was spectacular.  I had a chicken gizzard salad to start. I know. I know.  You’re thinking it sounds Offaly disgusting.  Me, being the queen of all things offal, absolutely loved it. In fact, I want to buy a bunch of chicken gizzards and make my own salad!

All cleaned up for another wonderful dinner at L’air du Temps!

Everyone working at this restaurant is just great. You want to be friends with them!  If we lived in Theoule, they would be family!

Hands down. The Gizzard Salad was one of the greatest things I have ever eaten in my life. I need to buy gizzards to try to replicate this. Note to chef–please do NOT take this off the menu.

Perfectly prepared scallops.

A repeat on this dessert. I want to work here.

I’ll end it here because we’re winding down to the end of the trip.  I’ll give you a rest from my rambling! Stay tuned…

Monday, June 24th

Despite the false weather reports of sunny with no clouds, it’s now the second day in a row of rain.

In answer to your question Snoopy.  Yes. I DO want to sunbathe. And I AM down in the South but it’s raining!

On this Monday, we had been optimistic that the weather would be on our side. Instead, it’s raining.  Again. No Beach. No Pool.  Due to the weather, we slept later but still managed to enjoy our morning coffee and croissants on the terrace.  I even managed to do a load of wash.

The terrace is covered so, naturally, we can eat while it is raining!

We decided to head back into Nice to the Chagall Musee.   We took our time by driving along the Bord de Mer, drove around Nice for a bit then headed in search of a parking spot by the museum.  Inasmuch as the Chagall Musee is worth returning to, the parking is a bitch.  Street parking is at a premium and we drove around for a while before snagging a spot around the corner.

Driving around Nice is always nice. 

Toward the afternoon it was a mix of clouds and off and on drizzle.

Always fun to see unique sculptures throughout France!

We waited on a line for the 2:00 PM entrance, and the drizzle was constant but cooling.

If you’ve never been to this museum, I strongly suggest visiting.  We visited a few years back and the return was a great activity for a rainy day.

A bit of a backstory (in a nutshell) on the artist.  He was born in Russia (Belarus today) into a Jewish family.  Moved to Paris in 1910 because, as a student, and Jewish, he could not study in Russia. Later moved back to Russia, Returned to France in 1923.  Became a French citizen.  During the Vichy regime, his French citizenship was revoked and he moved to New York.

After WWII, he was able to move back to his beloved France, had his citizenship given back to him. (I would never have returned after having my citizenship taken away. He was a far better person than I).

Hi paintings, almost childlike but wonderfully so, in my opinion, have religious themes regarding his Judaism.  My absolute favorite painting of his is the Rabbinical one below. I love this so much.

My favorite painting by Chagall. I love this so much. It’s slightly sad and a bit dark  and that’s why I love it!

Have a look at more!

The stained glass is beautiful. And when it’s sunny out, even moreso!

This is on a wall out in the back of the museum.

How beautiful is this?

We managed to spend quite a bit of time here and upon arriving back at the apartment, enjoyed another nice dinner as Mother Nature played a cruel trick and the sun came out in force.

I’m smiling because despite the weather, wearing a wig always ensures good hair!

An early retire and we hoped the next day would bring better weather.

Tuesday, June 25^th.

Merde. Merde MERDE!  More rain in the forecast.  This led to a conversation during coffee and croissants, again, on the terrace.  In the 14 years we have been coming here, we have never witnessed weather like this. Never.  It may have rained a couple of days but the weather just was not on our side.  It was bound to happen, though, and this was the year for it so you grin and bear it and find things to do!

We figured “screw it,” got into the car and drove to Ste. Maxime to ferry over to St. Tropez. It was to be the first of two trips to St. Troup because the following week, Vincent’s daughter and granddaughter would be joining us.  Our quick trip today would be to head to Rondini for me to pick up my annual pair of sandals and to walk around a bit.

Hitting the road, listening to good music and not allowing the weather to get in our way!

Since the weather wasn’t the greatest, we left later than usual to drive to Ste. Maxime.  We paid for our laziness in the search for a parking spot at the dock, but it didn’t matter much.  The ferry was more pleasant on this drizzly day.  Light rain doesn’t bother me –it is the downpours that I can’t take.

Les Bateaux Verts, the green ferry taking us over to and from St. Tropez.  It’s the greatest 20-minute water ride!

We have arrived. And will be back next week. Stay tuned…

The thrill was seeing the lighthouse painted with Bardot’s image.  She is one of my favorite actors and I love her because she truly was a feminist. She did what she wanted under her conditions and convictions.  She didn’t care.

This summer the lighthouse was an homage to Bardot!  It was spectacular!

We headed to Rondini and, in the past, have always arrived when the shop opened and nobody was there.  Today it was crowded.  As we made our way in, customers were being assisted by members of the Rondini family and staff.  I was unsure as to which sandals to get when my husband suggested the Hindou model.  Not wanting to insult my husband’s taste I agreed to try them and lo and behold—I loved the way they looked so much that I …ahem…he made the purchase.

Just the mere scent of this shop makes me happy. It smells like leather.  REAL leather!

Which sandals shall I get this year?

I am interrupting this post to let off steam.  An entitled American couple arrived shortly after we did.  Now, understand that the shop was crowded.  There was limited seating.  I had a seat as did my husband.  However, he later stood so another woman, who was older, could be seated.  This entitled couple who believed they were the shit, had two young children with them.  Far younger than the average age of the customers.  They immediately had their children—who were not getting sandals, sit down.  WTF??  This is where the start of bad manners begin—when parents are so self-absorbed that they cannot be mindful to allow others who are purchasing sandals to sit.

It was a toss up between these two..

..and I went with the Hindou.  And let me say, there was no breaking-in time. These sandals are incredibly comfortable and pretty!

I had my moment though.  The obnoxious husband was standing in front of the mirror that I needed to use to see how the sandals looked on me.  He glanced at me and would not move.  And so, I walked over to the mirror and elbowed him—New York City style.  He moved.

Sandals in tow, we headed off for more adventure…

Sandals in tow, we headed to the flea market on Place de Lices.  When I say it was crowded—I’m not kidding.  It was more crowded than usual due to the weather and many of the beach-goers were at the market as well.  It was just too crowded for me. I’m fine in crowds but this was just too far gone.  I managed to purchase two dainty bracelets—one with a cross and one with a Star of David.

….some of the wares at the flea market.  It really was way too crowded but there are incredible buys to be found.

Afterwards we stopped in a church that had an exhibition.   After we left, the rain was a bit heavier so we got back on the ferry to head back to Ste. Maxime.

I don’t know who this artist was but this is great!

And who doesn’t love church candles?

Current POV. I don’t want summer to end. I want to be back in St. Tropez!

Goodbye big yacht..

Although, I must admit, I prefer this wooden sailboat. Seriously–I’ll take a canoe!

Back in Sainte-Maxime and the rain is letting up.

Despite the rain, it turned out to be a productive and pleasant day.  The drive back was relaxing, dinner on the terrace was enjoyable and it was another early night!

And it was another great fake-hair day!

Wednesday, June 26^th.

The sun is shining!!!!!!  The sun is shining!!!

The sun is shining and I’m happy as a little clam. I’m wearing my real hair today. The baseball cap protects my bald spots and my face!

Due to the amount of driving my husband did yesterday, we decided to head to the pool as opposed as driving to the beach.

Look at that view. My husband just stood in awe at the sun. It was as though he hadn’t seen it in a fortnight!

We arrived early.  My next book in tow.  This one by Richard Lewis about his battle with alcoholism and substance abuse. It was a very interesting read because it was incredibly sad, disturbing, and funny at the same time.

Summer is my time to read.  And this summer it is biographies about tortured souls. Nick Drake and Richard Lewis!

Umbrella overhead for a bit of shade on this incredibly hot and sunny day. Plenty of sunscreen because of my past relationship with skin cancer, and the opportunity to jump into the pool to cool off made for a wonderful day.

Well, we had the majority of the day at the pool so all wasn’t lost!

Or was it? At two in the afternoon guess what happened?  It rained.  Again.

We headed back to the apartment and within moments the rain stopped.  It gave us time to relax, shower and bathe and get ready for dinner.  Tonight there was no dinner on the terrace.

I clean up well–especially when I take a bath and shave my legs.  I wore my new sandals!

We were having dinner at our new favorite restaurant from last year—L’air du Temps! It is situated on a cliff above the sea and a few feet away from the restaurant, you get a birds-eye view of our pool!

After years of passing by while driving, last year we had dinner here and this year..we went back twice. L’air du Temps is a GREAT restaurant!

Dinner was fantastic!  It did not disappoint.  This year’s surprise was a young helper.  We were guessing she must be a relative of the owner.  No older than 13 years, this young girl was a pro!  She could even open a bottle of wine better than I could!  I love the French!

Can you see our pool? The view from the restaurant is incredible. Sitting high about the Bay of Cannes and enjoying wonderful food. What a night!

I started out with my favorite summer aperitif. An Aperol Spritz. These are very popular in France!

I started off with a ravioli dish that I could have had ten helpings of. It was that good.

Vincent started with Salmon Tartare. I tasted it. It was divine!

 In France, in the summer, I eat fish.  I had the Cod, or, Cabillaud and quite honestly, this was one of the best fish dishes I’ve ever had in my life. The potatoes were really good too but the fish. Chef’s Kiss!

Vincent had the lamb chops accompanied by little roast potatoes.  Those chaps were incredible. I tasted them. Vincent loved his dinner!

..and then, there was dessert. Vincent prefers fruit embellished desserts and he was definitely a fan of this.

I went with this chocolate masterpiece.  And I ate the entire thing. It was magnificent!

Who count’s calories on vacation anyway?  I can tell you that my thighs are now slightly bigger!

Thursday, June 27^th

 

That’s right. I have my marshallow bits and braved it by wearing my bio hair in a top knot. Even with the twenty strands of hair I have, they are super thick! Off to the beach!

Again. A sunny morning but our expectations aren’t exactly high ones for the day’s weather. I managed to put on my smallest two-piece because, dammit–I’m in France and bodies of all ages and sizesare acceptable on the beach!

 

We took the long way along the coast because we weren’t expecting much in the way of good weather! It was weird because we ran into clouds and sun. 

Regardless, with American optimism and a slight hangover from last night, we drove to the beach at Frejus!

The port at St. Raphael–it’s a stone’s throw away from the beach at Frejus that borders it!

The beach on the border on St. Raphaël and Frejus is a perfect location. Street parking with plenty of meters, restaurants, shops, and pharmacies abound.  The sand, darker than the sand on Long Island and New Jersey beaches has slightly larger grains but doesn’t get as scorchingly hot.  The water in the Mediterranean is cool and refreshing—not freezing cold like the Atlantic.  The lack of waves and incredible saltiness makes it a delight for swimming.  Even if you are a poor swimmer like me!

Not cloudy my friends–it’s the haze–it was very hot!

Looking around, it’s apparent I’m the lone American on this stretch of beach because it is loaded with locals.  99.9 percent of the women, ages ranging from teen to 80 plus, are wearing bikinis and various two-piece swimsuits.  It is so comforting to be among the women who really don’t care what others think and I’m all about it!

A very quiet morning on the beach..

Toward the afternoon, there are tiny waves with whitecaps. Is it the Mistral I ask my husband.  He tells me it is the Tradewinds coming in from Africa.  Immediately think of lyrics from my favorite Jone Mitchell song “Cary”— “The wind is in from Africa….” Still, with the minute waves, the sea is a private oasis among the beach-goers that are scattered about.

Sounds of the waves are mixed with a symphony of French conversation and Cicadas in the background.  They seem to be chanting “have a great day.” The Praline Man selling those delicious candies is chanting “Chou Chou les Praline” and he is rolling his “r’s” which makes me think he is from Marseilles or a native of Provence.

And the sun came out. And little white caps made the water more fun!

Sailboats in the near distance are anchored, swinging to and fro which is giving me ASMR vibes.  A paraglider looms above and floats like a cloud.  Caramel colored bodies—of which my husband is one, leave me in a state of wonder about the French being a separate race from fish-bellied me.

Sailboats and other water vehicles were so close. Check out the tans on the humans. They are a caramel race. It’s incredible.

A para glider sailing in the distance.

My husband sleeping and paying no attention to my antics.

To my left, St. Raphaël’s peninsula is crystal clear while Ste. Maxime to the right is hazy. It is days like this that I wish time could stay still. Alas, the best I can do is pinch myself and give heavenly thanks that I am fortunate to be here.   I don’t want to return home nor do I desire to return to work.  The only thing making me yearn to return is seeing my grandsons and my kids.

This was considered wavy and rough waters. Wait till these folks come to the Jersey Shore!

We had a long day at the beach today.  If the sun was out, we took full advantage.  And even with the sunscreen I had slathered on my body, I managed to not turn caramel, but red—like a strawberry candy.  In addition, the sun gave me swollen lips. I won’t need lip filler!

Look at my lips. The bottom was affected by the sun. I couldn’t stop laughing!

After a long day, we sat down to our usual dinner.  Fish for me and steak for my husband, both cooked by me!  Lots of cidre and a lovely end to an even lovelier day!

Why can’t this be sold in the states? It’s the best refreshing beverage ever!

I may as make my belly and thighs even more fluffy. This Biscoff ice cream was the best!

Friday, June 28^th

Well…it’s another cloudy day.  There is solace in knowing that I am not overexposing my skin to the sun.  A week ago we left Philly with visions of a sunny stay.  So far, we’ve had one beach day.  Anyway, the soldes have arrived.  Vincent wants to head to FNAC for a book or three so off we headed back to Cannes.

We are having dinner at the Club tonight and I’m very excited.  We’ve always had great meals there and we don’t have to venture far as the clubhouse is here in the community.

We left the apartment shortly after 9:30 to drive into town—after a breakfast of croissants, brioche, and strong coffee.  As cloudy as it is, the view remains spectacular.  It really isn’t that bad being on the cloudy side—the main shopping area in Cannes can be brutal in the sun so it’ll be nice and…less hot.

Bye! We shall return!

Vincent, still saddened that Ernest closed, also had a second reason for heading into Cannes.  H went in search of a market where he could find his andouillette. If you aren’t familiar with andouillette, I’ll give a quick description.  It looks like a sausage, feels like a sausage but doesn’t smell like a sausage.  It smells like socks that have been left in a gym locker for about six months to a year.  The odor if vile. The weird thing, though, is that it doesn’t taste that bad—but the smell makes it nearly impossible to put in your mouth.  Regardless, my husband loves it.  And because I’m a loving wife, I cook it for him when we’re on our annual summer trip.

That thing in the middle? It’s andouillette. It’s so gross but my husband loves it. BTW, this photo was taken last year when Ernst was opened!

We took a slow drive along the sea and made our way through the maze of construction in Cannes, parked the car in the garage and headed over to Rue Meynadier for a stroll along the local shops, most geared to the tourists looking for bargains to bring home.  We headed up on Rue d’Antibes for the trek to FNAC; and trust me it was the only exercise I had for the day, to FNAC.

Years ago fnac locations were mobbed. The one in Cannes was almost empty. I hope they stay opened!

Along the way, my husband spotted a tote bag in a window of a local but very hip boutique. He chuckled and brought my attention to the printing on said tote “ F*CK IT, LET’S GO TO CANNES…”    I got a good chuckle too, and then he asked if I would like to have it.  You know what my answer was!  And I’ve been using that tote to carry my extra stuff to work every day since we’ve arrived home.

I’ve been using that tote on the right as a work tote. And that’s an expression of how I feel. The tote on the left is from Auchan and cost two euros. It’s a great grocery tote!

I picked up some goodies for Owen and Bennet too!

When the clouds roll in, the crowds go shopping—especially during the infamous “soldes” in France.  And crowds there were.   Buying goods and window shopping.  And, despite the crowds, FNAC was almost empty.  Did I mention that FNAC is more than a book store?  It’s a mecca of DVD’s, Blu-Rays, CD’s, Vinyl and stationery, journals as well as a wide assortment of books and personal electronics.

My husband managed to pick up a few books but was a bit sad that the store wasn’t more crowded.  I guess Spotify and Amazon Music are responsible for the phasing out of CD’s, and streaming is phasing out DVD’s and Blu-Ray movies.   In Paris, there are bookstores on almost every street, but in the South, we really don’t see any.

We hopped into Lenôtre, a pastry shop on Rue d’Antibes, to pick up dessert for the following night.

My apologies for not taking a lot of photos this year.   I feel bad!

I stopped into a pharmacie to pick up cream to soothe the sunburn I had from our previous beach day (and I used sunscreen).  My lips blew up from too much sun and it appeared as though I stopped at a dermatologist’s office for fillers!

We checked every store for andouillette with no luck. None at the Marche Forville.  None at small traitor shops.  We did manage to stop at one but the andouillette was pre-cooked and my husband refused to buy it.

Arriving back to a sky of steady cloudiness, we changed and headed to the pool for some relaxation.  I started my next book, a fictional account about Grand Duchess Anastasia (Romanoff) while my husband slept.   The pool wasn’t empty but it certainly was not hosting the crowd of years past.

Yes. It was on to a new book. This was really good! I’m obsessed with the Romanoff empire and this sated my appetite!

Later on we headed back to get dressed for dinner.  You know, Vincent and I really enjoy getting dressed for dinner.  Nothing formal or over-the-top dressy, but nothing ridiculously casual either.  It’s fun to dress up a bit every now and then.

Me with my Hemorrhoid lips!  It took a couple of days for them to wind down!

Our dinner started out with aperitifs and great conversation. The topic being how we’ve been so lucky in the past to have great weather that a year like this was bound to happen. Anyway, last year we had the greatest dinner at the club. This year, it wasn’t as good as in the past.  We both ordered steak, which for me is unusual because when we go out, I order fish.

View from our table. The pool at the club is smaller and we’ve always enjoyed our dinners here!

 

Head to the table!

Another Aperol Spritz for thirsty Mommy!

Blah, blah, blah. I ordered my steak blue. It did not arrive blue but it was rare.  My husband’s steak was perfect.  Suffice it to say, my steak must’ve been the bad end of the cow because it wasn’t the same as Vincent’s.   How bad was it?  It was bad enough that we decided to not return during our visit for dinner.

I started out with a little scallop appetizer. This was excellent!

Vincent had a tuna tartare dish.

And then there was steak.  At least Vincent had good steak. I didn’t even take a picture of mine!

We opted out of dessert because my steak pissed me off. We had Biscoff ice cream back at the apartment. The Biscoff put me in a better mood!

Bonne Nuit all!  I’ll be back with Part 3!