April 2024 was Parkinson’s Awareness Month. I’m aware I have PD, as are many of you. We’re in the know, lucky us. So, let’s hunker down and find a cure. Please. Dr. James Parkinson, who first identified the disease in an 1817 essay, “An Essay on the Shaking Palsy,” was born on April 11, 1755,…
When my precise – he died eight months to the day after his cancer was diagnosed – and extraordinary father was dying he said that he didn’t mind dying so much, but that knowing when was troublesome.
“We love our children the best we can.” I defend the parents who did and do love me with all that they are, all that they are able to muster.
Reply All is a form of narcissistic, societal torture.
Take 10,000 steps. Daily. Lose 5, 10, 20 – a million pounds. The usual suspects line up like children waiting to be picked for a team. Go to the gym. Clean. Read more. “Doomscroll” less Waiting, like lambs to the slaughter. Find the patience to teach other family members to do the same. Organize my…….
“Let’s play ‘Ask a Parkie,” I say, helping my mother to pull herself up to the room service breakfast table. “What?” She asks, pouring us coffee with a hand steadier than mine will ever be again. “Ask me anything about Parkinson’s Disease, anything.” She starts to tap dance. “Do you like your doctor?” “Yes.”“How often do…
God is the glue that connects us. She/He/It is the whisper in our heads imploring us to be better, to do better – to strive for excellence, to walk the path of our higher, best self. God is in the ephemeral breeze that cools, a laugh shared with a stranger, a friend’s encouraging text on…
“I brought you some lemons,” she said, showing me a bowl brimming with sunny spheres. “Thank you,” I replied to my longtime housekeeper. That’s one of the blessings of living in Southern California, stuff grows. I mean everything, everywhere. Citrus trees are fecund with fruit. “One tree will serve a whole family,” says my husband….
I do not have the children I expected. They’re like me in ways I wish they weren’t. They express traits of their father’s that are not amongst my favorites. But, on some days I can see the best of myself and my spouse shimmer within them. I treasure those days. Even then, when I am…
“It’s been 30 years, “he said turning the page in his calendar. “30 years …” his voice trails off into the purgatory of what might’ve been. Parents are not meant to survive their children. And yet there are many who exist in this backward world, having outlived those who should be our legacy. Life’s natural rhythm…
April is Parkinson’s Awareness Month. I am quite aware I have Parkinson’s. I bet other twitchers are too. What good does awareness do? Does it help the outstretched hands of non-profits? “Now that you’re aware of fill-in-the-blank will you write a check?” Maybe. Every day of every month someone is trying to make me aware…
How is a life remembered? Which stories seal our fate? I forget more stories than I care to admit. The more time that passes, the more stories accumulate, making more for me to forget. Which shall I memorialize? Which should I tell you? Do I recall the ones where I am the hero who saves…
I believe that God is the connective tissue between people, the ephemeral energy that makes us want to do better, be better, make the world better. I long to be a child of God to live up to his definition. I want God to give me the strength to do so generally and to fulfill…
My parents belonged to a generation that didn’t see the need to analyze and understand their union. They were a unit and I made three. I am part of a different generation. “You’re seeing the pediatrician on Tuesday,” I explain to my 12-year-old while discussing the week ahead to the soothing soundtrack of rain. “Oh,…
Can the tangible capture the ephemeral? Do the things we love keep our memories? Can a treasured object give a fleeting dream a fragment of immortality? Do the things we love hold our devotion to those we leave behind? Will my pen retain my ardor for words after I’m gone? Does this chair remember my…
No one has talked tree since Turkey Day. But the calendar has turned to December so a tree we must buy. I pine for the smell of pine. I miss the imperfect bit of nature, imperfectly grown and decorate that lights up a corner of our family room – and our family. “Where is the…
COVID coping mechanisms are copious chez moi. Compulsive cleaning is among the more productive of our pandemic proclivities – one that has revealed actual floor space in our basement. But it is space that reopens an old wound. “Do not even think of asking me to put that monstrosity together,” my husband admonishes, pointing his…
“Georgia O’Keeffe moved to rural New Mexico, from which she would sign her letters to the people she loved, “from the faraway nearby.” It was a way to measure physical and psychic geography together. Emotion has its geography, affection is what is nearby, within the boundaries of the self. You can be a thousand miles…
“Rocks ahead!” List then keel I tie myself to the wheel “The rocks—we must avoid the rocks!” Distractions: to do lists, grocery lists, lists of lists My ill-crafted vessel lists. Dinner menus, family schedules, work deadlines. I check. I tick. Appointments, Board Meetings, promises on which to deliver My ill crafted vessel keels I check….
NOMENCLATURE noun A set or system of names or terms, as those used in a particular science or art, by an individual or community, etc. The names or terms comprising a set or system.I love words. Reading them. Speaking them. Words tether me to this world; conversation is how I connect. I’ve written words…
Flow. Flow is my idea of heaven. When my mind and body cooperate to create a whole. A whole thought, movement … anything that is complete, that is heaven. When my thoughts flow — not in fragments as is their habit – but formed in whole – albeit imperfect— cloth before they reach my mouth….
I am not a demonstrative person by nature. And yet… I want to French Kiss strangers, lick handrails and discard my mask. I am done with hand sanitizer, socially distant outside dining and doing my own nails. I hate COVID-19. I weep in frustration about this pandemic-imposed reality. I weep when this killer plague’s statistics…
Today my fingers cooperate if only there were more thoughts for my digits to dig down into. “Three thoughts, one mouth,” I say to buy a few seconds, to organize the bursting box cars into a forward moving train. Full stop. I am at a railroad crossing. Waiting for others to pass. Waiting. I scroll…
“Do you ever cry?” asked the blue-suited banker as our formal lunch segued from spreadsheets to stories. “I had a very dark weekend when I was first diagnosed.” Reflexively, I share the story of the weekend after my Thursday diagnosis almost five years ago. In truth, I barely cried then – the reality of the…
“Dad, I said I was ‘sorry.’ Can you please just spank me now?” pleads my daughter with the overwrought exasperation that only a quarantined 16-year-old can muster. Family Court is in session – and will be 24/7 for at least the next month or two. Or more likely three. At least. We’re here all day…
This post originally appeared on the Parkinson’s Community LA Blog in the fall of 2019. In honor of James Parkinson’s birthday (April 11, 1755) I am reposting it here. My left-hand dances to a beat all its own. It doesn’t need a partner or even music. The digits just flutter. Constantly. Faster when I’m cold,…
Stupidity is hard to tolerate under the best of circumstances. In today’s so-very-far-away-from-even-okay-times my tolerance for the idiotic is nonexistent. Stupidity is now lethal. Our Orange-in-Chief disbanded the White House’s pandemic response office, proposed brutalizing the CDC in Washington, slashed its staff in China. We’ve known that China is an unreliable reporter – their government…
On November 5, 2015 – the anniversary of Guy Fawkes and his Catholic crew’s attempt to blow up the British Parliament in 1605 – my world was blown up with a diagnosis. “Could it be anything else?” I asked the head of UCLA’s Movement Disorder Clinic “No, it’s Parkinson’s Disease,” he replied. There was never denial…
The dishes whir in the dishwasher, the sun retires from this hemisphere. My husband responds to emails, the children collude with their computers to complete work while the dogs nuzzle them. I am alone in the spotless kitchen. I listen to the rain and debate what will sate my soul’s parched tongue. I claim this…
I love my children. I actually like them sometimes – at least often enough to keep me out of jail and them out of house arrest. Sometimes though, I have to rely on love alone and remind myself that motherhood is a blessing. Children are cute when they’re little and incapable of wiping their own…
]There are many roads to the Mecca of motherhood. All are bumpy. All lead to the rollercoaster of emotions that is parenthood. The blessed and life-affirming firsts; baby’s first step, first tooth, first love and its inevitable denouement. Then there are the less savory firsts …. first time they lie, their first speeding ticket…. the…
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘it might have been’.” Sadness that you no longer walk upon this earth washes over me. When I’m driving a familiar route or moving through mundane tasks, my conscious mind finds room to wander, and there you are. What might’ve been, what should…
On a crisp November morning, an esteemed neurologist confirms what I already know. “It’s Parkinson’s Disease.” “Could it be anything else?” “No. You have PD. But I have patients who are in their eighties and nineties – and I know that you’ll be one of those too.” Learning that one has a neurodegenerative disease is…
Sometime between washing the last pan and the first dollop of the leftover Thanksgiving stuffing, our thoughts turn from gluttony to gifting. Whether your tradition deems the verdant branches a Christmas Tree or a Chanukah Bush, let’s stipulate—for the purposes of this story–that a pine-smelling plant is the perfect antidote to winter’s dark chill. My…
You are not as privileged as I. I was born on third base – you must hit a triple to join me. Nevertheless, you are blessed. You have two parents who care about you. This alone puts you ahead of the game in our troubled world. And thanks to said parents’ foresight and your hard-work…
I am at the wedding reception of my husband’s friend. I know a few guests, none well. The catering is superb. While my husband catches up with friends, I delight in dining solo. We smile at each other, content in our parallel party paths. As I stand outside — literally (it is an indoor/outdoor event)…
“I don’t think that you enjoy anything until you’re good at it,” says one of my oldest friends, trying to entice me to move out of the children’s ski area. It is the spring of 2000, that sweet spot in the aughts. The fears about the turn of the new century have fizzled and September…
I am losing my mind. Am I’m losing it to my Parkinson’s Disease? To age? To maladies yet to be diagnosed? I stare into space, trying desperately to remember what was right there, right there, on the tip of my tongue just moments ago. Then it hits me: I have children. It’s not the Parkinson’s…
Yet another thing I hold against Donald Trump: he has raised the level of how people view narcissism to such a degree that it’s hard to recognize, let alone acknowledge, a garden variety narcissistic personality-disordered human. “Sloane is such a self-involved, narcissistic bitch,” I complain to Eleanor about a mutual, childhood friend. “Really? Narcissistic?” “Textbook.”…
I’m sorry I’ve aged. That gravity has taken its toll on my tits. That my metabolism has slowed and my discipline waned. I’m sorry that my brow furrows more and that my laugh lines appear regardless of my humor. I’m sorry that my standards grow higher as my ass lowers. I’m sorry that you think…
I am happy because my home is solid and my kids… well, they’re here and kinda solid too. I am happy to have learned from my many mistakes and hope that this hard-earned knowledge will spare others pain. I am happy that I have Parkinson’s Disease instead of Multiple Sclerosis which I admit seems like…
It’s said that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is a definition of insanity. But it’s also widely acknowledged that, because randomness makes children feel unsafe, routine is essential to the task of parenting. And, naturally, it’s not a routine unless it’s repeated. Regularly. I routinely ask – nay,…
“If you’ve got your health, you’ve got everything.” Well, then, I am lacking. I am afflicted. But so are many. My conditions are my constant companions. They’ll shuffle along this mortal coil with me for as long as I shuffle along upon it. But there is a gift in my conditional state: my chronic ailments…
Like all Angelenos, I spend a lot of time in my car. When not chauffeuring children hither and yon, I’m driving myself back from their activities and to my own. When in the car solo, I enjoy thoughtful, talk radio; thank heavens for KPCC.org. I also enjoy making phone calls in the private bubble of…
There is no challenge that duct tape can’t overcome in the right hands. My husband has such hands. There is a pesky, Parkie peculiarity pertaining to stairs. Specifically–walking down them. When I look down, I see the step as if I’m wearing reading glasses and looking at a distant object. The challenge is heightened when…
Off the cuff. By the seat of your pants. Just wing it. Impromptu. It’ll work out. Don’t sweat the details. Everything is going to be okay. The mere act of typing these phrases nauseates me. I plan. God chuckles. I plan again. God snickers. No plan survives contact with the enemy. Mine makes the first…
The lariat bound them together. Literally while she strangled him. And then figuratively for the rest of her life – which was spent in the family’s attic where she would knot and unknot the very same rope that had robbed her of the title she coveted most: mother.
Cleanliness is next to Godliness. And when this drought-conscious Californian vacations in a state with ample water, the showers are long and luxurious. I revel in this watery heaven enveloped in lavender steam with warm water pouring down from a rain-shower head. But these indulgences have consequences: annoying droplets of water that worm their way…
“I love you more.” “No, I do, mommy.” “Nope, it’s settled. I do.” “Okay, well, maybe,” my 10-year-old mutters as his sleepy eyes close. “Good night,” I whisper as I turn out the light and turn to exit. THUMP! He stirs. “Mom, are you okay?” “Maybe,” I reply, wincing from my knee-banging stumble over errant,…
The ‘must do’ nature of homework sometimes gives us strong-willed sorts pause. If it’s too easy, e.g. Spanish, it’s a waste of time. Too challenging, a longer essay, say, in English… possibly with the Odyssey as its subject… well, then the Frustration Monster and her bestie, Anxiety, rear their raging, irrational heads. “You’re not helping….
“Mom, let’s go!” Let’s not. I think I’ll stay put. I’m going to take a hard pass on greeting the day. I like my bathroom. It’s nice in here. My lap top and phone batteries are fully charged, there are plenty of towels to cushion the stone floor. These inanimate objects are my true friends….
I was reminded one crisp, fall Sunday afternoon that pleasure and pain are inextricably linked… My daughter and I venture to Bloomingdales in Century City in search of a Homecoming dress—her first. She falls in love with a rich, emerald green, velvet dress that, when she tries it on, is clearly low where it should…
My father died 41 years ago in October. He was good and died young. He was 57. I was 12. When a child loses a parent at such a young age, she must make choices. There are so many milestones, so much history that would’ve been written together but instead must be filled in with…
I should tell you the stories of how proud you make me. How you make others smile, of your deft Instagram touch. Of the way you chronicle ‘car dancing’ – and your grace in not posting it on Snap Chat. Like you – and everyone in your generation – post every other aspect of your…
I talk. A lot. I can talk to a tree. But I do listen. That’s why I write. To prove that I do hear the other side of the pas de deux of conversation. It may seem that because my lips flap so much of the time that I don’t. That I’m too busy trying…
I Have the Touch* Of a community that doesn’t want me afflicted. Of literal embrace. Of phones that would be answered in the middle of the night. I am touched. “Have you heard?” “No, what?” “I have Parkinson’s Disease,” I share my then-recent diagnosis as I join the parent posse outside of our children’s school….
“Shoe” is a good word as is “sale.” When combined… well, who can resist such bipedal pleasure? Not I. Thus, I am shod in new shiny slides. They are well-priced. They are pretty. They are comfortable. They are flat. Flats and low heels have always dominated my closet. Now … they are my closet. High…
“Your hand is shaking,” says a well-coiffed brunette of a certain age who, like me, is waiting, waiting and waiting for her car. “Can I help you?” I smile – we’ve just been at a posh cocktail party for a children’s charity. “I have Parkinson’s Disease.” “Would you like assistance?” I dive back into my…
Love is the thread that tethers me to my children. And husband. Like is just not strong enough. Not tonight. Not on rushed, late-for-school mornings or at doctor’s appointments where needles are needed. Love is the thread that pulls me to make the appointments, to hustle us out the door, to set limits. Love loves…
There is a “law” in the semi-conductor industry that semiconductor speed — since extrapolated to knowledge — will double every 18 months. True. The technology in my phone exponentially trumps the semiconductor speed and knowledge that originally sent man to the moon. Extraordinary… Frightening? Inspiring. So, why do mothers everywhere, across generations commiserate about the…
April is Parkinson’s awareness month. I’m already aware I have Parkinson’s. You are too. As of this sentence, if not before. What is the point of such awareness – in April or in any month? Is it like giving people volunteer opportunities? Is it all a self-aggrandizing way to raise money? Is it okay if…
Must there be takers for us to be givers? Can one pitch without a catcher? Throw a pass without a receiver to aim toward? Can we give for giving’s sake? What if I give in a take-less world – would anyone hear my effort? The blank page is a taker – a bottomless well of…
Life is precious. Life is good. And it’s fragile. Our dumb yet wise, kind yet crass, vulgar yet graceful mutt, Bruno, suffered a massive stroke last month while we were on vacation in Cancun. We are blessed that friends who love him were with him as the vet gently shuffled him off this mortal coil….
I am not a huge fan of body art. As gravity takes its toll, I fear that a picture or phrase that starts in my upper arm would, over time, flow southward into a pileup of flesh by my wrist. I’ve worn temporary tattoos for occasions — only to find that the manufacturer and I…
Do you have a tribe? You should. You need one. At least one. Trust me. I have several. A posse of Parkie pals. A sisterhood of mothers. Friends from all eras of my life. Preschool pals who remember when I sucked my thumb. College chums who remember the passions I explored: friends from my various…
“Excuse me sir.” “Yes.” “I think there’s been a mistake.” “Oh?” “Yes. You forgot to charge us for the Arnold Palmers.” The waiter took the check from my hand, “Oh I did. Oh ma’am, oh thank you so much.” “I cannot tell a lie.” “I know, mom.” “I would’ve asked him to correct the bill…
How does anyone know anything? With cries of fake news and opinions rechristened as facts, how does anyone know anything? “Did you know that there is an animal called a kaka?” “Huh? No.” “Seriously, this game I’m playing said so. I typed in k-a-k-a and it said that it’s an animal.” That was also almost the cause of an accident, so…
I can think of no one less temperamentally suited to driving a sports car than I. And yet there I was on Sunset Blvd in rush hour traffic, ‘leading’ a pack of cars – most of whom seemed to salute my speed with their middle finger. I drive like a grandmother. And if you don’t…
“Do you have delusions?” asked my husband while we were watching TV, reacting to the commercial that just aired. “No!” I said emphatically. Delusions of grandeur? Perhaps. But the people who are in my room are there in the flesh. And they’re usually asking for something. True, I do hallucinate occasionally that my children aren’t…
Every year the third Thursday in November brings together family and friends who share a love of turkey and stuffing and all things anathema to the Angelino diet. We host. Every year. In our home. Where extended family gather to prepare the feast. “What if she shows up with her tits coming out of her…
Every time one of us walks out the front door there is a chance that we won’t return through it. And yet we go about our day assuming that we will. But what if the thin thread that holds all of this together were to unravel? I’d hate for my daughter’s inheritance to be an…
It’s been said that when those of us with Parkinson’s Disease receive our initial diagnosis most ask, ‘Why me?’ It never occurred to me to ask that question. I believe that I have PD because the Universe is random, but God’s grace is not. I believe that it might just as well be me twitching…
“The lipstick you were wearing yesterday wasn’t right.” “I wasn’t wearing any.” “Well, that’s the problem. Here. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gold tube emerge from her purse. “Try this one, it’ll work better on you than it does on me.” My concentration broken, I look up from the computer…
I saw a woman I’m friendly with at the neighborhood Ralphs’. “Hi” “Hi” “How are you” “Fine,” she ended our conversation and each of us went on our way. She’s not fine. ‘Okay’ is but a momentary state of her current existence. I know. I don’t know if she knows I know. She was widowed…
My Happy List When I read a perfectly crafted sentence and discover I wrote it. When Waze doesn’t tell me to take an unprotected left turn. When my 13 -year-old daughter applies sunscreen without a fight. When my dog assumes Downward Dog. When my eldest is polite and honorable reflexively. When my Chanel has a…
There is something of inexplicable value in knowing why. As in “Why he did it.” A belief that a lesson can be learned, a preventative measure taken against the next time. Because we know, with the certainty the sun will rise in the East there will be a next time. We know the who, what…
I will not watch the news today. I will not listen to the radio. I am battening down the hatches of my heart against the onslaught of new information. There is nothing I can learn that makes mass murder make sense. Yet, the facts seep in through the news alerts on my phone. The usual…
Maternal love is a constant tension between caring and its opposite. “Choose your battles wisely,” my friends and I remind ourselves and each other. But in the moment, it is so very hard to make any choice let alone a wise one. What to let slide? “I don’t care what you wear to Joan’s party.”…
I work at a church part time. I see them. All of them sad. Sometimes they’re mad too. At God for taking their beloved. At the injustice of the Universe. At the audacity of the sun to keep rising and setting despite their loss. They rage against the dying of their loved one’s light. They’re…
Why are there few things as satisfying as Fruit Ninja? Why can’t my hair look like I just walked out of Drybar every morning of my life? Why does Chardonnay have more calories than Diet Coke? Why does inspiration strike when I don’t have time to write? Why can’t my daughter just trust that I…
The vitriol that a teen girl can spew rivals the “fire and fury” two heads of state are currently hurling at each other. And there are days when I think such…. “commentary” … on my appearance… my maternal skills… my very existence …is accurate. Because you, my beloved 13 1/2-year-old, are right: I don’t remember…
When I was first diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease in late 2015, a couple of close friends envisioned my near future with dread. They had me losing my license …. or in a wheelchair, the dementia unit or my coffin. They were living in the fear of my brain’s future wreckage. I was somewhat shell shocked…
Sleep is the new sex. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude. I like sex. It’s a good thing. But the blessed abundance of my full and fulfilling life is exhausting. So many roles: wife, mother, friend, employee, writer. So few hours in the day. I love sleep. Luscious, indulgent, glorious sleep. I also love…
The shoes I will wear tomorrow are to fancy for the day. But, they will shine because my daughter will wear a matching pair. Proudly. Lovingly. Voluntarily. And we will each click our heels while we are apart And know that our souls are bonded.
I just called To talk about my teeth Again. The teeth that you bequeathed me The teeth with which I gnash upon memories Of you. The teeth that are aging faster than I hope The teeth that bear the damnation of your DNA The teeth, for which I pay, pay and pay. Your legacy, my…
In the Spring of 2014, I entered a short story, The Book of Love: Chapter Two, into a contest. It – the story below – won third place in The Friends of Palisades Library Contest. She closed the book, placed it on the table, and sat staring at nothing in particular. Finally, she willed herself…
“You have to get back on a schedule.” “Uh, huh,” said my chipmunk-cheeked 13-year-old. “It’s still a time to learn,” I replied, knowing her sass was confirmation that her mouth was healing well. “Uh, nah.” “Yes, it is. Life is for learning!” “Uh, nah.” It was then that I knew my daughter was fully recovered…
My daughter is fierce. My daughter is not a morning person. Most school and camp activities start between 8-9am. These three facts come into conflict in my house every weekday. The drama involved in waking my daughter often sets a … shall we say… less than positive tone for the day. The raising of the…
I grew up in New York City and believe nature is out to kill us. Seriously. As a native New Yorker, I grew adept at quickly judging (and prejudging) the naked apes around me and could assess who was a danger and who could simply be one to saunter past. For my 25 years in…
The word count on my novel is too low. The number on the scale too high. Nevertheless, I went. It was the first time I’d returned to the campus where so much of who I am today incubated. I went to my first college reunion. The 30th was the charm. Why so long? In retrospect,…
Throughout time, great physicists and soldiers put their heads together to create. In Wuppertal-Elberfeld Germany in 1938, in Los Alamos in 1945. They combined their superior intellect for its seemingly highest purpose— to create a stronger pesticide, to split the atom—all to improve our lives. Instead they gave us the threads to sew our own…
“Hello, mother, it’s me.” “Hello, how are you?” “Well. You?” “Good.” Then it begins. The recitation of mundane minutia about meals with people whose faces I imagine as still in late middle age where I am now. Family friends who I hope are still mobile and present. “What?” She asks. I start on my abbreviated…
“I don’t want to go to school today,” said my eight-year-old as I nudged him into consciousness. “Why?” “These,” he said pointing to the prescription glasses we’d picked up the afternoon before. “There are other kids with glasses in your class.” “So.” “Well, you’re going to have to wear them at school someday. Might as…
If “it” has a name, then you can deal with “it.” Fight “it.” If “it” has a name “it” is a quantifiable enemy that can be vanquished. Decades ago, on a crisp Fall day I walked out of an office with a name—a diagnosis. ADHD—the “it” that ailed my older stepson, the one I don’t…
This dream of flesh is a nightmare at times. There is so much required to maintain it – the cleaning and feeding, the exercise and preening. The judgements of it made by me – who finds it always lacking – and of others who always seem to find something nice to say about it when…
“Even if I got into an Ivy League school, I wouldn’t want to go.” Said my thirteen-year old casually wiping out a decade of my life. We were driving and I had ‘oh so casually’ brought up the subject of the ISEE, the Independent School Entrance Exam she will have to take this fall. My…
Tongue and eggs. Even 40 years later I remember my father’s favorite delicatessen order. “Was this how he liked them?” My daughter, who knows the story, asks. A wistful nostalgia for what might’ve been fills my chest as I answer, “Not quite, a little less raw.” There is a belief in Judaism that talking about…
I love words. Big words. Little words. Words like nomenclature – such a divine word and so hard to work into conversation without sounding forced, pompous or erudite-adjacent. Nomenclature is like the treasured friend you don’t see too often because your lives have diverged. Succulent. My mouth moistens in delight as it forms the word….
I got the horse right here The name is Paul Revere One of my favorite numbers in Guys and Dolls is sung by a trio of gamblers. And here’s a guy that says if the weather’s clear Can do, can do, this guy says the horse can do If he says the horse can do,…
I have tripped over paint – I swear it was really thick – and have only owned a handful of high heeled shoes as walking agilely atop them has always been out of my reach. Graceful of body I am not. Never have been – and now have a disease that assures I never will…
We are a sisterhood of mothers. We fight. For our village. Against our own demons. For all children. We fight glass ceilings and preconceived notions We fight to show you the best part of yourself. We teach you to fight, “go talk to your gym teacher and demand to throw the same weight shotput…
I had a vision for my life. Perfection of the sort seen on big screens and small greeting cards everywhere. I had a vision of my life – and then I lived it. The white picket fence with the blended family of four – two steps, two bios — all living happily together, memorialized in…
I was toweling off my then five-year old son after his shower and thought I saw an odd, discolored patch on his penis. Apparently, he noticed my eyes’ focus fall from his face to the part of his anatomy that will, likely, come to rule him. “Mom, I’ve had that for a long time. Since…
I was wrong. Turns out that that young onset Parkinson’s Disease starts at 50 not 40. That explains why the medical community hasn’t jumped at the chance to use the term ‘Precocious Onset Parkinson’s Disease’. On the plus side, at least ‘young’ is a descriptor that I can still claim on one front. I’ve been…
I have no sense of direction. Literally. I can get lost on a straight line, never mind a path with twists and turns. Understandable, I guess as I come from a people who were lost in the desert for 40 years. Frankly, if it weren’t for GPS I’d be late everywhere all of the time….
At a recent school meeting our headmaster reported that he’d apologized to the older students for the tenor of this presidential campaign. Unable to use this race as a teachable moment — like normal elections — he’d told the children that adults had failed them – and urged the assembled adolescents to do better. He’s…
I write for readers. I write in the hope that my private truth might enlighten another’s path. And, if I hit my stride, maybe even ease their burden. I write because I am a writer. I write because the page is my onramp to the highway of this life. I write to know myself. I write…
“That’s a pretty necklace,” I said to a random woman with a lovely heart pendant who I passed on a bathroom run. “Thank you,” she replied with a smile. And the intersection of our lives was over. I ‘practice’ yoga as much as the next privileged gal in search of a stretch. I think kind…
I’m a huge fan of Jim Carrey’s “Liar, Liar,” about a workaholic attorney who loses his ability to … well… massage the truth… and in so doing becomes a better person and father. I’m particularly fond of Carrey’s Claw routine when his arm is possessed by a loving ‘Tickle Monster’. My husband and I enjoyed…
“…becoming insolvent or bankrupt” is a definition of failure per Dictionary.com. Our two party political system has failed. We are in the tail end of a presidential campaign between two candidates with the highest unfavorables in history. The resulting negative campaign has been a horror to watch. I read the news as if driving by a car accident…
I am fifteen… and I am lost. Rudderless. I wheeze a lot. I run slowly but I make it around the track. My friends are older, making me feel unjustifiably wiser. Smart, but sometimes unwilling to grind out the steps necessary for that coveted ‘A’. I sought attention from those whose eyes I should’ve averted….
“To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left,” my bundle of fierceness and I sang together on the way to school this morning. I could hear my eight year-old rolling his eyes in the back seat. Yes, the satellite radio is back – it took a vacation for…
I am a failure. My kids turn to the gadget I use to read to watch. I am a failure. My kids are not avid readers. They do not use this device to read multiple books and newspapers simultaneously, but to watch. They binge on Netflix and Pokémon. I am a failure. I am raising…
I think about mortality as much as the next 51-year-old – maybe more so because I have a neuro-degenerative disease that may result in disability, dementia or death – but not now. I’m here and quite alright now. And now is the only gift that we are guaranteed so hope that you’ll join me and embrace it….
So, how did my tremulous life begin? I guess, as with most things, it started when I was a child. Because of the side effects of the asthma treatments available in the Dinosaur Age, I often had shaky hands. Theophylline and Marax – drugs few doctors are even familiar with today were all that were…
I hosted an End-of-the-Year party for one of my kid’s classes. Cocktail hour was fast approaching as the party wound down, so I opened the bar. As I carried two drinks I announced that, “I serve all cocktails shaken, not stirred.” I laughed. No one else did. Among the few who heard me there were…
There is an age-old pact between parents and children whereby parents embarrass their children while the little buggers try to kill us. I’m very comfortable embarrassing myself. This is good as my children are exceptionally good at trying to drive me into an early grave. My tween constantly – and with great conviction – tells…
It’s been said that one of George Stephanopoulos’ most important and challenging tasks when he worked as a senior adviser for Bill Clinton was to absorb Bill’s ‘Blue Rage’ every morning. I have rage. Sometimes my rage grows so hot that it too is blue. I don’t have a senior policy advisor or anyone whose…
“If they make a big deal out of it, just tell ‘em it’s contagious,” my husband ‘advised’ when I told him that a manicure/pedicure was part of my plan for the day. “So if you see a large number of manicurists running in the street…” I responded… “I’ll know you’ve taken my advice,” my hubby…
“I know what The ‘P’ word is,” my eight year-old announced the other night “Really? Which one?” I asked, an eyebrow arched. “Can I say it?” He asked with an impish smile. I am compelled to mention here that many in my son’s class are second and third children. “Pussy.” He blushed and waited for…
In my youth I dreamed of growing boobs – now I dream of they’re growing smaller. Miraculously smaller… and perkier. The way I wish the rest of me would shrink without changes in my diet. Magical calorie thinking works in your teens… sometimes even through early adulthood. But once you hit 40, metabolism’s reality hits….
A recent poll indicated that a majority of people would prefer Hillary Clinton as president, but would rather watch Donald Trump on television for four years. WTF? How can a man who was once relegated to the entertainment section by The Huffington Post be a joke no more? How can he be so close to…
Most human characteristics are a double-edged word. Take ferocity. My daughter is fierce – which is good. It should serve her well in this wacky world of ours. But, it can be bad – I worry that her Fierceness may be the death of me while she seeks to establish her individuality. Then, there’s compulsion….
I’ve been a wheezer since childhood. Technically, I’m a ‘severe and persistent’ asthmatic. My lungs are a bit scarred, because many of the life-changing asthma medications didn’t come on the market until I was an adult. Thus, my doctor and I are trying new protocols so that my lungs don’t age faster than I do….
Another year, another Field Day. So off I went to my children’s school. I watched my son for about an hour in the morning then went to a work meeting, returning in the afternoon to watch my daughter. “I did it in 3:18 this year,” she said by way of greeting. “That’s good,” I replied encouragement…
I believe in the great American Novel – and I believe I have to write one. Or at least try my tortured best to do so. I believe in showing up and being present when I do. I believe that when I hate things— people and/or places— that it is for a reason … and…
I am ceremonially challenged. I think the roots of this affliction lie in my childhood– shocking, I know, Dr. Freud. But where? I’m confident that those who know me surely have many suggestions as to where my emotional development went wrong … but this is fodder for many future blogs. At the moment, two suspect…
I am your mother. I am here to hear you so that you’ll know that yours is a voice worthy of being heard. Don’t interrupt, but don’t let this world silence your roar. You are fierce and have a platform from which I hope you can heal some of the gaping wounds of this world….
I believe without justification but with unshakable faith that I twitch for a reason. I believe that I have Parkinson’s Disease because the universe is random, but that God’s grace is not. I hope that through my twitch that I might be able to help those whose walk with God shakes like mine does –…
I’m good. I hope you are too. I’m not on any Parkinson Disease symptom-relief medication for a variety of reasons – chief among them is that my tremor only marginally restricts my life. The medications I do take will, hopefully, slow down my disease’s progression. I won’t know how they’re working for decades. So, how…
I am ‘a woman of a certain age’ and weight with a plain wardrobe and minimal makeup. This makes me invisible to servers at many hot, medium and even cold ‘spots’. The places people go to be seen – or at the very least served. This is sad – and not for me. Because in…
If I had my life to live over again, I would do it with 20/20 hindsight and correct every mistake. Naturally, this would result in the perfect version of me. My vision of my perfect self is ephemeral but glorious in her haziness. I would’ve paid more attention in school to the courses I…
The day after we told my mother about my twitch was sunny and beautiful. The type of Saturday that makes Palm Beach appealing even to those of us from postcard-worthy LA. Naturally, my mother and daughter decided on an indoor activity – shopping.Shopping is my daughter’s and mother’s ‘thing’. As my daughter puts it, “I…
“So, you’re coping,” she ‘asked’ about this major swerve in my life’s road. “Yes, yes, I am,” I said, as we’re only acquaintances and our time together was short. Still, it took a lot of effort to resist the urge to retort, “No, not really. I could fall apart at any moment. Arm yourself and…
I am full, buzzed and lying naked in the middle of a king-sized bed. I make snow angels on the soft white sheets. I am in bliss. I love my family truly, deeply, madly. I love them more as I write these words because I am about 400 miles away from them. For me, absence…
“Tell her,” my youngest whispered urgently as we waited to check into our hotel. My mother stood by my side. “No, not yet.” My seven-year-old sat nearby clutching his monkey. I returned my attention to the front desk where my mother was invoking the name of the resort’s manager to criticize the harried gentleman working…
My thread is frayed and worn with age. Though it shakes now, my thread will never break. Yes, a given day may force a particular fiber to waver, but it will hold together. My thread is strong. My thread is fierce. My thread is the belief that it – I – will be okay. That…
There are about two male doctors for every female MD in the USA. And yet most XYs won’t visit these professionals without pressure – either inside their chest… or on their metaphorical posterior. Why? Because there is something on the Y chromosome that compels men to throw common sense to the wind when it comes…
I like to view myself as a force of good and I choose to believe that I will leave this world a better place for having been in it. I hope I’m right. Time will tell. But whenever I do shuffle off this mortal coil, I’m fairly certain that my exit will be earlier than I’d…
“Will your arm shake like that for the rest of your life?” my wee one asked as he started his drift toward sleep. “Probably.” “That’s creepy,” he said. “Yeah.”After a moment, I started to pull away, telling my tired tike that it was time to sleep. He held onto my right arm, the steady one…
I was diagnosed with PD a few months after my 50th birthday, smack dab in the middle between the cut off for early on-set PD – those who are diagnosed before their 40th birthday – and the average age of diagnosis, which is 60. Thus, I’ve determined I have “Precocious On-set PD” – or POPD…
I vaguely remember a story in which the teller said that they were thankful for some malady because in the process of diagnosing it, doctors discovered something much graver. I understand this logic – but from afar. I am trying to find it in me to be thankful that I’ve been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease,…
I’m a Parkie. As a Parkinson’s Disease (PD) patient I’m allowed to refer to myself as such. I learned this from Jon Palfreman’s Brain Storms: The Race to Unlock the Mysteries of Parkinson’s Disease, which I started reading as soon as PD was determined — while I was still in the exam room, to be…
After one of my few trips to Costco that didn’t leave me loathing humanity, I stopped at the Food Court to purchase a soda. With my cup in hand, I went to the soda station. “We’re making a mess here,” said a woman to a little girl I assumed was her daughter, as the duo…
I write because it is one of the few things I do well. I’ve written for indifferent and crazy bosses – sometimes simultaneously, often consecutively. I’ve written anonymously for friends for whom a blank computer screen elicits an almost phobic response. I’ve written for myself when I’m all yelled out but still filled with rage…
I returned from a school meeting around 8 pm the other night. As I walked upstairs I saw the eerie light of a digital screen peeking out from under my daughter’s bedroom door. I opened my tween’s door. “I was listening to music,” she said while unplugging her head phones. “You have an iPod Nano…
I wake up early every morning to enjoy the quiet of the house before the family rises. My dogs and I head downstairs — after I’ve taken my Synthroid with the requisite eight ounces of water. I open the backdoor releasing ‘the hounds’ to their ‘exterior toilet’ hoping to simultaneously breathe in cool, consciousness-inspiring morning…
Halloween rivals birthdays as the best day of a child’s celebratory calendar. My children spend hours debating costume options, [My thoughts on why most are nixed are here] and plotting where to trick-or-treat so that they end the evening with more candy than any human should ingest in a year. For those of us charged…
After our son’s morning soccer game, my husband and I were reading while our tired tyke was immersed in his Lego world. Our daughter was on the Third Street Promenade with our nanny. For once, we were enjoying a serene Saturday which I was confident would cure the cold that had moved from my nose to my chest…
Just before our summer vacation I was on an ‘anti vanity’ kick’. It started when I cut my own hair — which I wrote about here [Facebook August 18th post] – and included foregoing manicures, pedicures, and all makeup except under eye cover. Since I’m no beauty, and not at my ideal weight, I reasoned that it was…