Saturday, October 1, 2016

What If Melania Trump Got Breast Cancer?

Like so many other Americans, I have gotten caught up in the drama of Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump's ferocious battle to become our next president. Just to be clear, I hate Trump for a multitude of reasons. But amidst all his racial slurs and narcissistic sound bites, what throws me into a rage the most are his sexist comments against women.

The value of  Melania's breasts
Knowing how important a women's looks are to Donald Trump, one can only imagine the pressure Melania Trump must feel to maintain her beauty. By all accounts, it is a full-time job and as she marches towards her 50th birthday, that work sure as hell won't get easier.

In an article written by Elspeth Reev entitled The Horror of Being Melania Trump for the New Republic, she writes: "Melania takes assiduous care of her body, walking with ankle weights, eating seven pieces of fruit a day, and diligently moisturizing her skin." As a model, she knows her looks are at the core of her worth to her husband. And given Donald's history, she also knows her financial stability and luxurious lifestyle depend upon her holding up that beauty currency.

This familiar beauty-power maritial agreement got me thinking. What if life threw Melania a curve ball--as it always does at one point for everyone--and something bad happened to her gilded physicality that was totally out of her control? What if, as Melania Trump indulged in her daily ritual of slathering cream all over her body, she felt a lump and found out she had breast cancer?

I can tell you right now, that would be a total game changer for The Donald. There is a long, recorded history of sordid comments by him on The Howard Stern Show to tell us how he would handle that information. Once Howard Stern asked him: If  Melania Trump were to get into an accident that would disfigure her, would he leave her? Donald's answer?: "Only if her tits survived."

Only if her tits survived. Sooooo. What if Melania Trump had to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery? In that instance, her tits surely would not survive. And even if she got a top-notch plastic surgeon to do her reconstructive work, (which she surely would) those lovely "tits" that Donald Trump values so much would forever after be indelibly scarred.

Even if Melania got Stage 1 breast cancer--at a minimum--she would need a lumpectomy, In which case Melania would most likely survive, but her perfect breasts--God forbid--would be perfect no more. And if we are are to believe Donald's words, that would mean Melania would get kicked to the curb for getting cancer. She would lose her lofty status for getting a disease that 1 out of every 8 women get each year--myself included.

The Donald would then do what he has done twice before: trade Melania in for a new model. Of course, having perfect boobs would be a non-negotiable requirement. Because, as Donald says: "It's hard to be a 10 when you are flat chested." In his view, having a wife with breasts unscathed is more important than looking beyond physical beauty, valuing the spirit of someone you say you love, and being emotionally supportive.

Imagine. Donald Trump standing by his wife during a health crisis that has physically marred the essence of her femininity and still adoring her.  What a novel concept.


Sunday, September 25, 2016

The Autumn Breeze

It came. The news said it was arriving on Thursday, September 22nd at 10:21 am. I watched as the numbers rolled to that moment on the bottom right hand corner of my computer and gave a sigh. That was it. No more summer. Autumn had arrived.

The beginning of fall always brings up mixed emotions in me. That episode in Sex And The City when Carrie gets up in the middle of the night to cover herself with a blanket because she realizes the heat of summer is giving way to the chill of fall really nails the feeling. In that show, she breaks up with yet another boyfriend and at the very end, she looks up at the sky and sees a singular leaf fall upon her landing at her feet. An ending has come, which means there can only be an unknown, new beginning from that moment forward.

New England Autumn
Therein lies the rub for me. I have had a long history of endings and beginnings that happened to take place in the fall. It feels as though a hot cauldron of all those memories gets stirred up inside my heart. Flashbacks of the past--both good and bad--rise to the surface of my psyche. The gentle breeze carrying those first falling leaves remind me of what I want to treasure and what I would just as soon forget

That's when I ground myself in the moment. Everywhere I turn there is an upbeat, celebratory frenzy. Because hey, if you live in New England, during this season this is the place to be. Everyone is going crazy apple picking, going to The Big E or other fall fairs and festivals. The smell of pumpkin spice is laden everywhere-in food, coffee, candles, you name it. The weather is ideal--holding in the 70s with no humidity. As they say, sweatshirt weather. And the fall foliage? Spectacular. Our signature rolling hills just magnify the impact of all those colors. As I tell visitors proudly: Out of anywhere in this country, New England, does fall best.
Looking out from my deck, Fall 2015

I know it's true because I have friends that have moved from Connecticut to Florida. A few have confessed that come fall, they miss their former home state the most of all. Of course, once winter hits, that home sickness passes. If I followed my friends and left this state, I wonder if fall would still have the same impact on me that it does today?

Then I realize that if I did leave Connecticut to be closer to my aging mother and re-connect with friends in Florida, there is no doubt that I would miss this time of year. I would be pining for those Sunday mornings drinking coffee on my deck and looking out at a magnificent vista of orange, gold and red. I know that even among palm trees, fall will always be bittersweet for me.

Saturday, September 10, 2016

And Then Came The End Of Summer...

Here we are in September--the very precipice of the end of summer. I hate it when this time comes. It means those six months of gray, cold and dreary weather looms large on the horizon. No more lazy weekends floating in water, burying my feet into warm, gritty sand and immersing myself into a juicy novel. The days of hunkering down inside are drawing near.

Entering The US Open Tennis Championships
I try to remain positive by reminding myself summer doesn't officially end until September 22. I can still swim in the pool, wear my white jeans, and frolic in 70-80 degree weather. In fact, there have been times when I have spent an entire day on the beach the first week of October. Indian summer. It is what I pray for every September.

It helps to create a tradition to mark the end of this season that is as sweet as the last crops of corn. For me, it is watching the U.S. Open Tennis Championships. I spend two weeks glued to the TV until the weekend after Labor Day.

When I found out that Thursday was free admissions day to the U.S. Open Tennis grounds, I jumped in the car after work and was on my way. Perhaps the reason I felt so compelled to this event is because I wanted to sit among people that are as passionate as me to see Serena Williams advance towards a record-breaking Grand Slam, And I desperately wanted her to hold on to her  #1 ranking in women's professional tennis that she maintained for 186 days.

Serena's astonishing ascent to #1 began when she won her first U.S.Open title back in 1999 at merely 17 years old. Today, at 34 years old, she has become the ultimate icon among aspiring female tennis players throughout the world. Tennis players must train their mind to keep their eye on the ball and never get distracted because each game point puts them one step closer--or further--from the big win. They must not let a double fault throw them into an emotional meltdown. You just gotta keep calm and play on. Every time I watch a Grand Slam tennis match, I am reminded what it takes to fight--and win.

Back to my night at the US Open. When I finally got to Arthur Ashe stadium, I expected to see Serena win just as breezily as she did the night before when she beat Halpin in the quarter-finals. Instead, I had to witness Karolina Pliskova swiftly oust Serena Williams out of the women's semi-finals. It came as a massive shock to all the fans watching the game on huge, high-definition TV screens amid white-washed waterfalls. I got to see the new winner of the match march into the press booth and conduct her interview with ESPN commentators. Karolina had been branded the "under achiever" of the tennis world. But in that moment, no more. Just seeing how an underdog could take down a tennis superstar within 90 minutes and feeling the high electricity in the air created a very special end-of-the-summer moment for me.

My hero, Serena Williams
Sure, it was a hassle driving home for almost two hours and not getting to bed until 12:30am knowing I had to get up at 6am to go to work. But it was totally worth it. I have said it before, and I will say it again and again. As a cancer survivor, seize the moment to go to that event you always planned to attend. Take a shot at trying something you never did before. Get in the car and go to a place you always wanted to see--like I did when I visited Woodstock, NY last August. You're lucky to be alive, so stock up on some great memories.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

After The Flood Was Gone...

Bedroom under construction
It has been four months since that fateful chilly April night when water blasted through my home like a flooding river. Even though the remodeling to repair all the damage officially finished the end of June, my place is still not completely in order.

For one, a lot of  things were destroyed. Now I have empty spaces where furniture once stood. Because that furniture stored a lot of stuff, there's no where to put it. I decided the most logical strategy to get things in order was to focus on one room at a time. Since my bedroom took the biggest hit when water burst through the ceiling like a waterfall, I started there. 

I had three pieces of old, abused furniture that I collected from a flea market and Craig's List sitting in my garage for about two years. With no furniture left to speak of in my bedroom, it seemed a great opportunity to finally tackle the refinishing projects I had planned for these pieces--all scratched, dusty and tangled in cobwebs.

Refinished campaign furniture that I bought on Craig's List
I wanted to do a  professional job. So I bought an electric sander, which had a life of its own. Every time I turned it on, I couldn't get it under control. It just kind of flew everywhere. I finally opted for a simple, manual block sander instead. Applying the stain and white paint on to the furniture had its own set of challenges. Now I know why contractors wear bandanas on their heads. If you don't, your dripping sweat will ruin the finish you are working on. Finally, I pulled out some artwork and accessories I had stored and collected over the years, and voila! I got a whole new bedroom.

Refinished bureau and chest from the Elephant's Trunk flea market

It felt really good taking those sorry-looking, old furniture pieces and giving them a second life. Plus, my car now has plenty of room in the garage. I could have gone out and bought a bunch of new furniture spending way too much money, By opting to exert a little elbow grease and creativity, I did my part to protect the environment by not throwing the furniture in a landfill.. The whole process has given me a new sense of confidence in my resourcefulness. Now it's on to the living room and kitchen!

Friday, July 29, 2016

The Lady's A Champ

For the past four nights I have sat glued to the TV well past midnight watching the Democratic National Convention. The endless parade of speakers chronicling Hillary Clinton's lifetime record of public service and the soaring speeches given by Michelle and President Obama gave me a renewed sense of pride for our country.

When the delegates began the nomination roll-call, I felt like I was watching a long, drawn out horse race, The moment South Dakota finally threw her delegate numbers over the top, I was overwhelmed with joy. The possibility that I would witness our first woman president in my lifetime is something I have dreamed of since I was a little girl. I stand with hundreds of thousands of women that feel the same way.

I'm With Her
Mothers throughout the country posted pictures of  their daughters on social media--from toddlers to pre-teens--sitting in front of the TV well past their bedtimes. "I want my daughter to witness a historic moment that is equivalent to watching Neil Armstrong taking the first step on the moon," explained one mom.

Every night I would at turns jump up and down clapping over a profound point made, laugh sarcastically over jabs at Trump, then openly weep over a story that touched my heart.

In my view, the democratic party systematically made a strong case to vote for Hillary and reinforced my support for her with each passing evening. By contrast, I have grown to hate Donald Trump more each and every time he opens his mouth. In fact, I despise him so much that I view him as the twenty first century's version of Adolf Hitler.

I have been cyber-bullied for vocalizing my support for Hillary on social media repeatedly, but I don't care. Never in my life have I felt so strongly about effecting the outcome of a presidential election. That's because I have never felt more terrified that someone like Donald Trump could possibly  become our next president

As for Hillary, I see a champion that gets kicked down repeatedly but always picks herself up with grace and dignity to fight for what she believes in. If you're a Baby Boomer like me, you know the feeling well. Getting kicked down always hurts, but dusting yourself off and getting back into the battle is what takes courage. I have followed her career as a first lady, a New York state senator, and as the secretary of state. I have read her autobiography.

It has been a wonderful experience to witness history when Hillary officially accepted the presidential nomination. This lady walks the talk of what her mother told her as a little girl: "Do all the good you can, for all the people you can, in all the ways you can, as long as ever you can." She inspires me to do the same. Which is why I'm with her. 

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Two Graduations And A Wedding

June. The season of dads, grads and brides. This particular month, my oldest nephew received his Master's Degree from Yale University and my youngest nephew graduated from Kent prep school. Then there was my boss's wedding, which I attended last Saturday night.
Wedding celebration with my co-workers

These life celebrations helped lift me out of a dark mood that has stood like a cloud over my head since April. The upheaval that has gone on in my home for more than two months has opened my eyes on many levels. It has been sobering. I realized that I turned my back for way too long on things that needed to be updated and repaired. I had to come to grips with the infestation of clutter that kept growing.

To make amends, I spent week nights painting doors and trim with super-white glossy paint.  I purged my kitchen cupboards and refrigerator with expired food and condiments. I got rid of scratched pans and chipped cups and bowls. I brown-bagged clothes that were more than five years old. I made Goodwill runs almost every day.

My nephew graduates from Kent School
But all this extra work wore me down after awhile. Where had the fun in life gone? Two graduations and one wedding helped me get my happy groove back. It is amazing to see my two nephews step into adulthood armed with such great education. The Yale graduate will continue towards his PhD at Yale in mathematical engineering (whatever that means). His girlfriend is studying at Yale to become a doctor. I have always been amazed by Alex's high IQ and drive, but it is a pleasure to see how it has transformed into solid economic security for him since he works at Yale, too.

His youngest brother, Davis, has grown into a polished young man thanks to attending Kent for two years. Davis is also driven to make his dreams come true as a hockey player.

 I have had the privilege to witness how my company supported my boss, who is gay, when she became engaged. Management hosted a wedding shower for her at the office. I was one of nine people from work that attended her wedding. It was a wonderful experience to see 185 family and friends celebrate two women in love and share their joy--without condemnation.

I expect the flood renovation to be completed in about two weeks, which means I will finally be able to bring my house back to order. It's been a tough go over the last two months.  So thank you June, for bringing some joy back into my life.

Monday, May 30, 2016

...And Then Came Summer

It's so typical, the way spring arrives here in New England. We wait and wait for the first signs of this fickle season because it's pretty much unanimous among all of us that winter lasts way too long. One day the weather will be completely on point.  Warm, sunny. All you need is a jacket or sweater. You see the buds on the trees, the grass greening. When you look up at the sky, you can feel the warm beams of sun on your face.

But then the next day, it's back to the same old weather--cold, damp, gray. Not for nothing, many New Englanders joke that spring lasts all of two weeks. It usually gives us these short bursts of seasonally-correct teases and then, bam! Summer arrives. This year, summer was perfectly timed by kicking off during the start of Memorial Weekend with 85-90 degree weather. Ten days ago my heat was still blasting and now the air conditioning is running round the clock. That's how things roll around here this time of year.

The inconvenient part of summer arriving, is that I can't access most of my warm-weather clothes since they are buried in the back of the garage that houses all my earthly belongings. It has been two months now since the flood, and construction lingers on. I'm still crammed in my tiny guest bedroom with my resilient cat that is clearly handling the whole mess better than me.

The white dust that stubbornly hangs in the air and covers everything, everywhere is concerning me. As soon as I get in the house, my throat constricts, I get a dry cough and  my voice gets hoarse. What to do? The foreman of the renovation assures me we are coming to the home stretch. The demolition, the rebuilding of the walls and ceilings, and even the painting is all done. What's left is some electrical work, and finally, the installation of hardwood floors. I am betting this will take another two weeks.

In the meantime, I continue to shuffle mounds of stuff around. I am always searching for something. Most likely, whatever I am looking for is in any number of heaped garbage bags. They are scattered everywhere. The things I am looking for no longer have their usual place. It pushes me into this low-level panic mode. So I try to create order however meagerly--like keeping the kitchen  and bathrooms spotless. Then I convince myself that this is nothing more than a major spring cleaning that is long overdue. Lighten up! This too shall pass.

But then I get pissed because summer is unofficially here, my favorite time of year. Do you think I want to spend this fleeting season trapped in my house decifering through all me shit, putting all the pieces of my domain back together again? Hell, no. That will be scheduled for rainy days and after daylight hours.

I refuse to let this minor catastrophe ruin my summer. I will go to the pool, go to the beach, enjoy sitting out barbecuing, and generally having a good time outside
The mess will have to wait, because yay! It's summertime.