There's a Fog on my Blog

Everyone in America ( and the entire world for that matter) seems to have a blog. They talk about their dogs or their cooking, or how awful/great it is to have children or not have children. They talk about their kids, how thin or fat they are ( both mothers and children) and why they hate their mother-in-laws. Yes, there is a HUGELY popular website on the evils of mothers in law.

You want to read these blogs, go on their sites and read away. They write, they push send, and out it goes.

I , on the other hand, seem to have a technical problem ( not in the least atypical for me), in that I write them, I send them, and my few but very loyal subscribers don't get them anymore. Only Cousin Lauren in Nashville seems to be able to receive "South Of Rincon" without my personally forwarding it to her.

I apologise to one and all, and we are going to fix it today!! Plus add a lovely picture of me that has ben on hold for months while we figure this out.

Everyone who subscribed used to get the blog auromtically, then it just stopped: Google is, of course behind this as they are behind most evils in the world ( except the ones have to do with the debt ceiling - but I cannot even touch that one).

Then I send them out by forwarding them, to a lot of friends whom I am sure I annoy the hell out of, since they don't want to read it, but then feel they must at least skim it so they can say something pleasant to me. and I truly appreciate that.

I really really do. ( Little Sally Fields touch there)

So, Hugo Ramos, our helper in all things technological ( that would include TV remotes, the Iphone, the Ipad, all computers and anything else with buttons) has suggested we CHANGE SERVERS.

So, today is really a test to see if those few, wonderful fans and readers can actually get this blog automatically, or if we have to change to another system so people to sign up without giving away their social security numbers and home phones. I promise not to inundate anyone, and if you do't want it, then don't sign up. ( I'll know who you are, though)

In the meantime, the good news is that are having a fabulous summer of Music at the Music Academy of the West, The talent and charm of the fellows is just amazing. And, bragging like the Jewish Mother I am, our Fellow Karen Vuong - a soprano with a fabulous voice and marvelous personality WON the Marilyn Horne Vocal Competition last week, and will be dong a concert on March 4th at the Broad theater in Los Angeles.

She will also be singing in a receital in new York on October 1st - I predict she will be a star, and if you hear her sing, I think you may well agree.

so if you do receive this without my sending it, just let me know with a one word e-mail like

Mustard but NO relish...The Weiner Saga

I know the Weiner story is basically over - until we find out if the baby has Anthony's personality, nose and, ( if a boy), his generous male appendages.

But this morning, just as I had decided not to write about his loser, jerk, sick Narcissist, I saw the newest photos of him, worshipping reflections of his own body in the Congressional gym. Where was everyone else? Guards? Towel Guys? Fellow Legislators? Maybe they were working or raising money rather than massaging their penises.

Think about this: a member of Congress takes nude and pornographic pictures of his own body ( the one where he is wrapped in a towel, but still grabbing his stuff to make sure it is there and standing up for itself is beyond the pale.) It's worse than the totally nude one next to it. And yes, I study the photos becuase it is absolutely wildly interesting that anyone with half a brain would do this in his position.

This man is one sick puppy. Yes, I know men do this sort of thing all the time, and yes, I know women do too. But this guy was lucky to be in Congress, he has no law degree nor a business degree. He is WILDLY unpopular, and is married to a lovely looking, brilliant young women He, of course, leaked the information that she is newly pregnant, so now she has no options as far as carrying a child with half of Weiner's terrifying genetic material to term.

I can barely imagine her grief - of course she followed Hilary to Saudi Arabia instead of staying home. It was the high brow version of running home to Mommy.

Huma will be ok eventually. She will always have a good job, she has the Clinton's support ( I know, I know irony is everywhere - but at least Bill didn't photograph himself with Monica and the cigar.) No, we haven't forgtten, Bill ,but we all knew you two had an arrangement..

What did Anthony and Huma have? And for such a short time.

When Tiger Woods was exposed two Thanksgivings ago for doing everything in the world with every tawdry looking girl in sight, I said to the "golf nut" with whom I live, " No one will be able to look at Tiger gain, without thinking about the sexting and the threesomes and all the rest."

"Of course they will," he said.. "that's just YOU thinking that"

Well, I was right. Plus, Tiger had not sworn to uphold the Constitution or anything close to that. Just to hit the ball straight, play better than anyone else, and pretend to be a boyscout.

He cant even do that anymore.

So, you think Weiner can come back after a few therapy sessions, and help make laws and campaign effectively or do ANYTHING effectively.. me either. He is a hindrance who is beyond a dirty joke.. and his cruelty to his wife is cosmic.

So, as Huma returns home ( she has to eventually, or she'll have to wear a Burqua), she will have to decide what to do for herself and her baby. The baby actually comes first now.

She will have to be a superparent, in addition to having a super career to overcome the fall out from the very strange man she married for reasons that escape pretty much everyone. In addition, he has no source of income other than Congress.

Oh yes, on top of everything else, she is a practising Muslim, so this story is going to be, as my grandma would have said ' Really shameful for the Jews."

I see no essential difference in what Weiner did than what Arnie did with the Maid, John Edwards and the Blonde video person and even the guy who was caught in the men's room with a wide stance.

They all think they can do anything they want to with anyone they like and still have power. Here is a real case of Thank God for the internet".

Well, it just could be that voters are getting fed-up, and especially women voters are not going to tolerate this kind of crap much longer.

If you have thoughts or comments: please do share.. I'm facscinated with the rationale that he really didn't do anything, because he didn't TOUCH anyone.

More to come. ( every sentence is a pun with this guy).

OPRAH: ENOUGH ALREADY!

I love Oprah - or at least I have loved her from time to time over the 25 years of her reign on national afternoon TV. Many of those years coincided with my time at home and she was always a welcome guest at 4 PM ( meltdown time for mommies) . Plus, to be perfectly honest, when she was overweight I was too, and that was truly comforting at 4 PM when you really, really could eat anything in the house that isn't nailed down.

As anyone who is not in solitary confinement in North Korea must know: IT IS HER LAST SEASON. This promotion has been going on non-stop since September.

Gayle talks about it on the radio, Promos ( same ones repeated way too often) have hysterical women screaming about how excited they got when they saw a HEADSET at Harpo.

It's has begun to feel like a religion in which I do not believe.

OK - it IS a religion and that's my whole point. It has gotten way too Elmer Gantry for my poor agnostic self to deal with.

Oprah has done wonderful things for many people. She has done more, I think, for race relations particularly between women than anyone else in history - and that is a huge deal.

But she has also had a lot of makeover shows and stupid celebrity ass-kissing shows, and given away " her favorite things" to audiences who become multi-orgasmic at receiving a pair of Tory Burch shoes or a waffle maker. ( and who pays the taxes on these gifts, I have always wanted to know) - because the IRS does come after you for market value!!

I think I began to see the light during the inteminably hyped shows in Australia - when the whole harbor in Sydney was lit up with your initial ( you only need one), and there were fireworks and even more tears - although surely you knew what was planned.

Just maybe a tad too much even for YOU, "O."

But comes a time, when you believe your own bullshit a little too much, when you think you truly are "divinely inspired," and you have billions of dollars and talk about your money your houses and your plane just a little too much. Then it's time to go.

So, lovely beautiful, brilliant Oprah - I look forward to seeing you around town.

Enjoy your gorgeous house - and your other houses... relax a little.

This network thing is not gonna fly - not the way it is now anyway. - So unless you do a major reshuffle, and get away from teaching "soul" stuff and curing physical and psychiatric diseases in ten minutes.. you may have some downtime soon.

I love that you created a Girl's School in South Africa, although I always wondered why it wasn't in New Orleans or South LA or Brooklyn, but it's an amazing accomplishment.

I love that you have embraced your body and are not obsessed with weight anymore. That's a life lesson. I only wish I had the juice to get designers to take apart fabulous gowns and make them a little bigger for me to wear too.

Now, put down the kleenex, pack up the hair guy and the make up lady and the stylist and relax.

By the way, I'd love to know if you have helped your HUGE and devoted staff to get new jobs?

Just a thought.

Ave Maria

There she was: one of the best Kennedys. Her father ran the Peace Corps, and her mother worked tirelessly for decades on behalf of the Special Olympics. Maria was ( and is) very attractive, if extremely thin, and bright, talented and articulate as a news person on NBC TV.

So, whom does she marry? ARNOLD SHWARZENEGGER: former Austrian weight lifter and porn star, current actor and real estate magnate and Big Deal International Movie Star. ( He was said to be ENORMOUSLY well endowed.) Seriously,I read that bit many times before this all started). Plus, how could he not have been a little bit Nazi?

So, Devout Catholic and Good Girl, Our Maria, marries him, and he decides to run for Governor as a Republican. She gives up her reporting work because it " wouldn't

be appropriate while he was in politics," and has four children with him.

She begins to run a terrific Women's Conference every year, and is very close to Oprah!

That, in itself is a great asset. Besides being fun, Big O can certainly help her career comeback.. I see a series for her on Oprah's new, largely unwatched TV channel, OWN.

Always there are rumours about Arnold " groping" women and why not, that's what movie sets are for. He admitted to the groping years ago, but said everyone did it.

Years go by, there is , of course, a "faithful" housekeeper/ family retainer who is fairly blowsy looking but probably passionate. ( people like this always keep good help).

And someone seduces someone else. Naturally, he wouldn't deign to use protection, and she may well have been afraid to demand that he do, so there is a child. There is always a child.

This little boy is born two weeks before Maria's last son is born.

The maid stays another ten years, doing the laundry, cleaning, and cooking for the four children, and then she retires, is given severence and secret child support and a house is bought for her and what they call the " Love Child" in Bakersfield for $230,000. Hardly love, wouldn't you say? Have you ever been to Bakersfield?

Just before leaving the Governorship ( at which he did a TERRIBLE job), The Governor and Maria buy property just up the road from us. We see the Governor's car, the security. he appears at the Santa Barbara Athletic Club quite frequently. Everyone thinks it is pretty cool: they'll be neighbors. But, it seems now, that like Al and Tipper, they will not both live there. I can't imagine SHE would want to live on the road to Ojai as lovely as it is - so will they sell it, or will he use it for weekend assignations?. Or, on the other hand, perhaps she would like to have a weekend place near Oprah! We better tell her that the Albertson's in Carpinteria has become bagless!!

After he left office, he told Ave Maria about the housekeeper's baby. Apparently the kid is the spitting image of our hero. ( Maria was dining with Oprah when he phoned her - wouldn't you love your life's traumas to happen with Oprah at your side?)

MARIA FREAKED and left for a Beverly Hills hotel. Good Girl!!

Never mind that No Divorce thing preached by the Catholic Church - everyone has her limits.

Groping is one thing - your spouse's baby, conceived in YOUR bed with the housekeeper, running around your house playing with your kids is quite another.

So why is this interesting? She had everything before she had him: she is beautiful, bright, moneyed and energetic. She could have married lots of men who might have treated her as she deserved to be treated.

But she must have loved him. it cannot have been for power, can it? She already had a family to whom power had been part of life for generations. Real Power. Lasting power. Of course, many of the Kennedy men cheated,( while the women wore mantilas and said their rosaries), but her dad seemed like a lovely man.

So, let's assume she loved Arnie at one point in time. She gave up a lot for him - and he made fun of her weight. ( She became thinner and thiner), and then he screws around with the maid who is pretty chunky. The cheating went on apparently even during the day, in HER OWN bed): a guy likes a woman with a little flesh on her bones who doesn't want to disscuss policy questions as pillow talk.

Plus why pay for a hotel and drag your security guys into it? So convenient.

I hope the housekeeper changed the sheets when they were done. Imagine poor Maria getting the wet spot.

I hope Maria is Done, and that their kids will be OK at some point.

So he destroyed a family to get laid. Happens. Or, and this is where it gets interesting: is it sheer hubris that allows these guys to screw anyone they wish, WITHOUT contraception, and just go one making speeches and telling others how to live their lives?

Yes, it is the latter. ( see the former head of the International Monetary Fund currently in jail for rape). Another maid, this one from Africa - raped in a hotel suite she was trying to clean. But there is no cleaning up the mess these guys make, is there?

Unlss you are all sick of this story already, please comment and tell me what you think about it.

The Jewish Princess Is over The Royals!

Can it be true? My lifelong obsession and identification with the British Royal family seems to to be waning if not completely over. However shall I fill my time?

They ( the Royals), I might mention, have never given me or anyone like me, a thought let alone been obsessed with what I wear, whom I marry or my facial expressions. "Poor Them" - as my Brit friends might say.

As an only child in Brooklyn I dreamed of being a Princess - and not just any Princess, but one with POWER. In my small bedroom, its only window facing over ugly rooftops with the magic of Manhattan out of reach, I fantasized about giving wonderful gifts, meting out delicious punishments ( to nasty little playmates, horrid teachers and elderly relatives), and thought a lot about what my wardrobe would be.

I followed the lives of Elizabeth ( Lillibet) and Margaret Rose ( the unlucky one). How brave they were to have stayed in Buckingham Palace during the bombing - with only a skeleton staff to heat up the tinned beans.

When Diana came upon the scene I devoured every word and photo much as she devoured everything and then vomited. I even envied her Bulemia! I tried a few times to stick a manicured finger down my throat, but my fattening treats sadly stayed down.

How ROYAL of her to be able to throw up her rice puddings and still look amazing. I hear the breath wasn't great, though.

When she died, I was genuinely heartbroken, and watched every second of the TV coverage much as I had followed the Kennedy assasination moment by moment.

So, naturally I woke up at 3 AM this past Friday to watch Kate ( daughter of a party planning family actually less classy than my own family, albeit far richer) marry William: A funny looking balding young man who didn't even stand up straight in church. His brother's kinda cute, though, wonder who HIS dad was?

Her dress was gorgeous, she was rather gorgeous ( her sister is a piece of work, isn't she?) and yet, and yet - there was so little passion - the Queen cannot get a smile going, Princess Ann ( always the least attractive Royal) looked like she smelled something unpleasant, and Prince Andrew's daughters looked positively terrifying. Doesn't anyone tell them to look in a mirror before they go out. Is it a joke played by Philip Treacy on these sad, homely girls to put them in the most ghastly hats ever imagined? Did no one say ' Beatrice, "that hat looks like a spider surounding a vagina)"? Apparently not.

The whole thing is absurd, isn't it? The carriages, the courtseying, the sheer anachronistic crap of it all.

So, I lay in my Queen sized bed, and watched the whole thing. watched these people who run the Church of England not able to recall the words to the hymns, watched the inability of the Royal Groom to actually LOOK at his bride or touch her in any meaningful way - and I thought:

I AM FREE AT LAST"

These silly, absurdly rich people are horrible, entitled and living off the backs of poor people in England who got to have a whole day off and sit around drinking beer and waving paper Union Jacks during the proceedings. Bread and circuses is what it is and always was.

My favorite thing was the rather unattractive bridesmaid child who kept her hands over her ears - better her hands over her eyes).

My least favorite thing was the extraordinarily passionless kiss. Now I certainly didn't expect them to make out in a major way on the balcony ( that would have been as bad as the kiss with no touching ), but, God, William, put an arm around the girl - she's lost so much weight to marry you - at least hold her up a little bit.

So off they go back to wherever it is in Wales they live whilst he ' flies helicoptors" to await the Royal honeymoon, and we shall soon see her looking perfect every day and then, soon too, perfectly pregnant.

I'll just take a nice dowager house somewhere on one of the estates and a simple staff of a cook, housekeeper, dresser ( oh yes - a dresser -absolutely), private secretary and a lady in waiting ( what are they waiting for anyway?) and , as long as they don't interrupt my naps, I'll open the odd hospital or launch the random yacht.

But I am so over it. Can you not tell?

Good Luck Kids -Don't worry too much about the budget - things will work out. You'll never have to apply for a mortgage or lease a car or pay a bill. Poor babies.

Techno-Moron, Within Twenty-Seven Errors Of Perfect!

Ever notice how everyone with an IPhone or a Blackberry is always staring down at the device as if God is about to tell them the Universal Meaning Of Life?

What it feels like to we few outsiders who use landlines, paper and pens,, is that they would much rather look at the screen and their e-mails than pay attention to us. Even if we are paying for lunch.

What the hell are they looking at? I mean is it PORN? Breaking news out of Bahrain? WHAT?

This is life in the 21st century - an electronic device is more important than the person you are with.

I've lived with a man who has stared at sports on TV rather than me for years, so it isn't as if this is a new experience. But it seems more intense recently. Especially with the IPhone and Blackberry. I had a Blackberry from Verizon for part of a day a few years ago. I couldn't crack any of the instructions, ( all 600 pages of them), so I took it back. Happily, I might add. Also my fingers didn't fit the little teeny keys. I had just learned to text - for me, like getting a PhD.

I am old enough to think technophilia is incredibly rude, and yet I know when I get my Iphone, I'll most likely do the same thing. Actually I cannot wait to go to Verizon and get the IPhone. I'll most likely never learn to use it the way the kids do, but I guess I'll also be staring down waiting for Godot or whatever it is they are waiting for.

So the land of technology is attractive, ( as are all things out of reach like the Neiman Marcus' Christmas Special Gift), and yet difficult for me to navigate. I hate that!

I hate that 3 year olds can edit a photo, and I cannot spellcheck ( as you all know).

As any of my 12 or 13 fans are aware, spelling is not my strong suit.

I write quickly, and although I read and reread, I get so taken up with my own wit and cleverness I often, ( ok --ALWAYS), miss a lot of letters. And I'm not even discussing punctuation.

In fact, now that I have two Apple computers, a Canon camera neither of us can use very well, if at all, two printers ( One is COLOR! Why? I don't really know, except it is kinda cool), and an IPod which absolutely confounds me, even though any toddler can make a playlist.

I am getting nervous about my inability to exist in a world where handwriting or the spoken word no longer count.

WE even have a "computer guy", Hugo, who comes over ( at great expense) , puts it all together, explains it ( BUT DOES NOT WRITE IT DOWN), and leaves for another client brighter and younger than we.

I constantly hear Howard the husband swearing in his office.

Often, I can work his problem out. ( He is way behind even me in computer knowledge,but he knows his limitations.)

I want to be a part of it all. It's like wanting to be popular in fifth grade.

The minute the cute girls knew you wanted in - out you went..

My computer, the camera, the IPod and the printers smell me coming, and immediately go into "we know nothing from nothing" mode.

This would not have mattered much since I manage e-mails ok (although the spelling isn't great), but when I wanted to write this blog, for the amusement of my fourteen friends, fans and relatives, I could not do the photo thing nor the fancy background thing and , of course, you already know about the spelling thing.

Because I do not play bridge or do Seduko, I feel this is a stab at staving off the inevitable senility which is even now breathing down my neck. If I could learn just a few tricks, and write enough to make people laugh, that would have been enough, ("Dayenu" for those who know what that word means).

So, Tomorrow, Hugo may or may not arrive to try to explain to me the following:

1. How do you scan a photo and put it on the blog to replace the four year old photo that is there already? ( also on Facebook, but that is a whole nother blog)

2. How do I download ( see, I know a few of the techno terms for social situations, as I know a few golf terms for dinners at the club) pictures or send people to other sites like Arianna can, and why did SHE just make $319 million dollars for her blog while I sit here in a Lands End turtleneck????

3.Why can I not write the blog in WORD ( Apple doesn't like Word, it just pretends to),

edit it there, and then make it be a blog.

I DO NOT KNOW, AND STILL WILL NOT KNOW WHEN HUGO LEAVES AFTER four $65 DOLLAR HOURS. Plus travel time.

I honestly do not think it is that I am stupid. I know I am not stupid.

It's like math, I just don't do math. I hope that I can do techology a little better before my new COMPUTER EYEGLASSES arrive from the eyeglass store.

At least without the glasses, I have some excuse for all the mistakes my cousin Lauren is going to find in this blog as soon as I press " send."

SUPERBORE DAY - Strange connection to my life!

It is no coincidence that the Superbore Game began the year before I met and married Howard.

I met him in late June - so there was no football going on. By the time we got engaged in late August, training camp, or whatever they do,was starting, but I never imagined the depth ( heights?) of his passion for the GAME, until one night, shortly before the winter ( post season)wedding, we were watching what I now know was a play-off game in his apartment in the The Majestic in New York, when I cut my hand on a wine glass.

It was bleeding COPIOUSLY. Howard suggested I wrap in something clean, apply pressure, and elevate it until the game was over because it was a very very good game. I actually bought into this. I stood there seething like a Jewish statue of liberty until the game was over. I knew something was terribly wrong. He was a fanatic of which the words FAN are the first three letters.

WE then ended up at my internist at the time's office and he found sutures in a closet JAMMED with diapragms ( remember diaphragms?). We were so riveted by this (since he was NOT an ob/gyn) that we got through the ghastly stitching with no anesthesia.

I have the scar to this day and will happily show it to anyone who does not believe this really happened to a beautiful, well educated young women with a nice diamond on her hand. The hand that was not bleeding.

Of course, like many foolish young women before me I THOUGHT I COULD CHANGE HIM. YOU CANNOT CHANGE A MAN WHO IS SET INTO THIINGS LIKE FOOTBORE: TRUST ME GIRLS!

My dad then compounded the whole thing by giving his new son-in-law two season tickets to the New York Giants as a guy bonding thing. These tickets were truly impossible to get, and for some years, until I wised up and women's lib started, I used to GO to these ghastly games, Sunday New York Times in hand and sit and freeze while everyone cheered. My dad retired to florida, and never ever went to a game with howard!

So here we are ready to go to a friend's house for yet another superbore. party. thing.

OY! FORTY FOUR YEARS LATER, and he is still excited. No wonder they show only Viagra and Cialis ads on football and golf channels. When they say to call for help after an erection lasting more than four hours, try calling for help after a passion lasting four decades?

I do understand football , although the game takes WAY way too long. I actually can sit through a game if I have too and know what is happening. but Superbores are really too much. Too long and normally boring, although this game might be a good one they say. But the Giants are not in it so who cares?

The endless talking started weeks ago. I particularly enjoy the suits worn by the sportcasters who are former football players... These darling HUGE guys wear custom suits in the most extraordinary patterns and colors. They keep me amused for a while. As does their often extraordinarily weak grasp on English grammer.

The new thing is that everyone cries all the time. They make 20 mill a year for running around and they are crying?? Suck it up , guys!

They should only know what it is like to be a wife of a wildly enthusiastic fan.. I know how to cry, but there is no point anymore.

BTW, he is also a rabid fan of baseball, ice hockey ( which makes me nauseous) , basketball and GOLF - Oh golf is a whole nother blog. Maybe a book.

GOLF is the other woman in our marriage!!

Luckily, I am planning to be a good girl today - and we will watch the game and I will make bets ( he already took my cash), becuase after 44 years of marriage there are just a few things you need to do to keep them happy - and there are millions of things he needs to do to keep me happy - and generally he does them. He lets me shop a lot which is lovely of him.

But , lord, it is a sacrifice... and I don't like melted cheese, chile or dips or popcorn or chips. I met a young neighbor at the supermarket yesterday poring hysterically over her Iphone which would not give her the right chile recipe in large enough font and she could not see what to buy - BUY meat, chile sauce, beans and chips, brown the meat and and mush them all together, I suggested helpfully.

Of course, I should have foreseen all of this, but when one is young and in love, and shopping for a great white dress, one thinks this will not always be true - but it has been the most consistant thing in our lives - Sports: at resorts, in Europe, on ships and now with the internet, there is no surcease.

I guess that is why they call it sudden death: the tie score between life and the end of the game.

"With A Little Bit Of Pluck" or "Hair and There"

So far, this morning, I have neglected to: take my vitamins, work-out, moisturize my body, let alone my face, oil my cuticles, cover with sunblock which is, in turn, covered with tinted moisturizer, eat something non- fattening but wildly nutritious, ( did I mention working out, WORK being the operative word).

It would be nice to see another human being for lunch who has also gone through the same routine (unless she is a facially hairless natural blonde,) in which case I wouldn't have lunch with her anyway. Unless she wanted to join the Music Academy Council which is a whole other story.

Basically what I've done, and it's already 11:13, is have a cup of coffee and read my e-mails. I gotta go take the vitamins, or it will be time for afternoon maintenance and I'll be late for the night time major operation which takes about an hour minimum.

Oh yes, I've kissed Barney the Dog. Thrice.

Daily Maintenance has become more demanding than Marine Boot Camp.

I've added up the things women are told to do to make ourselves look better and basically it is 26 hours a day just to look OK or normal - forget fabulous- that's 36 hours day! So, to be utterly fabulous, one can only appear once or twice a week for a short time between beauty treatments.

I'm starting at the top: Hair conditioned and put in some kind of order ( every three weeks, color and cut and various treatments which , as far as I can see, do nothing but cost a lot).

Face moisturized, sunblocked and then, if I'm lucky, or can bear to look in the mirror, made -up just a bit.

Brows, waxed, plucked, shaped and dyed, lashes dyed ( yes, you read that right),and then the worst:

the dreaded post-menapausal hair search!!!

No one wants to talk about the facial hair issue, that is why the writers in society, (much like myself and Jane Austen), are obliged to bring it out into the open.

HAIR - and not on your head (where it is rapidly thinning), but there it is on your lips, your chin and your throat , for God's sake. Plus these hideous nasty hairs actually grow from the time you leave your house all plucked and gorgeous to the time you arrive at an event - just take out your little magnifying mirror and look.. INCHES long, white or blonde ) or god forbid BLACK hairs that WERE NOT THERE BEFORE.

You absolutely must carry a tweezer and inspect your face in the car before you get out to go someplace epecially in the summer when the sun is bright. Otherwise you might be enjoying a lovely afternoon at the Music Academy and you sense that people are politely looking away from your chin or face or throat - you dash to the terrific but not too brightly lit ladies room to discover curly, bizare wiry things growing where nothing was an hour ago. FACIAL HAIR is a CURSE!

The husbands don't escape this either although they do not appear to care. They have hair growing out of their ears and noses. We have supplied them all with Panasonic thingies that groom ears and noses, but most of them forget, or dont do it thoroughly.

But this is not about the husbands: it is about poor suffering women.

You would hope that, once past the childbearing years ( or the " OH GOD , AM I PREGNANT" years,) things would calm down, but they don't....they get worse and you no longer have the joy of pattering little feet to make you feel better. or worse,depending on what type of child you get.

Then it's your body: moisturize, shave if needed, wax if possible, tone if you have the strength, put clothes on it including the right bra ( lifts and shapes),the right spanx so you can't breathe or eat, great pants, a perfect sweater, and acessories like scarves, necklaces and, of course a Fab pair of earrings, check next to ears for hair again!

You done? - good, so am I.. Go have lunch ( salad , no dressing, ice tea, no sugar and no dessert. ( Why even leave the house)?

Before you get out of your frehly washed and gassed- up car, take out your swiss tweezers, pull down the mirror and look carefuly at your entire face.. things have grown while you were driving 10 miles to Santa Barbara. I promise you : your tweezer is your friend and with a little bit of pluck, you'll look just fine.

Check for dog hair on clothes although this is unavoidable.

Until tomorrow when we start all over again.

A View With A Room

I glanced out my kitchen window this morning, and was reminded, as I am every time I look outside, of the amazing view from our house in Carpinteria, California. I call them the " Mountain to Ojai," although they are not mountains, just hills.

But the colors and the play of light, each hour being different one from the other, are so amazing that even I take my nose out of a book or glance up from the computer to look again.

Sunsets here are called " The Pink Moment." A moment which never looks exactly the same one evening to the next, due to weather, maine layer, time of year, and time of day. These sunsets are indescribable but you must catch the exact minute when the sun is sinking and reflects on these hills for just a few moments.

The beauty is fleeting - which is not a new thought but an eternal truth.

People who visit always say, " You must love standing in the kitchen, cooking, just so you can look out the window

Well, no, actually, I don't love cooking at all, but I do like looking out that window when refilling Barney's (the dog) water bowl, or making the easist possible dinner.

What the view really makes me think of is my mother, Muriel Black, who died six years ago, before we moved here.

She adored beautiful scenery, and would have been rhapsodic about this house and this view. I am so sad and sorry that she never had the joy of seeing it, and seeing that we live in this incredible spot. I have her ashes in my dressing room, and should I ever decide to part with them, I will put her where she can see the view from the far end of the property - the best angle for the purple mountains.

Howard ( my husband) says having her ashes in the dressing room is a " dangling participle."

Howard has the ashes of our collie, Andy, in his office, so what does he know.

Howard has a way with language, but I feel that my mother likes to see what I'm wearing when I dress up. I don't exactly talk to her, but I do communicate, and am not ready to scatter her ashes. Even in view of the hills to Ojai!

If she had lived to see this, she would have said ( a minimum of twenty times day) " Oh, JoAnn, this view, this view: How lucky you are to be here."

And I am lucky - WE are lucky because it is so healing and calming to look out and just let your mind drift.

The swimming pool ( solar - how do you like that, P.S. 241, Brooklyn?) faces out towards the mountains and has a fountain at the end - when I turn on that fountain and the water plays against the mountains - it is absolutely breathtaking.

Never mind the ants all over the edge of the pool or the millipedes at the doors from the last blog. ( I'm waiting for the Terminex guy who never ever shows up on time- if at all).

When we were looking for a house we realised that an ocean view ( and I love ocean views) was out of the question - but this is really just as nice, if not better, and the windows don't get pitted every year, and the furniture isn't all damp.

Ok a little sour grapes there. Just a little - maybe one small shrunken grape. But the ocean is just across th street and at the bottom of our little hill, so we have the best of both.

Does anyone remember the Edna St Vincent Millay poem:

"Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand,

Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand"

We are built on solid rock, but , Millay certainly wasn't talking about real estate, she was talking about how to live one's life. She would have loved the view as much as I do, and would have written about it in a much more beautiful way.

There has never been an evening, no matter how troubled or upset I might have been, when, gazing from the back of the house, I happen to catch that Pink Moment and feel that all is right with the world.

Inchworm, Inchworm measuring the Marigolds...

It is like a horror movie here in Carpinteria Paradise: thousands of hideous, squishy black inchworms are crawling towards the house every single day. They must be seeking heat, or maybe want a moment of witty conversation during the rainy season. As they approach the doors, they die and are curled up in disgusting little squiggles.. I mean THOUSANDS of them..

I also mean EVERY door ( seven doors) and under the door mats and all over the concrete. And let's not even discuss our HUGE, normally perfectly clean garage, now full of inchwoms. At least Google and I believe them to be inchwoms, until they turn into living creatures here to kill us all.

That's a great idea for a movie.. Note to self: pitch this idea to people you know in town who will laugh you out of their houses. Think of it, thousands of little black worms, ingratiating themselves - getting to know you, and then morphing into alien monsters who take over our houses and our lives. If they would only take over the mortgage and taxes, I could maybe deal with it.

We sweep, we vacuum,, and there they are again a few hours later. They also get in the house, I dont even want to discuss it.. ghastly.

A flaw in Paradise.. Imagine that! They scrunch underfoot, and they could not be more repulsive. and they are all mine!!

Of course, no one else has them - or they won't admit to having anything that distasteful - so it is either that our house is near farmland, or they just like something about our personalities. Maybe they want a chat before dying, or a cup of freshly ground expresso - or simply to introduce themselves and have a moment of social interaction before they go into the bright tunnel of the vacuum cleaner or the heel of my shoe.

In addition most socially conscious Californians don't like to kill living creatures or spray poisons on them: ( I know, I know, but poisons are on earth for a reason )- several such reasons being inchworms and black widow spiders and RATS! Not the bunnies, I know, not the sweet little wildly breeding bunnies. ( HAHA)

We have ants swarming around the swimming pool too, but that whole sentence sounds so Damnned Entitled that I won't expand except to say that they crawl on people's feet if we are exercising in the water ,which is suppposed to be 89 degrees.

Middle aged women going " EEEK" are sorta funny unless it is YOUR own personal pedicured toes they are swarming on. ..

It even scares my fearless aqua teacher, the beautiful and ever cheery Liz. ( Talk about entitled).

So the Terminex spray guy will come tomorrow ,and be gone before anyone who has extra sensibilities regarding living things arrives.

These are only two small examples of trouble in paradise. The rains came - and we are grateful for them. but, along with the rains come constant power outages, above mentioned inchworms, regular worms ( also curled up and very dead), and very cold, wet weather. Fortunately we do not live in one of the towns where houses slide down hills.. at least not yet!

But, you know, as much as I don't miss the winters in New Jersey and New York or the summers in Florida, and as much as I am not crazy about all the new freckles on my face due to sun exposure ( yes, I use sunblock all the time), it does feel like a season, and makes Paradise more interesting. because when every day is totally perfect - as it is in the spring and summer, you forget how gorgeous it is until it is not gorgeous for a week or two.

Is this better or worse than rats and roaches in a snazzy New York apartment building? I actually am not sure. I'm leaning toward better, but I still miss New York, garbage, snow, smells and all.

Why not tell me what you think, readers?

But more to come about Life on the Gold Coast as lived by a girl from Brooklyn.