ID Tag

I’m sure you all recognize this sign, Dear Readers.  (Taken, by the way, at great peril by yours truly.  Did you know that it’s against the law to take a photograph inside a driver’s license facility?  I found that out the hard way when an angry representative of the Secretary of State enjoined me from taking any more.)

My visits to these facilities always seem to symbolize a milestone on the highway of Life.

My first driver’s license.

What a traumatic experience.

My  New Trier High School best buddy, Steve Gersten, took me for my driver’s license.


(Steve in 1966.)

Always the merry prankster, Steve was our designated class clown.  When we got to Libertyville, he told me to go inside and wait in line.  After he shut off the car, he turned on the wipers and turned up radio full-blast.  When I came out to the car with the examiner and turned on the ignition, the car exploded.  The guy flunked me right there in the parking lot.

“Who brought you?” the examiner asked angrily.  I meekly pointed to Gersten laughing in the corner.

“Okay, Wiseguy,” he said. “Show me your license.”

Steve complied by pulling out a Xerox copy- his real license being held as collateral for an earlier traffic violation.  The DMV examiner tore up Steve’s Xerox- and gave him another ticket. I have NO idea how we got home.


(Steve now. Like a fine wine, he has improved with age. Less hair, true- but much sleeker.  And still a prankster.  Just ask any waiter or waitress he has hopelessly confused by changing all our orders non-stop.)

I managed to stay away from the DMV until another milestone.

Taking my children for their driver’s licenses.

Natasha was intense- and intent on scoring 100 on the written AND the driving part.  She wasn’t going to be happy with anything less.

Luckily for all concerned- including Jesse White- she did just that.

Nick, on the other hand, was a little more casual.  He had forgotten to bring his pink slip and wasn’t even shaken when Jesse White himself made an appearance at the Deerfield facility.  After the requisite- and annoying- return trip home to get the pink slip, Nick did get his license.

My next encounter with the Illinois DMV came after I moved back from Colorado.  I had to take the written test to get an Illinois driver’s license.

I studied the manual like a fiend.  I wasn’t going to let those pesky traffic signs trip me up.

I took the test quickly and handed it back to the examiner with the confidence of the A student I had always been.

Imagine my surprise when he marked the first question wrong in a big red check.  Then the next, then the next…

I started to feel woozy with anxiety.  How could I get the very first questions wrong?

The room was spinning until I heard him say, “Oops.  I must have pulled out the wrong answer key.”

The he re-graded my test all over again.

Natasha would have approved.

My next encounter with DMV was a bittersweet milestone.

I had to take my father to get an Illinois state ID.

His driver’s license had expired and he was too old- in his 90’s- and too infirm to drive any more.

This saddened him and of course, it saddened me.  But he still needed an ID so off we went back to Deerfield to have his photo taken and an ID printed.

The whole process took less than 20 minutes.   Easy peasy.  Like everything involving my father.

My brother, on the other hand, had to take my mother to get her ID.

Not quite so easy.

My mother was, as you may remember, a….challenge.

My mother fought the state of Illinois every step of the way.  She was combative, suspicious, paranoid and angry for the hour or so it took my brother to force her through the lines at the DMV.

FINALLY, after fighting, yelling and stalling, my mother had reached the end of the line.  And my brother had reached the end of his rope.

All she had to do was sign the form.

And she wouldn’t sign it.

She didn’t want to use the DMV pen.  She thought it was germ-laden.  She insisted on using her own.

Problem was her pen was at the bottom of her purse.  A vast rats’ nest of wallets, glasses,  McDonald’s certificates, old anniversary cards, good luck charms, calendars.  Just about everything you could ever cram into a purse.

Except a pen.

After ten minutes of a fruitless search, my brother dumped the entire contents of my mother’s purse on the DMV desk.  He triumphantly pulled out her pen.

“Sign it!” he screamed.  He had become justifiably unhinged.

My latest encounter with the DMV was not quite as dramatic but another notch on Life’s belt.

A senior moment.

I took myself to get a state ID.

I hate having to pull out my driver’s license in the TSA line and Kenny helpfully pointed out that with the state ID, you never have to touch your license at the airport- or practically anywhere else.

My experience was quick, painless and FREE.

Seems that if you’re over 65, the state ID is on the state.

And it never expires.

Sure hope that applies to all ID holders.

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Posted in Illinois ID, Secretary of State Office | 14 Comments

Shaggy Dog Story

…So a couple of months ago, I was standing on Walton Street in Chicago’s Gold Coast.  I was waiting for a Via.

Transportation Sidebar: Do you know what “Via” is?   It’s a pretty neat- and reasonable- ride-sharing service that drops you corner-to-corner and is tons better than Uber Pool or Lyft Line.  It started in New York City and it’s also available in Chicago and Washington D.C. for now.

If you ever use these ride share services, I suggest you give it a try.

Oh- and please use my ride share code: ellen6p8

If you do, your first ride is free and I get $10 in ride credit!

…Anyhow, I was waiting on the street and as I stood there, my gaze happened to fall on a woman coming toward me.  She was walking a dog.

An extremely cute dog.

The woman herself was nondescript.  Older than me, kind of frumpy, mouse-brown hair.  But the dog was sensational.  Small, perky and strutting down the street with a jaunty “Look at me!” trot.

I watched them walk towards me all the way down the block and when they passed, I simply had to say something.

I just couldn’t help myself.

“What a cute dog!” I exclaimed with a smile.

“Thank you,” mumbled the owner begrudgingly.  And with eyes cast-down, she continued her way down the block.

Huh?

That was different.

Usually when you praise a dog-owner on the adorableness of their pet, they stop and let you wax enthusiastic.  They are only too delighted to show off their treasure and let you make a fuss.

But not this time.

This time, the woman clearly wanted no part of the compliment- or me.

Hmmmph, I thought.  Oh well.  It was a cute dog and I don’t care if she thought I was silly to say so.

But as the pair walked away, I couldn’t help watching them.

There was something so odd in her reaction that I was perplexed and…

Then it hit me!

OMG.

The woman was Cruella- my ex’s current spouse.

I hadn’t recognized her.

But she had clearly recognized me.

No wonder she didn’t want to hang around and let me pet her dog.

It was obvious that I had absolutely NO idea who she was.  I hadn’t seen her since my grandson’s Sam’s first birthday two and a half years ago and she had been a bleached blonde at that time.

I never uttered a SINGLE word to her back then- or ever.  She and I had some ugly personal divorce court history and I had cordially loathed the sight of her ever since. Long ago, I made myself a solemn vow that she would never hear the sound of my voice.

EVER.

And here I had just said to her- in all sincerity- “What a cute dog!”

I felt like such a jerk but you know what?

It WAS a cute dog.

Never say never, I guess.

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Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Très Chic

Hi, Dear Readers.  It’s great to be back.  Before we plunge into timely matters, first I have to rave a bit about my all-too-brief encounter with my happy place- Aspen.

I had my usual mid-winter blast. The weather! The scenery! The skiing!  The après-skiing! The friends- old and new.  It was exhilarating.  So a big shout out has to go to my buddy, Kevin Gibson.  You’re the host with the most, Kev.  Thank you for everything.

Okay and now back to the sad business at hand. Some in memoriams.

Stephen Hawking’s death left a black hole (no pun intended) in the world of theoretical physicists- and the world in general.  We need brilliant men of science to be our inspirations.  Our heroes can’t always be quarterbacks or rap stars.  And Dr. Hawking’s personal bravery and refusal to be downed by the horrible medical fact of  his ALS diagnosis resonated with people like me who never met a math test she ever liked.

And he had a great sense of humor.  He wasn’t afraid to poke fun at himself.

Q.E.D.

And RIP, Dr. Hawking.  The firmament will burn brighter now that your supernova has ascended.

Another supernova in a different universe has left us, too.  And this is a universe that I know a whole lot better than the world of quantum physics.

We now must say sad adieux to fashion designer Hubert de Givenchy.

He died March 10 at the age of 91 at a hospital in Paris and I think it only fitting that the world don a little black dress in mourning for him.

After all, he invented it.

His legendary meeting with his muse, Audrey Hepburn, changed movies- and my life, too.

It was 1967 and I walked into a perfume shop in Madison, Wisconsin.  Heretofore I had been wearing a fragrance called Casaque.

It smelled delightful and my boyfriend liked it but I wanted something even more alluring.  But I didn’t want to be influenced by television commercials or name brands.  Hence I decided on a “blind tasting.”

I had the saleswoman cover all the labels and I started spraying and sniffing away.

And then I stopped.

I had found my “signature scent.”

Fate- and my nose- had led to my idol, Audrey Hepburn and L’Interdit– the parfum Givenchy had invented just for her.

That was the beginning of my menage-a-trois with la belle Audrey and the handsome Monsieur Le Comte.

I adored every article of on-screen clothing their partnership created.

Sabrina, Funny Face, Love in The Afternoon, Charade, How To Steal A Million all served as how-to primers for me in the art of looking elegant.  They were my style icons and the look he created for her still seems timeless, effortless and classically beautiful.

I also had the great good fortune to meet both Miss Hepburn and M. Givenchy.  I can’t recall too much about my introduction to Audrey.  It was at a benefit for the Alliance Française and all I can recall now is babbling sheer nonsense when presented to her.

“I love you so much.  You are my inspiration.  I never thought I would ever get a chance to meet you…”

Stuff like that.

In French, no less.

(Truth be told, I could have been saying, “You look like a submarine.  Can I get you a sandwich?” or words to that effect.  I was incoherent with rapture.)

But I do remember my meeting with Givenchy.

It was at another black tie benefit here in Chicago and I had just flown in from Hong Kong.

And I had nothing to wear.

Oh sure I had plenty of fancy evening gowns suitable for the occasion.

But nothing by Givenchy- save my perfume.

I didn’t want to meet him wearing another designer and so I went in any entirely different direction.

While I was in Hong Kong, I had a tailor make me a cheongsam.

I decided to wear it that night.

When it was my turn to be presented, I was nervous.  After all, what would this great man think of my audacity in NOT wearing a dress by Givenchy?

He looked me up and down.

And then he pronounced.

Très chic!‘ he said.

That was it.

Now I could die and go to heaven.

After all, I now knew what I wanted to be written on my tombstone.

Adieux, mes amies.

Repose en paix.

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Posted in Audrey Hepburn, Fashion, Givenchy, Movies, Perfume | 6 Comments

In Case You Missed It…

Wish me Bon Voyage, Dear Readers.  I’m off on a winter getaway to my favorite place- Aspen.

I’ll be back here with you on Sunday, March 18.  See you then.

Meanwhile….this was supposed to be a brand new post today.

But I just had to walk it back.

Many of you loved my “Happy Anniversary” blog post and let me know it.

I was truly gratified.  You wrote or emailed or called in your praise and congratulations.  So unexpected and so delightful. Why, I even got flowers from TBF’s neighbor!

Thank you one and all.  So glad you enjoyed that one.

BUT you didn’t play the “texting clip!”

Maybe you thought it was a screen shot or just didn’t feel like it.  I don’t know.  After all, I like to flatter myself and believe that ALL of my readers play ALL my video clips so carefully chosen for their delectation.

Whatever the reason you didn’t click on the “texting clip,” poor you.

You really missed out.  If you have ever sent a text message to a significant other, this should really strike a chord.

Here it is again.  And this time, Dear Readers, PRESS THE ARROW.

Pretty Please.

See you back here on March 18.

And text me anytime, babe.

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Posted in Texting | 10 Comments

Tom and Jerry

…So my second husband was from Baltimore and he was a marksman.  I have already written how he saved my life when we were car-jacked at gunpoint in New Orleans   (ICYMI: Read this.)

As I said in that post, he was very comfortable with firearms.  This trait had really paid off when we were attacked in New Orleans but after we got married and moved to a farmhouse in Reisterstown, Maryland, he took to keeping his Winchester rifle in my bedroom closet.

It was kept in my closet because it was long and fit in nicely behind my long skirts and dresses.

I never touched it.  Even though he swore that it wasn’t loaded.  Just the thought of it gave me the creeps.

I asked him to remove it year after year.

And year after year he said no.

So it just sat there.

Which brings us to a Saturday night in December, 1973.

Lord Baltimore suddenly announced that he was going to a Christmas Party thrown by some customers. It was going to be strictly business and spouses were not invited.  He was only going to drop in for one glass of Christmas cheer for the sake of good customer relations.  He’d be home by nine p.m. or so.

Ok.

So he dolled himself up.  He was a clotheshorse.  One of  the very first guys to wear Ralph Lauren ties that he bought at the legendary Britches in Georgetown.

Then he left.

I read.

Then I watched some television.  These were my two biggies back then.

Around eleven p.m. the tv was shut off.

No husband.

By midnight I was concerned.

By one a.m. I was downright worried.

By two a.m. I was frantic.

By three a.m. I was pissed.

There was no one to call. No cell phones of course, and I hadn’t quite caught the name of the restaurant or the hosts.

At TEN THE NEXT MORNING, Lord Baltimore came sauntering in.

Smiling, sheepish, casual, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy who had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Where were you?” I asked.  I was not smiling.

“Well, you see it was the Tom and Jerrys that did me in, Hon.”

(In case you don’t know it, find recipe here.)

“I guess I must have had more than I could handle because they kind of snuck up on me and the next thing I knew I was asleep on a couch and…”

“Where were you?”

“Honest.  Swear to God.  He must have made those drinks so strong that I must have passed out.  I didn’t want to waste one minute phoning you so I just jumped into my car and…”

“Where were you?”

He gave me the same Tom and Jerry story.  This was getting us nowhere.

I went to my closet and pulled out the Winchester.  I was shaking with rage and the gun barrel was shaking right along with me.  I pointed it right at him.

“Now. Where. Were. You?”

That wiped the grin off his face.

Suddenly he was quiet, sober and serious.  Even his posture changed as he straightened up.

“Now, Ellen, put the gun down.  I’m sorry I didn’t call you.  I’m sorry that I was late.”

“Late?  You passed ‘late’ somewhere around midnight.  Where were you?”

“Put down the gun, Honey.  I’ll tell you all about it.  Please, just put the gun down.  Please.”

He got rid of the gun the very next day.

So Melania, the next time that you catch your lying, cheating husband in another outrageous lie, I suggest you do the same to him.

He’ll get rid of the guns pronto.

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Posted in Gun Control | 21 Comments

Happy Anniversary

MY POINT OF VIEW

Congratulate me, Dear Readers.  This month marks my two year dating anniversary with TBF.

It’s been a very happy two years.  TBF is a dream come true.

Tall, handsome, smart, funny – and willing to date someone his own age.  This guy is a catch and I was lucky to find him.

In the past two years, I have gotten the opportunity to really know him.  And guess what?

He’s perfect.  We are as happy as two grown people can possibly be and I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

I might make a few tweaks, though.

Like…

1. His haircut.  He’s lucky enough to have hair.  Can’t he find a barber who won’t shave him so that he resembles Jack Webb in The D.I.?

2. His terrible menu indecision. (The last we went to dinner, he see-sawed back and forth so much between two entrees that the waiter finally took the bull by the horns and made the choice for him.)

3. His stubborn refusal to play golf.

4. His scary food addictions.  (He has an all-consuming passion for butter, eggs, salt, chocolate, ice cream, bread, chips, coffee and beer.  I worry about these unhealthy eating habits.  I don’t want to start the man hunt all over again.)

5.  His total disdain and avoidance of the sci-fi movie genre.  The Martian and Gravity were terrific.  He refused to see them.  But he’s got another think coming if he believes that I’m going to see Ready Player One with Nick as soon as it opens.

6.  His cellphone addiction. What can I say?  He’s never off the damn thing.  He’s always reading it.  I bet he’s reading this on it right now.

Other than that, I have no complaints.

So Happy Anniversary, sweetie.

Here’s to two more.

EQUAL TIME 

Hi, all.  TBF here and thought it was about time you heard my side of the story.  I have been dating Ellen- your favorite blogger- for two years.  And for the past two years, I have kept quiet.

Until now.

Yes, I think she’s pretty and smart and funny.  That’s what attracted me to her.

But get this.

She’s not as pretty and smart and funny as she thinks she is.

She’s useless as a babysitter and completely unacquainted with housework of any kind.  She wouldn’t know a dust mop if it bit her on her woefully-underdeveloped rear end.  The vacuum cleaner weighs more than she does, and as far as doing the dishes goes?  What- and ruin that manicure?

Get real.

I’ve never known a woman more demanding.  Fancy dinners, roses, Friday and Saturday New York Times crossword puzzles.  Have you seen the price of a NYT lately? Ouch.

And can she nag.  She’s on my case all day long.  “That’s too much butter.”  “You don’t need all that salt.”  “Another cookie?”  You get the picture.

And what’s with this obsession with hamburgers?  Do I always have to take her to Superdawg and Beinlich’s?

And why won’t she play chess with me?  I have tried to teach her again and again but she insists on Crazy 8’s.

I have never seen a woman get mad faster than she does.  I want some peace and quiet at my age but all I have to say is,”Dear, I’ve got something to tell you that you probably won’t like…” and she hits the ceiling.  She goes from zero to sixty in a nano-second.  I ask you, is this awful or what?

And can’t a guy get a good home-cooked meal every once in a blue moon?  And help me out, guys.  Is is true that it’s against religious and dietary laws for Jewish women to cook on Sundays?  Do we always have to go out to get Chinese?  Ellen says the Torah says so.

Happy Anniversary, Dear.

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Posted in Dating, Romance, Senior Dating | 20 Comments

Weekly Reader

        

Do you recognize these books?  If they look familiar, maybe you were a member of the Weekly Reader Children’s Book Club, too.

I have never belonged to a club that gave me so much unalloyed joy.

Whenever that alluring, square package arrived in the mail I could hardly wait to tear it open.

I KNEW that it would contain a memorable experience and almost sixty years later, I still stand by the Book Club’s choices.

Half Magic by Edward Eager was a real favorite.  Way before J.K. Rawlings, Edward Eager enchanted children of all ages with his mesmerizing trips back to England in the days of olde when knights were bold.  The children find a coin but to their amazement- and our amusement- they find that it can grant them wishes.  But only half way.  They must double what they want or they get into some interesting adventures.  Still charming after all these years.

Ride Like An Indian by Henry V. Larom  may not have had the most P.C. of titles but back in those more innocent days, it didn’t matter.  The book was easy for horse-crazy me to love.  And I learned that I wanted an Appaloosa named Applesauce a whole lot more than the Palomino I had been previously pining for.  Good info on the Nez Perce tribe, too.

David, the hero in David and The Phoenix by Edmond Ormondroyd befriends a creature, as well.  But it certainly isn’t a horse.  It’s the mythical phoenix- risen from the ashes and trying to teach himself Latin.  In the course of the book, they develop a great bond and David- and the young reader- learns a vital message about the circle of Life.

Follow My Leader by James B. Garfield had another boy/animal theme.  However this one was between newly-blinded Jimmy and a German Shepherd. The book shows young readers how he learns to cope with his disability.  After he- and the reader- attended a school for the blind, he is given his own seeing eye dog named Sirius.  This book taught me compassion for the handicapped.  It was the Wonder of its day.

A Gift From The Mikado by Elizabeth P. Fleming transported the Poate children- Fred, Ernest and Daisy- to a town that had never seen Americans. The Emperor of Japan has bestowed a gift upon them and the villagers try hard to please them.  I learned about the Feast of Dolls and the Festival of Sons.  I read this book in 1958 when I was eight and this was my first visit to an exciting, exotic foreign land.  I had a fascinating journey.

The next two books came right from my library.

The one on the left is Mrs. Coverlet’s Magicians written and illustrated by Mary Nash and the right is (duh) Champion Dog Prince Tom by Jean Fritz and Tom Clute.

(Are you seeing a theme here?  Magic and animals are very big with the Weekly Reader crowd.  That was ok. They were very big with eight year old me, too.)

Mrs. Coverlet’s Magicians deals with a plot dear to the heart of many kid lit writers.  The parents are somehow absent and the kids take over the running of the house.  This was a favorite plot device down through the ages.  And it always works.  What kid wouldn’t want to have hamburgers and ice cream at every meal?  Or make it snow on Christmas?  Or own a beautiful gray mother cat named Heather and her adorable kittens, Mary Mouse, George Soup, Ernest Waffle, Sally Egg and the naught one- John Napkin?   Sign me up!

As for Champion Dog Prince Tom, I learned so much about dog obedience school and the National Field Trials that it made me a fan of hunting dogs for life.

And just look at this.

Who could resist these wonderful pen and ink illustrations of an adorable cocker spaniel puppy?  Not me.

A word here about the terrfic illustrations all these books had.

A tip of the cap has to go out to N.M Bodecker, Wesley Dennis, Joan Raysor, Robert Greiner, Janet Smalley and Ernest Hart.  Their artwork was superb.  The drawings were an integral part to the spell each of these books cast over me.

Eight year old me and sixty-eight year old me agree.  These books are a gift that goes on giving.  Have grandchildren?

Start them here.

Tell ’em The Weekly Reader said so.

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Posted in books, Children's books, Weekly Reader | 2 Comments

Guilty Pleasure

In the Sunday February 4 edition of The New York Times travel section there was a piece entitled “There’s an Art to Ordering Room Service.”

ICYMI: The column by Shivani Vora was filled with helpful and commonsense tips courtesy of Martyn Nail, executive chef of London’s famously elegant Claridge’s hotel.

Some tips I have practiced.

Don’t order a soufflé.  It will be a pancake by the time it reaches you.

Stay simple.  A club sandwich or a Caesar salad are pretty hard to louse up.

Many foods arrive lukewarm after their long trip from the hotel kitchen.  Even in a hot box.  Soup, on the other hand, usually stays hot.

Order through a live person rather by in-room television or tablet.  (Your order taker can give you suggestions and may offer some options not included on the menu.)

I have practiced many of these handy room service tips.

Others I had not.

Mr. Nail suggested ordering course by course, for instance.  Never tried that one.

But one thing is for certain.

I ADORE room service. I am an enthusiastic practitioner of the art of ordering in-room dining.

It all started in 1969 on my honeymoon in at the famed Plaza Hotel in New York City.

Room service, I mean.

(Up to that point, my parents never let us call for food on the family trips.)

I shall never forget that thrilling first time.

Room service, I still mean.

My groom and I perused the menu and came up with a hamburger for me (duh) and a club sandwich for him.

       

I don’t recall how they tasted but I will never forget the tab.

$17.

Nor will I forget the gut-wrenching scream that came out of my brand-new twenty year old spouse.

“$17!  WHAT!!!!!  For a burger and a club sandwich!  That’s outrageous!  They have to be kidding!”***  

***Inflation Notification:  Just for the fun of it, Dear Readers, I looked up the exact same items on the current room service menu at the Plaza.  The hamburger is now $30, the turkey and avocado club is $24, there is an $8 delivery charge and 19% service tax.  That same meal now comes to $71.  Interesting how the digits are reversed.

But I was unmoved by his anguish.  I had discovered something at the Plaza Hotel and would never be the same.

I was in love.

It doesn’t matter if I’m in a dump or a five star hotel.  The very first thing I do- after unpacking- is check out the room service menu.

Here are a few of my highlights in hotel dining.

Let’s start close to home in Chicago.

The Ritz-Carlton and the Four Seasons.

I’ve written before about how we had to live at the Ritz for months after a devastating house fire.  All I can say is that the room service there was delightful.  The frock-coated waiters felt sorry for us and were so accommodating.  They thoroughly spoiled my six year old son, Nick.

(And the rest of us.  What a luxury to be able to order four different entrees.)

As for the Four Seasons, I had occasion to live there during the unhappy time of my trial.  I had originally stayed at the cheaper-but-nearer-to-the-courthouse Allegro Hotel but after four years as the trial dragged on and on, I desperately needed a change of scenery.

Hence the pricey- but lovely- Four Seasons.

Room Service became my best friend.  And after a horrible day in court (is there any other kind?) or a trip to the suburbs, I would call them and order literally anything I felt like eating that night and tell them exactly what time I was arriving and wanted the food to be delivered.

I was encouraged to think outside the hotbox and it was a true foodie’s delight dreaming up anything my little broken heart desired.

We’ve discussed the East Coast. Now let’s take a trip to the Left Coast.

The Beverly Hills Hotel.

They had the GREATEST room service menu and when I really wanted to feel pampered, I’d head out there just to order it a couple of times.

Now, in a nod to the chef at Claridge’s who led off this post, let’s wing across the pond to a bastion of impeccable, delicious room service.

London’s venerable Connaught Hotel.

OMG.  Costs the earth and worth it.   And the linen, silver and china on which they serve their famous cuisine made the experience unforgettable.

Farther east now and on to Hong Kong.

And the grand Peninsula Hotel.

So expensive that even I was afraid to order their room service.  However one November afternoon, my doorbell rang and in came two waiters rolling a silver cart proudly bearing a beautiful chocolate cake.

I had seen the exact same cake in the hotel shop.  It was like $40.

I panicked.

“I didn’t order this!  Who sent this?  I don’t want it.  Please take it away!”

Crest-fallen, the two waiters sadly rolled the cart out.  They looked so dejected that I almost felt sorry for them but I knew that I had done the right thing.

In fact, I was sure that a friend of mine, Skip- a notorious prankster- had sent the cake and then would have it charged to our room.

Whew!  Dodged that room service charge bullet.

A few days later when we checked out the desk clerk said, “I hear that you wouldn’t accept our birthday present.  We are so sorry.  Our cake is famous.’

“Birthday present?  But how did you know…”

Of course.  They had our passports.

Oh well.

And, while we were waiting for our plane to take off, a beaming flight attendant presented me with a bottle of Champagne.  It had a card with it.

“Since you didn’t want the cake, please accept this bottle of bubbly to celebrate your birthday.  Congratulations, The Peninsula Hotel.”

Wow! Airplane service.

Let me close by mentioning one final important point about how to get the most out of room service.  It was not on Mr. Nail’s list.

It’s not what you order that matters most, Mr. Nail.  It’s who you’re ordering room service with.

Sigh.

Now this is what I’m talking about.

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Posted in food, Room Service, Travel | 10 Comments

Be My TV-alentine

This post is dedicated to Rickey Freeman- with the generous forbearance of his beauteous wife, Joan. A kindred spirit when it comes to old television shows, he’s sure to remember everything mentioned here.  Happy VD, my friend.

I hope yesterday was a very happy Valentine’s Day for all of you, Dear Readers.   And in honor of the event, I wanted to harken back to yesteryear to the time in my life B.B.**

**That stands for “Before Boys.”

When I was was an adolescent, my love life was uncomplicated.  Sure, I was infatuated with many handsome hunks.

But they were all in One D.

On tv.

And if I had to guess, I’d say that my heart stirred first at the cover boy that heads today’s blog post.

Tim Considine.  Specifically as “Spin” in the Walt Disney serial The Adventures of Spin and Marty.

Let’s join the boys of the Triple R around the campfire, shall we?

Spin could do everything. He was handsome, brave, a good sport, a great rider- the most popular boy in camp.  I was in love with this Mickey Mouse-endorsed male equivalent of Annette Funicello.

Uncle Walt must have agreed that he had a big star in Tim.

He made him a Hardy Boy.

And then he cast him The Shaggy Dog.

Fred MacMurray must have liked working with Tim, too, because from there he ended up as “Mike” on My Three Sons.

Truth be told, I had kind of a yen for the middle brother Robbie, too.  Played by Don Grady, he was real cute, and when older brother Mike got married…well, that left Robbie for me.

Well I remember the night that Robbie’s wedding aired.  Girls were glued to the common room television set- with their hair in rollers- waiting to get a glimpse of theses thrilling tv nuptials.

(As for yours truly, I had a real life date by now.)

But the boys of MTS didn’t take up all the room in my pre-teen heart.

There was this guy.

That’s Richard Chamberlain- in case you didn’t recognize him- and to me he will always be Dr. Kildare.

Here he is with Barbara Eden and another love of my life (but only when he was portraying Maynard G. Krebs) Bob Denver.

But I didn’t restrict my guys to the big cities.  I liked them on horseback, too.

Guy Williams as Zorro

Annette Funicello had a BIG crush of Guy, as well. For her birthday, Uncle Walt gave her a guest-starring part on Zorro.

Neat-O.

Another Disney serial gave me heart pangs, as well. I had a big crush on Buddy Ebsen as trusty sidekick Georgie Russell in The Adventures of Davey Crockett.

Then there was Robert Horton as intrepid trail scout Flint McCullough in Wagon Train.

And I liked my tv heartthrobs mysterious, too.

Spies and private detectives were very big with little ol’ me.

Let’s start with Ilya Kuryakin- David McCallum- in The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Sigh.

Here he is impressing Nancy Sinatra.

And I was nuts about Stu Bailey- Efrem Zimbalist, Jr.- on 77 Sunset Strip.

Check out the cool car and the cooler patter.

Doug McClure as Jed Sills on Checkmate captured my queen.

And even though I was a senior in high school by this time, I made room for my first real girl crush. Diana Rigg as the alluring- and lethal- Emma Peel on The Avengers.

Check out her very first meeting with John Steed.

Only too too FABULOUS.

Never going to top that.

Be still my tv heart.

BTW, I’ll always be in love with these guys.

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Posted in Nostalgia, Television | 14 Comments

Dance Party

That’s American Bandstand, Dear Readers.  It ran from 1952 all the way until 1989.

In 1956, after the emcee, Bob Horn, was fired for a drunk-driving arrest, Dick Clark became the show’s perennially-young host.

On August 5, 1957 ABC began showing it nationally at 3:30 Philly Time.

I could catch it on our basement Sentinel tv set right after grammar school.

Remember Kenny, Arlene, Justine, Bob and Carmen?

They were my heroes.

They taught me how to dance.

Starting around age nine, I started watching the gang intently trying to copy their unbelievably slick dance moves.

And to this day, certain songs bring back vivid memories of dancing in the basement all by myself à la Risky Business.

Author’s Note:  Just watching this clip reminds me of simpler, more innocent times when Tom Cruise was just plain adorable.  Not nuts.

Back to the music.

It’s time to Rate-a-Record!

(Btw, these tunes have a real good beat and you can dance to them.)

This first dance was invented on Bandstand in 1958.  “The Stroll” by Chuck Willis.

This next dance came from Philly, too.   And it also debuted in 1958.   Come on, gang! Let’s do the Bop to “At the Hop” by Danny and The Juniors.

My favorite dance had to be the cha cha.  I was good at it.  And here’s my favorite song to do the cha cha to.

It came out in 1960.  Jerry Butler’s “He Don’t Love You.”

Our next record is by Joey Dee and the Starlighters.   Everybody on your feet for 1961’s”The Peppermint Twist!”

Freddie “Boom Boom” Cannon held the record for the most appearances on American Bandstand.

In his honor, how about dancing to 1962’s Palisades Park?”

Time for a slow dance now, I think.  One where that really cute boy could wrap his arms around you and you two would stand still and kind of sway to the music.

The Beachboys in 1964 with “In My Room.”

Sigh.

But who could ever forget jitterbugging to the great Dion and “Runaround Sue?”

Excuse me, guys. 1961 is calling and I’ve just to go to my basement and practice.

Later, Alligator.

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Posted in Childhood, Dances, Music | 6 Comments