Author: Susan Margolis Stillman

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Open Up

openness

I recently met up with some old friends I haven’t seen for years. It was so fun to reconnect with them. Driving home I flipped through my mental Rolodex, thinking of all the people I’ve befriended in my life (if we don’t have actual Rolodexes anymore, can I still keep my mental Rolodex?) Then my husband was channel surfing the other night and came across a Seinfeld episode. I was drawn to the TV – it felt like running into old friends who were a huge part of my life. So much so that a real (not TV) friend who I worked with during the Seinfeld years recently sent me an obituary of an actor who played a character on Seinfeld (Mr. Kruger,) as if he was our mutual friend. I guess, like all the Seinfeld characters, he sort of was.

I cherish my friends, each for their special qualities and the joy they bring to my life. While I’m not necessarily actively recruiting new friends, I am open to whomever might cross my path. Sometimes you meet someone and there’s a spark – a connection, if you will. Wow, you think, I would like to get to know this person better. Many people say they don’t have time to see the people they already know; how could they possibly interview and “date” new people? When I meet someone new and there’s a spark, I am magically able to make room in my life. It’s funny how that happens.

In my middle-age I am an odd juxtaposition of intolerance and openness. I can be cranky and set in my ways, yet I can also be excited about life and open to new experiences and people. I think of myself as a social misanthrope, although my truly misanthropic friends scoff at this description of friendly old me.

I’ve turned to yoga – something I never thought I would do. I’ve been practicing on and off for three years at the same studio. One of my favorite instructors talks about the line between effort and ease in yoga practice – I’m all about trying to achieve that balance, in yoga and in life. I like the idea of stretching myself to experience new things, becoming a stronger person in a way that feels manageable yet sometimes a little uncomfortable to me.

Sure, many people are most comfortable with people who are like them- same neighborhood, same schools, kids the same age, etc. That’s where many of my closest friends come from too. But I also like hanging out with different people.

For instance, if you had told me ten years ago that I would be hanging out with many religious Jewish women, I would have said you’re crazy. Lo and behold, here I am – immersed in organizations that provide wonderful services for my son with special needs and a group that takes women to Israel as a means to inspire and empower women with Jewish values. We may dress differently, have different lifestyles and varying levels of religious observance but our desire to achieve the same goals brings us together and makes for some wonderful relationships.

I can be a closed book or open to new chapters. For me, it’s the characters that make the book really interesting. Thanks to all the characters in my story.

 

 

 

 

 

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Today University

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My kids and I tagged along on my husband’s business trip to Mexico last week so we headed to the airport on a cold, snowy morning for a 7:00am flight. We trudged through security and were making our way to our gate among the tide of travelers.

My husband is six-feet tall, giving him a better view of the world than 5-foot-4-inch me. “There’s Katie Couric,” he casually said. Sure enough, not five feet in front of me was Katie. I was so excited. Katie Couric is an iconic celebrity in my world. I was a fan of the Today Show in my earlier adult years. I followed Katie’s life – the birth of her daughters, the early death of her husband to colon cancer. She was raised in the Washington area (Virginia, actually) so I always felt a connection for a hometown girl. It looked like some other people had recognized her and were chatting and walking with her.

We kept our onward movement and ended up walking next to Katie. She looked at us and smiled.

“Hi Katie,” I said.

Thus began a lovely interaction.

“Were you here visiting family?” I asked.

“Actually, I interviewed Rand Paul. He’s running for president,” she replied.

She remarked how she was surprised that so many people had recognized her this early morning as she felt she looked terrible.

“Katie, you look like a regular person,” I assured her.

“I’m Susan and this is Brad,” I said. “Since we know your name, it seems only fair that you know ours.”

We chatted about our upcoming trip. Then Katie told us that her mother had died recently and they had sold her house.

“My mother died too and my dad’s selling their house,” I commiserated.

She was so lovely and nice and normal. It was such a thrill for me. I called my sister when we changed planes. Our mother was a huge Today show fan. We used to joke that she studied at the University of the Today Show, where she got much of her news and information. She always thought that my husband looked like Matt Lauer, although Katie did not mention the resemblance.

After Katie left, our kids asked, “Who was that?” Of course, they had no idea the magnitude of the celebrity sighting. They sort of understood after hearing me tell the story to several people at the meeting we attended.

“I can’t believe you did that,” one of the spouses said. “I would never do that – I would worry that I was bothering her or intruding on her privacy.”

I think I’m a pretty good reader of people and felt like taking a risk. Katie was open and receptive to chatting. If she wasn’t, I would have left her alone. We were walking to our destinations the whole time – I did not ask for an autograph (does anyone even do that anymore?) or take a selfie with her. We were just two people making a connection that cold, early morning. I like to think my mother got a huge kick out of my celebrity sighting from her grand view up in heaven.

“Maybe your mother sent her,” another spouse suggested. Maybe she did.

I like to take occasional chances. If not Today, than when?

 

 

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Soiling the Nest

Soiling the Nest

My son’s departure date is fast approaching. He just graduated from high school and is going on a three-month learning experience in Israel and Eastern Europe. I vacillate between being irritated by him/looking forward to his leaving and adoring him/being excited for his adventure/feeling a smidge sad that he’s going. Just the other day he came back from a four-day youth group convention out of town. It was just starting to snow and I was cooking delicious treats, looking forward to being snowed in with my family.

“I’m going to spend the night at my friend’s house,” he announced, “I haven’t seen my buddies in five days.”

“Okaaay, but you’re going to spend three months with them,” I reminded him. I had hoped he would want to spend some time with us, and then felt a little pathetic, like a dog waiting for scraps of attention. I had a brief pity party and then I remembered being seventeen. I preferred my friends’ company to my family’s for a long time. My son has clearly crossed the line of wanting to be with his friends more than with his family. I know it’s normal and appropriate, but sometimes it bugs me. How could he not want to be with us? Aren’t we as awesome as we think we are? I also find annoying his occasional intolerance of my benign inquiries, like “what are your plans for the day?” I’m an awful, intrusive mother – obviously.

I was venting to my sister about my mixed emotions. “Sounds like he’s soiling the nest,” she said.

Precisely. I have heard about this phenomenon and am now experiencing it firsthand. Obviously, he is not literally soiling our home. Psychologists say graduating seniors may struggle with vulnerability and self-doubt about being equipped to fling themselves into the daunting unknowns of the next stage of life.  They cannot directly confront their sadness about saying good-bye to the familiar “knowns” of childhood. How could they take flight, so weighed down by such emotional burdens? Better to fling off all that drag and fixate only on enhancing the “good riddance” of their good-byes. Better yet, why not soil the nest on the way out, “gifting” US with an easier “good-riddance to you too”  good-bye ?!  The more toxic and messy they are, the easier transitioning to the next phase will be, for them, and for us.  I know we’ve got a fairly mild case of nest soiling. My son is not toxic or even particularly messy. He is generally sweet and thoughtful. But I gotta say – I’ll be kind of glad when he goes. This waiting period is hard. Ripping the band-aid off seems the better way to go.

The parties are over, the important talks have been had, with emphasis on “Don’t do anything to embarrass yourself, your family or your school.” Let’s face it – it’s about him, but it’s also about us – the parents. No big to-do or send-off as we cross the line of this next milestone in the life of our family.

There have already been inquiries from his siblings about the use of his empty bedroom. Looks like some nest-reorganizing is in our future. At least until what’s-his-name comes back.

 

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Scars

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While backing my minivan out of my garage last week, I clipped my side-view mirror and it broke. Some of my kids were in the car – they were aghast. No worry, I assured them. It was an accident. Clearly I did not intend to cause damage to my car. Yes, it is a nuisance, a financial burden, and an inconvenience. But it is not the end of the world.

Sure, it takes age and experience to react this way. In my younger days I would have been more upset and agitated. I would have been reluctant and full of trepidation to tell my husband. Not anymore. This 50-plus year old is confident and liberated when it comes to dealing with life’s foibles. I didn’t mean to hurt my car, I explained to my kids. Like scraping your knee or cutting your finger – these things happen. Yes, I’ll have to eventually replace my mirror, although fortunately I can still use it. But for now it’s just one of life’s scars, a boo-boo if you will.

I was on a roll…what a great analogy for life to pontificate to my kids about on the way to school. Scars are evidence of a life lived. It’s easier to cope with life when things go smoothly but it is the trying times that truly test your mettle. Mustering up grace in the face of adversity is a difficult life-skill to master. I could leave the car in the garage and never drive it – then it would never have dings, scratches or bird-poop splotches. What would be the good of having a car? The same thing applies to life. You can sit in your house and be fearful of experiencing new things, failure, meeting new people or going outside of your comfort zone. Or, you can get out there and live.

So when I picked up my kids that day, they said, “Did you tell Dad about the car?”

“Of course I did – I’m not scared of him,” I assured them.

Okay, I was not exactly chomping at the bit to tell him about the car. However, over the course of our marriage, I have developed a system of communicating bad news that has worked quite well. I would email my husband about potentially difficult topics – getting caught speeding by hidden traffic cameras, ordering drapes that I loved that happened to be exorbitantly priced – so that he could digest and process my news before reacting. As the years have gone by, and we have both been busted by those dreaded traffic cameras, I need to use this tactic less frequently. I just speak to him directly. He wasn’t thrilled about the broken car mirror but he understood it could happen to anyone. Now, when we see the dreaded notice from the Department of Motor Vehicles in the mail, my husband will wonder aloud who has gotten the speeding ticket. One came just this week. I quickly confessed that I thought it was me and predicted exactly where and when it occurred. What could have been a tense and uncomfortable situation had now became a game of recall called “where was I caught speeding?”

So my side-view mirror is partially shattered, but usable. Actually, I kind of enjoy seeing the prism and distortion it creates when I glance at it – it brings a little surprise/psychedelia to the banality of my chauffeur duties. I might as well enjoy the trip until I get it fixed.

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Look Away

Looking_away__by_dontpromiseme

My eldest is leaving the house this month. Seniors at his school graduate in February and go on a three-month trip to Israel with a side-tour to Eastern Europe. He’ll leave a vacant bedroom and the family “hot-seat.” When you have several children, a parent’s attention shifts from child to child depending on who’s the neediest at the time. Our family configuration will change with the oldest gone. I have mixed emotions but mostly I’m happy for him as he sets off for the next phase of his life. Full disclosure – I’m also sad to lose the extra driver in my family. He’s been driving his 13-year-old brother to school for the past year, a job which I now get to resume. I enjoyed the hiatus but am intrigued by the opportunities this presents. I was driving my two youngest to school recently and asked my son if he and his brother talked much when they drove to school together.

“Some,” he said, “but usually we’re pretty tired.”

“Well, now you and I will get lots of time to talk,” I enthusiastically said.

In my rear view mirror, this prompted an excellent, textbook eye-roll from my daughter. I knew I was on to something.

With the eldest leaving the nest, I can turn my attention to the other children in the house. We’re done with driving lessons, college entrance exams, the college search, etc with the first-born. Sure, there will be other things we need to teach him but from a different vantage point. It won’t be that daily, up-close-in-your-face kind of parenting.

It’s the lucky children who remain in the house who are the recipients of our wisdom and attention, whether they want it or not. Next in the birth order in our family is our son with special needs. He gets a lot of attention for his health issues – he has a feeding tube and a medication schedule, but truthfully – as long as he is relatively healthy and happy our attention stops there. It’s the third child who is next in line for our scrutiny. I’m sure he has no idea what’s in store for him. I’m looking forward to getting to know this creature again, now that he’s smack in the middle of the teenage morphing years. Maybe now that I’ve practiced my parenting skills on my eldest, I can perfect them with this child. Or maybe I’ve learned what’s important and I just won’t care about the same stuff. It’s kind of like a weird science experiment – so many variables and hypotheses.

Strangely, I find myself thinking of the swimming pool of all places. For a few years, I volunteered as a “stroke and turn” judge for our neighborhood summer swim team. I had to scan three of the six lanes of the pool to make sure the swimmers were swimming “legally.” If there happened to be only one swimmer and two empty lanes, we were taught to keep scanning as if there were three swimmers so the one swimmer didn’t have a disadvantage of being watched every moment. Each swimmer should benefit from the judge’s gaze being averted.

This struck me as a great metaphor for parenting. I don’t think it serves my children well to have my attention every minute, all the time. I am constantly scanning their lives while deliberately looking away occasionally. Nobody wants to be watched all the time.

By looking away, I may miss the occasional “illegal” strokes or turns in my kids’ lives. Let’s hope my parental scanner will pick up the stuff that really counts.

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A Warm Legacy

A Warm Legacy

Recently I was under the weather for a couple of days with chills and achiness. It was nothing serious, but it sent me to bed at times to try to warm up. I climbed into bed, fully dressed in my jeans and sweatshirt, and piled on the blankets. My mother’s gone from this earth but I felt her presence as I lay in bed shivering. She passed on the wisdom of the electric mattress pad – a bed warmer, if you will, which I cranked up to high and waited to be warmed up like a piece of bread in a toaster.

I don’t remember it from my childhood so I think she discovered this modern adaptation of metal bed warmers filled with hot coals and the hot water bottle when I was an adult. She talked often about how much she loved it. Like many children, I nodded my head, smiled, and said “uh-huh,” as if I was listening or was interested in a discussion about mattress pads. I had no interest, or the need, for such a thing.

I was too busy doing other life-stuff for such trivial matters. I got married, which theoretically produces a warmer with whom to share your bed. Then the kids came along so my bed was heated by the combustible energy of children coming and going. As everyone started sleeping through the night and I was getting older, I became colder. “Old and cold,” I joked. I started to seriously contemplate my mother’s idea. My husband scoffed at it. “I like getting into a cold bed,” he proclaimed. I don’t. Those first few moments of sheer icy-coldness when you turn in after a long day? Not so much.

So what did I give my husband for our anniversary a couple of years ago? Wait for it…but of course, a Sunbeam electric mattress pad. Okay, I knew he didn’t want one but I was hoping he would change his mind when he actually had one in his hands. As you might guess, he was underwhelmed with the gift. I think he was offended that I would call into question his ability to warm up the bed. Plus, it was so obviously a gift for me, not “us,” he said.  He had clearly expressed no interest in this foreign bed invasion and I deliberately chose not to hear him.  It was admittedly not one of my finer gift-giving moments.

“But there are dual controls, so we can each control the temperature on our own side of the bed,” I enthusiastically explained to no avail. That first winter, he resisted it. I don’t think he used it once. By the next winter he was curious, and cold, and finally began using it. He won’t say it, but I dare say he has come to love it almost as much as me. It has become part of our winter, nighttime ritual, in that whoever goes up to bed first turns on the bed-warmers. Getting into bed in the winter has become a delight – a warm, toasty bed greets me.

The added benefit? It’s part of my mother’s legacy. She’s still tucking me in.

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Good Ol’ Teddy

teddy-bear

We recently trolled for treasure at my in-laws house so our kids could pick out some keepsakes. My husband came across his childhood teddy bear, which he decided to bring home with us. I was a little hesitant as Teddy had definitely seen better days. He has black ears, arms and legs and apparently had a white body but most of the fur is gone from so much loving and cuddling. My husband’s grandmother performed a surgical repair to replace his chest and tummy with white fabric. Teddy has reddish eyes with black pupils but almost no nose or mouth to speak of.

Who knew that resuscitating this bear could once again give its owner such joy? Teddy has brought us innumerable laughs. It’s surprisingly been a mischievous break from the daily grind.

On Teddy’s first night in our house, I tucked him into my  husband’s side of the bed so he greeted him when he came to bed. It made hubby smile. We chuckled that Teddy may feel a little awkward having to share my husband’s affection with me. The next night I came to bed to find Teddy perched atop our headboard, lording over the marital bed, my husband joked. I confessed that I thought Teddy was creepy and scary-looking and flung him to the floor.

I have gotten enormous pleasure from surprising my husband by posing Teddy in varying and amusing attire. Part of the rush for me is that I forget about Teddy until I go up to bed, when hubby is generally not far behind – I often have only a few moments, wildly looking around the room for inspiration and humor.  First I tied a bandanna around his head, so he looked sort of like Bruce Springsteen, of whom my husband is a big fan. The biggest laughs so far came when I had him sitting in a chair in our bedroom with my reading glasses on and “reading” on husband’s kindle. It made us both laugh so hard, we cried. The silliness of it tickled our funny-bones – go figure.

If our kids are around, they share in the fun. Otherwise it’s just one of those silly things that keeps life light and fun in the midst of the harder times of being adults.

Apparently teddy bears aren’t just for kids anymore. Or we’re just kids in the body of adults…old and weathered like Teddy.

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Being Prepared

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My husband came home from a meeting the other night and with a smirk told me one of the attendees had been the executive director of a local cemetery. The smirk was for my benefit because I’ve been gently nagging him for quite a while to buy us cemetery plots. He thinks I am morbid and resists. He’s hoping someone will come up with a cure for death before he has to cope with it’s consequences. Maybe this meeting was divine intervention.

I, on the other hand, wish to live to a ripe old age but am not expecting a death cure, or the Messiah’s arrival for that matter, before I die. When I was growing up, my parents had cemetery plots that they had purchased with my grandparents. I always knew where they would end up. Sure, it’s weird to go visit my late mother in Virginia as we always lived across the Potomac River in Maryland but there was a comfort that when one of them died there was one less decision to be made during a very sad and emotional time.

It’s odd, because I’m not necessarily a planner and don’t worry too much about the future. I do know however, that like all living things, my life will end. It just seems like the responsible, adult thing to do. My parents did it – shouldn’t I?

Truth be told, I’m also a little cuckoo about where I’d like my plot to be so I want to have a say in the matter. I have a thing about traffic noise – I don’t really like it. For instance, when we shopped for houses I would always stand outside and listen carefully for highway noises. This would be the kiss of death for a house. My husband thought I was a little crazy but, hey, we all have our quirks.

So my final resting place must be in a serene environment where traffic noise is negligible. I’ve been at a few funerals where the noise is a distraction to my thoughts. I know, I know – I won’t actually hear the noise since I’ll be dead but my survivors would, and that would bug me (although I’m sure it would make them chuckle.) It’s all about location, right? I have no control over when my life will end but I do have control over where I will rest eternally.

“How about buying me plots for my next birthday?” I joked with my husband.

I’m not joking. One could say I’m dead serious.

 

 

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Ode to the Internet

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“My goal is to leave my house as little as possible,” my sister said. “Is it possible to get Meals-on-Wheels if you are able-bodied?” she wondered.

“Yes. Yes it is. It’s called “Peapod,” I reminded her.

Oh how I love the Internet. I may not be as tech-savvy as my children, but I have mastered how to use the computer to make my life easier. Shlep around from store to store looking for appropriate dress shoes for an eleven-year-old girl? Fuggedaboudit…shop on Zappos. Can’t find a specific, coveted grocery item in your neighborhood stores? The odds are great that Amazon has it and then some.

Being Jewish, at Christmas time I contract a case of serious mall-phobia. This year, I was able to get around this shopping moratorium by perusing the stores from the comfort of my home. Packages arrived on my doorstep – what could be better? When I burn out on my same old recipes, I just turn to trusted Auntie Internet – she always has something new to offer. Music, television, books, magazines, podcasts – the waiting room at your doctor’s office has never been so exciting.

Sure, the amount of time people spend on the internet can be annoying. We should all look up, engage, be present – all things I say to my teenagers. But when the Internet is used appropriately, it is awesome. My kids and their cousins recently discovered a game on the Internet – Trivia Crack. It’s Trivial Pursuit, revisited. Instead of ignoring us, they kept running into the room shouting questions at us —who was the President when the atomic bomb was dropped? Which of these artists were Impressionists? It struck me as good, not evil, because while everyone can play on their own devices, it encourages collaboration (okay – cheating) and good old healthy competition.

Recently my husband turned me on to podcasts. He thought a particular one, “The Moth” would be of interest to me.

“Its people telling stories – you write stories,” he reasoned, “you should check it out.”

I love listening to these stories – it’s kind of like meeting an interesting person at a party. For ten minutes, I’m enraptured with the telling. And sometimes that’s all I’m interested in…I don’t necessarily want to read a book on the subject. I thoroughly enjoy meeting the person and learning something new and/or being entertained for a few moments.

Obviously, the fact that I have the chance to try something new in my middle-age…writing this blog, gives me another reason to love the Internet. I try not to fear new things or be a “granny,” as I affectionately call friends who scoff at technology.

Whether you’re a granny, a shut-in, a Trivia Crack-head, or looking for a place within ten miles to purchase organic rutabaga, there’s something for everyone on the Internet.

I hope you find something on-line (or off-line) that delights you in 2015. From the “staff” at Let Me Tell You Something (okay – me, my husband, and my sister) we wish you all a Happy New Year!

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Margarita Madness

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I had three couples coming to my house for a dinner party, but no idea what I was going to serve. It’s 2014, meaning this was not going to be your mother’s dinner party. It had to be a kosher meal that accommodated a vegetarian, a gluten-free person, and some meat lovers. What a challenge to please everyones’ palate. I pored through cookbooks, recipes I’ve torn out of newspapers and magazines, and the internet. I was determined to make everyone happy and try some new recipes.

Then, as if by magic, something caught my eye on a high shelf in my kitchen – those margarita glasses from my wedding registry. We thought we would have many festive parties and use them all the time. I have never used them in the twenty years I’ve been married. So much for that idea. Shockingly, life has not been one big party.

I had found the idea to build my dinner party around – margaritas! Who cared that it was cold outside? Festivities are called for year-round.

Slowly, it all came together. Here’s what I served:

  • Guacamole and Chips
  • Carrot, Chile and Cilantro Soup
  • Sliced Skirt Steak on a bed of Spanish Rice
  • Chopped Romaine Salad with corn, black beans and tomatoes
  • Spicy, Smoky Lentils
  • Corn and Flour Tortillas
  • Sides of Salsa Verde, Chipolte Salsa, Cabbage, Avocado and Green Onions
  • Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Brittle
  • Sweet-Potato Cake
  • Sliced Oranges

It was a labor of love to cook for my friends and create a meal that everyone could enjoy. I’ve put two of the recipes from this meal that my guests enjoyed on my blog if you’d like to try them too. The margaritas were a delicious and fun addition to the usual wine, beer and scotch. Apparently I gave my friend an idea, as she wrote me the next day:

“You inspired me: on our way home, I conducted a mental inventory of our unused kitchen items, and came up with: a vintage 1970’s punch bowl, a waffle iron…and my mother-in-law’s circa 1955 jello molds.  I’m thinking the punch bowl is the way to go for our next dinner party (it’s really groovy, with green blown glass and matching cups), though I’m a little curious to break out the jello molds.  Maybe the ticket is to add some vodka to the jello before I chill it??”

Did someone say Jello? I totally want to be invited to that dinner party!

Sure my mother, in her Martha Stewart way, taught me that things don’t always have to be used for their intended purpose – I may have used the margarita glasses once to serve a dessert in. I am a big cleaner-outer but somehow have not been able to give the glasses away. I knew there was a party waiting to happen, and those glasses were going to be waiting for me saying “hola, what took you so long?”

I can now scratch that off my list. As my husband and I were cleaning up, enjoying the afterglow and buzz of the party, we were deciding whether to wash the glasses by hand or put them in the dishwasher.

“Why not put them in the dishwasher? If they break, I don’t think we’d miss them,” he said.

Nope, I couldn’t risk it so I hand-washed them. It was a delightful evening – God willing, there will definitely be more parties in my future. Who knows what other inspiring treasures I’ll find in my house? Maybe next we’ll have a slumber party and I can finally use those breakfast-in-bed trays.