Dolce Zitella's Latest Post, Life Lessons

My Dad – The Ad Man

Father’s Day is this Sunday.  Here’s a re-post about my dad.


Back in the day, my father was a G-rated version of Don Draper – one of the original “ad men” of the 1960’s.  For most of his career, he worked in the advertising department at NBC.  As a child, I didn’t understand what he did, but I surmised it was important because he worked in Rockefeller Center and had a view of the skating rink from his office windows.

Years later, I understood just what his job entailed.  His department was responsible for all the print advertising for the network.  The graphic artists and copywriters created ads and he produced them, by working closely with engravers and typesetters.  He then bought space in the various newspapers and magazines that would run the ads.  Faced with the pressure of constant deadlines, he often schmoozed and negotiated with the printers, all the while cajoling the artists to get them to turn their work in on time.  My father worked long hours.  And he suffered from migraines.

My father’s immigrant father owned a small, independent, neighborhood fruit and vegetable store in Queens, New York.  My grandfather spent his life lifting and carrying crates.

Despite how tired my father must have been from his long work week at NBC, he sometimes helped out at the family store on Saturdays, and I doubt he and my grandfather ever talked to each other about work.  I’m not sure if my grandfather understood the power of the media or saw the work my father did as meaningful.

When my father retired, he traded in his suit and briefcase for a set of golf clubs.  These days, he goes out to breakfast with the ROMEOS (Retired Old Men Eating Out), wearing the Life is Good baseball cap I gave him a few years ago.  He thought the slogan was a reference to his retirement.  But it was also meant to acknowledge how hard he worked to give our family a good life.

Thank you, Dad.  Happy Father’s Day.

 

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Girl Talk

A Big Ol’ Bag of Epsom Salt

Everybody’s talking about self-care.  It’s the new buzz word.  But it means something different to every woman I know.  It might be daily yoga practice for one haggard working mom, while it’s all about reclining on the couch binge-watching Hallmark movies for another working gal.  My mother is very clear about self-care:  she just wants some quiet time to read a good book.  My office mate’s self-care takes place in the kitchen, with flour, sugar, butter, and a rolling pin.  Me, all I need is a bathtub full of hot water and a big ol’ bag of Epsom salt.

Epsom salt, really?

Yup.

Since Epsom salt is having a moment, I’ve noticed a few new fancy label options that may be infused with lavender or eucalyptus.  And you may prefer that.  But for me, the whole point of Epsom salt is its purity – no dyes, chemicals, or added fragrance.  Just a tried-and-true medicinal that works.  This stuff is chock-full of magnesium and when I dissolve two cups of it in my bath water and soak for 15 minutes, I get the same benefit as a pricey massage.  In fact, a large bag of Epsom salt costs about five dollars whether you buy it in the drug store or super market.  But please don’t let that hefty bag detract you.  You could store your Epsom salt in a pretty footed glass apothecary jar or a kitschy vintage tin to add a decorative touch in your bathroom.

Trust me on this.  An Epsom salt bath will relax you, relieve your aches and pains, and help you get a good night’s sleep.  Now that’s self-care!

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