Life Lessons

The Violet Hour

The violet hour.  That’s the phrase T.S. Eliot used in his poem The Waste Land to describe the end of the day.  But he wasn’t only describing the color of the sky at sunset, he was also evoking melancholy.  Eliot got the visual right – the sky is actually purple some evenings.  But I’m not buying into all of his sadness and gloom.  Because for me, the violet hour offers serenity, a respite from the fast-paced day.

sunset on the roofdeck

Singer/songwriter Carole King – now she got it right.  Her song Up on the Roof is one of James Taylor’s signature hits.  The notion that you can find solace and peace by climbing up to the roof might seem idealistic, romantic even.  A skeptic would ask: Who does this?  How high up does one have to climb?  Isn’t it dangerous? 

I’m not exactly sure how high up it is, but my roof deck sits atop a seven-story brick building, offering a 360-degree panoramic view of my city.  One of my neighbors goes up there at dawn with her first cup of coffee.  Another likes to sunbathe in the noon-time heat.  Me, I wait for the violet hour, when all of nature slows down.  It’s my favorite time of day.

How do you spend the violet hour?  Whatever you do, here’s a little mood music:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1lwPQhN9gI&list=RDR1lwPQhN9gI&index=1

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Life Lessons, Mothers and Daughers

Shades of Gray

My mom’s about to celebrate a birthday.  How old is she?  If you ask, she’ll gladly reveal her age.

Mom and me 1961

Married young, she had her children right away, so my mom was always the youngest of all my friends’ mothers.  However, she inherited the “prematurely gray” gene prevalent on her mother’s side of the family, and was coloring her hair by her mid-twenties.

Funny, now the young women that age are dyeing their hair “granny gray” to get the same look.

My mother remained patient as I, an indecisive teenager, was shopping in the junior department in Macy’s Herald Square.  The way the florescent lights caught the top of her head, my mother’s hair no longer looked dark brown, but a rather unnatural shade of olive green.

“Mom!” I gasped. “Your hair looks really strange.”

She peered into a mirror and blurted out, “EXPLETIVE! It’s oxidized!”

A few weeks later, instead of getting her roots touched up, she began wearing a wide headband to cover the gray.  Then she skipped a haircut.  There was a method to this madness, I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

When she finally went to the hairdresser, I accompanied her.  “Cut off all the dark brown, the red highlights, and that other color that defies a name!” she instructed her hairdresser.  “I don’t care how short it is.  I’m ready to be gray!”  Mind you, she was still only in her forties.

Luckily, it was the new wave 1980’s and short asymmetrical punk hair styles were in vogue.  Her new look was chic and dramatic.  She looked fabulous.  She still does.

The “prematurely gray” gene skipped over me.  But as soon as I graduated from a subtle sprinkling of “icicles” to looking as if I’d been house painting and doing a messy job of it, out came the bottle of hair dye.  Like any other addiction, it’s become a nasty habit.  Lately I’ve been thinking about quitting.

Birthday GirlMy mother has always been comfortable in her own skin.  She serves as a model for me on how to age gracefully.

Thanks Mom…

And Happy 77th Birthday!

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Life Lessons

I Blame Shakespeare

The “rom-com” plot never changes: the pretty, but downtrodden, single woman gets saved by the rich, good looking, completely idealized man, whose only flaw is that it takes him a little while to figure out that he’s in love with her; then in the last ten minutes of the movie, he must race somewhere to find her and keep her from leaving town.

“Feel good movies,” that’s what they’re called.  But who feels good after seeing them?  Single women?  Like seeing this one movie is going to wash away past hurts and disappointments, bringing instead, inspiration and hope to carry on – and to believe – yes believe, that the exact same thing will happen for you because Mr. Right is just around the very next turn…

While channel surfing late one night, I realized this movie formula was well-established with 1950’s films like Sabrina, and the Doris Day comedies.  Who says that in order to have a happy ending, the couple must get together?

The BardShakespeare.  He’s the one.  All the comedies end with a wedding, just as all the tragedies end with a death.  We’ve had over four hundred years of conditioning!  But The Bard was wrong.  This is the new millennium and, back me up here ladies, in the real world the guy tells the girl that he doesn’t deserve her, that she’s going to be a great wife for some other lucky guy, blah, blah, blah, before leaving her with a few mementos and a broken heart.

So what’s a modern girl to do?

I muted the television and sat for a while in the darkness, only the blue glow of the screen lighting my way.  And in the solitude of my apartment, I figured it out.

It’s time to change the narrative.  You can’t expect or rely on another person for your happiness.  You have to find your own bliss.  A happy ending can be whatever you want it to be.red poppy

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Life Lessons

Depleted

Stick a fork in me – I’m done.  Am I exhausted?  Stressed?  Try depleted.  Like many of you, I’ve been working late nearly every night.  When I get home I’m tired and hungry.  My evening is deemed a success if my dinner goes beyond scrambled eggs, everything gets organized for the morning, and I’ve caught the 10:30 pm weather report.

This month’s issues of Marie Claire, Food Network Magazine, and MORE are waiting to be read; a neat stack of books on my coffee table including Adriana Trigiani’s latest, “All the Stars in the Heavens,” and Mary Karr’s memoir “Lit,” are temping me.  But keeping up with my reading has been challenging of late.

Last week, an out-of-town friend texted me:  MISS U…PHONE APT NEXT WED NITE?  Since when does a phone call need to be scheduled?  And how did we get so busy that dinner with an upstairs neighbor is not possible until the last week of April?

Our lives are cluttered.  The rushing around, I don’t mind so much.  Despite my many years in Boston, I’m still a New Yorker at heart.  What I miss is the time and the quiet needed for meaningful contemplation.  Decompression from the work day takes place on the noisy, bumpy bus ride home.  Thinking and planning occurs in the shower.  And it’s just me.  How on earth do the moms do it?  They deserve Superman capes!

It’s no wonder we’re all addicted to coffee.  But caffeine can only do so much when you’re depleted.   It’s time for a dose of something that can really heal me.

walk on the beach

In a few weeks, I’ll be going on retreat, returning to a welcoming old house by the sea.  I know my weekend at the ocean will be restorative.  And the spiritual renewal will lift me.  The tranquility of the retreat will be the shot in the arm I need.  Until then, I’ll have to settle for another cup of joe.red poppy

 

 

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Girl Talk, Life Lessons

Buy Yourself Jewelry

neccosValentine’s Day holds the promise of hearts and flowers. But some of you married gals might have the kind of husband who’s not so good at remembering these things.  And what about the single girls who don’t have a boyfriend at the moment?  Why should they get gypped?

My advice?  Buy yourself jewelry.  It’s even better than going to the day spa.  I’m not suggesting you do anything crazy.  No Colombian emeralds or black Tahitian pearls.  You don’t need to buy the kind of loot you find in the Jewelers’ Building, with the able assistance of some older gentleman in a custom tailored suit and half glasses, who calls you “Miss” and, jeweler’s loupe at the ready, offers you a free appraisal of whatever happens to be hanging from your earlobes or dangling from your wrist that day.

A quick drive to the mall is all it takes to find something sparkly.  Even better, you can sit on your sofa with a glass of Red in one hand and the remote in the other and find some pretty serious bling on the shopping channels.  Or simply go on line to find your new bauble.  Remember, you’re not out to find the Hope Diamond here.  Just a pair of garnet studs.  Or an amethyst ring.

I’ve been buying my own jewelry for a while.  Some women like to travel – I’d rather buy gemstones set in precious metals.  For me, it’s one of the benefits of being a single woman in the twenty-first century.  You see, the jewelry is much more than a mere indulgence.  It’s a symbol.  To empower you.  And to remind you of your worth.  Sure it’s nice when a loved one buys you jewelry.  All I’m saying is that the loved one can be yourself.

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Life Lessons

How I Got to Red

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I only wear red nail polish.  My home décor is a rich palette of ruby, crimson, and wine.  A fiery hue is even splashed across my website.  Red evokes power and passion and I like that.  In kindergarten, the other little girls delighted in adding white paint to the red paint to make pink.  I preferred the red.  When I grew up, I knew I wouldn’t be one of those pink ribbon chicks.

pink ribbon

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I respect and appreciate the pink ribbon for the extraordinary job it’s done to promote breast cancer awareness and support.  That little symbol has raised millions of dollars and prompted countless women to schedule their mammograms.  Make no mistake: the pink ribbon has saved lives.  But the pink ribbon is not enough.  Simply being aware and supportive won’t do.  Not for the breast cancer epidemic.  Not for me.

I’ll stick with my red and that Shakespeare quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “…and though she be but little, she is fierce.”  I am fierce because I am dense.

When I learned that I have extremely dense breasts, I thought this was a good thing.  Like they would stay perky forever.  Turns out having dense breasts renders mammograms less effective.  In fact, more than one radiologist has told me that looking for a tumor in my breasts is like looking for a golf ball in a blizzard.

I’m the cautionary tale and this is my public service announcement.

Several years ago, when a doctor suggested I consider supplementing my mammograms with MRI’s, I was proactive and scheduled both tests for the same day.  The radiologist who reviewed my mammogram images said, “Everything looks great,” and told me to go have lunch and come back in an hour.  The MRI found the cancer cells.  Even though there was no tumor visible in the mammography pictures, and no palpable lump felt upon examination, the MRI detected what needed to be found.  Turns out my cancer cells were aggressive so who knows what would have happened if I didn’t have the MRI when I did.  So yes, I am a breast cancer survivor.  And I am fierce.

When it comes to your health, be proactive and ask questions.  Think of medical testing and treatment options as you would the dessert buffet – whatever they offer, you take it.

I challenge you to be fierce.  You don’t have to wear red nail polish.  You don’t even need to wear a pink ribbon.  Just be fierce.

To learn more about what it means to have dense breast tissue, I encourage you to visit:

http://www.areyoudense.org/

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Dolce Zitella's Latest Post, Girl Talk, Life Lessons

About My Blog: Dolce Zitella

typewriterWelcome to my blog Dolce Zitella.  Doesn’t it sound like a decadent dessert?  It’s not.  For those of you whose roots do not trace back to that lovely boot-shaped country, let me translate.  Dolce Zitella means “sweet spinster.”  That’s right, I’m a woman of a certain age who’s never been married.  It’s okay with me, but the word spinster seems to press a lot of women’s buttons.  I mean, really, it’s only a word.  But if shrouding the word in a layer of mystery and romance makes some people feel better, so be it.

While I have something to say about being a single woman, that’s not all I have to say.  So it doesn’t really matter if you’re single or married, younger or older.  After all, my younger sisters – I used to be you.  Whether you’re adding highlights and lowlights or you’ve stopped dying your gray roots, whether your hot body is the reward of working out or the result of menopause induced hot flashes – we’re all part of the same sisterhood.

Like you, I’m just trying to balance career with the rest of my life, whether it’s spending time with family and friends; meeting a new man; being proactive about my health; trying out a new recipe; embarking on my latest home improvement project; taking a night class; engrossed in a book; binge watching a television series; or searching for that perfect shade of red nail polish…

Dolce Zitella will be updated on alternating Thursdays.  Visit and bring your friends.

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