Trippin’ 🇮🇱💙🇮🇱💙

 Hey, Fam. Touched down yesterday from another special trip to Israel, and I’d love to tell you all about it. Israel is such a small country, yet every time I go there it’s an entirely different trip. It’s in the middle of the desert but is incredibly advanced in so many fields; medically, agriculturally, government security, scientifically, the beauty and dermatology industries, just to name a few. Artistically and culturally, Israel is at the top of its game. It is churning out quality television, movies, and documentaries. The depths into which they delve into the human condition is astounding. Israel is a volatile and emotional country, and its actors portray human emotion on a staggeringly honest  level. Fauda, Shtisel, and Beauty and the Baker are just some examples of the current Israeli TV craze. I remember going to the Israeli Film Festival in New York back in my college days.

Israel is still such a newborn of a country. Each time I go it’s incredible how much more developed it is. Beautiful hotels, restaurants, social initiatives, state of the art technology, nightlife, art, music and fashion are constantly evolving. It’s a fascinating dichotomy of history, biblical significance, and cutting edge modernity. The passion and sheer obsessive love for Israel, is unmatched by citizens of other nations. What keeps me aching to breathe in Israeli oxygen is how utterly alive the atmosphere is there. The air is electric. Life always hangs in the balance there; they live, love, fight, and play so fiercely because they can’t afford not to. They take nothing for granted. Whether or not they can afford it, they live life to the fullest. Travel is a given, even if that means a backpack and a youth hostel. Israelis don’t waste time in that sense. They soak up every precious moment. It’s this passion that pulls me in continuously. It’s also why it’s so hard to leave. I love America and I’m wild about New York, but it’s a very different existence.

This trip was particularly special since I went to visit my daughter who is in school there. It was wonderful to see Israel through her eyes, eat at her favorite restaurants, hang out with her friends, and even attend school with her. I showed her some places I knew, she showed me some places she knew, and we went lots of new places together. It was a joy for me to see how comfortable she is there and how well she’s acclimated to her new surroundings. It’s still a foreign country in the Middle East (or as Ali G calls it; Middle Earth). In Tel Aviv we stayed at a fabulous, chic hotel called the Drisco. It is in the German colony near the artsy Neve Zedek area, and was the only hotel there 150 years ago. It shut down after WW2, and reopened 7 months ago. Unassuming on a quiet street, it’s a quick walk to many nearby shops, cafes, bars, restaurants, and art galleries. Wandering around Israel is such a joy for me. While my teenage daughter slept late, I’d walk around for a couple hours, weaving in and out of unfamiliar streets. I feel connected to every Jew living in Israel. That might sound naively idealistic but I mean it. There’s a common bond we all share, regardless of political or religious viewpoints.  Israel is the vegan capital of the world, and the food there is off the charts fresh and delicious. Tel Aviv has a fantastic yoga community and gay community. It’s an incredibly progressive and open minded city. I did some fabulous shopping there at Juliette and Arraketa, both very cutting edge in their designs. I love supporting Israeli designers. Another highlight was our walk from Tel Aviv to Old Yaffo/Jaffa. I do that walk every time I go. It’s along the stunning coastline, and it’s wonderful to see Jews and Arabs all just enjoying the same beautiful route. Families enjoying the sunny outdoors all look the same. Once we reached Yaffo we ate at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the sea. Then we went for massages at the Japanese Yoko Kitahara spa. Such a special, healing experience. I got a shiatsu and asked the masseuse to work on my heart space. Her face lit up when I requested that, instead of the expected neck or back issues she usually gets. The reaction in her eyes told me she was my sister who spoke my language. This allowed me to trust her and surrender to her completely. We hugged at the end and I felt so connected to her. In Israel you hug your masseuse🇮🇱. Dinner that night was on a bustling street in Yaffo, where Israeli rap music and hookah pipes created an organic, local atmosphere. The second half of the trip was spent in Jerusalem. I stayed at my favorite hotel in the world, the King David. I first entered it as an 8 year old. It felt like a majestic palace then, and it feels that way still. The fragrance in the lobby is something I have never inhaled elsewhere. It’s a magical place that seriously feels like home. The history in that hotel is unmatched. I had breakfast one day next to the famous Russian refusenik, Natan Sharansky. The King David is around the corner from where my daughter’s school is located, as well as a nice walk to the center of town. I remember all the routes from when I attended school there myself as a teenager. It’s amazing how that muscle memory kicks in after all those years. I take pride in remembering those things, as well as joy in the impression that they’ve obviously left. One day I went to school with my daughter. I loved it. We began the day with a lecture and video presentation, which is a joy for someone who hasn’t been in a classroom for 20 years. That day the school took us to visit different sects of Hasidic Jews in ultra orthodox neighborhoods.

There are so many sub-sects of extremely observant Jews. It was interesting to get an insight into what makes them define themselves the ways that they do. It did make me a bit sad though; how stringently divisive religion can be. Everyone is striving to reach the same destination, so why does it really matter how we get there? The more religious people are, the more rules, laws, and customs they have. One rabbi told us there’s a 500 page book on what kind of fish needs to be served on Shabbat and how it must be presented on the table. I’m sorry, I just can’t imagine a God that cares about that. I know everyone is just doing their best in however they believe it means to live a life of serving God, I just think that all the fear of transgressions and sins clogs the love aspect. I don’t want to be a god fearing person; I want to be a god loving person. Rules are always a fear based means of control. I respect any good person who wants to live peacefully and contribute to society, but having come from such religious schooling, I feel very grateful that I’ve reached the approach to spirituality that I currently hold. It’s all about freedom and connection to a higher power that I know loves and sustains me, no matter what I’m wearing or eating. One of the rabbis and his wife from a certain sect, the Karlin Stolin Hasidim from Kiev, were adorable. They were like an ultra orthodox Sonny and Cher. Not having been able to conceive for the first 18 years of their marriage, they moved from Brooklyn to the Ukraine to rebuild the once thriving Jewish community that had been destroyed during the Holocaust. What a selfless act of love and devotion to strengthening and restoring Judaism! They turned their pain into passion and perseverance. They are a true inspiration, and were incredibly welcoming to the school group. Their energy was infectious, unlike the first group which was definitely stricter and more intimidating. My best moments of that day were when my daughter and I were kicking a rock back and forth outside the Belz synagogue, which happens to be the largest in the world. It’s always the little things that feel the greatest:). It was also so cool to meet her friends, who are lovely, intelligent, funny young men and women. There’s always such pride in knowing your kids make solid social choices, and knowingly surround themselves with quality people. It speaks to their interior. Another highlight was eating at one of her favorite local spots, the Marakia, in Jerusalem (“marak” in Hebrew means soup). This little spot was so hole in the wall East Village, decorated entirely in random thrift shop finds. Each day they serve four kinds of soup. I swear that was the best onion soup I’ve ever had. Everything I saw through my daughter’s eyes was so delicious. I’ve been on my personal Israel craze for about five years now, and it feels good to have her relate to me on that level. It’s feels so good and aligned to share deep interests with our kids.

The last night she took me to the Shaon Horef cultural arts festival. It was fabulous! It was in Talpiyot, the suburb of Jerusalem where I went to school my year in Israel post high school. I haven’t been back there since then, and it was wonderful to see all the spots I remembered, plus all the new places that have been built. The muscle memory kicked in right away. I find that most very religiously observant Jews in the States mostly only stick with their kind. The boxes are all sadly over-defined, the lines overdrawn. Many religious people won’t mixed dance or engage in activities they feel appear immodest, so it doesn’t really happen in America where Jews of all levels of observance (or none) are united in enjoying one source of fun. This is not so in most of Israel, which is one of the most special parts about this country. What a joy it was to see religious, secular, huge knitted yalkmuka wearers with long payot (locks of hair around the ears), women with head coverings, and people wearing crazy costumes all dancing together. There were several DJ’s dressed as Hasidic men spinning Hebrew music, and a female DJ spinning techno and pop. Anything and everyone went. The unity and lack of religious lines was a beautiful sight. There were spray paint artists, go kart races, jump rope contests, light installations on buildings, and  tons of artistic vendors. This took place on a random Monday night; this is typical of Israel where they don’t put off having a good time. Nothing like that ever happens in my neighborhood, certainly not for no apparent reason. Excellent call by my oldest child, suggesting this as the activity to cap off our trip. It was the perfect way to end a truly special few days. As hard as it is to leave Israel, I take comfort in knowing I can always return. It’s where I started to come alive five years ago. The imprint on my mind, heart, and soul left from that certain time in my life is as much a part of me as my breath. Shalom means hello, goodbye, and peace. Come in peace, and go in peace. And in between the coming and going, live, love,  and be that way.  ☮️✝️☪️🕉☯️🔯

Crouching🐯, Hidden 🐉

 Easily one of my favorite movies of all time. I highly recommend it if you’ve never seen it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, in that it had such magnificent expressions of fierce love, shown in different stages of life. A teenage couple were consumed with fiery love, and an older, more mature couple had this unbelievably deep, restrained connection that showed through their skin. I was 22 and had never see anything like it. Still haven’t. I also have never seen anything like this sweater, which got me hella attention the first day of NYFW. I mean, I knew it would get noticed so I deliberately wore it that day.

This is one of my favorite looks EVER. The chic black pleated skirt, black turtleneck, and pulled back bun contrasted with the over the top sweater was such a statement. It really was an effortless pairing, and no matter what I wear I always say I need it to be fast and right. Fussy thinking results in a fussy outfit. I do love my kimonos, and this wild sweater felt like a large scale knit kimono. The on the back added even more personality. My makeup artist, Nancy, was so excited to finally get more dramatic on my eyes. I gave her free reign to do whatever she wanted, whereas usually my instructions are to keep things as naturally as possible. But, alas my darlings, Fashion Week has no interest in “natural” anything, and so it was time to play. That’s my favorite element of NYFW; the wild creativity being worn on the streets. Colors, patterns, headpieces, it all comes out at this time. That’s what amazes me about New York in general though; on any given Tuesday at 3 PM you can spot someone dressed like this (downtown). This sweater is one of those pieces that becomes such a prized standout in a wardrobe, and hopefully an heirloom. Something as special as this should never be given away. It must be appreciated, honored, seen, and enjoyed. Exactly like love️🖤

Listen to Cool- Gwen Stefani

Fig and Grape Salad 💜🍇

I tried in vain to come up with a catchy title for this unbelievable salad, but alas. Can’t win ‘em all, and the focus here is just to eat it, right? When I posted stories from this last shoot, the feedback came pouring in begging for this recipe. I’ve been psyched to finally share this Jesscipe with the Squad. The element of the fruit gives this mucho substantive salad a freshness and sweetness. It’s a great injection of joy into a season full of heavier winter fare. There’s a lot of shades of purple happening; fresh figs, red grapes, purple onions, crisp radicchio, and a fig infused dressing that has the base of a blended purple juice. Toasted walnuts add delicious flavor, crunch, and texture. Golden raisins drive this home, adding another color and texture element, as well as  more sweetness. I was taken aback by how magnificent the final result was. It tasted even better then it presented, and made for a wonderful lunch for me and Gabe, my super photographer. That’s the best part about shoot days; the crew gets to be my first tasters. I even packed up leftovers and sent them home with everyone since I’m a Bubbie at .

Ingredients:

Four cups of fresh baby spinach leaves

Two cups of red grapes halved width wise

16 oz fresh ripe figs halved length wise

8 oz toasted walnuts (toasted by gently stirring over a medium flame in a dry skillet until densely fragrant)

A cup of golden raisins

One finely diced red onion

A head of shredded radicchio

And fresh mint leaves should you be so inclined (never a bad idea).

Dressing:

Half a cup of extra virgin olive oil

Half a cup of a purple juice such as pomegranate. I used a blended version of pomegranate, tart cherry, blueberry, and  grape.

3 tbsp fig infused balsamic vinegar. Can use regular balsamic too if that’s what you already have at home (do NOT make yourself crazy!).

A tsp salt and half a tsp pepper.

Whisk dressing together well. Combine all the salad ingredients and lightly dress, artfully arranging extra nuts, figs, and mint on top. Drizzle more dressing on top. This looked gorgeous on a white, rimmed platter. The colors popped stunningly against the white. Bright green, deep purple, and nutty brown coming together to jazz up your menu. Omg, there’s my title; Deep Purple. Ok, breathe, Gurl. I knew I could do it somehow.

Listen to Fergie- Fergalicious

Yamina➡️

Shalom from Tel Aviv as I write this, hence the Hebrew title of this post. “Yamin” means “right” as opposed to “left”. It’s used in the directional sense. This trip, like all my trips have done lately, has given me new keys to new doors. No matter how many plans we make, tickets we book, tours we plan, we never seem to arrive at our destination. That’s just how life is meant to work; we reach one crossroads only to keep choosing where else to go next. Even if one climbs to the top of a mountain, they will then choose to go back down, which route to take on the descent, which supplies they’ll need etc. We are never not faced with the concept of “onward”. There will always be some part of life demanding movement, current, and flow. There are so many aspects to my life I’m so in love with at the moment, but if I’m honest (and I am), I have so much further to go. There are still thoughts, reactive emotional patterns, fears, and doubts that belonged to the Old Me. I have recently been reading about how there are so many different versions of ourselves through the course of our lives. This is a fact. The four year old you is different from the fourteen year old you, and the forty year old you is light years away from those both. The eighty year old you would probably laugh at what the thirty year old you thought was problematic. None of these versions of you are ever wrong; they’re each a necessary stepping stone that make up new pathways to new doors. Of course, so many people stay away from new doors. They ignore the new directions being presented to them as alternative options. Afraid of change and therefore resistant, many convince themselves they are just fine as is, not understanding that you can love your life yet still find expansion. Wanting more doesn’t have to equal wanting radically different. Keys are meant to be used, and I was handed a key on this trip to Israel. I was presented with a situation that had the old me reacting in the only ways she knew how; anxiety, doubt, some shame, fear, mistrust, and disappointment. The mind of the old me went off the rails, and had a field day trying to infect the New Me with her old poison. The old me burst forth from her holding pen many times, but at this point the new version of me is stronger. She’s been working out and faithfully taking her vitamins. She knows herself better. She has amassed solid abilities of discernment. And I, being the keeper of all these versions that come to visit and always leave when they are no longer relevant, have the power to bang my gavel and sentence the old me to jail with no chance for parole. The I, my Self, is the one constant on my life. Each human on earth is designed as such. In prying the old and new versions of me apart from one another, I am able to tell myself, “No. that’s the old you. You aren’t her anymore. The new you reacts differently.” I recently vowed to myself that I won’t bring the old me into my new life. Ever again. Sure, she will always try to pop up and derail me, but her powers are rapidly weakening with each new key I turn. These keys are gifts, and are handed to us at the exact moment in time we are ready to receive them. If we waste them we are fools, and I didn’t come this far in life to waste anything. The challenge I faced was a chance for me to level up, control old thought patterns, and create space for new, healthy ones. It always works like this, and so the new me was able to hold onto the gratitude buried under the situation. I was able to choose right every time. The more I do this, the sooner it will become second nature, and create yet another version of myself. The new me is more accepting of discomfort and no longer tries to maneuver her way out of it, as she trained herself to do. The new me trusts the universe, which banishes fear. The new me has so much proof of divine love and guidance. The new me is more patient, more restrained, calmer. She’s vastly superior to her outdated counterpart, and so she is the stronger one in the ring. If we don’t view challenges as great opportunities, we won’t survive the human experience. We will go bonkers at every turn, and it’s a shitty way to live. We don’t grow when everything is comfortable and predictable, there’s no catalyst. And so once again, in the holiest of lands which feels like home every time I touch down there, I had the chance to choose my direction. I chose right. Yalla, Habibi, yamina!!!!

French Dressing

Felt a lil Parisian in this ensemble. The boucle’ coat, vintage leather gloves, and the fitted beret took me back a few decades to a quaint European cafe, croissant in hand.  Carbs were not yet verboten, and it was considered in extremely poor taste to even think about leaving your house sans a chapeau or gloves. There was certainly something so lovely about all these glamorously dolled up ladies strolling the streets. But, Man, what a pain in the ass to have to get so decked out all the time! Today, in a time where folks where sweatpants to the theater and jeans to a fancy restaurant, it is indeed nice to find a balance between the extremes of being a total shlump or a pageant contestant. In 2019 where the chief rule of fashion is that “there are no rules”, I do believe that there should be decorum applied to how we show up to certain events. It’s just about showing respect to that particular environment, as well as just having some good old fashionable fun. We’ve got the clothes, we might as well use them, right?

In this case, I wanted to be super efficient at my photo shoot by using this black turtleneck dress in a couple different ways. It’s just easier to not always be changing; feel me? I photographed the dress with no accouterments, then grabbed some select pieces to give it a completely different look. I’m a glove fiend, and loved how the pop of white lightens up the look. I love any type of headwear “cocked jauntily to the side” (ok, looks like we’re in London now), and my belt gave an instant waistline. The coat, another gem found at Century, lent the perfect light yet substantial coverage. I’d also love throwing this coat over jeans, a t shirt, and crisp white sneakers during a transitional season. True, the era of super fancy dressing is mostly over. Anything goes nowadays. Which only means we get to pull inspiration from wherever feels right at the moment.

Composed Mediterranean Salad

This is one of those beautiful, show stopping salads that can be the center of a meal. Eliminate the cheese to make it vegan, or use nut based cheese. With a soup and some warm bread, this dish is one and done. It’s large and can easily be a main course for four. I made it up based on these adorable mini Indian  that were whispering to me in the supermarket. I’d never seen eggplants so small, and I’m a sucker for anything mini. I wasn’t planning of “composing” the salad into rows for serving, but the ingredients were just all so beautiful and colorful in their own right. I decided to showcase them by lining them up on a bed of dressed greens. It’s a fun way to have guests serve themselves, and a nice change from a salad that’s already jumbled together.

Ingredients:

A dozen mini Indian eggplants.

Two cups julienned sun dried tomatoes (I cut mine lengthwise into thirds).

A bunch of fresh basil.

Two can pitted green or kalamata olives halved width wise.

A cup of baby kale leaves per person, using at least two.

Three cups of cooked brown lentils, cooked according to package directions. Two is fine if you’re serving three or less.

A cup or bunch of chopped scallions.

A container of feta cheese, pearled, crumbled, or cubed.

Directions:

Cook lentils and set aside.

Preheat your broiler. Cut the eggplants lengthwise and put in a tin pan. Drizzle with olive oil and rub with a light sprinkling of salt, pepper, smoked or regular paprika, dried oregano and cumin. Use your judgement with the seasoning, keeping in mind that the dressing will add a lot of flavor. Broil the eggplants cut side up until slightly blackened and a deep golden brown. Test to ensure fork tenderness. Prep all other ingredients and keep in their own bowls.

Dressing;

3/4 each fresh lemon juice and olive oil

3 tbsp balsamic vinegar

A heaping tsp of cumin, 1 1/2 tsp salt, 3/4 tsp pepper.

Whisk well. To assemble salad; choose a large rimmed square, white platter. Lightly dress the greens with the cup of the chopped scallions, using half the dressing. Place evenly on the platter as a base. Then line up the rest of the ingredients in neat rows, balancing color and scale. For example, don’t put two things of the same color next to each other; spread the love. This makes the dish so visually appealing. Feta can be in a row or artfully scattered. Place medium whole basil leaves prettily throughout. Drizzle the rest of the dressing on top, and take me to Greece.

Blanched Green, White Bean, Tomato Salad

Def feeling over heavy, winter comfort food. It’s not so comforting when you start to feel like you’ve hibernated with the carbs a bit too much (#me). In an effort to bring a fresh summer salad feel to the middle of this cold season, I put this together in the supermarket isle. Blanching veggies is a great way to keep them crisp, bright green, and light while cooked. Meaning, no prior roasting with oil. Blanching is a great cooking technique; fill a large pot with slightly salted water, put vegetables in when the water reaches a boil, leave it for 3 to 4 minutes, then quickly transfer the vegetables to an ice bath. I find that part fun, which could indicate that I need to get out more. An ice bath is a large bowl filled with a nice amount of ice and cold water. It stops the cooking process, thus retaining a bite and vibrant crispness. This is a snap to put together. It’s so fresh, delicious, and doesn’t get healthier. The white beans add a nice pop of color and another dimension of texture and natural flavor. As far as I’m concerned fresh dill is always a winner, so there’s tons of it here.

Ingredients:

3 boxes of cherry tomatoes halved lengthwise.

Two heads of fresh broccoli florets.

Two bunches of asparagus chopped into 2 to 3 inch pieces.

A large bunch of chopped fresh dill.

A can of cannellini beans rinsed and drained.

Dressing:

Half a cup cup each fresh lemon juice and extra virgin olive oil.

3 tbsp tarragon vinegar.

A tsp of salt and half a tsp pepper, adding a bit more to taste if needed.

Directions:

Blanche the broccoli in a large pot of boiling, salted water for four minutes. Have ice bath ready. Transfer and submerge immediately. Use a large slotted spoon. Don’t discard the water since you’ll next use it to blanche the asparagus for 3 minutes. If the asparagus is the thick kind you’ll need four minutes as well. Repeat ice bath process.

Drain both vegetables in a colander when they’re cold. Let air dry or pat dry with paper towels. When ready, mix all the veggies with the beans and dill, followed by the dressing. Let it absorb the flavors at least twenty minutes before serving. If serving the next day, combine it all fresh so that the dressing doesn’t diminish the bright green color. Your leftovers will still be delicious the next day, just less .

FAVE. COAT. EVER.

Peeps, if this coat could talk... it’s been in my family for many decades, and I’ve been lucky enough to own it for the past 18 years. My grandfather made two for each of his daughters. My great grandfather was a furrier in Poland, which was akin to driving the ice cream truck on a blazing hot day. It’s a smart business to enter in a freezing climate. I wouldn’t buy fur today, but I do enjoy wearing the heirloom coats. They hold such sentiment. This coat always gets a ton of attention. It’s just a super cool piece that elevates every single look. I loved how it went so beautifully over this darling storybook sweater. I bought this sweater off of Instagram. I don’t recommend that; most stuff I’ve ordered sight unseen was very poorly made and of really cheap quality, despite the pictures looking good. I wound up giving most of it away immediately and chalked it up to a lesson learned. This sweater though was fortunately as advertised. I love that whole classic Beatrix Potter feel. The sweet, Rockwellian bunnies sledding in the snow. When my first son was bored, I had his nursery painted floor to ceiling in the most beautiful collection of Peter Rabbit scenes. We no longer live in that house, and I miss that room. It brought me tremendous joy, rocking my own little bunny while staring at the characters nestled amongst the leaves. The warm, varied camel and brown coloring of the sweater and jacket made for a lovely pairing, while remaining a not obvious choice for each other. Hmmmm... perhaps I should apply that line of thinking to dating too.

APP-lications

Let’s talk dating apps, shall we? I mean, how much inspirational stuff can I really keep spouting? So I’m on a few apps. Some exclusively Jewish, some not, though I am only interested in dating fellow members of the Tribe. I like the concept; I can peruse at my convenience, and can bounce from any conversation that I know is on the express lane to nowhere. There are a lot of quality people out there, and I see this as just another way to meet someone. I don’t hate on it or think only losers need to resort to this. It’s simply the way of the world right now. I primarily have the life and schedule of a stay at home mom, so it’s not like I’m sitting in Times Square with a sign on my head that says “single and ready to mingle”. Btw, I give all of you permission to call some sort of hotline if you ever see me actually do that one day. Let’s hope I don’t reach that point... 

I like the profiles on these apps; if honest, they provide you with certain basic information that might be relevant. I’m pretty good at reading between the lines. I need to know if you have kids or if you want more (this baby factory is most likely closed). I need to know if you are gainfully employed, if you have hair, or if your photos seem current (major red flag if you’re relying on what is clearly a picture from your “glory days” in college. I can tell by the clothing. Here’s a tip; if your T shirt has California Raisins or says Coed Naked Something, chances are you look like shit right now. This is a crucial detail).

I need to know if we make sense geographically. I’m open to a long distance thing, but it’s really not practical (though I seem to be the belle of the ball amongst the South American and Middle Eastern single male demographic. Who knew???). I need to know if we can laugh our heads off at shared taste in film and comedy, and if we can party at a concert. I need to know if you sound like a snob. If you must be in bed by 10 pm, it ain’t gonna work. I like when guys write about their commitment to fitness, but I can tell when it feels too obsessive based on how many shirtless pictures they put up. I need to know if you are comfortable taking a photo that doesn’t involve sunglasses (you’re fooling no one. Well, you may be, just not this chick). I need to know if you feel your cover photo should include an image of you in a cowboy hat. Or if it includes your mother. Or your kids. The kid thing feels a little emotionally manipulative, not to mention a clear invasion of their privacy. It’s beautiful to be a proud dad. But do you really need total strangers with an agenda seeing your children immediately? Also, if you’re going to rely on your dog to get chicks, at least get in the photo. I’m not looking to adopt a puppy. I kid you not, but one guy actually wrote that his mother died when he was 13, which left him with major mommy issues lol. Um, pass! I’m not sure which part of that statement was most unappealing (yes I am; the lol).

I need to know if you are looking for a “partner in crime”. I don’t know when this became the dating vernacular, but it’s so stupid. I mean, if we are actually going to go on a crime spree, are we dumb enough to advertise it on the internet?? It’s just such a lame description of a relationship, though I have faith I could rock the Bonnie and Clyde look, and my beret collection could use some airtime.

At the risk of sounding superficial, I want to know about your height and your hairline. If you have no pics without hats, that’s not for me. Hey, you want to know what I look like too, Pal. I need to know that you get my random references to movies from the 80’s (I’ve been known to shout them out in a Turrets like fashion. I need you to not pretend to laugh, but to really get it.) I need to know if you can spell and use correct grammar. One app offers to fix your grammar for you, for an extra charge! I find this horrifying; if you write like a Neanderthal I’m entitled to this information. I am an articulate, eloquent woman who got a 710 on her verbal SAT. I can’t date you if you don’t know the difference between they’re, their, and there. Or to, too, and two (for the love of God, one is a number!).

I don’t need to see what you looked like last Halloween; it’s just embarrassing. I don’t need to see pics of you at the gym. Just be real, normal, witty, and honest (and who are we kidding, be hot). Make me laugh from your profile, and we are off to a good start. Share nuanced interests in pop culture that show me you appreciate details and the entertaining minutiae of life. Show me you’re multi dimensional and not a hamster on a wheel in need of a cook. Give me some idea that life with you might be a riot, as well as an oasis. Don’t try to be funny, just be naturally funny. Don’t not tell me your last name but insist on my phone number, once the conversation continues post profile (true story, a few times). Don’t lie to me about your profession (true story as well). Don’t not be traceable online. That’s just unsettling in these modern times, and I have children to protect, as well as myself. Most of us will not match up with each other, and that’s good; it aids the weeding process. I may very well not float your boat either, and that’s cool. Ultimately, I believe wholeheartedly in divine intervention, and that God sends us exactly who and what we need at the right time. If this man will fall on me and flatten me to the ground like we’re in a cartoon, then I’m down with that (great first meet story for the grandkids). I actually want to be knocked over, in the metaphorical sense of course. But if you come at me with some idiotic, uninspired come on line while wearing a cowboy hat, I might need to indeed meet you, so that I can punch you across the face and call it a day.

And, Babe, trust me on this one; if it looks as if you’ve had semi professional photos taken for this purpose, that’s a major OY. The Sears background makes me want to jump off a bridge, not get to know you. 

I do find the outright creepy stuff to be super amusing. Legit, some of these profiles may as well say, “I like coffee, travel, wine tastings, chloroform, and duct tape”. Many thanks to the dudes who just let their criminally dubious freak flag fly; honestly is literally the best policy here. One guy, in his initial message, offered to give me a massage in the bowels of rural Pennsylvania. It was a real shame that I had a dental checkup that day; it sounded super appealing and not at all like the last day of my life! 

Listen to Dr Dre- Kush

Army of One

I swear I manifested this coat into existence. It sounds weird but it’s the truth. It all began one day in the summer, when I was thinking about how I could enhance my winter wardrobe with just a few carefully selected, useful items. Most of my coats are very old. I have some that are vintage from 50 years ago and some from 15 years ago. I have trenches in various fabrics, puffers in different colors and styles, vests, motorcycle jackets, pea coats in a range of lengths, you name it. I’ve always loved outerwear, and the one thing I felt I “needed” was a long, nautical style military coat. I figured I could make a chic and impactful statement with this coat of my dreams. Buttons, patches, wide color, a sweeping length with a tailored fit. The idea of it instantly took shape in my head. I just knew I’d find it (or that it would find me).

Months later, as fashion fate would have it, I met this coat at Century 21 while shopping with my daughter. There it was, only one and in my size exactly. It was love at first sight. I seriously could not believe that there was just one that fit so perfectly, waiting for me amongst the chaos of a huge discount store. It was as if there was a spotlight on the coat and the rest of the store faded to black. Yeah, I know I’m being dramatic, but a good coat will serve you well for decades. It’s indeed exciting to find a piece you know you’ll love for many years to come. It’s so warm because of the length, and the tailoring is instantly chic, thereby really enhancing whatever look I’m wearing underneath. I never want to take it off since I usually like it better then my outfit anyway. A statement coat required a statement hat, and this wide brimmed beauty from Urban Outfitters definitely did the trick. I love this hat. It’s so Carly Simon/Stevie Nicks from back in the day. I wore the hat to the last night of Fashion Week, atop a black turtleneck and a wine colored leather trench coat. It’s remarkable how just two impactful pieces can create such a mood. Manifestation is a real thing, Peeps. Out of all the nonsense I could have been cooking up in my mental kitchen, envisioning this boss ass coat wasn’t as nuts as it sounds. I willed it into my wardrobe. Now if I could just will these five pounds off...

Cauliflower Cheddar Sage Fritters

WUT???? Yup, you read that right. I was psyched to share this with you! I came up with this potato free latke recipe around Chanukah time in December. Calling these babies “fritters” just might get me into the No Jews Allowed country club. Mashed cauliflower is a staple in our home, so it seemed like a logical next step to turn them into a less starchy version on the Chanukah classic. I then experimented and jazzed them up by adding shredded cheddar cheese, chopped fresh sage, and some diced red onion for color and bite. The sage tastes so wonderful! These would also be great made in minis, topped with say, a tomato confit. Pass those around at a party and you’re a rock star. Even a dollop of hummus on top, sprinkled with some paprika would be a lovely taster. 

Ingredients:

Two cauliflower

1.5 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Red onion

Two bundles sage

3 eggs

1 cup flour

Directions:

Two heads of cauliflower cut into pieces and boiled in water or vegetable stock until soft. Drain cauliflower, and mash with a potato masher or the back of a large spoon. Make sure it’s in a large mixing bowl.

Add a cup and a half of shredded cheddar cheese, a small to medium diced red onion, and two bundles of finely chopped fresh sage. Gently mix in three beaten eggs, 2 and a half tsp of salt, 1 tsp of pepper, and half a cup of all purpose flour. The flour binds the mixture by absorbing excess moisture. Add more by the tbsp if you think it necessary throughout the process.

Heat a large skillet or two with a generous amount of vegetable or canola oil. When the oil is very hot (you can test by tossing in a little bit of the mixture and seeing how it reacts), gently slide a spoonful of the mixture into the pan. Flatten the top. I find that using two spoons helps this. Be mindful of splattering oil!

Fry the cauliflower patties a few minutes on each side until a deep golden brown, flipping carefully with a spatula and large wooden spoon (that worked for me). Drain in a single layer on paper towels to absorb excess oil. To reheat on a low oven temp, I cover them with foil but poke holes in the top. I do this when I don’t want something to dry out, but I don’t want it to get soggy either. You can substitute a diced white onion or scallions for the red onion, and can use parsley or dill if you can’t get fresh sage. Enjoy!

Honest Morbidity

Adding title of post to my list of potential band names. Side note; speaking of band names, I have not been able to get the word “Gwar” out of my head for about 25 years now. I blame Beavis, as well as Butthead. Please tell me you know what the hell I’m talking about (for the love of the 90’s!). Anyway, this post is about a macabre thought I had last week on my birthday. This is a thought that’s not new to me, though it was ironic to have it during a massage at a spa in Costa Rica. Call it in keeping with often my unusual approach to things (which I like ).

As I dozed off and my subconscious began to take over, I envisioned my funeral. I have been imagining my funeral for years. It used to be with fear at not knowing how it would go. I pictured myself floating above the room (usually a synagogue but that’s most likely subject to change), eagerly waiting all the nice things my nearest and dearest would say about me, only to be disappointed that their eulogies were subpar. Really???? I’m dead and that’s all you have to say???? Have I not made more of an impact/ why aren’t you more inconsolable/ if you died first rest assured I’d have honored you better so F you. Obviously the crazy egoic nature of my funeral scenario is fear based, which is why I no longer have those types of thoughts. I used to be terrified of dying full of regret, at not having left the proper impact I was born to create in the first place. To simplify, I was scared at the notion of having wasted this precious human life. I think one of the chief sources of fear of death is when we can’t accept how we’ve lived our lives. A fulfilled, complete heart goes more gentle into that good night. We can die in peace when we’ve lived in peace. Resisting life will lead to resistance of death as well. We struggle because we aren’t done here. We need more time. We don’t worry about impact if we’ve know we’ve somehow made one. If we’ve loved so fully and completely, we know we will leave that with whomever needs it.

Love isn’t seen, it’s felt. It stays when done beautifully and well. Those who love right have faith in its warm, lingering aroma. Scent rises, and so will our connection to our loved ones even as we are placed below ground. We will still be where we are meant to be. We know this to be true when fear is shoved aside. So the thoughts I now have about my funeral are of a different nature. They include, by the way, illness and hospital scenes in extreme detail. This I cannot help; I’m a writer with a frighteningly accurate memory. Those with such memories are said to have nutso imaginations. I read that recently and it was like, hey whassup! I watch these scenes in my head like a director directing a movie (plays are often annoying; they’re overacted and the actors spit. The only one allowed to spit in the vicinity of my deathbed will be me). Believe me, I’m not thrilled with all these future obsessions. I try so damn hard to be present, and that’s the antithesis of being in the Now. However, I no longer feel overwhelmed by panic, doubt, or frustration when under the spell of these visions, since I feel very much certain of my path in life. I need major improvement and there’s so much work to be done both inward and outward, but I’m doing it. I’m not wasting this gift of life. I have a pretty good idea of who will sob and what they’ll say through the weeping. And they’ll laugh too, because that’s what I want to leave behind; humor, unity, joy, and an appreciation for each other. I know who will speak at my funeral and who won’t. I know this because I’m going to give detailed instructions to four of my friends.

I have begun crafting said instructions about a year ago in my mind. They’ll graduate to paper soon. I know who may want to speak but who will not be allowed, per my instructions. The reasons for this vary on a case by case basis. For some , if they didn’t have good things to say about me while I was alive, then they won’t get the chance when I’m dead. For others, it’s because I’ve heard them speak in various capacities, and they’re shitty speakers who can’t drive home a message. No thanks. And for others still, it’s because they love me so fucking much but they hate to speak publicly, so I wouldn’t want to put them in that position on my account. I know how they feel now and I’ll know it as I float. After all, scent rises. Some who will speak will be obvious, correct choices. Some think they aren’t good at it, but I know they are, and so there are a couple who I know will regret it if they don’t. I will believe in them always. Friends support each other no matter what, and that “what” includes human death. I’ll be invisible but I’ll still be holding their hands. I’d like music at my funeral. Uplifting music, sung by a choir. Probably some sort of gospel situation. Those belters know how to transmit an enormous range of emotion, and I want it all felt in the bones of those at this event. Death sucks. It makes people cry. I’d like to focus on a life that kicked some ass and told some incredibly inappropriate, yet undeniably funny, jokes. A life that made others think, react, dance, smile, and connect.

The soundtrack to my funeral will take some consideration, but the first thought that pops into my head is “Will You Be There” by Michael Jackson. So cheesy, I know, but it gets me every time for this one lyric at the end about loneliness. I don’t want anyone to feel lonely at my funeral, and the humanity in that line will be unifying, because we all feel that way so much of the time. It’s a common bond in the form of a commercially recognizable song. Who needs some obscure tune that will leave my peeps scratching their heads? My DJ instructor laughed when I shared that with him. He said somewhat incredulously, “the Free Willy song???” I laughed in turn, because I’d forgotten about that. So basically, if you attend my funeral, you can expect a beautiful montage of my life mixed with shots of a killer whale bursting forth from the sea. Sounds about right; glam shots from the Blaga, but with hints of Pearl from Spongebob (jeez, Man, keep up with the references). Morbidity becomes a lot more tolerable when it’s honest. Being upfront takes away the darkness of the topics hiding in the cracks and corners of reality. Flashlights help us see. I’m not planning my funeral to control it. I just want to go out the way I was meant to enter, and I know exactly whom I can trust with this vision because they see me the best. What an honor it is, to usher someone out in the proper way. Just as giving birth is both an honor and a blessing, so is death in this way. What are we if not vehicles to love and care for one another at any stage, especially the hardest ones? How blessed am I to have a group of people with whom I can entrust so fully with myself? That’s what made me cry as I was getting that massage. I was overcome with gratitude for my circle. And is there any better feeling to have on a birthday than that. We live, we love, we die, and we love still. It’s an unbreakable pattern when the links in your chain are strong and glued together. Let my funeral feel like this post. Be sad, be unwilling to deal with reality, but smile at the end. Trust me, it’s the better alternative.

Listen to Erykah Badu- Other Side of the Game

41

I woke up this morning to my 41st birthday. The first thing I saw was my son sleeping, the second was the volcano that my window in Costa Rica faces. I bathed the night before on my porch staring at said volcano. I love showering and bathing outside; it’s so freeing to feel the air on your skin. There’s something very vulnerable and natural cleansing yourself protected by nothing but the atmosphere (and a few strategically placed trees). I’m thinking back to writing my birthday post a year ago, from a beach in Cancun.

I’m often away this time of year since it’s when my kids have winter vacation. I did feel very grateful at 40 but in hindsight I was still quite clogged. It takes a long time, possibly a lifetime or never, to find out what blockages are present and need to be torn down to return home to yourself. It’s a journey that never stops, and I’m so much further along now than on my last birthday. I remember my anxiety levels were still somewhat high, I felt a bit lonely in being single, uneasy about the unknown, I wasn’t as patient with my kids, and I was really agitated waiting for a birthday text from someone in particular. It’s so disappointing when we imprison ourselves to triviality. Like out of all the vastness of how much there is to be grateful for, we let one dumb detail derail our mood. Truthfully, I’ve had tugs towards that today too, but I’m so much more fortified and equipped to not succumb. There’s a voice in my head telling me, “You are so much stronger now. Go with that”. I like instructions (sometimes) so I’m going to listen to that voice, the voice that’s been guiding me towards this day.

Even the nature of this vacation compared to last is different. Last year I had a travel agent book us in an all inclusive resort. It was pretty but kinda sucked. There wasn’t much to do, the ocean was legally off limits due to windy conditions, and the one time we ventured off site it was a bust. I was annoyed and didn’t do a great job at hiding that from my children, which in turn affected their moods too. It’s scary how as parents our offspring can smell our mood fluctuations. Human families are animalistic in that sense. In other senses as well, of course, but those other ways are often a choice in behavior, whereas the mood detection thing is built in to how we feel each other. It’s a daunting responsibility, to try to stay neutral so we don’t throw off our children, and as any parent knows it’s freaking hard. We fail often and it’s a lousy feeling for all present. We move on quicker than they do sometimes. We smile and think “onward” but the unrest can linger with them. 

The trip last year was indicative of what I felt I could handle at that stage. It was the first time I was the only adult, and the first time dealing with luggage and passports. I think the all inclusive idea made me feel safe in how easy it was supposed to be. All I had to do was be there. Ironically though, I wasn’t that present. I had too much on my mind. My heart still had a heaviness. Since then, the trips I’ve taken with my gang have improved in direct correlation to my overall mental and emotional state. They’ve been increasingly more adventurous and interesting. Sometimes it’s an Air BNB, sometimes it’s a resort, sometimes it’s a hotel that’s just eh. I don’t feel we need the controlled environment of a lockdown fancy hotel situation anymore. As I’ve grown more flexible and adaptable, I’m striving to teach them that too. No more cookie cutter vacations. I want us all to truly experience where we are. That means day trips, spontaneity, eating street food, and lots of unfamiliar randomness. Needing things to be a certain way is indicative of a lack of happiness and appreciation; for life, for the ability to travel, and for newness. Sure, there are times I fall into that trap of expectation and annoyance, and it’s a constant practice to bring your awareness back to where it should be.

This was the first trip I’ve ever taken where I packed zero makeup. I don’t wear much in general, but I usually take the basics. It just didn’t matter right now if my eyes looked a little wider; they’re wider in the real sense. I didn’t need the illusion of highlighter on my cheeks, since they were aglow with sweat and excitement. I’m feeling less that I have to appear a certain way since I actually feel that way. I don’t look perfect because life isn’t perfect. I’d rather match up with real life than use tricks to cover things up. I like when my kids see a mother who can get dressed in five minutes. I like when they see me get dirty. It’s amazing what falls away from mattering when you’re enjoying life. So much of what we cling to are conditioned constructs of the mind. They become as unnecessary as mascara in a better frame of mind. I never imagined I’d be a single woman traveling with her kids internationally, and I’m so proud that I’m doing it. The braver I become, the more I can expose them to. Granted, I’m most likely not going to land in some foreign country, rent a car, and use a broken English navigation system to haul my children around. I have a friend that does that and I’m in awe of her. But I am a New York Jew after all, so a few fears will always factor in a little. I don’t need to be a martyr to the point of stupidity, and I do like my hand held just a drop, for now. The grip is loosening though, which frees up my hands to be open and receive.                       
I went to the resort spa with my daughter on my first day of being 41. I got a body wrap with organic coffee. It left my skin feeling like silk and all of me smelling like a vanilla, hazelnut latte. Coffee is believed to wake people up...

Chocolate Coconut Bark With Sea Salt🍫

I so love these barks. They’re easy, fast, impressive, and can be made into many varieties. There is something unbelievably satisfying about watching chocolate melt. It just becomes sooooo smooth. It looks like a Dove chocolate commercial, and makes me feel like a Belgian chocolatier as I stir. Or the fat kid in Willy Wonka.  I happen to love coconut. It was fun to add it here. The sprinkling of coarse sea salt was a nice little counter balance to all the other sweetness. When people started adding salt to desserts years ago, I was baffled. But it really does add an element of complementing the flavors.     

Directions:

Melt five 4 oz bars of semi sweet chocolate in a double boiler, stirring pretty often. Let cool slightly.

Pour the melted chocolate onto a rimmed baking sheet that has first been sprayed with non stick spray, then covered in wax/parchment paper. The spray only goes under the wax paper, not on top.

Pour chocolate, spreading to even out. Top the chocolate with a generous amount of shredded, unsweetened coconut, then sprinkle evenly with a few pinches  of sea salt.

Freeze uncovered on a flat surface until completely frozen, can be overnight. When frozen, break the bark into uneven pieces and either serve immediately, or put the pieces in an airtight container to use as desired.

Listen to Green Day- Basket case

Commes On!

 If ever there was a statement skirt, this is it. Purchased 15 years ago at this incredible store in Englewood (Galleria Neoponti of blessed memory), this was a very daring move for me at that stage. My style had not even begun to shape itself, and most of what I wore then I’d never wear now. First of all, I was 25 with two kids. I was in full on mom mode, which didn’t look like the mom mode of today. The 25 year olds I see in these here parts are generally way cooler than my friends and I were. I’m not going to say we didn’t care; we did, we just didn’t know. We looked cute and fine but not particularly fashion savvy. There was no internet onslaught that exposed us to what was out there, so we bought what we saw. If it was cute and comfortable that was enough. But alas, one day I ventured into this avant- guard, way too cool for me at the time boutique, and connected with this incredible skirt. It remains one of my most prized purchases. It’s Commes Des Garçon, a designer I have always loved for its daring, cutting edge style. I love their deconstruction and distressing of fabrics and patterns. This piece is made of overlapping fabrics, frayed edges, and non obvious layering. It’s heavy and often falls off hangers, so it’s definitely a cold weather item. I have worn it with bodysuits, button downs, t shirts, and turtlenecks. I always wear a black top to keep the statement super strong. This cutout shoulder top is perfect, in that the little flashes of flesh give it some air. This is a heavy piece in both weight and affect. You need no accessories here; the skirt and the head to toe black are enough. Anything additional would clog the look. It’s so gratifying when an investment pays off, in any area. I’m glad I had the foresight to boldly go where I’d never gone before, and bought this skirt which was out of my then comfort zone. Even if you think something is “so not you” but you really love it, follow that. We get so annoyed with ourselves when we leave opportunities behind. It’s a frustrating feeling. Trusting our instincts won’t always be right, but the more we practice doing it, the more right decisions we are likely to make in the long run.