Mother’s Day 2020

I got the following email from a friend.

Did I tell you about my mom? She uses a walker, but for some reason decided to try the tread mill at her apt building last week, hit the wrong button, sped up, she went flying, got battered, had to have eye surgery last week for a torn retina ….laugh or cry?

I read it and started laughing with the image of this older woman on a

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Candy & The CaronaVirus

My dear friend C. and I used to go to the candy floor at Gimbels on 86th Street once a week. Actually, the whole store was filled with candy — more candy than one could imagine. We bought it and ate it during the week and went back for more the next week. We were in our early twenties, each running around at our first job and living together in an apartment. We painted our

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Don Imus Died

Imus died today. He was a complex man who never, ever denied that his complexity and inappropriate behavior was anything other than awful, and not representative of his true beliefs.

I was twenty-five and worked at Vincent Andrews Management Corporation, which managed famous people. Don Imus was one of my accounts, though he wasn’t the richest or the most famous of our clients. (Butchie Revson, the founder’s son, and Rose Mary Woods — yes, the

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Being Likeable

I was sitting with a dear friend at our weekly brunch at the fabulous Nick & Toni’s in the Hamptons, where we were talking about things we like to ponder, and I asked her about her desire to be liked.

“Do you care what people think about you?”

“Yes, I do. I always have. I’m the oldest of five from a Midwestern family; it’s in my DNA.”

“I care less and less about being liked

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Sharing on Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving, my favorite daughter, about whom I’m not allowed to write, is trekking in Nepal. She sent me this picture this morning. She told me about the wonderful people she is meeting and how hard their lives appear to be. The only reason I can post it is that I’m counting on the fact she won’t see it.

It took me back to a memory I’d forgotten. Another Thanksgiving.

When Sarah was seven, it

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#AndThenThereWereTwo

Today my sister Leslie is having an operation and I will be sitting in the waiting room contemplating my navel while the surgeons fix what has been broken for a long time.

We were not a close family, that band of five that moved fifteen times to ten states by the time I was sixteen. Actually, much of the time, we didn’t even like each other. Our fights were big, lacking only in physicality. We

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It's Women's History Month and I’m Not Celebrating.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m oh so very proud of the hordes of women who have gone before me. My female ancestor who sailed over in Mayflower times with Thomas Hinckley (she probably thought he was nuts for making her come). My mother-in-law, who taught me that if you need to use the restroom at a friend’s house, you should go home because you have been there long enough. Gloria Steinem. Ruth Bader

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My GD Neighbors Who Clearly Don't Use Electricity

Every few months my electric company sends out an e-mail telling me how my energy conservation compares to my neighbor’s … and it’s never good news. Anyone who reads Freesia Lane knows I’m a competitive person and that I get anxious if I don’t perform well, so when I first received this email, I thought, Gotta get on this! But every month it’s getting worse — this month they say I’m 32 percent worse than

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Halloween Angst

It’s Halloween, and I’m starting to stress all over again. Last year you might remember I had to contend with my neighbor’s “Look at me I’m so cool” décor, which ultimately made me want to move to another neighborhood. And now I’m going to come clean about the rest of the Halloween issues that trick me every year.

Okay, let’s start with the candy issue. Did you know that $7.9 billion is spent on Halloween

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My Uber Rating Obsession

I didn’t even know Uber drivers rate their clients until I was told by my daughter, Sarah (about whom I am not allowed to blog). I’m not sure how it came up, but I was intrigued. She put her fiancé on the phone and he walked me through the process of finding out what my rating is.

“Oh, I see it now,” I said when I finally understood. “My rating is 3.68. Is that good?”

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