Monday, November 9, 2015


It's my understanding that Helicopter Parenting is taking quite a hit on the blogs. Some young parents are under the impression  that all that hovering and obsessing is detrimental to a child's development. Free-Ranging is the way to go, they say. I tend to agree if we're talking about chickens.

When I was a child, there was no such thing as Free-Range Parenting. In those days, it was simply referred to as "parenting." (Actually, that's not true, since turning nouns into verbs wasn't a big thing in the 50's.) My generation was raised to run wild in the streets of suburbia, doing just as we pleased as long as we were home in time for dinner. We were brought up tough..forced to write our own book reports, to suck it up when we didn't make the team, to get our hair done in our mothers' kitchen, and to devour all sorts of chemical compounds. Basically, once we were old enough to leave the whelping box, our parents moved on with their lives, leaving us to fend for ourselves at malls and slumber parties and cheerleading try-outs. It's no wonder my generation invented Helicopter Parenting!

Tuesday, September 15, 2015


Lately, I've seen a lot of blog posts from women my age embracing their gray. Personally, I think gray hair can look very pretty. I'm partial to a silver mane worn in a sleek bob, or a white spiky crop paired with bold-colored earrings. In African-American women, I'm a fan of the very short cut with a natural curl accented by an intricate earring. Of course, many are going to say I'm missing the point. Women aren't going gray to be fashionistas. They are rejecting the dye as a way of rejecting fashion standards imposed upon us by a patriarchal society obsessed with youthful beauty in women.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015


Recently, fans celebrated the 40th anniversary of the iconic rock album, "Born To Run." That party was one guest short. He was a fan who started talking about The Boss before anyone we knew. When Jon Landau wrote in The Real Paper, "I saw rock and roll's future and its name is Bruce Springsteen," he knew that future had already arrived. He had been following Bruce up and down the rust belt since 1973, so the critical and commercial success of "Born To Run" didn't surprise him. He was my older brother, and, by rights, this should be his story to tell. Unfortunately, you're going to have to make do with my side of it.

Sunday, August 23, 2015



If loving Netflix is wrong, then I don't want to be right, or  even $9.99 a month richer. Any streaming service that could bring me the glory that is Grace and Frankie deserves an exclusive relationship with me.  I am yours, Netflix! Pick me up at eight, don't be late.
"Oh, Netflix. You're so dreamy!"

Friday, August 7, 2015


To be honest, I'm getting just a tad too old for outrage. At this point in my life, I'd need knee- replacement surgery just to keep up with all the reactive jerking. Also, my social media skills could use some Geritol. By the time I figure out the proper hashtag to display my solidarity with those engaged in the most recent bout of collective ire, everyone's moved onto the next trending topic.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015


(Note: There will be a few spoilers.)

To Kill a Mockingbird was not my favorite novel the first time I read it. Like all good love affairs, this one would take time, distance, and a bit of persistence. Back in 1972, when it was required reading for my 9th grade English class, I was far more interested in historical romances that featured beefy hunks and petite-yet-plucky heroines than the goings-on of a tomboy in a small town in the south. Also, I was a notorious procrastinator, so I treated the To Kill a Mockingbird assignment as I did all the others. I read the CliffsNotes. A decade later, after hearing people proclaim this their all-time favorite, I decided to pick up a copy at the library. By the time I returned that book, three weeks overdue, pages worn and tattered from my reading and rereading, it was a full-on love affair. So, when it was announced that a sequel to the novel had been found in Harper Lee's safe-deposit box, it felt as if  long-lost friends were coming home. Unfortunately, those friends brought with them more than nostalgia. They brought the good, the bad, and the ugly.