A CHRISTMAS CARD SAGA

As a diva of a certain age, I cling to holiday traditions like toilet paper on a shoe. Fortunately, there are many rituals which have withstood the passage of time: Christmas trees, gifts, carols, and jolly old Jello shots. However, one practice that is slowly becoming extinct happens to be the very essence of tidings of comfort and joy. I am referring to the Christmas card. The cost of stamps, on-line animated greetings, lack of time, and the rise in glitter allergies (please have your EpiPens at the ready!)  are all reasons they have gone out of favor. However, as one who would have adored the genteel snobbishness of The Golden Age, I mourn the decline of this gracious nicety.  If only we could go back to the glorious days of The Christmas Card Olympics!

SPOILER: THE ONE WHERE I RUIN YOUR FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MOVIES

Hi! I'm Twinkles The Intern! The Diva is out of commission this week, as she's suffering from the effects of The Irish Flu (3 parts Bailey's Irish Cream, 2 parts whiskey, 1 part whole milk.) She asked me to fill in for her, writing a post about the traditional holiday shows everyone loves. I had to remind her that I was raised in a cult where I was not permitted to watch television. Fortunately, at age 25, I was rescued by my Aunt Donatella and Uncle Pete. But, the only thing we watched during the holidays were repeat viewings of Moonstruck. "Even better," she shouted at me from behind the door of her She-Shed, "You can give it a fresh perspective as a first-time viewer!" So, I went to the library, rented the shows, and asked Aunt Donatella to join me. 

Twinkles the Intern

Donatella the Aunt (Ain't she just Divine?)

MIDDLE CHILDREN, THANKSGIVING SALUTES YOU

America's Big Turkey Day arrives this Thursday. (No, I'm not referring to the inauguration.)  As a diva of a certain age, I've experienced enough Thanksgivings in my lifetime to know that it is the middle child of holidays. Dare I count the ways?

“Why is my symbol a turkey?”

LET FREEDOM RING

This is my thirteenth time voting in a presidential election, and I must say it's been quite a journey. I was eighteen that first Tuesday in November of 1976 when I entered a voting booth for the first time. Almost 60 years later, I still feel a sense of pride when I cast my ballot. However, the challenging part is waiting for the final tally that might or might not be announced on election night. As a diva of a certain age, I've learned that surviving eternal election-night coverage requires a strategy. I present to you my own. 

BOOK 'EM DIVA! MY FAVORITE BOOKS IN 2024

 Before Libby came into my life, I was a book-a-holic buying the latest novels the moment they were released. Feeding my habit  had always cost me enough to finance a yearly tropical vacation, but it was the arrival of the E-book plus an Amazon account that sent me over the edge. From the comfort of my reading chair, I'd pop into the Kindle Store only to be greeted immediately by my dealer, someone called "Recommended for You Based On Your Previous Purchases." Hitting the Buy button again and again was my perfect pavlovian fix. Soon, I had more books stashed in my Kindle than I could read in lifetime, plus a credit card bill that rivaled the national debt. Then, along came Libby to save the day!

AGING DISGRACEFULLY

 As a diva of a certain age, I find I am confused by the concept of "aging gracefully." Supposedly, it's to do with women forgoing trips to the stylist for a color and highlight; refusing to have a little work done to remove fine lines and wrinkles; embracing the granny bod by investing in good pieces from Chicos; and going with a muted lipstick. I'm here to tell you that if a few silver strands and some well-earned laugh lines were all I needed to be graceful after age 65, I would be a ballerina! Unfortunately, Mother Nature has put tremendous effort into making us as graceless as possible.

Curses, my pretty! 

I'M BAAAACK

Honestly! You take a little vacation from the internet, and people start writing your obituary. The truth is, I decided that, as a diva of a certain age, it was time to step away from Social Media Society and explore the mythical "World Outside." Though my dance card was always full while I was attending the grand galas on Twitter/X, Instagram, and Threads, I found something was missing in my life. The medical community refers to it as "fresh air." So, as I inhale, let me regale you with wondrous tales of Life Beyond the Valley of the Smart Phones.  

Until we meet again, my love.