Family of One Celebrates 2009

I started out this decade in a relationship from which I had no idea how to extricate myself and living in a town that I tolerated. I loved my job, but had done it a long time. I could not fathom how I would ever get myself to a place where I was happy. One move to Miami later--well, we all know what happened. Even though I am convinced the best is still ahead of me, I as so grateful that I had the chance to spread my wings in this city that I adore and start another whole new life.

That is pretty much all I have to say about the decade that we just lived through. But, for 2009, there were a few remarkable milestones that I would be remiss in not sharing with you.

UNC WINS A NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP--Truly one of the sweetest victories in a championship game--to see Tyler and company vindicated after the humiliation that they suffered in 2008 was a lesson in perseverance, grace, and teamwork. The regular season was not that much fun to watch, but, oh, the tournament! Perfectly executed play after play coupled with almost blind determination made for a series of games that was a joy to watch. I so wanted my dear dad to see one more championship. He has now seen five championships for the Tar Heels! Which leads me to the next milestone--

DAD IS 90 and MOTHER/DAD CELEBRATE 60 YEARS TOGETHER--I marvel every day that I still have both of my parents and that they are in reasonably good shape. Certainly, Dad is doing well enough to get very upset last week when the Heels lost the Meineke bowl and he just had his Mercury Marquis inspected so that he can continue driving in the greater High Point area. The marriage of these two so completely different people has not only survived, but thrived, and their devotion to one another is so touching.

SOMETIMES IT IS MORE FUN TO SAY "SAYONARA" THAN "BONJOUR"--I am sure you understand how difficult it can be to cut off relationships that have outlasted their "sell by" date. I had a particular problem with this concept. What if this person changed? What if that person really needed me? What if I was misunderstanding what he was saying? In 2009, I finally learned how to say "goodbye" with firmness and very few sentences. What--well, not exactly fun--but something nearing delight. The fact that I have an Eternal Backup who has been in the picture for three years doesn't hurt. What is important is to remember the feeling from when we first connected and make sure that is the feeling for all connections moving forward.

22 DAYS in NEW YORK CITY-here is a place that claims my heart and mind with the power of the most ardent love affairs. The feeling that I have for this wonderful city almost surpasses the great loves of my life. Yes, I was lucky enough to live there for two years, but I think NYC might be a better romance than steady relationship for me. In addition to my holiday weekend jaunts, this year I cancelled a trip to the wine country of Oregon in order to take advantage of nine solid days in Manhattan and it was a wonderful decision. Gramercy Park on a summer afternoon, catching up with beloved friends who happen to be in NYC, seeing friends who live there, marvelous meals, seeing Angela Lansbury and God of Carnage from a third row seat,and watching a blizzard from the best table at Tabla, overlooking Madison Square Park--all of these and so much more made me very happy to get on that nonstop AA jet for LGA.

I DID NOT GET KIDNAPPED or ROBBED--Despite Mother's greatest fears, I was not kidnapped in 2009. Her new obsession is that I could be robbed. Just last week, when I was in High Point, I was carrying a jar of coins to the Harris Teeter to exchange for cash. She became very agitated and said that I was certain to be followed into the store and hit over the head once I had the cash in my hand. It never fails to amaze me that Mother has the scenario all in place. She demanded to go with me so that she could act as a lookout and fight the person who attempted the robbery. As I contemplate trips in the next couple of weeks to Paris and Dallas, I can only imagine the scenarios that will be presented. Oh, Mother!

Family of One wishes you a wonderful 2010 and a decade filled with unexpected delights. I'll be in touch!

Family of One Celebrates Christmas

For the past few years, I have been journeying to NYC for my Christmas holiday. When I first started going in 2006, I had the entire few days completely to myself and I savored every second. I saw A Chorus Line, Ceremony of Carols at St. Thomas Church, Steve Tyrell at the Carlyle, Young Frankenstein (well, not every second could be fabulous!); I took a rickshaw down Fifth Avenue past all of the enchanting store windows; I ate wonderful food; I enjoyed fabulous hotel rooms. Every year, I go to the Met to see the stunningly beautiful tree and the incredibly touching manger scene spread beneath it and I spend some time at the Temple of Dendur.

But, a funny thing happened along the way.

I started making connections which turned into friendships and now I have a plethora of folks that I cannot wait to see--my dining family at Eleven Madison Park, my darling Frank at the Mandarin Oriental and my Cristina who recently had a baby, my nail technician Meme, my former colleague and adored reading/restaurant correspondent, Shani. Now, I have to make sure that I will have time to see the Georgis O'Keefe exhibit at the Whitney and see one of George Cukor's early films at the Film Forum.

I can think of no better place to be. And I can buy a Georgia O'Keefe book and look at the drawings that are in the exhibit.

For, this year, in addition to the aforementioned, I am having an assignation with a new friend whom I met through the folks at EMP. When I sent them the T-shirts earlier this year, they gave two to a couple who regularly goes there. The lady wrote to thank me and we struck up a correspondence that has become very dear. It can be such a wonderful thing to discover a new friend, don't you agree?

Mrs. R and I agreed that we should definitely have lunch at Eleven Madison Park which would also give me the opportunity to have my Christmas dinner there as a Family of One. We also agreed that we just had to get together prior to EMP, so we are meeting for a cocktail on Sunday night--her husband, Mrs. R, and me.

What a wonderful holiday!

It wasn't always this way. I spent five very sad years in the 00's, tending to my parents for a week. It was not a holly, jolly Christmas. But, I felt that it was the respectful thing to do.

Then, it hit me that I was only short-changing myself by not having a true Christmas celebration. Being a martyr can only take one so far. I made my decision that it was OK to have a Christmas and I never looked back. I go to NYC for a few days, fly directly to High Point, and never say a word. Remember, this is our secret!

I think it is one thing to celebrate Thanksgiving alone because it can turn into something dark with a twist of the stuffing pan, so I am happy to be on my own. But, Christmas is different. Religious connotations or not, there is something so necessary about being around people who bring us positive energy and to whom we bring the same.

That is why I am happy to be heading for NYC once again and seeing all of my various family members--dining, grooming, publishing, and one representing an opening door.

Now, I better get my doodlebugs down to first floor of the triplex and finish packing. I have a taxi coming at 4:45 AM!!

Family of One Ponders the Future

Before I continue with descriptions of four more fabulous meals in the greater Spain area, I wanted to bring you up to date about Aunt Louise and let you know a bit of what has been on my mind about the future.

You may recall that Aunt Louise's assisted living facility was saved from being sold out from under her when it was disclosed that the church managing the facility violated all sorts of regulations in offering the property to the local university. Residents were told that they had at least a year to find a place and that the assisted living folks would help them. So, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Aunt Louise could remain in her apartment, as she so dearly desired, for another year.

I had encouraged her to move up an early December appointment with her doctor so that he could be aware of her living situation. On Monday, November 2, she went to the doctor. When I spoke with her that evening, she was unusually exhausted and could barely speak. She said that the doctor thought she was doing well.

The next day, Mother called me to report that Aunt Louise was being rushed to a nursing home to live. I could hardly process it. What had happened in less than 24 hours? It turned out that Aunt Louise had been keeping a lot of secrets about her health and was relying more and more on the other old ladies to take care of her. One of them became very worried and went to the assisted living administrator who asked Aunt Louise about her condition and she confessed all. She could not move her leg, she had terrible bed sores, her ankles were swollen double their size--these are only a sample.

The assisted living lady called Aunt Louise's doctor and cussed him out and told him he was an insult to the Hippocratic oath. He weakly said that he thought she was doing OK for 93. This lady leapt into action and found Aunt Louise a place in a very lovely nursing home and also paid for a nurse's aide to stay with her since she could not be left alone.

I was intrigued by the timing of this as I was leaving on my trip. Should I cancel it and go to High Point to be with Aunt Louise for this traumatic move? The move that she had said that she never wanted to make? Or, should I let the process unfold as it seemed to be doing so as to spare as much emotion and drama as possible?

I spoke with Aunt Louise and asked her what she would like me to do and she said emphatically that I was to go on my trip and she wanted to focus on getting herself to the nursing home. So, a friend took her away from her apartment of twenty years and left all of the sorting out to the incredible assisted living administrator with some help from Mother.

She is now receiving excellent care. She was listed in critical condition for a couple of weeks, but she is now able to take meals with others and has been moved to a room with a roommate. This, of course, was her worst nightmare, but she is handling it pretty well.

Back on Monday, November, 2, I asked myself what I would like to happen. My fondest wish had been for Aunt Louise to pass quietly away in the apartment that she loved, surrounded by her things. But, I also realized that she needed care quickly or she was going to meet a very grisly and unhappy end. I asked that she be cared for if that would be the best way to insure a comfortable end of her life and that wish was granted.

Of course, I tortured myself that I should have been more forceful in making sure that she was taken care of, but this is a woman who wouldn't even sign a power of attorney, so I had to accept the fact that I had done the best that I could.

And, then, of course, I pondered my own future. What was the lesson that I could learn from this cautionary tale and share with you as well? Leaving out the fact that I will have no living relatives that I even know if I live that long and that my closest circle of friends could be living in that great Bookstore in the Sky, I realized that I would need a plan. But, not right this year or even next year.

But, I have decided that when I am 75, I will make sure that I have a plan A and a plan B in place to make sure that I have the care that I might need. I think that is realistic. Any earlier seems a bit premature. Although I think it is incredibly important to continue going to the Biltmore gym and save a bit of money.

Most importantly, this is the lesson that I have learned. Aunt Louise feared two things more than anything--being a burden and leaving her apartment for a nursing home. She was always talking to me about how important it is to be close to one's family--even though I don't really know any of mine--because they will always be there for you. While she was pontificating about this, she was becoming more and more reliant on the old ladies around her who simply couldn't take it any more and are, of course, also trying to avoid going to the nursing home. She completely lost her perspective on being a functioning member of a family and what that means. It seemed inconsequential to her that she was causing so much stress and anxiety to those around her. The family that really cared about her was on the brink and, in the end, there was really only one solution which could give us some relief.

So, moving forward, I am going to try to always remember that in growing old, there are responsibilities not only in taking care of oneself, but in not taking too much advantage of the kindness of others. Family of One or Family of Twenty, we owe that to ourselves and those around us.

Where is Mother in all this? Well, she went to Aunt Louise's apartment and took the family heirloom water set for me as well as the manger scene that Aunt Louise made in ceramics class. An antique sewing machine from the 1880s only warranted scorn--"who in the world would want that old thing?" But, touchingly, she was very moved by Aunt Louise's china baby doll whose head I had inadvertently busted open as a child and for which Aunt Louise had carefully crocheted a cap to cover the hole in its head. The china doll is now living at Mother's.

Family of One Has a Top Ten Meal

As promised, I want to tell you about the most wonderful meal that I had on my trip to Spain. In the next few days, I'll share with you the runner-up meals, but this one has such a special patina that I decided to lead with it.

I had been told to try Sergi Arola's restaurants and so I made reservations at his restaurant at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona and at what appeared to be a casual restaurant at the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid. Because I had so many other high-maintenance reservations, I decided that would be enough of his cuisine.

On Monday, November 9, knowing that it was a national holiday, I scampered over to the Reina Sofia Museum to see Guernica and to have a delightful lunch. I had checked the guidebook and it said that the museum was open on Mondays, even holidays. When I arrived, it was closed up tighter than Dick's hatband (a favorite expression of Mother's which I don't completely understand). I was not particularly disappointed as I was a bit jetlagged and the thought of a long nap on the Heavenly Bed was fine, especially since I had recently partaken of the enormous buffet at the Westin Palace dining room. I decided to stop for a Coke Zero and a can of Pringles and climb into bed with my book. I had seen about as much of Madrid as I wanted to and it was a cloudy, gray day.

Returning to my room, I put on my Queen Bee pajamas and flung myself across the bed. I decided to look over my restaurant reservations for Barcelona and, as I was doing so, I noticed that the reservation that day for Arola was not at the Reina Sofia, but on a street whose name I did not recognize. I realized that American Express must have made the reservation at one of the "real" restaurants. Cuss a rutabaga, I said to myself. I should probably go down and tell the concierge to call and apologize for my not cancelling the reservation which was for 1:00 and it was now 2:30. I placed on my casual walking clothes and went to the concierge.

As soon as they saw me approaching, there was much consternation. "Where have you been? They are looking for you to be at Arola", they screamed. I explained what had happened. They got on the phone with the restaurant and much high-pitched Spanish ensued. They looked at me and nodded, "Yes, she will be there in ten minutes". They hung up and said, "they only have a few reservations today because it is a holiday and they are getting ready to close and we told them to hold the restaurant open for you". I was aghast. "Oh, that is not necessary", I said, "I will be OK going another time". "No, you must go today. There is to be no more discussion. We need to get you into a cab".

I am most happy when I know where I am going. I don't think that I am alone in this preference. I had absolutely no idea where the cab was going. I only knew that I had over 200 euros, so I should have enough to cover it. I called my beloved K from the cab and said, "do you think this is going to be OK?" She screamed with excitement and said, "you are having a surprise meal--how incredibly fun--enjoy every second". And, it's true. When you are traveling by yourself, you always know where you going to eat, so it is very unusual to have a meal for which you have no advance knowledge.

The taxi drove down several beautiful tree-lined streets and suddenly pulled up at a restaurant in a very posh district. The most handsome man was standing in the street waiting--for me, it turned out. He was anxiously looking from side to side and smiled happily when he saw me. He ran over to open the door and said, "we must get you into the restaurant". I apologized profusely for causing him to stay open and he said, "not another word, just relax and enjoy yourself. You will be the only person in the restaurant".

Well, that wasn't exactly the case as I entered a long, narrow room decorated very sparsely, but in an attractive contemporary style. I was seated on a banquette towards the back, about four tables away from a couple who was finishing up their meal.

The treats immediately begin arriving--cod fritters, Catalonian olives, tiny potatoes with a tiny bit of potato foam. There was a lovely glass of wine.

I was treated respectfully, but with alacrity. I could barely process what was happening, but I knew it was wonderful.

My first course was chestnut cream soup with sweet potato puree and bacon ice cream. Incredible.

The server asked me if I liked mushrooms and I assured her that I did. She said, "the chef has some extras from today and he would like to make them for you". I was served the most tasty range of mushrooms--delicate, earthy, chewy, smooth--in an incredible sauce that did not overwhelm the mushrooms.

It was about this time that I got just a little perspective on what was happening. Do you know that feeling when you suddenly find yourself with the opportunity to have incredible, passionate sex either with a stranger or your partner? You want to have that moment forever--the desire, the anticipation, the sensuality--but, you can't hold on to it for too long because real life will intrude and ruin the moment. That is how I felt--like I was being swept off my feet by one of the most magical meals that I would ever have. Part of me wanted to weep at the fact that I did not have hours to enjoy this experience, but the practical side of me knew to savor and enjoy every second, every moment. Because these folks wanted to get the hell out of there and enjoy their holiday, so I had to be considerate of that.

I could see into the kitchen and there was no one there except for a lone female chef and a fellow mopping the floor. She was literally cooking this meal for me. The other patrons had left. It was the most empowering, humbling, hedonistic sensation to be alone in that restaurant.

Next up was one of my favorite fish that I always order on my European adventures, red mullet served with cucumber and what I can only decipher as cream of flores in my rushed handwriting. Lovely. Simple. Perfect. It was accompanied by one of the most interesting taste sensations ever--perfect tiny Kenyan green beans with peach sorbet. I wonder if I could duplicate that in the triplex kitchen? Probably better not to try.

The dessert is one that I will remember forever--the taste, the texture, the temperature, the saltiness, the sweetness--coconut curry souffle.

The lovely staff started bringing out the petits fours, the macaroons, etc. I said (even as it broke my heart to have to leave this enchanted vacuum), "please just pack those for me so that you can go and enjoy your holiday".

Thank goodness I know that I can return to this restaurant so that I can have a more leisurely experience. But something tells me that no return visit will every duplicate the intensity, the excitement, the joy of this unexpected gastronomic adventure.

Family of One Enjoys Madrid and Barcelona

I am still reeling from the fabulous time that I had in Spain. I say this because I did not expect to have such a grand time. Interesting, maybe. Delightful, at times. But, I was completely seduced by Madrid, so much so that I am planning a return trip next summer. I adored the wide, leafy boulevards, the courteous, intelligent people, the interesting food, and the sense of contentment that I felt while I was there. I liked Barcelona and am happy to have spent five wonderful days there, but it was Madrid that really claimed my heart. Which fascinates me because I had not expected it. I felt such a familiarity there unlike anything I have experienced. When I am in Paris, I am just madly in love the whole time I am there, walking around saying quietly to myself, "je suis en Paris," and enchanted by every single experience. Which, let's face it, can become somewhat tiring. In Rome, I am mesmerized that I am attempting to buy a souvenir or have a meal next to a place where real life was going on thousands of years ago, so I am always slightly worshipful. But, in Madrid, I just felt happy.

While I had some wonderful meals, I am going to tell you in this post about some of my overall best experiences and I will post next week about the meals. They warrant their own post!

Best meal, hands-down: Just to whet your appetite (pun intended), the best meal on the trip, not to mention one of my Top Ten meals ever, was at Arola in Madrid. More to come.

Best taste--At another of Sergi Arola's restaurants, this one at the Arts Hotel in Barcelona, I had the most simple, yet flavorful, dish of the trip. I was served on the ubiquitous white dish--one fresh clove of garlic, one sliced tomato, a little pile of sea salt, divine olive oil, and a loaf of bread-voila, pan amb tomaquet. This was a dish that originated with the peasants who had very little to eat, but could always make a nutritious meal from these ingredients. So, I was instructed to spread the garlic on the bread, rub the tomato over it, sprinkle with sea salt, and pour a tiny amount of olive oil. Incredible. I thought that I could easily duplicate this in the triplex kitchen, but I am not so sure. The blue sea just beyond the window and the sheer perfection of those ingredients might make it tricky to replicate.

Best find--Gastroteca de Santiago was recommended in a New York Times article and was so good that I went there twice. Located just off the Oriental Gardens in Madrid, the restaurant is on a tiny square where only locals seemed to walk. To be continued.

Best hotel--The Palacio del Retiro exceeded all my expectations and now ranks as my second favorite hotel of all time. Located across from the beautiful Parque del Retiro, it is a seamlessly modern hotel in an early 20th century residence that has been beautifully converted. My room had four sets of floor to ceiling windows overlooking a courtyard and covered in gray sheer drapes that were like something out of a Catherine Deneuve movie. There was a comfortable sitting area, a fabulous king-size bed, lots of room, and, best of all, a four foot tall Phillips speaker on which I could play my iPod. The bathroom was equally posh with a wonderful shower and a soaking tub. Did I mention that I am going back next summer?

Best museum visit--I wandered over to the Prado on my first day in Madrid, having had a four hour nap in the Heavenly Bed at the Westin Palace where I stayed during the first part of my trip. I thought I would get the lay of the land, so to speak, something my father taught me on our many, many voyages through the 48 states when I was growing up. To my surprise, there was hardly anyone in the museum and I had quite a bit of energy. So, I toured a great part of it, having all of the galleries to myself. I was fascinated by the Titians and Tintorettos in particular. Although I will go back, I must remember that 5-7 on a Friday is the perfect time to go. The most interesting painting that I saw is by someone unfamilar to me and whose name I cannot decipher from my notes--Venenuano--and he painted A Last Supper that was very unusual as it depicted four dogs lolling on the floor and several of the disciples leaning back in an expansive mood. I must go see this again.

Best park--Yes, I love my dining experiences, but a close second is visiting parks and gardens. I carefully study the maps before I go to each city to find little-known parks and gardens, such as the one at Palau Robert in Barcelona. But, my complete favorite is Parque del Retiro in Madrid. So expansive, filled with such interesting architecture, such interesting people, and lots of venues to just sit and watch everyone. I loved that I was able to experience autumn and see lots of leaves on the ground, something that is foreign to the greater Miami area, of course.

Best cathedral--I also love exploring cathedrals. One of the most beautiful that I have ever seen was not exactly on the beaten path, but well worth the trip. San Francisco el Grande boasts the second highest dome in Europe outside St. Paul's in London and is so astounding and breath-taking in its majesty and elegance that I could not begin to capture it with a photo. There was a mass going on when I was there and it was a remarkable experience to see the parishioners who go there regularly in this magnificent space

Best concert venue--I was looking forward to seeing Brad Mehldau and Cassandra Wilson perform at Palau de la Musica as part of the Barcelona Jazz Festival. But, I was not prepared for the enchanting Art Nouveau architecture with one of the most stunning interiors that I have every seen. I was fortunate enough to be on the first row and so could appreciate every detail contained in the bas-relief muses on the back wall which can change color, creating a most magical effect. It was very interesting to be in an audience where I could not understand what was being said around me. It gave me a chance to really savor the incredible surroundings.

Most welcome meal--After a week of tapas and molecular gastronomy and sometimes not knowing exactly what I was eating, it was a pleasure to find a place simply called Entrecote, a short walk from my hotel in Barcelona. I now know that this is a "chain" called Le Relais de Venise, recently reviewed in the New York Times since an outpost had opened on Lexington Avenue , which boasts a very simple formula---wilted (not on purpose) iceberg lettuce with a mild dressing, nicely cooked and sliced entrecote in a tangy, yet soothing, sauce, and perfect French fries. Nice red wine and wonderful profiteroles. A very desirable meal, nicely executed.

Most overrated meal--Speaking of the New York Times, I could hardly wait to try the World's Best Sandwich, as touted by Mark Bittman. It was at a small sandwich shop called Viena on Las Ramblas. It is that wonderfully crispy bread with wonderfully salty Serrano ham, a bit of tomato spread, and olive oil. I could see that, at one time, this was probably a wonderful sandwich, but, in the three years since it had been so touted, I believe it had lost its edge. Let's just say that it cannot compare to the French dip at Houston's in the greater Miami area.

Another overrated meal (s)--I tried to like the gestalt at Alkimia and Cinq Sentis, both part of the "molecular gastronomy" scene. I had a better experience at Cinq Sentis where the tomato sorbet and the pan-seared scallop in sunchoke and onion glaze and the oxtail braised for 36 hours were all memorable, if not incredibly delectable. At Alkimia, I was given the worst table, in an alcove with no light. I asked for another table and was given a lecture on how lucky I was to have a table at all. Despite this unpleasantness, I settled into a nice routine with the servers, but I cannot tell you one thing that I had (they promised to give me a menu, so I didn't take notes) and I heard not one laugh, one chuckle, one guffaw in the dining room during the three hours that I was there. Dutiful is the word that I would use -for the service, for the food, for the experience.

Best hangout--I loved going into the huge, domed, somewhat shabby, but still sophisticated Lobby Bar at the Ritz. I went there after my exploration of the Prado and was fortunate enough to be in time for high tea which tasted just perfect. I went there several nights for post-dinner amontillado. My last day, I was so craving something "normal" that I went there for lunch for creamy vegetable (read tomato) soup and a plate of tea sandwiches. While I was there, visiting royalty prevented us from leaving the premises, so I was forced to watch as about twenty-four personages resembling younger Hillary Clintons and a man dapperly dressed in dark suit and sporting several medals entered the lobby. I never did find out from where he came. Still, an interesting way to spend an afternoon and much more satisfying to the soul than having to wait for an entourage containing the cast of Entourage to exit the Delano Hotel.

Best fancy meal--Beautifully prepared and served at Lasarte in Barcelona where Martin Berasategue earned his one Michelin star after only being in business for ten months. A striking and lovely 35 seat venue. More to come.

Most interesting meal--Viridiana in Madrid where the longtime chef openly scorned me, but I made the acquaintance of a lovely couple next to me--the woman named Marie-Jose!!-as well as an actor from the US who had gone to Duke and was a huge Yankees fan. As they say, what are the chances?

At this point, I will either need to say good night or book a trip for next week, so let me repair to my own kitchen for some spaghetti Bolognese and a glass of St. Emilion. To be continued with the emphasis on the five best meals.

Family of One Celebrates Thanksgiving

Thanks to all of you who have asked for an update of the travels and meals in Madrid and Barcelona. I have been just a tiny bit consumed with getting back orders filled for my customers, but I will have an update for you by the end of the weekend.

For now, I wanted to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving and to tell you that I am looking forward to a lovely day tomorrow. I am going to a nice breakfast in a fancy hotel somewhere in Miami and, for the big meal, I am going to the lovely Azul, the restaurant at the Mandarin Oriental where I have requested a seat on the balcony overlooking Biscayne Bay.

Thanksgiving used to be a fairly tough holiday for Family of One. There is so much emphasis on joining around a table of bountiful blessings, overeating and storytelling with family from near and far. I was always invited to several dinners, usually with the word "stray" or "orphan" attached. I know that these invitations were well-meaning and the dinners were fine. But, one year, I decided to just do what I love best--make a reservation at a lovely restaurant and enjoy my own company as well as checking out what is happening around me. I never looked back.

Until last year. I was issued an invitation by the husband of my minister at the time. I thought--I need to not be so focused on this single person enjoying T'giving. He said that there would be a large group of their friends and he did not use the word "stray". There were indeed lovely people gathered. But, not one of them was from Miami and they were all a part of the same friend circle, so every joke, every reference had to be explained to me. I felt badly for them because it had been a well-meaning gesture. But, I could hardly wait to get home and revel in my own company and talk to my friends to exchange stories about the Thanksgiving table as we like to do.

So, I am looking forward to a six course tasting menu tomorrow and the food issue of the New Yorker to keep me company. There will be at least a couple of tables that will strike up a conversation with me. And, I will order at least one glass of Veuve to toast you, my friends far and wide, so very dear to me. And, hope that you are having a fabulous day as well.

Family of One Takes a Vacation

I wanted to let you know that I will be taking a holiday in Spain--Madrid and Barcelona--and will return in two weeks to update you on the adventures of traveling alone.

I must tell you that I have been very nervous these past few days as I contemplated being completely on my own for twelve days, the longest time that I have ever spent totally in my own company. I am hoping that I do not get totally sick of myself because I am not sure what the solution would be if I did. My trips recently have been filled with interesting interactions, so I am hoping the same holds here. Although I did go to Lisbon last summer and spoke to not one single person of interest for a week. But, I am planning a do-over trip there before long.

Last year, in Prague, I saw the most lovely lady having breakfast with her husband in the dining room at the Four Seasons where I was staying. She was a delight to look at because everything about her was just lovely. So, I went over and told her how great she looked and that she should be very happy that she had taken such good care of herself because it had really paid off. Later, I ran into her husband and her on my floor and I was petrified that she thought I was stalking her.

Well, about three days later, I was finishing up breakfast at the Four Seasons in Budapest about 10:30 and who walks in but her! She acted like she had seen Angelina Jolie and came running over to my table. She said that she had never gone out on her own on a vacation and while her husband was taking a tour, she decided to come and have a snack and browse through a Vogue that she had just picked up. She asked if I would join her in a glass of champagne and said how much my compliment had meant to her. It turns out that she had married this wonderful doctor rather late in life and they had a fairy tale life of travel and long, sexy weekends in their A frame home in northern Michigan. It was such a delightful treat to run into her.

OK, I am feeling better. Maybe I will meet someone like her. Or maybe not. But, I will let you know when I get back!

Family of One Deals with Miscreants at the Biltmore Gym

As I was working on the draft for this post, I pondered exactly why this particular subject could be considered relevant in a blog called Family of One. After all, each one of us has our particular annoyances at the gym whether an orphan or a quadruplet. But, it occurred to me that the reason I wanted to share these thoughts with you is because as a Family of One, I don't have the luxury of being able to regale a captive companion (i.e., spouse, significant other) with them. I am not sure if this is especially good or bad, but I do think that it is important for us to be able to process our annoying experiences through the lens of someone else to keep our perspective. I am counting on you to help me do that and thus prevent me from one day going completely ballistic in the gymnasium and risking expulsion as I did last year when I had the resistance set on 25 on the recumbent bicycle and almost had a heart attack.

To me, the overarching annoyance at the gym can be summed up very simply--it's only about me. You know that expression that we all use about our business plans--80% of the total is controlled by 20% of the customers? Well, that is what I think about the folks in a gym. 80% are perfectly lovely, considerate, well-behaved. They take the time to wipe off the machine with a wet towel before they leave, they only stay the alotted time, they make eye contact and smile pleasantly. But, that other 20%? Oh, boy! Do they ever make life miserable for the rest of us!

After watching how one person can ruin a workout for twenty, I decided that it was causing me too much stress to keep quiet. The principal rudeness is talking too loudly on a cell phone, followed closely by chatting with others in a loud tone.I did not want to become known as the local bee-yotch, but nor did I want to be known as that middle-aged plump lady who will put up with anything. I established a five minute zone during which the person is allowed to blab as loudly as he likes. It quickly became obvious that there would need to be different strategies for different groups. For example, middle-aged to elderly women respond best to "SSSHSHSHSHHH" in a sharp hiss. Younger women respond to "Please be a little quieter" with a pleasant look. Men in general respond best to "sir, could I ask you to be a little quieter as I can hear you through my iPod on its highest volume?" These strategies have all worked out pretty well. I will be interested in what you say at your gym to such badly behaved gymnasts.

One of the more interesting exchanges--and just having an exchange is interesting because they so rarely happen--occurred a couple of weeks ago. I was on the elliptical next to a treadmill. A man in his late 20s who was obviously very important as illustrated by his high quotient of designer gym ware jumped on and immediately began taking calls on his blackberry which, unfortunately, had the same ringtone as mine. Every time it rang, I jumped out of my skin. He tried to make eye contact with me in a triumphant way to share his importance with me. Finally, I had enough. I said, "sir, your phone has the same ringtone as mine and it is completely ruining these few minutes when I am not a captive to it. Cell phones are not allowed here anyway, but I was going to let you get by with a brief conversation. But, this is becoming very tiresome". He smiled in a condescending way and said, "oh, you are mistaken. Cell phones are not banned here--just look at all of the people with them" and, as he said this, he looked around triumphantly, quizzically, despairingly. It was a beautiful sight because there were, of course, no cell phones to be seen. I smiled pleasantly and said, "I have three minutes left in my workout. May I ask you to silence your phone for those three minutes and, after I leave, you may return to talking and annoying the next person on this machine?" He begrudgingly agreed. But, guess what? When I left the gym twenty minutes later, he still had the phone turned off and exactly where he had left it!

The most annoying abuse of the machine that I have witnessed, however, did not revolve around a cell phone. There were four members of a family all using the ellipticals--a father (who was sporting a particularly heinous tank top and short shorts), a mother (late 40s, lots of bling), two lissome daughters fancying themselves to be Paris and Nicky Hilton. They had been on the machines longer than the allotted time, but showed no signs of getting off even though there were several of us waiting. In fact, they delighted in flaunting the fact that they were going to stay on the machines as long as they wanted! They treated them like an amusement park ride. They held hands in a long line of four while climbing; they turned around to face us and worked the levers backwards; they constantly gave each other high fives and screamed with laughter. I cannot tell you how much this was grating on me. You may ask why I simply didn't go to another type of machine, but, in the name of Madonna, I was going to get my workout on that elliptical. Finally, the mother stepped down in a fit of exhaustion, breathing heavily and doubling over. I leapt over and jumped on the machine with a dexterity that surprised everyone, especially me. Within seconds, another lissome daughter was at my side with a pouty face. "My mami said that I could have this machine and for you to get off". My response: "too bad".

When I first started going to the gym two years ago, I was approached by a wiry, older gentleman who was cute in a kind of aging leprechaun , Frank McCourt kind of way. He wanted me to show him how to use the various machines and it finally occurred to me that he was hitting on me. Indeed. His was a most direct approach: "The best lovemaking that I ever had in my life was with a large woman who lived on the Upper West Side of New York. You remind me so much of her. I am sure that I could have a better experience with you. I am happily married, but I would welcome the chance to get to know you better". I was fascinated by his approach--had I joined Plato's Retreat without realizing it? I have also been intrigued by a fellow named George who is about eight feet tall, approaching 70, bald, and has the loudest voice that I have ever heard. I was pondering how to get him to pipe down when I realized that he is considered the Biltmore Gym mascot, of a sort. Everyone knows him and tolerates his yelling because he is truly a kind guy and the gym is his main social outlet. So, I introduced myself to him and now I laugh and giggle with him and it is all very pleasant.

You might be wondering-ha, I bet Mary Jo has her moments of annoying others. I truly hope that I don't because I pride myself on being considerate in this world that can be so rude at times. But, I will confess to you that while on the recumbent bike the other day and, I swear, with no one around, I could not help myself from belting out the refrain to "Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered", the fabulous song from Pal Joey.

Family of One Deals with an Unusual Old Folks' Crisis

I was in High Point about ten days ago dealing with a very unusual crisis revolving around Aunt Louise. When you hear what it was, you will be so incensed. And, I have to say, dealing with it reminded me that sometimes it is good to be a Family of One, but sometimes, it would be nice to be a Family of Fifty or Sixty.

Before I tell you, I must relate an interesting exchange that took place on one of first nights there when Dad and I were watching the ALCS. I professed my affection for the Yankees. This caused a great outburst--wasn't I for the Red Sox?? Yes, I demurred, but I liked both a great deal with a slight edge going towards the Red Sox. "That is NOT allowed," affirmed Mother with much indignation. "You have to be for one or the other. Everyone knows that. Why do you have to do everything so oddly?"

I reminded them that, as a child, I had an undying fascination with anything revolving around New York or Boston. This all started when my father would regale us with stories from his quarterly trips to New York to buy toys, cosmetics, the 1960s versions of electronics, and other sundries for his drugstore chain. The restaurants--Gallaghers, The Forum of the Twelve Caesars, even The Playboy Club, the shows--Mame, Hello, Dolly, Half a Sixpence--it all sounded so fabulous. And, to top it off, my dad always brought me the latest Nancy Drew book from Macy's.

"So," Mother queried, "it is Dad's fault that you were not content to live in High Point like a person with good sense and that you had to move up North?" I indicated that she was correct. There proceeded much excoriating of my dear father who quietly accepted responsibility for sending me on the path that led to the glorious delights of living in Boston and New York.

My aunt lives in a very nice, government-subsidized apartment building for the elderly which is owned by the Wesleyan church in the High Point area. They somehow got it into their heads to sell it to the local university for a dormitory and had a meeting where they announced to the 89 residents that they would need to find a place a live--pronto. Most of the folks there do not have cars and, of course, had been expecting to live out their lives there. There were no immediate openings in local assisted living or independent living communities. After the local TV station featured it as the opening story on the evening news, all you know what broke loose and, by the time I got to High Point, the spokesperson for the Wesleyan church had apologized for being a bit too hasty, the local university was posting disclaimers everywhere that they did not realize that the old folks had no place to go, and the government had threatened the church with serious repercussions for violating their contract.

The folks who live there have been given a year to find a place and have been assured that the place will not be sold until every person has found a place to live. This has taken considerable pressure off Aunt Louise who has gone on record as saying that she hopes her next destination is her heavenly home. When told this, Mother snorted and said, "she should be so lucky". Mother has forbidden me to try to help her because, of course, what do I know about how to find an old person a place to live?

As for having a family, I have dear friends who helped me research what was going on, brainstorm solutions, and provide moments of much-needed levity. I was taking my beloved J to breakfast the day after I found out and I said to him that there had been a crisis with Aunt Louise. His response, so very kind, was "has she passed?" My response, maybe not so kind, but accurate: "would that be a crisis?"

After visiting Aunt Louise, Mother wanted nothing more than a trip to Belk's, the local emporium, at a somewhat nice shopping mall. But, what would we do with my dad, she wondered? I said, very matter-of-factly, "why can't he sit in the car?" Just as matter-of-factly, Mother replies, "oh, no, someone will shoot him". I told her that I had not heard of any murders in the Oak Hollow Mall area in several months, but she was adamant that he could not sit in the car. Instead, we took a drive all through the backroads of Guilford County and it was a lovely end to the weekend.

Family of One Goes to Eleven Madison Park

Many of you know of my great fondness for the fabulous New York restaurant, Eleven Madison Park, and how thrilled I was this summer when the restaurants received the highly-coveted and rarely-given four stars from the New York Times. I started going to the restaurant regularly back in 2006 when four stars were a dream for the new chef, Daniel Humm, who had come from San Francisco and the restaurant at the Campton Place hotel. I don’t know exactly what made me decide to go there, but I am awfully glad that I did.

After many years of not visiting New York, I had developed a taste for going there again and I was looking for a restaurant with which I could become associated. I call it my “tentpole” restaurant and it is one which totally captures my heart and my palate and which becomes a regular stop for me. I look forward to getting to know the folks that work there and to seeing how the restaurant changes. My fancy dinner on that trip was at Le Bernardin and so I was looking for something lovely, but maybe not quite as precious. I had frequented most of Danny Meyer’s restaurants and so thought I should give Eleven Madison Park a try.

When I walked in, I was totally captivated because the large, elegant, beautifully decorated space with the giant windows overlooking Madison Square Park was exactly as I had envisioned NYC restaurants when I was growing up in High Point. There was a slight drizzle outside which only made the scene more enchanting. The food was excellent and I enjoyed getting to know the general manager who had recently come from Charlie Trotter’s. I walked away with a good feeling.

I went back at Christmas and the next spring and the next summer and soon I had lived through a couple of changes in management. With the third group, I started feeling very much at home. I was given “my” table, at the top left hand corner of the highest level where I could watch everyone in the restaurant and with a peerless view of the park. I started growing fond of the staff. I started looking forward to the incredible gougeres and amuse bouches and the wonderful goat cheese butter that accompanies the bread.

At the same time, I did not want to put all of my culinary eggs into one basket, as it were, so I also formed an attachment to a restaurant called Country that was also highly touted and conveniently located in the hotel where I often stayed. It, too, was a beautiful restaurant, lovingly restored, but with much more of a cozy feeling. I started getting to know the staff there as well and had some marvelous meals including a truffle tasting.

At EMP, I now looked forward to finding out the latest in the lives of almost everyone I knew. I mourned when ones that I had grown close to left. I had received requests from friends to go with me to EMP, but, somehow, it had become my place, the place where I could read and listen to my iPod and eat increasingly delectable meals. Taking someone would break that spell.

Every year, I go to EMP just before I go to my parents for Christmas. I consider that my Christmas dinner since my actual Christmas celebrating is a bit, shall we say, muted as it is in the presence of a ninety year old and an eighty seven year old. Last year, one of my favorite managers told me that he had a present for me. The staff is always kind to me in letting my try new vintages or new dishes so I supposed it was a special course. Imagine my delight when Rob presented me with a menu, based on what I had eaten that evening, focused on my upcoming trip to Paris that gave staff members’ personal recommendation for places that I would like. At the top, it said, “From your EMP dining family”. I was so touched and grateful and would have sobbed, but I had not had the cheese course or dessert.

So, when I saw the announcement that EMP had gotten four stars, I was beside myself with joy as if a treasured colleague had closed a spectacular sale. I had Tshirts made for the staff that said—EMP Four Star Summer 2009—because they are my dining family.

As for Country, the story is not so pretty. There were several changes in management, but none of them could get any traction. They were repeatedly closed for health code violations. Finally, the restaurants closed with a slight whimper. I made the decision that one tentpole fancy restaurant is enough.

Let’s just say I am sticking with EMP.

Now, here is what I had on my last visit in early September—

Thousands of gougeres
Amazing amuse bouches
Sweet corn veloute chilled with bacon bavaroise
Santa Barbara sea urchin cappuccino with peekytoe crab and cauliflower
Hawaiian prawns roulade with avocado, lime, and yogurt (I had never had this and it was one of the signature dishes)
Organic rabbit rillettes with Concord grapes, pickled onions, and grilled pistachio bread (one of the rare misfires)
Atlantic halibut seared with sweet corn, summer radishes, and purslane
Four Story Hill pork belly applewood smoked with summer truffles (and presented in the most breathtaking—literally—way under a glass dome of swirling smoke)
Elysian Fields farm lamb herb roasted with petits farcis Nicois
Fromage including Brebirousse d’Argental, Aria, Tomme de la Chatigneraie, St. Nectaire
Blueberry and sweet corn bread pudding with buttermilk sorbet

Family of One Deals with Mother and the Kidnappers

I'm not sure if you know that Mother has always been obsessed about kidnappers.

It started when I was four or five, living on the lovely tree-lined Westwood Avenue, and Mother told me not to leave the yard with strangers who would come by in a large, black car because they would take me out way out into the woods and cut off my arms and legs. I am sure that she told me this not only as a deterrent to my talking with strangers, but because she was convinced that this strategy would insure that I would stay in High Point, if not her front yard, forever. Instead, the reverse happened and I determined that I would need to leave a place where strangers roamed around, creating torsos with heads, and that it might be best if I headed for a big city where I could be anonymous.

Fast forward 40+ years--I have lived in a variety of big cities including Boston, New York, and Miami. Mother is still convinced that I could be kidnapped at any time. She is a special devotee of the kidnapping ring of which she points out the vagaries on a bi-weekly basis. There is no situation where I find myself that Mother cannot think of a way that I will be kidnapped either by a ring that has just formed, a long-standing ring, a man or woman working alone, or someone employed by the hotel or restaurant where I am currently ensconced.

A couple of years ago, I was on my way to a Miami Heat game at the American Airlines arena. I told Mother this fact knowing that there could not be kidnappers at an NBA game where I would be surrounded by a multitude of husky, strong men. Mother was adamant--"you are going to be kidnapped tonight because they have a kidnapping ring organized at the basketball games"--I replied, "I don't really think we need to worry because I will be surrounded by friends". "They are looking for people like you" was her confident reply. "It is going to happen tonight".

My dear friend P came to stay last month. Mother was convinced that he was part of a kidnapping ring that was using the guise of his friendship to enter my home and confiscate me. I took P to the hotel where he was staying for a conference and called Mother knowing that she would be delighted that he was no longer staying in my home. But, no. Her response--"You are an easy target for the kidnappers because as long as saw P in your car as you were driving around Miami, they would leave you alone. Now, they see you by yourself. Why couldn't P have stayed longer?"

I must tell you that, through the years, this kidnapping theme has gotten very old. I can be in Paris or Santa Monica or Chicago, having the time of my life, and I have to listen to how to watch out for people walking by me carrying Kleenexes because they are doused with chloroform. I was almost to the point of asking her to please, please stop talking about this absurdity when I had an insight. Mother is not known for being particularly affectionate or sentimental. She is not going to wrap up a gift card to Williams Sonoma for me or give me a big hug when she sees me. She is not going to say please tell me what is troubling you and let's talk it through. Warning me of kidnappers is the closest she can come to telling me how important I am to her and how much she treasures me.

Once I realized this, it has given me much more patience with dealing with her. Last week, I went to book club and parking in a parking garage across from the bookstore where we meet. I was chatting with Mother as I navigated my way through the garage. Without thinking, I said, "ok, I need to hang up now because I need to focus on parking". When she found out that I was in a parking garage and would be taking an elevator to the ground floor, she said, "this has got murder written all over it". I replied by telling her that there had not been a robbery at this particular garage for over two weeks. She said, "you call me before you leave that garage so that I know you are all right and that I do not need to contact the Miami police department to report a kidnapping".

This brings me to a new tradition that we have begun--when she "rides home" with me. When she knows that I am going out at night, she will say, "do you want me to ride home with you?". Huge sigh. I was going to politely decline when I realized that this is Mother's way of keeping her child safe and of staying connected to me. We have had some of our best conversations as she rides home with me.

Mother swears that she would not pay the ransom if anything befell me, but I think it safe to say that I have kidnapped Mother's heart.

Family of One Flies Home on a Jet

You will be happy to know that, after the misadventures experienced on the flight to Charleston, I had nothing but a pleasant time on the regional jet to Charlotte. And, being upgraded on the flight to Miami was a lovely surprise on a Friday afternoon. I was feeling unusually wistful about returning home with no plans or no one to see. When I am wistful like that, I try to remember to ask myself--are you really sad or just tired?--and I decided that I was just tired after all of the fun trips to NYC and to my parents' anniversary weekend and to my beloved Charleston. Once I acknowledged my exhaustion, I was very excited about the plane taking off.

Need I say more?

You guessed it--just as the plane was literally ready to take off, we were informed that there was a malfunction in the navigation system and we would have to return to the gate. Visions of getting home the next day and spending the afternoon in the food court filled my brain.

But, very interestingly, the attendants made sure that they were nothing but optimistic and kept us supplied with drinks and lovely conversation. I was very impressed by how they reflected none of the anxiety that was permeating the plane.

An hour later, we were on our way and I could finally start envisioning what I was going to do as soon as I arrived home. But, I wanted a word with these delightful attendants, so I walked up to the galley and told them how much I appreciated their fabulous service, especially in light of what I had been through earlier in the week. They wanted to hear more, so I told them; they returned the favor by telling me how badly behaved some attendants can be. They encouraged me to write to the vice-president of US Airways and let him know about this travesty of an attendant, but I told them that I would prefer to focus on the positive and tell him about their exemplary behavior.

Hugs all around! Smiles abound!! Everyone is happy! No one is making sarcastic remarks about my questions about baggage storage. I hope you are lucky enough to see Tracy Schlor and Dianne Britton on one of your flights. They reminded me of how wonderful it can actually be to take a flight.

And, sure enough, I was just fine when I got home, not wistful, just thrilled to be able to have a very quiet weekend.

Family of One Flies on Regional Jets

In a week that has been marked by outbursts not just inconsiderate, but downright uncivil, I wanted to share an experience that connects yet another family--the Family of Frequent Fliers. This week, I flew on back-to-back regional jets from Greensboro, NC to Charleston, SC. Never my favorite mode of transportation, I am finding the two claustrophobic flights to be top candidates for fraying my nerves on a regular basis.

On the first flight, I was seated next to a youngish man who appeared to have an occupation as perhaps a rodeo rider. His "daddy" could not find his seat and demanded that I let him have mine. I let Clint Eastwood, Junior handle the situation since it was determined that Daddy's seat was two rows back. But, then, once in the air, how nonplussed was I to find this young man using a Dr. Pepper plastic bottle as his spittoon. Approximately every 90 seconds, he let go a long stream of tobacco juice into the bottle. This was a first---and, I hope, a last--for me. I tried keeping my left hand over the side of my face as a quasi-screen, but it was not much use. Goodness.

On to the second flight.

I boarded this regional jet with my standard black carry-on, the exact suitcase that you and thousands of others have. As i was in row 2, I looked for a convenient overhead bin, but every bin was full until about row 12. In what I promise you was a lovely, kind voice, I asked the attendant why the bins were so full. She replied in a frosty, tense voice that those were the crew's bags. I did not ask the question that was on my lips--why in the name of Amelia Earhart would the crew take up all the space at the front of the plane--but said to her, "would it be easier for you to check this bag?" She rolled her eyes and said, "There is no way that I am taking this bag back to baggage claim for you. You made the choice to bring this bag on the plane, it is up to you to find a place for it". Once again, the word "nonplussed" sprang to mind as most attendants almost dance with glee at the thought of having one less bag in the cabin. Thankfully, a kinder attendant named Jeremiah came from the back of the plane and said that he would find a place for the bag and that he would make sure that I got it as soon as the plane landed.

Now, it is time for me to take my seat--2F. There is a casually, but elegantly, dressed gentleman in 2D. I say--once again in a lovely tone--"sir, could I trouble you to let me take my seat?" He stands up, but snarls at me, "An excuse me, sir would have been enough and even preferred--don't you have any manners?"

As I sit down, he says to the aforementioned hellcat of an attendant, "this is exactly what we have been talking about" and points at me as if I am Kanye West at the VMAs. She screams with flirtatious laughter and says, "yes, she is a perfect example."

Once seated, I say to the gentleman, "Sir, I am sorry if I have offended you but not using the phrase excuse me, but I felt that I was awfully polite in the way I asked if you would let me in". Again, he snarled, "it's obvious that you have no manners."

Just when I think that things cannot get any more uncomfortable, the attendant takes the microphone and proceeds to regale the cabin with the fact that Republic Airlines, our regional carrier for the flight, is known for their witty and warm conversations with the passengers. She proceeds to read her itinerary for the next several weeks, pausing to trash Greensboro, NC and what she insists on calling Myrtle Beach, North Carolina as particularly backwards places. She then talks to each person in the first two rows, pointedly ignoring me, and asking each person to tell a little bit about themselves. To a woman with one young child, she delivers a five minute lecture on the importance of not having another child for a long time.

I am reminded of the wonderful scene in Annie Hall when Woody Allen wishes for a sock filled with a manure to use on a self-important moviegoer standing close to him in line.

I manage to avoid any further exchanges on this dreadful flight by keeping my Pat Conroy novel completely held upright and completely in front of my face.

Once landed, I ask the attendant if it would be better for me to deplane and have Jeremiah bring my bag to me to prevent my holding up the line. In an exasperated voice that implies I have the IQ of Cheetah, she says, "if you step off this plane, we are not responsible for what happens to your bag". So, when some unfortunate soul about midway back gets caught between the seats, I take the opportunity to race back and get my bag and, I must admit, haughtily depart the aircraft.

You will be relieved to know that I only have one regional jet flight tomorrow.

Family of One Celebrates a 60th Wedding Anniversary

Even though I have just returned from New York where I had a four star dining experience at Eleven Madison Park which I am eager to share along with many other urban adventures, it hit me today that I really need to speak about my upcoming weekend.

I am leaving tomorrow to fly to High Point to celebrate the 60th wedding anniversary of my parents who were married on September 11, 1949 in a lovely ceremony. As you know, my parents are still in their home and still very engaged in the world around them including, but not limited to, watching Tar Heel sporting events, asking me how my sales are, and casting aspersions on President Obama.

Several months ago, I asked them how they would like to celebrate the day and offered them a plethora of choices including a party at a local club, a dinner at a local bistro, any number of friends they wanted, a day trip somewhere. They were not keen on any of the above. As Mother put it, “we don’t know from one day to the next if we’ll even be here, so let’s not get carried away with plans”. Her suggestion—put out locally made chocolate layer cake in her three different dining areas, invite in folks, and let them have at the cakes.

This idea was later ixnayed because Mother felt that she would be sure to forget someone and there could be hurt feelings and testy exchanges.

Our plan is for me to spend an entire weekend in their company and, hopefully, journey to a variety of local eateries including Rainbow Diner, Spyros on South Main, and Carolina Diner. This sounds wonderful to me not only because they are both able to enjoy these places, but because they all serve fabulous fried shrimp which is very hard to obtain in the greater Miami area. We will not be going to IHOP because we went there last month and Mother was apoplectic because the bill was $30 for the three of us. I am taking the new Pat Conroy book to enjoy on their lovely back porch and look forward to some reading time as well as reminiscing with Mother and Dad.

I was having a hard time coming up with an appropriate gift for them. For their 50th anniversary, G and I took then to Wild Dunes for a week at Christmas where we had rented a beach house out of some fabulous chick flick. I was still pondering the gift when I went to NYC last week. I took along with me a very charming picture of them as newlyweds. I ventured into Tiffany’s on Saturday afternoon which resembled a ride at Disney World more than it did a scene out of a Blake Edwards film.

The gift department had a calmer ambience, so I selected an Art Deco frame and the lovely assistant placed in into the frame for me. I had barely glanced at the price, so when she handed me the bill, I was a bit taken aback. I quickly computed that I could buy my parents two TV sets or several iPods or, well, you get the picture (no pun intended).

I took a deep breath and looked out the window which had a perfect view of the Plaza Hotel with Central Park in the background. It was a lovely September day. I thought about how very fortunate I was to be standing there in a city that I love so dearly and looking forward to seeing both my parents on such a special day. I acknowledged to myself that there would have been a time that I would have practically thrown myself on the floor at Tiffany’s because I would be journeying to High Point alone, without a mate, and worrying about how we had no family with which to celebrate.

And, then, I smiled my biggest smile and said, “I am so thrilled to have found the perfect gift”. There were hugs all around and I departed in a cloud of goodwill.

I really don’t know what Mother will think of the gift. I think she will be amused that Ms. Astorbilt (as she refers to me) shopped at Tiffany’s for her. But, the day that I bought the frame will be a wonderful memory for me and that is worth a lot.

And, now, it's time to celebrate the fact that 60 years ago, a wedding took place between a young woman who had the clever idea to untie the bow on the sleeve of her dress and ask a certain young pharmacist if he would mind retying it for her. Yes, that is how their first date happened--when Mother walked into Dad's drugstore with an untied bow.

Family of One Takes a Holiday

Wishing everyone a happy Labor Day weekend! Those of us in college textbook publishing are exhausted from the rigors of fulfillment season when we help our customers with their materials as the students go back to class. I will be lolling in New York City for a couple of days, but will be back next week to give you a report.

In the meantime, I want to thank you for the enthusiastic response that you have given this blog. It has been very interesting to hear from so many of you about your own situations. At least 40% of you have told me that, even when you are married with children, you often don't have a close friend in your town and rely on technology to stay connected to those whom you treasure the most in your friendship circle.

I look forward to hearing more from you, so feel free to post under the comments section here.
With much affection, MJS

Family of One Interacts with Mother

You may know Mother. If you have not met her in person, you may feel as if you know Mother. She is very—unusual. She is 87, still lives at home with my dad, and still offers her opinions on everything. As she has gotten older, she has retained her beauty, but the filter that would keep one from being a little too honest has dissipated so that talking with her often requires the skills of the publicity handler for Jon and Kate.

For example, on a recent visit to High Point, Mother said in a very conversational tone as her attention was turned to the omnipresent Fox News, “do you regret that you never had any children?” She had never asked me anything so thoughtful or provocative about my choices, so I thought about my answer carefully. “Yes, I think it would have been wonderful to have had that experience and I think I would have been a good mother”. Very calmly, and without taking her gaze from the TV, Mother says, “you would have been a terrible mother. All you think about is where your next meal is coming from”. This was, shall we say, a bit shocking in its brutal assessment and, once again, I wanted to reply as calmly as possible. “I think that had I married one of the delightful men that I dated in my 20s or 30s, it would have been fine. I would have been a good wife and we both would have been good parents”. I was very pleased with this reasoned answer. Once again, without turning her head, “no, you cared just as much about where you were going to eat back then. It would have never worked out’.

So, it was not without a little alarm that I spoke with Mother last week about the possible demise of Aunt Louise, who is 93 and lives alone in an independent living facility. Her phone had been off the hook all day and Mother was convinced that she was lying dead on the floor. I tried to explain to her that since Aunt Louise wears a Life Alert necklace, we would know if she had been incapacitated and that we would have to accept that her phone was off the hook. Yes, it was very annoying to continue hearing her message, but, perhaps, a tiny break from dialing the phone every ten minutes was in order.

It was very troubling to both of us that we don’t know anyone at the “home”, as Mother calls it, who could check on Aunt Louise. I assured her that Aunt Louise would pick up the phone to make a call and all would be well.

Mother is nothing if not determined, so she called the management of the “home” to no avail. She then called and told me that she was going to take the extraordinary step (in her mind) of calling Bobby Auman, who used to deliver prescriptions for my father’s drugstore. As a rather new resident, Mother hated to impose on him and she was also not comfortable with the male/female dynamic involved, but she was getting really shrill, so I told her to go ahead.

Breathlessly, she called me back and reported that he would go over and check on her as soon as put his shirt on. Mother was slightly discomfited that he was watching TV shirtless. She stressed to him that “Aunt Louise is an old maid, so please don’t attempt to enter her apartment. Just call out her name and make sure she is alive”. She also encouraged him not to engage in further conversation as she would be waiting to hear from him. Mother is nothing if not focused in her requests.

Sure enough, Aunt Louise was happily watching her beloved Atlanta Braves and very annoyed by this needless drama and appearance of Bobby Auman at her door. Aunt Louise called Mother and there were sharp words exchanged, as one can imagine.

Thankfully, Mother spoke with the management of the “home” and she now has several numbers that she can call when she is worried.

As for me, I am just so grateful for the advent of texting which meant that I could engage with two dear long-distance friends who are having similar issues with their mothers.

It is at times like this that, as a Family of One, I wish that I had some company as I traverse the path of assisting aging parents. But, then again, I wouldn’t have Mother all to myself.

Family of One Goes to Dinner and a Movie

Three out of four Saturdays, I am either entertaining a guest, traveling, or collapsed in a heap on the sectional sofa. But, on that fourth Saturday night, I partake in the pastime that consumes much of the world on Saturday nights—going to dinner and a movie.

I used to resist this activity, thinking that it smacked of single woman showing the world that she, too, could have a life. And, so I tended to just hang out at home, cooking and watching a movie. But, then, it occurred to me that the reason that the dinner/movie is such a popular combination is because it is fun and easy. So, why should I be deprived of such a wonderful way to decompress?

I learned the tricks of making this a delightful process. First, about Thursday, I say to myself, “Self, would you like to go out to dinner and to a movie on Saturday?” You will be relieved to hear that I do not carry on a dialogue with myself in two different voices because that might indicate that I am crazy and we know that is not the case. Instead, I start looking online to see what is opening and what appeals. For the dining part of the evening, it is important to select a restaurant that is good, but not great. There is no need to savor every mouthful because I need to head for the movie. But, it is important to go to a place that serves a variety of nice dishes as well as an acceptable wine list. I don’t want to go to one of my places where I am considered part of the dining family like Jaguar or Houston’s because then I have to spend my dinner talking with everyone and I don’t really get to relax. There are a few places in the Grove, South Miami, and Miami Beach that are the perfect places for these casual, yet charming, dinners and so I go through my list and decide what is most appealing.

There is definitely an art to selecting the correct movie. I don’t want to select a blockbuster or event movie because there will be crowds with shoving and pushing to get to the seats and that is not fun at all. I don’t want to select anything that has the potential to traumatize or cause nightmares because this needs to be a relaxing experience and not require six Lunestas. I find that there are usually a couple of choices and I use the critical thinking skills espoused in the many textbooks to which I have access to determine the best choice.

Last night was a very pleasant evening. I decided to go to a relatively new Italian restaurant on the fringe of Coconut Grove called Calamari. The food is good, the service is lovely, and there is a very nice ambience. After dinner, I would see Taking Woodstock, a movie which fit all of the above specifications.

Meandering through the Grove along the brick sidewalks and under the lush greenery is always a pleasant experience. On this particular evening, I did become a bit warm as the temperature hovered at a humid 94 degrees. I was greeted by the shrill harmonica of Bob Dylan as I approached the hostess stand, so we made the decision that I should sit inside with my favorite waiter who calls me his lucky charm. I was in a room overlooking Main Highway, a lovely road awash with the aforementioned greenery. Next to me, there was a table set up for 40, but I assumed that I would be long gone before this banquet got underway. The only other people on my side of the restaurant were a couple.

I ordered simply—a glass of Pinot Grigio and a veal piccata accompanied by pasta and some wonderful crusty bread. On my Saturday dinner/movie nights, I usually don’t read because I read so much the rest of the time. I just sit and sometimes I will give myself an agenda like—how many dresses should I buy this fall? or how many nights should I spend in Barcelona? And, of course, I love observing what is going on around me.

It only took a minute or two to establish that the couple close to me was on a semblance of a date. The man with a modest combover did not stop talking about blogs that he is quoted in on Washington politics as well as the current state of Florida politics. He never asked the woman anything. I established that this was a date by leaping up when he went to the men’s room and asking the woman if she was on a date or married. When she looked at me quizzically, I told her that the level of their discourse was so interesting and that, if they were married, they had one of the most intellectual partnerships I could imagine. She said. “well, he’s a friend, but it’s not a date, but I am hoping it becomes a date”. From this I surmised that it was an Internet date, set up on one of the many online dating sites. I came to this conclusion because they obviously did not know each other, but she appeared to have high hopes for this meeting.

I have to report that online dating was a complete disaster for me. When I say disaster, I mean a disaster akin to never being able to eat fried oysters again. Of course, I feel that I might have shot my online dating wad, so to speak, because I met G through a dating service, the precursor to Internet dating sites. We have stayed connected for almost twenty years, so I do understand that these types of services can be beneficial and I understand that many of you have had good experiences. With that said, I am overjoyed that I never have to go on another horrible Internet date and, as I listened to his continued prattlings and her shy efforts to add something to the conversation and watched as the man walked in front of the woman, never looking back at her as they made their way to his car, I shook my head and wondered if chivalry is really dead or only taking a small vacation.

Now the folks are starting to drift in for the party. It’s a good-natured crowd with a variety of ages, but most folks seem to be in their 30s and there are a few kids around 10 or 12. It is always so interesting to me how quickly these groups become segregated with the men and women in different groups. And, of course, a group of about four women formed the dreaded Surround at my table—backs to me, but completely blocking my table so that I cannot stand up. And, of course, my only view is of their backsides.

This irritates me to no end, especially when I am not fortunate enough to be getting ready to leave. I do not understand why people think that because one person is sitting at the table, that person is not entitled to the right to breathe, see the other patrons, and not have someone’s rear end in her food.

I stood up and said sharply, “excuse me” and gave them each a baleful stare which is not a pleasant experience for them or me. They just kept chatting, exchanging their scintillating stories. I said, again very sharply, “please get out of my way so that I might exit the restaurant”. They barely moved and kept chatting with each other. So, I looked over at their husbands and smiled my most ingratiating smile and rolled my eyes in amusement at their silly wives. The husbands were waving and saying, “have a great evening” and “you have had so much fun over there by yourself’. You better believe the women let me through and they were as quiet as little sheep. The husbands were still waving.

Well, this little encounter did raise my blood pressure just a little because I am not a fan of groups of women behaving so badly.

But, I was determined to stroll down the brick sidewalk to the Cocowalk theaters in a placid and calm manner. I continued on to the movie which had just the right amount of people (about 30% full) so that I felt comfortable, but not overwhelmed and, even though the movie did not have much of a story, I enjoyed the excellent set details that Ang Lee provided and it was all very pleasant. Which is just what I wanted.

Then I strolled home under a beautiful Miami moon and thanked myself for the lovely evening.

Family of One-Introduction

I spend a lot of time alone. I mean, a LOT.

I live alone, I work from a home office, and I live in a city where I have many lovely acquaintances, but no close friends. I have no spouse, no children, no siblings. My parents and my aunt live 800 miles away; they are 87, 90, and 93 and, while they are in reasonably good shape, they do not form what could be called a support network.

I used to dread seeing the look that would cross the faces of folks that I met on a plane or a business meal or at church when they heard that I had no spouse, no children, no siblings, elderly parents. I used to dread the invitations to “bring your family” to the Doodad Festival and “make sure to bring enough food for your family to share”. I won’t even give you the list of epithets that escaped my lips when I heard about couples-only and family-only events. And, the thought of a weekend alone with no plans would always remind me to focus on the fact that, one day, there would be someone with whom to share everything.

A few years ago, I was consumed with the thought of becoming an orphan. I fretted endlessly about what would become of me when I no longer had my parents .I had recently gone through a break-up with my boyfriend of nine years and, shortly thereafter, I lost my job which had been my primary form of self-identification for 20 years.

Then, things got even worse.

I have since read that all of us go through a period usually in our 40s/50s called “the rapids”when we are coping with a great amount of loss/changes in a short time and that the tumult can be almost overwhelming. Demons are unleashed, problems appear unsolvable, and hope is in very short supply. I thought long and hard about what was the point of any of what we call our lives.

As horrible as that time was, I learned a lot about leaning on yourself, knowing whom to trust, and savoring the serendipitous moments that lead you back into the light.

I realized that I had been living in a state of suspended longing, thinking that I would not always be saying that I was alone. And, then, I realized what a wonderful gift it truly is to have this freedom. I started looking on those empty weekends as wonderful opportunities to read or sleep or cook or watch 50s sitcoms, all of the things we say that we will do one day. I realized that even if something did happen to my parents, it would be OK if I happened to be strolling down the Via Giuliana and I began traveling to, well, pretty much wherever I felt like going. I started saying “no” when the church called me to prepare a dish for—you know---a family.

It dawned on me that I was a family---a Family of One. It made a lot of sense and I was shocked that I had not thought about it sooner. I had actually gone down the road of joining “groups” and becoming part of “communities”. But, if you have ever been around me in a group of more than about six or seven, you will realize that I sometimes seem distracted. This is because my brain is doing this kind of exploding thing trying to take everything in. I had always thought that I might have some kind of unusual mental disability that could be found in the DSM III.

Of course, upon thinking it through, I realized being alone was a pretty natural state for me—after all, I had spent my formative years alone as an only child with only a visit from a cousin every couple of years; the first nine years of my career on the road, driving, eating, hanging out alone; and lived most of my life on my own. Why it was a miracle that I was even walking around!

So, being comfortable alone made perfect sense and I stopped all of that nonsense about trying to make myself happy in a large group of people. I finally understood that I was happy to go out by myself and talk with interesting people that I met and observe the human condition while having a wonderful meal or strolling through a museum.

Before you start thinking I am getting all Lifetime Movie on you, just think about the people you know who are single and, if you are single yourself, think of how much fun (and support) we can have talking about ourselves in such an optimistic way.

Every week or so, I’ll write a piece about—mostly—the joys of being a Family of One—my favorite experiences. But, of course, I’ll have to let you know some of the irritations and pensive moments as well.


Upcoming Posts—(suggestions welcome)—include----
Family of One Goes to Eleven Madison Park (latest four-star restaurant in NYC)
Family of One Attends a New Church
Family of One Sends Scathing Looks to Miscreants at the Biltmore Gym
Family of One Sees Ponyo
Family of One Plans a 60th Anniversary Celebration for the Parental Units