It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Beauty on our lawn this morning

That's the name of one of Rose's favorite shows. I have caught a couple of episodes and end up feeling every bit of my 63 years--it's funny for sure, but definitely NOT aimed at my demographic. Maybe I'll revisit it during my new free time...

But I thought of the title this morning looking out the window at the glorious daffodils that have sprung up all over the neighborhood and are dancing in the sunshine. It is a beautiful day in Philadelphia, and I look forward to getting out for a socially-distanced walk later on.

The contrast between the joyful display of nature and our current situation is jarring. I remember feeling the same way on another gorgeous, blue-sky morning: Tuesday, September 11, 2001. By all rights the heavens should have been weeping torrents of rain, and the sky should have been swathed in gray...it certainly would have better matched the mood.

It took me years of pondering, but I finally concluded that it actually was fitting that the 9/11 terrorist attacks were NOT reflected in the weather that day. There was, and should have been, NO connection between God's incredible creation and the horror that had been unleashed. The warm sunshine was a comforting reminder that God's love shone on, shines on, upon God's grieving people. Despite their best efforts, the masterminds of the World Trade Center tragedy did not succeed in conquering the world. Life would go on, though forever changed.

And so it is today, as we collectively face another horror, this time a faceless and still unfolding one. The range of our permissible activities is narrowing daily, even hourly. Shops and restaurants and other gathering places are shuttered, and even the neighborhood playground, Aiden and Peter's favorite hangout, is closed, with yellow caution tape around the swings and slides, the basketball standards stripped of their baskets and hoops. It is as if everything around us is paused, and we're waiting with bated breath for whatever is coming next.

For those of us who struggle with anxiety and depression, this is an off-the-charts stressful situation. My heart aches for my fellow sufferers, and I know so many more are feeling these feelings as strange and new. I count out my antidepressants, glad I have several months’ supply, but meds only help so much at a time like this. It’s hard to practice mindfulness when you hate what’s going on in your mind.

Amid the fear and confusion, however, the birds sing. The cherry tree in the yard is beginning to bud. The sun is setting later every day now, ridiculously beautiful displays of color splashed across the sky as its evening show, until the more subtle but still, exquisite, shades of dawn herald a new beginning tomorrow.

“All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well,” wrote the medieval mystic Julian of Norwich. And when I look out my window right now, I can almost believe it.

On This Day...

Enjoying a big breakfast with Julie in Dingle, Ireland 2017

Always MEAN to do things to better yourself (go spelunking, master Swahili, learn counted cross-stitch) but never have time? Well, now you do, during our International Time Out!!!

I recently subscribed to “On This Day,” an informative daily newsletter published by Encyclopedia Britannica. Since this particular day doesn’t promise a heckuva lot of good news, I’m finding it more fun to delve back into the archives of history and check out the doings on some March 17th's of yore. Join me!

Of course, the Big Guy must be mentioned first. Saint Patrick is honored today in many places, though with all the bars closed it won’t be quite the same (pro tip: you can make your own green beer with food coloring!) St. Pat has a fascinating back story: kidnapped and sold into slavery as a teenager, finding his way to Ireland where he became a beloved bishop who managed to spread Catholicism without ticking off the Druids in the process (we could use his diplomatic skills right about now). Legends crowd out the facts, however: the Trinity explained with a shamrock! Snakes banished from the country and cast into the sea! It’s even said he raised 33 people from the dead (or maybe they were just heavy sleepers). I love St. Patrick, as I’m Irish through and through and I think it’s a requirement. Plus I named a son after him.

But March 17th has more riches to unearth!

Mia Hamm and Nat King Cole were born on this day. One kicks soccer balls, the other invites listeners to “Get Your Kicks on Route 66.” Oh and Rudolph Nureyev’s birthday too. I guess a grand jete is a kind of a “kick,” right?

Golda Meir became fourth Prime Minister of Israel on March 17th. The great Eleanor Roosevelt married FDR on March 17th.  Milestone events for two amazing 20th century women. Still waiting for the many amazing 21st century women to be adequately recognized for THEIR achievements.

BIG DEAL: Apartheid finally repealed in South Africa on March 17, 1992.

SMALL DEAL: 1958. The Champs topped the pop music charts with the timeless classic “Tequila.”

Camp Fire Girls was founded on this day, 1912. I never actually knew a Camp Fire Girl. Did you?

The rubber band was patented in 1825. Can you imagine how kids shot spitballs before this?

Today is Irish Coffee Day. Also Corned Beef and Cabbage Day. Wonder why?:-)

Today is WELLderly Day (get it?) Well and elderly--combined! That’s me! Almost!**

Had enough? Me too! We need to save our energy for celebrating tomorrow (March 18th-birthdate of Neville Chamberlain, Grover Cleveland AND Queen Latifah!) and the next day (March 19th--Feast of Saint Joseph, swallows fly back to Capistrano, and--most importantly--Steve and I married in 1977.)

Let’s see, if we all spend a couple of hours every day researching, the weeks of lockdown will speed by, and we will be SO much wiser!

*I just checked another source that tells me Wellderly Day was yesterday! Fake news!

It's Magic

Excerpt from Aiden's Magic Show...

https://share.icloud.com/photos/0y_yMrzmwjf-Kn_fr1KMB5wtg#Oreland

Despite the stresses and worries of the past few days, we are blessed in the Seyfried house. Who cares if the Broadway show Steve and I had tickets for this week was cancelled (along with Pennsylvania Ballet with Ya-Jhu on Thursday, and Philadelphia Chamber Music Society concert with Sheridan next Tuesday, and and and)?? We have our own little live-in entertainment, Aiden and Peter! The boys are blissfully unaware of what’s going on in the world (except for the fact that school is closed--which for a preschooler and a kindergartener is actually a cause for sadness). Mama, Baba, Nana and Pa are constantly on the premises (yay!) There are walks in the sunshine and bike rides with their parents, there’s baking with me and TV watching with Steve. Thanks to Mama Ya-Jhu, there are art materials and library books aplenty. The Brio trains, those sturdy if pricey wooden wonders, were brought down from the attic recently, and are enthralling the offspring of their original owner.

But it’s the magic shows that bring me right back. Sheridan at age five was all about performance, usually recreating his parents’ children’s theatre plays, with trusty sidekick Evan playing a supporting role. I fondly recall little Alex (as Sher once was known) doing the “disappearing gold coin trick” from Pedrolino in a Pinch. “I hold the gold...enfold the gold and...behold!” he would announce after conspicuously pocketing the coin in question. We would ooh and aah over this feat of prestidigitation, prompting many a repeat of his “trick.” 

Yesterday Aiden decided it was his turn to wow us. In the morning he created tickets for each of us, on which he’d written our names and the price ($1011, such a deal!) , assigning his small brother the job of box office manager. Sher very sweetly worked with his son on the two tricks that would later make up Aiden’s Magic Show. At 7:00 PM all was ready. Peter solemnly collected our tickets in a basket. We sat on the sofa in the family room as our Houdini made, first a piece of paper, then a Matchbox car, “disappear” after covering them with a box. Soon it was done. Aiden took his bow to our applause, and immediately invited us to a NEW magic show, with NEW tricks, scheduled for tonight.

One of my favorite parts of Little Women is the description of the plays the four March girls would present to their family and friends. Jo would write the scripts and assemble the cast, and a grand time was had by all. I think of the difficult times in which the book was set, and it is easy to identify. We humans are hardwired, I think, for optimism (it’s what has enabled us to survive as a species). And the pleasures of entertaining each other, even during crises (going back to ancient campfire stories) are eternal.

In these tough days, I still believe in joy. I believe in laughter.

I believe in magic.

Corona Life (or The Other Side of the Barn Door)

Posted this on our church FB page today (I didn't write it but think it's spot on)

You’ve heard the saying “closing the barn door after the horse has escaped”  to denote a gesture made too little, too late. Well, I think of ourselves in the US as in that predicament, closing our borders (barn doors) when the virus has already gotten a significant toehold and is rapidly proliferating. Is it prudent to try and stem the spread now with some common sense travel restrictions? Sure! Steve and I (cue the tiny violins) have postponed our trip to Europe, scheduled for mid-April, until September. Should we Americans regret not doing more, sooner? Should we have anticipated this with more foresight, more funding for medical research and keeping response teams ready, more safeguards in place? Yes. Of course, 

In any event, here we are, taking a bit of a Keystone Kops approach to things. Which gatherings to cancel (some are calling for public events to be limited to 250 people, which I find comical: I guess it’s Mister 251 we should all fear!)? School closed, or not (decisions are all over the map at this point)? At church we are eschewing wine intinction at Communion, and we’re dropping the hosts into people’s hands and leaving the offering plate in the back and not passing the peace...still, should we gather for worship anyway? And how about those toilet paper hoarders? Those disinfectant hogs? Will we indeed resort to eating all that hastily purchased canned beef stew? I remember my shelf full of non-perishables as we awaited Y-2K, wondering if the Apocalypse might be preferable to consuming those cans of processed beets and spinach I’d chosen to stockpile.

Sadly we don’t have enough hospital beds or medical equipment in this country to safely weather a sudden huge spike in cases, nor is a vaccine on the horizon, so we take what precautions we can, complaining all the while (well I do, anyway) about this disruption to our cherished routine. History has echoes aplenty for us, had we chosen to pay attention: the influenza of 1918 (my Grandma Berrigan and her brother Frank were sent to Ireland from NY for a year to escape the brunt of it), the Bubonic Plague of medieval days. Pandemics happen sometimes, and they are no respecter of people’s busy schedules.

We’ll get through this, I believe. I just hope somebody remembers to take notes, so that next time we can be better prepared...because, at some point, there WILL be a next time. Meanwhile, let’s be really careful about blaming and demonizing our brothers and sisters. It could have started anywhere--even in the good old US of A. When it’s all over, I hope we can look back on a time when we pulled together, loving and supporting and caring for each other. 

As our calendars sport Xs for crossed off outings, why don’t we use a bit of that freed time to reach out to one another via texts, phone calls, and emails? All in this together, my friends. 

God bless us, everyone.

Our 40th anniversary three years ago. Guess we'll be home for this one!

Maybe I'll Just Go Back to Bed

Gloomy view from my window this morning. Figures.

I do have my pet theories about the way the world works (my world, at least). And one, which has proved tried-and-true, is this: as goes my morning, so goes the rest of my day. Now, this can be good news indeed, if my early hours are filled with accomplishment, rainbows and butterflies. If, for example, I write a good piece before noon, I am likely to hear from an editor accepting that or another piece of mine, sell a book or two, and line up a speaking gig. These are also the days when my hair is frizz-free, I get a surprise phone call from one of my kids and the new chicken dish is a big hit at dinner.

On the flip side, once things start off on the wrong foot, the day is basically doomed. Take technology: on the same day recently, Microsoft Word abruptly stopped working on my Mac, for reasons unknown (even to the Geek Squad at Best Buy) and I was also suddenly unable to print anything. May as well have just gone back to bed at that point, because it was also the day that I had not one but two essays rejected. And the bread I was baking didn't rise. And my hair was meh. And the surprise text from my daughter was that she would NOT be able to come home for a visit after all (surprise!)

I’ve had multi-day (even multi-week) runs of bad or good fortune, both of which are disconcerting. When multiple appliances fail at the same time as the car needs a new transmission, or, conversely, when the entire fam escapes the nasty stomach bug making the rounds. What gives? And if I can’t figure that out, what’s to keep the bad things from continuing, or the good things to suddenly stop? When I compare notes with others, the results are a mixed bag. Some kindred souls share similar tales of woes and wows. Others maintain that The Power of Positive Thinking ™ inoculates them from ever having a crummy day.

This line of reasoning is pretty irrational, I realize. There is a good bit of randomness in life, and patterns most often do not apply. That does not, however, stop me from seeing patterns everywhere, from the torrential downpours that usually accompany my white-knuckle drives downtown, to the brilliantly sunny outdoor wedding of a friend’s daughter—a friend upon whom the sun always seems to shine.  

So here we are, on 2-20-20 (good omen? Bad omen? Omen at all?) I began today emailing an editor a pitch for an essay, featuring a major typo. We’re off to the races! I'm sure there have been exceptions to my rule, but I can't recall ANY train wreck of a morning that ended up in triumph. And I wonder if these are self-fulfilling prophecies, and I begin to emit negative vibes to the universe immediately after the first misstep.

Maybe, indeed, it’s just me.

But what if it isn’t?

J-Lo, Shakira and Me

I admit, I  didn’t watch the Superbowl halftime show Sunday night. By the time the famous booty started shaking, my booty and I were sound asleep. But I got caught right up at 4:30 AM the next morning, watching it all on YouTube (pre-dawn internet browsing is what happens when you go to bed before 8 PM). It took me a little while to process the spectacle. Here are a few observations:

I cannot watch someone crowd surfing without remembering the only time I participated in a trust fall, with the youth group I was leading. I closed my eyes and fell backwards, trusting in the reflexes and good faith of my students. I was caught before I hit the ground, but barely. That would be me hurling myself into a mosh pit: dropped, then trampled. But Shakira was a different story! 

I also cannot watch someone pole dancing without recalling the field trip to the firehouse in fourth grade, and my ignominious partial trip down that pole (I froze halfway down and had to be rescued). Not so J-Lo!

However, I do have stuff in common with those two superstar Latina goddesses.

Give me a minute. I’m thinking.

Oh yeah, here’s something: we are all moms! Ms. Lopez has 11 year old duet partner Emme, and Shakira has two cute little boys. I raised five kids, including three cute little boys, and I actually sang with my older daughter in church one time (for some reason I was never asked to repeat this feat). 

Rose's album, in which I was NOT featured

Here’s something else: we all have noticeable hips! Even when I was down around 105 lbs. many moons ago, dieting and exercising to beat the band, the tape measure didn’t budge much. This “Built for Child Bearing” look was a source of shame for decades. But recently, and thanks in part to these ladies, it is more than OK to be a bit hippy. 

And finally: we are all middle aged! Granted, I am a lot farther down Menopause Road than they are. Also granted, they could easily pass for 20-somethings, whereas I have grown weary of telling cashiers that no, I do NOT yet qualify for the senior discount. 

Seriously, though, I admire them both, and am thrilled about their continued success in an industry that still ridiculously favors youth. They may have hit the beauty jackpot, but it was their talent that was most on display Sunday night--that and their incredible work ethic. 

The brief, sweet tribute to Kobe Bryant and his daughter during the show was a reminder that any age is vulnerable to tragic outcomes. Life is short, and in the grand scheme of things, my hip measurement and wrinkles truly do not matter. 

So take it from my friends Shakira and Jenny. Be proud of who you are. Live every day to the fullest. Be trusting, and a little daring. Work hard. And (especially us women of a certain age): keep singing out. The world needs our voices.

O Lord, Won't You Buy Me a Mercedes-Benz?

"One of these things doesn't belong here..."

A skid on a snowy road last Saturday, and my ten year old Hyundai was totalled. We needed a rental car, so off we went to Enterprise. The young guy behind the counter looked at our reservation and said, "Seyfried? I went to school in Upper Dublin with a Julie Seyfried!" Yes, he and Jules had been classmates. Now, I'm sure there's no connection, but next thing we knew he had waved us over to a Mercedes in the parking lot. "You can rent that for the same price as a regular car," said he. I pulled gingerly onto the road, terrified of denting or dinging this automotive masterpiece.

I am intensely uncomfortable with luxury. I feel like a fraud in Neiman Marcus (even if I'm just cutting through the jewelry department), and when I take the Walk of Shame past the snooty first class airline passengers en route to my last row seat in economy, I agree with their pitying glances. I am the one sitting in the nosebleed section at concerts and plays, observing the swankily dressed privileged folks on orchestra level far, far below. The few times I have redeemed a spa gift certificate, I have been very tempted to offer to take the place of the hardworking masseuse or manicurist, because what right do I have to be pampered?

The closest Steve and I ever came to Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous was way back in the early '90s, when we collaborated with a Philadelphia real estate mogul/composer on a musical project. Jim had written some tunes for a show he envisioned based on the life of a Howard Hughes (another high roller, naturally). We were brought in to write the book and lyrics. For months, after toiling away on a script in our modest abode, we'd go over to his McMansion to update him on our progress. Sometimes Jim had similarly wealthy friends over, and it was all I could do to not hang up their coats and fetch them hot toddies.

Eventually Jim bankrolled a performance of "Flight" in Manhattan, We were still clipping coupons for Pampers at that point, so this "money is no object" attitude was completely alien to us. We planned to train it from Trenton for the big event. Silly us! A limo was summoned by our composer, and we were whisked up the New Jersey Turnpike like royalty. Lunch at Sardi's? Of course! Alas, after an initial flurry, the show went nowhere, and our fairy tale sojourn ended.

Anyway, the Benz sits in our driveway, looking very out of place. I can't figure out the radio, or the backing up camera, or the heated seats--and in a week my fabulous wheels will be gone, so there's no point learning.

Would I buy a Mercedes-Benz  if I had the means? Not sure. But for now, I hope I can get past feeling like the Great Pretender as I drive around town, and just enjoy my (very expensive) ride.

                                                          The original from Janis Joplin...

Gmorning, Gnight

Gmorning from the younger version of you

Who couldn’t wait to be you at this age right now

Gnight from the older version of you

Who remembers the exact moment you are in right now

And is grinning from ear to ear, because

You have no idea about

The wonders ahead

Gmorning

Eyes up, hearts up, minds sharp

Compassion on full blast

*Sips coffee*

Okay, let’s go

Gnight

Eyes shut, hearts open

Minds calm, empathy on full blast

*Sips tea*

Okay, let’s go

                        --from “Gmorning, Gnight” by Lin-Manuel Miranda

Julie gave me this book for Christmas, a collection of the “Hamilton” creator’s tweets over the past several years. I must confess I shelved it at first, much weightier tomes in the queue ahead of it. And, to be honest, I initially thought it was like one of those sappy little Hallmark inspirational books (or those annoying internet memes featuring cute kittens saying “Hang in there, baby!”)  

But then came a cold and dark early morning when I needed more than a mug of java to get me going, so I opened the small volume and read a page. This was not sappy stuff! Miranda has a breezy, slightly irreverent tone, and his pep talks are delightful. I am lucky enough to have lots of loved ones who cheer me on, but I know that’s not the case for many. For them, a book like this may be just the thing to make them feel supported and celebrated.

Now, there’s a line between affirmation and effusiveness, a line I sometimes crossed with my kids, and that my mom and Nana crossed with me. Nana used to carry a copy of the IQ test I took at age 4 IN HER PURSE (I can picture her whipping out my “stellar” score to show the unimpressed butcher at Harry’s Market). To Mom, everything I said and did was pure gold, to the point where I didn’t believe her. Recalling that, I tried to restrain myself from praising Sher’s compositions or Patrick’s soccer goals to the skies. Nowadays, I hear Aiden say, “Nana, why aren’t you clapping for me?” when he has a minor achievement, and I reply, “Look, Buddy, I love you but I’m not going to clap for every single thing you do.” Aiden is momentarily crushed by this news flash, but within minutes is back to happily playing. And his parents give the same response to him and to Peter; I predict the boys will grow up very well adjusted, without inflated egos.

Baby Einstein? Not by a long shot!

I think it’s human nature to crave encouragement and acceptance, especially during the down times of life. Someone who believes in us, and doesn’t desert us when we fail (as we all do). We can and should be cheerleaders for each other, and give one another a little validation in a tough world. I think Lin-Manuel is on to something, and I hope his message spreads everywhere:

Gmorning, my friends. Have a wonderful day. You got this.