• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
  • Archives

She Was Slammin And Her Ass Was Jammin

First day back from vacation, mother Louise. Over 300 e-mails, two blasts from the past, still chasing money, still hammering contracts, signing a new client, getting a new project out the door, notes to three writers, (call my accountant, dog walker, airline, mother), three manuscripts delivered, send David Orr’s starred PW all over town, (call psychopharmacologist, gynecologist, dentist, and mother), manage expectations of three writers on the brink of publication, commiserate with business partner, gossip, (call contractor MIA), pull together submission list, get London Book Fair shit together.

Sorry, that’s all I got.

26 Responses

  1. You should try to squeeze in a couple more lunch meetings. And don’t you have a podiatrist to contact?

  2. It’s all such a blur, what comes after the docking. Just take your elderberry syrup and do your pigeon to keep the back, bowels and bronchial pathways free from harm. Them airplanes and their germs, you know.

  3. I’d love to hear a conversation between you and your mother. You mentioned her twice. The other stuff sounds like work. Eh, work is work, it’s starting to look like to me. I thought I was missing out on something but now I’m not so sure. As I think I’ve heard it said, it all comes out in the sifter. Shake it, baby, shake it!

  4. That’s all you got? I’m tired just reading it. But I love that your mother got two calls amidst all of it. Good daughter. Or serious guilt.

  5. Oy. Breathe and stretch, breathe and stretch…

  6. “Manage expectations of three writers on the brink of publication.” More, please.

  7. Huh. I might just have to use Orr’s book when I teach the 7th grade poetry unit in May…I tend to keep myself safely wrapped in the invisibility cloak of “make it new” and keep their poetry reality safely pre-1920’s, but who knows, maybe I’ll stray into uncharted waters with my young and impressionable wards this year…and THEN maybe O Magazine will feature me in a fashion spread for rising young middle school teachers. Spring. Fashion. Modeled by rising middle school teachers.

    See? You’ve sold TWO books via the blog.

  8. I think you’re wise to ease slowly back into things.

    It always takes a few days to get into the swing after a great vacation — but I’m sure you’ll be up to full speed in no time!

  9. well that should teach you a lesson about vacations. I love your blogs and you should never, ever go vacation again. Just keep those funny fingers flying.

  10. Apology accepted. You got a lot.

  11. Will you stop with the London Book Fair thing, already?

  12. Mother Louise, thank god for gossip.

  13. All I can ad is “Like Janet Jackson – in the Rhythm Nation.” Mickey Avalon is my guilty pleasure and dirty little secret.

  14. ad not add – wth?

  15. I apologize in advance if you’ve heard this one before.
    Just the other night I was taking the dog for a walk and the air felt mountajn stream cold. A friend drove by in his pick up truck, dog by his side. We waved, he drove down a ways, turned around in what seemed to be slow motion and pulled up on the side of the road next to me. The dogs barked greetings and warnings. Want a beer? my friend asked. We talked for awhile, catching up on old friends, town politics and the weather. I’m a seasonal employee, he’s full time and makes a little extra money clearing driveways after each substantial snowfall. The people he plows for are from downstate mostly and he was having a hard time collecting all his pay. Time’s are tough, I said. He grunted, then smiled and asked, Hey, you know why you can’t get a blowjob in New Jersey?
    Why?
    ‘Cause all the cocksuckers have moved up here!
    We spoke for awhile more, finished the beers and he drove off. I shook my head; I’m a Yonkers transplant and wondered if I was immune from his perception of those-not-from-around-here. The dog and I headed home. It was a quiet evening, but it was all I had.

  16. In 5 lines I spy 3 mothers.

  17. I have rules. I’ll only read literature that’s good for me if it has a talking tiger in it. I’ll only read YA over my dead body. I’ll only read mysteries that are set in England and I’ll only read travel if it’s about some place that I want to go to or if it’s about some place I’ve already been and never about the tropics except if it features digusting skin diseases.

    And I’ll only read a book about poetry if Betsy Lerner’s in it. Because, as you can see, I’m quite the connoisseur when it comes to what’s worth reading.

  18. Girl.

    That’s all.

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