Dolly Will Never Go Away...

Dolly is at the Fifth Avenue. Lonely treated recently divorced daughter to GREAT seats! LR loves to hear the orchestra tuning up...the signal for the beginning of a magical experience. Even bad shows have one great song, one great dancer, one great line. Lonely loves them all! Grandma and Grandpa loved the theater. They traveled to NYC a couple of times a year to "do the shows." Though they lived in a tiny town in upstate, they were influential in bringing professional summer theater to the village. As a kid Lucky Lonely spent many a Wednesday afternoon ushering the tourists to their seats and seeing Broadway shows and stars for free. The actors loved being upstate, the tourists loved the quaint venue, and Lonely sang along. One summer a famous alcoholic director ventured upstate to "dry up" and Lonely's mom was employed as his private nurse for the six week season. He never did really "dry up" but mom's stories became part of the family folklore, and drunk director became a friend and fan. Lonely's dad was involved in community theater, making sure that our love and lust for the stage didn't dry up over the cold upstate winter. Lonely helped him learn his lines and gave lots of unsolicited kid advice about his acting. The whole family would cringe in our seats if he missed a cue. Dolly was corny and fun, the dancers were amazing, the sets and costumes fabulous. We sang all the way home. We all need more musicals in our lives.

A-wimoweh, a-wimoweh..

If you are not wearing a sweater or wrapped in a blanket with your teeth chattering, you are probably not in Seattle. It has been a crazy, crazy winter in the Northwest, but we had a couple of almost nice days. Lonely Rivers entertained the idea of spring .... for about five minutes. The snowflakes this morning were as big as feathers...not little bitty bits of down, mind you, but FEATHERS! The skylight above was covered in less than a minute...and it stayed cold enough to keep it that way until about noon. It warmed a bit and then it rained buckets. And then the sun came out until it rained again. And now the wind is blowing the porch furniture around. It will be a blustery and cold night. March came in like a lion and continues to roar.

Jeremiah Was Bullfrog

The book is called EAT THAT FROG! It is one of those time management books that made someone a million dollars. It's all about procrastinating. How not to.

The author says, if you have a lot of frogs to eat, you should eat the biggest one first. Get right up in the morning and EAT THAT FROG. He says you should clear off your workspace so that you have room to eat one frog at a time. You should push yourself to be the best and most efficient frog eater, a model for others. Keep a list of the Frogs you need to eat and check them off after each meal. Lonely Rivers sees the remains of her retirement croaking the last feeble croaks. She waited too long to EAT THAT FROG.

Will You Still Love Me....

....when I'm sixty-four...which will be in exactly 10 days.
Time goes by so quickly...and time... I was 22. It was 1967. They sang. I listened. Sixty-four seemed a long way off. I was 42. It was 1987. Little did I know that twenty two years would fly by and I would be singing solo at sixty-four. Regrets I've had a few.

No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems

Lonely Rivers is posting today from a lovely little spot in Mexico! Six days of pure relaxation at Petit Lafitte..a very small hotel with amazing food, fabulous service and a stretch of white beach near Playa del Carmen. The only drawback of remote location is the non-road leading to it ( actually a few miles of something that may someday become a road, through brambles and brush and what looks like construction leftovers. It twists and turns and bumps and folds and cab drivers appreciate the big tips they garner from grateful passengers who realize they have been most fortunate to find a driver who will suffer the trip. Our fellow guests are all very charming and friendly, and from every corner of the world. And did I say that the food is authentic and fabulous? Lonely Rivers has always loved a beach vacation...ah the SEA!!

Thank you Melissa and Mike for choosing to have a sweet and intimate beach wedding at the HUGE resort up the well paved and civilized highway. None of us counted on the hundreds of bikini clad sunworshippers who lined up snapping pictures and taking videos as you came down the beach aisle... These folks stood witness to your vows along with the sixteen invited guests...and will no doubt recall vividly the delightfully personal event...May you enjoy many wonderful memories in your long and happy future!

Howd-ya-do, Howd-ya-do,Howd-ya-do

As a young wife and mother, Lonely Rivers was not adventurous in the kitchen. She was married to a regular meat and potatoes guy. Three meals on the table seven, twelve, and six. No pasta, no sauces, no rice, fish, seafood, or puddings. No fancy salads. Russian dressing striped over iceberg lettuce the way his mother did it. No mayonnaise and no foo foo oils or vinegars. No cake. Ever. She dreamed of a Steamy Vivaldi pasta pot in any of the Four Seasons.
After the funeral she made a chocolate cake. The way her mother did.
It didn't taste that good.

Hey There Georgie Girl!

Today being Saturday, I will begin telling you about my Saturday gig.

As I was trying to get used to the idea of of retiring, I quickly realized that I would have to eaaaase into it (retirement). My career has spanned almost four decades..and I just couldn't imagine not going to work every single day. So, I got a Saturday job - which meant that I now work six days a week instead of five. I realize this does not sound or look like retirement.

However, the part time job, it turns out, is really fun!
Since April, Lonely Rivers has been spending her Saturdays as a "shop girl" in a consignment store for lovely larger ladies. The owner of said shop is a smart businesswoman with a conscience who sets the stage for inexpensive fashion transformation. She takes in flattering, gently worn, stylish clothes, and (re)sells them at reasonable prices. Now here's the fun part - I can be the transformer! I get to encourage and help our customers put together fabulous outfits for every occasion. I love it when they leave the store feeling great about themselves, their bargains, and looking super sassy! It is so much fun!

Working six days a week has not yet caused retirement...but it has let me know that I can find great joy in doing something that is 100% unlike my day job!

This is our Once A Year Day!

Happy New Year!
There are so many reasons to be hopeful today – not the least being the new administration to be come official in a few short weeks. We end our year looking over our past, and begin anew with vision and determination. We eat right, exercise, floss and remember to send birthday cards. We start over – fresh and ready. And at the moment, the dow is up!
A New Year’s Day party at a friend’s home was the evidence – everyone buzzing with ideas for the economy, healthcare, and peace. And the food table laden with dips, fats and sugar went untouched while the vegetables disappeared. We are all getting fit for the new deal.
I am full of good intentions! The snow events and the isolation of the holiday weeks have begun to wear on me and I am ready to return to work and human face to face interaction on a regular basis. I have read a bazillion blogs and I am grateful to all of the funny, smart people who have been my company over the past couple of weeks. I love reading your thoughts, ideas and stories…had no idea there was such a community out there!

A Hazy Shade of Winter

The metro driver announced he would go no further, pulled to a stop and wished them all a happy holiday. Just like that. Powerless and without recourse, she stepped into the blizzard, eighteen frigid blocks from home. Snowbanks, sidewalks, yards and street merged recklessly and disappeared altogether as she trudged on, balancing precariously in the rutted and iced tire tracks. Blinded by sideways snow, she cursed the weather, the driver, her shallow breath and her waning stamina. Lawrence of Arabia gone Zhivago, Match Girl gone Engine that Could and Miles to go before I sleep. A few years ago, maybe a few minutes ago, a winter trek seemed an invigorating challenge, a magical adventure. Today in her sixties, she thought first of dying for trying, and finally ....... the Theme from Rocky!

When I'm Worried and I Can't Sleep......

There had been talk about not decorating this year. No one will be visiting, no Christmas Tree. No one will be here, why bother? The girl raised her eyebrows. "But you will be here!" she said. "Who is the only person who has been present at every single Christmas of your life? Don't you deserve a Christmas Tree?" She smiles at the memory of the conversation and the strength of that girl, her beautiful, strong, smart daughter. Snowed in, alone, she wanders from room to room, taking quiet pleasure in the lights, the ornaments,the tree.

Sha Boom Sha Boom

She met him on her first day of college. He was a tall enough upperclassman. A smart enough fraternity guy. A conservative in hippyland. She typed his papers, ironed his shirts. He watched football. She read books. She didn't know she could dream.

Only The Lonely

Her eight year old cheeks burned with humiliation as the tiny wooden horse carts revolved on their track carrying her and five chunky toddlers each seatbelted into their own carts in a never ending circle. Her parents, standing nearby, tried to know whether to wave or just not notice while toddler parents gazed, gooed, cheered and snapped pictures for scrapbooks and grandma. She stared down at the fake reins in her hands, the too small seatbelt at her sides, unwilling, unable to meet their kind and troubled eyes. The baby ride continued traveling in agonizingly slow circles. Only child, only parents, only carnival in town.

Pardon Me Boys

They lived in a mansion on Lake Ontario. A cold drafty, underfurnished, stately "summer place" with four fireplaces, a butler's kitchen and a second story veranda over the water. The driveway was a quarter of a mile long. He was a very sweet man. She didn't know she should feel lucky to have found him. He filled the house with expensive Christmas gifts from well known stores. She could have seemed more grateful. She could have known there would only be so many Christmases. She could have smiled on his extravagance, wrapped her arms around him and said the right thing. What ever that was.

Over The River

Through the woods to bran muffins and sparkling crystal water glasses, "spills don't matter" see-through-plastic over white linen. Flawlessly smooth cylinder cranberries on a saucer or the chunky sort-of -sour homemade ones in cutglass handed down from ancestors. You choose. Grandchildren most welcome. Dwight Eisenhower courtesy Cloverine Salve presided regally over Grandmother's perfect Thanksgiving table.

Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard

When she was eleven she was second in line for the playground drinking fountain. In front of her, Michael Alter leaned forward to get a drink. She loved Michael Alter, worshipped at the Michael Alter daily. She moved closer, heart pounding, focused only on the red and black plaid of his twelve year old back. The bell rang. End of recess. There was jostling and shoving. She felt herself propelled forward. Her face disappeared deep into the checkered wool of Michael Alter's back. Be still my heart. In slow, slow motion, Michael Alter's handsome face slammed into the metal spigot. There was blood.

Ain't That A Shame

We moved to a little bungalow on Baker Avenue and we met the nice single lady next door. It turned out she had a lover. He was old, had a big car and a fat ass. He came each night and left by seven in the morning. It turned out that he was someone my parents knew...because he was married to one of their friends. So we kept our shades closed on that side of the house.. and the nice lady never ever met our eyes. And my parents only whispered as if they were ashamed of themselves for knowing.

The Ants Go Marching

Connie was sly and sarcastic and mean. She considered herself an in-tel-lec-tual... her parents were en-gin-eers and lived in a messy house in the best part of town. She had an older sister Victoria who was a certified genius, and a big slobbery dog. She was a Unitarian, maybe the first Unitarian. Her house was lit-er-ary. The rest of us were ig-nor- ants.

One Is The Loneliest Number

Fat Girls Playing Basketball..

On the brink of Junior High the family moved to a flat in new, big city. From her window she could see the driveway basketball court and the two fat girls shooting hoops. She went outside and smiled across the street. The two fat girls played in their driveway for seven more years - never smiling back, not even once.