I have been very frustrated of late at the handful of views this blog now gets — unless I also put it on Facebook and Twitter.
Is it that boring?
WordPress tells me 23,000 people follow it and I am appreciative of the loyal band who does show up to read and comment.
Anyway…life for now:
Torrential rain has hit our area — affecting 23 million people. The subways of New York — an essential service — and even the buses! — have been flooded. Streets are impassable. Even the commuter rail system shut for a while. Any climate deniers remaining are absolute ostriches. I moved here in 1989 and have never seen weather like this.
I have a severely arthritic right hip that, until the past two weeks, has really been destroying my quality of life. There have been days I can barely walk and leave the gym in tears of pain. Now, for no reason I can fathom, I am walking almost normally. It is an enormous relief to not be in pain every day for months!
I tutor a teenager in French, a new venture for us both. One of my blog friends in England shared a great BBC site of lesson plans, so we’re using that, conversing and doing some dictations.
I go to a weekly French conversation group at a local library for an hour, then an hour of Spanish after that. Whew! My brain is very tired at the end, but it’s such an easy way to get out of the apartment, free, and have lively chats. One of the women in the French group told us she’d celebrated her 75th birthday by riding an elephant.
Mahjong is a game of tiles that I associate with ladies wearing cat’s eye glasses and bright caftans. Now I am edging my way into it as well, thanks to some neighbors in the building who ask me to join their group from time to time.
I’m still writing for The New York Times, now on my third personal finance story this year for them. I have a second session scheduled this coming week with a global PR agency who hires me to review pitches to journalists that failed to get traction and discuss how they might have worked better. I’m very glad of the income.
I also still coach other writers at an hourly fee; here’s the link. One of my clients recently sold a story we worked on to the Washington Post, a much-coveted outlet for ambitious writers. Another was delighted to find an outlet for a story he had had difficulty placing — and our session was much enhanced by the presence of his tiny perfect hedgehog!
Two great bits of news — we paid off our mortgage! Now we own our apartment outright.
And we leave soon for four days ‘ vacation at a Quebec resort we love, then five days renting a house in Vermont, a state I love and haven’t been back to in decades. October is the perfect time for both. My husband works so hard at his three freelance jobs and we need time off the computer and away from home, which is also our workspace. Can’t wait!
Anyone still shocked or horrified by the behavior, decisions, impulsiveness, cruelty and self-regard of Trump — has had little to no personal exposure to a narcissist.
His madness is pure textbook.
Here’s a disturbing opinion piece about how it’s now infecting Gen Z when it comes to dating, from The New York Times:
Today’s looksmaxxers — next-gen incels schooled in Trump-era nihilism, undersocialized because of Covid-19 lockdowns and radicalized by the manosphere — are obsessed with improving their physical appearance through any means necessary. They speak of aesthetics as destiny and attractiveness (ranked, codified and debated in extreme specificity) as the measure of human worth.
Braden Peters, the 20-year-old streamer known as Clavicular, has become the movement’s breakout star. He claims to have started injecting steroids at age 14 to improve his physique, has dabbled in crystal meth to suppress his appetite…
This seems to be more a bizarre and extreme form of vanity, although narcissists can’t survive without constant adulation and attention. Anything that threatens their self-image is ignored or shouted down.
My father is one. He’s now 96, alone in a nursing home with dementia, a truly miserable ending for a man with incredible talent and creativity; he worked in film, silver, oils, lithos, etching and engraving. I own a few of his works and am glad to have them. But this is also someone with few visitors, including his four adult children, one of whom lives a 90-minute drive away.
Growing up around this is exhausting — which the entire world now sees, hourly, from Trump and his gang of incompetent sycophants. Anyone or anything that threatens their gilded, glossy image is anathema; both Trump and my father loathe smart tough women who argue with them or challenge them. Just watch 47 attack CNN reporter Kaitlan Collins.
The solution? “Grey rocking” — offering them zero emotional energy in return, no matter what they say or do. Pretend you’re a lump of gray stone.
Narcissists are very skilled at making you feel comfortable whenever it suits them, and wrecking that feeling the second it amuses them to do so — because they thrive on creating insecurity and chaos.
And yet they’re also shockingly and persistently tone-deaf and impervious to others’ emotional needs, and Trump is a perfect example of this. When six dead American soldiers landed at Dover airbase for what’s known as a “dignified transfer” he wore a blue suit (everyone else wore black), saluted (not allowed unless you have served) and, worst of all, wore a self-promoting white baseball cap.
No other President has ever ignored the most basic protocols. Classic narcissist — nothing normal applies to them!
Dogs can’t sing. Man can’t fly unaided. Impossible. Narcissists cannot empathize. It is a missing piece of their emotional foundation.
If you’ve survived one — a sibling, a parent. a boss, a coworker, condolences!
With a new TV series out now about the late Carolyn Bessette Kennedy and her late husband John F. Kennedy, there’s a renewed attention to her elegant wardrobe, in neutrals, simple cuts and styles.
In a time when people share “haul” videos — gleefully showing off all the stuff they just bought, whether designer names or thrifted — it feels counter-cultural to buy less, or nothing. To pare down, edit, clear out all those closets and storage lockers.
Guilty!
This week I finally went through our pantry, which is housed (of course) in the living room in a vintage armoire. It was deeply embarrassing to find cans from even as far back as 2018. While it’s comforting to know we have plenty of supplies, this isn’t the frontier! Much tossing ensued.
We still have to go through everything in a storage locker, a task so tedious we keep putting it off and off…Two adults with a weird assortment of lives lived, including a Kevlar vest Jose wore while working for the New York Times in Bosnia. Hard to let go of that one! Also, not easily donated!
So the question arises: when do we buy and why and what do we need or just want (more of)?
As you know, we went through hell in 2025 with Jose’s cancer diagnosis; for now he is doing very well, all cancer removed. But, I admit uneasily, it also prompted some very big splurges — if life (as it did) could suddenly and without warning look a lot nastier and shorter, what are we waiting for? We have no family to leave our assets to; we focus on saving (as many do) for the grim likelihood of nursing home costs, but not much else longterm.
I bought myself a diamond ring.
I had never thought much about one, as 99% of them are meant for engagements, weddings or anniversaries, and most too expensive or gaudy for me. But, during our four glorious September days in Southampton, I visited a local jewelry store and found an unusual ring — it’s expandable so the diamonds (small ones, grouped) are the front, and the back is gold. I had the savings to do it, and did. It’s not “me” as I’ve always been…But maybe it is the new me.
The house that got away…November 2022, small town Nova Scotia. That was a real blow-out for me: airfare, car rental,
hotel and multiple inspections. The asking price, (!) by the end, was a mere $76,000 Canadian BUT no functional/safe
plumbing. I had to walk away.
Whenever I consider spending a lot — to me that’s anything beyond $300 or so — on any item not for cultural events, the home (i.e. clothes/accessories) or travel — I get anxious and sweaty. I was single for many years living alone with no backup beyond some savings, ages 19-22, 26-30, 37 to 43, and had to watch my pennies very carefully, so spending on anything non-essential really felt scary. I still wear a fabulous triple-ply cashmere cardigan I bought second-hand probably 15 years ago. Fewer, better things is my preference. Living in a small place forces it as well.
Spending a four-figure sum can make me hyperventilate. Frugality is a key skill for life. It should be a habit, and one consistently enforced. But finally opening the purse strings a bit (they were, once, literally strings) can feel transgressive, uncontrolled, unwise.
When Jose and I began dating, he noticed how stiflingly hot this apartment can be in summer, on a top floor with a flat roof. He noticed my old wheezy air conditioners — and bought new ones. I hadn’t experienced that sort of generosity and it had taken me months to save up for a dishwasher. (Yes, both are luxuries, I know!)
I recently took three gold pieces to sell, as gold is at all-time highs — it was $5,800 an ounce that day. I took in two pairs of gold earrings I never wore and a ring of my late mother that wasn’t my style. I was paid $1,250, to me a stunning amount. That allowed me to buy some new clothes and will help pay for Arizona next week.
Recent spending (pre-vacation) cut/color, mani/pedi, 2 new dresses and a scarf. And a very rare item — personal stationery, 50 cards. That’ll easily last me a year.
How comfortable are you spending money on non-essentials?
As I write this, there’s a record blizzard howling outside- — our lower windows so snow covered we can’t even see outside. The rest of the world has disappeared in a veil of white. I’ve never seen snow like this in New York, after living here since 1989. The worst winters I experienced were in Montreal and this is even worse. Grateful to be warm and dry and have a good supply of food in hand. Our building also has a generator, which is comforting.
I wish so much for a real fireplace — but not in this 1960s building…Lucky you if you have one!
On March 12 — unless there’s a storm! — I leave the frigid Northeast for two weeks in Arizona, praying for warmth and sunshine and a break from wearing layer after layer. Haven’t been back in decades.
Bern, Switzerland, December 2024
How we’re getting through:
Culture!
Even if it’s cold, I’ve still ventured out a few times, to a museum — the Guggenheim to see the Gabriele Munter show, to watch Sleeping Beauty at New York City Ballet and I have a March 10 ticket to see the Met Opera’s Madame Butterly, a first. But with the Internet we’ve got so many choices as well, whether a museum collection or YouTube and Instagram.
Arts and Crafts
I have no excuse for boredom, ever! I have paints and colored pencils and sketchbooks. Just up to me pull them out!
Games
Crossword puzzles, jigsaws, cards, board games.
Music
Thanks to the Internet, the entire world is there for the listening. I love the French station TSF Jazz and this German deep house/techno station. Here are five more: German, Spanish, Turkish and American. We have Sirius XM and I love its variety: favorites include Spectrum (new and older music), Coffeehouse and their classical station, especially Saturday morning Baroque music. Also, playing whatever instruments you have.
Cooking/Baking
If you’ve got eggs, butter or oil, baking powder/soda, sugar and spices, you’ve got a good start. Easy choices I make are bundt cakes, muffins and quick breads. A good time to start reading all those cookbooks you never get around to! Soups, stews and casseroles are easy options, especially if you have a slow cooker.
Books/Magazines
My stacks of unread magazines are embarrassing. As I write this, the stack behind my laptop includes Bloomberg Businessweek, Vanity Fair, Elle, Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, AD, World of Interiors, The Atlantic, New York magazine and the NYT Magazine. I never get through them all! Add to this multiple bookshelves full of unread books and dozens of coffee table/photo/art/design books to leaf through at leisure.
Every library is now accessible through the Internet as well.
Catch-up Calls/Zooms — aka chinwags
These are usually 60 to 90 minutes, with pals in England, Texas, Toronto, B.C., Oregon. Lots to catch up on.
Home repairs/upkeep
So many niggly little things can use some overdue attention– painting some baseboards, cleaning out closets and drawers.
The minute someone you love gets a cancer diagnosis, at whatever stage and type of disease, your worlds change forever.
The patient, if fortunate, will get a lot of care and attention from their oncologist, surgeon, nutritionist, social worker and navigator (our hospital has all of these, and some won’t.)
But you, the caregiver, may well be an afterthought — even though your attention, energy, skills, attitude and time are going to be essential to helping the patient through their diagnosis, treatments and side effects.
The patience and optimism this demands is also a challenge, sometimes waiting months for tests/surgery/healing and their results.
It is a lot.
Jose, my husband, was diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer in July 2025 and began chemo almost immediately. We had to wait six months to get a biopsy which showed that his cancer has shrunk and had not spread. He had successful surgery in late January and they got it all out. He has recovered very well and won’t need more chemo or immunotherapy.
I had stage zero DCIS, a very local form of breast cancer, in 2018 and only had a lumpectomy and radiation; luckily I am still fine. So I had some experience of that world and the many emotions that hit you hard.
But caregiving is very different, so here are some things I’ve experienced and hope might be helpful.
Please share!
You will likely be very tired – physically, mentally, intellectually, spiritually
This is a marathon, not a sprint, and carrying a load of fear and anxiety every day for months is draining. If you’re also caring for multiple children and/or pets and/or a large home and/or are holding down a full-time job, I have a lot of admiration for you because everything now has to be done all at once, alone.
Pare down as many commitments and responsibilities as you can now. Others are just going to have to adapt, happy or not. You also need to decide how often, and in what detail, to share their status on social media. I think less is better as too many people project emotions you don’t need and won’t have the energy to respond to.
Enlist as much volunteer help as you can get, and as much paid help as you can afford!
Paid or not: garden/yard work, housework, groceries and cooking, childcare, pet care, car maintenance, etc. We had never before relied on grocery delivery but we do now! It’s one less hour of my time and energy I don’t have to spend. Your patient may not be able to do even the simplest tasks as chemo/radiation effects accumulate and exhausts them — like showering or shaving.
Prepare for a lot of downtime
You may spend a lot of time traveling to medical appointments or the hospital and/or sitting with them when they get chemo. Jose’s treatments usually took six full hours in the chair (hydration, anti-nausea meds, immunotherapy, chemo, hydration.) Bring a laptop, book(s), headphones, whatever. Also, a phone charger!
Find a cancer mentor
This could be anyone who’s able to empathize, check in regularly, offer specific and helpful advice. It doesn’t have to be someone who had the same cancer at the same stage; we had two people, both in my native Canada, act as “cancer mentors” for me and for Jose. You need context and someone who really gets it.
You will really resent all of it sometimes
It’s normal. Cancer is a sudden and frightening 24/7 intrusion into our daily life — it doesn’t give a damn about your plans or previous familiar and comforting routines. It will probably mean being unable to plan much of anything — unless for you alone or with your friends. Your patient will sometimes (especially at the end of treatment and surgery) just feel too exhausted and overwhelmed to do the simplest things so a lot of work now falls on you and you alone.
If your life has been fairly smooth, with lots of fun plans (like travel), forget it. That alone is very frustrating. We had to get refunds from Aer Lingus (with doctors’ notes) and Delta said, too bad, and use those tickets to Paris later.
You will argue with your patient sometimes
Also normal. It was rare, but I got frustrated when he wouldn’t even try to walk for 10 minutes, which the doctors said was useful. It’s not my body. One weekend I said THAT’S IT! and forced Jose to the ER where (surprise!) he needed two full bags of hydration and one of anti-nausea meds and a new prescription after days of not being able to eat anything. God bless male stoicism, but there are times you have to be THE BOSS and there is no argument to be had.
Comfort food, dammit!
You may need a lot more sleep, solitude, silence and time OFF than usual
From the start I slept nine to 11 hours every night, and often with an hour’s afternoon nap. I’ve only slept that much once before, also in a time of personal crisis. It is what it is and I have no apology for it. Allow yourself to do what your body wants. Sleep is a physical and emotional respite, an easy cheap escape from relentless stress.
You will weary of saying the same things over and over
You are now the patient’s spokesperson and, much as it’s wonderful when so many people, kindly, ask: “How’s he doing?” you get worn out by the same questions. You just want a break.
Every cancer, person, treatment and relationship is different
People who have had cancer, or not, may bring their assumptions to your patient — what their treatment(s) and frequency and length of it all are, whether they’re having surgery and when, or not. Also, predicted side effects — gratefully Jose didn’t have many of these. Let people be kind, but don’t engage in their endless speculation or accept unwanted advice from people not working in oncology.
Believe it or not, I never Googled. I didn’t need to scare myself further with data I might not understand.
Have a safe space to just vent (therapy ideal)
This is really important. People will place a lot of expectation of you, the caregiver, to be upbeat and strong and brave and resolute and optimistic for your patient —- when you may feel none of that, and certainly not all the time. You need a safe space to really speak your mind to someone who can handle it (some can’t.) You need a comforting place to cry as long and hard as you want to. I have one friend in Texas who I called mid-tears, no introductory explanation needed,
How will you handle new noise, mess and disruption?
We live in an open plan one-bedroom apartment with one very small bathroom. I loathe mess and clutter. Get help! Your patient needs a calm, clean home more than ever. So do you.
Crying is normal, for both of you, even together
Whenever, wherever. Don’t feel compelled by anyone to maintain some false front, especially with the endless American positivity — “You’ve got this! Etc.” Feel whatever you’re feeling.
Is a support group a good fit for you? It might not be
Neither of us chose this, but whatever works best for you. I’ve chosen not to for the same reasons I stated above — everyone’s body is different so whatever someone else is facing might not be your experience.
Allow yourself melt-down days – spent in your nightgown/sweats all day watching TV. Caregiving takes a lot of emotional energy and for months
I’ve had two or three “nightie days” and they were needed. Not even leaving the apartment, and having to be even vaguely social or polite.
Don’t feel compelled to keep up a brave/polite face…if someone asks how you are, “Tired” is a legit reply. You’re already under a lot of pressure
Don’t succumb to anyone’s expectations of how you should behave. They’re not you and not in your shoes.
ASK FOR HELP!!! Line up a few reliable nearby people (Task Rabbit) to be there when you suddenly need them and your partner is too ill or weak
We are usually very self-reliant (no kids or pets) but there have been a few days we needed our apt. super to step in or a neighbor to drive Jose to the hospital. Forget rugged self-reliance. This is the time you most need help and the right people will step up.
You may be lonely — because no one really knows what you’re going through and the loss of companionship and sexual intimacy with your partner
I miss Jose! Yes, he’s home all the time now, but for entire days, even weeks, he was fast asleep. No dinners out. No long conversations. No easy snuggles. That’s been difficult.
Last year, Lake Geneva…
Buy travel insurance! Our 3 canceled trips…
We had to cancel three separate fall trips to Europe, all planned in May for September through December — and shattered in July by his final tests and diagnosis. Make sure everything is refundable or buy very good travel insurance. We had no clue this would hit us as we had been (!) reassured by three doctors for months of tests they did not think this was cancer. It was.
Some spouses are heavily reliant on one another – this forces you to be independent
We have always been super independent and really value this about our marriage, but some spouses (certainly with young children and/or pets and/or caring for older parents already) are very entwined in every way. Jose normally handles our finances and monthly bills, for example.
Cellphones/passwords/bills/bank accounts – do you have access?
Again, this varies widely! We know each others’ passwords and pins, but many couples don’t. Nor do we have stuff hidden on our devices we wouldn’t want found — like gambling, porn or infidelity. I have no doubt some more nasty surprises show up once communication has to become much more open.
Don’t borrow trouble!
A Jamaican friend taught me this one — it means don’t worry more than needed until it’s time to worry. Very difficult, but will preserve some of your precious mental health, and theirs.
Yet you may have a few ER visits ahead
This happened twice in a week, and luckily we have a small good hospital 11 minutes away. Don’t hesitate to get help if your patient is really struggling; (the doctors will tell you the very specific things to look out for: excess vomiting, diarrhea, fevers, etc.) Even if they protest, as he did. I was right!
Make sure you have all day to day details your partner/spouse usually handles (including passwords)
While they’re strong, do a data dump and make sure you have all the information you need. Make copies of all their medical data and know what meds they’re on in case they can’t remember the names or dosages or are too ill to speak.
If your partner/spouse is the one who’s ill, it will alter your relationship in many ways, for now and maybe for a while
If you’re newly wed, it’s a hell of a shock to hit “in sickness” so soon.
If your relationship is already weak or troubled, it’s difficult to care the way they need if you’re angry with them.
You may end up nagging and cajoling them into the simplest activities to keep them moving, to take their medications, to shower and put on clean clothes. It can feel paternal/maternal.
If your committed relationship is highly sexual, that may change until your partner is strong and healthy again. You can feel neglected and lonely.
You may have to get very direct, even forceful, with one or all of their medical team.
We agreed to write a very stern letter to one of them, so rattled they called us at 7:00 on Christmas Eve to discuss it. We are happier now that we’ve had a frank conversation…and there’s always the fear we’ll be seen as the “difficult” patient and caregiver. Too bad. Needs must.
If you feel you need a second opinion or a different team — do it.
Take time away for yourself if and when you can.
With Jose’s explicit encouragement, I went alone to Toronto, my hometown, for a week in early December. I really needed extended solo time out of the apartment, out of the hospital and away from the daily political insanity of life under 47. I needed to be surrounded by comforting and familiar things and people. One friend was clearly shocked by this and her tone felt judgmental. Again, too bad. We both knew how healthy he is right now — and how many weeks or months he will need to recover from surgery, once more leaving us housebound mid-winter.
Focus on every positive moment.
When he bounced back from chemo — regaining the 20 pounds he lost when he simply couldn’t eat more than oatmeal and soup — what a joy! He started cooking again. He started enjoying meals! We could go out to eat again. His renewed energy felt miraculous and maybe it was.
Hypervigilance is the new normal
This is the toughest. You really can’t afford to assume all is well, even when they’re on 14 medications and look OK. How is their breathing? Appetite? Mood? Mobility and balance? Even though we’re not medically trained, it’s suddenly our job to decide if/when there’s serious trouble.
Sorry, guys — you know I try to avoid politics here as we’re drowning in it, certainly in the U.S.
If you (?) watched even a few moments of AG Pam Bondi’s hearings this week, you could not come away anything but horrified by her rudeness, callousness, and depraved indifference to the suffering of Epstein’s victims, some of whom stood en masse behind her —and whom she studiously ignored.
Every attempt to get a civil reply from her was rebuffed with her insults, shouting, smirks, a pointed finger, laughter and, at one point, literally ignoring the question altogether.
The shocking abuse of these victims is only compounded by her total disregard for their needs for justice.
While even royalty in Europe are now under scrutiny, and powerful leaders and executives are stepping down or even being arrested, there’s been very little culpability in the U.S. The three million Epstein files now available for review are overwhelming in size — and the DOJ is monitoring and recording which files are read by which elected officials.
Bondi is Trump’s sneering, grinning attack dog, complete with a “burn book” she flipped through at the hearing so she could spit back irrelevant insults at every elected official whose job it was to question her.
If you, as many have been, have also been a victim/survivor of sexual abuse or assault, or criminal predation, this is all extremely painful to watch and to hear. We know a tiny fraction of their stories but the way they have been dismissed, gaslit and ignored is very familiar.
I have mentioned this here before, but I was the victim of a convicted con man in 1998, someone I met through a personals ad in a local newspaper — remember those? Internet dating was still very new then.
He did not, thankfully, attack me sexually but his vicious and relentless manipulations — designed to get as much money from me as quickly as possible — left deep scars. He actually got very little, but knowing how I’d been lied to for months was damaging. He had managed to open my mail, activate a credit card and started using it, forging my signature — even at a meal in front of me.
But the real pain wasn’t his behavior.
It was the dismissive laughter of my town police and the sneering dismissal from the DA’s office since his multiple felonies against me was “only fraud.” He was also bilking other women in other states at the time.
I have felt guilty of not reading the Epstein files — nor the book written about it all by the late Virginia Giuffre. I admit, I am too scared to dig into more darkness, depravity and horror.
It’s clear this material is so dark and so horrific it is leaving mental scars on those who do read them. It’s called secondary or vicarious trauma, and it’s a common consequence for anyone who delves deeply into violence; I had a mild form of it from researching my first book, about American women and guns, as some of the stories I heard — and shared in it — were very grim indeed.
And yet — as anyone paying attention to the Epstein files knows — it doesn’t really matter how depraved the behaviors.
Powerful, connected men (and women) continue to go free.
Maybe not so novel — as many organizations and non-profits try to do this, including Big Brothers, Big Sisters, which began in 1902.
The goal, always, is to help young kids and teens struggling in poverty to learn skills and gain self-confidence in a country that relentlessly demonizes those in need. The idea is to match up an adult who’s succeeding in life and help teach those skills, sometimes just by hanging out and listening, with a child or teen who has no one like this in their life.
“The single strongest predictor of economic mobility across areas is the fraction of higher-income friends that low-income people have,” Chetty told me. “In communities where you have more cross-class interaction, kids do much better.”
The BB/BS model is different — matching a caring adult with a child who needs support. mentoring, guidance — and it is done individually.
I did it for while just before I met Jose, so 25 years ago.
I was matched with C, who lived in a town about 20 minutes east of me in our very economically mixed county north of Manhattan — it holds the costliest real estate in America (Rye, NY) and some lower-income towns as well. I was then divorced and she was 13, living with her grandmother and several other relatives in a crowded, noisy, detached house.
The distance between us was only a few miles but the distance between her life and mine was monumental — I felt more at ease living in Paris than dealing with her family and her challenges, most of them caused by her family’s behaviors.
Few experiences will instantly reveal your privilege more quickly — to you and to them.
She was an easygoing and likable girl and we got along well — but it was a constant struggle with her family. Her mother, who had simply disappeared five years earlier, returned within weeks of our match, which was weird and uncomfortable. She was chaotic. So was the grandmother who kept patting C’s stomach in front of me and asking if she was pregnant.
I was told tales of an unheated house, which I shared with BB/BS to little avail. The girl’s social worker was clearly overwhelmed and checked out so it felt there were few to no accountable adults in her life.
It was extremely frustrating knowing the skills she really needed to acquire — from greater social ease to decent study habits — to ever escape the only life she knew. No one in her family seemed to be teaching them. I took her to a public library so she could do her homework in silence and turn to librarians for help as needed. She had no idea who they were or that it’s their job to help.
Friends kept telling me, and I saw it, that her family also resented me and my own successes, instead of seeing or appreciating how I might help her. So the tension became unmanageable and unpleasant. It felt like an uphill climb — and I wasn’t just going to take her out for a movie or ice cream as BB/BS seemed to expect. That’s not who I am or why I signed up.
Me and my stupid naievete. I set up a meeting at a local prep school and we went for an interview; I knew she might have had a very good chance of a full-ride boarding life there.
She never showed up for the day they offered her to see what it might be like, and to see if she could fit.
Only after months of my frustration did her caseworker casually tell me this was one of their toughest families. No kidding.
I had no warning of this and no support from the organization.
I won’t share a lot of details, but it ended badly. I don’t regret doing it, but these match-ups, no matter how much goodwill you bring, aren’t always the happy story you hear about.
It offered me a powerful and sobering reality check about the choices that create and sustain intergenerational poverty.
In an era of billionaire worship and staggering income inequality, it really hurt to see how quickly and definitively a nice, smart young girl could fall behind.
I’ve often wondered how she’s doing. I hope better than when we met.
Just a quick one today to let you know Jose is already home!
His surgery — removing the cancerous upper left lobe of his lung — was Monday at Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan and he was discharged yesterday. His incisions look amazing, as does he.
We are lucky to have caught it at stage 2, so hopefully he will be fine.
I was fortunate this week in the city to have a very good friend keep me company until he was in recovery, and friends who took me out for dinner and another for lunch. Having friends near was so helpful!
I’m now home — we were at a nearby hotel — and settling back in.
I’ve been reading an astounding book, published in 2020 to rave reviews, Caste by Isabel Wilkerson. She writes powerfully, compellingly — and so much of it, sadly, perfectly describes the right-wing rage permeating the U.S. right now; a chapter called The Euphoria of Hate is…searing.
I think compassion is one of our most essential elements of humanity, even as MAGAs sneer at it as woke and weak because…who knows?
Having said this, I’m hitting my limits personally.
Not that I want to.
But we are now heading into our seventh month of Jose’s treatment for stage 2 lung cancer — I hate shutting myself off to others in need but I’m at my outer limits. I am deeply moved by the compassion and kindness friends and acquaintances, even in my spin class, have shown me and shown him. It’s a lot. And I hate that, right now, I’m not willing or able to do this for others — two women in our building were widowed recently by pancreatic cancer. I sent one a card and failed to attend his local wake. I’m not proud of that.
But until Jose is on the other side of surgery — losing the upper third of his left lung — I’m just holding us together as best I can. He has never had surgery. He has only spent 3 nights in the hospital.
Braving the bitter cold of Bosnia for the NYT, 1995.
The surgery is January 26 at Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan and a very close friend has offered to sit with me through it — could be up to five hours.
Light? Shadow? Color? Reflections? Texture? A great view?
Beauty isn’t just in galleries and museums — although what richness there awaits! Thanks to the Internet we can now virtually visit and enjoy objects and artifacts worldwide. And libraries, brimming with gorgeous coffee-table books. And photographers’ websites and Insta reels.
I grew up in London, Toronto, Montreal, Cuernavaca and later lived in Paris and small town New Hampshire and now, small town/suburban New York — with views from our wooded, hilly street of the Hudson and even of the towers of downtown Manhattan both visible at once.
In each place, I’ve looked for, and noticed, such beauty — architecture, patina, landscapes, light, streetscapes.
It is always, always there — if you slow down long enough to notice it.
Nothing special — just all the earthbound confetti after Bern’s annual onion festival
Toronto is not, per se, an especially beautiful city — sprawls for miles and miles, easily consuming an hour or more by car or public transit to get from one side to the other. Since I left, decades ago, the waterfront is now a relentless cluster of condo towers, access to the lake and islands ever harder to enjoy. There are some truly lovely, quiet neighborhoods with old trees and large early houses — but now selling in the millions of dollars. The city does have great parks and ravines and a Lake Ontario boardwalk to enjoy at the eastern and western edges.
Color, sun, shadow, texture, symmetry. Newport, RI
But beauty? Not so much.
Montreal has much more of it, between elegant townhouses, funky 40s apartments and its distinctive circular outdoor metal staircases (potentially lethal in winter!) Mt. Royal looms over the city, with great views and ice skating in the winter.
A roadside shrine in rural Quebec
I only lived in Cuernavaca (a city an hour south of Mexico City) for months, but fondly remember a small waterfall a few blocks from our apartment, the empty field next door, the bakery down the street selling warm, fresh bolillos. Mexico bursts with visual beauty — brilliant fuchsia bouganivillea tumbling over walls, brightly colored textiles, markets full of produce, gorgeous ruins, stunning countryside. We haven’t been back since three weeks in 2005 but I long to return.
A found sculpture on the beach, Big Sur, Calfornia
It’s embarrassing to notice that every image I’ve chosen here was taken — on vacation, far from the familiar sights of home. But I also know this isn’t unusual. On vacation, we’ve chosen to be in a place we know will be lovely. We slow down. We want to soak it all in, not just rush through it on the way to buy groceries or do laundry or get to work.
Our eyes are hungrier.
As readers here know, I’m obsessive about creating and nurturing a beautiful home: art, photos, fresh flowers, candles (votives, tapers, lanterns), adding color and pattern and texture. I’m happy every time I open the front door, as is Jose, a highly visual person as a career photographer and photo editor. I remember the lovely details of his Brooklyn apartment when we met 25 years ago — a Klimt poster, a beautiful wooden bed, a well-designed living room. I knew, on that level, we were well suited.
There is so much ugliness in the world now — politically and economically — I feel like we all need to inhale huge breaths of beauty in every possible form all the time.
The 1920s portrait of my great-grandmotheras it arrived back to me from B.C.
Caitlin Kelly
It’s a word much overused — like (uggggh) elevated — but it makes sense.
Whether you’re slowly building a stylish home or wardrobe, a mix of vintage, antique, new, a dash of super-cheap and a smidge of huge splurge, (for us, original art /photos and very good custom framing) sale scores and auction/flea market finds — thoughtfully arranged — can add up to a look you love that’s distinctively great looking, comfortable and stylish.
I recently pulled out a decade-old long black Aritizia dress (ankle length, ribbed, stretchy) and threw a vintage black wool Banana Republic vest over it, added a scarf, boots — totally different look. I can toss on a cardigan in cream or black, or a great new black and white crewneck with leopards on it, keep switching up scarves (have wayyyyyy too many), change out boots/shoes. I recently scored a fantastic 1940s black felt hat with a wide metallic embroidered ribbon ($110.) It’s just eccentric enough to be interesting but not too kooky.
Having lived in Paris at 25 and visiting many times since (and online daily ogling Paris apartments for sale) it’s clear why Parisian women are so careful about what they consume — no closets! Our apartment has four and they’re not nearly enough! (We have three armoires in the living room.)
I get much of my best inspiration from British design magazines — especially Homes & Gardens and World of Interiors — as the homes they choose, in that great Britishism, are always characterful. Not sure if the UK wealthy, some with centuries of great stuff awaiting inheritance, rely as heavily on professional decorators and designers as North Americans do; as Lady Mary of Downton Abbey drawled, disdainfully, to Sir Richard Carlisle, her new-money newspaper suitor: “My lot inherits. Your lot buys things.”
I do read AD, and enjoy it, and sometimes American and Canadian shelter books, but I just can’t relate to their aspirational enormous kitchens, massive sofas, multiple bedroooms…All that white! All those rooms!
With U.K. style stories, there’s always some history: a chipped plate, a ragged sofa, a dog or three — but acres of style, a fantastic mix of old and new, weathered, patinated and polished — usually a marbled paper or striped fabric lampshade, a gleaming wooden side table, some silver, a deep sofa with a pile of artfully mismatched throw pillows. I admit my favorite is the country house look, (albeit on our smaller budget in a 1960s apartment), with a mix of velvets and cottons, jute rugs and lusterware, polished silver-plate cutlery in vintage French jam jars and transferware plates on display.
Our living and sitting rooms include this mix of high and low, costly and much less so:
Two olive green velvet square stools (Arhaus, on sale); ours have shiny brass bases (prettier!)
A repro Pembroke table (consignment shop); an 18th c style popular until 1840, really light and versatile with a drawer and two leaves
This soft area rug (Ikea); crazy good quality for $200
Broadside 
