Nancy Davidoff Kelton's Blog, page 10

Mirror Mirror, Langston Hughes, What One Dog is Currently Reading

RockSea picked Bobby, Jonathan’s Charleston colleague, to be her owner.  Bobby posted the above on facebook with another picture of him with four colleagues—all human--each holding up a copy of my memoir.  Fun to see that FMR and I made it to Charleston.Fun, too, to see my friend, Stephanie Hart’s presentation at a Parsons fashion seminar taught by Pamela Roskin.   I’ve been a writing instructor at the New School since 1980.  Last week was the first time I attended a Parsons class.  Stephanie read two poignant sections “Shopping” and “Birthday Cake Dress” from her evocative memoir, MIRROR MIRROR.Then she showed the  gowns her mother, Gertrude, designed. Elegant gowns. Beaded gowns.  Gertrude’s passion for clothes figures heavily in the book as do Stephanie’s feelings about her.  Several students tried on the gowns. Pamela reminded us how clothes look different on different people and how we remember what we wore to events in our lives.That evening, I wore a little black dress to an event at the Langston Hughes House on 127th Street.  Renee Watson, my former student now friend, and author of several books for children, is leading an effort to turn Hughes house into a community space for artists.At the gala, Jacqueline Woodson read a Langston Hughes poem. Renee and others spoke. Langston Hughes’ typewriter is on a table in the living room.And….at home RockSea’s picture is now on table next to my computer.  Owner Bobby had a plaque made and sent it to me.  RockSea and I stare at each other. We wear our reading glasses in the same way.Bobby wrote:  “Spoiled dog. Now she wants a Kindle.”

Not That Jewish, Just That Cool

I rarely do lunch.  Last week I did 2.   I wanted to meet the writer, comedienne, actress Monica Piper after seeing her one-woman show, NOT THAT JEWISH.   It touched me, tickled me, and gave me ideas for adapting FINDING MR. RIGHTSTEIN which I’m doing now.We met at a diner near the theater.  I liked her immediately and dove in with questions about our similarities: strong bonds with funny fathers, ‘not that Jewish’ upbringings, relationships with unavailable men, and decades of single parenting.Unlike me, Monica spent years doing stand-up.  I lasted at the Improv one night.  She wrote forRoseanne, Mad About YouandRugrats. I never wrote for TV.  With her current show, which as she puts it is, “not stand-up with furniture, but a set piece” she performs eight times a week.  Does she have stage fright, I wanted to know. “No” she said emphatically. “I love performing.”It shows.When a magazine editor, who published my essays, came to my class, she was asked what a piece must have for her to buy it.  “I want to be surprised,” she said.Monica surprises.  With her timing.   By punctuating painful experiences with humor.  My favorite kind of ride.She lives in Santa Monica, where I stay when I visit my kids and grandchildren, and got her name from the Santa Monica Pier.  Staring at the sign one day, she decided to remove the word Santa and  add a ‘p’ to Pier.Her favorite comedian?  Richard Pryor.  Of course!Two days later, carrying one of the pocketbooks Jessie Randall gave me, as I do most days, I went to see the new Loeffler Randall office and showroom.  The Soho space, like the shoes and bags all around me, could not have been prettier or better designed.  Jessie, on leave from my advanced workshop, introduced me to four members of her creative team. “This is my teacher,” she said, then to me. “I told them about you.”  She ushered me to her husband’s side where the marketing people work.  The place and energy turned me on.So did Jessie’s favorite neighborhood restaurant even though I raised the medium age.  That I’m the same age as her mother—only older—gave us our usual laugh.  Jessie  told me I seem younger.I should probably get out more.

Resistance, My 2 Pedometers, the Ducklings and Our Mary

According to the pedometer in my front left jeans pocket, I walked 4.9 miles this morning. According to the one in my right, I walked 3.6.  I’m going with Pedometer #1.Two weeks ago, I bought a pedometer identical to the one I lost. The man at Paragon set it after I whispered my height and weight. I must have whispered a different height and weight than I had when I bought the first. I found Pedometer #1 last Saturday morning in the pocket of the black jeans I had not worn in a while.  I put them on for the Women’s March.  With 2 pedometers in 2 pockets, I walked with Jonathan to a friend’s where a bunch of people gathered and marched.  What energy!  What passion!  What togetherness!  What a day!  At 40 Carats in Bloomingdale’s after, I saw 3 people I knew, who had also marched, including my terrific new student, Leanne.  All together on March Day, my left hip walked 6.2 miles.So now…with two pedometers in 2 pants pockets, I’m sending out postcards, signing petitions, and making donations and calls along with doing my regular things: writing, teaching, staring at my grandchildren’s pictures, and giving Finding Mr. Rightstein talks.HOW DO WE STOP THE JERK IN OFFICE FROM JERKING US AROUND? HOW DO WE PROTECT OUR RIGHTS?Wouldn’t Robert McCloskey be delighted that some people have made way for his ducklings now marching through Boston Commons in pink hats?What would ‘Our Mary’ do?   Since her death, I’ve watched several episodes for her first and last seasons. She had more than ‘spunk,’ Lou.HOW DO WE TAKE OUR SCARY NEW DAYS AND “SUDDENLY MAKE IT ALL SEEM WORTHWHILE?”I’ll watch Chuckles’ funeral tonight. Again.  Now I’m taking a postcard I wrote to Charles Schumer to the mailbox. At least my left hip will get to 5.0 miles.

4 Comments on Our First Lady (His Third, Legally) and Him Upon Seeing Their Front Page New York Times Photo, January 20, 2017

Her hair is probably thelongestof any first lady’s.His attention span is theshortestof anyone's any of us know.Her heels are probably thehighestof any first lady’s.His character and everything about him is thelowestof the lows.

GOD ONLY KNOWS…..

Last night, I fell asleep watching LOVE ACTUALLY after Bill Nighy as the rock star, Billy Mack, shows up at his manager’s apartment and tells him he’s the love of his life.  A lump formed in my throat as it invariably does during that scene and during several others in the movie.LOVE ACTUALLY is touching. Comforting, except for the few stories that aren’t.  You know which those are.I love the Brits on screen, on stage, and on the page.I love my husband more.  I don’t typically profess such things on my blog, but you already know about my late-ish life romance and marriage from reading, FINDING MR. RIGHTSTEIN.*And…with Bill Nighy, Liam Neeson  and his movie stepson tugging at my heart again, President Obama surprising Joe Biden with the Presidential  Medal of Freedom,  and the huge, awful, sad good-bye to them this week  and scary hellos,  why not?   I express my gratitude and love to my kids and grand kids in emails, letters, and wherever I can more nowadays, too.I’d write a love song to Jonathan if the good notes weren’t already taken.**I am content and grateful to share my Love ‘N Stuff here.*FINDING MR. RIGHTSTEIN, is required reading in many college literature courses and has been recommended with incredibly kind words by Jessie Randall on her bloghttp://www.loefflerrandall.com/blog/jessies-gift-guide**The line “The good notes are already taken” is my dear friend, Judy Garfield’s.  She said that when we sat at my piano and wrote songs together despite our melodies and lyrics being pretty groovy.

Bad Lox, Good Therapy, and the Great Meryl Streep

Dear Readers, I wrote the below blog right before the Golden Globes.  Before Meryl Streep gave her powerful speech.  If you missed it, stream it.  I'd say it's required viewing.___________________________________________________________________________________________Bad lox, for me, is an oxymoron.  Lox is just so good.In over a half a century of loving lox, I don’t remember it being bad. Until last week.The half  a pound Jonathan bought did not melt in my mouth.  While the Fairway lox person sliced it, he shopped for the other things on our list instead of reminding her, as I invariably do, to slice it thin and trim the brown.Last week, I suffered through some thick, chewy, brown-spotted lox and threw out the rest.Yesterday at the Fairway counter, I heard another shopper tell the slicer about the lousy lox she had had the week before.  Ah!  The regular slicer said she’d been on vacation and suggested we tell the manager, Rick.The other shopper didn’t want to complain.   I did.I found Rick.  I shared our stories.  Quietly.  Rick asked if I had my ‘bad lox’ receipt. Of course, I did not.  Rick couldn’t help without a receipt.  A half a pound cost a lot.  No problem, I understood, I told him. I would remain a regular shopper, because Fairway is my favorite store. Minutes later, Rick appeared with a $15 credit.  “It doesn’t cover half a pound, but it’s something,” he said.A  lot.  I’m grateful for the kindness of strangers.  For kindness and understanding everywhere.This brings me to Good Therapy. The hospice social worker, with whom we met before my mother-in-law died, listened.  Well.   “There’s no one way or right way to grieve,” she said. “You’ll do it differently, have different needs.”  She offered the following advice:Don’t try to do too much.Keep in mind that grief is blindsiding and draining. Honor your feelings.Plan just for the next hour.Don’t get ahead of yourself.#3 -  My father used to tell me that.  In his way.Stay in the moment.  Stay in the moment with grieving.  Through life.The social worker continues to check in with the reminders, empathy, and more.Every day, Jonathan and I meditate.    We talk.  We hear.  We dance.   We hug.  We love.

Endings, Beginnings, and Kindness ‘n Stuff

Simply put, 2016 was quite a year.  My take on the election shock, deaths of legends, and other losses and huge changes would add little to what’s been so eloquently said.  So below are reflections on my own moments, thoughts, and truths.My mother-in-law, Doris Zich, the star of my December 7 blog, died December 24 at age 99. She was a spirited, gracious woman, grateful for all she had.  I am grateful I got to know her and spend time with her and grateful I can love and be loved by her son.Our favorite almost-1-year-old girl, born at the beginning of 2016, slept in a crib in our room last week. Early mornings listening to her sounds, holding her, seeing her smile, and reading ‘The King’ over and over as she helped turn pages just as her mother once did fills me up more than I can put into words. So does taking her 4-year-old brother on the F-train, the 14th Street double bus, and throughout our lobby on the building luggage rack. Every moment with them and their wonderful, loving parents are My Tops.The publication of ‘Finding Mr. Rightstein’ has been terrific.  The launch with spring and fall signings, readings, talks, interviews, and workshops were well-attended and great.  Tons of fun for me.  After this holiday hiatus, I’ll be doing more, which I started listing under ‘events’ on my website: www.nancykelton.com A big thanks for the support of my friends and family who got the word out, bought multiple copies, attended multiple events, and arranged readings and my coming to your book clubs.Ann Lamott wrote that Kindness bats last.  I’ll drink to that.  Let’s add Showing Up. Showing up quietly and lovingly.  Thank you to all my “Show-er Uppers.” Kindness, Showing Up, a Sense of Humor, a Generosity of Spirit, Gratitude, and Love: I raise my glass to Doris Zich, my parents, Jonathan, my beautiful children, grandchildren, stepchildren, and to you all.Deepak Chopra or Wayne Dyer said that there’s nothing out there.  That the way we perceive the world is how we feel inside. I’ll attribute it to ‘Deep.’May you all feel peaceful inside.  May 2017 bring you peace and joy!Love 'n Stuff,Nancy

Reading and Kvelling and Reading Some More

My student, Robert Iulo, gives me copies of the journals in which his essays appear. Last week he brought me “Tomato Slices” with his piece, La Cosa Nostra. It’s about his Neopolitan-American aunt marrying a Sicilian-American man, not “as tragic as Romeo and Juliet…except where cooking was concerned.” Fun in class when we critiqued it.  Fun to see it in print.And fun to read “The Right Side of Love” a one-act play by Laurie Graff. I missed her October stage reading because of my book launch, but saw her wonderful play, “The Incredible Egg,” last year.  Laurie, my first student to have a book published, wrote all of “You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs” in class.On my shelf of students’ books, too, is Harilyn Rousso’s beautiful memoir, “Don’t Call Me Inspirational: A Disabled Feminist Talks Back,” which I recently reread.  Again, Harilyn put me in the room where it was happening. Again, I was blown away.Seeing and listening to Justice Sonia Sotomayor speak at the Aspen Institute at MOMA Friday night made me want to invite her over.  Brilliant!  Human! Engaged!   Instead I began rereading her memoir, “My Beloved World.”   My nightstand pile now has 19 fewer books than Zadie Smith’s (see my Dec.6  blog, ”From Zadie Smith to Doris Zich”).“Cruel Beautiful World” by Caroline Leavitt kept me up all night a few weeks ago.  Such good characters.  What a story!  I was there.  I gave it to my husband.  He stayed up another night in Leavitt’s world.We both just finished “And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer,” by Fredrik Backman about a boy and his grandfather.  And more.  Here are a few lines from p. 1:Isn’t that the best of all of life’s ages, an old man thinks as he looks at his grandchild. When a boy is just big enough to know how the world works but still young enough to refuse to accept it.Fortunately, “Noahnoah” what Grandpa calls Noah, the little boy,because he likes his grandson’s name twice as much as everyone else’srefuses to accept things as they are and has a strong supporter in Grandpa.We bought Backman’s book “A Man Called Ove” last night.  Guess who got first dibs?  Jonathan wanted one book on his nightstand, too.

From Zadie Smith to Doris Zich

On the train last Saturday to Boston to see my 99-year-old mother-in-law who wasn’t feeling well and may have had another TIA, I read the following Sunday New York Times Book Review letter, the first of 3 printed in response to the Nov. 20 By the Book interview with Zadie Smith. It appeared under the topic, “What Zadie Smith Reads”TO THE EDITOR:I am overwhelmed by how many books Zadie Smith has on her night stand. According to my count, it is more than 20.  I am impressed by her list of books, but more impressed by the night stand, able to support all that literary weight.  If Smith could tell us where to buy such an item of furniture, we all could become better readers.LOWELL COHNOAKLAND, CALIF.***Zadie’s night stand and Doris’s health were not the reasons our Uber driver barked that he had a GPS and knew the way when Jonathan suggested a possible alternative route to “the place.”  Do Know-it-Alls know at all how obnoxious and jerky they sound?***Doris, napping in her room and not at an activity when we arrived, expressed her delight and gratitude upon awakening and seeing us. “That was nice of you to come and see me,” she said more than once.“We wanted to see you,” I said. “Did you nap okay?”“Fine. Why shouldn’t I nap okay?”  She sounded like she did nine years ago the day after her husband’s funeral when I asked her if she slept okay. “Of course,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to?”“How are you feeling?” I now asked.“Fine, why shouldn’t I be feeling fine.”Nine years ago, when we she spoke like this, she scared me.  She was new to me.“You’re the least kvetchy person I know,” I told her, trying to see if she was really okay.“That’s some honor.” Her head was still on the pillow. “It makes me wonder what kind of people you hang around with.”   She definitely sounded like herself.She asked questions about us, the train ride, my book, our kids, and grandkids.  The same ones several times.  Jonathan showed her the latest videos of our granddaughter and grandson.  She laughed.Three aides got her dressed in slacks and a pretty silk blouse for dinner.  Now she looked like herself.We wheeled her down to her table for dinner.   She was thrilled to introduce us, despite not remembering my name, happy to show her girls we were there.  “It was nice of you to come from New York to see me,” she told us a few more times as she ate her turkey dinner that was served all cut up because of the last TIA.Our visits the last few years have been sweeter.  More poignant.   Her comebacks make me think of my parents.  Of their humor.  I wish they all could have met.During a visit last year when I told her about the publication of my new book, she said, “So I can kvell about you.”“Please do,” I said.When we arrived at ‘the place’ Sunday morning, again she was still in bed. “It was nice of you to come all this way,” she said.“I wanted to see you,” I told her.   I did, too.Three aides got her dressed in a different pretty blouse and slacks for breakfast.  She wanted her lipstick on.  Of course! “You look pretty,” I said. Jonathan complimented her, too.  We wheeled her downstairs.  She was thrilled to have us with her. She introduced us around.“We’ll be back soon,” I said when we kissed good-bye. I saw a piano in one of the lounges. “I’ll bring sheet music next time.”“That’ll be great,” she said.***The Uber driver who took us to the train station asked us if we knew a better way.  He didn’t take this route often. He was open.  Gentle. Sweet.  I told him about the pip from yesterday. “We’re not all the same,” he said.People show so much of themselves.  I don’t have 20 books on my night stand.  I often don’t know the way.

A Gratitude List Including News from Barnes & Noble

I was thankful last week.  I am thankful always.  I'm adding a new Barnes & Noble item to my gratitude list.  First, my deepest thanks for:--my family, beautiful inside and out--their health, mine, our love and laughter--an upcoming December visit that will include:a. the youngest family member sleeping in my room in a cribb. the second youngest wanting to take a  # 1 subway with me and still wanting to hold my hand--work that engages and fulfills me--supportive longtime friends who get me and with whom I fit--a neighborhood in which I fit in--its restaurants and the Farmer’s Market at which I am a ‘regular’--solitude--this space to share my gratitude with you, dear new and longtime readers.I want to thank Barnes & Noble Union Square for making my memoir,Finding Mr Rightstein,a staff pick.  Getting an email yesterday with this news and then going to the store to see it on both the ‘Staff Recommends’ table and on the ‘Odd, Curious, and Cool’ table near the entrance is making me skip around.