Iris Ruth Pastor's Blog, page 31

It’s 2AM.

2AM:  I’m too riled up to sleep. I toss and turn, but drowsiness evades me as my mind continues to race.

I go over the events of the last couple of months – replaying conversations with each of my five sons and my three daughters-in-law. Vividly re-living each interaction with every one of my six grandchildren, as we welcome in yet one more.

Nothing helps settle me down.

Unfamiliar and strange emotions wash over me. I get up, look anxiously at my watch, drink a full glass of water and lay back down. I think about the last time I saw my sister and how much fun we had watching OSU beat Michigan on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

More tossing and turning.

I doze and wake abruptly minutes later. I kick off the covers – twist my legs and arms into new positions – and begin reciting a list of all the states in the union in alphabetical order – an exercise that usually prompts the z’s to stealthily sneak in.

4AM:  Beset with shivers, I pull the covers back over me and once more – breathing deeply – will sleep to overtake my over stimulated senses. My mind whirls back to my husband and I at the Righteous Brothers concert, where we realized we haven’t “lost that lovin’ feelin’ “ after all.

6AM:  As the first rays of sunrise filter in through the bedroom blinds, I give up. I rise slowly – heading downstairs for my coffee machine – still puzzling over this newly felt emotion whose intensity kept me awake all night.

It’s not until I sit quietly at my kitchen table – fully aware of the dawning day – that the answer to why I spent a sleepless night comes to me.

I wasn’t worried.

Nor frustrated.

Nor agitated.

Feelings that often guarantee a poor night’s sleep for me.

    This was different.

Intense. Yes.

Disruptive. Yes.

But NOT bad.

It took me a while to process what was going on – to realize I was simply enveloped in a state of bliss.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve had such a strong, rich feeling of pure pleasure that I was slow to recognize the feeling: A Moment of Exquisite Happiness. Knowing it is fleeting – unsustainable – I steady myself and allow the ecstasy to flow through me.

Even if they do cause sleepless nights, here’s to joy.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom.

Iris Ruth Pastor

Stomach Churning Time

Ever committed to something with a mixed sense of dread and wild anticipation?

When my first grandchild was born, my son made the following observation on vulnerability and parenting: it’s like throwing your heart out the window – into a highly trafficked street – and hoping it successfully dodges all the cars.

Tee hee. I got it then and I get it now.

Palpitations. Anxiety. Stomach churning. Relentless pit in stomach. Can you relate?

I’m pushing past the fear and focusing on the target: the second staged reading of my play based on my book The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman.

Why is this so anxiety producing?

The Los Angeles staged reading in December went great and garnered constructive feedback that led to four feverish days of re-writing. The operative words are Los Angeles – 1000’s of miles away from Tampa – where I live. Where people know me. Where I am exposing a shameful and secret part of my life.

Reminders to self:

I am a resolutely brazen warrior queen (albeit with a queasy stomach).

We build community through shared experiences.

Change and evolving are vital to our being.

So, enough with my dysfunctional state of mind.

I and my LA based playwrights

Debra DeLiso and Lee Murphy

cordially invite you

to a stage reading

based on my book

The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman

Stageworks Theatre

1120 E. Kennedy Blvd

Tampa, FL 33602

Monday, Feb.17 at 7pm

Tickets are free,

but space is limited.

Please RSVP to me

by Tuesday, January 21

if you can attend

or cannot attend.

irisruthpastor@gmail.com

Here’s some relevant information:

What’s my stage reading going to look like?

My stage reading is a form of theatre without sets or full costumes. The actors will be reading from scripts and will be incorporating some stage movement.

What can I expect?

A warm welcome – and an 80-minute performance in comfortable seats. A unique theatrical experience. And a cash bar.

What do I need to do?

RSVP promptly. Show-up. Provide honest feedback of what works and what you’d like to see improved –anonymously if you prefer. (I’m not sensitive and I highly value comments.)

What’s optional?

A donation to Stageworks – a theatre that celebrates the human spirit and supports the presentation of live performances.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Psychic Readings: facts, myths and a hands-on experience

Want to rile people up? Ask them how they would feel about having a physic reading? Here’s some highly censored reactions – edited for good taste:

     I’d be freaked out

     I’d be too afraid

     Creeps me out

     No possible way

So when a certain gut feeling urges me to get one, I book an appointment with a local psychic reader.

When we initially speak, she asks me to think about a few questions I want answered and to feel free to record our upcoming session.

Then I search the internet for more details on psychic readings.

One psychic says: “When I sit in front of someone, I go blank and I’m open to hearing whatever I’m supposed to hear. Stories, information, images, pictures, and symbols come up in my mind, which make no sense to me, but they make sense for the person sitting in front of me.”

Another reiterated the same:

“When I’m in a reading, I’m speaking with intelligences outside of myself, and transmitting information they give me.”

Here is one dramatic example from a Brooklyn psychic: “I had a phone call from a client, and I heard her say ‘Hi, honey’ to her husband. And I said, ‘Get off the phone and get him to the hospital right now.’ It was so loud in my head: Somebody just screamed ‘get him to the hospital.’ She was an old client of mine, so she said okay, and drove him to the hospital. As she got to the emergency room, he had a massive heart attack. And they saved him.”

She can’t explain how such information comes to her: “I don’t know where that came from. It just happened.”

My psychic reader lives on a nondescript street in a small ranch house with a big friendly dog. No crystal balls. No hanging beads. No burning incense or dipping oils for anointing. No Zen-like mood music wafting in the background. She ushers me into a small, neutrally decorated room and we sat across from each other at a simple wood table.

She explains that she will summon my guardians or guides and that she will tell me what she is “hearing” uncensored and then we can discuss what I find relevant. She also points out that she will often be looking off to the side – listening to voices I can’t hear.  She is explicit: she doesn’t predict or try to guess the future. She self-describes herself as a “channeler”.

We start with a welcoming prayer – and then she describes what she is seeing: a couple – a man and woman seeming to be parental figures – in the 1970’s or 1980’s – sitting around a round Formica table which is encased in some type of metal – with a coffee maker percolating nearby.

I am entranced. My mother had inherited from her mother a wrought iron, round table that she had in her kitchen from the 1970’s until her death in 2018. And much to my annoyance, she had replaced the glass top with a piece of thick, purple specked Formica. And always close by her table was a Farberware percolator brewing coffee.

Later in the reading, my psychic’s eyes open wide with astonishment and she bellows out: “I see a massive white owl enveloping you. You do something with healing, but not in the medical field and what you do touches many people. You are a writer who heals and you need to keep doing it.”

“What’s with the white owl?” I beseech her.

“The significance of the white owl,” she fires back with gusto, “is representative of wisdom and intuition and being hyper-observant of nuances. Your owl is very protective and gives you light and your light in turn shines outward.”

I leave the session having gleaned a myriad of details and nuances to ponder and sift through – providing me additional clarity as the days pass.

Skeptical? I respect that. Many are. How do psychic readers respond to skepticism? Not defensively. Here’s two responses:

     “I love skeptics! They’re only doubtful until something I’ve predicted comes true, and then they become believers. It’s been my experience that men can be the biggest skeptics, but once you tell them something that no one else could possibly know, they become your client for life! I have a lot of male clients.”

     “This stuff doesn’t have to be for everybody. I hope skeptics find what works for them. I don’t care how you get to your self-knowledge. Just get there, please.”

As for me, I’m looking for massive white stuffed fake owls to place in every room of my house. In this crazy world, I’ll take all real or imagined protection.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Sometimes Less is More

Sometimes, less is more. I’m sure you all get that. Hence the brevity of this week’s newsletter.

Our family has two milestone events this week.

The first one occurred just 11 hours shy of the new decade. Our youngest son and daughter-in-law gave birth to an adorable baby girl on December 31st.

Our oldest granddaughter will be celebrating a Jewish rite of passage – her Bat Mitzvah – tomorrow.

Our hearts are filled with gratitude for the blessings in our lives.

Here’s wishing to you and those you love an abundance of joy and many blessings in 2020 too.

All Smiles,

Iris Ruth Pastor

What to do with the Mad, the Sad and the Bad?

It may seem a rather negative way to kick-off a New Year’s column, but let’s face it, big bad stuff happens:

A teen-age daughter develops Tourette’s

    A toddler begins stuttering

    A beloved relative passes away

    A spouse cheats

    A career ends in infamy

    A home is lost in bankruptcy

Even smaller bad stuff happens:

    Blowing a history test

    Not making the team

    Breaking a favorite knickknack

    The dry cleaner losing your cashmere sweater

     Putting a huge dent in your new car

How do we rebound? And what do we do with our feelings when the mad and the sad and the bad come along? What do we do when our emotions are out of control?

I know from experience the last thing we should do is turn our ugly, volatile feelings inward and wreak havoc on ourselves – nor dump those explosive emotions on those we love.

I was riding my bike one Sunday afternoon, listening to Terry Gross’s podcast “Fresh Air.” She was interviewing Marielle Heller, the director of the movie “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” – all about Mr. Fred Rogers.

She mentioned that before she started directing Tom Hanks (who plays Rogers) and the other actors, she visited the Buddhist Zen Center in Brooklyn. Heller learned it’s not about turning away from the pain, but embracing it fully – that is the goal of enlightenment. When we are able to feel all the pain, we are able to empathize with what others are going through. We become like a vessel to hold it. And when we are  enlightened, we are at peace.

Mr. Rogers’ gift to his young audiences was telling kids the truth. And tackling tough subjects.

What do you do when nothing seems to be working our right?

Here’s what Mr. Rogers had to say:

https://youtu.be/F9E-I7yBwIc

Fred Rogers was a sick child – often isolated and frequently bullied. And in his own head a lot – left to his own devices. Many speculate that his childhood experiences may be one reason he spent the rest of life trying to be both super connected and a source of relentless kindness.

I learned more about Mr. Rogers from an article written by Jeanne Marie Laskas in the New York Times Magazine.

A few of Fred Rogers’ thoughts worth carrying forth into the New Year:

I think the greatest thing about things is that they remind you of people. 

Even though Fred was sickly as a child with asthma and rheumatic fever, his grandfather told Fred: You’ve got to learn to do things for yourself.

He also told Fred: There’s only one person in the world like you and I happen to like you just the way you are. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEeEEc_djco

Fred said that went right into his heart and it never budged.

Fred Rogers explored the emotional landscape of kids and realized along with his lifetime collaborator, Margaret McFarland, that anything human is mentionable and anything mentionable is manageable. 

And that creativity fills the gap between what is and what might be.

May we all have a simple, manageable 2020 -buoyed by creativity and caring – and aimed at re-shaping a new and better world.

Adapting that mindset is the first thing – and maybe the only thing- on my 2020 New Year’s Resolution List

I hope it’s on yours too.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

The column no one will probably read

Who wants to plow through paragraph after paragraph about a first-time staged reading of a play based on a self-published book  – being “performed” in a small, nondescript theatre far from Hollywood’s glittering glamour?

Oh well – here goes:

Setting: 6pm on a cloudy evening in a 46-seat theatre on Victory Blvd., Burbank, California.

Program: First staged reading of “The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman” based on my book.

Three actors playing eight characters.

90 minutes – no intermission.

Reception in a tiny vestibule to follow.

The first and only rehearsal started at 2pm. By Page 23 in the script, the two playwrights realized that the actor playing “me” had the wrong version of the play. Without access to a Xerox machine, the playwrights frantically cut and pasted together an accurate script for the main character.

My two friends – Francine and Michele – and I arrive at the theatre at 5pm to chaos.

The door to the restroom (located outside, in the back alley) wouldn’t open. The person who was supposed to be setting up the wine, meat and cheese platters and crudités for the post-play reception never showed up and the usher wasn’t present because she lost her car keys.

Nevertheless, the theatre-goers filed in – actresses, film and production people, playwrights, small theatre owners and a random collection of folks I knew in the LA area.

I watched with glee as every available seat filled-up and every single person I invited showed up. The lights dimmed and the play started. I am wired.

From that moment on, I felt like I did when I stood under the wedding canopy and married my second husband. I knew it was a surreal and milestone moment. Part of me was fully participatory – drinking it all in. The other part of me was looking on as an ever-present observer.

What did I see?

   A fully engaged audience.

   No head nodding.

   No snores.

   No sneaking a look at an I phone.

What did I notice?

   When the audience laughed. Or didn’t.

   When the emphasis was off kilter.

   When there was too much repetition.

   When sequences didn’t seamlessly connect.

At the reception following the play: lots of congrats, hugging,  and “you are so brave to tell your story,” stuff. And picture snapping.

L to R: My friends Michele and Francine on each side of me, bookended by the playwrights Debra and Lee.

I left the theatre in an ambivalent, slightly manic mood. The event I had dreaded, looked forward too, and obsessed about was over. Staying up until 3am laughing and cackling with my friends after French Fries and burgers at the iconic “In & Out” burger place near the theatre mellowed out my mood.

The next morning, we met at one of the playwright’s homes – an eclectic Spanish mini villa in the Hollywood Hills – where she cooked each of us made-to-order omelets laced through with avocado and finely chopped scallions.

We then read the comment sheets out loud to each other – carefully compiling the data – in order to guide us in revisiting, revising, strengthening and beefing-up the script. And we strategized about our next moves forward.

Here’s some feedback:

What a moving evening of theatre. If that was only a staged reading, I am flabbergasted! The writing and acting were superb.

Iris came alive with all her love, longing, self-sacrificing nature, shame, guilt, fear and eventual courage. Her relationship with E.D. was explicitly clear. 

So many took the time to point out what could be improved upon and what was impactful. I think this endeavor is going to be okay. More than okay.

I love you all for being the oxygen in my tank – for being the cheerleaders in the stands. And having the courage to provide honest and helpful feedback. Even when you don’t read the column!

Thank you and keep PYB,

Iris Ruth Pastor

The Beauty of FAQ

Thanksgiving fell on November 28 – pretty late this year. The outcome: not only six less days to squeeze in holiday shopping, but six less days for organizing and executing in-home parties and hosting get-togethers.

We can’t speed-up Amazon deliveries even though ordering extra early helps. But we can streamline our entertaining routines. Below is a brilliant idea from my son and his wife – utilized the Saturday following  Gobble Day – when they annually host a football bash for 70 people centered around the OSU vs MICHIGAN game.

Their secret? A FAQ e mail sent out shortly before the party.

I’ve modified it a bit but the cleverness of this user guide is theirs.

Q: What time does party start?

A: Please come any time after 11:00 am.

Q: What time does game start?

A: Noon.

Q: Where do I park?

A: Please park on side of driveway on the left side on grass or at top of driveway to the left in flat area. This is so food truck can come down driveway and park at bottom.

Q: What time does food truck arrive?

A: 1:00 pm.

Q: Where do I enter?

A: Use front door or go to back patio. Can’t miss it.

Q: Where can I get a drink?

A: At the bar in the dining room. Help yourself to any age- appropriate beverage you wish.

Q: Where can I get water?

A: The sink at the bar produces filtered ionized water for human consumption (similar to Smart Water).

Q: Where can I get ice?

A: At the bar in the dining room to your lower left is an ice maker. Open it up and there is plenty of ice.

Q: What is the spread?

A: OSU -9.5

Q: What is the over/under?

A: 50.5.

Q: What should I wear?

A: Scarlet, grey or black.

Q: What is a Wolverine?

A. A douche bag.

Q: What time does it end?

A: If Buckeyes win, there is no end.

Well, it’s pretty clear we are Buckeye fans and the party did last into the wee hours, because OSU was once again victorious.

But you know mothers – as the days flew by, I kept thinking about my son’s list. And having a lot of past practice on improving, expanding and/or modifying my children’s works of genius, I came up with a few of my own FAQs. So here’s a few more suggestions on holiday hosting to add to your FAQ e-mail:

Q: What should I do if I spill my wine?

A: Clean-up stations are set up in a few strategic places in case a nasty spill occurs. Each basket has a box of salt, Wine Away (red wine stain remover), club soda, and a couple of rags. Clean away.

Q: Where should I put my coat?

A: The closet in the front hall is for your coats and filled with empty coat hangers.

Q: What should I bring?

A:  Check with my wife

One final discreet warning from a watchful mom before welcoming guests into your home:

Check your medicine cabinets.

Remove any personal items you wouldn’t want your guests to see. 

Happy Partying,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Release your Imaginative, Ingenious and Innovative Side.

Thanksgiving bingeing is over. Shopping is upon us. Oh boy. More stress.

Many people have particular foods that they habitually make during the holiday season. My mother made white chocolate covered Rice Chex, which she packaged in small bags and gave as a take-home gift to each family member.

Here’s the Recipe:

White Chocolate Covered Rice Chex:

     I box (1 lb.) Rice Chex cereal

2 pkgs. (1 Lb. each) white chocolate

Melt half of chocolate and pour over half of cereal in a large bowl. Mix with a spoon and shake bowl until the cereal is well coated.

Set aside to cool. Stir periodically to keep cereal from clumping.

Repeat melting and coating process with remaining half of cereal and white chocolate.

Cool completely. Store in plastic bags. Can be frozen.

Too daunting? Here’s a few ideas for those of us who are culinary challenged:

Go to the liquor store and stock up. And utilize the employee’s knowledge. It’s deep and detailed. Here’s our recent holiday stash.

Capture those special, spontaneous moments for posterity. Gently prod each family member to keep their cell phone and camera ready to snap away. Then, grab the most tech savvy relative and cajole him or her into making an online collage and e mailing to all when completed.

Plan an outing or an activity during the holiday season.  My neighbor arranged for a palmist to come and read each family member’s palm. How about Tarot card reading, handwriting analysis, or astrology charts? One friend organized a bowling outing and provided vintage bowling shirts to each family member to wear.

Start early. A college roommate of mine keeps a “Thankfulness” folder and all year collects quotes that have stirred her. Instead of a holiday letter, she compiles all of them into a small notebook, which she tucks inside a mason jar and passes out to each family member on her list. Her goal: to inspire and connect. And instill transparency. (Glass jar in case you missed that point.)

Visit art fairs, street markets, and owner-operated neighborhood boutiques and buy from local crafts people. I bought a half dozen Hamsa prints all denoting different values to bless a home.

Be ever on alert for gift buying ideas. 

    I caught the tail end of an NPR segment on “Pandemic Legacy” – a cutting-edge game for age 13 and above. Want to engender world awareness and global responsibility and stimulate your brain cells at the same time? This game will do it. Players must band together to save the world. Actions taken in one game will affect all future games and determine whether you can save humanity.

Delia Ephron, sister to the late Nora Ephron, was the featured guest a few years back on “CBS in the Morning.” She talked about picking up her 8 year-old nephew from the airport and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Take me to the baseball card store, Aunt Delia.” A demand. And not a subtle one. Ephron was appalled and began that day in the car to write a question and answer etiquette book for kids – to teach and instill kind, respectful and decent behavior.  Do I Have to Say A Hello? deals with sticky questions such as “What happens when I get a present I don’t like?” BTW, not a bad stocking stuffer for adults too.

My opinion? The best gift is PRESENCE: Simply being together – with whoever loves you and you love back.

And keeping in mind the following recipe for joy in the holiday season: GIVE DYSFUNCTION ZERO OXYGEN.

Happy holidays to all and to all a good night.

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

PS: What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

Messy Swampland!

Six Months Prior:

I’m trying something utterly new and foreign. I’ve hired two female playwrights based in Los Angeles to transform my book, The Secret Life of a Weight Obsessed Woman, into a play. This endeavor is about as comforting as trampling through a snake-infested swampland.

I’m finding the whole process – the contract negotiations and the expectations of our roles and the proposed outcome – to be somewhat:

Unfamiliar

Muddled

Chaotic

Tumultuous

Unruly

and Confusing

Five Months Prior:

Much to their chagrin and my stubbornness, it‘s a rocky collaborative beginning. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but still feel – because it’s my original work – I know best how to adapt my book into a play.

At first the playwrights are patient. Diplomatic. Supportive. But soon they begin pushing back. Determined. Steadfast in their beliefs. Re-assuring me that under their tutelage, my play is thriving. My faulty assumptions are upended.

Four Months Prior:

Revelation: A book is finite. Once it’s printed, it’s not fluid, easily changed, reviewed and revised – unless you publish a whole other version or later edition.

A play is entirely different. Re-writes occur regularly. Probably at their wits’ end, the playwrights send me a copy of Neil Simon’s memoir: Rewrites. And “suggest” I read it. I do. It alters my attitude.

Conversational dialogue to my untrained ear sounds trite and leaden. They calm me. “That’s how real people talk. A scene may not read well, but it will play well.”

My perspective slowly changes. Neil Simon says, “It’s what happens to the characters in the story that pushes the play forward.”

Three Months Prior: 

Throughout this process, I’ve been proven wrong again and again and again. They think the script is strong – I think not.

My sister – who has an acting background – reiterates, “You are a writer, not a playwright. Conversations come alive through the actor’s skill with movement, tone, facial expression and the reactions of the other characters. For G-d sakes, let these poor women do their jobs!”

I still worry. Will the audience laugh in the right places?

Will the audience like my characters – even when they are behaving badly, expose their flaws, mess-up – say and do unwise, impudent things?

Two Months Prior:

The re-writes are done.

The cast is assembled and sent the scripts, along with my background information and book.

I’m still wondering: Will the audience care? Be involved? Become invested in my journey to be the best version of myself? And will they see somewhere in my flawed psyche, a person fighting with her own demons much like they themselves are waging battle with theirs?

One Month Prior:

The first staged reading is scheduled in Los Angeles, in a small theater which can hold forty-eight people on December 14th at 6pm. The theatre is so small that the actors don’t need mics. There are minimal props. No costumes. Hand-held scripts. One rehearsal beforehand.

Ah, and the audience – the audience is composed of producers and investors, friends and family I know from the LA area and some professionals who work in the eating disorder field.

A glimmer of hope breaks through my layers of doubt.

Maybe the playwrights are right and together we’ve managed to put together a damn good first reading.

As Neil Simon says: “The good things take care of themselves. It’s the bad parts that’ll do you in.” And the bad parts can be fixed. The more live performances, the more we’ll get a shot at improving it.

Fifteen Days Until Showtime:

That night, the audience is going to filter in, sit down, glance at the one-page program, wait for the lights to dim and the first character to appear. Escape will be impossible. So I’ll hold tight to my husband’s hand and squeeze it with all the strength I have. And pray that the audience – each in their own way – will identify with my struggle, root for my healing, like the characters, and laugh at the jokes. I hope each one will go home feeling not only entertained, but also inspired and ready to spread the word.

And I hope on the feedback form my audience will tell me exactly what’s wrong so we can go home and begin re-writing once again.

Heres the playwrights Debra and Lee happily under the influence of a little bit wine. Probably because I made them so crazy. 

Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor

Preventing A Thanksgiving Melt-down

I don’t excel in the kitchen. No magnificently stuffed, basted and roasted turkey will ever emerge from my seldom-used oven to my gleaming Lenox serving platter – unless someone else makes it.

I must confess: I am more interested in what goes on around the table rather than what dishes get placed on the table.

So here are some suggestions for a memorable, enjoyable and richly textured Thanksgiving experience:

Cultivate a Thanksgiving frame of mind.

Compose a handwritten note of thanks to a few people who have extended to you the gift of kindness in the past year.

   “Fill your car with frozen turkeys and cart them down to a local food bank to be distributed,” suggests my friend Joyce. “I do this a couple of days before Thanksgiving. And I stuff boxes there as well. I feel good and it enables the family receiving the food able to celebrate Thanksgiving too.”

Once around the table:

   Recall: One of my more outrageous friends, whose identity will remain hidden, boldly suggests sitting around the table and recalling “Disasters of Thanksgivings Past.” With a twinkle in her eye, she cautions me that only those with a well-endowed sense of humor and tolerant of some good-natured ribbing should attempt this. Grandma burning the turkey to a crisp.  Or Willy and his wild sons knocking over the entire Thanksgiving dessert table while tossing a Nerf football over it.

   Divert: “My family fights over everything,” another friend who will remain nameless, admits. “We always need diversion to prevent arguments from flaring up. Because we don’t get together over the December holiday season, we make a practice of exchanging gifts at the Thanksgiving table. The person in charge for that year passes out one name to each person a week before Thanksgiving. That person buys a book for the person whose name he received, based on their interests. He wraps it and presents it to the person, along with an explanation of why he picked that particular book for him. It’s fun and prevents much dreaded smoldering family resentments to inflame – at least until the meal is over.”

Not Nostalgia: “Take a group picture before the food courses commence – and add it to a collage of group pictures, which get displayed each year. It’s hysterical to see how people age,” my friend Nina remarks wickedly. “And great motivation for pre-Thanksgiving dieting.”

  Practice Gratitude: “It’s tried, true and trite but what can it hurt? Go around the table and ask each person to talk BRIEFLY about one thing they are grateful/thankful for,” suggests Gail. “And with technology surrounding us, we often utilize Skype or Face time with relatives celebrating elsewhere.

Remember the disconcerting scene from the movie, “Avalon,” produced by Barry Levinson? One brother yells at the other, “You cut the turkey without me.”

Remember the quote written by Oscar Wilde? “After a good dinner, one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.”

Let’s face it. We wait to cut the turkey until all guests have arrived. We make sure the food is delectable. Still, there can be folks seated around our Thanksgiving table that we just can’t stand. How do we get through the meal without a major meltdown? Knife fight? Or hair pulling ruckus?

Here’s a few suggestions from me – a self-proclaimed know-it-all – who sports absolutely no professional qualifications:

Lower your expectations

Dwell on the positive

Don’t look for a slight – or you’ll be sure to find on

Listen more than talk

Avoid expounding on religion, Donald Trump & impeachment issues

And if things heat-up, pop open another bottle of wine & slug away

Happy Turkey Day from my crazy horde of relatives to yours & Keep Preserving Your Bloom,

Iris Ruth Pastor