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Leah Dunaief

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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

According to several articles in the media, including in The New York Times, the election of Donald Trump as President is viewed by many women as a setback to the efforts toward gender equality, and they are angry, even distraught.

Gloria Steinem, the feminist activist who is now 90, doesn’t see the defeat of Kamala Harris as a result of her gender. “We don’t know what’s in the heart of each woman” who voted for Mr. Trump, she is quoted in The Times as saying. She goes on to point out the huge gains that women have made over the last half century. 

“It is within my memory that it was not possible in many states to get a prescription for birth control unless you were married and had the written permission of your husband, and not possible to have an abortion without some access to an illegal network. Those are huge [advances].” 

Looking back to the 1960s and 1970s, few women were decision makers in government, boardrooms or families, according to The Times. “Women had trouble getting a driver’s license or passport or registering to vote, unless they took their husband’s last name. Marital rape was legal. Most could not open credit cards in their own names until the mid-1970s.”

The election has revealed a divide among women. Exit polls indicate that 45 percent of women voted for Trump, including far more white women than black women. For some of those female voters, that suggests ”liberation from feminism.” Others blame those women for  betraying the sisterhood by voting for a man who makes sexist and also racist remarks.

All agree. Womanhood in the United States has fractured. Or perhaps the idea that women stick together because of gender is a myth. There have always been women who argued against the right of women to vote and  legalization of abortion. Pop culture, personified by Beyoncé and Taylor Swift celebrating the advances of women, apparently does not translate to political culture. The “tradwives” movement on social media, advancing the return of women to submissive wives, has apparently picked up steam. 

Perhaps what we can all agree on is the right to choose and live a self-actualized life.

What some women have chosen is an interesting individual choice: to sideline men from their lives. 

The Times points out that there has been an explosion in the number of women that say they are deleting dating apps, taking vows of celibacy, identifying as “self-partnered,” writing divorce memoirs and expressing profound disillusionment with heterosexual marriage and “decentering men” to focus on self-improvement and platonic relationships.

South Korea’s 4B movement, which “encourages women to reject dating, marrying, having sex with and having children with men,” as explained in The Times, has attracted attention among women who didn’t vote for Trump. “Online women are exhorting one another to abandon men as self-protection; [to] buying a vibrator; or even a gun.”

“Disappointed by the defeat of another female nominee, some feel numb resignation, while others—particularly young women online—are channeling their disappointment into anger against men as a whole.”

Almost sounds like a movie plot, doesn’t it? Except, as Times’ reporter, Marie Solis, states, “Peering into the vast gulf between the political views of men and women, the latter group isn’t so sure it has much in common with the former.” That doesn’t make for a good society in which to live. One book on the subject: “The End of Men,” subtitled “And the Rise of Women” by Hanna Rosin.

Steinem offered a bit of advice as a coda. ‘Focus on equality in the workplace, and treat daughters the same as sons,” to which she added, “The lesson is less in the national and world atmosphere and more in the home and employment atmosphere in which we have some control. We shouldn’t give up the power we have.” 

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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

This is an invitation for you, readers of our newspapers, viewers of our website, followers of us on social media and listeners to our podcast. We encourage you to send us nominations for our special edition, People of the Year.

Many of you know that we publish People of the Year, filled with the exploits of local “heroes,” who go the extra mile to make our communities the wonderful places they are, between Christmas and New Year.

These are people who live or work or in some way directly affect our lives here. They don’t just do their jobs well. They go far beyond what is expected of them, and in so doing, improve our lives.

We solicit these names from you because you know who they are, whether from the cohort of government workers to the unstinting volunteer on your block. By putting the spotlight on them and their unselfish efforts, we make their work a little easier.

Plus, no matter who they are, it feels good to be appreciated.

So think about who helps our villages and towns the most. They can be in any field: healthcare, the economy, elected officials, business people, the arts, science, civics, historical societies, service organizations, education, sports and more.

 And don’t tell them you told us. We like to surprise them when we publish their stories the last week in December.

Thank you & Happy Holidays!

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

The drive between my office and home has been treacherous for my tires over the past couple of years, with the potholes and broken stretches of blacktop causing them to whine in protest. I was taking all sorts of detours through adjoining neighborhoods to avoid them. 

So, imagine my relief when a transportation ground crew appeared a couple of weeks ago and proceeded to repair and repave the roads. The route is now smooth enough for roller skating.

This could have been a metaphor for the coming election.

After mounting anxiety among the populace and near hysteria about what voting would be like and what would lie ahead by the media, it is such a relief that nothing violent  happened. It was only an exercise in demonstrating the will of the governed.

Yes, half the population is keenly disappointed that its candidate did not win and make history, and the other half is ecstatic that its candidate did win and did make history. But an amazing calm has descended. 

Polls almost all across our nation were crowded but enabled orderly voting. There were a few bomb threats phoned in, largely attributed to Russian interference, which delayed our voting process in a minor way, but there were no scenes of perilous conflict. 

We Americans did what we are supposed to do during elections. We voted—in greater number than usual—then went about our usual business and awaited the results.

The only uptick in normal activity was in the stock market, which soared wildly at the prospect of calm and stability. There was no factual basis for any claims of chaos. And no one so far seems to be challenging the results.

We can let out our collective breath.

This election should not pass from sight without our plaudits for the poll workers. When I entered my polling place about 10:45 a.m. on Tuesday, I was greeted cordially, directed to the proper table to register, then to another for the ballot and given a short explanation on how to fill it out.

When I emerged, ballot in hand, from the booth, I was further directed to one of the voting machines, then I left with a receipt and a sticker some kind soul had supplied that read, “I voted.” As I left, I was thanked a couple of times for voting by poll workers. 

It occurred to me that we, the voters, should be thanking them. Despite the severe concerns expressed in the lead-up to the election about the safety issue for those workers, they showed up, graciously did their jobs, safely put in a long day, then returned to their homes. 

They supported the ultimate key for democracy to happen: the vote.

So thank you to the many men and women, all across America, and those in our individual polling places, for your help. And thanks to those who came to protect them.

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MetroCreative Photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

As much as I regret saying this and disappointing my enthusiastic friends, I don’t much care for Halloween. Yes, I admire the creativity that goes into the decorations, the costumes, the stories and the efforts to make great parties. I also like the candy. But there is an undercurrent of something uncontrollable about the holiday, almost as if it is a license that day to egg a garage or knock down a mailbox. The Trick-or-Treat slogan makes me uneasy.

Maybe this is the result of having had those minor but annoying experiences. How many of us, when the next day dawns, look around to see if there is any graffiti on our houses or flat tires on our cars?

I have dear friends who dress up in clever costumes and become those characters for a few hours. It’s fun for many of us, children and adults. My all time favorite was when my friend, John, came as a toilet bowl. And it actually flushed. I love to see small children running through the neighborhood as Batman or Spock, imaginations at play. They tightly clutch their bags of treasure, eyes wide with wonder at being handed treats by someone in the doorway of every house on the block. And it is a chance for costumed adults to play at being children again.

So I guess I have what are called “mixed feelings” about Halloween.

I am not alone in this. There are others who, in the extreme, actually fear the holiday. That fear has a medical term: samhainophobia. Here is the professional definition. “People with this specific phobia feel anxious when they think about or experience anything to do with Halloween. Many people with samhainophobia (sam-HI-noh-phobia) have gone through a past traumatic situation related to Halloween. Exposure therapy, cognitive behavioral therapy and hypnotherapy can help overcome samhainophobia…Such anxiety can be caused at the thought of Halloween parties, symbols such as ghosts and spiders and trick-or-treating.”

Symptoms, ranging from mild to extreme, can include dizziness, intense sweating, pale skin, panic attacks, rapid breathing and heart rate, strong feeling of terror, nausea and trembling or shaking. For children who are so triggered, avoiding the dark, not wanting to go to school on Halloween, even not wanting to sleep by themselves can be manifestations of this anxiety disorder.

Samhain comes from the Celtic festival first celebrated by the druids some 2000 years ago. The Celts lived primarily in what is now Ireland, the U.K. and northern France, and they believed that on October 31, the living mingled with the dead. That was the night before the Celtic New Year. The festival included large bonfires, animal sacrifices to please the dead, and costumes of animal skins and heads on the participants.

I did enjoy Halloween when I was in elementary school and growing up in an apartment building. My mother would let me put together some semblance of a costume, including a bath towel tied cape-like on my back, and I would run around the hallway, ringing door bells and yelling “Trick-or-Treat!” I still remember being amazed when residents who normally kept to themselves would open their doors, smile, and hand me candy or an apple. I knew nothing of Celts and druids, but I was thrilled by the power to awaken neighborly response and be rewarded for my efforts.

Some people, here in the suburbs, may put out scary monsters, faux graveyards, giant spiders crawling across their huge webs, and all manner of spooks on their front lawns. Box stores seem to make as much money at this time of the year as they do at Christmas. The 12 foot skeletons even come with eyes that light up menacingly and audio that episodically screams. While this is a demonstration of decorating artistry, perhaps it is our way of safely laughing at death.

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METROCREATIVE CONNCETION

By Leah Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

My college class is hosting a forum on friendship and how to define it. During this time, when loneliness seems to be a problem for many, what role should friendship play, especially in our later years?

I read someplace, not too long ago, that most people claim to have five or six good friends, and that is ideal, according to the professionals who study this subject. It made me think about how many good friends I have, and whether I have the requisite number for a happy life.

What makes people become friends?

Perhaps friends play a different role in one’s life at different stages. I tried to remember the friends I had in my earliest years. There was Evelyn in Second Grade. What attracted me to her was her ability to draw. I was enamored with The Lone Ranger at that point, read as many books by Fran Striker (who I later learned was Frances, a woman author) as I could find, and I asked Evelyn to draw scenes from the books for me. I would give her some particulars, and she would follow up and make drawings on looseleaf sheets of paper that illustrated the vignettes I would describe to her. And she did so quickly, as I talked, which was amazing.

Why did she do that for me? She was terrible in arithmetic, and I would do her homework for her, probably as quickly as she could draw. So we had a mutual attraction as a result of our individual skills. Also she lived down the block from my family’s apartment, and we would walk home together from school. So convenience and mutual needs played a part in encouraging friendship.

It all ended, of course, when the teacher realized I was doing her homework. It was innocent enough. I never meant to abort her learning and hope she caught on to numbers and what one could do with them.

I went to an all-girls junior high school that only one other classmate entered, and she was put into a different section, so I had no friends immediately. But I was attracted to a small group who came from the other side of town and seemed to have a lot of fun with each other.

They were sophisticated. In particular, they would slip out of school 15 minutes before the end of the last class, run down the stairs of the subway outside the school building and ride to the Broadway Theater District, where they would arrive just as the plays would break for intermission.

When the audience members would then walk back in, they would, too, and carefully find empty seats. In that way, they saw the second act of some of the most famous musicals of the 1950s. I wanted desperately to be part of that group, and somehow they accepted me. They were my junior high friends, and I still think of them fondly.

So common interests make for friendships.

In high school and college, my friends were a couple of classmates that I most admired. They brought different ideas to class and had the courage to speak about the subjects in an original way. There were others, too, who were enjoyable companions throughout those early years, and with whom I kept up until we each went our separate ways after we married and moved from New York. But I kept in touch with those original two I most respected. So respect is another factor in deep friendships.

As we had children, our friends most often were the parents of their friends, which was convenient. And we had friends from work. But then, our children grew up, left the nest, and we were again on our own, with the time to rediscover old friends who were witnesses to our earlier years and to make new ones.

Witnesses and shared experiences now make for strong glue in friendship. And mutual admiration, loyalty and empathy for all that has happened and is happening to us as we age, are powerful bonds among friends.

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TBR News Media publisher Leah Dunaief meeting the 39th U.S. president, Jimmy Carter, at the White House in 1978. Photo from Leah Dunaief

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

Jimmy Carter was the first United States President to invite me to the White House. The year was 1978, we had just started our first newspaper, The Village Times in the Three Village area, two years earlier, and the level of excitement was somewhere in the  stratosphere when our receptionist screamed, “It’s the White House calling!”  

Yes, indeed, it was someone from the White House, asking our address for the invitation to be sent to the Out of Town Press Conference later that month. With entrepreneurial bravado, I had written a letter addressed merely to “The White House, Washington, D.C.” asking if we might visit, not knowing about their monthly conferences at which Carter would gain insight from reporters into issues around the nation, even as he got his top priorities out into the communities. If I had known, I might have doubted his interest in a new weekly newspaper, but I would have been mistaken. 

They wanted me.

From the moment of that phone call until I sat in the office with 29 other reporters, talking with the President, that excitement never abated. The session was lengthy, interrupted at one point by the arrival of a boxed lunch. The conversation continued over a hard boiled egg and half a tuna fish sandwich. As I salted my egg and proceeded to down it, I still could not quite believe I was there.

Of course it made a great front page story in our paper when I returned, a photo shaking hands with President Carter a lifetime treasure. At the end of the session, he asked us to line up and tell him our names and where we lived, as a photographer snapped the moment. The line moved quickly, but when it was my turn, I was determined to say something that might be more interesting to him. 

“Mr. President, your sister, Ruth, visited my hometown of Stony Brook last week,” I rushed out the words. He stopped the line, his blue eyes large, and smiled broadly at me. I had read that he adored his sister.

“Isn’t Ruth great?” he offered. It wasn’t a question. “Why was she there?”

Ruth Carter Stapleton was a Christian Evangelist and I explained that she had been visiting one of the local Christian schools. He chatted another minute, then again shook my hand, and I moved on. I was in my late 30’s, and it was surely one of the high points of my life.

I was only 14 when I met Julie Andrews. She was one of the leads in the British play, “The Boy Friend,” and I went to a matinee with my eighth grade class on a field trip to see my first Broadway show. Word must have gotten to her that students were in the audience, and she invited all of us back stage to chat as she took off her makeup. She was only 19 at the time and told us she was thrilled with being in America for the first time. We were thrilled in turn to meet her. She didn’t seem much older than we, and the conversation was high spirited girl talk.

Little did any of us know that she would go on to become one of her era’s brightest stars, with a career starting as a child actress and spanning eight decades. She was the recipient of countless awards, and became Dame Julia by Queen Elizabeth in 2000. Her breakthrough American role was as Eliza Doolittle opposite Rex Harrison in the superb “My Fair Lady,” then went on to Queen Guinevere in “Camelot.” As Mary Poppins, in her first film role, she won the Academy Award’s Best Actress, then on to “The Sound of Music,” and many more.

It was fun to know that these two remarkable people shared the same birthday, October 1, and it made my walk down memory lane, this past Tuesday, a fond one.

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Photo from Pixabay

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

As we enter October, we come upon the one year anniversary of our podcasting. We have had a gratifying response to our weekly offering, but for those who might not be aware of the particulars, let me explain.

A podcast, in general, can be about any subject, involve any number of people and have an unlimited reach. Our podcast, which we call The Pressroom Afterhour, and record Thursday evenings, consists of a quick summary of the past week’s local news, followed by conversation among our editorial board members about key stories that appear in that day’s issue of the newspaper. It is more than a summary, rather it’s like overhearing our chatter in the newsroom. There is more information, some laughter, a personal touch from our staff and an extra dimensionality to hearing the voices. 

Our podcast lasts about 40 minutes and is available after noon on Friday for the ensuing week. It is then archived and still available for anyone seeking a look-back at the news. To access the podcast easily, we have provided a QR code on the top right hand corner of our front page. Just mouse over it or take a picture of it with your cellphone. Another way is to go to our website, tbrnewsmedia.com, and click on the button at the top of the home page. The podcast is also available on Spotify.

We sometimes have a guest on with us, someone who features prominently in that week’s news. We think it is fun for you to hear from them in addition to reading about their actions. Some of our guests have been Historian Bev Tyler, Estate Planner Honorable Gail Prudenti, Geriatrician Dr. Suzanne Fields, Councilmember Jonathan Kornreich, Suffolk County Water Authority President Charlie Lefkowitz, and Elder Lawyer Nancy Burner, among others. We will have many more who have asked to be invited and who will round out the news.

Encouraged by the success of our news roundup, we have now started a second podcast, about one hour each time, that is a one-on-one interview with a prominent person. We call it, “Celebrity Interview,” and we began with the engaging actress Laura Benanti. It, too, can be found in the same way on the website or with Spotify.

We thank the sponsors of the podcasts for supporting this local news vehicle. They are included in a weekly full page ad in which we explain what topics will be covered in the session. These have featured the Port Jefferson Coffee House Toast, the Bridgeport-Port Jefferson Ferry, D.J.’s Clam Shack in Stony Brook, the Smithtown caterer Elegant Eating,  the Suffolk County Water Authority and Stony Brook University. These sponsors are deeply rooted in our communities and now in our weekly chronicles of local history.

For those of you who might want to offer feedback to a particular podcast, please do so by writing us a letter to the editor, emailing us at [email protected], or calling us at 631-751-7744. We would welcome your comments and any suggestions you might have for guests, including yourselves. 

We view these podcasts as possible forums for the local news.

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Grace Kelly in a promotional photo for 'Rear Window' by Paramount Pictures. Wikimedia

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

While England had its favorite Princess Diana, we in America had a princess of our own for years. Many now were born after her death in 1982, but for those of us who remember her, she had terrific charisma. She was Princess of Monaco, her name was Grace Kelly and she came from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Last Saturday marked the anniversary of her death, also like Diana, in a horrible automobile accident on the steep slopes of the French Riviera. She was 52.

Hers was a true fairy tale story until the end.

Unlike many stars of stage and screen, Grace Kelly did not come from a hardscrabble background but was born into a wealthy Irish Catholic family, the third of four children. By all accounts, hers was a handsome household, and she was sent to good schools. Starting her career as an actress at 18, she began with helpful connections. Her uncle was a Pulitzer Prize winner in California and certainly smoothed her way with important introductions.

One well known story about her that came to symbolize her demeanor and rapid rise to success was her early interview with a director. She appeared well dressed and wearing a hat and white gloves. As her mother explained many times in subsequent years to the press, that was what a well brought up young lady wore to an appointment mid-century. Along with her blonde, blue eyed good looks, she carried a finishing school poise wherever she went. That certainly impressed many in Hollywood.

She also impressed the movie world by refusing to sign a long term contract with any of the studios, thus assuring her independence. Initially she found work as a commercial photographer’s model, but then she started getting small parts in movies and quickly moved up. Within a remarkably short, five-year period, she starred in movies with some of Hollywood’s most famous, and virile, leading men, including Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart, Louis Jordan, Stewart Granger and even did a famous duet with Bing Crosby in the movie, “High Society.” She also won an Academy Award for her role in “Country Girl,” in which she had a non-glamorous lead.

Grace Kelly was, by popular accounts, Director Alfred Hitchcock’s favorite actress and his lead in two of his movies. When she was sent to film “To Catch a Thief” on the French Riviera, she was introduced to Prince Rainier III of Monaco, who at the age of 32 was considered one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors. Monaco was known to Americans as a luxurious tourist resort famous for its Monte Carlo Casino. It was, and still is, a small sovereign principality on the Mediterranean, alongside France and close to Italy, ruled by the Grimaldi family since 1297 but only so long as the family produces an heir.

At the time of her marriage in 1956, Kelly was 26, and to the sorrow of many, retired from her acting career. While she was regarded, since she was an American and an actress, with some coolness at first by the Monegasques, they certainly took her into their hearts when she produced the Grimaldi’s first of their three children in 1957. That insured their tax-free status and Monaco’s continuation.

Not unlike Princess Diana, whom she met shortly after Diana’s marriage to Prince Charles, she worked hard on behalf of charities, especially for children. And according to an interview with her son, Albert, in 2014, Kelly was a “hands-on” mom, keeping their home as normal as possible in the midst of glamorous European life. Kelly even insisted on turkey amid Thanksgiving celebrations, neither one of which was common for Europeans.

I met Grace Kelly when I was an early teenager and infatuated with movies. It was an  evening on a Sunday, and I was peering into a shop window on Madison Avenue in the upper 70s in New York City. I don’t remember what I was looking at, but I became aware that there was someone next to me also glancing into the closed shop. I turned to face the woman, who then turned toward me. I knew that face.

“Are you Grace Kelly?”  I asked, thrilled. She had sea blue eyes and fabulous skin, which was so impressive to me in my early acne years.

“Yes,” she said smiling. “I am.” I noted that she had perfect white teeth.

After a moment, during which I froze, she continued smiling and walked uptown, past me.

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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

The first time I ate in a restaurant alone, I was propositioned. It happened like this. I was attending the New York Press Association Convention in the Albany area in 1978. We had only recently started the first newspaper, and I was eager to learn as much as possible about my industry. 

I checked into the hotel ahead of my staff the night before the workshops were to begin, dropped my bag in my room, then went to the dining room for some supper.

“One, please,” I said to the maître d’ and was shown to a table for two along the wall. Feeling adventurous, I looked around the room, noticed that there were mostly men quietly eating together, then studied the menu and ordered my meal. It was a new experience for me, and I was enjoying my entrepreneurial role, stepping out in the business world. As I began to eat, a man in a suit approached. 

“Hello,” he said with a grin. “How are you doing”?

I looked up, trying to recognize him. I had already met some of the other publishers but he was not one of them.

He threw down his room key at the edge of the table. “Come up in about an hour,” he instructed with a wink, his grin widening.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m the owner of the automobile dealership across the street,” he appeared to be boasting. 

There was a long pause as we stared at each other some seconds. Then he mumbled something, the grin disappearing, picked up his key, turned and left the dining room. At that point, it dawned on me what he was saying. I suddenly felt alone.

Fast forward to today. The CNN headline reads, “More people than ever are eating alone at restaurants.” It’s almost half a century later, women are totally commonplace in business and eateries are welcoming solo customers. 

In fact, OpenTable was quoted as saying that reservations for parties of one at sit-down restaurants had increased 8 percent in the last year, and that among 2000 of their patrons whom they surveyed in June, 60 percent had dined alone in the past year, including 68 percent of Gen Z and Millennials. Long gone were the days when single diners had to be accompanied by a book, pretend to be a restaurant critic with a pad and pencil beside the plate, or sit at a bar. Eateries are taking their cue and making pleasant and even social seating for solos.

So why this 180 degree change? It reflects societal change.

One explanation offered by CNN is that it’s convenient, with no cooking or cleaning up to do at home. Some are just trying out new restaurants. “Social media has made it easier for people to find restaurants well-suited for a meal alone.” Most telling is that some 30 percent of Americans live alone. People are marrying later and only 37 percent ages 25-39 are married with children. That compared to 67 percent in 1970. This last group is made up of those most likely to be eating meals at home and those missing from this last group are swelling the ranks of the solo diners.

In a recent survey of 1200 consumers, 60 percent felt comfortable eating alone at a casual dining restaurant.

CNN further suggested that some solo diners saw eating alone as ‘me time,’ a way of unplugging and treating themselves in an otherwise busy schedule. It’s also a way to make connections, if one wishes, chatting with bartenders, waiters, and other guests without any social pressure.

You might think that restaurateurs would not like a solo diner instead of a couple, but remember, restaurants sell seats, not tables, and they are finding ways to accommodate  this new trend.

So if you feel shy about going to eat alone, just go to the restaurant of your choosing, and you will find you will be welcomed without anyone caring.

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief,
Publisher

My last birthday, which we celebrated a couple of weeks ago, has been rough. But I am expecting a turn of fortune for the better, because bad things come in threes, and now I’ve experienced all three. Sharing the miseries generally makes one feel better, so here goes.

The first started off happily enough. 

I had been invited to a wedding reception in Maine. Now any excuse to go to Maine is a wonderful happening, in my mind, and it’s not just for the blueberry jam and the lobster rolls. The state is physically beautiful, with a shoreline that has attracted artists over the centuries. To go there in August is to get away from the heavy heat of summer. It is also no cultural sacrifice since summer stock and art galleries are to be found in many of the small towns and cities. Good museums too.

So we packed up the car and left a day early to have some exploratory time before the party. In our roaming, we met people from all over the country who had come with the same idea about vacationing in the northernmost New England State. When we arrived at our destination, we remembered and ate in a couple of our favorite restaurants and also enjoyed socializing with the 140 wedding guests as well as with others at the hotel over the Bacchanal weekend.

So far, so good, right?

When we returned home, as a result of all that socializing, we found we had brought an unwelcome guest back with us: a tenacious microbe that had taken up residence in our upper respiratory anatomy. Whether bacteria or virus, it has so far withstood two different antibiotic assaults and still troubles us with deep seated coughs. This was alarming because the family was arriving immediately upon our return to celebrate my birthday, and we didn’t want to share the bug. But that was just the first of the three miseries.

The morning of my birthday dawned sunny and warm, so we sat on the wooden back deck and ate breakfast. At one point, I had to blow my nose and stepped away from the table, walking the length of the deck to do so. Turning back, I stepped on one of the narrow boards in exactly the right way to cause it to fall through the deck, along with my left leg. It happened, as they say, like a bolt from the blue, and I fell backwards and screamed. It took two family members to extricate me, and I bear the discoloration and contusions on both sides of my lower leg as it heals. If you should see me around town, that explains my limp and wince as I walk.

Somehow, I was most outraged by the fact that it happened on my birthday. “My” day shouldn’t have started off that way.

The irony of the story is that the carpenter was scheduled to come to repair the deck the Monday after my children were to leave. He had offered to do the job the week before, but I didn’t want repairs to mar the family visit, and besides, I was away in Maine so I had put him off. Whoops, bad timing. A further irony is that I had placed a flowerpot on the bad board to prevent anyone stepping there, but it had been moved just before our return from Maine. Was this an accident fated to happen?

As to the third, I was driving to a dinner date last night when I realized a migraine was about to hit me. It always starts with a visual aura, in which zigzagging lines cross my vision much as, in the early days, a television screen used to break up when there was a disturbance overhead. I don’t get them often, but they are most unpleasant when they are triggered, this time perhaps by the medicines I am taking. 

Three and done, now, I hope. Thanks for letting me vent. 

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