Oscars 2010

Our annual Oscar party was a great success! I am pretty sure I have the best guest list in all the land. My peeps really come through in their enthusiasm and imagination. This is not the easiest party in the world to host, so I need all the help I can get from my peeps.

The first Oscar party we threw was in 2002, one year after Bjork wore that crazy swan dress, remember? I wore an evening gown but created a swan apron out of fuzzy fabric and it cracked everyone up. That was when I got the idea of having guests dress like characters from one of the current movies. They could also dress as "seat fillers" in tuxes and evening gowns. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see the husbands all decked out in finery -- so rare in the life we live here in suburbia. I was Coco before Chanel but it was pretty dorky.

Oscar is a gold styrofoam wig head who plays a key role as centerpiece on the buffet. The year of The Aviator he wore a leather flight helmet, goggles, and a white scarf. Last year I found this crazy curly beige yarn and made The Wrestler's wig, with a white towel around his neck. Of course I forget to take photos; as the hostess I am pretty busy and just never seem to remember. We started collecting Hollywood memorabilia and now have a good supply of decorations. Also for The Aviator we lined up a dozen jars of apple juice around the TV but no one got it until the show was half over.

Last year was the first time we asked for pot luck additions. We created a prize category of how well the food matched a movie. The winner (by vote) was Benjamin Button Stuffed Mushrooms. My guests are just so creative!! Of course I made Vicky Christina Barcelona paella. This year we had three guests dressed as Julia Child (and one as Julie) and I made Julia's boef bourguignon. One guest, dressed in a business suit and dragging a rolling carry-on, made boxes of Up in the Airplane snacks, all packaged perfectly in individually wrapped cellophane bags, all hand-made by her. Amazing. Still, she didn't win the food category because another guest came up with Hurt Locker MRE brownie bombs!! She made these killer brownies and wrapped each one in a tinfoil packet with a PERFECT MRE label on the front!!! Amazing. We also had Up in the Airport pizza, Avatar blue jello salad, Crazy Heart enchiladas, and Basterds strudel. Are my guests great or what??

My Cat

In my very first post I mention being owned by a cat, the world's most unsatisfactory cat to be exact. George (whose original name was Giorgio, after a rather flamboyant entertainer in Mazatlan) is now 17 years old and a marvel of perseverance. This cat is the Original Scaredy Cat. My sister has only seen him a handful of times. The second anyone comes through the front door, this cat is downstairs in the basement in some hidey-hole I've never found, where he stays until the All Clear. He is difficult to love. We make fun of him and what a stupid pet he has been all these years.

For some reason we have switched from dry food to canned, and he has gone crazy-in-love with the canned food. He eats non-stop, and fills his litter box with the results. However, he is skinny as can be -- petting him is like petting a cat skeleton wearing an old toupee -- so I think he isn't long for this world. He has become very affectionate with me in the past couple of years, but still jumps off my lap and runs if I sneeze or move quickly. And now, well, now we are leaving for three weeks and I am worried about him! We used to have a neighbor kid come in to feed him. She has never actually seen him of course, but knew he existed because the food would go down and the litter box would fill up. But she doesn't want to be responsible for him anymore; he really could croak any time now. And now, I'm worried about him being alone for three weeks. Funny, after all these years of him being such a dumb pet, so detached, now I feel a great deal of affection for him. He is very good at being alone, but since becoming so attached to me lately, maybe he won't do as well this time. Poor Georgie.

Senior Tennis

I have been playing tennis for a couple of years with the senior breakfast league (mixed doubles). Although you have to belong to the USTA to join, they don't count your wins/losses towards your ranking. I have made two friends on the league who are really neat people, and the rest are quite nice, mostly. To join senior tennis you can be as young as 49. Most of these guys are in their 60's, I'd say. Every season the captains get new teams; no one really wants to captain so once you are sucked into that, you're basically stuck. My captain last summer was really out to win, so once she asked me not to play in order to bring in a ringer. That tells you a couple things; I'm not the best player of the bunch, and it can all get pretty cutthroat.

My captain usually figures out early on that I need to be paired with someone who actually moves; my feet have been glued to the court since I started playing back when I was 42. My partner has to cover about 80% of the court, and then s/he has to be able to actually DO something with the ball once he/she gets to it. I tell my partners I am just the eye candy. Last Tuesday I was paired with the 88 year old (we all take turns). Our opponents were both 79. Since I am such a crappy player, I have developed a nasty drop shot that my 40 year old friends can get to, but the seniors sitting on the baseline cannot. You could call it the original "cheap shot." I feel bad using it against older opponents, but hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. We won our match, and my partner put his arm around my shoulder and said "that's the first match I've won in three years!" Then he said something that, after I laughed out loud, I contemplated for a long time. He said, "You run like the wind!" (Cracks me up just typing that line!!) But you see, it's all in our perception. To an 88 year old, I run like the wind. To others, I am a slug. So, will the real Holly please stand up?

More About Change

I wrote this essay a couple years ago for a writing class. The assignment was to write about changes. Some of it I've already told in this blog; thanks for your patience with me.

I went to Spain when I was 18. I was going to college in Pamplona, it was 1970 and Franco was still alive. Spain in 1970 was like America in the fifties, and Pamplona even more so. After a couple of years there, I decided it was time to run with the bulls during their fiesta. Of course women weren’t allowed to run, so I disguised myself as best I could and popped out in front of the bulls at the last minute. After it was over, I let my long hair out of my cap and a guy said to me “you’ve got balls” and I said, “more than you, kiddo, more than you.”

I tell this story a lot. Boomers my age usually say something like “wow, you are so cool!” and the kids my kids’ age say “wow, you were so cool!” and it is that were that scratches against my psyche like an old wool sweater. ‘Whaddaya mean, were?’ I silently demand.

I have a lot of stories like that one. In my twenties I led a life of adventure, though you wouldn’t know it to look at me. And there’s the rub. Who is this person who has taken over Holly? What happened when I wasn’t looking? I keep the light kind of dim in my bathroom, but occasionally I see myself in good lighting and really, I am always surprised at who is looking back at me. Why, it’s my great Aunt Genevieve! When did my skin stop fitting me?

We baby boomers are a self-centered bunch. How could we not be? The media and advertising have catered to us for the past 40 years. Suddenly we are no longer the darlings, and it is no longer a surprise when we see the toys we grew up with on display in a museum. My original Barbie doll, they say, is worth a thousand bucks, but there she sits, tossed on a shelf in my closet, just as she was five decades ago, as if I were going to pull her down and play with her any minute.

I visited a historic building in my hometown last year. It houses the original Spirit of ’76 painting, the one with the two drummers and the fife player, marching to war. There are a lot of seafaring objects from when Marblehead was dependent upon fishermen and whalers for its livelihood. There, in one of the cases was a photograph of a Girl Scout troop visiting Washington, DC, and it was a picture of MY troop, and there I was. I am now officially a Museum Artifact.

There are moments when I do not see the humor in any of this. Almost mourning the loss of the young woman who was Holly, I am stunned to realize I have friends who have never seen me without glasses, or without these thighs! I remember turning heads as I strutted down the street in a miniskirt, as if I owned the world. I was tall and thin and young; I did.

A young friend saw the movie Titanic and we talked about it. I asked him if he can now look at old ladies in a different light, with stories and the possibility that maybe, long ago, they were beautiful. He looked at me quizzically for a second, but then said “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can.” Looking at people we so easily judge, pass them off as middle aged or old, and see only age, nothing more. As if that person were born the age they are as we are looking at them. The charm of people is the history they have, but more than that, it is the person they see within themselves.

I went back to Pamplona again; met up with my daughter there, the one who looks like me, the one who loves my stories. She had spent the month of June backpacking through Europe. She is following in her mom’s path, only better. There in the plaza we met up with a dear friend, one of the most well-respected and well-known runners, who threw his arms around me in a giant hug, looked over my shoulder and saw my daughter. “I was SO in love with your mother!” he said. He had never met her, but there she was, standing in my town, with my face, which he knew and loved, at twenty.

Anticipation

When I was in the sixth grade I was given a box of flashcards of the Wonders of the World. When I saw the picture of the Taj Mahal, I promised myself I would go there one day. Almost a half-century later, I will be standing in front of the Taj Mahal! This upcoming trip is both exciting and frightening. 26 hours on an airplane, and I anticipate that to be pretty much hell. But the countryside of India, the beaches, the national parks with their fabulous tigers and elephants, the bazaars and the food -- all of that will make for an exciting adventure! The crowds, the poverty, the dirt, the traffic -- not so much.

Anticipation. In my recent weight-loss attempt, I anticipated that in 12 weeks I would lose at least 20 pounds, but it didn't work out that way. I did lose 10, however, through Thanksgiving, a cruise, a Florida vacation, my birthday, Christmas and New Years. I can't complain, since I did so little exercise throughout that time that to lose any weight at all is practically a miracle. Another 12 week program starts this week, with new participants and several from the previous group. Maybe I will get psyched to actually exercise! I have been hiking with a 20 pound pack, in anticipation of the India trip; I do NOT want to be the fat old lady who slows everyone down!!

Cruisin'

Dec 5 2009

Sitting on the deck of the Norwegian Jewel in the sunshine, heading for the Caribbean. Decided to get a tan for the first time in more than 20 years. I lasted about 5 minutes before the stern voice of my dermatologist started booming in my head. Waiting for Michael to bring the sunscreen I’d left in the stateroom felt like spending time on death row. I felt like I was totally living on the edge. Out in the sun with no sunscreen?? Good god, woman, what were you thinking?? 20 minutes with my face turned toward the sun and my whole life flashed before me! When Michael finally arrived and I slapped gobs of the white stuff all over me as fast as I could, I felt a sense of reprieve, like an eight year old who’s been given 10 hail marys and 10 our fathers as penance for the sins she invented in the first place to appease the priest in Saturday afternoon confession.

Dinner companions last night were a motley crew made up of people from 4 corners of the US. The couple from Utah were easily pegged by the plastic refill cups of soda they carried to the table. I don’t usually use names in my blog, but theirs was Elder, which cracked me up when they talked about completing their missions – Elder Elder. I accused them of making that up, so of course they had to show me their IDs. The couple from N Carolina had a gregarious outgoing wife and almost completely mute husband.
Rounding out the table was the couple from Connecticut, who made polite conversation and left early to catch a show.

I have so much fun people-watching on cruises! There are the couples who look like birders – the ones wearing matching outback hats and REI shirts, Tevas and a weathered, almost haunted look about the eyes. There are the super-fit, who spend their time vigorously working out, jogging, or race-walking in a desperate attempt to keep the buffet from winning. The look-alikes are next, the ones who have obviously given up all pretense of good health and youth, who have identical round bodies and are invariably found sitting down. But surely my favorites are the dancers – the ones who spend much of their free time perfecting their moves on the floor like Astaire and Rogers. Man I love to watch them! There is one couple who have to be in their 70’s who are in great shape if a little beefy, but who dance like there’s no tomorrow, with smiles on their faces and a quiet and subtle joy of movement, and most importantly, of moving together. They are the ones I could watch all day.

Dec 8
Roatan, an island belonging to and 40 miles off the coast of Honduras, gives the impression that the relaxed and laid-back people have been hit by a hurricane of epic proportions. It is as if these cruise ships, a rather recent addition to their economy, were spewing out money and everyone wants to scramble for “theirs.” The new dock, likely built by Norwegian Cruise Lines (NCL) is the most elegant thing in town, and we were greeted by costumed drummers and dancers waiting to have us take photos with them (for a price, of course). We were bombarded by dozens of van and taxi drivers all wanting to take us around this little island, shouting and shoving maps into our hands. We walked about 50 yards away from the crowd and were trying to decide what to do when an old guy in the most dilapidated van, held together by baling wire and spit, offered us a two hour tour for $30. We didn’t even haggle – just decided to hop into the back seat and hold on! Once inside, I thought oh boy – this guy can just take us to the jungle, rob us and chop us up with a machete and no one would be the wiser. But of course he turned out to be a great guy and we had a fun time. He took us to a sleepy little town on the other side, away from the hotel zone, where everyone had hammocks on their porches and the potholes slowed down traffic long enough to enjoy the incredible turquoise waters and to see the wares for sale in front of the little shops. Our driver, Luel, showed us where all the millionaires live; shipping company owners, mahogany exporters, politicians. He pointed out a couple of hulking shipwrecks, burned out freighters just left in the water for the ocean to take care of. In the viewing turnoffs were several women with small children selling hand made bracelets and other native goodies. They swarmed the van, sticking their hands in the windows dangling their wares. Apart from all the others, by herself, was one tiny girl with a dried seahorse for sale; I will regret forever the way I ignored her. I find it difficult to know how to handle this type of situation, when the answer always lies in simply acknowledging another human being. I find myself trying to look past them as if they weren’t there, because to look them in the eye encourages them and makes them try even harder. But this darling child – I could have handled that better. I speak Spanish, for goodness sake; even if I didn’t buy her stupid seahorse I could have said something to acknowledge her existence. This is gonna haunt me. I’ll do better next time.

We ended up spending three hours with Luel and enjoyed every minute. Of course he took us to a tiny market area with more native goods for sale, where I bought grandbaby Claire a little black rag doll. It was fun speaking to the lady vendor, who had her daughter and granddaughter there with her. That common bond of oohing and aahing over grandbabies – that is a great culture barrier remover! On the way back down the hill we went by the spot where the little sea-horse vendor had been but she was no longer there. Luel told us she lives right there and probably just went home. Although 60,000 people live on Roatan, all the native families know each other. Luel said there is a large population of Hondurans who come to the island looking for work.

Back in town we walked the main street – typical latin chaos, tiny basement storefronts selling plastic flip flops and soccer shirts, some overripe bananas and jewelry made of coconut shells. Of course we found an internet office. While Michael checked his email I chatted with the employee, who told me her daughter is super intelligent and therefore goes to private school. She wants to be a doctor, of course, but the mom said there’s no money for that education. When I asked about scholarships, she said they only go to kids from public schools – a real catch 22 as far as I can tell. The daughter was there at the time and I learned that their school year runs from February through November; she was on school break and hanging out with mom for a bit, bringing her lunch.

Dinner this time was with one other couple – New Yorkers who were very personable. The type of people who are willing to share a dinner table on a cruise ship are invariably personable and gregarious – people who aren’t that way, don’t eat with strangers!
The after dinner show was a ventriloquist with a female Jamaican dummy and was quite funny.

Dec 9 Belize

Amazing day!! We were tendered into Belize, probably due to the coral reef stretching along the entire coast. Easily a 20 minute ride to shore, maybe 4 miles or so. I would have liked seeing the anchors dropped, but on this huge ship there is no viewing area for that kind of maneuver. Anyway, once in Belize City we were bused to a park about an hour away. Our guide, Derek, was very entertaining and funny, which made the ride pass quickly. Belize is flat as Florida, with some mountains of maybe 800 feet in height off in the distance. We passed a few well-to-do properties, but mostly tiny groups of cinderblock homes up on stilts. Belize City has several schools and one university, all very small, and no more than two or three hotels of maybe 4 stories. Still, it looks like a nice place to spend some vacation time.

When we arrived at the park, we were almost immediately strapped into harnesses, given hardhats and thick leather gloves, and sent up a flight of wooden stairs to the first zipline platform. My fear of heights wanted to kick in but I pushed it away and stepped blithely off the platform. Amazing!!! All told, we zipped across the jungle in 7 or 8 lines, some very long and high. With each platform, I got more and more nervous, instead of less! Go figure!! But it was all so much fun that it overrode the fear and I would do it all again in a New York minute.

Next came the tubing through the underground river. First we had to walk through the jungle about 30-45 minutes, with our guide describing the plants and their medicinal uses. We stopped at a termite hill and several people in our little group tasted termites but not me. I did taste a plant that supposedly would save my life if I were dying of thirst, if I could ever find it again.

Funny, I think my gray hair (the first time I’ve not dyed it since I was about 40) really makes me look old because several guys in their late 30s early 40s asked if I would like them to carry my tube but my pride wouldn’t let me accept the offers. I didn’t say it was easier to carry my tube than my scull, but I was surely thinking it!! We plunged into the icy river after that long hot trek and had to form a chain in order to get us through the pitch dark cave without losing each other. This meant I had to stick my feet into the armpits of a total stranger, and Michael put his feet in mine. There were 8 in the group and that’s how we went down the river. The cave was awesome, illuminated only by our headlamps. People were fairly quiet and we could see others’ headlamps bobbing along ahead and behind us. We were given a good lunch and enjoyed sitting with a nice guy from Chicago whose wife didn’t want to zipline.

Dec 10 Costa Maya

Goofy town – really not much in Costa Maya that we could tell. On the pier there were many shops full of the typical Mexican wares, but past that was basically nothing. We took a taxi to the nearest town and used the internet, returning to the ship about an hour later. Until now I have totally spaced out the shopping I wanted to do in Mexico (I usually try to buy coffee wherever I go) but the one grocery store only had instant. Back on the ship we found out there was another town about 10 minutes away along the coast, but by then it was too late to go back out. Too hot anyway. We lazed on the pool deck all afternoon thinking about the temperature in Denver. Michael spent most of the time knitting (I’ve created a monster!!) which attracts quite a bit of attention. Several men stopped to tell him they also knitted, and one said he does cross stitch and had to bring it back to show him! Many heads turned as they walked by and realized it was a guy knitting! I told him the men were going to steal his lunch money but that didn’t seem to bother him. He’s an animal!!!