tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11977059466132216482023-11-15T10:57:02.993-08:00Super GrannyHow today's grandmothers have fun with, relate to, and communicate with our grandchildrenSally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-79927224118619246482017-12-22T14:18:00.000-08:002017-12-22T14:18:58.433-08:00JOHN MILTON AND MY MARRIAGE<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
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If I were marrying today instead of
over 60 years ago, there is no question that I would retain my birth name.
However, attitudes were different then, and right after my marriage toward the end of my
senior year at the University of Pennsylvania, I notified my various professors
about my change of surname. In the first class I attended after my big day,
Professor Thomas P. Haviland, whose large lecture class on the work of John
Milton I was enrolled in, called the roll, as usual going in alphabetical
order. I zoned out waiting for the W’s, when I was aroused from my reverie by
an awareness that my fellow students were looking at me. “Olds,” said Professor
Haviland. And I realized that this was the third time he had spoken the
unfamiliar name. “Are you present?” he asked, looking right at me. And so I
acknowledged my new identity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dr.
Haviland had known about my marriage ahead of time. A week or two before the
wedding I had dropped him this note: <o:p></o:p></div>
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“A funny thing happened in town
yesterday. My fiancé and I bumped into a
friend. Gordon, seeing the books under my arm and knowing I was taking your
course, asked me which I was reading in preparation for my marriage: <i>Paradise Lost</i> or <i>Paradise Regain’d</i>. When I showed him the cover to <i>The Inferno</i>, he was what is known in radio
talk as “visibly shook up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dr. Haviland’s
response when he handed back the note: “Just so it wasn’t <i>The Beautiful and `Damned!”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-62264183032918581852017-12-01T10:37:00.000-08:002017-12-01T10:37:23.447-08:00SEX AND LOVE, RAW AND REWARDING<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The literary world has just spread out an erudite
welcome mat for an overnight success – one that took only fifty years to
arrive. <i>Scary Old Sex, </i>Arlene
Heyman’s first published book, of seven short stories, has been riding a wave of
ecstatic reviews for the past year. A remarkable feat,
since aside from a prize-winning story and a contest-winning novella years ago,
Dr. Heyman, a 74-year-old Manhattan psychiatrist/psychoanalyst, had published practically
nothing for years. But she kept writing, and these stories are notable -- for
their pungent, precise, and often funny literary style, and also for their
boldness – in looking at sex, death, bodily functions, and “forbidden”
fantasies that betray their author’s day job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">During sickness and old age, her characters keep having
sex, even when, as one 65-year-old wife puts it, between the Vagifem and the
Viagra, the K-Y, and the scheduling, “making love was like running a war: plans
had to be drawn up, equipment in tiptop condition, troops deployed…” And
sometimes they need taboo fantasies to climax – like imagining sex with a son.
One character quotes the famous line “Nothing human is alien to me,” and that’s
true for this author too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The most talked-about story in the book may be the
one based on the author’s two-year affair when she was a 19-year-old undergraduate
and he was her 47-year-old professor, the author Bernard Malamud. This story was written years after the affair
had ended but while the friendship between the two was still strong, as it was
until his death years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Meanwhile, Dr. Heyman married, was widowed, and is
now in a second marriage. She has clearly drawn inspiration from her own life,
perhaps in such stories as the exquisite “Dancing,” in which the wife of a
husband dying from leukemia climbs onto his hospital bed, where they make love
and weep. (Dr. Heyman’s own husband died of leukemia.) But always, she says, her
stories are fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Who are her characters? I know them, and in some
ways I am, and was, them. I dare any non-observant Jewish upper-middle-class urbanite
to read this book and not find yourself somewhere. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">But none of the characters is modeled on a
patient. Dr. Heyman stresses that none of her patients were her inspirations: “Patients
come to me for help, not to become characters in stories.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Arlene Heyman and her characters are so <i>New York</i> that it’s hard to believe she
didn’t spring full-blown in her expansive Upper West Side apartment in its
imposing turn-of-the-century building. However, she was born and grew up in
Newark. She is an easy person to interview -- charming, unaffected, and
attractive. And a wicked joke-teller. Saul
Bellow said that you know everything about a person if you know their favorite
joke. The three Arlene Heyman told me revealed that she’s feminist, anti-Nazi,
and has a bawdy sense of humor – all of which comes across in her book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She majored in English at Bennington, earned an MFA,
kept writing, and taught English. So when and why did she turn toward medicine?
“I was getting anxious about how I would earn a living,” she said. “And I
thought that if, as a Jew, I would ever get thrown out of this country, I could
always take my knowledge of the human body elsewhere, since bodies are the same
all over the world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Capturing a personality with just a few words is
something the author shines at, like her description of a second husband too
timid “to ask for all dark meat from Chirping Chicken.” How does her own husband
feel about these second husbands coming up short? “Sometimes he feels exposed,
but I tell him, it’s fiction. And first husbands are dead. You can idealize
them because you don’t see them in glaring sunlight. Second husbands are alive:
as wonderful as they may be, they’re imperfect, as we all are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But why the title? Not all these stories involve old
people, not all focus on sex, and what’s scary? Heyman explains: “Everyone
wants to be connected with another. ‘Scary’ has to do with this vulnerability,
which may be for some people at its most alarming with sex; and ‘old’ also
means something fundamental in life.” Facing intimacy or fearing it, her
characters get angry, back away, express their love through the myriad trials
life brings them. And sex often helps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Arlene Heyman’s language paints vibrant word
pictures, as when she writes about an assisted living facility, with “mostly
elderly women, but here and there a few men are sprinkled around like pepper on
a salad.” Or a midlife wife’s “still glorious bushy bush.” An old wife
appreciating her husband’s “aged flesh … nourishes an astonishing variety of
wild mushrooms – beautiful, if you have an eye.” A doctor’s thoughts about his
mother tell all about her: “She would never have stood for his father’s having
any pleasure.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The last story has a singularity. Husband and wife are
unnamed. The wife kvetches, the husband whines, their unending complaints come
from deep places during this last night of their cruise in and out of German
villages that once had thriving Jewish populations but whose guides now give
“Jew-clean” talks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The author has compassion for all her characters. And seemingly for us, her readers. I close the book thinking that she must be a
wonderful analyst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-53901440251294379502017-01-23T05:08:00.000-08:002017-01-23T05:08:03.024-08:00THE WOMEN’S MARCH – JANUARY 21, 2017<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">A
wire clothes hanger bearing the stark message "Never Again." The
woman marching next to me saw this sign and confided that her mother had nearly
bled to death after the self-administered abortion of what would have been her
fourth child, one she could not take care of.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"My
Life Matters." A heart-wrenching sign carried by a small African-American
boy riding on his father's shoulders. His message is more important than ever
in the months and years ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Putin's
Poodle." Donald Trump's head on the body of a dog. What does the election
of this man mean to the independence of our nation?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
signs held aloft during the marches in cities and towns across the United
States and in nations around the globe were many and creative and inspiring --
and emphasized why we -- millions of us -- were marching on the day after the
inauguration of the least qualified person ever elected president of our
country. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Women’s Marches the day after
the inauguration of Donald John Trump as President of the United States
exceeded expectations in every way, in cities and towns across the United
States and in nations whose citizens feared not only for our government but for
theirs and for the world. Many more thousands of people took part than anyone
had estimated (2.9 million in the U.S. alone), and more goodwill was shown,
with one police officer in Manhattan saying on television there was not a
single problem for all the hours that people were on the streets – other than
handling traffic. Civility pervaded the streets throughout the day, even when
the march was at a standstill because so many people joined from so many
different directions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The streets were filled for hours
with citizens — and non-citizens — of every ethnicity, every color, every age
from infants in arms to ancients in wheelchairs (and yes, many grandmothers and
grandchildren). Many wore the ubiquitous “pussy hats” – hand-knitted pink hats
with little ears — to hold up to ridicule President Donald Trump’s vulgar
videotaped acknowledgment of his own sexual predations. A large contingent of
men joined in the continual chanting with “Her body, her choice!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My group, under the aegis of
Eleanor’s Legacy (an organization inspired by Eleanor Roosevelt and dedicated
to expanding the role of pro-choice women in government) met at 10 a.m. at Dag
Hammarskjold Plaza at the United Nations. Although it was impossible to hear
the speakers during the two and a half hours we stood there before we were able
to begin marching, they must have said good things because there were periodic
shouts and waves. Despite impatient chants of “Let Us March!” there was no
pushing or elbowing, and people were unfailingly courteous in stepping aside to
let small groups of friends and family stay together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The minute I had heard that women
would be marching to protest the ascension to the presidency of the most
unqualified person in our country’s history, I knew I wanted to be part of it.
Why? When people asked me what good it would do, I could have quoted Mahatma
Gandhi when he said “Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it’s very
important that you do it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Or I could have quoted Harry
Belafonte who called the street march “one of the great weapons of a
democracy.” I wanted to be part of a global statement to let this
administration know how many worldwide were shocked by what this singularly
unqualified president has been saying, the people he has been appointing to his
cabinet, and what this council of governing know-nothings plan to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had not marched for a long time –
since demonstrating for civil rights in Chicago, pro-choice in Washington, anti-war
on Long Island, and probably others I can’t remember. Did these marches bring
about the Voting Rights Law and the Fair Housing Law, the Roe v. Wade decision,
and other changes in government? Yes, they moved public opinion and reached
Congress and the Supreme Court and eventually led to changes in the laws of our
land. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So what will be the real impact of
this march? Nothing unless people involved take it further. And this we
must do. We must build democratic structures at local levels in red, blue and purple
states. We must engage our young people and inspire them to become leaders. We
must educate ourselves and be alert to any encroachment of power upon the
rights of the people. We must support the organizations carrying on this
work – Planned Parenthood, The American Civil Liberties Union, the National
Coalition against Censorship, others fighting for a better world – with our efforts and our pocketbooks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We need imagination, effort, and
knowledge to do this. Donald Trump talked about returning the government to the
people. We the people must do this ourselves for ourselves and our fellow
citizens, since his promises as put into practice so far will take it away from
us. What can we do? We need to organize at local levels, we need to fight the
gerrymandering that has paralyzed forces for progress, we need to urge
reformers to run for school boards, for city councils, for judgeships, for
elective offices at the most basic levels. Only then will our country be able
to reap the democratic rewards for the many, not the few.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-23047449428956643472016-08-14T14:22:00.001-07:002016-08-14T14:22:08.179-07:00WHEN YOUR CHILD LIVES AN OCEAN AWAY<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">This article was recently published on the online website NYCityWoman.com. The site is temporarily down, but should be up fairly soon.</span></div>
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A recent study found that most adult Americans live within 25
miles of their mothers. Surprising to me, since I know practically no one who
fits this description, mother or child! My friends’ children more often live in
other cities, other states, or other countries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Of course, as researchers tend to do, the two economists
who wrote the report, Robert A. Pollak, PhD, an economics professor at
Washington University, and Janice Compton, PhD, a professor at the University
of Manitoba, tempered their findings by saying that this figure does not hold
up when the children have college degrees. For these, about 50 percent live
more than 30 miles from their mothers and, for married couples, only 18 percent
live within 30 miles of both mothers. Most – but not all -- of the children in
the families I have talked to do indeed have college, and sometimes graduate,
degrees.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“If you go to college, you’re more likely to work away from
the place you grew up,” said Dr. Compton. “Plus, you’re more likely to marry
someone who’s not from your home town or even from your state.” (Or even from
your country.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
my daughter Jenny told me over twenty years ago that she and her German husband
were moving from the United States to live in the little town where he had
grown up, I felt bereft. She was pregnant when they moved, and I missed being
able to be with – or at least near -- her at her baby’s birth and later, being
unable to help her with the care of her three children. I was grateful that her in-laws lived close
and could be of great help, but at the same time I envied her mother-in-law,
who saw her grandchildren every day, while I could see them only two or three
times a year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
this was not the era of “Fiddler on the Roof,” when Tevye’s daughters left
their shtetl and they all knew they would never see each other again. Nor was
it like the 1950s when my brother Ben moved to Italy from Philadelphia with his
pregnant wife and toddler son to further his art career, and didn’t see his
parents for three years. Middle-class working people like my parents rarely
traveled to Europe then, nor did they chat across expensive transatlantic phone
wires.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I can map changes in family geography from my own history.
My parents lived two doors away from my mother’s mother until she died. Then
they moved to a different Philadelphia neighborhood, within a few blocks of my
mother’s brothers and my father’s mother and sister. But my brothers and I
redrew the family map: I moved to Cleveland, while Ben came back from Italy to
live in Florida, and Carl went to California.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
youngest daughter lives right here in Manhattan, my eldest lives about fifty
miles away, and then there’s Jenny. Fortunately, my husband and I were able to
visit Jenny and her family at least yearly – and then, when her youngest turned
two, she and the children began spending a month with us here. And then when email, Skype, and cheap phone plans arrived, letting
us talk with Jenny and her children for only pennies a minute or even
for free, they made a huge difference in the ability
to stay in touch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Like my own parents, no parents of faraway children who
talked to me would have chosen this situation, but we have made our peace with
it in one way or another. What else could we do?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
When Betty Mosedale’s daughter Laura told her mother that
she and her family were moving to London because her husband took a job there,
Betty’s first reaction was sadness. Eighteen years later, she says, “The move,
however, worked out wonderfully. They have a rich life, with opportunities for
interesting work, travel, and cultural activities. We see each other several
times a year, and in the summer we spend a month together in our island cabin
in Minnesota.” Betty and her London grandchildren keep in touch by email and
low-cost phone plans (see sidebar), and enjoy the visits going both ways
“across the pond.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Joan Riegel’s daughter met
her husband-to be when both were in Buenos Aires on Fulbright grants. Joan knew
her daughter had already been stricken with wanderlust, but when she told Joan
that she and her husband would be moving to Germany to live, “My heart sank,”
Joan told me, “even though I told myself, ‘this is not unexpected.’” Joan
visits about four times a year, usually when her son-in-law is on a business trip
so that she can be company for her daughter – and also let her go out while
Joan stays with her granddaughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The reasons for many moves revolve around work. As did Claire
Berman’s son’s. He had earned his master’s degree in international relations
and had become an international foreign affairs specialist, so Claire was not
surprised when he and his wife, a human rights specialist<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span>with a doctorate in political science, moved to
Switzerland. “I respect the choices my kids have made and the lives they lead,”
Claire said. “But even though we stay in close touch through email, telephone,
and a few visits throughout the year, I wish that I could have been as involved
with the grandchildren as I would have liked to be.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But work isn’t all. “Rebecca”
(not her real name), a Zionist, encouraged her six children to spend a
year in Israel after high school to experience the country and study Hebrew
texts. Three of the six settled there. She has gone to Israel soon after the
births of all eleven of her grandchildren who were born there, staying there up
to two months at a time. She has continued visiting three or four times a
year for the last twelve years, and welcomes her children and their families
here when they visit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And Gerry Raker, whose
daughter lives in France, told me, “Since I married I never lived near my own
parents, and living far away in the same country is virtually the same as
living overseas.” I have found this also: it took longer to visit Jenny when
she lived in Oregon and I had to take two flights and drive two hours than it
does now, with a nonstop flight to Frankfurt and a short drive from the airport.
But somehow, living in another country feels farther away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">We have all found some
plusses: when I visit Jenny I usually stay a couple of weeks, and we spend more
concentrated time together than I do with my two other daughters, who live in New
York and New Jersey. Since my U.S. daughters know we can see each other more
often, we do, but rarely for the same kind of extended period. We tend to fit
our time together into hours or days between everyone’s busy schedules and we
don’t pack so much into each get-together. As “Rebecca” said, “When I’m in
Israel, I have taken time off from work and so I’m more relaxed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Other parents found other
advantages. One mom said, “You’re exposed to different parts of the world
through your children and your grandchildren, and that’s a plus.” I have piggybacked
vacations in France, Italy, and Holland onto visits to Jenny, so my flight to
Europe does double duty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Advice? I join the chorus: “Accept the situation with grace. Do all you
can to stay close, plan your visits at their convenience, and welcome them when
they visit you. Make an interesting life
for yourself. Don’t depend on your children to give you a reason for living.
Get together for major events when you can – and understand when this won’t
work out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">As Gerry says, “You raised
your children to give them roots and wings -- so you can’t complain about the
wings!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">-------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">TODAY’S WAYS TO COMMUNICATE INTERNATIONALLY</span></u></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Each of the following is a little different, so go to the websites
to find the one that works best for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Spaxtel</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">:
Through this phone service (</span><a href="http://www.spaxtel.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">www.spaxtel.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">),
which I use, you draw from an initial payment of $5, and then add amounts of
either $5, $15 or more at a time, depending on your usage. My calls to Germany
cost 2 cents per minute to a landline and 13 cents to a mobile phone. You can
call from a landline or a smartphone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Viber</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> (</span><a href="http://www.viber.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">www.Viber.com</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">)</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">: free
phone service on smartphone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">WhatsApp</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> (</span><a href="http://www.whatsapp.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">www.whatsapp.com</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">)</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> : I
also use this smartphone app, which lets you phone, text, and share photos free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Skype</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> (</span><a href="http://www.skype.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">www.skype.com</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">)</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> : a
godsend especially for grandparents of small children, letting you see each
other on your computers, lets them get to know you, and lets you see them. Free
between computers, inexpensive between phones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">FaceTime </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">(</span><a href="http://www.apple.com/ios/facetime"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">www.apple.com/ios/facetime</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> ): Like
Skype, letting you see each other across the miles, which can be used on Macs,
iPhones, iPad, and other products. Free between Apple devices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">PennyTalk</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> (</span><a href="http://www.pennytalk.com/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">www.pennytalk.com</span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">):</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">
calls to Europe cost 2 cents a minute, landline to landline, and 17 cents to or
from a mobile phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-67064760311541080622016-06-18T08:29:00.000-07:002016-06-18T08:29:57.756-07:00A WHITE CIVIL-RIGHTS ACTIVIST LOOKS BACKCatching up with this much-neglected blog, I am going to post a few of my articles that have been published over the past few months. This one, commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of a fair housing effort that I was deeply involved with back in 1965, in the height of the civil rights movement, was published December 2015 by <a href="http://www.thepenngazette.com/">The Pennsylvania Gazette</a>, the alumni magazine of the University of Pennsylvania.<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">This past July, I flew to Chicago to attend Justice Day 2015, the
fiftieth anniversary of the North Shore Summer Project, a 1965 fair housing
effort to challenge the practices that perpetuated housing segregation,
practices that had been taken for granted for so many years. It led me to look
back even further in time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the mid-1940s, at the Charles C. Lea elementary school in the
Philadelphia neighborhood now known as University City, there were a few
“colored” children (“African-American” wouldn’t come into use for some forty
years), and I never wondered why none of them lived on my street. A few years
later at the Philadelphia High School for Girls I became friendly with a few
“Negro” girls, but none of them lived in my neighborhood, and aside from a
couple of evenings when my mother invited some of them to dinner at our
apartment, I didn’t see any of them outside of school. At Penn in the 1950s I can’t
remember any students of color. No wonder: our 1955 yearbook shows only one
black woman in our entire graduating class. It’s a snapshot of the times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I never considered myself prejudiced, but I’m mortified to admit I
was blind to the barriers that separated people by skin color. It wasn’t until
the rise of the civil rights movement in the 1960s that my consciousness was
raised. I was horrified by the violence down South. But as a Manhattan mother of
three children under six, I didn't feel I could go to Mississippi to fight for
justice. When I heard about the New York-based National Committee against
Discrimination in Housing, I realized that I could work for change in my own
backyard. I joined the staff of the NCDH.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New York City had a fair housing law – but if people didn't apply
for housing, the law meant nothing. I wrote "Neighborhood Profiles,"
describing areas of the five boroughs where few minorities lived – and which
many nonwhite home seekers knew little or nothing about. We distributed these
profiles and followed up with home-seeking families. Whenever minority
applicant were refused, my anger helped me get through the process of lying to
make my profile sound like theirs and to overcome my nervousness about
testifying in court. I became more and more incensed that people should be
treated this way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Late in 1964, my family
moved from Manhattan to Glencoe, a northern lakeside suburb of Chicago, and I met
Philadelphian Bill Moyer, who was working with the American Friends Service
Committee. Bill, a mild-mannered social worker, was a genius at organizing. “There’s
just as much racism in Chicago as there is in Mississippi,” he told me. “But
white people – even liberals – don’t realize it. We want to make them see it.”
His idea was to launch an Open Housing movement in the thirteen almost-all-white
suburbs along the shores of Lake Michigan by emulating the Freedom Marches in
the south. He named this1965 effort the North Shore Summer Project, after the
Mississippi Summer Project.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Down South,” Bill told me in his soft-spoken way, “the movement
is focused on voting rights. But these North Shore suburbs don't have to deny black
people the right to vote – they just deny them the right to live here. Only two
of these suburbs – Evanston and Glencoe – have real black populations. They
also have real ghettoes to keep them in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Quakers, Bill explained, wanted to expand white people’s knowledge of racism: “Black
people don't have to learn about prejudice: they’re living it.” Bill’s sense of mission was contagious, and I
enthusiastically agreed to serve as volunteer public relations director.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: #F1F1F1; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
It was a heady time. I was working with
representatives from the worlds of religion, civic involvement, and social
activism. Because these suburbs were almost totally white, we had black
committee members from only two towns, the Reverend Emory Davis from Evanston
and Gerry Washington, a Glencoe mother whose daughters went to school with and
played with mine. We met with realtors, conducted vigils outside their offices,
and distributed literature about their discriminatory practices. We marched and
we sang. We recruited college students to interview North Shore residents, who declared
overwhelmingly that they would welcome nonwhite neighbors, despite the
realtors’ contention that they were following homeowners’ wishes by refusing to
show houses to nonwhite home-seekers. Our major coup was bringing the Rev.
Martin Luther King Jr. to Winnetka, the whitest of these suburbs, to speak to a
crowd of 10,000 on the Village Green. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="background: #F1F1F1; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I issued weekly news releases, was quoted in the local press – and
received hate mail. Instead of intimidating me, it let me know that our efforts
were being noticed and inspired me to become even more committed. (Of course
hate mail in Glencoe was not as scary as hate mail in Biloxi.) Our final event
was the August 29 six-mile march from our NSSP Freedom Center in Winnetka to
the Evanston-North Shore Board of Realtors, where we presented a summary of the
project’s findings at a rally, followed by an all-night vigil. Then the NSSP,
which from its conception had been time-limited, disbanded. Our students went
back to school, our AFSC sponsorship ended, and most of the volunteers moved on
to other forms of activism.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Soon afterwards my family moved away from Glencoe, and I lost
touch with my fellow volunteers. Last spring I reconnected with Carol Kleiman,
another former Philadelphian. Carol told me that when she had told Dr. King she
wanted to move from Glenview to an integrated area, he told her, “No, stay
where you are. Lance the boil.” The “boil” was segregation, and a few results
of that “lancing” can be seen in activities we set in motion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Although the NSSP failed with Harriette and McLouis Robinet (a
physicist then teaching at the University of Illinois), who were not able to
buy a house on the North Shore and suffered humiliation while looking, they
were energized to continue their search and did buy in the previously all white
western suburb of Oak Park, where the family still lives. Harriette wrote about
her family’s experience for <i>Redbook</i>,
launching an award-winning career writing multicultural historical fiction for
children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">David and Mary James’s North Shore story is more successful. The
first African American to buy in Winnetka, David, a lawyer and former Tuskegee
airman, founded a program for suburban and inner-city children, now a day camp
for 7- to 12-year-olds. It was – and still is – infuriating to learn how hard
it was for so many good people to do a simple thing like housing their
families. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Fortified by the 1968 national Fair Housing Act and moving beyond
educating the white community, Winnetka’s Open Communities now works to
influence housing policy and enforce the law. At the anniversary celebration it
sponsored, the crowd of about 1,000 –
many of whom had not been born in 1965 – gathered on the Village Green where
Dr. King had addressed the largest crowd ever to assemble there and pledged to
continue the work. The bronze marker
memorializing him, installed with money raised by Winnetka schoolchildren,
gleamed in the sunlight, heralding a brighter future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But
the wheels of justice still grind exceedingly slow. Even though in 1968 the national
Fair Housing Act became law, many brokers have simply gone underground. The
North Shore suburbs are still almost entirely white.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It’s disappointing, half a century later, that there’s
still a need for a follow-up to the push to open closed borders. I briefly wondered
whether our efforts had had any impact at all. But then I reminded myself that
change had occurred. That even when an ideal is not fully realized, our efforts
were not in vain. Although the numbers of nonwhite residents in these suburbs
are still small, they’re larger than they had been. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The biggest change was in us
mostly white volunteers, who learned from our educators, the black volunteers
and home-seekers.</span> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Working in the context of the society of fifty years ago, we
morphed from white liberals to white activists as we realized that a new world
will be formed in new ways. Many of us went on to work for change in many
facets of society, including but not limited to racial equality. So yes, we can
wear the sobriquet of “do-gooder” proudly. We did do some good – largely for
ourselves, but also for thirteen communities. We will never go back to who we
were before – just as the North Shore is no longer what it was. I remember the
words of Mahatma Gandhi: “Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very
important that you do it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-48655961136329343062016-05-29T19:12:00.000-07:002016-05-30T12:24:18.979-07:00A NEW DOCUMENTARY ABOUT MASTURBATION – WORTH SEEING Years ago, when I had just published my book about sexual turning points throughout life, THE ETERNAL GARDEN: SEASONS OF OUR SEXUALITY, I attended a conference in Philadelphia of The Society for the Scientific Study of Sex. I kept sporadically in touch with Martha Cornog, a fellow author I met there, and last week she invited me to go with her to the screening of a new documentary, called STICKY: A (SELF) LOVE STORY. The screening was held at the Museum of Sex in Manhattan – and I am really glad that I saw it.<br />
<br />
The documentary, which took producers Nicholas Tana, Denise Acosta, and Eric Wolfson eleven years to make, offers a funny yet serious look at an important topic about an activity that practically everyone engages in at one time or another, but virtually no one talks about. The funny parts of the movie include clips from other films, many in the mainstream, some cult classics, including scenes like the one I once saw with Woody Allen saying that he’s in favor of masturbation – because that way he can have sex with someone he loves.<br />
<br />
Some of the film’s more serious moments feature former U.S. Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders, who was forced to resign her post because she said that sex education classes should say something about “the M-word.” Ironically, it was President Bill Clinton who forced her resignation. (He would have done much better in terms of his legacy and his wife’s to have indulged in this form of self-love himself instead of having led an apparently busy sex life involving other people.) Other interviews in the film featured religious leaders from the Muslim, Catholic, and Jewish communities, as well as a popular porn star, and my friend, Martha Cornog.<br />
<br />
I wrote about masturbation in THE ETERNAL GARDEN as an activity that has an important role in sexuality from early childhood through late adulthood. It helps to soothe children, keeps the juices flowing for older people without a sex partner, facilitates artificial insemination, and provides a number of other benefits. It does not make hair grow on a person’s palms or strike them blind, despite warnings to the contrary! (And the young boy's plaintive question to his father,"It feels so good -- can I just keep doing it until I need glasses?")<br />
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You can get information about STICKY, including how to watch it (before it’s shown commercially) at http://stickythemovie.com/. And you can watch the trailer at <span style="color: #006621; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px; white-space: nowrap;"> </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DO5yqUIZR7g" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 16px; white-space: nowrap;" title="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DO5yqUIZR7g
CTRL + Click to follow link" titleprev="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DO5yqUIZR7g">www.youtube.com/watch?v=DO5yqUIZR7g</a>. So far there are only limited screenings, but I'm sure more will come. (No pun intended.)Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-77729639132759685082016-05-22T19:15:00.002-07:002016-05-29T19:14:30.171-07:00POSTING, BICYCLING, AND A RANDOM ACT OF KINDNESSI cannot believe it has been seven months since I have written in these pages. But now that we are having true spring weather, I have resolved to turn over many leaves, and this blog is one of them.<br />
<br />
I took my first bike ride of the season today. I was a little nervous because I had fallen about a month ago, just walking on the sidewalk, needed three stitches in my chin (Thank you, Urgent Care Doctor Anderson!), and bruised my jawbone so that eating became a work-out in which I convinced myself that the best thing for me was ice cream.<br />
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But I told myself I can't be afraid forever -- I have to get back on my horse. Which I did, enjoying the beautiful day and the view of the Hudson River, away from the Manhattan street traffic. But I was slow, and after having to get off my bike to pass a barrier because of ongoing construction work, I made my way back down to the bike path -- and stopped, wanting to wait to be sure no cyclists were behind me and I wouldn't be in anyone's way, either to slow them down or knock me down.<br />
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I was pleasantly surprised when a young man stopped his bike and asked, "Are you all right?" I assured him I was, explained why I had stopped, and thanked him profusely. It's so warming to know you're not alone in the big city, that there are people who will take the time to go out of their way to be kind. It doesn't take much but it does mean so much.<br />
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<br />Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-3504631185983827152015-10-26T05:41:00.000-07:002015-10-26T06:08:00.141-07:00I GAVE AWAY MY WEDDING DRESSOn our second date both David Mark Olds and I knew we were meant for each other. So, in November 1955, after having known each other for all of one month, David and I decided to get married, and we wanted to set the date as soon as possible. At first my mother thought I was in such a hurry because I was pregnant. But when she did the math based on how short a time I’d known David, she realized that even if I was pregnant, I wouldn’t know it yet. Our timing had more to do with David’s employer, Westinghouse Broadcasting Company, which was about to transfer him from Philadelphia (where we met) to Cleveland (where we would live for the next three years).<br />
<br />
Mom and I rushed to go shopping, and I fell in love with a “Mr. Mort” design on the rack in Bonwit Teller’s juniors department. I was 22 years old, a junior size 7. The dress, white wool princess line, ballerina length, sweetheart neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves, was perfect for a December wedding. It fit perfectly too. I loved wearing it on the Big Day, with the crinoline petticoat underneath that made my waist look so small. Not Scarlett O’Hara small, but small enough. And I liked the fact that it didn’t broadcast “Wedding!” so I would be able to wear it to parties and other occasions. As it turned out, the only parties I ever wore it for were on our wedding anniversaries.<br />
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That first year went quickly. I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania, living in my old bedroom with my parents for a couple of months while David started his new job and found an apartment for us. Soon after I joined him in Cleveland I found my first full-time job with a small advertising agency as receptionist/Girl Friday/errand girl/you name it. By the time I quit, just before our first anniversary, I had received some morsels of copywriting to do, but it never occurred to me to stay on and advance in the field. I was expecting our first child in a few weeks, and in 1956 I didn’t know any women who had children and continued to work at a paid job.<br />
<br />
Being big with child, I couldn’t wear my treasured dress on our first anniversary, one month before the arrival of our first daughter. I did wear it out to dinner on our second anniversary, since the well-timed birth of our second daughter had allowed for that. And I wore it a couple of more times in the first few years. Life was full, our little family was happy, over the next few years I took a succession of part-time jobs and eventually embarked on a freelance writing career. Meanwhile, the doomsayers that had prophesied certain failure for marriage to a man I had hardly known and who was thirteen years older than I were proved wrong.<br />
By the time our third daughter was born three years later, we had left Cleveland for Manhattan. David used to say that being a broadcaster was like being a professional ball player: If you wanted to move up, you had to be willing to move sideways. So we carted the dress around the country on moves to Chicago, St. Louis, and finally, back to New York. <br />
<br />
Through the years I slipped back into the dress for several anniversaries, including a Hudson River cruise, the big party we threw for our 25th anniversary, and the more intimate black-tie dinner for our thirtieth. I was jubilant that I still fit into it, and I still liked the way I looked in it. The white wool had not yellowed over the years, and even without the crinoline petticoat (no longer the fashion), the cloth still held its body.<br />
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After almost fifty-four wonderful years together, David died. I wouldn’t be wearing the dress for any more anniversaries, and I couldn’t see wearing it for any other occasion. Yes, it was only a dress, but with all those memories it had become something more. So it moved with me to Manhattan from the Long Island house that I sold the following year.<br />
<br />
I wasn’t ready yet to say good-bye to the dress, though. Although none of my daughters had worn it, by now there were four granddaughters. Maybe one of them might want to take it. I went to the closet and found that even after sixty years and all that schlepping around, there were no moth-holes, the wool still had its creamy white glow, the dress looked good. Just for fun (and self-knowledge), I tried it on. A miracle: I could still zip it all the way up.<br />
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But – and it was a big but – even though I could get into the dress, it didn’t look the same. While it was aging sixty years, so was I. And yes, there were those three childbirths. Time had not stood still. My weight may have still been the same, but my body parts seemed to have rearranged themselves when I wasn’t looking. Oh well, a granddaughter would probably look beautiful in it on her wedding day and might treasure its history of more than fifty years of wedded bliss (well, bliss most of the time).<br />
<br />
But then I noticed something. The inside of the dress now felt like sandpaper scraping my skin. Whatever Mr. Mort had used to give body to the dress had been flaking away, and I couldn’t imagine anyone inside this garment for even the briefest City Hall ceremony. A friend said, “You could find a good seamstress to reline it.” And then the granddaughters’ mothers asked “How do you know any of the girls would want to wear it?” None were even close to saying their vows. And what if the weddings would be in 90-degree heat?<br />
And so the dress marinated in my closet a little longer, and one day last week I walked it over to Housing Works, which sells gently-used clothing to benefit its charitable mission. I hope that someone good with a needle can solve the lining problem and that some winter bride can absorb some of the happiness I knew. Maybe it would be a lucky charm.<br />
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But for me it was time to let go. To let go of the dress. To let go of the past. To treasure the memories, but not be ruled by them. The Bible’s saying, “To everything there is a season,” told me that the season for this dress and me was no more.<br />
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This essay was published October 2015 by <a href="http://www.ThirdAge.com">www.ThirdAge.com</a>.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-27995084325960675572015-10-18T20:33:00.001-07:002015-10-18T20:33:23.640-07:00BANNED BOOKS WEEK EVENT AT HOUSING WORKS BOOKSTORE CAFÉ <br />
On September 29 a free-wheeling conversation took place at New York City’s <a href="http://www.housingworks.org/bookstore/">Housing Works Bookstore Café</a> with four authors of challenged books. The <a href="http://www.asja.org">American Society of Journalists and Authors</a> (ASJA) is a sponsor of <a href="http://www.bannednooksweek.org">Banned Books Week</a>, an outgrowth of our first campaign against book banning in 1982.<br />
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This year’s Banned Books Week’s theme was Young Adult books, the most censored category. David Shipler, author of "Freedom of Speech: Mightier Than the Sword," moderated the discussion with David Levithan, author of "Two Boys Kissing"; Meg Medina, author of "Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass"; and Coe Booth, author of "Kinda Like Brothers." The discussion focused on each author's experience being banned or challenged, and the importance of free and open access to all books, especially for young adult readers.<br />
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Why were these books restricted, undergoing “soft banning”? For Levithan’s books it was the focus on homosexuality, although some school districts and libraries that either didn’t buy the book or kept it unavailable often came up with other reasons, not wanting to be thought of as homophobic. For Medina’s novel it was the title although it didn’t include any word that hasn’t been said on TV. And for Booth’s books, which center on the lives of African American students, a common reason for not buying the book was a statement that a school or community had only a small percentage of nonwhite students or of students on free or reduced lunch plans.<br />
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Several themes emerged from the discussion and the Q and A period that followed, including: <br />
• Should books be mirrors of the people and communities that students know – or windows, letting them learn about other values and points of view? <br />
• Teachers and parents should use books to help students explore their feelings about issues, instead of ignoring them. This is especially important for YA readers, who are beginning to explore who they are – and who they want to be. <br />
Shipler reminded us that Huckleberry Finn had been banned in some places soon after its 1885 publication, often because of its poor grammar. It has also come under fire for its use of the word “nigger.” Booth’s books have also run into trouble because of this and other racial slurs – especially among white teachers uncomfortable about teaching them. (I have trouble writing some of these words myself.)<br />
<br />
Restrictions, or “soft” banning, varied in form. Sometimes books were kept out of sight or have to be signed out instead of being on the shelf. In one school a student who wanted to read a certain book had to go to the principal’s office to get it – at which point the principal could decide whether the student was mature enough to handle it. This raises two questions: How well does the principal know all of the students? And what kind of judge is he or she about the issues in a particular book, assuming she/he has read it?<br />
So it looks as if First Amendment defenders still have plenty of work to do in protecting the right to read – and the right to write and be published.<br />
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Banned Books Week is an annual event celebrating the freedom to read. Held during the last week of September, it highlights the value of free and open access to information. Banned Books Week brings together the entire book community –- librarians, booksellers, publishers, journalists, teachers, and readers of all types –- in shared support of the freedom to seek and to express ideas, even those some consider unorthodox or unpopular.<br />
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I am now serving as the Interim Chair of ASJA's First Amendment Committee, which I have been a member of for many years. In 1982 when I was serving as ASJA president, we launched our "I Read Banned Books" campaign with a read-out on the stops of the New York Public Library, and we started distributing our "I Read Banned Books" buttons, which are still available today from ASJA. Unfortunately, censorship is still an important issue.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-10947038045108606242015-07-18T07:08:00.000-07:002015-07-18T07:08:28.352-07:00A SUSPENSE-FILLED PAGE-TURNER OF A TRUE STORYI just finished a terrific book that I’m telling everybody I know about. The reader of <a href="http://http://nycitywoman.com/features/survival-shadows-seven-jews-hidden-hitler%E2%80%99s-berlin"></a>“Survival in the Shadows: Seven Hidden Jews in Hitler’s Berlin” by Barbara Lovenheim is plunged right into the tense situation of the survivors -- and their non-Jewish saviors, who risked their lives to feed and hide their neighbors, and to help in other ways. Interspersed is some history of the era, with the many-faceted view it gives of “ordinary” Germans, many of whom behaved in extraordinary ways.<br />
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The author’s sensitive interviewing of the survivors and the rescuers whom she met many years later – and their keen memories for their ordeal – bring the reader right into this gripping story, which also has its moments of levity, like the time two of the women got all dressed up and walked into an SS Christmas party. They carried off their adventure so well that they had to deal with an unexpected dilemma: one of the SS officers wanted to walk one of the women home. <br />
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I’m looking forward to the dramatic movie that must put these events on the screen. Till then, readers are rewarded by getting to know these courageous and resourceful survivors and the people who saved them.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-8306161939244930572015-06-17T06:07:00.000-07:002015-06-17T06:07:02.073-07:00THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO SEX AFTER FIFTYMy friend and colleague <a href="http://www.joanprice.com/">Joan Price</a> has done it again! I had thought that in her previous books she had said all there was to say about sex after 50 – but was I wrong! In her new book, <a href="http://joanprice.com/books/sexafterfifty.html">THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO SEX AFTER FIFTY: HOW TO MAINTAIN – OR REGAIN – A SPICY, SATISFYING SEX LIFE</a>, she has expanded and expounded on this vital topic.<br />
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I know a little about this issue, having written about it myself in <a href="http://sallywendkosolds.com/books/eternal/">THE ETERNAL GARDEN: SEASONS OF OUR SEXUALITY</a>, for which I interviewed sexually active people up to age 80. But I didn’t do the extensive research among older people and experts about older people that Joan has – so I clearly cede to her the title of the Guru of Senior Sex. It seems she has thought of everything.<br />
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What’s new in this book? So much – as you can glean just from a rundown of the chapter titles, including Busting the Myths about Sex and Aging, Sex with a Longtime Partner, Sex with a New Partner, Stretching Boundaries, and Sex without Erections. She talks about G-spots, P-spots, sex after widowhood, the impact of such health problems as cancer, heart trouble, arthritis, and joint disease. <br />
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She quotes a virtual army of experts, even including a phone sex operator, who says “I wish there was some way that I could reach out to the partners of my callers and tell them what amazing, loyal, giving, and loving husbands they have, and how they could do some very small things to reinstate closeness with these men.”<br />
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Joan’s chapter on The New Rules of Dating could be profitably read by a single person of any age, with its emphasis on being clear what you want in a date, how to put yourself forward to attract someone, how to stay safe and healthy, and to recognize the usefulness of bad dates, which are likely to outnumber the good ones. As sex columnist Dan Savage told Joan, “Every relationship fails – until one doesn’t.”<br />
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She also takes up the issue of sex after cognitive loss, a topic in the news last year, when a 79-year-old former Iowa state representative was criminally charged with third-degree sexual abuse for having sex with his wife. Spurred by her daughters from a previous marriage, the elder care center where the wife lived claimed that her Alzheimer’s disease made her incapable of giving consent to sexual activity. Fortunately, a jury found the husband not guilty, especially after it was established that the wife often initiated the activity. Joan suggests an addendum to your advance health care directive to assure a lifetime of good sex.<br />
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It’s hard to think of a topic relating to sex in the later years that’s not covered in this book. If you’re over 50 – partnered or single; straight, gay, or transgender; whether you want more sex, some sex, or better sex – you owe it to yourself to take a look at this warm, loving book. Published by Cleis Press, its $22.95 cover price can open the door to hours – even years – of happy sexuality, the birthright of everyone. <br />
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-60568029550481873642015-06-08T11:58:00.000-07:002015-06-08T11:58:06.232-07:00LYNN DELL, COUNTESS OF FASHIONI was fortunate enough to meet Lynn Dell-Cohen after writing an article about <a href="http://nycitywoman.com/features/ari-cohen-photographing-stylish-elderly">Ari Seth Cohen</a>, who has built his career on photographing older women. I would see Lynn walking in my Manhattan Upper West Side neighborhood always looking as if she could pose for a magazine cover as I walked around in jeans or jogging tights. When I met her at a party given by Debra Rapoport, another of Ari's favorite models, I told her that I was too intimidated to come into her elegant boutique, Off Broadway, because I usually look so un-glamorous when I'm just in the street. She flashed a big wide smile and told me, "I don't care how you look when you walk in -- as long as you look good when you walk out." <br />
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Lynn died last week after suffering a head injury from a fall. One of her friends said, "When she fell she was doing what she loved most -- after dressing up -- shopping." She was 80 years old and gorgeous and warm and gracious. I'm sorry that I didn't get a chance to tell her how much I love the skirt I bought from her 50-year-old shop. Off Broadway will stay in business, staffed by longtime associates. <br />
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I'm reprinting these 10 Style Tips From Lynn, as presented in <a href="http://nycitywoman.com/features/ari-cohen-photographing-stylish-elderly">Advanced Style</a> a couple of years ago.<br />
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Lynn Dell's Top Ten Style Tips<br />
1. "We must dress every day for the theatre of our lives."<br />
2. "You must have a smile, you never get a second chance to make a first impression."<br />
3. "My philosophy is fashion says 'me too,' while style says 'only me.'"<br />
4. "It's not what you are wearing, It's how you put it together."<br />
5. "Dress for yourself. If you are happy, you will make the world happy."<br />
6. "Accessories are the most important thing. You can wear the same thing many times by adding different jewelry, scarves or a hat."<br />
7. "Accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative."<br />
8. "Your attitude is your altitude."<br />
9. "When you walk into a room with a hat, you own the room."<br />
10. "I like strong colors and I like strong people. All colors work if the intensity is strong enough."<br />
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As Ari said on hearing of Lynn's death, "Heaven just got a little more glamorous."<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-82284822232219943162015-05-21T06:07:00.000-07:002015-05-21T06:07:53.226-07:00AFTER MY SEVEN TRIPS TO NEPAL THE EARTHQUAKES HAVE SHAKEN MEMy love affair with Nepal began back in 1987 on my first trek there at age 53, and continued well beyond my seventh and most recent visit in 2003. I went from being a tourist drawn by its magnificent mountain scenery and the adventure of hiking in such an exotic locale, to becoming a friend of the people in Badel, a remote hill village northeast of Kathmandu, due south of Mount Everest, where, with a friend I helped to found a library, arrange and pay for cleft lip surgery for two children, and finance the installation of modern simple latrines to help protect the health of village children. And then I wrote a book about the people we had met -- "A Balcony in Nepal: Glimpses of a Himalayan Village," with art by Margaret Roche.<br />
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In 1993 my friend Margaret Roche and I spent time in Badel, where our bright young guide, Buddi Rai, had grown up and then returned as a trekking company owner after becoming the first university graduate in his village. We came to know his parents, his brothers and sister, and his wife and children, and to welcome them to my home on Long Island when they eventually were able to come to the United States.<br />
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The engine that drove my return trips to Nepal was the admiration I had for her people. After my initial trekking adventures I felt I needed to go back to learn more about them. I wanted to understand how they were able to show such remarkable sweetness and cheerfulness in view of the arrant poverty most of them struggle with and of their hard lives. I needed to find out what these people, who wrested beauty from a harsh and primitive land, could teach me, a woman who lived in one of the wealthiest and most technologically advanced countries in the world. I knew I had to return. I did return, and I did learn so much from my Nepali friends. Those visits changed me forever.<br />
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And so when I heard the tragic news of the devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake that hit this beautiful little country on April 25, my heart ached. I was desperate to find out how “my” village was doing. Happily, I received good news from my first trek leader, Peter Owens, an American who now lives in Kathmandu. Even after the second earthquake two weeks later, of a 7.3 magnitude, which dealt more blows to Nepal, and especially to the area between Kathmandu and Mount Everest, Badel’s people and houses had been spared. No one was injured and although some of the houses developed cracks, none were seriously damaged. And our little library still stands.<br />
But my heart keeps breaking for Nepal. Last week The New York Times reported on the devastating destruction in the village of Barpak, the epicenter of the 7.8 magnitude hurricane that has taken more than 8,000 lives and flattened untold villages. I remember the much different view of Barpak, a village much like Badel, that I had on my first trek in Nepal in the spring of 1987, as captured in these passages from my journal.<br />
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"We set out, first uphill, and then contouring around the terraced slopes until we reach the village of Barpak, populated by members of the Gurung ethnic group, one of about one hundred groups in Nepal, each with its own language. Barpak is sizeable by Himalayan standards, spread out over a mile, with some 1,000 sturdy slate-roofed houses built from wood and from slabs of heavy stone scraped from the mountains that surround the village. With a population of about 10,000, Barpak gives off an air of prosperity, with its well-dressed children, many in western clothes; its school with classes 1 through 7; and its medical clinic under construction."<br />
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On May 6, 2015 The New York Times reported that about 1200 of the village’s 1450 buildings are gone or so badly damaged that they might as well be. The few houses built from concrete in the 28 years since our little group camped in the village largely stood up to the earthquake that destroyed so many of these remote mountain villages. I cannot bear to imagine what happened to Barpak’s medical clinic and to the staff and patients who were in it on that fateful Saturday.<br />
<br />
"School closed early today to let the volleyball team practice for a big game coming up, but word of our arrival spreads, and six teachers come over to our campsite in the yard of the village panchayat (the governing council). A goodly contingent of villagers turns out too, and watches raptly as we present the English teacher, Khem Ghale, with items we’ve brought just for this purpose – ballpoint pens, felt-tipped markers, crayons, picture postcards of our home towns in the U.S. He’s a good-looking young man – slender, 5’8”, with thick black hair and chiseled features. Khem earned his S.L.C. (school leaving certificate, akin to high school graduation), and plans to study science at university in Kathmandu. He accepts our gifts and tells us about the school, the village, and himself."<br />
<br />
I wonder where Khem Ghale is now. Did he go to Kathmandu , graduate from university, and get a better job? Did he return to teach in this close-knit community? Was he crushed by the earthquake, here or in Kathmandu? Or did he survive into his fifties to help his neighbors with the gargantuan task of rebuilding his shattered village?<br />
<br />
"Khem takes us to see his home, with its walls covered with photos of family and friends. There’s a picture of his father, a retired Ghurka soldier, and a professional group shot of his parents, his four siblings, and himself. We meet his mother, sitting on her porch, weaving a bag she will use to do her marketing. We pass another house where a woman sits in front, on the ground, at a huge loom where she weaves an earth-brown hooded woolen cape, worn by all the boys and men in Barpak. They’re warm and waterproof and futuristic-looking with their peaked hoods. Just the thing for a cold rainy day on Long Island, I think, ready to pay $15 for one until I try it on and am weighed down by it. I can’t imagine how heavy it is when it gets wet.<br />
<br />
"As we walk through the village, I ask Khem what his school needs. He tells us, “Blackboards and chairs.” A blackboard costs about $10. We caucus, take up a collection, and present the money. A few of our group go to see rakshi (the local liquor) being made in the home of the woman who sells it. I choose to stay back and repair my torn duffel bag. I’m a little sorry later that I didn’t go. But not broken-hearted. Is it the eastern influence that I seem to be more accepting of what is, what has been, what will be? Fewer regrets, fewer railings at chance."<br />
<br />
But how can the survivors among these brave and cheerful people now accept the tragedy that has overcome them, buried their families, their friends, their homes, ruined their fertile beautifully sculpted undulating terraces that have enabled crops to grow up and down the steep hillsides? How accepting can they be? How can they go on, starting all over again? Will their strength come from their gods of the mountains, the rivers, the trees?<br />
<br />
"Dinner back at camp, prepared by our ingenious kitchen staff, is chicken noodle soup, peppers, spinach noodles, a stew of meat, eggplant and peppers, boiled cauliflower, and blueberry cheese cake. The fifty or so children in their hooded capes watch our every move, looking like solemn little pupae in brown cocoons. They don’t watch us eat because they’re hungry, just because they are fascinated by our strange ways."<br />
<br />
Where are these children now? They would be in their thirties today. Did the boys, like so many young men, leave the village to earn more money by working in construction in the Arab states, leaving Barpak populated by elderly farmers, women, and children? Did the girls look for work in Kathmandu or remain to raise their children alone? How many of them were felled by the earthquake?<br />
<br />
"After dinner our porters and kitchen staff, after working hard all day, play music, and from our tents we watch them dancing under the stars until sleep takes over. I’m struck by their energy when I’m so tired – but even more by their seeming ability to be so happy with so little. Next morning we wake up at five, still seeing the stars. When the sun rises, its rays glint golden on the snowy 25,000-feet peak of Himalchuli before us. After breakfast we break camp and leave Barpak."<br />
<br />
How have these villagers, whom I described then as living in dire poverty, in harsh conditions, while remaining cheerful and busy and purposeful and involved with life, coped with this new betrayal by nature? During my seven visits to Nepal between 1987 and 2003, I found her people not bitter, not beaten down, not even resigned. How are they today?<br />
<br />
I can’t fight back tears at this tragedy, almost as if this were my family who was so brutally savaged. I’m overcome by a sense of powerlessness to help. I briefly consider flying to Nepal once again – and then am struck by the reality. There’s certainly no need for an 81-year-old woman with no training in medical care, construction, or other vital skills. And so I send checks to charities there on the scene and hope that the remarkable strength and resilience of the Nepali people, in the face of poverty, political unrest, and now the sudden loss of loved ones, of homes, of their very means of existence, will continue to wrest beauty from this harsh and primitive – and yes, beautiful – land.<br />
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-57099170108761732882015-03-24T09:46:00.001-07:002015-03-24T09:46:56.264-07:00EVERYONE FALLS -- BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TOSo many people commented that they were helped by my article about avoiding falls, which appeared in <a href="http://www.NYCityWoman.com">www.NYCityWoman.com</a>, the free online magazine for women "on the right side of 50" (as its editor puts it) that I'm reprinting it here. I hope it keeps more of us grannies upright and out of the emergency room!<br />
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Improve Your Balance and Avoid Needless Falls<br />
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Some remedies only require common sense; others require classes in balance and tai chi. <br />
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by Sally Wendkos Olds <br />
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In my circle of friends, practically everyone—including me—has fallen recently. One friend hit the floor when the chair she was standing on to reach a high cabinet tipped over. One tripped over a small rug in her apartment. One tumbled downstairs when, wearing her progressive lenses, she could not see the bottom of the staircase. I ended up spread-eagled on a sidewalk when, looking up at the marquee of the theater I was headed to, I caught my toe in a crack in the cement. The ways we fall are varied and the ways to prevent falls are also varied. As we get older our vision changes and our muscles become weaker; these may cause changes in our balance, our bones and our ability to judge distances. Fortunately, we can do a lot to prevent mishaps.<br />
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“Reaching your sixties should be a wake-up call,” says Celeste Carlucci, a former dancer and the founder of the fall prevention and strengthening program FallStop…Move Strong™ at the Westside Jewish Community Center. Of course, younger people fall too, but the risks can be greater for people 60 and older. Many of us need to make changes. As much as we may want to look fashionable, we should wear sneakers (See Sneaker Savvy for City Living) or low-heeled shoes with rubber soles when we plan to walk four blocks or more. Also eliminate rugs that slip and slide in your apartment, learn better ways of picking up items from the floor and placing items on high shelves. Make sure your lighting is good. <br />
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Some of these remedies only require common sense, but improving our balance and way of moving sometimes requires physical therapy or classes in balance or tai chi. The stronger our muscles become and the more our sense of balance improves, the more adept we will become at catching ourselves if we trip or if someone bumps into us. Listed below is a compendium of recommendations from several experts. <br />
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Pay attention to your body: To decide if you need a class to improve your balance and strength, try the exercises in the sidebar and grade yourself honestly. If you sometimes feel dizzy or unsteady, have your doctor check you and analyze all your medications (including over-the-counter) to see whether any one of these or any combination is causing the problem.<br />
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Check your vision and ears: If you experience any dizziness when you walk, go to your eye doctor or ear doctor to make sure your glasses are appropriate and you don’t have an ear infection. <br />
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Wear shoes that give you good support: As you age the skin on the bottom of your feet becomes thinner and walking distances may become painful. You can buy inserts for sneakers and low-heeled shoes at many drug stores or see a podiatrist who can order custom-made orthotics and fit you with the right shoes.<br />
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Since most falls happen when we shift our weight and lose our balance, focus on keeping your body weight over your feet, especially when changing direction. <br />
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To pick up an item from the floor, bend your front leg, keep your rear leg about a foot behind the other, and bend down. You’re less likely to fall than if you bend over with both legs together.<br />
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To reach something on a high shelf, take the same stance: one foot forward, one back. <br />
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When walking down steps, if you’re feeling off balance, place your feet sideways and hold the railing. <br />
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When you wake up in the morning or after sitting for a long time as at the theater, open your lap, organize your body, and, as Celeste says, “pump the gas” for a couple of minutes before getting up by alternately flexing and pointing your feet.<br />
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Walking Outside<br />
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Consider every walk a mindful meditation, so you’re constantly thinking, “Where are my feet?” “Where is my body?” “What is the road surface like?” When I went trekking a few years ago on the narrow, rocky roads in Nepal, I had to focus on every step. If I wanted to look at the spectacular scenery, I knew I had to stop—I could not walk and look at the same time. We need to do this in New York City as well. As East Sider Myra Braverman told me, “When I walk and talk, I trip. When I just focus on how I’m walking and don’t engage in conversation, I don’t trip.”<br />
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Walk heel-toe. Make good contact with the ground by hitting it first with your heel, then your toe, with your legs a little bit apart so you’re not shuffling.<br />
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Use your whole leg and body to develop a good stride, but don’t make your steps so large that you lose your balance keeping up with them.<br />
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Practice using your STOP muscles: lunge forward, then pull your body back to catch yourself. Make this a habit so that if you trip or suddenly see a bike coming at you, you can pull yourself back.<br />
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Standing a foot away from a wall, keep your body straight as you lean forward, with your hands away from the wall. As you come closer to the wall, practice putting your hands on it so the movement will be automatic and if you do trip, you’ll fall on your hands.<br />
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Swing your arms when you walk. This can be a challenge on crowded sidewalks, but it’s important to keep your body loose and have an easy gait.<br />
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On snowy and icy streets wear boots with rubber soles, engage your abdominal muscles, plant one foot and then the other firmly on the ground, angle your body slightly, and lean forward a little bit so you won’t fall backward. <br />
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When walking your dog, keep the leash short and the dog close to you. When you bend down to scoop the poop, place one foot in front of the other so you won’t lose your balance. And keep one foot on the leash so Fido can’t bolt and drag you with him.<br />
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Be alert to what’s around you: puddles and potholes, uneven pavement, cyclists coming the wrong way, cars turning into the crosswalk, oblivious smartphone users about to bump into you.<br />
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Taking Taxis and Buses<br />
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Let the new taxis with high steps pass and wait for one that’s easier to get in and out of. To get in, sit sideways, hold the door frame and swing both legs in at the same time. To get out, do the reverse.<br />
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Don’t run for a bus. Instead leave early so you’ll have enough time and won’t be tempted to run. Always exit from the front of the bus, no matter what the recorded voice says, since the front step is lower than the rear. To get in or out, step sideways and hold the railing.<br />
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Create a Safe Environment at Home<br />
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Check your home against the safety checklist from the Centers for Disease Control.<br />
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Light is important. Keep a lamp by your bed with an easy-to-reach switch, and keep a flashlight handy, at home and when traveling, so you never have to walk in the dark.<br />
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Inside the house always wear shoes or slippers with a back AND, when possible, rubber soles to give your feet structure and prevent slipping. <br />
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Never walk in stocking feet, which are slippery.<br />
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Use a sturdy stepladder with a hand rail to reach high places; be sure it’s level before getting on and hold on.<br />
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Always keep your cell phone with you so if you do fall you can summon help.<br />
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Keep your floors free of clutter you might stumble over.<br />
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Enrolling in a class to improve your balance and strength can also bring tremendous benefits. As West Sider Lynn Minton says, “My ankles are stronger, my calves are stronger, my thighs are stronger—my whole body is stronger and more flexible. We all trip—just look at New York City sidewalks—but now I can right myself if I start to trip and I don’t fall down. I’m always recommending Celeste’s classes to friends.”<br />
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[Celeste is Celeste Carlucci, who teaches balance and muscle strength classes in NYC and who offers DVDs to follow at home on her website, <a href="http://www.fallstop.net">www.fallstop.net</a>.]<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-8546941178490119662014-07-16T09:37:00.002-07:002014-07-16T09:37:38.962-07:00RIDING MY BICYCLEThe other evening a friend told me that she feels vulnerable now that she is in her seventies and is reluctant to get on her bicycle. I feel more vulnerable about getting on my bike than I used to – but that’s not because of my age – it’s because of a few other reasons. One is the heavy truck traffic in New York streets, where you have to look out for double-parked trucks, turning trucks, big trucks that can’t see cyclists in their rear view mirror. After reading about a fatal accident occurring near me to a 68-year-old woman when the driver of a postal truck didn’t see her, I have confined my cycling mostly to the wonderful bike path five minutes from my home along the Hudson River.<br />
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Here there are no trucks, no cars, no motorcycles. But there are dog-walkers whose dog is at one end of a long leash and whose walker is at the other end, so the two of them straddle the path. There are runners who dash out onto the bike lane without looking to see who’s coming, and who caused one young boy I witnessed falling off his bike as he swerved to avoid the heedless runner. There are cyclists who pedal in the walkers’ lane and walkers who wander into the cyclists’ lane. There are downed tree branches and puddles hiding dips in the road on the morning after a storm. And then there’s the yuck factor – like yesterday morning, when I was careful to avoid the two dead rats on the path and the steaming pile of dog poop.<br />
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But lest I sound like I’m complaining, I have to hurry to say that I love the bike path. I love getting out there early in the morning, seeing the swiftly flowing currents of the river, the buildings on the New Jersey side across from me, the majestic George Washington Bridge ahead of me, the clouds forming patterns above me. I’m lucky to have access to it so close to my home, and I make the most of it all spring, summer, and fall until I bring my bike indoors for another season.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-24405623019698852012014-05-19T10:58:00.000-07:002014-07-16T09:19:54.629-07:00HOLOCAUST STORIES FOR KIDS: TOO MUCH TOO SOONCatching up with unread copies of The New York Times Book Review, I recently read a review of three children’s books about the Holocaust (April 6, 2014). One, a graphic novel (aka a comic book) called “Hidden: A Child’s Story of the Holocaust,” is recommended for readers age 10 and up. Translated from the French, it’s a fictional story told by a grandmother about her 6-year-old self whose parents were taken away and who then lives on a farm for the duration of the war. The second book, “Hidden like Anne Frank: Fourteen True Stories of Survival,” is recommended for middle-grade students, ages 12 and up. These true tales are more disturbing for being true, and also as they relate tales of children who survived the war – but whose parents often did not.<br />
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But the one that I was shocked to see recommended for younger children is a picture book based on a true story titled “The Whispering Town.” Although the book’s publisher recommends it for children ages 7 to 11, the Times reviewer feels that it’s “appropriate for reading to very young children [5 to 8] as an introduction to the subject of the Holocaust.” I think that even 7 is much too young.<br />
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I firmly believe that young people of all religious backgrounds should learn about the Holocaust, and I’m heartened that many high schools across the country have courses talking about this black period in world history. I hope that some of these courses even talk about the anti-semitism rife in the U.S. at the time, which prevented our country from allowing immigration of Jewish children and adults at a crucial time even after the world had learned what was likely to happen to them.<br />
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But I can’t understand why anyone would think that this tale of Nazi soldiers accompanied by bales of barbed wire would be suitable for a kindergartner. Young children often have nightmares after hearing classic fairy tales – “made-up” stories from another time and place. How much worse it seems for them to hear about horrors that could happen to them or their parents, the people who are supposed to keep them safe.<br />
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What’s to be gained from exposing these very young children to some of the worst history our world has ever known? Why would this and other reviewers (let alone the author) think that this book is a good idea? What’s to be lost by not protecting childhood for a little while longer?<br />
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Postscript: My letter about this to the editor of The New York Times Book Review was published June 1, 2014.<br />
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-76350085422506341732014-05-08T13:36:00.001-07:002014-05-14T19:37:02.044-07:00WHO KILLED “LIE” -- AND WHEN AND WHY?In the 1950s when I was majoring in English literature at the University of Pennsylvania, I often heard the word “lie” – and not only when a fisherman was challenged on the size of his catch or a politician caught with his hands in the cookie jar – or on an inappropriate sexual partner. No, I heard it when people talked about being somewhere in a prone or supine position. They would lie in bed late on a weekend morning, or lie on a sandy beach trying to get a now-dermatologically-disapproved tan.<br />
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I would hear the word “lay” only in the past tense of the above horizontal positions, or in expressions like “the lay of the land,” or, more colloquially, in regard to sexual intercourse. Even in this latter it was used in a grammatically correct way, i.e., as a transitive verb that takes an object.<br />
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But these days, the word “lie” meaning to recline in a horizontal position seems to have almost disappeared from the English language, in either its spoken or written forms. Instead, talk show participants, Oscar award winners, radio personalities (even on my revered National Public Radio), TV comics, physicians, and even many well published writers consistently say “lay” when they’re talking about someone in a reclining position.<br />
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What happened over the past sixty years? How did “lie” virtually disappear in the usage of even many (fortunately not all) educated people? My American Heritage Dictionary (4th edition) says that the two forms have been confused since the 1300s and the usage guru Bergen Evans wrote in 1957, “At present the verbs lie and lay are hopelessly confused in many people’s minds. The confusion is so great and these technically incorrect forms are heard so often, that some grammarians believe they should be recognized as standard English.”<br />
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Jack Edelson, my English teacher at The Philadelphia High School for Girls, used to caution us not to base our speech patterns on “what sounds right.” “With so many radio announcers making grammatical mistakes on the air,” he would say, “the wrong starts to sound right.” I know that Mr. Edelson would heartily agree with New York Times usage expert Theodore Bernstein’s assertion: “These confusions are not infrequent, but the errors can only be classed as illiterate.”<br />
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-62704318415322406052013-09-21T07:11:00.002-07:002013-09-21T07:11:32.297-07:00YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT A NEW DAY WILL BRINGI was just finishing my morning coffee today when I heard a child crying in the corridor. So far as I knew, there were no children on my floor, and I was just about to look out to see what was happening when I heard a light tap on the door. I opened it to find a young woman, a big dog, and a little boy about 3 or 4 years old. The only one I recognized was the dog. The young woman, Alyssa, was walking him for her relative who lives down the hall. The little boy had been wandering the halls and seemed to want to come into my apartment. He was barefoot, wearing only a shirt and underpants, and apparently lost. I live in an apartment building with three towers comprising some 800 apartments, and I had never seen him before.<br />
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Alyssa and I both asked his name, but he wasn’t answering, and when he did speak, we couldn’t understand him. Since many of my neighbors come from other countries, I thought maybe he wasn’t speaking English. What to do? How to reunite him with his family? I phoned the front desk down in the lobby, and when Tony, our concierge on duty this morning, heard that he was in my apartment, he said he would find his mother, who had been going up and down all 24 floors of our tower, looking for him. A couple of the building’s porters were also going up and down the stairs. Tony said he would call the mother and tell her to come pick him up.<br />
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Meanwhile, he was an unhappy little guy who didn’t express any interest in the cookie I gave him in the time-honored grandmother therapy for unhappy children. And it was taking what seemed like a long time for his mother to come. She had run out of her apartment without her cell phone when she heard the elevator going, didn’t know where her son had gone in it, and had frantically gone searching.<br />
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He was one overjoyed child when she came in and took him in her arms. She told us that he was autistic, which explained his inability to communicate with us. Fortunately, though, he did relate to his mother and folded himself into her loving arms, feeling rescued.<br />
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So that was this morning.<br />
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Yesterday morning I went to my computer about 7 o’clock and found a message from my youngest daughter, asking me to call her when I woke up. Since it was my birthday, I thought she wanted to sing to me. But no, it turned out quite differently -- she had slipped and fallen and hit her head against the metal drawer pulls of her dresser when she went to get out of bed in the middle of the night, now had a huge bump on her head with an accompanying headache, and thought she might have a concussion.<br />
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Several phone calls later, after she went to a neighborhood urgent care center (which I had recommended since I had had a good experience with one after my granddaughter had been in a taxi accident and cut her chin), she emailed to tell me she had been checked out, all her vital signs were normal, the doctor had told her she could go back to sleep and just to be watchful for any troubling symptoms. <br />
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So that was yesterday.<br />
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I wonder what tomorrow will bring.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-21109296739440157542013-05-03T07:34:00.000-07:002013-05-03T07:34:06.708-07:00ANN RICHARDS – GOVERNOR, SPEAKER – AND ADORING GRANDMOTHERAnn Richards, who died at age 73 in 2006, lives again in all her outspoken, tough, compassionate self as channeled by Holland Taylor, who wrote and acts in the play <a href="http://www.theannrichardsplay.com/upgrade.php">“Ann”</a> now on Broadway. If you can, run to get your ticket – I have seen the show twice and am raring to go again. If you can’t see it here in New York, find out where it will be going next – first to Texas, of course.<br />
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The play is full of Richards’s aphorisms and jokes, the salty comments she was known for, but more importantly her strong feelings about justice and morality. “Life is not fair,” she said. “But government should be.” Those of us who remember this memorable woman with her pouf of bright white hair know her as the person who against all odds became the Governor of Texas in 1991. She was a liberal Democrat in a conservative Republican state, the first woman to achieve the post without coming in on her husband’s coattails. She had acknowledged her battle with alcoholism that sent her to rehab (before that was fashionable, she pointed out in a throwaway line). <br />
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The play has Richards telling us the story of her life – her marriage, her four children, the dissolution of her marriage; her first career as a junior high school teacher, which she said inured her to tough challenges; her rise in politics, from County Commissioner, to State Treasurer; the keynote address she gave at the 1988 Democratic convention, which catapulted her into nationwide notice; and then her governorship. As governor she reformed the Texas prison system, brought about economic reforms, fought (unsuccessfully) for ratification of the ERA, and did so much more. Her daughter, <a href="http://www.plannedparenthood.org/about-us/national-leadership/cecile-richards-4676.htm">Cecile Richards</a>, now president of Planned Parenthood, carried on Ann’s pro-choice efforts; in the play Ann says that the same people who complain about welfare payments to families say “Tsk, tsk, tsk, we're going to make you have more children you can't afford."<br />
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The part that won my heart as well as my admiration was the phone call that came in during a particularly hectic day in the Governor’s office. She was frantically busy fielding calls, signing papers, preparing for a speech – but not too busy to take a call from her darling Lily, the grandchild she adored. You could feel her pleasure as she spoke to her and sense the love oozing out of her very being for this child. The play also shows that at her busiest, she was still juggling plans for a fishing trip with her four children – and busily soothing the hurt feelings of one of them. During the talk-back after the play the day I saw it, a single mom said how inspiring it was to see this governor of a major state doing her job – both as political leader and as Mom.<br />
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-71159709291274472842013-04-09T17:57:00.000-07:002013-04-10T11:24:18.349-07:00ONLY IN NEW YORK?If you read my last post, about the <a href="http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/26/a-sidewalk-hit-and-run-with-a-suitcase/">“sidewalk hit-and-run,”</a> I need to counter that experience with a couple more, showing that in New York you never know who you'll meet and what will happen.<br />
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After a big snowfall, I alighted from the bus in front of a three-foot crusted snow bank. Along the edge of the snow hill was a river of melted ice. Wearing pricey "waterproof" boots, my feet were already sopping. I hesitated, trying to decide which path to negotiate. A tap on my shoulder made me turn to see a burly 50-ish man who had emerged from the bus behind me. "Shall I lift you from the back?" he asked, and to my nod, gracefully bore me over the snow bank. I thanked him, he winked, then we both disappeared into the crowd and anonymity on Madison Avenue. <br />
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Then there was the time that I was staring at a Degas in the Met when a woman near me wearing a shapeless housedress-y garment looked down at me. I thought she was going to ask about the bulky knee brace I have been wearing since I tore ligaments in a lurching New Jersey Transit train But no. "You're wearing the wrong shoes," she said. I looked down at my comfortable red flats. "What's wrong with them?" I asked. They're the wrong color — everything else is dark red." "Everything else" was the purple Guatemalan poncho I was wearing. She looked appraisingly: "You could have worn black shoes." <br />
"Don't they match my hair?" I asked with an amused smile, referring to the red highlights in my gray hair. "That's darker too," she pronounced. "But they do match your lipstick." My color lesson over, I stepped out onto busy Fifth Avenue where I was free from the fashion police.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-87707447263762070122013-04-01T06:02:00.000-07:002013-04-01T08:37:26.456-07:00A SIDEWALK HIT-AND-RUN WITH A SUITCASE<br />
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When I told my daughter Dorri about the following experience, she said, "Mom, that's a perfect story for <a href="http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/26/a-sidewalk-hit-and-run-with-a-suitcase/">The New York Times column 'Metropolitan Diary.'</a>" So I sent it in, and it was published today. Here's the story:<br />
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Walking along the crowded lunch-hour sidewalk on Madison Avenue in January, I felt something unexpected on the top of my right foot. I looked down at a "wheelie" rolling off my shoe, being pulled along briskly by a well-dressed woman, eyes straight ahead, oblivious of where her suitcase had just been. <br />
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Like hit-and-run drivers who don't notice the bump of the person they ran over, she hadn't noticed the interference in her bag's progress. <br />
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She rushed along. I walked at a slower pace, limping a little, but a block later we were next to each other at the traffic light. I turned and said pleasantly, "You might want to keep closer track of your suitcase. It ran over my foot." <br />
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I expected, as she saw my gray hair and the evidence that I had about 30 years on her, "Oh, I'm so sorry, were you hurt?" Silly me.<br />
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What I got was this stern reproof: "You need to watch where you're walking!" Barely taking a breath, she asked, "Were you behind me or in front of me?" "Behind." (I had been next to her until she elbowed her way in front.) "Well," she said, clinching her case, "You need to be more careful. I don't have eyes in the back of my head!" <br />
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"You're very good at not taking responsibility," I said, and was amused when, taking this as a compliment, she said, "Thank you." And the light changed.<br />
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When the young man next to us raised an eyebrow in her direction, then rolled his eyes and grinned at me, I enjoyed sharing this moment with a stranger and was reminded why I love New York.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-1396976565504941442013-03-13T14:28:00.000-07:002013-03-13T14:28:18.078-07:00“WONDER,” THE NOVEL BY R. J. PALACIO, REALLY IS A WONDERThis #1 best-selling book for middle-schoolers, which has held its top place on the New York Times list for four months, is a wondrous novel that deserves its popularity. One reason for its prime place is the fact that so many adults are reading it. It was recommended to me by one adult - <a href="http://www.dorriolds.com">my daughter</a>, who works with the <a href="http://www.littlebabyface.org">Little Baby Face Foundation</a>, a remarkable charity that provides free corrective surgery for children with disfiguring birth defects. She'd learned of it from another adult. I couldn't put the book down, and I cried, laughed, and rejoiced in its message of the importance of kindness and the triumph of a boy faced with so many obstacles.<br />
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The novel's central character, August Pullman, was born with a severe facial deformity that, despite 27 operations, still produces horrified reactions from almost everyone he encounters. Previously home-schooled because of his surgeries, his other medical problems, and his appearance, now Auggie is starting fifth grade at Beecher Prep, a mainstream private school. Auggie wants nothing more than to be treated as an ordinary kid, but his new classmates can't get past Auggie's extraordinary face. The book is reminiscent of the movie "Mask" and the play "The Elephant Man," and is even more moving since it is a story of a child.<br />
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WONDER begins from Auggie's point of view and then, Rashomon-like, expands to speak in the voices of his older sister and her friends, his classmates, and then comes back to Auggie. The only person we don't hear from is the class bully - it would have been illuminating to hear how he justified his meanness to Auggie and those who befriend him - but this is a minor cavil in a wonderful portrait of a community's struggle with empathy, compassion, and acceptance.<br />
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One of Auggie's teacher's precepts, "When given the choice between being right or being kind, choose kind," is the overarching theme of the book, and even if you don't know anyone like Auggie, you will be moved to lead your life with a greater awareness of the need to be kind. The book is also a good, fast, and suspenseful read.<br />
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Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-3875834687212331602013-03-04T13:41:00.000-08:002013-03-13T14:10:15.921-07:00REVIEW OF "SUDDENLY SOLO," A NEW BOOK FOR MENI posted this review as a guest poster on <a href="http://www.dorriolds.com/">my daughter's blog</a>. You might want to pass this review on to a single male friend of a certain age -- although Amazon.com reports that more women are buying the book than men.<br />
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This is a banquet of a book, which any newly single man should be able to get nourishment from — and although women are not the target audience, I found that we can benefit from many of its suggestions too. Co-authored by a widowed market researcher and a married writer, the book draws on extensive research. The writing is accessible and easy to run through, and the headings are prominent enough so you can easily find topics of interest. There are also lots of stories and even a joke for a man to share with his buddies. The authors come across as nice, decent men with a sense of humor, who show compassion for their male readers and respect for the women these men want to meet.<br />
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The book recognizes that many men emerge from a married state not knowing how to take care of their most elemental needs. Since 50 percent of the men over 55 surveyed for this book have never prepared a meal, the authors teach readers how to feed themselves, from making a shopping list, going to the store (where they can meet new people), using kitchen appliances, and so forth. I learned about a <a href="http://www.retrevo.com/samples/index.html">website</a> to find owner’s manuals for appliances. Like helpful big brothers, Spielman and Silbert tell men to wear clean, unwrinkled clothes, keep their fingernails and toenails short and clean, make their beds every day, and do their laundry once a week — the laundromat is another good place to meet new people. Since women are often the money-person in the marriage — as one widower told me, “I never saw the mail, she took care of everything” — the authors give advice on handling financial and legal affairs.<br />
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The bulk of the book offers guidance for meeting, dating, having sex with, and developing relationships with women. There’s a little bit about strengthening male friendships and going to bereavement or divorce groups, but since two-thirds of surveyed men say they want to find a woman to be with, most of the advice is toward this goal.<br />
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How to meet a woman? The Internet is the #1 way now, closely followed by women known in the past, and then through family or friends, chance encounters, and at gatherings and religious facilities. Specific advice for Internet dating includes advice on your profile photo and information, staying honest (anyone can find your age on the Internet, and height and weight are evident when you meet in person, so what’s the point of lying?), Googling potential dates, and yourself to find out what other people can learn about you.<br />
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There’s advice on keeping a conversation going, good places to go on dates, and always being prepared with condoms and with a packed overnight bag in your car in case you get really lucky. If you get invited to spend the night at a woman’s home, check out how to get to her bathroom from her bed, so you won’t bump into anything on those middle-of-the-night trips to the john. If you want her to come to your home, clean up your medicine cabinet ahead of time. If a woman offers to pay on a first date, don’t assume this means she doesn’t want to see you again – it probably means she’s an independent woman; the authors offer graceful ways of handling the situation. Men are encouraged to keep a Dating Dossier to keep track of the women they meet – names, dates, where they went, how many children she has.<br />
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I liked the authors telling guys that if a first date doesn’t work out, the man should not say he’ll call. Women have complained about this since I was a teenager, so don’t say it if you don’t mean it. The authors suggest kinder ways to move on.<br />
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There’s some discussion about sex: most mature men and women want it, it’s most likely to occur after five or more dates, more than one-third of people use vibrators or other sex toys, medications can help with erectile difficulties, and men and women should tell each other what they like. Moving on in the relationship, there are suggestions for introducing your special woman friend to your family, advice to take a two-week trip together before planning to live together, and ways to kindly end a relationship that hasn’t worked out.<br />
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This book packs a lot of useful information into 177 pages but some areas were neglected. I hope that successive editions will include more about oral and manual means of sexual pleasure, about the need for foreplay, about the physical needs of “re-virgins” (women who have not been sexually active for some time), about couples getting tested for HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases and sharing results with each other. I would also like to see some acknowledgment that gay men coming out of a marriage or a relationship may have some of the same concerns as heterosexual men.<br />
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But what the book already has is really helpful. So is its website, <a href="http://suddenlysolo.org/">SuddenlySolo.org</a>, where Hal gives sensible, caring answers to questions in his “Ask Hal” column.<br />
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The book can be purchased on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Suddenly-Solo-Bill-Novelli/dp/0578114984/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1358955110&sr=8-1&keywords=suddenly+solo">Amazon</a>.Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-15601078775658292502013-02-08T08:55:00.001-08:002013-02-08T08:55:24.513-08:00WHAT WE GRANNIES DIDN’T HAVE WHEN OUR OWN KIDS WERE BABIESWhen I see the young moms in my neighborhood walking their babies in double strollers, I think how I would have loved one of those to go out with my two-year-old and infant. When I see the clear plastic rain covers on strollers I think how great that would have been when I had to take my baby along when I walked my older daughter to nursery school. And this just skims the mommy surface. Here are a few other things we didn’t have:<br />
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Disposable diapers. Disposables had just come on the scene for my youngest baby and I saved them for special occasions, like traveling to visit her grandparents.<br />
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Convertible seats. I love those seats that go seamlessly from stroller to car to home, and how they save all that buckling and unbuckling, squshing little arms and legs in those straps, every time you need to change the baby’s venue.<br />
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The Internet. And all the services it can offer – from online ordering of groceries, diapers, pet food, and other necessities we didn’t have time to go out and buy (but somehow we found the time -- usually).<br />
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E-readers. And how much easier it can be with them to read while breastfeeding, so you don’t have to use both hands to hold the book and turn pages.<br />
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Workout videos. So in the privacy of your own home you can snatch a few minutes at a time to shed those post-partum pounds.<br />
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Instagram and Picasa. So you can share photos of your DBB or DBG with the grandparents without having to shlep to the store to get prints made.<br />
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Skype and FaceTime. So you can let your parents meet your babies – and "babysit" virtually with your bigger kids while you tend to the baby.<br />
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Cell phones, of course, with all their convenience as described in <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/24/technology/personaltech/apps-and-other-digital-tools-lend-a-hand-to-new-mothers.html?_r=0">The New York Times</a> <br />
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But what we did have, which modern moms have too, were breasts – so we could give our babies the best start in life by breastfeeding them, as the most modern moms can still do today, thanks to help from lactation consultants and, of course, <a href="http://productsearch.barnesandnoble.com/search/results.aspx?store=BOOK&WRD=complete+book+of+breastfeeding">books</a>!<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197705946613221648.post-68350956725721706662013-01-31T18:03:00.000-08:002013-01-31T18:03:48.486-08:00 50th ANNIVERSARY OF “THE FEMININE MYSTIQUE”<a href="http://vfa.us/">The Veteran Feminists of America</a>, a group I’m proud to belong to, is celebrating the anniversary of this breakthrough book, broadly hailed as one of the most important books of the 20th century. And I'm proud to have contributed my own commemoration of this important milestone by repeating words I spoke when I presented Betty Friedan with the Career Achievement Award given by the <a href="http://www.asja.org">American Society of Journalists & Authors</a> (another group I’m proud to be a member of), and then words I wrote for the ASJA Newsletter when Betty died. My words are below. To read other stirring remembrances, go to the <a href="http://bettyfriedananniversary.blogspot.com/.
">anniversary blog</a>.<br />
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Almost 35 years ago, in 1963, I was a young mother with three small daughters. My life plan had always been to be a full-time wife and mother until all the girls were in school all day. And then I would pursue my dreams. But now my baby was only 18 months old, and I didn’t think I could keep my life on hold for five more years without going crazy. I thought my restlessness was my problem.<br />
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And then I read a book that changed my life. That same book changed the lives of millions of other women, too, as we received powerful, ringing confirmation that our feelings of alienation and frustration were not a repudiation of our womanhood, but an affirmation of our personhood. The writer of that book hadn’t started out to write it. As a highly successful freelancer, she had expected one of the major magazines in which her articles regularly appeared to publish her finding that an entire generation of women were feeling unfulfilled doing what women were supposed to do – take care of their homes, their children, and their husbands, while those same husbands were out in the world working at the jobs they had been educated for. But every one of the major women’s magazine editors – all of whom were men – refused to publish her findings. They said, “This is not where American women are today.” She knew better. So what was a writer to do?<br />
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This writer wouldn’t be silenced. Instead, she expanded and interpreted her research and in so doing gave millions of women a voice that heralded a worldwide revolution. The book, of course, was The Feminine Mystique and the writer was ASJA member Betty Friedan, whose career exemplifies the criteria for ASJA’s Career Achievement Award.<br />
Betty is the ultimate exemplar of the power of the pen to change individual lives, and to bring about broad, sweeping changes in an entire society, so that the world my daughters are living in today is a different one from the world that existed before The Feminine Mystique was published. Based on the overwhelming response to her book, Betty built on the ideas and the determination it inspired, and<br />
• three years later, in 1966, founded the most influential organization in the women’s movement, the National Organization for Women. She became its first president, and then went on <br />
• to organize Women’s Strike for Equality, <br />
• to convene the National Women’s Political Caucus, <br />
• to serve as a delegate to both White House and United Nations conferences on women and the family, <br />
• and to have a long personal audience with the Pope. Or maybe he had the audience with her?<br />
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She has lectured and taught all over the world, raising the consciousness of college students and adults in all walks of life. But at her roots – besides being a social activist, an academic, a mother, and a grandmother – Betty has always been and continues to be a writer.<br />
• She went on to write about the ramifications of the women’s movement in magazine articles and in two other books charting important developments in the movement: <br />
• It Changed My Life reported on feminism’s effects on women around the world; and <br />
• The Second Stage acknowledged the importance of women’s relationships with men, children, and other significant others in their lives.<br />
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Betty then went on to pursue another highly controversial topic, the pervasive attitudes equating old age with physical and mental breakdown. Drawing on her extensive research, as well as her own life experiences, she wrote The Fountain of Age. This landmark book, published in 1993, persuasively demonstrates that “aging is not ‘lost youth’ but a new stage of opportunity and strength.”<br />
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Betty Friedan has received numerous honorary doctorates of humane letters and law. She has been named on list after list of the most influential people of the twentieth century. It gives me great pleasure to add to the many awards and honors she has received by bestowing upon her the American Society of Journalists and Authors Career Achievement Award. Betty, we’re proud you’re one of us!<br />
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Epilogue after Betty's death in 2006:<br />
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With Betty Friedan's death on February 4 at the age of 85, she has received one encomium after another in the media, in recognition that she was one of the most important people of our time. Her momentous influence stemmed from The Feminine Mystique, according to The New York Times "widely regarded as one of the most influential nonfiction books of the 20th century." The Times also wrote, "Rarely has a single book been responsible for such sweeping, tumultuous and continuing social transformation." By the year 2000 Mystique had sold more than three million copies and has been translated into many different languages. For those members who were too young to have read it earlier, I urge you to pick it up now -- it's a great read and it offers an important window into the history of America 's women.<br />
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From the lengthy obituaries marking Betty's extraordinary accomplishments, I learned more about Betty's life pre-ASJA -- actually, pre the Society of Magazine Writers (SMW), as we were known when the Society was formed in 1948. A fellowship recipient at the University of California, Berkeley, she studied psychology with Erik Erikson, an interest that showed in her writing, and especially in her seminal work, The Feminine Mystique. She got her start as an editor in labor movement publications, and then went on to her successful freelance career. She joined SMW in 1954 and remained a member until 2000. Her last book, a memoir titled Life So Far, was published that year.<br />
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Betty was far from a one-note singer. According to her good friend TV journalist Marlene Sanders, "Friedan was more than a spokesperson for change. She cared deeply about her three children, and later her grandchildren, and in later years preferred talking about them more than about feminism." I'm even happier now than I was in 1997 that ASJA conferred our Career Achievement Award on Betty, so that while this great woman was still alive she could enjoy receiving the most meaningful tribute for a writer -- the praise of her peers.<br />
Sally Wendkos Oldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04987139235542898094noreply@blogger.com0