Et tu, New York Times?

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In Act 3, Scene 1 of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Caesar says “Et tu, Brute?” (You too, Brutus?) to signify his total shock and heartbreak upon realizing his trusted friend and protegé had turned against him. This phrase has come to symbolize the ultimate act of betrayal for which I say, “Et tu, New York Times?”

 My story begins in what started as an ordinary Saturday. I woke up early, retrieved the newspapers from my doorstep, made myself coffee, and sat down to do the crossword. This routine actually happens every morning, not just Saturdays. It’s become a daily ritual and the crossword serves as a type of meditation for me- everything around me becomes muted and all I am focused on is a 6 letter word for ‘overthink’. If I have to leave the house early, I will  wake up earlier accordingly. It is a non-negotiable start to my day.

 It’s also important to note that I will only do a crossword puzzle in print. I have Newsday delivered seven days a week and the Times delivered only on the weekends. Weekdays my sister will email me the printable version of the Times crossword. (That’s a blog in itself- the World Clock isn’t as reliable as my sister sending me that crossword). Every day I  complete 2 crosswords in Newsday (not to mention the Cryptoquote) and the daily Times crossword. I start my day with a clear head, an exercised brain, and a sense of accomplishment.

 But Saturdays are special. Within the Saturday NY Times comes the Sunday Magazine and inside is the grand-daddy of all crosswords- the Sunday NY Times crossword puzzle- distributed in 230 countries. For those of you who aren’t familiar, it isn’t the most difficult puzzle  of the week in terms of knowledge, but it’s the most difficult in terms of uncovering a theme, pattern, play on words or whatnot. It’s also the largest grid. I relish the challenge!!!

So back to that ordinary Saturday… I found the magazine and flipped right to the last page (if you know you know). With my special erasable pen in hand I began. I read the little intro blurb which always gives you some insight into the author of the crossword and perhaps holds a clue to the theme. I’m practically giddy knowing that for the next hour or two I am going to be thinking about nothing but this puzzle, pushing my brain to its limit, and emerging victorious!

The first several clues I couldn’t get. But that wasn’t out of the ordinary. I carried on. The next several clues I couldn’t get. I persevered. I noticed that there were numbered squares with no coordinating clues. “Wow”, I thought, “This is an elaborate one”. But I didn’t give in. As a matter of fact, I rolled up my sleeves and dug in deeper. There were clues that I knew FOR SURE I had the right answer but they weren’t fitting in the boxes. I tried putting the entire word in one box, wrapping around words, using four corners, reversing the word. You name it, I tried it!! The frustration was mounting. There was no way to look up answers because it was the SUNDAY puzzle and it was only SATURDAY. It was like something out of “Back to the Future”.

 So now I was late to meet my friend for a walk on the boardwalk. I had to put the puzzle aside. I continued on with my day feeling dis-regulated and off balance. As my friend was talking to me all I could think was, “ Maybe if I omit the vowels…” She noticed the vacant look in my eyes and asked “Are you okay?” No, I was not okay! I couldn’t wait to get home and work on the puzzle some more. I was obsessed- which happens to be a six letter word for overthinking!

 The minute I got home I grabbed the puzzle and worked on it some more, but to no avail. I felt defeated, ashamed, stupid and was convinced I had early onset dementia. I went to bed knowing that tomorrow I will have all the answers and will be kicking myself that I didn’t figure it out on my own.

At 5:00 am I went onto the NYT Games app and found this:

 ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????? Not once did It occur to me that the NY Times had made a mistake! I mean, it’s the NY Times for f—k sake!! Who’s their editor, some Gen. Z chick drinking a matcha latte? I’m suing Will Shortz! Why isn’t this on the news? This is a constitutional crisis!

 Later that afternoon I attended a yoga workshop. It was half asana (the poses) and half discussion. Usually we talk about anything philosophical- from the Yoga Sutras to sex (we’re yogis not saints). That day we spent over an hour unpacking my gut-level response to a crossword misprint in the NY Times. And you wonder why my therapist is on speed dial.

 I’m still not over it. Every time I can’t get an answer I think they must’ve made a mistake. Alas, my trust has been broken.

 We are living in a time where nothing makes sense, everything is upside down, and we are all just teetering on the edge.  My escape from this world has now become a reminder of the ultimate betrayal. And to that I say, “ Et tu New York Times?”

 

 

Behind Every Facebook Post Is a Story

I met my friend, Patty, and her sister,  Donna, at a resort in Sarasota. They live in Florida; I was flying down to meet them. I posted on Facebook about my absolutely delightful, serene few days- which it was! However, with me there’s always a story. 

It started the night before I was leaving. I was all packed and ready go. I was easing into bed when I heard “CRACK”. I apparently left my glasses where I shouldn’t have. My leg landed in just the right way that it cracked my glasses perfectly in half at the bridge. It was physics at its finest- like that succinct karate chop that splits a board of wood. Of course these weren’t my ten dollar reading glasses from CVS, these were my expensive prescription glasses that I can’t replace in the airport gift shop. I only wear them when I’m not wearing my contact lenses, but I minimally need them in case there’s a fire in the hotel in the middle of night and I need to find my way out. I’m literally blind without them. 

I tried fixing them with what I had on hand- tape, Gorilla Glue, string- nothing was working. It’s now close to 10:00PM so I decided to Door Dash Crazy Glue. It cost close to 20.00 for a 4.99 tube of Crazy Glue but within 30 minutes it was delivered to my door- priceless!! It took me about an hour and several phone calls to my sister but I eventually got it to work. The mend was far from invisible and I got Crazy Glue all over the lenses but it didn’t matter because I only needed them for the outside and rare chance I needed to leave in a hurry.

Yada, yada, yada, I TRULY had a wonderful four days in Sarasota as I posted on Facebook upon my return. 

But here’s the story not depicted…

For the entire trip “they’ were calling for a possible snowstorm on the day I had to fly home. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a weather junkie and follow the weather like a day trader follows the stock market. I am not one to be caught off guard. And quite frankly I wasn’t this time either. I was tracking the storm closely. There was plenty of hype about the intensity of the storm  but the onset of the storm was going to be hours after I was supposed to land so I was good to go! I went to sleep on my final night confident there would be no kink in my plans for the next day. I woke up to no changes in the timing of the storm and my flight was on time! It was all systems go. I even had time for my morning walk. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and when I came out I had a text from Jet Blue, “YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN CANCELED.” This has never happened to me before but I did know that if I didn’t book another flight immediately it could take days to get home. So I jumped into action and immediately booked a flight for the next day. I really had nothing to worry about- I had a flight booked, I’d stay at Patty’s overnight and she would drive me to the airport in the morning. However, the reports for the storm seemed to be getting worse with the storm taking place overnight into the next day. There was a growing chance that  the flight I booked for the next day could get canceled too. As gracious as Patty was about me staying with her, I had many reasons I needed to get home.

I continued to problem solve. I found a flight leaving in a couple of hours that same day. The only problem was, it was taking off from Tampa an hour and fifteen minutes away from where we were staying. We would have to leave NOW!!!! Patty and I had to make a split second decision. “Let’s do it!!”, we said in unison.

Patty ran to get her car from the hotel parking garage. Fortunately her sister had her own car and could pack up for the two of them and take all their belongings home. I had packed my clothes the night before but I still had all my toiletries – the hair products, the face lotions, the body potions, the face roller, the gua sha stone, the make-up, the electric toothbrush, the perfume…get the picture? I threw them all into my back pack, and wouldn’t you know, I didn’t even have time to put in my contacts lenses. 

So with no make up, untamed hair and wearing my Crazy Glued glasses I ran to the parking garage. Patty screeched up and yelled “GET IN!” I hopped in and we were off! With an optimistic shared panic we were on an adventure!! Every minute shaved off the GPS arrival time felt like a victory. Let me tell you, Patty was manipulating that steering wheel like a Formula 1 driver! I was in awe! We were racing against time and winning!

Then seemingly out of nowhere, a dense fog rolled in. You know, the kind that grounds airplanes. Are you kidding me? We were going to make it to the airport in time only to have the flight canceled due to fog? My mood was sinking. But as we neared the airport the fog began to lift and so did my spirits! WE MADE IT! I still had to take a tram and get through security which I did with time to spare. 

I got to the gate looking like a frantic bag lady. 

I found a seat next to a nice couple from Long Island. I mentioned what a stressful  morning it had been because of the storm. 

They said, “What storm?”

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I’m Breaking Up with Spray Tans (Forever This Time)

It’s come to my attention that May is Melanoma Awareness Month and being that I have been recently diagnosed with Melanoma (on my ear lobe), I thought it’s as good of a time as any to tell you about my recent spray tan experience. But before you go and get all worried, it’s stage 0 Melanoma “in situ” which means it’s non-invasive and unlikely to spread. I’ve chosen to wait till after my daughter’s wedding in June to have the surgery.

Hence, the spray tan. I was about to visit my daughter in Florida and for obvious reasons my days in the sun are over. I’ve used Jergens self-tanner here and there but I figured I should step it up a notch seeing as the Summer was coming and I was likely to be doing this with some regularity.

Now, I vaguely remember having a spray tan about a decade ago. The only thing I remember about it was that it left me emotionally scarred. Other than that, I’ve pretty much blocked the experience from my mind. But I do remember liking the tan. 

So I did some investigating and I found a young lady who rented space in a salon in Massapequa. She was highly rated. The website was impressive and she had all kinds of unlimited monthly plans which motivated me since this was going to be my new lifestyle. I imagined myself looking like I vacationed in the Caribbean. I booked the appointment on line for the day before my trip, sprang for the rapid tan, received a text confirmation, and crossed my fingers this time would be better.

I was a little nervous. I texted my daughter, “What do you wear for a spray tan?”

“Just a thong”, she replied.

It was all coming back to me now…

The day had arrived. I followed the long list of instructions leading up to the tanning- shower, exfoliate, no moisturizer, wear loose fitting clothes- the list goes on. I decided to wear a strapless bra and my normal underwear. I could’ve just worn my one-piece bathing suit (the only kind I own), but this was my version of being “daring”.

The girl was lovely. She asked me how tan I wanted to be on a scale from one to ten; a ten being like you just spent the summer in the South of France. I said “eight”.  

She then gave me a plastic cap to put on my head to cover my hair (think lunch lady) and told me to take off my clothes and place them on the chair. I was waiting for her to leave the room but it was soon apparent that I was going to be stripping down to my underwear in front of this young lady. She then had me step onto some type of flimsy paper covering for the soles of my feet and told me to walk over to the footprints on the floor and stand there. So try to imagine me in my underwear with a plastic cap on my head shuffling over to the footprints on the floor. Better yet, don’t. 

She instructed me to widen my stance and raise my arms like in an airport TSA scanner. I profusely apologized for the appalling sight standing in front of her and advised her not to look directly at me as it might burn her retinas. Then she told me to turn around. All I could think was “this poor girl”.

I somehow made it through, albeit I was not left with one shred of dignity. But I was TAN! She gave me a card with a long list of post-tanning instructions and I even bought the special soap that won’t wash off the tan and helps to maintain it longer. 

I followed the directions to a tee. The first step was to wait four hours then just rinse in the shower, warm water only, no soap. I set the timer on my phone like it was NASA counting down to a lift-off; T-minus four hours. My alarm went off and I sprang into action. I jumped into the shower, watched the excess tanning solution go down the drain, and hopped right out. I gently patted dry (no wiping as per the instructions). 

I looked in the mirror and the tan was GONE. A minute ago I was the Coppertone baby, now I’m Wednesday Addams. I remembered getting a text for the confirmation so I tried texting that number with my dilemma. She quickly responded, “No worries, it takes 24 hours to develop”. Ok, doesn’t sound like the “rapid” tan I paid for, but at this point I didn’t have much recourse. By this time tomorrow I’d be in Florida.

I finally arrived at my daughter’s and the first thing she said was, “I thought you were getting a spray tan?” Cue the Debbie Downer music- womp, womp. No tan ever developed, NOTHING, except of course on my stomach which hasn’t seen the light of day since my birth and never will. So yes, I’m officially done. Spray tans and I are parting ways, because in the end I’d rather be pale and proud than tanned and traumatized. 

Stay out of the sun, people.

The Universe Has Its Own Plan

Last Sunday my plan was to have a lazy day of hibernation which meant lighting a fire, binge watching TV, and reading a book. But before I hunkered down I wanted to go for my daily walk and to the car wash to get the filth off from the recent snow. I didn’t plan on leaving any specific time- whenever I finished my coffee and crossword puzzle.

This particular morning I didn’t put on any make-up before leaving. And when I say no make-up, I mean NOTHING- not even tinted moisturizer. Now this is quite unusual for me considering I put on lipstick to get the mail. In addition, I didn’t even bother to change out of the sweat pants I slept in- I was only going to get right back in them when I got home. I put my unwashed hair into a frizzy ponytail, and out the door I went. Let me make this very clear. I’ve had the flu and looked better. But, who am I going to see at the car wash or out walking when it’s 30 degrees?

I set off for the Seaford Carwash and when I got there the line was wrapped around the block. It wasn’t worth waiting an hour when I could go tomorrow on a weekday. So I decided to skip it and just go for my walk. I was already in Seaford, so I figured I’d take my walk at Wantagh Park which was only one traffic light ahead on Merrick Road. (I usually walk in Burns Park closer to my house.)

I parked, began my walk, and in the distance I saw someone running slowly in my direction. I was relieved to know I wasn’t the only one in the park. Then as the runner got closer there was something familiar about him. He was bundled up so I couldn’t see his hair, but wait, was that….

“O ????”, I questioned out loud. (I’m using only his initial to protect the innocent- me!) Now for those of you who don’t know, O and I broke up a year and half ago after 3 years of dating. That’s the last time we spoke- no calls, text, or emails since then. The last thing I said to him was “Fuck You!”

Now, I ask you, WHAT ARE THE CHANCES??? He’s a runner but he usually runs on the Long Beach boardwalk. Actually, our paths had randomly crossed a few times this Summer in Long Beach, but he didn’t see me and I didn’t see any reason to approach him.

But I guess the Universe wasn’t taking no for an answer.

O heard his name, looked over and stopped running. I think we both were in shock. My first thought was, “Dammit, I look like SHIT!” We began to chat with the obligatory pleasantries- how are the kids, etc… He seemed indifferent, distant and was ICY COLD toward me. Quite frankly, this was pissing me off. Did he not get the script??? He’s supposed to be on his knees begging my forgiveness, lamenting how he let the best thing that ever happened to him get away. And I’m supposed to say, “Too bad for you, that ship has sailed…”

But instead, this came out of my mouth- “You know, I may have pulled the trigger on this relationship but you locked and loaded the gun!”

This of course started a very unproductive and unnecessary discussion about our relationship. Believe me, I could have eviscerated him with my words and won this war, but why? I already had closure. And after this, if there was ever a scintilla of regret or doubt in my mind about ending the relationship, it was gone. He was never Mr. Right. He was Mr. Right Now. Thank you, Universe, for giving me the clarity I didn’t even know I needed.

O’s last words to me as he walked away was a very sarcastic “Well, see ya ‘round”.

This time I didn’t say a word. I didn’t say “Fuck You” but you can be sure my bruised ego wanted to.

Now, if this was a rom-com I’d continue on my walk and Barbra Streisand would be singing “Someone I used to Love” in the background. But it’s not a movie, it’s my real life. So instead my sister called me to tell me her refrigerator broke.

At least the encounter with O stopped me from thinking about all the other crap going on in my life, for a little while anyway. The next morning in full make-up (I learn from my mistakes) I went to get my car washed. There was a raggedy old man behind the register. He told me the price and when I handed him my credit card he looked at me and gently said, “Things will get better, don’t look so sad”. And there it was. Through this homeless looking man dressed in a flannel plaid shirt, the Universe had spoken. And I listened.

Click on link to hear “Someone I Used to Love”

Wantagh Park

The Time Owen and I Got Kicked Out of Our Hotel

I originally wanted to name my blog “You Can’t Make This Stuff Up” because stuff like this only happens to me. But now lucky Owen is along for the ride too.

You may have seen the pictures on Facebook from our recent vacation to Upstate NY then on to Niagra Falls, Canada. We started the trip in a quaint small town called Cazenovia. Owen was participating in a triathlon nearby. He had participated in this one before; he lived in a neighboring town for over 20 years.

Our first night we checked into the Brewster Inn. The woman at the front desk asked Owen, “Do you have identification?”.  He said, “Yes,” but he thought she said,  “Are you on vacation?”. So the two of them stared at each other for what seemed an eternity and she finally said, “WELL?”. So Owen said, “Well what?”. And she said “DO YOU HAVE IDENTIFICATION?”. Owen and I giggled thinking it was a funny miscommunication, the lady at the desk—not so much. She shot us a look and we tried to refrain from laughing, which only made us want to laugh more. But we held back as much as we could for fear of getting sent to the principal’s office. This unfriendly attitude seemed to set the tone for our stay. 

We got the key (a real key, not a card that you swipe) and walked the one flight up to our room. We had a great deal of trouble getting the key to work, but that’s part of the charm of these old inns, right? The room was poorly lit so we opened the black-out shades. We realized immediately we only had two choices— a dark room, or everyone in the parking lot looking into our room. We chose the dark room. 

After being in the car for hours, I had to use the bathroom. The toilet didn’t flush and I couldn’t get out of the bathroom. I literally couldn’t open the door. I banged on the door and yelled  “OWEN!!!! I CAN’T GET THE DOOR OPEN!!” Owen, in his best German accent,  says, “Vhat’s the secret passvord, Frauline?” I have to say, it made me laugh. More importantly, he got the door open and fixed the handle on the toilet. And by the way, the bathroom was so dark Helen Keller could do a better job putting on her make-up.

The hotel had a beautiful adjoining restaurant set on a picturesque lake. The food was delicious and despite the somewhat off-putting attitude of the waitress, we had a delightful meal. Our vacation was off to a great start! 

We turned in early because we were getting up at 4:30AM for the triathlon. It was a cool night so we wanted to open the windows but one of the windows didn’t have a screen so we put on the air conditioner instead. It seemed to be working when we fell asleep but in the middle of the night we woke up SWEATING.  I fiddled with the air conditioner, but the fan was clearly broken.Eventually we just opened the one window with the screen, but there wasn’t enough cross ventilation. By the time we figured it all out it was 4:30 AM. We missed almost an entire night’s sleep. Imagine how exhausted I was watching Owen swim a half mile, bike 12 miles, and run 3 miles! We decided we would say something when we got back to the hotel. At this point  “charming” inn now stood for “old and run down” inn.

When we got back to the hotel I  was too exhausted to deal with it, so I went back to the room while Owen went to the front desk. I had to get the maid to help me get into my room because that damn key wouldn’t work. She literally was kicking the door to get it to open. Only a few minutes later Owen returned to the room. Now, it’s not easy to ruffle Owen’s feathers but he was obviously upset. He had spoken to one of the co-owners who said she needed to “assess the situation”. I’m not sure what that meant, but he suggested I go speak with her, perhaps I would have better luck.Turns out what he really was thinking was,“Wait till this chick gets a load of a Jewish woman from Long Island.” I set out on my mission with the same philosophy I taught my daughters —BE NICE FIRST! 

A few minutes later I returned to the room, “ Well, we’ve been kicked out of the hotel!”

 Now, all this owner had to say to me was “ I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well, let me look into it and see what I can do for you”. Just validate my feelings! But instead this amazon of a woman was unapologetic, rude, condescending,  spoke over me, and made me feel like we were lying just to get money off our bill! My final words to her were, “Who’s above you that I can speak to?” and when she told me “nobody’ I said, “Well that explains why this hotel is in such shit condition!”  and I started to walk up the stairs. As I was walking up the steps she yelled over to me that we’re no longer welcome there, our reservation is no longer valid and we needed to get out. It was the old “You can’t fire me, I quit” routine. In other words, before we could decide on our own to leave, she was kicking us out.

(Hang in, I haven’t even gotten to the good part of the story yet!!)

I had no intention of leaving. We had tickets for a boat ride in Skaneateles and a dinner reservation for prime rib. I was NOT going to let that woman ruin my plans! So we left for Skaneateles. On the way there, Owen gets a call from this BEOTCH. I can hear her screaming and she didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. The bottom line is, we decided to go back and pack our things. This woman was unhinged. So we turned around and on our way back we quickly made a reservation in a different hotel.

 Now for the good part: when we got back to our room there were at least 5 people in there (including the owner) packing up our things, throwing them into plastic bags, clothes crumpled up, etc. The owner said I THREATENED HER LIFE, and we needed to leave immediately. Yeah right, I’m going to sic my posse of retired teacher friends on you, better watch your back!! At this point she and Owen were inches apart and she was egging him on to hit her (which of course he would never do). By now, most of our things had already been thrown into the lobby. I asked if I could just check the room to make sure they had packed my medication and the door was literally slammed in my face. We went to the lobby to get our stuff and get the hell out of there. That’s when we saw a policeman pull up, which THE OWNER had called! Owen told me to get in the truck and stay there, this is a small town and this guy might have free breakfast at this Inn everyday. I took his advice. I was already imagining spending the night in jail or even worse having to call my daughters and ask them to bail me out. Fortunately the officer was a nice man and actually felt sorry for the white-haired 66 year old man and retired school teacher who just got kicked out of their hotel. 

However,  because they had swooped up all our stuff so quickly, we were still able to make the boat ride! If it wasn’t for the one picture a nice lady took of us, I would have no recollection of it. The entire time all we talked about was how we were going to take this lady down and her establishment along with her! But we eventually calmed down— nothing a good pear martini couldn’t fix.

For the most part we were able to let it go for the rest of the trip and at one point we even laughed hysterically over it. When we were crossing into Canada we were kidding about how we were going to be detained at the border for questioning about our incident at the Brewster Inn. We were fugitives on the run! We did feel validated, though, when we read many reviews by customers who found the owner to be as vile as we did. I’ve attached one such review below. And remember— for every one bad review there are ten more, people just don’t write about it. I wrote a review but this woman is so unbalanced I’m afraid to post it.

Let this be a lesson to all— you never know who you’re dealing with, so approach with caution! Ultimately we weren’t charged for the night we spent there. We got the room for free, but boy did it cost us.

Skaneateles Lake

A Review From the Brewster Inn Facebook Page:

Sherie Kennedy Dates   doesn’t recommend The Brewster Inn

My boyfriend and I stayed here Friday night for a friends wedding. The food and service staff were wonderful. The chef and sous chef are creating incredible dishes. During the reception the front desk staff realized they made an error and put us into the wrong guest room. They decided to move us to another room in the main building of the hotel and came to let me know after the fact. I asked why they didn’t let us know before moving us, but assured them that it was no trouble, as everyone makes mistakes. The following morning as were packing to leave, we realized that my boyfriend’s wallet didn’t make the trip to our new room. In a panic I went to the front desk and let the desk clerk know. She seemed slightly irritated and said she would send a housekeeper over to the other room to see if the new occupants had discovered it. An hour had passed and it was approaching check out so I went back to the desk to see if anything had turned up since we didn’t receive a call. She said that nothing had been found. I asked her what the next step would be and explained that his whole life is in his wallet. Including licenses he needs to perform his job that aren’t easily replaceable. Again she appeared uninterested and irritated. She said please wait,  the manager is on her way here. The manager (who I just found out is actually a co-owner) was extremely rude and treated us like we were trying to get something out of the establishment for free. She even said “let me guess, your wallet also has thousands of dollars in it” and rolled her eyes.  After a few high conflict moments she agreed to let us go look for ourselves. The wallet was exactly where we described it in the room. We received No apologies, no offer of anything to make it right for us.  I’m extremely disappointed that an establishment of this caliber could be managed by someone that would treat her guests that way. Especially when she and her team were at fault. We will not be returning and will be sure to let our friends and family know how we were treated. The management team should have been very concerned for us and offered solutions. Instead they thought it would be appropriate to belittle us and be condescending. How disappointing.