Ralph...Lifestyle Guru and Style Icon...

We all know them. The “bon vivants” who inspire us with their looks, personality, charm, and attitude. They’re the ones who just seem to get more out of life…who have that special “joie de la vie.” We don’t want to BE them, but they do have those admirable qualities that we desire.

My inspirational role model is Ralph. I met him last November, at the Dallas SPCA on Industrial Blvd. As I walked by, he shot me his most intense, charismatic gaze. That come-hither look that said, “Baby, I’m yours.” I was bewitched. So I signed the papers, purchased a collar for his tags, and took him home.

Did I mention that Ralph is a dog? An exuberant, mixed-breed terrier who, as it turns out, has an intoxicating love for life that’s contagious. Ralph has the ability to make even the most mundane act an adventure. "Wanna take a walk?" Tail wag…leap…spin…frolic! "Dinner-time?" "Time to go to bed?" "Want a treat?" "How about a few pistachios?" Tail wag…leap…spin…frolic! His enthusiasm knows no bounds. And he always wears black, with a little white at the neck…very Georgia O‘Keeffe. So he’s my style icon as well.

Ralph is the WalMart greeter at his local dog park. People and dogs alike, he doesn’t care. He’s at the gate welcoming them to his world. No face goes un-licked…no crotch un-sniffed. His absence of discrimination and complete lack of prejudice are legendary. Everybody knows Ralph. And in Ralph’s eyes, everyone is beautiful and all is right with the universe.

He likes to run. Just run. Tethered to a bike, he’ll run alongside said bike for miles…through the neighborhood…down the bike trail…around White Rock Lake. Ears back, scraggly facial hair blowing in the breeze, he races to nowhere with the boundless energy of an Alaskan husky in the Iditarod. His destination? He has no idea. His purpose? Just to run. His reward? An ice cream cone at McDonalds, which he devours with relish. He really doesn’t need a reward though, because Ralph is all about the journey. But he does love that last little bit of crunchy cone…

Whenever I feel cranky, Ralph’s my guy. A few minutes of having my face licked, and looking into those soulful brown eyes, is enough to make me pull my head out and realize that life really isn’t that bad. Ralph walks the walk, and lives the dream. He wakes up to a new day, everyday. He eats dog food and filet with equal enthusiasm. He finds absolute delight in the most inconsequential pastimes…chasing a Frisbee, chewing on a rawhide bone, or playing with a bug. He drags his blanket around to the shady spots, and when there’s no shade to be found he simply revels in the sun. Ralph’s capacity for joy and love, minimal needs, and zest for life inspire me daily. You could say he’s my lifestyle guru!

Gotta go make coffee now and get ready for work. Tail wag…leap…spin…frolic!

C

Heard It In A Love Song...

The CD player in my car is broken, so I’ve been listening to an “oldies” radio station on the way to work. I like to sing along, as I know most of the lyrics to almost every song, and belting them out helps me vent my road rage. It’s amazing how quickly and thoroughly music can transport me to another time and place, make me smile, laugh out loud, or even bring me to tears.

Have you ever noticed how many songs are written about love? Looking for love…falling in love…being in love…fighting for love…losing love...re-kindling an old love. Why are hundreds, even thousands of songs written about love? And I’m not talking about the love you have for nature, mankind in general, your kids, your dog, or Ben and Jerry‘s...I‘m talking about THE love.

Do you remember the first time you fell in love? I do. And though it‘s long since ended, a certain song always reminds me of that love…fresh and innocent…pre-expectations and baggage. The melody creeps up on me, slowly exposing those emotions from the past that I keep so safely tucked away, hidden even from myself. Suddenly, all of the neatly stacked memories come tumbling down on my head. I remember exactly how I felt the moment I fell in love, and the despair I felt when it was over. Tears sting my eyes and a lump forms in my throat, as I search for an explanation for why something that began with such promise had to end. Then the song is over, the feelings of loss and regret fade away, and I’m back to the present, where only a lingering twinge of sadness remains.

John Lennon once wrote, “All you need is love.” But love isn’t only what we need…love is why we’re here. According to The Bible, our purpose for life on earth is to go forth, be fruitful, and multiply. Oh sure, we can do that without love. Check out any bar on Friday night. Believe me, it’s done!

But, to live life without love? THE love? I don’t care if you’re the happiest, most successful, self-confident, financially secure person in the world. You may have great friends, a fabulous career, and plenty of money, but without love, something is missing. I’m not just talking about love for nature, mankind, etc. And I'm not talking about sex, although there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. I’m talking about that, and more. I’m talking about THE love...lover, friend, companion, confidant, ally, soul-mate, partner in love and life.

I’m talking about the guy who holds you at night and tells you not to worry because he’s there for you. And he is. The one who rubs your neck when it hurts. The one who washes the dishes for you after you’ve cooked his favorite meal. The one who brings you flowers, just because you love flowers. The one who shares his hopes and dreams with you, and who cares about your hopes and dreams. The one who can’t imagine a future without you by his side. The one who tells you everyday that he loves you, even though he knows you already know. The one who doesn’t keep score. The one who slow dances with you barefoot in the dark. The one who sees all of the hot babes prancing around out there, but chooses to make love to only you, because he thinks you’re the most awesome woman alive.

The reason so many songs have been written about love is because love makes life happen! “Love makes the world go ‘round.” That’s just the way it is...and that’s the way it will always be...like it or not. Is love really all you need? Well...no. We need food, clothing and shelter. We need a clean water supply. We need health-care. We need cell-phones. No, seriously, we do. But these are material things…tangible things, We need them to exist. But love! We need love to really live! Love is a song, written from the heart , dedicated to life with THE someone who makes your heart sing. Love is...a feeling. And, “Oh, what a feeling” it is!

C

Pranzo Stile Italiano (Lunch Italian Style)

It was a beautiful Spring day in Florence, Italy. I was on my way to the Galleria degli Uffizi, one of the most fabulous art museums in the world, where I planned to spend several hours viewing breath-taking Italian Renaissance masterpieces like Botticelli‘s “Birth of Venus” and “The Annunciation” by Leonardo da Vinci.

I decided to eat lunch first, and stopped at a tiny but charming café near the museum. Although I was hungry, I wasn’t in the mood for pasta or anything too heavy. My waiter suggested proscuitto with melon and mozzarella.

Thus, began my love affair with a traditional Italian appetizer/first course that I consider to be the perfect light lunch! It’s a classic flavor combination. There’s something about the sweet juiciness of the melon that wonderfully complements the salty porkiness of the proscuitto. Throw on some fresh mozzarella in the mix and you’ve got a dish that is insanely divine!

This is one of my favorite recipes for proscuitto, melon, and mozzarella. Try it with a sparkling glass of Italian Prosecco.

Ingredients

1/2 cup olive oil
1/3 cup (packed) fresh basil leaves plus sprigs for garnish
1 medium shallot, quartered
1 small (about 2-pound) cantaloupe, halved crosswise, seeded, cut into 6 wedges, peeled
6 small fresh water-packed mozzarella balls or one 8-ounce ball, drained
6 thin slices prosciutto, cut in half lengthwise, gathered into ruffle
6 8-inch wooden skewers

Directions

Using on/off turns, puree olive oil, 1/3 cup basil, and shallot in processor until basil and shallot are finely chopped.
Cut each cantaloupe wedge crosswise in half. If using large mozzarella ball, trim and cut into 6 cubes.
Alternate 1 melon piece, 1 piece ruffled prosciutto, 1 mozzarella ball or cube, 1 more prosciutto piece, and 1 more melon piece on each skewer. Can be prepared 2 hours ahead; cover and refrigerate. Bring to room temperature 15 minutes before serving.
Arrange skewers on platter. Drizzle with basil oil and sprinkle with cracked black pepper. Garnish with basil sprigs.

Serves 6

Buon Appetito! C

Pearls of Wisdom, from a Wise Old Crone...

Next month, I will have a landmark birthday. Sixty. Do you want the bad news first, or the good news? I'll give you the bad news first. Sixty. The good news? The Early Bird Special at IHOP. Senior discounts at The Kimbell Museum of Art. Another year closer to receiving the Social Security and Medicare that I've been paying for my entire adult life, assuming that my erratic (definition: deviating from the usual or proper course in conduct or opinion) lifestyle will allow me to live that long. The respect of the younger generation, who now consider me to be a mature, sophisticated, woman of the world...a wise old crone, with all of the answers to life's most baffling questions. Questions like, "is it better to be aged like a fine bottle of wine or a good, stinky, French cheese than to be young and hot?"

The answer? "Yes and no." At fifty-nine, I'm more intelligent, more intuitive, more interesting, more focused, and less of an emotional hot mess than I was at twenty. I'm more confident, more content, and less reactive to criticism. I can take what life throws at me now on a daily basis with minimal drama. There are people who would laugh at that last statement, but only the ones who weren't around for the circus that was my life at twenty. I've come a long way, baby....

But...and it's a big but...my life is more than halfway over. Actually, closer to two-thirds over...possibly three-fourths over...hard to know. Had I not been the partying, live-for-the-moment, sugar junky, meat-eating carnivore that I was for the first fifty-nine years of my life, I might go with slightly halfway over. Whatever, I could die tomorrow eating greasy onion rings, drinking sweet tea, and texting while driving to work.

The truth is, I do mourn certain aspects of the loss of my youth. I miss jumping out of bed in the morning and being able to stand up straight immediately. My hair is turning white with alarming speed. I gain weight when I look at food, and I look at food a lot. The frown lines between my eyebrows need spackle. I actually saw my tricep fluttering in the wind while I was driving with the window down. No, aging is not for the faint of heart.

I have learned a few things though, and I would like to share with you these pearls of wisdom that I have gleaned so far from my stint on Planet Earth...

Learn the difference between cautious and fearful, relaxing and boring, organized and anal, and curious and stupid.

If you see something beautiful, interesting, and/or profound...stop...and really look at it. You might never see it again.

When you think your life is boring, get over it. Life is never boring...You're boring. Turn off the TV, get up off your butt, and DO something.

When someone criticizes you...before you get angry, pout, or run out of the room crying...really think about it. Was their criticism valid? Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't. But don't just go with your knee-jerk reaction...think about it. You might learn something about yourself.

To quote Woody Allen - "Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon." So stop sitting around feeling sorry for yourself...one day you'll wish you'd made better use of your time.

Life is a thousand times more bearable if you can laugh at yourself.

Unconditional love, and tolerating abuse from a loved one, are not the same thing.

Self-love and narcissism are not the same thing.

Don't ever think because you are able to talk, go to work everyday, make money, and worry and obsess about life, that you are smarter than your dog.

A kindle will NEVER replace a book.

When you travel to a foreign country...dine on their cuisine, try to speak their language, wander off from the tour bus, and immerse yourself in their culture. If you can't do that, you might as well save your money and go to Branson, MO instead.

And last, but not least...when you look in the mirror every morning...regardless of whatever age you are at the moment...regardless of the laugh lines, the gray hairs, and the flabby triceps...be grateful for what you have...what you know...who you are. And love...love...love. Love life. Love others. Love yourself! Be curious! Be adventurous! Relish your life with wild abandon...it's all over much too soon!

I'm off to IHOP! C

The best laid plans of mice and men (and women) often go awry...

Most single women my age are desperately seeking a husband. Not me. I need a keeper. And by keeper, I don’t mean a man to keep me dressed in designer duds and draped in diamonds…although…I guess that wouldn’t suck. No, I need someone to crack the whip…someone to take me by the ears…look into my eyes…and tell me to focus…with real authority and conviction.

This morning, I made a plan for the day…..take the interstate to the mall….buy underwear at Macy’s lingerie sale….leave the mall WITHOUT going to any other stores….and go to McDonalds for a Caesar salad. How hard could that be?

While driving on the interstate, I noticed a road that veered off to the left. “I wonder where that goes?” I thought, as I careened across three lanes of traffic to exit left. “I didn’t need that third cup of coffee anyway,” I thought, as I wiped it off of my shirt. I got off the interstate, and turned onto a street that I was pretty sure went somewhere close to the mall. “OMG!….a DSW Shoe Warehouse!” I squealed with delight, as I whipped into the parking lot...however, it was not the mall parking lot.

I walked around in a shoe stupor for about an hour…clutching three pairs of sandals…trying to decide which ones I liked best…until I realized that all three pairs were black, and variations of the black sandals that I was already wearing. I put them back on the shelf and left.

Suddenly, I was as ravenous as a pot-head after a Grateful Dead concert. “Wow man, where did that imagery come from?” I thought. I noticed a café across the street…a “raw food” café called Bliss. I’d heard about the raw food craze, but had never been to a restaurant that served only uncooked food. So I decided to skip McDonalds, and go raw.

I was in the mood for something unusual and spicy. I asked the waitress to surprise me. I told her I liked Thai food, so she brought me a raw version of Pad Thai. I have no idea what was in it…looked like julienned and chopped vegetables with a peanut sauce….but it was delicious. It had just the right amount of spicy heat, was vegetarian, vegan, and gluten-free….and conjured up fond memories of afternoons at the old Babylon Café in Memphis….only the food was somewhat more complex and sophisticated. I sat there contently devouring my raw Pad Thai with chopsticks….grooving to Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, and Crosby, Stills & Nash….and trying to figure out where I was in relation to the mall.

Another hour later, I parked my car in front of Macy’s and ran in to buy underwear. “But wait!” I thought, as I headed for the lingerie department. “I wonder if the Anthropologie store here has that cute top I tried on at the Anthropologie store in Highland Park last week….only in my size?” I dashed out of Macy’s into the mall. I stopped by Urban Outfitters on the way to Anthropologie to try on tee shirts. Then I went into Sephora for a complimentary makeover, looked at jewelry in Barney‘s, walked thru Cartier and Louis Vuitton, and tried on a fabulous cocktail dress at Roberto Cavalli. Why? Because I could. I just couldn’t buy it. On the way back to Macy’s, I stopped at Paciugo for a scoop…ok, two scoops…of Mediterranean sea-salt caramel gelato. Orgasmic!

So today, my simple plan went totally awry….again. My spontaneous streak and lack of-self discipline spun out of control….again. But what a fabulous day! I’m relaxed and happy, I’ve got new undies, and I have a new lipstick from Sephora that Stevan (with an “a”) told me I must have because it’s “my color!” Maybe I don’t need a keeper after all. Maybe I just need a GPS…

C

In My Perfect World...

In MY perfect world...

I would make millions of dollars sitting around watching the Travel Channel and then I’d go to all of the places that interest me….

I would travel to all of those places first class, without having to worry about the plane getting struck by lighting (actually happened), sitting next to a sweaty, four hundred pound guy who is scared of flying and who wants to talk about it nonstop from Chicago to London (actually happened) or fear of a terrorist attack (hasn’t happened yet, however got detained once at a train station in Paris because of a bomb in a duffle bag in the ladies bathroom. I was never a suspect :). And I would arrive jet-lag-less and not have to stand in the customs line for hours (Heathrow…nightmare…brings me to tears just thinking about it) I’m just getting too old to deal graciously with the grief…

I would meet and talk extensively about art and life with Leonardo di Vinci, Michelangelo, Picasso, Rodin, and Vincent Van Gogh. They may have been sexually conflicted (Leonardo and Michelangelo), egotistical, misogynistic bastards (Picasso and Rodin), or just a psychological hot mess (Van Gogh), but my God, they were geniuses!

I would spend one night in the candlelit Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, laying on the floor, just staring at the magnificent mosaics on the domed ceiling.

All of my family and friends would live in the same city as I…preferably one with nice weather. And when I decide to move somewhere else, which I inevitably do, I could just take everyone with me.

Going to work would be “optional.” Don’t get me wrong…I like to work…I really do. It gives my life the structure and discipline that I am completely unable to maintain, left to my own devices. I just wish I could work less hours and make twice as much. And have six months of paid vacation a year, that I could take whenever I felt like it….

Bookstores wouldn’t be extinct. I don’t want a kindle! I want to curl up on the sofa , with a pot of good tea, and read a BOOK, turn the pages, use a bookmark, make notes in the margins. I know I can still get books online, but I don’t want to! I want to spend the afternoon browsing in a bookstore. And I know I can go to the library and browse. But I don’t want to take the book back in three weeks…I want to KEEP it!

I wouldn’t kill all of my plants except the cacti, which actually prefer the depravation and neglect.

Sweet tea, pizza, BBQ ribs, Italian meatball sandwiches at Jimmy’s, Meyer lemon panna cotta with berries, that chocolate/caramel brownie a la mode thing that my sister and I had at Café Eclectic last weekend, the entire menu at Mary Mac’s in Atlanta, and bacon, or anything cooked in bacon fat, would have zero calories, and be healthy and good for me….

The kitchen would clean itself up, for a change…

Happy Sunday! C

Carlos...for Carlos

I was on my way to work yesterday morning, stuck in gridlock hell on the interstate. Bored, hungry, and suffering from a nasty head cold, it’s needless to say my day wasn’t starting off well. Then, the song Everybody’s Everything, by Carlos Santana began to play on the radio. I pumped up the volume, and my mind drifted back to The French Quarter, New Orleans, circa mid seventies.

The weather was warm, but not the “face shoved into a sweaty armpit” sultry that is often the case with NOLA in late spring. We arrived early on a Thursday afternoon, my three girlfriends and I, ready to eat, drink and party. I pulled into the parking garage of our hotel, and the valet parking attendant opened the car door for me. He was polite, extremely attractive, and spoke with a heavy accent. We chatted for a moment, and I discovered that he had recently arrived in the US from Cuba. He was really sweet, and asked if we would like to go dancing one night with him and his friends. We responded that we might take him up on his offer at some point, giggled flirtatiously, and went on our way.

We spent the next few days doing what most young people do in The French Quarter….consumed dozens of oysters on the half shell and drank beer at Felix’s, sat on the curb outside of Central Grocery, ate muffalettas and drank more beer, and finished our evenings with café au lait and beignets at Café du Monde. We shopped during the day on Royal Street, and hit the bars on Bourbon Street at night.

On Saturday evening, we’d just finished a huge dinner at a fancy restaurant, and decided to go back to the hotel to change into more casual attire before walking the streets. The valet guy….his name was Carlos….was just finishing his shift, and asked if we were ready for our dancing gig. We decided “what the hell….how bad could it be? It would be an adventure….something new!”

And was it ever! Those guys showed us a side of New Orleans we had NEVER seen! Smoky clubs in dark, creepy alleys on the fringes of the quarter, Cuban cigars, Mojitos, Latino music with a beat that pulsated the crowd into a frenzy! It was fabulous! And Carlos….what a gentleman he turned out to be. He opened doors for me….stood up when I left the table and returned….held my hand as he guided me to the dance floor. We literally danced all night. Our last dance was to Everybody’s Everything.

Carlos lived nearby. “Are you hungry?” he asked as we exited the steamy club. “Starving!” I replied. “Come to my place, and I will make you Huevos Habaneros (eggs, Havana style) and coffee that will put Café du Monde to shame!” I sat barefoot and crossed legged on the kitchen table in his tiny, but very neat apartment, watching him whip up our feast. Eggs with onions, peppers, jalapenos, and tomatoes, sizzling in a skillet….strong, sweet black coffee in demitasse cups that belonged to his grandmother….the warm breeze ruffling the red kitchen curtains. It was sensory overload. He sat on the countertop, and we talked nonstop as we savored our meal. He told me stories of growing up in Cuba, about why he came to the US, and about how he wanted to be a great chef one day. And if those eggs were any indication, I’m sure he is!

He walked me back to my hotel as the sun was coming up. The street cleaners were washing off debris from the night before as we strolled down Bourbon Street. When we reached the hotel, he took my hand and gently kissed it. “You are a lovely lady,” he said. “You make me feel like a real person….not just a car parker.” “And you Carlos, make me feel like a lady,” I replied. We laughed and blew kisses to each other as he walked away. I never saw him again….no idea what happened to him.

So yesterday morning, after I finally made it downtown, I stopped at Café Brazil for breakfast. I ordered eggs, with onions, peppers, jalapenos, and tomatoes. I was in a much better mood! “Carlos, mi bello amigo, wherever you are, this is for you,” I whispered, as I took my first sip of strong, sweet, black espresso...C