Learning to ski when I turned 40 was ambitious. And stupid. I’m sure others do it successfully, but I’m not one of them. We went to the right place to learn – Breckenridge, Colorado – and I dutifully enrolled the kids and me in ski school. They took to it like penguins to ice. Me? I flipped and floundered and twisted and writhed. When I charged down the mountain, it was beautiful. When finesse was required (the lift, bumps, turns), I was lost. Continue reading
“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.” Samuel Johnson made this observation about his beloved hometown in 1777. I feel that way about New York, New York – a city so big they had to name it twice. There’s always a new neighborhood to explore or event to attend and I simply can’t get enough of the people who live, work and visit this terrific town.
The exam had gone extremely well. Dr. Grewal scribbled notes, nodded frequently, and made satisfied “uh-huh” noises, indicating that I was in perfect health and would live to 107. But I began to sense that something was not quite right as she sat at her little desk, spinning the dials on a cardboard wheel. Finally she looked up and delivered the bad news, “You could lose some weight.”
She said it nicely and in an encouraging manner. But what I heard was, “Cathy. You’re fat.” Continue reading