Sugar and Spice

 

"It’s not something we can just sweep under the rug as just another disturbing footnote in a sad election season. Because this was not just a “lewd conversation.” This wasn’t just locker-room banter. This was a powerful individual speaking freely and openly about sexually predatory behavior, and actually bragging about kissing and groping women, using language so obscene that many of us were worried about our children hearing it when we turn on the TV.

And to make matters worse, it now seems very clear that this isn’t an isolated incident. It’s one of countless examples of how he has treated women his whole life. And I have to tell you that I listen to all of this and I feel it so personally, and I’m sure that many of you do too, particularly the women. The shameful comments about our bodies. The disrespect of our ambitions and intellect. The belief that you can do anything you want to a woman.

It is cruel. It’s frightening. And the truth is, it hurts. It hurts. It’s like that sick, sinking feeling you get when you’re walking down the street minding your own business and some guy yells out vulgar words about your body. Or when you see that guy at work that stands just a little too close, stares a little too long, and makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

It’s that feeling of terror and violation that too many women have felt when someone has grabbed them, or forced himself on them and they’ve said no but he didn’t listen — something that we know happens on college campuses and countless other places every single day. It reminds us of stories we heard from our mothers and grandmothers about how, back in their day, the boss could say and do whatever he pleased to the women in the office, and even though they worked so hard, jumped over every hurdle to prove themselves, it was never enough.

Michelle Obama

I was going to write about Michelle Obama's wonderful speech in which she gave "Clinton's opponent" a beating while offering a rallying cry to reasonable men and women everywhere. The women in the audience loved it, as you heard these black voices saying : Aww HELL no!!  

You wonder if the man knows women have the vote now, and they can get to the polls: most women are not actually tied to their bed posts. 

The last paragraph of her speech resonated with me because upon reflection, none of my friends has  avoided at least one unpleasant or dangerous episode with a man who had more power than she did. 

I've had friends who were pinned against the wall by bosses, or asked to show their feet after work in the office, (foot fetishes exist, people) or followed down alleys; and lord knows, we've all seen many an open raincoat. On the night I made my debut I had to actually fight one off in the elevator at the Palace hotel. At first I thought it was just silliness from a drunk boy; but very quickly I was fighting him like I fought Andrew at age 8. But this time I was in a floor length gown and long white gloves. Of course I find something comical about everything...including this. Because after pushing him away and slapping his face with my gloved hand..I simply patted down my hair and shimmied my dress back into position. Then I went to the afterparty that I was -apparently- hosting. It was just a small delay in my evening. 

Or was it? Because when I told Thomas the story 30 years later, I almost wept. 

Weirdly the guy approached me at a restaurant years later to apologize. I knew exactly who he was; but i just looked him in the eye and said: I don't know you. Because I don't.

But today I will not dwell on such things because my heart is about to burst. Boo sent me all the emails the girls wrote back and forth as they were writing my song, and it just killed me. Everyone was trying to say what they thought was my essence..and I don't know who they are talking about...it was so kind.  My favorite was from Katie R..the ultimate bad ass Jewish no nonsense lawyer who has been talking about social justice forever. She was always like this- and were all blond and more prone to talking about nail polish. God she made us laugh as she scolded us for being unserious..for using spray deoderant that polluted, or going out more than once with an idiot. Anyway this is what she wrote: "Everything that needs to be said has been said, other than:  "Our Ellie is one very, very, smart blonde." 

As if all that love were not enough: We are now so deliciously close to the first girl president after 44 boy ones. (It's a girl!!)  So don't tell me things can't change- because it sure feels like they might.

As Frank Bruni said:

"Misogyny will play midwife to history. After being treated by Trump as if they’re disposable, women will dispose of him — at the urging of the first lady, in the service of the first female president. They will let him know that no matter how much money he has or how big a star he is, there are places where his tentacles can’t travel.

Not all the Tic Tacs in the world could sweeten that fate."

Now what do you say we go dance on the beach like Kate..? 

Hangovers are better with Brooke!

Ok these were just some that a friend sent me- I will post more when I get them... Mostly for KMH who missed the cake! 😢

Must put some of the more ludicrous memories down on paper: just off the top of my head-Javier dancing with every single woman, including the prima ballerina/pilates instructor, and then not being able to get here down from way above his little head....and many other shenanigans. Oh and as Thomas said: it is not a good party, unless an ambulance comes, so check that box too. Best part was the next morning de brief with the Connolly girls, and Brooke letting me "Trump your baby" with her as my model. After three hours sleep, it was a salve for an achy head.

More in a jiffy. 

Resistance is not Futile

There was a T shirt I saw once that said "No one is reading your blog." True that. But to quote an Exeter alumnus, and all around ray of Sunshine, Gore Vidal: "Write something. Even if it's a suicide note."

I want a record of this time.. Maybe for F, maybe for no one.

So here is the takeaway: F is happy, definitely being pushed to his limits, glad to see us- embarrassed by our adoration and laughter, but ok. The bigger story was the full circle moment of MMB and Phillips Exeter Academy- a place that took her kids away and then spat them out. After all, this was my father's demon- this Herculean regret that he wanted his kids to extinguish for him. And that pissed her off.

But the other night we took a walk around in the moonlight, and she saw it for the first time in 40 years. We looked up at dorm windows and the lives within... And she turned to me and said 

"Your father used to say: great schools hum.."  "Can you hear the hum..?" 

And I could hear it-the buzz generated by that effort.  Granted, it's not all sweetness and light: brick walls that have been around for 250 years have a lot of blood and tears on them. But the poignancy of the quest gets me: the unrelenting, brazen, idealistic, mono-focused attempt to perfect education, and thereby improve the human condition.

 I know, I know it sounds like bullshit.. But it is a constant refrain here. You can't help feel a little jazzed.

MMB was as amusing as you would expect-whether she is visiting Mars or Exeter, she acts as if the world is not her oyster, but her private zoo.  It's like she thinks she and I are surrounded by a sound proof bubble and no one can hear what she is saying in our top secret language. So bubbly preps walk by and she says, "there go the femme fatales!" or...."That guy is out of central casting!!! so smart obviously!"....or "WHAT DO YOU THINK THEY ARE FIGHTING ABOUT????!!!!" I repeatedly pointed out that they were inches from us, and most likely facile with the English language, even if they were "Chinese".

But she and I really did have fun....and she was (mostly) well behaved.
Somehow we managed to get out without a major bill for damages at the Bed and Breakfast run by gay men where we stayed- MMB is nothing if not a bull in a china shop.  In case you didn't know this already: in the pantheon of women who are revered by gay men, my

mother is a respectable third behind Barbra Streisand and Cher.  They absolutely looooooovvvve her. And a bed and breakfast-a business model that is creepy to most normal people (who wants to eat breakfast and sleep next to strangers?) is nirvana for her. All that adoring audience at any time of day. Privacy is for sissys.

I hate to end this entry on a sour note, but I feel on the verge of tears that this election is so close.!? I turned to Thomas this morning and said...I need a financial hedge against him winning. So I suggested buying some puts (options) so if she wins, I happily lose a little money. But if he wins, I will make some to donate to the resistance army that we will need to live the next four years.....He is now on the phone in loud discussions in German about how exactly to execute this plan. I am telling you this shit is serious.

The only bright spot is there are pockets of staunch resistance to ignorance and bigotry. I just spent three days at one.

More photos tomorrow!! They are on my mother's camera.

GO  HILLARY!!!!! GOOOOOO

Below, proof of life:

MMB wanted me to post...

Her name tag has swag. If they only knew....

(Wife of class of 52...parent 80/82 etc) 

The return of MMB

Tucked in at the new Inn run by gay men; and may I say Bravo..! Lots of nice little touches that would make Javier proud...

It has been a long, lovely and amusing day, and I will share all in the morning. MMB has not been here since 1976 (!) and it is clearly a full circle moment- a healing of some kind. 

But for now, my four poster bed awaits X 

The Road Less Traveled ...

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers."

M. Scott Peck 

God bless Scott Peck: PEA alumnus who, it should be noted, had an unhappy experience at Exeter, with its "Spartan atmosphere and almost vicious adolescent culture". 

Oh well. 

So we completed the hand off- F was nervous until he saw his friends, and then he seemed really happy. It helps that his room is twice the size as last year with a nice view over a tree lined path. We set up his bed and put away his clothes and he set up his printer; which was causing him problems. Then in walks this adorable kid, a friend I had never met, who says modestly that he might be able to perhaps, maybe, help. Great I say! Yes well it's kind of my job he said, I'm the tech consultant for the dorm (NASA more like it Thomas said). 

See photo below of him and F and some flying dried chicken. 

The chicken is part of a larger story- a symbol of the desperate attempt on the part of his mother to mother him from afar. I bought power bars and enough band aids for a preschool of blind kids; I bought water even though there is a water cooler directly in front of his door.

Most inexplicably, I bought many tubes of lotion for psoriasis: a condition Frederick does not have. I bought four rolls of tape; scented soaps; moisturizer for normal skin; and a kite. Then I put four decks of cards and a domino set in a drawer with a note on the outside that admonished him for not playing with them.

 "Stop playing on your phone!"

It wasn't until bought chicken jerkey in preparation for weeks on the space station, that I noticed I was losing it. And so I threw it at the boys while snapping this photo.

It just seemed like the right thing to do. 

On my jog I witnessed a family moving their son in: the sweetest, saddest tableau of a child leaving home; while the parents avoided their grief by focusing on carrying his fan. But unlike me, the mother was in full hijab. I was so taken by this and what must have been a terrifying moment - putting their kid into the arms of strangers- that I thought I should say hello. A one woman blonde welcome committee. Then I noticed for the first time that day, that I was in a neon orange jog bra under a see-through shirt; and maaaaybe I was in fact what they were afraid of. That their terror was of large, slightly past their prime blondes in orange bras. So I didn't.

(But ya just know Martha would have..)

The actual goodbye was as God damn sad as the one last year.

I really forced myself not to cry, as did F, and then he got on his skateboard and rode off into a literal sunset. It does hurt, I'll tell you. Luckily I remembered (I always do) this wonderful quote from -  Rabbi Menachem Mendel:

"There is nothing so whole as a broken heart" . 

True that. In fact all weekend I had moments of inspiration and clarity; and I even felt real pride in us humans. (And yes I watched the shit show of Donald Trump with Matt Lauer). 

I'm proud of our wee search for knowledge; I'm proud we fix each other's printers and smile at scared people. I'm proud some of us take genuine care of our friends. 

I'm proud of pine nuts and penicillin! Of duets with clapton and b.b. king! I'm

proud of pop chips and wifi on planes! And at this moment I'm proud and grateful for the song Boogie Wonderland. It is, much like guacamole- the cure for many broken things. 

Love yew.

....When the moon peeks over the mountains

Baby I'm gonna be on my way
I'm gonna roam this mean old highway
Until the break of day...

BB King 

 

Wrap up

The above photograph I should title "the happiest man in the world today". I took it of our unknown neighbor on our last evening  in Lech. It was really warm and you could see the bliss surrounding him: a man with no shirt, no wife, one beer and a book. 

Sad to leave especially after our send off picnic (the one where the mountains play.) Gerold had to do it solo (Katia was away) and yet it was perfection. He even had music..some sort of Woody Guthrie type thing by the fire. 

Typical dream guest list too: two prominent artists (including Axel Huette) and some English dog supply Titans. The boys jumped in the swimming hole and I took a photo; but my phone was dirty and it turned out badly.  Never one to be defeated, I went over to the artists and asked (demanded) if they would help me edit.

Too funny- and thrilling to watch: they went into a very serious mode looking at my dirty iPhone picture- Like this was going on the cover of national geographic.

Both immediately rejected any idea of a filter (not out of principle, just didn't like it) and then told me to crop Thomas out.. See below for result.

English dog people started this company together and are the undisputed kings of dog supplies... So I was free to drone on about Albert in a way I have never done about Frederick. Puppy pictures, bragging about his speed, the works.

iPhone editors above; Gerold building us a chair, below. 

Speaking of bliss we somehow got upgraded to first class in BA and we appear to have our own condo on board. I might not get off. 

London was fine, but the gulf Arabs have moved in so we were quickly relegated to status of nobodies. One tot - a 25 year old citizen of Quatar,  brought with him 8 cars: various flavors of Ferrari, and one Bugatti Veyron- one of only three in the world with a list price of 2.7 million dollars. Five of these beauties were parked in front of the hotel, and people stood all day looking at them as if the cars were celebrities. It's hard to imagine the cost or need of flying 8 cars to London for your holiday, but it served as a great way to feel good about ones own shopping habits. 

F and I went along to the usual contemporary art parade with Thomas- and later I tried on $9,000 pants at Harrods (I figured my Quatari friend would expect nothing less.. Alas I will not be wearing them at the b day).

(F taking it all in..) 

This morning I woke really early and headed to the gym where I met my fellow Americans..(USA is number one at hotel gym attendence) But before I did, I ordered a coffee by the tiny hotel roof pool; and someone asked me if I would care to have the roof pulled back. Why yes I said, yes I would...! And then I was presented with near perfection: a dawn coffee, sipped alone under a blue sky. 

So summer 2016 is now officially closed; PEA drop off looms. Reality must be swallowed; but God willing, not for long 💃

Ellie out. Xx 

Lech Sunshine

 

The sun has come out-resulting in a blazing 78 degrees here in Oberlech. I'll explain in the morning why Margaret and I are on our rear ends on a hill that does not seem steep; and why Thomas is behind me on a hike. Mysteries all. 

Happy Birthday HF!!

So we had 24 hours of food and sun and then more food and then insanely good red wine; and ended with rather weepy toasts. Thomas and F were asking if we blubbered this much at her 49th, because really all that happened was she got one day older.  Point well taken. 

Although we weren't the whole squad- we four did a reasonable job of holding her hand on her 18,262 day on earth;

while simultaneously mooching off her hospitality.

That's just what we do.  

Typical of her to edit herself out (below).

Split

 

We had a tour of Split that was the highlight of the trip: toured an early Christian graveyard and a Roman palace that is still in use. Honestly it was one of the cooler things I've ever seen. Emperor Diocletian  - the only Roman emperor to retire and not get murderd- built this enormous thing on the water for his retirement years. After he died, the masses kind of moved in and never left.

So today it has people living within its walls; as well as stores and restaurants. Much of the Roman part was torn down to put up Middle Ages era housing, so you have contemporary with Middle Ages with Roman.

You got to see it to believe it.

Then in the evening we took a sail in a setting sun and a mother dolphin and two babies frolicked next to the boat. I was in the stern shooting the breeze with the crew (I troll as you know for ship sinking stories..) and the captain pointed this out. I was so unwilling to break the spell that I didn't yell out to F who was playing chess nearby. He is, understandably, kind of mad about this. Dolphins are a big deal.

It never ceases to amaze me how being on water makes you forget any land related troubles you have: so re entry is always hard... But am presently in the Tuscan countryside in the most beautiful house I have ever seen here (heather rented it for her birthday); so survive we shall. Pictures soon.

Xx

Leo on the boom

Medieval house built on Roman ruins with today's laundry. 

Marco Polo

Sorry, got distracted there... Below some photos. Two more days only 😢

Rosie on the tender above. 

F doing Math at sea 

Dubrovnik above and below

Korcula (supposedly where Marco Polo was born) above. An example of a week without using a brush.

Bora Bora

I apologize for the quickly written entry last night; but I needed to get the (albeit mediocre) photos up before sleep. 

So we experienced the Bora- a north/northeasterly wind common in the Adriatic. As long term bloggies recall, the below Beaufort scale categorizes storms.  One knot is equal to 1.15 miles per hour. 

Based on the above, we found ourselves in a "fresh gale" with occasional "whole gale" gusts. The sails came down pretty quickly- and you may ask why? Well I figure it is a combination of having charterers in their 80s who need to stay in one piece at least until the bar bill is paid; combined with a man sailing someone else's 15 million euro boat. Something like that.

As many of you know, I have taught my child to feel as I do about stormy weather. Thunder and lightening; wild winds; huge seas- these are ecstasy when you are warm and protected.

 If you cant hear the dragon scream every once in while, how will you ever learn you are safe from it?

So each of us celebrated in his own way: Thomas taking up position at the stern; F battening down the hatches (the crew secretly following behind doing it properly) as if preparing for Christmas morning; I walking behind the Frenchiesinwhite on the increasingly wobbly deck, interviewing them about exactly how terrifying this would be.... for the blog purposes of course-I wanted a Beaufort scale of nail biting. 

My mother in law is genuinely terrified of big weather on a boat, and so i sat near her and drank tea (before my brother in law got the idea that pirates drink rum). The crew asked us if we wanted this sheet of plastic up on the sides to protect against water splashing us, and of course we declined. (Pirates need to see the sea.)

Sure enough we got absolutely creamed by one wave coming in one side, and then the other. Eva was drenched. But she couldn't get up, so she sat gamely holding a pillow for warmth. 

What she doesn't know of course, is this is no more scary than the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland. Sure you bounce and get wet and someone is singing about rum. No, what's scary is bouncing around in the Pacific Ocean in high winds in a 25 foot sail boat with a hot tempered amputee captain. That's scary. This is heaven. 

We had a little trouble finding a port in he storm though- a place to anchor that was sheltered. The one we found was good enough so the crew let out many yards of

anchor so the boat would face the wind at all times, and we had a fairly normal dinner. 

Thomas predicted we would sleep like babies with the howling wind. Alas, this was not to be. When I woke in the night, I  it was so loud on deck with the creaking and moaning that I thought the crew was up there fixing something. 

Rosie acts as captain when they sail across the Atlantic, and she says once they had a four day storm with lightening that was so loud she couldn't sleep worrying about which noise to worry about. And this was the role I played last night; lying there in my little tank top: wondering if the boat would hold, wondering if I would have to save Frederick; wondering how this would affect the croissant count at breakfast. 

Bora still lingering - Battening down the hatches as we speak.

Big Day

Well this is a first. We had big (very big) winds. 

For a little perspective, 25 knots is a rather windy day in San Francisco. Hurricane winds start at around 62 knots; today we briefly reached 50. But keep in mind, the pressure grows exponentially, so 50 knots is four times the pressure of 25.

(In laymen terms, the crew stops smiling at 35. )

At first we sailed, and then the captain started swearing in French and all the men in white started scrambling and next thing we know, Rosie the Italian first mate, is up the mast releasing some line that was stuck. (In gale winds no less.)

The photos below show a close up of how small she really looked up there. 

Obviously I worship her.

Equally obvious was our need for rum when the anemometer read 40. (See Alex and me playing the role of Pirates below.) 

Alas, the sea is impossible to photograph, so it doesn't look ferocious. But what a force it is. 

The wind is howling again outside my bed; like a dragon calling for her children. 

Xx

Rosie and me when it calmed a bit

D and A when sails were still up