Still here in no man’s land. Still shaking in my boots.

I made a seder of sorts yesterday. My nephew Jimmy and his family came since they don’t live far from here. I think the town they live in is called “Civilization”. Maybe it was named that because IT HAS CABLE.

They were loving this house though. They were looking at the horses and playing endlessly with the dogs.

I really should have listened to Terry when he tried to tell me how the talking toilet works because 12 year old Jacob tried to use it and it squirted him in the face.

I know I sound like a broken record but toilets they decide should be high tech and TV’s not so much?

I have one more night and then I go home. I’ll just pray that no one breaks in and kills me tonight.

On one hand even if they do they won’t be able to find me in that bed with 3 dogs and 2 cats. On the other hand I should be easy to spot with every light in the house on.

Does anybody know how the finale of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills went? Did Fay get her comeuppance?

It’s my second day here with the animals.

I figured I’d get up at 4 am since there were 3 dogs and a cat standing on my chest anyway.

You can’t just let them out. You have to stand outside with them yelling so if there are any coyotes around they will think twice before eating any of my brood.

I know they are capable of doing that because  the day I got here the dogs brought in a deer leg that they had found on the grass. You read it right, a whole leg. No deer attached.

And if I wasn’t nervous enough, Shelby, the creative genius who does the incredible drawings for this blog came over yesterday and said ” Aren’t you nervous being alone here? The place is so isolated. Feel free to call me any time of the day or night. I can be here in three minutes” She thought for a second and said  “maybe four”.

I’m thinking “4 minutes, just enough time for some maniac to gut and skin me.”

Plus the cat must figure that I’m not that strict a disciplinarian because  even though he’s not allowed up there, he spends his days on the kitchen counters and every time I pass him he jumps on my neck.  I thought it was cute when I saw him do it to Steph’s husband Terry but I gotta say it scares the crap out of me.

But the house is gorgeous. My nephew Terry is an amazing architect and the house has just been totally renovated. It has beautiful grounds, a fabulous kitchen, artistic stone walls done by a real craftsman, and each bathroom is a work of art. I already told you about the talking toilet.

Without cable you can take the whole place and shove it up your ass.

Dr Phil has been on repeats all this past week because of March Madness.

Today I’m going out of town for 4 days so I wonder if I should post my best loved blogs for those days. Would it be the one where I couldn’t find my pants? How about when I take pi to the 342nd numeral? Or is the most important one the one where I explain levitation?

Actually it won’t be any of these.  I’ll be spending the days with 3 dogs, either 2 or 4 cats( they’re slippery little bastards), 2 donkeys and 2 horses. I  can’t even imagine that one or more of these guys won’t piss me off to the point of having to whine out my complaints via the internet. And since there won’t be any TV there I’ll have even more time on my hands than I usually do.

Did I also mention that at 5 p.m. every day I’m expected to go down the driveway and put 11 piles of grain out in a circle so the deer can eat it.

Steph told me that even though the 11 deer will be there waiting for me I am not to speak or make eye contact with any of them.

I remember one time when dave did an arrangement for Frank Sinatra. Everyone in the studio was told to stay out of the hall so that when Old Blue Eyes came in he wouldn’t have to look at them.

About 1/2 hour before Mr Rat Pack’s expected arrival, dave called me in a panic. He had forgotten to bring the original demo tape of “LA Is My Lady” to the date and Frankie’s people insisted on having it returned so the songs couldn’t be leaked.

I ran out, jumped in a cab and rushed to the studio. dave met me in the hall just as Frank and his entourage arrived.

Frank’s head spun around when he saw us there and you could see the shock on his face at this breach of security. He didn’t say anything though and just kept walking.

Since I dodged a bullet that time ( get it? dodged a bullet? Frank Sinatra, the mob? bullets?), I won’t make the same  mistake again.

Those deer can be dancing the jig and they won’t get so much as a peek from me.

Last night I was sitting in my chair minding my own business thinking that not much is doing when I get an email from David.

The subject : Lucky to be alive!!

Been in Beth Israel ER for 3 hrs. I fell in the gap getting off the 6 train at Union Sq.  Luckily some good Samaritans pulled me out before the train left and tore my leg off. Just got out of ex ray and in hopes that it is only a very bad bruise. Think I’ll live but will be needing some vicodin.

I immediately called him and  offered to come down but his son was with him and they were leaving the Hospital and going to get something to eat.

When I got up I sent him an email telling him to call when he got up and I went to get him his favorite breakfast, an everything bagel with cream cheese.

When  got back he was up and I went over there.

I fully expected him to be somewhat chastened by his close brush with death and dismemberment and maybe be a better person as a result.

I was encouraged by his first words,

“There’s a bullet out there that will find me one night but that night was not last night”

The fact that he didn’t say it in John Wayne’s voice added to my hopefulness.

But those hopes were quickly dashed. He proceeded to tell me all about the different ethnic groups  that were clogged into the ER wasting the doctor’s time when they should have been caring for his fully tax payed for hematoma.

Well he didn’t really know it was a hematoma until after the ex ray but one thing he did know was that a WASP’s hematoma trumps a gang members bullet wound in any arena. In his descriptions he spoke in what he believed to be the speech cadence of each of them in case I  wasn’t hip to the articles of fruit and vegetables titles that he gave to each minority present.

But as always I will look past his shitty personality to the sweet heart that supported and comforted me in my time of need even though I’m a kike.

One disappointment after another. But like my very good friend, Elton John says “I’m still standin”

Here’s something that surprises me.I got my first rejection of my book submission. It’s not the rejection, it’s the fact that it didn’t get me down one bit. In fact I took it better than the Harry Reems thing.

Mainly because my niece Julie, who writes like a dream, said she got a few rejections too before her huge successes. And also because writing this blog is what gives me something to look forward to every day. Anything else is gravy.

Also you know how I’m always having epiphanies? Well I had another one.

Women of my generation were raised to believe that not having a husband was a failure. Maybe not all women but certainly the ones in my family.

If you recall when dave first left I was terrified because I wouldn’t have a person of my own. I couldn’t say “we” like or don’t like something.

I have always had a boyfriend and later a husband. I truly never thought of myself as a single entity. In periods that I was alone I was just “in waiting” for the other part to complete me.

Well without even realizing it I have become fully formed. I noticed the other day that I am happier than I’ve ever been. I wake up in the morning and my day only consists of what only I want to do and I like it.

In fact the thought of bringing someone else in whose opinion I’d have to consider seems very unappealing.

I’m not saying I’d never want anyone else in my life, just that I don’t want anyone who’s going to want me to take care of him. I’d want someone with his own direction and interests who wouldn’t count on me to make him whole.

Maybe that’s why losing Harry was such a bummer. He had a career and interests of his own and I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a sailboat.

I don’t like sailboats.

I may not be a good Jew.

Although I feel Jewish in my bones, I never go to Shul so what makes me feel Jewish in the other parts of me is my partaking of the Jewish rituals and pulling in others to learning that our way is best. I believe that that falls under the heading of proselytizing.

My most successful inductee thus far was Miss Liz, the most waspy wasp I’m ever likely to meet. In fact early in our friendship I remarked that she and her parents were really fancy, like the Kennedys and I thought she’d faint dead away for lumping her in with those peasants.

When I first met her she refused to discuss the price of anything. If you asked her what  a new sweater set her back she’d actually swoon. Buy anything at a discount? Wouldn’t happen.

But after 15 years of her never missing a Seder and hearing me brag about things like my $350 Ralph Lauren scarf that I purchased for  (drumroll) $99 I was well under way to putting a kink in her high toned armor.

Once I even brought her to Brooklyn to buy curtains in a Hassidic store. She did stick out like a tulip in a bowl of carrots and she wondered why the salesman in the yarmulke showed her several choices without once looking her in the eye but I could tell she felt very “ethnic”.

Here’s the problem. This will be the second Passover that she won’t be in New York.  I’m so afraid she’ll backslide and next time I see her she’ll be saying “shan’t” and her pinky will be up.

I have a plan though. I’m going to go to New Mexico and work on my dream of making an all Yiddish speaking Santa Fe.

David says that I should try to make more friends.

He says he’s sick of hearing about the same old people over and over. He also thinks that the fact that I spend so much time with my family is pathetic.

I’ve been mulling this over. I do spend time with a limited amount of people but that’s because I only want to be with those people.

I can’t think of one person I’ve had lunch or dinner with in the past year that I didn’t really like and after one glass of wine you can include the waiters and waitresses in that.

I did have an epiphany the other day that even though I thought I really know people, clearly I don’t.

I used to worry about dying because I was afraid that dave would be devastated and couldn’t function without me.

We once had an argument about who loved the other one more. Both of us thought the other loved more. My theory at the time was that either we both felt very loved or neither of us loved the other one at all. Naturally I said that as a joke. Now I”m thinking hmmmmm.

I have a good day planned today. My sister is coming down and she, Julie, Violet and I will hang.

I wrote that yesterday. It was a good day and today will be even better. My sister is still here and we’re going to Costco to buy a vat of Advil, a barrel of olive oil and a crate of toothpicks.

Yesterday Julie came over for lunch. I made a lovely salad.

We were sitting there chewing the fat (don’t all you young punks think that there was fat in my salad) when I suggested that we play cards.

About 15 years ago or more Julie  had graduated from NYU, with honors I might add, and had moved out of her parents home into a studio apartment. She worked for her dad for awhile and then took some time off to perfect her writing and  “find herself” which she did in my apartment every day .

She and her dog, Otto (a prince if ever I’ve seen one) would walk over to my house and we’d have lunch, play Spite and Malice,  walk our dogs, mine was Harry, play cards again with Judge Judy in the background until dave came home and he either took us out to dinner or I’d cook.

That was our week and I have to admit it was a golden time. But life got in the way. Julie got a job at Pop Up Video and met Paul and the only weekly visitor I had was Otto on Thursdays because Julie had mental patient after work and it was too long a time for him to be alone.

So when I suggested we play cards yesterday it was really a blast from the past.

When I dealt Julie said she wasn’t sure she even remembered how to play. Neither was I but as soon as we looked at the  cards not only did the game come back to us but all the things we did to irritate each other jumped in.

Julie, when she was winning burst out in Jim Carey’s voice “Somebody stop me now!” and when I was drawing from the pile I’d pray “Please God if you never grant me one more wish, let me pick a seven”

We couldn’t help but talk about where we were in our lives when last we played that game.

I was happily married and knew I always would be plus dave and I were doing a lot of vocal records then so I was pretty successful at writing lyrics.

Julie was in limbo. She’d come to me every day for comfort because she had no idea where her life was going and she just wasn’t ready to start it. She wondered if she could ever make a living at writing and if she’d ever have a family.

When I see where we were then and where we are now I’m saying that that bitch better have me over to her house every day for lunch, dinner and Judge Judy.  And cards.

You’ll be relieved to know that I found my black pants.

They tried very hard not to be found, hiding in a part of my closet that I never look in. I know they were laughing at me when I emptied my drawers over and over again. But the last laugh was on them. I was too smart and they got careless.

I was taking out the garbage and obviously they thought I was leaving for the day so when I came back in and I heard them ordering pizza from Patsy’s, they were as good as caught.

This taught me an excellent lesson about Twitter. You Twitter people listen to everyone but me.

My niece Julie was raving on Twitter about her Bissell machine that cleans dog piss. She had no ulterior motive. She just has three dogs that love to pee and this machine she got changed her life and she wrote about it.

So what happens? Bissell reads her tweet and sends her a vacuum. Ab-so-lute-ly free.

I write a whole blog about how much I love my Eileen Fisher pants and how I spent money I didn’t have to buy them and what did Eileen Fisher do? Nada.

Forget giving me new pants, did they even send me a discount coupon to replace the ones I lost a little cheaper?

Well since the pants were so stupid I got them back anyway no thanks to you Ms Fisher.

I’d start writing about how sad it is that I still have an ipad 1 and an iphone 4  but there’s no point.

Is there sweet Apple?

Nuthin much happenin’ here.

On my way home from Stephanie’s yesterday I did get stopped for speeding. Did you hear that Julie? Steph?

They’re always saying that I drive so slowly that if I ever hit someone with my car I’d just shove them down the block. Well you don’t get stopped for driving too slowly. Well maybe you do but I didn’t.

Nope, 45 in a 30 mile zone. That’s practically flying.

The officer was a sweet pretty woman who asked me why I was in Newtown since I my car was from NYC. I told her I was visiting my niece. She asked where she lived and I told her that.   I was trying to figure out a way to mention that my husband left me after 36 years of marriage, a sure fire get out of jail free card when she asked for my license and registration and went back to her car. She came back a little while later and said she only gave me a warning. Maybe all that flinging myself around and banging on my steering wheel while she was gone crying “Why me?” was unnecessary.

Wait, did I say nothing much happened yesterday? I forgot that I was this close (-) to saving David’s life yesterday.

I was leaving my apartment at around 9 am when I noticed his newspapers still outside his door. That never happens. I looked at them for a minute and thought about ringing his bell but then good sense took over me. What if he was still sleeping? He’d really be mad if I woke him up and he never likes to see me in the morning.

Cocktail hour, maybe.

I stepped on the elevator and texted him ” r u ok?”

No answer.

The elevator reached the lobby and I was just about to step out and start my day when I said to myself “What if I leave and he is injured or sick? Liz would be so mad at me” so I went back up. When I got back to my floor I looked out and his newspapers were gone. He obviously wasn’t dead.

I got proof of that later when he texted me back “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Boaters always tell harrowing stories about being caught in a fog. dave and I used to say that all fog stories are the same. If you’re there to tell it then the story is, first you were lost in the fog and then you weren’t.

So to all you new writers out there, if you can’t think of anything to say you can always pull “first David was dead and then he wasn’t or I almost got a ticket and then I didn’t ” out of your ass.