Cougar City

I am of the “Friends” generation. I wish I could say that is the only reason I know what Courtney Cox is up to these days. But unfortunately I am keenly aware of her current starring role in “Cougar Town.” I don’t watch this new hit show, but I am quickly becoming familiar with the term Cougar.

I first heard it a few years ago from one of my friends in San Francisco. He said something about all the Cougars in Marin County. I thought he might have been referring to women who actually like to attack their dates, but he explained the older woman/younger man hook up. Why call them Cougars? It sounds demeaning. There isn’t a word for all the older men that run around with younger women. Furthermore, people have started calling all ladies over 35 that like to go out Cougars, whether they are on the prowl or not. What's the big deal?

I just got back from my girls' trip to Park City. I met up with six ladies from La Jolla for a long weekend. Our generous friend, Stephanie, hosted us at her fabulous condo (see "Deer Valley" post). I got to experience what life with six sisters would have been like if we had been born to parents that let us ski all day and stay up all night drinking and talking.

We ended up getting invited to a private party at one of the happening clubs in town, so we showed up in full force, decked out in our après ski finest. Most of the women at the bar were over thirty and having loads of fun. There were single women, divorced women and, like our group, married women. Maybe some were looking for a cub, but I honestly think most were just there to listen to live music, dance and hang out with friends.

Then it hit me, a pride of happy felines cutting loose and having a night out bothers some people. Maybe they are intimidated—fearing smart and sexy fauna that can slay anything in their path with a flick of their tail. Maybe they are disgusted—although I am not sure what is wrong with women that like to dress up, go out and buy their own drinks.

I think before naysyaers start slapping labels on things they don’t really understand, they should loosen up and celebrate finally being an age when you are too old to care what people think and still young enough to enjoy it all.

Roar.

Fame...I'm Gonna Live Forever

Scene: Sundance Film Festival, 1995. Two girls, one in colorful ski gear, one in all black, lounging around Stein Erickson Lodge, ordering “another” and enjoying live music. They are giggling, whispering and trying to look inconspicuous.

Dana (clearly an artist type from New York): I don’t want to go to the party tonight.

Lisa (decked out in purple North Face, looking like Suzy Chaffee): You have to! That’s why we’re here. You need to network.

Dana: It’s embarrassing. I think it will be enough to go to the dinner.

Lisa: No, we flew all this way, the producer and director are expecting you. We ARE going!

Dana: I hate you.

Lisa: You’ll thank me in the morning.

The first time Dana and I went to Sundance together was before either of us had children. She was a film editor and when one of her films would show at the festival, she would take me as her guest. I think she invited me mostly because we have fun doing just about anything together, but also because I faithfully watched many cuts of each of her films, I can keep up with her on the slopes, and generally am a pretty good wingman.

We were young and Dana thought it was painful to self promote. This is why artists have agents. I wasn’t her agent, but I cared about her career and it’s not like she was dragging me to medical sales conferences. We went to dinners and parties, and I got to enjoy sitting next to some seriously famous people for good food and fun conversation. I am not sure Diane Lane cared about my advertising job in L.A., or that Timothy Hutton thought my jokes about the 80’s were funny, but I was an honored guest at these events and I enjoyed those trips so much.

Cut to 2010.

Scene: Same two women, looking a little more stylish and definitely more mature in the same lounge at Stein Erickson Lodge. They are laughing and chatting with people in the bar. Dana leans over and whispers in Lisa’s ear.

Dana: Let’s not waste time.

Lisa: Right. (closing eyes to relax and listen to the music)

Dana: Lisa! What’s the mission? (she orders the question)

Lisa, sitting up straight and answering like a solider: Sell script!

Dana: That’s right. (she coos)

Lisa: Can’t we chill out for a little longer? I have wine left in my glass and my legs are still barking.

Dana: No. We need to get going. Let’s go get ready for dinner.

Lisa: I hate you.

Dana: You’ll thank me in the morning.

Dana continues to edit films on occasion, to keep herself close to the industry she is so passionate about, but now she is a writer. She has several really great scripts and is ready to shop them around. I am marveling at how far my coy friend has come. My little wallflower who once needed so much encouragement is now chasing me around town with a cattle prod barking, "What's the mission?!"

Vacation's All I Ever Wanted

When the boys heard I was going on a ski vacation without them they could not understand.

“Without us?” All by yourself? No kids???

“Yes.”

“Who are you going with?” Who could possibly be more fun than us?

“Your friends’ mothers.”

“To Utah?” Somewhere that requires packing and airplanes?

“Yep.”

“Mom! You can ski here. Why do you need to go that far? And leave us?”

So I can have a discussion more serious than who gets to sit next to me on the lift, tell jokes more sophisticated than riffs on bodily functions, and have après ski lounge time that involves more than keeping track of a mountain of ski gear and fetching ice cubes to cool down hot cocoa.

“Because it’s a vacation for me. A break from the day to day job of being a mom.”

They looked sort of surprised that I would need a break.

“I am going to miss you guys SO much! I will call you every night. Okay?”

“What time?”

Before happy hour, that’s for sure.

“Um, let’s see, with the time difference, how about right before your dinner time?”

“Okay. Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Twist the knife! Maybe if I have them clean their rooms before I leave, they can feel enough glee at seeing me go it won’t be too painful, and if I am really lucky they will start to whine and argue, so I can run, instead of skip, into the airport this afternoon.

R.I.P. Lizzie

First Born Prince has (had) two toads as pets. A true romantic, he was sure they were a couple and named them Lizzie and Rambo. I voted for Adrian and Rocky but didn’t win. Lizzie passed away at some point between New Year’s Day and this morning.

We had her boxed up and ready for a midday burial when I glanced over at the coffin and to my disgust, saw that the lid was askew and Lizzie’s body was missing. Lulu was laying on my bed, watching me, eyes at half-mast, looking suspiciously like she had just had a snack. What kind of cat eats already dead prey?

“Boys! Lulu got Lizzie’s body. Please find it! Today!”

Boys scurry around. I instruct them where to look. Thankfully, Lizzie turns up in one piece hidden under my bed. We also found a lost slipper, missing ski sock, two ping pong balls and some type of free snack voucher my older son was excited about.

Poor Lizzie. Not much peace for her at the mercy of a deranged clawless cat who thinks broccoli on the counter top is fair game. I gently tuck her little body into the cotton lined box, hope the ground outside isn’t too frozen and wonder if Rambo will miss her.

Have I mentioned the apples?

I meant to blog about the Cornell Apple Orchards last fall…but if I got around to everything on my To Do list I wouldn’t be trying to sneak in a post in between breakfast and the basketball game. No, I would be at the fireplace screen store, or calling the pest control people (critters in the attic!), attending a yoga class, or planning my spring garden.

The Kindergarten class went to the Orchards in October on a field trip and the reports from Charming Baby were so fabulous that I immediately took him, my older son and my best friend, when she was in town visiting, there. The boys hadn’t had their after-school snack yet, so they delighted the staff (mostly students and volunteers) with their ability to finish a full size apple sample of almost every variety--Cameo, Fuji, Gala, Golden Delicious, Gold Rush, Honeycrisp, Ida Red, Pacific Beauty, Red Delicious, and Rome.

I remember when I told a friend from La Jolla that I was moving to Ithaca, she got a far away look in her eye and said, “Mmmm, upstate New York. It’s worth moving there just for the apples.” I thought maybe she was recalling an afternoon she got really high and all the poor thing could get her hands on was a bag of apples, but, actually, now that I’ve tried the legendary fruit, I see she simply has good taste.

The big old barn where the Cornell Apple Orchards has set up its store is fun to poke around in, too. In addition to apples, pears, figs, and other in-season fruit, they have wool blankets from the Cornell Sheep Program, fresh pressed cider, maple syrup, local honey, apple butters, preserves, books, candles, Orchards clothing and lots more!

http://hort.cals.cornell.edu/cals/hort/about/cornell_orchards.cfm

Puppy Love

One of the dads at my sons’ school walks a puppy to drop-off and pick-up every day. That little dog is so darling—the Golden Retriever, I mean—oblivious to the cold, interested in everything and everyone, tail always wagging. There is also a mom who comes with either one finicky dog or another (she has two) but for some reason does not bring them at the same time. Even though they are wearing sweaters or little coats (always something new and different), they stand there shivering, looking scared and humiliated (the dogs, I mean). The owner yanks on their leash and instructs the school children to keep their distance. The kids wonder why those “puppies” are off limits (no one explains that they are full grown and temperamental).

So all the attention and petting goes to the dad and his furry, happy go-lucky friend. I wondered if the sweetness of his animal was due to breed or gender. The dad told me, “He’s a boy,” immediately giving the dog human characteristics. I asked if they chose a boy because he wanted more testosterone in the house (he has two daughters). He said no, they picked a boy because males tend to be friendlier—females can be loners, preferring to spend time in their own space whereas the males follow you around and given the choice, will sleep at your feet. He is a writer who works from home and wanted the company. How many dogs are named “Buddy?”

I thought about my human boys. Thank God I have the big, hardy, affectionate kind. I wouldn’t know what to do with a petite, fine, or overly sensitive child. I like to yell things like, “Get in the tub! Get out of the tub! Who cares what you wear to bed? Teeth inspection in five minutes!” from a reclined position in MY bath. No, if I had to coddle and fuss I don’t think I would be happy or successful as a parent. I am good at caring for my children as if they were lovable puppies. Lots of easy, short commands and plenty of healthy food, water and exercise. If I had girls, or a fussy breed, I wonder how much frustration and angst I would experience?

Whatever the case, even though I sometimes feel like I am being dragged to my death on a leash, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman

The boys found deer antlers in the yard. At first we were horrified and then reasoned with ourselves that it must be part of the growth process. My 4th grader confirmed our hypothesis after a quick browse on the web. (What did we do before Google? I remember explanations like, “God works in mysterious ways” or the popular redirection, “Go ask your father. He’s not busy.”)

Turns out, the male deer shed their antlers each year after mating season because they don’t “need them” anymore to attract the females or fight off the other males. Hmph. Even in the Wild Kingdom, it’s all about hooking up.

Here I am, trying to grow old gracefully, taking a few lessons from the ladies in Ithaca—let your gray show, spend more time on your brain than your butt, stuff like that. And those damn deer are outside making it all about the sex again!

Well, I guess I am more of a natural woman than I give myself credit for...