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Search results for: leslie

Me and My Fitness Bracelet, Together Forever

04 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

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Tags

calorie burning, Fitness bracelets, losing weight

leslie fitness
BY LESLIE LEWIS

Recently I gave in to societal and family pressures and purchased “FB”, a fitness bracelet with a tracker inside to record my fitness and health stats. After syncing the tracker, I could view my info on my computer or Smartphone.

“FB” quickly replaced the couch as my BFF, coach and confidant. I started zealously tracking everything possible:my sleep patterns, water intake, activity time, and calories. Soon, however, my seemingly innocuous new friend began to show its other face.

One morning, after days of streamlined eating I happily looked forward to reviewing my success, but it smirked at me malevolently. I’d been ingesting way too many fat grams each day. Also, although “FB” input my steps and sleep patterns automatically, my food and water intake and activities were not. Slavishly logging my intake began biting chunks out of my day and I ignored my friends and lengthening “to do” lists.

“FB”’s mesmerizing effect was strongest when it came to tracking the steps I took each day. A maniacal happy face popped up when I reached the preset target of 10,000, and I received a virtual prize. Soon, I began to crave these noncaloric goodies. On days when I didn’t reach 10,000 steps, “FB” noncommittally reported how many I had taken, but I knew what it really thought of me. I began aimlessly tramping about the house and inventing errands within walking distance to win “FB”’s approval.

Like a parolee’s ankle monitor, my fitness bracelet knew my status, everywhere and at all times. There was no escaping it. Worse, I couldn’t bear the thought of it looking into my soul and being disappointed in me. Ask for a caramel latte with whipped cream? I could almost hear “FB” bang down the gavel and sneer, “motion denied”!

Was I doomed to trudge down the conveyor belt of life, frantically tapping in grams, ounces and calories? And then it happened. One step on the scale and the sun broke through the clouds, birds began to sing and flowers to bloom. I had lost 5 pounds! Giving “FB” a kiss, I ran down the street to ask a neighbor if I could walk her dog.

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Up With Summer Toes

21 Monday Jul 2014

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Leslie Lewis, Pedicures, Toenails

BY LESLIE LEWIS

IMG_1511

One of my favorite harbingers of summertime is the summer toe. Freed from their winter corsets, toes begin peeping out towards the end of spring. In Southern California, where I live, this usually happens in late February or March, while the unfortunate digits in northern climes remain captive for several more weeks.

This is the time of year when I most indulge in that girly ritual called the pedicure. (PC aside: presently enjoyed by both sexes.)  Now, a pedicure can make me feel noire like Hedy Lamarr, or sexy like Josephine Baker (dark red). Or maybe I’m sweet and innocent (pink). As a fashionista, I may choose among gray, navy, and taupe. But the summertime pedicure is simply fun and happy. It’s Caribbean Blue, Caipirinha Green, or Jacaranda Lilac. It’s matte white, highlighting dark skin, or jet-set coral, boarding a yacht.

I take my summer-toe attitude with me wherever I go at this time of year. It’s equally at home in the Apple store as at the beach. It goes perfectly with poolside pina coladas and sandy margaritas. I may not wear a bikini, but my summer toes still look spicy with thongs (sandals).

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Years Disappear When Family Shows Up

14 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by WS50 in Confessional, Men

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confessional, Family reunion, Frank Terranella, Men, The Write Side of 50

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

Cousins Joe and

Cousins Joe and Kevin.

After more than half a century on the planet, the odds are that each of us has made some friends with whom we have lost touch for many years. The amazing thing is that when we finally get together, often it seems like no time has passed at all. I found out recently that the good-friend phenomenon extends to some family members as well.

Those who read this blog regularly may remember that in 2013, after 40 years, I met up with my cousin in Denmark who shares the same name . Well, it so happens that he has two brothers, Joe and Kevin, whom I also have not seen for long periods of time. I last saw my cousin Joe in 1987, and my cousin Kevin in 1977. There was no reason for the lack of personal contact – we were all just living our lives. Our common grandparents had died, and we just lost touch.

So when my cousin Joe’s wife Loretta contacted me via Facebook a few years back, it was a pleasant surprise. Joe had married Loretta after the last time I had seen him, so Loretta and I had never met. But she found me on Facebook, and we kept in touch that way.

Then, in December 2013, Loretta let me know she was planning a surprise 65th party for Joe. She didn’t expect me to come. She was just hoping I would write a message that she would place in a book of good wishes she was preparing to give Joe for his birthday. But I recognized that we are all at an age when we can’t be sure there will ever be another opportunity to get together. Illness or other impediments might make it impossible sometime soon. So after talking it over with my wife, we decided to fly for the weekend from New Jersey down to Charlotte, North Carolina, where Joe and Loretta make their home.

We were booked to fly down early on Saturday morning, and home on Sunday night.

That Thursday night, a snowstorm hit New Jersey. On Friday, we dug out from the six inches of snow and packed our bags. Saturday morning we awoke to a temperature of 8 degrees and headed to the airport with our fingers crossed that the flight would not be canceled. It turned out that not only did the flight leave on time, we arrived early. The 38 degree temperature we were greeted with in Charlotte seemed tropical by comparison.

That night we found our way to the site of the surprise party, and were greeted by Joe’s daughter, Leslie. My wife and I had met up with Leslie in 2012, but before that, we had not seen her since she was six. It’s interesting to see how kids turn out, and Leslie has turned out great. Of course, I missed all the drama years in between 6 and 32. I think that old adage about not wanting to see how the sausage is made applies to kids as well. It’s the end product that matters.

Two Pats

Pat met Pat.

Soon, other guests arrived, including my cousin Kevin. As soon as he walked into the room I knew him, even though I had not seen him in almost 37 years. We embraced, and began to catch up on each other’s lives. Kevin introduced his wife, Pat, and I introduced my wife, Pat. It was a “Pat Terranella meet Pat Terranella” moment that reminded me of my meeting with the other Frank Terranella in Denmark last year.

Kevin and I found that we both married our Pats in the same year – 1978. Then came the main event. My cousin Joe entered the room to a thunderous “Surprise!” and a round of “Happy Birthday.” I was standing towards the back of the room with my cousin Kevin. Joe immediately spotted me and called out my name. As with Kevin, we embraced and began the process of updating each other.

It was amazing how the years fell away. We were soon reminiscing about our youth spent at Lake Hopatcong, and remembering our common grandparents. By the end of the night, it was just as if Kevin, Joe and I had seen each other regularly for all those
decades.

I was happy we had made the effort to fly in for the party. It felt good to re-establish some old relationships. It felt that the karmic balance had been restored and I think our grandfather, the senior Frank Terranella, was smiling down on “his boys.”

But, of course, no good deed goes unpunished. Our flight back was delayed seven hours, and we got home at 3:30 Monday morning. Maybe our next reunion will be in New Jersey.

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A Nod to My Rock Stars, Mobsters, Encyclopedias, and Mr. Peanut

04 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by Lois DeSocio in Confessional

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Asbury Park Boardwalk, Casino Coffee Shop, confessional, Convention Hall, Lois DeSocio, Long Branch, Planters Peanuts, The Write Side of 50, Yvonne's Rhapsody in Blue and Rendevous Lounge

job

BY LOIS DESOCIO

I believe the truisms (“share,” be “fair,” be “aware of wonder,” and “don’t hit people,” to name a few), as noted in Robert L. Fulghum’s book, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten,” to be spot-on advice on how to grow into a decent, content, and essentially happy human being.

Add to these, the scholarship that comes with those early working years. Those first jobs. They not only may help you pinpoint what you want, or don’t want, to do when you grow up, but if you pay attention, they are also ripe with opportunities that can grant you what we all need to be decent at, content with, and essentially happy with our career choices.

For me, I knew in third grade that I wanted to be a writer. But I worked my way towards today through more jobs than I can count.

So here’s my short list of the basics on working as a writer, and how I got them:

Low wage: Those of us who grew up in Asbury Park in the 1960s and 1970s spent summers working on the Boardwalk. I did it for 10 years, starting at 14 years old as a counter girl at The Miramar Grill in Convention Hall. This was my induction into hard work at low pay. But it was also my premier tutelage in how to make my pennies count and get more for my money. After work, I would glom on to the 16 and 17 year old employees that would sneak through the secret tunnel alongside the restaurant and got us into neighboring Convention Hall during Led Zeppelin and Janis Joplin concerts for free.

Check your ego at the door: The next summer I moved across the hall and was Mr. Peanut at Planters Peanuts. I spent hours waving people in to the store with my unwieldy peanut head. Everyone who worked there started out this way, and if you were a cracker at being a peanut, you were eventually promoted to selling them inside the store.

Don’t cry when your editor yells at you: My three summers at the other end of the Boardwalk as a waitress at the Casino Coffee Shop is where I learned to be nice to people who weren’t nice to me. I would suck it up when the cook yelled that the food was getting cold, when the customers yelled that the food was cold, and when the boss yelled if I forgot to drip those three partially-used ketchup bottles into one at the end of the day.

Be honest: And it was also at the Casino Coffee Shop where I switched from concert-sneaker to concert-companion by treating the rock stars that performed at the Casino across the way, and regularly came in to eat, like rocks stars, so they would put me on their guest lists. (Leslie West, from Mountain, gave me a plastic, “World’s Best Waitress” trophy.)

Pay attention to details: After college, I moved down Ocean Avenue and worked as a waitress at Yvonne’s Rhapsody in Blue and Rendevous Lounge in Long Branch. Yvonne – owner, chanteuse, and drummer – would bang the drums set up in the corner of the dining room, and would throw her drumsticks into the crowd when she was done. Patrons that were upset with the near-miss-to-the-head would have been more unnerved had they known that the chef’s cigar ashes that would continuously bend towards, and then garnish the food, were accompanied by Yvonne’s fingers poking through every plate before it left the kitchen. I noticed that the clientel that hung out in the lounge under the restaurant had deeper pockets, and therefore tipped well. And there were no drums, no food, no Yvonne. I asked to work there, where I learned to chat up the mobsters that were regulars, like Anthony “Little Pussy” Russo, who took a liking to me, tipped up to 40 percent on his bills, and gave me an extra $20 bill if I would get him cigarettes from the machine.

Give people what they want, and deliver it reliably: I spent a summer as a bartender at a huge club – The Fountain Casino – where my constant attention in both mixing the drinks (a little extra booze), remembering what the regulars wanted (had it ready when they walked through the door), and smiling and winking at the inebriated, had them coming back for more, and made me more money in tips than I had made in any other job before that.

Work on deadline. Accept heaps of rejection. Be clear. And just say it already!: Short on length, but long on lessons learned – I sold encyclopedias door-to-door for one month in Hackensack. I had seconds to sell myself, and those books that nobody wanted. What began as a five-minute, carefully-chosen, beautiful, wordy spiel, turned into a one-minute, bordering-on-begging sales pitch, because people were slamming the door in my face.

Interviewing chops: I worked my way up to credit manager for a contractors supply company in my mid-20s. I spent the bulk of my day on the phone asking big wigs to pay us, please.

And sage instruction, no matter what:

Throw yourself out there, no matter your age, and do things that are really hard : I went back to school at 54 years old.

Learn how to move on when the best job in the world ends: My kids grew up.

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Thanksgiving Then and Now

21 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by WS50 in Food, Words

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Food, Julie Seyler, Thanksgiving, The Write Side of 50, Words

BY JULIE SEYLER

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving always had a pattern. My mother hosted one year, my Aunt Liz the following year, and my Aunt Millie the next year. If it was at Millie’s my father would inevitably grumble how he would never go again because that drive to Long Island was impossible, but of course we went. My male cousins, completely incommunicado, hovered in front of the football games until they were forced to sit at their own “children’s” table.I seem to distinctly remember that the adults, aunts, uncles, cousins, and my parents, were always passionately engaged in political discussions.  These were the days of the Vietnam War and Watergate, and the back-and-forth repartee took us from apps to dessert.

Of course, there was a huge turkey (my cousin Leslie and I always hung around the kitchen competing for the best piece of skin while it was being carved) sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, Pepperidge Farm stuffing, canned jelled cranberry sauce and store-bought pies. We were not a creative cooking group, nor a baking family.  Not until my cousin Richard met Martha did we finally have a couple of home made pies on the table.  And so that is the Thanksgiving in my mind.

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Contributors

frank new bio Frank Terranella, 62, grew up in an Italian (mostly Sicilian) ghetto in Lodi, New Jersey, and this, naturally, explains his fascination with fiction and writing. He’s been a writer for as long as he can remember – which is decreasing every day. He wrote poetry when he was 10, and short stories when he was 13. He’s contributed articles to the The New York Times, and the New York Daily News. In college, he worked on the campus daily newspaper where he met his wife. Hoping to make a living as a writer, he interned at the Worcester (Mass.) Telegram & Gazette. That got him a job with the Gannett newspapers in White Plains, New York. He worked as a daily newspaper editor for four years before deciding (upon the launch of CNN) that there was no future for the newspaper business. He attended Fordham Law School at night to earn a parachute out. But even after leaving the world of journalism in the rear view mirror, he kept writing. Frank wrote articles for legal publications, and even did a stint with Simon & Schuster as a tax newsletter editor. In 1998, he established his own law firm with a partner, which quickly led to a heart attack in December 1999. Soon after, he decided to look for more humane work, but that didn’t work out because he was heavily invested in his law degree. So he took a job with an intellectual property boutique firm in New York, where he can be found to this day. Frank celebrated the 20th anniversary of his 39th birthday this year. He has been married for 34 years and has two adult boomerang children whom he will miss when the economy improves. However, he has confidence that politicians will see to it that the current recession lasts well into the next decade, so he won’t be able to rent out his children’s rooms to finance his retirement.

_______________________

Bob Smith, 61, a New Jersey native, has been practicing trademark law since 1985. Along the way he has done a bit of writing (including one full-length screenplay, not yet snapped up by the Hollywood dream machine), some acting, and stand-up comedy, all in addition to raising three remarkable children with his wife and life companion, Maria. At 58 years old, Bob might appear to be at the tail end of this blog’s demographic, but don’t be fooled – he plans to stay in his 50s for at least ten more years.

____________________________

headshotjnet

Jeannette Gobel, 56, is a native of the state of Washington. She was born and raised in Spokane and moved to the Seattle area when she married Kevin in 1978. Jeannette has a grown son and daughter. Life is full these days with substitute teaching, travel, dinner with friends, and home projects.

_____________________________

Margie headshot

Margie Rubin, 59, grew up in Yonkers, New York. She went to SUNY Binghamton for a year, and then moved to California. She never looked back. She eventually finished college and graduate school in San Francisco, and has worked in education for 35 years. She’s an avid runner, loves the theater, music, and traveling. Though she loves living in the San Francisco Bay Area, she will always be a New Yorker at heart. She’s married with two grown daughters.

____________________________

Kenneth profile pic

Kenneth Kunz, 61, is another contributor who group up in Italian, Lodi, New Jersey. (Although he didn’t think it was a ghetto.) He started writing minor essays when the nuns made him write so-many-word-long punishments for whatever dalliance he committed, and has, along his life path, continued writing mostly for fun – letters to the editor (many of which have actually been published), regular urgings to congressmen and senators, and criticisms and praises to print columnists and media hosts. He has also written a slew of introspective poems since about 1969.

He is currently a major contributor to his community newsletter, as well as a writer for his parish newsletter. Having grown up with a rather perplexing, and non-substantiated, belief that he would not make it past the age of 40, he considers these last two decades as bonus time, and is grateful for every day on this side of the dirt. (Although he is hopeful of spending the next phase of his energy in a place as close to heaven as he can get.) He is blessed with numerous nieces and nephews, and really close friends. His blind faith strengthens every day.

_____________________________

Elizabeth bio

Elizabeth Perwin, 60, has cultivated a thriving couples and individual therapy practice in Silver Spring, Maryland. A beach bunny by birth, Elizabeth was born and raised in Miami. That has shaped her entire outlook on life – for the better. Liz majored in work hard/play hard at Tulane, then grew up and aced her grad degree in public policy at Princeton. She is a passionate fashionista, and has funneled that passion into a side business called Weekend Boutique. Her mission: To awaken fashion and passion in the women of Washington, D.C. It’s a daunting assignment, but so far she’s made a definite dent.

_________________________________

Joseph bio

Joseph Gilday, 62, met Elizabeth Perwin after a Pilates class. Liz interrupted him as he was flirting with a much younger woman wearing perfectly fitted yoga attire. Joe didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but now he understands that Liz rescued him from a conversation that was going nowhere, and engaged him in one that continues deliciously to this day. Joe has changed careers almost as many times as most gen Xers have changed jobs: An actor, a college professor, a television production coordinator, a cable news producer, and now a specialist in website optimization and content marketing.

__________________________________

Anita Jaffe. Circa 1977

Anita, circa 1977.

Anita Jaffe, is a little further right of the right side of 50, since she actually turned 50 in 1978. She was born in New York City, became a teacher, and raised her family in West Allenhurst, New Jersey. She moved back to Manhattan in 2010. She is loving every minute of it.

______________________________

Leslie shot

Leslie Lewis, 66, grew up in Tenafly, New Jersey – a suburb of Manhattan. She has since lived in several parts of the United States, and has had many incarnations – the latest being a first grade teacher in downtown Los Angeles. She says, “If you want to see into a crystal ball to view the future of our society, become a teacher.” She knows her ABCs, and can count past 100. Leslie currently lives in Southern California, close to her sister, children and grandchildren. She never uses the words “dude” or “gnarly,” and does not permit them in the classroom.

________________________________

deb-john-steve-and-me

Debbie Neely, 60, feels as if she is just barely on the right side of 50. She recently retired as administrator of the Outpatient Psychiatric Department of George Washington University and now enjoys writing, gardening, and, yes, baking.

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