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The Write Side of 59

~ This is What Happens When You Begin to Age Out of Middle Age

The Write Side of 59

Author Archives: WS50

My Dish on Puerto Rico: Easy, Breezy, with Mojitos on the Side

15 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by WS50 in Travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Julie Seyler, Puerto Rico, San Juan, The four-day trip, The Write Side of 50, Travel

License Plate.  Photo by Julie Seyler

License Plate. All photos by Julie Seyler.

BY JULIE SEYLER

It is sometimes hard to swallow that I am approaching 60.  On the other hand, it is always great to know that I have had some friends for over 40 years.  We still manage to look like we are 13 years old to each other.  So I decided to see if I could entice one of these old-time buddies to come with me on a four-day getaway. (Yes, like Lois, I too, am a fan of the four-day trip.) I dangled Cardiff, Wales and Sofia, Bulgaria in front of her, and she jumped at all of them, but ultimately we opted for ease, which meant San Juan, Puerto Rico.

Beach and sea, San Juan.

Beach and sea, San Juan.

I have never been, but it is the perfect destination from New York City. It’s a four-hour flight. There is sun, sand and sea. And minimal time change. I did some research, found decent flights, a cute boutique hotel on the beach, and sent my girlfriend an e-mail with the info. Her reply: “Book it Dan-O.”

Our flight was scheduled to depart from JFK on March 6 at 7:00 p.m. Until it didn’t. When I got to work that morning American Airlines had graciously left me a voice mail that that flight had been canceled due to the coming snowstorm. I frantically got on the horn with them, and after an hour on hold, a lovely rep answered, and offered us the opportunity to fly out on the 3:50 flight. She was so nice. She waited while I called my friend, who was in the middle of a meeting, to see if she could scramble her fully-booked schedule so we could rendezvous three hours earlier than originally planned. So we found each other on the front end of the West 4th subway station at 1:00 pm to follow through with our plan of taking the train to the plane. It’s a great deal for $7.50.

We sailed onto that plane five minutes before the doors shut behind us. We were on our way to the land of mojitos!

Mojito 3.6.13

Mojito.

It was a perfect four-day trip, despite a weather pattern of sun every morning, with clouds rolling in religiously by 2 p.m. We were totally indolent on day one – never leaving the beach at the Water Beach Club Hotel; semi-indolent day two – taking a walk for massages, and heading into Old San Juan for dinner; and downright ambitious on day three, with renting a car from Charlie’s so we could check out the rain forest at El Yunque, the beach at Luquillo, and then a drive into Old San Juan for our final dinner. We even managed to change out of our bathing suits and into our clothes in the car.

Water Beach Club

Water Beach Club

A street in Old San Juan

A street in Old San Juan.

Sunday morning we were on the beach at 7:30 in the morning to max out on our last few hours before the 2:15 flight home.

a morning beer

A morning beer.

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Beauty and the Beasts of its Burden

07 Thursday Mar 2013

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

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Beauty, confessional, Julie Seyler, The Ugliest Woman in the World, The Write Side of 50

Is she beautiful?  Oil on canvas.  Julie Seyler

Is she beautiful?
Oil on canvas. Julie Seyler

BY JULIE SEYLER

I recently read an article in The Times about the ugliest woman in the world. According to the article, she was born with two genetic conditions: hypertrichosis lanuginosa and gingival hyperplasia, and as a result she was covered with hair and had super thick gums. This guy used her as a freak act in a traveling road show, and to secure her loyalty, and thereby a guaranteed income flow, he married her. They had a child together, but sadly it died at birth and she died five days later. The drawing of her confirms she was outside our concept of “beautiful.”

Then I remembered that classic 1960 Twilight Zone episode, where we watch the surgeon unwrap the bandages from a facial surgery.  The nurses chatter, discussing how many operations the patient has already had to try to correct her deformity of being ugly.  She can’t have any more. If this surgery failed, she will be deported to an island with others who look like her. The last bandage comes off; a unified gasp arises.  We know it has failed. Pan to the doctors and nurses with their pig snort noses and elephant ears. Pan to the patient – a “beautiful” blonde.

So what is beauty? And definitely what is “beautiful,” as we age, and live in a society that disdains the signs of age. What do we do when our peers look younger than us because of Botox, collagen fillers, chemical peels, eyelifts and the ultimate alteration: the face lift?  Do we succumb?  Do we decide it’s worth the bucks to have a face stripped of wrinkles? At 40, I proclaimed, with superior conviction, “I shall never get a face lift.  My wrinkles are a testament to the life i have lived.”  But each new contour tests my “wrinkle pride.” I am certainly old enough now to know to never say, “never!”

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A Sneak Peek at Boy Scout Memories From a Non-Scout

05 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by WS50 in Confessional, Men

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bob Smith, Boy Scouts of America, confessional, Girl Scouts of America, Men, The Write Side of 50

Boys checking out scouts.  Collage by Julie Seyler

Boys checking out scouts. Collage by Julie Seyler

BY BOB SMITH

Scouting made a big impression on me during grade school and high school, but not in the ways you might think. In the early 1960s, when we were about 10, my brother Jim and I wanted to join the Boy Scouts of America, but Dad wouldn’t allow it. He was convinced that once we joined, they would expect him to attend evening meetings, chaperone weekend trips, and generally participate in our lives in a personal, up-close way. He said it would force him to quit his part-time job (which the family could ill afford), but we suspected it was as much because spending quality time teaching us wilderness survival skills might cramp his drinking habit.

So my brother Jim and I would sneak around the church where they held the meetings, and peek in the windows to see if we could find out what the Boy Scouts were up to. One night, we saw a group of boys gathered around someone’s father in the meeting room behind the church. The scouts had pivoted open a stained glass half-window for air, leaving a wide five-inch gap that gave us a clear view of the floor. They all wore matching khaki shirts and dark shorts with kerchiefs around their necks fastened with a gold Boy Scout cinch. Some of them wore military-style cloth caps, and even the grownup wore a neckerchief. He was holding a length of nylon rope, and appeared to be demonstrating how to tie knots.

“That’s bullshit. They’re just tyin’ and untyin’ that rope,” Jimmy whispered, his nose on the stone sill.

“Yeah. Look at the scarf on that guy. Dad would never wear that.”

“No kiddin,” Jim agreed. “Buncha assholes.”

“Hey – what are you doing there?” The leader snapped as he walked briskly to the window, and slammed it shut.

Frantic, Jimmy and I scrambled out of the bushes and ran as fast as we could before a gang of scouts could pour out of the church like angry bees bent on testing their night tracking techniques. They never caught us, and we never went back. And we gave up asking for Dad’s permission to enlist. A few years later, the smartest girl in my high school class (let’s call her Eleanor) started wearing her Girl Scout uniform to school. This was a serious uniform – the kelly green beret with a pert nipple tip in the middle, starched matching denim shirt and sash festooned with handicrafts patches, and plaid pleated skirt. She rounded out the ensemble with clunky schoolmarm shoes, eyeglasses with pointed tips at the sides, and the coup de grace: white anklets with the day of the week script-stitched across the top. Crowds of sniggering kids, pointing and shaking their heads in amazement, would part like the Red Sea as Eleanor strode confidently down the hall, geek to the max. Apparently oblivious to the scorn and derision of the entire high school, she wore that outfit one day every week right through the end of twelfth grade. I secretly admired the incredible confidence it must’ve taken to do that, despite our relentless jeers. When I saw Eleanor at a recent reunion and mentioned her Girl Scout outfits with weekday anklets, she totally shrugged it off.

“Yeah. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to look,” she laughed. “Unless you weren’t sure what day it was.”

To this day, she remains a paragon of the I-don’t-give-a-crap-what-anyone-thinks merit badge, which is probably a sign of true genius. On the other hand, my brother and I still can’t tie a decent knot.





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The Riddle of the Sphinx Gives a Leg Up on Aging

28 Thursday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Concepts

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

aging, Concepts, Julie Seyler, The Sphinx, The Write Side of 50

The Alabaster Sphinx.  Sculpted over 2500 years ago.  Memphis, Egypt.

The Alabaster Sphinx. Sculpted over 3000 years ago. Memphis, Egypt.

BY JULIE SEYLER

The Sphinx exists in the mythology of the ancient world, be it Egypt (1200 BC) or Greece (600 BC).  It is a hybrid creature with a human head, a lion’s body and wings for arms.  It is the catalyst that ignites the Oedipus saga chronicled by Homer, and dramatized by Sophocles.  Remember “The Odyssey” from sophomore year in high school: Oedipus answers the riddle, “What goes on four legs in the morning, on two legs at noon, and on three legs in the evening?”

Aging is a sphinx. It is mythologized. Our conversation is jammed with dramatic tales about what our bodies are doing these days – the duller and longer aches, the higher cholesterol count, and, my favorite of all – big toe arthritis.  Perhaps we know others who are suffering with more dire conditions. All of this weighs on us, because it used to be something that “happens to others.”

And yet it is a hybrid. There is good stuff going on. Wisdom, contentment; and self-awareness are hardly negatives and seemed unattainable to me when I was in my thirties. And since I am devotee of Facebook, there are tons of my peers getting the biggest kick and joy out of their grandkids. I love the photos. But none of this undermines the inevitable fact that we are moving on to the stage of three legs. So obviously, it’s time to throw caution to the wind, and head out for a cocktail and a schmooze-session with a great friend.

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Many Boomer Crowds are Not for The Birds

27 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Opinion

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bird Watching, Margo D. Beller, opinion, The Write Side of 50

the birders and the boomers go birding

The birders and the boomers go birding. By Julie Seyler.

By Margo D. Beller

I enjoy a good walk in the woods with my binoculars. If my husband comes along, even better. But I get really annoyed when we find ourselves in a crowd.

We used to be considered unusual in our birding habit, but in recent years we’ve learned we are far from alone.

My husband and I, both a few years past 50, have been known to be the youngest people in an area looking for a particular bird when we go on vacation. That is thanks to having no children and being able to travel when people with kids can’t.

But that is very different on the weekends. We have found serious birders we can respect. More often we are forced to travel with flocks of families and less-respectful people around our age.atop the mountain

I can’t speak for why the families are out there. They may be trying to teach the kids about “nature“ but too often the kids are running ahead and screaming while their parents are hanging back on their phones.

As for the boomers, some, like me, may want to be challenged outdoors and look for something special that keeps them moving.

But more often it seems to be all about the cameras.

Either childless couples like us or whose children have left the nest – seem to have bought into the idea that we can use our money to do whatever we want now.

Want to tour Belize? There’s are lots of birder tours that will take you down there just as winter is coming on in the north. When you’re not snorkeling or lounging on the beach or checking out real estate you can be walked or driven through a rain forest, looking for birds you may or may not see back home. (Many northern birds, like these people, go south for the winter.)

Just as these “active adults” have bought into the idea of the large-screen TV and the computer-laden “crossover,” they want the smartphone and the point-and-shoot camera so they can travel the world capturing the birds, adding them to their life lists and displaying them on their Facebook or Flickr pages.

These are the people the medical companies love, the ones urged to replace their aching hips and their balky knees and take this pill so they can keep doing everything they did when they were younger.

These are the folks who will clamber over rocks and leave the trails to bushwack into tick-infested woods, eroding the eco-system. They can afford the expensive equipment, even if they don’t know how to use it.

I know, not every boomer is like this. Many just like to go to natural places where they can walk completely oblivious to the birds that are scattering in front of them because their dogs are running off the leash.

Then they wonder why people like me yell at them.

It’s why my husband and I do our best to avoid them.

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Like That Old Fireplug I Found, I’m on Automatic

26 Tuesday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

confessional, fireplugs, Julie Seyler, morning routine, The Write Side of 50

automatic fireplug.  west 20th street.

Automatic fireplug – West 20th Street.

BY JULIE SEYLER

There are certain things that stay the same, no matter which side of 50 you are on. Like a morning routine. The a.m. personality, and its peccadillos, gets fixed in stone at some point, and either you are a bright popper-outer or a groaning bear. Coffee must be imbibed ASAP, or it can wait until you get around to putting the water on the stove; or coffee is completely dispensed with because you only drink tea.

One of my morning routines is to swim. In 1980, I moved to Washington D.C., and promptly found a pool to do my morning laps in. When I moved to New York in 1988, I found a pool to swim in before I found my apartment, (which, for perspective sake, turned out to be a 4th floor walk-up studio with a sleeping alcove for $900/month. Cheap by today’s standards.) These days I swim at a pool which overlooks the Hudson River and Hoboken, NJ.

24 East 21st St.

24 East 21st St.

Sometimes I take the bus cross-town, and sometimes I walk.  If I walk, I travel the same three streets, cross the same 10 avenues, and have seen the same set of buildings for the past 16 years. Some are old, not old like Europe, but 19th century old. Some attempt to evoke a Greek-Roman essence.

Face on a building on West 21st Street

Face on a building on west 21st street

Faces are carved into the limestone facades; appear on portals above doors; adorn lintels.

Door portal on Gramercy Park East

Door portal on Gramercy Park East

Perhaps faces were the architectural rage of that moment the way glass buildings are the cultural rage of this moment.

Recently, I was doing my trek crosstown when something caught my eye. It was a white plaque nailed onto a wall of an apartment building on 20th street that read AUTOMATIC FIREPLUG, with the words A.F. A and E Co. written underneath.  I’d seen the sign a 1000 times, but this time I stopped to ponder what is an automatic fireplug and who was A.F. A and E Co. on 294 B’way.

The Internet was useless on A.F. A and E Co., but quite informative on fireplugs.  They plugged water.  In the 1800s, the best way to access water in case of a fire was to cut a hole in the main water pipe and insert a hose to direct the water to where needed to trounce the fire. The hole would then be plugged until next time it was needed. Ergo the fireplug. I just wonder when that sign was installed and when was the last time the fireplug was used?

I took the photo (at the top of the post) and kept on walking so I could complete the a.m. routine:

Get to pool; swim laps; shower; get ready for work; walk to bus stop; get back across town from the west side to east side; take
subway uptown; order iced green tea to go from Starbuck’s; turn on computer…

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The Saturday Blog: The New Jersey Turnpike

23 Saturday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Art

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Art, NJ Turnpike, The Saturday Blog, The Write Side of 50

NJ Turnpike 1.19.13

Photos by Julie Seyler.

Mentioning the state of New Jersey to most people elicits either a groan or an eye-roll of of pity. Visions of endless traffic jams on the Garden State Parkway, coupled with memories of the redolence of sulfur around the Amboys, simply do not trigger fond memories of a great road trip. But we are here to proclaim that with the right eye, and mind, the scenery that dots the Turnpike has a poignant beauty. Perhaps you have to have a certain affection for the exoticism of the urban landscape. We do. So here’s to the industrial towers, telephone lines, train switches and smoke stacks that caress the New Jersey Turnpike.

turnpike 2

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Some Tips (Bring Your Coins!) on New York Restaurant Week

22 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Food

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Tags

Food, Julie Seyler, Restaurant Week, The Write Side of 50

Is there enough there for dinner?

Take your coins out to dinner.

BY JULIE SEYLER

There is a phenomenon that takes place twice a year in New York City.  It’s called Restaurant Week, and many restaurants, including some top Zagat picks participate, which means that it is possible to nab delicious three-course lunches for $28, and dinners for $38, when normally it could run double the price for the identical meal. So the possibility exists to grab a bang-for-buck experience if you order wisely.

As soon as Restaurant Week restaurants are announced, I scan the list for special treat places that are not on my usual roster. This year, I made a reservation at Rouge Tomate, a 2012 Michelin choice on 60th Street, DBGB Bistro Moderne, a gem in the stable of the the Daniel Boulud empire on 44th Street, and Telepan, an Upper West Side place that I had heard had a cuisine kinship to Gramercy Tavern, but at lesser price points.

Each experience was different and memorable, but not because the meal ended in a deal. That was thrown out the window with the check.

At Rouge Tomate, where I had invited my mother and my sister to dinner, I found out, after we had ordered the wine, that they did participate, but only for lunch. I had forgotten to read the “fine” print and we were handed the regular menu, where some of the entrees are priced at $38.

I went with a friend to DBGB Bistro Moderne for lunch. Everything was perfect, from the appetizer of a winter salad to the braised beef paleron (actually a very tender wine infused brisket), to the cheese plate offerings for dessert. Of course I had to have a glass of wine, and of course, the cost of the wine was basically equal to half the cost of the prix fixe meal. With tax and tip, my prix fixe lunch came in at double the bargain. It was delicious and lovely and a treat because certainly, a three-course feast at lunch on a Wednesday afternoon is an excessive indulgence.

Then there was Telepan.

Everyone has said, “You must go.” I asked a friend of mine if he was available. He told me he was in the middle of a budgetary balancing act. But I am persistent, and repeatedly mentioned $38! For a three-course meal! At a great restaurant! I (and a menu featuring smoked brook trout, shrimp with grits and a medley of heritage pork cuts), wore him down. With a little creative financial juggling, including a raid on his coin stash, hoarded in a plastic food container, we had a yummy dinner at Telepan. But not for the amount we calculated based on the Restaurant Week special.

Rather, the bill was three times the amount of the $38 dinner per person.

Telepan pairings 2.7.13

Telepan pairings 2.7.13

 

Willpower went out the door when we saw the wine pairing option. Who could resist? Each selection a perfect foil for the food, and even though we’d eaten three courses and were stuffed, we felt compelled to order dessert. So, throw in tax and tip, and there you have the killing of the bang-for-buck theory.

In any case, I would definitely return to this place. The impeccability of the way the food was prepared and presented, combined with the feeling that you are dining in a friend’s home conspire to make a wonderful experience. But you can have it all, and probably cheaper, if you decide to stay away during Restaurant Week.

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Could the Gun Debate Come Down to a Comma?

13 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Confessional

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

confessional, Julie Seyler, second amendment, The Write Side of 50

well regulated

BY JULIE SEYLER

When did guns take over our lives? As I was growing up, I do not recall that guns ever entered the daily parlance. We were obsessed with voting rights for 18 year olds (if they could be drafted they should have a right to vote), Haight Ashbury and the drug scene, the loosening of the Hays Code, and Vietnam. I do not remember a community mass-shooting, or a non-stop public outcry that there was not just a “right,” but a “Constitutional right” to own a gun. In fact, to the extent that any discussion about guns arose, it was within the context that they inevitably led to unnecessary tragedy because gun-related murders (at least most of them) were crimes of passion, rage, and anger, and had the gun not been so accessible, a life would have been saved.

Now the scene has shifted so much that the topic of guns as killing devices competes with the topic of guns as a consumer product for the masses. In the past three weeks, The New York Times has run articles on the AR-15 semi-automatic rifle, supposedly the most desired gun in America; how more women then ever are embracing gun ownership; and marketing guns to our children’s children, and this is mere icing on the cake. The question is: How, why and when did the national psyche change from a general consensus that guns were “bad,” to this new world that does not seem to even blink at marketing guns as fashion accessories. The Times article on the escalating number of women purchasers reported that pink guns are a favorite. Like the color of Pepto-Bismol. This whole idea makes me nauseous.

pink handgun in orange handbag

Pink handgun in orange handbag

Certainly Columbine, in 1999, was a major catalyst. And pile on all of the other mass shootings over the past 14 years, and you arrive at an understanding of why guns take up front, and center, stage. But I think the underlying shape-shifting phenomenon that brought the “right” to own a gun to the forefront has been the twisting of the Second Amendment. In its entirety the amendment reads:

A well regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.

My theory is that some strategist in some gun-loving coalition latched on to the 14-word phrase, “the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed,” to push a platform of deregulating any type of government control over gun ownership and sales. In so doing, the meaning of the amendment was distorted beyond recognition. The comma that follows the word “arms” was conveniently dispensed with and the preface about the “well regulated militia” was disposed of as an unnecessary nuisance.

There is a glaring problem in this interpretation, and I know I am flying in the face of the Supreme Court’s decision in District of Columbia v. Heller. However, one cannot divorce a phrase such as the right to bear arms from the entirety of the sentence, nor can one ignore the preamble which explains that, “a well regulated Militia” is “necessary” to ensure that we the people remain safe and secure in a “free State.” The Second Amendment sanctions a military that has a right to bear arms, not the individual’s right to bear arms.

This makes so much sense when we think about the world the founding fathers were living in when the Constitution was adopted in 1787. The colonies, as subjects of England, had fought in a bunch of wars even before the eight year battle to secure their independence from England. The militia had been indispensable to the colonies’ successful separation from King George III and his irksome taxes. They had just won a revolution so it was completely logical that the men who drafted the Constitution would have wanted to ensure that “a well-regulated militia” would be allowed to “bear arms.” They had first-hand knowledge that it was “necessary” to the security of the “free State” they had just formed and wanted to maintain. Ergo the Constitution granted the people a right to bear arms for this purpose. It wasn’t an inalienable right, like those accorded by the First Amendment:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

Had the founding fathers believed that the right to bear arms was unfettered, they would have added it to the First Amendment, a simple addition, such as “Congress shall make no law restricting the right to bear arms.” But they didn’t. They drafted an entirely different Second Amendment prefaced with the phrase: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State.”

So I consider the debate over the Second Amendment as the turning point and tipping point of the shift. The reinvention of the amendment has fueled the NRA. It has the Constitution on its side to relentessly and shamelessly push for unregulated gun sales and the liberty to carry a handgun into a movie theatre. It seems to me their Constitutionally sanctioned efforts are successfully ripping apart the security of our free state.

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Born to Ride: Is My Love for the Two-Seater Convertible Genetically Driven?

11 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by WS50 in Concepts

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Cars., Concepts, Genetics, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Two-seater convertibles

In Dad's MG, circa 1960.

In Dad’s MG, circa 1960.

BY JULIE SEYLER

Cars have been on my mind lately. It started because I saw an article in the Sunday Times a couple of weeks ago about a car auction. But it wasn’t any old car auction. This one featured autos with provenance – like a purple 1919 Pierce-Arrow, owned by the silent film star, Fatty Arbuckle, and a 1941 Packard, owned by the ice-skating actress, Sonja Henie. These cars were gorgeous.

Then I was talking to a friend of mine, who was in the middle of multiple car transactions, like selling two cars (including a beloved sports car), and simultaneously buying a new, used, practical car. He was doing everything over eBay. It was natural for our conversation to segue from cars we “loved” to cars we “hated.”  We ended the conversation with the conclusion that everybody has an opinion about cars, even if their opinion is, “no opinion.”

It’s true. I know people who only want to be behind the wheel of an automobile that makes them “feel like they are driving a living room couch,” and others who are passionate about their hybrids (especially the gas-to-mile ratio), and some who just love the majestic height afforded by an SUV. Me? I have always cottoned to small cars with convertible tops.

After all these car musings, I started pondering whether one’s car preferences has anything to do with one’s past? Most people would probably say their car decisions are purely arbitrary, or simply pragmatic, but I am sure there is a Proustian component to my predilection for two-seater convertibles.

Fifty years ago, when I was a kid (just saying that phrase, “50 years ago,” cracks me up – can those words actually be coming from my mouth as an accurate statement of fact), I did pop about in an MGTD. My father, a true-blue sports car devotee, would squeeze me and my sister, and our two Chatty Cathy dolls, into the trundle seat of his MG, and off we’d go up the Garden State Parkway, through the Holland Tunnel and over the Brooklyn Bridge to visit my grandparents. The top would be down, of course, and the wind would fly through our hair. I can’t imagine anyone with a four year old and a six year old contemplating a journey like that today. We live in a world where car seat safety dominates.

In any case, perhaps it is because of those early road trip memories that I love two-seater convertibles. The wind in my hair never gets old. So, while I was reminiscing about the “old” days, I asked my dad what other cars he owned. He replied:

We had a few MGTDs 1950s; also MGA 1960; also MGB 1962; Corvettes – three of them, 1964s. When you were a baby in Fort Lee, we had a ’52 Morris Minor. Grandma made a convertible top for it. I forgot to mention our 55 T-Bird convertible with the hard top.

They were all small, two-seater, convertibles, except maybe the Morris Minor. Not sure if he, too, loves the wind in his hair, but the car genes were passed down.

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