Valentine’s Day Redux

Posted on March 16, 2012 by georgia

Are you prepared for yet another side of me, from a different medium?

A few weeks ago a reader approached me and asked if I would like to be part of her new project. I like new adventures, so my answer was yes. With her help and that of a friend or two of mine, we put together a vaudiotext of the story Valentine’s Day. The result is that a piece of The Diary of the Vixen Divorcee is now on YouTube.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-3GJpybDP8

If you’re interested in learning more about vaudiotexts, or making one yourself, go to www.vaudiotext.com.

Ted Turner

Posted on March 13, 2012 by georgia

My friend, Marlys, sets down her latte, turns her most penetrating gaze on me and asks, “What do you think of Jerome Simmons?”

“Never met the man. Why do you ask?” I’ve heard of him, for sure; patron of the arts, successful entrepreneur, etc. Just never met him.”

“ I sat next to him at a dinner party last weekend. I gather he’s lonely. His wife died four years ago. He implied he’s getting weary of going out on his own.”

“Hum,” I say. “How old is Mr. Simmons?”

“Oh, he might be around 70. But a young 70. Tall, slim and straight, silver hair. Think Ted Turner.”

“Hum,” I think. “I could see being the younger girlfriend to a Ted Turner,” I think.

Are you reading my mind?

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Breaking up Is Hard to Do

Posted on March 9, 2012 by georgia

Another unexpected first in my mature middle age: Telling a suitor that I don’t want to see him again.

I’m such a coward. I told Chet over the phone. (You last read about him in How Not to Impress a Woman.)

I had the best intentions to do it in person. Truly I did. I set off to meet him for brunch Sunday morning fully intending to tell him that he was wasting his time with me.

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Solace for a Grieving Heart

Posted on March 6, 2012 by georgia

When I was young and down in the dumps, my mother, the Angel Ella, would say, “Georgia, quit thinking about yourself. Think about somebody else. You’ll forget why you’re sad.”

I was young and not about to listen to the advice of an older woman. Particularly not my mom’s. What did she know about life?

Quite a lot, as it turns out.

My husband, Alan, walked out our door one day into the arms of another woman. Within a month I was reading to young children at an after-school program. One evening a week I walk into that library and my group, Ms. Stone’s Sunshine Club, jumps up and runs to the reading corner. I open up a book and they cuddle in as close as they can. They’re all smiles because they love the pictures. They love the stories. They love the attention.

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How Not to Impress a Woman

Posted on March 1, 2012 by georgia

Take lessons from Chet, my suitor. (Remember him from Addled by a Drug and The Poetry of Seduction?) He’s mastered the art of how not to impress me.

His problem? He allows one false premise guide him during our courtship; that he needs to impress me. Who wants to be impressed? Not me.

Why did he tell me that he got a perfect score on his SATs? At our age, who cares? Who even remembers their score? Maybe if mine had been perfect I’d remember. But still, all these years later that’s hardly something I’d be chatting about.

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Ecstasy in Paris

Posted on February 27, 2012 by georgia

Note to self: Never try a mind-altering substance while boarding public transit.

Good advice, don’t you think?

I wrote that note to myself 26 years ago because I foolishly swallowed a bit of Ecstasy right before climbing on a crowded bus on a sunny Saturday afternoon in Paris.

I recently found it in the side pocket of an old handbag I was about to throw out. The note was slipped between a few used metro tickets and a business card from a restaurant. I’d forgotten about that afternoon until chancing upon this yellowed slip of paper.

I blame Alan for what happened. What good are ex-husbands if you can’t blame them for your follies? His Swiss friend supplied us with the chemically pure formulation. His knowledge of chemistry convinced me I wouldn’t hurt my mind or body with this pill.

We each popped one and then hopped onto the bus headed for Les Trois Quartiers, a chic department store surrounded by the best food shops in Paris; Hédiard, Fauchon, and Marquise de Sévigné. None of these were places Alan had ever visited. What better idea than to explore them on a sunny afternoon in September?

Les Trois Quartiers to the left, the church of the Madeleine to the right, our bus pulling up right in the middle.

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Solace for a Grieving Heart

Posted on February 23, 2012 by georgia

Listen to The Adagio for Strings when your pain is locked down so deep you’re numb and empty. This will open it up and let the sadness flow away from your heart.

Or listen to it when you’re happy and melancholy is something to enjoy because you can’t imagine feeling it.

Either way, this beautiful piece of music never fails to touch my heart, whether in joy or in sorrow.

Leonard Bernstein conducting Adagio for Strings

This is how Leonard Bernstein must have looked while conducting this music. His face expresses what I feel when I listen to it.

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A Touch of Velvet

Posted on February 20, 2012 by georgia

When Alan loved me, his love wrapped around me like velvet; tender, caressing, sensual. I moved through the world as if I were always enfolded in the black velvet cape he gave me for my 50^th birthday.

He remained infatuated with me at the time of this birthday. After knowing each other for 20 years, he still beamed like a boy as I pushed aside the white tissue paper and unfolded the long, hooded cape from its box. He knew me well, knew I’d be delighted with this gift. Still, I could see in his eyes that bit of doubt. “Maybe she won’t like it, maybe it’s all wrong,” he was thinking.

I threw it over my shoulders, pulled the hood over my head, admired myself in the mirror as I stroked the soft fabric, then twirled to enjoy the feel of it billowing out around me. I looked at him, at the happiness in his eyes now that he was sure of my pleasure at his gift.

Perfection. My 50^th birthday was perfect.

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Entangled

Posted on February 17, 2012 by georgia

I am one of the women in this painting by Gustav Klimt. The other figures are of the readers who leave comments on my posts. They are also their lovers, children, friends, spouses, all the people that they tell us about.

I am entangled in the web of words that they leave. They are my joy each time I dip into The Diary of the Vixen.

I’ve done this before, and I’m going to do it again – suggest that

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New Man in Town

Posted on February 14, 2012 by georgia

Not only in the age of Jane Austen was it universally acknowledged that a single man possessed of a good position is in need of a wife. In this age and this city, the belief still holds strong.

Since our orchestra hired as its concertmaster a divorced man, serious note has been taken. Society matrons sit transfixed in their seats, watching the passion of his playing, the way he sways as his bow caresses and plucks the strings of his violin, the way his gray locks fall over his brow.

The unmarried among us fantasize about what those strong strokes and practiced technique would be like applied to us. The married women sublimate by plotting matchmaking strategies for their single friends.

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