The Vacation Jinx

(Originally appeared in The Beach Reporter on 4/22/93.)

Every family has its vacation horror stories; its own quirky idiosyncrasies that haunt them throughout their lives. One family I know always misses their airplane. Another always has horrible weather no matter where they go, no matter what time of year.

In our case, our family is jinxed by one of our family members getting ill either just before we are about to leave for a vacation, or getting injured or sick while on vacation.

A case in point: As I write this column (at home), I am supposed to be on a plane returning from Maui, where I was supposed to have spent the past week having a relaxing dream vacation with my family. A vacation that we have been fantasizing about and talking about and shopping for for weeks on end.

At 6:30 p.m., the night before we were to leave, I ran a bath for my son. Our suitcases and carry-on bags were packed, a neighbor had Swimmy and Astro (our goldfish), another neighbor was in charge of feeding Edward (our cat), and the newspapers and mail were on hold. I was dreaming of pina coladas. and of reading an entire book. In the midst of my reverie I checked in on my son, who was sitting in the tub itching. Yes, itching. Itching red bumps, which my experienced eyes told me were chicken pox, and which had literally materialized out of nowhere.
I almost couldn’t believe it, but then I remembered. The Stevenson jinx. Continue reading

Ocean City, New Jersey/ 2011

(Changing it up from the usual essay post. Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer)

OCEAN CITY, NEW JERSEY 2011

Look at the Polish woman in the black turban and hoop earrings;
her shapeless black swimsuit ends in a flirty skirt.
How do I know she is Polish, you might ask –
because she looks like all my aunts.
This must be her daughter, sullen and tattooed
and her granddaughter, a princess in pink.

Here comes Anna Nicole in a leopard print bikini.
I thought she died, but here she is in Ocean City.
You may be surprised to know
that she is now married to Tony Soprano.

And now comes the young father
wondering how he ended up as pack mule,
bound to fulfill every command of the three females
who precede him, regal in their turquoise and purple Crocs.

Oh, Grandma and Grandpa, how did you get so large?
You are like two barges
moving slowly along the sand.
Was it decades of unabated sticky buns
or the simple accretion of years?
Like two massive tree trunks
where each successive ring of growth
is proof of something.

Author Events Let You Learn from the Best

(Originally published in The Writer magazine in March, 2001.)

You can have access to the best writing teachers in the world without ever signing up for a class. During past years I have learned about believing in your dreams from Jacquelyn Mitchard, and what it’s like to immerse yourself in another era from Margaret Atwood. Ray Bradbury exhorted me to stretch my imagination and look always for the metaphor. Jane Hamilton talked calmly about confidence, and Scott Turow weighed in on luck vs. talent. I have learned that passion must ignite your work from Isabel Allende. And John Updike… Well, John Updike just had to stand there reading a poem, and you felt inspired to write twenty poems yourself.

Do I have access to a special university program that somehow attracts only the biggest and brightest names in publishing? Did I have to pay thousands of dollars to attend conferences where these authors were guest speakers?

The answer to both these questions is “no.” I do, however, scour the book review sections of local publications and websites to see what author events are upcoming. Most of the events that featured the authors I mentioned, and other well-known writers were free – usually readings and question-and-answer sessions in book stores. The author events that did charge admission were usually fundraisers for local library districts, museums and other cultural institutions, so if you did spring for a ticket you felt like you were doing something worthwhile. Continue reading

In Denial Over Bathing Suit Season

(Originally published in the Philadelphia Inquirer on 5/19/07.)

The most dreaded time of year is almost upon us. No, I’m not talking about the holidays that stretch in an eternal loop from Halloween through New Year’s Day, although I’m sure we’ll all be getting gift catalogs soon.

I’m referring to something even more harrowing. I’m talking about bathing suit season. Now, don’t get me wrong – I love summer. Summer is actually my very favorite time of year. There’s nothing I enjoy more than plopping myself on the beach for the day with a good novel and a thermos of iced tea. The problem is that in order to really enjoy the beach (or the pool) you have to wear a bathing suit.

I usually begin my annual search for a new swimsuit just before spring break. At that point, since I haven’t seen the sun in about seven months, my skin tone is somewhere between anemic and pasty. I’m afraid to go to the tanning salon in the winter months because of skin cancer, although as my sister Avis points out, I think nothing of baking out in the sun at the beach for hours on end. Sisters can be so annoying at times.

Continue reading