Dining Solo

Admittedly, I am claustrophobic. I’ll take a well-lit staircase over an elevator any time. Some of my friends don’t understand my fears, but then I don’t necessarily understand theirs. I’m not afraid of flying (Aviatophobia) nor anxious about heights (Acrophobia). Yet so many of us regardless of age or gender share a phobia that is rarely mentioned because it’s so easily avoided: Solomangarephobia, the fear of dining out alone.

How many of us would rather buy fast food, take out or eat in our car just so we don’t have to sit alone in a nice restaurant at a table designed for four, or two, even, and draw those pitying stares of others?

Not me. There is something fulfilling about eating alone in a fine establishment. Those meals can be more memorable than ones shared with friends in four-star restaurants. When we eat alone we savor every bite, every sip, because no conversation detracts us from the pure enjoyment of eating the meal.

A couple of nights ago, Jon and I were having dinner in a somewhat formal local restaurant where conversations could be heard emanating from every table. Except one. There, a lone elderly man dressed in a slightly wrinkled plaid sports jacket, an open collar shirt and khaki trousers was eating a full course meal and drinking a class of pinot noir. On his table sat an opened small paperback book at which he occasionally looked. He ate slowly and deliberately, apparently relishing every morsel.

The key is to take our time dining, like he did. Enjoy a glass of wine, an appetizer and an entrée. Bring something to read; a book, an e-reader, a tablet, or a magazine. Any of these items – rather than our phone – show that we have not been stood up but have deliberately chosen to eat alone.

In my experience when I’ve dined alone, the wait staff is always attentive. Usually, without even asking, the host will seat me at a table near a window or facing the dining room so I have lots to see. One even gave me a beautiful photography book to peruse.

Many of us spend a lot of time by ourselves because we live alone or travel for work. We might expect restaurants to be filled with solo diners, but, unless they have counters, they usually are not. For me, I can’t wait for my next dining alone experience.

Just so long as I don’t have to take an elevator to the restaurant.

08
Jul
2013

Write On

I just spent three days with inspirational people. All writers: Poets, novelists, journalists, memoirists, bloggers and more, united by a shared love for the written word.

The 65th annual Philadelphia Writers’ Conference brought together nearly 200 writers of all ages, backgrounds and interests, and I had the privilege of teaching the nonfiction book workshop.

I’ve plugged the PWC in the past as an opportunity to learn from professionals and, even rarer, to meet privately with agents and editors. I’m fairly confident that this year’s attendees left feeling motivated and informed. I know I did.

Conversations covered a wide range of topics such as finding an agent, publishing in eBook format, using social media, and balloon fetishism. Really. Writers tend to be soooooooooooooooooooo interesting.

Although I am fortunate to be a published author I can remember being in the shoes of aspiring writers and shoving rejection after rejection into a folder (unmarked) which I hid deep in the back of the file cabinet. I couldn’t bring myself to toss those letters but I also didn’t want to reread them.

Like all the workshop leaders at this year’s PWC, I want to support and encourage the impressive students I met. So, if they are reading this blog, keep pursuing your dream regardless of the challenges. Take comfort in knowing that even Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Olen Butler experienced rejections.

Imagine if he had quit.

10
Jun
2013

The Play’s the Thing

I’m going to sound like a namedropper but I just came back from a week of hanging out with four prominent, award winning playwrights; Lee Blessing, Stephen Adly Guirgis, William Mastrosimone and John Pielmeier.

These four artists educated, critiqued and inspired sixteen aspiring playwrights – including me – at the National Playwrights Symposium at Cape May Stage in Cape May, NJ. If you love theater then you have surely seen some of their work. For example, Peilmeier’s “Agnes of God;” Blessing’s “A Walk in the Woods;” Guiris’ “Our Lady of 121st Street,” and Mastrosimone’s “The Woolgatherer.”

Although these playwrights, and others like them, routinely consort with A-list actors, and Broadway and Hollywood producers, they seem void of any over-blown self-importance. They walk the streets of New York or LA without paparazzi in tow. They thrill to see their plays performed yet they know theatergoers tend to remember the title, and the actors, but not necessarily the playwright. Most need day jobs in order to support their love of writing.

Playwright Shawn Fisher (no relation) and Roy Steinberg, producing artistic director of Cape May Stage, organized the symposium. The students ranged in age from 20 to retirement, and we bonded as though we had been friends since high school. Our days began early in the morning and ended well past midnight. We read each other’s monologues, dialogues, three-minute plays and any other creative piece for which we craved an audience. We critiqued each other’s work, giving suggestions to make it better.

My promise to my blog followers is that when I get word that one of these bright, creative artists has a play produced, I will let you know. For starters, and I do mean for starters – Shawn Fisher’s “How to Make a Rope Swing” is playing at Cape May Stage from now until June 7.

Treat yourself.

23
May
2013

Different trails bring mother, son together

At first, when the opportunity arose for my son and me to ski in Beaver Creek, Colo., for a scant three days, I was concerned that our different levels of ability — like the nascent pairings on Dancing With the Stars — would mean a lonely and humdrum trip.

The skiing and the scenery at Beaver Creek, Colo., were exhilarating, inspiring, and rewarding.

The skiing and the scenery at Beaver Creek, Colo., were exhilarating, inspiring, and rewarding.

We are a study in contrasts: Noah is an expert downhill skier and snowboarder, while I have found a permanent home on the greens. Given that we had left friends and family at home working, and that we couldn’t ski together very well, we each took advantage of the independence to tackle something new. Telemark skiing for Noah; cross-country for me.

Lest you think cross-country, with its customary flat terrain and less cumbersome equipment, is a walk in the park, let me introduce you to McCoy Park. It has an elevation of 11,000 feet, and you can only access it by a chairlift while attached to skis by the toes of your boots.

Few cross-country trails in the world can match McCoy’s 500 mountainous acres of powder, blemished only by markings of wildlife. Lulling sounds come from magpies, intermittent bursts of wind, and the occasional snowshoer. Breathtaking views converge on the white-capped Rockies, and startling stands of aspens.

I took lessons through Beaver Creek’s Nordic Center, determined to make significant progress during our brief visit. Despite repeated falls going downhill, imagine my happiness when the instructor matter-offactly referred to me as intermediate.

Meanwhile, and on the other side of an imposing mountain, my son was learning to tele ski. Picture downhill with lunges. He began Sunday on the greens and finished Tuesday on the blacks. So much for being a chip off the old block.

Even though we didn’t ski together, we met for lunch every day. Seated outdoors by firepits, we munched on local delicacies and talked about our mornings. Afterward, Noah returned to the slopes, and I walked into the village, home to shops so unusual that one actually sells a 500,000-year-old giant sloth skeleton (price available on request).

Like Pavlovian dogs, we reconnected at 3 p.m. at the base of the mountain, where a half-dozen bakery chefs appeared with plates of still-bubbling chocolate chip cookies. Après-ski drinks could wait.

After an hour relaxing in the condo, we headed to our favorites for dinner: the no-frills Saloon in Minturn, Colo., a tiny Western town frozen in time; and the Dusty Boot, in Beaver Creek, with luscious Tex-Mex food and even more luscious margaritas. We ended the trip with a lavish meal at Zach’s Cabin, a mountaintop log cabin reached only by an open-air snowcat. The ride back after dinner treated us to a night sky so untainted by light pollution we felt as though we could reach up and pluck a handful of stars.

The next morning, I boarded a flight to Philadelphia, and my son to Boston. As we hugged goodbye in the airport, I thought how even though we skied apart, we had the most wonderful time together.

Originally published in The Philadelphia Inquirer April 28, 2013

29
Apr
2013

Rethinking Recycling

I once had a student write a paper on the need to recycle plastic water bottles and right after she turned in her essay, she unthinkingly tossed her water bottle into the trash.

I didn’t single her out at the time but I have since used this as a “teachable” example. Why didn’t I tell her? Because as hard as I try and as much effort as I put in to make sure I honor the environment by creating no more waste than I absolutely need to, I sometimes get a little sloppy.

And maybe even a little hypocritical.

Here’s what I mean: I stopped buying paper plates and paper napkins years ago and use only china dishes and cloth napkins. However…the only type of car I have driven for the past 15 years is an SUV. I’m not proud of that fact though I justify its use by claiming I need the cargo space. After all, I am always picking up flowers and plants for gardening, and piling suitcases, beach chairs and food in the back when I drive to the beach. Oh, and there is at least one day each year I actually need the space to transport that funky chest of drawers I find at a flea market.

I am a whiz at recycling bottles – even if it means throwing them in my purse until I get home and can place them in my recycling can. In fact, I more often than not carry a reusable water bottle, but every once in a while I like the convenience of plastic. However…again….I am obsessed with my Keurig – and those totally unrecyclable, unreusuable, plastic K cups.

I would never purchase any light bulb that isn’t marked “energy saving” and I never complain when it takes several minutes to reach its desired intensity even as I trip over the shoes on the floor of my closet looking for my navy blouse. However…I frequently forget to turn off my laptop.

I consider myself sensitive to the environment, and, in fact, some might call me a tree hugger. Some of my habits are exemplary such as my refusal to buy paper goods. Yet my other habits, like those moments I am just too tired to tear my address off the junk mail (for identity privacy) and throw the address in the trash, and the mail in with the recyclables, are worth breaking.

I do my best. And although I try to not judge the folks who do less, I still believe we should make every attempt to preserve the environment. Not only does every little bit help, but each time we do one small thing – like toss a bottle into a recyclable container – our subconscious mind takes note of our effort.

And if that happens enough times, I might even remember to turn off my computer.

03
Apr
2013


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