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The Midlife Second Wife ™

~ The Real and True Adventures of Remarriage at Life's Midpoint

The Midlife Second Wife ™

Tag Archives: Humor

Erma Bombeck: No Ordinary Woman

18 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by themidlifesecondwife in Inspiring Women, The Writing Life

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Erma Bombeck, Humor, humorists, Phil Donahue, writing, writing conferences

Forgive me for what I am about to write, because, in the wake and afterglow of the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, I risk sacrilege: Erma Bombeck was not what she portrayed herself to be. I submit, for proof, this statement, in the humorist’s own words:

OrdinaryErmapsd

From Suzette Martinez Standring’s PowerPoint presentation at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Conference: “Staying Power Advice from Top Opinion Columnists.”

 I wondered what I had that was unique and ironically enough, I discovered something. I was ordinary, painfully middle of the road, bare boned Ohio Midwest beige, Our Town ordinary…

While it is true that Erma Bombeck wrote about the ordinary, mundane details and events of her life, only an extraordinary writer and person could have taken that ordinary turf and seeded it into fertile mountains of gold. By keeping her ear to the common ground—daily life and love in the realm of domesticity—Bombeck harvested an astonishing legacy as a humorist, writer, columnist, journalist, and television personality. Her hometown of Dayton, Ohio, celebrates her legacy every two years on the campus of the University of Dayton, at the writer’s conference and festival that bears her name. I was lucky; I was one of the 350 attendees from across the U.S. and Canada smart enough to register before the event sold out. In 12 hours.

It takes an extraordinary woman to remain married to the same man for decades, raise three children (all of whom were present at the festival), walk the walk of feminism (she was an early supporter of the Equal Rights Amendment), write and publish, and keep her voice pure and true. No. Erma Bombeck, taken from us much too soon at the age of 69, was as far from ordinary as Dubai is from Dayton.

According to the Bombeck workshop website, http://www.humorwriters.org, Bombeck’s syndicated column, “At Wit’s End,” appeared in more than 900 newspapers. She wrote twelve books, nine of which were on the The New York Times’ bestseller list. She appeared regularly ABC-TV’s Good Morning America for 11 years. She was still writing her column for Universal Press Syndicate and developing a new book for Harper Collins Publishers when she died from complications of a kidney transplant on April 22, 1996.

I believe Erma Bombeck deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as another Ohio-born humorist—James Thurber.

When I was entering adulthood in the 1970s, I read and treasured two of her most famous books: If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What am I Doing in the Pits? and The Grass is Always Greener over the Septic Tank. Her writing, while hilarious, also made me feel as though I were reading the work of a good friend. That was her special gift, I think. Everyone felt that they knew Erma, and at the conference, everyone did. Her spirit was everywhere, most especially during Phil Donahue’s first-night keynote address. Donahue and Erma lived on the same street in the Dayton suburb of Kettering when both were just starting their careers. Bombeck, then a journalist for the Kettering-Oakwood Times, interviewed Donahue, then an announcer at radio station WHIO in Dayton. A lifelong friendship developed, and the moving eulogy that Donahue delivered at Bombeck’s funeral, which he shared with the audience, encapsulates the honesty, humor, and utter lack of pretense that was Erma Bombeck.

I had an opportunity after dinner to tell Donahue that I loved what he said about Erma, and to present him with two original photographs from the days when his father-in-law, entertainer Danny Thomas, was raising funds for what would eventually become St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. My father was a local fundraiser from Elyria, Ohio, and a huge benefit was held at a Cleveland hotel ballroom in April 1961.

MarciRichwithPhilDonahue

There’s so much more that I want to share with you about the conference—what I learned, who I saw, how I managed to navigate the campus with my knee-scooter and the help of the incredibly supportive staff at the University of Dayton—that I’ll likely have to write another post or two. For now, to keep up with all the conference news, I invite you to go on Twitter and follow hashtag #EBWW2014. You can also follow me there—here’s my handle: @midlife2wife. I’m still tweeting about the conference, so you won’t miss a thing!

I’d write more now, but I have some chores to do around the house. You do know what Erma said about housework, don’t you?

Housework, if done right, can kill you.

So please check up on me via Twitter and here at the blog to make sure that I survived my to-do list.

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On the Road to Dayton for the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop

09 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by themidlifesecondwife in The Writing Life

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Erma Bombeck, Humor, writing, writing conferences

bg_headerBanner

Image courtesy of the University of Dayton. Used with permission.

If you’ve been wondering why you haven’t seen more posts from me here, it’s because I’ve been preoccupied with work on a book project. I’m not abandoning the blog, mind you, otherwise I wouldn’t be here writing to you now! But because there are just so many hours in a day and days in a week, I’ve had to redirect my energies a bit. I’m stopping by now to tell you that I’m attending the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, this weekend. I’m looking forward to two-and-a-half days of workshop sessions and making connections with other writers, and I’m especially happy to have been one of approximately scribes who managed to book her registration on opening day, since the workshop sold out in a record 12 hours.

Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t know about Erma Bombeck? I grew up reading her warm, funny essays about domestic life, never dreaming that one day I’d attend a workshop held in her honor on the campus of her alma mater, the University of Dayton. A recent article in Parade magazine by Dr. Nancy Berk features interviews with several of the workshop faculty I’ll be meeting this weekend, who explain just what it was about the legendary humorist that continues to resonate with readers and writers of all ages, and from all walks of life.

I’ll try to keep you updated about my experience at the conference on Twitter, using the hashtag #EBWW2014. You can look for me at https://www.twitter.com/midlife2wife.

Gotta run—I’ve still got packing to do!

 

 

 

 

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What I Wore

01 Wednesday May 2013

Posted by themidlifesecondwife in Humor Me, The Well-Dressed Life

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

designer labels, Fashion, Humor, What I Wore

“For ‘Talk Stoop,’ I wore a blue and orange print Jenni Kayne skirt, a sheer black top and the black Casadei cage sandals. I want to kiss them and make out with them.”
—Heather Graham, “What I Wore”
The New York Times
April 26, 2013

NaotSandles

I ask you: Would you kiss these shoes?

Wednesday, April 24
No need to wake up early, since I’m not flying anywhere, so I lounged under the covers in the sleeveless coral nightgown my husband bought me for Christmas from Soft Surroundings. It has the sweetest ecru trim at the shoulders and neckline that seems as though it should be called lace, but it isn’t lace. I don’t know what it is. Crochet? Some other kind of needlework? How am I supposed to know these things? It might be crochet. My grandmother used to crochet afghans, which are blankets made out of large holes and yarn, and not Afghani dolls, although there might be some connection with Afghanistan. I’m not sure. My grandmother was from Lebanon. Anyway, I slept until the dog woke me up. Then I put on the ecru duvet slippers I bought on sale at Restoration Hardware. (Amazing. You go shopping for a brushed-nickel hook and end up finding the perfect slippers! I want to kiss them and make out with them!) I went downstairs and made coffee. When I added cream to my coffee it was the same color as my duvet slippers and the crochet on my nightgown. Ecru is my favorite non-color color, in that it reminds me of coffee.

Because I was getting a pedicure later that morning the woman at the salon asked me to wear flip-flops so the polish wouldn’t smear. I don’t own flip-flops, so instead I wore these beautiful blue leather slip-on sandals from Naot with my “Not Your Daughter’s Jeans” blue jeans and a Norton McNaughton navy boatneck three-quarter-sleeve top I bought on sale at Higbee’s in the 1980s. My mother always said: “Buy classic clothes and accessories and they’ll never go out of style.” She was right. I still wear two acrylic bracelets that I had in high school. The Naot sandals are insanely comfortable yet pretty; seven small rhinestones form a daisy petal on top of concentric stitched leather cutout petals. I want to kiss them and make out with them! It was cold and raining outside. I should have been wearing socks and warm shoes but what with the pedicure and all I couldn’t. As my godmother used to say: “You have to suffer to be beautiful.”

Thursday, April 25
Woke up with a bad sore throat and a stuffy nose. I didn’t have any appointments outside the house, but contractors were stopping by to discuss installing a railing on our front stoop and a white picket fence in our backyard. Luckily it had stopped raining, which was good because I was going to be darting in and out. I selected the warmest, comfiest clothes I could find that still proclaimed “Spring!”: a Cleveland Indians hooded sweatshirt featuring Jacobs Field on the front, the NYDJ bluejeans, warm socks, and my Abeo running shoes.

I don’t run. I have bad knees. But I do walk the dog. A lot. Sandy typically requires three outings, on average, each day. This is in addition to the morning walk she has with John before he goes to work, and the walk he gives her right before bedtime. Walking is excellent exercise for those with bad knees, but regardless of what you do with your knees, comfortable footwear is essential. My midlife compatriots know what I’m talking about. What does a year of disco dancing in platform shoes in the ’70s get you? A generation of women with knees like rusty hinges.

Friday, April 26
So excited! John and I had tickets to hear Michael Feinstein perform at Playhouse Square! My cold was a bit better, since I’d been popping Coldcalm like an opium fiend. I decided on my go-to evening-out attire: a black square-necked, dropped waist dress from Coldwater Creek. Because it was a bit chilly, I topped it with a black and grey duster from Barbara Lesser Studio. It looks like alligator skin but it’s not really alligator skin—I wouldn’t wear anything that harmed a reptile or a mink-like animal. I accessorized with a black beaded necklace set off by crystals and gold-like round things that I found at the bottom of my jewelry box, and my black acrylic bracelet from high school. Even though it was getting colder by the minute, I completed the look with dressy, black, open-toed sandals from Timberland to show off my pedicure.

Saturday, April 27
Sick in bed.

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Greetings, GenFab Friends!

20 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by themidlifesecondwife in Humor Me, Indulgences, Special Events, The Life Poetic

≈ 59 Comments

Tags

blogging, GenFab, Holidays, Humor, Midlife Bloggers, Poetry, writing

MorgueFile photo

MorgueFile photo

In the holiday season, in days of yore,
Scribe Roger Angell his feelings did pour.
On New Yorker’s back pages, right at the end,
Were yuletide wishes he called ‘Greetings, friends!’

To bold-faced names and celebs aplenty,
Angell rhymed his tidings in couplets steady.
And so it is in that spirit this year,
I do the same, so all lend an ear!

To the bloggers I read who are known as GenFab
(They’ve the gift of the pen and the gift of the gab),
I fill stockings chock-full of dreamings galore
That start at the ceiling and stream to the floor.

To the founding trio—Greenthal, Jeffreys, and Parris—
I send jewels and baubles befitting an heiress.
To the duo known widely as Grown and Flown—
I give pricey and fragrant eau de cologne.

There are other pairs, like the sisters Irving
So to Karen and Wendy I present two gold rings.
And to Maryl and Caryl of Second Lives Club,
Let’s create a great feast; end it with syllabub!

But what is that noise? That great big BOOM-BOOM?
It’s the BOOMBox Network and they’re working the room!
To Bradshaw and Kovacs and Van Petegem,
I send iPhones with apps for ad stratagems.

And off at HuffPost where bloggers do frolic,
There’s Lois Alter Mark and Darryle Pollack!
And here to the left is Nancy Wurtzel,
With Julie Danis and Donna Highfill!

Oh what shall we give HP writers like these—
So smart and so quick as to be the bees knees?
A home by the sea to vacation in Spain,
And designer umbrellas in case it should rain.

But look over there, on the Next Avenue—
It’s Linda Bernstein! Hello! Bienvenue!
What would be right for this media maven?
We’ll deed her a Caribbean tax-free haven.

And while on the topic of real estate,
A house for N. Hill, with a very grand gate.
Recreational grounds for Ms. Jean Parks.
For PK Fields—all the Ozarks.

We cannot neglect Kay Lynn Akers,
To her we give mansions in Heights known as Shaker.
And lest we forget Robin Meadow Dinsmore
Here are keys to a cottage by the seashore.

To the Wolf called Big Little, a red riding hood.
And to Wolff, Linda Maltz, some Norwegian wood.
For Lisa Carpenter, the tools that she needs,
And for Nina Knox, some gold shiny beads.

There’s no therapy quite like retail,
So a flagship store goes to Beverly Diehl.
And Debi Aronson Pfitzenmaier,
Gets a personal shopper and personal buyer.

Still have shopping to do? Go and see Joy Weese Moll.
She’s getting a high-end luxury mall.
It’s all quite posh and there’s never a crowd
There’s even a spa for Connie McLeod.

For Sarah Chesko and Cathy Chester,
A titan of Wall Street to have as investor.
And Jacqueline Tierney De Muro
Gets an ivory inlaid mahogany bureau.

Think life is Better After 50?
Then tell Felice Shapiro that you think she’s nifty.
And please don’t forget Mindy Klapper Trotta—
Bake them a cheesecake made with ricotta.

Save some for their own Ronna Benjamin,
(Or would she like boots made out of snakeskin?)
For Molly Campbell and Lib Aubuchon,
We give each a chair with a plush ottoman.

For Barbara Albright and Jo Heroux,
We’ll throw a big shindig with great barbecue.
To Haralee Weintraub and Janie Emaus,
Ad-free Words With Friends that aren’t blasphemous.

On Jennifer Comet, on Wagner, on Blitzen!
On Amy Noggle, on Ruhlin—on Vixen!
Open your socks by the chimney with care—
They contain fine wine and imported Gruyère.

To cineastes Flournoy and Bradley Colleary,
We give options and meetings with Dennis Leary.
Helene Cohen Bludman gets signed first editions.
Jessica Bern gets successful auditions.

A collection of art for Ann Dunnewold.
For Lori Jo Vest, in case she gets cold,
A hat and a scarf and a coat of faux mink
For Maddie Kertay,
An ice-skating rink.

Who would like chocolate truffles from Belgium?
Lynn Forbes, Susan Williams, Walker Thornton—come get ‘em!
Denise Danches Fisher shall have priceless etchings.
Mary Anne Tuggle Payne gets Paul Klee’s sketchings.

For Midlife Bloggers’ Jane Gassner
A leather portfolio with jeweled fasteners.
For Laura Lee Carter, midlife crisis guru,
An all-expense paid trip to Peru.

To the spiritual Lori Lavender Luz
A new yoga wardrobe. Why? Just because!
And to Cheryl Pallant, the dancer so rare,
A trip back in time to partner Astaire.

Caryn Payzant, Kim Phillips, and Jodi Okun
Get to boogie with Springsteen and sing “Born to Run.”
To Judy Krell Freedman and Pauline Gaines,
Strands of fine diamonds on silvery chains.

To Patricia Patton and Patricia Petro,
Unlimited flights in and out of Heathrow.
She’s far too polite to ask, “Whatcha bring us?”
She was raised right, Bonnie Petrie Dingus.

To her we bequeath a wishing well.
And another just like it to Sara Cornell.
Florinda Lantos Pendley Vasquez
Gets whatever she wants. Sez who? I sez!

Daphne Palmer Romero, what do you say
To a comedy session with Tina Fey?
Lori Ann Lothian of Elephant Journal
Gets a date with a five-star general or colonel.

To Tammy Gordon and Missy Lawler:
A fully equipped fishing trawler.
Complete with a crew (or at least a sailor)
To teach nautical stuff to Karen Williams Taylor.

To Susan Keats and Cindi Moomettes,
Platinum combs and ruby barrettes.
To Sweeties Teamer Wendy Limauge,
Season Patriots tickets, with seats in the loge.

A language course for Ellen Dolgen
Taught by a bona fide Parisienne.
And last but not least, exotic ports of call
To Karen Espensen Sandoval.

My fear is I might have left someone off,
If your name’s not been spotted, well, tell me off!
It’s hard to keep track of so many bloggers,
There are more of them than Alaskan loggers!

For the writers I know and the ones I’ve not met
There are musical duos and string quartets.
And to readers of mine who have followed me here,
Thank you for indulging my GenFab cheer.

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Wherein I Win an Essay Contest and Populate One Blog Post With Several Diverse Celebrities

08 Tuesday Nov 2011

Posted by themidlifesecondwife in Humor Me, The Cultured Life, What's the Buzz?

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Broadway, Coen brothers, Elaine May, Humor, John Turturro, Lloyd Bridges, MarloThomas, Relatively Speaking, Woody Allen

Screenshot of Gina Lollobrigida as Sheba from ...

Image via Wikipedia

First things first. The woman in this picture is not me. I’m talking especially to those of you who know me. Now, for those among you who do not know me and have never seen a picture of me, I will permit you, just this once, to visualize the Midlife Second Wife as resembling, somewhat, this paragon of pulchritude. Except imagine her wearing glasses.

And to those among you who do not know the identity of the woman in the picture, patience. All will be revealed in due time.

Last month I entered an essay contest sponsored by the actress Marlo Thomas on her Facebook page. (Perhaps you’ve heard of her?) Incidentally, the woman in the above picture is not Marlo Thomas. This is Marlo Thomas:

Ms. Thomas is starring in the Broadway hit Relatively Speaking, which is a collection of three one-act comedies, all directed by actor John Turturro (Barton Fink, Quiz Show, The Cradle Will Rock). The plays are Talking Cure, written by filmmaker Ethan Coen (Fargo, The Big Lebowski, No Country for Old Men); George is Dead, written by actress, screenwriter, and director Elaine May (The Heartbreak Kid, Heaven Can Wait, The Birdcage), and Honeymoon Hotel, written by Woody Allen (Midnight in Paris, Annie Hall, Manhattan). Ms. Thomas stars in George is Dead as Doreen, a woman whose husband has just died. Yes, I said this is a comedy.

Ms. Thomas invited friends of her Facebook page to submit their very best essays about a family member. The essays, she advised, could be funny or poignant, but they had to represent one’s best work. Five winners would be selected, and they each would receive a pair of tickets to see Relatively Speaking.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from Ms. Thomas’ assistant telling me that I was one of the winners.

Have you ever been in a situation where you’ve received incredibly amazing news and, due to the circumstances, were unable to adequately express your true feelings? I think I pulled a muscle trying to curb my enthusiasm. I was in a meeting with our financial planner at the time, happened to glance at my iPhone while she was looking something up, and saw the e-mail.

I need a new word for thrilled. Also for gobsmacked, jazzed, stoked, excited, happy, and on-cloud-nine.

Here’s the announcement from Ms. Thomas’ Facebook Page. If you click on the link you’ll probably have to scroll down a bit, so to save you the trouble I’ve inserted it here:

Marlo Thomas
I’m so excited to announce the winners of my Relatively Speaking essay contest! Thanks to all who entered. The winners are…. Siobahn Weiss, Anthony Martin, Nina Meditz, Kathleen Marshall, and Marci Rich. We will email you the play vouchers shortly!

John and I are now scrambling to make plans to get to New York. The tickets are valid from today through December 1. Yes. That’s right. Just one more thing to add to my to-do list during National Blog Posting Month.

Marlo (may I call you Marlo?), thank you for choosing my essay. John and I can’t wait to see the play. I hope I’ll have the chance to thank you in person after the performance.

And now, about that woman at the top of the page. She’s a central figure in my essay, so if you can just hold on a moment longer, you will soon know all.

“That Not Lollobrigida!”

Sunday nights meant only one thing when I was a child: a drive to Lorain, Ohio, with my mother and father, to visit my Sicilian grandmother.

Grandma Monia, my mother’s mother, was a widow who lived in the family home with the youngest of her four children, my unmarried Aunt Helen. Grandma spoke very little English; she had arrived at Ellis Island, as did so many immigrants, early in the 20th-century.

An only child, I was the youngest of my cousins. By the time I came along, my grandmother was so hobbled by arthritis and osteoporosis that she was confined to the house, and walked, doubled over, with the help of a cane on wheels. Because of this, her world was small. It contained a window, though: the flickering light of the black and white console television that my aunt had bought with her secretarial salary.

Grandma’s two favorite television programs were broadcast on Sunday evening—the Lawrence Welk and Ed Sullivan shows. She rarely commented during these broadcasts (and, truth be told, she could not understand much of the dialog), but we knew which guests and segments held her interest. She would smile in approval at the harmonizing Lennon Sisters, for example. She would clap with delight at Topo Gigio’s antics; she certainly knew that he was an Italian mouse, and if she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying to Ed Sullivan, she was nevertheless charmed by his sweetness, especially when Mr. Sullivan “keesed” him goodnight.

Acts that were, in her view, less wholesome (dancers gyrating to the Twist, say, or a tad too much cleavage in a female performer’s costume) would elicit a frown or a shake of her head. She might be at a loss for English, but she was still a critic.

One such evening in her living room, with my parents engaged in conversation with my aunt and me preoccupied with my Barbie doll, we were startled by a most unexpected reaction from her. Ed Sullivan was announcing his guests for the evening, and one name filled her with excitement.

“Lollobrigida! Lollobrigida gonna be on!” she exclaimed.

Now you have to understand something about my grandmother. Italy, and all things Italian, reigned supreme in her estimation, and were surpassed only by the Pope, who was, in those days, Italian, too. All of the food that she prepared was Italian, including the bread that she baked twice each week, despite her arthritis; she regularly mailed dollar bills to an Italian orphanage; she loved Perry Como. She was so biased in favor of her language that she stubbornly refused to learn English, even when her children would beg her: “Ma, please. In English! Say it in English!”

The thought, then, of my grandmother welcoming into her living room the great Gina Lollobrigida, an actress who had brought pride and acclaim to Italy (despite her frequent décolletage, which, for some reason, my grandmother conveniently overlooked), was beyond thrilling. If there had been time, she would have asked Aunt Helen to place an overseas call to the relatives in Palermo, so that she could inform them of the great thing about to happen in America.

So focused were we on Grandma and her reaction that we hardly paid attention to what the estimable host was saying about his guest. We were now, with her, poised for the advent of the glamorous Lollobrigida.

The moment my grandmother had been waiting for had arrived. Ed Sullivan stepped to the microphone and announced:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome my next guest with a warm round of applause—the exciting star of Sea Hunt, Lloyd Bridges.”

And out walked a man in a scuba suit, legs splayed, flippers flapping across the stage.

My grandmother, crestfallen and confused, could only exclaim:

“That not Lollobrigida!”

—THE END—

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