When I was a teen, my friend Rose and I would buy a lot of the same cosmetics. One of our favorites was Revlon’s “Rosy Future” lipstick, a deep red with lots of pink in it, or “fuschia” as some of us pre-baby boomers might call it. Lipstick names have become prosaic these days and offer no dreams to the hopeful teen. Because the older mouth needs a blend, I have a little palette of lipsticks now. The names are arty enough but where’s the promise? “Pearl Highbeam Tan,” “Mirrored Bronze,” Pink Velvet,” “Crazy Coffee,” a plain old “Orange,” and (how did this get in there) “Lolita”. Finally a name that has innuendo but the dream is to be a nymphet, an older man’s darling … that ship has sailed, and anyway, been there, done that. When I see Rose again (she might, she mightn’t come down) I will remind her of those golden days.

If any guys are reading this, consider it a learning experience, a glimpse into the preoccupations of the other side.

The news is that Ed is taking guitar lessons. We own a DeAngelico acoustic jazz guitar, made for Jay in 1935 to his specs by DeAngelico himself in his long-gone little shop on Kenmare Street in New York. It is an incredible instrument that Ed and I took to Mandolin Brothers in Staten Island for restoration. It is meant to be played with a pick, but a musician at Mandolin Brothers played it finger style and it sounded fantastic, even before the work was done on it. They wanted to sell it for us on consignment but I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. Jay had not played it for some years due to his illness. It is not good for an instrument to be unplayed so Ed started guitar lessons in New York, but hasn’t been studying since we moved. His first two teachers died, the first of a heart attack, and the second of a stroke. He was talking to a third on the phone, an initial contact, and I was gesturing to him to omit these details. Anyway, the subject came up a few weeks ago so Ed has found himself a new teacher, Kenny, and actually practices every night. When Kenny saw the guitar, he exclaimed, “Wow, the holy grail of guitars.” One day I’ll go along and meet him.

So instead of 1930s Italian tenors, Ed is on YouTube every night listening to guitarists, mostly Spanish, Russian, and Gypsy. I guess I’m grateful because the Italian thing was getting old.

I have been making calls inviting people to the boat parade party and I biked over to Stan, the art teacher who is renting for the winter on the island, to ask him as well. It does look as if I will pull myself together and go back to class.

Finally northern weather has invaded the area and I can handle it, although it interferes with my park routine. Who wants to stretch on a pier when the temp is 40 degrees? My main concern is that if it lasts, warm weather fish and the manatees will suffer and die.

Even Max doesn’t like it much. He dashes out to the pool deck to hunt geckos and dashes right back in, his tush frozen, crazed with boredom, and jumps on Brunswick. But that’s okay, because they play.

I walked 45 minutes to the tailor shop (wearing my down parka with the hood up) to visit Susan and her daughter, Elizabeth (15 or so) was there. She wants to take ballet to prepare herself for a theater effort, but Susan can’t afford it. I am trying to figure out a way to help. I’ll stop in at the dance studio down the road and find out if they offer scholarships. She has a body that I think can adapt, although she is overweight a bit. Her legs are long and slightly hyper-extended (a classy look for ballet arabesque). I can maybe put out for ballet clothes to give her a start. If she waits too long, her body will not respond as quickly. The training has to precede adulthood to be really effective.

xx to all, Teal