What child is this?

My husband, Edwin Smith-Standish and I have returned from putting our vacation lodge in upstate New York to bed for the for the year and we had such a lovely time on the drive up and back.

S&S Lodge, as we call it. is nestled above Lake Owasco, and is a sprawling compound of cabins, each one with a view of something - be it the brilliant blue sky, or the deep green of the forest. S&S Lodge has been in the family for many years.  It belonged to Edwin's grandfather and then his father.  Our children and their children have use of the compound for a mere $50 per night.  You are thinking "they charge their own family members?" and to that I say yes, we do.  Not because we need the money, but because it teaches responsibility and reminds them all good things in life cost money.

"Nothing in life is free", is the Smith-Standish Family Motto.  None of our children has an entitled bone in their body and I defy anyone to say that they do.

Since it is so close to Cornell, where our grand daughter Brittany Smith-Standish attends school, we had let her use S&S Lodge as a getaway during the scorching hot days during summer term (for $50 a night).  Brittany was an A+ student at Hathaway Brown, so we figured that she had shown sufficient growth to handle the responsibility of being at the camp.

So imagine our disappointment when we found a nearly empty box of canned beer in the Sub Zero.

And it just wasn't any beer, but something called "Natural Lite". We were shocked!

When a Smith-Standish enjoys a fine beer it is a stout, or an ale.  But this yellow water? Piffle!

Can you imagine being able to spend time in of the most beautiful private camps in all of upstate New York, breathing the fine air, reveling in the filtered sunlight of an August afternoon and then, when the cocktail hour rings, knocking back a can of "Natural Lite"? 

Worse yet it appears that she (and her company) didn't even pour their beer into a frosty mug, but drank from the cans(!) that they just tossed in the trash.

We also found scattered about other items, which must have belonged to her girlfriends.  Yet, we cannot explain the mens underwear under the bed in the Hut Sut Cabin that Brittany so enjoys stayingwhen she comes to visit here.

What child is this? Who are his people?

And we found this picture (see above) of a sleepy young man (his face is blocked is blocked by something) with his first raised in a protestive gesture.  I am quite sure that his parents didn't raise him to make such crude gestures.  So I told Edwin that when we see Brittany this weekend we will just have to get to the bottom of this, or no more use of the lodge if these antics continue!

Well, Edwin and I are off to Cleveland Hopkins to catch our flight back east for the Labor Day Weekend.  If anything should come about, I will be sure to share it with you.

I hope you holiday weekend is a festive one!

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

Phyllis Stein - Secret Lumber Jack

On the last Thursday of each month for the past twenty years I have enjoyed card club at the home of Ann Tewksbury Davidson down in Hunting Valley. Twelve of us girls get together, draw lots and are assigned tables.  Then, one of the girls (there are twelve women, and twelve months - thus affording each of us the chance to select for a given month) selects a game and it is announced.  That is what we play for the afternoon. 

This is our tradition, and it has worked perfectly well for twenty years.

Well, yesterday, all was going to plan until who should arrive unannounced at Ann's door but none other than Phyllis Stein. For those of you who do not know Mrs. Stein, she is the former wife of Maurice Stein, the parking lot magnet of Cleveland, and she is such crashing bore; she talks non stop.  Did I mention she also has terrible taste?  And wreaked of My Sin!

Mrs. Phyllis Stein; After bathing in a vat of bronzer

Well, what was Ann to do?  With a house full of friends, she couldn't turn her away, so she did the noble thing and invited her in and gave Phyllis her seat at the card table.  Phyllis put up a small and unconvincing front of not wanting to interrupt.  In turn we all put up a small and pithy front that we were glad to see her and how much fun this would be.

Bully.

The game chosen was Canasta, and the variant was a game called Hand & Foot.  Poor Ann, she spent the afternoon walking among the girls and attended to their needs, emptying ash trays, refreshing drinks and serving coffee, because this what one does when one has unexpected guests who are too dim witted to call ahead to see if a visit would be nice.  

I had the unfortunate pleasure of being seated at the same table as Phyllis Stein and her outfit gave me a headache.  Of course we were dressed appropriately - skirt suits and pant suit sets.  But not Phyllis Stein. She looked as if she had left her trailer in a hurry because there was a sale at WalMart.

Worse yet, Ms. Stein, in my son Bruce's words, "Never got the fashion memo that a little leopard goes a long way." But yesterday, festooned with slave bracelets, metal beads, bangles and charms every time she moved she created a terribly distracting racket.  Poor Barbara Sims Miller misplayed a seven of diamonds and lost out on an easy meld of 300!

As we finished the second game on the way to the rubber match, Phyllis excused herself to use the powder room and I caught a whiff of stale urine.  Barbara looked down onto the seat of the card table chair and saw it was was wet.

"Great!" said Barbara, "Now she leaks!"

What was I to do?  Thankfully Ann's card table chairs are covered in durable Naugahyde so we did nothing.  Why embarrass Phyllis Stein any more than she had embarrassed herself?

I did reach into my Coach bag and pull out a bottle of  hand sanitizer and share it with the girls.

As the afternoon drew to a close, I had to take Phyllis aside as she emerged from the powder room, and walk her to her car.  Otherwise, she never would have left the house.  Said she "This was fun, let's do it again."

"See you when Canasta Season begins anew" I replied, and off she went.

I, of course went back in the house to see if there was anything I could do to help Ann and she thanked me and we chatted.  As I readied to leave her grandson Thornton, who is 14, walked in from school and he asked "Who was the lumberjack at the party?"  Both Ann and I looked quizzically at each other.  When she pressed for answer he acted as if we knew what he meant.  Ann asked him what was he was getting at.

"Someone left a log in the water."  We shook our heads.

"Someone dropped a friend off at the pool," he said.

"There is a lumberjack in the pool? Ann looked out to the pool behind her house.

"Gram, one of those ladies didn't flush!" he exclaimed.  "Gross."

Indeed. As she and I approached the powder room that Phyllis had used just before she left we found - there in the water -a filthy damning piece of evidence -her BM.  Yes, you heard me correctly - Phyllis Stein left her fecal matter in the toilet!


Next month, cards will be held at an undisclosed location in an attempt to thwart another unscheduled visit by Phyllis Stein, and filthy gifts. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

Crazy Quilt of Thoughts

As it is Wednesday I volunteered at the Cleveland Museum of art this morning.  My job was to sit at the security desk by the loading dock and keep an eye on things.  The only problem was that there very little to keep ones eye on as it was very quiet.  I checked in three people and then I check the same three people out.  A good volunteer must remind themselves that it isn't how busy you are, it is that one shows up and gladness in heart for the job that is assigned to you.  Remember that.

I met with the director who handles school tours and we discussed a very full Wednesday coming up.  Next week I shall be awash in fresh students from public schools who are making their first trip here.  So we will have to review basic rules about using our "museum voices" and how not to touch the Monet's, Cezanne's and the Rembrandt's.

Do any of you give of yourselves to local orgainzations?   I hope so.  There is nothing sadder than those who wallow in the self-masturbatory practice of buying things to make one happy in life.

Service to mankind is important in a lifetime.  Like spending a year in Europe after high school, public service helps to smooth the rough edges of your personality.  You will never be fondly remembered for the money that you have  in the bank, but your service to your fellow man (in the global sense) will always pay forward to someone else.

In other news, the cicadas have been terribly loud today. The area around our house is filled with their song, and it is giving me a splitting headache.  While I loathe the idea that we are a mere six weeks from a killing freeze, where these bugs are concerned, I'll be very happy when they are dead and gone.

And, oh, before I forget, I spoke with my sister, Katherine Hobbs Reynolds, in Washington DC and she said that yesterday was all very overblown. 

"There was shaking and then there was no shaking; that was our day, " said she.

I didn't feel a thing, while Edwin did.  I feel as if I missed out on one of nature's moments, but what can you do? 


I think a nice cat nap is in order,

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith Standish

Wedding Bells

On Saturday we attended a lovely Jewish wedding between the children of two my husband Edwin's law partner's children who are are now Mr. & Mrs. Sheldon Tway.  Of course the death of Phoebe took my mind off reporting.

The body language tells me there is an under current

Just look at these youngsters.  So happy and so much to look forward to once Sheldon graduates from medical school someplace in the Caribbean.  I forget the exact location but for some reason it sounds like "The Republic of Vera Hrueba Ralston" or something close to that.

And for there honeymoon they are going to spend a fortnight in an Israeli Kibbutz where they can learn the practice of sharing manual labor.  I asked Suzette's (the bride) mother if they wouldn't prefer to go someplace with a nice beach, but she insisted that "Suzette and Shelly are going to do their own thing, and that breaks our heart because we thought they would have liked a week at Sandals or some such. Kids!"

It caused me to pause and remember  the honeymoon that Edwin and I so enjoyed.  We spent a week at the Greenbriar. It was so wonderful that I completely forgot that I was married!

In any event  the food was quite tasty.  As I said both families are Jewish Light, so there was surf and turf, asparagus, divine potatoes, salmon mousse, and a mixed vegetable that one can not describe (but I am sure was so good it was just loaded with sodium) and for dessert the most darling little wedding cakes - for each of us.  And we were seated at the same table as the Rabbi and her husband, who is an orthodontist in Solon, Ohio.  A delightful couple - however the husband chews with his mouth open. 

The couple will be returning to Ohio in September and will make their first permanent home in a sweet condominium in Solon before Shelly head back to school for the fall term.  Suzette will follow in November after her new nose heals up.  She'll spend winter on the island with Shelly working on her tan.

For their wedding gift Edwin and I purchased and gave a set of sterling Paul Revere bowls from Shreve, Crump & Low in Boston.  We know that silver is passé but one needs a place to put the display candies when one decorates, no?

There was dancing and gaiety.  Edwin and I danced to "Moon Over Miami" and "I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Shiksa Kate".  What fun!


Taffy's brother, who is a Hollywood based film producer was there and I found him to be a nonstop talker.  According to Taffy, it's what producer's do - "schmooze and yak."  I couldn't get rid of the man, but then I thought of the first real movie star I could think of and I said  "isn't that Rhonda Fleming over there and off he went."


Towards the end of the night Taffy cornered me and asked me what I thought of the happy couple.  And I told her that they were radiant.  She said she's giving it three years until the final divorce decree, with Suzette getting custody of the one grandchild.


That Taffy; you never know what she'll say!


Yours in the moment, 


Mrs Edwin Smith-Standish

A death in the family

We received news last evening that our grandson King is in mourning over the death of pet goldfish, Phoebe.

I can't tell you what kind of tragedy this is because it's really more kabuki theater than it is true mourning. 

While Edwin and I are simply mad for our grandson, Phoebe's passing was not the shocking news that it was portrayed as. 

According to our daughter Paige, who is King's mother, there were great dramatics when King went to his room and found the limp, lifeless body, floating in the fetid water that was her home for the last year.  Frankly we are amazed that dear Phoebe lasted as long as she in the murky, mirthless bowl that was her home.

"I'm amazed he even looked at the bowl," Paige quipped.

You see, our grandson isn't one who is preoccupied with details - he is a broad thinker - a big picture junior executive type. An accountant to be? We think not.  A future CEO of a multinational conglomerate? Yes, as long as he has a good right hand who is steering the ship, so to speak.

So naturally, when King said he wanted a dog last year, I my heart sank.  The poor animal, whatever it would be, would starve for affection and a meal under King's tenure as his master, and the whole idea was for the boy to get a pet is so he could learn to take care of it.  So Paige - who is a clever girl in her own right - said that if King could keep a gold fish alive for a year, they would revisit the dog.  (I for one thought it would have been a better idea if they would have given King a cactus - you know something with some staying power.)


The fish, named Phoebe, managed to keep King's attention for all of ten minutes.  Paige knew the poor fish was in danger, but she stood her ground, and I am happy for that.  It would have been easy to step in and act as a buffer between the fish and it's ten year old owner, but Paige really held firm.

Of course, now she is hysterical with grief because she is an accomplice to a "coyicide", but this is a lesson in strength that both needed to learn.  Being a parent isn't all it is cracked up to be.  That is why God invented nannies.  I suppose if my mother were still alive I could afford to go into a tizzy as well.  Oh, well - since I am the senior adult, it falls to me to keep my head.


Funeral Services for Phoebe were held immediately upon discovery, so thankfully we didn't have to fly back east for it. That would be utter nonsense.  I'm sure if it had been a hamster or something like that our attendance would have been requested, and there would be the wringing of hands just shy of the end from Imitation of Life.  The corpse received the goldfish equivalent of cremation; Paige did used the Sure-Flush in the guest room for Phoebe's final swim.

When I go to church on next Sunday I am going ask my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that my grandson learn from this - that life is sacred in every form, even if you can't throw a stick and have said "pet" bring it back to you.  If a pet cannot do more than waive a fin at you, well, then embrace that finny friend.

Bon voyage, Phoebe.  May your life, and death, be not in vain.

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith Standish 

My plans for the weekend...

...include reading, catching up on my hand written correspondence, getting my hair done at Joey and Tanno's and attending the wedding of Suzette Rosenthal, who is the daughter of Abraham and "Taffy" Rosenthal.  Abraham is Edwin's partner in the law firm of Smith-Standish, Rosenthal, Burger and Tway.  They have known one and other since their days at Stanford.

Abraham's wife Taffy - a vivacious woman who has a rapier sharp wit, has really gone all out on the wedding on Saturday.  The Rosenthal's are Jewish-lite, so there is no worry about sundown issues.  Then we'll travel to Abraham and Taffy's home in Pepper Pike where they have erected an air conditioned marquis.  The grounds of their home are really quite extraordinary considering that neither Abraham or Taffy has anything to do with outdoors. Of course, Executive Catering will be doing all of the food, and I am very sure that it will be tasty and as well as laced with all sorts of wonderful Jewish foods. 

Suzette is marrying Sheldon Tway, who is the son of Akido and Miriam (Kopowitz) Tway.  Akido is in the firm along with Edwin and Abraham, so it's really much more like family affair.   Edwin and I so enjoy these interfaith affairs because we can dance to a foxtrot, or to the Chicken Dance Polka; we do not "Electric Slide" as it is unflattering at our age.  I hope that Taffy took my advice though and dropped the klezmer music.  It is an acquired taste.

Me, my Contour Chair and a good book.

It was Taffy who recommended that our book club take on Victoria Lincoln's "A Private Disgrace: Lizzie Borden by Daylight" and I must say that I am reveling in all of its WASPishness.  And so many of the people who involved in the case, as Lincoln describes them, they remind me of the staid New Englander's  back home in the Bay State.  Although none of them murdered their parents, at least to my knowledge.

So for the remainder of the weekend I shall be preoccupied.  But do come back on Monday - this has been great fun.

Fondly yours,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

You ask, I answer: Who is Bonita Dixon, and What is New With Tonya

When I spoke with my son, Bruce Smith-Standish, this morning using something call "Face Time" on my husband's "iPad" and Bruce asked how the "blog" was going and I informed him that it was going swimmingly.

We chit chatted for a couple moments as he brought me up to speed with his home, the business, Master John's latest win the legal arena, and the exciting news that Tonya, our "grandiguana", is going to star in a local San Francisco commercial.  Being cold blooded, Bruce seems to think that Tonya will enjoy all the lights on the sound stage.  I reminded him not to spoil her as she may come to expect a few extra crickets all of the time.

Tonya seems nonplussed as usual.

Bruce tells me that part of being a good blogger is to interact with with you blogience (blog+audience) and to show interest in them.

In reading through your comments - and I do so value them - I have noticed that there are those of you who wonder who is Bonita Dixon.  Coincidentally, I myself have been asking myself  who Bonita Dixon thinks she is for eons.   However due to liable laws I cannot tell you a thing about Bonita Dixon.   Instead I shall tell you about an imaginary neighbor named "Juanita Hickson."

The Smith-Standish home is on South Woodland Road, west of Shaker Heights Country Club.   The main house, in the English Manor style, is nestled slightly lower than the road, making it feel especially welcoming.  From our south windows we have a magnificent view of the fifth tee of the course - truly breath taking. 

When Col. Marcus Griffin died - he of Griffin Manor, the stunning house three doors from ours - was sold to a Mr. and Mrs. "Hickson".  Since they are not in the Cleveland Blue Book, or members of the golf club, we assumed that they were new to area.  Neighbors along this stretch of road know one and other because we all belong to the club, but we tend to enjoy our privacy at home. 

One day, who should come to our front door like a waif in distress was Mrs. Juanita ("just call me "Nita") Hickson and she was in dire need of a phillips head screw driver. People stranded in the dessert are in dire need of water; but a screw driver?  Unless one is Dean Martin, I think not.  Nevertheless, I rang for Charmane, our housekeeper, and asked if she could check in the tool room in the carriage house for a phillips head screw driver.  While we waited, "Nita" regaled me with everything that they were doing to the house, how she studied classical harp, and how she was "a planning" to have the neighbors over for cocktails. 

"That," I said, "sounds very nice."  What else was I to say?

And while she spoke I noticed a certain love of verbal contractions and a couple "he got" and "ain't's" thrown in for my auditory pleasure. I also learned that "Nita" was Mr. Hickson's third wife, and just know that the third one is always a charmer.  I also learned that she was a native of Youngstown; so you can see the situation was disintegrating by the moment.

Charmane thankfully returned with two screw drivers, one large and one small and "Nita" snapped them up and off she went like an untied balloon cast into the air.  Not so much as "Thank you" or "I appreciate this favor."  No. Off she flew. Charmane said "Mrs. S, that is the last of your tools you'll ever see."

I made a mental note and went about my day - I had done Mrs. Hickson a favor and I was bound by proper rules of behavior to trust that she would return the screw drivers, both of them, in a reasonable amount of time. 

Within the month, the screw drivers had not been returned.  Edwin thought nothing of it, but I am believer in "Neither a lender or a borrower be" and if he wasn't going deal with it I certainly would.

It was early October.  I was wearing my favorite brown Peck & Peck knit skirt suite that I am so found of, and the smell of leafs and the rustle of them under my sensible heals made me remember those New England days of my childhood when the temperature was mild and the sun crisp and bright but waning.  Absolutely invigorating!  It lifted my spirits and I felt a smile almost come over my face.

I began to walk up the "Hixson's" circular driveway - it really is a charming house - very Sister Parrish in style - when there before me the living room bay window as "Nita" playing her Concert Grand Harp for all to see - and she was naked!

For a moment, suspend disbelief and imagine this is what I saw.

At that moment I was especially glad that I had not sent Edwin down to recover the screw drivers.

She couldn't see me because her naked back was facing me, so I had a moment to compose myself. I steeled myself, straightened my suit jacket, and marched myself to the front door and rang the bell with purpose.  The delightful Westminster chime, that Col. Griffin was so fond of when he a resident of the house, rang with authority.  The plinking stopped.  I heard a slap, slap, slap of unshod feet upon the marble foyer floor of the house, while "Naked Nita" sing-songed out, with all the manufactured talent that a summer stock stand in could muster, "Who is it?"

"It is I, Martha Smith-Standish.  And I have come to call, " I announced.

A few moments later Naked Nita answered the door, wearing a dressing gown. "Does this woman not know the meaning of the word propriety?" I though to myself.  "Evidently not or she wouldn't have been fingering that harp of hers in the window for all to see," I reasoned back.

I explained my reason for dropping in, uninvited, and asked if she had the screw drivers, to which she said that she though she did.  I asked for their return and that I was fine standing in the hallway.  Heaven forbid I should sit on any of her upholstered furniture - especially since I could not be sure if if Naked Nita hadn't also seated herself upon any of the seats.  It would have been unhygienic!

When she returned the screw drivers she made the mistake of saying she was just in the middle of her harp practice to which I answered, enigmatically "I see," because I had.  Now if I would have said "I saw" then she would have known for certain - better to keep them guessing.  I thanked her, mentioned that we should "see more of each other" - a little hint to make her wonder what I knew - and left.

My property in my hands, the cool warmth of the October sky and the rustling of fallen leaves under my feet again reassured me that life, when properly attired, is indeed delightful.

Dear Reader, remember, although I was offended by her nakedness, manners indicated that I shan't leave her as coldly as she left with my hand tools. No and to the contrary. One should always leave a door open in case one needs volunteers or cash donors for future causes.And besides, the Smith-Standish axion that "the world is simply not as large as we would like think" really does come into play.  Try as I might, I knew that until "Nita" moved on to a "snappy" retirement villa in Naples, Florida, I really wouldn't be outside her sphere of probability.  Prepare for the worst and when it happens you are not surprised is my motto, and that applies to "Nita" just as much as it does for a hurricane, loud people who often, and ignorantly claim, unique personal rights under the United States Constitution, or as my nine year old grandson Armand would interject, Zombies.

That was the first of numerous encounters with Juanita that have ended poorly.

We have been to her home for a musicale (I was disappointed when it was not harp selections from O' Calcutta) and we did attend Mr. Hickson's funeral.  He died in bed. What a Surprise!  I now see Juanita here and there, and she has joined committees and tried to make herself relative to society, however reports continue from her immediate neighbors that she still insists on practicing in the nude, to which I reply "why practice, she is most certainly a pro by this point."

Now remember, you shouldn't think that any of this has anything to do with Bonita Dixon. Parrish the thought!  Besides, Bonita Dixon plays a cherub encrusted guided harp between the hours of 4PM and 6PM, not a true concert grand. 

Well, I should go - Thursday is my duplicate bridge night.  Tonight, Murial Cardwell is hosting at her gracious home on North Park Road.  Wish me luck!

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

On Wednesday's...

...I lead tours through the Cleveland Art Museum.

There is nothing like art to raise one's appreciation of life.  Or so I thought this morning as I approached our museum - one of the crown jewels in Cleveland's fine arts community.

Unfortunately, my tour group today was comprised of six mothers, all of which are misguided in their thinking that "home schooling" will equip their children for life beyond their mother's apron string.  Still, I embraced this opportunity, rather than a problem, I welcomed the challenge.  Why? Because that is what makes a good and loyal volunteer.

My first indication that something was amiss was when I asked the mothers what era in art their children were studying, and Alpha Mother in the group said, and I quote, "The State of Ohio says we have to take our children on at least two field trips per year, and this counts as one."

And the other trip?

"To our church in Kinsman (Ohio) to study how God created the earth."

Talk about building instant rapport!

So I again asked - this time offering some suggestions as to the era in art that could interest them - would they like a tour of  modernists, American masters, the impressionist, as so forth in hopes that Alpha Mother or any of the less direct members, had a specific school of art that they would like to see.  Sometimes making a suggestion like this can be so much less intimidating.

Again, the Alpha Mother said that she liked looking at "pictures that tell you whats happening," and then she added "but no cooters or boobies."

My initial thought was "Honestly - are we twelve?"  Had she just said no nudity, that would have sufficed.


Needless to say I did get the group to the American Masters gallery, without the "youngins" being exposed to "boobies" and "cooters" by using the freight elevators and back corridors.

First I led them to James McNeil's  Liberty Rising, and as I was interacting with the children, asking them for their opinion of the work, because children do have opinions, Alpha Mother jumped in and said "It's a lady holding up a flag.  Let's see the next picture."

My job is not to judge, but to open doors, even when one is slammed in face. 

Believe me, Dora Wheeler looked like she was studying the group in bemusement.

By the time we reached the fourth "picture" as the mothers called them, I was about to describe William Merrit Chase's Dora Wheeler,  one of the mousy women asked where the lavatory was and I directed her to the hall, second door on the left, and then I returned to Chase's work.  Several minutes later, Mrs. Mousey returned and announced to the group that "the bathroom was the highlight of (her) day."

Oh, what a cathartic release that must have been.

Two hours later, our time together had come to an end.  I thanked the women and children in the group and suggested that they schedule their next visit on a Tuesday or Thursday and ask for Bonita Dixon to lead their tour.

Now if you will excuse me, I am going to take a Vanquish and have a cup of hot beef bouillon and try to unwind.

Yours in Volunteerism,

Mrs Edwin Smith-Standish

My doctor visit and what I caught someone who is not Bonita Dixon doing at Heinens

Yesterday before I left for the grocery store and the gynecologist, I wrote in my blog that I was going to have my Vagina examined.

Well, this evidently upset my son Bruce who told me that in no uncertain terms that the blog needn't include such graphic detail.  I told him that he was being silly. It is a perfectly natural task to go to ones doctor and have preventive medical care, and that includes having ones vagina examined semi annually, does it not?

And it is a silly woman who can not say the word Vagina, let alone take herself and get it examined.  Indeed, why should be ashamed of our reproductive system?  Well, what say you?

This admission almost made Bruce insane at the shear mention of the examination.  Bruce sometimes forgets that he and his older twin brother were both vaginally delivered when they were born, so why should it be an issue now?

So I said  the word.  "Vagina, vagina, vagina, vagina, Bruce," I said.  "It has a name and it is by it's name that we call it what it should be called."  To which he replied "Oh, Mother!"

Bruce has always had issues with the Vagina. Thankfully his twin brother Chip has no such issues.  They are the ying and the yang, so to speak.

As a young child my mother insisted that I call it my "kitten".  And as I grew older there were other names for it, many which I am sure that you all know.  But the word "Vagina" is the medically acceptable name and that is what it should be called, no?  After all, we are all adults, presumably, so using the word V-A-G-I-N-A, or its Latin root of Cunnis shouldn't shock anyone, and if it does than shame on you.  Yes, you.  The person reading this.  I say shame on you for not saying Vagina!

Anyway Dr. Rosenblatt,  my gynecologist, proclaimed me healthy and suggested that I do Kegel exercises to tone myself.  In fact, I am doing them now because it is practical to do so.  So that is that.

Bonita Dixon when she isn't tasting grapes

More shocking though than a pelvic exam was what I witnessed at Heinen's.  I shall not say her name only to say that it was not Bonita Dixon that I witnessed, sampling one too many grapes.  Yes, one should taste their grapes before buying a bunch, but one need not try two or even twenty as the person who is not Bonita Dixon was doing.  No wonder food prices continue to escalate when you have people like Bonita Dixon (not that I saw her, but I'm just using her as an example) munching their way through the produce section.

Today I am going to the attend the charade that passes for the Episcopalian Ladies Guild Meeting and we are discussing ways that children should dress for winter.  A member will stand up and say "Wouldn't it be grand if we could pool our resources and buy coats for the underprivileged for the coming winter?"  Fortunately, we've all been to this meeting long enough that this will be our cue to get our our check books and make a donation.  And I shall turn toward one of the members who is not Bonita Dixon and suggest that she add a couple dollars to clear her karma for the grapes that she feels are placed at the store for her to munch on while shopping.

Such is life, no?

Until next time, this Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish signing off and urging to to have your Vagina's examined as part of your preventative care regimen.

These are my Jewels: Edwin Robert Sayre Smith-Standish, Esq.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with our family I shall devote this Monday blog (there is that dreaded sounding word again - it sounds as if someone is ejecting food from their stomach after a bad Mexican meal) to the eldest of our children, our son, Edwin Robert Sayre Smith-Standish, or E. Robert Sayre Smith-Standish as he is known in the law field in which he is an attorney, just like his grandfather Edwin Robert Smith Standish, Sr.

Our pride and joy, Edwin Robert Sayre Smith-Standish

"Bob" as he is know to his siblings, and is pictured above, focuses his practice on Corporate Law and Probate matters.  He is a partner in the Boston firm of Kennedy, Sayre, Cavendish, Smith-Standish and Wu.  This is the same practice that my great grandfather, Fletcher Sayre co-founded in 1890 with Mr. Oswald Cavendish.  Mr. Kennedy elbowed his way in in 1930 (and luckily then sped off to California to fornicate with Gloria Swanson), and I'm not sure where Ms. Wu came from, but I am sure that if she is a partner in this firm that she is a lovely woman, if not a bit ruthless.

Robert, as Edwin and I affectionately call him, was a happy baby and sound A student in the Shaker Heights public school system where he attended Malvern School, Byron Junior High and Shaker Heights High School.  Accepted to Harvard, he stayed away from such distraction and  nonsense that envelopes so many young people.

Our Dear Daughter in Law, Margery just before the "unspeakable" incident that we don't discuss in public.

Upon earning his law degree at Georgetown, he married his college sweetheart, Margery Morehouse of Grosse Pointe Farms, Michigan.  Margery is devoted to our son and we are so glad to have her in our family.  Yes, it's true. We really value her, and her home is immaculate.

Robert and Margery have four bright and alert child: Edwin Robert Sayre Smith-Standish IV (Eddie to his friends) who is the Peace Corps, eying a career in Public Service; Hillary (she was born long before we ever had the slightest inclination that Hillary Rodham Clinton would ever amount to anything), who is a junior interpreter at the United Nations; Morehouse  who is enrolled at Yale, and Bronwyn, a physical Education student at Vassar.

Robert IV and his mother; Margery is not happy about this Sylvia business

So far, only one engagement to note for the grandchildren; Robert  IV has met a lovely young woman from Mexico named Sylvia.  Although we do not know anything about her family, we understand that her father is in the export business in Juarez.  Our last private detective that we sent south to compile a dossier on her  family came back in six boxes, so we hope that Robert IV will come to his senses and opens up his options.

Well, if you will excuse me, but the car is her to take me to Heinen's for groceries and then to doctor to have my annual vaginal exam.

Wishing you a safe and productive day ahead, I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

My Sunday

 Our 1967 Cadillac Fleetwood.  They Don't Make them like this anymore

Sunday is the day of rest, and today we have done restful things, until a point.

On our way to Church we dropped our faithful retainer "Dolly" off at the Rapid stop so she could  visit her son who currently lives under "Restrictive conditions" in an establishment operated by Cuyahoga County.  Poor faithful Dolly. As she said once "I could retire but what would I do then?"  How true.

The sermon at Plymouth Church was accompanied by interpretive dance. I found it at once enlightening, and repulsive at the same time.  But bless the hearts of the little children!  Smiling faces and all that energy expended by trampling on the alter of Our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ Almighty.

After that desecration, Edwin and traveled to the home of Edwin's sister, Rosalind Smith-Standish Peyton in Hunting Valley, Ohio.  We found Rosalind in garden pointing at things that her gardener missed weeding during the week.  Edwin's sister made us a light lunch and we engaged in pleasant - light conversive topics.

On the way back home, Edwin asked if I could drive as he was feeling a bit out of sorts - out of step with nature.  You now, bloated and queasy.

So I got behind the wheel of our Fleetwood, and began the drive home.  When we came upon Mayfield Road, I slowed the vehicle and then applied the brakes to stop the Cadillac at the traffic light.  The normal traffic passed through, and the light changed.  Just as I was about to depress the accelerator - and out of nowhere - a dump truck came barreling through the intersection and shot through against the light.  Had I not paused to start our Cadillac we could have been flattened to bits!

And did that dump truck stop? No, he most certainly didn't.  That driver behind the wheel just kept up on his merry way.  So I made the left turn, and proceeded westward when Edwin looked up and said "What is that crazy son of a bitch doing now?"

Edwin was correct - verily, the truck was now gunning for us, backwards!

I steeled myself, and did a quick mathematical problem in my head (If a pillar of the community is driving her 1967 Cadillac Fleetwood Up Mayfield Road at 45mph, and speeding dump trucking is coming at said matron at an undetermined rate of speed, when will they slam into one and other?") and took the best course of action.  I gunned it, and then guided the car into the left hand lane.  The truck went whooooosh! right by us as I climbed the hill.

In reflection I wonder if that man behind the wheel of the truck had lost his breaks, which is the most reasonable explanation.  Still it is a reminder that one should watch where one is going, and to be prepared because assholes really are everywhere.

My very best,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

Color Me Martha

Well, my son, Bruce Smith-Standish, reviewed my "blog" last night and provided me with his very own special type of support for this endeavor.  While he found my first "post" (as it were) a nice introduction, he replied in an "electronic letter by mail" - which I am told is an "email" that I needed to "Punch it up" and "not be afraid of color".


Our son Bruce, (shown at right during a community fair) you see, is a free spirit - one who embraces a different view of life.

In fact my husband Edwin Cabot Smith-Standish and I often ask our selves when we see Bruce "how did this happen to us?"


Still Bruce seems to have his finger on the pulse of new things, so I girded my loins and said to myself, "Martha, color your world."

To inspire me I put my favorite Vicki Carr album on our Curtis Mathis stereo, set the volume at a sensible level 3, and looked at the world around me.  Bruce said that I could choose any hue around me, so long as it expressed my passion for life.  Really!  "Passion" at my age?  Dear, naive Bruce.  Passion at this point in my life is reserved for a good 5NT hand at bridge at Shaker Heights Country Club, and maybe, if I am feeling totally out of control a nice rare steak.

And then I found it, the perfect color for my "blog".  Something not too flashy, or bold.  Yet something beyond dull boring beige.  And are you ready? How about - and dare I say it...

Ecru!

It is easy on the eyes, and it doesn't cause strain.  It is timeless, while evocative of things trustworthy, and familiar. It is an honest color, and flattering to all but those with olive complexions.

I was so excited that you will never guess what I did.  I called Bruce, direct dial long distance at his business, Chaps Leather Store (and how lucky was he to get Ralph Lauren to design in leather!) and told him what my color is.

"I'm proud of you mother," he said.  "Ecru is a big step for you."

And isn't that what life is about?  The adoration of your children, and personal growth.  That is what "Ecru" means to me.

What color touches you to the very marrow of your soul?

In my next post I will introduce you to my jewels.*

Yours in deepest gratitude,

Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish

*Like Cornelia, my jewels are my children, each of whom, excels at what they do best, even Bruce.

Hello...

...my name is Mrs. Edwin Smith-Standish, but my closest friends call me Martha Smith-Standish. You may call me Mrs. Smith-Standish.  I am your average housewife from Shaker Heights, Ohio. At the insistence of my son, Bruce Standish of San Francisco, California, I am going to attempt to "blog". 

That is to say that Bruce feels that there might be other people out in the "Internet" who might be interested in my thoughts and my activities. Personally, I can't imagine such a thing.  Can you imagine? Nevertheless, Bruce refuses to drop the matter and feels that this will be a positive influence on my life. So he explained to me that sharing my day to day struggles, and my thoughts on civil behavior could better the lives of others.  And frankly, who could argue with logic?

So, I hope to drop in in those moments when I am not engaged in my club work, lifelong learning programs, bridge club, charity work for the poor, or preoccupied by my hobby of showing Corgis at Westminster, to share my outlook on the world.

Please feel free to drop in on this "blog" (and isn't that just a frightful sounding word!) whenever you can.  However, I must ask that if you plan a visit at my home in Shaker Heights, Ohio, and by all means I hope you will, please call* ahead so I may check my schedule.  Otherwise, I shall see you on the blog.

With fondest thoughts,

Mrs. Edwin Smith Standish (aka, Martha)

*Some of you might be wondering what our home telephone number is, so that you may call ahead, as I have asked.  I am sorry to report that our number is unlisted; we don't give it out capriciously to just anyone. I'm sure that you will understand. While that may place you at a disadvantage, please don't feel so - there are many, many people that don't know it - including our granddaughter Lacey Smith-Standish who is current enrolled vacationing at Hazelton in Minnesota - so take comfort in knowing that there are many, many people just like you - so you aren't alone.