On New Year’s Eve, my son boldly stated that New Year’s resolutions are meaningless, as we should be good people who lead productive, healthy, dignified lives every day throughout the year.

Reflecting upon my 19-year-old’s wisdom, I realized the truth in this concept. There’s a reason that gym memberships skyrocket annually in early January (fitness/exercise is the predominant new year’s resolution,) only to be followed by a precipitous drop-off in gym usage by early spring. There’s a reason that 33% of resolvers ditch their goals by the end of January. And, there’s a reason that a mere 8% of people achieve their new year’s resolutions. What’s missing is a deep-seeded, ongoing commitment and intention to conduct oneself a certain way, every single day. There are no shortcuts or “quick fixes” in life. Only through hard work, dedication and a steady resolve are we able to make the dynamic shifts necessary to change our lives.

In this spirit, I have decided to forego new year’s “resolutions” this year. Instead, I will continually work to determine what it means for me to be a happier, healthier and better person and to pursue that path each and every day.  I recognize that my journey towards self-improvement is an ongoing process that will require daily renewal and reassessment.

Starting immediately, I intend to hit the reset button and refocus on several priorities, beginning with these:

• Seeking the good in others. I believe that, at their core, each person has some good inside. It isn’t always readily visible, but this inner good exists in everyone, and I will do my best to bring it out. In this same vein, I will not speak negatively or judgmentally about other people.
• Discovering new adventures, taking more risks and exploring new ways to challenge myself intellectually, physically, emotionally and spiritually.
• Being more patient, listening more deeply, and staying more open-minded to others’ ideas and points of view.
• Worrying less and replacing my anxiety with trust, faith, harmony and gratitude.

A final note… it is well documented that an important element in achieving goals and keeping commitments is to publicly state or declare your intentions. This forces one to own his/her commitment and be held accountable, while also garnering support from others.  With this blog post, I have officially gone public with my intentions for conducting my life.  This means there’s no backing out now…

Video message in my Spin Class on New Year’s Day 1/1/16

It’s 7:30 Sunday morning. A cool, crisp fall day. I am relaxed and cozy in my favorite sweat pants. I may wear my sweats the entire day. I am relishing my first cup of coffee (in my coveted Mad Men mug) and enjoying the peacefulness that permeates my home. This is the time of day I most treasure. And the day I most look forward to. It is all mine. I do some of my best thinking and reflecting on Sunday. I dream big on Sunday— a day filled with maybes and possibilities. Many of them. But few firm commitments.  Sundays were meant for sweat pants. For authenticity. For reflection, appreciation and gratitude.  Now I understand this. But it wasn’t always this way….

As far back as I can remember, I never really liked Sundays. Admittedly, the Sunday mornings I recall from my childhood were nothing to complain about… we lazed around the house in our pajamas and ate stacks of Dad’s homemade pancakes. But, by mid-afternoon, anticipation of the forthcoming week was looming and started weighing on me.

As a high school and college student, and even years later in graduate school, Sunday was always the day to play catch up… the day when I finally had to face that homework, focus on the looming projects, and begin studying for exams that had once been weeks away, but were now just a day or two away.

As a young professional, I worked long hours all week, which I “balanced” with action-packed weekends filled with late nights out, sports, outdoor adventures and travel. Yet, as Sunday afternoon rolled around, that sinking feeling would inevitably re-surface, reminding me that tomorrow was another work day and that the fun, at least for now, would have to wait.

The sinking feeling followed me into parenthood— even though I was no longer working full time. As a parent with school-aged children, that familiar knot in my stomach would begin forming late Sunday afternoon— a sober reminder that the fun times would need to be put “on hold,” at least until the following weekend. I wasn’t even the one who had unfinished homework or tests to prepare for, but memories of my own Sunday nights were so ingrained that I felt my children’s pain. As the sun faded in the sky, my mood, too, faded from joy and tranquility to dread and stress.

Then, recently, much to my surprise, my relationship with Sunday profoundly shifted. I never thought I would fully embrace and enjoy an entire Sunday from beginning to end. But now, Sunday has become my favorite day of the week— my Sunday Funday!  It’s not that I sleep late, because I am not physically capable of “sleeping in” (recall my previous post from January, 2015 entitled: “sleep deprivation is overrated.”) But, just being able to awaken when I choose and leisurely read the Sunday paper, section by section, as the morning light streams inside, is simply heavenly. These days, every Sunday is spontaneous. On Sunday I feel like an artist with a wide open canvas, as I delight in filling it in with colors and experiences of my choosing. When the weather is nice, my husband and I enjoy hiking with our golden retriever, Kira, in a nearby nature preserve. Sometimes I take an exercise class at the gym, ride my bicycle or play golf. And, as a relatively new self-proclaimed football fan, I now fully appreciate the daylong slate of Sunday NFL games, enabling one to basically watch football throughout the day and night.

I am often motivated to write my blog posts— including this one— on Sundays, probably because I am feeling refreshed, invigorated and purposefully creative.

And then, to cap the day off with the cherry on my Sundae (pun intended!), later on I indulge in my favorite TV programs: Madam Secretary, Homeland, The Affair, Masters of Sex and Mad Men (despite the series having ended, I still occasionally watch old episodes, and will always associate this show with Sunday nights.) My Sunday Funday now extends straight up until bedtime, which helps me ease into the week. After a relaxing and fulfilling Sunday, I feel energized and ready for all of Monday’s challenges.

Amidst the dog days of summer, I decided to take advantage of the slower pace to reflect upon the importance of our canine companions.  I did not grow up a “dog person.” I became one immediately upon bringing home our first golden retriever, Maverick, whom we adopted as a released puppy from the Guiding Eyes for the Blind.  Three years later, we adopted a second golden retriever puppy, Kira, also from the Guiding Eyes.  These two dogs have played a major role in our family’s life—in fact, sometimes I feel as though I’ve had two additional children!  I wish I could say my human children helped feed, walk and care for their canine siblings.  They didn’t.  But they truly adored both dogs, and I am certain that they are more loving and compassionate people for having grown up alongside these special pets.

Maverick & Kira… buddies for life

When Maverick was seven, he and I trained with the Good Dog Foundation and became a certified pet therapy team.  Together, we paid weekly visits to Four Winds hospital, where emotionally distraught children snuggled, played and celebrated holidays with Maverick; we visited libraries where Maverick gamely listened to children practice their reading; we helped college students on campus de-stress during exam weeks; and we comforted victims who had lost their homes and possessions as a result of natural disasters like Hurricane Sandy.  These pet therapy visits were among the most challenging and fulfilling days of my life.

Maverick helps college students de-stress during exams

Comforting people in Long Beach, L.I. after Hurricane Sandy

Sadly, Maverick passed away last spring, but his spirit lives on, and will remain in my soul forever.  I feel so blessed that our family adopted this gentle, devoted canine and that we were fortunate enough to have had him in our lives for 13+ years.  Maverick’s sole purpose in life was to bring unconditional love and comfort to those around him—and he did this in a big way, both for our family and for all the others whose lives he touched as a therapy dog. For those who are interested, an article about Maverick was posted on the FEMA web site after Hurricane Sandy.  It is a moving tribute to an extraordinary dog.

http://www.fema.gov/blog/2012-12-11/maverick-way-staying-calm

Kira, now 11, is still quite active and enjoying her “golden years” (no pun intended.)  She plays every day with much younger dogs, including puppies, and has no trouble keeping up with them.  Each night, my husband comes home from work and curls up alongside Kira on her dog bed, where they spoon, as he massages her belly.  Kira is in constant search of affection.  If anyone even glances in her direction, her tail begins to thump.  If someone mentions her name, even if it’s late and she is asleep, she jumps to attention and runs over to receive hugs and love.

Relaxing after a long day

Kira enjoying her “golden years” in the sun

I have learned so much from my dogs over the years.  Their tails are always wagging when someone acknowledges them.  They do not talk back.  They listen well, at least most of the time.  Their needs are simple.  So are their pleasures.  They are happy to see us—any time of day or night.  They always clean their plates and are grateful for a good meal.  They love us unconditionally, and ask for nothing in return.  Their only really bad days occur when they are ill or injured—and even then, they don’t complain.  Once a dog is your friend, you are friends for life.  Nothing is so bad that it can’t be made better with a face lick and a snuggle. If people treated each other the way our dogs interact with us, the world would be a far more peaceful, joyful and less stressful place.  One of my favorite quotes is on a sign in my office.

Every day, this simple message reminds me that, no matter how difficult or stressful life may seem at the moment, I do have so much to be grateful for.  And, at least one living, breathing being reveres me and loves me unconditionally, today and every day.  This is serene contentment at its best.

The End

Several months ago, while dining in a restaurant in Santa Barbara, California, I ordered a new cocktail that would forever alter my perspective on summer drinks. Until that point, my go-to standards had been either a Mojito or Grey Goose & Tonic (both with extra lime wedges.) My first “Moscow Mule,” a combination of vodka, ginger beer and fresh lime juice, served in a chilled copper mug, would change all that! This perfectly balanced cocktail mixes many different flavors–tangy, tart, slightly sweet and incredibly refreshing—yielding a drink that is both sophisticated and approachable.

Since that initial Moscow Mule, this cocktail has become my drink of choice. Last weekend, at my daughter’s 21^st birthday celebration, I ordered one at a trendy Nashville restaurant. My icy copper mug shimmered like the life of the party. Almost immediately upon its arrival, my daughter ordered another Moscow Mule, and each of her friends followed suit. Soon, our table was awash in copper mugs. The bartender told us that no cocktail starts a chain reaction quite like the Mule. He said that once he makes one and sends it out into the dining room, he expects multiple orders to follow within minutes.

At this point, my curiosity about this cocktail was piqued; I was particularly interested in the Moscow Mule mystique, and in the significance of the copper mug. My online research turned up some interesting anecdotes about the Mule…

History of the Moscow Mule

Legend has it that in 1941 at the Cock ‘n’ Bull pub in Hollywood, California, the bar owner, Jack Morgan, and a local vodka distributor, John G. Martin, were commiserating about their respective businesses. Martin was having difficulty marketing his Russian vodka to Americans. Morgan was having his own troubles selling his house-made ginger beer. The two decided to join forces, introducing a cocktail that would use both vodka and ginger beer. The bartender threw in some lime wedges, and the Moscow Mule was born! The name derives from the combination of Russian vodka (“Moscow”) with the “kick” provided by the ginger beer (“Mule”.)

Shortly thereafter, serendipity intervened again when a Russian immigrant named Sophie Berzinski arrived in California with 2,000 copper mugs she had designed in her father’s copper shop. She carted the mugs around L.A., trying to sell them, but had few takers. The new partners at the Cock ‘n’ Bull were happy to buy them, as they wanted something to distinguish their new drink. The rest is history.

And, what’s the deal with that copper mug?

The shiny, elegant copper mug is an essential element to the Moscow Mule. Let’s be honest… the copper mug itself is cool and whomever is holding it looks even cooler. But not only do the copper mugs look cool, they are, actually quite cool. The copper insulates the drink, so the ice melts more slowly and the ingredients stay cold. The copper immediately adapts to the temperature of the ice, so the vodka and ginger beer are chilled from the outside by the copper and from the inside by the ice. The colder the vodka, the smoother it tastes. And, the metal adds a tinny, earthy flavor that enhances the complexity and overall taste.

These copper mugs are easy to spot… and they are everywhere, as the Moscow Mule is most assuredly enjoying a comeback. I’m not sure if this classic cocktail was ever out, but I am hereby declaring that it is definitely in season for me this summer (and perhaps forever, now that I have my own set of copper mugs at home.) If you’d like to try my new favorite cocktail, it’s quick and easy, light and refreshing, and is sure to add a “kick” to your summer!

Moscow Mule Recipe

2 oz. premium vodka

4 oz. ginger beer (alcoholic or non-alcoholic options)

1 oz. fresh lime juice (more or less to taste)

Crushed ice or small ice cubes

Copper mug!

Fill chilled copper mug halfway with ice cubes or crushed ice.  Pour in vodka and ginger beer.  Add in lime juice. Garnish with lime wedge.  Stir and enjoy!  I promise you’ll be hooked!  (Note: for those who don’t drink alcohol, try the non-alcoholic ginger beer over ice with fresh lime juice… and, of course, be sure to mix it all up in a chilled copper mug.)

While continuing to “re-imagine” my own nest, I recently followed the progress of a real-life Robin’s nest on our front porch.  Upon watering one of my hanging plants, I came across a Robin’s nest with five aqua-colored eggs resting inside.  These birds had chosen an idyllic location, shady and protected from the elements, with the planter walls creating a naturally cozy environment.

In order to view the nest I had to stand on a step ladder and peer inside the planter from above.  As soon as I closed the front door and came outside, the Mama bird rustled quickly out of the nest and perched on a nearby branch, eyeing my every move.  She seemed quite threatened about the safety of her babies.  I took a quick photo of the nest and went back inside, as the Mama returned immediately to her eggs.

A couple of weeks later, I peeked inside the nest again and – much to my delight- saw several tiny yellow beaks. As I marveled at these baby birds, I listened to the Mama bird angrily wailing in a nearby tree.  Her fear for her babies was primal!  Over the next few days, I continued to observe the now fuzzy baby birds snuggled tightly inside their nest.  One day, as I approached the nest, a lone bird flew right out of the nest and circled the porch awkwardly, finally landing in a small bush.  Now, only two of the original baby birds remained inside the nest.  The following day, the nest was empty!  All the baby birds were gone, and the Mama and Papa were nowhere to be seen.  Upon discovering their departure, I was filled with an immense sadness.

The fuzzy babies snuggled together in the nest

Only two baby birds remained…

Reflecting upon this miracle of nature, it was difficult not to juxtapose this Robin’s nest against the “nests” that humans create for our families.  It is remarkable to note the short time span that elapses for a Mama bird to lay her eggs, incubate and hatch those eggs (just two weeks), then care for the young birds until they are able to fly, defend themselves and learn survival skills (four weeks or less.)  Basically, within 3-4 weeks of birth, the babies are ready to leave the nest and live independently.

In contrast, our children temporarily leave the nest during college, but they can remain in the nest– or at least attached physically, emotionally and/or financially– for decades!

Still, I find it heartbreaking, in a way, to think that after just a few weeks of family bonding, the parents and the baby birds all leave this nest– that has been painstakingly created– forever. The parents will make other nests in the future (I learned that Robins can have 2-3 clutches of eggs each year) and start new families, but the original family unit of parents and their offspring will never again live together. This fully epitomizes the “empty nest.”

As I maintained in my first blog post last January, my nest will always be a place where our children can return and feel safe, cared for and loved unconditionally.  It is not so much a function of where we live physically, but rather, the family ties that bind us forever, wherever we are in the world.  And, even though those baby birds will enjoy boundless freedom to fly and explore the world, I would happily forego some of that freedom for a lifetime of familial closeness.  It is comforting to realize that my nest will never be truly empty.

A true empty nest

I just took my first lengthy “road trip” in many years. This road trip was unlike those I recall from my youth, when we headed to the beach or the mountains, or to a fun party in cars packed with friends, beer and munchies (DWI was not on our radar in those days.)

Last weekend’s road trip entailed a middle-aged (yet still fun & lively) mom and her soon-to-be legal-aged daughter, driving a well-travelled Honda CRV jam-packed with clothing, bedding and other assorted household items on a 15-hour trip from Westchester County, New York to Nashville, Tennessee.

The daughter was prepared with her 400-song playlist, comprised of 90% county music, 10% rap/hip-hop and a few classic rock tunes mixed in. (Unfortunately, my playlist was vetoed after just two songs.)

The plan: to drive daughter and her car to Nashville, where she would spend the summer, and move her into her sublet apartment. Along the southwesterly route, mother and daughter made a total of seven stops.

Stop #1, just two hours into the drive, was a brief pit stop in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

Stop #2, after four hours, was at Starbucks in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania for a couple of “Skinny Vanilla Iced Lattes” and a quick lunch of chopped salads at a nearby Subway.

Stop #3, two hours later, was to refuel in Mill Creek Virginia.  Bonus: $34.20 for a full tank of premium gas!  Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Westchester anymore…

Stop #4, eight hours into the trip, was to grab a quick snack and change drivers in Buchanan, Virginia.

Stop #5, after driving for 10 hours, was an overnight stay at the Hampton Inn in Bristol, Tennessee. We dined at a nearby Outback Steakhouse and may well have been the only customers ever to order grilled salmon and veggies.  Bonus: NY Rangers (before their demise) and Lebron on TV in the bar at Outback, which made the evening far more enjoyable!

Day two, stop #6, after two hours, for gas and coffee refills in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Stop, #7, nearly 1-1/2 hours later, was to change drivers and use the facilities in Calvary, Tennessee.

After15 hours and 1-1/2 days in the car, with travel through seven states (New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee,) mother and daughter arrived in Nashville. We were tired, rumpled, sweaty, with stiff backs/necks/shoulders… but we had made it nonetheless!

It’s often said that life is really about the journey, not the destination. I thoroughly appreciated this quality car time with my daughter, whom I no longer see very often. We talked, we laughed, we sang a lot (yes, I do enjoy country music- just not as much as classic rock.) We drank coffee and ate snacks, and at times we just rode in comfortable silence, peacefully enjoying each other’s company.  The journey was illuminating and gratifying on many levels, and also somewhat bittersweet as I realized that we might never again spend fifteen hours together like this, just the two of us.  Yet, I have never been so thrilled to reach a destination as I was when we finally arrived in Nashville.

And, I was quite content to fly (not drive!) home two days later!

We made it!

Ready to hit the road!

The first time I really thought about this expression was in a parenting workshop led by author and educator, Nancy Samalin. Nancy implored us to say and do “less” for our children, in turn allowing them to take responsibility and do more for themselves.  I have been trying to practice this parenting philosophy for several years, but it remains an ongoing challenge.

When my youngest left for college last fall, I had no choice but to do less, simply because neither child was living at home with me. This turned out to be a blessing for all of us.   Both children have matured and have become more independent. They have forged new friendships, excelled in their coursework, become involved in their college communities and each has secured a summer job.  We still talk regularly, and they occasionally seek my advice (and I am always happy to oblige,) but they are living their lives far away (one in California, the other in Denmark) and quite successfully without me. By doing less for my children, I have sent them a clear message that I trust them to make their own choices and decisions—which has empowered them both to take charge of their lives.

Since I have found the “less is more” philosophy so inspiring in the realm of parenting, I considered how it might apply to other aspects of my life. Thus far, I have found it to be quite effective.  Here are some observations…

Whether conversing with friends, acquaintances, family members or co-workers, I am trying to say less and listen more. I find myself really hearing people instead of focusing on my own agenda. And, I notice that when my words are more succinct, they come across as more thoughtful and impactful, and I feel others listening more intently. The overall quality of my communications has improved.

As a consummate people pleaser, I was always someone who couldn’t ‘say no.’ My parents nicknamed me “the joiner-inner,” as I became involved in every activity that came my way. Extra work projects, charity events, school committees and boards, sports activities, book clubs—you name it, I was either organizing or at least involved. I now realize that it is OK to say no and let others do the heavy lifting. Especially if the things I pass on are not my priorities. And, being involved in fewer activities and projects frees me up, both physically and mentally, to focus on things that really matter. I have chosen quality over quantity… and have discovered that the simple, basic pleasures of life can be the most rewarding!

Likewise, I have made a similar transition with my friendships, tightening my circle of friends to include those who love and support me unconditionally. I am far more joyful spending time with people who help me to be my best self, and who share my “glass half full” approach to life.  With fewer, yet closer, friends, I can really give more to each. My relationships are far more fulfilling as a result.

The final example relates to golf. As a competitive tennis player, when I first started as a new golfer my initial instinct was to swing the golf club as hard as I could to literally “power” the ball forward. But, unlike the tennis stroke, the golf swing is counter-intuitive. The harder one swings, the less likely one is to actually hit the ball. Applying the “less is more” approach to golf, I discovered that if I swing easy, with a calm, even tempo, the ball actually travels in the air towards its intended target. I still marvel every time this happens! (A clear indication that I have yet to master the elusive golf swing.)

Next challenge is to apply the “less is more” approach to my blog writing, so I can communicate effectively in fewer words!

My husband and I just returned from visiting our daughter in Copenhagen, Denmark, where she is studying for the semester. Before we left, we had gathered from frequent text messages, video chats and Facebook posts that she was having the time of her life—embarking on new travel adventures, assimilating to a vastly different culture and learning to deal with unfamiliar challenges.

Nevertheless, we were unprepared for the adult who greeted us at our hotel, nearly three months to the day since she had left. Her face lit up with a huge smile, and a frenetic excitement permeated her very being. She gave us each a huge hug and promptly asked: “Are you guys tired after your flight, or are you ready to see Copenhagen?”

Without hesitation, we chose the latter. If our daughter was ready to show us her city, we were ready too. Sleep would have to wait. As she led us adroitly through the winding, cobblestone streets, it struck me that this was the first time in all our years of traveling as a family that I had not planned and organized the trip. I had not even consulted a Copenhagen guidebook. I realized that my husband and I would be following—instead of leading— her for the first time in our lives.

For the next three days and nights, our private guide led us on an exceptional, and very personal, inside tour of Copenhagen. Highlights included climbing a narrow spiral stairway to the top of Church of our Savior with panoramic city views… lunching at her regular café, Paludan, housed in an old library…. Bicycling through the city and learning its unique history (an excursion our daughter had booked with a crazy Dane as our leader)… jumping on in-ground trampolines in a local park… strolling through Nyhavn, the picturesque harbor filled with colorful houses and bustling cafes… visiting Christiana, a local hippie enclave where marijuana is legal (and prevalent)… sampling dozens of local and international eats off the food trucks at Copenhagen’s Street Food market… discovering the magic of the Tivoli Gardens amusement park…

Each day, we travelled several miles by foot, bicycle and metro, our every move expertly led by our knowledgeable guide, who also made all of our dinner and brunch reservations, complete with menu suggestions gleaned from friends. She even taught us a few Danish words like Hej (“hello”) and Tak (“thanks!”)

Yes, we stayed in a nice hotel and dined in a couple of the finest restaurants in town, but the defining moments of this journey were not spent in fancy hotels and 5-star restaurants. They focused on exploring a magnificent, new place through the eyes of our daughter and marveling at her ability to navigate a foreign city with ease, independence and supreme confidence. As parents, nothing could have made us prouder than observing the young woman our daughter has grown into during these three months abroad. It was extremely gratifying to be able to share in her happiness and contentment with the new life she has built for herself.

Copenhagen is known as the “Happiest Place on Earth.” Our exceedingly happy girl, who embraces life fully each and every day and whose favorite motto is YOLO (you only live once,) could not have chosen a more fitting location for her junior year abroad experience and transition into adulthood.

With two teenagers living at home, food shopping, prepping meals and cooking took on a life of its own.  One-stop-shopping was near impossible, as each family member had different tastes, preferences and food sensitivities. This necessitated frequent trips to the supermarket, butcher, fish store, produce market and health food shop. While I generally cooked one primary meal for dinner, there were often variations to accommodate each person (for example, whole wheat pasta for my son and gluten-free pasta for my husband.)  A large container of expensive berries would literally disappear in minutes. Every other day I was replenishing our supply of bananas. One might have thought we were raising monkeys.

And, with all the children’s fitness and sports activities, I had to keep an ever-ready supply of protein— including chicken, turkey and burgers— in the fridge at all times. Food shopping was a daily activity.  When the children were young, I would typically cook four nights, then relax as we enjoyed “The Week in Review” on the 5^th, and sometimes even the 6^th night. Once the children were in high school the “week in review” became obsolete. No matter how much food I cooked, there were virtually no leftovers. If there were any, my son (who despite his tall, lean body eats like he’s a 240-pound linebacker) would consume them all for a “snack” the next day.

Now that our children are in college, the entire market-table-dining dynamic has changed. This past fall, my husband and I began dining alone regularly for the first time since we were newly married. I will admit that those first few nights sitting at our “Table for Two” were a little disorienting, with two empty seats at the table. But soon, we grew to embrace and actually look forward to our table for two. Sometimes we even open up a bottle of wine and really go wild!  This has become one of our favorite times—a small chunk out of the day when we can relax, catch up and talk about whatever is on our minds. From work to our children, health issues, extended families, the dog, sports, vacations, politics and finances, we cover it all and relish this time alone together.

Having a husband who is flexible (at least in the eating department) and who enjoys whatever I prepare makes things easier as well.  Now I make a home-cooked meal 2-3 nights a week and we do the “week in review” or dine out the other nights. If we run out of berries or bananas or, God forbid, don’t have enough protein in the house, I buy more the next day.  Or not. We can always go out for dinner spontaneously.  Waiter, we’d like a table for two, please…

A typical breakfast consumed by our son!

Bought a few groceries before our college students came home for Thanksgiving…

It’s been a tough year for New York sports fans.  The teams we follow have had abysmal seasons.  The Yankees have struggled in recent years, first having to deal with ARod, then bidding farewell to Mariano and The Captain.  I attended one Yankee game last summer, mainly to say goodbye to Jeter, whom I (along with the rest of NY) will miss terribly.  The Yankees actually won that game, but their victories were few and far between.  Next up- the Giants, a team who has missed the playoffs for three consecutive years.  Their leading scorer, Victor Cruz, tore up his knee and missed the second half of the season. The one bright star was Odell Beckham Jr, but even he couldn’t fully take the sting out of the Giants’ lousy season.

And then there is the Knicks.  My husband and I both attended Knicks games as children, and we remember the team’s ’70 and ’73 championships, as well as their solid 90’s teams.  My husband has been a season ticket holder his entire adult life.  He holds onto those tickets for one reason only- so our children can experience the joy of a rooting for a truly great Knicks team.  When Phil Jackson joined the Knicks organization last spring, we were cautiously optimistic.  Now the Knicks have traded or shelved all their best players.  Melo is out for the season with knee surgery.  JR Smith and Iman Shumpert have teamed with Lebron in Cleveland and are top contenders in the East.  Meanwhile, though I remain a huge Knicks fan, I cannot bear to attend games and watch a “no-name” starting five take the court.  We have sold all of our season tickets on Stub Hub.  I cannot imagine who is buying them…

Fortunately, I have discovered an antidote to New York Sports Fan Depression: it’s called “Mico Madness.”  (A nod to my childhood nickname, “Mico.”)  For the past few years, I have entered a March Madness pool through my husband’s office.  I listen to a few of the pundits, make my picks and follow some of the action, mostly focusing during the Elite Eight, Final Four and championship games. But now, with basically no NY teams to root for (note: not to disparage the NY Rangers, but I am not a hockey fan,) March Madness has captured my full sports attention.  And, without personal affiliations to any of the teams playing this year, I could look to my picks with an unbiased eye and unemotional strategic plan for winning the pool (or at least avoiding the bottom.)

So, beginning last weekend when the teams were announced, I began my research.  I obsessively read sports articles and watched ESPN and other sports channels, listened to assessments of each team and absorbed all the advice offered by the so-called “experts.”  I checked out the brackets of some of my favorite sports announcers and analysts, and even looked at President Obama’s bracket.  I didn’t think much of Obama’s bracket- I felt he played it too safe.  And, unfortunately for Obama, he picked Villanova in his final four- sorry Mr. President.  I filled out my first bracket last Tuesday, then changed it again… and again… and yet again.  By 11 a.m. last Thursday, an hour before the bracket deadline, I was still changing my picks.  I wasn’t sure which upsets to choose.  (I have since realized that no one, not even the “experts,” knows which upsets to pick- because anything can happen!)  12 noon, deadline time, arrived, and my picks were locked in.  Time to watch and wait for the madness to set in.

The biggest change in my strategy this year is that I have taken more risks.  In the past, I have gone mostly with the favorites, choosing just one or two upsets.  It is tough to compile a lot of points that way.  And, to win (or just to do well) in our small office pool of 32 people in which the majority selected Kentucky to win it all, the only way to differentiate yourself is to pick some upsets that actually win!  I think I may have gone a little too far, picking too many upsets… and, unfortunately, most of them haven’t panned out.  But, I must confess that choosing upsets makes watching the tournament a lot more fun!  Every tournament day there are multiple games to watch, and I flip from channel to channel, following each one, cheering for whichever team I need for my bracket.  Currently, I am in 13^th place, solidly in the thick of things, and closer to the top than the bottom.  I admit it feels good to see some who know far more than I do about basketball languishing at the bottom of the pool.  My big break may come if I can ride Northern Iowa to the final four, then to the championship game versus Kentucky.  I know this is a long shot and a major risk- but it’s fun, and it is certainly not a life-threatening gamble.  It’s all worth it for the joy I am experiencing.

My husband can hardly believe his good fortune.  His wife is watching more college basketball than he is… and, he is continually asking me for updates on the games.  I report in regularly on the status of his brackets.  He loves hearing me passionately shout out and scream at the TV.  Today is action-packed with multiple games.  I’ll be rooting for Wichita State, Wisconsin, Michigan State, Duke and, of course, Northern Iowa.  Go teams!

I love Mico Madness!

Cheering for the Knicks & Giants in happier times!