RIP Nora Ephron

I didn't realize what a Nora Ephron fan I was, until I read her obituary in the New York Times this week. Like many people, especially women, I liked her romantic comedy movies and her essays and rumination on topics ranging from getting breasts and 'what she wore' to death and aging. When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, Julie and Julia, Silkwood, and writings I Feel Bad about My Neck, I Remember Nothing, Crazy Salad--an impressive list.

But what really struck me was her view of life, which was reflected in all her work. As Meryl Streep said in the article: "Nora just looked at every situation and cocked her head and thought, 'Hmm, how can I make this more fun?'" So, no matter what the crisis (divorce, love, everyday annoyances) she was always thinking of how to turn the disaster into a humorous piece.

I was raised somewhat similarly to render life as a good story, (but not, of course, to include the family's dirty laundry or anything too personal.) I remember working one summer as a postal clerk, a decidedly boring job, and staying with my aunt. I usually worked past the family's dinner hour, so my aunt would have a plate warmed up for me when I got home. She was not a good cook, but creative, folding rice and leftover vegetables into orange jello or pouring thousand island dressing over pork chops. She'd pull up a chair, settle in and then say, "Tell me what funny things happened today."  Luckily for me, although the job was mundane, my fellow employees at the post office, with very little exaggeration, were right out of central casting for a sit com.

As for the dirty laundry, you'll find none of us in my family writing plays about their ugly divorce from husband #2 or revealing adolescent angst about body changes.

The other great quote in the obituary was from writer Sally Quinn, explaining why so few people knew that Nora had leukemia for several years. "She had this thing about not wanting to whine. She didn't like self-pity. It was always, you know, 'Suck it up' ".

I believe my grandma's translation of this was "this is my cross to bear" but it included the same fundamental belief that everyone had something and it was best to know this and carry on--quietly. I talk to a lot of people about breast cancer and I'm always amazed at people and their stories: some are resilient and others mired in deep despair. Of course, circumstances may be different: the amount of disease progression, degree of support from family and friends, the person's age and role in life. But looking for humor and sucking it up should be vital ingredients in anyone's arsenal for coping and living well. Few have the talent and work ethic of a Nora Ephron, but all of us have benefitted from her perceptive wit that made us laugh and made everything in life a little easier to take.

Love, Loss and What I Wore

I saw this play last week, when my original plan to see Laura Linney in Time Stands Still was scuttled by her absence. The TKTS booth offered Love, Loss and What I Wore, a Nora Ephron anthology that promised a light afternoon of laughter.  The theatre was dominated by women and I swear I had seen Vagina Monologues years before in the same venue.  Five actresses take the stage, sitting on chairs, reading the script and assuming different roles. It delivered the laughs, as promised, but got me to thinking about the theme.

It's such a great idea--why didn't i think of it? You do remember what you wore with the happy or sad times, the favorite childhood clothes, the adolescent angst with your mother, the times you felt so cool in your boots or your hippie vest or so hot in that little black dress!

Judging by my husband, who adored his purple stretch bellbottoms with the buttons on the fly and his American flag pants, I would venture to say this association to clothing applies to men, too, although most wouldn't admit it. (and fewer still can actually say they still own those clothes, tucked away in a box in the basement)

What was your favorite childhood outfit?  When I was 10, I got red leather gloves for Christmas to wear to church with my "good" coat. But, I discovered when wearing them outside to play that a snow ball would turn reddish from the leather dye and a whole new adventure began.  We had snowmen with red eyes, snow cars with red backup lights and snow forts with red doorknobs. (yes, lots of snow in Schenectady). The gloves were ruined and my mother was not pleased.

Neither was she pleased when she caved to my pleas, supported by my Aunt Marcella, to buy denim shorts a few summers later. I was thrilled. They were light blue (because Mom absolutely refused to go for the dark denim--"so mannish"), very tight, knee length. I wore them with a button down, yellow oxford shirt with a light blue stripe. 

My other aunt, who also had only sons, had her own idea of how to dress me and every Christmas I got an expensive shirtwaist dress from Klopman's--even into the sixties, when I just died having to wear it. The last one I remember had a white background with red flowers and a red accent belt. Even my mother agreed it was time to tell Aunt Be that the reign of the shirtwaist dress was over.

From college I remember my first pair of jeans in freshman year, when my roommate took me to downtown Ithaca's Army Navy Store to buy boys jeans because they didn't make them for girls. Later, a group of us were sitting in someone's dorm room, sprawled across the bed or hunched together on the floor, discussing the great issues of the day, when someone commented. "Look we're all wearing blue jeans!"  I also had a favorite red and white flowered peasant blouse and a yellow Indian print dress with huge sleeves.

Years later,(no connection to the story above!) when I was pregnant and finally had a Dolly Parton chest, I sported a navy sundress with cleavage, an unheard of experience for me. (now if only I hadn't had that big belly!)

Happy times--the clothes I bought for a Bermuda getaway (without kids)-- and sad times--the black pinstriped pants suit (very IBM) that I bought for my father's funeral, but never wore again.

So, think back to your favorite (and unfavorite) clothes and I'll think you'll find a story connected to them.  Indulge yourself and share with us, if you dare!