Bravo, Sheldon Cooper! (RIP, Mrs.Wolowitz)

Mrs. Wolowitz, Howard’s Mother on the show “The Big Bang Theory,” died last Thursday night.


And the really sad thing: Carol Ann Susi, the Brooklyn-born actress who played her (I should say, “mouthed her”), died with an aggressive cancer back in November of 2014.


Why I, a newbie to the show, am so sad, I really don’t know.


When I read how young she was (62) and saw her picture on Internet, it suddenly (and sadly) hit home – this was someone’s loved one; this was someone’s sister, friend, co-worker, neighbor and mentor. She wasn’t just this annoying, obnoxious voice that bellowed “Hoooow-ARD” every Thursday night at 8 o’clock.


She was this lovely, caring, hysterically funny, intelligent woman (according to the various write-ups that I read) that suddenly got diagnosed with an aggressive cancer and was gone – as suddenly as she was diagnosed.


So, what is it about the inequity and suddenness of this that bothers me so?


I didn’t know her.


And if the truth be told, her whiney, nasally, Brooklyn-bred, Jewish voice grated on my last nerve and made me cringe every time I heard her bawl, “Hooooow-ARD!”


And yet I, like many others, laughed heartily each time she did so.


Carol Ann Susi, a virtual stranger to me, died on November 11, 2014 and I feel sad.


And I can’t help but think that now Howard Wolowitz, the brilliant (and often puerile) aerospace engineer, whose Mother pampered and “smothered him” excessively is now Motherless and somehow less anchored than before her death.


But far be it for the writers Chuck Lorre and Steven Molaro (and the others connected with Ms. Susi’s tribute), to leave Howard totally lost and adrift at sea for very long.


Sheldon Cooper (the autistic) biggest misfit of them all, innocently (and quite unexpectedly) reminds us of the fact that Howard, unlike Sheldon (when he dealt with his Father’s death as a child), will not be alone; that Howard will go through the arduous grieving and complex loss process with the love and company of his faithful and levelheaded friends.


Bravo, Sheldon Cooper!


Bravo for that sweet, innocent, child-like, virtuous side in all of us that he so kindly expressed to his friend, Howard, in his time of need.


We so appreciate you and your nerdy, insufferable little self for speaking words of kindness and comfort to those who at times forget the love and consolation that is steadfastly there embodied in the form of a friend.


You have friends”.


May each of you remember this simple, but often easily forgotten sentiment of well-deserved love and camaraderie.


And more importantly, remember: “You are never alone.”




I’ll catch ya next week for another look at life living in my shoes.



Folding Socks and Sheets (the right way) – Lucie’s Way!

I sat here folding laundry this morning, acutely aware of the fact that I (unlike certain people I know) am uncommonly fussy about how I fold my socks.


I learned years ago as a child that I strongly dislike having my socks rolled into a ball; especially when one takes one of the socks and arbitrarily stretches it over the other one!


Maybe it’s just me, People, but I find it’s kinda dorky to have one sock nicely staying put around your ankle/calf and the other one fully stretched-out and whimsically flapping in the breeze around your shoe – all because someone indiscriminately stretched it out while “balling it up” when they did your laundry.


And I realize I’m dating myself here, but it kinda reminds me of Pippi Longstocking (9-year-old protagonist of Astrid Lindgren’s “The New Adventures of Pippi Longstocking”) – not exactly a look I particularly liked as a child nor one that I desire at this age.


(My tromping around in a blue rubber rain suit with barn boots has already given my neighbors cause for questioning my sanity. Walking around looking like Pippi Longstocking would just be another good reason for being “picked up by that little white van and whisked away to that special laughing academy!”)


I continue pulling laundry out of my laundry basket and aimlessly start to fold my sheets, when I gradually begin to wonder how the hell the Princess gets the bottom fitted sheet so nice and squarely folded?


I then decide, “To hell with it! Rolling up my socks is one thing, but having a rolled up bottom sheet is another! Who the hell cares if the bottom sheet is rolled up or not?!”


Yeah, well, the Princess does – that’s who.


(My logic says, “No one really sees the dam thing, so what’s the big deal, for Pete’s sake?”)


Unlike my Mother, her Mother painstakingly taught her the correct way to fold a bottom sheet; and nowhere in the directions did it entail rolling it up and haphazardly folding it into a triangular lump.


My Mother, on the other hand, felt that you should fastidiously iron your sheets (along with your beat-up jeans and threadbare corduroys), but nowhere on her list of Motherly sagacious suggestions and mordant mandates were any expert directions on how to fold the bottom sheet a certain way.


I then began thinking about all of our idiosyncratic, endearing behaviors and started to wonder, “How the hell do such different people even end up with each other? And how, pray tell, do they actually stay together for the long haul?”


My sister-in-law once commented that she and my brother Anthony almost ended up in a divorce (30 years ago) after one month of marriage because they ran outta toilet paper!


Now just why in God’s creation it was her sole responsibility to make sure they had an abundance of t.p. every week, I don’t know. But she said that once she learned to keep a sufficient stock of toilet paper on hand, and also made sure that there was some kind of specialty bread served with their dinner every evening (God forbid it should be some kind of sickening, marshmallowy white bread like Wonder Bread), their marriage was on solid ground from that point forward.


(I’m sure my three beautiful, enjoying-life-to-the fullest nieces are all eternally grateful for their Mom’s “taking one for the team” 30 years ago!)


Anyway, People, I think when it comes right down to it, we can choose to go through life and compromise with each other, or we can acquiesce and do things the right wayMY WAY!


In the meantime, be careful how you fold your socks and sheets this week…you (unknowingly) might be driving your significant other batty!


Catch ya’ next week for another glimpse of looking at life from my shoes.


Lucie Meets Dr. Smiley

I went to the dentist last week.


And unlike the last time, I was bound and determined not to be drooling on myself after the visit.


So I get myself settled into the dental seat and Heloise (my happy- go-lucky hygienist) informs me that Dr. Mollar wasn’t there, but assures me that Dr. Smiley (who happens to be walking into the room while she’s talking) is a “bang-up substitute for Dr. Mollar.”


After a minute or two exchanging pleasantries, Dr. Smiley begins stretching out my widdle wips like the bellows of an accordion and starts examining the deep recesses of my otherwise “tiny mouth.”


“Un hum”, I’m thinkin’ while eye-balling Doogie Howser and his toothy, fixated grin, “I hope to hell this kid has a verifiable medical degree and knows what he’s doing, ‘cuz Boo’s howling interfered with my beauty sleep last night, and my current tolerance for pain and incompetence is not too high.”


(And if he stretches out my lips any more, I’m gonna end up with pair of rubberized turkey lips and looking like a lip augmentation gone bad!)


After spending what feels like forever and a day probing the dark recesses of my mouth for various dental maladies, Dr. Smiley releases my irritated (very raw), rubberized turkey lips, leans back on the dental counter, looks at me like a 5 year old with that innocent, sweet grin on his face and says, “I’m afraid you’ve got a small cavity on your front incisor, but nothing we can’t take care of on your next visit. Not to worry.”


“I did, however, notice that you have some other dental issues,” he continues, “and wondered if you ever heard of cognitive behavioral therapy?”


“WTS?” I’m thinking while eyeballing this young man over my tri-focals with an inquisitive (more than likely disparaging) raised left eyebrow.


I know I have hearing problems and I’ve had very little sleep in the past 24 hours, but “Did Dr. Never Stops Smilin’ just tell me I have a cavity and recommend cognitive behavioral therapy to take care of it?”


“Ya gotta be kidding me!”


“I’ve got a former endocrinologist who thinks my medication problems were signs of a bi-polar disorder, an allergist who mistakenly thought I had bone cancer, and now a newbie Dentist who thinks my cavities need therapy sessions?!”




“I gotta be in the “Land of Oz or better yet, “The Twilight Zone!”


I don’t wanna be rude to this young man, so I’m trying hard to compose my thoughts before I respond, when Dr. Smiley must have put 2 and 2 together while reading my affect and quickly says, “The reason I asked, is because I noticed that you’ve got some pretty serious teeth grinding issues going on and this type of cognitive therapy has proven to be highly beneficial for issues like this.”


“Yep,” I’m thinking to myself, “let me add cognitive therapy to my to do list for all my marvelous little maladies. I’ll just fit it in between my yoga classes, my special foot and knee exercises, my daily walking routine, and my special dietary constraints for my hearing impediment. No problem. I’m retired, don’t ‘cha know, and have all kinds of time (and money) to spend on life’s little medical necessities.


“Who the hell knows? Maybe it’ll help out with my nightly Jimmy Legs (a.k.a. Restless Leg Syndrome)! Couldn’t hurt, could it?”




I know Californians are known for going to therapy for everything under the sun, but I think this is gonna be a hard sell for even my most understanding East Coast family members and friends.


(I can just hear me trying to explain to one of them during our conversation, “I’ve gotta get going, Hun. Have a therapy session for my cavity. Yeah, my Dentist recommended that I go to it. Catch ya later!”)




Thank goodness my Mother taught me that life is a circus.


Just wish she had given me a head’s up with the fact that I’d be sharing it with a bunch of clowns.


Catch ya next week, People!


And remember, we’re all in this circus together, so be kind to one another. You never know when you’ll be asked to be the Lead Clown!


Lucie and The East Coast Blizzard of 2015

It’s Tuesday, January 27, 2015, and I’m watching reports of “The East Coast Snow Blizzard of 2015” and thinking to myself,“Damn, I’m glad I’m here on the West Coast, drinking my hot cup of tea, curled up with my 2 wacky cats under my cozy comforter. It’s making me shiver just looking at those high winds on Nantucket and the whiteout in Boston.”


Now all the while I’m absorbed watching the news, I’m totally oblivious to the fact that our home’s heater has not kicked on once in the entire hour that I’ve been mesmerized by the news’ depiction of the various snow squalls that have paralyzed most of the East Coast!

And I’m really not too concerned because I’m toasty warm under my down comforter, and, thanks to my body’s personal mini vacations to Hawaii, I have actually started to break out in a little sweat.

I think that I’ve had enough “TV viewing” for the morning and decide to get me and my Buddha belly moving and out the door on my morning walk, when it dawns on me: It’s C O L D out there!


It even LOOKS cold out there!

It’s gray and cloudy, and if I’m not mistaken, I see a little mist on our windows.

(Oh wait. Hmm…I’ve been meaning to wash our windows. Just haven’t gotten around to it. I think that mist is actually window scum. OK, so it still looks COLD out there.)

I’d best put on some wool socks and add another layer of warmth under my windbreaker – maybe my down vest would be good?


Definitely – my down vest, and my matching Mickey Mouse ear muffs and gloves…might as well add a little fashion to my “layered look” while I’m dressing for warmth! God forbid I should run into my skinny, fashionista neighbor Sue again and look like a total dweeb!

So, I’m suited up and ready to brave this here “Snow Blizzard of 2015,” open up my front door, and lo and behold, I’m struck with a gush of warm air.

“What the hell?!” I mumble to myself.

“No wonder the heater hasn’t kicked on, you menopausal midget!”

“It’s in the mid 60s.”

“Lucie, you damn fool!”

“You’ve been watching the weather reports for the East coast and have been totally oblivious to the weather where you live.”

I’m tellin’ you people, if I didn’t think that God got a kick outta having me “around” some days, I could actually embarrass myself.

Thank God I’m a RETIRED teacher!
Some days it’s a miracle I can remember which shoe goes on which foot in the morning.

Have a good one, People!

And be gentle out there.

Remember: Just because someone’s not “looking all put together some days” doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve your kindness and respect.

It could be ME you’re looking at or maybe even a reflection of yourself in the not so distant future. (Just something to be thinking about.)

Catch ya’ next week for another look at life from my shoes.