All posts by Jacqueline Markowitz

Fifty…

Life Is

There are parts of my fifties that I love, parts of myself that I have figured out. I only wear pale pink lipstick. Even though people always suggest a brighter shade. It’s not who I am. I like pale lips, and I’m good with it. I’m not stuck. I thought I would never get my ears pierced. I did. I still prefer a white t-shirt, faded jeans, flip-flops. Although these days I can’t get my jeans done up and the white t-shirts need to be flowy. Diamonds and opals are the perfect accessory. I live in Toronto, but Laguna Beach is the home of my imagination. Born on the upside of ’56, Woodstock remains a destination of my idealistic heart.

As the last trimester of my fifties broke through the hot sweats, so did a resurgence of ‘me’, an inner emphasis on discovering myself in different terms.

I am accommodating within an inch of my life, because that is who I am. I am a solver. Where my daughters are concerned, I will go ‘over the top’ as my husband cynically remarks, to create, and nurture their dreams, some of which they didn’t know they had. And now, perhaps a little late, I am asking, “Where do I fit in to all this?” I don’t think this is a post mid-life crisis, I’m pretty sure it’s sheer panic, a bit of a twist on the biological clock theory. The clock is ticking at a dizzying pace. I have a lot to accomplish.

It is, so to speak, the time of our season. Our lives are constantly in flux, we are ‘go with the flow’ kind of girls, we think on the run, and make decisions in the moment. Then, we change, re-group, and go at it again. We are immersed in the lives of our families, and good for us, we have raised fabulous children, despite ourselves. And now, faced with what we want for our own lives, we are out of sorts, somewhat uncomfortable, traversing uncharted territory. A piece of our life is complete in a way that we never expected. And it happened in a heartbeat. And, in many ways, it is just like being eighteen again. What are we going to do? Who do we want to be with? I’m not sure in this case that our life experience gives us the edge.

Once again I look to Joni for answers, “We can’t return we can only look behind from where we came and go round and round and round in the circle game…”

The icing on the cake

More Posts, Muse

A pair of shoes can simply change your day. Really. Look what happened to Marie Antoinette. Those exquisitely lined shoeboxes with sumptuous brocade, jewel-encrusted slippers in marvelous colours, were indeed the icing on the cake. Cinderella, in a charming deceit, leaves a glass slipper behind, taking our prince on a romping road trip around the countryside. The Wicked Witch of the East, dies in a tragic house falling, which bequeaths the dazzling ruby slippers to Dorothy, sending her on an inspired journey down the yellow brick road. Shoes are deep. Were the Manolo’s the accidental aphrodisiac that finally led Big to tie the knot?

Shoes have a certain way about them; the intrinsic pedestal on which a woman is propped, the true tell-tale of our inspiration. A pair of jeans partnered with flats, stilettos, or boots insinuate very different ideas about the woman who wears them. But, we, and I do mean it as the conspiring ‘we’, know this. That playful little arch in our back from a pair of high heels, the strategic power of hose and pump, that rock star sensibility of great boots.

Ingredients

Life Is, More Posts, Recipe

Some people seem to have all the ingredients of their lives set out on the counter, measured, tossed into the pan or bowl at various times, baked, brewed or grilled, somehow always to perfection. Their soufflés never fall. At least that is how it appears.

It’s a mirage. Everybody has stuff. That’s just the way life is. Yes, some people have more stuff than others, but nobody goes through this life without something. Our lives are complicated, and the ones we think have it all together, the ones whose lives we envy, those are often the most messed up. The intricacies of relationships, family, love, business, desire, well….those are the details that rarely follow the course of least resistance.

Most people who are really, really good cooks will not be able to direct you specifically to a carved in stone recipe, it’s more like the recipe is their guide and they deviate off the path as it comes to them. Life is a lot like that. There is only so much you can plan. And, there is certainly a whole bunch of tossing the ingredients in to the pot and seeing if it works out along the way.

My friend Ellie attended my first recipe for life club party. I asked everyone to bring a story and a recipe. She brought the ingredients for a chocolate turtle martini, a martini glass that reads, “I love nights that I can’t remember”, and an apron that says, “keep calm, carry on”.

She is my fun friend. She keeps me balanced. I can be overly introspective and she knows how to listen and support me, and she is the person I can laugh with as well. She lives life fully. She travels, goes to concerts, (she just saw the Rolling Stone concert 4 times…) opened a fashion boutique called Shenkin West, she loves colour. She is the fuchsia and chartreuse, to my white and beige. And when things work out she says, “the ingredients were right”. So here’s to mixing and concocting and creating our lives. Cheers!

Rob’s Chocolate Turtle Martini

Recipe courtesy Rob Harpest

1 drink

Ingredients

Cocoa Powder

Powdered sugar

Caramel sauce, in a squeeze bottle with a very small tip

Chocolate Sauce

2 ounces vanilla vodka (recommended: Stoli Vanilla)

2 ounces white creme de cacao

2 ounces Praline New Orleans Style Pecan Liqueur

Crushed ice

Roasted pecan halves, for garnish

Roughly chopped chocolate squares, for garnish

Directions

First, sweeten the cocoa powder to your liking by mixing the cocoa and powdered sugar. Take a large martini glass and very carefully coat the rim in caramel sauce from the squeeze bottle, being careful not to let it drip too far down the sides.

Then, dip the entire rim of the glass into the sweetened cocoa powder, being sure to coat all of the caramel. The desired effect is a chocolate dusted caramel rim. If available, I also like to put just a drop of chocolate syrup at the bottom of the glass for color.

For the drink, shake the vodka, Creme de Cacao and praline liqueur in a martini shaker with ice to chill. Fill the martini glass nearly full with crushed or shaved ice, being careful not to touch the rim. Strain the drink into the martini glass.

Garnish atop the floating ice with a roasted pecan half and a small piece of chopped chocolate. Alternately, I have garnished it with a half of a Turtle candy by making an incision and hanging it on the rim of the glass. Whichever you prefer.

I’m too fat to have an affair

Love

I’m fundamentally a good girl. Up the up staircase, in through the revolving door. I have enthusiastic sense of responsibility and commitment, and will drop anything I am doing to help the people I love…. You get the picture. I feel like I am always the last to know, open mouthed, wide-eyed, in shock at the details about the lives some women lead. I’m far from sanctimonious, but honestly I think I’m missing a gene. I really don’t get it! Other people have affairs. Apparently they are more common than I could imagine. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Not that I necessarily want to have one. Even if I did, I have way too much of a conscience, I would analyze the decision to death, chart the pros and cons, and inevitably revert to feeling too guilty. In any case, I’m too fat to have an affair. But, I must say, the inner version of me; that beach body me, whose footprints in the sand lead elsewhere, well, that ‘me’ might be intrigued. I still wouldn’t have a clue how to go about it. And, what about my husband, you might ask? Well, I’m not sure he would notice, and if he did he would probably be thrilled. It would let him off the proverbial hook!

You see though, having an affair is cheating. And I’m not sure I could reconcile this. I would be always putting the shoe on the other foot. But, Samantha (Sex in the City) contends, “The act of cheating is defined by the act of getting caught.” Am I hitting the bottom of the barrel by trying to actually rationalize having an affair in terms of Carrie and Samantha? Is there something deliciously contraband about a covert affair? Have I watched too many romantic films, or is my heart yearning for one last dance with love?

Indeed, there are different kinds of love, and ebbs and flows of love and desire and ups and down in marriages. So why am I even writing about this! Is it some kind of menopausal crisis? It’s more of a realization that this is a time in my life where it’s okay to think about me. To consider what it is that I want to experience. To discover what I am about as the kids move out and my husband has retired. It’s most definitely time for me.

The other night I had dinner with a friend. She told me that I needed to have an affair. That I was too vibrant to be sitting at home all the time, and l deserve a big love story. That would be nice. She also told me that if I insisted on wearing pale lipstick instead of coral that I have to have smoky eyes. Hmmmm. I think I will explore the smoky eye idea. The affair? Well…

Sponge Cake

More Posts, Recipe

I can see my mother standing at the kitchen sink, and the lovely window edged with white curtains that gazed in to the garden. The ribbed glass cabinet doors, the right edge chipped, but worn smooth. Plates stacked in sequence of size, teacups dangled from the hooks above the juice glasses. Her black hair, short and tucked behind her perfect ears. The curve of her back under the pink sweater set and her apron tied with a bow at the back. I imagine her hands as she washed them under the tap and wiped them on her apron. The same hands that held mine.

Her recipes are within me, like pieces of her. A weathered yellow bowl that somehow made the trip across the ocean from England stands on her counter and his filled with red cabbage soaking in vinegar. The way she patted the ‘canaidella’ into balls for the chicken soup. Fish patties….and when she was too old to stand and cook, she made them with me and my girls in my kitchen. She sat on a stool holding the tin bowl and wooden spoon. Yorkshire puddings, apple cake, the apples sliced by hand and smothered in brown sugar.

I have learned many things from my mother. If I’m a good mother, it is because of her. So if my daughters turn out okay, it is because she is watching over them. I f my mother had a ‘recipe for life’ it would be her inner strength and courage, her ability to put one foot in front of the other and find what is good about each day. And to find joy…. She was around my age when she lost her breast, her son, her husband. And yet, she filled my life with joy, she was gracious and good.