TEL AVIV Lovemaking 101

Tel Aviv Lovemaking 101 A piece written for my second book...Thanks to Tel Aviv A friend…a dear friend, who immigrated five years ago from Mexico City to Tel Aviv asked me to join him late one night for a drink in the old city of Jaffa. Way past my usual Pacific coast bedtime, I showered, dressed up; very scantily clad in a tight, hot red Moschino dress and Manolo Blahnik black high heels, then made my way to the front door of my boutique hotel. He met me, gave me a warm kiss on my cheek as the hour turned from p.m. to a.m. when this city wakes up and comes alive. We walked arm in arm down the winding, narrow cobblestone Jaffa streets until we could hear the sensual sound of Capricho Arabe, a Spanish piece performed once upon a time by the infamous Andres Segovia resonating through an open window high above us. “It’s up there he gestured with his hand, we will drink a good glass of red wine, perhaps two or three glasses, dance and then dance some more," he chided me. A bit tenuous, but knowing he knew the city well, I followed him up the steep, dimly lit staircase. Never could I have imagined what I was walking into unless I witnessed it with my own eyes. At the top of the staircase, an oversized set of double etched glass doors opened up to the most stunning rooftop garden I’ve ever seen. Sweeping views of the old Port of Jaffa, the dark, gentle expansive sea below, the modern skyscrapers in the urban downtown city of Tel Aviv far off in the distance, a three hundred and sixty degree view, at each turn provided a completely different picture. The moon above us shining in full glory, the beautiful patio furniture all dressed in white linen, full-sized orange trees potted in massive stone carved urns flanking every single sofa and dining table. The crisp white table cloths were topped with soft green linen square overlays, a perfect grounding for dozens of flickering votives that added to the ambiance of this incredible resto/supper/dance club. On one side of the patio, a bar was set up, brightly lit, all glass and shiny, with extraordinarily handsome looking bartenders all busy showing off their mixology skills. In the center of this rooftop was a very intricate mosaic tiled dance floor. I noticed there was a dance floor kitty-corner to the bar. There was a small very inconspicuous stage where a Spanish classical guitarist, a piano player, and a sax musician and percussionist were creating lyrical magic. George Bernard Shaw was quoted to say that “Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire”. As I perused the dance floor, that quote made perfect sense to me now. Everyone was beautifully dressed, long gone are the days of vintage boho or utility in fashion here, replaced by edgy, fashion-forward silhouettes in rich fabrics paying homage to detail. Couples were dancing with such rhythmic expression that it was hard to discern if they were two bodies entwined or two so connected that they had morphed into one entity. Oozing sensuality, almost like watching two people make love, exposed for all to see, so intimate the way they embraced one another, pressed up against each of their toned, muscular bodies, slowly swaying and moving in tandem to the music that I felt like a voyeur at first. Each movement was sultry, hips moving in a motion that resembled erotic controlled sexual desire. The music stopped yet the couples on the dance floor were osculating, no longer moving, instead of standing perfectly still lip locked and exuding passion as they softly kissed. When the musicians resumed playing, like on cue, the couples once again pressed against one another, grinding hips and I wondered if this was a metaphorical expression of lovemaking, building as the music played on. As I sipped my glass of cabernet, I could feel my insides warm and my body loosens up. A novice latin dancer at best, bravely I walked onto the dance floor. With a hand tightly secured around my waist, I relented and fell against the strong, tall frame of my partner. Closing my eyes, forcing myself to just let go, I began moving in conjunction with him. He twirled me, brought me back firmly holding onto my small frame and then moved me across the floor with grace, precision, and expertise. Despite my platonic feelings for my dear, exceedingly handsome friend, I could now understand how dancing like this is the closest thing to vertically making mad, passionate, explosive love like Shaw suggested. So for this incredible city, sexy, sophisticated, made up of so many cultures, the best of food, fashion, technology and so much more, connectivity begins on the dance floor when the street lights come on way after dark. For some, it ends on the dance floor, but if you are lucky enough to have a true, loving and special dance partner, then lovemaking begins on the dance floor and ends the morning after or perhaps the afternoon after when you’ve taken the metaphorical to explore and expand to a physical expression……Some call it ecstasy…I call it Lovemaking 101 in Tel Aviv. Remarkable city! Image may contain: sky, outdoor, water and nature

Love & Cracker Jacks

Some lighthearted fiction for spring.

Love & Cracker Jacks

One evening, from my lanai, I watched spectacular fireworks crackle thunderously and shower the night sky with bursts of multi-colored twinkling lights. They reminded me of my childhood in Canada and how much I loved waving sparklers on the Victoria Day long weekend in May. When the light show was over, I was still feeling nostalgic, so I made some homemade popcorn, retired to the family room and put on a favorite film: Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I have always loved Audrey Hepburn in movies. She was so poised , graceful, and such a fashion icon.

Bearing Witness

Thirty-five years ago today, my mom passed away—most of my life lived without her. Sitting on my Tommy Bahama beach chair on my favorite beach close to home, I’m thinking about her, what her life would have been, my life and everyone’s life that she touched, had she lived to old age.

The one thing I've learned and experienced living on this island in the middle of the Pacific is how small each of us in the universe. The majesty of the grass-covered West Maui mountains, the expanse of the ocean, the density and abundance of vegetation all remind us of our insignificance.

Part II: Strawberry Papaya or Pink Lady?

Girls' lunch at Bergdorf Goodman

Looking for "Strawberry Payapya" Part I? Click here.

Walking into Bergdorf Goodman after so many years was a girl’s fantasy come true. The beautifully appointed store was like an art gallery of all things fashion and beauty. In every department, the attention to detail in the displays, the merchandising, the svelte, perfectly groomed sales staff, spoke of quality and luxury.

In addition to the restaurant, the store’s top floor houses a children's department, housewares, antiques and estate jewelry. The elegant hostess invited us to have a drink of champagne at the bar or have a look around, as our table was not quite ready. We waltzed over to the estate jewelry. A handsome older customer pointed out a pair of vintage opalescent and rose-gold earrings priced at the equivalent of a new Mercedes and asked me, “Are these not the sweetest, most darling little earrings you’ve ever seen? Are you buying them?”

Part I: Strawberry Papaya or Pink Lady?

The Plaza New York

Growing up in Eastern Canada, I considered autumn one of the most beautiful times of the year. Trees with leaves turning shades of red, amber and gold lining the city streets. The crisp air and people walking at a slightly brisker pace, clad in shades of grey, camel and black, with cashmere scarves wrapped tightly around their necks. The food shops filled to the brim with displays of all things fall: pumpkins, gourds, pears, pomegranates and apples. The fond memory of climbing trees at our favorite orchard to pick MacIntosh apples to take home for baking pies.

Despite my love affair with the magical island of Maui, there are days when I miss those simple familiar fall rituals. When I lived in Canada, I used to start my day with a strong cup of coffee and a crisp apple cut into wedges. Since moving to Maui, I've made a steady diet of strawberry papaya for breakfast. Considered to be the sweetest, most flavorful of all papayas, this salmon-red fruit is a great source of vitamin C and A. But an unchanging diet, of anything, no matter how delicious, can become monotonous, and recently I have felt something lacking.

November Greetings

CLICK TO START READING IT NOW!

Just back from an amazing trip to New York City, where I attended an invitation-only forum with two dozen high-powered businessmen. It felt wonderful to be back in my element.

Also wanted to tip my hat to my friend and editor, Morri Mostow, who has just launched her novel for middle grades (for kids age 9 and up). P.J. le Pooch & the Magic Sketchbook is a charming, uplifting tale about an 11-year-old girl whose life changes in magical ways when she rescues a dog against her mother's wishes. The perfect Christmas or Chanukah gift for a young reader, boy or girl. To order her book in paperback or in your preferred e-book format, click here.

Try it on ... but keep the receipt

As I approach an age where many women ponder tying the proverbial knot for a second, even a third, time, I begin to question the merits of remarriage. Long gone are those youthful fantasies—of walking down the aisle in a flowing white gown and a pretty tulle veil; the perfect Tiffany diamond engagement ring and matching wedding band; the entire family, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends all celebrating you on your special day. Gone, too, is the fairy-tale notion of marriage promoted by parents, the media and society as a whole.

French & Vanilla on the Island of Taha’a

Taha'a fiord

Tahiti has always been my dream destination, my imagination sparked in my youth by the romance of James Michener's novel, Hawaii, and one of my all-time favourite movies, South Pacific. I have always planned to sail, fly or swim there, if necessary, but somehow the decades passed and I never got there—until I moved to Maui, putting Tahiti a mere five hours away by plane.

When I recently discovered that the Paul Gauguin luxury cruise line was offering special discounted fares for Hawaiian residents on its cruises to Tahiti, I knew my time had finally arrived! A couple of phone calls, some online research and the entire trip was booked—with plenty of time to identify “the best of” everything: the best hotels, the best restaurants, the best beaches … even the best stops for washroom breaks.

Empowering Women on South Maui

(from left) Meagan DeGaia, Publisher,
Neighbors of Wailea & Makena, with Wailea Girl 

I recently discovered that my little island of Maui has an abundance of amazing, inspiring women who want to make a difference—and I had the privilege of meeting quite a few of them at the "Women Just Want to Have Fun Gala Fundraiser." Held on June 3 at the King Kamehameha Golf Club in Wailuku, this event was the first fundraiser organized by Na Wahine Ho'omana, a new not-for-profit organization created to empower women on South Maui. 

The evening was so much fun. Dinner was followed by a fashion show featuring swimwear, lingerie, island boutiques and fitness wear, and musical performances by local singers. A silent auction showcased items from local businesses, all owned by women. I was thrilled to have been invited to support such a worthy organization, whose mission of empowerment mirrors my own.

How I Cracked the Code on the "Isola" of Sicily

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Taormina, Sicily

Isola means island, a cognate of isolare, to isolate, to seclude, to shut off. Even though I now live on an island, I'd never made that connection, so obvious in Italian. Perhaps that is why I feel such a deep sense of isolation on the island of Sicily, where I feel so uncharacteristically like a foreigner. Unlike in the rest of Italy, where my much improved language skills, designer duds and attitude have most Italians fooled and greeting me as a local, Sicily is proving to be a surprising challenge.

Despite its superficial welcoming of tourists, Sicily remains a closed community, with its Greek influences and places that still remain war torn. It is an island with its own personality, uniqueness, eccentricities and limitations, things I am becoming familiar with on my own rock in the middle of the Pacific. Native Sicilians make sure that tourists understand who is in charge. Though every meal ends with an abundance of sweets, the irony is that that Sicilians are anything but dolce! Forte, tenacious and unwavering, traditional, self-protective and stoic, they must be explored with respect. It requires care to gingerly peel back each layer and expose the vulnerable and tender core—the essence of a Sicilian.

Ask Quietly ... Then Wait

Me and Mr. Bud

Early on Wednesday morning I awake to a swell of anxiety, still haunted by my fall off a horse some years ago. I must be crazy to get back on a horse. Then I open the box of black Massimo Dutti riding boots and am reminded of the day, the place, and what was in my mind when I bought all the riding equipment I needed to get back to dressage. I can vividly recall coaching myself aloud to dive into what I feared, in order to create my own happiness.

I load my little white convertible with riding gear and head up country. Minutes later, as I zigzag up the mountain highway, I am awestruck by the beauty unfolding before me —cane stalks as high as my shoulders, pineapple fields wafting a sweet, almost acrid scent, and the green, green mountains straight ahead. I catch site of a double rainbow stretching across the horizon like a multi-colored canopy. This is my Wednesday morning, my life now. 

The Wishing Stone

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

A special friend reached out to me a couple of weeks before my travels east. He and I have known each other for years. We share the same spiritual sensibilities and optimistic glass-is-totally-full attitude and philosophy of life. He has watched and waited, sitting quietly with the patience and wisdom of Gandhi, always offering sage advice and encouragement as I worked to realize my dreams. He also told me that I could manifest anything I set my heart and intention to, so when I called to tell him that I had finally moved to Maui, my “somewhere over the rainbow,” he replied, without a trace of surprise, “Of course you did because you manifested it.”

We get together from time to time to walk the ocean path, to admire the incredible beauty surrounds us and inspires us and on Maui, and to catch up or, as he would say, “talk story.” Aside from being my spiritual guru of sorts, he is a gifted artisan, avid gardener and collector of artifacts. One morning, 10 days before I boarded my east-bound flight, we met to wish each another a wonderful summer. His purpose for our meeting, I learned, was to give me a wishing stone—a triangular turquoise stone worn and rubbed smooth over time that had been blessed by a native chief of stature and high regard. He had intended to set it into a piece of jewelry created especially for me but there was not enough time prior to my departure.

The Wedding Dress Message

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Lace is the quintessential romantic fabric. To my delight, Italian designers are celebrating lace in their new summer and fall collections. The girly side of me is thrilled to see this feminine nod to structural and classic jackets, sweaters and dresses. Even this season's lingerie has stepped it up to add lace upon lace.

Despite my love affair with fashion, living in Maui has limited my opportunities to wear all my beautiful clothes. Flip flops and a cotton sundress seem to work everywhere on the island. On occasion, I can't resist donning a real dress or a pair of European shoes and heading for Safeway—the place, as everyone knows, to proudly show off the latest fashions, especially in the freezer isle where a shearling or puffy winter jacket helps stave off hypothermia!

On my third day in Firenze, as I stroll the main piazza, I spot a familiar shop sporting a 60% to 70%-off sale sign in the window. Why not take a quick peek? I think, although finding something in my small size is a bit of a challenge in the land of pasta and pizza and all things that start with the letter "p."

The Perfect Cappuccino

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

"She like it Madame?" my barista at Gilli asks me daily! €1.40 euros for this steamy hot, creamy, chocolaty, marbleized work of art in a fine bone china cup, accompanied by a pearl-and-sterling demitasse spoon and delicate pistachio cantucci on a lacy embossed monogrammed doily. A perfectly poised Italian-designed sugar container and extra embossed napkins complete this perfect cappuccino.

In Firenze (Florence), it's a matter of pride, passion and priority to produce this caffeinated delicacy!

Heaven forbid a foreigner should utter the word decaf—a term usually met with a dismissive gesture. I am now schooled in the language of gestures.

Like any delicacy, taste, temperature and artistic sensibility are all important and necessary in preparing the perfetto cappuccino! If you are fortunate to have a barista who has taken a liking to you, you may find your cappuccino delivered with a spectacular heart shape floating amidst the dark cocoa topping. Here's hoping!

Eat, Pray ... and Observe, on My Viaggio da Sola

An excerpt from my upcoming memoir

Pasta with shaved black truffles

Despite my commitment to maintaining my European size 34 figure, I’ve tasted and feasted on every specialty of each small village, town and region in Italy. I’ve savored warm roasted creamy chestnuts, handmade paparadelle garnished with earthy, decadent shaved black truffles, Roman fried artichokes served with a zesty lemon aioli, orange-scented arancini, grilled calamari drizzled with liquid gold first-pressed olive oil, buttery buffalo mozzarella and candy-sweet cherry tomatoes topped with fragrant, peppery basilica the size of lettuce leaves, fresh porcini foccacia, rich rare bistecca, lightly battered stuffed zucchini flowers, ricotta-filled cannoli—and gelato, gelato and more gelato.

I’ve eaten, and now it’s time to pray, something I've always done, albeit in silence, in private and with regularity. Travelling alone—my viaggio da sola—has given me the time and the opportunity to pray, but also to think, to observe and to understand the world and how it works in a clearer way, from a different vantage point.