My formative years were spent in an  industrial blue-collar town with a mixture of European immigrants. Even though it was not for religious reasons in our house we always had fish on Fridays like most of the families in our town. 

I always hated those fish Fridays because it seems every time we had fish, I was the only one in the family lucky enough to get the tiny hidden bones tucked between the flesh. How I remember chewing, chewing, chewing every bite until my jaws ached just to be sure that I wasn’t going to swallow a sharp bone that I was sure would puncture my stomach, causing the end of me. Friday’s were definitely not my favorite days. 

But, in spite of my memories of those torture fish Fridays of long ago, I guess life habits are hard to break. You would think a sane person would have left the bony protein behind as I waved good bye to that industrial town. ‘Forget about it’ as my good Jersey shore friends would say, I still have fish on Friday. It is the only thing I eat with both a head and eyes.


Now I do feel lucky to have lived near the ocean most of my adult years. At least once a week you will find me at the local fish market, or at the dock waiting for the fishing boats to come in after a day at sea. I’ve shopped in the Pike Market in Seattle, Fulton Fish Market in New York and browsed markets all over the world. For me, there is something to say about the fresh saltwater smell of fresh fish. Most of the markets have powerful fans to whirl away the strong smell, but I like it. It reminds me of my love of the sea.

Well, today it’s Friday. Arthur and I left the beach this morning to take the fifteen minute ride into Miami to the Casablanca Fish Market where all sorts of fresh fish can be found. 


 Crazy as it seems, I still love the smells every time I open the Casablanca door. I love the noise and the eclectic mix of people who stream in, hovering over the various days catches. 

The simple pleasures of life that mean something are getting easier and easier to find for me. As my grandson would say, ‘it is a big time senior citizen adventure!’  

Come on, Kid. It sure beats Snapchat.  

Copyright Sandra Hart©. All Rights reserved.


Not Today. I Have A Headache!

Yesterday, I was sitting most of the day with a pounding headache right above my eye, feeling like it was going to explode out of its socket. I very rarely get a headache, but I went swimming earlier in the morning and got chlorine water up my nose trying out my Esther Williams skills and somehow my sinuses were quite offended by the intrusion into their space and decided to punish me.  

While my eye socket was pounding out of my head and I was feeling very old and in need of some TLC, the phone rang. NO CALLER ID. I usually don’t pick up those calls, but my eye pain short circuited my brain and I picked up. 

Now if you are a mother. If you have always been a take charge, fix everyone’s problems, tower of strength mother. If you are a mother of anything- kids, dogs, cats, Guinea pigs, your husband, you’re going to understand this story. 

“Mother,” my daughter said in almost a whisper because it was during the day and she works for the DOJ and she never ever calls me from work. Never. Ever.  

“Mother, I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me, but it’s my phone. I don’t have one.”

 “What?! (The exclamation point here is important) The brand-new super expensive iPhone 6 Plus with the maximum amount of memory you just bought last week that your mother lusts after and can’t afford?”

“Yes. Well… it got run over.”

Silence. “What do you mean ‘it got run over’?”  

(Somehow with bad news my kids still revert to their six-year-old days when telling the truth right out of the slot is still very difficult.)

“Well……I forgot it was on the top of the car and I drove away and ran over it.”

“OK.” I said, trying to ignore my screaming sinus cavity. “At least it wasn’t my dog this time ( that’s another sad story we both lived through) ……being new, your insurance will cover it.”

“Hummm…. I didn’t take the coverage….but….” she whispered so her guilt of not insuring her pricy phone….and probably her colleagues ears were muted. ” I worked out a deal with Apple and it’s only going to cost me $150 to replace it.”  

I didn’t even dare ask her the details about “the deal”. I can only imagine. 

After a few short inquiries about how I was, I pulled a motherly fib ( my children call that ‘martyr speak’) and said I felt great and let her get back to her legal work. All visions of some much needed TLC evaporated into reality. Sigh. All of those childhood kissed scrapes and hugs when it was the best medicine for what ailed her disappeared through the airwaves that separated us. 

My phone rings a lot. I’m always happy when it’s one of my children with updated news about their lives. Positive news. My nose is pressed against their windows hoping to witness the good stuff.  

Whatever idiot spread the notion that once your children are grown and out of the house your job is done and you can go merrily along your way in your own life. NOT. You will always be the sounding board. The anchor. The cheerleader. And maybe the first to hear their troubles and last to hear of their successes. And you just have to live forever. Really! End of story!

Copyright©Sandra Hart 2016. All rights reserved