True Life Sweet Spots 

I  recently had to go in the hospital for a cryoablation for heart palpitations I’ve had since my twenties. I had a procedure done twenty years ago to ablate the pathways that were causing my heart to fire those extra impulses. Well, through the years they grew back and I have had to have another procedure to ablate them again. 

It just so happens that my cardiology surgeon is a big Tonic fan. Although we have had many phone conversations about the new cryoablation procedure, I hadn’t seen Dr. Todd Florin since my radiofrequency ablation in January, but he remembered all about Tonic when we met again pre-op. 

This time Dr. Florin spent at least a half hour with me just going over my procedure and generally chatting about life before l went into surgery. When I was finally prepped and wheeled into the operating room, he came over and said he wanted me to meet someone. He gestured to a handsome young doctor that was a part of his team to come closer. 

“Would you believe, this young surgeon is also a fan of Tonic. He must have been 12 when that first album came out! “ he said kind of amazed.
Well, it turned out this doctor not only was a singer/musician himself, but knew all of Tonic’s music. The last thing I remember as I was going under is being serenaded by him with his wonderful rendition of “If You Could Only See The Way She Loves Me.” True Story.  
Copyright Sandra Hart 2017©

Music Is My Memory Trail

(Author’s note: If your soul is rooted in music as deeply as mine, grab your earphones and reading glasses, if needed, and let me transport you with me to places in my past.)

“ I believe in teleportation and time travel,” he said taking a sip of his Old Fashioned. It was Friday and we were at a speakeasy watching bluegrass. I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. 

“ Not in the sensational way, mind you. But in the way a waft of a certain perfume can take you back to childhood, or a song can being back a flurry of feelings you felt long ago.  Isn’t it strange and wonderful how our senses can give us context of the present, but transport us to the past?” 

He whispered to the bartender who came back moments later with a mint julep identical to the one he introduced me to when we first met….orange twist and all.

“Here. Close your eyes and take a sip of this.
Tell me…..where does it take you?  

Aromas and music are the two triggers that can transport me back in time.  Big band music  takes me back to my early childhood and our Sunday family outings to The Lotus Restaurant in Washington, DC. 

Rock and roll and the music of the 50’s bring me back to my high school days when we wore pony tails and bobby socks and the worst thing the boys could do was smoke behind the building or drink beer in the coal pits. 

Georgetown and  great jazz  wisk me back to my college years where we would spend our nights listening to Mose Allison or Dave Brubeck.  I can still smell the mixture of cigarette smoke and scotch that filled the crowded clubs lining the narrow streets in Georgetown. 

My child rearing years and the small tube radio that I always had on in the kitchen comes to my mind every time I hear Billy Joel and his romantic take on life. I was always dreaming through my humdrum life while being transported to somewhere beyond that kitchen and piles of dirty laundry by Billy.  

Now that I’m older and have Alexa in my life, I can be transported to any era of my life by just asking.   Transporting has never been easier! 

Copyright Sandra Hart 2017 

Moving Forward

I have lived long enough that if I would put all of my ‘what ifs’ in writing, l would  have a complete novel. Honestly, think  back. How many ‘what ifs’ are in your past that if you had a ‘do over’ things would be different, or the outcome would have been much better if you had only….

Well, let me stop you right there. You are where you are supposed to be right now because the ‘what ifs’ didn’t happen.  Good or bad, there is no going back,  There are few ‘do overs’. 

A long time ago I quit torchering myself and put  all of my ‘what ifs’ in a basket and lit a match to it.  I refuse to live in the past and think that my life would be so much better if I had made different decisions in my life. I decided that living in the now is what is important.  

Learn from your ‘what ifs’  Burn that basket and move forward into the present and don’t look back with regrets.  Your best life is now!

CopyrightSabdra Hart 2017©

Stepping Out Of The Box

One big positive about being a mature woman is that the bonds of restriction that had me tied in knots most of my life are untied. I am finally free to be me. 

As a young woman, I followed the trends, was afraid to be different and never stepped over the line when it came to fashion or being proper.  Sure, I took some risks career wise, but I never dared to be out of step as to what was expected of me. 

 I don’t think I was alone in that mindset.  After all, it was the early 60’s, my childbearing and mothering  years, before Woodstock and the hippie generation.  All that ‘freedom-to-be’ passed me by with diapers and nurturing others. 

It must have been in my fifties when suddenly a light bulb went off in my head and I started taking risks. I started to realize it was okay to be me. It was okay to step out of the box. 

Knock. Knock. Let me out of here! 

Copyright Sandra Hart 2017©

It’s Hard To Be A Writer

I know it’s much more difficult to write about ones life than it is to pen a novel. The latter is fantasy, make believe. Journeys you take in your mind that release you from your own reality.

Facing the truth in front of your typewriter is another story. Sometimes is extremely painful to write about ones own life’s reality.  Those events are never erased, but lived over and over again. Pages ripped from your past that come back to haunt you and resurface things that you had hope were buried so deep that they would never resurface. 

It’s hard to be a writer. It’s hard to write about the truth. 

Copyright Sandra Hart©.  All Rights Reserved 

Dress French Chic On A Budget

I have always admired French women and the way they put together clothes. A simple white blouse with black tights or pants, colorful scarf and rich looking bag and she is off to work or to meet her friends at a cafe.  Simple, elegant and understated beauty. 

When I look into my closet, I wonder if I need all the colors. Too many blouses, too many dresses, too many jackets and coats. I know I am not alone. We are a consumer society and I know my buying habits are not unique.  

Every day my mailbox is filled with clothing catalogues enticing me to buy something that will make me look like the young, beautiful models inside.  Facebook is becoming filled with products that tell us we just have to have for our next season. In essence, we are constantly being enticed to buy, buy, buy so that we won’t get left behind in the latest fashion trend.

All this started me thinking about the economy and how much we women spend on clothes we probably will wear a few times and then put to the back of our closet.  This led me to thinking about France, their fashion sense and thrift shops. I wondered if I could go to a local Goodwill and shop French style with thrift and utility in mind. 

I will share with you the results of my quest to dress French Chic on recycled clothing. Come along with my daughter and I to see the results.

Copyright Sandra Hart©2017

All Rights Reserved

I Just Love Hats!

My Mother always wore a hat when she went out of the house. Sometimes she even designed and made her own. Maybe as a child my always seeing her look so beautiful in hats…she has passed on her love of hats to me. 

 The reality is that I grew up in a generation where both women and men wore hats. I even got a new Easter bonnet every year to top off my new outfit. I think that hats were always a part of my dress up life way into the sixties when bouffant hair and French twist hair made it impossible to wear a hat without ruining your hairdo.  

My father used to wear a top hat on formal occasions. (Imagine that!) He wore a smart Fedora or Homburg; 1940s men were nothing without a hat. Popular men’s 1940s hats were the Fedora, Trilby, Homburg. A Chesterfield coat, suit and shoes were always finished off with a hat whenever my father left the house. 

Honestly, I really miss those days of hats, but in spite of the rest of the world and trends, I still wear hats. What can I say, I just love hats!

Copyright Sandra Hart 2017© 

All Rights Reserved