The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

Inside Thoughts

Our Walkable Town: Just Part of the Magic of Pleasantville!

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When we moved to Pleasantville in 2007 it was only because there was a house for rent here that was a new construction. Coming from a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, we decided that we weren’t going to pass that up.  “But there are no school busses in Pleasantville,” a long-time friend new to the suburbs said to us.

As parents of a young child, we wondered why no one had ever mentioned that to us and quickly came to realize that it was because… in Pleasantville, it simply doesn’t matter. And the longer we lived here we believed that the absence of those busses was actually a little part of the magic.

Living in a town where people walk to and from school, to meet friends for coffee, to go to the movies, out to dinner or the local book store enables us to create and maintain connections that make life special. Running into a friend or neighbor while out walking Ruby, our golden-doodle, results easily in knowing who needs dinner delivered or what issues are being discussed at the village board meeting.

This walking town has also been and continues to be an integral part of Lucy and Sadie’s childhoods. Being able to walk home from school by themselves or in to town after school on a Friday with friends is not only fun but it’s also a boost to their confidence and self-esteem; small gifts all because of some well-maintained sidewalks and a lovely community.

“If I could get paid to be the Pleasantville Welcome Wagon, I would!” is what I’m often telling people I meet who are new to our little town. I’m so excited for them, for the greatness that they don’t really know they’ve found.

My Idea of Beauty at 19 and Now

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Author and his wife Laurie

It was the late 1980’s and a Grateful Dead cover band was playing it hot at a local college bar. Across the room I saw her. A classic Deadhead chick in faded jeans and a tie-dye, covered with a loose peasant blouse. She was balancing a beer in a plastic cup while un-self-consciously bopping to the music. To say she was an enticing vision would be an understated lie. She was just outstanding. At 19, I probably fell in love at least twice a week but this moment stood out. I was not the type to approach a girl in a bar and I may have stared a little too intently but it definitely felt like lightning had struck.

As it turned out I eventually got to know this stunning hippy girl, just a little, and away from that moment in time the magic was gone. She was sweet and cute but there was no connection. In retrospect that moment at the bar, aside from my unwieldy 19-year-old ardor, was a great summation of my understandably naïve take on beauty.

Back then I was limited in my perception of so many things. If I were to consider my opinion of what was beautiful at that time it would now seem dated and superficial. I’ll present here, embarrassing as it may be, what might have been my vision of an ideal evening at that time even if it was, in reality, completely out of reach. I’d pick up my date (picture the hippy chick above but really into me) in my new red Porsche 944 (one of the company’s few failed models), we’d have a fine meal at TGI-Friday’s (who knew mozzarella could be deep-fried!) and then we’d head off to the movies to see the latest John Hughes teen angst flick (to this day I still don’t quite understand Eric Stoltz’s big plan in “Some Kind of Wonderful”). I know. This scenario is not appealing.

Cut to 2019 and the world is spinning wildly out of control and we the people are divided. Social media is pervasive and invasive and we’re clearly, as a society, moving forward into unchartered territory in so many ways. As for me, I’m as immersed in the chaos as anyone else but I endure and now I believe, I have a more credible and learned perspective on the subject of what constitutes beauty.

I can now see beauty in so many things that had been inconceivable to me when I was a younger man. Obviously, watching our children grow and evolve is a no-brainer but is also a profound movement away from inherent pre-kids self-absorption. Having worked for many years, I now recognize the allure of someone doing a job, any job, with commitment, honor and excellence. I’ve been fortunate enough to have unexpected friendships that make life more fulfilling and fun. I’m also lucky to still be able to compete athletically at sports I loved as a child. Not to mention the pleasure of good food be it a bacon and egg on a roll or fresh summer peach.

I can now see beauty in so many things that had been inconceivable to me when I was a younger man.

Undoubtedly, the most consistent and important aspect of beauty I’ve been fortunate to be exposed to is my wife. Laurie is the embodiment of gorgeous both physically and spiritually. I’ve known her a long time and am completely secure in our relationship yet I still have moments where I shake my head and say, “How the hell did I achieve this”? On a typical morning, she’ll get dressed for work and ask me how she looks. This daily exchange has occurred for years. My first instinct is usually to say “beautiful” because that’s the truth. However, I usually choose a more work-setting appropriate adjective. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I look forward to that interaction every day.

Way back, at 19, I had another one of those memorable moments not unlike at the bar with the Deadhead chick. A lovely girl pulled up in a funky orange European car wearing a red-sweater and blue jeans. She had stunning coffee-colored eyes that matched her long hair. My heart fluttered a bit as I caught sight of this beautiful young woman. It was years later that we got to know each other well. Of course, it was Laurie and the lesson I’ve learned is that true beauty can even transcend the naivete of youth.

My Ever-Evolving Thoughts on Beauty

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After Penny Marshall died a few months ago, I saw an interview she had done where she talked about what she believed was her legacy. She summed things up in her matter-of-fact way, stating “I had a successful TV show, I had a couple of successful movies and I’m not beautiful.” I was somewhat dismayed to hear that she included her perception of her looks in her summation of her life. A perception that wasn’t even true in my opinion.

I understood what she was saying–Penny Marshall came of age when women like Elizabeth Taylor and Doris Day defined the standard of beauty. She worked in an industry where beauty was largely skin deep.

I too grew up in an era when beauty was defined by a cookie cutter mold. So many of my peers went to the same plastic surgeon in high school for the same nose job, afraid to look different or too ethnic. We wore the same Benneton sweaters and clogs. (Well, everyone except me, whose “practical” mother declared “clogs aren’t good for your feet.”)  But I have seen a shift in a perception of beauty since I was a teen, a shift that’s positive. Actresses and models don’t all look the same anymore; they are short, tall, of different races, plus-sized (or at least “curvy”), etc.

As I have gotten older, I have learned that true beauty at any age is about confidence and individuality.

I look past the women who strive to look the same and see magnificence in those who allow their essence and honesty to shine through. I’ve discovered it’s not the size of the pants that makes one beautiful, it’s the size of the heart. How many times have you met someone you initially thought was attractive only to find that their character flaws diminished their attractiveness? And for that matter, hasn’t someone become lovelier in your eyes after you see the loveliness of their soul?

I just saw a picture on Facebook of someone I knew when I was in middle school who is battling ovarian cancer (and kicking its ass). She has lost her hair but not her spirit. That’s beauty.

I’ve also discovered that self-acceptance goes a long way in creating an appearance of beauty. We have earned the bodies we have—why not celebrate them? Those stretch marks on my stomach? Evidence of a belly which once housed some of my children. My laugh lines? Proof that I have indeed laughed a lot (as well as cried). The extra pounds I carry? Confirmation that I enjoy food. Those grey hairs? OK, as someone who started going grey prematurely, I admit I have for years colored my hair (quite often these days) but have thought about stopping at some point in the future. I have a few friends who no longer dye their hair and they look fantastic. I strive to do the best with what I’ve got and, aside from the hair coloring, I’m not willing to go through other great lengths to try to convince myself (or anyone else) that I’m decades younger than I am. There’s much I’ve yet to accomplish; I can’t spend too much of my time and energy worrying about my appearance.

As far as fashion goes, I do have a subscription to a popular magazine and love to look at the new trends each season–especially the handbags. Both my husband and middle son work in the apparel industry and I think fashion is fun, an artistic expression by designers. But I’ve developed my own style and learned to wear what works for me. When I was younger, I often made the mistake of trying to copy someone else’s look, only to discover it didn’t look the same on me. Of course, it didn’t; an imitation is rarely as good as the original. And while I may read fashion magazines, if something seems ridiculous to me, no matter how popular, I won’t be swayed. I can unequivocally state that even if shoulder pads come back in style again someday, I will not be wearing them. Rocking your own style is beautiful. Penny Marshall’s character Laverne Defazio knew this better than anyone; she wore the letter L on all her clothes, even her brewery uniform and her pajamas. It was her signature and she was unapologetic about it. She wasn’t afraid to stand out.

What I saw in Penny Marshall was someone with the magical ability to make me laugh and cry, both with her acting, as well as her directing. The person who brought us unforgettable lines like “there’s no crying in baseball” (A League of Their Own) made this world a more beautiful place. And that’s as beautiful as it gets.

Redefining Beauty in the Age of Social Media

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We live in a digital world, a world in which eye contact has been replaced by the glow of backlit screens, chatter has been swapped out for the familiar sound of keyboard clicks, and “Happy Birthday!” cards have been transformed into posts on our friends’ Facebook walls. And as the world has become more digital, so, too, have our socialization trends, with social media becoming the primary means of communication for teenagers in my generation. While social media allows for a more interconnected, open, and limitless world, there is a hidden danger that people tend to gloss over when talking about its constant use: The effect on our self-esteem.

Whether it is a photo that a friend just posted on Instagram, an ad on Facebook with a near perfect looking model, or a makeup artist’s tutorial video on YouTube, it is only too easy to see photos and videos of people on social media and start comparing ourselves to them. In fact, I would argue that the constant slew of images that we are bombarded with online each day creates subconscious definitions of beauty, success, and happiness in our minds, definitions that are narrow, limiting, and unrealistic; definitions that we can never live up to. She’s so beautiful, why don’t I look like that? He has so many followers, I could never be that popular! Look at her friends, his hair, her clothes, his life!  But despite taking on a semblance of reality, most of what we see on social media is a lie. It’s 21st-century deception. Because unlike ever before, social media gives us the unique ability to curate our lives, to reveal to the world only what we want them to see. And if we can post the photo where we look the happiest, the prettiest, the most put together, why wouldn’t we want the world to see that?

And that, right there, is the danger of social media: By only sharing snapshots of our lives, we highlight the perfect and pretend that the imperfect does not exist.

We immerse ourselves in fictional worlds where all we see are images of sunny beach vacations, smiling family portraits, aesthetically pleasing coffee, and people at their prime. However, what we don’t see are all of the moments in between, all of the moments of sadness, suffering, and imperfection. And because we tend to keep those less-than-perfect moments hidden from our feeds, it is easy to compare our real lives to the “social media lives” of others and feel like we just don’t measure up. After all, when we are constantly surrounded by images of people whose lives look so put together, it can make it seem like we are the only ones whose lives aren’t.

Thankfully, social media is slowly starting to change. Now more than ever, companies, celebrities, and other social media users are embracing the idea that imperfection should not be hidden. With companies like Dove working to improve body confidence with their body positivity campaigns, celebrities like Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato, and Sarah Hyland opening up about their mental health battles, and couples like Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade sharing their struggles with fertility, social media is slowly becoming more transparent, communicating the idea that not only is it okay to be imperfect, but it is also okay to share those imperfections if we choose to do so.

Although social media often makes it seem this way, no one’s life is a continuous slide-show of vacations, parties, smiles, and friends. And while there is nothing wrong with choosing to share on social media the photos, stories, and videos that make us feel best about ourselves, there is also no shame in sharing the imperfect aspects of our lives as pivotal parts of our stories. Because, at the end of the day, that’s what social media is: Platforms that allow us to share the stories of our lives with the world. And no matter what narrative we choose to tell, it is important to put everything we see online into perspective. Because, for better or for worse, what we see on social media is not the whole picture of someone; rather, it is merely a few pieces in the puzzle of who they are.

Snow Days Bring Winter Warmth and Community Bonding

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As my feet came out from under me and I started to fall backwards on the front stoop of my house the first thing I noticed was that time had started moving very slowly. My next thought was that this was not a good situation as I saw my unlaced sneakered feet elevate above the rest of me and found myself twisting slightly as my skull approached the waiting hard-brick top step. I didn’t feel panicked but was aware that there was something ridiculous about braining myself first thing in the morning while still in a bathrobe. Astoundingly, my body landed across the steps, as it would turn out, relatively unharmed. My head was the last body part to land and with acute clarity I felt it connect with the rock-hard surface about as gently as imaginable. As I lay there doing a toes to forehead assessment of any physical damage one thought crept through–I should have used more salt!

There are a myriad of realities to living in the snow-belt that is Westchester County north of 287. Better have all-wheel drive. A generator? Not a bad idea. Plow guy seems expensive and wakes your neighbors at 3 a.m. as they’ve communicated through strongly worded notes taped to your door? It’s still better than you shoveling the large wet snow-filled driveway and unwittingly flirting with your first heart-attack. May it only be mild.

The other big figurative snow-balls to contend with are the incessant snow days. In the past when the phone rang at 5 a.m. it was usually serious business. A health scare or worse. Fortunately, those shock-inducing calls were exceedingly rare. However, present day, anytime there is a hint of snow in the forecast you can expect the phone to ring at that same ungodly hour.

At best a two hour delay. Many of these calls result in full, no school, snow days. Which translates to no school for Bella and a day of professional productivity and otherwise being abruptly obliterated by a robo-call.

One morning early last winter the phone rang early and my wife dutifully answered it. I could tell by her expression that this was not going to be a two-hour delay. Outside the snow was steadily wafting downward and absolutely sticking. Ugh. I can’t recall specifically what I wouldn’t be accomplishing that day but I do remember being irritated that the heaven’s and Board of Education were annihilating my day.

Like any modern middle-aged man of responsibility I took my concerns to social media. The Facebook post went like this:

Like most kids I used to long for snow days which seemed exceedingly rare and elusive. The thought of sled-riding, pick-up snow football and a variety of potential misadventures all while not having to go to school made these days unbearably wonderful. Now, cynical and grizzled from life, I dread snow days like a looming medical procedure. There’s some kind of lesson here but I’m too engaged in my irritation to pursue it.

The comments and likes came quickly from friends, people I barely knew in high school and random acquaintances. The overwhelming theme was that I should stop being a snow-grinch and embrace the situation and the serendipitous opportunity of an unplanned day with my family.

So I did.

Laurie, Bella and I bundled up and headed up the cul-de-sac to see what was happening. It wasn’t crazy cold out nor windy so the little neighborhood hike would be not a frozen bummer. The fluffy snow was accumulating on massive pine trees and looked absolutely beautiful. Like a work of art. If you stood still you could hear the snow coming down relentless but gentle.

I did avoid one persnickety neighbor but after that it was like we walked on to the set of “It’s A Wonderful Life” (the happy part) and I was Jimmy Stewart reveling in the beauty of what’s all around me but often unappreciated.  There are kids sled-riding. The smell of a burning fire-place and smoke rising from an old stone chimney. We’re hugging neighbors and sincerely wondering why we haven’t seen each other for months. I joined a group pushing out a rear-wheel drive car stuck in the snow with gloved high-fives all around once the tires found firm footing.

As we looped back to our yellow house I couldn’t help but think of the contrast of how I felt before the walk and after. Through the simple act of a winter stroll I remembered the feeling of community that something like a snow day elicits. And, the winters here while challenging are most definitely communally persevered. It’s a long haul from start to finish but we all go through it and come out the other side ready for a beautiful spring.