The Inside Press

Magazines serving the communities of Northern Westchester

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On Being Thanksgiving Ready

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Love Rules… and Beautiful Table Settings Build Memories too

Table by Laurie Stolowitz

Before the food ever makes its ways to the table, there’s something exquisite about being ‘Thanksgiving ready.’ Maybe one or more of your kids have helped you set the silverware or the glasses, always especially fun with the littlest ones, a glorious parenting rite of passage, too. The excitement builds and hearts overflow with gratitude knowing that the house is soon to be filled with loved ones, coming from near and far, and some of whom you may only see once a year or another who may be having a health issue or getting on in their years; in between all the food prep and clean up scrambling, you take a deep breath and think to yourself of how precious the time really is, and how fortunate you are to be celebrating Thanksgiving again in your beautiful home. Whatever stresses your life may carry, there can be a feeling of time standing still in appreciation and anticipation.

Table by Burke Irving

I’m also drawn to the pride many hosts and hostesses feel over the aesthetics of their carefully, lovingly set tables; many are proudly shared on Facebook and Instagram well before the guests arrive, which frankly was the spark for this feature. I visited the Chappaqua Moms page to ask moms about their tables, and the pictures immediately flowed.

Table by Dana Cohen Yahr

But do know… whether you’ve gone ‘all out’ as many of these moms have, or have kept it simple, we understand you. As a busy working mom raising two young kids, there were some years I pulled out the best china and took my time with my own finishing touches—usually a seasonal bouquet with autumn colors. Other years, I ran to the local party supply store the night before joining so many others scrambling to ‘pull off’ Thanksgiving; the basic themed paper felt like a godsend after the fact.

Table by Samantha Holcman

It’s ‘all good’ and the love that permeates the air is really always the story of the day. Nonetheless, a beautiful table dazzles, and we are delighted to share these and the pride these moms rightfully feel.

– Grace Bennett

Table by Melissa Benach Sussberg

Gratitude for Our Homes

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I have a confession to make. I didn’t want to live in this town. I had my heart set on a town in southern Westchester. My priority was walkability of a town; at the time I wasn’t driving so I envisioned walking everywhere. It seemed like the perfect transition to the suburbs from the city as the main street was dotted with cute restaurants and boutiques.

We looked and looked for months and nothing was fitting the bill. We saw a ton of fixer-uppers that were charming but with two young kids the idea of putting sweat equity into a home wasn’t appealing to us. My husband who grew up in the suburbs of Miami came to the conclusion that we needed more property too. He craved more land and privacy.

Luckily one of his colleagues mentioned Chappaqua and on our first trip there up the Taconic we stopped at a gas station with a large convenience store so I could properly fuel up with caffeine before going to see a dozen houses that day. My first impression was “Wow, this kind of reminds me of the Catskills. I don’t know if I can do this.” After all, I grew up in Queens and had lived in the city for ten years.

We must have looked at 60 homes in this town throughout a six-month period and my husband and I could not agree on any of them. Some seemed too large. Others seemed too isolated. I didn’t want to have to scream to my neighbors with a megaphone. But then we found it in the nick of time.

We had decided that last weekend in April on our home search that if we didn’t find a home, we’d put a deposit down for my son for another year of nursery school in the city and stick it out–four people in a cramped two-bedroom apartment.

The minute we saw it, we both knew it was “the one.” It had great natural light, wide spacious rooms. I envisioned the kids running around the large backyard and could picture them growing up there. The large dining room abutted the kitchen and was large enough for my whole family to have holiday dinners. The staircase would one day make a perfect backdrop for prom pictures. We made an offer that afternoon.

This fall, it has been eight years here and I love it. Sure, there have been ups and downs and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it took adjustment- from learning how to drive again to figuring out what the heck an HVAC company is. Home ownership requires maintenance and sometimes we are on our game and other times we’ve let things fall by the way side like our doorbell which hasn’t worked for almost a year. I’m embarrassed to admit it but we’ve been relying on our dog to tell us if someone is at the door.

As the holiday season is right around the corner, I’m reminded of a saying whose author is unknown: “A house is made with walls and beams. A home is made with love and dreams.” As you read articles on holiday recipes and get inspiration for your Thanksgiving table settings, I hope your house is filled with warmth and all your dreams get fulfilled.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Ten reasons to Love, Love, LOVE Pleasantville

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Living in Pocantico Hills with a Pleasantville P.O., parking at the Hawthorne train station and sending your kids to Briarcliff High School is a bit of a geographic conundrum. You don’t really belong to any one town. Pocantico Hills is a school district rather than a town–even the school itself and Stone Barns are technically in Sleepy Hollow.

But living here has turned out to be a geographic bonanza: rather than one town, I claim three, situated as I am almost equidistant between Pleasantville, Briarcliff and Tarrytown/Sleepy Hollow. My family and I frequent all three to shop and eat. But the one we visit more than any other for the mundane and the sublime is Pleasantville. Here are ten reasons to love this village.

1. The restaurants keep coming.

For a village of just 7,000, Pleasantville has a remarkably strong collection of dining options. A few of my newer favorites: Pub Street for seafood and salads, Mission Taqueria for tacos and margaritas, Southern Kitchen for, well, southern food, and Dai for its fresh sushi, soups and charming atmosphere. I get the sense Pleasantville residents don’t have a restaurant saturation point, which is good news for those of us who live here. If somebody builds a good one, they will come.

2. The Town Anchor.

I was practically in mourning when Yvonne and Roy decided to sell the Village Bookstore, but I’m thrilled they found an enthusiastic buyer in Jennifer Kohn to keep this gem open and thriving. If you love books, there’s nothing like browsing the aisles, reading the jacket cover and looking for employee recommendations over buying online. It’s also a chance to snub Amazon and more importantly, keep our local retailers in business.

3. The Bounty of the Farm.

I’ve checked out a few other farmers’ markets and maybe I’m biased, but Pleasantville’s Saturday market is something special. The sheer number of choices, the friendly sellers, the music, the quality of produce and the cheese all add up to a singular experience. On Saturdays, my family sits down to “market lunch,” which features three-four cheeses, fresh breads, pickles, salad and sometimes fresh seafood.

4. Mall Avoidance.

We all need to hit the Westchester or the Palisades Center on occasion. And I don’t want to see any of those stores go out of business. But when I have to buy a gift, I stay in town. I like pulling right up, throwing a quarter in the meter and walking into the Glass Onion for jewelry and accessories, Rhododendron for scarves and other women’s gifts, Aardvark for the dog, Kimberly House for baby clothes and scented gifts, Photo Works for a framed photo for the grandparents, and of course back to the Village Bookstore for anyone. Tip: The Pleasantville Pharmacy is a great stop at Christmas for something extra for kids, a pair of earrings, or a hostess gift.

5. You don’t have to go to NYC to see an art film.

What can I say about Jacob Burns except that it’s the jewel of Pleasantville. I hate to go anywhere else to see a movie anymore. And if your kids are interested in film, check out their fantastic after school courses and summer camp.

6. Skate the Old-Fashioned Way.

It’s as fickle as the winter weather, but when it’s open, Opperman’s Pond is an idyllic spot for family ice skating or a game of hockey. Pull up, put your skates on and go. There’s no line, no fee, and no rentals, so bring your own.

7. Architectural Digest.

I live in a mid-century modern home, and I’m not alone. A friend owns one near town where I’ve seen several, and then there’s Usonia, Frank Lloyd Wright’s utopian dream, right here off Bear Ridge Road. If the 1950’s are too new for you, Pleasantville has an impressive stock of Tudors, Victorians and Colonials, particularly the beauties lining Bedford Road that help Pleasantville live up to its name.

8. A True Community Theater.

My daughter did just two productions at Arc Stages during high school–I wish we had enrolled her as a young child. So many kids come back year after year until they go off to college. The people who run Arc Stages are as child-centered as you get. And their approach to musical theater and drama is to choose ensemble productions that give every kid an important role. Their community stage for adults and the variety of professional productions are excellent as well.

9. The Biggest Small Music Festival.

We’re a Clearwater Family, but I’ve got to say, Pleasantville is giving the Croton festival a run for its money when it comes to talent. This year, Everclear, Soul Asylum, Aimee Mann and Matthew Sweet were the featured artists. Every year in July, Parkway Field turns one Saturday into an all-day party. You can bring your kids or leave them home, but there’s something for everyone.

10. Charm.

Pleasantville is oozing in it, and at a time when people do so much ordering online and ordering to go, the village is often busy and alive. Let’s keep it that way. I worry about our small-town retailers dying off. Pleasantville, like so many of our Westchester villages, towns and cities, relies on its residents to be faithful customers. In return, it offers us a charming and bountiful place to call home.

Remembering My Dad

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This Father’s Day, my family will be celebrating my husband, who is an amazing father. But I will also be thinking about my father, who passed away four years ago.

A little about my dad …

My father was born in Budapest, Hungary in 1932. When the Nazis invaded Hungary in 1944, both his parents were taken to Auschwitz. He was interned in a ghetto and lived with an aunt and a cousin, surviving under the protection of Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg. His mother escaped during a death march, running away into the woods and eventually returned to Hungary. His father died at Auschwitz in the gas chambers.

My dad emigrated to Canada after the war ended with a group of Hungarian teens who had lost parents in the war–his mother eventually emigrated there, as well. He attended McGill University, met my mom who was visiting relatives in Montreal, and moved to New York when they married. He worked as an engineer and was able to get his Master’s degree from Columbia University at night.

Although the Holocaust certainly shaped my father, he tried hard not to let it define him and he rarely spoke of the atrocities he witnessed. He made sure to live life fully, enjoying good food, wine and music. He was quick to laugh, especially at his own brand of dad humor. My father embraced his adopted country and was deeply grateful for the freedoms and opportunities afforded him here.

Having been born in different countries and in different eras, my father and I saw things from different perspectives. He was a staunch Republican, whereas I am a liberal Democrat. When I was a little girl, he would take me into the voting booth with him and teach me the importance of voting, telling me how lucky we were to live in a democracy. I always vote and when I choose my candidates, I think of him.

Although I thought of my father as more of a math/science guy, he was also more than proficient in writing–in fact he was able to edit my essays in high school and correct my grammar–pretty impressive for someone whose first language was not English. He was my first Scrabble opponent–he never went easy on me. Although it took me two years to beat him, when I finally did, he was as excited as I was.

Despite losing his own father at a young age, my dad knew how to be a good father. He taught my brother and me how to ride a bike, fish, ice skate, swim and play chess, which was a passion of his. He got up in the middle of the night with me when I was sick and dried my tears when I cried—he couldn’t bear to see me sad. He taught me a lot about nurturing and made me feel safe. When he held me in the ocean when I was a little girl, I knew I would be protected against the crashing waves.

My father was thrilled to become a grandfather and was delighted to be able to attend all five of his grandsons’ bar mitzvahs. Although he was mostly confined to a wheelchair for my youngest son’s bar mitzvah, he did manage get up so that he could have one dance with me.

When he got sick with Parkinson’s disease, he rarely complained, accepting his fate with quiet grace and even humor. In fact, a few days before he died, a nurse asked him if he was comfortable, to which he replied, “I make a living.” And even in such a compromised state, he managed to chuckle.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my father’s thriftiness, which was legendary. If saving money were an Olympic sport, he would’ve been a gold medalist. He would turn off the air conditioner on summer nights and turn down the heat in the winter. To this day, when I leave a light on, I can hear his admonishment in my head. And every time I spend three dollars on my iced coffee, I am pretty sure he does a little roll in his grave.

I suppose that’s how it is with all the people we love. We never forget them or the things they taught us. We are reminded of them in the special moments and in the ordinary moments. They live on through the people they loved and who loved them back.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads who are with us and to those who live on in our hearts.

Meet a Local Alopecia Awareness Advocate

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Photo by Carolyn Simpson courtesy of Ali Lambert Voron

Ali Lambert Voron on How to Celebrate the Beauty of What Differentiates Us

Ali Lambert Voron of Briarcliff Manor is many things. She is a voiceover actress, motivational speaker, blogger, entrepreneur, philanthropist and a mother. She also happens to be bald. Yet, instead of allowing that single attribute to define her, Voron flipped the narrative and is redefining society’s views of “normal.” Through optimism, humor and a steadfast decision to be happy, she harnesses every challenge life presents, transforming them into opportunities.

Lean and long, with bright eyes and a warm smile, Voron’s captivating presence radiates both inner and outer beauty. From a young age, she found joy in spreading happiness and light, saying, “My mom always strived to make others smile, especially if she sensed they were in a bad mood. I inherited that. I had an amazing childhood. Then, I lost my hair.”

Redefining Normal

At the age of 16, Voron began noticing bald patches in her head. Those discoveries prompted a confusing journey of misdiagnoses including hair-pulling disorders, depression and the potential of lupus. Voron recalls, “I felt happy and didn’t think I was stressed, but then I began second guessing myself. When a dermatologist finally diagnosed me with alopecia areata, an autoimmune disease that results in hair loss everywhere on the body, it was almost a relief.”

With the support of her family, Voron met the diagnosis with what would become her trademark optimism. A variety of treatments including serums and topical injections were used that produced hair regrowth, but only temporarily. “The most insecure part for me,” she says, “was that I never actually imagined being bald. I thought I’d have patches, but that it would come back. I never foresaw what actually happened and over a period of a year, my hair got thinner and thinner until it eventually all fell out.”

Initially, Voron bought a wig, but that didn’t last long and she emerged from the experience stronger than she thought possible. She explains, “Wearing a wig just wasn’t me and it didn’t take long before I whipped it off for good. I realized that I wanted to be myself regardless of whether that broke social norms. Strangely, I almost viewed myself as lucky for having learned this valuable lesson early on.”

A Sense of Humor Helps

Losing her hair at such a formative time was not without challenges. The headmaster of the private school Voron attended encouraged her to run for president of the school, a recommendation Voron credits as a “true gift.” With guidance from her “very funny” parents, she launched into campaign mode and put together a slideshow of bald leaders who she hoped to emulate including Mahatma Gandhi, President Eisenhower and Mr. Clean since he is the “leader of household cleaning products.” She won the election and gained a valuable platform to prove that although she was different, she remained the same, explaining, “As president, you make speeches in front of existing and prospective students, alumni and parents regularly. I got to show my community and myself that I was okay–different, but normal and even a leader–and, I got that opportunity over and over again.”

A Cycle of Kindness

Her story gained traction and Jennifer Saltiel, a family friend and aspiring writer (coincidentally, also a current Chappaqua resident) reached out. The resulting article, No-Hair Day, was published in “Chicken Soup for the Woman’s Soul” as well as “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.” Voron began receiving letters in droves from people undergoing cancer treatment who were inspired to forgo their wigs to teenagers who were encouraged to look past their own insecurities. Voron says, “Those letters inspired me to realize how much we can help one another. I helped them and their outreach helped me. It was an amazing cycle.”

Years later, a chance meeting at the New Orleans’ Jazz Fest, introduced Voron to her husband. A fellow Philadelphia native, they had been orbiting one another for years, as his mother was even Voron’s second grade Hebrew school teacher. The first years of marriage would also show that they shared a strong sense of resilience. Voron explains, “I got very sick with ulcerative colitis in the beginning of our marriage. Autoimmune diseases like alopecia and colitis are closely genetically linked. I ultimately had my colon removed. Though I have no recollection, my parents reported that when I left the operating room, I raised my fist in the air and said, ‘the monster is out!’ At that same time, my husband’s mom died of brain cancer. Like my alopecia, these traumatic experiences made us stronger and taught us that we will emerge from the bad days to see the good ones.”

The Vorons have extended that philosophy to how they parent their children, ages three and six. Voron explains, “I love that my kids have a mom who looks different because it sends the message that it’s not just okay to be different–it’s cool. If you’re not different, you’re the same and that’s not exciting or special.” So, when Voron learned that a bald Bratz Doll hit the market, she naturally seized the opportunity.

The couple launched a grassroots effort, “Bald Dolls 4 Bald Kids.”

“I understand firsthand how having this doll would be so impactful, so it became my mission to get enough dolls to the National Alopecia Conference, a place where going wigless is the norm,” explained Voron. With only three weeks until the conference, armed with sheer will and energy, the Vorons raised $14K, enough money to provide dolls for every child in attendance at the event. The family maintains a small inventory of the dolls, which they distribute at intervals to children with cancer and alopecia.

A Path of Inspiration

Voron’s experiences have laid the foundation for living a life with a focus on kindness and empathy. “Initially, it bothered me that at least one person would approach me to ask about my hair daily, until my husband pointed that each of these people had their own story to tell. It literally changed my whole perspective. By simply giving them ten minutes, I was giving them an important gift. Now, I go through my day wondering how I can help that random stranger. You can let something destroy you and crumble into a ball or you can make the decision to not allow that. That’s an empowering concept and it’s my privilege to share it.” And, Voron spreads that message, proudly embracing her differences as what makes her special as she inspires everyone in her path to do the same.