Excerpt from “The Song in my Heart”

from Ten Days, Ten Pounds
forthcoming memoir

The year I turned N-1 years old, N representing that milestone birthday that used to signify being OLD, I was nothing of the sort. Some of my peers in the PTA were starting to look rather dignified around the edges, but I was teaching their kids to shake booty in A-Period PE, and presiding the hell out of meetings wearing vintage clothes. The delicious end of the middle would come upon me like confetti out of a cannon. The end of what, you ask? The end of that part in which you do all the normal grownup things you never thought, in your youth, would really happen. You know: barbecues and lawnmowers, pets and kids, fences.

On Mother’s Day that year, I was lolling about in an ebony gondola, velvet sun on my arms and legs, feeling heavenly, blessed, a little bit hung over, and rather proud of myself for getting everyone here.

To my left was Gina, looking full-on Lolobridgida in her enormous round sunglasses, the brim of her black hat casting shadows on her lovely neck. Her impending divorce was a somber low note in the flowery perfume of our joyful weekend. To my right was Rhonda, leaning her head on her arm and trailing her fingers romantically in the water. She was nursing a headache but being a good sport about the bright morning sun that turned the ripples into diamonds all around us. Between them, I was working the glamorous moment in my clingy striped dress, black and white, as spot-on for the occasion as I would allow my costume muse to go. Gina started to croon “Santa Lucia” along with the gondolier, her mellow voice resonant with humor and emotion. And then Alexa, who sat across from me in the bow of the boat under his feet, clutching her ribboned hat against the breeze, burst into bright, smiling song.