“Jean, I’m a hoarder!”

That’s what my mother hit me with when she came for her typical visit.

“I can’t get rid of anything! And did you know 1 in 50; maybe even 1 in 20 people are hoarders? People in senior centers are hoarding like crazy!”

“Mom just because you’re living in an assisted living center doesn’t mean you’re a hoarder.”

“Hoarding is all we have to do at Friendly Arms!”

Hoarding seems to be the newest reality show obsession. There are real people who become so attached to their stuff that they can’t throw anything away, even if it’s garbage. These people often suffer from psychological problems. Come to think of it, my mother fits the description.

“Jean, Maury is a hoarder!”

“Mom what are you talking about?”

“All those gadget things he has. He has so many! Oh and what about your friends! The ones with all those fancy purses and shoes and clothes?”

My mom read in the paper that there have been several cases of hoarding in Scottsdale. There’s even a task force being put in place to help these people with their problem.

I roll my eyes as my mother wanders around the house mumbling to her self about how having cluttered living areas, non-discarded items, and a lot of stuff are the characteristics of hoarders. She’s counting my things, probably trying to figure out whether or not I’m a hoarder.

“Can you live with out this?” My mom calls from the other room.

No, probably not.

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Lara insists the whole family to be ready by 6:00 am sharp. She warns us that it’s going to be a long drive and she wants to beat the morning traffic.

Of course, Rivka and Michael are late. I don’t remember the last time either of them has ever been on time.

We’re all meeting at our house. After a few texts, many phone calls and an argument with Maury about bringing his golf clubs, Lara and Gus pull up in a large white van, the kind that takes those on probation to do their community service. It’s long enough to pull into our driveway and hang out into the street. Maury’s drawled, “You got me up at 5 AM to sit in the back of a van?”

“Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Sorry we’re late. The kids are a little feverish but I think they’re okay.”

“Lara, tell your mom the truth.”

“What? We’re a little behind.” Gus leans out the window and whispers, “You’re daughter’s hot.” Lara socks Gus in the arm while he laughs. This could be a very long ride.

My mother spent the night with us so no one would have to stop at Friendly Arms. She asks, ”Why is she having flashes at this age? I started early too.” This is too much information. “Darling, I have to sit in the front. I get car sick. Do you have a stool I can step on to get in and out? Rose Birnbaum at my place said I’ll love camping…if I’m asleep. Are we staying at a Hilton?”

“Lara, can you please tell me where we’re going?” I ask.

“Well, since your anniversary is only a month away I thought it would be a great idea for you and Dad to enjoy a relaxing week on a houseboat on Lake Powell! No phones, no computers, no iPads. Just the Rubin family and nature.”

“All of us on a boat?” I am incredulous she’s come up with such a crazy idea. Maury and I load the cooler, sleeping bags and our tote bags into the crowded back end of the van. I turn to him. “See? No room for clubs.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“Okay, let’s load up!” says Lara. We scramble in with a slight altercation between my mother and Rivka about who is sitting up front. My mother wins. The adults load up and the four children squeeze in between us. Amber lies down in the last row of seats on my feet. I know as soon as we rev the engines she’ll want to hang her tongue out the window. Michael checks everyone’s seatbelts. Buzz starts to cry.

“I have to goooooo.” He pokes his sister who’s sitting next to him.

She screams, “He touched me.”

Rivka leans in to get him out of his seat belt. I take him inside remembering to turn off the alarm so the police don’t show up.

We’re off!

After several hours on the road and four stops we finally arrive in Flagstaff for brunch. Thank goodness. The kids are g antsy and have discovered the ‘are we there yet?’ game.

“Can we stop at the Cliff Castle Casino?” asks my mother. “I’m schvitzing up here. A little gambling will put me in a better mood. I need to get my meds out of the back.”

“Ma, we don’t have time. We’re behind schedule. We’ve already made too many stops for you to lose money at a casino.”

“Jean, I want to go to a casino. It’s my money. I heard other assisted living places take their residents to casinos and Friendly Arms doesn’t. It’s not fair.”

After a few minutes of bickering we finally convince my mother that we will consider it on the way back. Let’s hope she forgets about it. The kids start a chorus of “I’m hungry. I want ice cream. I have to pee. The dog is making smelly my-mom-won’t-let-me-say-that-word.”

By late afternoon, we arrive at the dock and a line-up of houseboats at Lake Powell. I was hoping that we’d be on a big luxurious houseboat like I’ve seen on the travel channel. I was wrong. A dilapidated, listing raft with a square structure and peeling paint greets us.

“Lara, where are we all going to sleep?” I ask.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

My mother, standing on the dock, looking out at the lake and the rock structures surrounding it says, “I don’t see a casino.”

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I picked her up at Friendly Arms and could not believe what she was wearing. Usually she’s elegant, wearing a straw hat and matching shoes and bag. That’s her generation. Anyway, my mother was wearing a long, dark wig. It was obviously 50 years too young for her.

“Mom, what in the world is that on your head?” I folded up her cherry red walker into the trunk of my Volvo.

“Jean, haven’t you been reading in the paper about the burglaries? The thieves target mothers!”

Okay, I have been reading about a gang of housewives who look for busy moms who leave their purses in the car. I get it–stroller, kid diaper bag, cool pack, but why would any woman leave her purse in the car?

“Yes, mom I have, but they’re in Chandler. They break into cars at parks and day care centers while the moms aren’t paying attention.

“Jean, why would the mothers do that? I always tuck my purse into my armpit. No one wants to grab it from there.”

” Mom, what’s with the wig?”

“The thieves wear wigs when they try to cash the stolen checks!”

“But you’re not a thief.”

“I know that but if I look like one maybe they won’t be tempted to break into our car while we’re shopping. You know they will think I am one of them.”

“That is ridiculous. Mom there is no way I am going into the mall with a seventy-plus–I think it’s absurd you won’t let me say your age out loud–lady in a 20-year-old’s wig!”

Thirty minutes later it was apparent I had lost the argument. My mother, her wig and I shopped. Slowly. Very slowly.

While browsing the shoe department at Nordstrom’s with my Demi Moore wannabe-looking mother I ran into Glee with a friend. Glee looked fantastic in a tie-dyed turban and gold gauze. It was a bit awkward because my mother was bamboozling the handsome, young sales associate to bring out every pair of black sandals he could find that didn’t look old lady-ish.

I moved off to the side so we could be introduced.

“Oh, Jean, I’ve been dying to introduce you to my guardian angel.”

Now, Glee is a bit over the edge on the woo-woo stuff but I’m a spiritual person sometimes so I give her lots of room.

“I am very happy to meet an angel.”

Pretty, blond–aren’t all angels?–she started to say something but Glee interrupted.

“I just finished taking Doreen’s workshop. I have at least three angels. Maybe more.”

“Uh, Glee, I think I’d better hear about this later.”

“No problem. Isn’t your mother hot in that wig? She could use a fashion consultant. I know a good one.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered.

Who would have thought I would feel stressed at the mall with my mother? Just like a teenager again. I guess her wig aged both of us.

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“Jean, I decided to drive again.”

“Mom you haven’t driven a car in years.”

“No matter. I want to take it up again.”

“Why?”

“So I can transport Selma and Letty for real lunch and shopping.”

“But-but you don’t have a car.”

“So what! I can borrow yours when I pass the test.”

Apparently AAA Arizona will be providing safe driving workshops for teens and seniors.  Not exactly what I call school but I can’t imagine my mother behind the wheel. I already have enough stress. I caved in and decided to humor my mother and attend the first workshop.

Besides a kid who’s texting and swerving and an elderly senior citizen, have you ever watched a Scottsdale babe on the phone, hands splayed so she doesn’t mess her nails? Sometimes they can’t even lift their hands to the top of the steering wheel because of the ice-rink diamonds.

After 10 minutes with my mother beside me in her silk shantung pantsuit and hat as she dozes off, I realize that these workshops need to be designed to fit the personalities that live in Arizona.

The Snowbird-This workshop will focus on teaching our winter visitors not to stop for green lights and that it is okay to drive more than 5 mph. They’ll also learn which lanes to drive in, how to use their blinkers and what to do when there’s no snow on the ground.

The Student- Students will learn how to stop texting behind the wheel, make complete stops and look both ways before turning.  They will also understand how to deal with fender-benders when mom and dad aren’t around to help.

The BMW-This is for anyone who drives a car that is worth more than the average income. Drivers will comprehend that just because they drive a fancy car, they still have to avoid balancing a Starbucks in one hand and holding their phone in the other. Parking will also be taught since valet is not available at AJ’s and the dry cleaners. Yet.

The Cougar Workshop-Cougar drivers will learn to apply makeup before they start their vehicle.  Batting eyelashes at young, fit police officers will not get them out of a ticket. Learn the rules of the road. And try not to wear leopard ever day.

I don’t think a 90 minute workshop will cure the bad drivers in Scottsdale. Just know you’re taking your life in your hands when you pull out of your driveway.

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“Look, if you think I’m going to start running around in leggings with these chubby thighs, you’ve got another thing coming. I think it’s important to act my age.”

“Jean,” says Glee in her best authoritarian voice, “you just need to be more contemporary. It doesn’t have to be style as much as color.”

“Does that mean I can’t wear khaki and brown anymore?”

“Well, it does make you look a little militaristic,” adds April in her throaty voice.

“Okay, you two. What’s up? Don’t tell me. Eggplant is the new hue and I’m supposed to wear it so I look like one.”

“No, no, no. There’s a new color that’s a combination of orange, red and pink and it will look marvelous with your skin tone,” says Glee. “The sales woman in Neiman’s told me it’s the most captivating, stimulating, viscerally alive color in the spectrum.”

“Glee, she was just trying to get you to buy something. Remember you said you were going to stop shopping for a while?”

“Jean, it’s a strong, positive, affirmative color that will change your attitude!”

“And,” April pipes in, “it’s the most important color for spring. They’re going to be using it for clothes, candles and upholstery.”

“Wait. You want me to dress up as a chair?”

“We’re not saying you should wear it all the time. Just add a few pieces to your wardrobe and drop the leopard spots.”

“I only have one animal print scarf,” I say, a little hurt. Maybe I should pay more attention to what I wear. ”Okay. What’s it called?”

“Honeysuckle. It’ll remind you of the sweet nostalgic fragrances of the nectar hummingbirds buzz around,” says Glee.

“Are you kidding me? You want me to wear yellow? I’ll look sick.”

“It’s not yellow. It’s reddish pink with an undertone of orange,” says Glee.

“April adds, “It can be worn Scottsdale casual or formal. Just don’t pair it with black. White only.”

“Thank you, ladies. I appreciate the wonderful advice. Just look for a hibiscus pumpkin in the aisles at Trader Joe’s.”

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I have been trying to write and publish a book for years and this girl out of Jersey comes along and all she does is drink, dance and fight.  How did it become #24 on the NYT Best Seller list?  From the short glimpse I have seen of her show, I didn’t even know that girl could read above a 3^rd grade level.

Snooki’s response on Twitter “OMG I’m a New York Times Best Selling Author!!! Thank you so much to my fans, family and everyone who made this possible! LOVE YOU ALL!!” It is not exactly how I would respond if my book was this successful but I have to say I guess the girl is a walking orange marketing tool.

The latest I have heard is that now Snooki is getting tired of her nickname. She claims she misses being called Nicole but I don’t understand how she can get bored of a name that made her famous, if this is even what fame is nowadays.

Glee loves Snooki.  She thinks she’s an adorable little doll from a completely different planet.  I happen to notice that Glee has been a little more orange these days and trying different hairstyles to get the Snooki poof but look “less trashy.”  Glee says she is going to invent the Scottsdale poof and it will be the next big thing.

It makes my skin crawl knowing you can make a fortune being a drunk, tan idiot on national television and develop a book out of it.  I was convinced someone wrote it for her but I read an excerpt and I am pretty convinced that it isn’t possible for a professional writer to “dumb” themselves down that much.

Well, good for Snooki in the long run, hopefully once she drops the nickname she will also drop off as well.

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The days of  playing with a refrigerator box are long over. I don’t know how but as kids we entertained ourselves for hours with palm fronds, used balls and spraying each other with a hose. A puzzle with missing pieces, your mom’s old clothes and a ball and jacks took up hours of empty days. Today kid’s request for toys have become more sophisticated. They market to the kids who can plead with their parents who then can nag the grandparents.

I admit to being coerced into an American Girl doll with wardrobe accessories that cost more than my Birkenstocks for little Tangerine, but the newest rage has me digging my heels in for a “No!”  They’re not expensive but do we really want our children to be playing with the inhabitants of Monster High?

Folks, the Barbie Days are dead! No more complaining about her wasp-thin waist and other unrealistic body parts. We’ve got Franki Stein with facial stitches just like her dad and a Scottsdale-sized shopping addiction, Draculaura, a vegan who faints when she sniffs blood and Clawdeen Wolf, daughter of Were who has the challenge of plucking and shaving her fast-growing hair. I cannot make this up!

Better yet, there’s accessories that include an electronic fearbook, an icoffin phone and a terrifying tattoo roller! Not only are there dolls but there are also  matching trashy outfits for little girls who play with them. They can commit mayhem on Barbie. I hope the mommas and the poppas wake up and the little ones don’t have nightmares!

The Newest New Craze That Glee Loves!

I expect Glee to try everything and follow every new trend. What I don’t expect are the details of how each new thing effects her life. Oxytocin, “the hormone of love,” is improving her social skills.

“Jean, you have to try it! It makes you sweet and friendly. I’ve met four men and made two new girlfriends since I’ve been on it. Not as good a friend as you though.”

“Why would I want to be sweet and friendly? I like my irascible, cranky personality. People leave me alone.”

“It acts on many areas of the brain including the amygdala so it enhances empathy, safety and comfort.”

“I’m already all of those things.”

“You’d be more agreeable.”

That is something to consider since my mother has decided to call me all day long to make sure I’m watching CNN. Our governor has her petrified there will be beheading in the lobby of Friendly Arms. How would she tell? “So how do I get this oxytocin?”

“You already have it but you can get more as a nasal spray or a shot.”

“You’re kidding me. You’re taking shots to be friendly?”

“Well, Maury will appreciate because it’ll make you hot.”

“Glee, stay out of my bedroom!”

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Japan has lost its old people. A recent report states 234,354 centenarians have disappeared. Vaporized into an early rapture? Lost in the neighborhood? Down the drain because they shriveled up? None of the above! A government survey has found that the majority would be over 120 years old (I know Glee says the lack of meat in their diet is why they live so long but with genetically engineered corn, tomatoes, potatoes, alfalfa and now salmon I have my doubts) and 884 of them would be 150. That’s really old!

Now, I realize exercise, organic food, supplements, hormone replacement therapy and  a few surgical enhancements in Scottsdale has stretched our population to its limits, but no one is 150 years old. Even if they might look like it when they smash their grocery basket into mine at Trader Joe’s. Well, maybe at Friendly Arms where my mother lives there are a few ossified people that could pass. But, we still can’t produce that many centenarians! I don’t care how many prunes they eat.

So how did they do it?

It’s easy.

Fraud. They lied about their elderly inhabitants so they could continue to receive government money. For example, Sogen Kato’s granddaughter has been arrested on suspicion of abandonment and pension fraud because grandpa has been dead for 32 years! He would have been 111 years old if police hadn’t found his decaying body in his home. Gruesome but true. But that’s not the worst story. A 104-year-old woman was found in her son’s backpack. Just let one of my kids try that with me! I will look with suspicion at all people in their 60s carrying one and saying grandma likes to go everywhere.

We’re in trouble, folks! The National Institute on Aging says as Baby Boomers age the 75,000 who are a hundred years old now will rise to 600,000 by midcentury. That means none of us will remember an actor in a popular movie or what we had for dinner. We get a birthday every year whether we want one or not. Maury says staying rabid during the political season will keep him young. Maybe. It’s aging me. especially when the Guv sees “headless bodies” in the desert. We’re all getting stressed. Start investing now in rockers and youth elixirs! If we’re lucky we’ll all get there!

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The American Lung Association says Phoenix (which includes Scottsdale, one of the trendiest cities around) is at the top of the list for U.S. cities with the worst dust pollution. Now I already know this because my mother and daughter remind me me of it daily. “Jean, can’t you do something about the air quality? I can hardly breathe,” Gasp, gasp. “See what a hard time I’m having?” Choke, choke. “Why did you move me here if you knew the air was so dirty?: Cough with phlegm. Sigh.

And then from my daughter: “Hello, Mom? The air quality is so poor today and the particulate levels so high, I can’t take the kids out and I have a very important appointment. Can you babysit for a few hours? I know it’s last minute but…” “Lara, is this an emergency? I have my own dentistmammogramhairremovalmymother’spodiatrist appointments today.” “Well, I’ll have a lot of stress if I don’t get my hair cut.”

In reality we can blame our failing environmental grade  on one lone-monitoring station in Pinal County that has skewered the results. However, it doesn’t mitigate the fact that our air is trapped in this Valley and six in 10 Americans breathe unhealthy air, which puts them “at risk for heart attacks, lung disease and premature death.” Norm Edelman says that if we reduce air pollution we can add five months to our life expectancy.

In reality when I was assisting Maury with his latest environmental campaign there was an eco-twit who really liked him. I was very suspicious but  kept myself in check. Imagine my surprise when our controversial governor spoke up at an event this week with the following statement. “If you’d like to follow me around, you can be on my tweeter…with my twits.” And I thought I was the only one worried about an errant twit.

My Mother Thinks She Can Be a Star

There’s a market for everyone in this era of reality TV and bad taste programming (Come on! Have you watched “Jersey Shore” or “The Kardashians”?!). A new cable show aimed to shock and inform, “Sunset Daze,” has inspired my mother to think her life is interesting enough that she should be on the 10-part series even though it deals with pole dancing and guns.  “Jean, I can be just as sophisticated and raunchy as the star, Gail Leibowitz. Just because I haven’t moved to Sun City yet where the show is based doesn’t mean they don’t need the Scottsdale scoop. I might consider dating if it would get me a spot on the show.”

“Mom! Please. Come to your senses. You’ve always been obsessed with privacy. You wouldn’t even let me tell the neighbors my last name growing up. Why would you want to put yourself out there for the whole world to see?”

“Because seniors have a life, too. I think young people should know we’re not just sitting around painting ceramic turkeys and checking our blood pressure. We can be hot and sexy too.”

The thought of it gives me stress. I’ve never wanted my mother’s feet to hurt, but that would be a welcome distraction right now.

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People everywhere are stressing over money, but especially in Scottsdale. How do I know? Besides the fact that there are numerous articles (holiday stress) about personal financial crunches, there’s a large sign attached to a medical clinic in the fancy part of Scottsdale that says, “Walk In Botox $10. How’s a respectable doc supposed to make a living?

My greatest shock came, however, when Glee and April dragged me to Scottsdale Fashion Square to peruse the new Barneys, an upscale emporium of black clothes at jaw-dropping prices. The tough part was getting upstairs to see them. No escalators! Now I’m sure there’s a hidden elevator some where for the infirm and those with strollers but Scottsdale’s finest wouldn’t be caught there! Everyone traipses upstairs on a solid wood staircase showcased in the middle of the store. What that means is unless you have a personal trainer and your gluts are in great shape, you won’t make it. April sidled up the stairs in her Jimmy Choos like a pro; Glee rocked it in her leather boots and I hung onto the railing in my not-so-glamorous-but-very-comfortable Easy Spirits and tried to keep up.

The worst humiliation was when they took me into the med spa in the mall to learn about the Black Friday Special. $4  a shot for Botox. “Just think, Jean, you could get rid of the frown lines between your brows and for only another $50 (you’d save $150!) they’ll do a hair removal treatment under your arms!”

Please. Maury likes my worry lines and the few furry places I have left. Thanks but no thanks.

Kids Keep Coming Back

The stats are in! One-third of kids who moved out are back in with their baby boomer parents! That’s 20 million kids between 18 and 34 who are living in their old room. Friends, that is call for alarm! My friend, Marcia Fine, wrote a book called Boomerang–When Life Comes Back to Bite You and it’s scary. I remember when Michael moved home with Rivka and she was pregnant. I had friends who said, “Once they move home you’ll never get rid of them.” Well, it was a tough year but we made it, even though I labeled her “the daughter-in-law from hell. ” They just shuffled down the hall for dinner every night while Michael looked for a job, part of that 25% statistic who are unemployed. I devised ways to deal with a hot Jennifer Lopez devolving into an angry Rosie Perez.

Re-cycling Poop

My parents were the original recyclers with their drawers of rubber bands and plastic bags from the daily newspaper delivery. I watched them create a meal from left overs that were so old we forgot what the original meal was. They never threw anything away because “it was still good” and “had some use in it.” But they never thought of this idea! I’m glad my mother didn’t see this is the bizarre news section of the paper.

It seems the zoo in Bloomington with all those smart professors residing in town to attract holiday shoppers by offering $15 dried pendant necklaces of reindeer dung! I cannot make this up! Can you imagine the delightful surprise when your loved one opens a slightly stinky piece of environmentally friendly jewelry to wear with their favorite cashmere sweater? Besides the fact that 450 have already sold, they are sterilized and sprayed with glitter. I can’t wait!

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