About Me

I make my living as a marketing director for an arts & cultural non-profit in western New York where, contrary to belief, it doesn’t snow all year. I started Blooming in Midlife in 2008, writing about the bizarre, frustrating, and frequently laughable adventures of being over 40. My posts led to being invited to be a Guest Writer for MORE.com, the online community of my numero uno favorite magazine which just happens to be the ONLY publication written specifically for women with a little mileage.  It’s a spectacular time of life, by the way.

My second love is decorative arts—I’m always working on some project whether it’s stitching up new pillow covers, tearing tile off my walls, hunting down vintage kitchen utensils at the Goodwill store, or coming up with cheap, quick, and inexpensive new ways to wrap a Christmas present. I have a short attention span, a schizophrenic love all kinds of crafting and art techniques, and a very un-Marthaish lack of perfectionism. I simply have other things to obsess over.

I also love to re-purpose things and find ways to keep from adding more waste to landfills. Mostly, I find creative expression to be a kind of spiritual journey–whether I’m writing or making art, I go into a “zone” of complete bliss and contentment, and it’s those times when I am most able to let go of anxieties, annoyances, and fears of getting old and mangy, and simply exist in the moment.

About "The Cat"
This is Misha, or as I usually call him, Mish (meesh). I named him after Mikhail Baryshnikov–don’t ask me why. There was just something about his thick grey coat that made me think defected Russian ballet dancer. As the photo shows, Mish is one big mother of a cat–about 14 pounds worth–and lazy as they come. He’s the man of the house and reminds we constantly that I’m only a visitor in his domain–and everything is his domain. Mish is just one in a long line of felines I’ve shared my home with, and definitely the one with the worst attitude. After numerous scuffles, my daughter has frequently suggested I find Mr. Cranky Pants a new abode but my answer is always the same: who else could live with him? Kind of sounds like a lot of husbands/lovers/significant others. At least he’s a silent old grump and I don’t have to amuse him in the sack. On the other hand, I don’t care for idle chit chat first thing in the morning, I balk at providing maid service to grown up men, and I’m not much of a party girl so in a way, we suit each other. I guess we’re a pair.

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