Sincerely Sancerre: A Sips and Apps Reflection

 

My Sips and Apps group met recently, and the wine of choice was Sancerre. I wasn’t familiar with this varietal, so in case you’re in the same boat, here’s a quick rundown: Sancerre hails from the rolling hills of France’s Loire Valley and is made from 100% Sauvignon Blanc grapes. But unlike the bold, tropical Sauvignon Blancs of New Zealand or California, Sancerre is all about restraint, elegance, and minerality. It is the type of wine that when you are entertaining and want to make an understated statement you serve Sancerre.

Its flavor profile is crisp citrus, green apple and a subtle herbal taste. It is light-bodied but structured, with a clean, high-acid finish. The region’s limestone and clay soils give Sancerre its signature minerality.

We started our wine tasting with the Sancerre. For kicks—and maybe a little mischief—we poured a California Sauvignon Blanc alongside it. The contrast was striking. The best word to describe the California wine is very bold and unapologizing loud, with an overwhelming taste of citrus. The poor California Cousin never had a chance.

Of course, none of our gatherings are complete without food. We gave serious thought to the heavy apps for the pairing. Asparagus wrapped in pastry, baked brie, shrimp scampi, and crostini made their way to the table. A lemon cake brought the evening to a bright, sweet close.

If you have tasted Sancerre please leave your comments.

The Way We Were

 

The Way We Were hit theaters in 1973. I was 17—completely and blissfully naïve about nearly everything. I’d grown up in what felt like a much simpler time, at least through my eyes. I had already seen Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl, and when she sang “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” something shifted. It was an epiphany. That moment changed everything for me. Aside from Rosie O’Donnell, I’m convinced I’m her biggest fan.

 But it was The Way We Were that introduced me to Robert Redford—and with it, my very first celebrity crush.

Watching the film through my seventeen-year-old eyes, I believed their love would last forever. But rewatching it now, with the benefit (and burden) of experience, I see the truth: Katie and Hubbell were never meant to make it. 

They couldn’t stay together because their core values, their view of the world, and what they needed from love were simply too far apart. Their relationship was built on admiration and intense attraction, but it couldn’t bridge the deeper ideological and emotional divides.  In many ways, the world now echoes their relationship—beautiful on the outside, but with deep ideologic divisions. But unlike Katie and Hubbell, I remain hopeful. Though they couldn’t sustain their world together, I believe ours—our democracy—still can.

 Robert Redford is gone and while my seventeen-year-old self, believed in forever, today I understand that some things are meant to be remembered, not sustained. Maybe that’s why The Way We Were still lingers, it captures the ache of what almost was, and the beauty of what couldn’t be.

The seventeen-year-old girl still lives in my heart, and every now and then, she longs to return to The Way We Were—even if only for a brief moment.

Days I loved You Most

This book explores the complexities of a long marriage. I found it totally relatable since I have been married for forty-two years.

Set in New England in the summer of 1941, Evelyn and Joseph first fall in love.  More than sixty years later they gather their three adult children together to tell them staggering news.  Evelyn has received a heartbreaking diagnosis, and Joseph does not want to live without her.  Together they decide to live their lives as fully as possible for one final year and then end their lives on their terms.

Their decision sends shockwaves through their children's lives, each dealing with the situation differently. Neff captures the emotions the children share like heartache, disbelief and anger.

She also does an outstanding job of portraying the ebb and flow of the couple's long marriage.   She clearly writes about the ups and downs of a long-standing marriage. In addition, I love how she takes us through what is to be their last year and how they make every effort to reconnect with their children.

Even after reading the book, I struggle to reconcile with Joseph's decision to end his own life. He deserves to live and have a presence in his family's life. Yes, losing a loved one is devastating, and yes grief can last a lifetime. 

I understand that Joseph’s identity is deeply entwined with Evelyn’s. He’s spent his entire adult life by her side, and the thought of continuing without her feels unbearable. But he’s a strong character. I want him to give himself a chance—to try to build a life beyond her. If he would consider that possibility, I think I could understand his choice more fully.

One thing this book made me ask is: How can I live more fully? How can I engage more deeply with my own life? For me, it’s not about checking items off a bucket list. In fact, I don’t have a bucket list—and I don’t want one.

Instead, I want to live as authentically as possible and be truly present. Now that I’m no longer working five days a week, I’ve added so many new things to my life—activities that bring joy, connection, and creativity. I’m learning to find a better balance between the time I work and the time I don’t. That balance was missing before, and I’m grateful to be discovering it now.

 

Alexa, Stop Listening to My Life

 

I’m a boomer. I remember when phones had cords, and privacy meant closing the door—not toggling a setting buried six menus deep. These days, even silence feels surveilled.   Smart assistants like Alexa, Google Assistant, and Siri are designed to respond to voice commands, but this means they are constantly listening. 

Although they claim to activate only with specific wake words, accidental activations are possible. Many of my friends love using the voice command function.  They can just say "Alexa play music similar to Celion Dion or Cher" and the music plays.  Or perhaps they want to make chicken Cacciatore for dinner, all they need to do is ask Alexa. What they don't understand is that Alexa or any of the other smart assistances for that matter never leaves the room.

How many times have you been muttering something to yourself about wishing you had something or another and Alexa or Siri answer you with something they found to help you.  Or have you ever noticed you were talking about a product with someone and the next time you were online you are inundated with ads about this product? Apparently, Alexa was listening.

Voice recordings, accidental activations, microphone settings. a smart assistant can be saving snippets of your life, your questions, your tone, even your background noise. It feels like someone has been reading your diary and knows all your deep dark secrets.

And it’s not just Alexa. Gaming apps, too. I downloaded a game that asked for microphone access. Why? Was it going to listen to me groan when I couldn’t solve level 12? I revoked the permission, but the damage was done. I’d invited something into my phone that didn’t know how to mind its own business.

Privacy used to be a default. Now it’s a choice. And like any good boomer I am more vigilant. I’m choosing it with intention, a little suspicion, and a whole lot of sass. I disable microphones when I’m not using them. I check app permissions like I check expiration dates on yogurt. I still use tech—I am not a person opposed to new technology or ways of working for goodness' sake, but I want it to serve me, not study me.

Consider reviewing your device settings and history. Disabling microphone access when not in use. Instructions on managing these settings can be found by going to the internet and google. 

I would love your opinion on the use of smart assistance.

Ah!!!!! Sweater Weather

 

Ah, sweater weather—that wonderful phrase that signals the shift from sticky summer to crisp air. It arrives just as the leaves start the most beautiful fall colors; burnt orange, golden yellow and rich cranberry. For me it means sunny mild days, and cool crisp evenings and this amazing clean fragrance that comes from the leaves and the chill in the air. Finally, after a very hot summer, I think it is right around the corner.

Cooler days calls for layering and one of the most important garments in my closet is the sweater. They come in all shapes and sizes, chunky knits, cardigans, and turtlenecks, fashion that forgives and flatters.

Everyone has a go to sweater.  One that you reach for when you want warmth but no fuss.  She is an old friend.  You don't judge her, and she certainly does not judge you. I have one such sweater. She sits quietly in my closet surrounding by newer and yes prettier sweaters. She knows every inch of my body and knows that when I am wearing her, I am relaxed and comfortable. Since I only work two days a week now I find myself spending a lot of time in my comfortable clothing, my very special sweater included.

Sweater weather also means warm cocktails—drinks that feel like a hug in a mug. Whether I’m curled up with a book or hosting a Sips and Apps night, these are my seasonal favorites:

• Hot Toddy: Whiskey, honey, lemon, and hot water. Add cloves or cinnamon for extra warmth.
• Mulled Wine: Red wine simmered with orange slices, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and star anise a taste I acquired from visiting the Christmas markets of Europe
• Kahlúa or Baileys Hot Chocolate: Cocoa, milk, sugar, and a splash of Kahlúa or Baileys dessert in a cup.
• Chai Whiskey Latte: Chai tea, steamed milk, and a shot of whiskey or bourbon

And speaking of sweater, here is a bit from SNL with Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph on Sweater Weather.  I was born in the Bronx, so hearing them always feels like home.

Do I want to be taller?

 

Do I want to be taller.  I am 5 feet, of course I do. I’m tired of hemming every pair of pants I buy and watching a midi dress cascade into a full-length gown. My height isn’t just a measurement—it’s a constant negotiation with clothing. Up until I turned 50 (was that just yesterday) I wore heels. Not the one-inch heels, more like the three-inch type.

The other day, I was listening to my favorite drive-time show, The Bob and Sheri Show on K104.7, when they started talking about a surgery that can make you taller. Yes, taller. It’s called limb lengthening surgery, and apparently, Turkey has become a hotspot for it.

While the procedure can be done to correct limb discrepancies, the segment focused on a man who was 5'6" and wanted to be taller than his wife, who stood around 5'9". So yes, it was cosmetic. Vanity-driven. No judgment here, I get it. If I weren’t so opposed to agonizing pain, I might even consider it. Well... probably not.

Clinics in Istanbul and other cities offer advanced procedures with experienced orthopedic surgeons and comprehensive post-op care. the procedure the hosts were talking about was a controlled break of the femur and insertion of a a titanium nail with an external fixator. The fixator manually lengthens the bone 1 mm/day.  According to the hosts, the wife was responsible for adjusting the fixator every day. That is love and sheer bravery, because this surgery isn’t just a mechanical marvel; it comes with muscle pain, nerve sensitivity, numbness, and shooting pain. I can’t imagine being the one inflicting that on someone I care about. And let’s not forget the risks: infection, deep vein thrombosis, stroke.

The good news is that the patient is weight bearing and can walk with assistance as early as 2–3 weeks post-op, thanks to the nail’s strength. Height potential, the reason for going through this procedure can be up to 10 cm in the femur and 7 cm in the tibia in one procedure. A two-step process can yield up to 17 cm.

But here’s the thing: I’ve already had two back surgeries, both of which were complete failures. I know what it’s like when bones don’t cooperate. But hey maybe the surgeons are better in Turkey than my Mickey Mouse ortho guy in Baltimore.  So, while I’d love to be tall like the next gal, I’m not willing to suffer for it. Not again. Not like that.

But I would be interested in hearing if you would accept the risks and the pain to be taller.

Holy Rollers and Heavenly rides

 

I try not to talk politics and religion.  I like my friends and family too much to engage in such a divisive topic. But during my morning drive, listening to Lamar and Sheri on my favorite radio station, I caught a story that made me pause: Pope Leo XIV was gifted a custom BMW R 18 Cruiser by the Jesus Bikers, a Christian motorcycle club from Germany. Germany. 

This wasn’t a flashy stunt. The bike was part of a fundraising initiative, redesigned with papal symbolism: white paint, gold accents, and a cross motif. The Jesus Bikers, who blend leather, chrome, and Christian faith, often participate in events that promote peace, charity, and spiritual reflection. Their mission rides on two wheels but reaches far beyond the road.

Though the Pope told the CEO of BMW that he used to ride motorcycles, he had no plans to keep the motorcycle.  Instead, he blessed and signed it. The bike is to be auctioned by Sotheby's in Munich on October 18, 2025, with proceeds going to support children working in mica mines in Madagascar.

Beyond this event, the Jesus Bikers have consistently used their pilgrimages and public appearances to raise awareness and funds for humanitarian causes. approach blends faith, spectacle, and storytelling—a formula that resonates far beyond the biker community.

But as I sat with the story of the Jesus Bikers and their papal gift, I couldn’t help but feel the contrast between that gesture of peace and the headlines that followed. The assassination of Charlie Kirk at Utah Valley University, the school shooting in Colorado, and the fatal stabbing of Iryna Zarutska on Charlotte’s Lynx line, all within weeks, have left many of us stunned, grieving, and asking harder questions.

As I said at the start of this post, I don’t talk politics or religion much. Not because I don’t care, but because I care too much about the people around me. Still, these stories—of generosity and violence, of faith and fear—seem to be riding the same rails lately. A motorcycle blessed by the Pope, auctioned to help children in Madagascar. A train ride home that ended in tragedy. A campus debate interrupted by a single, fatal shot.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether we talk about politics or religion. Maybe it’s whether we’re still willing to talk at all—across the table, across the aisle, across the divide. Maybe the Jesus Bikers had it right: leather and chrome can carry a message of hope, if we’re brave enough to ride it forward. 

I may not be trading my car for a cruiser anytime soon, but I’ll admit—there’s something oddly poetic about a papal blessing on a BMW. Maybe faith and fundraising do make a pretty good road trip duo.