By now, everybody knows that 10 people were arrested in the United States as "deep cover agents" for Russia. The spies were ordered to adopt an American lifestyle, and the agents certainly did so with enthusiasm. A young spy proved to be a quick study; he bought a Mercedes. Not just any Mercedes, but an S500 model. Prices for the S class series start in the mid-$80,000 range. Another couple bought a house in Montclair New Jersey. According to the New York Times, messages were coded in invisible ink or "embedded in ordinary-looking images on the Internet," information was passed between operatives at the Forest Hills train station in New York, funds were retrieved during trips to "an undisclosed South American Country." These accusations are so dramatic as to strain credulity.
Clearly, something else is happening here. A 15 year old Montclair resident, Jesse Gugig, told The New York Times that "she couldn't believe the charges." "They couldn't have been spies ... look what she did with the hydrangeas" said the young neighbor of accused spy Cynthia Murphy. This young woman has a valid point. Lack of interest and skill in gardening are well known traits of all spies. After all, the life of any spy is unstable. Espionage necessarily involves extensive travel. Any gardener knows that cultivation requires constant attention. If this case ever goes to trial, the accused spies should consider this defense.
I challenge Jesse Gugig's theory. Instead, my theory is that this was an elaborate publicity stunt by John LeCarre or an up and coming author in the political thriller genre. That, or it was an example of guerilla theater at its best. Will Americans be concerned about threats to our national security? I think not. Rather, most Americans will wonder whether Taylor Lautner will accept the role of the 20 year old who purchased the Mercedes and whether Reese Witherspoon or Scarlet Johanssen will play the gardening spy, Mrs. McCarthy. Do not expect this film to be speedily produced. The courts will need to answer the burning debate over who owns the story. Indeed, life is often stranger than fiction.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Obsessive Compulsiveness, Explored
I admit to being a perfectionist. Attention to detail was definitely learned from my mother. The lessons she taught about attending to quality and classic design have served me well. She was always impeccably dressed, her home was spotless and beautifully decorated. The word 'casual' had no place in her vocabulary. Putting a jar of ketchup or mayonnaise on the table was anathema to her; condiments were presented in lovely bowls. Always. I have relaxed that standard, but am particular about where I purchase my food and what I consume. Sometimes this is an innocent matter of mere preference, because food is meant to be enjoyed and I want to eat things that I feel taste yummy. Other times, my concern with fat content and calories feels a little compulsive and not a little bit scary.
I also admit to being preoccupied with my physical appearance. Okay, I am concerned about being fat. Again, this is inherited baggage from a mother who wasn't comfortable with her body. She regularly compared herself to other women. Her brother called her 'fatso,' which certainly didn't help either the relationship or mom's self image. I started exercising regularly in my late 20's and never stopped. My daily routine involves vigorous exercise and ingestion of a very healthy diet, which includes a little chocolate or ice cream every day. Most of the time, I feel content with my body. Perhaps I am not perfect, but I am just fine for me.
Perfection is not and cannot be an absolute. Perfection is relative. Absolute perfection cannot be achieved. My desk is a mess and I am okay with that. The rest of my house is beautiful. My husband bought me my favorite chocolate for Mother's day from The Chocolate Lady in Oyster Bay. I started out by eating small tastes of each piece, but realized that I was behaving like someone with an eating disorder. So, I went ahead and ate an entire piece. I enjoyed it. A lot. Nobody can be perfect. We can only be our best possible selves.
POSTSCRIPT:
It was not until I was in the middle of writing this that I realized that today is Mother's Day. My mother, Miriam Rosenblum Spiro, died in 2003. For many years, she lived with Parkinson's disease. Her decline into dementia became apparent in 1992. It was a long, long way down. Mom was a truly gracious lady. Her caregivers called her "Mother Miriam" and told me that mom always thanked them for their help. Ultimately, mom lost the ability to move or speak, but her caregivers made sure that Mother Miriam was always clean and as well-dressed as possible.
The quest for perfection was apparent in the way my mother selected her clothes. Mother chose her clothing like the finest of curators. She had a magical style that was infused into everything she wore. After her death, we cleared out her closets. It was an odd thing to see those clothes as they lay lifeless on her bed, as if their souls had departed. Without Mother Miriam, the spell had been broken. Once again, those clothes reverted to being mere pieces of cloth.
I also admit to being preoccupied with my physical appearance. Okay, I am concerned about being fat. Again, this is inherited baggage from a mother who wasn't comfortable with her body. She regularly compared herself to other women. Her brother called her 'fatso,' which certainly didn't help either the relationship or mom's self image. I started exercising regularly in my late 20's and never stopped. My daily routine involves vigorous exercise and ingestion of a very healthy diet, which includes a little chocolate or ice cream every day. Most of the time, I feel content with my body. Perhaps I am not perfect, but I am just fine for me.
Perfection is not and cannot be an absolute. Perfection is relative. Absolute perfection cannot be achieved. My desk is a mess and I am okay with that. The rest of my house is beautiful. My husband bought me my favorite chocolate for Mother's day from The Chocolate Lady in Oyster Bay. I started out by eating small tastes of each piece, but realized that I was behaving like someone with an eating disorder. So, I went ahead and ate an entire piece. I enjoyed it. A lot. Nobody can be perfect. We can only be our best possible selves.
POSTSCRIPT:
It was not until I was in the middle of writing this that I realized that today is Mother's Day. My mother, Miriam Rosenblum Spiro, died in 2003. For many years, she lived with Parkinson's disease. Her decline into dementia became apparent in 1992. It was a long, long way down. Mom was a truly gracious lady. Her caregivers called her "Mother Miriam" and told me that mom always thanked them for their help. Ultimately, mom lost the ability to move or speak, but her caregivers made sure that Mother Miriam was always clean and as well-dressed as possible.
The quest for perfection was apparent in the way my mother selected her clothes. Mother chose her clothing like the finest of curators. She had a magical style that was infused into everything she wore. After her death, we cleared out her closets. It was an odd thing to see those clothes as they lay lifeless on her bed, as if their souls had departed. Without Mother Miriam, the spell had been broken. Once again, those clothes reverted to being mere pieces of cloth.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Only One in the Room
Several months ago, Wes Moore, the author of "The Other Wes Moore," spoke on the Joan Hamburg radio show on WOR 710. Mr. Moore's book compares his life to that of another man with the identical name and home town. Despite commonalities, the two men have disparate life experiences. Mr. Moore, the author, was graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Johns Hopkins University and received a Masters from Oxford University as a Rhodes Scholar. The other Wes Moore was convicted of murder.
During his discussion with Ms. Hamburg, Mr. Moore spoke about his early childhood experience at an elite private school. He discussed how difficult it was to acclimate, unguided, into a totally new culture. While he acknowledged that schools seem more aware of this issue today, he said he would have appreciated a guide who understood his experience. The transition was doubtless difficult for Mr. Moore, and the adults at his new school were probably completely unaware of his confusion. Even if they were aware of his discomfort, they probably wouldn't have had any clue of how to help; it is impossible to completely understand another person's experience unless you have travelled a similar road. All the compassion in the world cannot permit an understanding of the isolation felt in the absence of colleagues with a common cultural background. Experiencing life as an extreme minority, however, provides insight.
My eldest daughter attended a wonderful boarding school in Connecticut. The school was affiliated with the Episcopalian church, but accepted students of all backgrounds and religions, with an intent to encouraged students to retain strong affiliations with their different faiths. Our family is Jewish and the school's Jewish population was well under 10%. Despite heartfelt efforts by the school's staff, there were subtle cultural cues that they couldn't comprehend. After trying to explain the unexplainable, the school asked a Jewish faculty member to help guide the activities of the Jewish children at this school. This was an impressive, commendable effort. For reasons completely unrelated to the cultural issue, my daughter left the school. She started attending our local public high school. Together, my daughter and I noticed that the public high school was utterly lacking in cultural and economic diversity. We also noticed that our awareness of the lack of diversity was reflexive.
Cultural experiences provide a lens through which we view our interactions and color our view of perceived nuances. Two individuals from similar backgrounds will have an unspoken understanding of subtext. Others from differing backgrounds will never perceive, no less understand, that subtext. There are times, though, when those commonalities aren't available. In those circumstances, being 'the only one' can be painful and confusing, but can also be an opportunity to be enlightened.
During his discussion with Ms. Hamburg, Mr. Moore spoke about his early childhood experience at an elite private school. He discussed how difficult it was to acclimate, unguided, into a totally new culture. While he acknowledged that schools seem more aware of this issue today, he said he would have appreciated a guide who understood his experience. The transition was doubtless difficult for Mr. Moore, and the adults at his new school were probably completely unaware of his confusion. Even if they were aware of his discomfort, they probably wouldn't have had any clue of how to help; it is impossible to completely understand another person's experience unless you have travelled a similar road. All the compassion in the world cannot permit an understanding of the isolation felt in the absence of colleagues with a common cultural background. Experiencing life as an extreme minority, however, provides insight.
My eldest daughter attended a wonderful boarding school in Connecticut. The school was affiliated with the Episcopalian church, but accepted students of all backgrounds and religions, with an intent to encouraged students to retain strong affiliations with their different faiths. Our family is Jewish and the school's Jewish population was well under 10%. Despite heartfelt efforts by the school's staff, there were subtle cultural cues that they couldn't comprehend. After trying to explain the unexplainable, the school asked a Jewish faculty member to help guide the activities of the Jewish children at this school. This was an impressive, commendable effort. For reasons completely unrelated to the cultural issue, my daughter left the school. She started attending our local public high school. Together, my daughter and I noticed that the public high school was utterly lacking in cultural and economic diversity. We also noticed that our awareness of the lack of diversity was reflexive.
Cultural experiences provide a lens through which we view our interactions and color our view of perceived nuances. Two individuals from similar backgrounds will have an unspoken understanding of subtext. Others from differing backgrounds will never perceive, no less understand, that subtext. There are times, though, when those commonalities aren't available. In those circumstances, being 'the only one' can be painful and confusing, but can also be an opportunity to be enlightened.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Quitting
My first job out of college was working as a secretary in the subsidiary rights department of MacMillan Publishing Company. MacMillan, a hard copy publisher, auctioned paperback publication rights to other publishers. With my Barnard degree, I had the honor of typing multiple copies of the identical letter to numerous potential bidders. Word processors were in their infancy. I was lucky to have an electric typewriter with automatic whiteout [for those of you who remember white out]. While I was growing up, my father made it quite clear that people who quit anything were depraved losers. On the first day on the job, I went to my father's office at lunchtime. I cried about how miserable I was with this menial position and he told me to quit! I wondered if I had walked into the wrong office.
Dad was right, but yet dad was wrong. Sometimes quitting is a sign of weakness, while at other times it is a sign of strength. It's kind of like cholesterol or fat - not all of it is good, but not all of it is bad. Negative quitting basically means laziness. Abandoning a goal because it requires a little bit of effort is just giving up - like being in a race and slowing down in the last 2 minutes instead of giving one last push. This type of quitter doesn't even want to bother showing up for life and would rather sit around waiting for death.
Deciding to abandon a harmful relationship, be it personal or professional, is a different matter. It is not a sign of weakness. In fact, it is just the opposite. Leaving a relationship or a job is risky. The next job or relationship could be worse - or it could be better. So long as best efforts have been made, abandoning an exercise in futility is entirely reasonable. Quitting bad or destructive habits also falls into this category. This is the 'good' kind of quitting; quitting that leads to positive changes.
Years have passed. I wish I could have had this discussion with my father, but, sadly, he passed away on August 11, 1991. Since that day in 1982, I have learned that sometimes quitting is justified and even admirable. Knowing when to hold 'em and knowing when to fold 'em is a far healthier and fulfilling state of mind.
Dad was right, but yet dad was wrong. Sometimes quitting is a sign of weakness, while at other times it is a sign of strength. It's kind of like cholesterol or fat - not all of it is good, but not all of it is bad. Negative quitting basically means laziness. Abandoning a goal because it requires a little bit of effort is just giving up - like being in a race and slowing down in the last 2 minutes instead of giving one last push. This type of quitter doesn't even want to bother showing up for life and would rather sit around waiting for death.
Deciding to abandon a harmful relationship, be it personal or professional, is a different matter. It is not a sign of weakness. In fact, it is just the opposite. Leaving a relationship or a job is risky. The next job or relationship could be worse - or it could be better. So long as best efforts have been made, abandoning an exercise in futility is entirely reasonable. Quitting bad or destructive habits also falls into this category. This is the 'good' kind of quitting; quitting that leads to positive changes.
Years have passed. I wish I could have had this discussion with my father, but, sadly, he passed away on August 11, 1991. Since that day in 1982, I have learned that sometimes quitting is justified and even admirable. Knowing when to hold 'em and knowing when to fold 'em is a far healthier and fulfilling state of mind.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Idols with Feet of Clay
Our most respected leaders have exhibited remarkable failings. President Clinton's daliances were discussed and kind of brushed off, we were aghast at the indiscretion of former governor Elliot Spitzer and shocked, absolutely shocked by the extra-marital affairs of Tiger Woods, among others. The examples men in positions of public trust who have been dishonorable in their marriages are legion. While the behavior of these men is troublesome to many, many consider adultery to be a private matter that doesn't or shouldn't affect public reputation. Moral lapses also abound in the financial markets.
With wide-eyed amazement, we wonder how mortgages could possibly have been given without credit checks to people who were destined to default. Now, we are surprised to discover that John Paulson had a hedge fund that bet on the likelihood of a multitude of mortgage defaults. The Securities and Exchange Commission is blamed for lack of oversight. People wonder what possibly have gone wrong.
Has anyone ever heard of character? Not to get all prophetic, and I am not predicting the end of society as we know it ... but our idols have feet of clay. Few moral boundaries remain. Many people are embarrassed and uncomfortable judging men who cheat on their wives, but why not? Hello -it's cheating. It stinks and it denotes dishonesty that doubtless carries over into other areas of life. The same character flaws perpetuate the immoral lending practices that took advantage of relatively ignorant borrowers.
The problem with society is that no one can be trusted. Like the marital contract, our society is bound by an ethical contract. When either contract is breached, the relationship fails. The source of the failure is a destruction of trust. Can you name a politician that you actually and truly trust? If you can name one, isn't there some voice in the recesses of your mind telling you to beware? The hallmarks of honesty that engender respect are rarely taught or valued. The time to start modeling ethical behavior is now, and the modeling starts at home. We have to reclaim moral behavior at home and in the commercial sphere in order to reclaim stasis.
With wide-eyed amazement, we wonder how mortgages could possibly have been given without credit checks to people who were destined to default. Now, we are surprised to discover that John Paulson had a hedge fund that bet on the likelihood of a multitude of mortgage defaults. The Securities and Exchange Commission is blamed for lack of oversight. People wonder what possibly have gone wrong.
Has anyone ever heard of character? Not to get all prophetic, and I am not predicting the end of society as we know it ... but our idols have feet of clay. Few moral boundaries remain. Many people are embarrassed and uncomfortable judging men who cheat on their wives, but why not? Hello -it's cheating. It stinks and it denotes dishonesty that doubtless carries over into other areas of life. The same character flaws perpetuate the immoral lending practices that took advantage of relatively ignorant borrowers.
The problem with society is that no one can be trusted. Like the marital contract, our society is bound by an ethical contract. When either contract is breached, the relationship fails. The source of the failure is a destruction of trust. Can you name a politician that you actually and truly trust? If you can name one, isn't there some voice in the recesses of your mind telling you to beware? The hallmarks of honesty that engender respect are rarely taught or valued. The time to start modeling ethical behavior is now, and the modeling starts at home. We have to reclaim moral behavior at home and in the commercial sphere in order to reclaim stasis.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
The Journey of our LIves
Passover commemorates the liberation of the Jewish people from slavery in Egypt. Jews around the world start this holiday with an at-home Passover service that is called a Seder, and a book called the Haggadah contains the ceremony's liturgy. Throughout the ensuing week, Jews refrain from eating bread and other grains that have been permitted to rise. Bread is replaced by matzo, a mixture of flour and water that is cooked into a cracker in no more than 18 minutes. Eating matzo reminds us that our ancestors had to get out so quickly, that they didn't have time to let their bread rise. The Haggadah instructs each Jew to undertake the journey as if he or she had been present at the exodus from Egypt.
I am Jewish and, with my family, I celebrate Passover. I have been celebrating this holiday my entire life. In adulthood, I have found a slightly different lesson in this holiday every single year. This amazes me. This year, "the journey" has occupied my thoughts.
The journey undertaken by those ancient Jews with Moses required both collective and individual change. Exodus required reformation of the collective, lower than subservient self-image. That collective negativity remains a plague. Our collective remains threatened and afraid - perhaps with good cause. For centuries, Jews have tried to "pass" and our modern artists have explored this phenomenon. Philip Roth, in "The Human Stain" explores this desire to be one with white culture through the ironic vehicle of a black protagonist who spends his life passing as Jewish. Anne Roiphe's magnificent portrayal of her family in "1185 Park Avenue," contains illustrations of classic, modern-day identity conflict. Pointedly describing her perception of Episcopalian non-Jews in her youth, Roiphe states in the first chapter of her book:
"If society is a pyramid in which the top comes to a point, they were the point. They did not so much cast a shadow over the rest as provide a source of constant anxiety for the others. That is the place where you weren't wanted. That is the restricted hotel on this block. That is the hospital that doesn't allow Jewish doctors to admit patients. That is the school you won't bother to apply to. "Them" was the word spoken with a touch of awe and a spark of anger. Who are "they" really to think they own the world and are so much better than "us"? The big businesses, the big banks, the big fortunes, the big givers to charity, the big owners of boxes at the opera: all of them were "them." They didn't want "us." Who cared. In America who cared. And besides one could imitate them or at least try."
In my individual journey, I have tried to shed shame about my identity. I am not the only modern Jew following a road away from self-hate and towards embracing a wonderful tradition. Self-acceptance takes fortitude, but self-acceptance offers the gift of release. Judgment of choices that other people make for their journeys is not necessary. I can choose my path, and other people can choose theirs. A broader acceptance is also being experienced by society at large - with both negative and positive consequences. Isn't it interesting that we all are still in the midst of an Exodus?
May you all have engaging spiritual journeys in the coming week, no matter what holiday you celebrate!
I am Jewish and, with my family, I celebrate Passover. I have been celebrating this holiday my entire life. In adulthood, I have found a slightly different lesson in this holiday every single year. This amazes me. This year, "the journey" has occupied my thoughts.
The journey undertaken by those ancient Jews with Moses required both collective and individual change. Exodus required reformation of the collective, lower than subservient self-image. That collective negativity remains a plague. Our collective remains threatened and afraid - perhaps with good cause. For centuries, Jews have tried to "pass" and our modern artists have explored this phenomenon. Philip Roth, in "The Human Stain" explores this desire to be one with white culture through the ironic vehicle of a black protagonist who spends his life passing as Jewish. Anne Roiphe's magnificent portrayal of her family in "1185 Park Avenue," contains illustrations of classic, modern-day identity conflict. Pointedly describing her perception of Episcopalian non-Jews in her youth, Roiphe states in the first chapter of her book:
"If society is a pyramid in which the top comes to a point, they were the point. They did not so much cast a shadow over the rest as provide a source of constant anxiety for the others. That is the place where you weren't wanted. That is the restricted hotel on this block. That is the hospital that doesn't allow Jewish doctors to admit patients. That is the school you won't bother to apply to. "Them" was the word spoken with a touch of awe and a spark of anger. Who are "they" really to think they own the world and are so much better than "us"? The big businesses, the big banks, the big fortunes, the big givers to charity, the big owners of boxes at the opera: all of them were "them." They didn't want "us." Who cared. In America who cared. And besides one could imitate them or at least try."
In my individual journey, I have tried to shed shame about my identity. I am not the only modern Jew following a road away from self-hate and towards embracing a wonderful tradition. Self-acceptance takes fortitude, but self-acceptance offers the gift of release. Judgment of choices that other people make for their journeys is not necessary. I can choose my path, and other people can choose theirs. A broader acceptance is also being experienced by society at large - with both negative and positive consequences. Isn't it interesting that we all are still in the midst of an Exodus?
May you all have engaging spiritual journeys in the coming week, no matter what holiday you celebrate!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Chocolate Lady
The little beach town of Oyster Bay, on the far north shore of Long Island, is home to a most unique chocolate artisan. In her shoe-box sized store on Audrey Avenue, across from Canterbury Ales and Buckram's Variety Store, The Chocolate Lady, Lee Perrotta, works her magic. Perrotta creates her own base chocolate primarily from vanilla, spices and cacao beans that she personally selects on annual trips to the Caribean at harvest time. There are actually 15 different chocolates involved in formation of the base, and that includes some French and belgian bases. The resulting chocolate is crafted into the confections that are made at the store in Oyster Bay. Passion, creativity and connection to the history of the art of chocolate making sets The Chocolate Lady apart from other local chocolatiers, and you can taste the difference.
Being health conscious, I am partial to dark chocolate. In this area, the Chocolate Lady excels. Chocolate covered caramels are smooth and rich, especially when accompanied by a hint of grey salt. Chocolate covered marshmallows are another favorite. Well, so is the chocolate covered orange peel, chocolate covered nuts and any truffle that Lee and The Chocolate Lady collective create. Other chocolatiers have approached non-traditional spice and chocolate combinations, but the "Maya Maya, So Spicy We Named it Twice" truffle is a stand out. With its secret ingredient that gives the truffle a special kick, the Maya Maya truffle is not for gulping. Savored slowly in small bites, however, this truffle reveals layers of sweet, savory and spicy.
The Chocolate Lady is a family affair. The store's logo features a sepia picture of Lee's great aunt, who was a chocolatier in the early 1900's, astride her chocolate making table. That same table now resides in the Oyster Bay store. Husband Paul is generally around and son Brandon, though not a chocolate aficionado, makes an ocassional appearances and came up with the idea for a cookie dough truffle. Paul Jr., the couple's elder son, is serving our country in the Armed Forces. So, patronizing The Chocolate Lady is not only supportive of the local economy, but also an act of patriotism. What's more,
The Chocolate Lady chocolate, in particular, has been shown to have positive health benefits.
Okay, that statement is not based on a scientific study, but eating The Chocolate Lady chocolate has made me and my daughters very happy. My husband bought me two diamond bracelets for a landmark birthday. They were okay and I eked out a form of thanks, but the gift of The Chocolate Lady chocolates this past Valetine's Day elicited a FAR more exuberant response. The bracelets were returned; the chocolates were joyfully devoured. Also, I sent a box to my cousin after brain surgery. She wrote," The chocolates were terrific, and they definitely made me feel better!" What other proof is required?
Visiting The Chocolate Lady, alone, is excuse enough for a trip to Oyster Bay. The Chocolate Lady products can be ordered on line at www.chocolateladyboutique.com, too. Ms. Perrotta also makes educational presentations about chocolate the history of chocolate and loves to prepare favors for any type of party. What an excuse to have a party! Visit the shop at 49 Audrey Avenue in Oyster Bay or call (516)922-2002.
By the way, this is an unsolicited review. I haven't been paid AT ALL. However, I have been influenced by the chocolate and the affable atmosphere created in the shop by its owner and her family.
Being health conscious, I am partial to dark chocolate. In this area, the Chocolate Lady excels. Chocolate covered caramels are smooth and rich, especially when accompanied by a hint of grey salt. Chocolate covered marshmallows are another favorite. Well, so is the chocolate covered orange peel, chocolate covered nuts and any truffle that Lee and The Chocolate Lady collective create. Other chocolatiers have approached non-traditional spice and chocolate combinations, but the "Maya Maya, So Spicy We Named it Twice" truffle is a stand out. With its secret ingredient that gives the truffle a special kick, the Maya Maya truffle is not for gulping. Savored slowly in small bites, however, this truffle reveals layers of sweet, savory and spicy.
The Chocolate Lady is a family affair. The store's logo features a sepia picture of Lee's great aunt, who was a chocolatier in the early 1900's, astride her chocolate making table. That same table now resides in the Oyster Bay store. Husband Paul is generally around and son Brandon, though not a chocolate aficionado, makes an ocassional appearances and came up with the idea for a cookie dough truffle. Paul Jr., the couple's elder son, is serving our country in the Armed Forces. So, patronizing The Chocolate Lady is not only supportive of the local economy, but also an act of patriotism. What's more,
The Chocolate Lady chocolate, in particular, has been shown to have positive health benefits.
Okay, that statement is not based on a scientific study, but eating The Chocolate Lady chocolate has made me and my daughters very happy. My husband bought me two diamond bracelets for a landmark birthday. They were okay and I eked out a form of thanks, but the gift of The Chocolate Lady chocolates this past Valetine's Day elicited a FAR more exuberant response. The bracelets were returned; the chocolates were joyfully devoured. Also, I sent a box to my cousin after brain surgery. She wrote," The chocolates were terrific, and they definitely made me feel better!" What other proof is required?
Visiting The Chocolate Lady, alone, is excuse enough for a trip to Oyster Bay. The Chocolate Lady products can be ordered on line at www.chocolateladyboutique.com, too. Ms. Perrotta also makes educational presentations about chocolate the history of chocolate and loves to prepare favors for any type of party. What an excuse to have a party! Visit the shop at 49 Audrey Avenue in Oyster Bay or call (516)922-2002.
By the way, this is an unsolicited review. I haven't been paid AT ALL. However, I have been influenced by the chocolate and the affable atmosphere created in the shop by its owner and her family.
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