If you’re looking for something fun to do on this gorgeous Sunday, come to the Apple Festival at Peddler’s Village in Lahaska, PA. While you’re there, stop by the Canterbury Tales Book Store between 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. and say hello. I’ll be signing my books, and munching on everything apple (including the world’s best chocolate covered apples!)
My Turn
So here I am: Author of three books about relationships including one that specifically delves into the issue of mothers-in-law. From my very secure and confident perch I have given advice to women and daughters and sons since 2005. My wisdom has been discussed and considered by countless readers (or so I’d like to think). I’ve absorbed and then passed on the earnest suggestions of many experts in the parenting field as well as those from other moms and their children. Now, after six years, I get to practice what I preach.
Gulp.
I learned a few weeks ago that I will soon become the subject of my book. My daughter, the older of my two children, has become engaged and plans to wed next summer. Before you say to me, “Uh huh, let’s see how you feel now that the shoe is on your foot!” – let me just say the following:
First, I love my future son-in-law. He’s smart, hardworking, compassionate and, above all, adores my daughter. He’s made it easy for me to approve. I’m not sure he’s yet read Chapter Two of It’s Either Her or Me but he’s instinctively following the single most important piece of advice: Always, always, always put your wife first.
Second, I also love my future mechutonim (a unique Yiddish word that describes the relationship between the bride’s parents and the groom’s parents). Coincidentally, before our kids ever met the groom’s mom and I had gotten to know each other through some mutual friends. She generously attended the book launch for It’s Either her or Me and clearly understands how our kids are making a life for themselves. Plus, she loves my daughter.
Whew. Though what’s not to love…
Third, my future son-in-law has not one sister, but two. And from what I can tell they are fond of my daughter, as she is of them. Matter of fact, they seem pretty excited about their older brother marrying my daughter, who, having read the early, raw versions of It’s Either Her or Me understands her role in being a great sister-in-law to her husband’s siblings.
I know the road to wedding planning and thereafter is curvy at best and potholed at worst, but I’m hoping that after I have shamelessly just plugged my book, that I will, in fact, follow my own advice.
09
Oct
2011
Oct
2011
To Ski or Not to Ski
As ski season winds down, I have a confession to make.
Every year I trudge out to Beaver Creek, Colorado with my kids and sometimes a spattering of relatives and significant others, impressing all my friends back east. They assume that I’m careening through the Rockies with a finesse and confidence like any other robust, tanned, fearless athlete. They imagine my day ending with well-earned drinks while still wearing my ski outfit and sitting at an outdoor bar.
They got that part right.
I DID start out doing downhill 20 years ago when I first brought my kids out west to ski. I was a novice then. Despite lessons (including private lessons which cost enough to cover meals for six for the week), and many billable hours on the slopes, top-notch equipment and really cute ski clothes, I never moved out of the novice category. At least, in my opinion.
“Mom, that’s not true,” my kids would surely say. “You’re good, just a little slow.”
In case you haven’t skied before, “slow” is the kiss of death in downhill skiing. It means the people with whom you’re skiing are impatiently waiting at the bottom of a mountain, which took them 10 minutes to descend, and is now taking you 60 as you traverse from one side to the other in a singsong motion (picture a conductor ever so gently slowing his musicians down for the mellow part of a sonata).
Honestly – and don’t lie Kids – after one run with me I have always offered to let them go off on their own and “Don’t worry about me. I’m happy staying on this run.” A couple protestations, but then they’d happily trail off to the lift that would take them from the greens to the blacks.
Fortunately for me, I have finally found something that allows me to wear all my old ski clothes, and not pop a Xanax before heading out to the slopes: Cross country. There are still hills in cross country, and you can still fall, but much of the pressure is off. No downhill skiers are swishing by you at warped speed, making you feel old and encumbered. In fact, to be quite frank, you need stronger lungs to get through a day cross country skiing than you do downhill.
Beaver Creek boasts the most beautiful and largest Nordic park in the world. It’s 500 acres of pure snowy Rocky Mountain bliss, virtually untouched by humans unless they are on cross country skis or snowshoes. As far as the eye can see there are breathtaking views of the mountains and virgin snow dotted with wildlife prints. You do need to take a significant chair lift to get to the park; its elevation is 10,000 feet so it’s not for the faint of heights. But the views and the conditions are worth it.
And the best part? When you come down off the mountain, you can still meet all your alpine skiing friends for a drink at the outside bar.
Ah. What a great day on the slopes.
29
Mar
2011
Mar
2011
Anyone Want to be on Television!?!?!?
I’m repeating this blog in case you missed it. I’ve already heard from several folks who either live in California or whose families do, but WEtv is still looking for more people for their show.
Anyone want to be on television?! And, more importantly, receive free counseling.
WEtv is launching a new program in southern California that is designed to help families who are struggling with difficult issues, such as those involving blended families, in-laws, parent/teenagers, eating disorders, bullying, unemployment, divorce, remarriage etc.
The casting director is looking for any nuclear families (children 10 or older) that would be interested in free counseling by Dr. Tara Fields, of Oprah, CNN, Dr. Phil fame. She would interview the family in their own home or in her office over the course of a week. The network would then provide additional counseling for six weeks. They realize the seven weeks in total won’t solve problems but they are hopeful it will help families have a breakthrough.
The interviews will be taped and then will air on WEtv. There is no studio audience. If you live in southern California (which I’m envious given the winter we’re having!) or if you know someone who does, and you or they would be interested in being on this show, please let me know. Families who appear will receive a $2,000 honorarium in addition to the free therapy.
Email me at ellie@elliefisher.com. If you’d like, I can put you in touch with the casting director.
11
Feb
2011
Feb
2011
Ode to the Lisas in My Life
There was a time it seemed as though everyone in my life was named some derivative of Susan. My sister, my cousin, my sister-in-law, my agent, and enough girlfriends that each required a further identifying factor such as a surname or a link to their husband, like my friends SusieandArnie or SusanandOri.
In additional to their first names, these women share something else in common: they are all born within 10 years of each other. As I have gotten older, many of my friends have gotten younger, and nary a Susan in the mix. Instead, the name that fills my contact list so often I’ve given up assigning them speed dial numbers, is Lisa
For the sake of conversation, there’s Norwegian Lisa, Little Lisa, CareLisa, LisaOH, K-ELisa, YogaLisa, TallLisa, and so on. When I meet some woman in her forties if I forget her name (which I usually do) I feel pretty confident it’s Lisa.
So why am I seemingly so fixated on these names? I’m fascinated by how they define us. They can give away our approximate age; they can, if not pinpoint our cultural identities, at least eliminate some, and they can even say something about our parents who apparently were kind of hip when they chose a name that was mainstream popular.
Take my mom, for instance. She named me Ellen – a name neither she nor I have ever really used – just so she could in all good conscience nickname me Ellie. Growing up, Ellen was fairly popular with my age group. Don’t get me started on all my old friends named Ellen (love you Brooks) but today Ellen is a rarity. Ellie, however, is used so often that I frequently think I’m being scolded in the mall by a woman who, as it turns out, is trying to control her four-year-old. Who knew my mom was ahead of the curve.
The real reason I think so much about the commonality in our names is because doing so provides a sense of comfort. It feels familiar, recognizable, not very mysterious.
In fact, if I meet a Susan or a Lisa, I kind of feel as though I already know her.
16
Nov
2010
Nov
2010
