Gracelyn's 50 Favorite Seinfeld Quotes and When They Come to Mind

Gracelyn's 50 Favorite Seinfeld Quotes and When They Come to Mind

There are no words to convey how much I love Seinfeld nor are there enough adjectives to describe how magnificent the St. George Theatre is.

So when he performed there on December 6th, I was in heaven.

Seinfeld even donated all tickets sales to Hurricane Sandy Relief. No joke.
Bravo to St. George Theatre's co-founders, Doreen Cugno and Luanne Sorrentino, and to Brian Laline, the esteemed chairman of its incredible board of directors, of which I'm proud to be part.

At the height of Seinfeld's popularity, my dental school friends and I quoted him all the time. Still do. For a show about nothing, there was something for everything.

I jotted down my favorite Seinfeld quotes and when they come to mind throughout my everyday life. Please be forewarned that some items may be inappropriate for younger readers and others only die-hard fans will get. So here goes. Enjoy.

Gracelyn's 50 Favorite Seinfeld Quotes and When They Come to Mind:

1. When I'm in the ladies' room with no toilet paper... Can anyone spare a square?
2. When I see a bodacious woman walk by… They're real and they're spectacular!
3. When I see a handsome man walk by… Mimbo! And… I'm Keith Hernandez.
4. When I see men who may need some "support"... Manssiere. Or Bro.
5. When I was in a midtown Rite Aid last week, saw my discontinued hand lotion on sale and bought all 14 bottles… Are you sponge-worthy?
6. When someone takes credit for something I did... She may have HANDED you the big salad. But I actually PAID for the big salad.
7. When a soccer ball hits a player in the face and someone asks if there's a dentist around... Is anyone here a marine biologist? And... The sea was angry that day my friend. And... Is that a Titleist?
8. When I'm at a board meeting and can't hear what someone says across the table after having asked her to repeat 3 times and I finally just nod and smile… The low-talker and puffy shirt.
9. When I'm getting a manicure and look around at other customers… Man hands!
10. When I'm at a cocktail party and forget someone whose name I should know and start playing word association games to remember… Mulva... Delores!
11. When my daughter tells me someone is being mean to her at school… Mrs. Seinfeld: How can anyone not like you?
12. When I see a meticulously arranged mannequin in a store window... Stalker with Al Roker TV Guide: I prefer to call her Elaine.
13. When someone does or says something remotely inappropriate, I take comfort that it could be worse… He took it out. It. Out.
14. When a someone says to me, Ewww, I can't believe you stick your hands in people's mouths all day… Jerry's Girlfriend: I can't be with someone when I don't respect what they do. Jerry: But you're a cashier!
15. When one of my single girlfriends tells me about a bad date… You mean you're married AND poor?
16. When I am forced to wait anywhere... Newman to his post office co-workers: Go take your 3-hour break.
17. When I'm a party with a really great DJ… Elaine dancing (a full-body dry-heave set to music).
18. When any situation frustrates me… Jerry: I'm in a contest, I'm dating a virgin… something's gotta give!
19. When I help my kids study… Elaine helping her doctor-boyfriend study for the boards: What did you get for #74? Boyfriend: Metabolic acidosis. Elaine: No! Hypokalemia! DUH!
20. When my husband and I go to a restaurant and they can't find our reservation…. Anyone can TAKE a reservation but you have to HOLD the reservation.
21. When I'm editing photographs and notice a detail gone horribly awry… I'm not sure -- and correct me if I'm wrong -- but is that a nipple I see?
22. When a friend does me a favor and I buy him or her a drink in appreciation… banya: Soup is not a meal, Jerry!
23. When I glance at the magazines in my waiting room and notice a risque cover... Is this a dentist's office or Caligula?
24. When I coach my girls' basketball team and I disagree with the ref… You want a piece of me?!
25. When I suspect there is a get-together being planned and I'm not invited... Do you mean to tell me there's not one single condo left in all of Del Boca Vista?
26. When I get ready for hours for a party and my kids are underwhelmed... Elaine: Is it possible that I'm not as attractive as I think I am? Jerry: Anything is possible.
27. When my friend asks me to set him up… Elaine: Are you sure you want to get married? Jerry: It's 3 o'clock in the morning. I'm at a cock fight. What am I clinging to?
28. When I'm stuck at a party making small-talk with a droner/blatherer... George: I can sense the slightest human suffering. Jerry: Are you feeling anything right now?
29. When I take advice from someone and results are poor... Apu: You're a bad man, Jerry, a very very bad man.
30. When I catch one of my kids red-handed and she desperately blurts out an excuse… Uncle Leo: I'm old! I got confused!
31. When I see a face-painter at a Knicks or Jets game... El Diablo! And... He stole my move, except he ended with a swirl.
32. When my friend's recently-divorced mother re-entered the dating scene… You're not out there, ma. Because I'm out there. And if you're out there, there's not enough voltage in the universe to electroshock me back into coherence.
33. When I run into someone I don't particularly care for… Hello, Newman.
34. When my book club meets and I have to fake the discussion part because I haven't read the book… Elaine: It is a little known fact that Leo Tolstoy's original title for War and Peace is War, What is Good For?
35. When something almost unbelievable happens… One in a million shot, doc… One in a million.
36. When I have to clarify something in conversation so it is not taken the wrong way... Not that there's anything wrong with that.
37. When I start getting verbose, waiting for my patients to get numb, I suspect they're thinking... Yadda yadda yadda.
38. When my 12-year-old daughter mentions in all seriousness that she is the future Mrs. Harry Styles… Mrs. Elaine Benes Kennedy, Jr.
39. When it's 9 PM, the dinner dishes are still not cleared, all three kids have exams the next day and Michael and I start bickering… Serenity now!
40. When I was interviewing job applicants at work and a woman showed up with no resume, wearing jeans and chewing gum… And you want to be my latex salesman! (Art Vandelay, Architect.)
41. When someone I barely know shows me baby pictures and I'm just not in the mood to feign delight… Your baby is breathtaking!
42. When it's a hot, muggy day and I get a smelly noseful of someone... This is beyond B.O. This is B.B.O. (Sauce me!)
43. When I can't think of a snappy comeback... The jerk store called and they're out of you!
44. When I settle for anything less than I deserve... Jerry to Elaine: You got shushed when Desperado came on and you're still with him? I'll tell you who's desperado.
45. When my kids don't like what I've made for dinner... No soup for you!
46. When I buy my husband underwear… I like the feel of jockeys. My boys need a home.
47. When my kids bring home a good grade or good times at a swim meet… GET OUT!
48. When there's a sale at Barney's and someone grabs the last blouse in my size... Give me that marble rye, ya old bag!
49. When Michael and I meet friends for dinner in Manhattan, run late, and are forced to give up trying to find street parking... George: Parking garages are like h******. Why pay for it when you can get it for free if you apply yourself?
50. And for no reason at all except for the fact that it's the funniest word uttered on Seinfeld, ever: MOOPS.

Text from My Ex

Texting is all the rage nowadays. Throughout the course of any given day, I receive about 40-50 texts, usually from my 12-year-old daughter, my office manager, my tennis buddies, my book clubs friends, or moms of the players of the basketball team I coach.

Weekend plans are plotted, swim practices and board meetings are coordinated, RSVPs are sent, and patients' inquiries about their dental insurances and treatment plans are answered.

Then there are the piano lessons to confirm, fourth grade homework to clarify with moms of my kids' friends, carpooling to arrange, and entire fundraising events to organize by the tap-tap-tapping away of my opposable thumbs.

So imagine my surprise last week when I received a text that simply read, "Nice article," from a number I didn't recognize. Hmm, I thought, who in the world could this be?

I assumed it was a reader of this column or my photo blog or my public posts on Facebook, all easily accessed on internet search engines. But how did stranger get my cell number?

A bit befuddled and a touch curious, I texted back. In 10 seconds flat, my iPhone chirped. It was Julian, my ex-boyfriend from college, formerly known as the love of my life.

He had acquired my phone number from a mutual friend. Unacceptable! I made a mental note to defriend this friend, or at the very least put her on friend probation.

They say that romance thrives and emotions run more deeply when relationships are begun in high-stress situations. I can't think of a more stressful time than college (except for maybe dental school, when I met Michael, my handsome husband of almost 17 years -- but that's another, juicier story).

Julian and I met at the start of freshman year in college. I was on full academic scholarship, a Biology major and all-around nervous wreck because I was expected to maintain an overall 3.5 GPA or bye-bye free ride. We were both pre-med but had no classes together.

He possessed the perfect combination of confidence and modesty, despite being quite charming and crazy-smart. The fact he was Asian but spoke with a Latin accent (because he was the son of an ambassador and was fluent in three languages) didn't hurt, either.

Julian may not have been good-looking in a David Beckham or Adam Levine sort of way, and *gasp* some of my friends may not have even thought he was anything special, but I was drawn into his vortex almost immediately.

Ironically, it was my writing, not organic chemistry or parasitology, that brought us together. I was taking the freshman-requisite Bio 103 and Bio 104 Lab.

When the time came for me to write my first scientific paper, I was quite confident that it would be an easy-peasy A+. So you can imagine my surprise when I was handed back what I thought was a masterpiece and saw a big, Sharpie-thick, red "C-" -- with an obnoxious circle around it.

The professor shook his head as if in disgust as he looked at it and then at me and then at it again. Not good, Gracelyn, he muttered disapprovingly, probably wondering why I wasn't an English major.

It seemed my writing style was too creative and biology papers would have none of it. He promptly assigned me to a tutor. What a disgrace, I thought. Me. A tutor. I ranked #1 in my high school graduating class. A tutor. Really?!

Enter Julian, my college-issued, scientific writing tutor. Once a week we met to work on my biology reports and pretty soon, it was twice a week. In a few weeks' time, we were inseparable.

He brought out the best in me. I was smarter when I was with him, wittier in his company, and just generally more inspired. Ahh... young love.

In the tiniest spurts of free time between studying for Calculus, Microbiology and Statistics and Probability exams, we couldn't wait to hold hands.

We spent afternoons playing chess in Central Park, played one-on-one basketball in playgrounds around school (he occasionally let me win), and talked for hours on the phone until the sun came up. He introduced me to his family. He told me he loved me.

Julian was even able to firm up my scientific writing style, a miraculous feat in itself, and by our junior year, we co-wrote a research paper that spring semester. We got an A+.

So there I sat in the driver's seat of my car, iPhone in hand, reading these texts from him, 25 years later, waiting for my children's school bus to pull up. Via texts we exchanged pleasantries.

He was now the assistant chief of cardio-thoracic surgery for a major hospital in New England, which didn't shock me. We spoke of our children, our siblings. Like me he also had a set of twins and a singleton, except he had three sons.

Julian told me how much he enjoyed reading my column on SILive.com every Sunday morning for the last few months. He was proud I was a dentist now and admired how prolific I'd been in my writing and passionate I seemed to be about my family and community.

He mentioned he had just gone through a nasty divorce. I was sad for him. I let him ramble on, trying to digest all his heavy life events, hoping not to see the flashing lights of the yellow school bus until he finished he finished his thoughts.

He said he thought about me often during the last few years of his tumultuous marriage, about the inside jokes and hilarious notes we used to pass each other -- before cell phones were invented.

He spoke of the fun we used to have, plant-sitting for our friends, playing darts in the wee hours of the night, brains numb after non-stop studying. We laughed about how often we ate at the inexpensive BBQ's in the Village.

We had come a long way, he said, but admitted having thought about our first kiss... and what could have been. I was silent as he spoke. So many memories flooded back, memories filled with laughter and innocence, of good times.

However, as I reminisced, two memories in particular eventually stuck out in my mind: One was of me crying in my room after I had discovered his infidelity; the other, the afternoon I met Michael, the love of life, my best friend and father of my three beautiful daughters, the other loves of my life.

And at that moment I was happy Julian had broken my heart all those years ago.

Eventually the texts stopped. He asked if I was still there. I was, but was momentarily busy finding my way out of rosy-colored memories that I think we all have a tendency to look upon with increasing fondness for comfort or entertainment as the years roll by and life' challenges blaze on, leaving their truth unrecognizable.

A few moments after that, my children's school bus screeched to a halt, alongside my car. I politely wished Julian well and thanked him for reaching out and for kind words.

That afternoon I said goodbye to my first love for a second time. My iPhone asked me if I was sure I wanted to delete his contact number. I tapped the yes key.

I kissed my 9-years-daughters hello as they jumped into the back seat, headed toward the other bus stop to pick up my 12-year-old, and continued on with my the happy life.

Happy birthday, Daddy 11.26.12

Yesterday was my dad's 72 birthday and I told him I loved him. These spontaneous declarations of love are a brand-new development. Hard to believe, right? But it's true.

It never used to be this way when I was growing up, these lovey-dovey professions of affection. But now that I'm married with three children of my own, times have changed. I'm finally comfortable blurting it out whenever the mood strikes.

I tell him I love him on the phone, I tell him I love him when I say goodbye, I tell him I love him after he gives me a compliment, his now-famous words of advice or talks of pep…. Love, love, love. I suspect he is getting tired of it, but too bad. I'm enjoying it and have waited a long time for this. I take comfort in that he always replies he loves me, too.

Throughout my entire childhood I don't think I ever told Daddy I loved him. Not once. Of course I did and with all my heart, but it was not in my vocabulary, growing up. My dad was a very stern, authoritative figure -- still is -- but he simply wasn't the mushy type nor was he the type to tolerate any such tenderness.

 

 

Nevertheless, my dad is my hero. He is the first man I ever loved and I suspect no man loves or will probably ever love me more, with the exception of maybe my husband. Daddy is without a doubt the gold standard against which all other men who've come into my life are judged (my apologies to any ex-boyfriends who may be reading this and who know first-hand this to be absolutely true. Those were some cruel times, for sure).

My two sisters and I got our hugs and kisses from our mom. When it came Daddy, however, we were too busy being scared of him, always keeping our requisite distance. Looking back, I realize three things: 1) There was nothing to be afraid of; 2) That fear was, in fact, respect and we, as children, were always working to win his and my mom's approval (in a good way, not in the way that needs therapy); and 3) I was blessed with the most terrific parents anyone could dream of.

Growing up, I wanted to be a good daughter. I wanted them to be proud of me. A touch of sibling rivalry? Maybe. A good dose of trying to live up to their high academic expectations? Most definitely. Please don't judge. I think this is a good thing. When your parents believe that you are capable of doing your best, you start to believe it, too.

With their unconditional love, no challenge was insurmountable. They taught me to believe in myself, a very powerful tool with which I armed myself as I navigated dental school, residency, and now my private practice. This is invaluable and hopefully I can do the same for my own children.

Occasionally in my youth, however, I found my myself paralyzed with fear of failing -- and worse --- disappointing them. Did it make me a super-nervous kid? Probably. Did it make me realize that results are directly proportional to preparedness? Indubitably. So do I resent them now that I'm an adult for their method of parenting? Not one iota.

I'm sure many people can relate to this, especially the children of immigrants, as my sisters and I were. Mommy and Daddy brought us to the United States from the Philippines exactly 40 years ago this year, when I was… well, never mind how old I was. They traveled half way around the world in search of better futures for us, better educational opportunities. They wanted to live the American dream.

Both college graduates and newly married, my parents built a pretty cushy life for themselves and their three daughters in Santa Cruz, Laguna, the beautiful town wherein I was born, world-famous for the majestic Pagsanjan Falls. My dad was an accountant for a major pharmaceutical outfit there and mom was a schoolteacher. We lived in a spacious, luxurious home subsidized by my dad's company and even had employed a household staff. I have vivid memories of our my nanny and our housekeeper.

 

Oftentimes I fantasize of having domestic help now-- a cook and a maid would be splendid, indeed -- as well as a personal assistant. My plans are rudely interrupted by my reality of private school tuition, payroll, a couple of mortgages and, umm… electricity, not to mention a an outstanding student loan from dental school. When the twins were babies, I had a full-time, live-in nanny for three years. Now that was heaven, to come and go as I pleased. Unfortunately, so did the cash, and ever more swiftly. Plus, she got kind of annoying and didn't pick up after them as well as I would've liked. But I digress.

In the Philippines, my parents were living the life. They both came from large families and had a vast circle of friends. So for them to leave that all behind, move to another country and start over from scratch… well, to me that is just plain terrifying and blows my mind. I'm not sure I could ever be that brave.

Mommy and Daddy worked day and night when I was growing up. My dad always had two or three jobs to make ends meet. My mom worked the 11pm-7am shift at Doctors' Hospital for 30 years so she could be there during the day when my sisters and I got home from school. Now that's love. Talk is cheap, but the graveyard shift screams personal sacrifice.

I will not go into excruciating details about how lean those years were. But make no mistake, they were. We may not have had a lot of fancy toys or frilly dresses but what we did have was infinitely more important: love and laughter. Suffice it to say that our Barbie dolls were second-hand and I remember on a couple of occasions not telling my parents that my school shoes were getting too tight because I knew there was no money to buy new ones.

Even still, I smile when I reminisce about my childhood because there was always an overabundance of love. Mommy and Daddy taught us to love and to take care of each other. To love God. To respect everyone. As an adult, I appreciate these lessons are paramount to leading a life worth living..

So as I sit here, typing on my MacBookPro, wearing my Gucci pumps in my office in a center hall colonial that I help pay for every month because of my profession that was made possible by educational opportunities afforded to me by my parents' moving to the U.S, leaving behind the life they knew and their extended family, you can see why I feel indebted to them and feel the need to tell them I love them. And after all these years and their continued, unwavering support of everything I do, my respect for them continues to grow.

Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you.

Teddy Atlas Thanksgiving Give-Back

Teddy Atlas Thanksgiving Give-Back ~

It was all kind of serendipitous. Stuck in traffic last Tuesday afternoon driving to my parents' house in West Brighton, my 12-year-old daughter, Charista, noticed the Dr. Theodore Atlas Foundation building and asked me who he was.

It's a charitable organization named after a physician who provided free medical care to patients who otherwise couldn't afford to pay, I explained. It was started by his son, Teddy Atlas, an ESPN boxing commentator, who also trained Mike Tyson and two-time heavyweight champ, Michael Moorer.

"They didn't have to pay?!" Asked my 9-year-old twins, Tatiana and Angelica.

Not only were did they not have to pay for operations but Dr. Atlas made house calls to poor people until he was 80 years old, and founded two hospitals on Staten Island. Interestingly, one of them was Doctors' Hospital, where I myself had worked evenings and weekends throughout high school and college to defray my tuition.

My kids were amazed when I mentioned Teddy was an NBC commentator for the Olympics in Sydney in 2000, Athens in 2004 and Beijing in 2008, and that he lived on Staten Island. Like me, he also attended Curtis High School.

They loved that his philanthropy focused mainly on helping children and that he gets celebrities like Patrick Ewing, Tony Danza and Phil Simms to help Staten Islanders in need.

That night my children Googled the Teddy Atlas Foundation and learned they had bought a blood oxygenation machine for a little girl with a congenital heart malformation. They came to her rescue when nobody else would.

How nice it was, my daughters said, that money raised paid for central air for a kid who had a rare disease and whose skin blistered when temperatures rose. Then they bought health insurance for another kid with lymphoma whose family couldn't afford the cancer treatments, also arranging for them to meet NY Yankees stars Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez.

Charista mentioned she read in the Staten Island Advance that the Atlas Foundation held a fundraising dinner with lots of famous people each year at the Hilton. As a matter of fact, one of the reservation coupons for this year's dinner, held last week, was published on the same page recently as one of my columns.

Charista wanted to help. She immediately put her thumbs to work and began texting her closest friends, who she was confident would love to join her. She was right.

Certainly, 12- and 13-year-old eighth graders at St. Joseph Hill Academy and a couple of fourth graders at PS 29 didn't have the disposable income that celebrities, like the cast of the Sopranos, Charles Oakley, and John Starks (my favorite Knick in my dental school days, by the way) had. They didn't have income at all.

What they did have, however, were their willingness to help, their personal savings from allowances and babysitting, and the generosity to give it all away to those less fortunate.

All the girls agreed that helping children in need was the right thing to do so close to Thanksgiving, a holiday infamous for overabundance and overeating. To be so lucky was unsettling when so many had lost so much from Hurricane Sandy.

I had never been prouder of my kids and their friends, especially when they'd already done what the could the past 3 weeks: Made food for the disaster relief, helped with the clean-up, donated blankets and towels, prayed. They knew their parents donated money. They wanted to do more.

That night Charista's iPhone lit up for the next few hours with texts. Schedules were coordinated, ideas were brainstormed. The group was confirmed: Charista, Tatiana, and Angelica Mroczek, Ashley Iraci, Victoria Crispi, Raquel Pillarella, Amanda Aubry, and Angela Candrilli. Project Teddy Atlas Thanksgiving Give-Back was born.

They researched that the Atlas Foundation's food pantry fed kids year-round, distributing turkey dinners at Thanksgiving and toys at Christmas to families who couldn't afford them. The girls wanted help in the replenishment, even if just a little.

24 hours later on Thanksgiving Eve, we all arrived at foundation headquarters on Cary Avenue, Staten Island. Teddy Atlas himself welcomed us.

Eight young ladies had pooled all their money from personal savings and donated $500 to help other children less fortunate. Additionally, they donated canned goods, diapers, pasta, and cleaning supplies to help stock the food pantry.

Teddy thanked each girl individually and shared stories of the good their donation will do. It was because of caring individuals like them, he said, that the Atlas Foundation was able to buy a wheelchair and build a ramp for a little girl with Cerebral Palsy. She was non-verbal but had managed to thank him personally with a donation of a loaf of bread for the food pantry.

It's because of their generosity, Teddy explained, that a boy with cancer, who was so poor he slept on a mattress on a floor, returned home from chemotherapy one day to see his bedroom furnished with furniture, a television, and a wall mural of "Pirates of the Caribbean," his favorite.

When Teddy asked if anyone had gone to see Justin Bieber in concert the week before, half the girls raised their hands. His foundation enabled two little girls to attend. They were orphans and suffering from having witnessed the murder of their mother and suicide of their father. The concert was a reprieve for them, even for a few hours.

In an age of constant information bombardment, distractions and shorter attention spans, Teddy captivated the girls with his stories of all the good their donation would do to improve the lives of underprivileged children. From the looks on the girls' faces he made a wonderful impression on them.

He showed them the food pantry and they spent some time organizing the shelves. Soon the girls bid adieu to their new hero but said hello to their invigorated resolve to continue to look outside of themselves and find ways to help others.

As we all hugged our goodbyes that afternoon to start cooking Thanksgiving feasts for our families, I overheard the girls making plans to volunteer. One said she wanted to read books to orphans. Another wanted to serve food in soup kitchens. Still another said would hold diaper and baby formula drives.
And just like that, a Thanksgiving tradition was born.

After all, as I always tell my kids: To whom much is given, much is expected.

Biever Fever:An Enjoyable Night Out with my Pre-Teen

Biever Fever: An Enjoyable Night Out with my Pre-Teen

What I thought would be another ho-hum Monday night turned out to be one of the most memorable nights ever.

My 12 year old daughter, Charista, and I hit the town. And not just doing any old thing, but one of the most exciting things that we could ever have done together: Attend a Justin Bieber concert.

It was Veterans Day, so schools was not in session in observance of this important holiday to honor our servicemen and women. After a busy half-day of crown and bridge at the office, I was happy for some quality time with my three daughters. I helped them with their homework, cooked them a nice lunch.

Over my mushroom chicken and sautéed garlic spinach, their favorites, Charista mentioned Justin Bieber was in town and that some of her friends from school were going that night to see him at the brand-new Barclays Center in Brooklyn. How lucky they were and how much fun they would have, she said.

Normally, I do not splurge on such spontaneous luxuries, constantly instilling in my children the importance of the value of money and working hard and sacrifice... especially on a school night. But Justin Bieber was an exception, you see.

Whereas Tatiana and Angelica, my 9-year-old twins, are not fans, Charista and I are quite the opposite. Not only do both we enjoy his music, we both think he is downright adorable. His CD's play in my car ad nauseum and, like most busy moms with active children who play multiple sports, I'm always in my car. I've learned to love him.

Moreover, memories were still so clear in my mind of when I took Charista and her little friends a few years ago to see the Justin Bieber movie, "Never Say Never." The girls all sat straight in a row in the theatre, side by side, eating popcorn and Goobers, giggling and singing along. It was fun watching them have fun. I consciously tried to memorize every second of that afternoon, knowing it would soon be a treasured memory.

And I was right. Charista is now in eighth grade and had just taken the TACHS Catholic high school entrance exam last week. That she will be a high school freshman in September is mind-blowing.

She has matured so much lately: more self-assured, more focused on school and her swimming, more of a young woman than a little girl. At 5'6" she is taller than I, not to mention smarter and more beautiful. As a mom, I thank God every day and am so proud of her, as well as her younger sisters, for whom she is such a good and thoughtful role model.

On some level, maybe I wanted to cling onto every possible experience I could share with her because she was growing up so fast. After all, my friends with older children warn me that high school years fly by faster than any other part of their kids' education.

So against my better judgment, Charista and I cleared away the lunch dishes and promptly trawled the internet for two tickets -- on not one, but two computers. A few Google searches and faster than you can say, "swaggy," I decided to splurge and clicked the "place order" button. It all happened so quickly, despite our repeated difficulty in deciphering the almost illegible hieroglyphics on Ticketmaster.com to prove we were humans.

Barclays Center in Brooklyn is accessible most easily by subway so by subway we did go. Look at us, I thought, so mass transit-savvy! She wore her leather jacket, because she said that was what "Beliebers" do, their signature. Okay and whatever, I said, just don't flaunt your iPhone and hold on tight to your Coach wristlet.

Huge, noisy throngs of tweeners were abuzz and slowly filled the stadium when we emerged on the R train escalators onto Atlantic Avenue. We bought the obligatory overpriced $50 concert tee shirt and settled into our lower-level-but-not-on-the-floor-seats, feeling gratified we paid face-value and not the $400 per ticket we heard some fans coughed up.

A fantastic montage of memories we made that night, just Charista and I. Bieber sure puts on a spectacular show. The lasers were well-planned, the choreography well-executed and the fireworks and lighting design unexpectedly impressive. Jaden Smith and Cody Simpson opened, and their girlfriends, Kylie and Kendall Jenner, were there, too. Their seats were a little better than ours. Okay, a lot better. But we were thrilled nonetheless.

Charista received texts from friends telling her that Jay-Z was there, as well as the boy band, One Direction, of which Harry Styles is part. She has said on numerous occasions that she is the future Mrs. Styles, so I assumed Harry was her favorite and seriously thought my poor daughter would faint dead away if we ran into him. We never did, of course, but she still spent quite some time scouring the floor seats, in search of him.

The Biebs made a grand entrance, clad all in white, floating high above in a harness, enormous wings made of cymbals and guitars spread wide, much to the delight of 18,000 people.

He sang "Beauty and the Beat" and some oldies, like "Baby" and "Somebody," and "That Should Be Me." The noise level would have been intolerable were it not for my Classic Pharmacy-issued ear plugs, a little trick I learned at a Jonas Brothers concert many years ago. Whatever happened to them? But I digress.

Despite my urging for her to just watch and enjoy the moment, Charista took lots of iPhone photos and video of the concert, as did most of the audience, from the countless lights of cell phone screens that twinkled throughout. Instagram and Facebook must have lit up like Christmas tree those two hours, as well as YouTube.com the next day.

Charista beamed when Justin sang "Boyfriend" and "As Long As You Love Me," and, truth be told, I personally was quite ridiculously thrilled when he sang "Die in Your Arms," my favorite. And please don't judge. Again, I remind you I'm constantly immersed in Justin Bieber songs in the car because of my three daughters.

That is my story and I am sticking to it.

Thirteen days later, thirteen lessons I've learned from Sandy.

Hurricane Sandy made landfall over a week ago and left 41 dead in New York City, including 21 in Staten Island alone. Lives have been devastated in our beautiful borough. Houses were destroyed and cars washed away to the tune of $50 billion, second only to Hurricane Katrina in US history of natural disasters.

To read the stories of those who perished and those who continue to suffer in Sandy's aftermath is difficult without getting emotional because they were one of us. They were our family, our friends, our neighbors, our fellow Staten Islanders. Any one of them could have been any one of us on a different day, a different time. But they weren't. And here we are, left with the responsibility to help them and to appreciate all we have at a time when so many have lost so much.

I've jotted down a list of important lessons I've learned from Hurricane Sandy so I won't someday forget and, more importantly, for my three daughters to read. Maybe a few items will help remind you, too. After all, what good are life's challenges if we can't rise above and become better and stronger?

So here it is. Please keep praying for those affected by Hurricane Sandy. God bless Staten Island. God bless America.

Thirteen days later, thirteen lessons I've learned from Sandy.

1. HUG YOUR CHILDREN EVERY DAY. I read the story of the father and son from Oakwood who were found dead in their basement from Sandy's powerful surge, locked in each others' embrace. The dad's hand was covering his son's head, as if trying to protect it. The young man was a twin, like two of my daughters. Our children are all miracles and make life worth living. They are our future. They deserve our love. Hug them.

2. VOTE. Yesterday was Election Day, and our civic duty of voting in the officials who get to represent us should never be taken for granted or overlooked. It is the hallmark of our great nation. I was amazed to see those ravaged by Sandy who found their way out of their floods and rubble to a voting booth, or who cast their vote by affidavit. Why can't we? We have no excuse. If you don't vote, you don't get to complain.

3. REMIND YOUR CHILDREN HOW LUCKY THEY ARE. On Monday NYC children went back to school after a week off because of Sandy's devastation. However, many of them reported to classrooms with just the clothes on their back and nothing more -- no pencils, no crayons, no notebooks, no jackets. Emails were forwarded to me this week from PTAs asking for donations of basic school supplies our own children probably take for granted. Remind your kids how lucky they are to have houses in which to live, warm beds in which to sleep, and everything they need to learn.

4. APPRECIATE CONVENIENCES. Filling up our cars with gas this week has been a three to four hour ordeal with lines as long as a mile. Not since the gas crisis of the 1970's has this energy emergency happened. And we were all happy to get on the queue. When things get back to normal, exercise the same patience and be thankful for all the modern conveniences we enjoy, which leads us to the next item.

5. ENJOY THE LIGHT. Power outages were widespread in New York because of Sandy, now numbering about 526,000 people, down from a peak of 2.2 million. Being in the dark for a few days reminded all of us to appreciate electricity and all the wonderful things it brings: refrigerated food, lighting, television, computers. Remember what it felt like to be in the dark. The nights were long and cold, weren't they? Appreciate the warmth of your heat, luxury of telephones and clean drinking water, while you're at it.

6. HUG YOUR PETS. I read the story on SILive.com of the brother and sister who shared a house in Midland Beach. They did not evacuate their premises soon enough, afraid of leaving behind their beloved pets, and died from drowning. Pets are important members of the family. Enjoy them.

8. HELP YOUR NEIGHBORS. The outpouring of assistance toward the clean-up of the homes that were wrecked by Sandy has been unprecedented. Almost immediately, volunteers delved in to sift through the debris, to help each other. Food was delivered. Funds were set up, fundraising events held, and donation drives were organized. Everything was collected for hurricane victims, from clothes, shoes and socks to baby formulas, diapers, and toiletries, to cleaning detergents, work gloves and trash bags. Social media connected people who needed help with people who wanted to help. The road to recovery is long but together, Staten Island can do it. Always have, always will.

9. TEACH YOUR CHILDREN CHARITY. I think children do as we do, not as we say. By watching their parents do the right thing to help others in need during times of catastrophic events, these same children learn two valuable things: a) How to someday become thoughtful, compassionate adults, and b) Live by the Golden Rule.

10. TELL YOUR PARENTS YOU LOVE THEM. The story about the couple who drowned in Hurricane Sandy and found underneath a powerboat that washed ashore days later was very sad. The husband was elderly and frail and his wife couldn't evacuate them soon enough. Their daughter spoke about how much they loved each other and how much she loved them. Where would I be today, were it not for Jess and Narcy Santos, my parents? So tell yours how much you love them. Do it today because who knows what tomorrow will bring.

11. TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS. During post-Sandy cleanup, countless pictures were found, from wedding albums, to baby portraits, to photos of great-great parents, to casual snapshots. Some were new, many very old. This speaks to how important memories are and how they should be recorded and treasured. Certainly keeping the memories alive in your heart is what's important, but pictures are a wonderful aid to jog memories that are or may soon become faded.

12. PRAY. The power of prayer is without limit. Faith is unshakable, even in times of seemingly hopeless disasters. I believe without the prayers offered up --- by folks in our borough, from all across the country, and from all around the world who watched Sandy unfold on television --- the affects of Sandy would have been exponentially worse.

13. LIVE EVERY DAY AS IF IT WERE YOUR LAST. Sandy has reminded us that our lives can be changed in a blink of an eye. Life is short. Love your children, appreciate your family. Laugh hard with your friends. Find what you truly love in life and do it often. Life is about giving, the sharing of your unique, God-given talents, to those who need it, to those who deserve it, and even to those who don't appreciate it. As my good friend says, there are many things in life you cannot control, so concern yourself only with the two things you can control: your heart and mind. And as I always say, do things with passion or not at all.

Stay strong, Staten Island.

Weathering the Monster Storm

http://blog.silive.com/gracelyns_chronicles/2012/11/sandy_reminded_us_that_our_isl.html#incart_mrt

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. — They called her the 100-year storm. We were warned of her imminent danger and painstakingly prepared as best we could for her arrival.

At first we weren’t overly concerned, but then the phone calls started to come in, closing schools, canceling piano and soccer, postponing birthday parties. We started to take her more seriously.

My husband stockpiled batteries, water, flashlights, ice. He put away all the patio furniture, took down all our Halloween decorations. I cooked a week’s worth of meals, bought canned goods and a can opener, and did eight loads of laundry, making sure all the kids’ homework was done, should we lose power.

We braced ourselves for her landfall. Two days later, she is gone and was more devastating than anyone ever imagined. Her name was Hurricane Sandy.

Like most of New York City, Long Island and the Jersey Shore, my family and I were affected by Sandy. But unlike many of the tri-state area, we were among the lucky ones who only suffered loss of electricity, phone and cable, and minimal property damage. I thank God for that.

In Queens, 111 houses burned down because of Sandy, in a close-knit community of firefighters and police officers, many of whom had lost family members on Sept. 11, 2001. Lower Manhattan has been blacked out, Battery Park residents evacuated.

Water from the Hudson River to the left and the East River to the right pummeled Manhattan. Images of the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel getting flooded looked surreal. Subways and buses were crippled, DUMBO submerged. Jersey beach houses disappeared, boardwalks crumbled.

My friends on the Upper East Side were not affected, but my brother-in-law, an orthopedic surgeon who lives in Murray Hill, was. Like everyone below 39th Street, he was without water or electricity, his patients among the hundreds in NYU Langone Medical Center and Bellevue infirmed who were transferred to other hospitals because of the loss of power.

When I spoke to him Wednesday night, I was glad he was OK. He had not showered or charged his cell phones for a couple of days and was preparing to stay with unaffected friends in Forest Hills.

Nationwide, the death toll is 50, 30 from New York, 14 from Staten Island.

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Tanker washed ashore on Front Street by Hurricane Sandy.View full sizeDr. Gracelyn Santos
Homes were devastated in South Beach. Entire floors blew away and people were left to sleep in the cold -- and in the dark -- in Eltingville.

On Front Street on Staten Island, near the Alice Austen House, a 700-ton tanker was washed ashore by Sandy. I took my three daughters to see it, assuring them that it was not a sight they’d see again soon.

Driving around neighborhoods in the vicinity of my dental offices in Meiers Corners, Westerleigh and Castleton Corners, 200-year-old trees were downed by Sandy’s 70 mph winds. Great Kills, New Dorp Beach, among so many other communities, were damaged.

Luckily, my in-laws in Grasmere never lost power. Wednesday night we visited them and brought over Chinese takeout for dinner in exchange for use of their electricity to charge our Apple products and Wi-Fi to get some work done. We were so happy to see them, relieved they were unscathed.

My husband Michael’s aunts were not so lucky. Over the shrimp with lobster sauce and hot and sour soup, they described how their Dongan Hills basement flooded, filled up like a fish tank with 10 feet of water.

Their cherished personal belongings were destroyed, their washer-dryer, refrigerator and stove ruined. One of their cars washed away.

Septuagenarians, they described how they were preparing to evacuate when the waters almost swept them down Greeley Avenue. It felt like a scene from the Titanic, they said.

They’d never been so frightened in their lives. They thought it was the end. They were happy when the nightmare was over and that they made it out alive.

As my 12-year-old daughter, Charista, was eating her sesame chicken, she got a text from one of her classmates. One of their mutual friends, a 13-year-old eighth-grader from Tottenville, was not so lucky. She was confirmed dead from Hurricane Sandy. Surely she was mistaken, I thought.

I logged onto SILive.com and, unfortunately, it was true. The young lady and her family didn’t evacuate their homes when Sandy hit our borough, as advised, because they had been looted after Hurricane Irene last year.

On the sidebar of the article was a report that two Staten Island brothers, ages 2 and 4, were separated from the mother by Sandy and have not yet been found, even though rescue workers were searching tirelessly.

Two minivans that were dredged up did not produce them. We said a prayer for them before we went to bed that night, still in the dark.

Wednesday was Halloween and my three daughters did not go trick-or-treating out of respect for the New Yorkers, especially Staten Islanders, whose lives were changed forever last week.

My kids told me they didn’t need any more candy when so much sadness was around them. They were more worried about their Lola Nars and Lolo Jess — my parents — who didn’t have electricity and heat, like most of West Brighton. I’d never been prouder of them.

They were sad that large trees smashed their friends’ houses in half, that they saw on the news that bad people were looting businesses in the wake of the destruction.

Even though I canceled the Halloween party at our house, Charista still extended an invitation to her best friend to come over, a break from the heartbreak of her Midland Beach home being ruined. She couldn’t come, as her family was busy searching for a rental place while they rebuild their home ... and their lives.

Amidst this chaos and post-Sandy horror, some good lessons have been learned. We realized that the family and friends we love and care about are the most important things in life, that everything else can be replaced.

We realized that life is short and precious and could be changed forever at any given moment, and must therefore be cherished and not taken for granted.

We realized that prayer is powerful and love is important all the time, but especially in desperate times of need, and that it is the greatest comfort, above all else.

We realized our time together as a family last week, with no electricity or fancy electronics, playing board games and enjoying conversation, were some of the best ever. We realized we should try to do it more often because we want to, and not because we have to.

Sandy reminded us that, even though no man is an island, our Island is tough, and its folks will survive.