Diane Laney Fitzpatrick

Writer, blogger, author and humorist

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Who Loves Food? We Do

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My sisters and I have a special relationship. We want what’s best for each other, we support and praise each others’ accomplishments, but at the end of the day, I would be fine if we were all happy Buddhas.

“Fat and sassy!” That’s what our mom used to say whenever anyone asked, “How are you, Lil?” Our mom was also an amazing cook. So no big surprise that when her daughters get together, there’s some appreciation of food involved.

The Sisters came to California last month and we all spent a week together, husbands and all, and food and drink took center stage. It was a week of cooking, eating, drinking, wine tasting, flipping through recipe books, and talking about our mom’s signature dishes. Some entire conversations were a round-robin of each of us taking turns saying “What are you getting?,” “Does anyone want a bite of this?” and “Remember that recipe for _____” and “Not to sit at one meal and talk about the next, but what are we doing for dinner/happy hour/breakfast/lunch?” [Read more…] about Who Loves Food? We Do

Two Non-Hikers Walk Into a Bar

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If two people are less worthy to go to a national park than my husband and me, I’d like to meet them. We would have to meet on a flat, paved surface within fifty yards of a margarita machine but I’d still want to see them for myself, face to face, because I doubt they exist.

We went to Yosemite last weekend and it was just an El Capitan-sized reminder that we don’t deserve nature. We don’t know the first thing about how to rough it. I’m surprised the ranger who took our entry fee didn’t add a surcharge for bringing down the overall level of outdoorsy-ness of one of the wonders of the world.

We are the first ones to order the large non-organic coffee with artificial flavors, the only ones without hand carved walking sticks and Crocodile Dundee hats, and the first ones to proclaim it’s five o’clock somewhere and hit the bar. [Read more…] about Two Non-Hikers Walk Into a Bar

I Relate to Midge

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Barbie’s in the news again and it has everyone scratching their heads. Why is Mattel working so hard to keep a 62-year-old fashion doll relevant? Shouldn’t it be normal for girls to move on to a doll that their great-grandmothers didn’t play with?

I mean, I love the fact that Barbie and the gang is still around. But her handlers are working so hard.  Barbie has been seen wearing a hijab. In a wheelchair. She took up fencing. She dressed up like Frieda Kahlo (although that may have been due to coincidentally forgetting to tweeze her eyebrows on the same day she went to Paint-n-Sip). Last month Barbie had the gall to Tweet out her last name. Most of us didn’t think she even had one.

And the jobs she has. I know it’s hard to pick one or two things you want to be when you grow up, but Barbie has been everything from an aerobics instructor to an architect, a U.S. presidential candidate, and a pediatrician with a side job at The Gap.

To what lengths will she go to convince us she’s just a regular gal?

For comparison, take Midge. What’s she doing while Barbie is out there trying to out-Kardashian everyone? I’ll tell you what she’s doing. She’s doing regular girl stuff. Putting on a one-piece and laying out by the little blow-up pool. Slipping into a baggy capri and going on a picnic with Alan. She’s had the same babysitting job for 45 years. She remembers to tweeze her eyebrows, and there’s evidence she wears her retainer every night.

Yes, the relatable one was Midge. And no one identified more with Midge than me. [Read more…] about I Relate to Midge

A Detention Full of Firsts

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I saw a Facebook quiz the other day that almost made me set aside my draconian ban on Facebook quizzes. The questions were all about firsts. It made me think of newborn puppies and toddlers, shiny new shoes and hope. And I thought, how much trouble could I get in taking this?

Here’s how much.

“Who was your first grade teacher?” Not a problem. Mrs. Weimer.

“Whose wedding were you in the first time?” This is fun, isn’t it? My cousin Sandy’s. I was a midget flower girl, 6-years-old with a ratted updo and a petal pink chiffon dress. I believe one of the bridesmaids put a little lipstick on me.  Sandy, thank you and I’m sorry.

“First movie you remember seeing?” Easy. Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I had a mother who invented laissez faire parenting when I was born. Every evening she would walk into the living room where I was watching TV and say, “Diane, time for bed.” And I would mutter something about one more minute and she would go into the kitchen and I would start watching the Nine O’ Clock Movie. I got more skilled at putting her off as I got older, so that by the time I was 11 or 12, I was finishing the Nine O’ Clock Movie and getting most of the way through the Late Night Movie. More than once I was creeping up the stairs to the accompaniment of the  Star Spangled Banner.

And then I got to this question: “When was your first detention?” and lights started flashing in my head, memories came flooding back, complete with what I was wearing, what all of my female teachers were wearing, and I started down a path where my urge to tell the story of my first detention became overwhelming. The whole scene was now in my head and I could write an after-school special complete with grainy video and vintage ’70s fashions. [Read more…] about A Detention Full of Firsts

It’s My President’s Portrait and I’ll Cry If I Want To

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You know someone’s had a bad day when the white lady is crying alone in front of the Obama portrait on the anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination. 

It wasn’t the first time I had gotten emotional about 44 and it certainly wasn’t the first time I had cried in a museum. The Pulitzer Prize winning photographs at the Newseum have reduced me to a puddle of mascara and snot. And I just keep going back. And again messes are made, authorities are summoned, and warnings are issued. It’s her. Cryface McBlubber at 3 o’clock, just left Tim Russert’s Office and is heading into First Dogs. Could be trouble. Follow the Kleenex trail. 

The National Portrait Gallery, though, seems to go out of its way to play with sensitive types like me. Described as “an historic art museum portraying people of remarkable character and achievement,” it’s actually a very troubling place for emotional people. To get to Obama’s celebrated portrait, you have to walk through two exhibits: “The Struggle for Justice,” showcasing Dr. King, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and others  “who worked to achieve civil rights for disenfranchised or marginalized groups;” and “The Sweat of Their Face,” portraits of American laborers. If you think you have a bad life under current circumstances now, by the time you are looking into Barack Obama’s plant-encrusted face, you will want to walk straight to the nearest hospital and donate all your organs. [Read more…] about It’s My President’s Portrait and I’ll Cry If I Want To

I Want to Do All the Things

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I’ve had a longtime fantasy that I am going to tell you about, even though it’s embarrassing.

(No, not that fantasy.)

Here goes:

I am sent to some faraway exotic land —

(No, not that one either)

— where I’m in a very large community of English speaking families, but I’m the only one who has time on her hands and I’m put in charge of things I have no business even dipping my toe into. But because there’s no one else to do all these things — I think they’re all busy working on whatever project has us all in this place to begin with — I get to do all the things no one else has time for. The fun stuff. [Read more…] about I Want to Do All the Things