No wonder she’s an expert on  lives in the past; she’s led so many lives in the present.

Dancer.  Actress.  Activist.   Author.  Documentarian.

She’s packed a lot into 78 years.

All of those lives were on stage—live—when Shirley MacLaine brought her one woman show to Carmel recently.

She just walks out onstage and plops into an easy chair, introducing her show by saying she wants us to feel as if we’re all just hanging out in the living room.

And that’s how it feels—as she shows a series of photos—-just talking and telling stories about them.

Seeing the pictures —professional and personal—that go back over her entire lifetime (at least this one) you realize what an extraordinary career—and journey she’s had.

Her big break came at 19 and seems right out of a movie or the new show Smash.  She was the understudy on Broadway for the star of Pajama Game;  one day the star broke her ankle; that night Shirley went on; the rest is history.

She tells stories about her parents, her brother Warren, her famous friends from Ellizabeth Taylor to Bob Fosse to Frank Sinatra and her Rat pack days to Fidel Castro.  And her movies—so many of them.  I can’t decide which of her roles is my favorite; though there’s no contest for my favorite scene.  Anyone who’s spent time in hospitals can relate to the scene when she loses her cool while Debra Winger is dying.  From what Shirley said, making Terms of Endearment didn’t endear her to its director Jim Brooks, although she won an Oscar for it.

After the presentation she offers to answer questions from the audience—-which she did with grace and good humor for almost 90 minutes—ranging  from questions about her early life to her love life to the after-life .  She even brings out a special guest to share the stage—who she describes as the  real love of her life—her dog.

These days she’s cut back on traveling the world to travel more “internally”—while living a quieter life in Santa Fe.   Doing her show, writing a new book, appearing on Downton Abbey and in Bernie, a new movie starring Jack Black —that’s her version of a quieter life.

All I can say is that I admire and aspire to have her energy and enthusiasm for life when I grow up old.

Unscripted, uncensored, unencumbered—no matter what you think about her spiritual quests or her politics,  she exudes intelligence and curiosity; she really is someone you’d want to hang out with in the living room.

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It sounds a lot like my story; but it’s also the story of Dina Ruiz—something we have in common besides living in Carmel.

Despite the similarities in stories, there are some MAJOR differences. I interviewed the star but married his manager;  Dina married the star himself—Carmel’s most famous citizen —Clint Eastwood.

After I got married I moved from Miami to Los Angeles, where I lived for years before moving to Carmel.  Dina did the opposite; remaining on the Monterey Peninsula, hundreds of miles away from everything Hollywood.

Until now.

Starting tonight she’s embracing Hollywood, as the star of her own reality series, Mrs. Eastwood and Company.  With occasional appearances by her famous husband; the show centers around Overtone, the  band Dina brought from South Africa and now manages, her 15-year old daughter Morgan, and her step-daughter Francesca—entirely shot here in the Carmel area.   In our sleepy little town this is big news.

Dina is engaging, earthy, down to earth—with a lifestyle that seems to be the flip side from that of another famous reality family.

For me this is a first.  I might be one of the few people who has never seen a single episode of any Real Housewives or any Kardashian shows—but I will definitely be watching the Eastwoods.  How about you?

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But I’m doing it anyway.

I can’t resist adding my two cents.  Or sense.  Or common sense.

The cover is meant to get attention and sell magazines; that’s clear.   Less clear is the debate it’s stirred up—–about making the right choices as mothers.

As if there are any.

As if decisions on where your child sleeps and how long you breastfeed will turn them into superior adults.  As if these choices should not be unique to every mother and every child.

The maternal instinct is so deep in our DNA;  being a mom used to be thought of as something that came naturally.  It must have been so much easier raising children when mother—and father– knew best.

This flap over the Time cover illustrates how much things have changed.

Today parenting is a minefield; a test we all want to ace—and endless people are ready, willing and entirely unqualified to tell parents what they should do with, for and about their kids.  Do you really want to take parenting advice from Kardashians celebrities?

With due respect to Dr. Spock, Dr. Brazelton, and now Dr. Sears, no  one has figured out a foolproof method of raising perfect children. Besides, there are no perfect children; or all children are perfect—depending on whether you view the glass half full or half empty.

So who do you listen to?

ME.  When it comes to parenting advice, I think some perspective is essential—which I have because I’m OLD.   Plus I can point to my kids as examples of what a great job I did.   I’m willing to take credit but truthfully it’s their choices– not mine–that have made them into the people they are.

That realization comes from perspective.  I had dutifully read a stack of parenting books before I gave birth, yet I still remember wondering how they could allow me to take an innocent baby home from the hospital when I had no idea what I was doing.  Maybe the smartest thing I ever did was to stop reading parenting books and learn by instinct—and by observing my children.

Motherhood is a jouney; a daily pop quiz; a constantly changing curriculum that requires learning on the fly year by year, minute by minute.

So from my perspective, here’s 10 points I’ve learned —so far:

1.  Believe in your instinct and your ability to make good choices.

2. You will make bad choices.   Get over it.  They will.  Kids are far more resilient than we are.

3. You know your child better than anyone else.

4.  Just when you have completely figured them out,  they will completely surprise you.

5.  The older they get , the less they think you know.  The older you get, the less YOU think you know.  ( This is one of the few issues on which you and your child will agree.)

6.  Your influence is essential but not everything.  It’s not always about you.  They might wind up on the couch anyway.

7. Most clichés about parenting turn out to be true.  You know how they say “Bigger kids, bigger problems?”  They aren’t kidding.

8.  I found this mantra helpful to repeat to myself:  You did the best you could at the time.  (This works best at least 5 years in retrospect.)

9.  Most Some of the time they won’t listen to  you.  But you should listen to them.

10.  If you want straight A’s as a parent, here are straight A’s:  Accept.  Appreciate.  Applaud.

Though I didn’t put it on the list, this is what I’d put at the top:  Have a sense of humor.  By the time she’s my age,  hopefully the mom and her son on the Time cover will have a great laugh about it.

Also posted on The Huffington Post

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Though we were not raised to be strictly observant Jews, he had been raised Orthodox; I knew that Orthodox Jews don’t accept inter–marriage; they even mourn for someone like me who marries out of the religion.  Still I never thought it could happen to me.

I never signed up for this….that’s for sure.

He was my only parent since my mother died at 41.   I admired and adored him; this experience ripped a hole in my heart.  At the time  I didn’t realize how deep the hurt was;  but I don’t think it was a coincidence that I was diagnosed with  cancer a year after the marriage.

Ultimately  cancer was the catalyst that allowed us to reconcile; he even came to stay with us in California; and met my new husband.  Though things were better, they were never the same;   I didn’t realize he was already in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s; and would die of it a few years later.

We never discussed my marriage and what had happened.

I received the latest novel for my online book club, not knowing the details in advance; as I got deeper into the story, I couldn’t help seeing the parallels to my own life.

I am Forbidden by Anouk Markovits is about two women,  raised as sisters within the Satmar sect of Hasidic Jews—two women who choose opposite paths.

Though the author has a clear and critical perspective, it’s fascinating reading that sheds some light on this very strict and secretive world; and shows the enormity of the spectrum that exists between people who nominally are practicing the same religion.

At the same time, in some ways it’s hard to read, as a feminist and as a Jew– to learn more about the marginalization of women; and the painful consequences that result from non-acceptance of the strict laws.

For me it’s hard to imagine anyone who would choose the dictates of religion over the human heart.   As a parent myself, I never really understood how my father could sever his relationship with me.  I still don’t.

This post is inspired by I AM FORBIDDEN by Anouk Markovits. I  received a complimentary copy of this book for review purposes. 

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Our daughter Alli said she imagined it as a surprise party —and wanted to make sure that he would love everything about it.

A couple months have gone by; memories of his pain and suffering have  faded.   Still it can be a challenge to celebrate a life that’s ended—-especially when he asked only that any memorial to him be  ”smiles and laughs”.  So we called it  ”Leave ‘em laughing”  and we wanted it to be fun.

You  know how things never go as you expect—one reason I called my blog” I never signed up for this...”—because no matter how much you try to plan, things don’t work out the way you imagine.

But sometimes they do.

Sometimes they turn out even better than you imagine.

If the guest of honor had been at his celebration, first he  would have seen posters– filled with hundreds of pictures from every phase of his life.

…mementoes from the certificate of his bris to his frat party pictures to his trips all over the world.

He would have seen a photo mosaic created from thousands of those pictures.

 He would have seen his friends gathered in one room—from high school friends who came from Chicago ….to the doctor who delivered our first child….to the guy who did the remodel of his house a couple years ago.

He would have seen centerpieces on every table, reflecting his favorite things.

He would have seen his two children talk about him, capturing the essence of their dad with poise and humor.

He would have heard big laughs, from all the stories and some of his best punchlines.

He would have seen the brilliant video created by his best friend Larry—that made everyone cry—but not as much as it made them laugh.

He would have seen everyone play a special version of his favorite show, created by Larry and personalized for Howard—even with the voice of the real Jeopardy announcer.

 Not every life had so much rich material to draw from ; but Howard was a colorful guy.  One friend told us afterwards: “It’s hard to get the combination of laughs, tears, joy, sorrow and humor just right…but you did it.”

There couldn’t have been a better way this year to celebrate his birthday—and him.

It was a day filled with laughs—and love.

Alli had it exactly right–her dad would have treasured every person, and every minute.  And no one would have laughed harder than Howard.  I hope somehow he knows that he really did “Leave ‘em laughing.”

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Pictures tell the stories of our lives—as these do, starting with this one.

Not everyone has a photograph to memorialize the moment a love story started.     I do– because Mel Brooks was there  when Howard and I met—and also came along on our first date a few hours later.

We spent the whole time laughing—a sign of what was to come.

 It was a whirlwind romance,  the kind you see in movies, the kind you read about—ours was in Liz Smith’s syndicated column when thanks to Mel, we got married 3 months after we met.

Even without words, our continuing story is captured in pictures:

From about this point  our story is captured in words.  Divorce.  Remarriage.  Cancer.

But  we share our children, so our story and memories are never separate, but shared.

Recently I’ve been absorbed in all those memories and stories as I’ve gone through the pictures that tell them—in preparation for the celebration of Howard’s life this weekend in Los Angeles.

Ironically, just as there’s a photo memorializing our beginning, there’s also one memorializing the end.  I won’t post it; but it’s actually the last picture of him, taken  just 3 days before he died.  In that one, he’s sitting in a chair, leaning his head back against me standing behind him.  Which is additionally ironic; because through our entire relationship, whether married or not, it’s me who leaned on HIM.

There are other photographs that really illustrate his legacy.   In many of them, a central theme of his life stands out—humor.  Not only in the comedy legends he represented in Hollywood, but in who he was—the twinkle in his eye, always laughing,  smiling, his personal mission seemed to be evoking a belly laugh from the people around him.  And he always did.

That’s why we’re calling his memorial tribute “Leave ‘em laughing”—it  seems fitting to leave him with what he gave us—laughter, and love.

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Not the typical raw materials of an artist.

But that’s what we used during a recent craft workshop at Anthropologie.

Somehow this was going to turn into Anthropologie’s celebration of Earth Day, a window display of ocean life.

Sounded fishy to me—I thought even Martha Stewart couldn’t make something beautiful out of this stuff.

 When I stopped by to see the window in progress they had moved on to corrugated cardboard.

Just a few days later…..

Not every craft project uses an actual craft.

The designer rescued a rowboat from somewhere, added some paint, some wax,

some penne pasta—a lot of creativity and a lot of hours.

I can’t even imagine how much time it must take putting the whole display together especially considering that my one hour contributed maybe 5 bubble wrap barnacles.  

It’s hard to capture the dramatic effect;  see if you can find the Q-tips, plastic spoons and coffee filters in the final result.

Perfect theme for the marine life on the Monterey Peninsula.  And Happy Earth Day to everyone!

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We meet in the middle— on the dance floor.  It’s date night;  the only show my husband and I faithfully watch together.  We’re both addicted and so is the rest of America.

Although I almost was tempted to skip  this season; I’d never heard of half the stars.   I figured they were desperate for new celebrities or I was completely out of touch.  

Turns out even if they’re not household words  at least  not in our household, this season’s cast is the best yet.

The one sour note came right away.

It was enough that Martina Navratilova got eliminated  first;  but I think the show’s producers owe her an apology for that costume.  She showed far more dignity than her outfit allowed —proving she is the ultimate good sport.

Still I have to forgive the producers even for that.  Because they managed to make me overlook the fact that Alec Baldwin recently got engaged.

His name sounds like a Jewish accountant– but no Jewish accountant ever looked like this.

Who cares if he can even count?

It’s time to translate some household words into Spanish—because two of them are now on the lips of every woman in America:  William.  Levy.

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We spent half of our time together trying to remember if we had our cellphones with us—and by the end of the weekend, we both lost things—her sunglasses and my iPad.

I didn’t identify her; (just call her “D”) but I wrote a post about this.  And another friend from high school, Gail, emailed me to ask who it was.  When they  saw each other afterwards, they  had a few laughs at D’s expense.

So now coincidentally Gail happens to be out in California, too.   (It sounds as if everyone from my high school is suddenly visiting California, I only wish it happened more often.)

She’s in town tonight; so I pick her up at her hotel and we go out to dinner.  I won’t even go into how great it is to connect with old friends—but it is.

Anyway, after dinner I drop her off at her hotel, I drive home, and I get a call from her hotel room 15 minutes later.   “I think I left my cell phone in your car.”

So I get my keys and go out to check the car.  I also take MY phone to call hers in case it’s in the car.  (I have a feeling this little routine might sound familiar to some people reading this.)  I turn on the lights inside the car, check under the seat, check everything.  I don’t make a sound  in case it was set on vibrate so I can hear it.  Nothing.  It’s not in the car.

While I’m checking the car, Gail is calling the restaurant.  We had looked at her pictures at dinner so we  know she had the phone then.  They claim it’s not there.

This is getting confounding.  Gail retraces her steps from where I dropped her off until she got back to her room.  Meanwhile I go back outside again to the car with my phone.  And I go through the same routine I just did—turn on the lights, check all over the car; and call her phone again while I’m out there.   Nothing.

I call the hotel again to tell Gail the bad news.  And then I try the restaurant.  By now it’s late and they don’t answer.  But I feel terrible about this and slightly guilty that it happened on my turf.  Again.

I call her hotel again (I’m now on friendly terms with the desk clerk) and I tell Gail I’m driving back to the restaurant where I’m sure they must still be cleaning up and I plan to go in and look around myself.

So I go back out to the car  and the first thing I do when I get in is to call Gail’s phone again.

And then a miracle happens.  I hear it ring—-so loud and clear as if it’s right next to me.  And it is.

HER phone is in MY purse.  (which I did not take with me when I went out twice before to check the car).

The great news is that unlike the  iPad and sunglasses; this story has a happy ending. For Gail, who got her phone.  And for me, who showed up at Gail’s hotel just now with the phone and found her waiting for me with some chocolate.

But there are still some lingering questions.

Such as:

Which one of us put HER phone in MY purse?  I know Gail thinks it’s me.  

Which friend is more embarassed right now—Gail or D?

And:  exactly how much did we drink with dinner?

The biggest question is whether any other friends from high school will ever want to visit me again now that I’m like a memory Typhoid Mary.

Probably that’s a moot point.  At the rate I’m going, pretty soon not only will I not remember what happened to my friends’ phones, I won’t remember them.

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It’s become a yearly tradition at any seder I give or attend; and also a yearly tradition on my blog.

For me, Passover means two words:  Matzo.  Roca.

Whether you celebrate Passover or not—and you don’t have to be Jewish, either—I consider posting this a public service.

MATZO ROCA

4 whole matzos

1 stick butter

1 cup brown sugar

16 oz. chocolate chips

½ cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 350.

Lay matzo in a flat jelly roll pan or  cookie sheet that has been greased well.  You can break the matzo to fit into the pan.

Melt butter and add brown sugar and stir till bubbly.

Pour over matzo and spread lightly with a spatula.

Bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes.

Take out of oven and turn oven off.

Sprinkle matzo with chocolate chips and return to oven for 1-2 minutes.

It will melt quickly.  Remove from oven and spread with spatula.

Sprinkle with chopped nuts if you want.

Chill in refrigerator.  Break up into pieces after it is cold.

Can be made in advance, I put it into Ziploc bags and keep in refrigerator.

Amount of servings:  Hard to estimate.  I multiply the recipe several times—so plan accordingly.   In my experience,  the recipe above serves one.

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