Reconnected

Well, the game is still on. The offer I thought was coming and then assumed was not coming may still come. And this makes me feel relief. Until I get the offer. Or don't. I know my game.

In the meantime, I am making connections. And reconnections.

So here's the thing about Facebook - it can be very addictive, trivial, and a heavenly tool for procrastinators, but, it can also connect you to people you had lost. It is true that some people should stay lost, but usually those people know who they are. In any event, one of the many I have recently "found" is Jane.

Jane is this free-spirited Angelina Jolie-like beauty, bohemian, brainiac with a positively golden honey singing voice who was a very good friend to me when Anne died. She stepped into action and got the twins free diaper service for a year and was around quite a bit. As a matter of fact, Amanda called Jane "mommy" first, primarily because she heard Jane's son calling her that, but she clearly felt comfortable enough to do it. And I wasn't her mommy yet.

I met Jane when we were both in a 1987 Theatre West production of "A Little Night Music" (see above - she's on the left; me on the right). We stuck together after that.

Jane bakes pies. From scratch. Every Thanksgiving eve. She bakes enough to feed three armies and has all her girlfriends over to bake with her. I used to go. We would bake, and laugh, and drink too much, and dance in the kitchen, and make a horrible mess, but it didn't matter because housekeeping was never one of Jane's passions. People were.

Jane and her then husband Drew had amassed a huge group of artsy-fartsy friends (and I mean that in the most flattering of ways) - and I was one of them (in a "conformist" kind of way). They threw fun and intelligent parties. For her 30th birthday, out in the backyard all lit up with twinkle lights, there must have been 75 people there plus children. My girls were there. They don't remember because they were running around in diapers but they were caught up in the incredibly happy and creative energy of that evening. We each had to stand on a makeshift stage and perform something for Jane. Everyone was there - actors, writers, musicians, directors, artists, as well as a few sane people - and so we were entertained with song, dance, readings and letters to honor Jane on this night. It was full. I cannot tell you how terrifically fun and memory-worthy it was. It hearkened back to what I imagined were the days of the 20's and 30's, when people had "salons" or traded words at the round table of the Algonquin room.

Okay - so back to me.

I had lunch with Jane today. We guessed it had been about 10 years since we last saw one another - and it was probably more because I don't think Grace was born yet. In any case, we didn't have near enough time to catch up but it was wonderful to see her again, to talk to her again, to remember everything I have mentioned above and had forgotten about. And here is what I walked away with: I am so grateful for this time away from working and the corporate world. SO grateful. I would not have made time for this kind of re-connection. I was busy and it would have been inconvenient. And I don't think I would have thought it was important. But memories - good and bad - so easily fade and disappear. If you are not called to remember a person or who they were to you, what they meant to you, what they did for you, then their contribution in making you who you are is of little consequence. And I'm thinking that that is a very sad thing. If you let people go, you lose a lot of yourself. You cannot get old with old friends. And this is why you must keep them. Yeah Jane!

Make the time.

Under Water

About 4 years ago we were enjoying a vacation on Maui and had taken a catamaran to the small island of Lanai where the snorkeling is amazing. Usually. Except for the day we went. As often happens in the tropics, we experienced a bit of tropical weather and the ocean was rough. When we finally got to the designated area, with all our snorkeling gear, we were met by huge waves crashing right on the beach. Anyone with any experience swimming in the ocean understood that to get in without being hit you had to wait for the wave to crash and back in to the water as it retreated - before the next swell took speed. But Grace was a novice. She couldn't walk in her fins and she was very afraid to get in the water.

We were anxious to get Grace out beyond the waves so she could see the gorgeous tropical fish that we had remembered from a previous trip. The older girls and I were already out there, beyond the breaking point when I saw Bob, wearing his fins, pick Grace up, stand with his back to the ocean and begin to walk backward into the water. But he was slow and he did not see the enormous wave racing toward them. Grace, who was holding to his chest and looking over his shoulder, did. I too, saw what was about to happen - as well as the look of sheer terror on my little 6-year-old's face. I heard her scream just before a 6 foot wave crashed over them both and swallowed them whole. I swam as fast as I could to where they had been standing. They popped up several seconds later about 20 feet away. Bob was still clinging to Grace, and Grace - eyes wide open and still registering terror - looked like she had just been shocked into a coma.

I knew the kind fear she had. I had awakened from nightmares as a child like that. Where you open your mouth to scream and no sound comes out. It took us nearly a year to get her back into the water without a floating device. Even if she was only in knee deep.

I can tell you that as a member of the "formerly employed club" some days feel like that. The news is not helpful. Every newscaster, be they local or national, report all the latest unemployment numbers and then tell you how much worse its going to be tomorrow. Then the well coiffed talking head tells you how (s)he - at station WXYZ - wants to help all of us unemployed out there in TV Land find a job. They smile sincerely and you wonder how they do that. Then they cut to footage of the latest in an endless stream of "job fairs" being held in Long Beach or Torrance or City of Industry or anywhere other than local. Then the camera zooms to three men in khaki pants and polo shirts standing behind a booth for "Pep Boys Auto Parts and Service". Something tells me that there is no place for me along side Manny, Moe, and Jack.

I am really blessed. We're not in a place of panic. We can weather this for a good long time. Not necessarily comfortably, but we can weather it nonetheless. I am very aware that there are many living in tent cities - not unlike the days of Herbert Hoover - which is so hard to wrap my mind around. Life is going to look different moving forward - whether or not we see a full recovery. Nothing will feel as secure as it did before. I will be slower to spend and quicker to give. Awareness. There will be more of that.

In the meantime, when I have days like these, when it feels like a giant wave is about to overcome me, I will try to remember that someone is holding me and, while I do not mean to diminish the experience - especially for those who are desperate, we are stronger than our circumstances. In the end, while the wave can hit you, overtake you, disorient you, and leave you gasping for air - it is only water.

iPhone Dreams

And I just wanted a "Princess" phone. Which I never got , by the way. We all dream for a few things we will never have. This is one of hers.

Reality with Ann

I get daily emails from Ann Taylor. Actually they show up at about midnight every night but I'm splitting hairs. Now I love Ann Taylor and I know she is in trouble and I want to help her but I can't. I do not currently fit in her clothes. Not that I don't try.

Every morning I awake to my blackberry flashing red. There are usually a couple emails waiting for me, Facebook notifications, spam, and Ann. Taylor. And when I was skinny, she never gave me the time of day. I paid a lot of money for her classic clothes, clothes Audrey Hepburn would have worn, some of which are still hanging in my closet, waiting patiently for my body to find their way back to them. I never heard from her then. But now, she sends me daily reminders that she has amazing, beautiful things waiting just for me at 20% off! Even the new stuff. And, in denial of what the deep recesses of my mind knows, I click on the photo and see all the beautiful things and think: "That would look great on me". Were it not for the fact that I am not 30 or skinny or flawless anymore, it certainly would look great on me.

But I am undeterred. I still quite see myself as I was then. I am completely not kidding. And you know what? I know there are millions of other women who are blind to themselves - so get off my back! And off I go with my groovy plum colored, patent leather bag (from Ann Taylor) to the Oaks Mall (a truly beautiful mall as far as malls go) and I bee line straight to Ann Taylor to see these beautiful things for myself. I love the minimalist design of her stores. Blonde wood and lots of space. I go directly to the the display that stands right beyond the store entrance. This display speaks and it says: "Valri! Where have you been? We have a brand new designer we want you to meet. We can finally start the party!" And then I look at the tags. Bad party. $70.00 for a t-shirt. Oh please. (There was a day when I would not have blinked at that. There was a day when I owed Ann more than $1000.) But I have a 20% off coupon and I quickly calculate. That makes it $56.00. For a T-shirt. Pass. Pass forever.

Still, I must peek. I look at the sizes. They have 2 in size 6, 4 in size 8, 3 in size 10. That's it. Any larger sizes were either snatched up or were never there. I presume the latter. Why is Ann emailing me??

Pressing on, I go looking at the sale racks. In the larger sizes there is very limited selection. It is about this time that one of the lovely sales women walks up to me with a lovely smile and asks, lovely-ly, "Can I help you?" I am not fooled. I know that her "inner dialogue" (actor talk) sounds a little more like this: "Is she kidding? Does she own a mirror?"

And yes I do thank you. But it lies. However, the dressing room - in this economy - does not. Even on sale, I cannot overlook a fabric stretched too far.

What happened? I don't understand. I look exactly the same! I haven't gained any weight. True. I have not gained any weight. Since yesterday. Since 1999, pre-baby? Oh yes. Quite a bit.

There is incentive in this store.

Lose/Lose

Why is it that I always see the glass half empty, I always have buyers remorse, the grass is always greener elsewhere? I wish I just could KNOW what I want and be confident about it. Since I don't, every crossroads feels like a perpetual state of lose/lose. And as it happens life has put me (and millions of others) right in the middle of the 405/101 interchange. (For those not familiar with Los Angeles, this interchange is roughly the equivalent of hell.)

A week ago, I wrote about an offer I thought I was going to get. The interview went well; we were talking salary and benefits. I suspect that what I was asking was outside of what they expected to pay but they had said that my experience was of value to them and so I felt that they might make adjustments. I also knew they were seeing other qualified candidates (and there are many these days) but truly, my biggest fear was what I was going to do when I got the offer.

As of now, it appears I am not getting the offer. The publisher had indicated that he would get back to me by the Friday that just passed. So, OF COURSE, I am in a panic that I didn't get the job.

The truth is, I cannot work for less than the package I asked for. Its not about ego, its about realities. So in this case, there is nothing I could have done. But while last week I was feeling cavalier about the benefits of this job, today I am thinking how rare it is to be looking at a triple header: a place where you like the people, the job is interesting, and offers opportunity for success. Even if it is an hour way from where you live. And even if you do have to get used to getting up in the morning.

I am still in the running for another job I have interviewed for. This one offers a much more substantial package - it is a bigger company - but who knows if I will get that offer?

And while I didn't feel a hint of it in my recent interviews - in prior interviews (as well as those to come), the fact is not lost on me that I am old for this industry. Oh I know, no one discriminates based on age or sex or race or religion or sexual orientation. Except for when they do. And in years past, when thinking about the realities of my industry being youth obsessed, I wondered about cosmetic surgeries when I got to be this age. But now that I am this age, it feels weird to consider such a drastic measure for a job. I think I would become very resentful. To say nothing of how I would feel if I came out looking like Halloween. But people do it.

All I can say is that I don't think being born in 1957 is working to my advantage in this economy. If I'm not careful I might start feeling Willie Loman-ish.

On the other hand, also within this past week, I have been approached about 3 possible speaking engagements. And I have been given some encouragement about writing a book based on a previous speech I gave. So this is all going in the direction of "the dream". "Signs" a-plenty! But man, oh man! As you may have guessed, I'm scared to death about the possibility of getting "the dream" too.

Jump.

The "August Project"

Wish me luck. Seriously.

Our Time

One of Stephen Sondheim's least successful shows was "Merrily We Roll Along", based on the play by George S Kaufman and Moss Hart. It chronicles the lives of three people - backward. The show starts "now" and tells itself in reverse until the beginning - where we see the three friends just graduating from school and fully believing in all their hopes and dreams. It ran only 16 performances. The most famous song from the score is probably "Not A Day Goes By" (which you likely still have never heard of), but the finale of the show is an anthem for youth who are sparked with the thrill of a world of possibilities that has been beckoning, and one they can't wait to enter, even if it is with a bit of fear. Its called "Our Time" and its not a great song, but it is one of my favorite songs ever.

The orchestrations are what really resonate with me. There is a sense of sustained anticipation you hear in the strings. Chimes sound like dreams being unleashed, the brass and wind instruments sound like the comfortable, untried courage of the naive. Overall, it sounds respectful of believing.

Okay that was an embarrassing display of grandiose and romantic talk over a mostly unmemorable show tune - but to me, the song itself feels like promise. And I remember the feeling. It was grand.

Hopefully you've guessed that I am not getting all dopey about about a song. The fact is, I attended, along with my family, a bat mitzvah for the youngest daughter of one of my oldest friends in the world. It was surreal to look at my older daughters and her oldest daughter and think that Jackie and I were only a couple of years older than they are now when we met. When I count backward...

Never mind.

First of all I should say that Jackie is only one year younger than I but she looks virtually the same as she did nearly 30 years ago. So, by the way, does her mother. Excellent genes. But the point is that it isn't hard to look at her and be back in 1980 - 23 years old and just starting our "adult" lives. We worked for Kelly Services - the temporary help company - along with Meg and Peg and others who are mostly absent from my life, but still present in my heart. We did an awful lot of things I get really mad at my girls for doing now. We kept ourselves entertained by playing stupid pranks on each other at work (filling the receiver end of the desk phone with cold hand lotion comes to mind). Jackie would often crawl under her desk for a nap at lunch (such, apparently, were her nights). We wrote silly notes to each other, competing with each other to write in the teeniest handwriting imaginable in order to feign extreme humility. (We did not need reading glasses then. To read those notes today would require coke bottle glass). We thought we were hilarious. And in fact, we were. Jackie had a strand of pearls that she believed was inappropriate for her to wear until she was 30. I remember thinking she may as well throw them out than wait so long to have any use for them. We were idiots. But what the hell - it was "our time" and the world was all about us. We all had eternity ahead of us with nothing but doors wide open.

I know that as we were living them, our lives felt ordinary. None of us thought to ourselves: "Wow! We're living through disco!" or "This is the Reagan era. I wonder what's next." There was no next. There was just "now". Why would we ever think that "The Breakfast Club" or "Flashdance" would date us? We wore leggings over our jeans. We had lots of padding on our shoulders. We had big hair and bigger earrings. We went through a recession during the 80's. It meant absolutely nothing to me at the time. Our worlds were still very small back then. The dreams we dreamed were of a future where our circumstances changed but we didn't. I don't think either or any of us back then ever imagined a day when we would cherish our spanx or look in a mirror and ask: "What happened to my neck?"

And why should we have? How could we have? Every experience was new and made our hearts beat a little faster. We felt everything a little stronger. We were a little more fearful, but we had a little more courage. We drank champagne and ate brie and went to dinner parties in chic cocktail dresses. The music then, was written for us. The movies then, were made for us. The 80's were about us. And we believed, unconsciously or not, that it would always be about us. We dreamed of being in love, of being married, of having children. We dreamed of having wonderfully successful careers. A teacher, an actress, a businessperson. We dreamed of being homeowners. We dreamed of travel. And security. And happily, miraculously, we all got most of what we dreamed of. But it does look different than how we dreamed it and getting it felt normal. The luster of dreaming had worn off in the getting. Still, the lyrics of this song, hokey as they may sound, kept running through my mind that day:

Feel the flow, Hear what's happening

We're what's happening

Don't you know

We're the movers and we're the shapers

We're the names in tomorrow's papers

Up to us, man, to show 'em

So it was kind of strange, this bat mitzvah. I had one foot in the day and another in yesterday. And it was oddly disorienting. But then, as we were leaving, we chatted with Rick for a moment (Jackie's husband, who, by the way, was there from the beginning too) and he said something that brought everything around full circle for me. Looking at his family and then at mine, he observed: "I like that we all turned out okay".

Indeed we did. And I like that too. Dreams fulfilled.