Girls' Night Out

So last week, out of the blue, I get a Facebook notification from Jane that Leslie is going to host a Girls' Night Out. She invited a smallish group of us who were all, at one time, connected through Theatre West.

Uh. Okay. I'm in.

Theatre West is the oldest membership theatre in Los Angeles, if I am correct, and it was founded years ago by Betty Garrett and several other renown actors back in the 60's. At various times its membership roster has boasted such names as Richard Dreyfuss, Paul Winfield, Sally Fields before their careers took off. I think even Jack Nicholson was there for a second. More recently, Chazz Palminteri wrote and produced "A Bronx Tale" there - and it gave him his career. I was there at the time and it was exciting to see it unfold. And Leslie jump-started her career there with an hilarious play called "Love of a Pig". I will never forget seeing it the very first time they put it upon its feet. I did not have any major expectations before it started but it was clear she had a hit and it met with a standing ovation by the entire company that night. (A sidebar - I stepped into one of the roles of that show for a couple of performances when one of the actresses got ill. I was dating a bit of a pig myself at the time and he came to see me in it. After the show he told me that I was not good in the play and that he thought I was untalented. I broke up with him immediately but the happy ending was that I got cast as a "guest" on two episodes of the sitcom "Wings" as a result of that performance. So there, you sh-thead. Wherever you are.)

We were all performing in plays and musicals during those years - going to L'Express at 12:00 a.m. after rehearsals for wine and baked brie and cigarettes. We all fell in love a few times back then. And we all had our hearts broken too. And all the while, we kept pursuing a dream and it was, for the most part, fulfilling. You never really feel it when its happening, but retrospectively, it was a very exciting time.

Anyway, this was back in the 80's and 90's and it has been years since we were together. I have only recently reconnected with Jane and Sheila and I hadn't seen Leslie or Anne in nearly 20 years. I wondered if we would have anything to really talk about after all this time.

Apparently, yes we did.

Six were invited but one (Elise) had to bail because she had a table read of a movie she is doing. I thought that was exciting. The remaining five of us assembled at Leslie's "groovy chic" house in the valley - one she recently remodeled. I loved her aesthetic; both design and color. (The bathroom is spectacular - who knew that lighting could set a mood in that room?) There was way too much food (which I politely consumed all night long). There were mojitos as well as wine and me with my cranberry juice and sparkling water. Jane brought her iPod with an eclectic mix of everything wonderful. After many hugs and kisses and "you-look-exactly-the-same's" (on second thought, I didn't hear that...), we moved on to the deck and commenced pow-wowing. And it was SO FUN!!!

Sheila and I met 31 years ago when we were both 21, in the restaurant in the Travelers building in the mid-Wilshire district of Los Angeles. We had both just come to L.A. to be actresses and had jobs that paid the bills in that building. We were two of the four founding members of a kitchy singing group called "The Custom Cakes" and performed together for a few years, developing a small but loyal mostly gay following. We were bridesmaids at each other's first weddings. Our friendship was up and down and we just sort of drifted, with some hurt feelings I seem to remember, about 20 years ago. We reconnected about a year ago at a "Cakes" reunion party and picked up where we left off - but without the drama. She has had a successful career as an actress - you may not know her name but you've no doubt seen her on TV and on film. Most recently she has had a recurring role on Mad Men.

Jane I've written about before. She is the southern beauty renaissance woman: actor, musician, writer, doctor, activist, eternal hippie (but the cool kind). I think she was probably the initiator of this get-together. Jane loves a party. She kept sending emails that reminded us of the event. She phrased them as a "places call" you get when you are waiting backstage to know when the show is about to start: "51 hours to places. Thank you." "26 hours to places. Places in 26 hours. Thank you." Very funny.

Anne I hadn't known well at the time. We were friendly with one another but our circles didn't connect at the same time. She was highly regarded as a fine actress though, and as I knew that I was just this side of being a real talent, I was a little intimidated and so I kept a self-imposed, respectful distance. She married anther actor from Theatre West and 20 years, three sons and home school later, she is still deliriously in love with him. Either that or she is highly medicated. But I rather think that is not the case. She tears when she talks of him. Wow. She also had an amazing story of how her sister miraculously recovered from stage 4 cancer. The doctors can't explain it. I loved that Anne could. We share that kind of faith. Who knew.

And Leslie - I was the most excited to see her after all this time. Leslie has had a fairly awesome career. She has worked as a writer for a number of televisions shows. She was a co-producer on "Everybody Loves Raymond" and she wrote the wonderful film "Penelope". We were "apprentices" together at Theatre West, before becoming full fledged members. She was about 23 I think. Leslie is a very unique personality - extremely funny - with a memorable speaking voice. There was never anything dishonest or disingenuous about Leslie. She tells it like she sees it. But what I remembered most about Leslie was her unassuming manner and her true kindness. Her whole body telegraphs what's in her head and if she was concerned or empathetic you could see it in her stance. Because our paths took us to different places within the theatre, Leslie and I never got to be close friends but she was - and is - the real deal.

So imagine this group of interesting people as we sat on the deck for 7 hours (at one point, wrapped in quilts) and shared stories and ate dinner and revealed secrets and reminisced and confessed our frailties and laughed and laughed and laughed and - at the risk of sounding sentimental and hokey - loved each other. (I sound like Jane.) But I really truly did feel a full circle kind of connection - very cool.

I am struck by how we, as women, truly start coming into our own at about this age. We've still got a lot of time ahead of us but more than enough years and experience behind us to offer perspective and confidence about who we are - regardless of whether or not we are exactly where we dreamed we'd be - where it seemed so important to be back then. There was no competition in this group - as there may have easily been 20 years ago. Instead, there was camaraderie of truly wonderful, interesting people.

Sometimes its absolutely wonderful to be 52.

Thanks

I just have to say how incredibly wonderful it is to know that there are people who pray for me. With all my heart - thanks!

The Best Cleaning Solution I Have Ever Found

Three days of Celexa later I am beginning to find my old self, pull my shoulders down from up around my ears where they have been hanging out, and relax a little bit. Which means, its time to clean the house.

Yesterday, I had lunch with an old friend whom I had not seen for 16 years when we were in a terrific show together. She is great fun but that is not the point. She is fun and organized, which proves you can be both. She has a lovely home in Burbank, which she says she always keeps clean and comfortable. I was there once or twice all those years ago and I remember it. It was very neat and comfy. And she was fun back then too. So I asked her about it and she said that she can't be in a messy home because it makes her head crazy too. Which is exactly how I feel - so judging by the condition of my house, I have been crazy for a while.

My husband, Prince Bob, has been so good and he has kept the insufferable kitchen very clean and things generally picked up. And Jenny too - she is turning into something of a housekeeper. But there is dust. And laundry. And bathrooms. And linens need to be changed. And days and days and days of junk mail to be sorted through and tossed. Which means there is garbage too. And vacuuming. And probably three large bins of things left hanging around - like shoes and sweaters and tweezers - that need to find their way back to their proper places. Not that I remember what their proper places are anymore. And the absolute worst room in the entire house is my bedroom - where a week ago I pried my fake acrylic french-tip nails off and left them - ghoulishly - on my night stand. Gross. Truly.

So it appears, I have been off my game for a long while. Because while I knew my house was a mess, I didn't know it was this big of a mess. And I can tell you that I have not been fun.

So tomorrow, I have to get up early and focus on one room at a time. And hopefully, when I am finished, my house will reflect my newly re-organized mind - the one that is getting less obsessive on every tiny twinge I feel internally.

Who knew that Celexa was such a great cleaning agent? I think I'll put it right next to the Windex.

She Lives!

So I had the doctor appointment this morning. I have to say I really like my doctor. She's new but I have a lot of confidence in her. And the whole staff is so friendly and they actually seem to enjoy their work - from the doctors to the receptionists. For those in the Conejo Valley - they are the Arroyo Oaks Medical Associates. (There's my first plug!)

Anyway, blood tests, and x-rays, and EKG and lab work later, it appears I am going to see tomorrow. I do have another appointment for an ultrasound in a couple of weeks but I am reasonably assured. And beyond that: she gave me another prescription for Celexa!!!

Now I am going to tell you why I am harping on my health for the second day in a row and then I'll walk away from the subject - but I do think it is important because I know many people who suffer from depression or anxiety.

There are a gazillion reasons why people get depressed or feel anxious (and anxiety is a form of depression) and some of them are completely legitimate. But when it takes you over, as it has done with me in the past, as it was threatening to do again recently, and it interferes with your living and your behavior changes and you struggle to get through a day, attention must be paid.

I started having depression as a teenager and it took all sorts of different forms. Initially, it was paranoia and I spent a crazy amount of time worrying about being followed or watched. Or doomed. (????) I knew it was nuts but I felt it none the less. Later, I just had a general black cloud thing happening and I could sort of get stuck there. With kids, this depression turned into irrational anger (I could go from laughing to yelling in a New York minute). I had counseling for - EVER - spent a load of bucks and nothing really changed for me. My faith helped me more than I can say as I began to practice it more and more and "listen" to what I felt God was telling me. But I could not altogether shake the dark pit.

Eight years ago, at a routine appointment, my doctor found a small lump in my left breast. A mammogram and ultrasound later I was assured that this was not a cancer but I wanted it OUT! I insisted on surgery and they removed a small mass of "fatty tissue" (a bit of humiliation but it was worth it). However, all my anxiety, all my depression, all my anger (well most), was redirected to my health and I became something I had never been in my life. A full blown hypochondriac. For years and years I was certain I had breast cancer. After my dad had colon cancer, that became my focus and for the last year, it has been ovarian cancer. In addition to MS or other degenerative illnesses. Again, I know its is nuts - but when you are a hypochondriac you can know that you are fine but the grip of sheer panic (and that is the word that best describes it) never leaves you.

Doctor appointments are a horror. You are so terrified to get test results. And if they tell you you are fine, you believe they missed something.

The truth is, hypochondria is a mental illness.

I won't write a book about my experience here but I will say that I lived in fear that I was dying each day and whatever strength I had was set upon acting as normal as possible. It was exhausting. And it was worse during the times when I was alone. It is a cancer of the mind. That is the best way to describe it. And it is painful and it took its toll. There was literally nothing that happened - a little twitch, a tiny pinch or pain - that that I didn't turn into stage 4 cancer or heart failure or some sort of degenerative disease. It was all consuming and eventually I didn't have the energy to find happiness. So I would go to work and routinely come home, go to my room, shut the door and shut down. For days and days on end. I cannot remember this but my family tells me I missed an entire Thanksgiving one year - never coming to the table at all. Over the years, I tried many medications but none of them worked for long or at all. And the side effects could be intense.

Finally, in 2007, my dear friend Candace gave me a miracle - a referral to a top psychiatrist at UCLA who could not take me on but, as a favor to her whom he knew professionally, agreed to meet me for two or three visits. The first time I was in his office he spent two hours asking me questions and making notes. I did not fill out any questionnaires, which is all I ever did with previous doctors for them to determine what to prescribe. His questions were led by my answers. After a very revealing first visit, he told me what he thought and told me he would give me a prescription for Celexa - something I had not tried. He was a good doctor who knew his business. It changed my life.

I thank God for it - I really do. If my story sounds familiar - get a good doctor and get better. For real.

Consider this a public service announcement.

Dead Woman Walking

I have a doctor appointment in the morning. It is a physical. Which means, of course, I am dying.

As I have mentioned before, I am a practicing hypochondriac and this is what I do before any and all doctor appointments. But I am going because at the end of December, the government assistance program for COBRA will run out and if I remain unemployed I will have to move over to a catastrophic plan - one that carries a $5,000 deductible. So if I am going to require any life-saving surgeries or treatments, I need to have it over by Christmas.

So I am preparing myself. I have to say that it used to be much worse. I would work myself up into a non-functional frenzy a full month before any doctor appointment. The hair would stand on the back of my neck and I would obsess and pray like mad. It is a horrible and impossible way to live. And I did it for many years until a wonderful psychiatrist gave me a prescription for Celexa. I got on that miracle drug and returned to the world of the rational and sane. But I took myself off it a year ago and now I am thinking that at this doctor appointment, I should probably ask her to prescribe it to me again because I am feeling a little too afraid of what could be going on inside of me.

I suppose that there is some rationale for believing they could find something to be concerned about - in spite of the fact that I had to do a series of tests to change life insurance companies a couple of months ago and they accepted me. But currently, in addition to any form of female cancer, I expect to find heart disease and brain anyerism. Of course I know that while they may find something, it is unlikely that they will find all of it. In fact, while the possibility exists that I could have any number of things, what is more likely is that they will tell me to lose weight and exercise or I will get something. Still, I am idling in "the world of what if" and it is not a pleasant place to be.

By the way, in case you can't imagine it, "the world of what if" is the world where I die and somehow life goes on without me. And its been done. Just not by me. Yet. And in spite of the fact that I believe in heaven, I'm not in a hurry to leave this life just yet. And of course I have little control of the inevitable. And as a control freak...you get the idea.

So my head keeps telling me I'm okay. And it is also telling me that if I ever do have some problem it is better to know sooner than later. And it is also telling me that most things have treatments, and medicines, and cures even. And God keeps telling me that He is enough. For anything.

I sincerely hope that you don't stop reading this blog because you have decided that I am highly unstable. The fact is, there are many of us out there in your midst. Anxiety is a horrible disease. I am saying a blanket prayer for anyone who suffers from it. And perhaps you'll return the favor.

Note to self: Celexa.

What I Am Learning. Huh.

Periodically, I go back and randomly read some of what I have posted previously. Today, I read them all (yes, I certainly do have a lot of time on my hands!) and I am beginning to see a picture.

Early on, I did a lot of talking about what is next, fear of change, needing a purpose, leaps of faith and what I really wanted for the next (hopefully many) years. Back in July, I wrote something I called "Fear of Jumping". I wrote about having known the life of being served but now,I felt I probably needed to learn about serving someone to find some fulfillment. And then, as is my special way, I forgot all about it.

However, my very dear friend upstairs did not. And in fact, I am looking back and can see where He has subtly been putting "service opportunities" in front of me for a while now. And, because I have the time - endless amounts of it - I have stepped in, if for no other reason than I have no excuse not to.

Now look, I'm no hero. But I have been praying for a "heart transplant" for some time. My internal "empathy switch" has never worked so well; compassion often seemed to elude me. And this has been a secret a shame for a long time - something I could never really admit to - except to the few who sort of figured it out on their own. It wasn't that I was a bad person. But my focus, for whatever reason, was always on myself - I always operated on survival mode. I could certainly "be there" for someone, but unless their problem involved me personally, I didn't carry it. Not that I want to. I have enough things to worry about - but understanding is what I think I am really talking about here. I couldn't understand. As such, it was kind of hard to feel what I think most people feel.

In walks unemployment. And I have months to consider all this stuff. And low an behold, I am needed by someone: an acquaintance who I ordinarily would have made promises to that were nothing more than gestures. Someone whose challenges would have scared me to even be around. Someone whose life was really turned upside down. She is recovering from a massive stroke. Without much thought, I made a commitment to her. I see her every week. I listen and try to encourage and take her out. And surprisingly, I think I'm getting as much out of it as she is. I don't get scared when I get a phone call from her. I know she needs assurances, and I don't feel at all that I am going to suffocate. I like her. I really do. And I really look forward to spending time with her - even though communication takes a bit of effort. She is a gift. To me. She is a new friend of mine. And in addition to friendship, I feel I understand. Huh.

Similarly, I find I am going a little further with the kind of help I would normally offer. When a another friend of mine came home for the hospital after a really major surgery, instead of dropping by the market to pick up ready-made food to bring on my way to visit, I contacted my ex-husband (oh yes, there is an ex and he'll show up in these posts eventually), and asked him for his chicken split pea soup recipe. I went to the store and bought all the stuff and made my own stock and made this soup from scratch. For her. And the only reason I am telling you this is because I had to stop in the middle of it and say to myself: "Wait a minute. I don't do this." But I want to do it because I know this is scary and difficult for her and I understand. Huh.

I have been asked if I could volunteer my time and services for some non-profits I have peripheral involvement with. I immediately said yes. Because right now, philanthropies are in real need of help. And I do understand. Huh.

It seems that every time I turn around, I am getting a call or an email - asking me to help or talk or do - and I am totally not freaking out! Huh!!!

Okay the point here is not to boast about how wonderful I am. In fact, many of you are probably thinking: "what in hell is she talking about?" What I am trying to say is that this is, for the most part, new for me. New in that I'm not thinking about any of it first. New in that I'm not weighing the consequences of getting involved before the decision to jump in. New in that I'm not frightened to be needed more than I might need. Good God! (Literally!) I'm 52 and I think I'm - can I say it? - growing!!

And I have to say - I have nothing to do with it. It is happening to me and I think I am supposed to be getting this in the grand scheme of things. And I find this oddly encouraging in that it makes me think that I am on a path that will, in fact, take me somewhere new. My friend who is recovering from the stroke seems to think so too. She makes a circle gesture to her heart, points to me and says: "Big things coming". I believe her.

Huh.

The Insidious Black Hole

We all know of the mysterious black hole that sucks one of each pair of socks we throw into the dryer into the abyss. I do not know who or what is responsible for this phenomenon but apparently these holes are multiplying because something in this house is sucking up keys and cell phones and nail clippers and stuff like that. Oh my lord - and glasses!!!!! It is maddening!

I just set my glasses down. 15 minutes ago when I got home from taking Grace to school. Black hole sucked them straight up. Gone. I don't know if they got sent to some parallel universe where the other "me" (am I employed there?) is in need of them for a while or what, but I know I will be spending the next several hours looking for them until they magically turn up in a suspiciously obvious place.

I occurs to me that maybe they got sucked up and randomly dropped off at someone else's house. Have any of you seen my glasses?!?!? If you find them, please let me know. And check around for my husband's cell phone while you're at it. We're losing our minds over here.