At a Loss for My Own Words

I don't write much these days. I'm at a loss for words. Fancy that.

But that doesn't mean there is nothing to say. The past 3 months have been eventful to say the least but I find myself straining for the time to put it all down. And I'm not feeling particularly creative these days. Still...

It is well worth the effort to state that we have been on the receiving end of a miracle. Last week we went to Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore to see Dr. Hal Dietz. Back in January I wrote of his research in the area of connective tissue diseases. He believes that a significant treatment he is studing now will be widely used within a few years. My twins, as I have written before, have vEDS - or Vascular Ehlers Danlos - a life threatening connective tissue disease. It took the life their birth mother, Anne.

While researching Marfan Syndrome, among other disorders of this kind, Dr. Dietz discovered that the gene for Marfan itself was not the cause of all the damage. What it did was trigger the body to over-produce an enzyme that was eating away at the tissue. With Marfan it is the heart specifically. In Ehlers Danlos, it is the entire vascular system. But all indications are that they operate in a very similar fashion. He further discovered that a widely used medication for high blood pressure, when delivered in large doses, blocks the enzyme and, in the case of Marfan in mouse models, opened the pathway for normal cell regeneration which ultimately allows the body to repair itself. While study is underway for this drug's effect on vEDS, all indications are that it will perform the same way. My twins are now on the medication. And equally miraculous is the fact that their CTA scans and echocardiograms came back normal at this point in their lives, save one vascular episode for one of them that will be monitored but is not cause for tremendous concern right now. And I believe that this is it.

As I have said before, I believe God told me 11 years ago (when they were diagnosed) that they would be alright; that they would not die of this horrible disease that took the lives of so many people in this family. I am alternately overwhelmed by the enormity of this blessing from God and not surprised by it at all. Because I have felt in my heart this whole time that something WAS coming. It just was a matter of waiting. On God's time. And it appears that last week in Baltimore, God's time had come. And so many people have been praying for it.

So I am going to go way, way , WAY out on a limb here and do something I have never done before. I am going to share a "conversation" I had with God. I need to state emphatically that I do not claim that God "speaks" to me - like say, scripture. But sometimes I talk and then I "listen" and I write down what comes into my head and my heart and sometimes it sounds like drivel but usually is sounds like it is something I need to hear. And all I can tell you is that it doesn't feel like it is from me. It feels as though I am taking dictation as I write the words - without thought, for the most part, from me. Not like I was in a trance or anything like that - but just like I was writing down what someone else was saying to me. So with that big disclaimer - I talked to God about what just happened here with the girls and this is what I think He said. And I wrote it down as I heard it:

I am the Great I Am. Do not slumber in your faith. Do not walk in your sleep for the Spirit is at hand and He will do mightier things than those you have seen. Miracles abound everywhere you look - find them and bolster yourself for I am not silent. I am active and working in all things - and mighty things you shall see and you shall claim them in my name and point to Me as the source. Do not be lulled by the explanation of "science and brain" - who is the author of those? What you take for granted would be viewed as unfathomable miracles in days gone by. Again, in My time. The challenge is to see Me is what has become routine. Have faith and understanding, your Father is at hand. Wake up! Revive! For the greatest miracle of all is the miracle of personal salvation - let the Spirit take hold. It will become a tangible thing in your soul, your heart. You cannot know me unless you seek, unless you speak, unless you invite, unless you prepare.

So there it is. To a lot of the people who read this I will probably sound crazy - or at least deluded. But even if I am, I believe God gave my girls a miracle - in the form of research and science and brilliance. But He was behind it all. And I am eternally and abundantly grateful.

Angst in the Dressing Room

You are never uglier than when in a department store dressing room.

I don't care how beautiful you are - or aren't - you are just going to suck in a department store dressing room. With the harsh, florescent, overhead lights shining on you in a closet sized space casting shadows over your body and the pasty neutral paint that blends into your skin tone - regardless of your skin color, there is no hope for a positive outcome.

Every blemish, every dimple, line, crease, bump or lump is magnified and negatively enhanced. I believe they use refurbished carnival fun house mirrors. And even if you do your hair really cute and put on perfect makeup - you are going to look like hell.

And because the experience is so awful, many of us wind up buying things that really don't look great on us. Because even a burlap sack is going to make us look better than we do standing in front of the mirror in just our underwear in a dressing room. Once we're home and try it on in front of our own reasonable mirrors, we can see that the item was "on sale" for a reason.

And you've heard a million times of the painful experience of trying on bathing suits. It's really bad - but not as bad as trying on bras.

And that's why we buy so many shoes.

Today is My Birthday and I Am Forty-Thirteen!!!

How can this baby be 53? This photo is of me when I was about a year old and also, apparently, a little boy. I have been staring at this photo - and wondering how it is possible that I have had a whole life between the time this photo was taken and today, as I sit at my computer in my pink fluffy bathrobe with my cup of coffee and blackberry close beside.

There is comfort in knowing that everyone else from the high school graduating class of 1975 - yes 1975! - is also in their extremely late 40s. Or celebrating the 23th anniversary of their 30th birthday.

Or 53.

It really doesn't bother me to be 53. Much. But I have to wonder at the fact that it is highly improbable that I have another 53 in me. And that is weird - that one day, the world will actually spin - without me in it. Or rather, technically, with me in it - but 6 feet in it and not as an active participant.

So I have begun this personally significant morning ironically, by pondering my own mortality. But before I have a chance to go too deeply in the wrong direction, iTunes jumps in to save the day by presenting me with George Harrison, who reminds me: "Here comes the sun". (Doot 'n doo dah...)

As quickly as George can say "the ice is slowly melting" I am refocused on more productive thoughts and I think about what I am doing at this very moment - writing a post for my blog. It occurs to me that probably everyone of us has a book in us. My life has been a real roller coaster but the ride has been, for the most part, memorable. One year ago today, I was luxuriating at the Ojai Valley Spa with a day of treatments that had been given to me by my girls for my birthday. In this peaceful state of mind, reading a book called "The Dream Giver", I decided to start a blog to sort of put on paper all the things going through my head as I dealt with the loss of my job. I went home and googled "how to start a blog" and on June 22nd, posted my first entry. Along the way, I have picked up some readers who have, they tell me, related. And that is really great and validating. But the best thing about it is that I now have a years worth of personal reflections that my girls will have. And maybe it will mean something to them. I have a little handmade book of paper designs made by my grandmother in 1906 when she was 6 years old. And I treasure it. My kids may not care but I think they will. I would have given anything to have had something like this from my mom. Or my dad. Maybe he still will.

So today I am a year older and my blog is a year old. Maybe I'll keep writing until I am forty-twenty. Or maybe forty-thirty. And so, you may be thinking: "Oh will she ever shut up?" Well, so long as I am in my forties, no, apparently.

"So Pathetic"

I took Grace to see the Tony Award winning Lincoln Center production of "South Pacific" last night at the Ahmanson Theatre in downtown Los Angeles. She enjoyed the dinner we had at the outdoor cafe just outside the theatre (see photo). I think she enjoyed the play too - although I did catch her more than once playing with her fingers in the darkened theatre. One can hardly blame her. While the show was ground-breaking for its time and boasts some of the most beautiful songs ever written for the theatre, it is three hours long. It also boasts a script so weak that no production, however wonderful, can lift the dialog off the paper. The extremely white paper. So it may not surprise you to hear that actors who have been in (or seen) too many productions of "South Pacific" frequently refer to it as "So Pathetic".

Nevertheless though, I felt myself awash with chills several times last night. "Chills" is how I personally rate the effectiveness of a show. And the musical numbers were nothing short of astounding. And for the first time in many, many years - I actually missed being on the stage.

I have never really regretted not pursuing a career on the stage. When I was in my late 20's and really had to make a choice, I needed to decide between personal fulfillment and actually making money. Money won. And money gave me a life I am content with. And I suppose you could say that I am personally fulfilled on a variety of levels. Certainly marriage and children. And faith in God. But as I was watching a very capable actress take on Nellie Forbush "washing that man right out of her hair" and being "as corny as Kansas in August", I realized that I knew exactly how she felt. I could feel the stage under my feet. I could feel the fit of the character shoes on my feet. I feel the space of the stage. I knew the feeling of being in the character while at the same time being aware of the audience - gauging them, playing them, moving them and taking them with me where I wanted them to go. It is an extremely powerful feeling. And a humbling one as well. And last night, I missed it like hell. Because last night I came face to face with the fact that there has been nothing to replicate the feeling of exhilaration I felt when I was performing.

And I was good.

Okay, maybe not great, but good. This week an old friend posted something on my Facebook page. He directed me in the very successful west coast premiere of "Personals" (I know - you still haven't heard of it). It was about 17 years ago and it was close to magical for me. Anyway, he said this:

I was packing up all my stuff a couple of weeks ago--came across the archival video of PERSONALS from the LA Production--and let me tell you something MISS VALRI JACKSON-SMITH, YOU! YOU! YOU--were so wonderful in it...I still marveled at your amazing performance...and I had to post this on your wall for ALL TO KNOW! Hope you are well...happy and busy! Lot's of love, Darrin

And reading that was such a gift, you know? And I have to say too that in this case, he was right. We all won theatre critics awards to that show.

Anyway, I digress - back to last night. I sat in the theatre and thought of the roles I have played and the roles I have not played and the ones I never will play. And I had regret. It occurred to me that I could still play Rose in "Gypsy" - but as I have let my union card go, and no one knows me anymore, it is unlikely that if anyone was putting this show together, I would ever get cast. And so, I may have to end as I began - putting on a show in the garage for the neighborhood kids. But something tells me they wouldn't appreciate the profound nuances of my performance as the ultimate stage-mother. Besides, I think "Gypsy" is about 3 hours long as well. But perform it I will! In my head.

So pathetic.

Back to Grace. She is the only one of our four children who has any real interest in the theatre. And while she was clearly bored at times last night, she did spend the drive home trying to master Nellie's Little Rock, Arkansas accent. And should she ever be in a production of "So Pathetic", I will gladly sit through it once again and wait for the chills.

My Personal Crash of 2010

No it's not the stock market - although we're still taking punches from that. But I feel it in my gut just the same. It's my hard drive.

I am a photo person. I love photographs. They ground me. But more than that, they tell me my story and at the risk of sounding completely self involved, I feel rather lost without photographs.

I bought my MacBook in 2007 to help me with a specific project. When my girls graduated from high school, my gift to them was something I spent a full year working on - with the help of their God-mother (the talented Taydn): an 80-page, 12"x12", hard-cover, perfect-bound self-published, personalized album of photos and narrative, chronicling each of their lives from family tree roots to their own graduations. I spent hours, days, weeks, scanning photos of each of them - as babies, as toddlers, through school, on vacations, during holidays, major events, with family, with friends, with pets, with life. I know they were appreciated but I loved them so much, I ordered one of each of them for myself as well.

The ability to organize and put the whole family story together got intoxicating. I was addicted and soon I was spending free time scanning and inputting only a fraction of what is literally thousands and thousands of photos. I have photos going back generations from my family, Bob's family and Anne's family - to say nothing of our own family. I purchased a scanner that could scan multiple images at a time and still, I could only make a dent in the archives I possess. The best part of digital technology was that anything new I could simply upload directly to my computer without having to bother with having anything "developed". In fact, my camera acts as a video camera as well and our trip in 2008 to Cancun was captured that way - (including me cliff diving!) I tried several times to create a back-up on CD (I did not purchase an external hard drive), but it was time consuming and more often than not would "fail due to disc error". In the end, I had over 11,000 photos and videos stored on my hard drive.

And then, on Monday, it crashed. And several attempts - including with a very expensive company that specializes in retrieving data from the the most messed up hard drives - proved futile. It was gone. All of it. Roughly 4,000 photos and movies were strictly digital transfers so they are lost forever. The guy at the Apple Store said I was the first person he ever knew of who couldn't get their data back. Lucky me.

I received a new hard drive from Apple at no cost but purchased an external drive this time. And I'm starting again. But I will do it better. I will take the time to organize them as I upload them.

And so I begin. Again. The 7,000 I have to re-enter and then on to the thousands in storage. I am "The Keeper of the Photos". I wonder if anyone cares outside of me?

REUNION!

I'm planning to go to a reunion this September. My 35th High School Class reunion. Class of '75. How bizarre is that? (Well, for me anyway.)

I was a junior in high school when my mother went to her 20 year reunion and what I remember most about that episode was that I could not believe how old she was! Twenty years out of high school? Ancient! Truly. I couldn't fathom it. And now I have a mere 10 year old - 5th grade! - and I am going to my 35th. She must think my name is Methuselah. But it feels like yesterday.

Anyway, it has been interesting and fun and wonderful to hear from a lot of my old friends like Carey and Barbara. Sharon and John and Bill. (Some of us actually go back to Jr. High - 39 years ago!!) And some I didn't know well at all. But as their names pop up on Facebook and I see their photos, I think to myself "Now wait a minute. I know that name but I can't place the face at all. Who is that?" So I pull out the old year book and look them all up and GASP and GAWK. Because while most of them look pretty damned good - many of them are still completely unrecognizable to me. And then it occurs to me. I must be unrecognizable to them. Which means that not only did they age, I did too.

But that of course, is impossible!

And the weather is lovely here in The Land of Make-Believe.

Oh Craps! I'm in Vegas

I know I am in the minority but I'm not a fan. Never have been. Yet here I am, so that I can attend the FMI Show. That would be the Food Marketing Institute show and I am here representing my magazine, YUM Food & Fun. With that said, I am still not a fan.

When I was a little girl, I remember once driving through Vegas at night with my parents. Coming over the grade, far off in the distance, a small strip of colorful lights appeared like a fairly land in a sea of darkness. I thought it was the most magical thing I had ever seen and couldn't wait to be there. Well, my reaction to seeing The Strip has changed considerably since then. Thousands of gold tinted hotel windows sparkling in the sun like sequins from a drag queen's closet, flashing neon, hookers for hire, and row upon row upon row of noisy, glowing slot machines and poker tables - tacky, tacky, tacky.

It is only for work that I am embarking on this journey to Mars. Leaving Sunday (Mother's Day!) I departed from the Burbank airport where I was randomly given a hand dusting. Something caused the machine to go off (really!?!) and I was taken to a room where I was fully frisked. Yes indeed, this was going to be a fun trip! I passed the pat down and soon I was Vegas bound on what had to be one of the bumpiest flights I've ever had to endure. It made me very nauseated. While others were white-knuckling their chair seats and counting Rosary beads, I was fanning myself with the emergency instructions card and praying like mad I wouldn't throw up - which I very nearly did. Could it be that I don't travel well anymore? Is that part of menopause too? Or was it simply a subliminal reaction to knowing where I was headed?

Ah, I'm livin' the life, huh?

At last we landed and I "de-planed" into the casino that is otherwise known as the Las Vegas airport - where you can gamble with your boarding pass. (This is true.) On route to my hotel, the taxi passed a homeless man at a stop light begging with a hand-made cardboard sign. He was not unlike other homeless people you might see on any given freeway off ramp were it not for what he had written on the sign: "Why lie? I need a beer". Yes, with all due empathy for the plight of the homeless, I was definitely in Vegas.

Booked at the Luxor - the giant blue pyramid, I walked in and even with smoking zones and air purifiers I was immediately assaulted with the smell of cigarettes and cigars - but your senses adjust to that quickly. I viewed the casino floor on my way to the room. I believe that Vegas is the only place left on earth where you can find little old ladies still sporting blue hair. They clutch their cups of chips and coins and look a little lost as they wander the aisles of slot machines looking for the one that is calling their name. I find the whole town depressing.

The elevators at the Luxor are weird too. Since the building is a pyramid, they travel up and sideways - giving even a sober passenger like myself the sense of being drunk. I guess drunk passengers don't even notice. And there are plenty of those. There used to be a day when you could come to Vegas and get a delectable all-you-can-eat buffet for seven dollars. Now a bowl of Cheerios is eleven bucks.

The room is bleak. I turned on the TV and the "hotel channel" comes on immediately. I learned within my first 2 minutes of viewing that I can watch all the porn I want without worry as no movie titles will ever appear on my bill! "So what are you waiting for?" the announcer asks me. Well, frankly, a cold day in hell.

There is no complimentary coffee in the room. Possibly because there are about 14 Starbucks located throughout this hotel alone. I venture downstairs to find a cup and see the friendly, welcoming image of a young woman in a black leather, butt-showing, bikini and heels dancing on top of a table. Looking the other direction I spot a 30-something paunchy man in flip-flops and shorts wearing what looks like an electric blue, 3 foot long bong held on with a strap around his neck. But even in Vegas you can't just walk casually through the halls smoking pot so on closer inspection, "the bong" has the name of a bar on it and he's just wearing 3 foot long bong's worth of beer. Oh the glamour!

Here's the thing - there are much better hotels here (Mandalay Bay, right next door, for one) but you cannot, no matter where you go on the strip or outlying areas, escape the seven different songs being piped into the casinos at one time or the "ding, ding, ding, ding, ding" of slots paying out, or the people who have come from all over the world in their Vegas best of low cut blouses, see through white pants with thong underwear showing through, gold chains, too much makeup, and considerable lack of self awareness (yes darling, you do too look your considerable age), or aging cocktail waitresses, or drunken college students, or over-priced menus, or worst of all - the depressing ragged, expressionless faces of gambling pros who look like they are spending their last nickels playing three machines at once. It is a cacophony of ugly and I cannot understand why anyone ever comes here on purpose. Even a decent Broadway show is $250.00 per ticket. It would be cheaper to get a good fare on Jet Blue and see it in New York!

So, I stay pretty much in my dark room, where, in the four nights I stayed, they never changed the sheets once. Now at home, I can deal with that. But at a hotel? Really?!?!? Yet it beats "the scene" so I stick it out - unless I am eating or at the FMI show (which is a welcome relief from the room). And it was worth coming for the business. That and seeing my old friend Marc who was also here on business. I recently re-connected with Marc again (yes on Facebook). We had dinner together and caught up on about 30 years and it was a lovely evening. We had been in a couple of plays together during my days at the San Jose Civic Light Opera and we had stories and people to talk about for 4 hours. And we had changed but we were the same and that was very nice.

Oh! And I did decide to go to the Titanic exhibit at the hotel where I saw an impressive amount of artifacts recovered from the ocean floor. It was extremely interesting although I don't know why I wasn't prepared for how it would impact me emotionally. I was very saddened by it in the end. Of course the exit door dumps you straight into the Titanic gift shop where you can buy replicas of Titanic china and soap and deck chairs and throw blankets and I thought: "and someone would want to serve dinner on Titanic china - why?????" And you could even buy a locket necklace with little piece of coal from the Titanic debris pulled from the wreckage for $30.00. I'm trying to think of the occasion I would want to wear that to. Uh, none.

But I have to find something nice to say so here it is: The most wonderful thing about Vegas is that you get to leave it.