A Tornado Hits Our House

Remember when you were little, like four, five, or six and your whole world was about "YES"? ("Yes I can!", "Yes I will", "I can do it!") I remember that. Everything was affirmative because we were too little to know anything else. And we heard our parents say things like: "You can be anything you want to be - why, you could grow up to be the President of the United States!", or "The world is your oyster", or "If you're willing to work for it, there is nothing you can't do". We believed in ourselves because it was innate and because our parents and teachers reaffirmed it. Except for all those times as we grew older when they said: "No, honey. You won't be able to do that." Or, "Stop! You can't do that ." Or, "Honey, you've got to get real". Or the worst: "You are wasting your time on the impossible". The unintended message was that believing you can do anything was like believing in Santa Claus. Its fine if you're a kid but you really need to outgrow it. I believed the unintended message. Its a practical message. I've sent that message to my own kids.

I've got a friend who never got the message.

I met Sharon years ago when she and her talented husband and their girls started coming to our church. They are extremely successful and artistic and very hip. The live with horses, dogs, cats, chickens, and birds in a "to die for" home that they built on about 2 acres not far from our house. She is one of those natural beauties - healthy and athletic looking with a winning smile and a loud infectious laugh. She gets really excited when she talks. No. I mean really. Her eyes widen and her arms flap, her face lights up with a huge smile and she talks fast and purposefully, emphatically about the things she loves and wants to do. And like a five year old kid who never got "the message", she lives with the belief that if she can dream it, she can do it.

Sharon gets an idea for something and she's off - like a sprint runner. If you try to stop her or tell her she can't, she furrows her brow and argues with you. She is rarely deterred. I have never met anyone quite like her. When I first met her, I have to say, I thought there might be something a little wrong with her. When I realized that no, she was just "like that", I was fully intimidated by her.

When we went to Africa on a mission trip in 2005, Sharon and her family came too. We shared accommodations. She and her husband were the first ones up every morning and she was on fire to accomplish the objectives that had been laid out, and then some. I just stayed out of her way. She was like a whirling dervish and I had the feeling that I could get knocked down if I stood too close. Sometimes just thinking about what she's up to is exhausting.

In truth, for a very long time, while I always admired her, she was soooooo different from me I could not imagine why she would want to be friends with me. She is so cool. I am so dry. She is all "go, go, go", "do, do, do". I'm all "do you have a cushion for this chair?" I am a glass half-empty person. She is full glass spilling over. She is a tornado. I am an exhale.

So anyway, Sharon, as it turns out, does all her own landscaping and gardening, and decorating. And some time ago, when I was complaining about our impossible yard, she offered to take a look at it and help. I thought, well okay. Someday. Then, last Friday (a mere 5 days ago!), we were both at the church dropping off our kids for a youth group retreat and we stood outside in the parking lot and chatted for a while. I have no idea how the subject of my landscaping (or lack thereof) came up again but suddenly Sharon says "do you want me to come over now and take a look at it?" And I thought to myself: "oh no, I don't really want you to because then I have to have to explain to you why we can't do this or why we can't afford this and I know you will try to convince me that I am wrong". So naturally, I said: "Sure!" So off we went, Sharon following me in my car because she had never been here (oh my gosh, really? How horrifying!) and I stopped in front of the house. And she saw our house - the eyesore of the street - and I think she was horrified too. She took a few minutes to take it all in and then she started talking with her hands: "you need to flatten that out and put a tree there", "you need to dig all that out and put some flowers and shrubs in there". I suggested we needed to take out this huge, overgrown, un-managed 10 foot bush and she looked at me (with furrowed brow) and screamed: "Nooooooooo!" Then she smiled and said: "Why would you do that? That's a beautiful tree!"

"Really?"

"Yes. You just need to cut it back"

"Well, you'll have to show me because I can't see it at all".

And we went around the house and for the next half hour she excitedly "visioned" our yard. And then, the moment came. I had to tell her "no".

"This is really exciting Sharon but we really don't have the skills for this and we absolutely can't afford it right now".

"But Valri! This will hardly cost anything. We'll use what you have and I'll bring my 'guy' over and we can do this really fast". (Her 'guy' is this master-of-all-trades, day worker who is better than reasonable.) "I'll bring him over Monday". Now you need to know that right now, in addition to building a new studio for her husband Tim, she is getting her own two acres worked over and ready for the annual garden tour that our city sponsors. She's even being featured in the local paper. But Monday came and she and her 'guy' (Dave) were here in the morning. And we all got assignments and in 5 hours a tremendous amount had been accomplished and it all started to look - dare I say it - better. In fact, promising. In fact, it was quite impossible what got done. And to give you an idea of just how bad it was, neighbors we don't talk to honked their horns as they passed by or waved or smiled as they saw me pruning back the unruly 10 foot bush. And Sharon starts envisioning "areas" for benches and Adirondack chairs and potted plants. And she starts talking about rock she has left over from her own projects and benches she is getting rid of and suddenly, I am getting all these fabulous remnants - for free.

Today I went to her house and took a look at all the stuff she is getting rid of and then we filled her truck and came back to my house and unloaded and then - it was decided that I need to paint my house. So off to Home Depot we went, to pick out the colors. Because we are going to do it ourselves and it will hardly cost anything and we can have her "guy" and we can get it done in a couple of days. And I actually believe her.

And all the while, I am watching this woman, driving her truck from her house, to my house, to the nursery, to Home Depot, to the Salvation Army, to eat, to pick up the girls at school, to feed the horses, to drive someone else home, to run unending errands, and back to my house to survey the progress and then put her gloves on and dig in herself. And I am suddenly contemplating the relativity of time. Because time, as we know it, stops for Sharon. Because it is absolutely IMPOSSIBLE that she could get what she gets done in anything that resembles the hours we have to work with in a day. And I am completely astounded. But we have caught her enthusiasm and suddenly we are thinking in terms of "can" and "will" and Bob and I are getting really excited and we're diving into it like we had her energy. And suddenly we find ourselves tremendously uplifted at a time when we are low from experiencing unemployment and economic hardship. And my guess is that Sharon knew that getting excited about something (our yard) was exactly what we needed.

So I am moved. And speechless. Because I cannot believe that someone would put themself out and tackle such a monumental project, invest themself in our life when there is so much going on in their own, just because. Just because you are a friend and "that's what friends do". And the entire family is like that. And I am watching and taking in what it means to give - not your money (which is easy) but yourself (much harder). And I think I can take a lesson from this. I think I'm supposed to take a lesson from this.

And now I'm sore. And I'm tired. And I know that hanging on to Sharon the Tornado is going to make me dizzy - but I will be better for it. And eternally thankful as well. And while I cannot possibly repay her, she is surely storing treasure in heaven.

On Reinvention

This morning I turned on Good Morning America and heard Juju Chang tell me that unemployment is down to levels not seen since March 2009!

Well, Juju, here's the problem: I was unemployed then too. If there were a fifth horseman of the Apocalypse, if would be called unemployment.

This is getting more than a little annoying. I refuse to believe that I am a dinosaur but if I am one, I have to learn how to evolve so that I can avoid extinction. Not to sound depressed, but "reinvention" is nothing more than a buzz word if you haven't got an idea. SO here are a few "reinvention ideas" I am working on:

1. Princess. I'm thinking I might declare myself of royal (if not somewhat tainted) blood and convince the government to utilize some of your tax dollars to support me and "the fam". Now I wouldn't require Balmoral mind you, my current residence suits me fine. But I will be needing some repair and updating and a staff of one to cook and clean. The upside is obvious. The downside: Headaches from wearing a crown all day.

2. Movie Star. Now this might be in my reach because I can reactivate my SAG card. I am somewhat particular here though. I need to be of the Meryl Streep variety and not so much the "whatever happened to?" variety. The downside: That pesky George Clooney.

3. Lottery Winner. Poof! I get the golden ticket. And why not? The downside: There is no downside to this.

4. Writer. "Ba-blah, ba-ba-blah, blah, blah." And who wouldn't find that fascinating? The downside: Likelihood of making money only after I'm dead? High.

5. Weight Loss Guru. Everywhere you look people are making ga-zillions telling people how to lose weight. I have a great idea how to do it too! The downside: I'd actually have to do it.

6. Oprah's Best Friend. Move over Gale. I can make as much out of nothing she can. Not that she isn't smart and talented. She probably is, how would I know? But so am I. The only difference? The "O Factor". The downside: Oprah. (Although you can't really blame her. If you are Oprah, how can you not think you're some kind of Oprah?)

Feel free to weigh in. All these and more are being contemplated. And just in case you're wondering why "Find a Job" is not in there, well, I'm trying. But at nearly 54 years of age and no college degree, my months of experience trying to achieve this endeavor are telling me that I should probably stop living in a fantasy world.

RIP Allstate Commercial

So the Allstate commercial Bob and Amanda have been collecting residuals on for the past 6 years has finally run its course. Funny. Receiving residuals is something that you can never really count on for long. This was an anomaly. It shouldn't have run that long. But after 6 years of regular "surprise checks" in the mail, receiving them stopped being a surprise. They simply factored into the budget. The sudden end to them feels a lot like losing a job. And you know what? There has been plenty of that in this house already.

The upside of being unemployed is that when you get the endless stream of calls from banks and contractors and credit card companies and newspaper subscription services trying to sell you something at 7:30 p.m. every night, all you have to say is: "I'm afraid we're not interested. You've reached a home that is collecting unemployment checks." Invariably, the response is: "I'm so sorry. Good luck to you." and then you hear the click. And then, apparently, they take you off the list. Try it, it works.

That's about it for the upside.

I'm Invited!

The I.R.S. is getting ready to celebrate their annual holiday again - the one in which they reach into my bank account and tell me what I am obligated to contribute to the merriment.

Please understand, I am not anti-tax. I believe we need taxation to run our country and serve our citizens effectively and efficiently. My issue isn't with the "taxes" part. It is with the "effectively and efficiently" part. But you know what? That's a whole other rant I'm not prepared for tonight.

I have been nagging Bob to get started on the taxes for weeks - knowing full well that he puts it off as long as possible. Bob doesn't like to know bad news. He wants to postpone it or ignore it or get drunk and forget it. I on the other hand, know it is coming and want as much time as possible to live with it so that I can avoid the feeling of having had a bucket of ice cold water thrown over me on April 15th. Anyway, Bob finally got "the box" out.

"The Box", is literally an old ugly box where all receipts, records, statements, etc. for the entire year are thrown. No file system. No envelopes. No bags labeled by moth or by purpose. Just a mess. I hasten to add that I have purchased easy to follow filing systems for Bob but he refuses to use them. He tells me if I want to do the taxes I can use them. So naturally, we use the box.

Once the box is out, we commence the two week process of organization. A zillion piles are arranged all over the dining room table and it is only now that we find out how much we made and what kind of write-offs we have.

Well surprise, surprise! In spite of a year that started with me being unemployed and then a job that paid far less that what I earned at Disney, Bob had a fantastic year. In fact we had the best year we have ever had. We added this several times because it was nearly impossible to believe. But we got the same number over and over again. So why, we wondered, weren't we feeling rich? Oh yeah. We paid off thousands and thousands (and thousands) of our debt. And we paid thousands in medical bills. (Even though we had insurance, our portion of Bob's surprise gall bladder surgery in February and the twins' medical tests for our trip to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore last summer was not small.) So even though we made a lot of money, we are still eeking by - not too miserably, but cautiously. And paying off debt and medical bills is not deductible.

So basically, we are going to have to pay through the nose this April. Funny how being out of debt doesn't give us the feather weight feeling we enjoyed last year in view of the fact that cash in hand is at a premium. So far, 2011 is off to a disappointing start - like, zero income for the first quarter. Which means that we are finally having to get into our well protected "cushion". And that is what it is there for, so it really would be would be fine were it not for the fact that Uncle Sam wants the lion's share of our cushion this year.

I.R.S. is taking on a mew meaning this year. For me, it stands for I'm Really Screwed. Because this little party on April 15th is not, as you know, an invitation you can RSVP your regrets to. As invitations go, it's very rude.

Theatre Lessons

We were watching the anniversary concert of Les Miserables on PBS with Grace tonight. In between answering all her annoying questions, like: "What is this about?", "Is he a good guy or a bad guy?", "Why does she love him?" "Does that kid get killed?" and "Hey! Joe Jonas is in this? Why aren't the other Jonas Brothers in this?", we heard a fairly spectacular concert.

At the same time, it took both Bob and me back to the mid 80's when we were both endeavoring to become actors. We both auditioned for this show. They used to hold major Equity auditions in this huge Presbyterian church on the corner of Highland and Fountain, near Hollywood Boulevard in Hollywood.

Everyone, and I mean everyone came out for that show. As far as Broadway musicals go, this one has a really big cast. Like 20 people or something (I'm guessing) and for every part in the show there were 600 people auditioning for it. I went to the open call - meaning without agent submission and why I bothered I'll never know. The casting director never looked at me once the entire time I was in there singing. And I sang my whole song. I didn't get cut off - but he never looked at me once. Oh yeah. Acting is so rewarding...

Anyway, so we're watching this production on PBS and reminiscing about the good ol', bad ol' days. We remembered how badly we and everyone we knew wanted this show. It was a huge hit and promised at least two years of employment and it was, after all, Les Miserables.

So back to tonight. The actress playing Eponine is singing her gut wrenching solo "On My Own" and Grace asks: "So what part did you audition for?" I replied, "Oh honey, we auditioned for the company" and then Bob adds: "We would have given anything for this show back then. We would have done anything to be in it. If they'd wanted, I would have 'tucked it' to play her."

Ahem.

Without missing a beat, Grace asks "What does 'tuck it' mean?"

Bob looked at me in panic and I shot him one of my "I really wish I could kill you" glares. This did not help. Upon seeing this non-verbal exchange Grace knew that Bob had said something horrible and therefore she was infinitely more interested in getting her answer.

"Nothing". I said.

"Oh c'mon! I've eleven years old. I can handle it. "

"No!"

"Daaaaaaaaad. What does 'tuck it' mean".

"Uh, I'll tell you some other time."

"No you won't." I shot him another look.

"Oh c'mon you guys - this is stupid. Just tell me what it means."

This went on for some time. And I was missing the concert for this battle. And then I realized she would likely go to a friend and tell the friend the story, who in turn wouldn't know the answer and would then go to their parent. And then I figured the phone would ring.

I gave up. "Oh GRACE! Okay. It's what a guy sometimes does to play a girls part."

"Huh?" She was going to need more. Crap.

Bob tried to help. "You know Grace, like transvestites."

No kidding. This was Bob's attempt at getting himself out of a bad predicament. I just stared at him in utter amazement. (Oh really, Bob? Did I really have a child with you?)

"No Grace. Sometimes, if a guy has to play a girl he has to tuck his privates between his legs."

She took a moment to soak it in. And then: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew! Daddy you would have done that?

"No Grace. You dad was kidding."

"Oh dad You're so weird."

And yes, yes he is. Living with Bob is dangerous. He erupts with inappropriateness all the time. On the other hand, she is the daughter of an actor and sometimes you just have to roll with the punches.

I was reminded of an incident about 3 years ago when she was eight and he was in a show called "Too Old for The Chorus" He played a middle aged ex-dancer who was gay. He had a solo where he sang about the man he loved. It was understated but it was there. I watched Grace out of the corner of my eye - this was, after all, her dad. Grace sat next to me on opening night and listened without batting an eye. But when the song was over and the audience began their applause, she leaned over to me and with a droll delivery mature beyond her years, she whispered: "I could have lived without that".

Never dull.

The Open Secret of Bullying

When I was about 5 years old I suppose and living in El Paso, Texas, there was a little blonde girl in my neighborhood who I knew only a short while. Her parents were divorced - which was very unusual at the time - and she lived alone with her mother. For a week or so, we became friends and I remember playing with her - very happily. But I remember another feeling as well - one I could not understand or articulate at that young age. This little girl was too happy to play with me. She was grateful and reliant upon me as a friend. And that made her vulnerable. Weak. Given the fact that I had the power in this relationship, my feelings toward her soured, to the point of contempt, and I abruptly cut off the friendship. She tried several times to get me to play with her and her frustration turned to fear and then to desperation and I remember the last time I saw her. She was crying and asking me why I wouldn't play with her anymore. My response was to stick out my tongue to her and she ran away in tears.

When I was 6 years old attending 1st Grade at Warm Springs Elementary School in Fremont, California, there was a little boy - skinny and odd looking. He walked funny and he was different. I truly cannot remember whether what made him odd was a slowness of mind or that he was highly effeminate - but I hated him. Without knowing him. I hated him because he was vulnerable and weak. And I joined the kids who laughed at him and talked behind his back. Once I remember that I stood behind him on my way to the cafeteria for lunch and thought to myself how easy it would be and how "rewarding" it would feel to kick him. Thankfully, I did not.

It is nearly 48 years since either of these two incidents have occurred, but over the years (and uncountable times) I have thought of these two children and prayed for them. And today I am shedding tears for my grave unkindness in thought and action toward them. God has forgiven me for it. I have even forgiven myself - but it does not exempt me from the consequences I bear from such cruelty, even at an early age.

Strangely, I am grateful that these old sins have continued to haunt me - because I believe it has given me a sensitivity to the suffering from bulling. In fact, I was bullied a great deal in my youth. Not so much in a physical way - but in a psychological way; one from which it is much harder to heal.

As a Christian, I understand that the greatest commandment is to love God with all your heart, all your mind and all your strength. The second greatest is to love your neighbor as yourself. We get this wrong all the time and it starts very young.

All kinds of explanations can be made for why we prey on one another. I couldn't give a damn about any of them. The fact is we do - and it needs to be addressed - and stopped.

My daughter has recently been the victim of bullying. But before I go any further, I will hasten to add that she has been a bully herself. And we often are left to reap what we sew. But at this age, most kids don't consider what they are doing to be bullying. There is a lack of understanding in their actions. There is a belief in the necessity of a kind of "behavior of power" for survival on the playground. There is an utter lack skill or capacity to articulate feelings or resolve conflict. And young people hold a mental picture of a big kid pushing a small kid. That defines bullying in their minds. We know that kids get physical with each other. Infinitely more common though are the times when they gossip. And they spread rumors. And they taunt with "secrets". And they practice exclusion. And they engage in "ditching". And they exercise a wielding of power. All of these practices are a terrible form of bullying and as I have said before, I know my daughter has engaged in this behavior herself. It is rampant in school playgrounds across the country. And it all goes largely unnoticed because of the shame associated with being the one being bullied as well as a fear that any intervention will only make matters worse. It is a secret. But it is an open secret.

Yesterday I picked my daughter up from school and saw that she was hiding behind a tree away from all the girls in her class. When she saw me she quickly came to the car and acted belligerently toward me. I knew something was up and had to threaten to call other moms to find out what it was until it all came spilling out - almost unintelligibly through the sobs and tears. Through gossip (spread in the name of being "truthful" - a justification for continuing gossip), rumor, "ditching" and exclusion, my daughter had been bullied. And I became enraged at the little girls who had driven my daughter to such despair. My initial reaction was to point fingers and judge those girls, to make accusations and to tell everyone I knew what terrible things had been done to my daughter so that they would stand united with me against those who had so maligned my baby.

In other words, my first reaction was to be a bigger bully.

I have spent the past 24 hours reflecting on this incident and realize, perhaps because I know the pain of being bullied myself, that it is often our reaction to deal with bullying by hiding or by overpowering. And there is no resolution in this. Not so easy is civil confrontation where we set aside anger and animosity. In fact, we hold dear our anger. We believe that it is our right. In fact, we behave as cowards.

It is the cowardice of parents that allows children who bully without understanding to grow into teenagers who bully for sport and adults who bully as lifestyle.

At nearly 54, I have to be one of thousands of parents who need to come out from behind that tree without a sword in hand. I need to live loving others as I do myself. And so with prayer for wisdom and courage - and especially for understanding and love - I am picking up the phone to call the other parent.

NCL

Today Bob brought in the mail and threw what looked to be a "thank-you" card sized envelope on my desk. The return address was vaguely familiar and I tried to remember what I had done recently that would prompt someone to thank me.

Frankly, nothing.

So I opened it and I saw the familiar gold embossed logo for NCL - not the cruise line but the organization otherwise known as National Charity League. Having spent 7 years actively involved with this organization with my other daughters, I knew immediately what this was. It read:

Dear Valri:

National Charity League takes great pleasure in welcoming your daughter, Grace Carolyn as a Legacy Provisional Ticktocker of ...et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Oh boy! My three year break between daughters has come to an end.

There is great work done in this organization and I have spent many, many hours volunteering for worthy philanthropies that depend on organizations such as the NCL to keep them going. For seven continuous years, my daughters and I have helped in homework clubs for "at risk" kids, taken elderly, wheelchair bound ladies on strolls through gardens and read to them, done mailings for the Wellness Community, worked fundraisers for the ALS Foundation, staffed parties for under-privileged children, volunteered at libraries, and many, many more activities that were definitely worth our time. But we also attended meetings, and luncheons, and teas and balls. And we have learned all the etiquette that accompanies those activities.

As an adult, I didn't mind any (well most) of the things that were required of me during my years as a "Patroness". My daughters? Not so much. As with most organizations that require meetings and time and dress code, during their years in high school it could be like pulling teeth to get them through it. But a commitment is a commitment - even if it is made very young. So after a great deal of explaining what to expect for the next six years - Grace, has decided that she wants to join and so, I am in. Again. Until 2017. I'll be 60. Shoot me now.

I had an awkward start with NCL. Looking at the note that came in the mail today, I was taken back to 2000 when my friend Candace (of the famously amazing dinner parties) asked me if I would be interested in joining. She was a member of NCL and thought I would really like it. I remember telling her that I had never heard of NCL - what was it? Candace explained to me that it was a mother-daughter philanthropy/social organization that would allow my daughters and me to work together, volunteering for community service needs in the area. She explained that there were meetings to attend and projects to take on and minimum hour requirements, but that it also looked good on a college resume. And that's what got me. Fantasizing about an unrealistic future has always been a favorite pastime of mine, and I looked at my then 10 and 9 year old daughters and imagined them gaining entrance to USC, UCLA, Stamford - all on the basis of their work in NCL. I was in. Candace sponsored me and I received the first of many, many formal invitations - this first one: an invitation to membership.

It was invited to attend a "coffee" at the home of so and so at such and such where I would be introduced to the current board and learn more about the organization and its requirements so that I could make an informed decision about joining. "Uh, okay. What's to decide? Its like Girl Scouts." But I figured I better show up since it was the first meeting and all. I remember it was raining that night. Grace was only two and I had come home from work and thrown on a beat up old pair of light weight pants and a stretched out cable-knit sweater and I got about the business of feeding the baby and picking up around the house when I remembered - the meeting! Candace was supposed to attend this meeting with me but she was out of town so I would have to go it alone. I was already running late. But here was my thinking: "Okay, I don't have time to change. I'm just going to run in and sign whatever papers there are, have a cup of coffee and scoot." I imagined this as nothing more than a "mom's meeting", a formality. I fully expected that all the new members would be similarly running in between their chores at home, and we would sit around someone's kitchen table, filling out papers and sipping coffee from mismatched mugs. Maybe there would be some Oreo cookies on a plate. So I threw on a pair of sandals (remember, its raining outside), grabbed a broken umbrella, my purse - along with my old pants and worn out sweater - got into the car, and followed directions to the house where the meeting was held.

As I pulled into the neighborhood I could see that I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Big, grand homes that were spectacularly landscaped and lit surrounded me as I turned the streets to find the address.

Okay, the first missed clue was that the home was in North Ranch. But I had never been to North Ranch. This was "Country Club" living. I didn't know anyone who lived there. Had I, I would have called the hostess with a fake cough and begged off. I pulled up to this mansion of a home - the massive windows lit with the glow of warm lighting inside. I saw other women pulling up. And they were NOT dressed like me. I sat in the car for a moment, realizing that I was WAY out of my league here. SO the question was: do I go to the door and see if a house falls on me or do I just keep driving?

This was clearly not "like the Girl Scouts". I could do the Girl Scouts. But then I thought to myself: "Well I'll see how they react to me. If they tell me that the "help entrance" is around the back then I will just leave and that will be the end of that. But if they let me in, we'll see how it goes." So I walked through puddles in my sandals across the street to the front door. My old pants had rain spots on them and my old cable sweater had a baby food stain on the cuff that I noticed only at that moment. I couldn't properly close the broken umbrella. I took a deep breath and rang the bell. I stood rigid as I waited to be greeted with a raised eyebrow and maybe even a snarled lip. Certainly an icy "hello" with an extremely limp hand extended. A gorgeous and impeccably dressed woman opened the door to me. Upon seeing the mess that I was that evening, she did not gasp. She did not wince. She did not bat an eye. She smiled and said hello and took my ragged old umbrella and coat, welcomed me in and introduced me to the hostesses - who reacted to me similarly. Let me try to give you some perspective: I was the mason jar of "moonshine" in a sea of perfectly chilled Dom Perignon. The house was unimaginably beautiful. I felt I had stepped into the pages of Architectural Digest. There were floral arrangements everywhere, silver coffee service was on the long well polished dining room table with fine bone china and tray after tray of the most delectable assortment of cookies, cakes, and chocolate covered strawberries. I had never seen such an extravagant layout. With me as the sole exception, everyone was dressed in lovely tailored suits and pearls, expensive bags and they all appeared as though they looked like this all the time. They seemed to know or at least have met each other before. I knew no one. As in No. One. There were about 50 women in all- very "top drawer" - and me, looking for all the world like "Ma Kettle" at Buckingham Palace. But everyone was nice. To me. And I was impressed. Of course they had to have been dying inside at the sight of me but they were too well mannered to ever have let on. And I was eternally grateful for that. I found a small chair in the far back corner of the room and planted myself there for the meeting. As kind as everyone had been, I wouldn't have minded if California had produced one of its big earthquakes and the ceiling had fallen down on me. But once it was over, I grabbed my things, shook people's hands, apologized for my disheveled appearance (blaming a crazy day and the baby), and ran through the rain to my car. I guess I had passed. But they passed an unscheduled test as well. I cluelessly showed up as my very best worst. And they didn't flinch. Clearly, these broads were cool.

Above: Sherwood Country Club, home of the annual NCL Debutante Announcement Tea. Will and Kate would be right at home. Oh. And me too.