JAYSPEAK

This week, I have a 15-year-old French student from Paris, coming to stay with me as a house guest.  I will be working with her every day regarding English as a second language.  She speaks French. So, we will both be having a “second-language Intensive”. I am looking forward to it. 

To prepare, I have devised ten lesson plans for our work together.  I focused on topics for fun conversations as opposed to grammar. Apparently, she studied English in school for four years, but didn’t like it because her teachers were mean. So, I must be “not mean” and interesting. Haha. Good luck with that one. I know how to be “not mean”, but interesting is a challenge.  

As I have said before, grammar has always been fun for me. On October 28, 2016, I wrote on Jayspeak, “When I was in “Grammar School”, I learned how to diagram sentences. We built little bridges and put words places that made little pictures. It started with Miss Castleberry in First Grade, then on to Miss Bessie in Second, and Miss Dent in Third, Miss Lay in Fourth, Mrs. Patten in Fifth, and Mrs. Miller in Sixth. After that, I was on my own. When I taught at Brenau College and a branch of the University of Georgia, I included grammar in my courses.  Students used bad grammar. When my children were growing up, I corrected them. When they became adults, I stopped. Correct grammar has gone out the window.  Don’t get me wrong – I often make mistakes in grammar, but I know better than to say, “Me and him” as a subject. 

While gathering materials for my in-house sessions with my French student, I ran across an article that I saved because I liked it. Not one for my in-house classroom, but a fun read and appropriate for the times in which we live. It was written by New York Times bestselling author, Gary Kinder. I am re-posting his post:

“You Insane Steaming Pile of Horsehockey“

“This Fourth of July, I wanted to do something different, so I exhumed three of our Forefathers for a beer.  I dug up Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams because they had written the most important document in human history: the Declaration of Independence. ‘There were five of us on the drafting committee,’ said Adams, ‘but everyone agreed that Jefferson was the best writer, so we picked him to write the Declaration.’

Franklin and Adams suggested he open with something like this: 

When in the course of human events, some people get so fed up with some other people trying to tell them what to do all the time, and they don’t want to have anything to do with those people anymore, by god, they have the right to tell those other people, like you, George, to ‘Kiss our sweet cheeks.’ You are a sterling example of what happens when we mix royal inbreeding with small doses of arsenic. But before we go, we thought you, you putrid pile of pusillanimous pustules, should know why we are leaving. Mainly, it’s because we are just as good as you are, you effete foppish prig, and we have every right to do whatever we want to do, which includes drinking untaxed tea and good wine, and making candles and love and shoeing horses and flying kites whenever and wherever and with whomever we please, you insane steaming pile of horsehockey. Etc., etc., etc.

Franklin explained, ‘This was to give Jefferson an idea of the tone we wanted.’

With that in mind, Jefferson repaired to his rented rooms in Philadelphia to spend the next two and a half weeks, rising before the sun each day for tea and biscuits, to write with a quill dipped in ink, scratching on parchment, ripping up page after page after page, trying to get it right. He told me, ‘The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words where one will do.’ The pages of his rough drafts look like pages from a Hemingway manuscript, cut to pieces with crossouts, arrows, and insertions of line after eloquent line. Baby America in ink. He begins slowly: 

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another . . . .

He adds:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Then he states his business:

That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it . . . it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

One of my favorite lines is the pivotal point:

. . let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

As all good writers do, Jefferson then lays out facts: that King George has refused, forbidden, called, endeavoured, made, obstructed, erected, kept, affected, combined; that he has exceeded his authority by quartering, cutting, imposing, depriving, transporting, taking, abolishing, altering, suspending.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people . . . . In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Then he brings it home and stamps it with resolve:

We, therefore, . . . in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States . . . And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

Franklin and Adams agreed it was better than their draft. They took the Declaration to Congress on July 2, and there debate raged until the afternoon of July 4. The cuts were mostly for content, like Jefferson’s section attacking the slave trade.

It is a fine choice of words up to the task of birthing the strongest nation on earth. Click here to read them, not because they are the cornerstone of our democracy, but because they are an example of the power of words, only 1323 of them–the length of the average writing assignment for a high school sophomore.

PostScript: The two men most responsible for our Declaration of Independence, later our second and third Presidents, Adams and Jefferson, with disparate personalities and politics (Jefferson defeated Adams in Adams’s bid for a second term), died within hours of each other, exactly fifty years later, on the Fourth of July.  Happy Fourth. And be safe.”

New York Times bestselling author Gary Kinder has taught over 1,000 writing programs to law firms, corporations, universities, and government agencies. In 2012, Gary and his team of engineers created WordRake, the only software in the world that edits for clarity and brevity, giving professionals more confidence when writing to clients and colleagues. Backed by seven U.S. patents, WordRake was recently hailed as “Disruptive Innovation” by Harvard Law School. And LexisNexis® Pacific has chosen the WordRake editing software to include in its new Lexis® Draft Pro.

Best, Jay

In the early ‘70’s, I decided to write a book about “change”.  The concept of change. Change without changing.  Fear of change. Back in those years, I knew my mental and physical health depended on change. I did. I changed. It was a slow and arduous process – painful to those around me. 

Why did I want to change, you ask? It started when I had my third child, Blake. In the middle of the night, I awoke my husband. I was sorta sure I was in labor. He said, “Be sure. Wake me when the pains are closer together.” No. Sorta sure worked for me. I quietly drove myself to the hospital. Shortly thereafter, I gave birth. I remember the doctor saying, “It is a boy”. I don’t remember anything else. When I woke up, I had an oxygen mask on my face, guard rails around my bed. I saw the doctor, my husband, Mother, and Daddy standing there. I heard the doctor saying, “She’s going to make it.”

After I calmed down, I asked what happened. I was told that everything had gone well. I had been taken to a private room because the Recovery Room was being remodeled. A nurse “happened” to peek in on me. When she did, she saw I was turning blue.  What??? I was dying while no one was looking? Damn!! Pay attention, guys. Allergic? to the anesthesia?  Emotional?  No one knew.

They kept me in the hospital for a week or more. While there, I asked for help. I needed to talk to someone. No Baptists, please. My sister asked Mr. Bailey, the Episcopalian priest, to talk to me. He came while I was there. He listened, without interpretation or analysis.  

When I got out of the hospital, I was in bad shape. Out of the blue, I was offered a job as Chairman of the Division of Humanities at a branch of the University of Georgia – Gainesville Junior College, teaching English, Speech, Speech Correction, Drama. It helped, yet at home, I cried a lot. “What’s wrong, Janet? Just tell us what’s wrong.” “I don’t know.” “I don’t know”.  Someone suggested I see a psychiatrist. What??? Mother was horrified.

For nine months, I saw Dr. Cooper. I don’t remember much about it other than he convinced me that I controlled my life. Not Mother. Not Daddy. Not my husband. Not the neighbors. Not all the people I was trying to please. At that point, I made a choice. I would change my life. I would move to California. And, in July 1968, I drove out of town, cross-country to Los Angeles, California.

I had a rough time adjusting to life in California. So did my family. We all tried to make the best of it. Everyone thought it was a temporary move for a couple of years – I had been accepted into the UCLA Graduate School to get my PhD in Theatre History. My position as Chairman of the Division of Humanities required it.  When I failed to get a fellowship (missed it by one person), we decided to stay for an extra year to establish residency to afford the tuition. My husband, a criminal attorney in Georgia, got a position as a prosecutor in the Criminal Division of the U.S. Justice Department.

During that first year in Los Angeles, I got into an acting class with a teacher Lawrence Merrick. In class, I met actor John Prince. He was a friend of my friend Jimmie Ralston. After class, we all would go for coffee and talk about life – that was supposed to help our acting. John said he went to weekend retreats led by Ira Progoff, a student of Carl Jung. He suggested I go. I agreed.

The first weekend was confusing. I didn’t understand a lot of what was said. Ira talked about an inner life and the need to get in touch with it through work in a personal Journal. Each person is like a well in a circle of wells. If that person goes down into his own well every day, he gets in touch with his inner life, i.e., thoughts, feelings, dreams, fantasies without interpretation or analysis. He writes what comes to him. Reads it aloud – to himself or to others in a group. 

In a workshop – time pauses. All before is past; all after is future. During the pause, one goes down. There, he can dialogue with persons (uncompleted relationships), dialogue with works (with committed works), dialogue about group experiences (other than the Workshop). He can write about his dreams. The aim is to get seriously involved with the dialogue.

I began the work in 1969.  In 1971, I wrote in my Journal: “I will write a book. My book title will be This Woman’s Search. The gist of it will be: ‘OK, here is the story. This is what I did and what has worked for me. I’ll tell you. All you need to do is listen and see if you can use any of it. Hopefully, something will hit you, and you will be motivated to do it, at least begin it. I could also call my book A Search in Progress.” In 1972 and 1973, I vowed to start my book.

In 2013, I published Janet Tallulah. It covers those “entry” years in L.A. – years when I made unalterable choices that affected my life and the lives of my family.  It is for sale on www.amazon.com and www.smashwords.com under the name “Jay W. MacIntosh”.

Now, Ira is dead. Workshop leaders are dead.  My family of origin is dead.  Steve is dead. Many of my friends are dead.  I live in France.  For the record, I still go down into my well. There, I meet up with my best friend, my inner life named Janet Tallulah. We have come to know each other pretty well over the years. We talk.  And, we write – thoughts, feelings, dreams, fantasies. Without judgment. Without interpretation.  Without analysis.  It matters.

Best, Jay

The wedding invitation read,

“ANDREA & SLAWEK, Allen & Carolyn Emond with Zbigniew & Ewa Chiniewicz invite you to celebrate the marriage of their children Andrea Emond & Slawek Chiniewicz, June 10, 2017, at four thirty in the evening, Eglise Saint Jean Baptiste, Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France. Dinner and dancing to follow, Plage Deli Bo, Les Bains Villefranche-sur-Mer.” 

Who are Andrea and Slawek?  Here’s the back story:  

In May 2014, when Steve and I were tossing around the idea of moving to France, I started googling and reading blogs about France. I came across some good ones written by people who had moved to Paris. Close enough. One guy recommended a website – www.angloinfo.com.  I checked it out, created a profile, found a “discussion – home and garden” link in the France section, and started a discussion. My husband and I were moving to Nice and needed help finding a rental. I got several responses. One was from someone named Andrea Emond. She lived in Nice. She and her partner, Slav (an attorney), had a company HOME French Riviera. They worked the Nice area, primarily with foreign clients.  Perfect.  http://www.home-frenchriviera.com/

Andrea and I emailed back and forth for a year-and-a-half. I asked Andrea every question under the sun. She responded with informative, detailed instructions and suggestions of what we needed to do. What to expect.  At some point, I was convinced. Steve – not so much.  We initiated proceedings – French Visa, Current Passports, Italian Passport, global bank accounts, a “dossier” for landlords. Andrea sent listings of properties in our price range.  Steve and I both got excited. We could do it! We could move to the South of France.  

On October 1, 2015, Steve and I arrived at the Nice airport.  Andrea and Slav met us.  By that time, we had leased a condo in a neighborhood called Cimiez, had bank accounts at HSBC in the U.S. and France with the ability to do global transfers, had one long-term French Visa (for me) and Dual Citizenship for Steve – Italy and U.S. All of it with help from Andrea.

Andrea and Slav helped us with everything – buying a car, buying furniture, hanging paintings, getting utilities up-and-running, fixing televisions, getting sim cards, renting the Eurobox, restaurant suggestions.

Steve and Slav were friends; Andrea and I were, too. When Steve got sick, Andrea and Slav rushed to Emergency. They came to Hopital l’Archet, Hopital Les Sources. They helped both of us when I had an Emergency panic attack.  And, Steve and Slav had time together before he died. Today, they are my friends. They have my back. Could we have predicted any of this?  No.

NOW – to the reason for this symposium:

On June 10, Andrea and Slav got married.  I was invited.  Steve, in spirit.

The Church – Eglise Saint Jean Baptiste, Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France – dates to the XIX Century, replacing a primitive church from the XI Century. http://www.guide-tourisme-france.com/VISITER/eglise-saint-jean-baptiste—37358.htm

It wasn’t a large wedding – approximately 70 guests from all over the world. Slav is Polish. Andrea is Canadian.  Friends and family had traveled from Canada, Poland, U.S., United Kingdom, Dubai, New Zealand. The ceremony was in three languages – French, English, and Polish – inspiring, fascinating, and moving.  A gorgeous bride; a handsome husband; an incredible setting.

After the ceremony, vans transported guests to the site of the reception – Plage Deli Bo https://www.facebook.com/pages/Plage-Restaurant-Delibo-les-bains/992440910876719      The bride and groom and family took pictures. From then on, it was a glorious cocktail party, delicious dinner, and dancing by the Sea.  A full moon.  A contagious joie de vivre.  I danced like I was 18, totally forgetting that I have a bad knee.  

I enjoyed conversations and celebrated until the band at Deli Bo played “Goodnight, Sweetheart”. Just kidding. No one plays that song anymore. Well, the music stopped, and the lights flickered. Just kidding. At some point, people were leaving.  So, I called Uber and went home.  

An Evening to Remember. I wish Andrea and Slav all the best. And, I thank them for including me in this celebration of family and friends. 

Best, Jay

 

 

My American Independence celebration took me to the Castel Plage (www.castelplage.com) in Nice for a musical evening and dinner, hosted by the American Club of the Riviera. (http://americanclubriviera.com/)  Castel Plage is the beach-restaurant furthest east on the Quai des Etats-Unis, (http://www.nice-tourism.com/en/nice-attractions/promenades-and-pedestrian-areas-in-nice/quai-des-etats-unis.html), nestled under the Parc du Chateau (https://www.nice.fr/fr/parcs-et-jardins/le-parc-de-la-colline-du-chateau) on the Promenade des Anglais.  Castel Plage is one of the oldest establishments on the Baie de Anges (Bay of Angels).

I enjoyed a three-course dinner and was entertained by “French-American soprano, Amy Christianna Blake” (better known as Amy Blake from West Texas who now lives in Nice), who has been noted for her “beautiful singing” and her “strong energy and stage presence” by The New York Times.  

Blake sang songs by Jerome Kern, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Richard Rodgers and George Gershwin. Really lovely. Reminded me of Kiri Te Kanawa, the New Zealand soprano who has had a successful international opera career since 1968. I saw Te Kanawa at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles during the 90’s.

Kiri Te Kanawa moved me emotionally over the years as did Blake on Tuesday night. AND, Blake’s musicians were outstanding – called the “Cream of the Crop” quartet of musicians. I agree with that. The saxophone player was my favorite, even though the drummer ran a close second. And, two dancers from the Nice Jazz Off Dance Academy did dance numbers. The tap dancer was my favorite. 

I had a front row, stage-right seat – by the stage AND by the sea.  That worked.  When I arrived, I was assigned to Table 3.  Being one of the first there, I had a choice of seat. Everyone else was networking. I chose to sit in the shade and look at the sea. Then, I realized my back was to the stage. Sea, or stage?  I chose stage, and moved.  Besides, I could always turn around and check out the sea – be sure it was still there.  The sunset, the lights around the Bay, the moon, the Ferry from Corsica – spectacular.  The concert, a close second.

When Blake led us in singing the Star-Spangled Banner, I was moved to tears. I also wept when she sang “There’s a Time for Us” from West Side Story, missing Steve beyond belief.  There were not many Americans at my table – four of us U.S. expats.  The other six were from different countries. I have found that to be the case at events I’ve attended. Most have been from other countries – always friendly and interesting. I sat between Roger and his wife Sara – from Houston. They moved to the South of France twelve years ago because Roger had a stroke and Sara had (I think she said) breast cancer, but I may be wrong about Sara. She had some health condition that was serious. They had planned to stay a year.  Still here. Bought a house in Valbonne, France (20 minutes up the road) – healthy and happy.  Plan to spend the summer in the States. 

Rick moved here in September 2015 from San Francisco. He is writing a book about business and intuition and plans to stay. He lives 10 minutes up the coast. 

In the future, I want to get to know Annie. She sat across the table. And, there was a German couple to my left. They live in Nice. Another couple who live in Nice (I forgot where they are from). And a beautiful woman with lots of energy.  Fun group. 

Some photos were taken by me; others were taken by Cynthia, better known as “Cy”. She is the Membership Coordinator for the Club. I “borrowed” them from the American Club of the Riviera’s website.  Cy was still taking pictures when I left at midnight. I was more taken by the gorgeous setting, good food, interesting conversations, wine, a moon, musicians, and show tunes. Only things missing were Steve and fireworks.  

Best, Jay

 

 

 

 

 

For this July 4, 2017 weekend:  It all started on September 20, 2011. I, as an entertainment attorney, was invited to be on an e-publishing, self-help panel for members of the Writers Guild of America. The panel sought to empower writers to create new opportunities for work in film, television, new media and transmedia. Since WGA did not cover book publication regardless of format, it was thought that e-publishing could be a stepping stone towards potential work on Guild-covered adaptations. So, on September 20^th, I joined members Lee Goldberg (The Glades), Derek Haas (Wanted), and Alexandra Sokoloff (author, Book of Shadows, and Mark Coker (Smashwords). Our task was to discuss the latest e-book/self and indie-publishing developments. It was a power-packed evening with information, questions, and answers.

The next day, I said to my husband, Steve, “You need to write a book”. To which he answered, “I have nothing to say.” I laughed. Steve always had something to say. I said, “Write a book about baseball.” He thought about this for a couple of years, and on May 19, 2013, he published The Game: A Baseball Companion.  

“The History books tell us that the first professional baseball game was held on May 4, 1869, as the Cincinnati Red Stockings “eked” out a 45-9 win. No doubt the first baseball story was told on May 5th. No sport, not basketball, not football, not hockey, has the oral tradition of the national pastime. And like any good oral tradition, it has been passed from generation to generation. Baseball stories, in one form or another, are as much a part of our game as the infield fly and the rosin bag. In this book, they come in all sizes and shapes – short stories, essays, expressions, rules, jokes and slang to name just a few.

The first “Baseball Balladeer” in my life was one Vincent Edward Scully, known to three generations of fans as “Vin.” For baseball-ignorant Southern Californians, he was a Godsend. Far more than their voice, he was their teacher. Now the game, which had been thousands of miles away, was as close as your transistor radio or the “am” in your car. He gave Los Angeles: the who, what, when, where, and most importantly, why. He studied at the foot of a master [Red Barber] and is acknowledged as the best in the business. And I know this how? He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame…43 years ago! For nine years, I was lucky to be his producer. I called him “The Doctor,” for his PhD in Baseball. Try explaining the balk rule to the man who taught you half of what you know about the game.

When I began covering the Angels, I got to know Emil Joseph “Buzzie” Bavasi. If you looked up “character” in the dictionary, it would say, “see Buzzie.” In the ‘40s he was Branch Rickey’s top lieutenant and had a hand in breaking Baseball’s color line as well as dealing with Vero Beach in the acquisition of “Dodgertown.” He became General Manager and earned a reputation as a shrewd and tough negotiator. “Buzzie” loved to tell the story about contract haggling with a certain player [still alive, so no names]. He had a “fake” contract with a very low salary created for the team’s best player. He left it on his desk and excused himself for a moment, convinced that the player would take a peak. Needless to say that when he returned, the negotiations ended quickly and in “Buzzie’s” favor.

He had been schooled in [and ultimately taught] the Branch Rickey way of playing the game [stressing fundamentals, nurturing talent, and the importance of a strong farm system]. In the years we worked together, I never once over heard a conversation when he wasn’t at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end of a story or anecdote. He lived for Baseball and lived to talk about it.

In 1985, I began working with Bob Starr. Bob [or as we called him, “Bobo”] was the broadcaster’s broadcaster. He could do play-by-play for anything – Baseball, Football, your kid’s hopscotch game…anything. “Bobo” was a graduate of the KMOX “School of Broadcasting.”

The famed St. Louis radio station produced Harry Caray, Jack and Joe Buck, Buddy Blattner, Joe Garagiola and Bob Costas, among others. He had that smooth, Midwestern style and on the air you’d swear he was talking just to you.

I once shared a golf cart with him for a round. Four hours well spent looking for my ball [as usual] and listening. He loved to tell stories, some on himself. While playing 18 holes on an off day, Bob had a heart attack. Upon arrival at the hospital the doctors asked, “if he was in pain?” “Yes,” he replied, “in my backside.” Mystified, the Doctors went over the test results. A physical examination revealed that the patient still had his pants on. The source of the pain was two Titleists in his back pocket. How we miss “Bobo.”

The average Baseball fan may not recognize the name Jack Lang, but every player knew him and loved it when he called. Jack was for twenty years the executive secretary of The Baseball Writers of America, and, if he telephoned you, it meant that you just won the Cy Young Award, the Most Valuable Player Award, the Rookie-of-the-Year or had hit the “Baseball Lottery,” induction into the Hall of Fame. His vocation was sportswriter [a New York beat writer], and for forty years he was one of the best.

I met Jack in 1987. We had been hired by Victor Temkin to do sports licensing for MCA/Universal. It was there I discovered his sense of humor, his humanity and his encyclopedic knowledge of the game.

We would speak on the phone almost every day for an hour. Five minutes would be devoted to business, the remaining fifty-five given over to “talkin’ baseball.” I firmly believe that I could have put the phone on speaker, turned on a tape recorder, left the room, and returned thirty minutes later to find another chapter for this book.

In 1997, we took a production crew to his home for an interview. It was the 50th anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s entry into the major leagues, and who better to discuss it with than the man who covered it. Jack lived in the little village of Ft. Salonga on the North Coast of Long Island, [Vin used to refer to him as “the Squire of Ft. Salonga”] in a modest house with an office on the side. The office contained a desk, two chairs and enough Baseball memorabilia to open a museum. [The whole place could have been shipped, as is, to Cooperstown.]

“Buzzie,” “Bobo,” and “the Squire” are gone and, believe me; this book would have been much easier to write if they were still here. We still have “Vinnie” [long may he reign]. If there is such a thing as a sub-dedication, this is for them. They and countless others had a hand in writing this book. I have tried to fashion a work with something for everyone, from the hard-core fan to the young people just learning about our game. In so doing, I’ve run the gamut all the way from Baseball history to Baseball jokes. I hope you enjoy it and hope it adds to your love for “The Game.”

Steve Orlandella spent his career working in Sports Television, most of it in baseball. He studied broadcasting, history and theatre at California State University, Northridge. While working on his degrees, he joined the Cal State staff as a producer-director of Educational TV.

In 1979, he joined KTLA Channel 5 in Los Angeles as a news producer, senior sports producer, and director of “News at Ten”. In 1985, he was promoted to KTLA’s Supervising Producer/Director. He produced and directed entertainment programs, Angels Baseball, and Clippers Basketball Games.

In 1987, he worked for MCA/Universal as Producer of media for the Merchandising/Licensing Division, later becoming an independent Producer/Director. He produced winter and summer Olympic specials, Kings Hockey games, promos and commercials for Z-Channel and Sportschannel, and directed boxing, pro and college basketball.

Then, in 1993, he became Producer for Dodgers Baseball – for nine seasons. He won Golden Mikes, Associated Press Awards, and was nominated for Emmy’s twelve times. He received two Emmy’s for his work with the Dodgers.

In 2005, he launched Steve Orlandella Productions and Ormac Press. His first three published books were non-fiction: Stevespeak: Three Years on Facebook (2012); Titanic: Those in Peril on the Sea (2013); The Game: A Baseball Companion (2013). 

His next five published books were fiction, with baseball and ballparks being a running theme throughout: Burden of Proof: A Vic Landell Mystery (2014); Capitol Murder: A Vic Landell Mystery (2014); Marathon Murders: A Vic Landell Mystery (2015), Dance with Death: A Vic Landell Mystery (2015); Midtown Mayhem: A Vic Landell Mystery (2016). He was working on Casino Killer: A Vic Landell Mystery when he died of heart failure in August 2016.

Steve knew baseball, in and out. He cared passionately about the Red Sox in Boston. He also cared about the Patriots, the Celtics, Lotus cars, meatballs, pundits, condiments, the Titanic, his family, and Vin Scully – not necessarily in that order.  Steve Orlandella’s testament to his love of the game:  THE GAME: A BASEBALL COMPANION.

https://www.amazon.com/Game-Baseball-Companion-Steve-Orlandella-ebook/dp/B00HGELSWC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1498890374&sr=8-2&keywords=Steve+Orlandella+The+Game%3A+A+baseball+Companion

Best, Jay

BREAKING NEWS!  This Wednesday, the Summer Sale starts in France. YES!  For us “professional shoppers”, let the fun begin.  Why is this a big deal?  In the U.S., there are sales every day. Macy’s has one sale after another. I used to spend days and weeks buying and returning things to Macy’s.  It was therapy for me. Haha. When I was in Law School, I would browse and buy in Marshall’s to relieve the pressure. You think I am kidding? The sales and deals were rampant.  Steve and I would laugh at local businesses in Westwood, posting “going out-of-business sales” and leaving signs up for years – for instance, a furniture store and an antique store on the corners of Sepulveda and La Grange.

It is different in France.  The dates when stores can have big sales are regulated by law. That’s right – LAW. There are only two times a year when French shops are legally allowed to sell items for less than cost and use the word “Soldes” in their windows and ads – January (Soldes d’Hiver) and July (Soldes d’Ete). Like our “Black Friday” or Nordstrom’s Half-Yearly Sale. The markdowns are huge.  The dates vary from year to year and from regions to region, but here on the Riviera, the 2017 Sale was January 11 – February 21. And the Summer Sale starts on Wednesday, June 28, lasting until August 8, 2017. Each sales period lasts six weeks.

The stores can only sell the current inventory on hand. They are not allowed to bring in merchandise especially for sales.  Prices are reduced on what is in the shop, even in the major designer label stores like Chanel, Christian Dior, and Louis Vuitton. They all drop their prices. That is also true at stores selling building materials and supplies. The markdowns get deeper as the weeks go on. Steve and I bought our big television set (featured below) during Soldes d’Hiver in 2016.  

I bought my Ralph Lauren orange blazer (featured below) during Soldes d’Ete in July 2016. Prices were slashed on both.

The savings during this time are usually 30-50%. Sometimes as high as 70% as the sale period goes on. So, at the beginning, you have inventory selection, but by the end, slashed prices. Problem is – you cannot return anything. Well, not true. You can return and get store credit, but not your money back. Maybe. Depends on the store. But, that policy seems to be in place all the time in most stores. I have found out the hard way. The French have little patience with returns.

A lot of the stores are now open on Sundays. That’s relatively new. Sunday – the sacred family day in France – is a day when EVERYONE goes to the Park by my house. So, if you have the desire and the money to shop on Sunday, that is when you get the sales without the crowds at Galeries Lafayette, H&M and Zara, and shopping centers like Nice Etoile, Cap3000 and the Polygon Riviera.  All of those are now open seven days a week during the sales period.  

Frankly, between you and me, I try to stay OUT of the stores. I always see and want more than I can afford. And, if I have a weak moment – which is just about all of the time I am in the store – and impulsively buy an Armani jacket (my favorite designer) on sale (which I did not too long ago because there was a sign in the window that said, “GOING OUT OF BUSINESS”), I cannot take it back (which I wanted to do the next day when it was too late).  I don’t dare go back into that shop during July or August.  

Buyer Beware!!

Best, Jay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This week, I cleaned out. Then, cleaned out more. Then, panicked. I can only downsize for so long before I panic and put things back on the shelves and in the closets. I am like a yo-yo – give it away, put it back. This is not new news. Thus, I have discovered that the only way I will let go of a “thing” / “stuff” / “keepsakes” / “old designer clothes” is to get it into the dumpster or the car as fast as possible. Usually, I won’t take something out of the dumpster. I have been known to take something out of the car, but not often. If I put clothes going to charity into the car, I usually let them stay – unless I panic, go down to the car, search through the bags until I find what I am looking for.  

This week, I worked on closets and bookshelves – trying to “simplify”. As I was trying to get one of the bookshelves organized, I saw three magazines that I have carted from house to house since the 1960’s. Most of that time, these magazines have stayed in drawers, out-of-sight. Why? Why was I keeping a “Saturday Evening Post”, dated August 25 – September 1, 1962; a “Saturday Evening Post”, dated October 20, 1962; and a “Life” magazine, dated November 9, 1962?

 

 

On the front of the Saturday Evening Post, dated August 25-September 1, 1962, someone has written “J. D. Jewell, pg 55B”.

My friend, Janice Braselton, says its Mother’s handwriting. Possibly. It is not mine. And, it is not Daddy’s. The “D” looks like Mother’s, so Janice is probably right.

I turned to page 55B. There it was. An ad – “Jesse Jewell’s from our spotless plant to your spotless kitchen TWO NEW WAYS TO BUY CHICKEN! Extra Flavor! Extra Value! Extra Good!

I searched through the Saturday Evening Post, dated October 20, 1962. On page 66a, there is an ad – “Jesse Jewell’s Plenty of Meat…Tasty Gravy…Tender Crist MEAT PIES Extra Flavor! Extra Value! Extra Good!”

In Life, dated November 9, 1962, the ad was further back. On page 124 R5 – “Jesse Jewell’s Plenty of Meat…Tasty Gravy…Tender Crust MEAT PIES.”

The fall of 1962.  I tried to remember. What was going on in my life? The world? The Company? And I remembered – J. D. Jewell, Inc. in Gainesville Georgia and Florence, Alabama was riding high. I had just gotten my Master’s Degree from the University of Georgia in Drama in June 1962. And, I immediately got a position, teaching drama at Brenau College (now, Brenau University) in Gainesville, starting that fall. My husband at that time was studying for the Georgia Bar Exam.

During that fall, J.D. Jewell, Inc. was expanding into Frozen Pot Pies, with a plant in Florence, Alabama. Mother and Daddy were constantly sampling pot pies, and so were we. Our freezer was stocked full of frozen chicken and chicken pot pies and meat pot pies. Colonel Sanders Kentucky Fried Chicken was talking to Daddy; Heinz wanted the Company; and so did Swanson. The stock was going or had gone over the counter. Life was good.

I started browsing through articles to see what was going on in the world – an article “Our Image Abroad” by Robert F. Kennedy; “A Slugger Comes of Age” by Frank Robinson; Irving Berlin was “Back on Broadway; “Advice to Young Men” by Henry Ford II. Then, wait a minute! WHAT???? DEALING WITH THE DEADLY CRISIS – The U.S. and Its People Withstand the Nuclear Threat. As Others Talk, Kennedy and Khrushchev Pull the Strings “DESTINY WAITS UPON THE MEN”. Oh, my god, what have I discovered? The U.S. was in crisis!! I knew that, but….!!!!

While we were enjoying the fruits of success in Gainesville, Georgia, with full-page ads in major magazines, the U.S. was in crisis. “In a take-cover drill at the Elysian Heights elementary school in Los Angeles, children crouched in a corridor under the watchful eyes of their teachers, shielding the back of their necks with their hands. It was a scene to be repeated in many places across the U.S. as Americans braced for what yet might come. “

Then and now – the similarities? And, this is the moment in time I take another look? My heart is full – difficult to put into words. A lot to think about. These magazines are a keeper. For now, anyway.

Remember? Familiar friends, aren’t they?

 

 

Best,  Jay

 

Throughout the years, concepts influenced my life. As a young girl, I enjoyed pondering concepts – more so than facts. If I saw someone doing one thing while saying another, I thought about motivation rather than what just happened. I immersed myself in concepts when I started working with Ira Progoff, writing in Journals and going to periodic retreats.  A lot of that work is included in my book “Janet Tallulah”.

I continue to ponder concepts. (Drove Steve crazy. He was a fact man, a perfect partner in a game of Trivial Pursuit, thought I “overthought” everything.)  And the specific concepts for today’s symposium are choices and decisions and “the CLICK”.  

“Choice” is defined by Merriam-Webster as “the act of choosing” or “the act of picking or deciding between two or more possibilities” or “the opportunity or power to choose between two or more possibilities”. “Decision” is “the act or result of making a choice especially after careful thought.  Choice comes first, followed by decision.

Ira talked at length about the importance of making a decision.  Then, MOVE ON.  

Should one have difficulty making a decision, decide not to decide until the decision is ready to be made. Ugh. That was not easy for me to do. I forced a decision, then fretted about whether it was the right choice. Drove me crazy and anyone else I could dump my frustration on. At some point along the way, I started calling that moment of decision-making – the CLICK.  For me to decide, I must hear the CLICK.  Until then, decide not to decide, yet. The decision was not ready to be made.

Haha. That didn’t work in restaurants when I had to decide what to eat.  It worked great when I had to decide whether to break up with Steve or marry him. Or, whether to move to France or Sarasota, Florida. Or whether to attend law school or continue acting full-time.  

Throughout the years, I continued making up words that worked for me. I called it “Jayspeak”. When Steve and I started seeing each other, I discovered that he made up things more than I did.  I wouldn’t know what he meant.  I called it “Stevespeak”. Then, he would explain.  Our own version of Pig-Latin. “Stevespeak” is the title of his first book and his blog that he started just before he died.

I think of the CLICK, daily. Especially in the middle of the night.  I have a lot of choices and decisions to make. I must downsize because I must move – sometime around the 30th of September. That is when my lease is up. And, this unit is up for sale, with annoying weekly showings. Where will I put all this stuff? Dishes and silver and tablecloths and napkins and pots and pans and paintings…..  To say nothing about my grand piano. Haha. My friend Carole calls it “the elephant in the room”.  It doesn’t make sense to rent storage. And, the French haven’t discovered closets, yet. Where do they put stuff?  Ugh. Where do I move? Sigh. A friend asked me when I planned to start looking for an apartment.  I replied, “When I hear the CLICK.” She, of course, didn’t know what I meant. But I did. And do. And will. At some point, I will hear the CLICK. Panic. Find a place. Toss out. Make it work. And, move on. Easy to say, difficult to do.

 

Best, Jay

 

 

 

 

It is difficult to write about this. But, I must. It seems important for me to do. This time last year, Steve and I were in a Ritage Riviera town car, being driven to Monaco. It was Saturday, the day of Qualifying. We were giddy from excitement. The Monaco Grand Prix was IT in our home. I think Steve was a Formula One fan from the git-go. His favorite race was Monaco. Over the years, it became mine, too. I began to know the Clubs and many of the drivers. It was fun. I did not get up with him at any hour of the night to watch events, but he did. Amazing. 

Last year, he got us tickets for Qualifying. They were cheaper than Race Day. And, we wanted to get a driver. Maybe, if we were younger, we would have taken the train, but a driver let us stay longer and do more. 

We left home around 10:30 a.m., allowing time for crowds and traffic. And, we want to explore, eat lunch, wander…. Everything was amazingly organized. And, we did as much as we both had energy to do, deliriously happy. We had hot dogs, Pepsi’s, potato chips, ice cream, Italian food. We talked to strangers and kept trying to get a good selfie. 

We did not have seats. We had space on a hill. Haha. And, by the time we got there, the good spaces were taken. We didn’t care. We were there and loving it, resolving to get seats for Race Day next year.

These are the pictures we took. Not great. For us, it was just the beginning of more Grand Prix’s to come.

Today is Qualifying in Monaco. I will watch it for both of us. And, tomorrow – the Race. Some days, I feel my heart will break. This is one of them. 

Best, Jay