JAYSPEAK

The woods are on fire. Trees have been hit by lightening bolts. Nature is forcing new growth – whether I like it or not. Well, I don’t like it. It has jolted me out of complacency. Things I took for granted, people I took for granted must never be taken for granted. Time out! Think.  Remember  – this is a time of year I love.

I love fall leaves, fireplaces, pumpkins, chrysanthemums, Thanksgiving. Mother loved it, too. She made each fall season special. Right before school was to start, she would take me shopping for “fall cottons”. That meant we were going to Atlanta and spend the entire day – shopping! Drive down in the morning and return late afternoon. First stop – Muses. There, most of the salesladies knew Mother by name. “Hello, Mrs. Jewell. And, Janet, how nice to see you. What can we help you with?” Boy, did she love that! Plus, Muses was fun because I was rested and ready to try-on everything. Then, on to J.P. Allen (where I usually got shoes and socks), then Davison-Paxon Company’s Tea Room for lunch. Either that, or the S&W Cafeteria. The decision depended on whether Davison’s was having a Fashion Show, or not. I preferred the S&W Cafeteria (even though I loved the fashion shows). It had great chocolate pudding. And, I could choose what I wanted – fried chicken (unless they had fried fish), beans, corn, turnip greens and cornbread (and/or homemade buttered biscuit) plus a dessert. Dessert was problematic because I wanted one of each. Hard to narrow it down unless they had cherry pie. If not, it was chocolate pudding. Late afternoon, we would drive back to Gainesville, exhausted with the trunk full of boxes – new outfits for school – usually plaid dresses.

We also had to get school supplies – a new book satchel, notebook, notebook paper, pencils (No.2), eraser (rubber gum), ruler, plus anything else on the list. We got all of that at The Book Shop. I was happy. Once school started, I was even happier. I loved school. I still love school (witness, starting Law School at age 59 and graduating at age 62, passing the California Bar Exam at age 63). Currently looking around for a University in Nice that has a class with an English-speaking professor, teaching French. I think there is one in Monaco, but I don’t want the commute.

Finally, Thanksgiving was my favorite! Mother pulled out all her pretty things and made a gorgeous table. Fresh flowers everywhere. Relatives would come from all over to be with us that day. And, wonderful Southern dishes would grace our table. All though my life, I have tried to make Thanksgiving special for my family.  Hopefully, I succeeded once or twice. J  I would set a gorgeous table with fresh flowers. Use my silver goblets and good china. Cook for several days. A typical Thanksgiving meal at our home would be turkey, dressing, giblet gravy, sweet potato souffle, wild rice, petite English peas, celery sticks, carrot sticks, olives, spiced peaches, cranberry sauce, and boiled custard with Waldorf Astoria cake (very chocolaty) for dessert. I knew how to make all of Mother’s dishes (she got from Mama Dorough who got from Grandma Eliza) and succeeded with most. I never could get my dressing or giblet gravy to be as good as hers, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. And, most Thanksgivings, we invited guests. It was fun. For years, my daughter helped me cook. The boys liked it, too.

This year, I must focus on thoughts and memories that make me feel good. At least – this week, I must. Probably next week, too. And, the next. I miss Steve. I miss my kids. Current events are no help. But, letting up is not giving up. It is just a time to re-group. The thought for today speaks to me: “At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person, each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”  – Albert Schweitzer.

Thank you, Mother.

Thank you, Trascey, Craig, and Blake.

Thank you, My Darling Steve.

Thank you, Friends and Extended Family.

Best, Jay

To my Family and Friends, thank you very much for your donation(s). I have tried to write a personal note to each one of you. Don’t think I missed anyone. I hope not. It has meant the world to me. Truly. Making the best of things has been difficult. If you have seen my profile pictures of late, you’ve noticed my sunglasses. That is on purpose – to hide my (sad) eyes. Eyes tell the story. As an actress, I worked to tell the story in my eyes so the camera would pick up belief. Not disbelief. It has not been easy, asking for help. These after-death problems have been complex. And, they are not over. On the contrary, I am still working with hospitals and insurance companies, trying to negotiate my way out of a mess. Yet, we are all working our way out of a mess of some kind or other – especially now. So, at this Thanksgiving time, let’s all pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start all over again. If you are willing, donations are still in order. Keep that bucket list going. Look for things to be thankful for. Meanwhile, I will put on a happy face, maybe sunglasses, maybe not, and post roses. Again, thank you from me and Steve.  Happy Thanksgiving!   https://www.gofundme.com/2g4wsbx7

Best, Jay

Remember Kaleidoscopes? Did you have one? I did. I would sit, peering through a peep hole and watch the different designs as I turned the scope. When I lived through earthquakes in California, I thought each time about my kaleidoscope. It was like the earth was “shifting” – especially during the Northridge Earthquake. And, if I had a peep hole, I could watch the different designs. This time, I am not watching. Rather, I am inside the kaleidoscope, being shifted as someone else turns the scope, powerless to stop irreversible change. The United States of America has elected a bully to its highest office, disregarding everything previously held sacred.

Frankly, I keep blocking the truth. I spend hours, looking for information and evaluations. In the old days, I would ask Steve. He knew. He spent hours, watching TV and pundits and news programs. So much so that I frequently got on his case, accusing him of living in his head. Still in LA. Or Boston. Or Sarasota, Florida. Now, I am doing the same thing. How can I not? I am still a California attorney licensed to practice law in the State of California. My heart is still fighting bullies in the employment arena,  helping victims of discrimination, wrongful termination, harassment, retaliation, whistle-blowing, and such. That’s why I can hardly believe what I am hearing and reading – a bully has come to power. I read articles on Facebook, on the Internet, watch television, listen to radio – the BBC, CNN, Riviera Radio, Sky News – trying to get a feel for what is happening.

I am no longer in disbelief. Not after reality check after reality check. In my despair, I talk to Steve in absentia. We have conversations – like in the past when we talked, laughed, cried, and held each other. I am on my own with this one. Lots of platitudes are out there. My favorite quote is Anna Eleanor Roosevelt’s “You gain courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing which come along.’  …You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” That quote got me through law school, the California Bar Exam, and a lot of trials (and tribulations). It doesn’t work in this situation. I am not afraid. Quite the contrary. I am emboldened to speak out and take action.

Donald Trump is a bully. In fact, he is a bully of bullies, or so he says. I did not vote for him. Nor would I ever. He is a revolting man to me. I voted for Hilary. I have admired her since I was a young woman. She lost. I can take losses. This loss is different. It is bigger than elections. It involves country. After January, I don’t think my country will have my back. A bully will be at the helm. I have seen firsthand what damage bullies can do. Bullies harm little guys. Employees get kicked by bully supervisors who got kicked by managers. Passing damage and destructive behavior down the line. You and I, as little guys, can look forward to getting kicked. We have a bully coming on board as manager. And he will bring in bully supervisors to help him. And we, as employees, won’t like what happens. Mark my words.

PLEASE TAKE NOTICE, destructive behavior passes down. Here, it is starting at the top. Our President-Elect has promised to do things endorsed by bully organizations and ratified by “good, intelligent” people, “Christian” people, claiming the President-Elect is the answer to their prayers. What were they praying for? Apparently, they got it. I tried giving my opinions and suggestions to a few people on Facebook. Didn’t work. Got blocked. I do better posting pictures of roses. Big Brother is watching.

Best, Jay

 

 

 

“SeaTrek” is Jayspeak for those times when I walk from my home to the Sea – wherever it is feasible. In Los Angeles, I walked from our home in Westwood to the palisades park in Santa Monica, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. That was approximately eight miles. Once I arrived at my destination, I would call Steve to meet me for brunch. After brunch on the Promenade, he would drive us home. Last Saturday, I walked from our home in Cimiez – now my home – to the Mediterranean Sea. Luckily, the distance was only three miles. And, a bus brought me home. Steve and I had talked about doing it together. And, it was on our list. I carried the torch without him. Not the same, but doable.

I started out around 8:30 a.m. There was very little traffic at that point. And, the sky was crystal clear. Good day for a walk. I walked past the monastery and the park, crossed the street, and headed down the Boulevard de Cimiez toward town – taking pictures along the way.

My plan was to take short cuts at the bottom of the hill to get to the main drag – Avenue Jean Médecin. Then, walk to my destination – breakfast. And, I wanted to check out the parking lot at the Carrefour Supermarket at the bottom of the hill. I have wanted to shop there, but did not know about parking. (Parking is always a consideration in Nice.) After making note of the parking lot, I cut through Avenue Notre Dame to Avenue Jean Médecin, taking a picture of everything in sight, including the beautiful Notre-Dame de l’Assomption.

For breakfast, I wanted to try a cafe that I had read about, named Mama delices – good reviews and served breakfast. I wanted to give it a try. Maybe they had omelets. No omelets, even on a good day. And, by the time I got there, the only thing they had left was one small croissant and orange juice. Plus, coffee. Always coffee. Not what I had in mind. The French are not big on breakfast, I have discovered. If you want breakfast, you must go to the Hard Rock Café on the Promenade, or some such place, to get petit déjeuner Anglais. Otherwise, breakfast is a croissant, orange juice, and coffee – if they aren’t out of croissants. Or yogurt. So, after my orange juice, small baguette with butter and apricot marmalade, and coffee, I started walking to the Sea – down the block.

Then, it happened. I spied a hair salon across the pathway. I “walked in” and asked if someone could “trim” my hair. Miracle of miracle, the lady said yes. So, two hours later, I walked out – butchered. One girl shampooed my hair, massaging so much that I knew it must be extra. Then, another woman blow-dried my hair. Curious, I asked who was going to “trim” my hair. Apparently, Thierry Antoine, from Paris. That was when I wondered why I had not asked the price up front. And, now, it was too late. Damn. How would I pay for it? Credit card? Did I have to tip these people? Damn. As it turned out, it wasn’t too expensive, and I did not tip anyone. I figured they could blame it on damn Americans. But, to be honest, I like my haircut. Nothing about it is a “trim”, but I don’t care. Easier to do in the mornings. I got his card.

More pictures by the sea, a selfie or two, and on to the Flower Market. I wanted a yellow chrysanthemum for my patio. By then, it was lunch time, and I was hungry. So, I went to La Voglia, another favorite, and got their salad and a glass of wine – Cote de Provence whatever. Always good. On to the bus stop. Back through the park to home. All in all, I walked approximately six miles. Great day. Only thing missing was Steve.

I took a lot of pictures – too many to post. I put some on Facebook and some on Instagram. Not all the same. And, here, other selections. Some may be the same, but most are new. AND, I still have ones I am not posting. Anyway, enjoy.

Best, Jay

 

Monday is Halloween, October 31, 2016. They don’t pay much attention to Halloween in this town. Delicious candy is in the stores, but… there is always candy in the stores – delicious gourmet chocolates and boxes of goodies. No huge sacks of small Hershey Bars. Store windows have a “fall” theme. My Halloween fun will be on Facebook – seeing all the posts of parties and creative costumes mixed in with a barrage of political opinions and posts – ugh.

More important, Monday marks the anniversary of Steve’s death – two months later. It seems like yesterday that he was watching TV on the sofa, or sitting at his desk – writing things to post on Facebook, or spending time with the Redhead and Vic Landell in Nice, or in the kitchen – cooking “gravy” (the Italian word for pasta sauce). Most of his clothes are in the closet. All trains lie dormant. Boxes of uncooked fusilli are in the cupboard. A copy of each book – in the bookshelf. How long will things remain like that? I don’t know. Until I change them. Don’t know when that will be.

GoFundMe has been a Godsend. I am almost “there”. Some signs of accomplishment – I paid one hospital – two to go. I have submitted required documents to the French government, the U.S. Government, the landlord, insurance companies, and a slew of other agencies that needed notification. I have renegotiated my lease (for now) and have begun thinking about downsizing – again. None of this has been easy – but necessary. And, during it all, I got sick. 

The good news is that I am better. The bad news is that I must get in the car, drive to Hopital l’Archet, deal with Admissions, and negotiate hospital bills with people who speak French – only. On another day, I must get in the car, drive to Hopital Pasteur, deal with Admissions, and negotiate hospital bills AND morgue bills with people who speak French – only. One lady scolded me – in English, mind you – how dare I live in France and not speak French. 

These campaigns are controversial. I have been criticized – “it is a scam”, “she lives in California, not France”, “she is enhancing her retirement”, “GoFundMe campaigns are out of control”, and so forth. Maybe. I am doing it anyway. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And, to those of you who cannot contribute, or don’t want to contribute, or have contributed – please share this post. That helps a lot. 

Just for the record: When Steve died, it was like being in a shipwreck, with waves crashing all around me. I searched for a piece of wreckage to hold on to, having to make decisions right and left. And, worst of all, I was in shock and couldn’t think. Now, six weeks later, I am thinking a tad better and glad of it. Bottom line, I need help. There are a lot of bills. If you will, it really helps. We moved on a tight budget. Maybe not the best way, but we did it anyway. All attorneys are not rich (no jokes, please). With love and appreciation, Jay  For those who may not know, on October 1, 2015, over a year ago, my husband Steve Orlandella and I moved to Nice, France. We moved to France as a compromise. We had been living in Los Angeles, California, for many years. I moved there in 1968, from Gainesville, Georgia, to be an actress. I met Steve Orlandella in 1993, at Dodgers Stadium. He was a television writer / producer / director for KCET. We got married in August 2005. He began writing books while I practiced law. In 2014, we decided to retire to Nice, France. It took two years to “get our ducks in a row,” complicated with snags galore. On October 1, 2015, we moved – two happy campers. On July 30, 2016, Steve didn’t feel well – the flu. On Tuesday, he took a major turn for the worse. I rushed him to emergency. He was diagnosed with acute pneumonia. He remained in the intensive care section of ICU for a month while doctors tried to save his life. On August 31, 2016, he died of heart failure. He was only 66. Since then, bills have come in – hospital, doctors, morgue, funeral home, crematorium, obituaries, insurance policies, deductibles, renewals. We did not have life insurance or sufficient French insurance because we were excited about living, not concerned with dying.  The money is being used to cover existing costs and incoming bills.  So…. I thank you for any help you are willing to give. I’m sure Steve thanks you, too. Jay

Grammar has always been fun for me. When I was in “Grammar School”, I learned how to diagram sentences. We built little bridges and put words places that made little pictures. I could make a picture and get an A+ for doing it. 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. I don’t remember whom I had in Seventh Grade. Mrs. Puckett? Not one of them easy. Strict and hard. Great. Bring it on!

In High School, I don’t remember grammar being a focus. I had Miss Turner for English in my Senior Year, but I don’t remember grammar. I guess by then, we were supposed to know it. Maybe. I don’t remember. At the University of Wisconsin, nothing. And, at the University of Georgia, nothing. But, as soon as I graduated with my Master’s Degree, I began teaching at Brenau College and then at Gainesville Junior College. I always included grammar in my English and Drama courses. Students seemed to know NOTHING about grammar. Why not? Didn’t they teach it anymore?

As my children were growing up, I corrected them – a lot, until I stopped. We had so much going on in our lives, my kids did not need for me to get on their case about grammar. When they got older, I considered correcting them, but didn’t. When they became adults, I didn’t dare correct them. Still don’t. Correct grammar has gone out the window. I see bad grammar in legal briefs.

Every week, I get an email from a guy named Gary Kinder, selling editing software “SoftRake” that should be required in colleges, law schools, trade schools and on home computers, business computers…… Last week, Mr. Kinder wrote one that was inspired. I loved it. So, I am re-posting his post:

“After much pondering and many long discussions with my wife, I have decided to jump into the race for President of the United States. I know it’s a little late, and the campaign will be arduous, but I have been preparing myself for a long while, practicing the victory sign with both hands at the same time.

My platform is simple, one plank: I pledge to the American people to wage war on one of the most insidious threats to the American way of life since Ben Franklin flew a kite in a storm. The VFW, NOW, DAR, AIM, MADD, NAACP, ASPCA, MLA, NRA, LBJ, and JFK all support my campaign and have contributed heavily.

Yes, I am talking about the pervasive, relentless, unmitigated, diabolical flipping around of subjective and objective pronouns. If we do not act decisively now, the “me-‘n-himmers” will soon be old enough to procreate. What will happen if a “me-‘n-himmer” hooks up with a “her-‘n-Ier?” Can you imagine the sentences that will come out of the mouths of their offspring? “Me and him bought her and I Jimmy Choo handbags.”

How will I implement my plan? First, I will create Youth Groups, young women and men who will wear red arm bands with slogans: “Lips that touch bad grammar shall never touch mine.” Stuff like that. I also plan to resurrect the pillory, that thing where you put your head and hands through and they lower the top half, so you look stupid with your head hanging through a hole. I know there’s one in Williamsburg, and I think Boston has a couple.

But I can’t do this alone. I need the help of every adult, especially coaches, teachers, and parents. Tell the kids, “You may say anything you want to around your friends, but you may not sound stupid in this house (on this court, field, track, diamond, in this classroom).” You wouldn’t let them drive on bald tires; don’t let them shoot their futures in the foot by getting used to bad grammar. 

Reality check: Most children listen to their parents, but would never let their parents know. When your children climb into their twenties, you will have a lot of good laughs with them, as you discover they were listening the whole time.

Now, parents, if you will, I need a few moments alone with your kids. Thank you.

Are they gone, kids? Okay, here’s the deal: Your parents’ greatest fears are that you will contract some terrible disease, get hooked on drugs, be in a horrific car accident, or use “Me and her” as a compound subject in a college interview.

Fact: When the college interviewer says, “Tell me about your best friend and what the two of you like to do together,” she wants you to say, “Me and him play ‘Destiny’ and hang out,” so she can quickly cross another name off her long list. Next! Why not ruin her process with, “He and I hitchhiked from Lake George to El Paso to get closer to real Americans, and that experience has helped him and meto understand more about our country. When we were in Appalachia . . . .”

A few more thoughts: Unless you are standing in the shadow of El Capitan or staring at a Leafy Sea Dragon, it’s time to retire “awesome.” Do not use it when you’re working at BCBGMaxAzria and a customer tells you he has correct change. Also, do not have this conversation with yourself while within ten feet of another human: “So he tells me this, and I’m like. And he’s like. So I’m like. You know? Then he goes, ehh. And I’m like, whoa.”

Here’s the cool part about learning grammar: You can correct your parents. Because just between you and me, they do it, too. They need your help. Every time you hear one of them use “me” or “him” (or both) as a subject, tell them they owe you a quarter. For example, “Me and Kelly’s dad are driving to lacrosse this week.” That’s two bits in your pocket. You can make a lot of money, more than you could with a paper route (never mind), and you don’t have to get up so early. You may go now.

Kids are gone now, parents; just us again. So here’s my plan going forward: once we have them (and ourselves) using subjective and objective pronouns properly, we can move on to “could of” and “should of.”

In the meantime, please join me in my quest and elect me President of the United States, for the future of our children and our children’s children. And our children’s children’s children. And our children’s children’s children’s children. And anyone alive in 4973.

P.S. As I was writing this Tip, I saw an article on a study by the Pew Research Center that compared the Millennials’ reading habits to those of the Baby Boomers. Guess what, Boomers? Millennials read more than we do. And, bless them, they are more likely to say there’s a lot of really great information out there that’s not found on the Internet!”

“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.”

Ugh. Not funny.

Best, Jay

It was a Sunday – mid-June. Usually on Sunday, Steve and I would take off, go to the Italian market for provolone cheese, ravioli, gnocchi, and thin-sliced salami, then browse the flower market for flowers, fruit, cheeses, olives, baguettes, and wind up at our favorite restaurant – Di Piu, Nice. After lunch, we might browse the shops, get a soft vanilla ice cream, or walk along the Sea. Come home, hang out, watch TV, and munch on baguette, thin-sliced salami, Dijon Mustard, and olives for supper – with a cookie for dessert. Add Cabernet and Canada Dry Ginger Ale, and you have the picture. It was always fun.

For some reason this Sunday, we were staying in. Steve was writing. I was surfing the Internet, looking for a place to go on holiday that wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg. I came across a Get Away resort in Interval International – Club Elite Vacation at La Fenice Resort, outside of Olbia, Sardinia, Italy. “Steve, have you ever been to Sardinia?’ “No, why?” “Want to go?” “Sure, why not?’ “Can we be ready to go by July 8?” “Sure.” With that response, I clicked “confirm”. We were going on holiday to Olbia, Italy [Sardinia] from July 8 – July 15.

We flew to EasyJet to Olbia from Nice, and the Resort sent a shuttle to pick us up. Driving there, I began to question our choice because the road became narrow and mountainous. “Remote” is another word for it. Yet, when we arrived, it was beautiful. Serene. Picturesque. Cozy. Quaint. Surrounded by small mountains. Right away, we could see that it felt different – like we had gone to summer camp.

We even had an assigned leader, a lovely Italian woman who lives in Spain who comes to Olbia for 4 months in the summer while the resort is open for guests. Obviously, it is closed for the rest of the year!? Right away, our leader said food was expensive in Sardinia – duh – and did we want to buy the food package – seven breakfasts and seven 4-course dinners with wine for 400 euros? I said no; Steve said yes. Well, we didn’t have a car, so why not. And, where would we go? We hardly knew where we were. When we arrived at our assigned room, it was delightful. Not plush, but nice. With a patio, covered with bougainvillea. Lovely. Then, true to form, we immediately tried to get online. No way. So, Steve took his phone to the Lobby. Yes, WiFi – but he had to find a “hot spot”. The hot spot changed often during the day. One had to shift around the chairs to find where it was at the time you wanted to check messages.

On the other hand, the people were nice, the guests friendly, and the pool was just what the doctor ordered. The surrounding hillside was gorgeous. Al Fresco dining with candlelight. There was a TV in the room – in Italian, French, German. So…. No WiFi, no TV, no lunch, dinner almost past my bedtime – at 8 PM. And, no car. Hmmm. I brought a book, and Steve brought his computer.

 

During the days – other than the day when we went with our “co-campers” around the Island on a private yacht, we ate breakfast (when we pocketed something to eat for lunch), sat by the pool, read, swam, slept, laughed, joked, played solitaire on our Ipad(s), and hung out together.

Steve did a lot of writing on the patio while I lay on the bed and read. It was great. We met a couple from Bristol, England, and were delighted to have someone to talk to. EVERYONE was Italian except for the four of us. The chef was Italian and divine. Pasta courses every night. Dinners were out of this world. Each dinner was different with four courses, and wine. Steve, of course, had Sprite. I cannot tell you how much we loved being there and loved being with each other. Several times, we agreed that this was the honeymoon we never had. And, it was worth waiting for.

On the last night, we set our alarms early for a 6:30 a.m. shuttle ride to the airport. That was when I saw a message on my phone (wonder of wonders) from my niece, Deb Prince Kroll. She wanted to know if we were all right. Yes. Why wouldn’t we be? Had something happened? That is when we turned on the TV to discover – Terror Attack in Nice.  Since we couldn’t get WiFi, Steve went to the lobby to find a hot spot. No go. We turned on the TV to look at pictures and were horrified. That is where we go every Sunday. It was Bastille Day. We would have been there but for this vacation. Would we be able to get home? Would they close the Nice airport? Were our friends all right? Those were families. Families go to see the fireworks at the beach on Bastille Day.

It all went well. Our flight was delayed three hours, but we got to Nice. No problem going through customs. Got a taxi. Got home. We found out our friends were fine – even though close calls. They were there, watching the fireworks. So were his parents. Found out the Nice airport had been closed right after we left. That Sunday, July 17, we went to the scene of the crime – the Promenade – where so many died. We agreed that life is fragile. Little did we know what would happen two weeks later.

I am posting pictures of the resort, the pool, our boat trip around the island, the patio, our friends from England, and a few others. The pictures aren’t great, but my heart was not in taking photographs. I was having too much fun. This was a week to remember. Forever. I love you, Steve. I miss you. Forever,

Love, Jay

 

This post is about ROSES. I am not sure when my love affair with roses began. Early on. But, Mother did not grow roses. She always said they were too difficult. Instead, she decorated the house with silk roses that Henry George helped her buy. I never liked the silk ones because I was a nature-snob and thought anything artificial was tacky. But, at least, Mother’s artificial flowers were silk. And expensive. That helped – snob that I was/am. And, if I got a corsage, it was either an orchid – purple or white – or gardenias. I wouldn’t wear anything else. Alice Whitehead’s father grew roses – really pretty ones. I think Mrs. Martin next door had some roses. And, I LOVED it if a boyfriend brought me roses. But, that seldom happened because roses were expensive. Plus, when I was dating, guys didn’t bring flowers – not like today. Steve bought me roses on my birthday and on Valentine’s Day. He knew I loved them and enjoyed seeing my delight when he came in the door with a dozen long-stemmed red roses. My son Craig sent me roses one time on Mother’s Day. I was ecstatic. And, I bought roses from time to time at Ralph’s or Gelson’s.

Things really changed when I got my first smart phone in 2005 – a Blackberry. It had a camera. So, in the mornings, when I walked through the neighborhoods, I took pictures – of roses. In Southern California, it seemed as if every yard had roses. At least, that was all I saw. Beautiful roses. When Facebook arrived on the scene, I began posting a picture-a-day on Facebook. Very little else – just pictures of roses. People began giving me thumbs ups. That encouraged me to continue. And now, 11 years later, I am still posting pictures of roses on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, FOAP. I have an international following. It is fun. And, I have published two books about roses – “Moments in Time” and “Capturing Beauty” – for sale on amazon.com.

So, from time to time, expect a rose here and there on Jayspeak. Today, I am posting roses from Los Angeles – Brentwood, Westwood, Encino – and Nice, France. Plus, I am posting flowers I have used on my books. Steve was wonderful at Photoshop. So, he made some beautiful covers. Guess I will have to learn how to use Photoshop. Along with a myriad of other things that Steve took care of for us. Picture quality has changed over time because Apple keeps making the camera better and better. I have so many pictures of roses, that it is difficult to pick only a few. But, this is a sampler. Enjoy.

Best, Jay

 

A lot is going on over here on the French Riviera. Each day is filled with at least one crisis, often more. And, it is always exciting to go to the mailbox to see what has arrived in this day’s mail. Usually, it is another bill or problem or requirement or whatever. The list goes on. As a result, my original intentions of moving to France, travelling with my husband, dining in delicious cafes and restaurants, reading, writing, practicing the piano, taking photographs, learning to paint with oils – has all gone out the window. Steve died. As a result, I write. I read a little. I take photographs from time to time and practice my scales on the piano. Don’t “dine” – it is expensive and no fun to do alone. Don’t travel – it is no fun to do alone – well, sorta. And, learning to paint with oils – well, that sounds expensive. I would need supplies, wouldn’t I?

Instead, my days are filled with trying to reach someone on the telephone at the Social Security office in Paris, sending required documents to the U.S. Embassy in Marseille. Dealing with l ’Assurance Maladies, AXA Insurance Company, dealing with Hopital Les Sources, Hopital Pasteur, and Hopital l’Archet. Trying to find out who gives flu shots. Making doctor and dentist appointments for me. Buying less groceries – groceries are heavy. And, at my local supermarket, Monoprix, I must package my own, schlepp them (without a cart) to the car (after I find a parking space in the carpark), schlepp them into the building, get them into the elevator, up to the condo – all things Steve used to help me do. I am good at putting them away. 🙂

Then, I started looking for good things happening- small things that were working. Small things that mattered.

At that point, I got sick – caught a bug going around, possibly a virus of some kind. I looked up “Viral Infection” in Louisa Hay’s “You Can Heal Your Life”, and it says, “a viral infection signifies ‘lack of joy flowing through life. Bitterness'”. HELL, YES!  Duh. This is not fun. It goes on to say that I should say the affirmation, “I lovingly allow joy to flow freely in my life. I love me.”  Yeah … well… maybe, as soon as I find out how to get rid of these money-eating time shares, pay the insurance company, see a dermatologist, put the groceries away, meet with Hopital Admissions at three hospitals, deal with my landlord, ….  Then, to my surprise, I discovered – this building has turned on the heat!! In the middle of the night, I felt heat – actually, heat – coming through the radiators. Great news!!  This condo building, like many buildings in France (so I have been told), has its heating system in the cellar somewhere. I cannot control it from my unit. And, in the summer, someone turns off the heat. It is turned back on in October. So, if it gets cold before then, tough luck. Last year, when Steve and I first came from Encino (100 + in the shade), we were sleeping in down jackets. This year I was better prepared for the cold nights – Andrea and Slav let me use their portable heater – a favor that mattered.

Small things matter.

When I thought about it, I realized: Monoprix delivers groceries (70 euros minimum + nominal delivery charge) – I am still learning how to order – just received too many zucchini, apples, and carrots (enough for a cafeteria),  and L ’Atelier de Julien delivers Vegetarienne pizza AND Vin Rouge (for a fee) and they know who I am. I see trees out my bedroom window. I have my warm bathrobe my sister Patricia gave me for my birthday one year. My piano is holding its tune – with all it has been through. I can close my windows (with the weather getting cold) and practice my scales.  I know two – count them – two young women at Pharmacie de Cimiez who speak English, know me, and explain things to me. Lignes d’Azur No. 17 bus stops in the Monastery parking lot during the week – good for me in case it is raining.  Riviera Radio (FM 106.5) in Monaco (News, Music, Talk Shows in English) wakes me up in the morning on my Bose Radio that Steve and I bought in LA. Church bells toll from time to time in the Monastery – don’t know why they are tolling, but I don’t care – sounds comforting to me. Mama Loudermilk’s water color that she painted when she was an Art Teacher at Brenau College is hanging by my bed. Some of Steve’s clothes fit me – Nautica sweat pants, skinny jeans, sweat shirts, T’s, denim train shirt and white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up. He loved it when I would wear his clothes. And more.

Small things matter. Good things are happening. 

This post is about small things mattering. Good things happen while we are focused elsewhere. It is not about the filler pictures at the end or windows to truths or God or faith. Just an observation by me at a unique time in my life. Life is fragile. It is important to live each day fully. Steve and I both thought he would get well and be home soon. Not to be. So,  the gofundme.com campaign continues. If you have contributed, or cannot contribute, or don’t want to contribute, please share the campaign post. That helps a lot. And, to those who have objections to a personal campaign like this, I understand. I used to have them myself – before the need arose. Thank you very much to all who have helped and are helping. It means the world to me – especially at this time.  Jay

https://www.gofundme.com/2g4wsbx7

 

Best, Jay

Once again doing my first love – ACTING. Over the past few weeks, as I began to realize that life as I had known it was over, I tried to get a grip because at night, I would panic. Aside from bills, problems, money, crises one-after-another, I realized that I am in France, not California or Georgia. By myself. I can’t work at all in France – not allowed. My age is such that it is time to retire. Yet, I have energy. My health is good. I look and feel younger than I am. I love living here. And then, I remembered my first love: ACTING. I am in SAG, the Television Academy, The Actors Studio. And, I could re-join Women in Film – International, if need be. Then, I remembered that I cannot work in France. Well, maybe American producers would hire local talent if shooting in France. I live close to Cannes. I will network, try to meet people. Look for an agent in Nice. Or Cannes. Or Paris. The thought of this gave me hope.

Acting has been part of my life forever. When I was four or five, my father taught me a “speech” that he wanted me to act out on cue. He would put me on a stump or platform or chair or desk – anything to elevate me – in the presence of friends, associates, business executives, farmers, relatives or whoever was around. And, this is what I was supposed to say while pounding my little fist into my left hand:

I (pound) know a man (pound) in the ranks (pound),

Who would not stay (pound) in the ranks (pound).

Why (pound)?  I’ll (pound) tell you why (pound).

Simply (pound) because (pound) he had (pound) the ability (pound) to get (pound)  things (pound)  done (pound)!!

About that same time, Mother took me to “speech lessons” at Mrs. Hosch’s house on Prior Street. There, I had to learn a speech for the recital, titled “I’m Just a Raggedy, Raggedy Doll”, falling limp like a rag doll while reciting. Often, I would put on a “show” in my front yard on Cleveland Road, with Jenny and Jo Shillington who lived across the street. We would invite my sisters and our parents to come for the presentation.

Then, in kindergarten, I performed in Miss Alice’s recital for the parents. My part was that of a beautiful scarf dancer from an exotic country far, far away. I had one aqua scarf draped around my body and another one I was supposed to swish in all directions. I poured my heart into it – swishing my scarf with expertise while draped in aqua “silk”.

In grammar school, I got the part of the Statute of Liberty in the class pageant and got to hold a torch. That was wonderful. During high school, I tried out for everything everywhere. I got acting and singing roles in the plays at Brenau College, Riverside Military Academy, the First Baptist Church, the Junior Class Play, the Senior Class Play, and skits happening anywhere in town.

At the University of Wisconsin, I got the role of Diana Devereaux in “Of Thee I Sing”, performing for huge audiences with the Wisconsin Players as well as performing in Humerology for the Greeks, and running for Prom Queen. I performed my campaign skit all over the campus.

(photo)

At the University of Georgia, I was a Drama major and played Juno in “Juno and the Paycock”, Ghislaine in “Waltz of the Toreadors”, and Mrs. Elvsted in “Hedda Gabler”.

(photo)

When I moved back to Gainesville, I performed, produced, and directed –  at Brenau College (Brenau Playmakers), Gainesville College (College Players), Appletree Summer Stock, Gainesville Junior Service League (Children’s Theatre), among others. I couldn’t get enough. For as long as I can remember, I loved pretending. Pretending to be someone else. Not animals or inanimate objects, but lovely young girls or women whom everyone loved. For a long time, it was Honey Bunch – a young girl in a series of books I loved. Everyone loved Honey Bunch. Then, it was Nurse Sue Barton or Nurse Cherry Ames. As long as I had my imagination to count on, I didn’t care what happened – I could escape into my mind. It was wonderful.

(Photos)

In 1968, I moved to Los Angeles and acted in film, television, theatre, commercials, print ads – for 38 years. I loved it.

Then, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I wanted a change. I have tried to explain it as a desire for power, a dislike of the youth-oriented industry, lack of jobs for older actresses, whatever. So, I went to – wait for it – Law School. No one thought I could do it – make the switch. I did. I went to law school, passed the California Bar, and practiced law – employment litigation and entertainment law – for 19 years. Did I miss acting? You bet. I missed it big-time! But, I loved practicing law, too.

When my husband and I retired to the South of France, I immediately started eyeing Cannes and the film festival there every year. Plus, I took note of various theatres in Nice, wondering if France has acting unions like SAG. One day, I googled acting agents in this area and wondered if they ever signed American actresses. I noticed French actresses seemed mature – not all young and sexy. I studied French commercials on television. I made note of people I know in the U.S. to ask, maybe message one day on Facebook.

Steve loved my being an actress. He encouraged me to get back into it. He would say – “the happiest I have ever seen you is when you were working as an actress.” He loved this picture.

He wanted me to do both (act and practice law) – in LA. I couldn’t. As an attorney, I gave it 100 percent focus. But, the part about my being happier when I was acting – that is true.

When Steve died, I talked to expat friends in Nice about getting involved in the film industry somehow.  acting in France – in films. Then, week before last, two expat friends texted me about a “Casting Call” on Angloinfo.com. An American writer/producer/director Maxine Pugh, living in Cannes, needed a mature actress to play a French Countess in a short film currently titled “Damien’s Reawakening”, to enter into International film festivals. No pay. Expenses, only. Concerned about the French language and whether I remembered how to act or not, I contacted Ms. Pugh. The part needed English language with authentic French dialect, to act with French actors from Paris. After a lot of back and forth trying to get my English to have an “authentic” French-sounding accent and in competition with three other actresses, I got the part. I worked last Sunday – in Cannes. Producer Daniella Gonella works for the BBC in London. Small crew working camera, camera/lights, and sound from London and Portugal. It was fabulous. I took the train from Nice to Cannes. Walked to the set. Used my own wardrobe. Worked all day with excellent actors from Paris. Got more and more French as the day wore on. I was back in the saddle again. It felt great. Steve would be happy.

At this time in my life, there are several things that make me feel like things will be all right once time passes and the pain decreases – classical piano, a soulful saxophone, the smell of roses, and a creating a character I like (thank you, Miss Alice) – or don’t like. At the shoot, I wasn’t focusing on taking pictures, so the attached are not great – the train, the myriad of steps at the train station, the set and some of the crew, the actress Celine Durand from Paris (daughter Chloe), the actor Nicolas Audebaud (son-in-law Damien) from Paris, and me (the Countess) on the set and in makeup. I felt like things would be all right. As Steve would say, “maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but soon”.

Best, Jay