Trial in the Court of Public Opinion

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Daily Mitzvah

It was a loving tribute to his new bride.

I had the honor of attending the wedding reception for my cousin Benjamin and his wife, Esty, a few years ago. He was the only one of my cousins to enter into a good, old-fashioned arranged marriage. I'll admit to being equal parts curious about how this was all working out and grateful to have something happy to celebrate. And so, with two of my adult children, we made the trek from Sacramento to Los Angeles to be a part of the festivities.

We all liked Esty instantly. She's one of those people who makes you feel that she's interested in you. It was obvious that whoever had decided that these two should be a match really knew his stuff.

As we sat visiting and catching up with family news, Benjamin stood and got everyone's attention. He wanted to introduce his wife (our newest cousin) to us so that we could see her through his eyes.

That was several years ago, and Benjamin's words have stayed with me. 

At the end of every day, Benjamin said, before she goes to bed, Esty thinks through her day and makes sure she has done a mitzvah. He was referring to the modern, colloquial definition of mitzvah, "a good deed." Because she'd made this a part of her life, the essence of her inner being, she needn't worry about disappointing herself. She could go to sleep at night feeling content.

A mitzvah. It doesn't have to be anything huge or monumental. Just something. Phoning a friend who's feeling down, thanking a veteran for his service, donating to a worthwhile cause, or  perhaps visiting an elderly neighbor who could use some company.

What a great way to end the day!! It must be very comforting to Esty to fall asleep with that thought every night, way more pleasant, anyway, than counting sheep or ruing an overloaded to-do list.

Benjamin entreated us, his friends and relatives, to follow Esty's lead by doing our own daily mitzvot. Planting that idea was his gift to us to celebrate his marriage.

Although I've made a point to follow Benjamin's encouragement, I'm not quite there yet with the same confidence. Sometimes I get so caught up in my own day and my own schedule that I forget to reflect about whether I've done my daily mitzvah.

Perhaps my mitzvah for today could be to launch a mitzvah brigade. I entreat you all to do a good deed today. Anything!! And tonight, when you go to bed and reflect over your day, you, too, can have the comfort of knowing that you've done your daily mitzvah.

Simplicity

I peered into the refrigerator hopefully.

Tortillas. A bag of shredded cheese. Salsa. Hmmm. And some leftover rice. BINGO.

This was going to be a perfect afternoon meal with friends.

I'm not always this easy-going when it comes to food. In fact, I will always remember that night I sat at the kitchen counter crying in front of my son's friends because I had made a mistake with his birthday cake. I'd spent four hours on that cake!!

And I've spent 3 hours on a lasagna. It was DELICIOUS!!

I like to cook. I do a pretty decent job of it. I rarely stick to the recipes, and it's fun to have an audience for my creations. But it's easy to get so carried away with planning and preparations that I run out of energy to enjoy the moment.

This particular day with friends in the backyard was after we'd spent the morning out in the boat. It was hot, and we were all a little tired when we got back to my house.

I gathered up the bounty that I'd found in the sparsely stocked refrigerator and headed outside. As we all sat and visited, I started assembling quesadillas on the barbecue. We ate them about as quickly as they were coming off the grill. We were all busy people, and it was so nice to be able to relax for a change. And because our relationship usually revolved around our kids, we enjoyed the opportunity to focus on each other. We don't do that enough.

Although it was simple and took very little effort, our impromptu meal turned out to be one that I'll always fondly remember.

Real Heart, Real Soul, and a Jewish Easter Picnic

The phone was ringing as we opened the door, and we all knew what it meant. Even though I wasn't quite 8 years old, I'll never forget that sound. It was the news that my grandpa had died.

October 10, 1971.

We had just returned to Northern California after the family had spent the previous week in Los Angeles saying goodbye to him. By family, I mean everyone besides me. I wasn't allowed upstairs to his hospital room. I was told I was too young. 

Although I understood what had happened, my older brother still sat me down to tell me. But then he said something that didn't make sense. I don't remember his exact words. It was something like, "He wasn't our real grandfather." I remember the word "adopted" being part of it.

Simultaneously,  I realized two things: that my teen-aged brother was bad at explaining things and that blood didn't matter. Of course he was my real grandpa. He loved me.

My earliest memory of my grandpa's love was Easter when I was maybe three or four years old. We'd driven down to LA from El Dorado Hills the day before. Like most little girls, I was excited about Easter, and I asked my grandparents if there would be an Easter picnic.

My grandparents looked at me as if I was some strange, extraterrestrial creature. They were Jewish. But I had a Baptist father and lived in a very Protestant neighborhood. Easter was part of my normal.

My grandpa loved me. He also liked a good party and a good story. So he immediately started working the phone. He managed to rally my grandma's family, and they all showed up, a little perplexed perhaps, for the Easter picnic. Although my memories of that day are a little fuzzy, I remember happily hunting for Easter eggs under the shade of my grandparents English walnut in their North Hollywood backyard.

And I remember feeling loved.

So back to that awful night in 1971. Was he my real grandpa? Absolutely. The fact that he insisted upon adopting my mom when he married my grandma made him all the more real. It was an affirmation of his commitment.

Grandpa was a screenwriter. So, you see, my need to write is not in my blood. It's in my soul.

Bella Bru and Bicycles

I opened the birthday card and discovered a gift card for Bella Bru. I wrote a note to thank the friend who had given it to me and told him that I love going to Bella Bru, but I didn't really tell him why. So now, I will.

It's the bicycles.

Sure Bella Bru has decent enough food, and it's a convenient hangout for the locals to meet for lunch. But to me, it's all about the vibe. The feeling that comes with the bicyclists.

Bella Bru in Carmichael is one of the few spots near enough to the American River Parkway where bicyclists can gather. I'm not talking about the guys who race in Amgen. I'm talking about that nice neighbor couple down the street, a group of retired friends, a family, and sometimes a more serious set who are fueling up before a long ride.

They come in all different shapes and ages and abilities. And they bring with them a certain energy. It's an energy of anticipating their rides or of that sense of accomplishment when they're finished. And there is always an added verve that comes with that bond of friendship and camaraderie. That's what I like.

When I arrive at Bella Bru on my bicycle and order that slice of mixed berry pie, I enjoy it just a little bit more than if I'd driven there. I'm not one of those sporty types with the fancy bike and the clippy bike shoes. But I don't enjoy my bike any less than those guys with the all the gear.

I like to linger long enough to take it all in. There's often a group of older people who are enjoying their retirement years together. I sit and hope that when I'm their age I will have that group of friends who like to get out and do things together. I also can't help but think of those I know who haven't made the time in their busy lives to forge those friendships or to enjoy the outdoors.

So now you know. And if you ever happen to be in my neighborhood, want to go for a ride?

Her Favorite Things

The radio host had my full attention. He often talks about subjects that are deeply personal to him, and he might have been speaking directly to me with this one.

Jack Armstrong of Armstrong and Getty had a very old dog, and he was speculating aloud about how he would know when it was time to euthanize his dog. Someone had once told him that a very clear-cut gauge was when a dog could no longer do its two favorite things.

A dog has two favorite things? I didn't know that! I had a very old dog. Did she have two favorite things? Could she still do them?

I thought back to when we'd first brought Shena home 11 years ago. She was two years old, and we were her third family. Her two favorite things then were chasing my cats and digging enormous holes in the backyard. We considered returning her several times, but, for one thing, I'm very stubborn and did not want to admit defeat, and, for the other, we had a very strong feeling that there would not be another chance for her at the shelter.

Shena is a Belgian tervuren mixed with whatever you get at the SPCA. She was big and fluffy and cuddly and sweet and very full of energy.

When we moved to a house with a larger backyard, her two favorite things became chasing squirrels and running circles around the yard. Shena caught quite a few of those squirrels, and that made me very happy. And we were amazed at Shena's speed and agility as she raced around and around the yard. She was so full of joy.

Now that she is over 13 years old, her hearing  and vision are almost gone, and her old legs and hips are too stiff for running. Those darned squirrels sit in the trees and taunt her. Sometimes they even throw things at her.

But does she have joy? Absolutely!

Now her two favorite things are to go for her daily walk and to sit in the back of the car and look out the back window. She knows when we are getting ready to drive to the mountains and waits by the car for somebody to help her get in. And when we exit the freeway, we roll down the window so she can smell the fresh air and the trees.

I feel for Jack Armstrong because I know how hard that decision is to make. We've had to make the decision to say goodbye to some of our furry friends. Somebody we'll need to make that decision again. But not just now. Not as long as I know that Shena has joy.

My Divided Life

Riding home on the bike trail, I looked up at the levee and saw a familiar face. I looked twice and then again. Yes, there she was, walking her dogs with her husband. I happily thought that when I got home, I should send her a message telling her that I'd seen her.

And then I remembered that we weren't friends anymore, and I felt sad.

The last time I'd heard from her, I was sitting in my car in the parking lot waiting for her to show up for our lunch date. I was a few minutes early. And then my phone range, and she was on the other end making an excuse about a contractor and saying that she would call back to reschedule. That was years ago. I'm still waiting.

We used to go for long walks, or we'd sit and talk while our kids were at practice. We met for lunch. We seemed to have a lot in common. What happened to our friendship?

I remember exactly when it started to fade. The day she first seemed a little cool to me.

I'm an actress. I was telling her about a particular job I'd had. I'd done a commercial in which I gave a testimonial for a product. At first she seemed interested, and then she asked what the product was. "I don't know," I said.

She looked at me indignantly. "How can you give a testimonial about something if you don't even know what it is?" she asked.

I attempted to explain to her that most of those commercials use actors. That's what acting is. I mean, really, the Skipper and Gilligan weren't really lost, Flo doesn't sell insurance (well, she does in a way), and Meryl Streep can't possibly be both a Holocaust survivor and the prime minister of Great Britain, now can she?

As I spoke to her, I saw the look on her face shift from indignant to disinterested to distant. And that was the beginning of the end of our friendship.

I have many friends in the acting community, and we can bond over discussions of  "being in the moment" or that very awkward love scene. But I've learned that with non-actor friends, it's best to use caution with those topics. I've learned to watch for queues on a person's face (actors had better be good at that) and recognize when it's time to change the subject.

So, to my actor friends, thank you for being a part of this crazy process with me.

And to my non-actor friends, I hope you understand why I don't always like to talk about this other life that I lead.

Lunchtime Madness

All that food was going to waste. I couldn't believe it. I watched as child after child tossed his orange into the trash.

This was wrong for so many reasons. And it was also so predictable.

I often spent lunchtime at the elementary school. We lived in what we euphemistically referred to as a "mixed" neighborhood. Although many of the families had been living there for years, others came and went too quickly to get to know them.

And most of them, 75% in fact, qualified for free lunches. This meant that I had paid for all of these oranges with my tax dollars. And, to be politically correct, these were the kids who most needed good, nutritious lunches. Then why were they throwing them away?

Quite simply, they were throwing the oranges away because they didn't know what to do with them.

Federal mandate at the time required that each child receive one-half of a piece of fruit. So what did the lunch-lady do? She cut each orange in half. She didn't peel it. She didn't cut it into slices. She gave each child a half of an orange. She put the minimum amount of effort into feeding these children that the federal government told her to do.

I've served up quite a few oranges during my years as a parent. And I can't imagine ever handing a kid, particularly a kindergartner, an orange that way. What's a kindergartner supposed to do with that? Those few kindergartners who did attempt to eat their oranges returned to class with sticky faces.

And for goodness sake, even McDonald's has figured out that if you want to get kids to eat fruit, like apples, you've got to slice it up for them!!

So why is this scene from nearly 20 years ago so important to me today?  The memory of that day came back to me when I read an article reprinted from the LA Times about food waste in schools. You can imagine my lack of surprise.

According to this article, in Los Angeles Unified School District, the nation's second-largest school district, students throw away $100,000 worth of food EVERY DAY. This is understandable, if, as one student mentioned, the apricots were "sour," and the meat was "nasty."

The article refers to the 2010 Healthy, Hunger-Free Kids Act championed by First Lady Michelle Obama which places more government regulations on school lunches. And the article also names several different studies that are in progress on how to get students to eat the sour apricots and nasty meat. Of course, all of these studies require even more public funds.

While I'm sure that our first lady had good intentions, I'm also sure that she would not have any luck convincing Sasha and Malia to eat sour apricots and nasty meat.

And adding more studies and regulations only increases the levels of bureaucracy involved in getting good, healthy food to our children. The problem with bureaucracies is that they need to function at EVERY level in order to work. Clearly something is not working in a school district that is throwing away $100,000 worth of food every day.

So what's the solution? In the first place, I'm a firm believer that the federal government needs to get out of the business of micromanaging local schools and food programs. More community involvement and less governmental regulations will help find solutions that are tailored to local neighborhoods. More involvement from enthusiastic individuals like celebrity chef Jamie Oliver (and, well, you or me) can help to encourage new ideas. Oliver has done tremendous work with his Food Revolution, helping school districts to make food options more healthy and tasty. We, as individuals, can be the eyes and ears at our children's schools. We can form relationships with administrators so that when we point out areas that need improving, the administrators will be receptive to our ideas. We can also encourage our children and their friends who come over to play to make healthy choices by providing them with nutritious snacks.

And to those of you who are directly in charge of providing meals at school, for Pete's sake, slice the oranges so little kids can actually eat the darned things.

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This was a long post, wasn't it? Thanks for sticking with it 'til the end! Shall we touch on health-care next?

The Decision to Love

What if you can fall in love every day? I can, and I do.

Think about this. Every time you see a character fall in love on the stage or screen, it's got to be really happening or else you, as an audience member, are not going to believe it. That actor needs to be actually falling in love with that actress at that very moment in the scene. The way my acting coach explains it, you need to be able to find something in that person's eyes or on his face that can make you fall in love. The same holds true for anger, sadness, joy. They all have to be real in order to be believable. This is one of the hardest tricks about acting, learning not to act.

But what if it's not really a trick? What if it is a very useful tool that we can all learn to make our lives more enjoyable?

We all dictate our own emotions to some degree. When you force yourself to stand up a little straighter, you feel more confident. When you smile, you feel a little less grumpy. And remembering a day on a warm, sunny beach makes you feel calm.

My husband often tells me that he chooses to be a happy person. That doesn't mean that life is always wonderful. I know that things sometimes don't go the way he wants. But every morning when he wakes up, my husband decides that he is going to be happy. And he is.

Terry and I have been together for a very, very, very, very long time. 

And during that time, we've learned to push each other's buttons. But then, even through my annoyance, I remember that we made the decision to love each other. I look at his blue eyes or something on his face, and I fall in love.