Life in General

The Long Kiss Hello

 

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For twelve years, my family has lived in an amazing home, ten acres with mountain views cradled by the Angeles Forest, yet only minutes away from Los Angeles proper. Our daughters grew up here, able to spend their days outside in nature and beauty instead of super-glued to a video game or a computer screen. Yet five minutes down the hill brought us to traffic, and the city.

Both of our daughters are cognizant and grateful of the home we made, there were many tears and sighs in our final days in that house. As the rooms emptied, our hearts felt the space of loss. We accept that. We waded bravely into that pain and wallowed just long enough to cleanse ourselves before turning our eyes and our hearts to the future with fresh vitality and a surge of momentum.

That home and those years will forever be a bright light in our past. I think as humans we feel the dichotomy of painful partings, the joy of having known people or places and the wrench of losing them so that when we look back at our lives we don’t see only darkness. Like a lantern, glowing farther and farther off, but always a beacon of warmth in the misty night our days gone by.

But now, finally, it’s time to move north, to trees, to rain, to creeks, to mushrooms, to other people who respect their relationship with the earth that sustains them. Along the way, we will make a few stops, it’s quite a journey towing a 37 ft camper.

Our first stop is near Ojai, California. Our trailer is nestled in trees next to a stream, the rain is coming.

Our first night here I slept like an angel in a cloud made of lullabies, the sound of droplets pattering a cleansing tattoo on the roof above me as I cozied deeper into my down comforter. In the morning I woke to the giggling stream, whispering its amusing secrets to me through my open window.

Brilliant.

I can feel the city smut melting away from me. Hell, for the first time in months I can actually see it for what it is, a cloak of undeserving annoyance, a saturated blanket of bad choices and confusion. Here, the worries, clutter, noise, and frail human egos are first exposed, then rapidly diminished. You can see them for what they are, a waste of life, an excess of self-involvement. So eager are we to make something of ourselves, to leave our mark, to deny death, that we learn to confuse activity with true forward motion. All the busy-ness, the mental spinning, and caring what other people might think, help to hide the fear that we might mean nothing, that yes, we will someday die and ultimately be forgotten.

I think that’s what the stream finds so funny. Humans who believe they can last forever. It’s so much less stressful to remember you are mortal, and that’s okay. Sort of…takes the pressure off.

Of course, we are the same magnificent creatures in the city or in a forest, but it is easier to distinguish what serves you and what doesn’t when you look outside yourself. The everyday worries that consume us are more likely to be blown away when you watch the breeze making the leaves mimic the flow of the water through a magnificent gorge, just as it has for millennia. To these cliffs and trees we humans are a fleeting image, a second, a flash of movement, if even that.

We are parked in an almost empty campground next to the flowing creek dappled in sunlight dancing with the soft shadows of trees. Lichen and mushrooms are everywhere, moss grows on stones, moisture graces our lungs and our skin.

In some ways, our new life is smaller—well…simpler. In other ways it has expanded to epic proportions so that now where I once saw a narrow lane, I now see a huge vista opening before me with endless possibilities.

I feel free.

Won’t you join me?

 

Shari, January 11th, 2017

Acting & Experiences, creative inspiration, family, Life in General

Thirteen going on Thirty-eightish.

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Not me of course. This is a blog about one of the very special people I’ve met in my travels, and accidentally, through being an actress. I guess she started out a fan, I call her friend. It won’t be long now until I’m back in my favorite city, this time for five weeks. My daughter has gone to Florence, Italy for a study abroad quarter, and next week my husband and I will settle into a friend’s apartment in Venice a few hours north. We have several projects to work on while we are there. My youngest will come over with a friend during a school break, we’ll all visit, so everybody gets to eat great pasta and feast our eyes on art, dwell in living history, and wallow in the brilliant colors of Italy.

Okay so, can I tell you how great it is to have friends with an apartment in a 16th century Palazzo on the grand canal who are spending winter in Southern France and are like, ‘Take the apartment, we won’t be there!” Sweet. Cause there’s no way we could have afforded this trip right now on top of college and private school fees. My husband and I are excellent producers, so we know how to get the most from the smallest budget, (Can you say air-miles?) but this is special, because of the people who made it possible and how we met.

Back in the old days, when I was still on TV and my ex was on the number one rated show in Italy, (a soap opera, weird, I know)  I received a fan letter from a young lady who was 13. It wasn’t your typical letter. I could tell immediately that this was a very intelligent, aware person. The letter was smart, sensitive and engaging. So, instead of responding with the standard signed photo, I wrote back.

And we kept writing, this was pre-social media days. A few years later, when my ex was shooting Bold and Beautiful on location in the Lake district of Italy, both the young lady and her sister came to meet me. They were about 19 and twenty at the time. And they showed as much class as I had expected from them, which, let me tell you, is a relief when you’ve been dealing with tens of thousands of fans screaming, “But you must!!” about their every request for photos and autographs. (Really weird, and not fun at all, by the way.)

My friend and her sister are both lawyers now, the one who wrote me the letter at 13 is an international human rights attorney who is currently working in Brussels.  We’ve stayed in touch all these years. Then, when I was able to travel to Italy sanely with my husband Joseph, we met again, and again, and again. We stayed with them in Vincenza at their family farmhouse on one of those visits. My friends have grown into beautiful women who work tirelessly to help make the world a better place for everyone, not just clients who can afford it. 

I knew from that first letter that that young lady would amount to something, something special. And believe me, becoming a successful female lawyer in a country that is still very much a man’s club is extra exceptional. She once told me that when applying for a job, the first question from the Italian men was always, “What about if you want to have a baby? How are you going to work then?” That question would basically be illegal here. So I salute both sisters doubly for striving forward through it. (Not surprisingly, they’ve both stayed single.)

All over the world, countless people work hard for the good of us all. You may not see them, they may not have a reality show or a webpage, but they are out there, quietly and determinedly changing the world for the better. Fighting those stereotypes and antiquated doctrines. As an american woman, it’s good to be reminded that other women suffered and paved the way toward the relative ‘equality’ we have today. And every day I try to remember that the vast majority of humans really are good, even if they don’t get the same attention as the shitty ones.

So next time you talk to a teenager, really listen, maybe offer up a bit of information about the possibilities that lie ahead of them. If it’s a girl, and they say they want to be an astronaut, or a physicist, or president, applaud them. (Cheer for the boys too actually.) It’s important to realize that they can choose a tiny life where they learn no more than and never move forward from the life their parents knew, (which admittedly might be amazing) or they can do…

…well, anything.

Why are we going on this trip when funds are low? My cousin Laurence and his lover Michael had to make a decision. They were both HIV positive, but my cousin has beat it since the eighties, one of the few. So, when it came to choice between re-roofing the house or taking a trip to Paris, they decided to take a trip to Paris.

When they returned from that trip and it would rain, they would put out the pots to catch the dripping water, make some tea, get cozy, and look at their photo album of their French trip.

Two short years later, Michael passed away. Laurence sold the house and moved on with his life, but they will always have Paris. That is why we are going now, living our life, meeting up with lifelong friends and celebrating every day with our girls. When rain comes, we will have Venice.

Even as I wrote this blog, I was sent news that another lifelong friend of mine in Amsterdam just passed away in the arms of her son. Through my tears I tell you I will not wait for life to take me, I will go there.

Bouno viaggio, I’ll write you from the city where I can walk on water.

 

Shari, January 6th, 2016

Life in General

Return to Venice

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How lovely to be back in our favorite city, and for a month. I have been many times, and I still get lost.

Just like life, you think you know now how to handle mistakes, rude people, even the psychopaths you deal with regularly, yet each time, you find yourself thrown off and disoriented when faced with the twisting paths of territory that is, not necessarily unfamiliar, not even unexpected, but somehow still surprising. You can know that a city is twisted, that a person is unreasonable, that a reaction is absurd, but they are what they are.

And yet, along the way, we find beauty, affection, and real connection and you draw enough strength from those to suffer the random insanity. On this adventure we are staying in an apartment on the top floor of a 16th century palazzo. I find that amazing. To be in a place that was built for a single family over 400 years ago. The view from every window is remarkable, historic, and awe inspiring. And I feel so honored to have this opportunity.

A large part of my heritage is Italian, and the food, the laughter, the passion—and the aggressive driving—are in my blood. They might not have cars in Venice, but on the way into the city on the water taxi, our driver was on a mission to beat out the other boats, my daughter, whose humor always warms my heart, turned to me and said dryly, “He drives like an Italian.”

Which he was. Which I am, though tempered with a good portion of British blue blood. We have been here only one full day and already we have connected with so many good people. There are no elevators here, of course. And our apartment is on the fourth floor, many wide marble steps, interspersed with magnificent mosaics on landings, mark our pathway home. An older gentleman occupies the only other top floor apartment and we arrived home as he was bringing his groceries up. Not having known he was going all the way up, when he arrived after us, I said, in italian, “I’m sorry, I should have helped you.” Then joked, “Troppi scale!” which means, “There are too many stairs!”

He looked at me with a bright eye and a yellow toothed smile and said with a laugh. “Troppi anni!”

Too many years.

Ah, the heart of the Italians. To have spent your life in a city of ancient and immortal beauty.

And an inimitable sense of humor, a love of laughter and life.

You cannot have too many years.

Con amori da Venzia,

Shari, February 18, 2013