Tag: Frank Sinatra

Confessions of a Moviegoing Popcorn Princess

Lately my readers would get the impression I spent my entire existence watching television. Okay, so much of it anyway. And I suppose I am guilty of not being able to resist a laugh provided by my favorite comics and sitcom stars. However, that is only part of the hours I spent enjoying media. I am also a rabid cinema fanatic. Old, new, no biggie, I’m on board.

Yes, I possess a certain addiction to the big screen. It’s not just the popcorn, although I admit it adds to the experience. Sadly, now the home screen also serves up great films.

I know we all have our favorites in every genre and I must confess mine cross the board and include comedies, adventure and mystery and Hitchcock (I consider his movies a genre of their own).

If I go down the list of my all-time favs, and there are not megabytes to include them all on my computer, I realize so many are older.

Of course there are the usual suspects.

From Casablanca to Godfather one and two, but there are also others some might not quite agree rank up so high.

Yet for crazy reasons of my own I seem to enjoy watching them whenever possible.

Yes, there are certain criteria that go with judging a film great, yet so many other factors enter into the equation.

Who you watched it with, where you were, does it evoke a treasured memory, something about the scenery or location makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, or it contains a favorite actor.

Yes, there are universal components to these elements, yet there is also a very personal connection to many movies that stand out in your own life.

Some I share with the world are the Star Wars, Avengers, Back to the Future series, E.T., Rear Window, all Indiana Jones, with the exception of Temple of Doom.

Witness for the Prosecution, Singin in the Rain, Citizen Kane, Die Hard franchise, To Kill a Mockingbird, It’s a Wonderful Life, Some Like it Hot, The Treasure of Sierra Madre, Life of Brian, Gone with the Wind, Harry Potter series, Ben Hur, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Wizard of Oz, and Network. And so many others. There is no doubt countless great movies have graced the silver screen and brought us untold hours of joy. Yet, many of my favs might not have come up on your favorites radar.

I suppose we should qualify what make a movie great. I know there are many differences of opinion about this, hence the critics who often disagree. Still, if a film is universally popular and registers enormous amounts of money does that make it a great movie? There is a difference between a great movie and a financial success.

Popular and artistic don’t always go hand in hand. Although it’s true they oftentimes coexist.

Still many small movies have been judged exceptional, despite the fact they appeal to a small audience. I think the term is “indies.” Many of these are made from the heart and a dream. A great story can lure you in and transport you. Blockbusters are created by a studio’s need to make money.

Big Budget movies can be entertaining, but don’t guarantee the components of greatness. Yet what is important is the way you feel when you are watching. Does the movie make you laugh, scare you, evoke great memories and a warm feeling of nostalgia? Can you watch it every time you see it playing and still enjoy it as much or more than the first time? Is a ritual watch each year at a special time? These reasons are often my criteria for favorite movies, although not necessarily great ones.

After the fifties it seemed as though the major studios were driving the bus.

The Hollywood star system was almost gone, but MGM held onto their box office success with the great musicals for many years.

Stars like Jane Powell, Howard Keel, Kathryn Grayson, Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Debbie Reynolds, Cyd Charisse, Ann Miller, Esther Williams, Bing Crosby and Gene Kelly and Fred and Ginger still sang and danced across the now much larger screens.

The formula continued to be successful with Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russel and Doris Day joining in a big way.

Studios always prided themselves with being able to blend in with the public’s tastes and lifestyle of the times.

However, many flopped worse than the Edsel.

Remakes of favorite movies create comparison by ardent fans who reject messing with a cherished film.

Sometimes studios in their desire to grab some cash push the envelope too far as in Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.

They have also discovered that combining a big box office star with a bad script isn’t a guarantee of success. In fact, it usually backfires.

Hello, Hudson Hawk and Ishtar!

If you don’t believe movies are a personal moment between an audience and the celluloid, just ask a room full of people to name their favorite holiday movie, Hitchcock film or Star Wars episode. Now of course the Avengers series also has fans arguing about which in the series is number one.

I am going to share my besties hoping you agree with some of my choices. They are varied and many hold a special memory for me as I’m sure yours do as well. I hope you’ll share yours with me and my readers. Of course this isn’t all of them, I’m certain I’ll remember at least ten more after I publish this blog, but it will suffice.

Some of my tops in no particular order are: Gentleman’s Agreement, While You Were Sleeping, Weekend at Bernie’s, The Producers with Zero Mostel, The Big Chill, We’re No Angels, Miracle on 34th Street,  The In Laws with Falk and Arkin, The Treasure of Sierra Madre, Life of Brian, Dirty Dozen, Mad Mad Mad Mad World, Major League, Trading Places, A Date WIth Judy, A Christmas Story, Pocketful of Miracles, The Wizard of Oz, Network, The Horn Blows at Midnight, any Sherlock Holmes with Basil Rathbone, The Equalizer series with Denzel, Adventures of Robin Hood, Footsteps in the Dark, most Neil Simons, The Razor’s Edge with Tyrone Power, James Bond with Connery,  all Hitchcock, Fred and Ginger, The Thin Man, Dirty Harry, Doris and Rock, Two For the Road, any Cary Grant and Cotton Comes to Harlem,

I hope you agree with my choices and I’d love to hear yours. I’m sure I forgot many and if so, please chime in.

Happy movie viewing everyone. I hope they all spark some wonderful memories for you.

Lunch Was Super With Soupy Sales

It wasn’t a fancy lunch at the Polo Lounge or Spago, but mostly peanut butter and jelly, some tuna fish and lots of Jello that went boing, boing, boing. Not five star or gourmet fare, but they were the best lunches I’ve ever had. As a special perk the menu for the next day’s lunch was posted on the blackboard so we could entreat our mother to duplicate whatever Soupy was having. We weren’t just viewers, we were Birdbaths. Members of an elite card carrying club that drank United Dairies milk.

I’ve been really fortunate in my life to meet and dine with some pretty incredible people, but I’ll take my memories with Soupy Sales, White Fang, Black Tooth, Willie da Worm, and Pookie over anything. The knowledge I gleaned from the words of wisdom written on the blackboard under the title Soupy Sez were invaluable. Such gems as; “Be true to your teeth or they’ll be false to you,” “Over the teeth and through the gums, look out stomach here it comes,” “When a man writes a song in his automobile, it’s called a cartoon,” “You show me a man who puts his parakeet in the blender and I’ll show you a man who makes shredded tweet,” “Birds are really something to crow about, but a bird in the hand can be a mess,” “Show me a woman who has misplaced her handbag and I’ll show you a tote-all loss,” “Show me a novel caught in a wind storm and I’ll show you a book gone with the wind,” or “Show me a midget king and I’ll show you a twelve-inch ruler.”

Or such informational weather reports on his ancient radio as, “there will be a volcano eruption today so for your own safety learn the words to lava come back to me.”

Add to that learning to dance The Mouse and the Soupy Shuffle and our aerobics were included with lunch.

It wasn’t just learning the skill of taking a pie to the face or being made aware how careful you need to be before opening a door unless you knew the pointed finger or arm waiting on the other side or a celebrity waiting to get a pie in the face. It was the interaction between friends that taught me so much. Let’s face it, who else could ever get away with throwing a pie in Frank Sinatra’s face and live? The pranks, including one infamous moment Soupy opened the door to a naked woman we never saw on camera as he fell apart, are still part of the show’s mystique.

Of course White Fang and Black Tooth were the experts at getting one’s point across without the use of intellectual phrases or complex sentences. Just a few shakes of the paw and a couple of familiar grunts were all we needed to get the message and laugh uncontrollably. Their grunts far exceeded the intelligence of most politicians today. No interpreter necessary, we understood every “eh eh eh” White Fang uttered. To this day an imitation of those two extremely vocal hounds can send me into fits of laughter. Perhaps I can credit them with my editing abilities. Thanks guys for jump starting my journalism career.

Of course Willie da Worm as Soupy called him, was a great life lesson as well. Prone to sneezing fits and health issues, he owned the moniker, “the sickest worm in all of Detroit.” He made one wonder how many other sick worms there were in Motown. The way Soupy delivered his sympathetic offerings to the poor little ailing creature taught me true compassion. It’s one thing to offer empathy to another human being, but the idea of opening my heart to a worm, I have to confess it opened my eyes. Nowadays Willie da Worm would have to take  a COVID test. Times have changed indeed.

Soupy was constantly telling Black Tooth, the biggest sweetest doggy in the United States, “don’t kiss.” While he attempted to untangle himself from her hugs he advised her to drink lots of milk because it gives the cows something to do.

I could double up in hysterics faster at a puppet hand that made noises than at people.

Now Pookie, that was one cute little lion. Always referring to Soupy as “Boobie” it’s no wonder I love cats so much. And that cat could scat like Ella Fitzgerald or put on a wig and sing like Petula Clark. Okay so maybe he sang pretty badly, but I was actually grateful something existed with a voice worse than mine.

White Fang, the biggest, meanest dog in the United States was not only nasty, but oh so clever and conniving. He never failed to put one over on Soupy. Guess it should have taught me to beware of cute dogs or good looking men with bad intentions.

The guys in the studio snickered at all the puns and bad jokes and many times you weren’t quite sure why. So I also learned the meaning of an inside joke.

Between the insane news reports and future guest stars like Moshe Dyan Cannon and Belly Savalas, it was non-stop insanity. Yet, more than anything from watching the interaction between Soupy and the gang, we noticed how Soupy, befuddled look on his face, actually listened to his puppet friends. Maybe that’s where we learned how.

Yes, the humor was shtick and craziness was the order of the day, but we laughed and loved every minute. Half the humor we got, half not so much, but we heard the guys in the studio roaring with laughter so we smiled along. The point is we had a side order of giggles with our lunch. It wasn’t politically correct and it didn’t have the artful banter of a Neil Simon, but it lightened our day. And after lunch we returned to school with a full stomach, a happy heart and Soupy throwing us a big kiss.

How to Put Pedal to The Metal Your Way

“Gonna dance, gonna fly, take a chance riding high, before my numbers up. I’m gonna fill my cup, I’m gonna live til I die… Frank Sinatra song I’m Gonna Live Til I Die.

So the other night I dreamed I was young and as I was luxuriating in the glow of youth I was jolted awake by a pain in my leg. “Ouch,” I yelled and woke up to rub the cramp out while trying desperately to recapture the dream. No such luck. Reality interfered with my moment of recovered youth.
I could have used the words from Don’t Rain on my Parade in the intro but in California rain is a blessed event so I chose old blue eyes instead. Same message.

Oh ,sure you think, she’s complaining about getting old again? Okay, I admit I do discuss aging a lot, but when constantly confronted with the realization the world thinks I’m older than Methuselah, it can play with your head.

The other day my brother asked me if I still drive. Well since my jetpack is in the shop now for repairs I’m using my car to get around. What is he talking about?

What am I one-hundred years old? Is he kidding? Why on earth would he think I don’t drive. I’d bet my last dollar I’m a better driver than he is.

I have no intention of not driving until I can’t reach the pedals anymore.

It’s moments like these that make me feel like people are looking at me like I just sat up in a coffin.

Isn’t it bad enough I’m starting to look like the crypt keeper, do I have to act that way as well?

I’ve seen people well into their nineties, driving, playing pickleball and actually living as though they still were alive.

Am I wrong or what’s the point of being here if you’re not living?

I just heard about a very famous and powerful man that remarried recently at the age of 93.

Okay, I thought but why not just live together? Then I read more and learned that he chose to live his life and make decisions as though he were still a young man with all the time in the world. Wow, what a concept. It’s a way of looking at life as though you can accomplish anything. Choosing your own destiny and not succumbing to the time-is-running-out theorists. Great attitude.

I wasn’t raised that way. My parents kept their cars for ten years because they thought they were getting too old to buy a new one. They lived well into their nineties so a new car would have gotten enough use.

I do find myself slipping into that mindset occasionally. Should I buy a new chair or is this one still okay?

I need to readjust my thinking. I’ll buy that new chair. If I were twenty years younger, would I? Yes, then why not now?

Do we get to a point in life where we make calculated decisions based on statistical insurance tables of life expectancy? And should we? Or should we live, dream, act and think like we’re still thirty and have a lifetime ahead of us?

I say go for it. I am. From now on I’m living like I’m young, strong, tough and operating on all eight cylinders. Hey I know it’s car talk, but I’m a Motown girl you know.

What matters most in the end, others expectations for our lives or ours?

So many people are fortunate enough to keep achieving and reaching new goals well into their nineties. Baby Boomers are coming into our stride.

Gone is the day when we had to retire to Boca and play Maj Jong all day. Although some days I admit that’s a plan I can live with.

I just think we buy into others beliefs about us instead of our own.

No one should ever set limits on another person because it’s up to only us how we choose to live.

My brother asking if I still drive plants a seed that signals, I think you’re old and can no longer function as you once did.

Of course he’s eleven years younger so to him I seem old as dirt.

But isn’t it how I seem to me that actually matters.

Of course our choices do become a bit more limited physically as we age. I’m well aware that climbing ladders and running a marathon isn’t in my wheelhouse. Yet mentally if we can think young, we can stay young.

In many ways we are freed up to do those things we didn’t have time for when younger.

Sit at the beach and dangle our feet in the water. Except in LA where you have to fight for a spot on the sand with the homeless and the criminals. But maybe somewhere else.

We can take up a hobby we always dreamed of like cooking, painting or pottery and discover a hidden talent. Didn’t Grandma Moses begin painting at ninety something?

We can spend more time with our grandchildren and take an interest in their hobbies.

It actually is a mindset after all. Living our best life is for only us to discern. Not those who see us as old and in decline.

I intend to drive like Mario Andretti well into my golden years.

I am planning on new adventures, accomplishments and reaching new goals.

We have paid a lifetime of dues. Wouldn’t it be silly not to keep enjoying our membership until we decide to quit the club?

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago Or Else!

You’d Better Set Your Watch in Chicago

As you, my readers know I stay clear of politics. Probably because nausea sets in whenever I am forced to deal with the insanity that has now become normal in this country. However, sometimes I can’t resist making fun of the stupidity of politicians who are so pathetic and inept the comedy material simply writes itself. Every so often the comedian in me just can’t be held down.

On the news today I heard that in Chicago the city is asking gang members to limit their shooting and killing to certain hours. I believe the bullets can fly from 9 P.M. until 9 A.M. I assume this is because innocent little children are constantly getting caught in the crossfire.

Upon hearing this I immediately realized how vital it is for those who live in or visit Chicago to know the correct time.

I mean if your watch broke or is even off by one minute you could find yourself caught in a gang war in the midst of a hail of bullets.

I mean what if Gramps is sitting on his porch on a summer night and he’s a bit hard of hearing? His wife yells, “Grandpa, it’s one minute to nine. Come on in the house.”

“What’s that, Dear? I can’t hear you.”

“I said it’s almost time to come into the house, it’s almost nine.”

“Huh, I can’t hear you. Did you say…”

“Grandpa, Grandpa…?”

If Grandpa’s hearing aid were working he’d be here to celebrate Christmas this year.

So, I was thinking maybe the city of Chicago should open up hearing aid centers and watch repair shops on every corner. Like Kiosks in a mall you could even have them chasing people down the street.

“Hey would you like me to check your watch, Mister. I’ve got a beauty here on sale guaranteed to work to the second. Gunshot proof.” And here’s a free sample of hand cream.”

It could be a great way to bring businesses back to the areas of Chicago people are afraid to step foot into anymore. I can see the businesses cropping up all over. ABC hearing aids or Save-a-life watch repair. My goodness the opportunities are endless for out of work Chicagoans.

People could go door to door selling watches and hearing aids like aluminum siding. There is definitely money to be made here.

Gang members would have to clock in at nine P.M. and out at nine A.M. to ensure they were following the rules. That would mean setting up time clocks everywhere. If a gang member is killed someone else could punch his time card. More business for time clock manufacturers. This could be a windfall.

If Paul Revere had had to ride through Chicago yelling the “Gangs are Coming!” we’d still be under British rule today.

Of course, parents would have to teach children to tell time before they could walk. Instead of learning their ABCs they would need to learn how to read a watch. In the cribs they could have teddy bears that sing and teach time. Maybe to the tune of Allan Sherman’s camp song, Hello Muddah Hello Fadduh.

“Hello baby, it is nine now. Run like hell out of the ghetto. Get to safety and speed your rolls. Cause Chicago politicians are big assholes. So hightail it far away. If you want to live to see another birthday. Your parents voted for a loser. So until he’s gone we’ll pray that you see two, Sir.”

So what’s your solution, Norma you ask? Rightfully so and I do have one. I think the Mayor should be forced to walk alone through the crime-ridden neighborhoods every night without any weapons or body guards. Oh, and without a watch so he’ll know what little kids are dealing with.

Odds are they’d have to get a new mayor more often, but eventually maybe they’d actually elect one that believed murdering children was a bad thing. A refreshing change of pace for that city.

Being from Detroit I saw a city die and fifty-six years later just begin to become safe and livable again. I never thought it would happen to Chicago.

We used to visit the windy city a great deal when my kids were young. It was close by and easy to access by car. The hotels, shopping and food was always great.

Strangely enough it’s close enough to Motown for them to have seen firsthand what happened when crime overtook cars as Detroit’s biggest export.

I made light of the horrible circumstances of that toddling town as Sinatra called it, in this blog. But hearing about children dying as they walk to school, play in their houses or on their front porches is more than any human being can bear. I just couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Maybe one day the people of Chicago will wake up and elect politicians who care about the lives of young people, but until then asking gangs to kill each other at odd hours just doesn’t seem like a very good plan. At least without checking your watches. So ironic that a city that boasts its lake wind is the Hawk is actually too chicken to protect its own kids.

I guess all we can do is eat, so here is my keto Chicago Hot Dog recipe I enjoy greatly and is easy to make. If you live in Chi-town, you can definitely get it finished cooking before nine.

Chicago Style Hot Dog Keto Style

One all beef hot dog

Chopped tomato about ¼ cup or sliced tomato

a spear or two of dill pickle

a hot pepper cut up

celery salt

mustard

a keto friendly tortilla shell, keto bun or romaine. lettuce for a wrap.

Prepare all and enjoy!

  Sinatra Gave Us “Cool”

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Sinatra Gave Us “Cool”

So we’ve all had lots of time to watch Netflix and all the rest of the streaming services that have little by little replaced network television in our hearts.

One of the things I love so much about this new entertainment chapter is the seemingly endless supply of new and interesting programming available any time night or day.

Last night at 9:30 as I crawled into bed, plumped my pillows and pulled the comfy quilt up underneath my chin, I began the flipping process hoping to land on something new and wonderful to capture my attention and escape the unpleasant reality of our COVID-covered world.

And there it was, right up front on Netflix, Sinatra, All or Nothing at all.

If there are two things my generation never seems to tire of it’s waxing nostalgic and Frank Sinatra.

So of course I began the journey of his life from birth to the end and although I had heard most of it thousands of times, I was transfixed once again.

After I’d finished watching the two-part series in tears of course, I wondered what it was about this man that so captivates and sustains our interest.

Oh yes of course we’ve had numerous superstar singers in our lifetimes, Elvis, John Lennon, Barbra, Mathis, Sammy Davis Jr. and they’ve all managed to attain legendary status.

But they just weren’t Sinatra, he was truly an original.

So why was he different? There are many reasons he’s been set apart, but one I think stands out for me…he bridges the gap between our childhoods, our rebellious teen years and our coming-of-age adulthood. His highly publicized ups and downs were out there to see and learn from.

Frank followed us through every stage of Baby Boomer life. It’s as if he arrived first to set the stage and then set the bar for cool.

Sinatra created cool. He was the very embodiment of the word and everything he touched absorbed the “coolness” from him. He and the Rat Pack even made a tacky place like Las Vegas cool. So much so that as a comedian playing Vegas for the first time I cried when I looked up and saw my name under Dean Martin’s on the marquis on the Strip.

Despite the fact he was our parents’ age, we still liked him, watched his movies and bought his records. Of course at the time we didn’t realize that one of the reasons we would not only embrace him as an artist and come to respect him as a person was that he had conquered life on his own terms.

He’d been repelled by racism and done something about it, he’d shown unbelievable loyalty to his friends, many of whom didn’t show up for him during the bad times, he’d been flawed and filled with faults, but compensated by possessing an incredible human side too endearing to ignore. He was simply his own man and no one owned or controlled him.

He didn’t worry about social norms, other’s insecurities or allowing anyone to set his limitations. He was in a word, Sinatra, and that word became a verb for our generation.

Despite mistakes he fought his way back to the top achieving even greater success and sang about high hopes and that little ant that could move a rubber tree plant. We believed him because why wouldn’t we, he was Sinatra? The man was a legend and yet just a regular Joe from Hoboken.

An ordinary guy who now hung with the 400 Newport set. He’d been at the forefront of Jack Kennedy’s election, a president we idolized. He could walk the streets of Harlem and relate to the people struggling to make it out and his humanity always shown through.

He was a strong force and didn’t need Facebook or Twitter to broadcast his message or retain fame. We didn’t have social media to point out all the shortcomings of our heroes and I’m thinking we were much the better for that.

He showed us another side of entertainers we loved like Sammy, Dean or Peter. If you hung with Sinatra and had his blessing, you had ours.

He lived the way so many wished they could. While most of us got up, went to work, raised our families, clipped coupons and wondered how actresses stayed so thin, he was Sinatraing his way through life. Dating beautiful women, hopping on planes to exciting destinations at a moment’s notice, hobnobbing with the most interesting and glamorous people in the world while doing the work he loved. He was living the Hefner dream, and men salivated while women found a strange, dreamy escape just hearing his voice.

Sinatra made no apologies, yet he acknowledged his mistakes and regrets, and like all of us he was incredibly human while creating the impression he wasn’t at all.

In the age of Superman who disguised as Clark Kent could leap tall buildings in a single bound, Sinatra leapt over convention and life’s obstacles to “do it his way.”

We never had any illusions about being Superman and those who attempted flying wound up in hospital emergency rooms with broken limbs. Yet somewhere deep inside we all believed we could be Sinatra. Cool, persistent, and able to leap over life’s insurmountable hurdles, while remaining hip and happening no matter what life threw our way. He wasn’t politically correct and shamelessly adored women and called them “dolls,” but that was a different era and he was a man of his times.

I was never lucky or perhaps unlucky enough to meet him, (that whole taboo about meeting our idols) but when I was the editor of the newspaper in Beverly Hills I attended a party after he was gone that Barbara Sinatra threw at his home in Palm Springs. I stood in the billiard room scanning the photos of the Rat Pack and others who’d held one of the pool cues lined up on the wall, glazed over like someone in a room filled with famous ghosts.

A final point, I was with friends in Miami when I was twenty-one years old. One night we went to Jilly’s hoping to catch a glimpse of Frank and his friends at one of their favorite haunts.

No we didn’t see The Voice or any members of the Rat Pack that night, but I had the best Egg Foo Young I’ve ever eaten. Yes, for those who know me, and how much I love food I reiterate, best anywhere anytime!

All I can say is leave it to Frank Sinatra to know where to get the best Egg Foo Young. But of course when you’re that cool, you would, right?

Crispy Chocolate Egg Foo Young

 

6 eggs

1 cup shredded sweetened coconut

1 cup almonds

1/3 cup sweetened condensed milk

1 cup chocolate chips (may use semi sweet, milk, dark or white as you prefer)

Beat eggs and add all ingredients. Pour into ¼ inch canola oil mixed with 1 tablespoon butter. Fry until crispy on both sides.

Serve with melted chocolate sauce.

Melted chocolate sauce

1 cup semi sweet chocolate morsels

½ cup milk chocolate morsels or block form

1 cup cream

1 teaspoon of rum flavoring or champagne whatever you choose. This is optional if you want it family friendly.

Heat cream until hot, but not boiling and pour over chocolate then mix until melted. Add liquor of your choice, and mix.

Pour over chocolate Egg Foo Young or any dessert you wish.

 

 

 

 

 

Driving in L.A.— Kobe’s Death

 

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Driving in L.A.: Kobe’s Death

As I was attempting to drive in Los Angeles this morning while cars refused to let me turn, blocked intersections, cut me off, or refused to acknowledge when I let them cut in front of me, and everyone sped through traffic like they were a brain surgeon with a patient lying waiting on an operating table, I was taken by the amount of coverage about the terrible and untimely death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna. As a writer I turn to my words to express my feelings in response to tragedy and I am grateful to share them with you.

It struck me that when a celebrity dies, especially young ones, there are two kinds of grief, public and personal. Most of us only experience personal grief when we pass away. Our demise is shared with family and friends who hopefully will mourn our death and passing from this world with sadness and a sense of loss.

Yet when a celebrity dies, his or her family and friends must share their pain with the entire world.

I wondered if that enormous outpouring of grief affects a family’s ability to deal with tragedy.

There are many who believe prayer sends out energy into the world. Healing thoughts and prayers actually make a difference to the mourners and enhance their strength through the difficult process of losing a loved one. Or in Kobe’s family two loved ones. Is their healing magnified by the energy from all the prayers, or is it perhaps the same for everyone whether they have millions of prayers coming toward them or even one.

What is the power of prayer and how does it increase exponentially by numbers?

I’m not a member of the clergy or a faith healer so I can only go by my own personal experience.

I do believe that in a celebrity death the process is helped by the community prayers and healing in the form of shared pain.

I shall use as an example the death of John F. Kennedy since that is the most public grief I have ever witnessed in my lifetime and personally affected me so greatly.

How did Americans and the world deal with Kennedy’s death?

We sobbed, we watched the television and cried even more as we witnessed his family’s grief. I don’t believe I will ever be affected by any public grieving as much as the sight of John F. Kennedy Junior saluting as his father’s coffin passed. If there is a definition in Webster’s for heart wrenching I’d say it was John John, an image of that week which every American will forever carry in their memories.

The grief I felt couldn’t be dissipated due to the countless times his death was replayed on TV screens, in photographs and countless conversations with everyone and anyone.

Even to this day I still tear up whenever November 23rd nears, remembering vividly that day, that moment when Walter Cronkite, removing his glasses unsuccessfully fought back tears while making the historical announcement. Anyone of my generation can tell you with pinpoint accuracy where they were when it happened and how they felt.

Of course a presidential assassination is quite different from other celebrity deaths.

Most of us do however recall hearing the bad news of a high-profile death.

When John Lennon was killed, John John, Princess Diana, Ronald Reagan was shot, Frank Sinatra succumbed to a heart attack or even when Elvis Presley or Michael Jackson succumbed to their addictions.

Does public grieving help heal or is it merely a shared pain with others and does nothing to minimize one’s own? Watching William and Harry following their mother’s casket at the funeral was a painful sight, yet it was her sons that have lived without their mother and obviously in light of recent events, still suffer the pain. I’d like to believe that the outpouring of prayer for them helped at that moment, at least a bit.

In most religions there are mourning periods to help the family process the loss before returning to their lives. I imagine therein lies the difference. While there is always some comfort in the communal sharing of pain and grief, when the mourning period is over it is only the family and closest friends that are left to deal with the gaping hole in their existence.

As his many fans and friends mourn Kobe’s death still it is his family that must live the day-to-day moments without him and his daughter.

It was Jackie Kennedy, her children and the Kennedy clan that were reminded moment to moment of his loss. Yes the American people mourned him, but we went on with our lives and daily routines, sadder, but still carrying out business as usual while his family could not.

I don’t pretend to be an expert at understanding grief, I only know that it is a great equalizer in the human condition; one of the emotions that transcends culture, religion or gender. A broken heart has no color, political bias or religious affiliation, and reacts to pain exactly the same in every human, unless of course they are seriously mentally flawed.

I try valiantly to avoid involving myself in politics for I am quite aware that today’s enemy is tomorrow’s best buddy and the winds of affiliation shift with the frequency of a Kardashian husband. Yet, if Kobe’s death brings one point home it is this…in times of pain and suffering it is our fellow human beings we turn to for comfort, and perhaps we must keep that reality in mind when living our everyday lives.

Not in a preachy way, but I am so aware living in a city like L.A. so misnamed as the city of angels, that we need to smile more at strangers, say thank you when someone lets us cut into traffic and speak nicely to people who pass through our lives each day. A kind word or compliment to a someone can go a long way to brightening a day.  I try to silently repeat to myself at least twice a day, I am grateful for all I have and especially for the people in my life.

If we live each moment as though it were to be the last this would be a more loving and giving world. These are thoughts shared over and over by almost everyone, yet seem too quickly forgotten,

I have always believed the grim reaper has the largest Rolodex in the universe and when it’s your time to leave he knows where to find you.

I hope for all of you that when he does, he will find you smiling and with a heart filled with love.

Rest in peace Kobe, Gianna and all of those who’ve left loved ones behind. Perhaps we can best honor the dead, by embracing and revering all the good in life.