Danielle Steel's Blog, page 59

Chanel Haute Couture

Hi Everyone,

To keep you abreast of Haute Couture fashion events in Paris, no report on the subject would be complete without telling you about Chanel, which is the leader of the pack in fashion. Designed by the remarkable and legendary Karl Lagerfeld, he is tireless in his energy, innovations, and extraordinary designing skill. (He designs at least four or five ready to wear collections a year for Chanel, two Haute Couture collections, and also designs for Fendi, and his own label, and a sideline and huge talent in photography too.) It makes the head spin to think of all he does, and to see him in all his strength and glory at 80. He is TRULY an icon, and deservedly so.

Haute Couture as you know is a collection of entirely handmade clothes, (EVERY stitch is done by hand, often with remarkable embroidery and beading added, or even feathers woven into the design.) The clothes are phenomenally expensive, because they are handmade, and only a few rare Haute Couture clients still exist, and are able to afford them. Whereas once there were a flock of wealthy American, European and Middle Eastern clients who wore them, today lives have changed, the world is a far more informal place, everyone lives in jeans, and even women with the means, just don’t wear fancy clothes all the time. In every walk of life, and even in our jobs, we all lead more ‘normal’ lives and wear more casual clothes, and there is less opportunity for anyone to wear clothes of that kind. And social conscience and the world economy has changed as well. Prices, even for Haute Couture, used to be more human scale; today buying an item of Haute Couture is a major investment. An evening gown can cost $200,000. And an Haute Couture wedding gown half a million dollars. Traditionally, each Haute Couture fashion show closes with a wedding gown, and they are remarkable creations and works of art.

Mostly, Haute Couture shows are put on now, twice a year, as a sort of PR gesture to show off the skills of the house. But the much larger crowds, movie stars, and wives of Presidents, and celebrities go to the ready to wear shows, so the whole nature of the Haute Couture shows has changed, and there are only 3 left of the important couture houses: Chanel, Dior, and Givenchy, and Givenchy no longer does a fashion show, and exhibits select pieces in their showrooms. In the past, about 75 garments were shown, now it is closer to 50. And at the Chanel show, 50 of the world’s top models wear the clothes as they strut down the runway looking dazzling in that season’s creations. And no question, the show is dazzling. But even how the clothes are shown has changed. Since the audience for the Haute Couture show is smaller, this year, Chanel made their Haute Couture show more intimate, starting in January. Instead of renting an enormous hall, and decorating it (they had an actual iceberg in the middle of the hall at the ready to wear show a few years ago. The iceberg had been flown in from Sweden, and was taken back to its natural habitat the day after the show). This past January, as I told you, the Chanel Haute Couture show was held in a much smaller space, and the entire setting was made to look like the inside of an airplane, with clouds going past the windows, and ‘attendants’ rolling between the seats with carts of champagne and snacks. This time the show had a kind of garden party feeling, with white wicker furniture arranged in small intimate groups for 4 to 6 people, so one could sit comfortably and watch the show. It was upstairs at the Grand Palais, a beautiful glass historical structure, and it had a far more relaxed feeling, and unfortunately there was a tray of delicious cookies on the table between the seats, and before the show even started, I had ravaged the plate of cookies!!! Yum!! The relaxed setting put everyone at ease, and dispelled some of the tension often evident at those shows. It reduced the tension to enthusiastic excitement, which was nice. And nowadays the settings, as part of the PR for the house, cost several million dollars. (An enormous gold lion one year, that the models walked out of a kind of volcanic setting at the last ready to wear show, the wall to wall flowers at this week’s Dior show. They used a million flowers in their decor, and I can only imagine what that cost).

So happily settled into a wicker chair, in a cozy group with two of my daughters, and munching cookies, we watched the beautiful Chanel Haute Couture show, and the clothes were really lovely. There was a lot of pink, combinations of pink and gray, a lot of soft looking tweeds and plaids in muted colors. It didn’t introduce anything shocking and different, and mostly showcased the typical elegance of Chanel, on beautiful models, in a range of daytime clothes to evening wear. And at the end, a predictably spectacular wedding gown, which was a HUGE bell shape, all covered in tiny white feathers, with a matching jacket covering the top, and a pink bow at the back of the waist. It was beautiful and whimsical, a fairy tale bridal gown, that showed all the skills of the house, and must cost a fortune to order. (Prices are strictly upon request, and would undoubtedly take our breath away. There are no price tags hanging off the dresses. And everything is made to order. Some houses used to sell the samples, at also very high prices, but less, and a few still do, although Chanel keeps a museum of many of their clothes from each season, and most of the samples go into the museum, or their archives, so the runway samples are not available.).  Seeing the show was a wonderful experience as always. It was fun to see it, and always exciting to be part of the buzz around the shows. I’ve been attending them since I was in my teens. In France, fashion is considered an art form, everyone is fascinated and excited by it, even people who will never wear it or see it. And I always feel very lucky and privileged to see those shows every year. I took my daughters to the shows when they were little, and three of them wound up pursuing careers in fashion as a result. It is a magical world, although a very tough one to work in. And the Chanel Haute Couture show (showing winter clothes for the coming season) was no different: a remarkable experience, admiring the work of a supremely talented designer, for an enormously respected house. It is like watching (fashion) history roll out in front of you as you see those shows. It was absolutely wonderful!!!

Love, Danielle

 

Christian Dior Haute Couture Fashion Show: Report from Paris

Hi everyone,

For a number of years now I only go to one Haute Couture show per season (they show the Haute Couture clothes twice a year, in January for the following summer, and in July for the following winter). After years and years of going to many shows, now that most of the big couture houses have closed, I only go to Chanel. Dior used to be one of my favorites, but although I immensely admire John Galliano’s talent, I’ve never been a big fan of his clothes, and as he’s been the designer for Dior for many years, I stopped going to their shows. Due to a series of unfortunate events, a year or two ago, Mr. Galliano is no longer designing for Dior, and they’ve been without a designer ever since, and have been managing with their design studio, but no “Creator” at their helm. Various names have been bandied about for the last year, about who would take over designing for this very important house. Marc Jacobs, was mentioned, a number of others, Ricardo Tisci (at Givenchy) and even the young designer Alexander Wang from New York, who has a very successful line of his own (and is opening a flagship store in Peking). But designing for Dior is a huge undertaking, with a huge ready to wear collection to produce several times a year, and Haute Couture collections twice a year. (Haute Couture are the clothes that are entirely hand made, and made to order, for a few rarified clients. They are absolutely exquisite, fabricated in extraordinary fabrics, and are priced accordingly. Clients have as many as three fittings for a garment, and the seamstresses and sewing team who make them all by hand, have twelve years of apprenticeship to get through before they are fully qualified to work on the clothes. Haute Couture clothes are really an art form, and there are very few Haute Couture clients left in the world.  At last, two months ago, this spring, a match was made between the house of Dior and their new designer, a man named Raf Simons, who was the designer for Jil Sander. And Mr. Simons, who is a very, very talented designer, given to simple, clean cut designs and sometimes uses great colors, has undertaken a very interesting task. Until the Galiano days, clothes by the house of Dior had a very distinctive look, and a long history in the world of fashion. And it’s no small feat to stay within the inspiration of Dior’s earlier designs, and yet add a new twist to it to bring them into the present. Karl Lagerfeld has done that at Chanel, respecting the style of Coco Chanel, yet adding his own immense talent to it. Raf Simons is now facing very much the same thing at Dior, a house which has a definite flavor and look, yet a need for a new designer to infuse new life into the clothes they produce and give them a modern touch. Everyone in the fashion world has been anxious to see what Raf Simons would do, starting with his first Haute Couture collection at Dior, which I saw today.

The show was held at a beautiful, elegant old building on the Avenue d’Iena in the sixteenth arrondissement in Paris, and a friend of mine who lives nearby said he had been watching virtually truckloads of flowers being delivered for two days. And as soon as we entered the rooms where the show was to be held we could see why.  The ceilings of each room (5 of them in all) were well over twenty feet tall, there were moldings, and exquisite ceilings, a lovely marble staircase leading from the ground floor to the rooms on the first floor (and HUNDREDS of press photographers, clamoring as people walked in, celebrities and fashionistas alike). And in each of the rooms where the show was to be held, fresh flowers literally covered the walls (like wallpaper) from floor to ceiling, and each room in a different color.  There was a room of bright blue, almost royal blue flowers, one of white flowers, one of pink, one of yellow, and one of mixed colors. It was incredible, and none of us had ever seen anything like it. And the clothes were just as beautiful as the flowers. Mr. Simons didn’t let his new house down. He did exactly what was expected of him, as the new designer of Dior, only better than anyone expected. He respected the old flavor and feeling and style of Dior, while adding fresh new touches, a fresh look and his own style. The clothes were exquisite; most of them were evening wear, lots of strapless gowns, and tops over pants, exquisite fabrics, beautiful combinations, vibrant colors (one dress which reminded me of a peacock in navys, and deep royal blues, another pastel dress made of delicate feathers. The looks were elegant and sleek, and sophisticated beyond words. He did a spectacular job on his first collection of 55 exquisite pieces for Dior.  It was also touching to see that a number of very famous designers quietly came to the show, to support Mr. Simons. Ricardo Tisci, the designer for Givenchy was there, Azzedine Alaia, and Alber Elbaz of Lanvin (another important old house). I sat across from the spectacularly beautiful British model Stella Tennant, who watched the show intently (and I couldn’t help watching her since she is so beautiful and striking). Everyone was impressed with what he did, how quickly he had done it, and how outrageously beautiful it was. All eminently wearable clothes, that were incredibly elegant, and worthy of the name of Dior. For anyone who loves fashion, it was a joy to see a show of that quality, in such a beautiful setting, surrounded by the extraordinary floral decor. The show was a major hit, and deserves to be. Bravo for Raf Simons, and best of luck for his exciting new adventure designing for the greatly respected house of Christian Dior. It was a hit!!! And a treat just being there!!!

Love, Danielle

July 4th in Paris

Hi Everyone,

I always give a small dinner party in Paris on July 4th, for close friends. It just seems fun to celebrate it, so the day doesn’t go unnoticed while I’m in France. Usually, I do it at home and serve hamburgers. This time, I did it at one of my favorite restaurants, where the food is very French. But I had red, white and blue flowers on the table, with little American flags in them.  And being a child at heart, I LOVE party favors, and use any excuse to have them: Halloween, Easter, Valentine’s Day. I love silly light up things, things that sparkle, little teddy bears, wind up chicks on the table at Easter. For July 4th, I had silly headbands, with little pinwheels on them for the ladies, light up stars on the table in red, white and blue, stars and stripes sunglasses, and at each place an inexpensive watch to wear at the beach in red, white, or blue. Party favors put everyone in a good mood, and guests love going home with little presents.  I had eight friends there, and we managed to celebrate the birthday of one of them. And the place cards had crossed American and French flags on them.   The menu was definitely not American, but the food was delicious. We had artichoke cannelloni to start with, which was really yummy, and after that everyone chose what they wanted to eat, ‘sea spiders’ for some people, mushroom tarts (I had that), and a variety of other things. For my main course, I had sweetbreads (also very French), while others had lamb, beef, or assorted fish dishes. Some people had cheese after the main course. And we had two desserts, chocolate birthday cake, and soufflés (I had chocolate soufflé with whipped cream on top!!). It was definitely not a dietetic dinner, and I’ll have to behave for a few days to make up for it!!! Especially with bathing suits in my immediate future!!!

Most of all, we had a lot of fun together, talked until late at night, in a small private room. We laughed a lot, and enjoyed each other’s company, and it’s probably the last we’ll see of each other until September, since in France everyone goes away for either July or August. The whole country goes on vacation then, and legally people get 5 weeks vacation, no matter what their jobs, and they don’t take their big vacation at other times during the year, although they also get religious and national holidays, and there are a lot of both in France. A lot of people in France go to the South of France in the summer, or Normandy which is about an hour and a half outside Paris, and a lot of people go to Corsica, all popular vacation spots for the French, with good beaches and warm weather. I’d say most people stay in France, rather than go elsewhere, although so many other countries are very nearby. It’s an easy hop into Italy, Germany, Spain, Switzerland, or over the channel to England. Usually, we go to Italy in the summer, but this summer we are staying in France, and going to the south. Vacation spots are very crowded in the summer, especially where there are beaches. And traffic can be pretty bad. But it’s all very relaxed and fun. Most of my children are due to arrive right after the 4th of July, and then we’re heading for the South together. So my 4th of July dinner party was a great send off for my closest friends, before we all start our summer vacations. Typically French, two of them are going to Normandy, two to the South of France, and one is going to Japan!!!  I hope your summer is off to a great start too, with family and friends, and some time to relax and have fun!!!

Much love, Danielle

Chiquita

Hi Everyone,

It’s a sad day for us. I usually report our family news to you, and have told you about our dogs. Chiquita is the senior citizen in the group, and belongs to one of my daughters (Chiquita’s photo is in the section about dogs). She is an adorable black teacup Chihuahua, and has been in great shape at 16 years of age. Chihuahuas are usually very long lived, so we’ve been hoping, and believing she had some good years left in her. Some even live to be 20, much longer than a lot of other breeds.  She was fine until two weeks ago, when she suddenly went blind from cataracts, and was scheduled for cataract surgery this week. She was checked out, and in such good health, they felt the surgery was not risky, even at her age. The day before the surgery, she began acting strangely, loss of appetite, losing her balance and seemed a little confused. The next day we took her to the vet, and she went steadily downhill all day (and of course, we cancelled the eye surgery, until she was back to seeming normal again). In 36 hours, she made a shocking decline from healthy dog to very sick one, as her condition worsened, and her kidneys became a problem. All her systems began shutting down the day after we took her to the hospital. We did everything we could to reverse it, but she just continued to get worse. She wasn’t suffering, and was peaceful, but she appeared to be fading away. And the day after we took her to the hospital, despite everything they did, she died peacefully, at 16. (She may have had a stroke, or even an undetected brain tumor, which would explain such a rapid decline. We just don’t know. And we didn’t want to put her through the rigors of an MRI or CT scan under anesthesia when she was suddenly in such bad shape) It has been a shock for all of us, since she was so healthy before. We weren’t prepared to lose Chiquita, she seemed like she would go on forever, and enjoyed her life to the fullest, until her last two days. Even blind from the cataracts, she was trotting up and down the hall, and seemed happy. None of us were prepared for this loss, most especially my daughter who loved her so much. We all did, and are so sad to lose her. As one friend said, her batteries just ran out. It was her time, and I was very grateful that she died on her own, in her sleep.

For those of you who have pets, you know how hard it is. Our pets become precious little beings to us, almost as important as people. And 16 years is a very long time, she was the last of my children’s childhood dogs. The others have second generation dogs now. But Chiquita was part of our family history, and a big part of my children’s lives, and even mine. She will be so greatly missed. She had a spunky little personality, and occasionally wasn’t afraid to bark loudly at big dogs. She was a noble little dog.

One of my concerns when she got sick two days ago was that the pet hospital might not fight as hard to save her, as they might for a younger dog. But I was relieved to find that they did all they could. But that is always a concern with a very old pet, as it is for very old people. Sometimes you have to fight harder to get people to work at saving them (both people and dogs) if they’re very old.  She got the best possible care, but it’s something to keep in mind if you have a very old pet. I was truly hoping we could turn the situation around once she got sick. It was my hope til the end, to give her another year or two in good health, despite her age. And she was staying with me when she got sick. We fought valiantly for her right to an even longer life, and so did the vets. The other thing that startled me was how quick people were to say “oh just put her to sleep”. We didn’t want to do that, there was no reason to, she wasn’t suffering, she might have improved and survived, and deserved that chance. I even insisted that they resuscitate her if she had a cardiac incident, or something similar while she was there. And I was relieved that she passed away on her own, quietly, and in peace, and under her own steam, in God’s time, and her own.

She will be so much missed. Miss Chiquita was a wonderful little dog, and we were so lucky to have her for 16 years. She had a long happy life, and a very short illness, so she didn’t suffer and decline. Losing someone you love is always hard, even if it’s a dog. For those of you who have lost pets, you know. And one thing is for sure, Chiquita was so very, very much loved by us all. We are all deeply sad today from this loss.

Love, Danielle

 

 

 

 

Paris in the Summer

Hi Everyone,

It doesn’t feel like summer in Paris yet, but it is. The weather has been awful, cold, gray and rainy, but it’s still Paris, and I don’t care if it snows, I’m always happy to be here. There’s always lots to do, and the big excitement in my life is that I’m turning a playroom into a home movie room, which will be fun when my kids are home, or on winter nights, to share a pizza and watch a movie on a big screen with friends. Pretty tame pursuits!!

Other than that, I’m enjoying the usual art shows, auctions in my favorite auction house; I’m taking a little break from work, seeing friends, and doing errands for the house. I got a new couch for the movie room yesterday. It’s nice to take a break from real life, real problems, real work, deadlines, and all the pressures of daily life that are all too real most of the time. And it’s relaxing to do something mindless like buy new soap dishes, or something for the kitchen. I don’t know if you saw the July issue of Vanity Fair, the last page is something called The Proust Questionnaire. They interviewed me for it this month, and in it I admitted that I have too much work ethic, and don’t play enough, which is all too true. I work most of the time. And if I take a break, it is usually for or with my children, so once in a while it’s nice to do absolutely nothing and do things on my own, even if it’s just errands for the house. I do a lot of things that I ‘have’ to do, or should do, so unscheduled time is fun for me!!

I had a very funny Paris moment yesterday, which is something that does happen here occasionally, though not very often to me. I was waiting to meet a friend to go to a giant hardware store to get some things for one of my kids, and since it was a very unglamorous errand (like a lot of what I do!! I am a real person with a regular life most of the time), I looked very unglamorous. I didn’t bother to wear make-up (I often don’t, unless I’m going out), had my hair in a ponytail, and was wearing jeans and an old leather jacket. And I stood in the street outside my house, waiting for the friend to show up to pick me up. And as I stood there, a car stopped, and an ordinary looking man looked out his car window at me, and shouted “How much?” How much? How much what? I didn’t register what he was saying. “How much?!” he asked again, pointing at me with a somewhat crabby expression, and then I got it. Ahhh….yes….how much….after all this is Paris, and to be honest, there are sometimes hookers on my street, although it’s a nice street in a residential neighbourhood. The hookers are often in their 40′s, and some are even considerably older. Most of them are pulled over in cars, with their signals flashing, and a few are on foot. (There’s one I wave to when I see her, because I’ve seen her for so many years, she’s old enough to be my mother, and we’ve never spoken, but smile pleasantly and wave hello. She’s kind of a landmark in the neighbourhood, and I worry when I don’t see her, and wonder if she’s sick). And in answer to the man’s question I laughed, shook my head, and said no. “No?” he asked, seriously irritated with me. “You’re not working?”. No, I shouted back, “I’m not working.” True, but I have never worked in the line of work he was looking for. “Then what are you standing there for?” He said, really annoyed with me by then. It seemed useless to explain that I was waiting to go to the hardware store with a friend, and I’m not a hooker, if he couldn’t see that for himself. He finally drove off, shaking his head, at how uncooperative I was. It doesn’t happen often, but these things do happen in Paris. If you stand on a street corner for more than a few minutes, looking like you’re not going anywhere, people might think you’re a hooker. And if some guy likes your look, he might just ask you ‘how much’. I know it’s a serious issue, and women are sexually exploited all over the world, it’s not something I take lightly. And prostitution is illegal in France too, but it is also tolerated, and it’s a line of work that some women choose of their own accord instead of working at something else. The woman I frequently see in my neighbourhood doesn’t look unhappy, and she doesn’t look any more distressed than the women I see at the checkout counter at Safeway. These are not young girls; they’re grown women and have a right to make their own choices, however different than ours. And I have to tell you that, with all serious thoughts aside, I thought it was funny that the guy thought I was a hooker, in no make-up, my frumpy go to the hardware clothes, old enough to have grown children, and in my housewife role. In a funny way, it was a compliment of sorts, and it really did strike me funny. How much? Are you kidding?? But he wasn’t kidding, which was what made it funny. Me? A hooker?? Oh please. I laughed about it every time I thought of it yesterday. He thought I was a really bad sport and seriously lazy not to oblige him. Welcome to Paris!!!

No one propositioned me at the hardware store, and the rest of my day was pretty tame. I got the things my daughter needed, did some errands for myself, and had a fun evening out to dinner with a bunch of women friends, we gabbed until after midnight, and went to a restaurant where they specialize in soufflés. I had a cheese soufflé for dinner, and a chocolate one for dessert. And it was delicious and the evening fun. The night before I’d had dinner with friends, and gone to a ‘chocolate tasting’, like a wine tasting only chocolates (one of my serious vices!!), made by eight chocolate makers in Belgium, England, and Italy. It was delicious although I nearly overdosed on chocolate. Tonight, I’m going to the movies. Tomorrow night is the Music Festival in Paris, with professional and amateur musicians playing music all over the streets of Paris. I’ll be watching this event with three of the composers I wrote songs with last year. This weekend I’ll be seeing more friends. And in 2 weeks, the Haute Couture fashion shows will take place, which are always exciting. The sales will be on soon in the stores. And I’ll go on vacation with my kids this summer, and one of my daughters is getting married in August. But in the meantime, I am trotting off to the hardware store, and someone asked me ‘how much?” The sheer absurdity of it was priceless. And although I don’t actually like being confused with a hooker, it was a backhanded compliment of sorts. Life is never dull in Paris. More soon. Hope your summer is off to a great start!!!

Love, Danielle

Robin Roberts

Hi everybody,

I was so greatly shaken and saddened today when I heard that Robin Roberts, of Good Morning America, is facing another tough challenge. After beating breast cancer five years ago, she now has a bone marrow disease, as a result of the treatment she underwent 5 years ago for cancer. Apparently, she is beginning some form of treatment immediately, will have to go through chemotherapy again, and a bone marrow transplant. I only know what I heard on the news, so I am no better informed than anyone else.

I have had the real pleasure, and honor, of being on Good Morning America several times, and interviewed by Ms. Roberts. I’ve been on a number of those shows. I am a very shy person, and have never gotten used to doing publicity appearances on TV, but I do them at my publisher’s request, to help my book sales. But those shows are always scary for me, and pretty unnerving. I’ve been on many of them now, and it never really gets easier for me. The only two shows where I’ve been less terrified were on The View, with my friend Barbara Walters sitting next to me (sometimes holding my hand!!), and on Good Morning America, being interviewed by Ms. Roberts, who absolutely exudes warmth and kindness, and whose whole goal is to put the person she’s interviewing at ease!!! She radiates compassion and support and positive vibes, and makes you feel like the most brilliant, accomplished, fabulous person—-which is a real feat when I’m shaking in my shoes. On most shows, the hosts and interviewers are very focused on themselves, and often you feel like an accessory to make them feel important. One of the ‘tricks of the trade’ is to suddenly spring a surprise question at you, one they know will make you uncomfortable and startle you—-”You’ve been married how many times?…..why did you say your husband left you?….is it true you had an affair with Goofy, Donald Duck, AND Mickey Mouse?—–you did what in college, to whom??? Does your mother know that?….you were arrested for WHAT?”. It doesn’t always get that bad, but damn close, and you sit in your seat squirming, wondering how you got yourself into this mess, and how much longer will the show last? Many shows want to shock, or give their viewers some titillating piece of news that will excite the viewers and humiliate you. It’s part of the whole tabloid atmosphere in the press now. And it can make going on a talk show a truly unnerving, even terrifying experience. We all have things that will embarrass us, and you just pray that no one thinks of them, or SAYS them, while you’re sitting there, trying to look cool, sexy, and like you’re enjoying the experience, while trying to sound smart, and wondering how your hair looks. You walk out on the stage, trying to look confident, and praying you don’t trip over the camera cables and fall flat on your face. Looking good and sounding smart is a lot to deal with at 8 or 9 am, when the hairdressers and make up people showed up to ‘do’ you at 5 am, or even 4 am or earlier. Most shows are in New York, and for me, I usually fly in late the night before, from Paris or California, and get almost no sleep, when the hair and make-up people show up at 3 or 4 am. But however little sleep I got, or how scared I am, I still have to look and sound good when I’m on TV. It’s something I’ll probably never get used to. Writing at my desk all night, in a ratty old nightgown is a lot easier than talking about it in high heels and make up on a talk show!!!

But no matter how tired or scared I am, when I go on Good Morning America, and am interviewed by Robin Roberts, it’s a whole different experience. You are drawn to her warmth and kindness like a moth to flame. She’s so beautiful you can only stare at her. And she is so genuinely NICE that you are bowled over by her. And there are no nasty surprises with her—–instead of reminding you of some totally idiotic thing you did in college, or the jerk you went out with and wish no one knew about——she is suddenly reminding you of all your good deeds, your victories, the one wonderful thing you did. I sit there in awe of what a wonderful interviewer she is—-she wants to make you look good, sound good, and suddenly everyone watching thinks you’re great, and you begin to believe it too. Suddenly, on stage with her, I am not nervous with the cameras rolling. I forget they’re even there, and just want to sit there chatting with her forever. And after the interview is over, she goes on talking to you and making you feel great about yourself. I absolutely glow after an interview with her—-but it is the reflected glow of being in her presence. She is one of those rare human beings that makes you grateful that you know her, and got to spend even 5 minutes in her presence. She is a walking, talking blessing to everyone she meets. I LOVE doing the show with her, and am grateful whenever she has me on the show to talk about a new book.

Having met her repeatedly (and she is just as nice every time you meet her!!!), I felt it like a blow today when I heard that she was sick. No one deserves to be sick, but Robin Roberts less than anyone I know. She doesn’t deserve the pain or fear or the tough experience of facing a serious illness. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that she is facing this challenge, and how much I wish her well. I hope that you will join me in sending her good thoughts of strength and health and healing. She is a person who spreads so much joy and such good vibes, and is such a nice person that she deserves all the very best, and a return to good health and a happy life as soon as possible!!!

Love, Danielle

Emailing, Texting, Instant Messages, and More

Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m of a different generation. Technology is foreign to me, and will never be second nature as a means of communication. And even I can see the benefits of it. Instead of having to find a phone to tell someone you’re late, you can send them a text, and I can respond to emails or send them, at any crazy hour for me, despite international time differences, and without having to track someone down by phone. So I get it, and without question, it’s convenient. I can communicate with anyone I need to in business, at any hour, and respond to inquiries from them about everything from titles, to jacket covers, to music for a radio ad, or editing issues with my editor. Or communicate with my kids, without intruding on them, or calling them at a bad time at work. BUT, and there is a big BUT here, I think these modern technological conveniences are severely overused, in ways I find alarming, on the spectrum of human exchanges and relationships. I am ALL for the text saying “plane landed an hour late, I won’t be home for another hour” or “traffic on bridge, will be 20 minutes late” That kind of text message can be a godsend.

More and more of my kids’ friends, in their early and mid 20′s, complain to me that relationships start now by text, and worse, end by text. I hear it from my own friends, and it has happened to me too. The last man who told me he loved me did so for the first time by email, which kind of robs you of a special moment. I also find that often relationships that begin and get established by email are ‘fraudulent’ and virtual, and not real. When faced with the real human being, they either lose their nerve, or realize they were living a fantasy, and it all falls apart. (The man who announced so lavishly by email that he loved me, didn’t really want to see me when I got back to San Francisco, and disappeared entirely within 2 weeks. So what was that?). I would think that I had been targeted by a weirdo, but I hear stories like it all the time. And the last serious relationship I had was conducted in great part by long text messages, attempting to resolve some knotty problems (that I sure can’t resolve in abbreviations in a text message) by text, and the relationship ultimately ended by text. To me, it seems an appalling abuse of this convenient form of technology, and misuse of it is not exclusive to the young, but occurs in my generation as well. And the last marriage proposal I had (from my ex-husband) was by cell phone. Overuse, and abuse, of these forms of technology robs us of some truly important moments in a relationship: whether a declaration of love, a proposal, or even getting dumped (though it may be less traumatic to get dumped by text, it seems so incredibly disrespectful and so inadequate). I would think it’s just me, but I hear these stories all the time, from every age group.  And there are tragedies that occur by text too. When the best friend of one of sons committed suicide a few years ago, it seemed as though an army of people had texted with him only that day and suspected nothing. But NO ONE had talked to him, and heard something off, or even despair, in his voice.  And even more tragically perhaps, a young woman friend of my children had a fatal car accident last year, texting while she was driving, illegal perhaps but a common practice on the road.

Texting and even emailing are just too impersonal to be used when it involves human emotions. Also, I find that texting allows one to show off, to be clever, and have the last word. You don’t have the advantages and disadvantages of a real exchange, of hearing that person’s voice and batting the conversational ball back and forth. I really think that in this case, technology does not serve us well. It has become a substitute for real exchanges between real humans and everything that goes with it, good and bad. It allows people to hide behind their words, and mask who they really are. And it cheats us of some really great moments. I’m sorry, but how memorable is it if you get proposed to, or told someone loves you, by text??? I want to hear their voice, look into their eyes, and get the real thrill of the moment. And being ‘dumped’ by text is beyond humiliating, even more so than the real deal.

Recently a young woman I admire greatly, in her 40′s says that the moment she wakes up in the morning, she checks her BlackBerry and responds to her emails, before saying good morning to her live-in partner, or getting out of bed. A thirty year old woman I know said that she and her husband lie in bed and night and send texts to other people, and ‘check their apps’ (I’m so antiquated I’m not even sure what an ‘app’ is, but I’m almost certain it has nothing to do with sex). For most people who have young families, kids of any age, demanding jobs and busy lives, feeling romantic when you go to bed at night can be a challenge. Feeling sexy at the end of an 18 hour day, with equally tired mates, difficult teenagers, a 2 year old with an earache or stomach flu, an exhausting job, and household chores to do, is damn hard. That’s a challenge to most marriages, you have to fight to overcome. But text messaging in bed at night and checking your ‘apps’ seems like a poor trade off to me. Likewise meals, where the entire family is texting someone else. I have to admit I find it irritating when talking to my kids and they are responding to their texts during the entire conversation with me. They have stressful jobs and their BlackBerrys and smart phones allow them to communicate with the entire world constantly. But you never really have their full attention. It’s just too easy to be constantly distracted by technology, it has intruded on every moment of our lives, some of which we should be spending talking to the people we are standing next to, not texting someone else.

One of my favorite moments of the day in my marriage was that quiet moment and lull before the storm of a busy day, when we would talk to each other, cuddle for a moment (whether or not it led to more) and just talk about whatever was on our minds at the moment. It was a tiny moment in the day before defenses went up, life intervened, and the thousand aggravations of a too busy day could put you in a bad mood or just wear you out. Couples who spend that special moment texting and answering emails are really losing out on some of the intimacy in relationships, which is hard enough to come by these days anyway.

My grousing about it isn’t going to change anything. The young will continue to text each other on every subject, whether about relationships or work. Women and men will continue to get dumped by text, or start relationships by email that will never come to anything. And if I have another relationship, maybe it will all be virtual and happen by text too. I just feel that we are losing an important part of our humanity, we’re losing out, and have lost moments that are memorable and far more meaningful in person, or even over a phone, than in 140 characters or less, in an abbreviated text. And for those in intimate relationships, it seems worth thinking about what they’re losing or giving up in the hours spent every day, texting or emailing, instead of turning to the person sitting, or standing, or lying in bed next to them, and just smiling at them, and enjoying a moment of intimacy with them.

Love, Danielle

Passing the Baton

Its Memorial Day weekend, and I’m spending a relaxing, lazy weekend at my beach house in California, after a couple of weeks of hard work. The weather isn’t great, and I just took a nice walk under gray skies, enjoying the scenery, and saying hi to my neighbours, as I walked along. Until a few years ago, I owned a second house across the street, which allowed our whole family to come to the beach, with spouses and significant others and friends. We’re a big group, and having two houses worked well. And even with two houses, on many occasions, both houses were bursting at the seams. (I keep fold up rollaway beds everywhere, and inflatable mattresses, and can turn a room into a dormitory in the blink of an eye!!!) It’s the kind of overcrowded family weekend I really enjoy (you have to enjoy crowds, if you have 9 kids!!!). Although admittedly, in recent years, it doesn’t happen often to have all of us together, only on holidays or for special occasions.

As many of you have read or heard about, I discovered a few years ago that I had been embezzled for many years by one of my most trusted employees. It was a terrible blow in a lot of ways, financially of course (I’ll spare you the details), and emotionally, it is a powerful form of betrayal that affected and upset me in many ways. One of them was that on the advice of that trusted employee, I sold the second house at the beach. (I closed my beloved art gallery, on advice from the same source, and the homeless street outreach program I had run and worked on for eleven years, losing that was especially hard, and I still miss both the gallery and the homeless work enormously, but things change and you have to move on.). I trusted her implicitly, albeit foolishly, and when she told me to sell the second beach house, I did. It was a lesson in not being so trusting thereafter, and not following advice I assumed was better than my own. There are upsides and downsides to everything in life. The upsides are not negligible in this case. And despite advice that may have been questionable in motivation, I sold the house when the real estate market was still solid before the downturn in the economy, and doing so allowed me to add to my apartment in Paris, and my kids actually use the apartment in Paris a lot more than the beach house, which they only came to a few times a year by the time I sold it. And I like having more space in Paris too. So some of the results of that sale are good things for me. There’s a blessing in everything. The downside is that when we all do get together at the beach now, I have to rent a second house to accommodate everyone. But it’s easier and more sensible to rent a second house a few weekends a year, than to maintain a house that is seldom used. So maybe selling that house turned out to be a good thing. But I’m sentimental about the places I live, and every time I saw that house since I sold it, I had a little niggle of regret and sense of loss. Even if we didn’t use it much, we loved it, and it was home to us.

I always have strong feelings about my homes, even if they’re just rented apartments, and especially if they’re homes I own. Who lived there before? What happened to them? Why did they leave?  And who lives there now, after I leave or sell them? Do they love them as I did? Oddly, I have always lived in old houses, and not modern ones. I am a master of restoration, and have never built a new house. The house that I lived in for many years when my children were born was built in 1895, the one we have lived in now for 22 years was built in 1910. A tiny jewel of a house that I bought years ago, and one of my kids lives in now is one of the oldest houses in San Francisco, and was built in 1863. The property we owned in Napa was a Victorian ranch built in 1857, and the building where I live in Paris was built in 1812. You can feel the history in an old house, seeping through its pores, and I love the sense of that, and imagining who lived there before, even recently. My apartment in Paris was supposedly lived in by Prince, the singing artist, before me, and he left a multitude of fabulous closets (rare in a Paris apartment), and we’re about the same size so the closets work great for me. I’ve also heard rumors about a family who lived there before me, and a marriage that ended unhappily. I found papers suggesting that on a high shelf when I moved in, and had a priest come in to bless the apartment and get rid of any ‘bad vibes’ that might have been there before. My homes are important to me, I spend a lot of time in them, and work there, and I’m always intrigued by previous owners or residents and their histories. (I wrote a book inspired by that several years ago, called ‘The House’, about a young woman who inherits a house). I think of houses and homes, and even apartments as living beings of their own, that hang onto those histories. And I always hope that future residents will enjoy those homes as much as I did.

We didn’t have many years of history with the second beach house I sold, but I liked it anyway. And as I said, seeing it always gave me a slight sense of loss. It was a luxury, we didn’t need it, but we had good times there and it was nice to have, and it’s a pretty house. Not huge, but cozy and nice, with a peaceful view of a lagoon. I never met the people who bought it, although we corresponded when they bought it, and it was a second home for them too. All I knew was that they had three young kids, but we’d never met. Today, when I was out walking, I saw a man drive up, park outside that house, and about to go in. In a rare bold moment (I’m usually very shy, and prefer to go unnoticed), I asked if he was the owner, and he said yes, and I told him who I was. He was extremely nice, and I asked if they’re enjoying the house. “We couldn’t love it more” he said simply, and I could see it in his eyes. And that simple phrase did it for me.  Any last regret, or sense of loss, disappeared in that instant. The house had found its rightful owners and was in good hands. We rarely used it, and we really don’t need a second house at the beach. My kids are grown, many live in other cities, some have country homes of their own now. Whatever the reasons for our giving it up, it was time to let go, and let someone else enjoy it as we had. I was sooooo happy to know that the house was in good hands, and much loved. It was like passing the baton. I didn’t need to be grabby and hold onto it, or regret it or miss it. It’s now in the hands of this young family who “couldn’t love it more”, whose kids will grow up there on weekends and create memories there of their own. It is truly theirs now, and no longer mine. I don’t need it, we’re fine with renting a second house a couple of weekends a year.  As I walked away, I felt lighter than I have in a long time. I had no regrets, no sense of loss at last, in those few moments of chatting with the new owner and hearing how much they love the house, I wished him well, silently gave him and his family my blessing, and passed him the baton.

Love, Danielle

The Graduate

Another one of those major landmarks seems to have snuck up on me when I wasn’t looking.  I tend to be so busy on a daily basis, just keeping my life organized, being in touch with my kids, hoping to help them solve their problems, meeting my writing deadlines and leading my life with all its minor details, and then BLAM!!! Suddenly you are face to face with one of those moments that stop you in your tracks, and you realize that something enormously important just happened.

After working very hard, getting terrific grades, and the usual grousing about how tired she was of school and couldn’t wait to finish—–my youngest daughter just graduated from college. WOWWWWW!!!! Talk about a landmark event.  I’m not sure even she realized how momentous it would be, and for a while, like all my kids, she threatened not to ‘walk at graduation’, because it would be ‘so boring and stupid’, and then she decided to do it. (Damn right, I’ve been waiting all these years for that moment, so I could watch her walk in her cap and gown, and feel giddy as she did it!!). She was taking finals, finishing papers, and doing all the stuff people do before they graduate, and I was busy planning a family lunch for her and a party afterwards. I don’t know why, but with major events, one seems to get distracted by the details. And then suddenly, the day was here. The whole family flew in last Thursday night, and we’re a big group. Everyone was crowded into the kitchen, meals were suddenly a jubilant affair, and you practically had to jostle your way in for a place at the table, or to get into the fridge. And I have to admit, I love it when my house is like that. After 9 kids growing up, anything less than that seems too quiet. So the gang was all at home, every bedroom was full, and in the morning, everyone was rushing to get ready. And suddenly there we were, in the beautiful cathedral on campus, and the Big Day had come at last. There are so many of us that we filled two pews in the church where the ceremony was held, and we were all craning our necks to see her as she came in, and it was impossible to see her in the crowd, seated at the opposite side of the church. Professors filed in wearing their academic robes in many colors, with all the paraphernalia that went with it, scarves and stripes to indicate if they had a masters or a doctorate, from which school, and hats of many styles, and a sea of young people in black robes and mortarboards, with their tassels hanging from their hats, and suddenly as I stood there, and then sat down for the ceremony, I realized what was happening. My baby was graduating. We had made it through Kindergarten, first grade, into middle school, slid into high school and onto college, survived first romances, first heartbreaks, and suddenly with practically no warning, she was this gorgeous grown woman in a cap and gown, and GRADUATING from college…….the reality of it was overwhelming, and I felt my eyes fill with tears. And in the pews with me were my other grown up children, who had made it to adulthood too. I’m sure it sounds crazy, but I’m not actually sure that the full force of it hit me til that moment. And yes, they are still young (it’s only been two years since our last graduation, and we’ve had one a year for years, since kindergarten), but the simple reality is that they are grown up, they actually made it through something hard to do, and I felt as though my daughter was going to grow wings and fly as I watched her. She looked beautiful when she filed past us, and happy and relieved, and so outrageously grown up as the President of the school handed her her diploma. I have absolutely no idea how this happened, or how the time went so quickly. When you’re in the thick of it, you think they’ll be kids forever, and suddenly they aren’t kids anymore, they are whole people with their own ideas and dreams and goals, and you are the second skin they shed as they fly past you.

I suppose our kids will always need us in one form or another, and we are all always children to some degree with our parents. Our parents are the place we can go to, to be silly, let our hair down, and do the same dumb things we did as kids. And then feeling strong and refreshed, we fly off again.  I tried hard not to focus on how momentous it was, and how earth shattering, as we kissed her and celebrated her, and exclaimed over her diploma, and how gorgeous she looked in her cap and gown. (Thank God she is not entirely grown up, and has shocking pink hair on one side of her hair, and sometimes dark purple or just black on the other. She is my Rock and Roll ‘cool’ baby, with a passion for music, and hoping for a career in music production). We gave her a big party the next night, and she was beaming all weekend, probably with relief and the sheer joy of it. And what an accomplishment, I am soooooo proud of her!!! And for me, the weekend flew past in a blur of astonishment, I kept wanting to roll the film back and figure out how it all went so quickly…..when did she slip from childhood into womanhood, when did she become a grown up, and how did she manage to finish college so damn fast? Life passes in a blur, while you’re washing the bathtub, folding the laundry, driving car pool, or cleaning out your closets. It zips by you, when you let the dog out, or take a child to buy a new pair of sneakers, or wonder if they’ll ever clean up their room or will it just be a mess forever. And suddenly you are faced with a woman (even in pink hair), a woman who is accomplished, who has met her goals, done what she set out to do, and done it well. I take no credit for her accomplishments, she did it all herself. And I have just been so very lucky to be standing next to her for all these years, loving her, and being proud of her and cheering her on.  And maybe one day I’ll figure out how it all went so fast, and in the meantime, I’m just so glad that with all her accomplishments, she still giggles, can still act like a kid sometimes and has pink hair. I will never, ever forget that moment. It was different than all our other graduations, when I could blithely tell myself that I had seven, or six, or four, or even two more at home.  This was indeed a landmark moment, and a memory I will cherish of her all my life. It was a beautiful, beautiful day, and I will forever remember that shining face, with her pink hair, in her cap and gown. WOWWWWWWW!!!!!!!  She Did It!!!!! And I am soooo proud of her!!!

Love, Danielle

On Being Both Mother and Father (of the bride)

As I mentioned to you in my last blog, we are having a wedding in the family this summer, which is a joyful event (especially since we love my daughter’s fiancé), and I’m busily planning the wedding with my daughter, and trying to attend to every detail. And I have to admit, there have been some very funny moments in doing so—-and also some immensely touching ones. Only one of my other daughters has married so far (the younger ones are still too young, by today’s standards, and even this bride is on the young side), and it’s been a while since I planned a wedding for my oldest daughter. And each bride and each wedding is different. And the thing to keep in mind is that it is her wedding, not mine. In years past, when I was young, parents commandeered the whole wedding, invited their friends, decided the style of the wedding, the food, the music, and you were lucky to have enough of your friends there to have a good time (and music that you didn’t have to be 80 years old to enjoy dancing to). Today, the bride and groom decide and run the show, which to be honest, seems right, much better, and much more fun for them (it IS their wedding!!). I had much more fun at my wedding when I married their father, than I did the first time, because we were grown up, had been previously married, and we had no parents to dictate the wedding, we ran the show. We invited our friends, chose the location and size and style of wedding we wanted, and we had a ball, and so did all our friends.

My oldest daughter wanted a big wedding, and we compromised on close to 300 guests. She had 14 bridesmaids, and it was a pretty major event. The daughter who is getting married now wants a small wedding, of under 100 people, no bridesmaids, she has very definite ideas, knows what she likes, has a clear vision of it, has been very reasonable and easy to work with, and the wedding will be very traditional, and very much her style. (And it’s no mean feat to keep the guest list under 100, when close to 40 of them will be family). And when my two oldest sons married, they had big weddings (my oldest son had 17 groomsmen), so this small wedding will have all the trappings, but will be a small gem.

And my role in all of this seems to be a dual one, and I switch from one hat to the other, a dozen times a day. And it even strikes me funny. Her father and I were divorced for a long time, but remained extremely close and got on very well, and I deferred to him on many things. And very sadly, he passed away 15 months ago, so now more than ever, I have the role of mother and father for this important family event.

It all began when my future son in law asked to visit me in February, while I went through New York, and asked for my blessing. He was intending to propose to my daughter (and did so 2 hours later, and I was very touched that he consulted me first). That in itself is a role normally assigned to the father and suddenly there I was, with this wonderful young man—–asking for my blessing. Knowing how much they love each other, it was a no-brainer, and I reacted as any mother would, gave him my blessing and asked for all the details (none of which he knew yet). (It never dawned on me to ask any fatherly questions. What do fathers say in those events?? I have no idea, and hope I did it right. This is new territory for me). My motherly role continued when he proposed to her that night, they called to tell me, and the next morning over breakfast, we began to talk about the wedding. I was totally swept up in the excitement of it (and still am). A few days later, she called to share her initial plans for the wedding, and suddenly I put on my father’s hat and gulped. (This is the moment when fathers begin to growl—usually to their wife—–about how much the wedding is going to cost, while the wife calms him down. Regrettably, I have no wife, or even husband or partner, to calm me down. So I’m on my own). For the next several weeks, garden themes were mentioned, destination weddings, locations that were hard to get to (there were no decent hotels near one location, and none with room service, and since one of my sons hyperventilates if he can’t get a decent meal at any hour, I knew that wasn’t going to work). Wedding planners were consulted (gulp), and let me tell you right now, whatever your line of work, we are both in the wrong business. If you ever want to make a fortune, in your next life you want to become either a wedding planner, or someone who rents tents for weddings. Ask anyone who has given a wedding, and they grow pale when they talk about the tent. We had tents over ‘bouncy castles’ when the kids were little, and in the back yard—-so what’s the big deal with a wedding tent? Don’t ask me, but clearly, they are made of spun gold with diamonds invisibly sewn into the seams. Crystal sides? Chandeliers? Air conditioning??? You can have anything you want, but don’t expect it to be anything reasonable in terms of cost. I have new respect for anyone who rents a wedding tent (without mortgaging their house).

For two weeks, I was in a constant schizophrenic blur between being thrilled about her plans and the sheer romance of it (I’m a woman after all), saying “Darling that’s sooooo wonderful”—–and only seconds later, jamming my father hat on my head, ready to shout “That’s going to cost me WHAT???????”  I was too weak from my own schizophrenic outbursts, and too enraptured by their romance to say much of anything, and before I regained my powers of speech, my daughter very sensibly decided that a location wedding would be too complicated and she wanted to get married at home. I knew it would be much more meaningful to all of us, and was thrilled with her decision, so for a brief time, I calmed down, dazed and relieved in both my motherly and fatherly roles. (How would I have done a location wedding, knowing no one and no suppliers in the area, commuting between Paris and California, with a very competent staff at my home base. Not to mention the room service issue for my son. I was not brave enough to explain to him that in one of his sister’s possible wedding locations, it was unlikely he would find a double cheeseburger nor a triple size steak available at the drop of a hat, delivered to his room piping hot at 3am). So all was well when she decided to get married at home. (Neither of us wanted to use the wedding planners, and it was all going to be much easier and prettier at home).

I wore my mother hat for all the wedding details, choosing the wedding dress with her in Paris (an unforgettable moment), and discussing everything she had in mind. It all sounded perfect and beautiful, and just as I was drifting dreamily through her plans, my other persona would take control, and the father in me would scream inelegantly in my head: “How MUCH is THAT????”  I’ve decided that it’s a lot more fun being a Mom, you get to give advice about the wedding shoes, and whether or not to wear a veil. Do I care about the cost of the caterer, overtime for the band, and how much a tent will cost after all (even at home)???? That is no fun at all.  For a brief moment, she wanted to transform our home into a Southern Plantation (Spanish Moss from WHERE??)…..roses from Ecuador…..lily of the valley from France…..and all the little details that warmed my motherly heart, and chilled my fatherly brain.  As it happens with fathers, it rippled down to the rest of the family as well, “You want to buy new sneakers AGAIN? Why? I bought you some 6 years ago”, “Why does the dog need to go to the vet now? Didn’t he just go?…..You need a new dress? For WHAT???   I found myself alternately sounding like a mother, AND a father, grousing over the most absurd details—–it reminded me of my childhood. If I didn’t eat my vegetables as a child, I was responsible for starving countless thousands of children in other parts of Europe (I could never understand why we didn’t just send them the lima beans and brussels sprouts I hated, if they wanted them so badly.  Now, suddenly, if I deprived my youngest daughter of new running shoes, or my son of basketball shorts——did this mean we could get a bigger, better tent, with heaters and more chandeliers in it??? I’m not sure how the equation works, but it didn’t make sense even to me.

In the end, my mother side is winning out (after all, I AM a girl). I want her to have exactly the wedding she is dreaming of, and I am trying to keep my father side in reasonable control. I’ve got him down now to the occasional low, subterranean growl. I may have to start talking to myself. (“It’s alright, dear, it will be fine….everything will work out….just have another drink”. Unfortunately, I don’t drink, but 30 years of therapy have finally come in handy. I am able to soothe my masculine side, and reason with myself that the wedding will be perfect, no matter how big the tent).

It’s a modern world out here, where sometimes mothers have to be mothers and fathers. You have to address the practical issues, and the romantic ones as well, but in the end, we manage to give our kids what they need, and we learn new skills along the way (I can now look seriously scary when asking someone how much they are going to charge me, which I was never able to do before. And it’s effective!!). Sadly, I can’t walk her down the aisle as her father would have, but one of her brothers will do that, and I’ll take care of the rest, perhaps not as efficiently as a father might, but I’m doing my best to wear both hats. And so far, so good. My ‘father side’ has not gotten out of control yet, or done anything really embarrassing. And I’m not talking to myself out loud yet!!! And hopefully, we will manage to create the wedding of her dreams. But I’m still going to look into becoming a ‘tent renter’ when this is over. Why didn’t they tell us about that as a career opportunity in college?  And if you want a good laugh, try watching the movie “Father of the Bride” with Steve Martin. It’s all in there, the wedding planner, his house being emptied and stripped for the wedding, AND Diane Keaton keeping him calm and offering him comfort. In the film that is my life, I am both Steve Martin and Diane Keaton……dealing with the notion of ‘losing my little girl’ to someone else, while giving her the wedding of her dreams, and being both Father and Mother of the bride, with all that double role entails. If I start speaking in tongues in future interviews, or snapping into a deep male voice, asking how much something costs——–you’ll know how it happened. I’ll have to remember to just be her mother at the wedding and not this hybrid!!!!!  It’s clear to me now, that being a mother is a lot more fun!!!

Love, Danielle