Ramblin Christian Gypsy
Literary whimsy. Dedicated poetic observer.
Literary whimsy. Dedicated poetic observer.
When I asked Kirk over the phone about where I could go to score some cyanide tablets to off myself just in case ISIS tried beheading me live on television ….
Was about the time he decided to travel home as opposed to the other way around.
Our whole family under this roof is every day comprised of dramatic scene stealing youngest children.
I called Scarlett over to tell her about her Dr. Fless. She needed a hug and said, “I liked him so much.”
That was a good doctor. He actually cared. I cringe when all the online articles immediately feel the need to tell us about his notorious kid.
Many times Dr. Paul Fleiss would meet us at his office at zero dark thirty of any holiday weekend and keep tabs of Scarlett’s tricky condition. She would develop scary asthma so fast and her oxymeter numbers would be so bad that conventional advice would have had you driving straight to the hospital.
She was two and I was shooting Desperate Housewives and had to leave her at the hospital with Misti, Elizabeth Oliveros and Evelyn Parra to go to work. The hospital wouldn’t let Scarlett play with any of the toys because even though we all knew it was asthma it was technically an undiagnosed lung illness because she hadn’t had three separate incidents. Those were the hospital rules. Scarlett saw the room of toys and was pitching a fit to make them her own. And her rage made the asthma worse, and then they wanted an IV and that made things even more unbearably stressful. I hated the hospital.
So I left someone there at Cedars Sinai with her, sent someone else to Target to buy new things because that’s what you do, and a third someone to our house to collect favorite things then I went to work not knowing if she’d be released that day. All the while I was taking 16 phone calls from Kirk working in NY who was frantic for new information on his hospitalized baby.
During the next few years I would call him and tell him her numbers and say, “Meet me at the office, I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed.” And he’d come and give her care and me advice. And we’d make conversation while the horrible sound of the nebulizer puffed out its’ magical modern medicinal thing.
It just so horribly happened that a few weeks earlier Dr. Fleiss had lost his adult son in a drowning accident off the coast of Kona. The loss was fresh and painful and I noticed how he’d aged a decade since I’d last seen him. HIs shoulders carried a yoke of heartache. The burden of having lost a child.
"I’m so sorry." I said. And I touched his shoulder. I asked if there was anything I could do? Errands or anything I could buy that could bring him a thimble full of joy. He quickly said, "Coffee..I like coffee." Then he told me what kind. What brand. Which kind of bean. And then asked me to bring the whole bean because he liked to grind it himself." Then he smiled. And I brought it, the coffee, the next day. And here today I’m having my coffee and thinking of him with a lump in my throat that won’t go away.
Here’s to you, Dr. Fleiss. And thanks for telling me I was a great Mom. That was extra nice. LIke you. RIP.
Putting myself on tape today because casting for a new show has refused to see me. They no longer believe I can play early thirties.
Blast you, Imdb, with all your information just clickety-click seconds away.
Today’s verse I’ll share is Roman’s 1:22 “Professing themselves to be wise they became fools.”
Who do I call to tell them that Lucille Ball was 40 when she STARTED shooting I Love Lucy?
And if this post doesn’t shame them into rethinking the error of their ways, then perhaps they’ll be so charmed into giving me job on straight offer after seeing these darling pictures of my Granddaughter.
Painfully learned, but strategy has never been my strongest suit.
I agreed to go for a run with Scarlett. I didn’t really know I was signing up to pay for war crimes committed in my as yet unknown past lives.
She would holler at me to “C’mon you don’t wanna keep that flab you showed me last night, DO YOU?!” This was said waaaaay too loud for my comfort and always strategically when others were passing by. But to think she was done was just naive. Here she came again…”You want Daddy to see you in a bikini and say you’re hot, don’t you? I don’t think he’d say that now, DO YOU??!”
Ok that was just mean.
Some woman did a gatorade spit-take, she was laughing so hard.
But the end all, be all, was her pulling a cheese stick out of her pocket and running backwards in front of me waving it like a carrot to a lazy donkey lure. “C’mon Mommy, I Know You WANT THE CHEESE….RUN FASTER!”
I wanted to push her down. And hard. But I couldn’t catch her.
By the time we made it home, I was laughing, and crying, and I think I wet my pants. Whether or not I am resultantly any thinner…..well that remains to be seen.
At Starbucks today a group of German tourists turned into extreme Desperate Housewives fans the second my daughter and I walked through the door. They screamed, jumped up, fell over, got up, then fanned their flushed faces and with shaking hands wanted to take pictures. It was pretty intense.
I chatted for a bit with the one who had a command of the English language but disallowed them taking pictures of Scarlett. Why I dunno when anyone with a camera at the Grove takes her picture all the time. I guess it just seemed the thing to do. If you can’t control it you can’t control it. But if someone asks, “no” seems a good answer when it applies.
When walking back to the car Scarlett smoothed my back with her one hand goes, in a high sing-song “there, there” voice, “See Mommy some people really like you.”
I could have sagged under such condescending counsel. But I decided to rather think on what she got right. And ruminate on how to fix my life with that information.
If German tourists and then perhaps my dogs, could produce a show, then Gentle Reader, we’d be on to something. Because those people really like me.
We’ll call the show, “ACTRESS KILLED. DOZENS MOURN!”
Scarlett’s making her Christmas list. Yes I know it’s August. And I brought this, plus the following to her attention, “Sweetheart let Daddy get off the plane for a day or two before you bombard him with a gift list for Christmas.”
She shot me a sour look and goes, “This has nothing to do with Daddy it’s for Santa.” Then she made her eyes real big and went back to her work like she could scarcely believe my naiviete and the lengths her patience had to go to deal with the likes of me.
Then I rolled my own eyes and walked the other way. We are dueling schools learned at the acting feet of Alyssa Milano, circa Who’s The Boss years.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul.
He leadeth me in the path of righteousness for his name sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil.
For thou art with me.
Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of my enemies.
Thou anointest my head with oil.
My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me
all the days of my life.
And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.