Tag Archives: Frank Sinatra

Master of Space and Time: Leon Russell

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“I love you in a place where there’s no space or time…”

As I drove around town last week, I heard A Song for You by Leon Russell on the radio. I haven’t heard that song in years and years and it grabbed my heart just like it did decades ago. Others have covered this song, but no one does it like Leon.

I later found out that he passed away in 2016. I had no recollection of that and I’m so sorry that I didn’t know because I always loved his music, That was the same year that we lost David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Prince, Leonard Cohen, and George Michael! Can you imagine the loss of all that talent? Crazy.

In fact, I sort of recalled seeing him in concert –-once upon a time — and texted my friend that I used to go to concerts with (she’s the one who reminded me of the time I jumped on the stage to see Jim Morrison) and she totally remembered that we HAD seen him perform.

Back then — before smart phones — no one regularly documented each and every moment of their life, so I have to rely on my memory (or hers).

I’ve been listening to him on repeat for days; his voice was mesmerizing (he was gorgeous, too, with those beautiful eyes), and the story of how he lived and died nearly in obscurity because of poor life choices and poor health — is tragic.

In 2011, thanks to his good friend Elton John, he was inducted into both the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Songwriters Hall of Fame.

Even before he became famous, Russell had a career as a first call session pianist, performing with everyone from Frank Sinatra, Dylan, Streisand, The Rolling Stones, and The Beach Boys.

“Russell was music’s North Star, pioneering a distinctly American sound that changed the career paths of stars, including Eric Clapton, George Harrison and Elton John. He created a band that became one of music’s most legendary live acts; made Mad Dogs & Englishmen, for Joe Cocker; stole the show from a white hot lineup of artists at the Concert for Bangladesh; became a star in his own right with solo albums that featured songs that became standards, including Song for You and This Masquerade; and inspired the icon Willie Nelson to create his enduring outlaw country persona.” https://www.theguardian.com/music/2023/mar/05/he-was-central-to-music-history-the-forgotten-legacy-of-leon-russell

Featured image photo credit to The Daily Beast via Pinterest

Migraine Melody : Begin The Beguine

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I couldn’t even watch TV yesterday when I suffered with that migraine (glad to say it disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived) but all I could do was lie in darkness and listen to music.

One of my all time favorite tunes is “Begin the Beguine”.

The beguine is a ballroom dance similar to the foxtrot, based on a dance from Martinique and St. Lucia. It was popular in the 1930s.

Ella, Frank, Sammy, and Artie Shaw; I love all of these versions, and this dance sequence is to DIE FOR.

Isn’t that Fats Waller?

And Artie Shaw, I could listen to this all day…

Summer Wind

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This Frank Sinatra tune floated in and out of my head along with the symphony of wind chimes as I took a break from a very hard garden project to sit on the deck and quench my thirst with my favorite (daytime) beverage, cold ginger and peppermint tea.

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My view from the deck. Lawn is suffering a bit in this heat.

Like the song, our fickle summer wind blows from the west most of the time; I’m a couple miles from the Pacific Ocean.

Nobody can ever compare to Frank’s lyrical interpretation.

Summer Wind

The summer wind came blowin’ in from across the sea
It lingered there, to touch your hair and walk with me
All summer long we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand
Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Like painted kites, those days and nights they went flyin’ by
The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky
Then softer than a piper man, one day it called to you
I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
The autumn wind, and the winter winds they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
The summer wind
Warm summer wind
The summer wind

Songwriters: Hans Bradtke / Henry Mayer / Johnny Mercer

Some Enchanted Evening

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Since Saturn, Venus, and Jupiter are all in retrograde, it’s time for a little magic with Chanel and sparkles. All dressed up for an enchanted evening at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.

And night after night,
As strange as it seems
The sound of her laughter
Will sing in your dreams.
This is THE song for me from South Pacific. Whose version do you like best?

 

Perry Como

 

 

Frank Sinatra

 

Paul Robeson, of course…

 

…and Willie Nelson! I met him a few years ago. He was so kind and I got a hug, can’t believe I was brazen to ask for one, lol.

 

Happy 100th Birthday, Mommy!

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Sometimes, caring for a terminally ill grandma is a beautifully tragic way to learn compassion.

Best mom and grandma EVER.

She was born February 9, 1915
and would have been
one hundred years old today.

I’m often asked where I learned how to cook and bake. I learned it all from her — everything from scratch, and that’s how I do it, too, carrying on that tradition.

Once in a while, tugboat man will surprise his crew by baking for them and it’s her recipe he uses: The Compleat Apple Pie…Deconstructed 

You know how I love to clean? That’s because she made a game out of washing windows, polishing silver; even ironing. She made it all fun, never a chore.

When Angel Boy had his medical scare a while back, it was my mom whom I channeled in the hospital. I remembered every single thing she ever shared with me about being a strong, assertive patient advocate — how to interact with doctors and staff — and to NEVER leave the side of a loved one, which is the reason why DIL and I were there 24/7 for the almost two weeks he was hospitalized.  We all firmly believe this is one of the reasons he’s here today. REALLY.

On a happier note, all I  know about fashion and style, shopping and Chanel, I learned from my mom and I’m more than happy to carry on that legacy.

When I spray on my favorite scent, Chance by Chanel, before I leave for the gym, I remember more of my mom’s words of wisdom:

“Don’t save good perfume for special occasions. Wear it every day just for you.”

When my mom retired from nursing, she moved in with us. After suffering from months of unexplained stomach pain and nausea, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Sadly, she didn’t live very long after that.

We cared for her with the help of hospice and she died peacefully at home.

Toward the end, after school, my seven-year-old son would climb on her bed, tell her about his day and feed her a couple spoonfuls of soup.

Sometimes, caring for a terminally ill grandma is a beautifully tragic way to learn compassion.

Angel Boy and my mom had a special bond; she would play Candyland for HOURS with had endless patience. When he was two or three or four years old, whenever he’d call out “MOM!” we would both answer, because for the longest time, that’s how he referred to us both– until he named her “DangDang”, which is how his brain processed the sounds in “Grandma”.

She would have been so very proud of him.

When Angel Boy finished graduate school, I bought him an Hermes tie because that’s what Grandma would have done — memorialize the occasion with an amazingly extravagant gift.

I can think of no better way to honor her memory than to shop for a little something special, ‘cos that’s exactly what she’d want me to do!

A few of my favorite vintage photos:

Stylish nurse ensemble.
I still have her cap and velvet ribbon tucked away, wrapped in tissue paper. 

MommyRN

Lovely afternoon skirt, blouse, and contrasting belt to highlight her curves.
Mommy

Me (very yellow with frilly socks) with Mommy, attired in a full-on Jackie Kennedy look minus the pillbox hat.meandmommy

Frank Sinatra was one of her FAVES.. She used to annoy me SO much by singing along with Old Blue Eyes whenever this song came on the radio: “It Was A Very Good Year”

http://youtu.be/JVZETBC38o4

Remembering: When I Got Up Close With Peter O’Toole

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Peter O'Toole The Stunt ManFor a brief moment in time, I lived my life’s dream of being an actress.

I had an agent.

I even combined my love for writing with my desire to become the next Oscar winner and wrangled a real live Press Pass from the Theater Arts Guild (which I saved all these years and take out to weep on every so often as just another unrealized dream.)

One time, I interviewed Bob Hope and Connie Francis. By the way, funny as you think he was on stage, he was an absolute JERK behind the scenes. At least that’s what I observed as he demanded that his white Rolls Royce be driven underground at the Sports Arena where he was to appear with Connie Francis in a tribute to the military. There was such a small crowd that a near-panic ensued and busloads of Marines drove in to fill up the seats and save the day.

Anyhoo, I get that I was a nobody with a freshly minted press pass, but I did write for a legitimate publication and he didn’t have to be so rude and dismissive. I wrote an honest, authentic, and genuine piece, not a speck of fluff anywhere. I still have the article somewhere along with my press pass. One day I’ll rummage around in my box of broken dreams and post it.

From tiny on-screen moments on the beach in a bathing suit in Harry- O with David Janssen to my last shoot as a Costa Rican hooker in Deadly Desire with Jack Scalia, it seemed as if I had a calling. I even had a few bit parts with lines, although most of them ended up on the proverbial cutting room floor, so there’s nothing to be found on YouTube to document my star’s brief rise and fall.

Upon reflection, I’m not quite sure why I was typecast as a prostitute? Bimbo in a bikini? Oh well, another fantasy died, thanks to an abundance of wrinkles and hundreds of pockets of cellulite. Time marches on, right?

There was a time I had auditioned for a film that was shooting in San Diego, “Stuntman”, starring the great Peter O’Toole.

Stuntman

Me with Alex Rocco.Photo property of Enchanted Seashells

There I was, once again, a girl in a bikini, on the beach in La Jolla. (Nice abs, if I do say so myself.)

That’s where I met Peter O’Toole. Because we were right on the beach, it was a fairly egalitarian scene. It was fascinating for me to watch actors as they rehearsed their script outdoors — like Steve Railsback who kept going over his lines; “We’re losing the light, Chuck.” “Chuck, we’re losing the light” “We’re losing the damn light, Chuck!”

Photo courtesy of sandiegohistory.org

Photo courtesy of sandiegohistory.org

And then there was Mr. O’Toole as he was called, pretzeling his tall, extremely skinny body onto his special chair, one leg laconically tossed onto the arm as he half-sat, half-reclined — star power all the way —  and he raised his voice, knowing that he’d command attention in less than two syllables, ” Where’s my coffee?  I want my coffee HOT!” to all of the hovering assistants.

He was so thin that he showed us how he wore layers and layers of clothing — even in the summer — to give his body a little padding. (I heard Frank Sinatra did the same thing.)

I was way too cool to ask for an autograph; I wanted him to think of me as an equal; a fellow “actor”, not as a fawning sycophant.

All of us cute young barely clothed girls had an easy time as desired accessories around the set; we had more access to the celebrities, we watched them play chess or checkers or were even invited to eat lunch with them.

At the time, I thought that I was being singled out for my “specialness” and my acting skills; now I see that there was a darker and more exploitative side to what goes on behind the scenes. Trust me, the casting couch is alive and well in Hollywood.

But for me, it was all innocent, all good, all wholesome. I didn’t get drawn into any of the after-hours partying, didn’t make any bad choices in life or follow a destructive path.

My acting pursuits ended with the birth of the Angel Boy except for an inspiring portrayal of that Costa Rican hooker.

My very last line…”Te gusta, señor?” (“You like, Mister?”)

Act on, Mr. O’Toole. Break a leg. You are remembered and missed.

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