A bit of family news here, my college senior daughter has been going to every concert she can get to for the last ten years. She knows more about the young music scene than anyone I know. And in the last few years she goes to a ‘show’ or concert every night of the week, and sometimes two shows. And she has decided to share the experience, and her expertise, with others, —she just started a blog called “Zscrossing”, telling those who read her blog about the shows she goes to. If there is someone in your family who enjoys the same kind of music she does (loud!!! and a lot younger than what i listen to!!), check out zscrossing. I’m very proud of her!!!  She wants to embark on a career in music production after she graduates, and might like to become a sound engineer or sound technician, after some more studies. Very exciting stuff!!! Take a look at her blog!!! www.zcrossing.com

Love, Danielle

So despite the book, and my self-imposed isolation, I got dressed and went to the airport, and took the dog, and it was such a thrill to see her bounce out of the airport after her ski weekend. (Even though I lent her ski clothes she made fun of!! But wore anyway. She had the nerve to call them ‘vintage’!!! My favorite ski suits imagine that!!) She climbed into my car, and we spent an hour and a half talking and laughing and gossiping, and chuckling, and having a good time, talking about nothing in particular, and enjoying each other, and even hugging and holding hands, and trying to figure out when we can next see each other. It was just perfect, and really fun, and I was so happy I had decided to go out to the airport, and not worry about the book!! She is sooooo MUCH more important than a book, all of my kids are!!!

The moment came at last when she had to check in for her next flight, and I walked her into the airport with a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart. I hated to see her leave. The little time we had together had been so sweet. We hugged about five more times at the entrance to security, and I reached out for just one more. And then she went through security with her carry-on and her dog. I had tears in my eyes. She’s in her 20′s, but they remain our babies forever, no matter how grown up they are. As I stood gazing at her going through security, like a watchful mother hen, an incredibly grumpy security man told me to move away (as though I was a threat to airport security, waving at my daughter, a harmless woman with tears in her eyes.)  I stepped aside, blew a few more kisses and waved again, and that really pissed him off, scowling at me he told me to move far away, and pointed to a distant corner, where I could still see her through the glass wall. He must have had a really bad day, or a miserable life. In any case, I moved, and found myself standing next to a Greek man, waving just as frantically at his daughter, who looked about the same age. “Your daughter?” He asked me and I said yes, “Me too,” he said, “she lives in Vancouver”. I told him mine lived in LA. And the two of us were waving and blowing kisses at our two girls, who were blowing kisses and waving back. I was suddenly reminded of leaving her on the first day of school in Kindergarten, or standing mesmerized at the window of the hospital nursery where they are so brand new. Nothing had changed. We loved them just as much, and seeing them leave was clearly hard for both of us and our girls. (My family travels a lot, as do I and I normally don’t go to airports to see them off, but this special moment was like a gift when I could have an hour or two with my daughter in the midst of her travels, when I might not see her for another month or two).  “They’ll always be our babies”, the man commented next to me, and we chatted then about how old they are, what they do for work, how often we see them, as we continued to wave through the glass wall, and our girls continued to wave back. And then finally, they passed to the other side of security and we couldn’t see them anymore. I saw that the man had the same tears in his eyes that I did, and surely the same lump in his throat, as his daughter disappeared. “Good luck”, he said wistfully, and we shook hands…..good luck with watching them grow up….saying goodbye….watching them leave…..standing in an airport all alone, and wishing you could turn the clock back to another time, when they still lived at home, and you never had to say goodbye.  I went back to my car and drove home, thinking how lucky I was to have these precious moments with a child I love, and how blessed I am when I see them, for however little time and far too seldom, living in different cities now from several of them. That 90 minutes of hugging and talking and laughing today really was a gift, an island of joy in a turbulent world. And all I could think was Thank God, I stopped working and went to the airport to see her, even for a short time, even if it slows the flow of “genius” for an hour or two—who cares??? I was so grateful for that time with my daughter, and that I’d been smart enough to seize it, with the excuse of taking her dog. The Greek man I chatted with had the same feeling I did, of how lucky we were. Such tiny precious moments…..I will never forget them, they go in a memory book of motherhood and get tucked deep into my heart. And on the way home, she texted me from the plane, and felt the same way I did, of how lucky we had been to have those precious moments today…..I smiled through my tears when I read it…..what a beautiful day.

I’ve had all kinds of Christmases, both good and bad, starting with lavish ones as a child, in the German traditions of my father (he loved Christmas!!!), but I had no mother to share them with, since my mother left when I was 6, which was a gaping hole in my life then, as a young child. I had happy Christmases at the beginning of my marriage, and sad ones at the end. And a few completely alone when, divorced, I had a young daughter who went to visit her father in France every other year, and I just sat home and cried, alone. I have had fairy tale Christmases, surrounded by my many children when they were young, when everything went the way it was supposed to and most people dream of….and then the shattering Christmas, 3 months after I lost my son, when we all sat paralyzed with grief. To try and lighten the mood, I decided to give an ice skating party for my friends and their kids. It didn’t fill the void, but reminded my family that life goes on, and there is still laughter and love and fun in our lives, surrounding ourselves with good friends. I’ve had romantic Christmases and some really depressing ones, since I’ve been single….the man I loved passionately (and later married) who decided that being in Antarctica was more fun than being with me, so he spent the holiday with penguins, and I wound up alone that year, an all-time low. Even in a good, happy, wholesome life with family and a solid marriage, Christmas isn’t perfect every year, and I’ve spent enough hard ones to be sensitive to the fact that the holidays are really tough for some people, particularly if they’ve encountered disappointment or loss, or are alone. There are a lot of lonely people in the world, and contrary to common belief, having a family isn’t always a guarantee that the holiday will be great. Some of us go home to parents we never got along with in the first place, and all the same problems surface again, or siblings we have nothing in common with, or we have to send children to a divorced spouse, and sometimes we are just so stressed out that we wind up fighting with people we love, in spite of good intentions. Truly, despite my many children, I know how hard holidays can be, and they underline the fact that we’re alone, or what’s not going right in our lives.

There are several ways to view how to handle difficult holidays. Forget them: not always so easy to do, with Jingle Bells playing in every elevator and supermarket, and a Santa with his beard askew on every corner. (And shouting obscenities at street corner Santas, and taking our frustrations out on him is not considered ‘cool’).  You can spend the holidays with good friends and people you really like to be with, which is a warm way to spend it. Or remember that it is one day, and not a year long. You can get through one tough day, you’ve done it before. And gratitude for what you do have: even if it’s not perfect, there must be ONE thing you can be grateful for. One particularly awful year many years ago, the only thing I could think of to be grateful for was a new pair of shoes I had bought myself and loved (that was a particularly low year). And also, giving up your time to people less fortunate and in great need. I’ve spent many nights in my years of street outreach, with the homeless, and let me tell you, seeing the misery they’re in will wake you up to just how lucky you are to even come home to a warm bed. I don’t think fabulous holidays just happen in many lives, I think sometimes we have to work at keeping our spirits up, and making the holiday good for others. Usually, when I stop worrying about how happy I’ll be, and just concentrate on making others happy, I wind up happier myself. (Some of my Christmas dreams and wishes have been slow in coming, or Santa lost my list along the way, but I have so many things/people to be grateful for that in the end I feel blessed anyway). Maybe the answer to better holidays is to try to avoid the things that stress you most, if possible, and depress you, and make sure you do some of the things that are really meaningful to you and make you happy, whatever that is. I have spent Christmases in poverty (in my early writing years) and in wealth, and although it’s a great feeling to be able to buy somebody a great gift you know they want, the year that I bought items and furniture in junk stores and refinished them for people I loved was one of my best years. I worked so hard on gifts I hoped they’d love. (As for what I get, it’s often weird. People view me as having ‘so much’ or ‘everything’ that it intimidates them, so they give me nothing, or a candle—-or a fruit cake!!! (I accept chocolate all year round), what they don’t realize is how touched I am by small thoughtful gifts, however small. And there is always one gift every year, which touches my heart, and shows that someone cares and knows me well. Maybe that’s all that really matters, showing the people you care about that you’re thinking about them and care about them. Even a phone call to a beloved friend can show them that at the right time.) Anyway, try and plan a little so that the hard parts of Christmas don’t hit you quite so hard. And I’ll try to do the same!!! And if your family drives you crazy, try to shield yourself as best you can, so they don’t ruin the holiday for you, and remember that you only have to put up with them for a day or two. I never went home to my parents for the holidays after I was married, but if I had, it would have been miserable for me. (And at some point, you have to give up torturing yourself, even for a good cause, and do what’s right and good for you. You have a right to spend the holidays with who you want to be with, not people who are unkind to you, if that’s the case, and make you feel worse).  Try to shelve the old bad memories, and just focus on today. You can get through today. One day at a time, as they say.

I hope that your holidays will be fantastic. And for those of you who have the kind of Christmas we see on a Christmas card, you don’t need my help, support, or advice. But for those of you for whom the holidays are challenging, I will keep you in my thoughts. Most people don’t have such an easy time with the holidays, even though we think they do. Life is not a greeting card; sometimes it’s all too real!!!

Your mission (and mine) is to find something we love about these holidays, something to be grateful for, something fun to do (even if it’s watching your favorite TV show or old movie, with a bowl of popcorn you made yourself!!). Be good to yourself, no matter what Santa does, or how annoying your family might be, or how alone you feel. We are all in this together. May your holidays be blessed in ways you never expected, cherish the tiny moments, and the joys. I wish you the happiest of holidays…and I hope Santa comes through for you!!!

With much love, Danielle

For the past several years, I’ve been spending Halloween in Europe, and finally this year, the inevitable happened….with one ‘child’  (my youngest) a senior in college, four others in their early twenties, and the oldest three grown up and married…..NONE of my children dressed up for Halloween this year. I never thought that day would come, and just thinking about it, a bevy of their costumes come to mind….the Octopus in Little Mermaid…..the Little Mermaid herself….(the hooker in “Pretty Woman”…oops), witches, nuns, the year my oldest daughter dressed up as a pumpkin, with green dyed hair and an orange face, and then couldn’t get the orange dye off her face for 2 weeks…her boyfriend dressing up as her dog, dropping plastic ‘fleas’ all over the house….vampires, fake blood, and finally, my own Grand Finale dressed as a Whoopi Cushion a few years ago. Definitely, some memorable moments. I’m actually really sad to see this era end. But there it is….no more Halloween costumes for us. It took a while, many, many years in fact. And for all those years, they started planning their Halloween costumes as soon as summer came to an end.

With the disappearance of Halloween as a major landmark in our lives, our early warning system for the impending holidays seems to have failed. Suddenly, it is mid-November, and with a gasp, I realize that it is nearly Thanksgiving. I’ve been busy working on new books, going back and forth to Paris, working on the songs (I write the lyrics) I’ve told you about, and suddenly, holey- moley, it is almost Thanksgiving. It will be a bittersweet year for us this year, our first Thanksgiving without my children’s father, my now late ex-husband, with whom I stayed very close, and who came to all our family events and holidays. Six of our cousins will be joining us, and several friends, but we will surely feel my ex-husband John’s absence acutely. Life….with all its joys and losses, and one feels them even more at holidays. But now, suddenly I have to get ready. The kids will be coming home, relatives arriving, friends joining us for the Thanksgiving meal. The house will be exploding at the seams with boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, my many children. I hope it will be fun.

And right on the heels of Thanksgiving, everyone will be home yet again for Christmas. I love holidays, particularly Christmas, and an excuse for all of us to be together, but no question, holidays are always a mixed blessing for all of us. And in some cases, holidays are just damn hard, and some years for some of us, downright grim. So while I am looking forward to seeing my children during both holidays, and friends, I am also acutely aware of how hard the holidays can be: with the people we’ve lost, the disappointments we’ve had, the people we once loved no longer there, the family events we hope will be peaceful but are often an opportunity for stress in families. And whatever is wrong or absent in our lives is magnified by these supposed to be so wonderful days. And I remember only too well the years when I was totally alone and had no one to spend them with, the tears I shed on disappointing holidays when the people I loved just didn’t come through. I think the holidays put a huge amount of stress on most people, and are seriously depressing for others. And even in happy, healthy, close knit families, people feel the strain and pressure of Christmas. It’s an opportunity for some lovely times, but for some tough times too.

I hope that your holidays will be easy and warm, starting with Thanksgiving, and onward after that to the subsequent ones, Christmas, Chanukah, or whichever holidays. Sometimes it’s a good idea to plan ahead and try to figure out what to do with those days, if there are no immediately obvious solutions. If you don’t have family to spend it with, it’s a good idea to round up friends, or figure out what to do so the day doesn’t wind up seriously depressing. (New Year’s Eve is one of those dates for me, I never know whether to spend it with friends, or just go to bed and forget it, and not even try this year. It’s a dilemma I face every year, with no easy solutions).

So, here we are, the holidays are almost upon us. Here they come again!!! I’m not ready for them yet, although I’ve almost finished my Christmas shopping. When they roll around, I hope the holidays will be good to you this year. We all need some good cheer, some love, some hope, and some good times among family and friends. I hope that the holidays will be peaceful and easy for you, and that all your holiday dreams come true!

Love, Danielle

September 20th is the anniversary of the day he died. it was an unforgettably awful day, and a day I have a hard time with every year. Anniversaries of the day we lose people are hard for everyone. Some years are worse than others. And however brief, his life was a bright shining light, a beacon to all those who knew him, and even those who read about him now. He didn’t survive his illness, but he put up a hell of a good fight, and I cant blame him for giving up. He just couldn’t stand the pain anymore. Suicide is never the right solution, it is always the wrong way out. But it is the one he chose, and those of us who loved him have to live with it. It will be a quiet day of reflection for me, of missing him as I always do, and a little more on that day, as I inevitably remember what an awful day that was. But in counterpoint to that, there were so many wonderful days with him, so many happy times, so many joys, so many gifts of having him in our lives. I am grateful for every moment that we shared with him. And somewhere out there in the Heavens, there is the brightest  star, the boy who was my son Nick…..thank you for sharing the memories with me. I know you would have loved him, and had a great time with him, we all did. He was such a special boy, and always will be to me…..my bright shining Nick…..I hope he is happy where he is.

Love,  Danielle

Like a lot of women I am sensitive about my age. I got a head start on everything in life, I went to college at l5, finished at l9, married at l7, had my first child at l9. I also wrote my first book at l9. I have always been on some sort of fast track, shooting through the sky, in a huge rush to get to the same place as everyone else, but since I started everything so early, by now people must think I’m 146. Oh I remember her, she wrote her first book about 600 years ago, right? No, not exactly, but having started everything so early, I’ve been around doing things for a long time. And with 9 children, I went on having babies for years and years and years. People must think I’m a great great grandmother by now, parked in a rocking chair somewhere. Thank you very much, I’m not. Fortunately, it’s not that bad, I still have one child in college, living at home. I still have dark red hair, wear leather pants and stiletto heels (without looking too ridiculous, I hope), I go to discos with my kids, still weigh barely more than 100 lbs, and haven’t fallen apart too noticeably yet. But I still don’t like my age, am disappointed that my marriages didn’t last until ‘death did us part’, unfortunately divorce did instead, and in the game of musical chairs I was the one who ended up without a seat….oops….and I don’t like the age on my driver’s license or passport—-HOLY SH–!!!! Who is THAT??? I’m how old? You must be kidding!!! No, unfortunately not. I’m not 15 anymore, although sometimes I still feel it, and other days I feel 110. Welcome to real life. Fortunately, people stay young a lot longer than they used to, I wear clothes that my grandmother would have laughed at at the same age, and we live in a society where youth is prized, and if you’re not willing to give up your life and sit in a rocking chair once your kids leave home, you can have a fun and busy life. I can’t even imagine not working or going 100 mph, and I’m having fun, most of the time. (I got a very funny card from one of my kids today that said “The older you get, the better you get, unless you are a banana.” Now there’s a cheering thought. I’m not at the banana stage yet. I’m not sure what stage I’m at, but the leather jeans and high heels still seem to look okay. (Or at least people aren’t laughing at me yet. When they do, I’ll park the leather jeans).

Another reason I don’t like talking about my birthday publicly is the ‘horoscope’ thing. I really don’t want strangers writing to me telling me that their sign and mine are totally compatible, we were meant for each other, (could almost be twins), even though they’ve committed heinous crimes or have a screw loose in some major way. “What sign are you?” is never my favorite opening line. I don’t want to be burdened with what my horoscope sign says I’m supposed to be. I’d rather just be me.

On a more serious note, this birthday was likely to be a hard one. As some of you know, my ex husband, the father of 8 of my 9 children passed away earlier this year. And despite being divorced for many, many years, we remained close and spent holidays together with the kids. And with a family this size, birthdays are a big deal. This was going to be the first one without him, and I knew it would be hard, especially for my kids. I think we were all dreading his very noticeable absence from a family event. But in life, things change, people move on, and disappear from our lives. Kids grow up. Lives get busy, new relationships form, and whether we like it or not, things change. We had a memorial for him 3 days before my birthday, which was more than likely to make things even worse. And two of my sons were not going to be able to make my birthday this year. And my youngest son was working on the actual day although he came to lunch the day before, so what we found ourselves with was a girls’ weekend at the beach, where we usually spend my birthday—-all my daughters and I, and my only son in law (who was a good sport), and even though it was different, we had fun. They spoiled me rotten, and gave me thoughtful, beautiful gifts. We played Scrabble, walked on the beach, and talked about girl stuff, and a little friendly gossip. And although it was different, we all had a nice time. We felt the absences of their father and my sons….but even though it was different, it was lovely and good, in a different way. I’m not a big fan of change either, but it actually worked—–and when they sang Happy Mother’s Day instead of Happy Birthday, it was great!!!!
I actually got through the day without feeling 114 years old, I didn’t look in the mirror too closely so I reassured myself that things were still okay. I had a great time with my daughters, who came without their boyfriends, so it really was a girls’ weekend, and I think it was a success——–despite the changes, the absences, and the people we missed. We got through it in a gentle way.

I was doing fine throughout the day, and the girls very sweetly invited me to dinner for one more celebration of my day. At a new restaurant I’ve never been to, and I was looking forward to it. I tried not to focus on the things that have changed in our lives, the fact that they live in other cities now, and part of the year, so do I, that we don’t see each other as often as we’d like, that tomorrow they’ll all be on planes back to their own lives…..and as we talked and laughed over dinner, I was able to tell myself that nothing had really changed……until the check came. And then my fantasy of nothing changing fell apart. The waiter presented the bill to them and not to me, and all of them whipped out their credit cards and paid the bill, instead of me. That was a first. I felt very spoiled, and it suddenly told me that they are all adults—-with credit cards even!!! Credit cards? What are they doing with credit cards??? Aren’t they still 6 years old? I guess not. And suddenly there was no hiding from the truth: my children are now adults. They can actually take me out to dinner, and pay for it. They aren’t children anymore, and I guess things really have changed. I was shocked when we left the restaurant, and maybe felt older than I want to admit……when your kids can take you out to dinner and put it on their credit card, they really are grown up….and so am I. It may sound crazy, but it was a startling revelation……..but even with the changes that life forces us to adjust to, like it or not……some of the changes are actually very nice. I had a great birthday this year!!! What birthday was it???? As the candles on my cake said, “Don’t ask”. We got through another year!!! Happy Mother’s Day to you too………Love,Danielle

Boat vacations are not without their problems however, weather being one of them. We’ve had to change plans to avoid storms or bad winds, and have gotten stuck in port for several days. Last year, the owner of the boat we were on had some serious legal problems with the Italian tax authorities, and we were stopped by the French authorities, and ‘stuck’ on the boat for 5 days, unable to go anywhere until the problem was resolved. It messed up our itinerary, but there are worse places to get ‘stuck’ and we had a ball anyway, with a great crew, in a beautiful location, on a lovely boat.

This year, our nemesis on the boat was the weather. We hit an unexpected storm the first night on the boat (and fortunately we’re all good sailors, but nonetheless it’s unnerving to be pitching and rolling all night, and not a lot of fun). And our last day and night on the boat, we had major storm warnings, with l5 feet waves expected and 35 or 40 knot winds. That would have been nasty, and really not a lot of fun. So we agreed to leave the boat for the day and evening, and meet it again at a port near Rome. We disembarked at a tiny little port in Southern Italy called Gaeta, north of Positano, Capri and Ischia, and we drove 2 and a half hours to Rome. I hadn’t been to Rome in l8 years, and it sounded like fun to all of us, for a change of scene. It wasn’t the relaxed day we had hoped for on the boat, but it was going to be an adventure. And so it was.

I guess I never paid much attention to the atmosphere in Rome, since the last time I was there I was shepherding little children from the coliseum to the Sistine Chapel, admiring monuments, and getting everyone fed and finding bathrooms. This time, with adult children, I was bowled over by the charm of Rome. Wow!!! It is a knock out city, with all the monuments we all know about, a spectacularly beautiful city, and a sense of enchanting chaos, with wild drivers, handsome people, delicious food, and all the charm of the Italians. We were lucky that it was about 80 degrees in the daytime and cool in the evening. The week before it had been l07 degrees—-I’m glad we missed that. There are 500 Cathedrals in Rome, and 1,500 churches, big, small, ancient, crumbling, spectacular. We didn’t go to the ‘important’ ones, in order to avoid long lines to get in. But in any given block, there are as many as three small beautiful churches, with frescoes, painted ceilings, and a stunning beauty that takes your breath away. We had two delicious meals, walked endlessly, dodged the crazy Roman traffic, did some shopping (sadly, the same stores as everywhere else now. Globalization has wiped out all the charming local shops in every city and location, it’s all Gucci, Prada and Nike now, which I find sad, even on a tiny island like Capri). But we shopped anyway, and listened to the church bells tolling at certain times of day. We walked up the Spanish steps, gazed at the Vatican, and threw coins in the Fountain of Trevi: you have to throw in 3 coins, with your back to the fountain, one as a personal wish of any kind, the second for love, and the third as a wish to return to Rome—-I had no trouble at all making those 3 wishes, and I hope that all 3 of them come true!!!

It was an absolutely perfect day in a spectacularly beautiful exciting city, and we had to tear ourselves away after a delicious dinner to go back to the boat. They had had a tough day with heavy winds and l2 foot waves, and I’m glad we missed it!!! The day we got in Rome was a gift. I’d love to go back, and this time I won’t let l8 years go by before I do. What a gorgeous city!!! It was everyone’s favorite day of the trip!!!!

Love, Danielle

Ah the subject of kids again….adult kids….again. I just thought I’d share a thought I had a while back, which occurs to me often. Someone told me the other day that when adult lions, from a year old on, meet their parents in the jungle, they no longer recognize their parents. (Now there’s a thought, no more lending the car keys, or kids home from college turning your home into a frat house for the holidays, with pizzas delivered, in vast quantities, at 2 am). And I would be very sad if my kids didn’t remember me, now that they’re adults, BUT I do think there’s a phenomenon we don’t pay enough attention to, that past a certain age, somewhere in their 20′s, when our adult kids are home, from jobs, college, other cities, or even for the holidays with their own families and kids, they become adults (quite naturally) trying to claim their turf. That’s probably some kind of law of the jungle too. Decorate a room for a 5 year old, and they’ll think you have fabulous taste every time (for a girl, do it pink or purple, for a boy, put superhero or cowboy or astronaut stuff around the room, and you have it made). But try to pick a chair, a couch, or even set an object down in your adult kid’s abode and you’ll be lucky if they don’t throw it at you. If they come to your house, they’ll inform you of what lousy taste you have, and ask you where you got all this ugly stuff and when are you going to give it away.

A male friend of mine commented to me several years ago that he used to love skiing with his son, who was in his 20′s then, and suddenly he said it was no longer enjoyable. His son would take him out on the toughest slopes, and run his a– off, and nearly kill him by the end of the day. All I could think of as he said it to me was ‘the crashing of antlers’. At some point our adult kids view us instinctively as the elders of the pack, and they want to take over as leaders of the pack and run us off our own turf. They may not be aware of it. But we sure are, as their parents, or I am. Suddenly, at a certain age in their early or mid twenties, daughters are adult women, with their own ideas and taste, and you are no longer mother and daughter living under one roof, but 2 adult women, like roommates, or 3 or 4 of them, and they want to run the show. (It’s probably a healthy reaction, although not always easy to live with). And let’s face it, there just isn’t room for 3 or 4 or 5, or sometimes even 2 adult women running the show under one roof (if you question that, try living with your mother in law. It’s the same phenomenon. You want to take over and push her into a corner somewhere, which is exactly what our daughters try to do to us, convinced that they know better now, and have better ideas and taste. Suddenly, they decide we’re obsolete, long before we are, and try to take over the reins).

And I think the exact same thing happens with men. Suddenly it becomes a competition among bucks, and adult sons suddenly compete with their fathers, and ‘the crashing of antlers’ is the result. Heated political arguments that turn nasty, games each side wants to win, and athletic events where someone gets hurt.

I am always thrilled when my kids come home to stay with me in San Francisco, and we share an apartment in Paris, but as they grow up, I suddenly feel as though I have 5 wives and not five daughters, or am living with 5 female roommates, and we are suddenly competing for space in the fridge, too few closets, and a wardrobe that overlaps—–or some really questionable comments about what I wear. (Do I comment on how short their skirts are, the color of their hair, or the fact that you can see right through a blouse? No. But they sure don’t hesitate to tell me everything that’s wrong with what I wear, own, or buy, or even try on, and not always in diplomatic terms—–all of which would look better on them, according to reports). I’ve never had roommates, or siblings I had to share a home with (I am an only child); I’ve only had husbands and children. Most husbands don’t care what you wear with only occasional exceptions (my least favorite comment from my ex husband, when I wore a new cocktail dress I really loved, “Is that a costume?” hmpphhh). And when kids are little they either love you or hate you, depending on the day, their mood, whether or not you made them eat their spinach, regardless of what you wear. It’s a LOT more delicate with adult kids.

My point is that I think at some point instinct takes over, and you just become a lot of adults of the same sex under one roof. And I think the secret to success (if that’s possible) is to treat the situation as you would living with a roommate, even if it’s just for a weekend—-with the same kind of respect. Don’t borrow her clothes and trash them or lend them to someone else, don’t slop up the kitchen, don’t leave your friends dirty glasses and pizza rinds everywhere for someone else to pick up (they’re not my friends, I didn’t eat that, is a common mantra), don’t eat everything in the fridge and never replace it (more likely to apply to male children, my daughters eat like rabbits, and only organic foods that look like a science project, usually involving quinoa or grains I don’t recognize and have never heard of). I think the roommate rules and ‘play nice in the sandbox’ rules really apply among parents and adult kids, and applies to both sides. Don’t make rude comments, don’t play the music so loud that people in another state can hear it, or take someone’s favorite CD and then lose it, or shred someone’s favorite magazine to put in the litter box. It’s all about consideration and good manners, and just being “Nice”, once you are same sex adults living under one roof, for however long. And no they can’t take over our turf, while we’re still living on it, and we are the head lioness in our own homes, or head lion, or chief stag. But I think all that crashing of antlers, and emotional pushing and shoving is really biological for our kids. If your daughter is a grown woman, she probably instinctively feels she should be running the house, and the show (and is convinced she could do it better than you do) and she may not even know she feels that way. And adult sons have an instinctive urge to compete with their dads and do them in, on ski slopes, at golf, at tennis, or just jogging—-suddenly the competition becomes intense.

I am extremely aware whenever I am sharing a home with my adult children that suddenly we are all pushing and shoving to rule the same roost, we throw each other’s food away, borrow each other’s make-up and lose it, criticize what we wear (or they criticize what I wear). But I think the urge to run the show is normal after a certain age. What we all need to remember is that at their house it’s their show (and we need to keep our mouths shut and respect their homes), and at our house it’s our show. And in someone else’s house, even if you’re related, you just don’t get to make the rules for everyone else. And as long as we’re alive and kicking, we still have our own ideas about how to run our own home. Maybe if we become more aware of those instinctive urges, we can laugh about it. It does give me a new respect though for men who are of faiths that allow them to have 5 wives simultaneously (what brave souls they must be—-not to mention 5 mothers-in-law).  So let’s all try to play nice in the sandbox, and remember whose sandbox it is. You can make the rules at your own house, but not someone else’s. Maybe remembering that will keep the crashing of antlers to a minimum……and make things a lot more fun when we all spend time under one roof. Good luck!!!

Love, Danielle

I met John at a “Gone with the Wind” costume party given by friends at their country home. He was married then, and his wife was wearing a beautiful gown which had actually been a costume worn by Vivien Leigh as Scarlet O’Hara in the movie. John was wearing a Union Officer’s uniform and looked incredibly dashing. Late as usual, I ran across the lawn to the party, not looking where I was going, and crashed into the chest of a man in uniform. I looked up and there was John, dazzlingly handsome. I’m sure he never remembered me from that day, although I glimpsed him and his lovely wife at the party. And for a long time after, I wished I could meet a man ‘like him’. It never dawned on me that I would be lucky enough to be in his life one day. Eventually, he and his wife became my friends, and invited me to some dinner parties, with my assorted not very exciting boyfriends at the time. John and his wife looked like movie stars to me, and led a golden, elegant life. They seemed like role models of people who had it all, and I enjoyed their company a great deal. I always admired the fact too that John never flirted with me, nor showed any interest in me (not always the case with married men). John was Married, with a capital M, and seemed to be a great husband. A few years later, as I mushed along in my own life, he and his wife separated and divorced. And he called me and invited me out. She was marrying someone else, John was alone and I was amazed that he invited me out. He was nearly 20 years older than I, although he didn’t look it, and I thought he was much too glamorous for me—I had a kind of “Who? Me?” feeling about it—he was asking me out??? Me??? How could that be? I never felt so lucky in my life.

We fell in love with each other very quickly. Our first date was lunch on New Year’s Day. And it was a whirlwind romance. He proposed to me on Valentine’s Day (which was pretty funny, we both had other dates for that night, which we decided to honor, so as not to disappoint anyone, but we let our respective dates know that we had just gotten engaged). And we were married in June. John had two adorable very young sons, Trevor and Todd, who were friends of my daughter’s and I knew well. I had my daughter Beatrix, and my son Nick was a baby (whom John adopted once we were married). And everyone loved everyone. It was a love fest. And John was truly the handsomest man I have ever known, and was until the day he died, and a kind one. He made everyone feel special, and I felt like a fairy princess, Cinderella, when I was with him. One of the things I loved about him was that he wanted more children, and so did I. We had five more together, Samantha, Victoria, Vanessa, Maxx, and Zara. We filled our house with love and light, music and laughter, and a lot of kids!!! And we shared 17 wonderful years.

As happens sometimes in life, dreams fade, reality gets the best of us, things happen, people disappoint each other, or tragedies occur. My son Nick was desperately sick for our entire marriage, which was a challenge, my career was demanding, I’m more of a homebody, John loved going out and having a huge social life, which I didn’t always have the energy for with nine kids at home, one of them very ill, and constant deadlines. We were at different points in our lives, he in the final stretch, the fun part, he retired early and had more time to play than I did. And I tend to be a more serious person, and was happy at home with the kids, or working. And after 17 years, with great sadness, we parted ways, but we remained very close. Even after our divorce, my house was always open to him; we spent wonderful times together with the kids. He spent every holiday with us, came to dinner often, we took real pleasure in seeing each other, with and without the kids. And our Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays were legendary among people who knew us, because in an effort not to pull the kids in different directions, not only did John spend the holidays with us, but so did his first wife, her new husband before he died, and her mother, who is like a grandmother to my children, and a cherished member of our family, she is 93 now and going strong.

John was a man of a thousand interests, always fascinated by a variety of topics. He loved classic cars, beautiful antiques, had an incredible wardrobe and was the best dressed man I know. He was impeccable, perfect, beautiful, and he had a knack for spreading beauty around him. He thoroughly enjoyed his kids, his friends, his homes, his travels, new adventures, exotic places (where I would have been terrified to go). He loved his dogs. He was full of life and added excitement and glamour wherever he went. And he always looked 20 or 30 years younger than he was, time just didn’t touch him, somewhere on his travels, he must have found the fountain of youth!!!

He’d had some heart problems in recent years, but managed them responsibly, and continued living a great life. He was planning to have a minor procedure right before Thanksgiving, or right after, and in the blood work, they discovered something amiss, and ran some tests. The tests came back on December 15th, he had acute leukemia, but even then, he was cheerful and optimistic, which was so characteristic of him. And we know several people who have lived years with leukemia, and have done well. We shared Christmas with him, afterwards he went to Mexico with friends, and in mid January, he was to have chemo, to deal with the leukemia. And even then, he looked handsome and debonair and tolerated it well. And then suddenly, the house of cards came down, he had 3 rapid heart attacks toward the end of chemo, but even then he and we were convinced he’d be fine. He assured us he would be!! And we believed it too. Thinking he was alright, and he certainly looked it, and was very positive, I left on a trip, and we chatted twice on Skype, several times on the phone, and often on email. He sounded good. The first time we skyped he looked great, the second time less so. The morning that he died, he had breakfast with some of the children, and dressed carefully for a visit to the hospital to make sure that he was alright. He had moved back into my house during chemo, so he would be more comfortable and could be near to our children. And off he went to the hospital that morning, after breakfast, and they rushed him into surgery for his heart. Much to everyone’s horror, he didn’t survive the operation, and at 5 o’clock that afternoon, he died. All of our children were with him, and sadly I was in Paris, but spoke to him the night before, when he still assured me he was fine. John did everything decisively and quickly, just as he proposed to me 6 weeks after we started dating—-6 weeks after the diagnosis, he was gone. He left quickly and elegantly, leaving our entire family to mourn him, bereft to have lost such a lovely man. Everyone is shocked, and all of us are stunned and saddened, but I also realize that this is probably the way he would want to go, quickly, simply, still looking handsome and feeling well until almost the last minute. He would have hated to be diminished, old and sick. He was nearly 80, and looked barely sixty (I will enclose his obituary here, and the photo attached is not an old one, it is from only last year. What 78 year old man do you know who looks like that? And aside from the good looks, he exudes vitality and life). The greatest sadness, other than losing him, is that our children are still very young, in their early 20′s, much too young to lose a parent, and a man like John is a lot to lose, as a parent, loved one, or friend. His loss will be felt by all for a long, long time. And it says a lot about a man to be mourned by many children and two wives. We all loved him deeply.

John Traina wasn’t a sad person, he was a happy man. He led a good life. When he saw one of our daughters crying at the hospital recently, he allowed her 6 seconds to cry and then she had to stop. John was all about living life, without regrets, without tears, without fears. He lived it fully and he had fun, and everyone around him had fun too. He wouldn’t like to see us crying, or sad. We held a private funeral a week ago and a memorial the following week for his many friends. And then there was a big reception at my home, with music and laughter and people, which is exactly what John wanted. John was all about celebrating life. So we will have to go on, keep our chins up, remember him with loving smiles……and having had him in our lives, he blessed us all. His exit was as elegant as he was…..he danced on, leaving us with all the happy memories of the wonderful times we shared. What an extraordinary man he was, and how lucky we were to know and love him.

DS

John A. Traina, Jr.
26 September 1931 – 1 February 2011

John A. Traina, Jr. (26 September 1931 – 1 February 2011) passed away last Tuesday in San Francisco. Beloved father and grandfather, notable society figure, entrepreneur, civic leader and San Francisco legend, John Traina attended Grant School, Lowell High School, graduated from Stanford University ’53, and served in the U.S. Army in the Pacific. He enjoyed a long and respected career in shipping (American President Lines, Grace Lines, Prudential Lines, Delta Lines) and was among the first to start cruises into China. Traina engaged in numerous pursuits, with vineyards in the Napa Valley, was the author of two books (“Extraordinary Jewels” and “The Fabergé Case”), was a world traveler and famous collector of important objects. He had the largest collection of Fabergé cigarette boxes exhibited in museums around the world. Interested in everything, engaged in many endeavors, beloved by all, Traina had a passion for exotic travel, lived in Washington, D.C. in the 1960’s, and loved his homes in San Francisco and the Napa Valley. He was extremely elegant, known for his impeccable style and limitless charm, he added glamour and sophistication to the San Francisco social scene for his entire life. He is survived by three sons, Trevor, Todd and Maxx, and four daughters, Samantha, Victoria, Vanessa, and Zara, and was the father of the late Nick Traina. He was the stepfather of Beatrix Lazard Seidenberg. And he was the grandfather of Johnny and Delphina Traina, Daisy Traina, and Sebastian and Isabel Seidenberg. He is also survived by two ex-wives Diane “Dede” Buchanan Wilsey, and Danielle Steel. He was married to each for 17 years. He is also survived by a sister, Marisa Traina Hahn, three nephews and a niece. Funeral services will be held privately. A memorial service will be held at The Maritime Museum, 900 Beach Street, San Francisco, 94109, on Friday, 11 February, at 2:00pm. The family requests that memorials be contributions to the California Historical Society, 678 Mission Street, San Francisco, 94105, or The Nick Traina Foundation, P.O. Box 470427, San Francisco, 94147.

I recently laughed with a friend about how I used to feel still 10 years old when I visited my father, as an adult, and often did and said things that I couldn’t believe I’d just done. Who said that? Sometimes I couldn’t believe it was me. They treated me like a child, and sometimes in spite of myself, and being all grown up, I acted like a child around my parents. Ugh. The friend I was talking to about it had recently had the same experience with his parents, who had treated him like a five year old on a visit home, although he is very grown up, and a responsible, intelligent adult. Sometimes, our parents bring out the worst in us, even after we’re grown up. They expect us to fail, be irresponsible, or act out, especially if we were less than perfect, a lot less than perfect, when we were young!!! And some parents remind us constantly of our failings when we were young. Doing that seems like a bad idea to me, and brings out the worst in all of us. “Remember when you….” followed by some hideously embarrassing story that makes us look like fools. Ugh.

I think the basis for a great relationship between adult kids and parents is respect. Another important factor is not expecting your adult kids to be you. (And by adult, I mean even ‘kids’ in their early 20′s, or pretty much anyone who has left home, no matter how young or old they are). I am very opinionated and have very definite ideas and opinions, about how life should work and people should behave. (I hate people being unkind to others, and wanton nastiness that hurts others’ feelings). And I have been blessed with great kids, who are all loving, decent responsible people. But no matter how wonderful they are, they are individuals with their own ideas, and they are not me. Maybe we all secretly expect our children to grow up to be just like us, and they’re not. They follow different careers, have friends we don’t always like, date and marry people that suit them, but not always us. I am speaking generally, and not specifically of my kids. But how simple it would be if they all lived exactly the way we do, like little carbon copies of us—-WITHOUT all the hideous glaring mistakes we made. Yeah, remember those?? I sure made my share of terrible mistakes when I was young. My kids have made much wiser choices than I did, so far. But I also didn’t have the kind of family support they do. In fact, I had absolutely none; I was totally on my own. But whether it’s the food they eat, the people they hang out with, the way they wear their hair (whatever they pierce or tattoo), or the careers they choose, the cities they live in, or the neighborhoods they love, or even the number of children they have, the way they dress them, or the religions they embrace (or none at all, no matter how they were brought up, or what Sunday school we sent them to), adult kids have the right to make those decisions and be who they are. They are not leading our lives, they are leading their own. And sometimes you just have to swallow it, and respect who they are, and not even comment on the strange pets they have, or the way they bring up their kids. It’s great if their ideas are similar to ours—–but what if they’re not? That’s where the art, and the challenge, come in. You have to respect them, as well as love them, and the choices they make. As a parent, it can be a challenge, and sometimes we are just surprised, or maybe even frightened by a choice that seems dangerous to us (of a mate, a sport, a neighborhood, or a kind of job). Our children are their own people, they are not us. We have a right to worry about them, but we really have to try and trust them to know what they’re doing, and to make the choices that work for them. I think we will have much better relationships with our adult children if we trust them, and respect who they are, no matter how different or similar they are to us. it has always been one of my goals to respect my adult kids, and so far mine are easy to respect—-but even as responsible people, they are still very different from me, and once in a while I want to scream, “you did WHAT?????”, and then I remind myself again that they are not me. And their choices are different from mine and have a right to be.

BUT —-guess what??? That kind of respect is not a one way street, it is a two sided coin. If we are expected not to comment, or even flinch, at the fabulous new tattoo running up one arm, the fact that their children go to bed later than ours did, follow no routine, or have a nearly Hitlerian routine, that they get vaccinations, or don’t, that they have now become Buddhists instead of Episcopalian, want to join the circus, or go sky diving in their free time, bought a house they cant afford, or live in what we consider a hovel——whatever it is they’re doing that may shock you, or surprise you, if you are trying to adjust to it and be fair, and respect the choices they’ve made—–GUESS WHAT???? They owe you exactly the same respect about whatever it is you do. Or at least that’s how I see it, as a two way street, NOT a one way street that benefits only them.

The age I hated most was when my daughters were 14 and 15. I couldn’t do anything right when they were that age. You’re wearing THAT?? (Them to me). Kids that age have total contempt for their parents, particularly their mothers, and don’t hesitate to criticize their parents night and day. And guess what, kids? It really hurts. Parents have feelings too. And kids that age hurt their parents’ feelings a lot. Fortunately, all of mine are past that age. But nonetheless, although I am prepared to visit them in their homes and not comment on whatever is different from what I’m used to (when I visit one daughter, I recognize nothing in the fridge. It’s all bio health food that looks like a science project to me. But she loves it and insists it’s healthy. I don’t say “yerghk, where are the Hostess Twinkies, and can we send out for a Big Mac?” I discreetly take a bar of chocolate out of my purse, which will tide me over til the next recognizable meal. But what I do find is that sometimes adult kids forget that we have a right to be different and independent too. And I find that many adult kids are far more vocal about being critical of their parents. If you’re still living in the same way in the same place, your adult kids are likely to tell you that your house looks beaten up, the curtains are tattered and the rug is worn to a nub. They may tell you that your clothes are out of date, and you look ridiculous still wearing your hair that way. My girls work l8 hour days in the fashion industry in 8 inch heels, and they don’t love it when I wear flats in the day time. They think stilettos are running shoes. Me, I’m willing to wear a high heel at night, but if I’m going to run around all day, I wear flats. Adult kids are liable to tell you that your clothes look out of date, or that you’re too old to wear whatever you have on. my kids tell me that my hair is too long (it’s down to the middle of my back, it’s me, and I love it that way), but do I tell them how to wear their hair? I try not to. I think criticism is a bad habit we all get into, parents as well as adult kids. It’s a right we think we have, to tell people we’re close to what’s wrong with how they look, how they dress, who they date, what they eat, and how they live. But the truth is, no one likes to be criticized, not even by those they love. Maybe especially not by those they love, whom they want to please and impress, and whose praise they really want. Our adult kids want us to tell them that they are doing great, and in most cases they are——-but so do we. We want to be told that we look good, that we’re doing a good job, and we’re not totally over the hill. So I think the basis for a good relationship between adult kids and parents is mutual respect. Maybe parents of adults have decided to learn a new language (why on earth would you want to learn Chinese, mom? Why not?), or a skill, or taken a job they’ve always wanted and can indulge now, or go back to school (law school at your age? Yeah. Maybe so). Parents can have pets their kids don’t approve of, boyfriends or girlfriends who may not be their kids’ cup of tea but are good for them, employees their kids don’t like, they may have changed the curtains in the living room, or painted their house a weird color the kids don’t like. But life is about moving ahead, doing new things, even trying new things, and sometimes clinging to habits or people that give us comfort.

I think what adult kids and parents need is tolerance of each other, compassion, understanding, respect, and a sense of humor about the things we don’t always like. But if our kids want us to respect them and their occasionally wonky choices (blue hair, sweetheart?? really???), then they have to respect ours as well. Life is an experiment. We really do need to be tolerant of each other. And NONE of us want to hear about what we’re doing wrong all the time. Even if it’s wrong for someone else, it may be right for us, no matter how strange it seems.

So I would like to cast a vote here for mutual respect and tolerance. I think if both parents and adult kids make an effort in that direction, we’ll all have a better time together, and a lot more fun. It will keep life surprising and interesting, and keep our minds open. They don’t want to be us—-and we don’t want to be them. And just as they have a right to be who they are, so do we. Someone said that being an adult is when you accept your parents for who they are. That would be very, very nice. And just as we need to salute our kids for their independence, and respect their freedom to be who they are, no matter how different from us———they need to do exactly the same for us!!! It’s a two way street, and a great exchange!!!

Love, Danielle