A
little book about the friendship between Jenna, the actress trying to adjust to
life as a widow, Natalie, who chose a career instead of marriage and Liz, wife/mother/grandmother/volunteer/former
cabaret singer. They think their lives are settled; they don't expect any
drastic changes but they are in for some surprises. Travel, internet dating,
family problems, new friends, computer classes, a career change, a romance and
more give them a lot of things to discuss and plan at their weekly luncheons.
They find that they can adapt to and even welcome and enjoy the life changes in
spite of or because of their age; they are (shush, don't tell) over seventy!
Check out this
excerpt from the book!
PROLOGUE
The computer screen showed three
women of a certain age,
somewhere between 65 and 70 (in one case, a few years
over 70). Two of them, the blonds, were in the same room; the
third, the
brunette, was in a different place. This was their
first attempt at Skyping and they were anticipating a long, face- to- face conversation.
Jenna
Bliss (the blond on the right) was a sometimes actress in
regional theater; her specialty was writing and acting in murder mystery plays. She was a
recent widow. Natalie Lynn (the blond on the left), was a
professional
singer who had chosen
a career and travel over marriage and Liz Cunningham (the brunette), was a
combination wife, mother, grandmother, volunteer worker, singing instructor , organizer, book reviewer,
former cabaret singer
and more. The other two said it was exhausting just
thinking about all of the things she
did.
Natalie
was petite and fragile looking, but in her case, looks were deceiving since she was an avid tennis player and walker. She also
carried her own equipment (microphones, computer,
stool,
suitcase filled with costumes) to all of her shows. She loved
to
shop and had a closetful of clothes. She
usually wore tailored slacks, colorful jackets or
shirts during the day and sequined,
glitzy dresses and
high heels
for
her shows. She could count on the fingers
of
one hand the times in her life that she had
performed without wearing false eyelashes.
“I really can’t sing without them.” She lived
in a one bedroom condo in
downtown
Miami; the same one she bought when she
came to Florida
from New York in 1975.
“Why would I
ever move?” she would ask when people suggested that
she might like an
apartment in one of
the newer
buildings that were springing up all
around her.
“This is a perfect location. I can
walk to shops,
the theater; the view is spectacular and
I have no expenses.” The mortgage on the apartment had been paid off
long ago.
Jenna
had medium length straight hair and bangs
to,
as she said, hide the lines in her forehead. She was a swimmer and a walker and looked
taller and thinner than the numbers
on
the scale (138 pounds) said when
she compulsively weighed
herself every morning.
She and her late husband Phil
moved to Miami Beach
from Chicago
five years
ago after a particularly bad snowstorm persuaded them it was time to follow their dream of
living on the
beach. Phil was retired and
Jenna was sure she could continue acting and doing voice-overs, extra work
and commercials
in Florida. They
bought a
condo on the beach and life had been almost perfect until Phil
had
a heart attack and, within the space of five days,
died. People tried to tell Jenna he was fortunate
not to have been ill and suffering. She
just looked at them and tried not to hate them for even mentioning the word
lucky.
Liz was the flamboyant one of the three. She was
all bright colored long dresses or
jackets, lots of clunky jewelry, big picture hats,
oversized glasses; she was the one who got noticed first in a crowd.
She
and her husband were both
native Floridians; they lived in a huge, sprawling house in an old Miami neighborhood; it was filled with books and crafts
and antique furniture and lately,
with
grandchildren
and
pets.
Natalie and Liz had been friends for over thirty years; they met at an ASMA (Association of Musicians
and Singers) meeting when they
were both starting out in show business and their
friendship continued even
after Liz began her
family and did less and less professional
singing.
Jenna
and Natalie
met last year when they were waiting to see a doctor, Jenna
for
an ear ache and Natalie for her annual check-up. Natalie
was leafing through a magazine when
she looked up and
saw that the woman sitting across from her was crying.
“Is there anything I
can do?“ she asked.
The woman looked up.“It’s this
form I have to fill out. I
don’t know what
box
to check. I mean, I know what box should check, but I just can’t make myself do it.” She explained that her husband died a
month
ago, “So that means I have
to check the box that says ‘widow.’ I
can’t do it.
Here,” she handed
the form to Natalie. “Would you do it for me? Please.”
They decided,
after seeing the doctor, that they would meet for coffee,
and, over
the
following months, although they were so
different, they became firm friends.
A few months ago, Natalie introduced Jenna and Liz; it was a tentative friendship at first. Jenna envied Liz her
still healthy and lively husband and her close-knit family who lived just minutes away.
Jenna’s
two children
lived in New York and Arizona. Liz saw Jenna as the personification of her worst fears: losing a husband,
children living
far away, being alone; but they were slowly working their
way
to a sort of friendship.
The women got in the
habit of meeting once or twice a week for lunch or coffee on Lincoln Road, the very
trendy stretch of blocks in Miami Beach where there were dozens of outdoor
restaurants, cafes, jewelry and clothing shops and
art galleries. They talked
as they ate banana muffins
or
biscotti and sipped skinny lattes or caramel
iced coffee. They talked
about everything and
they
listened to each others’
problems.
“I’m so lonely , I have no family nearby, I’m all alone.”
“I’m worried about my career. There
just don’t seem to be any singing
jobs
anymore.”
“I never have any time for
myself; someone always
needs something or wants something.”
They encouraged
each
other and offered
advice.
“Maybe you
take an exercise class or find a group or club to join. You have to make yourself
go out and meet people.”
“You’re a wonderful singer; you just need
to
do some marketing, some networking. Maybe you
need a new agent. Do you have a
Web site?”
“You have to be firm and say ‘No’ when
someone asks to do something you
don’t want to do. Let’s practice. Will
you come and clean
my house for me? Come on, let’s hear a
big ‘NO!’”
And they made each other laugh.
“I bought one of those big body pillows and I named it Phil.”
“I sang at a retirement home and one older man fell asleep right in front of me and he was snoring!”
“My grandson calls my house Camp Grandma.”
They talked about traveling and
movies and books; they were all reading the best seller Invisible
Me and they pretty much
agreed with the author’s
premise that, after a certain age, nothing new or different
or important was likely to happen . Natalie and Liz said they were sure that there wouldn’t be any big
surprises or changes, that their lives were well set.
Jenna
reminded them that things could change in a minute, but even
she admitted that she didn’t expect anything radically different to happen to her. “It is what
it
is,” they agreed.
But then…
The computer screen showed the
three women raising their
wine glasses in a toast. “We’ve
really come a long way in a year. Here’s to us!”
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