I’ve begun this tribute to my precious little mother, May Rose Salkin, several times, but just can’t get through it in one sitting. As I speak with the oh-so-many people who loved her, new thoughts come to me to share with you.

So, I’ll do my best right now, but I have a feeling that I’ll have to post addendums to the tribute as the year goes one. I was just penning a letter to the editor of the Aspen times, because they did a write-up on her yesterday, but as the reporter and I missed each other by phone, so much of what made my mother the “legend” in Aspen that she was (the declaration of others, not me, although I whole-heartedly concur,) didn’t make it in there, and I want people to remember some of the highlights.

I actually loved my mother even more now, a tad frail and in need of assistance, than I did when I was little and relied on her to laugh at my shenanigans. I’ve been looking at younger pictures of her, when she was seriously absolutely gorgeous, and I’d really rather remember her the way she looked right up to the end, with age spots and white hair. I just lament that I never took pictures of her beautiful profile because if ever I do get brave enough for plastic surgery, I’d bring it in and say, “Make me look like this, please.”

My little mother, the actual most adorable woman who ever lived, would not want us to be sad about her passing. But I’m crushed, as everyone who knew her is. Many people asked to speak at her funeral, and each one had a different wonderful aspect of her to point out. I had brought a pen with me because I thought I would have to cross out much of my own speech, as it covered so much of her, and I figured speakers before me would get to them first. But then, we all came up with something different, which underlined just how special my mother was. One former student, a nurse and Ph.D who had become a life-long friend, pointed out that she was his only “safe haven” as a gay teen-age boy before it was cool to be one, and my teen-age boyfriend told us that, since he was from a poor working-class background, to be not only accepted by my educated teacher parents, but loved by them, gave him the confidence to go on to become a doctor.

Another pointed out that as her teacher, my mother had not only guided her, but elevated her social life, (including introducing her to yours truly to be friends, though in actuality that helped my life more than the already-cool girls’.) Yet more speakers pointed out that she was always kind, excited for even the smallest of kindnesses, (such as someone bringing over a pizza,) never jealous, always happy for each person’s success, always observant of something to compliment each person on. Even in the last days, she was telling the “pretty doctor” how lovely her sweater was!

As so many of my friends tell me, she was the mother to all of us. Not in the cooking sense, of course. (I learned how not to have that skill from her, and we’re proud of it!) But in every other way. For everyone who came into the house, she told me to “feed them already,” regardless if they were the delivery guy, her own aide, or a worker. She always ordered extra bags of chips and such to have goodies for the many neighborhood children. She even used a local Kosher (read “extra-expensive”) grocery to be sure the observant kids could eat them with their parents’ blessings.

My mother was the strongest person I’ve ever known. Seriously. And I’m so grateful that I got to tell her that many times in the last few years. Yes, she rarely left the east coast, yes, she went to the same restaurants over and over, and yes she was content to stay home and watch old television shows; but I still marvel at the fact that she was able to live alone for these dozen plus years since my father died. And never tried to give any of us guilt about it! On my many visits to stay with her each year, I always offered to stay longer, but she always insisted that I leave. Well…that could really be just about me.

Everyone who’s ever met her, or even heard or read about her, knows that my mother was the funniest person, so it’s hard to decide on just a couple of her bon mots to cite here. So many of them have been spinning around my head since she passed on Christmas, her favorite time of year. I may have to do a whole column of just them in the near future. She had us laughing up until her last day on earth, for which I’m more than grateful.

No one has ever marched to her own drummer, in a good way, more than my mother. Here are two quick examples. One is the famous Halloween story, (best recounted here: www.itsnotaboutme.tv/news/2011/10/31/holiday-happy-halloween.) And here’s another of my faves, that I never wrote about before: I got sick when I was a young girl living at a small apartment in West Los Angeles. My mother had never been on a plane, but she and my father had just driven down to Florida when a friend of mine got in touch with them and said that they must fly out immediately to take care of me, which they did. I got better, and was sleeping on my couch early one week-end morning during their stay when a pal called for my mother. She didn’t answer my shout out, but I could hear her outside my window, so I assumed she was on the way in. I vamped on the phone for a bit, but then I went to the window to see what was taking her so long to get inside. And what sight awaited my weary eyes??? My little mo, on the tiny patch of grass in front of the small building, holding a garage sale!!! She called up, “Hi, Lovey, come down and see my flea market!” I couldn’t imagine what she had to sell, as my parents were already traveling in Florida and came out to LA with just one suitcase each! All of a sudden, she burst though my door, demanding, “Give me your jewels! They already bought all of mine!” Unique mom, to say the least.

Photo by Roy Willey.

As her many fans know, May Rose was a poetess supreme. Not only was the New York Times happy to often publish her entertaining and sweet little poems, she was considered the Poet Laureate of Aspen, and caused quite a stir there for years, with the whole town talking about them. It was crazy what they carried on. [Note: I'm planning on publishing some of her Aspen hijinks in the next couple of weeks. There are too many to list in this space today.] In recent years, her poems were also featured in a humorous advice book by a Big Apple author, (who begged her for the use of them,) and never one to understand money, (a trait my mother and I share, unfortunately,) she spent at least fifty times her pay on buying the books to give to everyone!!!

It worked the same way with her beautiful little watercolor paintings. She’d pay to sell her work in art shows on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, and then, if a customer was “adorable,” she told them to just take it. But if she didn’t like someone, she wouldn’t allow them to purchase any! What a great business mind.

As a junior high, and later high school, teacher, she helped out all of her students. And the community at large. Growing up, I thought it was normal for teachers to have their families put together massive numbers of goodie bags to bring to children in hospitals. And to put on shows with their students to entertain those children. And to go to every sports game of the school they’re teaching at to support the teams. And to buy donuts with their own money, then sell them to the teachers and give the money to the school. And visit pupils who were under the weather. And give some of them clothing and food. And lend their families money. And find them boyfriends and girlfriends.

She even fixed me up a few times, but my mother and I had way different taste when I was in my early teens. Thank goodness we agreed wholeheartedly on my three main boyfriends of life, even still being friends with my teen-age beau, and the family of my college one. I’ve always been so proud of the fact that she loved Mr. X so much; whenever we were planning to visit her together, my mother always asked how many days until she was seeing Mr. X, not me. And all I cared about was getting to spend as much time as possible with the fabulous May Rose Salkin, and then having wonderful tales of her to share with my friends, viewers, and you. She always brought a smile and laugh to everyone, and we were all incredibly lucky to have known her, or even of her.

On one afternoon in what turned out to be the last week of her life, my mother was entertaining us by reciting one of her favorite poems that she wrote very many years ago. Mr. X and her aide and I were all amazed at how perfect and adorable that recitation was. It was a wonderful moment, so I’d like to close by sharing that rhyme with you:

Coffee And
by May Rose Salkin

Coffee-and has been my plight.
Coffee-and from morn to night.
Coffee’s one thing I can’t stand;
I drink it merely for the and.

Rest in peace, little mo. You deserve it.

I came home yesterday afternoon to the shocking news that my good buddy of very many years, Geoff Miller, had died. I kept thinking it was a mistake. This super-intelligent, always upbeat, lovely man, not to mention handsome, was never going to share his behind-the-scenes-in-Los Angeles secrets with me anymore.

I just always expected Geoff to be around forever, especially because he looked about twenty years younger than his real age, which I was repeatedly surprised about. I’ve honestly never seen a man with younger-looking hands, and he always joked that it was due to the fact that “they never saw an honest day’s work.” Yeah, right.

As I understand it, he began working in publishing even before he left school, and founded what was to become Los Angeles Magazine, serving as its first editor and later, its publisher.

He was the first person in the biz to order a profile of me when my show was starting-out. The creepy woman reporter who was assigned to the piece snippily told me, “The only reason I’m writing this is because my editor loves your show.” I knew right then and there that Geoff and I were destined to be friends. And it was an easy thing to be. Everybody loved Geoff, with his easy-going demeanor and knowledge of all subjects in the world. What a mind that guy had.

We became good friends a couple of years after the article was published, upon meeting at a lovely afternoon soiree at the Bistro Garden. Besides actually socializing with him on many occasions, we bumped into each other at least once a week at the many in-crowd happenings we were now both invited to.

At one of those down the line, a pretty woman in glasses appeared and Geoff went right over to her, took her hands, and they stared into each other’s eyes. It turned-out to be his soon-to-be wife, and in my opinion, soul-mate, actress Kathryn Leigh Scott, and in all the years I’ve known them together since, that’s how they’ve always greeted each other. How any couples can claim that record? (It’s a far cry from the way that the fiery Mr. X and I greet each other, I can sure tell you that!)

For several years, Mr. X and I went to their house for the best St. Patrick’s parties ever. Their guest lists were as eclectic as Geoff’s tastes were and I always felt like I was in a movie about the intelligentsia over there. I always pictured the assemblage in forties film attire, with smoke permeating the room, even though everyone was modern and there was, thankfully, no smoke. But that’s what the heady atmosphere portrayed to this simple girl from Brooklyn.

One of my favorite things about Geoff was that I could always rag on one guest or another to him without him telling me I was wrong. He just laughed at my observations and tried to say something nice about the person, and then laughed again. He never tried to make me feel bad about what I had said. He even lightheartedly told me what they had said about me, and made me enjoy it, even when they were maligning me. I was just glad to have been a topic of conversation in Geoff Miller’s world.

He’s one person who never made me feel bad when I called him, no matter what my topic. He always made time for my inanity, and if I had a question, he’d do his best to find an answer for me.

And now calls and emails are coming in from people who want to commiserate with me about the loss of so vital a life. It turns out, Geoff had been struggling with a rare degenerative brain disease for quite awhile, but I had, shamefully, lost touch with so many people in the last horrible year, that I didn’t know about it.

So, besides all my wonderful memories of him, what I’m taking is this last invaluable lesson this great man taught me, through his passing–to never take it for granted that I’m going to see everyone again down the road. And I’m sharing that lesson with you. We all have to make the absolute best effort we can to see everyone we care about while we have the chance. And to tell everyone all the wonderful things we think about them as often as we can.

I thank his gracious wife Kathryn for cheering me up about the situation yesterday when I called to do that for her. I stated blubbering the second I heard her voice and she helped me through it. I’m so glad that Geoff will live on in her, but his is one presence I will truly miss.

R.I.P Geoff.

Elizabeth Taylor has died. And, as I’m sure many of you are also experiencing, I’m surprised at just how awful I feel at her loss. Just the other day, a premonition that she was not going to be here much longer washed over me, and I was really hoping that I was wrong. It just doesn’t seem right to have a world without her.

I literally was just awakened by a friend calling to talk about it, which is how I found-out the sad news, so this may not be as coherent as my usual writings, but I didn’t want to publish the somewhat frivolous column I had for today, in light of Ms. Taylor’s passing, so I’m rushing this along. [Note: Yes, this hour is a little late for me--I usually get up between 3and 7AM, so I was thrilled to be still be asleep a couple of hours later on this gloomy-looking day. Now, the gloom is appropriate.]

As a fan of old movies, I’m always absolutely amazed that there was ever a human being as gorgeous as Elizabeth Taylor. I just didn’t see how that was possible. Those eyes, that nose, that skin, that waist–there’s never been anyone who can compare. And she wasn’t just a pretty face, (or body)–she could really act!

And then she grew-up to be so kind and compassionate. She was the perfect pal for Michael Jackson, and I’ve always hated how cruel everyone was to them. The whole world turned into Revenge of the Nerds, when, in actuality, she’s one of the few who not only knew what he was going through with so much fame at an early age, but was good enough to reach-out to him. I hate the haters.

I met Ms. Taylor just once, about ten years ago, and for that, I’m really grateful because now I get to tell you all just how normal, yet nice, she was to me. We were both in the classy pharmacy in Bel-Air. She was there as a customer; I was outside talking to someone and saw her go in and could not believe that I was seeing Elizabeth Taylor in person and in a store I frequent! So, I’m embarrassed to say, I went in to try to see her closer, something I would usually do only for a guy, like Hugh Jackman.

As I was roaming the aisles, making like I was looking for something, too, she politely asked me if I knew where the item she was looking for was! Elizabeth Taylor talked to me!!! I still can’t believe it. I was angry at myself that I had no idea where it was, and offered to help her find it, but she told me not to worry about it and she’d ask a clerk. You know that I usually remember conversations word-for–word, but I was so starstruck that I heard it the way that the Peanuts gang hears grown-ups.

She was carrying her tiny white dog, I think it was a Maltese, and I told her how cute the dog was. So, she leant the dog towards me in her arms for me to see her better and/or pet her. Elizabeth Taylor was just a normal sweet woman! Who knew? Certainly not the awful press people who hounded her for her entire life. How dreadful of them.

I wanted to rush home and get Clarence for a playdate, but this was Elizabeth Taylor, for goodness sake. So, I just petted the pretty pooch and left the store. At the time, I vowed to return often, with Clarence in tow, to try to run into her again, but this time with my wits about me. But alas, as always happens with my cockamamie schemes, it fell by the wayside. Good thing, or I could have wound-up in the clink for stalking! Can you imagine?

I saw her in person only once more–at the September 2009 Macy’s Passport fashion show to benefit AIDS research. She was brought-out on stage in a wheelchair, all dolled-up. It couldn’t have been easy, physically, for her to make that appearance, but it was for not only charity, but the one she was so passionate about. Right away, I felt that the general public just didn’t give her enough kudos for her true kindness. But, I’m content in the feeling that the people who counted knew the true measure of this icon.

So anyway, on this sad day of losing our last great real movie star, I just wanted to put in my two cents sticking-up for her on a miniscule personal level. I could tell in just those brief moments of meeting that Elizabeth Taylor was lovely. So, I guess all the nasty media goons have been correct all along–she wasn’t normal–she was far above it.

R.I.P. La Liz.

As we were going to sleep last night, we were shocked to hear that Nate Dogg, an R&B singer in his own right and oft-time collaborator with Snoop Dogg, had died. At only forty-one! So sad.

It’s weird–I never have time to listen to the radio, but I did on Sunday, and something I heard there made me think of Nate and wonder how he was doing. And then this somber news just two nights later.

I knew him only briefly back in the day. He was dating the other best friend of my best friend at the time. We girls were, of course, privy to some of the details of their stormy relationship, so I felt that I knew him a little before I even met him. (They’ve since had at least one child together, but, as time has moved on, I’ve lost track of all of them.)

I have one amusing story about Nate Dogg to share–it always makes me smile. [Note: I’m sure it’s way better as an audio and visual tale than a written one, but I’ll try my best. This reminds me to get my podcast going already!]

A bunch of us girls were at the club on Sunset that now houses Trousdale, if you know clubs in LA. Nate had told Mimi (his girlfriend at the time) that we should meet him and his posse there. So I blew-off a kind-of important (for me) MTV party to do this with my friends because, as I was a club promoter then, (the first female one, btw,) I was happy about having a night at a club that I wasn’t in charge of! I was so excited to be a guest for once!

As the evening wore on, Nate and I wound-up in a booth together alone for a little period, sitting opposite each other. We knew only of each other prior to that night, so I was a little nervous hanging with him, not knowing just what to talk about. (I know, I know–that’s never stopped me before. But it did give me pause this time.)

Nate called the waitress over and ordered six rum and cokes! For the two of us! She left before I could ask for just a plain coke, as I hate the taste of alcohol, (and therefore, don’t drink it.) When she brought the six drinks, and put them on the table, Nate lined them all up in front of him.

I asked, “Are those all for you???” He looked at me and stated seriously, “That depends.” I again queried, “On what?” Nate answered, slowly and matter-or-factly, “If you drink rum and coke, they’re ours. If you don’t, they’re mine.” That really cracked me up, and my mirth even got a smile out of Nate, which, if you’ve seen pictures of him, you know was a rarity. I loved it because up until that moment, his visage had held the same expression all night, one of being above-it-all.

From that moment on, I was a fan. Every time his beautiful voice came on the radio, it brought a smile to my face.

When I heard through the grapevine about three years ago that Nate had had a stroke, I was hoping that it was just a small one and he would recover quickly. I heard nothing more about it, so I assumed he had. Until last night.

R.I.P, Nate Dogg. I just may choke down a rum and coke today in your honor.

Even though he was the ripe old age of 96, I was surprised and saddened to read that fitness pioneer and star Jack LaLanne had passed away yesterday. I actually knew him for a brief while! And a stronger man I cannot even imagine. I’ve known of him my entire life and expected him to outlive us all.

Here’s my personal memory of the one iota of time I spent with the LaLanne’s. I had recently begun my show, Karen’s Restaurant Revue, and, as one of the few females who was willing to make a fool of herself for charity, I was often invited to participate in celebrity charity sporting events, even though I had absolutely no athletic ability whatsoever. (But I was very young and skinny, so I guess everyone assumed I could do all these things. Or at least, wanted to see me try!)

I met Jack and his lovely, but equally tough, wife, Elaine LaLanne (yes, I do know her name rhymes,) while I playing in some tennis tournament. They asked me right away if I would be one of the celebrities in their upcoming Golf Classic, so of course I said yes! I had, after all, dated a golf star in high school, who had shown me how to putt by wrapping his arms around me, (you know, the old school guy-getting-to-touch-you ploy,) so I figured that I’d be able to compete without embarrassing myself. Pretty naïve, eh?

I hadn’t realized that the grown-up men who play alongside you have contributed heavily to the chosen charity and are out to be the winners! I’m just lucky that my team wound-up winning, even with me as their biggest handicap.

So, anyway, I made Mr. X drive me up to Morro Bay for the week-end, so he, too, could meet the venerable Jack LaLanne, who was lovely to me. This week-end wound-up teaching me that, indeed, the show must always go on!

I had hurt my back pretty badly the night before, but I would never cancel on a commitment. And I figured what better place to find out what to do for such an injury–I mean, if Jack LaLanne wouldn’t know, then no one would!

The first night there, I made my way down to the pre-event cocktail party, although gingerly and rocking a back brace. Some of the other celebs felt bad for me and they all said, “Let’s get Elaine–she’ll know what to do!” (Kind-of like when the Scarecrow told the yellow brick road gang that they should “ask the wizard! He’ll know what to do!”) I was so relieved that this motherly-type, who was so familiar with her husband’s superior physical knowledge, was going to come help my poor aching back. (I didn’t want to bother the man himself.)

So, here she comes and asks me what exactly is wrong. I tell her and, with bated breath, await her words of wisdom and healing. She tells me, “Well, I don’t care what’s wrong with you, you’re playing tomorrow! We need you. So, buck up and get on with it.” I loved it–a woman who told it like it is. I was so glad that I hadn’t bothered Jack–he probably would have made me drop and give him twenty! (Push-ups, for those of you who aren’t familiar with boot camp terms, or whatever terminology that is.)

And let me tell you, I did buck-up and made it through. And as I said, my team even won!

I was so happy that I hadn’t let the charity down. But more importantly, that I was able to share part of Mr. LaLanne’s week-end and charity vision. The whole thing was surreal to me, and still is, even as I recount this tale to you.

I wish I had spent more time with the LaLanne’s because I think I would have been made super-healthy, just like Heidi’s grandfather did with Clara. Jack would have for sure whipped me into shape.

Whenever I’d see him on TV, I’d be amazed by his longevity, and even more than that, the incredible shape that he was still in. And just look at what he started for all of us health-and-exercise-obsessed Americans! We all owe Jack LaLanne a debt of gratitude. Let’s all do a set of jumping jacks for him right now, rather than a moment of silence, and keep his legacy going.

I was sad to hear of the passing last week of Elaine Kaufman, famous owner of her even-more-famous eponymous New York restaurant, Elaine’s.

I dined there only three times in all these years, but each one was memorable. The first time was when I was just starting out in the business. I became friendly with Robert Altman’s film editors here in L.A., and the group happened to be in New York for a premiere when I was there for my father’s birthday.

Photo by Shanna Ravindra.

It was perfect–we had all met up for the event the night before, and now it was a Sunday afternoon in December, and freezing out. A member of Altman’s inner circle brought me to his house for a casual afternoon. I was so young and green, I really wasn’t even sure who he was! As a matter of fact, when people who knew me heard about this meeting, they all assumed that Altman would “love” me, and make me one of his kooky stars. I really knew nothing of his ways then, but if I had known about him, I would have thought so, too!

But no, he basically brushed me aside because I don’t drink. And that was a group of hard drinkers, let me tell you. I rarely have anything of significance to say to drunk people, let alone grown men who imbibe, so I was just quiet from being uncomfortable. I didn’t care how fabulous this crowd was–I wanted to get out of there.

Until, that is, Altman said we were going to Elaine’s for an early Sunday night dinner. I had never heard of it, (remember–I was nescient then,) but I perked right up, just at the thought of going to a Manhattan restaurant! As soon as we entered, though, I knew it was something special. Elaine greeted Bob as an old friend, which I’m sure he was, since, as I now know, she hung around with the artsy crowd.

Anyway, the only food I remember from that day was the specialty polenta, which I had also never heard of (did I mention I was young?) and did not like at all, but I can tell you where everyone was sitting and what they had on. Well, actually, I can do that with most places, but at Elaine’s, I felt like we were in a very New York movie.

As years went on, and I moved away from that crowd, when I read of Elaine’s, I was always a little jealous of my younger self.

Photo by Shanna Ravindra.

Until I started dating Mr. X, that is! Believe it or not, he was the one with all the fun plans than, not I! (I was still very young, and hadn’t become “Karen” from Karen’s Restaurant Revue yet.) So, we stayed at the Plaza Hotel and he shepherded me to hip clubs and eateries in New York. He took me to Elaine’s on a Saturday night, and they gave us a great front room table. I’m even more impressed over that detail now.

All of a sudden, we saw tons of flashes go off, and wondered just who had arrived. It turned-out to be Mr. X’s ex! And they didn’t talk at the time. And she had been my pal, too, and didn’t know that he and I were together yet. (Don’t get your panties in a knot–I didn’t steal him; it just worked-out that way. And we were totally meant to be together.)

The whole thing was a very uncomfortable show biz moment, and when Robin Leach took us to dinner the next night, (don’t ask,) he had already heard about the incident. I was surprised, because it really was just our private business, but then I realized–of course word had gotten out–it happened at Elaine’s!

So, years went on again, and I had been to about a zillion New York restaurants by then. But my friend, Buzzfoto founder Brad Elterman, was coming to town while I was there, and my mother told me that he called and said to tell me he was taking me to Elaine’s the next night. Since my dream is to eat at every restaurant in New York and Los Angeles, at first I was a tad disappointed because I had already been there. Twice. But then I thought–how often does someone else make the plan, and how often does someone take me to a wonderful institution such as that? And I was instantly appreciative and looking forward to it.

I would have been happy to just be in New York having fun with Brad, but this made it even better. Walking into Elaine’s that night, I still felt like that little girl with the Altman gang. Until Keith Hernandez, former Met and now an announcer for the team, and Elaine’s regular, said hi to me because we had met in Aspen that summer, and hung-out a bit. It made me feel like I belonged.

Brad and I had a wonderful time, and loved watching Elaine herself flit from table to table, in her caftan, noshing along the way. And now that we’ll never have the opportunity to watch her do that again, I’m especially grateful for that time.

After spending most of October in New York, I just returned home to Los Angeles to very sad news. A lovely young man about whom I wrote in June, Theo Crampton, passed away on October 18^th, way before his time. He was only 23. But he accomplished much in his short life.

Theo was the “Cake Designer To The Stars,” including Patti LaBelle and Stevie Wonder. I had already booked him and his company, Powdered Sugar Cakes, to do my birthday cake in January, and was so looking forward to it. He told me that he began baking with his family when he was just a kid and knew by the age of eight that he wanted to be a baker. Pretty impressive to have an early dream and make it come true!

Here’s the link to my write-up of Theo’s launch party, if you want to read the whole column: www.itsnotaboutme.tv/news/2010/06/15/parties-powder-sugar-cakes-launch-party/, but this is the most important excerpt: “The crowd was quite jovial all night and everyone seemed open to meeting new people. All that may have trickled down from Theo himself, who is just darling. He came around and shyly greeted us all, without standing on ceremony. I said, ‘Wow, you look really young to be such a successful baker!’ He answered, jokingly indignant, ‘I’m twenty-three!’ That’s what I meant by ‘young!’ ”

I still don’t know the exact details of his death, nor would they make me feel any better, but I was told that he had a rare heart disease which could have ended his life by the age of 5. He did more with the “gifted” eighteen years than most of us, so I hope that brings his family a modicum of peace. But I’m still extremely sad that I won’t get to see his shining face again on this level of life. I’ve met few others as happy and positive as Theo Crampton III.

I had a different column all written, and even drafted, but I just woke-up to find-out that Tony Curtis, my first crush, has passed away, and even though he was eighty-five, it hit me a little hard.

So, I want to share my stories of him here. Growing-up, my house always had old movies on TV, and one of my first memories of boys was Tony Curtis. (I have this crazy good memory and remember my crushes from when I was two! And Tony came right before the teen-agers I knew personally at the summer camp where my father was Boys Head Counselor.) I even knew his real name, Bernie Schwartz, so my parents and their friends approved. I used to call myself “Mrs. Bernie Schwartz,” although I couldn’t even pronounce “hospital” and “spaghetti.”

Tony had to be the handsomest man of his time. And I loved that he always had a sparkle in his eyes in all his movies. He was just perfect. (Of course, I was too young to know all his personal life dramas. To me, he was who he was in his films.)

I actually held on to that crush for many years, until I started school and replaced him with real boys. Then I got into rock stars and that was the end of that, mostly. But I always had a warm spot for Tony Curtis.

Cut to me growing up, moving out here, and having my TV show. For those of you who remember the early years of Karen’s Restaurant Revue, you may recall how popular I became around town. (I cringe saying that about myself, but it’s necessary to this story. So please forgive me.) I was always surprised at just how many people watched my show, and because I was always so accessible, no one was afraid to come up to me for a chat, which I loved.

One night, I was in a Beverly Hills art gallery, at an exhibit of paintings by…Tony Curtis! I was a wreck, trying to work-up courage to introduce myself to him. Then a woman I knew slightly came up to me and said, “Tony wants to meet you. Is that okay?” I was too dumb-founded to answer! But I thought it had to be a joke, with my friend telling her to play it on me.

All of a sudden, Tony was upon us, telling me he loved me! I so couldn’t believe it that I told him so! I asked if this was a joke. I still can’t believe that those were my first words to the man, hands on hips. He kept re-assuring me that he faithfully watches my show and loves me. So, what did I say? “Prove it.” I asked Tony Curtis, major movie star, and my first crush, to prove that he watches my show!!! What was I thinking??? (In my defense, I was really young and in shock.)

So, with people standing around watching this whole interaction, Tony Curtis, star of such smash hits as Some Like It Hot and The Defiant Ones, started playing with imaginary bangs, as I always did (okay, do) and talking a mile a minute, mimicking me with such bon mots as “How’s my hair?,” and “Oh no–I think I broke a nail!” We were all hysterical.

I blurted out, “Oh my God! You do watch my show,” to which he loudly asked, “Now can we have a hug???” And hug we did. I could not believe that I was hugging Bernie Schwartz in real life! I had done it so many times in my childhood imagination. We even got in a few cheek kisses. (I just started crying as I’m writing this.)

When I composed myself, I told him how much I had always wanted to marry him when I was little. And he said he was game now! We actually talked about it, and though I was just kidding, I think he wasn’t.

So, I came home and told Mr. X the whole story, and then said, “You know what–maybe I should marry him! It’d make a great story to grow-up and marry my first movie star crush.” I really loved the idea. But I loved Mr. X more, and even though he thought it would be kind-of funny, as well, and I even, for a fleeting moment, thought that Tony and I could tie the night for just a few days or so, I thought it would be somewhat rude to Mr. X, so that was the end of that.

I next bumped into Tony at a party a couple of years later, and I told him how I wish I could have married him, for the complete, full-circle-ness of it all, and he said, “It’s not too late. Life isn’t over yet!” It was so cute and sweet of him. I saw him only a handful of times after that, and he always asked if I was ready to marry him yet. (I think that he was actually married on at least one of those occasions, but he said it didn’t matter, and that I should just let him know when. I’m sure that he was kidding by then, but it was always lovely of him to remember.)

In between all of this, I was at some women-in-show-business type of event, and I saw Jaime Lee Curtis walking by me, while telling her companion that some show was the “best show ever on television.” As I was wondering just what show it was that Jaime Lee was paying that supreme compliment to, all of a sudden she was standing in front of me, holding out her hand, and telling me, “I think your show is the best show ever on television and I just wanted to say hi.” I was, once again, shocked and thrilled. I wanted to say something nice back, as I always do, and I admired her work, but what came out was, “I love your father!” She must have thought I was insane! (That is, if she didn’t already from watching my show.)

Tony got a kick out of that story when I saw him a few weeks later. And even though he was already grandfather-age, I got to see that famous eye-twinkling that I was so attracted to as a childhood movie fan.

And now, the world has lost him today. I’m really sad that I’ll never get to see those baby blues again. R.I.P., my imaginary mate.

Usually, if I’m writing a tribute to someone, I know them really well. That wasn’t the case with Dr. Frank Ryan, who lost his life when his jeep went over the side of the PCH in Malibu two days ago, but just meeting him a time or two made enough of an impression that I was shocked and sad all day yesterday, after learning the awful news.

I had just attended his 50^th birthday party in May, at his beloved Pony Bony Ranch, and observed, up-close and personal, the love that all his guests had for him. He spent hours just greeting everyone and taking pictures with all who wanted one. He seemed to be a very vibrant, upbeat man.

And a kind one, as well, which is where the real tragedy of his death comes in. His Dr. Frank Ryan Foundation is a non-profit organization that helps underprivileged and at-risk youth, and I’ve seen it at work on his ranch. He invited some of the teens who have been helped by the foundation to dance at his birthday party, wowing the assemblage. And that’s just a tiny bit of what his foundation has accomplished over the years. [To read more about it, please visit www.drfrankryan.org or www.bonyponyranch.com.]

Even his death proved to be one last, catastrophic lesson to kids, and adults, all over the country who may have read about it. I don’t know if we’ll ever know the exact details of his last minutes, but it’s been reported by California Highway Patrol that he was texting while driving.

As I beg all my friends, please stop texting, and looking down at your phone in any way, when you’re driving!!! It’s gotten even worse since it’s become illegal because now people try to hide what they’re doing from any cops who may be around, so they hold their phones even lower. If someone so bright as Dr. Ryan can be distracted by texting, what chance do others have? I hope that everyone learns from this heartbreaking loss, and if his final lesson saves even one life, it will become as important a legacy as Dr. Ryan’s charitable foundation is.

In The Prophet, when speaking “On Love,” Kahlil Gibran said basically, that without love, “…you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.” I’m so madly in love with Clarence that this past week I cried more than all of my tears; I truly have cried from so deep inside my being that I can’t believe any of me is left. But, as much pain as I’m in, without my precious boy, I have also laughed all of my laughter, for which I’m more than grateful.

Mr. X and I could not have asked for anything more out for our choice of the one being to share our lives. Clarence was the best dog I’ve ever seen or heard of. Not only was he the sweetest, most loving and caring and affectionate pal ever, but he literally didn’t give us even one second to be angry at him for in the almost eighteen years that we were blessed to have him with us.

As much as I never wish sadness on any other person, there’s comfort in knowing that the pain is not ours alone–Clarence had so many fans and friends. Even people with their own pets always told me how special they thought Clarence was. I’m so happy that so many people got to experience his exquisite sweetness.

We got Clarence by accident. Mr. X was going to a breeder to get a dog for his parents and I tagged along to make sure that he didn’t come home with one for us. I felt that we were always too busy for such a major responsibility at that time. Then Clarence came out with his brother and my heart stopped–he was just the most adorable thing ever. (And no–it’s not because he was a tiny white toy poodle–that’s all the breeder had! It’s because he was already funny while being so innocent. He was such a showman. I always say he came out like Jackie Wilson, the old R&B singer who was known as “Mr. Excitement.” Clarence was practically doing splits like Jackie!)

So, after all my resolve, I kept telling Mr. X that we just had to have him. He was really in a rush to buy Clar’s bro and get home, and said that we can think it over and come back for him some other time. I was holding Clarence on my lap, sort-of sitting up in my arms, and I looked at him and said, “Clarence, if you want to come with us, you have to tell me right now.” (That’s correct–I knew his name before we even got him!) He looked up at me, paused for just one second, then reached up and kissed me on the lips! And that was it. (And he continued to shower me with kisses his entire life, up until the very end. I’m so grateful for every single one of them.)

He started appearing on my show immediately, to rave reviews. But when he started his singing career, he became a real star. Audience members have even sworn that they’ve heard him say the words “Happy Birthday,” when singing that tune on the show. And I don’t even doubt it.

One time, when he and I were staying with friends in New York, a talent coordinator from L.A. called there, asking for me. She queried, “Where are you?” When I answered, “New York,” she paused then asked, “And where’s Clarence?” A tad amused, I said, “Here with me,” to which she asked, “Will he be back by” such-and-such date? Notice, she didn’t care if I’d be back, just Clarence. Turns out, they wanted to book him for a show! To sing! I hated to point out that they he probably wouldn’t sing without me, and she said, “Oh, you’ll be on the show with him!” But notice–she didn’t ask if I was available on that date, just Clarence! That boy was a star!

Another time, when I was visiting my parents, I brought one of my shows on tape for them to see. I knew my mother would be interested, but my father was not my biggest fan. So, I was shocked when he voluntarily moved over to the couch to watch, too. I paced nervously in the adjoining room, surprised that he was watching the entire half hour. He was hanging in the whole time. With five minutes left, he leaned over to my mother and said, “I thought the dog was on the show.” For some reason, Clarence didn’t sing on that particular episode until the end, but my father so wanted to see him that he hung in there the whole show, listening to my frivolity, waiting it out for Clarence to appear! I have a feeling that many viewers did the same thing!

I’m sorry this is so long, but, thankfully, so was his life, so I have many stories to tell. Just one more, that I really love. I’m so grateful that Clarence was healthy enough to travel to New York for Thanksgiving 2008 with us. As many friends as I have on the east coast, and as much fun as I have, the most special times were when Mr. X, Clarence, my mother, and I were all together in the house there. Incredibly cozy.

But one day, I couldn’t find him. I scoured the house and was beginning to panic, screaming “Clarence” with more fervor than Brando yelled, “Stella!!!” Mr. X and my mom were crazy, too. Finally, my mother started laughing and said, “I found him.” We ran to the living room, but couldn’t see him anywhere, and thought, for a brief second, that perhaps my mother had gone a tad nutty. Then we followed her eyes to one of the couches. It’s the one with all of her dolls and stuffed animals that she collects. (Okay, so maybe she already is a bit eccentric.) There among them was Clarence! We had totally missed him because he so blended in with the inanimate pals. He was his most adorable. He looked up at us, like, “What’s the fuss?,” and we just left him there. But we remembered to look there first from then on.

Clarence was truly the best friend I’ve ever had in my whole life. No one in the world, including Mr. X and my little mother, has ever been so in love with me. This whole year, he wouldn’t even go to bed without me! I always tried to put him to bed with Mr. X and then go write. Within a minute, he was up and at ’em, sitting next to me, whining for my attention. We did this about ten times a night. Finally, I realized that I had to make believe I was going to sleep with him, and then sneak out when he was asleep, like you do with a child. More times than not, I actually did fall asleep, proving that my boy was just looking out for my health–he knew that I’d been running on fumes and needed to go to sleep. What other friend does that???

This year began with my serious back issue, which made me stay in the house for 90% of the time in February, March, and April. I’m so grateful now that it happened, disturbing and painful as the ordeal was, because it gave me every second of that time to spend with Clarence. I’d go through it all over again in a heartbeat just for those precious moments.

When he got sick three and a half weeks ago, I begged him to stay with us. All of his doctors said it would be the end immediately. When I called the hospital doc, who had just met him, a week later to ask a question, she said she was shocked he was still with us and that he’s an amazingly strong boy. He did seem to confound the medical world, almost right from the beginning. He had health issues even then, and a couple of difficult illnesses over the years.

But Clarence’s will was very strong, and he knew that I needed some more time with him. I so appreciate his kindness to give me those extra few weeks to spend together. And he kissed me like crazy, seeming to want to make them last a lifetime for me. He didn’t leave until I said to please go, which even Mr. X and I were shocked that I finally did. But he hadn’t suffered at all, and I wanted to make sure that he didn’t. He kissed me earlier, asked for his dog “chocolate,” and then he left, with us kissing him the whole time.

I will miss my beloved boy for the rest of my life. But, as he was two months shy of his eighteenth birthday, I’m telling myself that he just went off to college. And since he’s the smartest boy ever, I’m sure he’ll continue on for his Masters and Ph.D. So, he won’t have tons of time to come home often, anyway.

Though I’m sure we’ll think of him just about every second of our lives, there’s one extra special time that we’ll also have. Named after our favorite angel, Clarence from It’s A Wonderful Life, we’ll be reminded of him each Christmas when we see Jimmy Stewart look skyward at the end of the film, wink, and say, “Atta boy, Clarence.” …Atta boy, indeed.