The Sound of Silence

Last week, my computer crashed. Luckily, I have a great computer guy (thanks Nick) who keeps me calm because he's so darn low key, I sometimes wonder what would get his blood boiling.  Watching Nick is a little like watching the flight attendant during a rough patch. If he or she is calm it must be OK.  I've only seen the flight attendants act a little nervous once and it was a pretty scary half an hour.  I once sat by an off-duty pilot who was returning home and we chatted briefly- nice guy.  In the last half of our flight we flew through quite a storm and more than once I gripped his arm and nearly ground my new veneers to the width of a dime. But he appeared calm and cool, which assured me greatly that all was well.

I was reminded of my recent experience of working with a client for weeks on a big presentation. She asked if I would sit in the front row so she could look out and quickly see me.  As if I could telepathically send her any last minute instructions! But I realized I could.  Simply being mindful of my own demeanor could reassure or distract my client.  I sat openly without any foot swinging or toe tapping. My hands were loose and free and I made sure my face was bright, alert and smiling.

I have no idea how many times she looked at me- if ever.  But I was sure of my message: "You're doing great." And indeed, she did. However sure I felt FOR her, I knew that she was nervous.  I was with her every step of the way, jumping those hurdles with my entire being. My insides were screaming- Go! But my exterior was a vision of calm.

Perhaps Nick the computer genius screams inwardly as well, hoping all is not lost. (No, thanks to Crashplan we have a back-up) And was that pilot silently sending love notes to his family who he feared he would never see again?  Come to find out, he just wished he were flying the plane. He admitted to me as we deplaned that it was harder sitting there as a passenger than in the cockpit.  I understood completely.  It is harder to sit in the audience and watch than it is to perform.  But I play the part and send my message loud and clear.  How about you? We all send silent messages and knowing what that message is, says it all.

HOWDY, PARTNER!

     I just returned from a job in Dallas, TX - where I lived and worked for almost 20 years.  It's strange and wonderful returning to the "scene of the crime," and I mean literally. Not the crime part, but the place where I moved to became a professional actress.  I was working at the beautiful Hilton Anatole Hotel, which if you haven't been there, make plans.  (Ask for Lola in the Spa- she gives one heck of a massage!) I spent many hours at the Anatole throughout the 80s and into the 2000s singing and acting in various projects and venues.
     I made one of my first professional appearances at the Anatole in 1982 or '83 singing in a 40s Big Band style act for Sunday Brunches.  I made my last appearance there up on the 27th floor of the Tower, which is now a wonderful restaurant called "Ser," but in the early 2000s, was still the Nana Grill.  It was years after my official retirement from show business- my niece's high school graduation party and the hotel was having a slow Memorial Day weekend.  We were able to take a group of well-behaved high school graduates up to hear the combo play and my sister asked the band leader if I could sing, promising, "don't worry, she's really good."  I wonder how many times band leaders hear THAT in a bar!?  I wound up singing several songs much to my niece's delight. I had hesitated for fear of embarrassing her- but I saw her face and knew that she knew me too. And she liked what she saw.
     That was my last performance in Dallas. I moved to New York shortly after and now coach and work with clients in a variety of ways.  Like this conference in Dallas.  I coached several of the speakers, but on short notice arranged some entertainment with the help of my old pal, Sparky Sparks www.sparksagency.com, for one of the their meetings. And may I say if you are ever in need of a longhorn steer, line dancers or a racing armadillo, Sparky is your man.
     Everywhere I looked last week opened another memory compartment. We ate breakfast in the ballroom where I did several Sophie Tucker shows for Incredible Productions. I worked in the Stemmons Ballroom, where I had been part of one of the first star-studded AIDS benefits back in the 80s. I was NOT one of the stars but I rubbed elbows with Carol Channing, Barbara Cook, Angela Lansbury and others who came to give their time and share their talents to raise awareness and money for a relatively new and scary disease.
    One morning as I raced across the Atrium I thought about meeting Melissa Manchester in her hotel room to help her with her hair (long story!).  She had vaporizers going full blast and the heat turned up in a town that hardly needs any help in the humidity department. I sweated so much she probably thought I had a glandular issue.
     I remembered the young, eager talent I was working in corporate industrials, entertaining people from across the country who had come together to celebrate their successes of the year. Here I was on the other side, helping my clients shine- they are the stars now, and I relish being able to call upon my years of experience to help them reach their team members and help raise the bar of excellence.
     Ahhh, you CAN go "home" again- but you find that home is not true home, but a delicious memory. What was familiar is now simply nostalgic.  What you thought you knew is transformed, and what you remember is a dream.  But I cherish business trips like this, which took me to the Anatole for a week so that now I have new memories.  Thanks, Jake the Steer! You made quite an impression!