There's an ancient proverb that we are meant to walk with a note in each pocket. One is to say that for us the world was created and the other, ah the other: we are but a grain of sand in all the universe.
There's something so humble and wonderful in Frank Sinatra's letter about a reluctant pop star. Sometimes it is just that simple, "Man up". My kid saved this on his desktop which of course makes me happy.
Barbara Marx Sinatra and her best friend Bea Korshak were customers, shopping in little white tennis dresses while Beverly Hills teetered between provincial resort neighborhood shopping and a tourist mecca. They shopped very well and very often. Bea's husband knocked on the locked back door. I unlocked it to find George Raft and Sidney Korshak half hidden by their hats pulled forward blocking the doorway. Sidney silently counted out a stack of hundred dollar bills and left. Sometimes a salesgirl would call Bea to let her know about a new shipment. When Sidney answered the phone he simply hung up the phone.
My mother had told me a story about driving through a Beverly Hills canyon late one night with my father and getting lost, she in a silk print dress that she'd let me play dress-up in when I was very little. They'd parked and walked to a doorway. Rudy Vallee came out to give them directions. My mother's eyes sparkled every time she told the story.