Veterans Residence at home, Snow Leopards in Afghanistan

I've always done my charity thing --one step removed. I write checks annually to Habitat for Humanity (I am from a family of carpenters, so I like the idea of building homes). I write a check to the Salvation Army because they are the only organized religion that doesn't bombard you with dogma, they just go around doing good (well, maybe except for the band playing). I send money to buy mosequito nets to keep malaria away from African children. But earlier this year my own darling Nicole went to Africa. While there she spent her personal money to buy diapers for AIDS babies and loved on them all in posted pictures. It changed her, that first hands-on trip. She has formed a non-profit called WOW, Wells of Worship to get clean water to the babies. So I thought I'd get my hands into some personal movement. I cannot convey how wonderful this season has been for me because of a couple of things I've done personally. My friend, Lt Colonel Melinda Morgan and her Snow Leopards group in Afghanistan needed a bunch of stuff to make the conditions better. Shopping for them was better than going to Tiffany's for myself. Then there is the Veterans Residence Hall for military women. They have fourteen beds and nine residents at the moment. Going through my closet and taking out dozens of coats, sweaters, hats, shoes, scarves felt good, but nothing prepared me for the look on the face of the young veteran to came out to my car to help get the stuff from the car when she said, "You know they forget about us." My vow was "I won't." And I never will. Circumstances have changed for me in the last few years. I don't live in Bel Air anymore, I live in the hood of Jefferson Park, I don't have the kind of money I used to have, but right here, right now, I have way more than any of these people who made it safer here in America. I'm the grateful Ruth Adkins Robinson

2009 -- what it meant to me and mine

There's no real way to explain why such a feeling of happy expectation has taken over me as I press my face against the window of tomorrow. I decided to think of happy moments for this year past. I started off the year writing the Commander-in-Chief's Inaugural Ball, held at the Building Museum where the brand, spanking new President seemed dusted with moonbeams as he walked in to stand on the Presidential Seal and talk to the troops in Afghanistan. I cried and felt glorious, part of history. When my angel Nicole went to South African to hold the AIDS babies in her embrace and return home to decide that as the missionary she is her mission is to get water to the world's children. She has established WOW, Wells of Worship to get that done. My daughter got her first "A" in a major final in culinary school!!! My grandson becoming my coach and helping me with my fight against illness; Cecelia intently working her massage magic on my swollen hands and feet. Watching Annie with Nevaeh, patient, serious --a perfect mother. Listening to my friends cooking up some scheme du jour==for us to kick dust up is fun, fun. Kamili Sams working her docudrama on those impossible bank folks and yanking my loan mod through the mess that banks like to make. Charles Dickson's amazing art, Brenda Tyson's never flagging spirits and skill, Charmaine Jefferson's brilliance; Cheryl racing around with her new doggy Faith, getting rid of some old baggage and embracing some new makes me think 2010 will be the best year ever. Happy New Year, my friends and my enemies.

Who Are These People

My old high school friends Janice and Bill Schroelucke sent me our high school yearbook as a terrific Christmas present. I didn't remember any of the girls at all, just a lot of the boys because I was in all boys classes --architectural and mechanical drawing, etc. In an earlier phone convo with Janice, she had suggested that I didn't remember any of the girls since I was heading away from KY asap and they just weren't on my radar. That's true. I always thought I was a nerdy girl, brainy teacher's pet material, but Janice said mostly the girls were jealous of me because I seemed so independent and definitely not husband shopping like so many....lol. Wow perception is a bitch. But I looked through it hoping to find a face familiar, hmmm, but my memory seemed so clouded. Of course, I did get a good laugh at myself. Funny thing about habits, you don't really know when they started to become habits. But I have one that is funny for a girl who has spent a lifetime being as much of a hermit as being part of the media would allow. I so do not like photos snapped of me. That's why you see me deep in conversation with someone when a photo is taken. Apparently I was always like that, even at 14. I had joined some of the clubs --Latin Clubs, Gamma Sigma, Jr. and Sr. Council and more, but no where were there any pictures of me in any of those lined up-stare straight ahead snapshots. I was not in one picture, except for the mandatory black sweater and pearls number. My oldest friend whom I have known since I was five years old, that dashing Phil Hibbs has always sworn I never smiled. He was right on the money in my senior pix. There I am, not a smile in sight..looking out into the future that never thought it would find me here in Hollywood, sitting backstage and smiling.

I Love This Blogging Business

It seems I was not clear on my last post, so let me fix that. I will keep this blog going because I actually love it. But I'm fairly certain that I cannot manage to do my autobiography as my rep, the persistent, mercurial and wise Frank Mercado-Valdez has urged me to do--repeatedly. I started it once with this: "It was only two in the afternoon that Saturday, but it was pitch black in Ray's office. I stretched out on the desk, looking up at the skylight that looked like a moon and turned at the sound of the door opening. The wannabe moonlight illuminated Joe's sign For Colored Only. Ray had been humming Vaughn Monroe's Racing with the Moon coming out of the shower...." I'm the hesitant Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Babwa, Babwa, Babwa

I am watching the Jonathon Ross show on BBC America. In case you don't watch this, Ross has a speech impediment, along the lines of Babwa Walters. He is very, very charming however and today his sole guest was, wait for it....Babwa Striesand. I'm glad I was in my home when listening to him call her Babwa, while talking to her about Wobert Wedford. Help me, I laughed out loud while solitary in my living room and would have no matter if I'd been sitting with thousands, in fact. While I have always thought Striesand had a glorious, extraordinary voice, I didn't like her much in the human being department. Ross's interview of her revealed a kinder, gentler Striesand than my experience with her long ago at VH1. I'm happy for that and for the people like me who want to like her. The other day when looking at YouTube entries, I saw duet between Barbra and RC that was so amazing and intimate that I played it about half a dozen times before I could get enough. Music still makes my soul dream. I'm the songwriter Ruth Adkins Robinson