Sunday, December 4, 2016


In the last few minutes of this video, Lucy says things about her marriage to Ricky that are exactly what I figured out about my marriage to Tom, which I have written about in FIFTY SHADES.

Barbara Walters says people don't understand what went wrong in their marriage. Ricky drank and cheated. Lucy poignantly says that she couldn't understand what went wrong, either. They had everything. What more could you ask for? This is exactly what I felt when I found out that Tom had been a lifelong cheater. Why? We were so happy. We had everything. But I got my answer from the world of spirit. No, I'm not crazy, just a little bit psychic. Lucy obviously still loves Ricky every bit as much as I still love Tom. But.

Lucy says that Ricky was a loser. Nobody knows better than Lucy that Ricky was about the smartest, richest guy in Hollywood, so he was anything but a loser. But she adds, "He had to lose. He won at everything and then he had to lose. He had to fail. Everything he built, he had to break down."

Tom was just like that, too. Everything good that ever happened to him, he had to throw away. Finally, he threw away his life. It was mystifying, until he started showing me things in dreams to explain why.

Lucy then says something that I have also felt so strongly about my marriage. She says that with her new husband she has a home that is lived in. She and Desi had lots of houses, but they didn't have a home.

We didn't have lots of houses, but the same is true. We never had a home, a place where we loved and supported each other. Tom always seemed to have one foot out the door. He was always running away from home.

It took me many months of thought and research to finally understand why Tom why did these things, because, like Ricky, Tom was a smart guy who could have had it all, but he had to throw it all away. It's a psychological complex that seems to persist in the afterlife. All this is explored in FIFTY SHADES in greater detail.

I am so grateful to Lucy, not only for her brilliant comedy, but for her honesty about her love for Ricky and her experiences. Sometimes I feel very alone with my strange memories of a man I loved who did such self destructive and difficult to understand things.

Also, I have tried and tried to enable the comments for these posts. Once again, it does not seem to work, but I am not sure. If you have tried to comment and not been able to, please drop me an email at  I may have to switch operations to Wordpress, because this comment situation has plagued me for years. It seems to work for awhile, then won't let people comment. Thank you for your help in this matter.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016


The thing about getting older is you’re looking at life through the other end of the telescope. The things that seemed very big from the point of view of youth are barely visible now. The really important things that were happening to you when you were young were as imperceptible then as a tsunami at sea. From the other end of the telescope, your life story turns out not to be what you thought. Not even close.

I’m a Baby Boomer, part of that wild and crazy generation which rose like a Phoenix from the ashes of World War Two. You remember us; we were the Woodstock Generation, the ones whooping it up to the dulcet tones of Hard Rock, tossing our clothes off, yelling epithets, and taking to the streets to stop the war in Vietnam. We started the sexual revolution and dragged sex out of the closet along with our father's copy of Playboy. But my generation was just getting started. Urged on by that red-haired reprobate and Francophile, Thomas Jefferson, we pursued happiness fervently in every way imaginable, blazing new trails into every kind of experience, relentlessly questioning everything and fearlessly throwing tradition out the window. My generation has been written off many times as merely frivolous libertines, but my backwards telescope sees something very different.

What drove the baby boomers on this quest to understand every ism, overturn every given truth and put all our faith in science? We grew up in the dark shadow of the deadliest bloodbath and wanton slaughter mankind has ever perpetrated on itself. Those events were part of our family’s’ histories. We saw the way our parents avoided dealing with so much and how they suppressed or ignored their desires and emotions, happy to be just like Dick, Jane and Sally in our first-grade readers. They were shell shocked. Just as their childhood ended and they were ready to start lives of their own, it turned out those lives were already forfeit. The whole world exploded in a rage of death. All our mothers had lost their first young loves in the gruesome war, or knew someone who had. In the first bloom of youth, all the fine young men had been dragged from the comfort of home and thrown into a fight to the death against a merciless horror and sickening evil that had suddenly erupted. Life became a desperate struggle, just when it should have been sweetest. Millions of those young men and women endured terrible hardship, injury and disease; hundreds of thousands never got to come home.

When it was over, the lucky ones who survived just wanted to forget. The good life was a TV dinner, a new car, and a cookie cutter house in the suburbs. Their only safety was in everyone doing their part and pulling together. Big ideas were anathema; they wanted Good Housekeeping and Better Homes and Gardens. They knew something terrible lurked in the hearts of mankind, something that could flare up and condemn millions to grisly death; something which no amount of talking or excellence or tears could stop. Only killing could stop killing. And that must be avoided, at all costs.

The unimaginable horror our parents had lived through and witnessed firsthand was terrifying and permeated all our youthful perceptions. It reared its frightening head in television shows and news programs, in the newspapers, the movies, and in the parades where the veterans marched. War was the wound that was just starting to heal. It was the chilling and very recent past we heard so much about and never wanted to repeat. It haunted us like the monsters that lurk under a child’s bed at night, threatening always to leap out of the dark and devour our happiness and our very lives, the way it had done to our mothers and fathers. Only science seemed able to provide real and tangible benefits that might outrun the devil. Progress was the buzzword; better living through chemistry; see the USA in your Chevrolet.

It was left to us, their children and consolation, to try to figure out what had gone so terribly wrong in the hearts and minds of humanity to make them viciously and eagerly kill tens of millions. We looked for reasons everywhere, in history books that spoke of economic woes, racism, nationalism, fascism, and communism, in churches to find out where God had been hiding, and in our own homes for signs of incipient violence and discord. But we knew there must have been something deeper at work to cause civilization to nearly self-destruct. The great question was why; why had the world descended into mass murder on such a gigantic scale? That was the question we urgently needed to answer.

And our answer was science. Science was life examined, a discipline capable of deactivating all violent emotion. Pure rationality was the tonic that could cure the deadly war germ. Consequently, we disowned emotions, explained them away and longed for a world subject to the far superior artificial intelligence as our salvation. Humanity was flawed and ugly, only science was pure and clean. Human hearts and feelings were excess baggage that intelligent people should wisely discard. We saw people who didn’t seem to know what was best for them and imposed scientific solutions. We developed a monomania for rationality, rules and scientific studies, believing that anything with numbers must be truth.

Only science could save us from ourselves. Scientists were the new gurus. We were all going to be Scientific Americans. Too late, we realized that if science could save us, it could also destroy us in startling new ways scientists had only just devised. Science had conferred unlimited power on mankind. We needed one science to obey and believe in, one rationality that all must submit to, or the monster would come out from under the bed. Before we knew what had happened, we were right back where we’d started, at the crossroads of kill or be killed. And so, we went the way of all flesh.

Just like everyone else in my generation, I had a vague fear of a worldwide cataclysm breaking out again. But other than that, my youthful ambitions were fairly normal and modest. Of course, I wanted a taste of adventure, to see some of the world, and to do great things. But I would happily settle for doing work that I was proud of, falling in love with a good man and having a happy family. Those really didn’t seem like impossible dreams, not for one of the children of progress.

However, by the beginning of the third act of my life, the plot was mired in calamity, and nothing had worked out. My contentious family was an ongoing disaster. My husband and I had spent most of our life in what we called survival mode, trying to do what we loved and barely getting by. Then, after thirty-five-years of marriage, Tom passed away, and I got lost in a dark night of the soul. I couldn’t figure out what had happened to us or why. Then, just when it looked like the final curtain was about to ring down on all my hopes and dreams, the end of the third act had a plot twist that turned my world upside down for a surprise ending that I still find hard to believe.

You have to be old to write a story like this. If you were young, no one would believe you.

Monday, August 22, 2016


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This "make a memory" kick started because I read about how important it is to make good memories with those you love in a book by Allison Dubois. Something about that got me thinking. I am so often caught up in just getting through the day that the idea of consciously making a good memory had never occurred to me.

Maybe we're all like that. Or maybe I'm just too goal directed and don't know how to enjoy life. Or did I just forget somewhere along the line that life is supposed to have happy moments? Maybe I'm just getting old and grouchy.

But the spiritual psychic value of doing things that are special with those in your family who you love somehow had gotten lost over the years. (See my book "Fifty Shades of Gray Hair - Second Sight" for a full explanation of what happened to my marriage.) My son and I do see each other quite often. He stops by for his dinner break from his job. He keeps some of his wardrobe in my closet. But doing something special and something that we would always remember as a fun time seemed very important. Mom wants to make a memory together.

I mentioned the idea to him and he was very enthusiastic, got on the computer and got us tickets for the Seattle Symphony, Rimsky-Korsakov with their Grammy winning violist soloing. The son was lucky enough to be in a school where every child had a music class every day from fourth grade on. He learned the cello. It was the very best thing that he ever studied. Consequently, he loves music and especially string instruments. I love music and as son pointed out, Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade is a very romantic piece of music, something you'll love mom. Well, he has me pegged as ridiculously romantic, and he's not far wrong. But how perfect. Violins and Scheherazade.

So we're on for a big adventure with my twenty something son overnight in Seattle. Got the hotel, a nice, reasonably priced one within walking distance of Benaroya Hall, got Amtrak tickets for early trip down and back the next evening.

And then I had a "Tom" dream. The son and I were in a taxi cab going up an extremely steep hill. Walking the other way on the sidewalk, I saw Tom in his Hawaiian shirt. He didn't look at us, I was about to call hello to him, but our cab took off up the hill and it was too late. When Tom appears in my dreams, I always sense him as a presence, feel his spirit, or something like that. But it's always very different from dreams of just passing images. This dream had that psychic impact that often tells me to pay attention. Well, I thought, he's glad I'm doing something good with our son. The marriage may have been a bust, but we both loved being parents.

Everything goes great. Eight am Amtrak ride is delightful. We go to Pike Place Market. Great lunch. Aquarium. And when we are exhausted, at the bottom of the very steep hill that leads to our hotel, miraculously a cab drops off a passenger right where we are standing in the middle of the street. We grab it, and head up the 45 degree hill, just like the dream. I laugh to myself. Hi Tom.

As we walk over to Benaroya Hall, I share with my son very good memories of before he was born, when Tom and I used to go to the opera at Lincoln Center. His opinion of his father goes up. In later years, Tom gave up on all that kind of thing.

Concert is fabulous. We have an incredible time. Great late supper after the symphony, much intellectual discussion of music, culture, and our new lives on the west coast. Son and I bond; we're still trying to figure out what happened to us when Tom died, but we rarely touch directly on that topic these days. Too heavy. This is fun trip.

Next morning, hotel was perfect, but neither of us slept that well. We're tired out from our big day yesterday. And then we realize we have to check out of the hotel by 11 am. The train home doesn't leave till seven something. Houston, we have a problem. The idea of spending eight more hours bouncing around Seattle, even if it means the Space Needle and the EMP Museum, is just more than either of us can manage. I've made a mistake. I should have booked the bus home at 11 something am.

We're both getting cranky and I am in a panic. Are we going to be vagabonds carrying our backpacks around Seattle for the next seven hours? Yesterday was great, but this is going to spoil the "memory" I was making.

We are trudging along when suddenly I notice that I'm pretty sure we are on the street where the Bellaire Bus that goes to our town has a stop, if they have passengers to pick up or drop off. It's almost 11:30, but I don't remember the exact time the bus is due at this stop, just that it's around 11 am. And I don't remember exactly what building the stop is in, either, but I've taken that bus several times from the airport and am sure I can find that building where the bus pulls off the street to pick up passengers. I think.

I race up the hill followed by son. Then, miraculously, I see the bus ahead of us. It turns into the entrance of a building a little further up the hill. If we hurry, we can catch it. We charge in after it. It stops. They are running twenty minutes late. They have room for two unscheduled riders. We get on. Thank you Tom. I don't know how you do these things. But coincidence? I don't think so. My son and I had a great memory of a great day in Seattle doing things we love and enjoying life and each other. We miss our guy who left us a lot. Even if I can't totally forgive him, I guess I still love him. We both do. And I am sure he was there with us on our "make a memory day" in Seattle. In fact, he saved the day. And wearing his Hawaiian shirt, no less.

Model with Eileen Ford - Sex and Spirituality

I notice a lot a people claim they were Ford Models, but offer very little proof. So I decided that I'd better show you that I wasn't just blowing smoke. Below are some samples from my modelling days. I was a model before I was psychic, or even married to an actor. Even though I may look a bit dreamy in some of these photos, if you'd told me someday I would see the spiritual world behind this real world, I wouldn't have listened to you for a nanosecond. Ah, how very wrong I was about so much.

Notice THE FORDS logo in lower right hand corner
Photo by Richard Noble for Revlon
Hiro for Harper's Bazaar
Same shoot - Hiro for Harper's Bazaar
Hiro for Harper's Bazaar
Hiro for Harper's Bazaar
Concord watch Ad
Vogue Beauty Issue
Composite head shot
Vogue Beauty Issue
James Moore Harper's Bazaar
James Moore Harper's Bazaar
Hiro for Harper's Bazaar
Elizabeth Arden

Thursday, May 26, 2016


This is an Amazon review of the book written by the man who wrote THE EXORCIST, William Peter Blatty.

This review is from: Finding Peter: A True Story of the Hand of Providence and Evidence of Life after Death (Kindle Edition)
I gave four stars because you have to work a little at this book to fully enjoy it. Blatty is a novelist, not a reporter. His story is unfolded like a delightfully discursive novel, chatty, amusing, full of small, but telling details at a leisurely pace. He uses this story telling technique to prove to us that there is life after death. I think he succeeds and provides a very good read while he does it.

As the author of 'The Exorcist', he has much to work against in telling this story, because of the huge impact that his movie has had. Blatty carries with him already the aura of otherworldly occurrences, scary and divine. But he handles all that with a great sense of humor.

His own life story is so interesting and so unique, that knowing it does make his experiences communicating with his deceased son after death more believable. Sometimes, I felt that he was so worried that you wouldn't believe his unusual experiences and their deep meaning, that he works too hard at telling the incident and can be a little confusing. If he had a movie crew and actors, it would be easier for him to get across the impact of his experiences with the paranormal. But, his heart is in what he's doing, and he has a moving, spiritually uplifting story to tell. He is a man of great faith, and that faith illuminates his story and makes it reassuring, rather than threatening.

Having communicated with my husband from beyond the grave and tried to write about it, I know how difficult it is to establish your proof. To prove something, you have to weigh the feelings unemotionally, along with the other evidence. At my blog, I do try to do that as I relate my experiences.

I bought this book immediately, because it is a subject that I have been interested in for years. Mr. Blatty has a distinguished career in film, a world that my actor husband worked in. I very much enjoyed all his Hollywood gossip mixed in with his psychic experiences.

This is a thoroughly enjoyable book that helps to reaffirm one's faith in God.

Okay, it's Sunday, April 19, 2015 and the most amazing thing just happened to me through the grace of William Peter Blatty, I think. Last night as I read in bed as I usually do, I got to the part at the end of the book where friends of Mr. Blatty's son, who had passed away, asked for roses from Peter to show he was there. Even Mr. Blatty asked for a blue rose, impossible color for roses, but got it. All the friends got the roses they asked for. I felt a little sorry for myself, because I knew I would never have the guts to ask for a sign like that. I guess I was afraid to be disappointed. But somebody heard me and I got my rose and big hug today. Apparently it's red rose day at Fred Meyers. But I didn't know this. I checked out and said hi to one of FM friends, she said 'I'm just going home now. I want you to have my last red rose." I cried all the way home in my car. I can't believe it. Thank you Mr. Blatty for your tremendous faith in God.

Sunday, May 22, 2016


The very first time I ever consulted a professional psychic, I was long past the parlor trick stage of seriousness. The medium did not have to come up with "things there was no way they could have known by googling me" type of information to prove they weren't faking it. I already knew that I could and often did see the future, and that my dead husband as well as other members of my family were visiting me and communicating with me. I had tried for years to disprove what was happening, but at last accepted those experiences as true.
Also, I took communications from the other side VERY seriously. Frankly, they scared me to death, metaphorically, of course. The first time I called a psychic was because I was about to initiate a move across country and was looking for some support or insight about that decision. A friend had a psychic she occasionally spoke to so I called her. The session was all very vague and rambling, but she certainly got the message that I belonged in Washington State. I felt reassured.
Another unusual feature of that session was that it showed me that when I consult a medium, it is emotionally exhausting. It's as if I've stuck my soul into an electric socket. After this session and all the others, but one, I have had to lie down and sleep for several hours. Mediums say that the receptivity of the sitter makes no difference in their ability to read the spirits, and I believe them. I think my response is some peculiar feature of how my psychic ability works. I have heard that other people get confused and tired when they are being read by psychics, so it's not that unusual. But the first time it happened, it was as if I'd just gotten off the scariest ride at the boardwalk and was so dizzy and disoriented that I had to lie down and recover.
The second time I set up a session with a medium was the only time I didn't get that feeling, and I now believe I know why. This was an in person session with a medium who was very into Egyptian mystic things. When I arrived at her house, she had already been contacted by someone passed over who was related to me. It was a person who I would NEVER have contacted for any reason, a person who everyone in the family felt safer because that person was dead and buried. So, this person coming through was a disturbing shock. And this woman also did something where she was able to get into my mind just briefly showing me a symbol of herself as a bird by an open window. I think she was doing magic of some sort, which I knew nothing about and still don't. But, when I was with her, I never got that soul in the socket feeling. I think I was being protected from her because she was dangerous to me, somehow. Needless to say, I never contacted her again.
I took several courses in spiritual growth at the Simply Spirit Center with Jill Miller, who is a lovely, gentle clairvoyant and healer. I did this because I couldn't imagine how this psychic stuff could possibly work or be taught and was curious. I went to an open house and the reader there was instantly contacted by a man whose name she said was Ron. I had no idea who it could be. Couldn't remember anyone named Ron. Then suddenly I said, Ron Silver? Yes. I had studied acting with him and he was my friend for many years. Then he got married to his live in and I got married to mine, and we had lots of evenings together as couples. But when he appeared to the medium, completely unexpectedly, I suddenly realized that studying about spiritual things with a diverse group of interested people would be much like the interesting times we'd shared studying acting together: intense, psychological, freeing and meeting interesting people. He had died of the same thing Tom died of, at the same hospital just months before Tom passed away. In fact, they had done a scene together in a movie just before they both were diagnosed with inoperable esophageal cancer. Very strange how our lives crossed paths so many times, without ever really getting any closer to each other.
At any rate, I loved studying with Jill and learning about chakras. Meditating is very relaxing, energy massages are wonderful and it was a terrific learning experience. I have the greatest respect for Jill Miller who is a very intelligent, gifted person in every way. My big proof, which is kind of funny, but sometimes it's the small things that are more convincing than the big stuff, occurred in Jill's class on developing your psychic powers. We got in touch with our psychic vision by meditating, and when we had cleansed our energy and connected the earth energy to the universal spirit energy, we would use our sixth chakra in the forehead to visualize a movie screen, ask a question and let a rose appear. Then we were to interpret the rose for the information that the universe was giving us.
I know this all sounds ridiculous, but hang in there with me, because it was fascinating the way the universe really did answer. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, usually a rose of some sort would appear. So we were assigned partners to do an exercise where they asked a question and we looked at our rose to see what kind of answer we got. My partner was a lady with a terrific sense of humor, a real no nonsense, down to earth person, the last person in the world you'd expect to be in a class for psychics. I prepared myself, got ready for the rose to appear, and she asked her question. She said tell me about my foot. I told you she was funny. So gradually this rose appears. I struggle with it. The stem was a bit twisted, the rose drooped a bit, but looked pretty healthy. I told her all this. She said she'd had some kind of operation on her foot. I felt like a failure for not getting anything more. So I said I'm not getting much and the darn rose won't come into the middle of the screen, it just stays on the right. She laughed and said it's my right foot. So, I did get one very important fact about her foot. I didn't interpret it correctly, but it had been literally staring me in the face.
I've read a million books on psychic's and mediums. I almost always learn something from each book. While there are many interesting similarities, each psychic and medium is very different, so they bring different insights to us from the world of spirit as they see it. In the way that no two novelists have the same vision of the world they write about, no two psychics see the spirit world in the same way. And none of their visions is the definitive vision. This is why I stick to Christianity. The vision of the world that Jesus had seems to me the most tested and reliable vision, but there have been as many artistic representations of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, God, the Holy Spirit as there are psychic's and mediums' visions of the afterlife, so I see that as a win/win situation. Enjoy the loving visions of your fellow seekers of every spiritual persuasion, religion and tradition. Except for the pure magic stuff. That scares me.
My Christianity is derived from Julian of Norwich. I don't believe there is any wrath in God. I believe by sinning, we find self knowledge and the way to God. I believe sin is caused by ignorance and naivety. I believe God has sent us here, but that we fell down in a sort of a deep trench, as Julian saw it in her vision, and we are bruised and find it hard to get back to God. I believe God loves us and will glorify us for all that we suffer here. I think he appreciates our love of him more than we can understand in this life. I believe Jesus will save us all. "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." 

Saturday, April 9, 2016


As I read more about mediums, psychics and consciousness research, it seems to me that my psychic experiences and communications with my husband after his death weave all those realms of insight together into a unique vision of life and God working with each other. I started from absolute zero, believing the Christianity I was taught in Church to be nothing more than a relict of Western culture. Religion and faith were interesting only as widespread social supports that seemed to have useful meanings and functions. Neither I nor anyone in my immediate family believed in anything supernatural, including God. The people I did know who believed in God or any other spiritual hocus pocus, I considered charmingly eccentric. And in my job as a fashion model and an actress I met many eccentric people of varying degrees and types of faith. I don’t think it’s an accident that most artists have some sort of faith in higher powers. The very act of creating art can be interpreted as a gesture to the unseen and unknown all around us and inside us. Creating art also requires faith that human feelings and insights are valuable, in and of themselves.

So the journey of my life has been from what I considered normal person to confirmed eccentric believer. Since my habit was always to dismiss or rationalize away all the psychic and ghostly events that happened to me, it was only when I started seeing the future while I was wide awake that I was forced to confront the reality that something scientifically and physically impossible was happening all around me.

But it didn’t stop there. Having no preconceptions of what the universe consisted of or what might be going on, I approached the things that happened to me from a very analytical point of view. The working model I have created of the universe and God is based solely on my life and my experiences, which proved to me that in this real world there is another equally real world all around us. It is a spiritual universe where there are secrets to success and happiness, as in the popular book The Secret, but these are secrets more likely to be found in your understanding of your heart, which you gain from Grimm’s Fairy Tales, The Tales of the Arabian Nights of Scheherazade and all the various religious books and traditions that quest for the spiritual life and God. There is also a scientific Field of Intent, as in that book The Field, but that intent is much more elusive and more likely to be discovered in a movie or in the story of your life than what you think you intend.

It seems to me that in order to believe in God, you have to believe in the supernatural. Once I accepted that supernatural things were happening to me, all Christ's miracles and his resurrection were believable as real events in this world, not dusty mythology of dead cultures.

Finally, I have learned to believe in a universal Santa Claus, but it’s a very long and difficult trek to find him. He doesn’t live at the North Pole by accident. Therefore, it’s very beneficial that he comes every year at Christmas to give us gifts and remind us that while it may be more blessed to give than to receive, it is frequently more difficult to receive than to give and almost impossible to trust that you made his good boy and girl list.

It’s been a long, sad, laughing, happy, tragic journey in this world for me, but my life has been rich beyond imagining. My experiences have been crazy unlikely, but have proved absolutely that we do survive as ourselves in the great beyond, and that there is more to our being than we even know as we live our lives. I have tried to share these experiences in Fifty Shades of Gray Hair so they will have the same impact on your consciousness as they had on mine. Like the rainbow inside of crystal, I see all the colors and feel them, too, now.