What was I doing here? I wondered as I looked beyond the guest room into the backyard pool.  I had been invited by one of my screen idols, Loretta Young, to stay with her in her house in Palm Springs California for as long as I wanted.  Loretta had read my books on angels, and had contacted me a few months ago, asking if I would consider writing her biography.  I had been stunned, and after making sure the telephone call was not a prank,  had stammered that surely there were millions of Hollywood-area writers who could do her book better than I.  ???But I want the book to be about my faith as well as my movies and television shows,??? Loretta had pointed out.  ???This is what you write about, isn??™t it????

Well, yes, I had admitted.  But I wasn??™t trained as a biographer.  That kind of journalism takes a special skill, and Loretta??™s long and amazing career deserved the best.  ???I??™ve never done anything like this before,??? I told her.

???Neither have I, dear,??? came the soft answer.  ???Couldn??™t we learn together????

My husband nearly pushed me out the door. ???You??™d be crazy not to go,??? he pointed out.  ???At least see if you like each other.  You can always get on a plane and come home.???

My first impression of Loretta was her beauty; she was still stunning at the age of 85.  The second was her genuine warmth, as she greeted me with a hug on the day I arrived.   She laughed easily, especially at her own foibles, and kept her Oscar and Emmy on a kitchen shelf.  I soon learned that her relationship with God was far more important to her than the material blessings she??™d earned, and I joined her at daily mass and prayer time in a hospital chapel.  (Afterwards she would often visit patients in the hospice unit, holding them in her arms and whispering words of comfort.)  A generous and remarkable woman---but I felt inadequate, without the faintest idea of how to construct a book about her.  Now, looking out the window, I wondered if I should admit defeat and go home.

I decided to talk to Loretta about it after mass, and joined her as she was pulling out of the garage.  Her car was a huge dented Chevy Caprice station wagon---more like a boat---and as everyone acknowledged, Loretta was a terrible driver.  She rarely cleared her driveway without knocking over a trash can, and was known for ignoring red lights.  Fortunately, the hospital was nearby, and we chatted comfortably as we drove along.  Ahead, I noticed, was a four-way stop.  A car facing us had already come to a halt, and was making a left turn.  Loretta, however, showed no sign of slowing.  I gripped the armrest as she sailed into the intersection.

The other driver slammed on his brakes, just missing us.  Loretta swerved around him, then turned and smiled at me.  ???This is why I love Palm Springs,??? she pointed out.  ???Everyone here is so friendly. They all wave at me!???

???Loretta,??? I said slowly, ???I don??™t think that man was waving at you??¦???

???Perhaps not, dear,??? she acknowledged, and suddenly I saw the twinkle in her eyes.  ???But isn??™t life all in the way you look at it????

The way you look at it.  I had been regarding a book about Loretta as a huge and difficult project.  But it could also be something marvelous and memorable, a blessed detour in my own career plans.  It was all in the way I looked at it??¦.

Loretta died a few months before FOREVER YOUNG was released.  I miss her still, but I know she??™s reaping the rewards of a life well spent---and lighting up heaven with her laughter. 

Joan Wester Anderson,
Author of the New York Times bestseller, WHERE ANGELS WALK
www.joanwanderson.com