Day 16

When I was in my 20s I had a dream that I had two best friends: Roseanne Barr and Oprah Winfrey. They would call me on the telephone in the evenings and share their frustrations. I would offer sage advice on managing a sitcom or dealing with talk show guests.

Just the other day I saw Roseanne on a talk show, touting her new book. It was like a reunion with an old friend. I was intrigued by what she had to say about parenting. She was honest about her regrets, wishing that instead of trying to discipline, shape and control her children, she had merely loved them from a place of acceptance and understanding. I felt connected to her again through our shared experience and I was grateful for her candor, her authenticity.

Roseanne told this fabulous story about selling her soul to the devil in exchange for success. The hosts of the show, a collection of Hollywood housewives, looked on, their painted-on faces creased with confusion. They were obviously afraid of what she might say next. They were afraid of her, a woman unleashed. I laughed out loud when she said that her "national anthem debacle" was the first sign that the devil had come back to claim her soul.

I loved it when Roseanne sang the national anthem, belting it out in strangled tones and ending with her characteristic cackle. She was responding to the muse, marching to the beat of her own drummer. It took courage, woman balls. I dream of being so bold. Roseanne is an inspiration.

After seeing Roseanne on television, I found myself daydreaming. I imagined myself writing a letter to her with a proposal to write a book together, a book on parenting by two old crones who survived the trenches and emerged not as heroes but wiser none the less. She would love the idea and invite me to her nut farm in Hawaii. We would work on the book together on lawn chairs beneath the macadamia trees. We would sip margaritas, laugh, create and laugh some more. I would learn to be more bold, not by watching Roseanne but by living my dreams.