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The tragic news of someone finally taking responsibility in Matthew Perry's fatal overdose case has touched me deeply. Jasveen Sangha has agreed to plead guilty to federal charges for providing the ketamine that ultimately claimed Perry's life last October. As someone approaching four decades of sobriety, this case resonates with the harsh realities of addiction I've witnessed throughout my recovery journey.

My path to sobriety began in 1985, marked by early struggles, a brief relapse, and finally committing to recovery on November 12th of that year. Like many, I faced cultural stigmas about addiction—my father's dismissive claim that "there are no Jewish alcoholics" reflects misconceptions that still persist today. These attitudes can prevent people from seeking the help they desperately need.

What troubles me most about Perry's case is how it highlights a dangerous truth about addiction recovery: despite what advertisements might promise, no pill alone can maintain sobriety. Having battled my own demons—martinis and vodka that once fueled bar fights in my drinking days—I understand the allure of quick fixes. But lasting recovery demands more than medication; it requires comprehensive support and personal commitment.

To anyone struggling right now: recovery isn't easy, but nothing truly worthwhile ever is. Take it one day at a time. Matthew Perry's story ended tragically, but countless others find their way to lasting sobriety every day. If nobody has told you they love you today, I love you. You matter, exactly as you are. Stay sober today—just for today—and know you're never alone in this journey.

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Heroes shape our worldviews in ways that echo through decades. Robert F. Kennedy was that transformative figure for me—not just a politician, but a beacon of compassion in a turbulent era.

Through a reflective reading of a New York Times article, I share the story of RFK's tragic assassination on that fateful night in June 1968. What strikes me most was Kennedy's authenticity—how even in his moment of triumph after winning the California primary, he took time to acknowledge the kitchen workers, predominantly people of color who were invisible to most politicians. This wasn't political calculation but genuine connection. As journalist Pete Hamill described, Kennedy moved through "the sort of place where Puerto Ricans, blacks and Mexican-Americans usually work to fill white stomachs," showing respect to those society often overlooked.

The loss of RFK came just months after Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination, a devastating one-two punch that left many baby boomers like myself questioning if meaningful change was possible. Kennedy had been the one who broke the news of King's death to a predominantly Black audience with rare vulnerability, noting his own brother had been killed by a white man. While cities burned following King's murder, Indianapolis—where Kennedy spoke—remained calm, a testament to his unique ability to bridge divides.

I can't help but contrast Robert Kennedy's legacy of humility and compassion with what I perceive as the disappointing trajectory of his son, RFK Jr. For those who revered the father, the son's recent political positions feel like a betrayal of everything the original RFK stood for—his love for "everybody, especially the poor and the weak." Between reflections on this political heartbreak, I share glimpses of my current life—cleaning my new apartment, embracing simple joys, and reminding you that if nobody told you today, you are loved just for being you.

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I'm moving to a smaller apartment in our building because we can't afford our current place. After 10 years here and decades in LA, another move at 77 while caring for my husband with dementia feels overwhelming.

• Need to find additional work beyond acting and TikTok to supplement our income
• My lighting business was successful before I gave it up to pursue acting full-time
• Recently experienced severe depression and thoughts of not wanting to live
• Today is my estranged grandson Jackson's 18th birthday - haven't seen him in 13 years
• Moving requires sorting through accumulated possessions and dealing with emotional attachments
• Taking life one day at a time and focusing on my recovery program

If nobody told you they love you today, I love you because you're you. Keep doing what you're doing.

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Baseball connects us to our past in ways few other sports can. Today, I'm taking you back to the streets of Brooklyn in 1955, where a little girl fell in love with the Dodgers while her family was divided in their baseball loyalties. My father cheered for Willie Mays and the Giants, my brother worshipped Mickey Mantle and the Yankees, but my heart belonged to Brooklyn's Boys of Summer.

The crown jewel of my baseball memories remains Sandy Koufax, the Left Arm of God himself. Born in December 1935, Koufax transformed baseball during his 12 seasons with the Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodgers. His achievements remain staggering - three unanimous Cy Young Awards, an MVP season in 1963, and a Hall of Fame induction at just 36 years old. What's most remarkable is how Koufax dominated the sport despite retiring at 30 due to chronic elbow pain, long before modern sports medicine might have extended his career.

My passionate defense of Koufax comes in response to a Los Angeles Times article suggesting Clayton Kershaw has surpassed him as the greatest Dodgers pitcher ever. While Kershaw deserves celebration for reaching 3,000 strikeouts, comparing modern players to legends from different eras often fails to account for crucial context. Today's pitchers benefit from advanced training, carefully managed workloads, and medical treatments that simply didn't exist during Koufax's time. Some baseball legacies should stand untouched, honored for not just what was accomplished but how those feats were achieved. For this Brooklyn girl, Sandy Koufax remains baseball's ultimate pitching icon, regardless of what modern sportswriters might claim.

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A landmark achievement for indigenous rights has returned 73 square miles of land along the Klamath River to the Yurok tribe in California. This represents the conclusion of a 23-year effort and stands as potentially the largest land-back deal in California history.

• The returned land includes Blue Creek watershed, a culturally significant tributary that provides refuge for salmon
• The tribe plans to manage the area as the Blue Creek Salmon Sanctuary and Yurok Tribal Community Forest
• Tribal Chair Joseph L James emphasizes "We are salmon people. The river takes care of us"
• The returned land complements ecological restoration efforts, including dam removals that have opened salmon spawning grounds
• The achievement serves as an important example for the Land Back Movement across North America
• Historical context from "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" highlights the systematic displacement of indigenous peoples
• Personal reflection on the importance of acknowledging America's colonial past and indigenous stewardship

If nobody told you they loved you today, I love you because you are you. Be yourself and open your heart today and let people in who are themselves.

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A frightening display of power unfolded in Los Angeles when Senator Alex Padilla was physically restrained, forced to the ground, and handcuffed simply for questioning Homeland Security Secretary Christy Noem during a press conference. The confrontation began when Noem used alarming rhetoric about "liberating" California cities from their democratically elected leadership, describing Governor Newsom and Mayor Bass in terms typically reserved for authoritarian regimes.

The treatment of Senator Padilla reveals a deeper crisis in American democracy. Despite repeatedly identifying himself as a United States Senator, security personnel roughly handled him as if he posed a threat. As Padilla himself noted afterward, "If that's what they do to a United States senator with a question, imagine what they do to farm workers, day laborers, cooks and the other non-violent immigrants they are targeting." This sobering reality check forces us to confront how power is being wielded against vulnerable communities.

This incident resonates personally with many Americans whose families came to this country seeking safety and opportunity. I share my own grandmother's story - working a pushcart selling underwear for twenty years before becoming a citizen in 1940. Had she been "rounded up" and returned to Poland during those two decades, she likely would have perished in the Holocaust. These personal histories remind us what's truly at stake in today's immigration debates. At its core, this is about preserving America's founding principle that everyone deserves dignity and respect. Subscribe to hear more unfiltered perspectives on the challenges facing our democracy and join a community committed to speaking truth in difficult times.

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Los Angeles has transformed dramatically since I first arrived in 1976. What was once a city of dreams and opportunity now fills me with a profound sadness as I witness the unrest downtown and growing challenges that make even visiting familiar places feel unsafe.

My thoughts turn to my grandmother Gittel Bernstein, who arrived from Poland in 1920 and spent twenty years in America before becoming a citizen. Throughout those decades, despite her non-citizen status, she built a remarkable life – starting with a simple pushcart selling dry goods, progressing to a market stand, and eventually opening her own store across from the kosher chicken market where I would watch, fascinated, as rabbis performed ritual slaughter. In today's America, would she have been deported back to Poland to face the horrors of Auschwitz? This thought haunts me as I consider how our approach to immigration has evolved.

The homelessness crisis that prompted me to launch a podcast several years ago remains largely unresolved despite endless discussions. As I approach my 78th birthday, I find myself seeking refuge in Turner Classic Movies – escaping into films from the 1920s through the 1950s, before cinema took turns I never quite embraced in the 1960s. These old movies comfort me when reality becomes too harsh. Despite my concerns, I remain grateful for meaningful relationships, especially with my husband Ed, and continue to believe in fighting for an America where everyone has the opportunity to contribute and belong. Because if nobody told you they love you today, I love you – simply because you're you. Fight on, because you're worth it.

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