Jay Robert

Business/actor/T.Robbins cert.motivational speaker/💎Son & brother to Linda💎🦋💔💜🙏💎)Married❤️/Now is a🎁#AdoptAnAngel😻 #FranklyGratitude(Instagram)✌️

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@NancySinatra 💜☮️🙏

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@KenTumin Followup Ken!🙃

[Ken Tumin @KenTumin]

“A decision to hold on Wednesday could again draw dissents from those officials [who dissented in July.]”

It’ll be interesting to see who dissents.

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@franksinatra Genius & singular are overused words , but #SinatraAtTheSands60Th is yet another another example of why there is #Frank and then everyone else. The alternates are each unique in the Now magical ;authentic and real as no artist has or will ever be again.💎🧡

[Frank Sinatra @franksinatra]

Sinatra performing in The Copa Room was Vegas’s hottest ticket in town in 1966. 🎟️

https://t.co/JKLxN49Pwp

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@HankAzaria Phenomenal performance and film. You are a brilliant artist. The contrast that certifies my statement is your contrasting performance in the poignant and magnificent “Tuesdays With Morrie”! Jack Lemmon was a lifetime favorite of mine and a gem of a soul!👊💜

[Hank Azaria @HankAzaria]

Agador loves to shake his 🍑

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@NancySinatra Life as we know too well can be very unfair.Karma that you referenced some years back in regards to a demon whom you were connected to by marriage does not always have its day!Some gems suffer while dregs are President! Nancy,bless her soul & bless us all💜🙏

[Nancy Sinatra @NancySinatra]

Today is my old pal Annette Funicello’s birthday! She and I were great friends. She was just as wonderful as you’d imagine. I didn’t even hold it against her when our shared agent (and later her husband), Jack Gilardi, cast her in all those Beach Party movies! 😂🏖️💕

I loved her dearly and miss her terribly. Her illness and death were heartbreaking, and the suffering she endured was unimaginable. She now soars with the angels.

Happy birthday in Heaven, Annie. ❤️🙏🏻

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@KenTumin Hello my friend. See dm. Have a fabulous day Ken✋☕️☕️🤝

[Ken Tumin @KenTumin]

Bank of America Q3 earnings provide a good example of how much deposits are earning essentially zero interest. BofA’s Consumer Banking reported $485 billion sitting in checking accounts with essentially zero interest rates.

[Vee_Defi @vee_is_tired]

Michael Douglas says he was completely abandoned by all his Hollywood friends during a brutal stage four cancer death watch, forcing him to abruptly walk away after 50 years.

"I had stage four cancer 16 years ago, and wasn't sure I wasn't hearing from any friends, you know".

"And I realized when he had a stage four they're kind of nervous about whether to say goodbye to you or what".

"And this guy Shane Salerno who had written helped his screenplay for me someday, so I write me his notes and you know coach me okay I really appreciate it".

"And I came through and over the years Shane kept pushing and pushing and then finally I stopped sort of working the end of 22 beginning of 23".

"I just woke up one day so I'm tired and I haven't done it for 50 years".

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@mattmiller1973 @HannahElliott Matt, awesome to see you today. You are /were so missed . We love you you , extended family for almost two decades. Bless you all and congratulations. See you soon . Much love❤️☕️☕️🤝✋

[Matt Miller @mattmiller1973]

Bloomberg Hot Pursuit! w/ @HannahElliott — it’s a great podcast, you should listen: https://t.co/vzkB0alwE2

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@chartmastersorg Please update his figures , singular career(opened 26y again in top 10 Billboard 200 and #1 adult contemporary chart; 200 weeks at number 1 on Jazz chart and 11 years in top 10 almost nonstop);charisma; most enduring artist ever. As contemporary as ever

[ChartMasters.org @chartmastersorg]

Frank Sinatra's My Way just went past 800 million streams on Spotify. It's his second song to reach this mark, following Fly Me To The Moon.

[The Husky @Mr_Husky1]

Nine years of working night shifts in hospice care taught me something I’ll never forget:

People nearing the end of their lives rarely ask for the things you’d expect.

Sometimes, they don’t ask for God. They don’t ask for miracles. Sometimes, they ask for something so small it breaks your heart.

Room 4 belonged to an 86-year-old man named Walter. He had lung cancer. His wife, Dorothy, had died in 2019, and he hadn’t had a single visitor in eleven days.

One night, around 2 a.m., he waved me over.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No,” I told him.

He nodded slowly. “Then you probably don’t wear perfume.”

I smiled and told him I had some in my locker.

“What kind?”

“Nothing fancy. Just something cheap from the drugstore.”

He shook his head.

“Dorothy wore White Shoulders. Every night before bed. Not for church. For bed.”

He chuckled, but the laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit. When he finally caught his breath, he looked at the ceiling and said something I still think about.

“I used to tell her she was wasting it on me. She’d say, ‘The good stuff isn't for God. It’s for whoever has to look at you in the morning.’”

Then he smiled.

Not the polite smile people give strangers. The kind that belongs to someone remembering the best years of his life.

I finished my shift at seven that morning, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Dorothy.

So I drove to three different pharmacies until I finally found a bottle of White Shoulders. It was tucked on the bottom shelf, behind the nail polish remover.

$18.99.

That evening, on my night off, I went back to the hospice.

Walter was asleep.

I didn’t wake him. I sprayed a little perfume on the inside of his pillowcase, then sprayed a washcloth and gently folded it across his chest.

I sat beside him for a while.

He never opened his eyes.

But slowly, almost painfully slowly, his hand rose from the blanket. He reached for the washcloth and rested his palm flat against it.

Then he held it there.

His breathing softened. His face relaxed. For the first time in days, the tension seemed to leave his body.

I've watched many people die over the years. Nurses learn to recognize the moments when someone stops struggling against what is coming.

That night, I watched Walter settle into a memory that was bigger than the room he was lying in.

Maybe he was remembering Dorothy getting ready for bed. Maybe he was remembering the way she smelled when she climbed beside him. Maybe, for a few precious minutes, he wasn't an 86-year-old man dying alone.

Maybe he was simply a husband lying next to his wife again.

Walter passed away on Thursday morning.

Nobody came to collect his belongings.

His room was cleaned, his bed was remade, and eventually another patient moved in. The world kept going, as it always does.

But I never forgot him.

People think hospice care is about managing pain, administering medication, and making someone comfortable during their final days.

And yes, it is.

But sometimes, comfort isn't a medication.

Sometimes, it's a familiar song.
A voice you haven't heard in years.
A hand holding yours when the room goes quiet.
Or the smell of the person you loved most in the world.

We spend our entire lives building what we call home. We fill it with furniture, photographs, clothes, and all the ordinary things we barely notice until they're gone.

But when everything else is stripped away, home can become something incredibly small.

A familiar scent.
A remembered touch.
A voice saying your name.

Sometimes, home is the person you keep expecting to find beside you when you wake up.

And sometimes, when you can't bring that person back, the kindest thing another human being can do is help you remember them one last time.

I've worked nine years of night shifts in hospice care.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's this:

At the end of life, people don't always need someone to save them. Sometimes, they just need someone to remind them that they were loved.

[Frank Sinatra @franksinatra]

Tune in to Siriusly Sinatra on SiriusXM throughout October to hear more about ‘Sinatra At The Sands’ with Charles Pignone and Steve Wynn! Listen in cars on Siriusly Sinatra (Ch. 70) and on the @SIRIUSXM app.

[visionaryvoid @Visionaryvoid]

On April 3, 2019, Doris Day turned 97 and chose to spend the day in the quiet of her Carmel Valley home, surrounded not by grandeur, but by handwritten letters, printed emails, and cards sent from fans across the world. Her longtime friend and publicist, Bob Bashara, recalled how she sat near her window that morning, sunlight streaming through the lace curtains, holding a magnifying glass in one hand and a letter in the other. Each message, whether from someone who remembered her radiant smile in "Calamity Jane" or someone who had only recently discovered her voice through "Que Sera, Sera," was opened and read with care.

“She insisted on reading every single one,” Bashara said in a soft interview with "People" magazine. “She kept saying, ‘These people stayed with me all these years. I need them to know I’m still here, and I hear them.’” There was no fanfare that day, no camera crew, no social media announcements. It was the purest form of gratitude, an aging star acknowledging the people who had never stopped loving her.

That morning, a letter came from a 72-year-old woman in Michigan who had grown up listening to Doris’s songs on her grandmother’s radio. In it, she wrote, “Your voice comforted me when my parents divorced. Your films made me laugh through college heartbreaks. You don’t know me, but you’ve lived in my heart.” Doris paused as she read those words aloud, eyes misting. Then she set the letter down and whispered, “I know her now.”

Another envelope, addressed with careful calligraphy, had traveled from Japan. A young pianist in Tokyo shared how "Secret Love" inspired him to start composing. Doris smiled gently and asked Bashara to reply with a thank-you note and a signed photograph, one of the few she had left in a drawer by the desk.
Though her health had declined in recent years, Doris refused to speak of pain or limitations. She never complained. Her joy that day came from being remembered not as a movie star, but as a person who had brought something kind into others’ lives. Her assistant noticed that Doris kept a small notebook beside her, jotting names and little notes as she read each message. “She didn’t want anyone to feel like they were forgotten,” the assistant later said.
She had chosen solitude for her birthday that year, turning down offers for interviews and appearances. What mattered most to her, according to those closest, was that fans knew she still cared. And she did. She had always said that fame was never the point, it was the connection. “She believed her success belonged to the people who supported her, not to herself,” Bashara added in his conversation with "The Hollywood Reporter."
Five weeks later, on May 13, 2019, Doris Day passed away peacefully at her home from complications related to pneumonia. No public funeral was held, as per her wishes. Her ashes were scattered privately, and her Carmel home was soon put up for sale. But the spirit of that last birthday lingered, an image of a woman in her 90s, sitting quietly with letters of love from strangers she considered friends.

That final birthday was not marked by applause, lights, or tribute specials. It was spent with ink on paper, with emotions running through cursive handwriting, with memories folded into envelopes. It was a day of receiving and giving, one last exchange of affection from a woman who had spent her entire life offering her heart to the world. She spent her last birthday exactly as she had lived, gracious, warm, and deeply connected to the people who loved her.

[Jay Robert @jayrobertphilly]

@Darekbrzoza #juevesdepiernasyalgomás #JoanneWoodward #PaulNewman ❤️🙏💜✌️

[Dariusz Brzozowski @Darekbrzoza]

"W maju 2007 roku Paul Newman wszedł do ośrodka opieki nad osobami z zaburzeniami pamięci, nie wiedząc, czy jego żona, z którą przeżył niemal pięćdziesiąt lat, jeszcze go rozpozna.
Joanne Woodward siedziała w milczeniu przy oknie i patrzyła na nagie gałęzie drzew. Kiedy otworzyły się drzwi, nawet się nie odwróciła.
Chwilę wcześniej pielęgniarka uprzedziła Paula, że tego dnia Joanne może być w gorszej formie.
Skinął tylko głową. Dobrze znał już rzeczywistość jej choroby. Usiadł obok i spokojnie czekał, aż zwróci na niego uwagę.
Po chwili spojrzała na niego z zaciekawieniem, ale w jej oczach nie było śladu rozpoznania.
— Czy mogę panu w czymś pomóc? — zapytała uprzejmie.
Paul uśmiechnął się łagodnie.
— Już mi pani pomogła.
Joanne zmarszczyła lekko brwi, nie rozumiejąc jego odpowiedzi. On jednak nie próbował niczego tłumaczyć ani zmuszać jej do przypomnienia sobie, kim jest.
Zamiast tego wyjął z kieszeni płaszcza książkę z opowiadaniami Eudory Welty i zaczął czytać na głos.
Po kilku minutach Joanne wyraźnie się uspokoiła.
Nie pamiętała już jego imienia, ale brzmienie jego głosu wciąż dawało jej poczucie bezpieczeństwa.
Takich spokojnych poranków było znacznie więcej. W połowie pierwszej dekady XXI wieku u Joanne zdiagnozowano chorobę Alzheimera, a jej pamięć stopniowo zanikała.
Kiedy coraz bardziej wycofywała się ze świata, Paul postanowił pozostać przy niej bez względu na wszystko.
Przychodził każdego dnia. Przynosił kwiaty, opowiadał dowcipy i czytał jej ulubione książki.
Czasem nazywała go „tym miłym panem, który czyta”. Innym razem nie zwracała się do niego w żaden sposób.
Nawet kiedy zapomniała, kim dla niej był, on nie przestał przychodzić.
A przecież ich historia zaczęła się wiele dekad wcześniej, w latach 50., w nowojorskim Actors Studio.
Joanne była wtedy ambitną i cenioną aktorką teatralną. Paul dopiero budował pewność siebie i swoją pozycję w świecie aktorstwa.
Przez następne dziesięciolecia stworzyli wspólne życie z dala od blichtru i powierzchowności Hollywood.
Pobrali się w 1958 roku, kupili spokojny dom w Connecticut, a później zaangażowali się w stworzenie Hole in the Wall Gang Camp — miejsca wspierającego dzieci zmagające się z ciężkimi chorobami.
Zamiast nieustannie gonić za sławą, starali się przede wszystkim wspierać siebie nawzajem.
Joanne przez całe małżeństwo zachęcała Paula, by nie patrzył na siebie jedynie przez pryzmat filmowej kariery i statusu gwiazdy.
On z kolei wielokrotnie powtarzał, że to właśnie ona pomagała mu przez lata zachować normalność i dystans do sukcesu.
Ich małżeństwo nie było wolne od trudności. Paul zmagał się między innymi z problemem alkoholu. Mimo to oboje przez lata próbowali wspólnie przechodzić przez kryzysy.
Przyjaciele mówili później, że Joanne dawała mu stabilność i wewnętrzny punkt oparcia. W dużej mierze dzięki temu z czasem coraz mocniej angażował się w działalność społeczną i charytatywną.
Kiedy oboje się zestarzeli, a stan Joanne coraz bardziej się pogarszał, Paul przejął rolę jej najbliższego opiekuna.
Rzadko mówił publicznie o jej chorobie. Podczas jednego z niewielkich wydarzeń charytatywnych zrobił jednak wyjątek.
— Ona nadal tutaj jest, nawet wtedy, kiedy wydaje się, że jej nie ma — powiedział do zebranych.
Po chwili dodał:
— A ja będę nadal przychodził. Dzisiaj właśnie tak wygląda miłość.
Paul Newman zmarł w 2008 roku. Ze względu na chorobę Joanne nie była w stanie w pełni zrozumieć ani przeżyć jego odejścia.
Bywały dni, kiedy pytała, kiedy znowu ją odwiedzi. Innym razem zachowywała się tak, jakby dopiero co wyszedł z pokoju.
Rodzina nie chciała sprawiać jej dodatkowego bólu ciągłym przypominaniem prawdy. Pozwalali jej pozostać w tej rzeczywistości, która dawała jej spokój.
Wiele lat wcześniej pewien dziennikarz zapytał ich, jak udało im się tak długo wytrwać w małżeństwie w środowisku, w którym rozwody były czymś niemal codziennym.
Paul wzruszył ramionami.
— Nie prowadzimy rachunku krzywd.
Joanne uśmiechnęła się i dodała:
— Po prostu nie wychodzimy z pokoju.
Paul dotrzymał tego do końca.
Nawet kiedy Joanne nie potrafiła już przywołać wspólnych wspomnień, on nadal pozostawał obok.
Wszedł razem z nią do świata, w którym pamięć stopniowo znikała, ale zrobił wszystko, by wciąż mogła czuć jego głos, obecność i oddanie.
Miłość, która nie potrzebowała już rozpoznania ani wdzięczności, żeby pozostać prawdziwa.
Bo gdzieś poza pamięcią i czasem istnieje w człowieku ciche miejsce, do którego choroba nie zawsze potrafi dotrzeć.
I właśnie tam miłość może pozostać bezpieczna, cała i zrozumiała nawet wtedy, gdy wszystko inne zostaje zapomniane."
za Przytulność