Some of you watching the Today show this morning might not have understood why Matt was mercilessly teasing me about my husband Richard’s book party last night.

Richard’s new book Strong at The Broken Places , profiling five people living with chronic illness, came out this week. Richard and I had decided to throw a book party. Most of the invitations had been mailed out before New Year’s, but the ones for Matt, Ann, and Al—which were supposed to be hand-delivered—never got to them. Of course we didn’t know about that and we were looking forward to seeing them at the party.

Last night, as I looked around the room, I wondered why Matt wasn’t there, especially since Ann and Al were. What I came to find out later is that Al had run into Richard earlier in the day, and Richard had said to him, "I hope to see you later." To which Al said something like, “For what?” Maybe that should have been the first clue, but Richard and I never put two-and-two together.

I know what you must be thinking: didn’t we have an RSVP list? Yes, we did. But almost nobody had RSVP’ed. We figured it was because of the all the craziness of the holidays, and decided whoever wanted to come would show up.

As it turns out, Ann became aware of the book party during the day, and even though she hadn’t received an invitation either, she showed up to be supportive (she had done a great job interviewing Richard and the people profiled in his book during the 10 o’clock hour of Today).

Anyway, this morning Matt comes into my office at a little past 6 a.m., acting weird. He asked me point-blank why he hadn’t been invited to the party, to which I assured him he had been. But he kept saying, “Well, I didn’t get an invitation.” And then he walked out. I thought he was upset, and that made me upset, because I knew that he was supposed to have gotten an invitation.

When I got to the set, Matt was already in place and he said, “Don’t worry about it, I know it was an honest mistake.” But once the cameras were on, he decided to have some fun—and the saga of the "non-invite" became a running joke throughout the show.

I learned something today. If you are going to have an RSVP list, then check it. And even if no one has responded, follow up to get an answer.

Tomorrow I plan to walk into Matt’s office and hand-deliver him a signed copy of Strong at the Broken Places.

And it’ll only cost him $24.95.

Photos: Michael Glantz

There’s been so much discussion of "hope" along the campaign trail. But this Sunday I witnessed the true power of hope. And it didn’t come from anything the candidates said. It came from the people of Cheshire, Connecticut.
I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived in Cheshire on Sunday. I knew that residents Don and Jenifer Walsh had organized a luminary event—Cheshire Lights of Hope—to honor the memory of Jennifer, Hayley, and Michaela Petit—who were the victims of a horrible home invasion last summer. The only survivor was husband, father, and beloved physician, Dr. William Petit, Jr. The event was also to raise funds for MS—a disease Jenifer Walsh suffers from, as did murder victim Jennifer Hawke Petit.

I met the Walshes that morning at Bozzuto’s Warehouse—a food wholesaler and the town's largest business. Jayne Bozzuto had donated warehouse space for assembling and storing the luminaries, and also provided trucks and drivers to transport the lights throughout the town.

The Walshes told me they had been on vacation on Cape Cod this past summer when they saw the cover of People magazine and the picture of the Petits. They knew Jennifer and her daughter Hayley from MS fundraisers. As the Walshes sat on the beach, they knew they had to do something to honor the Petits and to help heal their community. And so they decided to expand the luminary they had started two years ago—a neighborhood project to raise funds and awareness for MS. But they had no idea how the town would respond to such a massive undertaking. Everyone they asked said they wanted to be part of it.

After interviewing the Walshes, I stood in the back of a packed crowd in the warehouse, listening to speeches before it was time to begin distributing the luminaries.

Your heart can’t help but break for all that Dr. Petit has lost. And yet there he was, thanking the crowd for their love and support, and urging them to go forward.

And so they did. Individually, each luminary was nothing more than a white paper bag with a scoop of sand and a small white candle. But when 138,000 of them were lit across town, it was as if Cheshire had been transformed.


A huge heart, representing Dr. Petit with another heart inside (symbolizing his wife Jennifer) and two more hearts on either side (for daughters Hayley and Michaela) were constructed and lit on the grounds at Bozzuto’s. The word "HOPE" was spelled out in luminaries on the field at Cheshire Academy where Jennifer was the school nurse.


A town that had lived through its darkest time now was filled with light.
To find out more about the Petit memorial funds, go to National MS Society and Cheshire's Lights of Hope.

Money raised from Sunday’s event will go to the Hayley’s Hope & Michaela’s Miracle, a fund set up to fight multiple sclerosis.

Additional photos courtesy of Ron Kochman.

A big "thumbs up" to those of you who figured out what was wrong with my Millionaire publicity photo. It’s those "Gumby arms," and lobster-claw hands. The scariest part is that the people at Millionaire swear those arms and hands were not "manipulated" in any way.

And to "Lois," who asked whether I “tuck” my arms up my sleeve “to look normal” when I’m out on the plaza, the answer is "no." (But the wardrobe department has one heck of a job hiding my tail every morning…)

If I’m not on the air tomorrow, check the obits. This morning while doing a tease for a Fall Foliage piece, I took one of the fake leaves from the set out on the plaza, and put it in my mouth, as if it were a rose and I was doing the tango. As soon as they cut to commercial, Joe, my security guard came over with a worried look on his face and said, “You need to get upstairs right away and rinse your mouth out." “What’s the matter?" I asked. He said “That leaf you just put in your mouth is covered with fire-retardant spray, and is probably poison.”

I hung my head in embarrassment, and walked away, my tail between my legs. After all, there was no reason why I couldn’t have kept that poisonous leaf at "arms length."

As you know, I’ve got the picture to prove it. Let’s have it one more time, Pokey:

I know I’m always saying that "I’m running off to Millionaire." But I really am...

Speaking of Millionaire, take a look at this publicity photo for the show:

It’s one of the recent ones, and I’ve always liked it...until a friend pointed out something I hadn’t noticed before. Something odd-looking. And, now, every time I pick up the picture, that’s all I see…

Can you spot what it is? (By the way, it’s got nothing to do with retouching.)

I look forward to your comments. (I think.)

I’m still processing what happened Friday night.

I always wanted to be a Rockette and for one brief moment I had the chance. And I must say it was far more emotional than I thought it would be. It wasn’t just dancing with these women in front of 6,000 people, it was being in Radio City. It’s one of New York’s most beautiful landmark buildings and has played host to so many events over the years.

I started to tear up when I saw my name on the marquee before I even entered the building. All the emotions that go back some 40-something years came flooding back.

You have to remember that this was a fantasy of mine since I was a little kid, one that I never really believed would be fulfilled. And then I got scared that I would really mess it up. And I realized that this wasn’t just some lark--these Rockettes were giving me a chance to be a little piece of their history. And I took it very seriously.

Jack in the wardrobe department created a special outfit just for me. When I put it on and squinted I almost believed I was 25 again, and 5’ 6” (instead of 52, and 5’ 3”). And every single girl in that kick line made me believe that I deserved to be there. I know now how hard they work, day after day to create magic.

Even though I screwed up a step or two, I felt pride at having accomplished it. And I must say for an old lady my kicks are pretty good.

When my part of the show was over I changed, and went into the audience to watch the Rockettes in the Christmas Spectacular, and I realized--truth be told--that’s where I really belonged.

I only hope that someone else in that audience gets to see their dream come true, no matter what it is.

Thank you, Rockettes. (And don’t worry, I’m not giving up my To-Day job…)

I’m starting to get excited about Thanksgiving because this year I actually get to co-host the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, something I’ve been watching since I was a little girl. And this time my little girl will be with me.

Richard and the boys are leaving for Cape Cod the night before Thanksgiving, to get a jump on the traffic. My 13-year-old daughter Lily and I decided to spend that evening together in the city. So we’re staying in a hotel in Manhattan, and the next morning we’ll go to the parade.

Sometimes as a mom I feel stretched really thin, so it’s great to have one-on-one time with the kids, especially now that my youngest is growing up. Lily still wants to spend time with me--I worry whether that will someday change.

Maybe that’s why last night felt bittersweet. Richard is out of town and I was lying in bed when Lily came in and said her tummy was hurting. Could she stay with me? “Absolutely,” I told her. And she crawled in with her stuffed dog. I held her in my arms and we fell asleep together. I wanted to freeze the moment.

I thought about the summer of '72, right after my freshman year at college when I was visiting Portugal with my parents, three brothers and my aunt. I didn’t want to go on that trip and at the age of 19 thought I was "too cool" to hang out with my parents.

I was sharing a hotel room with my aunt; after two nights I couldn’t take her snoring so I went to my parents' bedroom and asked my mom if I could stay with them. "Absolutely," she said. I crawled in and she put her arms around me, and I remember feeling so grateful--not just because I got away from the snoring, but because I felt a sense of "safe." Suddenly being the "coolest" one in the room didn’t mean anything any more.

Now I’m the mom and all I want is for my kids to feel safe.

It’s strange, but when you’re a mom you’re supposed to give kids "roots and wing" but secretly I think we always hope our kids will never stop wanting and needing us.

P.S. Guess who’s the snorer now?

On Friday my three year-old dog Jasper made his debut on the Today show...boy did he ham it up once the cameras were on. No one was more surprised than I, because at home Jasper is more likely to be barking at the squirrels and rolling in dirt than preening for an audience. We've gotten so many wonderful emails saying what a sweetheart he is.

Jasper is just the latest pet in the Cohen/Vieira menagerie. I’ve always felt a house is not a home without a pet but I never knew what an impact pets can have on kids.

Before our son Ben was born, we had two cats -- Spike and Beanbag. I was told to get rid of the cats (there’s a old wives' tale that cats smother babies by sitting on them). I didn’t get rid of the cats and obviously they didn’t smother Ben, but they did teach him and our other two children a profound lesson about life and death.

When Spike was in her 10th year of life, she developed renal failure. The doctors said she'd need subcutaneous fluids, which meant we would have to give her daily saline injections. My son Ben was about eight years old at the time, and he wanted to be a part of the process. I taught him how to use the needle and every night for over a year he nursed that cat. He learned about the cycle of life, the aging process, caring for something else, and giving back to an animal that had given us so much joy for so long.

Eventually Spike died in Ben's arms on a cold December night, and it was exactly where Ben wanted her to be. As sad as it was, it was an opportunity for the whole family to talk about life and death.

The day after Spike died I called up the landscape people and asked them to dig a hole behind a tree on our property. (They ended up digging a hole that was about six feet deep--way too big, of course. As I approached them they backed away--I think they thought I might have killed my husband and was preparing to bury him). Each of the kids wrote Spike a note. We wrapped Spike in a silk scarf, placed him in a box, and I handed Spike over to Ben who lowered her into the hole. Then we blasted "The Circle of Life" (from The Lion King) from our living room windows and danced around the yard. It was a real celebration even if the other neighbors thought we were crazy. There were plenty of tears but there was a lot of laughter and love and for that I owe Spike a great deal.

We’ve lost other animals since then--we’ve lost Beanbag, and our first dog Willie. And sometimes I wonder why we keep getting new pets because it’s so hard to let them go. But our children understand. As painful as it's been in some ways, it's been a positive experience. You bring animals into your life for all sorts of reasons, and then they become part of your family.

Our house would be a lot neater without the clawed up furniture and a lot quieter without all the barking. But then it would just be a house, not a home. At least not our home.

Did anyone see me yesterday afternoon?

If you were at 107th and the West Side Highway you might have noticed a crazy lady leaping over a fence in an evening suit and three-inch heels. Yes, that was me, just trying to get my son Ben’s soccer game because this is his senior year and there aren’t that many games left.

It’s all part of the juggling act that comes with being a working mom. Ben’s game was at 4 o’clock; normally I would be able to go home, get into a pair of jeans, and drive over. But last night I was hosting the MS Dinner of Champions -- a benefit for multiple sclerosis (which obviously means a great deal to me since my husband Richard has the disease). There wasn’t enough time between the game and the event to change into evening attire -- I might have been slightly overdressed, but I was going to that game.

What I didn’t know when I pulled off the highway was that there was a 3 foot high fence standing between me and access to the field. So I jacked up my skirt, balanced myself on a rock, threw one leg over the fence, and then the other. I remember thinking "Please don’t let my stocking tear." Maybe I should have been concerned about the peep show I was putting on for the rush hour traffic, but all I wanted to do was get to the other side.

Once over the fence I made my way to the field, my stilettos sinking into the ground with every step, and finally to the sidelines where Ben’s coach and some of his teammates were standing. Ben was on the field -- I caught his attention (I guess I caught everyone’s attention in that outfit), gave him a big smile and then was told very nicely that I wasn’t allowed to stand with the team.

I was running late for the MS event and was only able to stay at the soccer match for about 10 minutes, but those were the best 10 minutes of my day. (By the way, Ben’s team won the game -- not that that matters.)

I met three amazing people this morning: Kathy and Rob Adzich, and the woman they call their guardian angel, Stephanie Kalenda.

Kathy and Rob tried unsuccessfully to have a child. Because of what she described as ‘a broken womb’--the inability to hold a pregnancy--she lost not one child but three (in three years). They had names: Nicholas, Lukas and Jakob; the first two boys were delivered stillborn at about 20 weeks. Jakob was born alive but only survived a couple of days.

That’s when the couple’s guardian angel stepped in. Stephanie, one of a team of nurses who cared for Kathy and baby Jakob and who grew to love the devastated couple, called Kathy and Rob and said: "I have a good uterus, let's use it."

That was a line this couple could not resist. Stephanie was impregnated with Rob and Kathy’s embryo and delivered a healthy baby boy named Gabriel--that was nine years ago. Six years ago, Stephanie again served as a gestational surrogate for the couple--and this time twins Anika and Dominick were born.

Have I mentioned I have a real fear of flying?

The real fear, of course, is crashing…when I board a plane I do two things: I try to connect with as many faces as possible, and then, for the duration of the flight, I pray: “God, please save us, God, please save us, God, please save us!”

I drink wine on the flight, yet I’m convinced I am a good co-pilot. I actually do this "mind thing" where I stay glued to my window seat, and literally "will" the plane to safety with my vigilance. Yes, that’s right: I think that if I stay awake, ignore the in-flight movie, and simply stare out the window with full concentration that I can control the plane with my mind (and this is something I believe before I start drinking the wine).

Last night I flew home from Denver to New York. I should have known something was up when the plane was delayed two hours because of thunderstorms in the Midwest. “Are those storms heading east?” I asked. “Eventually,” they said. And then I boarded the plane.

A few glasses of wine later and the fireworks begin. You would think that I might appreciate nature’s dramatic lightning show from my front row seat. But the spectacular skies above Chicago make my palms sweat, and I begin to assume the worst.

I don’t know what it is -- maybe it’s part letting go, not having control, and the other part not being convinced that these things are designed to stay in the air. I did surprise myself once on a flight when one of my co-hosts from The View, Elisabeth Hasselbeck, was freaking out and I was able to reach out and comfort her. I think seeing somebody else so afraid distracted me from my own fear. Maybe helping someone else can help you overcome your own insecurities and fears.

The weather was so bad in New York that we had to circle around Washington first. The pilot comes on and says, "We’re going to try to land at JFK." "Try?" "Try?” What does that mean, "Try?" [Note to pilot: please don’t use the word "try" when I’m on your flight.]

And then we touch down and I think, "Ah, piece of cake." It is 1am and I have to get up at 4. I guess I could have slept on the plane, but I had a responsibility to my fellow passengers to get us home safely…

I think they said it best in the movie Airplane: “Surely, we have no control...” to which Leslie Nielson replies: “Don’t call me Shirley.”