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L.A. Affairs: For my husband, there’s no such thing as can’t. Then cancer entered our lives

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L.A. Affairs: For my husband, there’s no such thing as can’t. Then cancer entered our lives

The sun has just set over the Palos Verdes hills, and the tennis court lights are buzzing to life. I’m enjoying time with my husband, Steve, standing between clean lines on the deep blue courts made bluer by the artificial glow. It feels familiar and self-contained, the two of us alone in our little rectangle-shaped world. I almost believe that everything’s going to be OK, despite the phone call we just had.

I watch Steve toss the ball high over his head in a straight line, striking “the trophy pose” — the one you see on all the trophies, with one arm reaching for the sky and the other holding the racket cocked back. And with the grace of a dancer and the force of a quarterback, he whips his racket over his head to connect with the ball in a perfect serve.

“Just like that,” he says, smiling. “Did you see how my racket scratched my back?”

I’m a little breathless watching — and not just because the temperature has dropped. I wish I could serve “just like that.” But mostly, I’m admiring my amazing husband.

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“Yeah, just like that. You make it sound so easy,” I tease.

The serve, I’ve learned, is the most important shot in tennis because it’s the only one you control. Everything else is just a reaction. It’s hard to perfect, and still new to tennis myself, I’m afraid I’ll never get it.

“Remember, if the toss isn’t good, don’t even try to hit it,” he says. Which is solid advice for dating too, now that I think about it. Steve’s and my online profiles could not have been more dissimilar. I was recovering from an excruciating divorce, but I signed up on the advice of my writer friends (“It’s great character material!”). My profile was just a photo of my eye and a passage from a novel — something about how a couple reads their books: One dog-ears and underlines; the other keeps their reading material pristine. Steve posted a straightforward photo with a complete description of who he was and who he wanted to meet. Lucky for me, he’s into literature.

We married 10 years later during the COVID pandemic on Catalina Island. We kayaked to our beach “venue” with our laptop, rings and champagne rolled up in waterproof bags. We traded life vests and bathing suits for wedding attire behind a rock and connected to shaky cell service so family and friends could participate. Then we paddled back, racing to return the kayaks before sundown. That’s what life with Steve is like. There’s no such thing as “can’t.” If I dream it, he gets it done down to the last detail.

From tennis to home repairs, I’m tempted to call in an expert, but Steve’s credo is: If another human can do it, I can too. From the phone call we’d just had, I was becoming aware that this difference between us was about to be tested. Having opposite dating profiles or reading styles is very different from conflicting stances on lifesaving medical treatment. Steve’s PSA popped outside the normal range during a routine lab test and his urologist recommended an MRI. Steve didn’t wait for the follow-up to learn his fate. He disappeared into his office, searching Google and picking through the latest medical journals.

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He even spent time learning to read his own MRI the same way he learned to play tennis: YouTube.

“Let’s see your toss,” Steve says, as yet another of my serves crashes into the net. It’s getting colder and darker. “Try starting with both your arms straight,” he says. “Ajla Tomljanović does that.”

I doubt I can do anything like the “Break Point” star, but I try. I want to get this serve fast. Patience is not one of my virtues. Also, we need to get home, and, according to the urologist, we need to get started on treatment.

My instinct is to trust doctors to know more than I do. If they say biopsy, I ask when. Steve rejected the standard biopsy in favor of his own plan, so he’ll need a referral, which will take time. Maybe too much time. The MRI indicated a large tumor that has spread outside of his prostate. Yet here we are out on a tennis court, worrying about whether a small fuzzy ball is landing in a painted box.

I watch Steve fish around in the basket of balls. “Look at my arm as I toss,” he says. I can’t, because my eyes are swimming. The thought of life without this man is unimaginable. Prostate cancer is not a death sentence these days, but it’s also not something you put off. As I watch him strike the trophy pose again, I shake my head to drive away thoughts of his athletic body deteriorating before my eyes. I know that the side effects of hormone treatment, horrifyingly referred to “chemical castration,” can be permanent.

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It makes me want to freeze this moment. During the call with the doctor, Steve used the pronoun “we” a lot — as in “We have prostate cancer” and “We want an MRI-guided biopsy.” His eyes met mine more than once, reassuring me that we’re still a team — just like we are on complex video shoots for our business, parenting a blended family and wrangling our 120-pound dog for a bath.

All these years later, the books on my nightstand are highlighted, annotated and dog-eared. Steve’s bookmarks mostly point to YouTube channels. But we’re both consulting experts in our own ways.

He misreads my face and says, “Try to remember that tennis is play! Just relax and don’t think.”

How can I explain to this star athlete that for me, play was never about competition or skill? It was always about imagination. That’s my superpower. I realize that if I keep using it to imagine the worst, it will make the difficult time ahead much harder. Instead, as the courts around us go dark one by one, I take his hand and conjure up an image of the two of us, decades from now, standing on another blue tennis court in some exotic locale, lifting a giant United States Tennis Assn. seniors mixed doubles trophy — together.

The author earned an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles, and her work has been published in Kelp Journal, Proud to Be, Inman News and others. She’s writing a hybrid memoir with her husband about their cancer journey. Find her at brennahumphreys.com and on Instagram: @brennahums.

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L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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Shy on the dance floor? Virtual reality ‘partners’ aim to help you find your groove

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Shy on the dance floor? Virtual reality ‘partners’ aim to help you find your groove

Entrepreneur David Huang tests out a VR headset while conducting demonstrations of the social dance lesson app Dance Guru at the Augmented World Expo in Long Beach, Calif., June 17, 2026.

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Wedding season is in full swing, bringing with it a familiar sense of dread for anyone who fears the dance floor.

But relief may finally be at hand with the help of a new app, Dance Guru, and a virtual reality (VR) headset.

The social dance instruction app transports users to a spacious, digital dance studio. Waiting inside is a computer-generated coach: a handsome, male avatar wearing a shirt open to his navel. He speaks with a slightly gravelly English accent.

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“Watch me now,” he instructs at the start of a waltz lesson — which NPR tried out at the Augmented World Expo in Long Beach, Calif., an annual conference showcasing the latest developments in virtual and augmented reality.

The avatar then demonstrates a basic box step.

From there, the lesson becomes interactive. The coach tells the user to hold his hand while an electric pinging sound tracks the student’s foot placement.

“One, two, three, four, five, six,” the virtual teacher counts down.

When the user stumbles, he remains remarkably patient. “Do not worry, foundations take time. Let’s try that again. Work on grounding your steps more intentionally.”

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Solving the beginner’s dilemma

Dance Guru creator David Huang said he came up with the idea for the app a couple of years ago out of frustration.

“I always wanted to learn to dance and I was always terrible at it,” Huang said. “And I always ended up stopping midway through the lessons.”

He soon realized that many beginners hit the exact same roadblocks.

“Private lessons are too expensive, and you feel like you’re always forgetting the dance steps,” Huang said. “You cannot find a partner to dance with. So I figured maybe I can create something like this.”

The Dance Guru platform currently offers tutorials in salsa, bachata, waltz, and cha-cha, in both lead and follow modes. To make the digital instruction feel authentic, Huang used motion-capture technology to record the movements of real-life dance teachers — with their permission.

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Building on the legacy of online tutorials and video games

Dance Guru belongs to a small but growing wave of apps using VR to demystify social dance. At a nearby booth, conference attendee Victor Chen is testing out a competing app called Trip the Light. It currently offers salsa lessons, as well as freestyle options, where a user can dance with a partner without having to learn specific steps.

Trip the Light's booth at the Augmented World Expo included posters of the app's virtual instructors. Real-life performers, who gave Trip the Light permission to motion capture their movements, were used as a basis for these avatars.

Trip the Light’s booth at the Augmented World Expo included posters of the app’s virtual instructors. Real-life performers, who gave Trip the Light permission to motion capture their movements, were used as a basis for these avatars.

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“A lot of times when you’re trying to learn a choreography, it’s watching a YouTube video and you have to pause it, rewind, and play it,” Chen said. “If you were to have a virtual avatar dancing in front of you and correcting for any parts that you missed, it might be a lot easier.”

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How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Deidre Hall

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How to have the best Sunday in L.A., according to Deidre Hall

For half a century, Deidre Hall has taken on every kind of disaster in the drama-packed town of Salem, Ill., as a star of “Days of Our Lives.”

There was the time — actually, it happened twice — when her character, Dr. Marlena Evans, was famously possessed by the devil and even levitated.

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In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.

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Or the time a serial killer, who was actually Marlena under hypnosis, seemed to kill several beloved characters. The long-running show’s storylines have become legendary, and in March, while promoting “Hail Mary,” actor Ryan Gosling even gave Hall a shout-out, admitting he was a fan, praising the hard work of soap opera actors and calling her an “OG acting inspiration.”

But Hall’s real life in Santa Monica is much quieter than her character’s, and she likes it that way.

“When I bought my house in Santa Monica, I didn’t realize how great it would be to live near Montana Avenue,” says Hall, 78, about the popular shopping spot. Every day, she walks to the main street with her golden retriever, Riley, and enjoys Pilates, art and good food along the way. “The owners of the Farms Market even keep dog biscuits, so guess where the dog wants to go every time we walk — the Farms, of course,” she says, laughing.

When she isn’t filming the daily soap opera, which airs on Peacock, Hall enjoys raising monarch butterflies, exploring the shops and restaurants on Montana, and hosting movie nights at home with her two sons.

Here’s what a perfect day in L.A. looks like for her.

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This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.

7 a.m.: Breakfast and dog walk

I usually kick off my day with a protein shake, feed our golden retriever and take her out for a walk. She’s a phenomenal girl. When we adopted her, her name was Riley, but I did think about naming her after Mrs. Hughes from “Downton Abbey.”

10 a.m.: Church and garden time

After I walk the dog and go to church, I like to spend some time in my yard. I’m not a natural gardener, but I really enjoy it. I started raising monarch butterflies because my identical twin sister, who played my twin on the show, planted a butterfly garden. Monarchs are amazing because they are transitional. Every year, they travel from Mexico to southern New England, but it’s getting harder for them. Their numbers have dropped by about 80%. To help, I plant milkweed, which is what they need to survive. I buy my milkweed from the Staghorn Garden on Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica. Julie, who owns the nursery, is delightful and has a wide variety of milkweed. The monarchs always seem to find my garden. Julie was raising some caterpillars too, and she cared a lot about them. We talked about how important it is to help the butterflies. That’s why I do this. Sometimes I get milkweed with eggs already on it, and Julie knows her butterflies are going to a good home.

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1 p.m.: Walk to Montana Avenue for some lunch

I live near Montana and love taking long walks, going to Pilates and trying out the great restaurants nearby, like R+D Kitchen and La La Land. I’m a big fan of the waffles at the Courtyard Kitchen. Just a few days ago, I had a chicken salad on raisin bread with an Arnold Palmer, and it was delicious. It is right on Montana and has a nice outdoor seating area. It’s one of my favorite spots. La La Land always has a long line in the morning, which is perfect if you want coffee. They serve coffee, doughnuts, croissants and avocado toast. There’s plenty of outdoor seating, and you can even bring your dog.

2 p.m.: Peek inside a clock shop

There’s a small clock shop on Montana Avenue that’s closed on Sundays, but if you walk by, you’ll see all kinds of clocks — standing, table and wall clocks. The owner is great at fixing them. Once, I bought a wall clock from MacKenzie-Childs, but it didn’t work. And I was really upset because it matched everything else on my countertop. I brought it to the owner and said, “I love this, but I can’t make it work.” He fixed it right away. His name is John, but I call him Geppetto. And we all know why. He really does have a magic touch.

2:30 p.m.: Visit a neighborhood art gallery

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Ten Women Gallery is run by 10 artists, all of whom show their work there. I was drawn to some watercolors there, bought a few cards and spoke with one of the artists. She told me, “You seem to love watercolors,” and mentioned that the artist who painted them, Pamela Harnois, lives in Los Angeles and teaches nearby. I got Pamela’s name and found out she taught at the Brentwood Art School. I was so inspired by her gift that I started taking private lessons with her on Saturdays. That gallery is where I discovered my love for watercolor painting.

3 p.m.: Grab some ice cream at Rori’s

The other day, my longtime girlfriend wanted to get ice cream and told me, “We are walking to Rori’s Artisanal Creamery.” It’s a small shop on Montana near Lincoln. They make everything themselves, using local ingredients from grass-fed cows with no added hormones. The place is family-owned and probably has the healthiest ice cream you’ll find. They switch up their flavors often, but my favorite is the salted caramel.

6 p.m.: Family dinner and movie night at home

R+D Kitchen is always packed, so my sons, who are 31 and 33, do the cooking. They come over, and together we make salads and cook dinner. There’s a neighborhood grocery store called the Farms, off Montana, a small family-run place that has everything we need. Everyone knows each other there, and people bring their dogs. We try to have movie night every Sunday. Sometimes the day changes, but we always make sure to have one night a week where we cook a meal and sit down as a family. Keeping that tradition has become really important to us. My sons are great cooks, which is funny because they definitely didn’t get that from me. [Laughs]

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9 p.m.: Take Riley for one last walk and visit neighbors

After dinner, I take my dog for a walk. It’s a great way to meet neighbors. We always go around the same block. We’ve met so many people, and since she’s a golden retriever, she loves meeting everyone.

10 p.m.: News, knitting and bedtime

I am a news junkie, so I usually watch whatever is on the news before I go to bed. I have a long-standing passion for knitting. Lately, though, the news would make me drop a stitch.

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Iris van Herpen Reaches for the Stars

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For Iris van Herpen, couture is a laboratory as much as a runway. Our chief fashion critic, Vanessa Friedman, takes us inside this Dutch designer’s latest Paris show — from sci-fi-inspired gowns to an audacious attempt at a dress made of charged plasma.

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