I am Inspired

Karma

2012-01-10T21:55:00.000-06:00

20 Ways to Get Good Karma
By The Dalai Lama

Instructions for Life by The Dalai Lama

Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.
Follow the three R’s:
- Respect for self,
- Respect for others and
- Responsibility for all your actions.
Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.
Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.
Don’t let a little dispute injure a great relationship.
When you realize you’ve made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
Spend some time alone every day.
Open your arms to change, but don’t let go of your values.
Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and
think back, you’ll be able to enjoy it a second time.
A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.
In disagreements with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. Don’t bring up the past.
Share your knowledge. It is a way to achieve immortality.
Be gentle with the earth.
Once a year, go someplace you’ve never been before.
Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.
Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.
If you want others to be happy, practice compassion.
If you want to be happy, practice compassion.

The Ride Home

2011-09-01T18:37:00.001-05:00

When I was about 15, I used to sneak out of the house on a regular basis on weekends and go to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. After the movie was over, we would all go to Denny's or some late night party at someone's house but usually it was Denny's. I could walk to the movie theater from my house but I always needed a ride to go to Denny's.
I had lots of friends and we all kind of knew each other and generally, someone would drive me home. Most of the time, this guy we called Moog would give me a ride home. He was cranky about it and acted like it was this huge imposition but he always did it. Still, he kind of made me feel bad about it (later I realized that was all bullshit and he didn't mind at all but at the time I was pretty super sensitive to everything). One of the guys who hung out on occasion, his name was Paul, he used to give me a ride home sometimes. I think he was in his late teens or early 20's, definitely out on his own.
The first time he drove me home, we got in front of my house and made out for about a half hour. I wasn't really into him, I mean, I didn't go home and think about him and I didn't really like him that much. It was just, okay, I made out with this guy. The next time he drove me home, I made out with him again and it went a little further. I remember knowing absolutely that I was not going to have sex with this guy, that I wasn't going to ever let it get any further than kissing and a little touchy feely groping over the clothes.
I'm not even sure how I knew those were the parameters but I was pretty clear on it. I don't know what he thought. I never asked him. He never asked me out, he never asked for my phone number, he never made any attempt to see me outside of the occasional ride home. We never even talked that much when I was at the theater, at Denny's or in the car. I can't recall a single meaningful conversation I ever had with him.
Things I remember about him. I remember his leather jacket. I remember that he was not that great a kisser and I had very little chemistry with him. I was single and I liked being liked but I was just not that into him.
The third time he drove me home, I told him I had a sore throat and I would see him later. He was pissed off. I could see it. He made me feel super uncomfortable that night. He didn't exactly say it but you could see he was exasperated with me. Mind you, he wasn't super pushy and he let me push him away when I had enough, but you could tell he thought it was going to progress.
I avoided him for a while, he didn't always show up every weekend but the next time I looked around and saw my options for a ride home were none but him, so I reluctantly asked him.
Part of this stupidity was always that I never pre-arranged. I would go places assuming it would work out for me. I had such confidence. I would drive with someone to Denny's and never bother with the ride home. I just assumed someone would pick me up and drive me home. There were always people there I just figured would take care of me. How funny that I was never really stranded, just left with lousy options sometimes.
I must have been the height of foolish optimism that it would always work out for me. But then, I was never afraid to hitchhike or walk, or wait around for the bus. Even at 15, I was incredibly self reliant and incredibly ill prepared, always knowing I would figure it out when I had to do so.
At my age now, I cannot imagine that I was so foolish and arrogant to be so ill prepared. And yet, even at this time, I can't help but admire the kid who was so fearless and open to the option of life unfolding before her. I would never allow my kid the same foolish luxury but I see the same spirit of adventure in all my daughters.
My mother once told me the story of how she went out to Coney Island with a date and gambled her money away and then her date went bad and he ditched her. She had to pick up empty bottles and return them for deposit to get the money for the subway home. She swore at that time she would never gamble again. But I hear in that story how resourceful she was in getting out of a tough situation by thinking on her feet. My mother is hard on herself for her foolishness and I applaud her wits.
I'm lucky to carry that with me.
But that night, I had to ask Paul for a ride home so I sucked it up and did it. He smiled about it when I asked and readily agreed. The whole way there, I was thinking of my excuse to make a quick exit. I had decided I didn't like him much at all, not even as a friend and I wasn't going to make out with him and I wasn't going to continue with the charade of leading him on with my behavior.
So, I steeled myself with a lie to save his feelings that would let him know where I stood.
It was completely lame.
"Listen," I said as he pulled up in front of my house."I'm just getting over being sick. I had strep and I don't want you to catch it. So, I'm just going to go."
He looked at me. "I'll risk it," he said.
"I don't think you should. I'm just going to go."
There ensued a minor argument and a pissy little attitude about why I shouldn't go. But I wasn't budging. I did not have to make out with this guy for a ride home.
He finally looks at me and says (I will never forget this) "I'm not going to be willing to give you a ride home any more if you're not going to do anything in return. I just won't be able to do that."
I was livid. Did he actually fucking say that? Really? Out LOUD?
I looked right at him and said "Well, I will keep that in mind. And I won't ever be asking you for a ride home again."
What an entitled piece of shit.
I don't think I ever spoke to him again and I know I never asked him for a ride home again. I'm really proud of myself for telling him to fuck off. For having enough sense of my own worth to know that was wrong. For being angry.
Still, I realize that my daughters are going to be subjected to this. I realize that girls everywhere are told this is the price for a ride home. Guess what girls, you still don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Tell him you don't owe him anything. Had he been paying attention, he would have known I gave him the pleasure of my company for free and he should have valued that.
I think the worst part of this is that young girls are continually subjected to this. Like they owe someone for dinner, for a ride, for a favor. And there will be girls who will feel obligated to 'pay up'.
I cannot imagine anyone doing that to a grown woman. I have given a ride home to many a person. It's an act of generosity. I've never hesitated if I can do so. This really is something perpetrated on females, mostly teens, mostly the young and vulnerable ones. Because they don't know the rules and it's easy to think that maybe you did something to lead him on- and even in a moment of teenage exploration where I thought I might like him but decided I didn't- that I might have been obligated somehow to do something I didn't want to.
I was thinking about it and grieving a little for all the girls that were coerced, that did the thing.
This guy did not seem to care if I was willing in this action. He was fine with guilty, obligated, coerced sex. He didn't care if I didn't want to, he really thought I owed him.
It's easy to feel bad. I let anger be my guide that day. It came when I needed it the most.

Laundry

2011-08-27T23:42:00.001-05:00

I used to work at this hotel in Maryland Heights. We had these railroad workers who came in every day, they were hotel regulars, the company sent them and they were always in and out on their routes.
This one who came in all the time had a crush on me, and used to flirt with me at the front desk all the time.
One day he saw my engagement ring and he said "I'm going to steal you away from your fiance." I said "Oh yeah? How are you going to do that?"
He said "Well, I don't want to brag but I am really good in bed."
I said "That's all well and good, but do you do laundry?"
He said "What? Laundry? Are you kidding me? No way."
I said "Oh, that's too bad. I guess the deal is off, then."
He said "What? Why? I told you I'm great in bed!"
I said "Yeah, guys that are great in bed are a dime a dozen. I can find those anywhere, heck, I can train a man to be good in bed. But guys who do laundry are the keepers."
Oh the look on his face. But I speak the truth, do I not, ladies?

Not so Stupid Girls

2011-07-10T22:11:00.001-05:00

Remember when you were a little kid and you used to mindlessly sing lyrics to catchy songs without really thinking about what they meant? Then, when you were a teen, you started thinking about lyrics in this heavy, meaningful way and the music of your generation became really important and you discovered things like it was the first time this music had ever been heard-
Right-
I think most of us go through that.
The other day I heard my five year old crooning about Jesus being crucified, crucified and I was thinking- she has no idea what she's saying, but someone thought it was appropriate to teach my five year old this song- what the fuck! What happened to lighter fare like 'Jesus loves me, this I know, cause the Bible tells me so...' no, they taught her full on horrifying stuff, really. I was ready for the next verse to be "then he hung there bleeding, bleeding, while the flies buzzed around his thorny head!"
I remember singing "Jimmy crack corn and I don't care..." and "I'm a yankee doodle dandy..." what the heck was that?
I think even more insidious that that is what is seeping into our teen culture now. I turned up the music to Billy Joel's My Life "I don't care what you say any more, this is MY life, go ahead with your own life, leave me alone." The perfect teen anthem if ever there was one, and a song I carry around in my pocket when I can't please everyone. But overall, a song I can still get behind. Self reliance- resistance to peer pressure- the message there? "They will tell you : you can't sleep alone in a strange place, then they'll tell you : you can't sleep with somebody else- ah but sooner or later you sleep in your own space, either way, it's okay, you wake up with yourself."
The other day I was listening to the radio and Bruno Mars song Just the way you are (don't get me started with how Billy had a far superior song of the same name) and I was thinking to myself- teen girls love this song but it is begging them to be even more insecure and needy than they already are.
HE has to tell her she's beautiful and amazing. She can't see it herself. She hates her laugh- she always asks if she looks okay.
This song, it's catchy, Bruno has a lovely, melodic voice, but look at what this song is saying to girls? We need guys to tell us we look okay- she's more attractive when she hates her laugh. This is the kind of thing that Pink was railing against in her music, the dumbing down of girls.
Stupid girls are everywhere and we are supposed to admire them. Cause they're pretty? Pretty girls get a pass when they don't get it exactly right. Today I watched a video of all the Miss America contestants answer the question "Should evolution be taught in schools?"
I was BEGGING for one of them to give an intelligent answer. Surely they couldn't all be that stupid. Most of them said "Sure, but we should present both sides." Both sides of WHAT, ladies?
Lots of them said kids should have it presented to them so they got to make up their own minds later...
It is mind boggling. Evolution is really more than just a theory, beauty queens. Are they really walking that line? The I'm a Christian, vote for me, I have decided that I believe the Bible when it said the world is flat...and I support Galileo being jailed for heresy when he insisted on that scientific fact. I mean it was just a theory of his, so it's obvious that if it goes against the Bible, it has to be a lie! Everything in the Bible is true and we must abide by it. Throw out your cotton/poly blends, they are of the devil. It's great that these women are competing for COLLEGE SCHOLARSHIPS because they definitely need an education.
Why is it that once again, being an intelligent woman is terrible? I mean, lots of people spent a lot of time making sure these fifty women were ignorant and then they raised them up on a platform of beauty and someone had to tell them they were pretty! They couldn't look in the mirror and tell that themselves? We need a contest to decide who is the prettiest? God forbid they be smart, you know, no one likes a girl who is vain and intelligent.
The other day a woman called me conceited and self impressed because I listed languages I studied and speak- one of them happened to be Latin. Hey, she asked if I knew who Cicero was- I replied, of course, I studied Latin for years, though he wrote a great deal in Greek...
I am pretty sure I'm not ugly enough to know that. Because if I was, that would have been okay.
And newsflash, ladies, you can be a Christian and believe in scientific things like evolution- cause if you believe in the magical man in the sky, he could easily have made the animals evolve, he's GOD, he can do anything including evolution.
My daughters are all very pretty girls. But I didn't raise any of them to be shy about being intelligent. Anyone who doesn't appreciate how sharp they are is in trouble. I love my brain, I think it is the sexiest thing about me, and always was. A long time friend of mine stopped being friend with me, reportedly because I thought I was smarter than she was.
First of all, I wouldn't have been friends with her if I thought she was an idiot but this is a result of me not HIDING my intelligence from her. I'm not sure when the brain got SO threatening. I know it scares a lot of guys. Cause you might figure out their game? Cause girls are not supposed to be smarter than boys? Cause it somehow goes against nature? It would have been quite difficult for me to date someone who was smarter than I was. I gave that up a long time ago, it was never a pursuit I was interested in. Sure, I wanted to be with an intelligent guy but compatibility is about so much more than that!
It would be really difficult for someone to compete with my background, if this were about competing, which it isn't. People find out I was raised by two PhD's and they have been known to be threatened. I went to some great schools and some terrible schools and I learned a lot from all of them. Ever read a terrible book? It taught me what not to write. Life is not a competition. In fact, I never desired a PhD for myself. I knew all along, no matter what higher degree I pursued, it would never be about the letters, but what I learned. The education itself is the value. The deep and critical thinking is the gift. And that can be attained as easily through life as through college, but you have to be paying attention.
I had that all along, and what I truly valued was the ability to do it. Somewhere along the line, no one taught these girls that basic ability. To value what they have, to use their innate ability to think critically and deeply. So, please, give us catchy tunes that tell us something that makes us think. Give us deep and meaningful lyrics that speak to our souls. Stop picking apart and valuing our worst insecurities and putting them to catchy music to complete the dumbing down of this generation of women. I'm not falling for it and neither are my daughters.

Phase Three on the diet

2011-06-19T21:48:00.000-05:00

So, we have finally entered the least restrictive phase of the diet. Phase three. We have added back things like wheat bread and small amounts of mayonnaise. Phase two sucked for me pretty badly. I'm sad to report I only lost two pounds on phase two but I have lost two more in phase three so that brings my total weight loss at this time to twelve pounds.
My husband has done much better. He has lost an astonishing 22 pounds in forty days. He has cheated less and been very active. I'm pretty jealous. But I have to keep in mind that I haven't gained anything back at all. My weight loss has slowed but I have not gone the other direction. After this phase is over we go back to phase one and begin over again since neither one of us has met our goal loss at the moment.
I'm really proud of John, you can really see his progress. He looks great. For Father's day, Marissa got him a t-shirt and I said "He has lost so much weight that he can wear a large and he doesn't need an extra large." and indeed, when he tried it on today, it was true.
It's funny because both of us feel like we are eating too much now. We got accustomed to the restrictive nature of the diet and used to not eating certain things and now having a piece of wheat bread for breakfast feels so wrong! I'm actually looking forward to going back to phase one. It was the worst restrictions but I had lots of energy. I haven't begun to give up this battle yet. I'm going to meet my goal and I'm going to do it in a healthy way. I like this diet so much better than Slim fast or being miserable eating "diet food" this is real food, delicious food, healthy food. Those meal bars suck.
I think this diet is easy to follow and good for you. I've enjoyed many of the recipes and all of the progress we have made. So, even though things have slowed down for me, I have not lost hope.
This week I am determined to add more exercise in and rev up so me more.

I effing hate father's day

2011-06-19T13:16:00.003-05:00

I don't remember ever loving my father. They told me I used to love him when I was a little baby, but I don't remember ever having positive emotions about him. I remember hating him, wishing he would go away, wishing he were gone. I fucking hate Father's Day. I fucking hate Father's day because I have a father who did whatever he could to crush my self esteem and punish me for things I didn't do and brutalize me for the things I did do. I didn't believe any kind word he ever said to me. He has never seen fit to apologize to me about one single beating, about any time he bashed my head into the wall, about any of the times he threw me down the stairs, pulled my hair, slapped my face, shook me repeatedly, bruised my body, blackened my skin with his anger and hatred and misery.
He used to take us down to Baskin Robbins when I was little. It was walking distance from our house. One time, when I was about five, I let him get far ahead of me and I crushed his head between my fingers. When he would go on business trips, I prayed he would just not come home.
I can't help but wonder these things. If he hadn't been there, would I have this much fight in me? Because he was not going to defeat me. He could beat me black and blue, he was never, ever allowed to own me, to have my spirit, to defeat my goodness and to take away my light.
I just wanted him away from me.
The only way I can deal with him for any length of time is to be away from him most of the time.
I will never love him, I have come to terms with that a long time ago. It is not necessary to love your father in order live a happy and healthy life and be spiritually healthy. I did however realize I was a walking wounded girl, so I did seek therapy. I went to see several therapists to work through this issues. In the first session, I would say "I hate my father."
The therapist would say some platitude like "No, you don't. You have abandonment issues. You'll see that you love him, really."
I walked out the door. Choosing a therapist is a very serious commitment, I tried on a few to see who I liked. I thought I would need a woman. I was wrong. I chose a man.
When a therapist finally said "That's okay. At least you're honest. Do you want to love him?"
"No. I want to get over what he did to me and choose better men in my life."
And that is what we did.
My therapist said "If you met him on the street, would you be expected to like him? Would you think less of yourself if you didn't? Sometimes we don't like our parents, and the pressure to love someone who you just don't is a source of guilt we just don't need."
I have given up the dream that the past can be any different than it is. And I don't like my father. I can see that he is an intelligent man, I can agree with him on many issues, political and social and I can see that other people love him. I can see that he has great good in him. He has done great good in this world, and in an odd way, I am proud of that. I am proud of his accomplishments and his drive, ambition and good work ethic. But he gave all the good away at his job and brought none of it home to me. I can even be proud of his accomplishments and happy for him when good things happen to him. But I just don't love him. I can muster some feelings, but they will never be love. Most of the time, these days, because I don't live with him, I can downgrade it from hate to apathy. But he is not the only reason I hate father's day.
I fucking hate father's day because my first three kids got even worse dads than I had. I was not done punishing myself with men, apparently. But I refused to let my kids grow up with that cruelty. I left when my mother would not. I hate father's day because it makes me sad that Cory, Cassie and Derek didn't get the father they deserved, that father's day is an empty ache for them- a place that was never filled, and that it's mostly my fault.
They did, eventually, get the world's most amazing stepfather.
I'm jealous of Marissa and Isabella sometimes. Their father is amazing, and exceptional. Loving and accessible. I keep my hatred of father's day locked down deep so they can enjoy it, because there is more goodness and kindness in that man that I could ever express in words. I force myself to go shopping with them every year to pick out something wonderful for the best dad in the world- but somewhere in me my heart breaks again and again. It breaks for the little girl that never bought a father's day gift for someone she loved. I have never and will never get a father's day card or gift for my own dad. There were a few men, my best friend's father, in particular, who had a lot of patience and love for me when I was a kid- who told me when I was out of line in a way that let me know I had disappointed him and when I felt the shame of that- he knew that was enough. And I used to feel very safe in his house.
I don't know if I will ever get over my hatred of this day, my hatred of the event. I choke it all back but I hate every last bit of it. I'm happy for all of you that had wonderful dads. I really am. The world needs more of them.
About five years ago, I came home one day and saw Marissa and her dad in the dining room. When I went to see what they were doing, my heart just swelled. He was making paper dolls with her. They were drawing them, cutting them out and coloring them. He had made the backgrounds for them, too. I want very much to have that in my heart on father's day. But I got a long way to go. And if I never get there- I can forgive myself that.
So for today, I will allow myself to hate father's day, cause that is honestly the way I feel. It is what it is. I am happy for my husband and for my daughters- but for all of you out there that got a raw deal- go ahead and hate for a while, I got your back, girl.

My love life through Elton John

2011-06-15T00:50:00.001-05:00

So, everyone who knows me well knows that I am a devoted Billy Joel fan, but I tend to keep his songs close to my heart. They speak to me in ways I have always held dear and I think, in retrospect, I never attached a Billy Joel song to any relationship for fear it might ruin it for me.
I picked out my wedding song was I was about 14, though, long before I met my future husband, I had the song I wanted played at my wedding. In my brief and ill advised first marriage, this song was not played. I did, in fact save it for my first dance at my real wedding. The song was Billy Joel's "You're my home" and I waited to play it until I felt the meaning of it with the right person. So, even then, the song was not his- it was born of him living up to it.
I have saved every Billy song for me, though sometimes they do remind me of a place or a time or a situation- even a person I was with. I'll always remember my friend Paul doing his crazy dance to "Only the Good die young." but that isn't his song.
A few years ago I realized I had given Elton John songs to the loves of my life. It might have started innocently enough. My first real boyfriend was Dave. I was fifteen and we lived in Oxford, England. He was not the first boy I kissed or the first crush I had ever had but he was the first guy who I would meet every day and would hold hands with me and call me his girlfriend. I was so crazy about him. He came home and met my parents and everything.
Dave and I were hanging out in the park one day, under a tree, by the Cherwell. I was sitting on his coat and he looked at me and he sang a little of Elton John's "Blue Eyes" to me. Told me he thought of me every time he heard that song. That's the kind of thing that makes a fifteen year old melt into a puddle of goo.
That was a good day. And it was the start of my love affair with Elton John because now that song belonged to Dave. I still can't hear that song without thinking of that guy. Even the fact that Dave turned out to be a rat bastard hasn't ruined the song for me. It's still a sweet memory.
For some reason, my next boyfriend, Bryan was attached to the song "I guess that's why they call it the blues". I never told him that, he would have mocked me endlessly - he liked mostly punk rock and rebellious noisy crap. It was something in the lyric and I knew we were two kids trying to live like adults.
"Laughing like children, living like lovers, rolling like thunder, under the covers..."
Something my sixteen year old self identified as meaningful in that song. Something in our relationship that made me sad and happy. Something in me that knew it was doomed to be tragic- that it was going to end up in the blues... and it did. Of course, it was even more tragic than I had ever imagined it could be. For me, that song is now always bittersweet. I love the song, but it's a tough memory that it's attached to. That relationship was brutal. I was with that guy for three years.
After him was a tumultuous two year relationship with Sean who I married-the marriage lasted all of four months. Really, honestly, I think of him with "Saturday night's alright for fighting". In the end, the only thing that was entertaining and worth doing with him was fighting. He sort of began the fight in me. I worked so hard finding a voice in that relationship even though I was never really heard. Did I say all of these songs were romantic? No. In fact my favorite break up song became REO's "Time for me to fly"- loved that. I sang that a lot on the way out.
It gets worse. The second David I dated was "I don't want to go on with you like that." As a side note, my breakup with him was marked with the song "Don't Shed a tear", I used to belt that out in the car.
My next relationship, with Brad was categorized by him with a Tears for Fears song called "Sowing the seeds of Love" but I always found that song banal and ordinary. It didn't have the richness of lyric and it was sappy and cliche. That should have been my first sign that he was an idiot. There was so much grief in this relationship that it became "Sad songs say so much"
After this, I began my survival mode songs. My love affair with myself began with "I'm still standing" and morphed into "I want Love". I was lying around crying to Tori Amos and listening to "Don't let the sun go down on me". I know. Pathetic. Those years were somewhere between pissed off and angst ridden but I did get my shit together and picked myself up. After all, I was still standing!
When I started dating John, I had deliberately not been in a relationship for four years- in fact I had decided I was maybe never going to be in one again. I was a little raw and emotional to be feeling all I was feeling for him. We went out to Joanie's Pizzeria on the day it opened and "Don't Go breaking my Heart" came on the jukebox. We had been dating a few weeks. I knew right then that was his song. I had fallen in love with that song a long time ago- but now it belonged to him- and I knew that he would be breaking my heart. And he did. But he also put it back together-
A few years later, I heard the song "The One" on the radio and I knew that also belonged to him. After we got married, I was deciding what songs to put on our wedding video and I knew very quickly the two songs would be "You're my Home" and "The One". It was a nice way to bookmark my love affair with Elton John songs.

Phase two and the PMS exception

2011-05-24T14:01:00.002-05:00

I have now been on this diet for 18 days and have just entered phase two. Know what I get to eat in Phase two? Steak and baked potato. Oh I am SO happy.

This phase is all about alternating low calorie restricted day with slightly higher calorie days. So, I really get some variety here. The first phase was tough- but we made it.

Let me stop for a moment and discuss this PMS exception. I have never been on a diet which not only acknowledges this but uses nutrition to help with the symptoms and distresses of it. As I result, I got through that phase of the month with much more ease than I would have otherwise. The first thing Dr. Moreno suggests is three Brazil nuts. I know that some of you are going to scoff at that. I kind of scratched my head. But let me tell you what, I am starting to believe Brazil nuts are magic. During this phase, Moreno suggests several things that lessen symptoms and make you feel a lot better. Lean proteins- and you get to eat some lean red meat- iron rich. He also suggests banana and here is the best part. YES- I can have some chocolate. So I added in these things to a diet rich in vegetables (he recommends asparagus especially) and fruits and let me tell you what, I felt better when I ate this way. I did not have a pound of cookies or dive into a vat of ice cream. I had some steak, a banana, a fruit smoothie, spinach, eggs, salad and about two ounces of Swiss Chocolate. The good stuff. And of course the Brazil nuts. Moreno recommends extra calcium during this time as well.

I'm just going to keep Brazil nuts in the house from now on. Three of them are like little happy pills. Try it, ladies.

Okay so on to phase two. This phase is going to let me have blackeyed peas. I love them so much. And I get to make turkey chili with beans! I'm looking forward to that recipe. I think this phase will be a lot easier to deal with, with a little up and down. I'm going to have to plan meals more carefully. Moreno suggests odd days Phase One and Even days Phase Two and that sounds easy to remember so I think I will do that.

This phase has got lean red meat, shellfish, and oatmeal in it. Also, I can have grits- mmmm. When you have been restricted for 17 days, it's the little things that get you through. I am not a fish eater so I have opted for the fish oil supplements and also on odd days when I don't get enough probiotics, I take a probiotic supplement.

I've also upped my vitamin D.

I should also mention green tea is very important. I have two to three cups of green tea a day, and at least eight glasses of water. I'll let you know how phase two goes!

Day 14

2011-05-17T23:24:00.001-05:00

John and I have done pretty well resisting most things- but we have had a real trial this week. This is normally the week of spoiling and indulgences. Mother's day. My birthday. Marissa's birthday. Mother's day I really wanted CAKE. But I stayed on the diet. Until my son brought home Pizza Hut pizza for me.

Now, he hadn't even realized that we were dieting- and I was really touched. Normally this would be a great gesture- honestly it was touching that he remembered and did something sweet. I had not planned on it but I ate one single piece. Moderation.

Damn it was good. I did not have five more pieces. Then of course, John went and got a piece. I said "The problem with one piece of pizza is you always want more than one."

He laughed. I began to cook myself a healthy dinner so I wouldn't be hungry for more pizza. I look over and John is putting another piece in his mouth.

He looks at me and says "I thought you meant that was okay?" Sigh. Why do I always have to be the bad guy? Wasn't it Mother's day? Am I now his damn mother too? He couldn't be happy with one piece of pizza that wasn't even meant for him?

So he put it down- it takes so little to corrupt him- but I know he has strength- I just hate that he acts like a little kid in a candy jar and I don't want to be in the role of hand slapping. Ultimately, you are responsible for your own diet. At this point, I had planned to strategically cheat- I had already decided I was eating some cake on my birthday. Seems only fair!

I knew my mother was making either my cake or Marissa's cake and that was something to look forward to. Moderation is the key to this- I'm not recommending cheating. But I am saying one piece of cake is not going to blow it.

I have never been an over-eater. I didn't feel in danger or eating a whole cake. What I do have is total self control before six pm. Somehow those evening hours kill me. I used to just go and get two cookies- and then like ten minutes later I would get three cookies, then like an hour later I would get one more cookie- not really sure that is moderation-

So two days after Mother's Day John brings home six chocolate covered strawberries. I was livid.

Aren't you on the same diet I am? What's going on?

He says- you made me feel guilty for not doing enough on Mother's Day (Isabella was really sick that weekend and he usually takes the girls shopping but because of activities and illness the best laid plans fell apart)

I said - first, I was teasing you- second- you brought home the thing that sabotages me. I pointed out he could have brought home any other lovely present that did not involve food. Now, I felt if I rejected the present, I was rejecting him. We had a very long talk about sabotage and things. You know, it's not like the majority of what we give one another is food based. I don't even know where this was coming from but it was a long and good talk ultimately about respect and all of that- which honestly there is a lot of in my marriage but every now and then something stupid like this comes up.

I ate one strawberry (I know, I shouldn't have- it was a compromise of sorts) but I gave all the rest to the kids to get rid of them. They did not complain.

On my birthday I stayed on the diet for all the meals. I had one piece of cake and one cookie. It was really not so bad at all. My mother made the cake and we left most of it at her house and what we brought home, the kids ate quickly-

Now came Marissa's birthday. That was a real challenge because I was baking.

I have to say this- without any sort of modesty.

I bake amazing home made things. They are really good. I am damn good at it. No boxed mixes for me. I make it all. So it is some loving labor in the kitchen.

Now it started out fine- Marissa wanted a version of a strawberry shortcake birthday cake. So I doubled the recipe for hot milk sponge cake and cut up real strawberries. I made a butter cream frosting and then I decided to blend real strawberries into the frosting.

Okay, I have a fourteen year old and by definition, that means bratty. Even though she wanted this whole strawberry cake, she started pouting about the frosting having strawberries in it. She wanted white frosting. I told her I was going to blend whipped cream in it to make it very light.

Okay- there ensued tears and all that went with it and since it was her birthday, we compromised to a small layer of frosting- I had to. You can't just stick strawberries in the middle of a cake with nothing to stick to. Teenagers do not believe in the laws of physics but I have made enough cakes to know it was not going to work!

So NOW I have a whole bowl of frosting.

I refuse to waste a whole bowl of home made frosting.

Marissa had a class trip to Chicago coming up so I made three dozen cupcakes with chocolate chips in them and added cream cheese to the butter cream to thicken it up. Then I put colored sprinkles on top of them. They looked amazing :) John brought home a doughnut box from Schnucks to put it in and we put all the cupcakes aside.

Okay- this took me all day. I am very, very, very sure that I burned some calories doing it. And you know what? The cook gets to taste it. Did I mention how very difficult it is to make frosting without getting some on your fingers and being forced by the laws of nature to lick it off?

So I ate ONE cupcake and one piece of birthday cake. It is so hard to only eat one cupcake.

And I gave away a quarter of the birthday cake to my neighbors with some cupcakes- and another quarter of the cake went to my mother's house- and that left Marissa with some of her own.

I cannot be doing this baking every day- all those baking calories are not going to add up to losing anything if I keep licking that delicious frosting. But here it is.

I am back on track. Marissa took all those cupcakes with her to Chicago and there is one cupcake left in the fridge- pretty sure it has Isabella's name on it.

I should mention the good stuff, right? I have begun exercising in Stacy Park. John and I are taking our twenty minute walks around the track in the park. It's lovely.

John has lost ten pounds. I have lost eight. In spite of the cake!

Next I will tell you about the PMS exception.... stay tuned.

Day 4

2011-05-17T23:23:00.000-05:00

I been eating a lot of the same stuff, kind of gotten into a routine. Last night, John texted "I hate this diet, Bratwurst is on special tonight.".

I texted back "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels"

He promptly wrote back "Chocolate"

I was being a smart ass and quoting Kate Moss, the queen of the eating disorder/ heroin chic.

Chocolate tastes way better than skinny, Kate is an idiot.

But that isn't why we are doing this.

Last night, Isabella spiked a high fever and complained of a very sore throat. First thing this morning, I took her to Urgent Care to get her seen. She has strep throat. I went to the store and got her the ice cream she asked for. When she saw that we weren't eating ice cream with her, she asked "Why are you two on a diet?"

Before we could answer, she said "Oh, you want to get healthy and eat healthy food."

YES. That is a good example for my daughter. Not the endless pursuit of skinny but we want to be healthy. I don't want to know how Kate Moss maintained her skinny.

Okay, so there are ice cream and popsicles in the house.

Ice cream is John's biggest temptation. Honestly, I don't have any interest in the popsicles (they are the all fruit kind for the kids, not the pure sugar kind)

I feel bad that the ice cream is in the house. Bad for John. I worked to get all the unhealthy stuff out of the house. And I kind of screwed up today. I bought a probiotic low fat yogurt and then I ate it and realized I hadn't looked at the label and it had sugar in it. Not just sugar but high fructose corn syrup. I got a pretty big jolt after I ate it, I haven't had any sugar in five days! Honest mistake, though. I don't think it will throw me off too much.

I have rid the house of all other temptations but my poor sweetie with a sore throat, I just had to get ice cream for her. We will just have to deal with the presence of ice cream until the kids finish it. Ha, that won't be long.

I'm trying to keep a good attitude about this diet, and I think I am getting to the point where I just accept what I can and cannot eat during this phase, but in a few days I had started eating eggs for breakfast, salad for lunch, chicken and green vegetables for dinner. It would be really easy to keep doing that. John has been more adventurous. Eggplant and salmon with onions and salsa- there are really a great deal of interesting ways to eat healthy and delicious on this phase. I have watched the things he puts together and thought, now a 'normal' non picky eater could really eat well. Me, I'm popping fish oil supplements and vitamin D and trying to find the things I will eat. Not relishing the idea of another night of chicken and green beans and spinach- I looked in the book for something good.

I found a recipe for turkey taco salad in phase one-

I used ground turkey, taco seasoning and put it on a bed of lettuce. The recipe called for reduced fat cheddar but I put mozzarella on it instead, since it was a low fat cheese- and much better tasting in my opinion than reduced fat cheddar and I put a little plain greek yogurt on it. Okay, I was a little concerned because I am not a fan of trying new food but it was delicious. Really delicious. Greek yogurt was an excellent substitute for sour cream, and gave me a probiotic serving.

John is finding some great combinations and reaching out into this diet for some good recipes and I'm working on it as well. This phase won't be as difficult with a little creativity. I'm used to making substitutions in my life- asking for "no mushrooms" at restaurants so this is kind of no different. I'm looking at all of the ingredients in this phase and looking at how I can adjust this diet so I can work with it.

So, really the only thing we are bitching about is lack of chocolate.

Yesterday, John woke up and said "I got the same amount of sleep as I usually do, but I feel like I have more energy and I need less coffee." He reported that he lost three pounds.

Day 2 or 3

2011-05-17T23:22:00.002-05:00

So John is making this day two even though it is really day three, because he ate bread on day one... but I ate almonds, so I guess we're even. And I will live with it, because he and I need to be on the same schedule.I've decided a couple things. First I am going to only weigh myself once a week. I just don't want to deal with the whole thing if I find I'm not having immediate results. So, today is Thursday. I will weigh myself next Thursday. I did get my starting weight. I'm not posting it here because really, it's none of your damn business. LOL. I know some people do that to keep themselves accountable but I share so much of my life that some things are just private. Maybe at some point, I will feel like sharing it, but right now, my husband doesn't know and my best friend doesn't know, so I don't think facebook gets to know.

Some of you might call this shame. And you would be right. I have shame about my weight, I probably always have. My drivers license says I weigh 115 pounds. I was lying about it when I said that. I weighed about 102 but I wanted to weigh about 115 so I thought if I said that, I would be able to make it happen. At the time, it was a goal. LOL, I had no idea how to make myself gain weight- nothing worked at the time, the whole weight thing was a mystery. All through school people taunted me for being too thin. In middle school, they hurled the word 'anorexic' and 'skinny bitch' at me on a regular basis. I never did anything to be thin. I never starved myself, I had no eating disorders, I just was what I was. I had serious shame about it. I remember wishing my thighs would touch so that the cats could have something solid to sit on when they got on my lap. That is just about the epitome of irony, seriously. But I just wanted to feel NORMAL. Because if I was normal, they wouldn't notice I was so different.

In high school, the taunts turned to jealous taunts. They were convinced I must be doing something. So, as you can see, weight shame was always with me.

I think my mother's endless quest to get back to what she was worked on me, too. My mother was a tiny, thin woman who filled out in her thirties to a more normal weight but she was constantly chasing the too thin. In fact, I look back on the pictures of my mom in her forties and she looked amazing- and thin.

I had my share of friends who were overweight. We connected in part because they were taunted on the other end. It really was all about being different, I think. I was always saddened by their struggle. They thought about every single thing they put in their mouths- all I could do then was listen, now I really get it.

Back then, I just did what I wanted, if I was hungry, I ate, and I ate whatever I wanted to eat- I really kind of destroyed my body with fast food. I'm not even talking about the way I looked, because on the surface I looked pretty healthy. Physically I was fine into my thirties- but I am sure that years of smoking and years of fueling my body with terrible food contributed largely to my depression and lack of energy. I even had good checkups at the doctor but I suspect this issue now was caused by my lack of caring about myself, my body.

I really think this kind of dieting is a mental journey as much as a physical one.

I don't know when I started using food as a comfort. I remember my friends with weight problems suggesting to me that I have chocolate ice cream when I had a rough day and I remember thinking that it would make me throw up if I even tried that.

I only ate chocolate then when I was happy-

I still don't really overeat but I have gotten myself to a learned behavior of eating something sweet after dinner. When I quit smoking, I was pregnant and I was quelling the craving with a sweet treat after dinner. Somehow this has turned into I can't smoke, so I am going to eat more dessert than I should-

And to be honest, the best appetite suppressor was Dr. Pepper- no idea why- but back in the day, I could just drink it all day and not be hungry. I gave that up about eight years ago, so when I quit smoking, I had no vices left and I am such a rebel, that did not sit well with me.

I just created another vice because I gave up all of the ones I had- aren't I clever?

I mean, I don't even miss cigarettes and I really value what eating healthy has brought to my life but it means that I want to have dessert, you know cause I ate healthy all day- that habit is going to be difficult to break.

The last two nights I have been looking for snacks and there is nothing on the list of foods I can eat that I want to eat. John keeps complaining about being hungry. I'm not really hungry, I'm just bored and I want chocolate or cheese or some almonds and peanuts. And I can't have any of those. I could have some chicken or some salad or veggies. But I don't want those cause I ate them for dinner.

So I lost three pounds just not giving in to boredom and making sure there was no chocolate in the house.

I don't know why John is so hungry all the time. This diet is actually pretty filling for the most part. I think we are still in mourning for our sweets. I had to marry someone with a huge sweet tooth!!! Anyway, this first phase is the most restrictive so once we are through this, we will get back other things in the next phase.

I have not figured out the regular exercise thing yet- that is next on my list-

Doing the 17 day diet

2011-05-17T23:21:00.000-05:00

Edit
17 Day Diet Day One
by Vanessa Roman on Wednesday, May 4, 2011 at 1:23am

Okay, I'm not usually a fan of doing things like this, writing about a diet, but I was asked to, and I have seen others doing it to keep themselves accountable so I am going to give it a shot.

I got the book a couple weeks ago but decided to start after Easter, after all the chocolate was out of the house. So today was the first day.Yesterday we went shopping and got a lot of fruits and vegetables and lean proteins.

The first thing my husband said was "I think I'm going to get more out of this diet than you are."

He will. He's right. The biggest challenge is that I am a ridiculously picky eater and I'm used to having my way.

Some of you know this about me, some don't. I've only been overweight for about five years. Before that, I was skinny girl. I was underweight for most of my life, after Marissa was born thirteen years ago, I moved into a normal range of weight, then I gained about 20 more than I was comfortable with and dieted my way down again to a happy weight. I weighed 130 when I got married. I am 5'8. Before I had Isabella five years ago, I had never weighed more than 150 pounds. Usually that meant I was nine months pregnant-

I was about 130 when I got pregnant with Isabella. That was the highest pre-pregnancy weight I had ever been. Usually I was about 105 starting weight. So when I gained 45 pounds, it was more than I had ever weighed before. I knew something was different and wrong with this pregnancy- and for the last few months, I was pretty much only about to get up and go to the bathroom and go back to sitting down. I couldn't walk any distances or do anything strenuous. If I stood up for longer than ten minutes, I got weak and dizzy.

Now I will tell you this, I never exercised but I always had very physical jobs and led an active lifestyle.

After I gave birth, I could barely make it to the end of my driveway without getting winded. I began walking a little further every day at about six weeks after the baby. Slowly, my strength came back, but I noticed the weight was not coming off. I did not try to diet while I was breastfeeding, just tried to eat very healthy. Still, exercise and healthy eating made no difference.

After about a year, I knew there was a problem, I knew something was wrong and I joined the YMCA and began the battle in earnest, working out regularly and eating properly. I made some small strides at one point and lost some weight, started to feel better, but I couldn't maintain it. It was like I was walking through mud, I had to fight extra hard to lose even one pound. If I let go of the vigilance for a second, I was right back where I started. Then for no explicable reason, I began to gain weight randomly.

I knew this was not the body I had grown up with. Everyone said "you aren't working hard enough." or "you're getting older." After nearly three years of the struggle, I went to the doctor and my thyroid was tested at MY insistance. It confirmed everything for me- my thyroid was slow. As soon as I went on the medication, I felt better. I lost about fifteen pounds- worked my ass off and felt better but regulating a slow thyroid is a process- it takes time to get in right. I am tested every six months to see how it is working, and the first year, I had to up the dosage twice.

Finally, it appeared to be working. I lost a little and managed to maintain it for a bit of time.

But I was exhausted with the fight. I gave up my expensive gym membership and gave up counting calories and just gave up. I'm spoiled. I have never had to do this. I resent it. I had all those years of not being consumed with everything I put in my mouth and now I am obssessed with it. I don't want to look like this. Every part of me is profoundly uncomfortable.I don't know who I am any more at this weight. But I refuse to stay at home feeling sorry for myself and I refuse to give up. I have spent the last six months giving up and letting go of myself. I have gained back that fifteen pounds and I hate it. I hate looking in the mirror. The joy of shopping is completely gone. I hate the way I look in pictures, I won't even think about acting in a film, the thought of seeing myself is just devastating. Today, I found pictures of me at my wedding shower and I looked so good.

I want to get there again. I'm just not a quitter. I can't let this thing beat me up like that. I want desperately to be back in control of my weight again.

So the first day. I would like some chocolate and I would like some cheddar cheese but otherwise, it is not that bad. I have no idea what I am supposed to snack on so I just had three regular meals-

2 eggs for breakfast, a mixed greens salad with feta cheese, an apple, and a tablespoon of olive oil dressing for lunch and dinner was a turkey burger(no bun) with green beans and spinach and a tablesoon of greek yogurt- for dessert I had five red grapes instead of chocolate. I drank two cups of green tea and eight glasses of water-

I was kind of hungry in the evening so I had a spoon of peanut butter. Then I found out I wasn't supposed to have that. Eh, I will figure out acceptable snacks tomorrow-

On dating, and crushes, and love and the worst dates ever!

2011-02-15T04:08:00.000-06:00

The first real Valentine I ever sent was to a gay guy I had a crush on. I was thirteen and he was seventeen, and I painstakingly picked it out at William's Pharmacy. I actually bought two identical Valentines, so that I could keep one for a scrapbook memory. It wasn't a mushy Valentine, it was a funny card. It's kind of adorable. I am still friends with this guy. My crush was apparently good for his ego and honestly, I knew I had no hope of this crush growing to any sort of fruition. I was just happy he took the card, opened it and took it home with him. Later, years later, he would tell me how it was the only Valentine he got that year and how sweet it was. At the time, he acted like it was nothing- and how silly I was but it was one of the moments that tested my courage. I knew, likely he would mock me for the gesture and even if he didn't, others would. And that happened, but I didn't care. I had a pure sort of affection for this guy. And he was so important to my social growth at that time. He made me determined and toughened me up. Because he didn't treat me with kid gloves, I knew what I was capable of when I was with him. In an odd way, he grew my confidence because he challenged me.
Later when I did start dating guys who returned my affection, he would function as a big brother kind of figure, disapproving when I wasn't treated well. I'm happy I still know him.
Ah the world of dating. Having not been a 'single' woman really for the last sixteen years- a look back at the world of dating and crushes and love is pretty amusing from this vantage point.
Funny how people in long term relationships miss dating and singles long for a long term thing- and there are those rare and wonderful, single and happy, in a long term thing and happy. When John and I had been together for about five years, I missed the sick to my stomach, head over heels, gotta have you NOW kind of feeling that consumes the first six months or so of a relationship. It has evolved now into this steady and beautiful kind of love and affection.
It's funny that I remember our first Valentine's Day together but not the second.
He's getting it right, this guy. I asked for a letter this Valentine's Day, and it was so sweet and poignant, and funny, it made me laugh and cry.
Once I was dating this guy, a very significant relationship and he asked me what I wanted for Valentine's Day and I said, very flippantly (as I was 22 at the time) I want flowers and candy and jewelry. So he got me all three. A bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates and a pearl and diamond ring. And it left me feeling completely empty. He had followed instructions to the letter, and it was this terrible experience because I couldn't feel anything out of it. I had no idea what this was at the time. Why was I not happy? I chalked it up to feeling guilty for asking for things- not being good at accepting good things, being accustomed to disappointment.
But I know now that it was not the things but the complete lack of connection we had for one another. I was always trying to make something out of nothing with this guy but he was an empty shell. He knew how things looked but he never really knew me or loved me. I fit his definition of girlfriend, woman he owned but he never 'got' me. He never saw me for who I was. Near the end of our relationship, we were at his friend's house and he was bragging about me.
"Vanessa is a really good writer," he said.
We'd been together a couple years at this point.
I looked at him, and realized for the first time what a fraud he was.
"How do you know I'm a good writer?" I asked him.
"Well...you are."
I pressed him and he stuttered.
"You've never read one thing that I've written," I said. "For all you know, I could suck at it."
He gave me the how dare you embarrass me look. I made it worse by asking him what my college major was. He couldn't answer. Yeah, that was why it all felt so empty. He had filled himself up with what his idea of me was and the real me was nowhere in there. He had picked out the roses he liked, the chocolates he thought I should eat, and the jewelry he thought I should wear. I don't even like pearls. It never occurred to him to ask really WHAT I wanted. To this day, he still doesn't understand why I left him, because he never really saw me. He saw a reflection only of what he thought I should be and reality kept intruding.
I guess I was fooling myself for the longest time about him as well. I did not see how empty he was. He kind of looked good on paper. He had a good job and a nice car and he liked to buy me things. I was used to dating guys without jobs or cars or even driver's licenses, this was supposed to be the kind of guy who would do right by me. I tried to make it work for the sake of my son and for the sake of not giving up on the dream of a family that I had for so long, but you know in the end, I had to be true to the reality of the empty shell that he was and would always be.
In the end, I don't think Valentine's Day is about the perfect date or the perfect flowers or candy or the most perfect crush. It's just a day full of expectation of something.
In the single days, I used to send my single friends cards and buy myself my favorite chocolate. Day after V Day is the best day for half price chocolate!
Here is my favorite worst date story.
I had gone on one date with this guy, Wayne who seemed kind of nice and sort of normal enough for me to give him a second date, considering the first one I had met him at Denny's and had talked to him for around an hour. About a week later, we agreed to go out to dinner, so he came by my house and picked me up. When I got in the car, I noticed he had brought his dog with him.
I mentioned I thought we were going to dinner, he said "Oh,I can leave him in the car."
That just didn't seem right to me. Mind you in the week we had been talking he had never mentioned even owning a dog and he had definitely not asked if I minded if he brought the dog along. I'm NOT a dog person and it seemed totally rude to me that he hadn't even mentioned it. The whole time we were in the restaurant, I felt bad about the dog sitting in the car and alternately resentful that we couldn't take our time out to eat because of the dog.
I had gotten a babysitter for our date, could he not have gotten a dog sitter? If I had brought my kids along without asking, he might have been a little upset. This guy was definitely weird. After dinner, he asked to go back to my house.
I asked him if he was taking the dog home first. He said, no, he was bringing it to my house. I said, no, I have four cats and they won't like a dog in their house. He says well, I'll put the dog in your back yard. Um, except my yard was not fenced in. He acted huffy, as if this was my fault, I was ruining his plans. There was no third date.
This might have been tied with the guy who on the phone planning the date told me he had a vasectomy. Yeah, baby, that was sexy. I mean- TMI way too soon, assuming I even believed him, which I didn't. The last thing I needed was another 'sterile' guy getting me pregnant. Then he wore the worst cologne ever, I couldn't get within ten feet of him. Handshake goodnight after worst movie ever and then driving home, I got a speeding ticket. Perfect end to the perfectly awful night!
It makes me laugh now. I love the bad date stories. It's easy now to not have too many expectations. John and I skyped tonight. That and the letter was enough, every day knowing he is my husband is special.

The Stranger Conundrum

2011-02-02T03:37:00.000-06:00

I like talking to strangers, there is something refreshing about having no history with someone and just having a conversation that exists in the moment. There are no expectations of this conversation. I have found it can be as meaningful and rewarding as a deep exchange with an old friend. After all, we all started that way- as strangers, before we became close to one another, there was something that attracted us initially. So, I see in every exchange a deep possibility. A stranger is not being kind to me because she knows me or seeks to spare my feelings from the truth.
Sometimes I think it is in the remove when we can find the most proof. It is when we ask and seek outside objective opinions, sometimes we find what we are looking for.
Even if we never see one another again, I have found connection often in this stranger. It's interesting where we get our validation. Our friends sometimes tell us the truth and sometimes seek to spare us with little white lies. I myself don't like to hurt the feelings of people I care about and try to put a positive spin on a criticism.
Every morning, I come downstairs, heat up some water to make hot tea and turn on the computer to check my mail.
This morning I found an email in my box from a film festival. It was either a rejection or an acceptance. I took a deep breath and felt the blood rush to my face. I have had several rejections lately. And none of them has been easy. I haven't said anything about them to anyone, in fact I kept them to myself and just moved on.
When my father found out I was starting to send out my stories to publishers, he decided to tell me that I was going to be rejected a lot. I hated him for that. I suppose he meant well in his own way but his negativity has always been a killer for me. It's hard enough to live with his temper but his lack of positive outlook has always pissed me off. Your parents are supposed to believe in you. Dammit. Preparing someone reasonably for the possibility of rejection is entirely different than telling them that they will be rejected a lot and giving only the negative part.
What he should have said was what I now say to myself.
One person's opinion about me does not make this film good or bad, it continues to be one person's opinion of me, and the really important belief is the belief I have in myself and what ever the decision here, I will continue to know I was meant to do this, that my talent will not always be appreciated and my work does not always fit every festival and every vision. Rejection does not invalidate me as an artist or a person.
So before I opened that email, I took a deep breath and said this speech to myself. That I would move on and continue no matter what that email said.
My dad forgot to tell me how amazing it is to be accepted, published, validated as a writer/director/actor. He focused so much on the pain, he forgot the prize. That sometimes you win. He also underestimated my steely determination and burning ambition. I am driven to do this.
I got a win today. Someone I don't even know liked what I did. Believed in me. In Canada, no less. I needed this today, to come out of the clouds and into the light. I have wonderful friends and their support means everything to me but sometimes I need a stranger to like independently what I do, so I can make sure it isn't just my friends being kind to me.
I'm going to Toronto in March. The Female Eye Festival, celebrating female directors. It will be really inspirational. I went two years ago and I loved it. Now I just have to figure out if I'm driving or flying!

Looking to the future from that shadow

2011-02-01T04:05:00.000-06:00

A while ago, I wrote about my trip to California when I was 21, and the picture that was taken of me on the beach by my childhood home. The picture was silhouetted in shadow. I was a shadow of who I would become, the way to my future was dark. I was a shadow of my former self. I was just beginning to reconcile with the past and my connection to who I was. This picture was taken on that same beach of my daughter, Marissa. She is looking out into that sunset, to her future.
She carefully walked up there and placed her feet so that the water would just come up to touch them.
She loves the ocean like I do.
I watched her for a while and then snapped this picture of her, looking towards the vastness of the ocean into a future that will come up to embrace her like the waves. She is breathing in the salt air and possibility. The world is as wide open to her as the ocean.
This is how I often feel on the beach, why I am constantly drawn to it, because when I stand there, I always feel as if anything is possible and I can achieve any dream. The ocean will bring it to me and lay it at my feet.
This is what hope looks like when you capture it, right before it flits out to sea.

Do Over

2011-01-29T03:02:00.000-06:00

I want a do over. I know my life is not over and I still have a lot to do but I feel like so many things have been ripped away from me. I have to remind myself often that I am not gone, it is not over and it is not too late for me. But last night I saw what I should have done with my twenties and I was just brutally angst ridden. I should have been out here, writing and taking acting classes and working with sketch comedy groups, working with theater groups, working in film.
This was there for me. And I was too afraid to find it. I was too busy chasing stupid men and being abused by them to find my dreams- oh I never gave up on those dreams, I never let them go away but how many things got squandered.
Now I am here and I have to stop regretting the past and do what I can do now. Marissa has an opportunity for her own dreams. I don't know what they are, exactly but I do know that I have never been the kind of mother that lives through her kids. I want her to be happy. I want her to achieve her dreams on her own terms and I will help her but her career success is not going to quell my desires.
My ambition is too fierce, too hot, it still burns brightly within me.
Last night I was jealous. I thought to myself- not only can I do that, I would be really good at it. Why am I not doing it? Why have I never seen this part of LA before?
I was angry, fierce, happy, ambitious. I'm not giving up. Can't make me.

First Audition

2011-01-28T15:27:00.001-06:00

After sitting around here dealing with mundane this and mundane that, all the necessary red tape, we finally got our first call for an audition. It was really thrilling. I got a text message on Wednesday for a Thursday audition.
Let me back up a little bit. The business has changed a lot in the last six years or so from what I understand. Black and white headshots used to be the thing. No more, they have switched to all color. The internet has taken over. It is still amazing to me how few people are willing to give you information. It's almost like a code of silence. You might do something, and I had to struggle so therefore I will tell you nothing.
Not only has the internet taken over, but it has found a way to make a business of taking money hand over fist. Not a great big surprise, right? I don't begrudge them that for the most part. Making a living, we are all making a living here but this doesn't exist in the small market I come from, so it was a bit of a culture shock. I'm thrilled that we haven't even been on the websites for more than a couple weeks and Marissa's agent already managed to land her an audition.
There are several major websites that you must sign up on and they have tiers of memberships that you can get. Recently, I complained about the nickel and diming of the industry and an actress told me- "Well, it just shows the ones who are serious and committed."
No, actually it doesn't. You can still be committed and broke. Now you are even more so both. This industry has always preyed on the desperate with the promise of stardom and wealth.
So, membership on Actors Access is free, but if you want to submit yourself to get an audition, it will cost you $2. Of course, you can pay a monthly fee to submit as much as you want- like I said, varying degrees of ways to make money off actors who have little money. I'm sure they will say this is investing in your career. Too bad it is the business where they screw you coming and going. It's not exactly like buying a nice dress or suit for your interview.
And for sure, agents are getting the prime listings that don't really get seen by everyone. That's why you want one. But still, I have been spending so much time reading everything, all the breakdowns with character descriptions and roles available. It's exciting and daunting to be in the big pool. The level of talent here is really great. I find the challenge to be invigorating, and so does Marissa. She told me in the car on the way to the audition.
"You get so stressed out,Mom, relax, it's going to be great."
Good attitude to have.
So, yesterday she and I got in the car two hours ahead of the audition time- and encountered very little traffic for once. We showed up an hour early, but that is okay- we had a few things to do and we knew where the location was and just relaxed at that point and went to CVS to pick up a few things and kill time. That is the best when you can show up fresh.
The first person I saw when I walked in the door was Maria Lark, who played Bridget Dubois on the tv show Medium. I recognized her immediately, without a doubt. Marissa kept telling me I was wrong, until I showed her the name on the sign in sheet. I don't know what the etiquette is at these things so I erred on the side of caution and said nothing to her, though I did really want to say hi, and I loved your show, which I did. But the last thing I wanted to do was be pointed out as the dork who talked to Maria, so I kept my mouth shut.
It wasn't long before Marissa's name was called and she went in to do her thing. It was an improv audition where the actors were asked to do a little scene and give one line of dialogue. Pretty simple, pretty straight forward. In and out. There were lots of girls who looked a lot like Marissa there.
So, here is the wait and see part. I'm really glad the first one is over.

The Toy Chest Coffin

2011-01-20T20:57:00.001-06:00

Okay, I am going to write about this and be done with it because there is literally nothing I can do about it and I need to move on. A friend of mine just apparently broke up with me for no apparent reason that I can tell. To the best of my knowledge, I was a good friend to her for over 25 years. She used to call me every day, we used to talk about everything. Something changed in the last six months or so and I could see it in her but I couldn't put my finger on it. She became jealous,threatened, accusatory with me. She began setting me up in situations I knew were going to bring out her worst insecurities and then later tearing me down both to my face and behind my back. The judgment began.
You might ask, with all this going on, why would you want her as a friend? Longevity is a powerful thing.
New friendships are fledgling, flighty little things, they haven't been time tested and they are likely to be need of the moment based. Maybe the two of you are going through a similar crisis at the same time and when that crisis is over, you don't need one another any more. We've all been there, right? So, you kind of drift apart but are glad to see one other from time to time.
A few years ago I ended a toxic friendship, but we did it respectfully, after a long and nasty set of emails, and a last ditch attempt to save the friendship, I realized we needed a total breakup. I don't do casual very well- especially with someone I had been very close with for two decades, it had to be a complete end. It was hard, it was brutal, there was anger and pain. Part of me missed her, part of me hated her and was still angry and still had things to say and part of me, a very small part wanted to talk to her again.
I mean, even my worst, most heinous ex boyfriends, I will speak to them. I have never put any relationship in the deep freeze for life. And you know, if I saw her in the grocery store, I would say hello but I don't think I will ever pick up the telephone and call her ever again, or drop by her house or send her a Christmas card. Here is how that is different from this. Because it is what we decided together- we mutually agreed on these rules and we ended it gracefully and respectfully.
I have too much honor to do it any other way. And after being friends that long and that deeply, we owed one another some mutual respect. So as painful as it was, and my first real breakup with a friend, we at least did it with a conversation.
Not the case here. This girl decided I meant something I did not mean, threw a hissy fit and blocked me from her entire life. After 25 years, I wasn't even given the decency of a conversation. I mean, what is she, twelve? Still, I gave it the prerequisite time and space, given the longevity of the friendship- and after a month, we did talk briefly and I was promised a conversation when I got out here to LA- promised that there would be a grown up conversation. There was an item that she had given me a long time ago- a toy chest, that I promised to return if ever I drove out here. Well, I kept my promise. I drove it out here. And when I arrived, I called her and she wouldn't return my calls. I gave it a week after calling once and texting once. I then informed her voice mail if I did not hear from her, I would be dropping off the toy chest on her front porch. Can you imagine?
How immature and cowardly do you have to be?
I gave it a couple days. To be fair. This was an important family chest for her and the last thing I wanted to do was drop it and leave it unattended. I knew it meant a lot to her. And it burned me up that I was being so considerate to someone who was being so childish and inconsiderate to me. Why should I care if she didn't?
It is stupid. So stupid. Both of us have friends that have died suddenly. What we would do for one more conversation. To be this stupid at this age when we have experienced such loss already in our lives, it is almost criminal of her to treat me like this, so callous, so cruel, so stupid.
On Tuesday, I went to Trader Joe's and forgot about the stupid toy chest until I opened my trunk- but there it was. Now where the hell was I going to put my groceries? The chest was now making me angry because it was inconvenient and annoying. It was time. I was done.
I drove over to her place, it was just getting dark and I picked up the toy chest and I put it on her front porch. As I turned to leave, her eight year old daughter came running to me. My heart stopped. This toy chest was for her, and I expected her mother to be right behind her. Oh God, I did not want to have a confrontation in front of this precious child. I just wouldn't. The kid and I were pretty good friends. She had joy in her eyes when she saw me. It broke my heart.
"Is my mom with you?" she asked.
"No," I replied. To my great relief, the neighbor was watching the little girl.
I pasted a smile on my face and told the little girl the history of the toy chest, that it had been her mother's when she was a child and her mother had given it to me for my children and for safe keeping to return to her if she ever had a child, but driving it out to LA from St. Louis had been a challenge. But now it was here. I felt good that I had kept my promise, kept my honor, and happy that me telling this to the child was bringing such happiness and wonder to her face and terrible that I was doing it for someone who was displaying such cruelty towards me. Still, I knew I was doing a good thing, at least for the child and that was small comfort, I could hold my head high.
I turned and left, not knowing the state of our friendship but suspecting it was dead in that toy chest now. In that coffin lay twenty five years of friendship. There was no wake, no funeral and no memorial service. I went home and wrote all my pain and my anger in a letter that I would drop in her mailbox a few days later. But it's like shouting in a deaf person's ear. No response. I can't even know if she read it. I'm left with all these feelings and I'm trying not to be held hostage by them. I have to be content with the fact that I vented my feelings whether or not she received them, they went out into the world as energy and my cries were heard, even if she was deaf to them.
It shakes up your world to know that friendship ends.
I'm going to have to work this out in my own time.
I don't need her, but I miss her.
We had way more good times than bad times.
When she was my friend, she was true and good. She wasn't mean to me for 25 years. She was supportive and loving and generous. Sure she could be a real bitch sometimes but I love her, anyway. I knew there was this side of her but naively believed it would never be turned on me.
I know that this behavior will back up on her. That one day she will realize it was her foolish pride and her insecurity and her issues that she projected on to me. Every day that goes by makes me wonder if I can forgive her and be her friend again. She has breached a huge trust.
I remember being dumped by a boyfriend in a particularly heartless way and knowing that there was a period of time when he could take it back and I could forgive him- maybe a few hours for him to make it right- but there was the part of me that knew he had crossed a line to a place where it would be impossible to come back from- that the heinous thing that he had done was something I could never condone, and I think I have been fooling myself that I can forgive her and move on in the friendship. I have to be worth more than that to myself.
Longevity has been what saved her up til now. But I deserve better. And I have to hold myself to a higher standard. I have to know that I don't deserve to be treated this way.
I can't know the future but I do know when that ex boyfriend came crawling back, I knew he was not worthy of my love and forgiveness. I don't know if she is. That guy had three months of my life but I do know that every day that passes makes me stronger in this. My tender heart likes to forgive but I like myself stronger with more resolve. I suppose there is a reason for this but I still find it a dreadful waste of pride and stubbornness where it is unnecessary.
I'll let you know how it turns out.

Survival Mode

2011-01-19T00:49:00.000-06:00

Well, it is hurry up and wait time in Los Angeles- we have filled out the forms and put her resumes on line and met with the agent and now we are waiting for the work permit. We are in survival mode, spending only the most necessary money, looking for bargains, cutting corners. Fretting over everyday items like toilet paper and salt. We are settled in and oriented. Marissa is almost lazy, she is on the computer and texting with her friends. She doesn't want to go out much. I want to be out every night!
Yesterday I took a long walk through my neighborhood. Across the highway is a really nice neighborhood, the houses have manicured lawns and some driveways are gated. I walked all the way up the hill and just admired the houses built into the side of a mountain. My thighs really hurt when I got to the top of the hill but it was good exercise on a lovely day. I know those houses were millions of dollars over there. As I was walking around, it occurred to me that I have mostly been able to go wherever I want in my life unhindered. I knew that as I walked around, likely no one would call the police because a woman was walking around looking at the houses. And I was looking.
Clearly, I had no ill intent, but I realized that my freedom is greater than some. I know that based on race, there are some people that would have been harassed doing what I was doing- walking around. It weighed a little on me. I guess if you want to case a place, send a white woman to walk around. No one thinks she could possibly be up to anything.
I can go so many places and no one even blinks and no alarms are raised. I am by looks harmless and honest.
Okay, I am in reality- honest and harmless- but you can't tell that by looking at me!
I love that my passage is open. It allows me great freedom. But I wish everyone had the same. Can we help ourselves that we make assumptions? I'm not talking about those instincts where our hairs on the backs of our necks raise up. I'm talking about- hey, a stranger is walking around my neighborhood- oh, it's just a girl. Are we by nature less suspicious about white women?
I'll just keep walking and see how it goes!

Go West Young Women

2011-01-14T03:41:00.000-06:00

When I was 21, I drove out to California with a friend who was moving there. It was kind of a bitter angst with which I took the trip. A wondrous journey but one I knew I would have to leave behind. I was wishing the whole time it was me moving here to be a writer, an actress, and I didn't know yet I wanted to be a director. It was the first time I had really left my kids and it was for a whole week. There were only two kids at the time, Cory and Cassandra, and they were very young. I called every day to talk to them and check up on them. It was more difficult than I thought to leave for a week and less difficult than I imagined.
I was born in Santa Monica and lived there only when I was a baby before my family moved back to St. Louis. My parents were on sabbatical that year which is how we came to be out west. I have always felt the pull to Los Angeles. Not just as my birthplace but the place I needed to be to pursue the ambitions that burn within me.
But I had those children at home and no support system at all here. I didn't feel I had a solid plan or a realistic idea of what I would do and ultimately terror and indecision kept me there. It was important for me to do the right thing by my kids.
I decided that before I could possibly move I needed to finish college. Who knew it would take so long? But I gave myself a goal and I met it. I think those experiences along the way have shaped me well. As I look back at what I gained by having those experiences, I realize how ready it made me to be here now. Not to mention, meeting my husband and having the last two children- the first of which is half the reason I am here now.
The first time, I drove here, I was a fetus waiting to be born.
The second time I drove here, I was a very young woman, more of a child than an adult, a shadow of who I would become.
This time, I am a woman sure of my path and who I am.
We went to Disneyland on my 22nd birthday while I was in LA and it was magical in many ways, but I still felt like I was on the sidelines of my life. There is one picture of me from that trip and it is me standing on the beach in Santa Monica, right across from the neighborhood I lived in as a baby. Jeanna, my travel companion who was moving here, took my picture with the sun behind me so what is visible is literally a shadow of me. I think I had to find me before I could really get here to be me.
I remember chanting "go west young women" whenever Jeanna and I got back on the highway after a rest stop. I remember stopping in New Mexico at a gas station and buying crystals from some Rainbow Hippies on the side of the road, so they could get some gas money and get out of there.
This time, I thought 'go west, young women' as I drove with my daughter to take us out here, to take a chance and see where it leads us. We stopped more and I appreciated the landscape more this time. I think I saw more beauty than I paid attention to the last time. Marissa did a different drawing for every state we passed through. She likes road trips as much as I do.
I caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass on the way into the hotel one night and for a split second I thought it was me. It's strange to look at her- naked ambition in my face, but without the fear and with all the confidence. That must have been what I looked like when I was alone and dreaming.
We have gone west. We are here.
When I pulled up into the carport of our residence, I rolled over a sign. When I got out of the car, I picked it up and it said:
"Destiny- the choices we make, the chances we take, determine our destiny."

New Years Reflections and Hopes for 2011

2011-01-03T12:09:00.000-06:00

As I was reading through my facebook friends status updates, I found this little gem that inspired me.
"I'm going to start living my life and stop letting life live me. I have to remember it's not how many don't love you that matters but how many you love."
This came with a completely predictable measure of irony as I was just lamenting how I wished I could spend more time with a friend who never seemed to have any time for me.
It's a constant reminder in my life, that I need to be grateful and committed to the friends who have always found time for me- wanted to make time for me- and not waste any more time lamenting those that don't love me and value me as I do them. It's hard to let go of the notion that I want to be liked and am not paying mind to the miracle of being liked. I have at times found myself jealous and pained and quietly suffering. I still sometimes cannot make sense of it.
This is the little girl that lives in me. The watcher. The one who watched all the other kids play but was too afraid to ask to join in.
Last year I was lamenting the terrible treatment of me by someone I had been friends with who had mysteriously disappeared and frozen me out- as I was relating the pain and confusion of this, I was reminded by the person I was talking with that I had real friends who valued me. I guess I needed this reminder again. Maybe we all need to be reminded that we don't need to chase what we already have.
On New Year's Eve, I attended a party thrown by a couple of very dear friends. Two rare individuals who are always there with an ear to listen, stories to tell, and always have words of support and encouragement. These two are amazing friends- I think I have now known them for about 19 years and in all that time, I have never heard a disparaging word from them.
Truly, this couple is inspiring. I have had deep and meaningful conversations with them for hours, separately and together, and they were always interesting, insightful and intelligent. They are open to meeting new people and some of the most welcoming and open minded people I have ever met. Their kindness is the most genuine and I value my conversations with them.
I haven't told them they are special for a long time, so I must take time in the new year to let them know this.
What I hope to learn is that it is okay to love people who don't necessarily love me back. That it is better to give that friendship and not look for something in return. In the end, it is my own thwarted expectations that do me in.
When I look to my left, the calendar sits on January and the quote this month is "Some succeed because they are destined to, but most succeed because they are determined to."
I love this. I love how for the past few days, I have seen more meaningful quotes encouraging me towards my future.
I leave tomorrow for an adventure. My daughter Marissa and I are driving to Los Angeles and will be there for two months. I began this blog as a girl who refused to give up her dream. At this moment, two of us are racing towards a dream.
What will happen? We will take each day as it comes. One step at a time. It is after all a marathon, not a sprint.
We reach not for stardom, we reach to fulfill our dreams of doing the work.
For me, the idea of being a writer, a director, an actress is the only thing I need to be doing. I need it like oxygen- it lets my soul breathe.
For Marissa, the world is just opening up to her. She will learn and love and experience life with juicy mouthfuls- she does nothing halfway. Seize the day was written for us.
My hope for this new year is that I can be open. Open to listening and seeing what the Universe is telling me and showing me. Open to meeting new people, open to the understanding that not everyone will have my best interests at heart but open to the experience of learning that will come from that.
I hope I can be the kind of friend that I want to have and remember to honor my commitments and be as honest and courageous as I can.
I try to keep hope shining in my life- and when one option closes itself to me, I shut my eyes and find the hope I need to continue. I think we all need that. Where would we be without hope?
On a bad day, we need to take a deep breath and hope that tomorrow will be better or if it isn't, hope we have the strength to survive it. I have always hoped I will find my way to my dreams. I never imagined they would happen in the ways that they have. And that beauty would come from so much pain.
I am always hopeful in the new year. It's like getting a fresh start on things. We need to know there is always a day to start over, to begin again. I know that it means nothing that only a few days ago, it was a different decade, but somehow it feels like the air is clean with possibilities.
On New Year's Eve, I was with a roomful of very positive people, many of whom are very creative- at least five times, I heard someone say "It's going to be a great year, I just know it."
That made me feel really good- that joy of hope in the air. The confidence of belief.
I hope this year brings with it lessons we need, joys we can share and when there is pain, let it be pain we can overcome.
Happy New Year.
I hope my optimism has not been too annoying today.

The Death Talk

2010-12-27T14:48:00.000-06:00

Last night, I was reading Isabella a bedtime story and one of the characters was a mouse. She said she wanted to see a real live mouse and I casually mentioned that I used to have a lot of mice when I was a kid, and I named a few of them. She asked me what happened to them, and I said, well, mice don't live very long, only about two years- so they all became old mice and they died.
Why did they die? She asked, looking intensely at me with those big blue eyes- uh oh-
Well, I said, everyone that is born eventually dies.
Now, I guess you can get to the ripe old age of 4 1/2 and not realize that you are mortal- and apparently this was the case with Isabella.
"You mean, I'm going to die?"
Oh, crap, I thought. This is a horrible conversation to have- but a necessary one.
Then she looked at me.
"And you- you're going to die? I don't want to die! I don't want you to die!"
And then the crying began.
I soothed her by saying most people live until they are very old before they die and then it is okay for them to die and that she would probably live for a very long time.
Apparently, she thought people only died violent deaths when they were bad guys-oh television, you can really warp things-
I can't really recall that I have ever had this conversation with another child of mine. I mean, I probably did, but I was at a loss suddenly of how to handle this. You would think after five children, I would be better at explaining things but those innocent eyes looking at you can destroy all confidence. I was ruining her perfect bubble.
I remember when my oldest child was about six and the man who cut our lawn, Henry, a really nice man but a very old man, when he died, I remember telling my son and he was pretty upset because he really liked Henry, but he understood pretty well what death was and the finality of it. I cannot myself remember what it was like to discover things die, people die.
I remember discovering sex, the great secret of what it was. It never bothered me to destroy that mystery for my children, because it can be a dangerous mystery, keeping children in ignorance about their bodies and how they function. I always tried to explain it tenderly and in age appropriate detail. It has always been important to me to try to answer my kid's questions to the best of my ability and not to lie to them about the important stuff.
Still, I felt wrong saying I wasn't going to die very soon. I don't know that. None of us know. I tried to explain that none of us really know when we are going to die and it's a great mystery but most people live long lives.
She said "Unless we get stabbed by a really long sword."
Hmmm, this is true.
I'll happily create a wondrous world with fairies and Santa Claus and unicorns and far away lands- but lying to her about death was impossible. I didn't really want to tell her about Heaven either. It bothered me because it seemed like I was just saying that to make her feel better and although I wanted desperately to make her feel better, the thought of telling her that to take the sting off reality was just a band aid for an innocence I had inadvertently destroyed. Sigh. This was much worse than the sex talk. Maybe because sex is a creator and not a destroyer, just generally speaking. I tried to think of anything really positive about death- well- it does end pain if someone is really sick and suffering.
But that isn't really appropriate discussion with a four year old. Gah!
So, you know, I told her I would always be with her in her heart, which is something I can believe in- and wherever I was after death, I would always love her. Because I believe love transcends death and all the people that have died and been a part of my heart are still with me.
She's a smart kid. I think she will understand that concept. Anyway, she stopped crying and I gave her extra hugs.

Mountains and Memories

2010-12-22T01:54:00.000-06:00

As a child, I was constantly writing. I think that is why my memory of events is so good, I was always writing things down, re-living them. I was always looking for outlets for my huge wells of emotions, so I journaled and wrote stories constantly. Last week, my mother dumped a box of my things in my living room and in there were about fifteen notebooks. They ranged in time period pretty radically. Some went back as far as to me being fifteen years old and they stretched into my early twenties. I found a first draft of a paper I wrote on "The Color Purple"- the book, not the movie, when I was sixteen.
I knew I loved the book, but I did not realize how strongly and how personally I connected to the character. I mean, in a way, this is how I understood her. I wrote powerfully about the character of Celie being like a black hole, taking in everyone's abuse and swallowing it into herself. I didn't even know I was writing about me in there.
I saw this profound connection to this woman who I should have no connection to, but this speaks directly to the power of Alice Walker- that book transported me beyond time and color.
Then I began to read the letters and the random diary entries. I would write in anything. If I had the need to go deep within myself, I had to write it immediately- there are diary entries everywhere- there are long and detailed letters I never sent of how I felt about relationships, most of the letters are to guys I was dating when I found it impossible to convey my feelings verbally. These remind me of Celie's letters to God in a way...but only in the sense that they both exist in letter form.
I was so much smarter than I knew I was.
I was so afraid to express how smart I was to these boys.
I dumbed down who I was. Not to the point that I completely suppressed it, but to the point that I was never allowed to be utterly and truly myself.
And in these letters, I knew clearly and succinctly what the problems in the relationship were and I expressed them over and over just trying to be heard. When I finally found the courage to say some of these things out loud- well that was when the abuse began in earnest.
I was being controlled by their addictions. At one point I wrote a long piece about how it was okay when he was drunk one way but when he reached a certain point it wasn't safe anymore, he would become nasty tempered and awful. In some way, I thought if I could just keep him from hitting the tipping point between happy and violent, things might be okay.
I remember being afraid when one of my boyfriends would buy a certain kind of alcohol- I knew that increased the likelihood that I was going to end up being abused verbally, probably physically, but I knew the evening wasn't going to end well. Not that you can ever predict anything like that. But I always tried to look at reasonable outcomes. I also knew that if I left him, I couldn't protect him from what he might do- that if I was a casualty of the evening, at least it was only me. It occurred to me that eventually I was just trying to survive the relationships like I was trying to survive growing up with my father.
It's been a long time since I have lived in this kind of tyranny.
I hate it, in a way that it hurts so much to look at it and remember how much time I wasted being washed over by him of the moment. It makes me physically hurt to go back and read the raw and painful emotion that I was in.
There is one letter I wrote where I am literally begging a boyfriend to come back to me because I was alone and pregnant and I couldn't take one more minute of the misery and pain and could he just come back and take it all away, that I would forgive him anything if he could just relieve this pain.
I am so glad he didn't come back. But I want to put my arms around that child and tell her it will be okay, that it will be for the best some day that I survived that emotional storm, that I went to the bottom of that ocean and felt it all and I came back up and was this stronger, and more wise human being than I ever could have imagined. It's hard sometimes when I read those letters to be grateful for that pain- because sometimes it's just a memory, but sometimes it is right there.
That's the way with the past, isn't it?
One of the more interesting discoveries was the stories in those notebooks, some half there, some fully complete. Two stories I have no memory of writing whatsoever. How odd to find things in my own handwriting that I know came out of my brain that I wrote and to not remember is bizarre. That is completely rare because I have such good recall. I remember most of my stories. Though I have to admit, some people that I was writing about in my diary I have no recall of who some of those people are any more!
If I remember more than most people, how odd it is what I forget. What is that mystical part of memory that we lose? Is there some sort of brain organization that says "Eh, I can let this one go."
I have this really detailed and extraordinary memory. I can go back and remember what I was wearing during a certain fight I had with someone and sometimes they are meaningful memories and sometimes they are ordinary.
When I was five years old, I remember imprinting a small memory and promising myself to keep it forever. It was a simple thing, but simple things can be mountains to five year old children. I can still recall that simple moment as if it was yesterday because I told myself to remember it forever. Even as the smallest child, I had the biggest ambition wrapped in the most fearful package. I knew then, as terrified as I was to even speak to a stranger, or raise my hand in class, I knew then I had a lot to overcome. I remember sitting in story hour in kindergarten, we had a guest reader that day and she had these beautiful, shiny black shoes. I was sitting about two feet away from those shoes, thinking intently about my future, I suppose I could not have been listening to the story because I was mesmerized by those shiny shoes.
I can't reason this out because I was five when I thought it, but I decided that if I could get myself to reach out and touch that shoe, then I would be able to do anything, to conquer anything, to achieve whatever I wanted to in life. Ha. So, after a few minutes of screwing up my courage, with my heart pounding in my ears, I touched that shoe. The woman didn't even appear to notice, so lightly did I touch it, but I can feel it on the tip of my finger still.
Whenever anything feels large and overwhelming to me, I remember to know my limitations and I remember that I touched that shoe. I overcame whatever I needed to overcome that day and I told myself to remember it forever. It's as simple as allowing myself to reach out.

The Awakening by Sonny Carroll

2010-12-14T14:03:00.001-06:00

I found this essay in the notes on friend's page- and in spite of the religious overtones, there is a great deal of wisdom in it- I find it remarkably similar to my own journey- and very eloquently and beautifully put. Enjoy.

The Awakening
Sonny Carroll

There comes a time in your life when you finally get it ... When in the midst of all your fears and insanity you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out "ENOUGH! Enough fighting and crying or struggling to hold on." And, like a child quieting down after a blind tantrum, your sobs begin to subside, you shudder once or twice, you blink back your tears and through a mantle of wet lashes you begin to look at the world from a new perspective.

..........This is your awakening.

You realize that it is time to stop hoping and waiting for something or someone to change, or for happiness safety and security to come galloping over the next horizon. You come to terms with the fact that there aren't always fairytale endings (or beginnings for that matter) and that any guarantee of "happily ever after" must begin with you. Then a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

So you begin making your way through the "reality of today" rather than holding out for the "promise of tomorrow." You realize that much of who you are and the way you navigate through life is, in great part, a result of all the social conditioning you've received over the course of a lifetime. And you begin to sift through all the nonsense you were taught about :

- how you should look and how much you should weigh,
- what you should wear and where you should shop,
- where you should live or what type of car you should drive,
- who you should sleep with and how you should behave,
- who you should marry and why you should stay,
- the importance of bearing children or what you owe your family,

Slowly you begin to open up to new worlds and different points of view. And you begin re-assessing and re-defining who you are and what you really believe in. And you begin to discard the doctrines you have outgrown, or should never have practiced to begin with.

You accept the fact that you are not perfect ,and that not everyone will love appreciate or approve of who or what you are... and that's OK... they are entitled to their own views and opinions. And, you come to terms with the fact that you will never be a size 5 or a "perfect 10".... Or a perfect human being for that matter... and you stop trying to compete with the image inside your head or agonizing over how you compare. And, you take a long look at yourself in the mirror and you make a promise to give yourself the same unconditional love and support you give so freely to others. Then a sense of confidence is born of self-approval.

And, you stop maneuvering through life merely as a "consumer" hungry for your next fix, a new dress, another pair of shoes or looks of approval and admiration from family, friends or even strangers who pass by. Then you discover that it is truly in "giving" that we receive, and that the joy and abundance you seek grows out of the giving. And you recognize the importance of "creating" and "contributing" rather than "obtaining" and "accumulating."

And you give thanks for the simple things you've been blessed with, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about - a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, the freedom of choice and the opportunity to pursue your own dreams.

And you begin to love and to care for yourself. You stop engaging in self-destructive behaviors, including participating in dysfunctional relationships. You begin eating a balanced diet, drinking more water and exercising. And because you've learned that fatigue drains the spirit and creates doubt and fear, you give yourself permission to rest. And just as food is fuel for the body, laughter is fuel for the spirit and so you make it a point to create time for play.

Then you learn about love and relationships - how to love, how much to give in love, when to stop giving, and when to walk away. And you allow only the hands of a lover who truly loves and respects you to glorify you with his touch. You learn that people don't always say what they mean or mean what they say, intentionally or unintentionally, and that not everyone will always come through... and interestingly enough, it's not always about you. So, you stop lashing out and pointing fingers or looking to place blame for the things that were done to you or weren't done for you. And you learn to keep your Ego in check and to acknowledge and redirect the destructive emotions it spawns - anger, jealousy and resentment.

You learn how to say "I was wrong" and to forgive people for their own human frailties. You learn to build bridges instead of walls and about the healing power of love as it is expressed through a kind word, a warm smile or a friendly gesture. And, at the same time, you eliminate any relationships that are hurtful or fail to uplift and edify you. You stop working so hard at smoothing things over and setting your needs aside. You learn that feelings of entitlement are perfectly OK and that it is your right to want or expect certain things. And you learn the importance of communicating your needs with confidence and grace. You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that eventually martyrs are burned at the stake. Then you learn to distinguish between guilt, and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to Say NO. You learn that you don't know all the answers, it's not your job to save the world and that sometimes you just need to Let Go.

Moreover, you learn to look at people as they really are and not as you would want them to be, and you are careful not to project your neediness or insecurities onto a relationship. You learn that you will not be more beautiful, more intelligent, more lovable or important because of the man on your arm or the child that bears your name. You learn that just as people grow and change, so it is with love and relationships, and that that not everyone can always love you the way you would want them to. So you stop appraising your worth by the measure of love you are given. And suddenly you realize that it's wrong to demand that someone live their life or sacrifice their dreams just to serve your needs, ease your insecurities, or meet "your" standards and expectations. You learn that the only love worth giving and receiving is the love that is given freely without conditions or limitations. And you learn what it means to love. So you stop trying to control people, situations and outcomes. You learn that "alone" does not mean "lonely" and you begin to discover the joy of spending time "with yourself" and "on yourself." Then you discover the greatest and most fulfilling love you will ever know - Self Love. And so it comes to pass that, through understanding, your heart heals; and now all new things are possible.

Moving along, you begin to avoid Toxic people and conversations. And you stop wasting time and energy rehashing your situation with family and friends. You learn that talk doesn't change things and that unrequited wishes can only serve to keep you trapped in the past. So you stop lamenting over what could or should have been and you make a decision to leave the past behind. Then you begin to invest your time and energy to affect positive change. You take a personal inventory of all your strengths and weaknesses and the areas you need to improve in order to move ahead, you set your goals and map out a plan of action to see things through.

You learn that life isn't always fair and you don't always get what you think you deserve, and you stop personalizing every loss or disappointment. You learn to accept that sometimes bad things happen to good people and that these things are not an act of God... but merely a random act of fate.

And you stop looking for guarantees, because you've learned that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected and that whatever happens, you'll learn to deal with it. And you learn that the only thing you must truly fear is the great robber baron of all time - FEAR itself. So you learn to step right into and through your fears, because to give into fear is to give away the right to live life on your terms. You learn that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophesy and you learn to go after what you want and not to squander your life living under a cloud of indecision or feelings of impending doom.

Then, YOU LEARN ABOUT MONEY... the personal power and independence it brings and the options it creates. And you recognize the necessity to create your own personal wealth. Slowly, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never ever settle for less than your heart's desire. And a sense of power is born of self-reliance. And you live with honor and integrity because you know that these principles are not the outdated ideals of a by-gone era but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build your life. And you make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting and to stay open to every wonderful opportunity and exciting possibility. Then you hang a wind chime outside your window to remind yourself what beauty there is in Simplicity.

Finally, with courage in your heart and with God by your side you take a stand, you FAKE a deep breath and you begin to design the life you want to live as best as you can.

A word about the Power of Prayer: In some of my darkest, most painful and frightening hours, I have prayed, not for the answers to my prayers or for material things, but for my "God" to help me find the strength, confidence and courage to persevere; to face each day and to do what I must do.

Remember this:- You are an expression of the almighty. The spirit of God resides within you and moves through you. Open your heart, speak to that spirit and it will heal and empower you.
My "God" has never failed me.

Copyright © 2001 Sonny Carroll. All Rights Reserved
Reprinted here with permission

Introduction to The Awakening by Sonny Carroll

I actually began writing this piece in 1996 shortly after coming out of a long drawn out and painful break-up. I was a total mess. My life was in shambles and as I tried to make some sense of what had happened, and why, I began to write The Awakening. This piece is a compilation of all the lessons I learned and the observations I made about myself, about other people and their relationships, and of the wisdom that my most dear friend, Drane Uljaj, has shared with me over countless cups of tea.

Sundays with Dan

2010-12-12T00:02:00.000-06:00

Many of you know that I used to work for Cicero's. I was a manager/server/bartender there for four years and in that time, the general manager was a man named Dan. We had a fairly friendly relationship the first year I worked there but when I switched to nights, we became very close friends in addition to being co-workers. He was like my work husband. I don't think I would have lasted four years at Cicero's had it not been for Dan. At one point, the employees were calling us work mom and dad!
I've always hated working Sundays but somehow at one point, Dan talked me into it. We closed early and it was a pretty easy shift with decent money. I used to bartend and he was the manager on duty.
The first year Cicero's was at the corner of Kingsland and Delmar, Dan went out and bought new icicle lights to hang and he decided to do it on a Sunday night after we closed. He told me I didn't have to stay, but I did anyway and it became a yearly tradition for us to hang those lights together, even after I no longer worked there, several years I went by and hung up the lights with him. I had the best conversations with him on Sundays- we laughed so much, but that didn't stop us from being serious, too. If you're lucky, you meet someone like him in your lifetime. We could tell each other anything.
Every time I see those holiday lights, I think of him. It doesn't take much to think of Dan, he was one of my dearest friends and I still don't think I am over the shock of him being taken from all of us by a heart attack at 45.
Dan was a complex man, he had a job to do and he could be tough as nails, some called him heartless, but they would have been wrong. He used to say he didn't give a shit about some things but the truth of the matter is, that man felt things more deeply than most of those employees ever knew.
He never fired anyone without cause and though he could make the tough choices, he was never without conscience.
I have lots of great Dan stories but one of my favorites was about a cook, I'll call Joe. Joe had worked there for about six months, and he was a pretty easy going guy for the most part. He showed up for his shifts, did his job and had a nice smile and a pretty good attitude. I had never had any problems with Joe, so I was surprised one night when Joe came out of the kitchen into the bar area angry and complaining, following Dan.
Honestly, I can't remember the details but I think Dan had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing and Joe was outraged and defensive. Dan told him to get back in the kitchen and finish his job, and Joe threw his apron on the floor and (I'll never forget this part) he said "Dan- you can just suck my dick!"
Dan very calmly said "Clock out, go home and don't come back. You're fired."
A slew of expletives followed but Joe clocked out and went home.
"Damn shame." I said, after it was over. "I liked him."
Dan agreed that he had liked Joe, too but we also agreed that he had no choice in firing him.
About a year later, I was just coming in to work when I saw Joe sitting at the bar with Dan and Dan was holding an application. He shook hands with Joe and then Joe walked out the back door, saying hello to me on the way.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I just decided to hire back Joe. Give him another chance. He was a pretty good cook."
"Yeah, Dan, he was a pretty good cook. But...um, do you remember why you fired him?"
"Did I fire him? I couldn't remember, thought he might have quit."
"Oh no, you most definitely fired him."
"Why?"
"As I recall, because he threw his apron on the floor and told you to suck his dick."
Dan turned beet red and then laughed his deep belly laugh for about ten minutes.
"I sure wish I'd remembered that!" He said."Oh well, too late now!"
He forgave Joe and never brought up the incident and as I recall, he never had any similar problems with the guy. That was Dan. Heart of gold. I miss you, my friend. I miss my Sundays with Dan. I hope you're making 'em laugh wherever you are.

Christmas Karma or the year I stole a Christmas tree...

2010-12-09T16:45:00.000-06:00

This is my favorite don't mess with karma Christmas tree story.
More than a decade ago, when I was living in my parent's house and enjoying Christmas eve dinner, my mother looked at my brother and I and said "Are you two going to get a Christmas tree or what?"
"Yes," I said. "I guess we better get going, it's after seven."
We had done this many times before, gone to get a last minute Christmas tree on Christmas eve- haggled on the price of the tree. My mother prided herself on getting nice ones for $10 after she wore down the guy selling them. Poor guy just wanted to go home, it was Christmas eve. I kind of felt sorry for him, but we liked getting a good deal. My mother handed us $20 and told us to get a nice one. Neither one of us is as good as my mother at this, she is the master haggler but she was not going to go this year.
My brother and I bundled up and headed out into the cold and decided to go to the fairly close by Boy Scout lot. When we arrived, we found it cold and dark and completely deserted! Oh no!
But they left the trees, big, huge lush beautiful Christmas trees!
My brother and I took one look at each other, knowing what we were going to do. We were going to steal a Christmas tree. The conversation went something like this:
"Okay, we can NOT tell Mom we did this."
"Agreed. That means we can get a nice one, but not too nice."
"Yeah, if it's too big or too nice, she'll be suspicious. She'll never believe we got it for $20."
We then began the careful process of selecting a tree. I have to say, we were very restrained about our choice but we got a really full and nice one. It was a nice little Christmas miracle.
My mother was immediately suspicious but my three kids were thrilled to spend the rest of the evening decorating this really cool tree! We almost never got a tree that nice. Bargain basement last minute trees were our forte! Not exactly Charlie Brown Christmas trees but we usually got the unwanted ones that were marked down or the seller was willing to let go of cheaply.
My brother and I managed to deal with our guilty secret until New Year's when my mother got the truth out of us. Mother's always know, don't they? I think she was more amused than anything but her job is to be outraged at the pseudo theft. It's not really stealing a tree when it's lying there all free and ready to be loaded into a car. I mean, those trees were just waiting for good homes. Those Boy Scouts had done a charitable thing, leaving us those trees. And I'm sure my brother and I put the twenty bucks to good use... okay, maybe we had lousy fast food but I digress...
The following year, I had similarly procrastinated getting a Christmas tree only I was invited to the annual Blueberry Hill Christmas eve employee party as John's guest. This party no longer exists but back in the day, the place closed at five and the staff ate, drank and was merry til very late in the evening.
That year, I was pregnant with Marissa, about four months, not really showing yet and definitely the designated driver for John who took the drinking and being merry part very seriously.
I had not even bothered to try to get a Christmas tree earlier that evening because I was planning on a late night heist of the Boy Scout Christmas tree lot. I was so confident that I would get a great tree, I didn't even look at the time we left Blueberry Hill and I think it was close to 2 AM when I finally insisted to my very, very, very drunk boyfriend that it was time to leave.
John and I were not yet living together, we didn't cohabit until after Marissa was born- so he asked me to take him home.
"Just help me get a Christmas tree first, it won't take long!"
"What? Are you crazy? Everything is closed."
"I know. I'm going to go take one of the leftovers."
"You want me to go with you to steal a Christmas tree? No way, take me home."
I tried to convince him that I was pregnant and he needed to help me and my kids would be really bummed out if there was no tree on Christmas morning. His response was to pass out in the front seat. Great.
So, I drove to the Boy Scout lot- and it was completely deserted. Not even a pine needle remained! It was as if there wasn't even a lot there to begin with. I completely panicked. I started driving around, trying to remember where other lots might be. Stupid, stupid, what was I thinking? I began to pray for a Christmas miracle. Not that I deserved one, premeditating a tree theft and all. I knew this was bad. I had mocked the miracle of last year...
I finally remembered there had been this lot we used to go to a few miles away and I drove up there- hoping against hope and- score! There were Christmas trees, everywhere all over the place, an abandoned lot with a ton of trees lying all over the place. I was so relieved. I nudged John, trying to get him up. He made some sleepy noises and began snoring loudly.
"Get up and help me get this Christmas tree."
He mumbled something about not being an evil Santa and resumed snoring. So, I did what I had to do. I got my pregnant ass out of my Mazda hatchback and began looking for a good tree and soon discovered- the horror.
I guess the people who ran this lot had no charity in their heart, no spirit of giving- when it was time to close, the Grinch came to work and brought a chainsaw, cutting off all the tops of the trees! NOOOO! I stood there, stunned. I had to make a decision. I either took one of these pathetic trees, brought it home with me or there would be no tree for those three kids with the little shining faces waiting for Santa to come. I had no choice. It was 3 am, I still had an hour of decorating and wrapping and placing presents under the tree. My parents were probably wondering what the hell I was doing. Usually this was done by midnight. I'm sure they were already dreaming nice dreams of not having any more minor children.
I could not fail the kids. I picked the least straggly tree I could find and stuffed it in the car. John wouldn't even wake up and help me decorate. I dropped his drunk ass off at his mother's house and went home to salvage what I could of this Christmas nightmare.
I fell asleep on the living room couch around 5:30 am, thinking, the kids won't care that the tree is kind of crappy, they will be like those Who's down in Whoville and be singing Christmas carols and all, it won't matter that the tree is ugly and misshapen and has it's top lopped off. I had tried to cover it up with a nice angel...well, I did the best I could.
I awoke to my oldest son staring down at me on the couch.
"What the heck is that, Mom?"
"Merry Christmas, honey! Mommy got you a tree!"
"That's the ugliest tree I've ever seen! Why'd you get that one? You couldn't get us a good one?"
My daughter looked up at me with her little face. "Mommy, were we bad this year?"
"It was either this or no tree. That was all they had left." I tried to explain.
"You should have left it in the lot, Mom," my son said.
Humph. Ungrateful. I thought. But you know, seriously, that was the last time I ever premeditated stealing a tree. Christmas tree karma is a bitch. Don't mess with it!

Best and WORST Christmas movies

2010-12-08T01:34:00.000-06:00

Okay, it's always the right time to watch scary movies, Halloween makes it better but scary movies rock all the time.
But who wants to watch Christmas movies in July? Yeah, it's a little weird, all those people wearing layers while sweat is tricking down your neck. Who needs that? I watched this pretty funny movie a friend of mine made called "Another Christmas. They shot the film in the summer time, you can't tell at all, I wouldn't have known unless the actors told me. But I have to be in the festive mood.
I really think I could get used to Christmas in the tropics but so far, it's culture shock for me. I have only known the unpleasant cold at Christmas.
This weekend last year I shot my film "Play Dead" and fortunately, we were not trying to pretend it was warm out because trust me, it wasn't. This weekend was even colder than last year so I am thankful to not be outside in it this year but I sure wish I was shooting a film! (indoors or in a warmer climate)
Anyway, back to holiday movies- that's my topic. No matter where you are, or what the weather, it is that time of year!

So, are you in the mood? Get out the fuzzy socks and warm up the hot chocolate, pop the popcorn and cuddle up in your snuggie in front of your electric heater or fire place.
Here are my favorite Christmas movies and a few stinkers I either love to hate or would never see again! Here is my best list:

10- Bad Santa Kick the kids out of the room! This movie is for grown ups only! The filthiest holiday movie I have ever seen. I didn't stop laughing for the entire film. Seriously, this is a hard R rating- enjoy.

9.Gremlins Maybe you can watch it any time and enjoy it, but it really is best around the holidays. Don't you just love that bit when the little guy is driving the sports car through the department story? It has a moral message at the end, too.

8.The Nightmare before Christmas It's sad and it's sweet, it's got Halloween and Christmas together- it's funny and it's poignant, what more could you want. And you can let the kids back in the room now, it's safe.

7. A Christmas Story Admit it, you really want to get someone that fishnet stockinged leg for Christmas but you don't really want to spend $50. Buy it after Christmas when it's on sale and put it in the closet for a year- Hey kid, you'll shoot your eye out!

6. Miracle on 34th Street Go for the original, it's so much better. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!

5. Scrooged It's still funny every time Carol Kane beats the crap out of Bill Murray. I love the re-imagining of this classic- but I have to recommend other versions of A Christmas Carol the Henry Winkler version was pretty cool for me.

4. Okay, Christmas would not be Christmas without Rankin/Bass! Those shows never get old year after year, so here is to the classics- Santa Claus is Coming to town, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman two others that fall into the animated most nostalgic place are The Grinch who stole Christmas (1966) Not that crap Jim Carrey tried to shove at us, the original animated wonderful version- there is no other. And of course, the timeless Charlie Brown Christmas

3 Trading Places I know it's not strictly a Christmas movie but there is a drunk Santa- and it is really, really funny. Eddie Murphy and Dan Ackroyd for the holidays! Bring on the eggnog (not for me, of course, I will have hot chocolate)

2. The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. It's a wonderful Christmas film, and Father Christmas hands out some interesting toys. My deep love of CS Lewis made this most recent film very worthwhile for me, even if it does warm up in the end.

1. It's a Wonderful Life This movie can get pretty depressing, but it makes me cry happy tears every time I see it, and I love that it can only be broadcast once a year. I know it is nostalgic and weepy and poignant but I love, love, love this silly movie because it never gets old for me.

I'll take marshmallows and whipped cream in my hot chocolate, thank you.
Okay, seriously on to movies that I am cool with never seeing again. In no particular order-

Surviving Christmas Wow, seriously awful, more like surviving this movie.

Christmas Vacation Okay, Chevy Chase is funny but oh, my this movie sucks- I think I wanted out when the dog puked under the table and my ex boyfriend wanted to rewind it so he could laugh at it again. Yeah, that was the moment I turned against him and the movie.

Jingle all the way Um, Arnold, they gave you dialogue, that was the first mistake. Dude cannot act and proved it with this movie. Seriously stupid movie.

Elf I never saw it. Will Farrell is in it. That's enough for me- I'm pretty sure it is resoundingly stupid. I don't care if you say it isn't. la la la, I'm not listening to you!!!

Christmas with the Kranks Still trying to scrub the memory from my brain!!!

Four Christmases What a waste of Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn, couldn't anyone write those two talented people a good script? I will, I will!!! Sappy, crappy, not even worth a good sentimental cry. Hope they got paid well. Romantic comedy set at a holiday- fail

Live action How the Grinch stole Christmas really- how could you? I mean how could you people go and ruin it like that? Shame, shame, shame on you for that.

Have a lovely holiday, everyone, enjoy the movies. And I will tell you a little secret, I get a kick out of the bad ones, too!!!

Top Horror/Suspense Films

2010-12-06T16:38:00.000-06:00

I began an early love of scary books and movies, thrillers, suspense, edge of my seat, keep me up all night experiences. I love a gripping story. It is one reason why I never wanted to put myself as a writer in a box. I want to write romantic comedies, dramas, thrillers. And I have always loved what scares me, what thrills me. It's kind of like a roller coaster, you know that you're going up for the terror, and you're disappointed if you don't get a good scare.
That must be where my risky behavior lies. For me, early terror was sneaking out of the house. Heart pounding as I stood on the stairs, going down extra slowly so I would not get caught. The suspense of getting out of the house carefully. It took me a good twenty minutes to sneak all the way out. I knew where every creak in the house was and I choreographed every single move. I carefully lowered my toe down the next stair, and tested it, if it began to creak, I pulled back- wait, wait, count to thirty, try again...it was excruciating, and when I made it out the back door, I ran, adrenalin screaming in my ears- go now!
Recently I caved in and let Marissa watch The Exorcist. I knew she would find a way to do it with or without me. That kid is determined, so I decided to let her watch it with me. I think it scared her but I don't think it scared her nearly as much as it scared me every time I watched it. I think she admired the craft. I certainly did. This movie is a careful study in suspense and contains almost no special effects- most things are done in camera and with makeup and it still to this day holds up as the scariest movie of all time. The amazing thing about that movie is that it doesn't look dated, it doesn't look old and although Ellen Burstyn screeches hysterically a great deal, that doesn't even bother me. Some movies, you can tell they were made in the 70's- this one has actually achieved a timelessness about it.
I mean, sure, the fact that there is an actual phone cord sort of stands out but for the most part, it only adds to the terror. The hospital scenes are as horrifying as the head spinning. This movie is a masterclass in suspense and terror. It's always going to be number one on my list. The bit at the end when the demon is staring at the dead body of the priest- chilling, the lighting is brilliant, that blank and satisfied expression... that is what I love about the craft, when I see those genius moments.
So, here are the scary movies that changed my life. In no particular order, just as they came to me-
But let us just say for reasons I just listed- the top of my list will probably always be:
The Exorcist I cannot imagine any movie scaring me more than this one did.

Poltergeist- because it invaded your mind as much as it invaded your house. It started out all fun when the kids were sliding across the floor and stacking chairs on the table but you moved the headstones and not the bodies!!
A Nightmare on Elm Street the original, of course. This guy could invade your dreams, there was a back story and a score to settle. When Johnny Depp gets sucked into the mattress, it was wicked scary! Don't fall asleep!
Carrie I spent a lot of time feeling like a misfit and a freak, I've always related to this character. And enough is enough, she gave them plenty of chances! Putting evil Mom in the cross position was just the icing on the cake. Didn't we all kind of feel sorry for her? We should have learned that bullying lesson early on. Carrie spoke in class today, she said, you people suck!
The Sixth Sense Don't you love a good twist? How many people went back and re-watched that movie to make sure he did it right. This movie was pretty terrifying because of Haley Joel Osment. The kid looked certifiably frightened a lot of the time. The suspense was built beautifully. I don't think M. Night has managed to equal this story. I've liked some of his other movies but none of them were as well crafted as this one. He grounded it in character- which is where it really shone.
Jurassic Park Come on, you know you were all hanging on to the edge of your seat when those dinosaurs were attacking! Which leads me to...
JAWS The first one, of course! That first scene was completely terrifying. Didn't we all think midnight swims were great before that? Oh Spielberg, I want to be you. You can direct in all genres and no one tells you that you can't do it or puts you in a box!
Psycho and I would have to say a lot of Hitchcock films go with this one but again, the craft in this film is brilliant. I love the ending. This isn't at all what you would expect. The heart pounding drive away with the money is just as scary as the shower scene...
Rosemary's Baby just creepy and suspenseful and so freaky!! Just the thought of giving birth to the spawn of Satan gives me the chills!
Shadow of the Vampire This movie is so brilliant and just gives you the creeps in a major way- I love that genius that came up with this!
Seven and not just because of the hotness that is Brad Pitt. it's suspenseful and gritty. And that brings me to-
Silence of the Lambs Oh My God! It puts the lotion in the basket... I ate his liver with some favra beans and a nice Chianti- could that have been scarier? The scene in the dark with the green light? The intercutting? Ahhhhh!!! Masterclass in terror!
The Omen/ Damien Omen 2 Okay, clearly the devil scares the crap out of me!
The Ring Really, seriously, that girl climbing out of the television scared the hell out of me- and it had a plot that kept you going...
And last I am going to say these three Friday the 13th , Halloween and The Amityville Horror- needless to say, the originals of all of them. Because they were all a 70's kind of horror film that I appreciated- I'm sure there are many more.
Marissa has always inherently understood my love of scary movies, she exhibited very early on the desire to watch scary film. She would see a commercial and beg to watch the movie, even though it was clearly too mature and R rated for her. There is something deeply satisfying for me surviving a scary movie or finishing a scary book. When Marissa was five, she was begging to watch The X Files- I get it. I never would expose the other kids to scary movies but this one has always gravitated towards it. I actually can't wait to make more.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly and The Random 12/6

2010-12-06T02:10:00.000-06:00

The Good:
We had a pretty lovely Thanksgiving. There was no family drama and it was a nice day. I let go of the desire to try to contribute and I just showed up.
I was able to help a friend finish her film project.
I found a sublet in Los Angeles for January and I'm really excited about it.
I like it when coincidences seem to lead me to meaning in the world.
I managed to not over-react about a couple things.
Because I lost my voice, I can't yell at anyone or raise my voice and in the last few days, it has made me realize I probably don't need to do so nearly as often as I do.
It has forced me to use fewer words and to value silence.
I started and finished writing an entire play in five days.
My questioning of in law family dynamics actually led to a conversation for once and maybe it will result in better communication next time.
I was picked to be on a jury and it was a really fascinating experience.
I didn't lose my voice until the trial was over.
I used my voice to make really good points in the jury room and people actually listened to me.
I was able to be a real force of reason and fairness and stuck to my principles.

The Bad:
I got sick, then I got well, then I got really sick again and I have not had a voice since Thursday night.
I had a major disappointment this week and I'm trying very hard not to let it get to me, but it is.
I can't do what I need to do because I am so sick.
Staying up all night coughing and throwing up is no fun.
I had to miss out on a couple social events because of illness.
I had started to clean before I got sick but had to stop.

The Ugly: looking in the mirror at the pale sick person!

The Random:
When I first started losing my voice, Isabella said "Stop that, Mommy, stop talking like that."
I whispered to her that I had lost my voice and she put her hand on her throat, balled it up into a fist and then put it over my throat.
"here you go, Mommy, you can use my voice until yours gets better."
When that didn't work, she said "Try to laugh, Mommy, maybe that will help."
She has been so cute and so sympathetic over the past few days.

I have begun to wonder why everyone is so quiet out there. I know people read this but I have very few comments. I hope people are encouraged to let me know they are reading, even if the comments are private or anonymous.

Jury Duty

2010-12-05T16:49:00.000-06:00

About a month ago I got a jury summons in the mail, filled it out and dutifully returned it, all the while thinking, how do I get out of this? Isn't that what most people think? How can I get out of this?
I sent back the questionnaire attached to the summons, and I heard nothing back that would excuse me, so I called in the night before and was informed that everyone was required to be there. I don't like getting up early, especially when there was a party the night before and I found myself feeling sick in the chest. I wondered if you could call in sick to jury duty. But by the time I was awake and showered, I started to feel well enough to go, so I went.
I was a little late but turns out nothing had happened yet anyway. I had prepared by bringing a book and a water bottle. I forgot to bring extra money for the vending machine. It was a freezing cold morning and I had trouble finding the right parking garage to park in and after I had walked the block to the courthouse, I realized I had left my book in the car. As I was really cold, and late, I thought, I'll go check in and then go back for the book. Turns out that was a really bad idea because once I checked in, they didn't want me to leave.
I looked around. It's a very large room with several hundred seats, I thought, maybe I can sneak away to the bathroom. No, that was in the room. I thought- I can pretend to be a smoker and they will let me outside- wait, are you kidding me? They have an outdoor patio attached? I sank back in my seat. I was going nowhere. The jury police had thought of everything. Dammit. I was not going to have a chance to leave before lunch.
I was trapped. I really wanted to read my book, too. Instead I opened up Facebook on my IPhone and complained about my dilemma. Several people chimed in and I was momentarily entertained. I wondered how long my battery was going to last. I was also given a pamphlet when I arrived, so I read it. After a while, a judge went up to the microphone and explained what was going to happen, what we should expect and all.
After another hour, another man came and called twenty five names. My name was not called. I was starting to get hungry, and sleepy and began to look forward to lunch. I checked facebook. I checked my email. I looked at a couple websites. I put my coat on and scrunched down in my chair and closed my eyes.
Then a Bailiff stepped up to the microphone and started calling more names. He may as well have said "Everyone that is left in this room, go stand in the hall!" but we all said "here" when he called our names and went and stood in the hall. There were 32 of us and that emptied the room.
When he called our names, he gave us a number to remember. I was so surprised to hear my name, I immediately forgot my number for a minute. We all went down the stairs two floors and stood around in that hallway until he told us to line up by our numbers. I was number 18. We all went in to the courtroom and began the questioning process. I think we learned pretty much what the case was going to be about right there. It was a civil case about a car accident.
If you've never done the questioning process, it is super boring. The first question was "Tell us about yourself. Your education, your occupation." The first five people in the row had Master's degrees. Whoa. What kind of jury pool was this. The higher education continued. All in all, I counted three people out of 32 who said "high school education", everyone else said Bachelors or above, and most of those Masters degrees were women. Was this normal? I had no idea.
After the trial was over, I asked the lawyers, one who had been practicing law for 38 years and said he had never questioned a jury pool with that much higher education. A fluke, I suppose.
After that, we had to say whether or not we knew anyone who had sued someone or been involved in personal injury case- it went on and on. Finally the plaintiffs lawyer was at her last question and this woman on the end said "Why didn't you ask us if we personally have been involved in a car accident?" So for real, then we had to go around the room and list every car accident we could remember and whether we got hurt. If there could have been a collective groan at the woman, there would have been. More of the same from the defense. I might say that this was cutting in to our lunch hour. It was already pushing one pm when the judge called a recess in questioning.
There was a part of me that just wanted to go home but a part of me that knew I was going to get picked. After all, I hadn't done anything to prevent myself from getting picked. Like the guy in the front row who immediately said "I can't be fair in this trial because of my religious beliefs."
Later we all agreed that was kind of lousy of him.
None of us specifically wanted to be there but this is part of our civic duty. I was torn, wanting to be picked, because I knew I could be fair and reasonable and that I would be a good juror and being tired and not feeling my best. I decided I would just be honest and let the lawyers decide what they would.
The defense lawyer asked if any of us were Libertarians because it might mean we did not feel we should follow that law. That question made me unhappy, but I am not and never have been a libertarian and I wasn't going to start lying about it even though it isn't exactly something you can prove.
I think if you can elect a Libertarian to office and swear said person in and expect said person to uphold the law- then said person should get to serve on a jury. Wondered if the lawyer was going to ask if there were any anarchists in the jury pool-
At 1:30, the lawyers were given ten minutes to decide on a jury. We all thought we should have just been sent to lunch but apparently this doesn't take very long. We got called back in and I was the tenth juror picked. Again, a little surprised to hear my name.
So, we are all sitting there, stomachs growling away and the judge, thankfully sends us all to lunch after telling us not to discuss anything with anyone. Okay, I'm going to admit this up front. That is the hardest part for me- not talking about it. Not because I can't keep a secret. I absolutely can and have- it's the being told not to do something by an authority figure. Because I want to rebel. But my higher self realized the importance of this instruction lay in the way it could sway me, so I didn't discuss it at all, not even that night with my family. And I really wanted to tell my husband- because I tell him most things.
I went to lunch with three other women, really nice people. And we discussed all kinds of things other than the trial. We talked about the food, the weather. The elephant kept peeking out at us. We found it safe to talk about the people who had not been chosen- because we were all curious about the process.
When we returned, we heard over an hour of videotaped medical testimony and it was super boring but I paid attention and took notes. It was going to be important later. Then, the judge sent us home and told us to come back at 9:30 AM the next day.
Part of this was exciting to me and part of me was disappointed. It wasn't a very good trial, a very interesting trial, a trial with any kind of fascinating or brilliant details. It was a trial about a car accident and a whiplash injury- and the defendant claimed she couldn't have hit her hard enough to have caused any injury.
And the thing was, I sympathized and could see both sides of this issue- and as disappointed as I was with not getting a really juicy, thought provoking trial, I knew inherently that the outcome of this trial was going to affect people's lives- and my part in it should be taken very seriously.
The next morning, I reported to the jury room and there was coffee and Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. I liked the other jurors in general. It was a group of intelligent and interesting people- and I couldn't even remember who had a Master's degree in what, not that it matters, but because they all seemed like generally fair people who had interesting thoughts and lives. They were telling stories about themselves. We were careful not to discuss politics or religion or anything controversial. We complained about work, discussed our children, discussed the jury system in general and what was expected of us- and stayed in the safe zone. No one dared to piss anyone else off. We all knew that we had to agree and work together.
In a criminal trial, the verdict has to be unanimous. In a civil trial, nine out of twelve has to agree and we were not burdened with reasonable doubt but asked to decide three questions and if it leaned towards more reasonable than not reasonable we should decide that way.
So, it's funny how this works. I heard the same trial everyone else heard- and all of us varied wildly on what we thought should happen. It seemed obvious to me that both of the women lied on the stand. Little lies. Lies of exaggeration. Lies of omission. Lies of not really remembering what had happened three years ago in this car accident and whether or not they had pulled over to the shoulder and waited for the police or stayed where they were the whole time.
It didn't help that there was no police report. The officer had completely failed to do one.
So I had to filter past the fact that we were being lied to and stick with the facts of what we knew. That it was unlikely but not impossible that this woman had been injured in a minor fender bender bump at a yield sign. That the medical evidence was fairly compelling and the fact that this woman had pursued treatment for three months made it likely that she was hurt in some way.
And, so for me, this part was easy.
Did the defendant cause the accident? Yes, she admitted it.
Was she negligent in doing so? Yes, she admitted not looking.
Was there injury?
Ah, this we were not sure of. The medical evidence was there but it was shaky, even the doctor admitted it is possible to fake this kind of injury but highly unlikely.
And it boiled down in the jury room to the fact that people didn't like the plaintiff, didn't believe anything she said, and half of them were convinced she was out for some big payday. Which seemed kind of laughable to me, as her medical bills were not even that high and she wasn't even asking for much over her medical bills. I think that was the biggest problem. The plaintiff's lawyer did not give us good guidelines on what to give her as compensation.
All of us eventually agreed that there was injury, as unlikely as it seemed to be, that the medical evidence was there.
Once we decided that, it was a fight to award her the medical bills. Part of the jury room had a problem with where she sought treatment, part of her treatment was chiropractic and they had issues with it.
There were some nasty things said about this woman in that jury room. Nine women and three men were on that jury- and two of those men were joking "I think she falls down a lot." implying she is a drinker.
I heard the comment "Are you going to ask her out after this is over?"
Also, "She's kind of old, maybe her bones break easier, but is that the other woman's fault?"
"She's kind of rough, probably rode it hard that night before and hurt herself."
In the end, this is what bothered me the most. In the end, I feel like half the room punished her because they judged things about her personality based on the way she looked. I can't begin to figure it out but I think the pre-judgment started before we even got there. They had already decided she was a lowlife looking for a pay day.
In the end, I wish I had asked them "Are you making this decision on the facts or because you don't like her?"
Because I really feel she was not given the compensation she should have been given- but that was the fault of a number of issues. I thought she should have been compensated for pain, travel and time spent seeking treatment, because that is what any other person would have been awarded. Instead, the best we could agree on was her full medical bills, and I realized that is the best we were going to do on that jury.
In all, we deliberated for about an hour and a half- and in the end she was given the exact amount of her medical bills. In the end, it cost that woman to be injured in a car accident and it shouldn't have. In my opinion. But that was as fair minded as I could be. I knew she was exaggerating, I knew she was laying it on thick, but I couldn't hold it against her because she was doing what she had to do. I knew the other woman was incredulous that such a small bump could have caused any injury. I would have been as well. All of us found the defendant's testimony far more credible than the plaintiff. But it was about following the facts and the rule of law. Funny how half that room wanted to decide on the fact that they didn't like one of the women.
Afterward, one of the other jurors and I had a thirty minute conversation with the plaintiff's lawyer, fascinated about what had been excluded, what we weren't allowed to know- how we were picked and what went on behind the scenes.
We went upstairs and turned in our jury badges and were allowed to go home. I felt in some small way that some kind of justice had been done. This trial has weighed on my conscience more than it should have. I was invited into the lives of strangers and asked to settle a dispute fairly and I'm not sure we completely did that. But it most definitely was a learning experience.

On my Grandmother's birthday

2010-12-04T15:57:00.000-06:00

Today is December 4th and will always be my grandmother's birthday. Let me tell you about her. She was born on this day is 1903 and she died on May 24, 1983. She missed the greatest hits of me going off the rail and being the most rebellious teenager ever, she saw the beginning of the highlights. It has always bothered me that I never knew her as an adult, that I never got to fully appreciate her off color humor and the rich, fullness of her personality that she shared with the other adults.
Lucky for me, there were plenty of people to talk with about her.
I have fond and fuzzy memories of her as well as some that are not so fuzzy but for the most part, I adored her fiercely. She was not a hugely indulgent woman who spoiled me rotten and she was not an overly affectionate or touchy person in general. I had an arrival hug and a goodbye hug, but I never had any doubt of her affection for me and her fondness of me.
My mother once told me that she has no memory of her mother telling her that she loved her but there was never a shred or molecule of doubt that she was loved completely and utterly.
She was born Ella May Hill in Forsyth, Georgia but I don't think she was ever known as Ella, she always went by May and I'm not sure at what point but she changed the spelling to Mae. When my oldest brother was born, she has to decide on a grandmother name. She called herself "Mammy" so that was what we called her. She was the third child and the first daughter, eleven pounds at birth, her face was compressed in the birth canal and her nose was always a little flat on her face.
Recently, I was in her house in Georgia looking through pictures of her when she was a little girl and a young woman. This is an extraordinary thing to have seen these pictures finally. I'm the only grandchild named for her- my middle name is May and knowing that I think I always felt a special connection. It's an odd responsibility to be chosen as the one to carry her name, though my mother kept the original spelling since I was also born in May. My grandmother lost most of her hearing in one ear in a diving accident when she was about 17, so we had to speak very loudly to be heard by her. I never heard her be impatient or complain about her loss of hearing. She would simply ask you to repeat yourself and you would. It was the complete opposite of my father, who also suffered profound hearing loss and was nasty tempered and completely impatient.
It's pretty easy to martyr someone when they die. It would be easy to tell stories of all the wonderful things that she did in her life but in an odd way, it was her mistakes that comforted me. It was her triumphs and her tenacity that inspired me. It was often made great sport of that my grandmother could hold a legendary grudge. In fact, you were lucky if she ever got over it.
This was always spoken of with a kind of awe or praise, which I never understood. It made me a little afraid for her to be mad at me, in case I would end up on the grudge list.
Oddly, it was her ability to do something terrible, to make a lapse of judgment fairly heinous and hurtful to another person and then realize it and correct it that gave me the most hope. It is her humanity that endears her to me now. It was her fierce determination of spirit that made her unlike anyone else I will ever know. Her fierce stubbornness in the face of whatever obstacle there was.
Mae Hill's college diploma hangs on the wall of the house in Georgia. She went to New York to be an artist after college, lived there for a while and then met and married an Irishman. By all accounts, it was a fiery marriage. This is the part where I wish I knew more because no one can tell me what she could have and she never spoke of her ex husband. She was divorced from my grandfather and he returned to Ireland and died before I was born.
This is what I know. She divorced my grandfather after my mother finished college, as much as she fought with him, she fought not to get that divorce. And she was heavily embittered by it when it happened. She told my mother that she had to choose between her and her father and that if she ever saw her father again, she could no longer be a part of her life. My mother adored her mother and so agreed to the heinous terms, but because she is tender hearted and loved her father, she went to see him one more time. My grandmother found out and stopped speaking to her.
The year I was born, my grandmother and my mother weren't talking. She had no idea my mother was pregnant, had her only daughter and had named me for her mother. The whole year we lived in California, they didn't speak. I cannot imagine how difficult this estrangement must have been on them both, they were so close. My mother describes the reconciliation as her begging on her hands and knees to be taken back into her life.
As awful as this was, it's not a sad story- what a triumph of will and spirit that must have taken my grandmother to abandon her grudge, someone who hung on to things in legendary fashion. How much she must have loved my mother to let go of her anger and bitterness and move back to a loving relationship. I never saw anything between them but fond affection.
How close I came to missing out on her. I watched her carry a life long grudge against her cousin and next door neighbor. They shared a driveway and one day, my grandmother was unloading her groceries and Cousin Cora pulled up behind her and honked her horn so she could get past to pull into her inside driveway.
The story goes that my grandmother emerged from the house and a yelling match ensued, where Mae was reported saying "Don't you honk at me in my own driveway." Now I am sure that there was plenty of other history behind that but they never spoke again. I used to go next door and visit my Cousin Cora often when I was down there. Cora always had kittens. And my grandmother never told me not to go and she never really disparaged Cora in front of me. This story I learned in bits and pieces as many stories about her come to life like that. I'm sure she had her reasons and I don't know all of them.
This is the grandmother I knew. She was loyal and smart and kind, but she was not afraid to let you know when you deserved a punishment. She patiently taught me so many things artsy and craftsy but my favorite memories were in the kitchen with her snapping beans that she grew in her garden and rolling out pie dough and mixing up everything home made. It took hours and hours in the kitchen to prepare these lavish and wonderful meals when we down there. When I was sitting around the kitchen table, if I could manage to be quiet, the women would tell these wonderful stories about their lives and they spared little about what they thought about other people. This is why I am so fond of making home made goods. I feel her through me. She rarely followed a recipe but she had plenty. She cooked by heart and by feeling.
My grandmother went with us to museums and castles and looked at great works of art with us. She walked across Stonehenge with me and when a horse stepped on my hand, she brought me a potted African Violet plant. It was the only plant I have ever made grow and do well. Everything before and after has died, but I haven't really tried- it broke my heart when I had to leave that plant in England. I think, to this day, this is why I won't even try to grow a garden or take care of a house plant. I am like her and not like her.
I have not inherited her ability to hold a grudge but I am fierce and stubborn in determination and spirit. I am not an excellent oil painting artist like she was but I can write a story and I have an artist's eye in my films. I can bake a cherry pie and make delightful chocolate cakes. I wish she had gone to the doctor when she had chest pains instead of going to bed but I am lucky to have known her. She never knew my children or who I grew up to be but when I was a teen and beginning to give my mother a special hell- my grandmother reassured her that I was going to be okay with a sureness and a confidence that my mother was able to hold on to through the dark days.
Sometimes she used to talk to me in my dreams. If I dream of you tonight, I hope I remember to tell you happy birthday.

Good, Bad, Random 11/23

2010-11-23T15:25:00.000-06:00

The Good:

The film festival was a lot of fun. I met some great people, was able to hang out with friends and saw some pretty neat films.
My film played to a really nice audience.
I was able to help someone with car trouble get home safely.
Friday night, I was able to share a meal with my husband at Uncle Bill's Pancake House and I loved the time with him.
I saw a friend I haven't seen in a really long time and it was really a good experience.
I had lunch with someone who might be able to help me in ways I could never have imagined and it was a very interesting full circle moment.
I met several people that I really like and had some absolutely wonderful and real conversations.
I like my black boots.

The Bad:

I was not in the audience for Oprah's Favorite things!
I've been fighting depression and despair all week.
I have not cleaned my house and even the minimum is starting to really get to me and it is just another way for me to make myself feel bad.
I hate the way I look in the mirror.
I hate the way my clothes fit.
I allowed someone to demoralize me about getting a personal trainer, so I didn't do it and I have not been able to recover from it and I am still bitterly angry about it because it only hurts me.
Sometimes I think people take joy in seeing me fail. It's probably not true but I still feel it.
It's been harder to be positive lately.
I feel overwhelmed and am tired of breaking promises to myself.
I hate the cold.

The Random:

There is something to be learned about expectations. Because I am optimistic, I always hold out the hope for the best in people and I think it leads me to having that hope, that expectation, so I allow disappointment to be present in my life.
The fact of the matter is that past behavior definitely informs future behavior and I really need to lower my expectations of certain people.
There are certain people that promise me things that never follow through.
And sometimes later, it gives me pause to be very disappointed in them and take it on myself to feel that if they cared enough to be a little more honest, it would go a long way.
I'm not even sure it's entirely my fault. Actually I am pretty sure none of it is my fault.
Yoda said "there is no try, only do."
When I find myself saying "I will try to be there."
Usually I know I am not going to be right then and there. If I have to bother to say I will try. It's a way of letting someone down easier when you don't show up.
I don't always show up, but I show up a lot.
So, in that spirit, I'm going to try to expect those people to not be there when they say they will and if they show up, then I will be happy but when they don't, I won't be hurt.

Worms, Roxanne

2010-11-22T12:24:00.000-06:00

Recently, a friend I'm very fond of got married and when he updated his facebook status and posted pictures, it was no surprise that his page was flooded with congratulations and well wishes. I scrolled through them briefly before making my own congratulatory comment and read the words:
"Congratulations on winning such a beautiful bride."
This sentence has bothered me for two days now.
Why, you ask, why, Vanessa would this simple sentence haunt you and bother you, follow you around and pester you?
Because language is powerful and meaningful, and the thought that in 2010 in the era where a woman can run for President that a woman can be verbalized as a beauty won as a prize or a trophy in marriage bugs the crap out of me.
Now, as these two wonderful people are boarding the plane to embark on their honeymoon, I did not comment on this comment. I did not take issue with this person, because it would have been wildly inappropriate to start a discussion on this issue on his page when these two lovely people are beginning a life together but I'm afraid I had to address it somewhere. And since I did not know this person, I had no idea whether the comment was an homage to an old play that my friend was in or where it came from, but either way, it got me thinking.
And it got me thinking about how we use language in our everyday life.
The notion of winning a bride is buried in the past, right? That was Shakespeare's time, right?
Still I got to thinking about all the ways that women are monetized and thought of as prizes. The term 'trophy wife' is still bandied about regularly. A trophy wife is some meaningless trinket that a rich man has bought for himself to make his house and car look nice. He didn't even 'win' her at auction, or in a contest because the trophy wife can be bought outright. In fact, she is that rare and precious commodity known as a 'gold digger', after she is purchased, she is covered in gold and sent out to glitter.
Did anyone find this offensive?
There are some who would use this language of a young man winning his bride in a very high manner with a lovely English accent to make it sound less sexist and more nostalgic but the fact is, women as commerce is an old notion we have not quite gotten rid of!
A few years ago, I was at a wedding in Paris. The bachelor party had gone to Amsterdam for the weekend and at the reception, one of the guys who had been on the trip was telling his story of his time in Amsterdam. I sat in awe as this man revealed in great detail his experience with a prostitute.
He began by saying "It was legal, so I was going to do it!"
He then went on to describe the women advertising themselves in windows along the street.
"I walked down one street and the women were all good looking, then I got to the next street and they were even better looking, the longer I walked, the more gorgeous they got, so I kept walking til I saw some ugly ones."
He described in detail the process of looking at all the women and trying to decide between them and when he made his choice, finally, there was great detail of the sex act, how much it cost and how great he felt about the whole experience. He was confident, puffed up, triumphant and self satisfied.
I listened to this entire story that he related to the couple standing next to me and the woman he was talking to asked him to go into excruciating detail on every aspect of it.
When he was done with the story and feeling most proud of himself, I looked at him and said "You realize, you just described window shopping for a woman, then buying her and when you were done, you returned her. This entire thing you did to a human being."
He says to me "It's completely LEGAL."
"Let me ask you something. Was it completely moral? Would you tell your mother this story with the same amount of pride and justification? Just because you CAN do something, doesn't mean you should do something. Lots of things are legal. That was a human being and you just described her as a transaction."
Yeah, I know. I'm a major buzzkill at parties sometimes. That's probably what he said about me later!
But language is powerful and meaningful. Words have power. It bothers me so much when women are referred to as prizes to be won or trophies to be possessed. When we enter into a marriage, it should be an equal place where we divide our roles in the household in a way that makes sense, not according to gender expectations- at least, that is my idealism showing.
If we think of love as a contest that we can win, then we expect a prize and not a person. A person whose value is in beauty and not heart. I'd like to take these phrases and pack them away in a box in the attic and bring them out in fifty years and laugh at how silly and dated it all seems to have ever thought that way. I'd like the language with which we use about women not to be 'bitches and ho's and sluts'. Wouldn't it be nice for a man's value to be placed on his good works, not how good looking his wife is. This is the language we place on one another to run each other down.
I wish I could say I felt we are getting there as a society but we're not yet. This is just my little blog calling attention to the power of words, which become sacred powers to affect our perception.
Even if some of these notions are dated, these words are still pulled from religious books to enslave us some more. Instead of doing away with the notions from centuries ago because we are supposed to know better, we pull them out as "traditions", another word to make the sexism more palatable.
I like some traditions, but there are some I can do without. And let me be clear, I know that the general meaning of a father walking a daughter down the aisle and giving her away has changed to largely ceremonial and there are many daughters who value their father doing this for completely and utterly different reasons- but it still exists as an outdated patriarchal notion. And I respect the decision to do this- the decision other women make. But this is why, while I accepted and embraced marriage, especially as an act that I could engage in on my own terms, I completely rejected this tradition of a father giving me away.
I think, even if I did love my father, I would never have let him walk me down the aisle. The act of a groom asking a father for permission to marry his daughter is just as offensive to me. The language is "Who gives this woman?"
When did my father possess me? Did he possess me more than my mother? When did I become a thing to give away? At what point did I lose the power to give myself?
Ah, because marriage began as a transaction. Here is the money to buy your daughter so I can use her for breeding purposes and to clean my house. I promise to feed her and allow her to raise my offspring. Thank you, kind father, and when we stand up at the altar, I want you to tell everyone you are giving her away.
Think about the power in those words.
Who gives this woman?
Why, her father does, to the man who won the contest, paid the most money...
Ah, but it's a 'tradition'. It doesn't mean the same thing any more in 2010- we put aside the true meaning of things for the sake of tradition. It has lost its meaning. Or... has it?

Last Wednesday at Trader Joes

2010-11-19T14:43:00.000-06:00

I love Trader Joe's. You can't do all your shopping there but there are things there that you can get that can't be found other places. Recently, I have discovered this pizza dough they sell for 99 cents. If you like thin crust, you can make four home made pizzas out of it, if you like a thicker crust, you can get at least two. I've made pizza dough from scratch, it's time consuming. Still. There is nothing quite like a fresh from the oven pizza.
I find I can get fresh and healthy ingredients from there, and I was happy with my latest discovery. This last trip was supposed to be in and out in fifteen minutes. I knew exactly what I wanted.
There I was grabbing my pizza dough and I heard this woman grumbling about low sodium something and what a pain it was to stick to that diet.
I chuckled a little and said something along the lines of "Tell me about it."
These are the things strangers say to one another in the grocery store. I have heard of women picking up men in the grocery store but I have never had more than a 45 second conversation with a stranger in the store on average.
I don't expect long conversations to happen. I've run into friends from time to time but strangers seem limited to the very simple exchanges.
We comment on the price of eggs going up. We sometimes ask one another what aisle the peanut butter is in. But I don't hear a lot of life stories in the grocery store- but on Wednesday I met Bianca.
Bianca informed me she was 71 and was born and raised in Sicily, came to this country in her mid twenties with her very controlling husband, who refused to let her further her education when she got here. What began with a generic discussion of the best vegetables to steam when you're trying to stick to a low sodium diet, morphed into her extreme views on racial profiling, full body scans and how her family had hidden in a barn during the Holocaust, barely escaping the tyranny of the Nazis.
I think I said about ten words during this conversation.
Bianca was alternately racist and outraged at racism. If you asked her, every person who even looked like a Muslim should be pulled out of line and strip searched. She had disdain for those southern peasants in Italy, and sympathy for political refugees. She refused to be politically correct or to apologize for her world view. She was a full blown flawed and incredible character. She had come to this country a shy and repressed young woman, afraid to assert herself and had emerged a woman living out loud. I don't want to misrepresent her, I think she had as much sympathy for those wronged by prejudice as those who she had prejudice against. I stood there in the grocery store for an hour listening to the greatest hits of her life story.
Life stories are precious. We are running out of people alive to tell Holocaust stories, to stand and listen to hers was a privilege. She was very young when this was going on, a child during the war, but both her memories and stories of her mother as a young Jewish woman in hiding were horrific and fascinating.
I found this woman inspirational in her strength. She stood there unafraid to express herself openly and truthfully to a complete stranger. She cataloged her abusive first marriage and grieved for the love of her life who had died only a year ago. The years had been kind to her, I would never have guessed her age, she looked much younger than she was. She was trim and fit and honestly the picture of health. She was wearing an orange track suit and she looked like she could run a marathon.
She had two grown children who she lamented had not given her any grandchildren but she said she was blessed with nieces and nephews and a large and wonderful family. You could tell the people in her life were loved completely. I wondered briefly if she was lonely, talking to a stranger in the grocery store and but by the time I was done talking to her, I realized this woman had a very full life with friends and activities. She described her walking schedule, men she had met at various events, I got the feeling she was starting to date again. It made me smile.
She told me a story of a refugee ship that was full of the elderly and children, 400 people sailing to America. They got to Miami and were refused entrance for some reason, so they went to Cuba, where they were also refused entrance. They tried to go back and forth to several places but everywhere refused to let them in. In the end, they had to go back to Hamburg, Germany. 8 people were left alive on that boat in the end. This was why she hated Roosevelt. Funny, she didn't mention hating the Cuban government in this story.
In all, I wish I could remember all of what she told me. I think the most important thing I did was let this woman talk, because when I stepped out of the way, she was able to reveal her full self and it was one of the more fascinating hours I have spent. Sometimes you have to just listen and open your mind. I could have argued with her about some of her more outrageous prejudices but instead I made the decision to let it be. She was who she was and I'm glad I got a moment to see who she was.
Here is to you, Bianca, thanks for allowing me to hear you.

Patience

2010-11-14T13:50:00.000-06:00

According to my mother, I was a difficult baby, very demanding, up all night, needed to physically touch my mother at all times. But once I grew out of that, I was a fairly easy kid. I had my moments but for the most part, I was pretty good. I was however, a huge challenge as a teen. I was pretty bratty a lot. I ran away, I was mouthy, a liar, I snuck out regularly and I did no chores and hardly ever did what I was told without attitude.
So, I did not expect easy children.
Yesterday at 6 PM, it was 44 degrees outside. I told my daughter, Marissa to get ready to leave the house at 5:30. She was wearing a tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms and flip flops.
She informed me she was ready.
I told her to change and that I would be watching Oprah until she was ready.
She went to her room and returned in a tank top and a pair of shorts.
I informed her of the temperature and told her to go put some pants on.
She said that she didn't have any clean pants except school pants and wasn't going to change and it was fine.
I told her it was up to her how late she was going to be for where she needed to go and that I wasn't driving her anywhere without pants. Any pants would do other than pajama pants.
So, she went out and sat in the car. I stayed inside and watched Oprah.
After about three minutes, she started honking the horn. I didn't move.
Three minutes later, she began repeatedly ringing the doorbell. I didn't move.
Then she came in the house, yelled about how she was fine and I calmly repeated the fact that I was not leaving until she was wearing pants.
She went back to her room and returned wearing pajama pants with the shorts on top. I took one look at her and sat back down on the couch and resumed watching Oprah.
She went back outside, but now the car was locked, so she couldn't sit in it. She resumed ringing the doorbell. I turned up the TV volume.
Finally, she came back inside and went to her room, put on pants with the shorts on top. She came out and informed me how dirty the pants were and asked me if I was happy. I told her I appreciated it when she did as she was told.
She was a half hour late.

GBR 11/12

2010-11-12T17:10:00.000-06:00

The Good:
My talk at MCA went well. I sat next to my former film teacher as a colleague and it felt really good.
I was voted President of MCA for next year.
My daughter has her lines memorized for the next play she is in and opening night is tonight.
I met some really cool people this week and laughed a lot.
My film is playing on Monday night and I am really excited.
My cats love me and I love them. They never tire of being with me and sleeping with me.
I apologized to someone whose feelings I hurt.
I have not gotten sick in spite of all the germs in the house and everyone seems to be feeling better today.

The Bad:
I had several ugly and stupid fights this week.
After telling Isabella no for three hours, John caved in again and made her pancakes, so now she knows how long she has to complain to get her dad to do something for her and yet again we had to have the talk about boundaries, and saying no and meaning no.
Last night, I did not have a babysitter so I was unable to attend the opening night Cinema St. Louis event and I missed an opportunity to meet Kevin Spacey.
I have been bummed out about it all day long because I wanted to go to this even before I found out Kevin Spacey was going to be there.
I said some not very nice things to someone who did not deserve it.
(But was able to apologize for my words)
Derek, Isabella and Marissa have all taken turns being really ill this week.

The Random:
John and I play this game called "What did she do cute, today?" When Marissa was younger, we did it with her and now we do it with Isabella more.
If he is alone with our daughter, he tells a story of something she said or did and if I have alone time with her, I tell the story.
A few nights ago, Isabella decided she wanted me to read her 'the monkey book'. I did not know what that was because it was something her dad had read to her last time it was his turn. I pulled out about ten books and none of them were the monkey book, so I told her she had to pick another one.
She refused, so I picked two and gave her an ultimatum. Either she chose one of those I had in my hand or she could go to bed without a story. Reluctantly, she pointed at the Mickey Mouse book in my hand.
I began to read to her and she was sniffling and quietly wailing, not really listening to the story. So I went off book and started making things up.
"Minnie Mouse really wanted to go on a picnic but Mickey would not stop whining and crying and he was really making everyone bum out."
Immediately she stopped sniffling and said- "That is not what it says."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Look at the picture, he's not whining. He's smiling."
Uh oh, she had me there. Smart kid. But she stopped whining and crying long enough to listen to the story and go to bed.

The Reincarnation of Cats

2010-11-12T10:23:00.000-06:00

I grew up with cats, have always had cats in my life. The years I spend living without them, I missed them very much. My mother was partial to Siamese cats and when I was very little we had two Siamese, a blue point, Rasha and a seal point, Sappho.
Rasha died suddenly when I was seven and we were living in England. It was my first real devastating loss. When we returned, we moved to a new house and Sappho decided that I was the person to sleep with. She came in my room every night and put her two paws on my arm and I slept on my side with the cat. In the morning, she would meow to get out to eat but she came every night to sleep with me. I thought this was nothing extraordinary, but as I look back on it, I realize how extraordinary it was for a cat to bond like that with a nine year old child. She wouldn't sleep with anyone else, occasionally my mother but it soon became obvious that the cat preferred me at night. She died when I was eleven and my mother didn't get another cat after that because we traveled so very much.
When I was 17, my boyfriend gave me a cat named Charlie. He picked him out of a litter of five. This was not the kitten I would have picked for myself. I was favoring a little gray tabby named Ashes that was friendly and outgoing. This nervous black and white cat was so shy he was afraid to play.
But when he was handed to me on my birthday, I was happy he was mine.
My boyfriend and I moved in with the couple who owned the cats and soon decided to give me the little gray cat as well. And it was like Charlie understood he was my kitten. Pretty soon, I was the only one he would sit on, the only one he would be near. He would hide good portions of the day and wait until I was quietly reading and creep up on my lap and purr. It soon became obvious that I was the only one he would come out for. He was particularly afraid of my boyfriend but would come out for no one but me. The room mates would call and he would ignore them. When he heard my voice, I would hear his little meow and he would come creeping out and run for me.
A year later, my boyfriend and I broke up and I moved back in with my parents, pregnant and alone with two cats. My parents were very welcoming of the cats and happy to have the house populated by kitties again. Ashes was very friendly but both parents worked very hard to get Charlie to come out his shell and accept them. Eventually, he grew to trust them and would even sit on their lap but as soon as I walked in the room, Charlie would jump down and fly to my side. All I had to do was talk and he would come. I have never had such a loyal and loving cat, his devotion was amazing.
As I grew up, Charlie went through all the years of difficulty and disappointment with me. He was the one who comforted me through all my tough breakups. I used to tell him "No human will ever love me like you, Charlie." and I am pretty sure no cat will either. Still to this day, I am amazed by what that cat saw in me. Charlie was my first baby and he lived for 18 years. I had an inkling that when I was going on this long trip to London, I might never see him again, and unfortunately, I was right.
He died two weeks before I was to return. His organs were shutting down and to keep him alive for those few weeks would have meant he would have had to suffer in the hospital, not at home and not with me and with no guarantee he would have made it those few weeks anyway. The fact was, he was just dying. The other bitter pill was, there was no guarantee that if I booked a flight that day and flew home that he would even be alive when I got there. I could hardly bear it. For two days, while we waited for the verdict from the vet, I could do nothing but cry. I couldn't go out in public because I was bursting into tears so often. I felt a lead weight on my whole body. Everything was dark, I could barely leave my flat and my whole being was in pain and grief. I walked around with the weight of a bowling ball on my chest. Every step was heavy, every moment was laid with guilt and despair.
I was on the train, on the third day, having managed to get out of bed, leave the flat and go into the world. I felt the train rock back and forth and in this rhythm, I took in one deep breath and felt it all let go. The weight dissipated, the heaviness left me, my soul took a deep breath and exhaled.
It was later that I learned, this was the exact moment Charlie died. My dear friend, who cared for him so lovingly for me, told me she found an old shirt that smelled like me, and he had curled up in it for comfort in those final moments.
I have never gotten over feeling that I should have been there. I don't think I will ever get over not being there.
I got a Siamese kitten in 2003 and named her Sophie. She's nothing like any of the previous cats we owned but she likes to put her two paws on my arm and put her face under my chin. I always thought that was funny, and it reminds me of Sappho.
Several years ago, my son went through a bad breakup and called me up, wanting me to keep his very young cats for a month or two while he moved back from Oklahoma.
I said no. I think I said it several times.
But you know, he still showed up one day with the cats.
I know me and cats. There is no way I won't bond with them. And it wasn't going to be just a month, I know him. And if they stayed for longer than that, I wouldn't want to let them go. I informed him of the risk he was taking even bringing them here.
He brought with him an all black cat he had named Jager and a black and white tabby called George.
When I went to bed that night, George came up and got in bed next to me, curled up and announced he was home and that I was his person. In a few days, George was following me everywhere, and crying for me to sit down so he could sit on my lap. He sleeps at my head or my feet every night and after about a month, I heard my husband call him Charlie by accident. I had almost done it myself a half a dozen times, but I thought it was just me.
"He does kind of look like him." I said."But he isn't shy at all."
He gave a small meow and demanded my lap again.
"Look at the way he's looking at you," my husband said.
"I know."
That boyfriend who gave me Charlie, it was our son who brought me George. That was about three years ago by the way. I don't know if there is such a thing as reincarnation. I know that I have always been a cat person, a cat whisperer, have always felt a special kinship with these animals. And I know a thing like the reincarnation of cats is probably a preposterous notion, but if there was a way Charlie could have found me, I have no doubt in my mind he would have found a way.

The Good, The Bad and the Random

2010-11-07T09:55:00.000-06:00

I have a friend who has a gratitude list and she posts every day what she is grateful for. I think it's kind of a neat idea. It's a really cool personal thing that she does and I think it is nice she puts out positivity in the world. I emailed her a long time ago, thinking I wanted to do something like that but wanted to make sure I did not offend her if I did so.
She responded that it wasn't exactly an original idea, and I couldn't really tell whether or not this would bother her or not because she wasn't saying outright that it was but she wasn't being really encouraging either. Nevertheless, after some thought, I decided that I wasn't going to do it for me, that it wasn't exactly the right fit. I didn't want to A, feel constantly like I might be pissing off a friend and B, it wasn't something that I was a hundred percent into.
I'm also not sure that I want to do something every day. I think I can probably fit in something once a week much better.
And a gratitude list would likely get on my nerves sometimes. I don't think I am exactly cut out for that much all the time. Hey, I am all for being grateful but I also like to bitch. No, I need to bitch. I need to allow myself the time to feel bad if I feel bad. And if you only hear the good stuff all the time, I feel like it creates this unreasonable false nature that things are perky and beautiful all the time. And I don't mean to be insulting, I think this is really excellent for some people and for my friend, it is great for her, but sometimes I read it and it depresses me and it makes me feel small and inadequate and think- how can her kids like her all the time, and how can her life be that good all the time, and I know she doesn't portray it that way, but sometimes people's gratitude lists just make me feel like shit. I want to be clear, this isn't the way it is, just sometimes the way it makes me feel.
Other times, they make me feel good and inspired but sometimes I have felt utterly discouraged by them- and sometimes I can't find the good and I have had such a miserable day that I don't want to try and I don't want to feel worse about feeling bad already.
However, I absolutely don't want a weekly bitch list. As perky and positive and annoying as it would be for me to tell myself to have only good thoughts all the time, the same sort of negative rant and constant complaining would wear on me and I am absolutely sure it is not a good thing to put out into the world. I don't want to put nastiness and negativity out there by itself.
Still, I seek balance and lying in bed the other night, I finally figured out what I want to do.
I want to spend the time making a list of the good, the bad and the random weird shit that happens or occurs to me. The humorous, the stuff that defies rational thought, stuff that makes you go hmmmm, maybe stuff that makes you go ewwww. I would like to find the balance of my day or week. This feels more right to me, and it feels more honest and it feels more like me.
I'm good with this idea and looking forward to the way it works out.

This is my truth

2010-11-06T14:56:00.000-05:00

There is always someone you offend when you tell the truth. I took down the previous post in deference to my brother. I used his words without his permission and perhaps that was enough of a reason. I only used them because I found them beautiful- but I should have asked him. That was wrong of me.
We disagree on the whole of my post and I allowed myself to be censored because I love him. And it's because he is in so much pain that he behaved with great demands, so I forgive him. He's in great pain. He would have demanded I take the post down had I not offered. I could have taken down his words and left mine up but without the balance of both, it would have really sucked because it wasn't the whole story. There is balance to a life.
I am circumspect and thoughtful and in my mind, there is only both sides of the person to me. It comes out in the wash. Dirty laundry has a way of stinking when you leave it in the corner and try to pretend it doesn't exist just because someone is dead.
I will always remember my grandmother as a wonderful woman with an irrational temper whose capacity to hold grudges was nearly epic. Whose capacity to love and care for her family and to sacrifice herself to see the right thing done was equally epic, not to mention her tenacity and artistic talent.
But for me, one without the other is only the half of the picture. It was a triumph for her when she did let a grudge go. A supreme and amazing feat. You would have to know that bad part about her in order to appreciate who she was.
And the truth of it was, like everyone else in this world, she did some appalling things that hurt people. And she did some wonderful things that inspired people.
I told the truth. That is enough to make someone mad at you.
It has always been enough to make someone mad at you. Nothing I said was a lie or slander or anything of the like and in my own way, I felt I was respectful to a well rounded view of which I presented both sides because good and bad exists in a person.
I expose my bad as well as my good, because to pretend that it doesn't exist is only letting the stinking dirty laundry pile up.
So now there are no words that are mine to say anything about my dead cousin whose funeral was yesterday. She is only dead- that is all I feel I can say- and because it was insisted to me that only good must be said about the dead, and even though I don't believe that with any part of my mind or body, I will refrain from saying anything at all because it has been made clear to me that I am not supposed to tell the whole truth, and if I can't, then I won't say anything at all.
I hope when I die that people tell the truth about me. I don't want to be remembered as a saint. Because I am not. And I never will be. And I don't want to be.
If they whisper "Vanessa was a real bitch in the morning."
I know they will have remembered me.
I don't want to be remembered for who I wasn't.
I know that when they speak of me, I will hope they will have been fond of all of me, my annoying traits, my deep faults, and the things that made me wonderful to someone. I know my best friend will remember how annoying it was that I never knew where my shoes were and that I was always late. It will make her smile. She will also remember how we fought and when she does, it will probably bring her a twinge of pain.
Maybe some will learn just hearing about my mistakes. God knows, I did. And I made a lot of them. Maybe I can be someone's cautionary tale. By the way, I have a shoe tree now. I always know where my shoes are. I can't be who I am without those huge mistakes. I don't want you to forget my virtues but I think I got a lot of them through the horror of my missteps.
But mostly I just want to tell the truth, and I am sorry if that makes some people mad. I am not without compassion.
When I find a better way to remember my dead cousin without using someone else's words to balance out the truth of what I knew, I will do so. I admit I made a mistake publishing his public speech. And that is fine, I admit it was ill advised. I understand why he sees this as disrespectful, though it was meant as anything but- I did not mean to cause anyone more pain. And that, most of all is why the post is down.
Because the living have feelings, and however unintentionally, I hurt someone and that is something I have to take responsibility for. I regret that I hurt someone I care about.
I wish that part had not happened. It is an unfortunate side effect of speaking one's mind. It was the tragedy and the beauty I shared that I hoped would touch people. And it did. It really did. I am sorry that part was missed in the hurt feelings. My point was always that no matter what our mistakes were, inside us is that golden child.
I can't make the truth different than what it is.
And the truth of this is, you can't change what has happened. It is very personal how one chooses to remember a loved one lost.
The fact is, the truth has always hurt. And it will continue to do so. When I was sixteen, I walked out of the grocery story, driving off with my mother's car and left her there, stranded. She had to walk home in the rain carrying a gallon of milk. I was a selfish bitch that day. If I live the rest of my life, I don't think I can ever make that moment up to her. It is probably the worst thing I have ever done. I cannot make that act go away. I did that. If someone tells that story at my funeral, I would hope they also would mention that in committing that act, it changed me forever. There are few moments in life that will haunt you forever, and change you. Luckily, I have had an opportunity for redemption and forgiveness. Not everyone gets that.
Some people die before they get that chance. Sometimes people just die as who they are. The problem with dead is that dead is dead. Nothing you can do about it.
A eulogy is knowledge of good. Good words said at a funeral. I did not say words at a funeral, if I had, they might have been different from what I wrote here yesterday. I'm going to defend what I did and what I wrote and my right to say my words but also say that I wasn't completely right about it, either. And later, I am sure I will have more to say, as writers always do.

The Little Purple Cat

2010-10-28T15:22:00.000-05:00

Recently my mother brought me about five boxes worth of my stuff from her house. I guess there comes a time when you really need to get your crap out of your parents house!
I should have gone over there and gone through it first. Much of this stuff is just trash, some of it just baffles me. I think my closet was just a dumping ground for everyone's junk that got shoved in there when I wasn't looking.
So far, I have uncovered my older brother's black light posters from the 70's! A batch of Scientific American magazines from the 80's (definitely not mine)a booklet entitled "Medicare and YOU" and my yearbooks.
I enjoyed and was also pained by my yearbooks. In tenth grade I was sitting on a tree branch getting my picture taken and I look like the loneliest girl in the world. Yet, two of my really good friends are sitting on the ground. I remember liking the way I was perched up there, and feeling really solid but not secure enough to smile or anything. Our individual pictures never appeared in the yearbook at this school. We were pictured in groups only.
My name wasn't even listed as part of Glee Club, but there I was. Sometimes I felt that invisible.
The memories are kind of bittersweet really, looking at those girls reaching through the past and trying to reconcile them in the past with who they are now. And there was my childhood laid out before me.
This morning I woke up and my youngest daughter had pulled out the wooden purple Chinese cat from one of the boxes.
I haven't seen it in years and I was beginning to wonder where it was. My son Cory gave it to me when he was about 10 years old. My son went to a holiday sale at Plowsharing Crafts with my friend and her mom.
He had ten dollars to spend any way he wanted but for some reason he got it in his head that he needed to get me a present so he pored over what he wanted for himself and made sure he had enough money to get me something as well. He spent a lot of time looking and finally decided on this hideous wooden purple cat. He got it for me because it was purple and it was a cat. My favorite color and my favorite animal- how could this be wrong?
Honestly, I was more genuinely touched at this hideously ugly present than some of the more beautiful trinkets I have been given in my life. I put it front and center on the mantel above the fireplace in my parent's house because it symbolized how much he loved me. Still today, if I think about it too long, it brings a tear to my eye. Somehow in the last move, it must have gotten put in a box away and not moved. I've never forgotten about the ugly little thing. When I found my daughter playing with it this morning, it brought a quick smile to my face and I put it in the glass cabinet with the special things.
When people used to see it on the mantel, they would look at it curiously- what on earth were you thinking when you got that and why would you put it out for people to see? Look, it's my son's heart and love and generosity. You have to see past some of the ugly faces he put on when he was a teenager and a confused adult, underneath that is the sweetest heart.

Truth and Moral Dilemmas

2010-10-26T17:18:00.000-05:00

A few years ago, when I was out of town, my husband had a few too many beers after work and made the decision not to drive home. He would have taken a cab but was offered a ride home by one of the very attractive waitresses who worked with him. She drove his car home with him in it and her boyfriend followed behind with her car and picked her up from my house. This is the story I got after much prodding for the truth.
I believe him. That isn't the problem.
The problem was it took about an hour for him to tell me the truth. I kind of understand why. When I met her before, I had said she was really pretty but not really bright but with an adorable personality nonetheless. I teased him about whether or not he would have found her attractive if he were single. My husband thinks I am more jealous that I am. In fact, when the truth did emerge, I told him "Do you want to know how I feel about what happened? I'm really glad someone sober drove you home and I trust you with a pretty girl in the car, even if you are all alone with her."
The reason he evaded the truth for so long was because what happened had looked bad, had the appearance of inappropriate, and he felt guilty for a number of reasons. And I get that.
It was a simple question. How did you get home?
And when he says things like 'why does it matter? why are you so nosy?' I know something is up. I hope that we get to the point where he just doesn't bother with how he thinks it might make me feel and just tells the truth.
I have never cheated on my husband, but I have thought about it. I have considered other men, gazed at their mouths and thought about kissing them. Ultimately, the act itself is not worth it to me but I have walked the line in my mind and played it through in my head.
And I've even been honest with him about feeling that way. He eludes to some similar feelings in vague terms but admits to nothing. I admit if he did, it might make me a little jealous.
I have always had male friends that I have a non sexual relationship with. In many circumstances, those male friends wanted to sleep with me and were honest about it. There are some I see from time to time and the sexual pressure never goes away and there are some I can happily sit across from and eat dinner with and am never made even remotely uncomfortable.
John once told me a story about when he was in high school and some girl walked up to him, practically sat in his lap and told him she wanted him. He laughed nervously and pretty much ran away in terror, thinking it must have been a joke. For a long time, he told me he was clueless to the advances of females.
I have observed human nature as long as I can remember, there were a lot of things I was naive about or clueless to but I can literally physically feel it when someone is attracted to me.
I've never missed it.
Which is why when someone is lying, I know it. People don't say what they mean but I know attraction.
It's fine that it exists, it's all what you do about it.
I mean, let's face it. If I was in the same room with Johnny Depp, I would probably want to lick his face. But you know, he's got a significant other and kids and all that. Take that down to a real level, and you know, someone you work with who you're attracted to and it's all about boundary crossing. And I consider it my responsibility to not make the other person uncomfortable by keeping my attraction in check. I have choices about my behavior, and I can choose to behave in a way that is honorable or not.
But when you have made it clear to someone that you are not available, not interested, not desirous of anything- where is the line?
I spent the whole day with a man who is a good friend where I shared a meal, shared intellectual conversation, shared intimate conversation and he bought dinner and not once did I feel uncomfortable or dirty and then by contrast I spent the day with a man who made me feel that way all day long. Uncomfortable, guilty, as if my behavior was completely inappropriate- but I wasn't lying or hiding anything and my intentions were pure.
Maybe the difference was that one man kept making attempts to touch me, and brushing them off as innocent- but I'm not an idiot, him telling me he was a touchy feely person- and not to take it like he was hitting on me- me telling him well, he wouldn't mind if I wasn't touchy/feely- then he made a feeble attempt to lead the conversation towards the cheating place...and at the end of the day with this guy, I felt oily and as if I had done something wrong. I felt like I had led him on, though I hadn't. I felt undressed, I felt like behavior was hoped for, if not exactly expected. I felt as if he wanted me to walk hand in hand with him and that I was supposed to do something with him.
None of this was ever spoken out loud but I felt it all day.
And it weighed on me.
I walked away wondering if I had done something wrong. Part of me knowing I hadn't done anything. My husband isn't jealous at all. If the roles were reversed, I would be fine with him spending the day with a female- that nonsense of traditional roles is ridiculous to me and I trust him. I don't think I worry about it, even though he probably thinks I would.
Maybe the difference is expectation or wishful thinking.
It's not the easiest thing to do to overcome our baser instincts but I really think if I met Johnny Depp, I could shake his hand politely and not crawl all over him.
Fidelity is important to me but you can't always help who you are attracted to. There are definitely lines that are difficult. I have had base feelings for people that I try to suppress. Part of me wants to forgive this guy for having the attraction and not exactly acting on it. This would all be great if I didn't know that the first guy I mentioned- he and I almost had sex many years ago. So I know there is an attraction there. Yet he managed to put it in a place that did not make me feel randomly guilty and uncomfortable.
It makes me ponder the difference between these two experiences. I don't know where the line is exactly and what my responsibility is in it. Didn't it end when I said that I don't cheat on my husband? Isn't it now his responsibility to behave better if he wants to be friends?
And if I choose to try and be friends with him, am I now leading him to believe there might be a future sex act?
Do other people feel that thick layer of attraction all over them? It's damn near impossible for me to ignore it. I just cannot help noticing such things. It really is like this built in thermometer I have that vibrates.
I wonder if other people give so much thought to these moral dilemmas.

Cemeteries, Beaches and Horror Movies

2010-10-21T10:44:00.000-05:00

Last month, Marissa and I made the trek out to Los Angeles where she met with and agreed to be represented by an agent. She saw the Pacific ocean for the first time and fell in love. In fact, there was little else that impressed her that much. She woke up every morning and said "Can we go to the beach?"
Of course she was wildly impressed with our trip to the set of Desperate Housewives where we sat and watched them shoot a scene for several hours and Marissa got her picture taken with Eva Longoria.
This is the beginning of something for her, something that I sit and take one step at a time because to think of the enormity of it or to plan any further than that presumes something I can't begin to think about. So, I do only what I can do right now and let the future take care of itself.
When we returned, I rested for a few days and then packed again to take off for Florida. I was so excited to go from one beach to another, especially as I favor Florida beaches. The sand is softer, the water warmer, the weather more to my liking. I have never been there in October and I found it exquisitely perfect, achingly beautiful and blissfully free of crowds. I did twelve hours straight through to Forsyth, Georgia and arrived at my grandmother's house.
She passed away in 1983, but we still call it her house, for lack of anything else to call it- though it actually has a name. My grandmother called it 'Hillwreck'. It's a magnificent plantation house in great disrepair except for the wing that the 200 year old oak tree fell on, that part is new and shiny and smells nice.
The house should be full of ghosts but I just don't feel them. I feel nostalgia and wonder and history. On the second floor, amongst many family portraits, hanging in one bedroom is the college diploma of my great grandmother, Stella Viola Baker. 1891, that woman graduated from college. Her mother, Sarah Louise Strickland Baker had gone to college but the war interrupted her and she was unable to finish, so my great grandmother was the first to graduate college. All five of my great grandmother's children graduated as well and one went on to be a teacher like her father- all three daughters have diplomas. We have had teachers in the family since then. Several weeks before my own college graduation, my mother told me "I didn't want to mention this earlier but if you had not graduated college, you would have been the first woman in four generations not to do it."
No pressure.
I feel great women of achievement in that house. A steely determination to succeed. There is wisdom in those walls. If anything, the ghosts pick me up and move me along.
But the house is musty and kicks up my allergies, so I got out of there and headed to the beach that night. I spent my first night in St. Augustine, so I would have a short drive to Orlando the next day and woke up to a short walk to the ocean and a gorgeous clear blue sky and lapping waves. There were about three people out there so I was able to walk the beach in solitude and gather my thoughts. Hot enough to swim, not too hot to be unpleasant at all.
I then drove to the hotel, checked in and found the appropriate people to get my complimentary VIP weekend badge. Sweet. If you have never been to a horror convention, it really is a whole experience. It's not something you want to take the babies to. Not as tame as the world of sci fi and fantasy. And this convention was huge. Just walking the length of the hotel was a challenge. I wore sandals the first day and had to discard them for my super padded walking tennis shoes and still my feet hurt!
At one point, I was strolling through the dealers room looking at all the wares that people had to offer. The Chucky dolls, and miniature hats, creepy contact lenses for vampires and ghouls and zombie survival kits and I noticed a woman with a pair of identical dark haired twin girls. Normally, I would have found those twins adorable but there was something distinctly creepy about them in the context of the surroundings.
The convention kicked off with a zombie walk where hundreds of people in costume paraded through the length of the streets next to the hotel. There were home made signs and low growls of "Braaaains" reverberating through the crowd.
I knew immediately this was going to be a fun weekend.
My film was playing at 2 PM on Saturday. I put up my super cool poster with "showing at 2 PM Sat." taped to it and told everyone I met about the showing. In fact there were people there who stayed from beginning to end. Then there were those who wandered in and out of the room.
Afterward, I did a short Q&A session where I answered questions about how we did the special effects and what inspired me to write the story. All of this was generally thrilling. There is something to be said for being up there talking about my film.
I met some very cool people, famous and not famous. I shook hands with John Carpenter, and babbled and made a general fool of myself- then I met Robert Englund (who had a sign that said NO POSED PICTURES), Jason Mewes, and three Ghost Hunters, all generally very nice and personable, among the celebs were Elvira and the Lost Boys but by far the biggest asshole prize goes to Gary Busey.
I walked around the booth a little, checking him out, trying to decide whether I wanted a picture or not- and I watched him be charming and personable to a couple people and then a complete dick to this random girl who wanted to shake hands with him. Then I think he began barking and making odd noises- he's either on some serious medication or his brain damage from the last motorcycle accident has really taken its toll.
He was a nutcase. Even when there were not throngs of people, he wouldn't sit with any of the film makers and ignored everyone. I thought he might have done better at his table if he'd have been signing his mugshot but clearly he did not have a sense of humor. I just looked up his mugshot. I think I have been confusing it with Nick Nolte's mugshot. Eh, Gary was pretty drunk and obnoxious and clearly on the border of batshit crazy.
Anyway, Sunday night was a quiet night after everyone left and I got to spend time with the film makers and the few people who hung around, including Gary, who wandered in and out drinking and behaving erratically. Too bad I didn't get more pictures, I could have sold them to the Enquirer.
Monday I got to go to Disneyworld for free! I met a guy who worked there and spent the whole next day running around Disney! That night I drove back to the beach and spent the night in St. Augustine, the next afternoon after a few hours on the beach, I made my way up to Savannah, spending two days there in that gorgeous city. The second night I spent out at Tybee Beach and had dinner with my friend in a nice little restaurant outside close enough to hear the ocean.
I love Savannah in a pretty special way. The first time I went there, I knew I had to return often, there is something incredibly romantic and devastating about that city.
Perhaps it is the tortured past that it rose from that attracts me. There is such violence and cruelty and yet it rose to be artistic and beautiful, it stands proud of the scars and the battles it lost and reinvents itself.
Right before I left, I stopped to visit the Bonaventure Cemetery, which was a key location in the book/movie Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
They have moved the statue to the museum in town but never mind, there were many beautiful statues to admire.
I randomly picked a place to start walking and the first thing that struck me were the little graves- there was a whole family that perished one at at time, the parents before the age of 30, the only son and daughter a mere three days apart in 1874- ages 4 and 1. As I walked around the cemetery, I realized how common this was- so many of them had tiny gravestones. You can know something in your head, and read about it in books but until you confront these tiny graves, I don't think it really hits home.
All those parents afraid of immunizations need to tour an old graveyard- it really smacks you right between the eyes where we came from. One family had five little gravestones right in a row. My heart ached for their loss. I left from there and returned to Forsyth that night.
My mother has dragged me through I don't even know how many cemeteries so I don't get creeped out by them and it didn't bother her at all when I asked to go to the cemetery to see my grandmother's grave. The Forsyth Cemetery is also a very old cemetery, there is a whole section devoted to Confederate Soldiers, most of them unknown, and one nurse is named and buried among them. First we went to our family plot. Hill. Kind of a common name, we had to drive past some other Hill's to get to our family. Buried there are my great great grandparents, my great grandmother and grandfather, my grandmother, two great aunts and one great uncle. All who lived fairly long lives. None of them died before their seventies. One of them lived into her nineties. This plot has no baby graves. In fact, three of my great grandmother's children are buried with her. All five of her children outlived her. Kind of extraordinary given the amount of infant death I could see exposed everywhere.
My mother described to me how her grandmother, Stella (the one whose diploma hung in the bedroom) had locked herself in the room with a child in the throes of diphtheria and forced liquids until she got better, not letting any of the other children near her until she was well.
There is darkness in my family. A history of male suicides. It doesn't say so on the gravestones- to the outside world it looks like some of them died young. The suicides were usually hushed up and thereafter told as "He died of pneumonia." in polite company, but the lies and the family secrets hang in the air until the wind takes them away with time. I whisper them along the generations, some things should not be forgotten.
They make interesting late night stories, when I can get the kid's attention. Usually all I have to say is "Want to hear the family secrets no one wants to talk about?"
We drove up a way until I saw another Hill plot and I asked my mother if we were related to them. "Probably" she said. "Cousins" but as I named them all off, she couldn't definitively remember them for sure. In the back was a group of childrens gravestones. We had barely escaped this.
I drove on to Atlanta where I visited with my niece and got to see her Improv show. She's a wonderful talent. The next morning I had breakfast with a couple actor friends. I am inspired by all of them, working to make their dreams come true. I left Atlanta around noon, ready to push myself through the long drive and was at my doorstep around 10:30 PM, exhausted but home.

Someone else's insecurity

2010-09-21T13:23:00.000-05:00

This is directed at a particular person but if any part of it touches anyone else, and you see yourself in there, I hope it helps the process.
I've been feeling bad about a few things lately and I think I am done with them taking up space in my brain. First of all, I'm not going to feel bad about my excellent education and the brilliant family I was born into.
If you did not have said excellent education, this does not make you lesser than me and I don't look down on you. I should only have to say that once, and my actions have clearly showed that my whole life. I was never the kind of girl to make you feel bad because you didn't go to college and I am done justifying that.
If you feel bad about your own situation, then go to school, don't try to make me feel bad because I worked my ass off to get my education. This is something I am proud of because I earned it. It wasn't handed to me. I paid for it and I valued it and I worked for it.
And even if I hadn't, the fact that you feel bad about yourself is only something I can have sympathy for, not something I should be shamed or marked with. That is now and forever- your problem.
Second- I am not an intimidating person. I'm intelligent, well read and well educated but I am warm and down to earth and I don't make you feel stupid. You do that all by yourself. I did not invalidate your opinion, you did that all on your own. If I don't agree with you, that doesn't necessarily mean that I don't have respect for what you think, I just don't agree. I have the same hopes, fears and anxieties as any other human being.
I spent my life honing the skill of talking to people on their level with their language so that they feel comfortable and if you are feeling uncomfortable because of my background or my education or someone in my family who had money, that is not my problem.
Do you think that I have never been intimidated by someone?
I'm done apologizing for your insecurities. I have my own to deal with and I have done all I can to make you feel comfortable. Have you done as much for me? Why is it that I am the one who should step out of my comfort zone for you?
I do it every single time. I don't mind. I like people. I find value in every person I have met, rich or poor, educated or not. I don't have standards like that for my friends. This is a skill I have and I am happy with it and proud of it. I didn't miss out on that person because I wouldn't talk to him or her for some petty reason.
I sincerely hope that you figure out all of this very soon because my patience with you is at an end. I felt sad, then I felt rejected, then I felt desperate and now I am done feeling all of those things. If you miss out on my friendship, that is your problem, too. At this point what I am feeling, finally is angry that you could treat our friendship like this.
I am thinking now that I have the power to be done with you right now and that if at the end of your hissy fit, if I am not there, you will have brought this on yourself.

Shopping trip

2010-09-21T11:22:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, the question was asked, how did the shopping go?

This task reminded me of when I was out of my own for the very first time and all I had in my pocket was $30 to spend and we did not know when we would have more money. I was moving out on my own for the first time and after all the moving expenses and whatnot, we were left with $30. I had no parental or family support and no job. I was young and optimistic, and I didn't realize how long it was going to take to get a job, what, they don't fall off trees?

It was the first time I had been inside a grocery store not begging my mother for some treat or another (that is how young I was) and suddenly the cost of everything hit me full force. I had no idea how long this food had to last. I don't remember the whole shopping trip. I remember that $30 was a lot more then than it is now. Generic bread cost .25 and cans of tuna were cheap. I remember not being able to buy a full gallon of milk, which is what I had to face doing this week.

The harsh realities of facing this was a lesson I never forgot. I was thinking about this in light of the fact that I had olive oil night before last. There is no way I could afford to have olive oil. I wouldn't have made that choice back then. I would have taken one look at the price tag and gotten the vegetable oil. I skipped lunch so I could do that and stay under budget but really I am not sure that is in the nature of this challenge. If I was really faced with that restriction, I wouldn't have let myself have olive oil. If I was going to splurge on something and deny myself lunch, I would have that treat my child wanted and made do. I'm actually ashamed of myself for eating healthy in light of what it costs and what it cost my family.

Is it any wonder we are in an obesity epidemic? Why do we have to choose terrible foods to fill ourselves with when we could eat healthy? The fact of the matter is, we might be able to make better choices once we are educated for sure but it will still be beyond our reach financially if something doesn't change.

Day 3 of the Snap challenge

2010-09-19T20:02:00.001-05:00

I should note that I started this early because I am going out of town this weekend and wouldn't have time to complete the week eating at home, which is the idea. For everyone else, the challenge begins today and I wish them all luck.

Today, I went to the grocery store. I shop at Sam's a good deal but that is not allowed on the challenge, so I just went to Schnucks and did my regular shopping. Sometimes I go to Aldi's but I find there aren't enough healthy options there. Too many prepackaged and unhealthy options and not enough good choices. For the right price and healthy options, Trader Joe's is always a good bet, unfortunately, there are too many things they don't carry, I love them but they are way too small. I made sure and took note of the prices on everything I had at home so I could properly budget my week. I found apple juice on sale for only .97- the no sugar added kind, the good kind.

Since I didn't eat yesterday, I wanted to try to eat really well today but I decided to skip lunch so I could have a healthy dinner. I know I didn't eat yesterday but I still wanted to stay within the rules of the challenge.

This morning I had two scrambled eggs and used spray canola oil. This breakfast cost me around 22 cents- hey, great start! The canola oil cost around $1.50 a can and I probably get around a hundred sprays out of it, that's pretty cost effective, about 2 cents a spray. I wanted to have chicken breast for dinner and I like olive oil. It is kind of expensive to cook with, even though it is one of the most healthy oils, so I tried to see if I could afford it. I'll spare you the math, the portion I used was going to cost me .66. The cheapest option out there is generic vegetable oil, but that is also the most unhealthy. The next best would be canola oil, a passable substitute. By skipping lunch, I could afford the olive oil and I decided to go with it, a kind of sacrifice but one nonetheless.

Bone in chicken is definitely cheaper than boneless and healthwise, it's no better or worse. I used a tablespoon of flour and a quarter teaspoon seasoning for the chicken, fresh green beans, one baked potato and an ounce of fresh spinach.

After all of this, including a pat of butter and a half a tablespoon of sour cream, I have spent:

$4.22 for the whole day.

Really, I could not have afforded to have lunch at all, I have only .28!I'm going to have a cup of tea in a little bit so that will really be gone then.

I made healthy choices but at what cost. I think now one can begin to see how some of these healthy choices aren't really options if you are budgeting so little. These are the best choices you can make at the time, I see all the choices I probably should have made to stay within budget and still have three meals.

What I really refuse to give up is organic milk, the health cost is simply too high and I will have to make compromises in other areas of my food budget. I made a conscious decision that I no longer drink milk with Rbgh hormone in it and neither do my children and I have not done so in five years. I simply did not have any milk today and I guess I'll have to take some vitamin D. This is a challenge that reveals something new every day.

Post Fast

2010-09-19T15:18:00.000-05:00

I think that experience actually changed me. I know it's only been one day and I kind of feel a bit crappy but there are things I understand today that I did not understand yesterday.
I was, I think waiting for some kind of epiphany yesterday but also just trying to survive the hunger. At the end I was just counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds til I could eat again. But more importantly, I went about the business of not eating for an entire day and I fed my children, and I was not at all resentful or jealous of what they were eating- at one point, my daughter made herself pop tarts and the smell was delightful and usually I want nothing to do with pop tarts. I have kind of outgrown them but the smell yesterday was enticing.
Yesterday was an experiment in not only abstaining, am I strong enough to forgo my basic instinct for food when there is plenty in the house and what can I fill myself with instead?
The most important thing I understood was that I have strength of spirit, and that I am able to accomplish what I set my mind to. I honestly have never thought before that I could finish a fast. I always thought that I would be too weak, too dizzy, too short of fortitude and none of those things are true. Yesterday I was focused on the more immediate. I knew that I was going to be able to think about little else. Your body goes into survival mode when one of your needs is not met but I found yesterday, I could write coherently, think coherently and everything took on this basic clarity.
Preparing food for my children became this surreal and genuine experience. Because the act was entirely giving and I was not partaking, it took on this loving and giving that I don't always feel. I was not the least bit interested in what I wanted but wholly concerned with the act of nurturing this other human being. I know I have done this before. Many times I have made food for others that I did not intend to partake of but somehow this act yesterday, in light of my own conscious decision to not eat became more spiritual, more wonderful and more loving an act. I don't know if I can adequately describe the emotion that it stirred in me. I wasn't thinking at all about my portion and none of it was about me at all but I felt I had been given this gift to be able to give to them with a pure heart. It didn't feel like an obligation. Many times making meals for the kids feels like something I have to do that is a burden. Yesterday it was a gift.
I wondered what I would get out of this experience. And once again it was a surprise. So, in spite of my weaker condition today and I definitely feel the after effects of putting my body through that ordeal but I also feel more powerful, more in control of myself. Look what I did that I didn't even know I could do, it's a miraculous discovery every time it happens. I know it is simple but I did not know I was capable of doing this on purpose and that is a gift to know about oneself, that I am still discovering what I can do.

Hunger Blog from Facebook notes

2010-09-18T19:16:00.000-05:00

Living on $4.50 a day is easy today, but one of the reasons this is an exercise in empathy is to feel the restriction, to feel the hunger. So today, I am fasting, and feeling the hunger. I have decided not to abstain from water and tea. This will make my total cost less than a dollar.

Halfway through this day, I admit, I am very hungry, especially considering I have to make and prepare food for my children, but it is like anything else I have to abstain from, right now it is food that I am abstaining from. And this is what people feel every day who cannot afford to eat. When I think of this, I concentrate on this feeling, I realize how long it has been since I have really felt hungry. I used to feel hungry all the time, spiritually and physically.

When I was a very young mother, I used to get up, feed the kids breakfast but never eat it myself. My breakfast was a Dr. Pepper and a cigarette. Hmmm, healthy. I rarely ate before 3 PM, I would have some kind of late lunch rushed and then most time after I put the kids to bed dinner. Oddly enough, I was obsessed with feeding those kids in the most healthy way possible. They always had a green vegetable on their plate but I never took care of myself. Is it any wonder I was so depressed in those early years? I am not sure where I was on that list of things I had to do. I finally started eating properly and giving myself a healthy diet much later, and in that way, even though I was never and still usually am not hungry for breakfast, I always make myself eat it. I used to live with this gnawing hunger in my gut, all the time. It is quite symbolic, looking back at that.

So today, I feel this familiar feeling. I know people feel it all the time. For them, it is not self imposed. For millions of people, the gnawing feeling is something they ignore, like I am doing. For so many mothers are cutting up the last apple in the house and giving it to their hungry kids, and abstaining from it themselves because she cannot bear to see her child's hungry eyes. Today, I stand in solidarity with all the mothers who are giving up their own needs to feed their babies and I wish for them to be filled. I stay hungry today and consider these mothers. I understood them better than I knew. I just had to remember what it felt like.

Atonement

2010-09-18T18:08:00.000-05:00

Today is Yom Kippur. I am not Jewish but I like traditions, and I like days that are meaningful and I like shared experiences. I have had several crises of faith over the last several months. The more I go to church, the more hypocrisy and simpering bigotry I have found, which is why I didn't used to go to church. I want to be inspired, not shamed.
But I digress. I have never celebrated Yom Kippur before. I was raised by a Methodist and an Atheist and you know, Christians kind of ignore Jewish holidays. Kind of a shame if you ask me, especially to ignore a cool one like this one. I have decided to fast today. I'm not really doing it correctly because I'm not giving up water or beverages but I am abstaining from solid food for 25 hours. I started a little late because I didn't know I was going to be doing it, but I figure, God, if he exists, won't care. It isn't really about that anyway.
I'm not doing it for any religious reason. I think atonement is good for the soul in general. I am spending the day thinking of how to be a better person, accepting and acknowledging my past wrongs over the last year and thinking deeply about how I want to live my life is a good thing.
I looked up how to observe Yom Kippur and there are all kinds of rules, but Leviticus annoys me so I am taking the lesson in a pure sense and ignoring his misogynist ass. This guy thought it was a sin to mix fabrics and sit near menstruating women, he was clearly nuts. But this day of atonement is kind of a neat idea. A whole day to devote to thinking about oneself in a manner that allows for spiritual growth, for personal growth and for whatever else comes of the experience.
I decided to fast for the experience of it, but given the fact that I tend to have a bit of hypoglycemia, I decided that it was most unnecessary to give up water and tea, so that is all I have had since midnight.
I have taken up my time with many things, some of which involves making the other people in the house food. I thought this would be harder than it is, but much like anything you are abstaining from, it just becomes something I am not doing. Also, I have taken on the challenge of trying to eat on $4.50 a day for a week as part of a personal empathy challenge so I am spending about .75 on tea for the whole day.
The other thing is that I wanted to feel hunger. I haven't felt real hunger in a long time. I used to feel it all the time, it was a part of my life, this gnawing, pestering force in my life. I want to feel it spiritually and physically and overcome it like I used to. Also, this is something children have to feel every day, children living in poverty who aren't making a choice but are forced to live that way because that is what they were born into.
I'm fortunate not to be hungry all the time. Even when I was, it was mostly self imposed. And I kind of had a way out. So, this is the middle of the journey. I will see where the hollow feeling leaves me. Maybe I will have the opportunity to fill with other things.

Bitter and Circumspect

2010-09-17T16:15:00.000-05:00

Do I have time for a regret or two? Do you ever wonder about the road not traveled? I wrote a story once about a woman who had an embryo frozen in time until she could emotionally handle carrying it. It's not so science fiction now, is it? The biggest decision later was going to be what would she do when she knows now what she didn't know then.
I still like that story but now I would write it softer, with less hard hitting drama and more layers in between. Writing that, thinking that, ripped me open from the deepest place. Those are the moments that define your life and you don't get choices like that over again.
Today is the birthday of a man I kind of wish I had never met. There were moments in knowing him that I became so strong, so sure of myself and so determined but he really came in and messed up my life.
I have no one to blame but myself. I could have walked away, should have walked away, did walk away eventually. After many things were too late. The side effects of this man weren't so bad. Some of the people he brought to my life are incredible, some of the things he put me through made me realize I have such incredible strength and yet I wonder how many crossroads would have been different if he had not been there. If he had just left me alone.
I think the object most of the time is to say to yourself, well, I'm grateful about where I am today and if I changed things, I wouldn't be there. But sometimes I just want to say FUCK THAT.

When Death Kindly Stopped for her

2010-09-17T00:44:00.000-05:00

Night before last, I made arrangements via facebook to have lunch with my friend Anne. We have been friends since the sixth grade and she moved to Italy when she was in college and remained there after. We kind of drifted a little apart in high school but never to the point we didn't talk to one another or have mutual respect for one another.
She has always been dear to me and I regret spending less time with her in high school than I should have. I didn't keep in touch with her for many years not knowing where she was. Facebook, in fact brought us back together and we had a lovely reunion meeting last year where we attempted to catch up some decades. Impossible task but most enjoyable meeting.
I found the same loving and wonderful person I had always known and the years just melted away. I was beyond grateful she had been in my life. I told her how her friendship had lifted me up at a time when I needed a friend and the constant comfort, trust and genuine goodness in her was such a gift.
She's a real person, always has been, there was never an ounce of pretense to our friendship. It was this honest and wonderful friendship. She was never jealous and was always generous with me, even when I drifted away from her. It means a lot to get to tell someone how you really feel. And to thank someone for being a real friend.
We have had a few opportunities for get togethers since she has been in town every six months.
The sad part was her mother had Alzheimer's and was in a nursing home so the reason she comes to town for a week is to spend time with her, every six months.
Within the hour of making lunch plans, her mother passed away, so naturally we postponed. It's a miracle that this happened while she was in town, given how the odds were so against it, but I am glad she was here. So this is the second friend of mine who has become an orphan this month.
Still not something I want to think about. But I am glad that I can be there to offer her my support and compassion and friendship. I called her tonight to see how the day was. It makes my heart heavy to think of her going through this- to think that I will likely have to go through this myself. And that none of us get out alive.
But it does give me fortitude to live my life now. I'm blessed to have such a sweet and caring friend and I'm glad to be there for her at this time in our lives. It is my theory that sometimes death is kind enough to stop for us and especially for an Alzheimer's patient. And death was kind enough to let her loving daughter be there when he stopped by to pick her up. My friend's father who passed away recently, and was also suffering from dementia, as I gave my condolences to his brother, who I did not really know, I took his hand and said "I am so sorry for your loss."
He said "Yeah, so am I, but I'm not at the same time. I'm glad he got to go when he was ready and it was time." Sometimes there is a great kindness in death.

In retrospect, now I see

2010-09-12T11:54:00.000-05:00

Friday, I went to the memorial service for my friend's father, Larry. He was a writer, an editor for the Post, long retired, he had been suffering from dementia for quite some time. That is always an intellectuals great fear, our bodies going is one thing but the mind is our treasure.
I really wish I had spent more time talking to him in life, he was a fascinating man, his wife, even more so. They were very much involved in the civil rights movement, he and his wife were from Alabama. He was one of those rare men who supported his wife, Sidney absolutely, even if he didn't necessarily agree. And his wife was a spitfire(sadly, she died of leukemia in 1993). Larry would sit at the lunch counters and when a black man would walk in and ask to be served, Larry would tell the counter man, "Go ahead and serve him, don't bother me."
He was the example for better behavior and I wonder if he knows how much he changed the world. As a writer, he brought this experience to the world. Sidney was one of those brave people protesting the war and marching for civil rights and speaking out with the confidence to be admired. I knew her only as the woman who drove us to school once a week. How I missed out.
I rode in carpool with their only daughter, Suzy. She was the shiny and positive person in the car and, like me, had three brothers. I always appreciated her happy face in the mornings, though I said very little, she was my favorite person in the car that consisted of girls who would not socialize but lived near one another.
Later, when I was in high school, I met her older brother, Todd and briefly considered dating him. I liked him quite a bit, he was always fun to hang around with but he never quite got around to asking me out. One summer night, he walked me home and we stopped on the corner and kissed for about twenty minutes but there was never any follow up. He was too shy to bring it up again and I was too flighty to be caught that summer. Still, it evolved into a nice, comfortable friendship and he ended up being best man at my wedding because he is very good friends with my husband.
At the memorial service, people were invited to tell their favorite stories of Larry and I found out so much more that I didn't know. Growing up, my husband spent quite a bit of time at their house and I can't help but think, since his own parents were divorced when he was young, he must have absorbed some of this example of a strong marriage. After all, I am in the rare position of having a husband who will back me no matter what. It seems like he got a piece of that somewhere and I heard that over and over at the memorial. It was beautiful to hear about a man who not only loved his wife, but valued the woman he was married to. The last time I was with Larry, he told me the story of how his daughter changed schools and why they supported that with her. His devotion to how she felt and where her life decisions were going to take her touched me deeply.
Not having a very understanding father myself, I really valued this conversation. I wish I had known these people better but I think somehow, they touched my life in more ways than I can know.

The Ups and Downs

2010-09-10T14:46:00.000-05:00

I returned from a lovely eleven days in Los Angeles on Wednesday evening. I slept on the couch of a dear friend that whole time and drove a little white Kia Soul. Interesting sometimes what happens to my soul while in LA.
My friend observed that I spent very little time messing around and set up meeting after meeting to get things done. Time is precious out there and I need to fill it with progress or I can't sit still. I had time to go to the beach and to socialize and to really relax. One whole day after a morning meeting, I spent the afternoon at the beach and the pool. It was gorgeous. I don't think a day went by when I had nothing to do. My time booked up very quickly and I took the networking very seriously.
But as it always happens, the anxiety and stress are tremendous. I go from calm to terrified in a matter of seconds. Everything I do feels crucially important. Every moment could potentially turn into a break or a disaster. I ride high on hopes and dreams and crash hard on 'lovely to meet you, maybe next time'. The ride is almost always twisting and turning in directions that I never saw it going.
I should have been prepared for Marissa. I wasn't prepared to market my daughter and I don't think I really truly saw what would happen if I put her in my movie.
You hope, you dream, you try to make plans but the fact remains, the business I have chosen has no clear cut path.
This isn't like "I've decided to become a doctor."
Great, here is your path. First you get into college, and honestly you can get into any number of colleges and you study hard, pass and get your degree, now you go to graduate school, first you intern, then you are a resident, perhaps you would like to pursue private practice. Then you apply for jobs because now you are qualified. You interview and you get hired. Now you are in your chosen profession.
I have had people mock my degree. And they can go ahead and do that. I don't care. I'm proud of it anyway, I didn't get it for anyone else. It doesn't make me smarter or taller. It makes me happy and gives me a feeling of accomplishment because I started and finished something that was difficult.
So, that is kind of the path I am on right now. Trying to accomplish something that is difficult. And I'm working on the path. In a sense I have to forge my own path like the people did before me.
I'm smart and I'm talented and I am a really good writer. I will pursue this as long as it takes. I have heard no and maybe and let me get back to you more times than I care to mention.
My daughter has an interview with an LA agent in two weeks. I am making progress with my own works. It's a process. I had disappointments along the way and I am sure I will have more, but I am undeterred.
While I was on the second leg of my return, from Houston to St. Louis, I wrote myself a note. It said
"Not everyone will like all of what you do all of the time. This does not make it bad, all this means is that that person has an opinion. There are people in this world who don't like Shakespeare and Monty Python.
Not everyone will appreciate me all the time, but I must stay strong in my belief in myself and my own ability and unwavering in my task. I will always allow myself the time to cry when I am hurt and disappointed but I will never stop picking myself up and moving on. Hang on to the knowledge that the brick walls are not there to keep me out, they are there to show me how high I can climb."
It is with a steely ambition that I continue my pursuit. I have never been a quitter and I'm not about to quit now. This is not an easy path, people keep telling me that. It's not the easy I desire. It's the clear cut. I'm getting used to that not happening! So, I had my share of disappointments when I was out there, and I felt the sting of it.
But I also had my share of exciting developments. I'm going to hold on to those.

As if

2010-09-06T20:30:00.000-05:00

As I sit here with the weight of a misunderstanding sitting heavy on my heart, an unresolved issue, a deep hurt, I learned of the passing of a friend's father and it all seems to ball together in this mess of sad.
I've been pestering my husband to go and spend time with his friend whose father has been lying on his death bed for the last few days. Go and see him, call him. He does send him a message on facebook, an act I find excruciatingly underwhelming. Hours ago, I find out that he passed on Saturday.
We will go to the funeral if it is at all possible. So far I can find no details on the arrangements. This is not a casual friend. He was best man at our wedding. I have urged my husband for the last four days to find his phone number and he won't. My anger is thinly veiled at this point. He looks at me when I make suggestions and agrees they are good ideas, then does nothing. Since they were closer, I have been deferring to him, but I'm frustrated with his lack of action.
I know he cares- I'm just tired of pushing and micromanaging.
Last night while having a casual conversation, my friend managed to misinterpret me so completely that I feel almost as if it was on purpose- that she very deliberately picked a fight. Over something I never said.
That seems like the worst part-
I agreed with a friend of hers. I said- on balance I tend to agree with him because he's a well read and intelligent man. She says "So I'm stupid and uneducated?"
How do you get there? Yeah, that's what I said. Not. I mean, I couldn't have said anything further from that. She stuck around long enough to insult me and tell me of course that is the conclusion she reached because that is what I meant. Wow. Now I can't even own what I meant.
To make matters worse, I am now unfriended and blocked and she did not answer my phone call or my email in an attempt to talk it out.
And honestly, what that means is she is not ready to admit she was wrong and overreacted. Does that sound really full of myself? I cannot even see that I actually did anything wrong here. I just really believe she chose to take it that way. To believe that about me is to fundamentally be that obtuse to who I am.
So, I am done trying to talk to her.
Clearly, she does not want to talk to me and talk about it in any rational way. Clearly she did not want to hear me say that of course I value her and her opinion and know her to be intelligent and well read. She wants to hold on to the anger and resentment and make this into a huge thing.
While telling others to work it out. Irony. It's not just for breakfast.
So, I sit here with a knot in my stomach. I hate it when my friends are mad at me and I can't even talk to her. It literally tears me to shreds and throbs and sits like a huge heavy weight. But what can I do but wait? The waiting makes me angry.
The infusion of learning of my friend's father's death puts a perspective on it.
Is this petty bullshit really important? How long do I stay mired in it?
Most of all, I am resentful that I even have to be in this stupid and resentful place.
There are more important things here.

My ex anniversary

2010-08-15T12:49:00.000-05:00

Today is the day I was married to my first husband. He won't remember it was today, I'm sure this is just another day for him, he won't forget me- ever but he has long forgotten the date.
It's not like we even made it to our first anniversary, though we were legally married for five years, we lived together in matrimonial hell for four and a half months and were separated until we finally got a court date five years later. We fought constantly- to be honest, if we weren't fucking, we were fighting and sometimes we were doing both. I married him for the usual variety of all the wrong reasons, and you would think I would regret it but I don't.
I am sorry I didn't possess that self esteem not to want to date him in the first place but I didn't. I had one Catholic friend (might I say she was Catholic when it suited her) who said when I re-married that I should not be allowed to wear white but you know, if I wasn't being stoned to death for not being a virgin bride, I think wearing white should have been the lesser sinful act.
Besides, nowhere in the Bible does it list a color for a wedding dress. And I am pretty sure my hymen wasn't white anyway.
But I digress.
I don't regret it because I learned a lot of life lessons from it. I learned I was nowhere near ready to be married and deal with that kind of commitment. I learned that if you spun around and threw a stone in a crowd, I would probably hit someone my ex husband had cheated on me with. I learned I wanted better for myself and I could survive the shame of divorce. I learned I could make a mistake and walk away and forgive myself.
I learned that I needed to stop listening to the negative voices in my head and move on, that if I made myself a victim of my circumstances, it was my own fault. And I learned I could break up with someone and wish them well.
I have never fought with someone that much in my life. Really, it seemed like every second we were together, we were fighting. I don't know that I have ever been so miserable.
It was a desperate marriage at a desperate time for me.
His birthday was December 9th, and I remember going to Target the week before to get him a birthday present. Then came the hunt for the card. Since we were newly married, I thought it would be nice to get him a card that said husband on it. As I picked them up one after the other, and read the sappy, drippy, sentimental crap, I realized I didn't feel ANY of it.
And I cry at poignant commercials.
I'm all about sentimental, drippy crap.
I thought- I should get him a funny card. So, I began in earnest the search for a humorous card- one that said 'husband' and not 'love'.
Uh oh.
Yes, it was, as they say, My Aha moment. Oprah would have been proud. I think before Oprah defined that, I called it my moment of clarity or my moment of enlightenment. But I realized I had to leave him. Love was important to me and I realized that I was out of love with him, that I felt some vague obligation to be a nice person but my heart was finished with it. It was over.
Then, I thought- well I can't leave him right before his birthday, it will devastate him. And I should probably stick it out til after Christmas because it would be mean to break up with him right before Christmas.
I set a goal of January, and decided I would stick it out til then.
I gave him all of his birthday presents and smiled and was sweet to him on his birthday but I only made it til December 12th before I left him.
Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do and life intervened and I decided it was just time.
He screamed at me to come back for about a week and a half but I was done.
Don't feel too bad for him- he was living with someone else by January and he moved to North Carolina with her and they had two babies.
They told everyone in North Carolina they were married. She hated me for a while until she figured out I wasn't incarnate evil and wanted to get the divorce as badly as they did. She waited five years to marry him.
And three months after we divorced, she ran off with another man in Effingham, Illinois. He called me up and wanted to get together. Really?
One day, out of the blue, he called me to tell me he was sorry.
He was trying to get sober and was in AA and he was making his amends. I raked him over the coals a little "So, remember that one girl, did you sleep with her, too?"
The answer was always yes.
I told him, "Nice to know I wasn't crazy like you said. And that my instincts were pretty good."
So, he said "Will you forgive me?"
I replied "No. Not yet. I'm not ready. You hit me, you choked me, you cheated on me, you emotionally abused me and you destroyed my self confidence for a long time. I'm not letting you off the hook for these things and I am not ready to forgive you yet. I think I will one day. I have already let go of the past and I'm not angry with you any more but I don't think you have earned my forgiveness yet. I think you have a ways to go- but I ask you to pay it forward and be good to the next girl. Learn from your mistakes and be a better person and treat her well and in that way, you can earn my forgiveness. But not today. I will give you this, I sincerely appreciate you calling me up to tell me you're sorry and to make amends- it means a great deal to me to have this conversation with me and I thank you from my heart."
Eventually, I did forgive him, but I have never told him so. I have no anger or ill will towards him. I have no place in my heart that is hateful any more. I do wish him well. And I hope he grew as a person and became better. I haven't really talked to him since that day.

Backtracking

2010-08-09T16:31:00.000-05:00

Looking back, I think I can pinpoint the exact place in a relationship where I should have walked away. Of course, I have never been the kind of gal who gives up easily. I think this has served me well in many areas of my life- being in for the long haul and not walking away when it was time to put in the hard work- after all, this is what got me my college degree, eventually. This is what gave me the tenacity to not give up on things I wanted to do but it also meant I beat on dead things for a while before I let go.
I also remember the places where the relationships died for me but I didn't hang on for too long of a post mortem. I remember the point where apathy took over and I realized I could walk away. The point of no return was a relief in most cases. I admit there was a time I looked for it in this relationship- instead of me knowing it was over, I reached a point where I knew it was solid. I reached a point where I realized that all of the crazy hormones wore off and I didn't think I wanted to leave. I reached a point beyond where I had ever been before and realized the deepening of this love was the real thing. All the bluster and desperation and oxytocin spikes were no longer leading me around. I stepped back one day and realized this was it, this thing had quietly come. The newness had worn off, the insecurity had worn off, the terror, all of the things that caused me doubt and angst had worn off. And then I had survived the boredom, because believe me, the boredom will come- and beyond that was- this incredible and completely unexpected other side of a deep and abiding love.
And this was the transcendent thing.
Beyond the fighting and the bickering is a quiet and abiding commitment to not give up on one another and underneath that is this beautiful friendship. I don't know how romantic it is. Sometimes it's very romantic and sweet- sometimes it is warm and comforting- sometimes it is dull and quiet- and other times it is laugh your head off.
I like it. But I know it is not for everyone.
I don't know if I would have gotten here without those learning points. It all seems so completely obvious in hindsight- it would be amusing if it had not been so darned tragic!
I've gotten good at a few things in hindsight. I can see really clearly how quickly it was wrong...
If you catch your boyfriend of two weeks making out with a guy- walk away.
Don't let him yell at you and act like it's your fault!
If a guy asks you to dance and then tells you he wants your phone number, but he has a girlfriend the proper response was "I don't date guys with girlfriends." (hey, I got that one right) and walk away. I should not have followed it up with "Call me if you break up with her."
Cause when he called me a week later, I started dating a cheater! (And here I was so proud of myself for sticking to morality and not dating a guy with a girlfriend)
When you show up at a party to pick up your boyfriend of three weeks and no one can find him at the party and he eventually comes into the kitchen where you are waiting patiently and he shows up disheveled, with his sweater on inside out, looks at you resentfully and says your plans for the evening aren't important enough to leave the party- doesn't invite you to the party and asks you to leave-
walk away.
When your boyfriend thinks it's hilarious to grab the wheel of your car while you're driving to mess with you- and then gets all pissy and tells you that you have no sense of humor. (Might I add my infant son was in the back seat this whole time-) Walk away.
Now, nobody is perfect and we can't expect them to be but I had very deep conversations with all these guys and all of this happened within the first month of the relationships. They seem like obvious red flags, right? Most of them admitted to cheating in all of their previous relationships. Why I imagined I would be any different is beyond me.
Like I said, it would be funny if it hadn't had such stupid and terrible consequences. But you know- eventually I did walk away. I can tell you all of the points of no return- they make me sound a little less foolish. All of this happened before I was 22 years old, so I do have youth to blame.

Comic Touch

2010-08-09T01:44:00.000-05:00

I'm a little sad today to close this show. It was a really wonderful cast, the kind you love to work with. I am really dedicated to this art form and it is a joy to see others who are as well. This cast was fantastic- everyone knew their lines, everyone knew everyone else's lines, so well in fact, that if one of us faltered for just a second- there was no hesitation- we stepped right in to cover.
I knew my part backwards and forwards and that is a really good feeling-
Everyone listened and took part in the show with a complete dedication. I had a wonderful director who kept me feeling secure and confident, made me feel a part of the collaboration- listened to my ideas and thoughts, and gave me the freedom to explore this part.
There were the usual flubs and flusters and a couple technical issues but for the most part, this was an extremely smooth run. I loved this part- not just because I was the lead but because I was active and challenged and FUNNY.
I'm not used to really being funny. Or I should say believing that I am funny. My funny confidence is not huge. Still the shy girl, still somewhere in my head if people are laughing, it must be because I did something embarrassing. Oh what a difference that makes.
I remember studying comedy, oh, not in a class or anything but when I wanted to write it and people were assuring me that I was funny, really, I was. One person said I was funny because I always got the joke- I never understood why the hell that made me funny.
In my teens and twenties, I was surrounded by people who were hilarious on a regular basis and just the thought of keeping up with the quick wit flying around the room seemed impossible to me. When I was put on the spot, I just froze. I needed to think about it. I used to think of all kinds of funny things on the way home that I wish I had said, but I always appreciated comedy. You know, how we all repeat Monty Python lines- now, it's like that with Family Guy.
Later I was convinced I could only write heavy drama, the serious writer- I wanted people to take me seriously. At one point, a friend of mine convinced me to write a comedy and it was quite successful, it was a play that was produced twice. It was a real revelation for me. Not only was I capable of writing funny things, of having comic timing, I really understood it.
It turns out I had been studying comedy for years. Not on purpose, like I said, not in any sort of formal setting but I realized I knew all the rules- I realized I knew exactly when the punchline needed to happen- there was the set up- here was how many times the repetition would be needed and HERE was the biggest bang for the joke.
Some time later, I was asked to do a class presentation to a group of high school students on how to write a play. After we read one of my plays, I had to give them a short talk. I wrote about The Simpsons. Yes, they are the great equalizer, the bridge between grown ups and teens- everyone loves The Simpsons- and they have been around so long that people grew up watching them.
I explained to them why funny worked- how you take an average, regular situation, heighten in and take it to the absurd and that is what makes it funny. I wrote down for them the rules and gave a nice little talk. I was losing them until I mentioned The Simpsons. I realized this is universal with all sitcoms and comedy formats.
So, I understood it, intellectualized it, thought deeply about it, but could I do it? My husband thinks I am hilarious, but he finds humor in everything. He's an easy audience- also he gave me a false sense of funny. I realized one day not everyone might think I am as funny as he does. I have been the straight man in a funny play but this play was going to ask me to be funny myself. The director seemed to believe in me, and I was committed. So I tried to be funny without trying to be funny... yeah I know. That's kind of a contradiction but it seemed to work out okay. And I had really very great and funny words to say- Luckily, the audiences rewarded our very hard work with laughter.

The next part, along the way

2010-08-08T01:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I booked my flight to Los Angeles. I love going back. I will begin the process now of filling my time with meetings and people and becoming acquainted with my city again.
I got a pretty good deal flying into Santa Ana instead of LAX, it's a drive, a bit but I think worth it for the significant savings.
I am in the submission process with film festivals, so far I have submitted to six festivals but I won't hear anything until after September 1st, some will be even longer. I'm ridiculously excited and scared at the same time. I don't want to deal with the rejection but some is sure to come, and surely I have dealt with enough of it in my life. It can't all be roses.
I am so glad I stuck with this. Just having and knowing that this is real now is really worthwhile.

Point A to Point B

2010-08-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

I think I used to live on adrenalin and survival instincts. Lately, things have been going so well, with the exception of an idiot ex boyfriend who wants to harsh on my life buzz- that I am exceptionally nervous.
I don't think I've ever been one of those people who expected things to go badly but when they did, I wasn't hardly surprised either. I have amazing survival instincts. I will go into the mode and stay there, cocooning myself and my family from the blows sure to follow.
As a survivor of an abusive household, I'm sure this is par for the course. So, this unexpected wave after wave of good fortune and hard work paying off is really quite something. Little disappointments come into play but for the most part, I am riding a nice wave of good news.
I don't know why it makes me nervous. It shouldn't. I should stop and enjoy it, right? Part of me is worried about the next thing that happens- how will I survive if this doesn't work? Part of me is going into survival mode and making allowances for the necessary sacrifices.
My foolish ex boyfriend wrote an unnecessarily nasty letter to the state full of lies and viciousness- targeting me personally and pretty much calling me a whore- wholly inappropriate and vindictive.
I have shored up all of my strength in knowing that the law is on my side, that I have done nothing wrong and that his nastiness will reveal the person he is. I admit, there is a huge part of me that wants to strike back and let him know his treatment of me is unacceptable but I think I will just let him hang himself. I've raised an amazing human being, my son. A child he hasn't seen for the last nine years. He wants the child support to end but my son has chosen to go to college and as a full time student who lives with me, I am entitled child support through these years.
He claims he didn't receive a copy of the grades and wants the last year of child support to be re-paid to him. This is laughable since not only did I send the grades but the state has a copy of them.
I really wish I could feel sorry for him. I might if I didn't loathe him so much. He missed out on his son and only thinks of him as a monetary obligation. It really is a shame.
But again, I do feel like the person with the good fortune here. I accepted less than adequate child support because I wanted his abusive and corrosive behavior out of my life. He chose to abandon his son and I had the privilege and joy of raising an extraordinary individual. He is loyal and honest and has such a good heart. And he never lacked for a father- his stepfather more than filled the bill since he was four years old.
This week I found out I am eligible for an IMDB page because of my festival submissions, I got a phone call from a woman from The Oprah Winfrey Show about an email I sent a while ago, and I'm planning a trip to LA very soon. My ex is not allowed to bring me down. My friend recommended an excellent lawyer and I'm a very lucky girl- and I didn't even need a lottery ticket.
I feel like all that adversity, those times when I was hanging on by my fingernails- there is a purpose in finding that within myself. There is a purpose in surviving those things- the really gritty and difficult stuff. I feel like the training ground for this stuff made me realize I'm not a quitter. I have a friend who has just entered a deep and dark time where she is going to be tested. In a way, she is lucky and she has no idea of it. The other side of this crisis she is going through is going to be self discovery on a level so deep that it will stun her.
I don't want to tell her this because she needs to find it herself, I just know as a survivor, she will get there. She's going to be this amazing, unstoppable force of nature- after this terrible adversity. She will find gratitude and love and I know ahead, she will also experience some real suffering but I am sure the other side of it is coming for her.
I find you can't say this to people in crisis, so I will shut up and be supportive.
When I was pregnant with my last child, I didn't want to hear such things because I was wholly mired in my own depression, and the hormones were not letting me out.
I know all my well meaning friends were right about all of it. But there is a point when you just want to spit at optimism, it takes too much effort to do anything but just keep breathing- sometimes that wallowing is necessary. Sometimes curling up in a ball and letting it out is what you need to do.
But in spite of all of this bit of bad news with my ridiculous ex, I cannot keep the smile off my face. I am inexplicably happy. I think because I am finally following my bliss! Yesterday, I took the last bow on stage- does it get much better than that?

Film Festival Hangover

2010-07-26T14:05:00.000-05:00

The St. Louis Filmmaker's Showcase has been around for ten years now. This year was the tenth anniversary. I've been in it as an actor four times and as a crew person several times but this is my first time as a director and writer of a short and it is a different experience.
First, my name was in the program- and on the website.
I think my dream was always this big but it took until now to really begin the journey of bringing it to fruition. The vision of the story in my head one year ago- gosh was it just a year ago I wrote it? It was.
I began the festival as a volunteer- watching everyone else films, listening to the seminars, enjoying the ambiance. Tuesday night was my big night and the theater was packed. Friends from my childhood showed up, people I hadn't seen in years-
Of course, my film was not the only one in the program and that made it even better. I knew my film was going last (course I didn't tell anyone) and that was an extra treat for me. The other films were a nice warmup. It was great to see all the other films and the ranges of talent and... well, let's just focus on the positive and knowing I was going last made it easy to relax and enjoy the whole program.
The beauty of watching my film with an audience of people who have never seen it before is the reaction is so pure. OH- they laughed! They got the humor. I know it was a ghost story but I have light moments in there- they really got it. They gasped when the ghost appeared. I saw a few people jump- good. Noise from a reactive and an engaged audience is music to a writer's ears.
After, I was mobbed and it was terrific. My friends came up to me and congratulated me and I felt so wonderful. Then a strange thing happened, one perhaps that I should have anticipated but don't know how I could have. Strangers came up to me and recognized me as Marissa's mother- she is mini me, so the resemblance is obvious (Marissa, of course had the lead role) so, they told me how much they enjoyed my daughter's performance, which was wonderful but after a minute, I realized they thought I was just the mom- not the writer, not the director- in fact they were scanning the crowd and asking- "where's the director?"
Several people were shocked that I was the director, even more shocked that I was the writer. I was really amused by this little side effect!
We all went out later and had celebrations at Blueberry Hill and it was a very fun night but I was waiting in huge anticipation for the Closing Party on Thursday night. This is where they announce any awards and also when they announce which films move on to the St. Louis International Festival in November- that is a biggie.
The awards came first- and the very first one announced was Best Performance by a Juvenile and it went to Marissa Roman! Wow! That was fantastic! I was so thrilled for her and for us! Later after many other awards, we got our second award of the night: Best Horror Short! Woo hoo!
Surreal. Really, I don't make films for awards but it sure doesn't suck to get them- and all that hard work and pushing for the best and pushing for better than just okay- it pays off. Mostly it pays off in the eyes of an audience that is entertained- of course I want the critics to love it but it is about the joy of sharing the art. It's the creative force that won't be denied.
So, the end of the evening we have reached the point where we find out whether my film will be shown in the International festival. Chris Clark reached behind him and got "The List".
There were 65 films in the showcase and the first sentence he uttered was "We have chosen 25 films to go through to the International in November."
My heart stopped for a second. 25? Those odds sucked. That meant 40 films were not going through. Then, he said "in alphabetical order"- which meant I had to wait til he got to the P's!
But this is a story with a happy ending because my heart soared when he said "Play Dead"- we are going through-
The last thing I have to tell is that Chris gave out the special awards and one of them went to me. He called me on stage and said,
"Don't ever let anyone tell you because you're a woman that you can't do this. You have blazed your way into this film festival with a very impressive piece, and next time someone tells you that you can't do something, I want you to tell them that you have a dick." And he gave me a hand carved wooden penis charm. I love it.
On my next film shoot, I'm wearing it as a necklace.

Aftermath

2010-07-21T13:28:00.000-05:00

The morning after...
Last night the premiere of Play Dead was everything that I had hoped for. It was meant for the big screen, I really think. My favorite comment of the night was "I felt like I was watching a real movie" which is great for a low budget film maker to hear.
There were several other shorts with it and it played last, which to me was a place of honor. I was so pleased the audience seemed to be enjoying the humor in it. I know I made a suspense thriller piece but to not have incorporated humor in it would have been too much.
And the ending really worked.
This makes me want to create more but I think I will stop and enjoy this moment for a minute. Beautiful.

I get you

2010-07-15T13:34:00.000-05:00

That's what James Cameron meant in his clumsy over sentimental Avatar way- "I see you" What he meant was "I get you, I understand you, I'm looking into you and I see who you are."
That's really quite a priceless thing.
Recently I had someone tell me "I like you." Very simply- and the fact that I had spent so much time and energy trying to explain myself to someone else who just didn't understand me- it made that moment even sweeter.
That is why I married my husband. He got me. I get him. A lot of people know who I am, kind of know me but there are very few people who get me. I think I hate being disliked but it happens, more often because it is their definition of me that gets me lost. I think I spent so much time with my ex boyfriends in the definition of who he wanted me to be. And when he realized I was never who he pretended I was, it became easier to hate me.
The most important lesson there for me was not to try to make myself fit their definition and to see them for who they are and not my wish list. If only he would stop drinking, he'd be perfect, if only he would do this one thing, he would fit me. I saw him, I just didn't want to accept that to accept a person, to get a person, you have to take all of that person.
You don't have to like everything. Certainly we never will like everything about our friends or partners- but we should look in there and get them. Get that essence of what makes that person uniquely him or her.
I have this fatal flaw of concentrating on trying to get people to get me and not being grateful to those that already do. But when I had that simple moment of "I like you."- it clarified a lot for me.
So- here I am being very open and very grateful. And not getting lost in someone else's definition.

A loaded question...

2010-07-12T17:35:00.000-05:00

When I was in kindergarten, I was terribly shy. I never spoke in class to anyone- and I desperately wanted to have a friend and yet, I had no idea how to make one. So, I did the thing that shy kids do, the thing that would ultimately make me a writer. I observed- a lot. It's still been my best tool. I watched the other kids talk to one another, interact with one another and I watched to see who was nice and who was mean. I stood on the edges of the groups and examined social interaction. I wanted so much to participate. My heart pounded so eagerly, it was all I could hear in my ears. My palms sweated and my nerves choked my words.
I stayed in my shell for a few weeks, watching and waiting. One little girl was so sweet and friendly, I determined to try to make friends with her. I stood in line behind her every day when we queued up to go to the bathroom. Normally, she would be chatting happily with the person in front of her. I determined that I would have to find something to say. I thought about it very deeply- what would I talk with her about?
Well, if I was going to make a friend, first I had to know whether or not she liked me. One day, I finally gathered up the courage to ask her a question.
I took a deep breath and tapped her on the shoulder with a sweaty fingertip.
"Do you like me?" I asked.
She turned around with a beaming smile and looked at me with such sweetness and genuine interest.
"Yes, of course I like you!" she said.
It was wonderful to have such validation and hope! I was floating with possibility. Then, she turned around and resumed her conversation with the girl in front of her.
When I went home that night, I was elated, She liked me, she really liked me. I would talk with her tomorrow! I would say something, I would tell her about my cat. No, I would let her choose what to talk about and I would listen and respond.
The next day, I eagerly awaited the bathroom lineup, so I would have to opportunity to talk with her. I watched her play with her friends and sit in a circle next to the girl she giggled with and finally it was time to get in line. I stood behind her, ready to say something, and the line kept advancing and my courage kept retreating. Finally, I reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.
"Do you like me?" I said, nervously.
"Yes, I like you!" she said, turning around quickly and flashing me a brief smile and then, my throat closed up. I couldn't say anything else. I beamed. Oh, good, she still liked me. I shut my mouth for the rest of the day. I had things bursting inside of me, dying to come out but now I was afraid if I spoke, it might ruin this perfect like. It was enough if she liked me. I retreated to my corner of the room where none of the kids played and pretended that someone was friends with me and wanted to play with me. Maybe someone would come over and talk with me, eventually and would see that I was nice and kind and fun to play with.
I waited and no one came. I blushed deeply red when anyone came too near me but no one spoke to me except to say 'excuse me' or to push me out of the way to get to the stack of blocks I was standing near.
I remember the teacher being very pretty and having a lovely smile but she managed all the kids in a circle and I never remember her saying anything to me directly. At story time, I would spend time daydreaming of adventures and friends and wonder why the brother and sister always got along in the book when my brothers were such jerks.
In my mind, a sister would have been perfect- a girl to play with- one that understood me- a sister to share clothes and toys with. My mother laughed heartily when I brought this up.
The third day I stood behind the little girl in line, I was confident about that day's interaction. I stood up a little taller and was braver than the other two days and when we first lined up, I reached out quickly with a smile and tapped her on the shoulder,
"Do you like me?" I asked, waiting eagerly to hear the confidence boosting yes.
She turned around and eyed me with some weariness now, considering my question more seriously and pausing to take me in.
"Yes..." she said and I began to beam. "But if you ask me one more time, I won't like you any more."
My face fell completely, I was devastated. What on earth was I to do now? I took a deep breath and determined to never speak to her again. I could not risk her UN-liking me. Better to live with the suspended like than to ever risk losing it completely. I did not make a single friend that year even though they all came to my birthday party. Most unusual that people showed up that had no idea who I was- even the boys were there.
You will be relieved to know that eventually someone walked up and decided to speak with me. It took a couple years but eventually I made a friend.

Update from the brink of...

2010-07-11T11:50:00.000-05:00

For those that are curious about the unfriending situation. It's a sad state of events but I am trying to remember- this is the real world and the facebook world is not real, thank you, Jennifer for reminding me of that.
So, it goes like this. My husband actually grew a spine for a minute and asked his sister a point blank question about the rude unfriending and she admitted it was more or less my politics that offended her and she also said she cycles through people. Which I don't exactly believe but I kind of believe at that same time.
I really wanted to be friends with her- but in the real world, I'm not ever going to be. I'm someone thrust into her family that she has no real obligation to. She loves her brother and maybe has a moderate like for me but that is realistically all it will ever be.
Yep, I tried- but an even more rabid liberal than I is on her friend list- sigh- it is what it is.
But I am realizing little by little as I navigate this online world- this new territory that it really is not the real world.
A few months ago, I ran into a guy I knew fairly socially from Media Communications group and sometime several months ago, he had requested my friendship on facebook. I knew who he was and I accepted. Then I saw him at an event and I said "Hi, how are you?" and he behaved as if he didn't know me. Forgot my name.
I reminded him I'd been his facebook friend for months- he said "Oh, when did you request me?"
Dude, really???
I realize some people in the pursuit of upping the friend number will just friend anyone, I don't always have substance or rhyme or reason why I friend someone but I don't actually forget who they are. I friend on instinct, I reject those I don't know unless something really cool is revealed about that person, usually a friend of a friend or some connection. Yes, I even have a feeling about people online as if things seep through those typed words. But in light of many difficulties lately, and the same old nastinesses rearing their ugly heads- I have to give some thought to WHO is my real friend, who I want to stay my acquaintance and who is poisonous.
So- this revelation, and in light of the fact that I have had to go through massive misunderstandings and vicious un-friendings and the accusations of drama have flown- I'm giving serious consideration to the pruning everyone else does so casually.
I take it seriously. I'm not even sure why I do when clearly NO ONE else does. Many people have admitted to regularly pruning their friend list as if they were snipping pesky branches out of their front yard that were obstructing their view.
These are people- there are feelings involved. I have an obligation to be decent and true to myself and a kind person who is honest. Sometimes the two don't go together. After all, it is my friends I rely on to tell me the truth- yes you look fat in that-
I rely on my friends to help me with life lessons and help me think about things more deeply- and be a better person. And these people that think I'm not, well- they truly don't know me. I have sometimes been misunderstood when I call out injustice or champion the underdog.
I think these misunderstandings come from not knowing who I am- and not being willing to listen to reason. If your world view only exists with those who agree with you, it's a tiny world indeed.

May 9, 2009: A Prayer to the Universe

2010-07-10T21:03:00.001-05:00

A prayer
Current mood: determined
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

Dear Universe,

I know it sounds selfish sometimes to want things when so many have so little, but I hold the audacity of this little dream in my heart. I have cherished it and protected it like a sweet secret that I have nurtured close to me.

I write the dream in all my diaries. I close my eyes and give my silent speeches to my bathroom mirror and envision myself there, where I dream of being. I send out positive thoughts and energy and beg for the good to come back to me. I cleanse my thoughts as best I can.

When harsh words rise to my lips, I tell myself, NO, must keep your mind pure so you will be deserving of good things. When I slip up and cruel words seep from the corners of my mouth, I cower hours later, convinced I am not worthy now, that I must work twice as hard to make up for it. That I must make the amends for my terrible behavior so that once again the Universe will deem me worthy of reward.

My heart beats in terror all the time of how close I get to the dream. I can almost touch it... can feel it hover near me if I close my eyes... may stand next to it in my imagination. How will I screw this up for? No, that is a negative thought. And it wouldn't be the first time I have rescued it from near death, breathed life back in and started again.

The next step is choosing well. Making the right choices to go along with the dream. If I pick the wrong people, they leach it away from me bit by bit, piece by piece until I am left with the carcass of my dream. A gasping, near dead body of compromises and sacrifices.

One would think from my description that my dream was a weak thing, an old thing past its time, merely hanging on because of life support.

But that would be erroneous. My dream is a dragon, a fierce fighter, a worthy warrior, one who has met the challenge and lost blood with honor, a fearless and seductive lover-- a woman of great honor and integrity. And everyone wants to steal it away in the middle of the night while I look away-- they underestimate my fight, my drive, my grit and climb. The dream has many lives and many soft hopes. It bathes in the optimistic light that serpents cast on it. It swims in the snake oil evils tries to sell it. It does not choke. It will not die. It rises again and is sprouts new leaves within me after the storm. It survives.

Dear Universe-- help me to choose wisely the best path for me. Giving up is not an option. Going back is not an option. I fight for me. Make me worthy, make me good, make this prayer reach out and be fulfilled-- cover me with hope and let it shine through my dark hours when fear and doubt surround me. Show me light. Show me the way. Teach me to trust myself and give me strength to climb the walls they put in front of me. Let me fly over the mountains in my way and smile at the lovely view. Let me be one with something larger than me and feel the divine breath of truth inside me. Let me not compromise myself and give me armor to protect myself and battle with those who would take what is mine. Give me serenity when I need it. Let me feel worthy of this dream that you have given me so that I can give back.
I promise to remember gratitude when this comes to pass. I promise to learn from these lessons I have been given. I promise to be humble when I should put aside pride and I promise to share what I have learned and to inspire the next one who has a dream shining in her eyes.

I wrote this last year on this exact day

2010-07-10T20:55:00.000-05:00

Last year, when I still had my blog on My Space, I wrote this blog- and this year I am checking the flights daily and getting ready to make reservations for my trip to LA in August! I have a film, too! Here are my thoughts last year:

The Hidden Hollywood at Starbucks
Current mood: curious

I was in Los Angeles for nine days. I thought I had given myself ample time to do what I needed to do, I was wrong. That's a good thing, though. I feel close to something happening, though I have again had my share of disappointments. But progress is progress and in many ways, people were a lot nicer to me out there, and knew what I was talking about, than some people have been to me here.

As I was setting up meetings--I noticed a theme. Okay, we all know that Starbucks are everywhere, they have littered the world with them, but I suppose I never thought about the important deals going on right there all the time. Seems like everyone meets there. I was meeting with people who looked like everyone else but had the potential to change my life-- and may still.

That kid writing her screenplay is sitting next to a major producer. She has no idea. We brush up against one another in line for lattes. It's creepy, really. Thet guy that looks like an aging hippie, he's your man. I had so many meetings and they ALL took place at Starbucks. The great divide still exists between you and them. I wish I could put on night vision goggles and spot the glowing people walking amongst the crowd. The scammers and the sharks would be a horrid shade of orange and the real deal could be a lovely shade of green. If only we had such signs because at any time I was only one degree of separation from where I needed to be.

I relied on the kindness of so many people that week, and they were kind. I was offered advice and granted meetings, I was spoken to like a human being with a real brain. In return, I was eager and thoughtful and kind and considerate. I still believe I don't have to be a bitch to get where I need to be. I just have to make tough decisions. I showed up on time and wrote thank you notes.

I discovered the personality of the Starbucks.
First I visited the strip mall Starbucks. It was quiet and clean, and people were well groomed and generally considerate. Then I went to the drive thru Starbucks. Crowded, busy and impatient. I was met with glares while looking for a seat. Territory had been staked out already. Should've been there earlier!
Then the really interesting ghetto/homeless Starbucks. The outdoor patio boasted people with no place to go. Do you have a cigarette? There was a man in the bathroom for twenty minutes, wonder what was going on in there? Some things are better not asked.
I had my dirtiest conversation at that place, met a friend from St. Louis and he gave me the low down sleaze that had been crawling around talking about me. I brought him up to date on the latest lies and gossip he needed to know. It was a necessary conversation. Lucky in this world, there are friends like him-- someone has to tell you about the snake trying to squeeze you out, even if it confirms what you already know.

Then there was the Farmer's Market Starbucks. I loved the buzz of the market. There was a Barnes and Noble in the outdoor mall and on the third floor, there is a Starbucks with an adjoining outdoor patio.
We sat outside and I had my most important meeting of the week, in a nice corner we discussed all the things I should be discussing.
I discovered that week I need a lap top. The world out there moves too fast without it. People are supposed to call you. They text. They email.

I believe in the old testament verse that says be kind because you never know when an angel will come to your door. Course I was not as kind as I could have been to the kid who came to my door and woke me up yesterday morning-- but she was a little rude and presumptuous as well.
In movies, the guy you got into an argument with at the coffee shop turns out to be your new boss. While that has yet to happen to me, I still think it is best to be kind until you cannot be kind-- and there are situations where you should no longer be nice. It is with great irony, I report how nice people were to me in LA, just as I previously reported her how nice people were in NY.

But I don't have a deal-- yet. More brick walls to climb and miles to go before I sleep. I inch ever closer to my dream.

Anatomy of Creation

2010-06-08T13:33:00.000-05:00

On a beautiful day in May, I placed a dvd copy of my film, Play Dead, in my purse and drove down to the Centene Center to turn in my submission to the St. Louis Film Makers Showcase. When I arrived, the sky began to darken and thunder rolled across and I handed my film to Brian, who greeted me with a friendly smile.
I've had a couple films in the festival as an actor, and done various jobs behind the scene and last year I debuted a trailer as a director but this is a big deal for me. I've volunteered many times at parties and the Tivoli, and last year had a screenplay in competition, so this was almost a social call. The nature of that almost overshadowed the largeness of the moment.
Here in my hand was an idea I had conceived in my head. I looked over at my daughter a year ago and said "I'm going to write a ghost story and I think you should play the lead."
At which point, she jumped up and down.
I brainstormed with her for a few hours, she is brilliantly creative and not shy about saying 'that's stupid' when it is. The inkling of the idea was already forming and dividing in my head like cells, over the next few days, it grew bigger and I started calling people and telling them. I carried it around in my brain for about three days, tossing it back and forth, giving it bones and flesh and shape and finally I sat down at the computer with an outline in my hand and began pushing it out.
Then, there it was. The story was much bigger than the twenty pages I had written it on. It went through a period of transition where it struggled to be what it wanted to be- where I took a scalpel and cut away at the dead skin and let it emerge as what it was meant to be. It was born of frustration and desire but it did not breathe until the actors put voices to it.
Then began the long wait, as shoot dates got pushed back and days turned into months and I hung on to it and said "I will do this, I will accomplish this, it will become real, it's not going to sit on my shelf and gather dust."
We searched for just the right house and all the right locations and I began to curse my imagination for being so complex. We made some sacrifices that now I feel weren't sacrifices at all but happy twists of fate. I cannot believe I originally wrote a spooky car scene to take place during the day- I see it now and what was I thinking? Of couse it needed to be the deep, dead of night.
Shooting this film was much like taking a newborn into its terrible twos- up all night, patience stretched to the absolute limit, stress, moments of pure joy when a smile peeks out unexpectedly and a performance exceeds wildest expectations- and then it is finally finished. The last words have been spoken by the actors, the last piece of equipment has been loaded up and packed away.
I wanted to sleep for a week- in one way thinking the worst was over but then came the first rough cut- taming this rebellious, unkempt awkward and unruly thing was not easy. It took patience and nuturing and guidance to get it there. Putting music on it was like refining it through angst ridden waters and helping it find itself.
It emerges finally, a polished thing, shining through, proud of where it has come from.
I hand this small disk over and know it now has to stand on its own. I have birthed it, raised it and nurtured it and now it has to prove itself, find its own way. I can't be there for it when other people watch it, dissect it and consider it. It is mine but not mine, it has become a piece of me that has grown beyond me.
Two hours later, I received an email that my film has been accepted into the St. Louis Filmmaker's Showcase and it will show July 20th at 7 PM at the Tivoli.

Hurt feelings

2010-06-01T13:41:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is going to be me kvetching and complaining but I really don't get it.
I have been UN- friended on facebook by my sister in law and my niece on my husbands side. I kind of get the niece- she's 19 and off at her first year of college and perhaps she doesn't want me in her intimate group but the sister in law has officially hurt my feelings. Maybe it's my politics, maybe it is her best friend that I despise but my husband has her on his facebook friend list, so what is the purpose there? I tolerate her best friend and simply don't speak to her.
I've got reason to hate her. it's quite a story. I'll tell it later.
This is just disappointing. I was with John for ten years before we got married and in that whole time, there was a piece of me that felt like an outsider- not that anyone ever said anything REALLY- a couple subtle things from one sister- side of the mouth remarks- and I get it, sort of.
When you aren't married, you can walk away clean, the fact of the matter was, the child was all mine legally, and if I had broken up with him, walked away, it would have been an ugly court battle and likely he would have lost since he never really established rights to begin with-
Also, I was just the girlfriend, the outsider with the three kids-
And I would say that I was treated very well. I believe my mother in law and my father in law have always loved me and treated me as a part of the family, and his family has always been ostensibly very good to me- but when we married I felt actually a part of this family. I actually felt a shift in perception, a comfort in the connection and a permission to get closer to my sisters in law.
My mother in law and I are actually very close- I think she understands me in a unique way perhaps the rest of them don't- but after she divorced my husband's father, she had a long term relationship with a man she never married and only someone who has been there and been there with kids really gets that.
Now I fear this was all in my head with the sisters in law- there are still family events which exclude us on their side of the country and I fear that I am gathering evidence to support my claim. I fear that there is a divide I am a part of and I don't like it.
Some of it is drawn on party lines- oh the irony of being politically aligned with my mother in law but not her daughters.
So I have done the unspeakable, the unthinkable, the socially inappropriate. I have confronted the situation and asked the question- why have you unfriended me? We'll see what happens now.

Defensive and annoyed

2010-05-15T16:01:00.000-05:00

Have you ever put something out there? Something kind of intimate and detailed only to have it misunderstood and ridiculed?
I'm not ashamed of who I am but I am annoyed when I'm mocked and misunderstood. I had a nice conversation with someone who bothered to mock it and completely misrepresent it. Really, people? It's funny how when I am not there to defend myself or explain my words, people twist them and feel better about calling me 'crazy'.
How afraid are these people of their sickness inside?
I have spent way too much time being annoyed by it. The fact is that people are ashamed of their own behavior and they channel it into making me out to be the crazy one.
Nice.
I am not going to spend my life keeping my mouth shut, not telling the truth and expressing my opinion. Deal with it.

Rough Cut

2010-05-07T10:05:00.000-05:00

When I was in film school, I had to do everything myself. I took on the roles of writer, director, cinematographer, sound mixer, editor, gaffer, etc.
And I loved learning all those things. I took real film and physically cut it and glued it together- pored for hours over a video editing system trimming it to just the right section and it was such intense work but my projects were all on me. I think I got used to doing it all. And I felt still that I left school before I learned all I needed to learn, there are still things I don't know.
But when I got out to do this outside of school, I found I could hire people and assign them jobs instead of doing all of this myself but it has left me feeling sort of useless.
The control freak in me wants to be in on everything. A couple weeks ago I looked at every scrap of footage and made notes on everything I saw as best I could and then I turned it over to the very talented editor to do his job and now I feel so...useless.
I went to consult the sound mixer last week. I'm so glad I have a sound mixer- this is a part of the job I defer to others- it is amazing what these people do- the richness of what he will be able to bring to my project.
At this phase of the game, I have someone composing a score and my film is in the hands of some wonderful people. I am so close to getting this out there.

Reunion thoughts

2010-05-06T17:02:00.000-05:00

This weekend is one of my significant high school reunions and today was the first luncheon. I think about 15 classmates showed up to this event- there will be more later as the whole weekend is full.
The last one I went to was the tenth and it was quite an unpleasant experience for me. I was quite angst ridden and felt a bit ashamed of my lack of accomplishment, lack of college degree and the fact that I was an unmarried mother of three who would rather not go into the details of that- not that I was ever ashamed of my children or how they were conceived but I didn't feel like letting myself in for the inevitable judgment to follow. I don't think it was the unmarried part- more the single mother part- and not in a way I was ashamed of that- but that I had to bother to explain it to anyone.
If I wanted to, I could elicit sympathy for my situation and make you understand why I was where I was but I cared not for sympathy and had enough pride to feel as if I was not going to tolerate condescension. Back then it was- don't you dare put me in a box.
But since then, I have discovered there were at least three other girls pregnant senior year- I was the only one who actually gave birth... ah, secrets... I don't have many of those, never cared for them.
I find this reunion is different for many reasons. First, I love who I am, I love what I do and even if I wasn't married, that wouldn't matter. Even if I didn't have my college degree, I don't think that would matter either. I am seeing friends I didn't see at the last reunion and I am seeing women for the first time be who they became.
I want to talk to everyone- even if we are profoundly different. I have little anger or resentment left towards the bullies- though they might have seen through who they are and my words will be truthful with them- part of me is grateful for the shape they have given my spunky nature. If I hadn't had anyone to stand up to, I doubt I would have known how to stand up when the time came.
The adversity they put me through has grown me into a person who is stronger and bolder than I could ever have imagined. My voice doesn't shake any more.
I continue to tell the truth of who I am and to do it with love for who I am. I am blessed to have found some amazing people there- and this time I have some real friends there and a sense of humor. These things that would have mortified me, I find myself smiling through. Gosh, it is so funny that I was ever the least bit intimidated by any of it. I look forward to peeling back the onion of who is there now.
I'm joyful about this weekend. I think for a while I was living in that void between worlds- tied to the past of who I was and still trying to prove that I deserved to be there. Be where? I wonder. It's all so silly now. That little girl has grown up and I love the story of how I got there. I can't wait to see who these girls have become.
I no longer see the mean girls. I see girls who were insecure about who they were and terrified of not fitting in. Making a lot of noise so someone would hear them. I look forward to hearing these voices of these women.
My voice was silent then, I kept it inside- writing quietly, working through those fears and anxieties.
Already I see some who are profoundly the same. And I see some that are incredibly different.
I was really intimidated last time around with these eyes around me- I wasn't sure what it was. I think I had already decided they were something they weren't before I walked in the room. Maybe I was right but I don't feel like I have to protect myself any more.
I don't know what it is that has changed. It's strange not to be afraid. It's wonderful to have a voice that belongs to me. Maybe that it is that I don't care, though I am not sure that I ever did. It was always my own definition of self worth that I lived by.
I never compared myself to my classmates- it was always my own temperature I was taking. I think this decade has liberated me in a way that only time can accomplish. I feel so much that I am on the right track for what I want to do. So I embrace this new experience- this fusion of past with present- this new feeling of confidence. I look forward to the rest of the events.

Crossroads

2010-05-03T13:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes we have defining moments in our lives that feel so soft and subtle, we would just have passed them by as the thing that happened that day. We may not realize what small impact a small decision has on our lives. I've been thinking about shame and dirt and what attaches to us, even if we are innocent of any wrongdoing, the shame of being in the wrong situation can attach itself.
When I was sixteen, my parents went out of town for a few days and I let my boyfriend sleep over at my house. We were messy, turned up the heat and ate everything in the house, leaving a pile of dishes.
My parents returned with my little brother in tow and began to look around at the mess I had not quite finished cleaning up. That's when they all began to find things that were missing- small things, mostly. Things he must have carried out while I was sleeping. My face flushed with disbelief. How could he? It became obvious rather quickly that defending him was stupid. He had clearly stolen from my family. I was mortified, embarrassed, betrayed- and still I knew I would forgive him. I didn't want to forgive him, I knew he would deny all, and it would infuriate me but I would say nothing. I would let him get by with it and that twisting, terrible feeling in my gut would not dissipate.
There was something in me that was sick for him, sick to be with him, desperate for his touch to make me whole. I cannot explain why I needed him or why I wanted him but I only felt okay when I was with him. It would take me years to untangle that rope.
One of the things that was stolen was my little brother's radio. It wasn't an expensive item- in fact it had been free. One of the Wash U students had thrown it out in May when they moved out of the apartment behind our house. The radio was left in a pile by the dumpster. It was old, but it worked and it had an 8 track player in the side. They didn't even make that kind anymore- at this point in time, the industry had switched to cassettes.
My brother loved that radio. He was physically trying not to cry that it was stolen and my heart just wrenched open at his loss. I sat down in his room, tears in my eyes and promised I would do everything I could to get it back for him. That statement would turn out to be a lie. What would define me was what I would do in the situation to come.
I cannot remember how it all came together or all the detective work I had to do but after a few days, I found out who my boyfriend sold it to. There was a building in the Central West End that housed people with disabilities. We used to call it the handicapped building- I knew a guy my boyfriend bought drugs from lived there and I knew that was where the radio was. I managed to get the security code and slip up the apartment and knock on the door. The man who lived there was in a wheelchair, he was an African American Vietnam Vet- and even though he was in a wheelchair, he scared me. I was a sixteen year old girl and I doubt I weighed a hundred pounds- and I was alone in that apartment with a virtual stranger.
I appealed to that man on the most base of levels, told him the story of what happened, laid out my little brother's broken heart and my own shameful betrayal and offered to buy the radio back for twice what he had paid for it. I told the man I didn't blame him, he had no idea that it was stolen and that it meant a lot to my brother, could I please have it back?
I don't know what I expected but I know that I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be and I think I just planned on having this very emotional appeal work. At the end of this dramatic story, I thought he would just tell me to take the damn radio and get out.
Instead, he looked me up and down and said "I don't care about the money. I want something else."
"What do you want?" and I knew in the bottom of my stomach that what he wanted was not going to be nice or easy- or reasonable in any way.
"I just want you to take all your clothes off and stand naked in front of me. I won't touch you. Just stand there naked and let me look- and you can have the radio back."
I said "I'll give you triple what you paid."
Not knowing for a second how on earth I was going to come up with that money- the man shook his head and asked again that I stand naked in front of him.
I told him, "You're going to have to think of something else or take the money because I'm not going to do that."
What followed after that was him trying to persuade me for the better part of an hour and me refusing and offering him money. I have to admit, I thought about it. I tried to get myself to think about it, to imagine just doing it- but this was one of those things I wasn't going to do, nevertheless, I wanted that radio back for my brother so badly. I'd like to say I would have done anything but clearly, I wouldn't. I know my brother wouldn't have wanted me to do that- at least I think I know that.
Years later when I read "Measure for Measure" I understood the character of Isabella with a deep and abiding empathy. I wanted to say to myself- it's really not a big deal. Five minutes of nakedness and my brother gets his radio but I walked out of that apartment cursing that man with my hands empty.
I told myself it was just a fucking radio- definitely not worth my integrity but the shame of not being able to do that act for my brother was deep. I wish I had had the courage to just do what needed to be done. I felt the guilt of betrayal of my own brother- I felt the failure of myself, the unwillingess of me to let go of my own pride- I had failed him twice. This is how I felt leaving that apartment. But a larger part of me knew better in a way.
I knew that that moment would never have been just a moment- this was not about me being naked- this was about me selling out a piece of myself. I still have no idea how I held on to what I needed to hold on to. That moment would have followed me for the rest of my life- it would have made me into someone else- someone who allowed herself to be bought. Someone who allowed herself to be manipulated and who knows what that man would have done to me- I doubt it would have ended there with me standing naked and humiliated.
I know there are girls out there who have made those choices because they were in corners. I have done some horrid and humiliating things that destroyed my self worth and self esteem- far worse than that act. You do what you have to sometimes. But this was not an act of survival.
There are people that would say it's not a big deal to stand there naked. But it is a big deal. It is a big deal to sleep with someone for money and it is a big deal to stand there naked against your will.
A VERY BIG DEAL.
It changes who you are.
I'm actually proud of that girl for standing up there and saying no. It crushed me to not get that radio back and to have to go and tell my brother that I had failed. If I had any sense, I would have sent my stupid boyfriend in there and told him to get it back but I lacked that kind of courage- and he was still denying he even stole anything.
I told that story to someone last night and I realized for the first time what a defining moment that was for me. I had never felt what a small victory it was for my self esteem. That moment had defined for me what I was capable of even mired in shame and guilt- that I had managed to hold on to something. I won't pretend that this has always been the case for many times I have done things I'm not proud of- and that were humiliating but I realized last night, I have been given the gift of distance and wisdom on this. Of course I did the right thing walking out of there. Of course I should have walked away from that situation.
I had far more options than I ever gave myself credit for. I think my brother is getting a radio for his birthday this year. Don't tell him.

Friendship is Forever

2010-04-23T17:46:00.000-05:00

I'm really lucky. I have epic friends but I have also made some tragic mis-steps in friendship. It's absurd that those are the ones I focus on- that haunt me.
When I was pregnant with my first child, I began a friendship with a girl who was also pregnant. I'll call her Marie. She gave birth two months after I did and I went to her baby shower. She was the underdog in the group I was hanging out with. The less popular one, the one that was made fun of and then ostracized eventually.
This always pissed me off, the games within the games. The nice thing about being a part of a group of misfits was that no one was excluded, anyone could come and be a part of things but some people are ridiculous no matter what and are just there to make you feel bad.
I existed within the subsets of group and people mostly because I refused to take sides and to ostracize people. I wonder if everyone didn't say "That Vanessa, she'll talk to anyone."
But truth is- I have always felt a kinship with the underdog and no matter what I always root for the misfit and this girl was in need of a friend. So, we began as most begin- with a common bond. We were young, single mothers trying to go to college, living with our parents who were driving us crazy. We couldn't wait for the boys to get to kindergarten so we could get steady jobs and steady lives- and we both had massive dreams- she wanted to be a singer and you all know what I wanted to be-
In the beginning, we talked on the phone a lot and kept one another sane and she would come over and visit when my parents were out of town. We used to stay up all night and play trivial pursuit. We had a pretty great time together, she was smart, funny, and I kind of tolerated her less than stellar traits. I mean, we went to musicals together, when the boys were older, we went on vacation together, went on road trips- went out to see bands.
I listened to her pain of losing her best friend- one day the girl had just called her up and said "the friendship is over, I'm done with you." no more explanation than that.
I was so critical of that moment for her. Loyalty is kind of a given for me. I'm ridiculously loyal to a fault. I have defended my friends and forgiven my friends, many times to my own detriment- but it is of paramount importance to me to be a good friend. There is no excuse for not being a good friend.
One of the things that bothers me is how long I allowed her to not be a good friend to me- but to hurt and hurt and hurt me. I think I was made to survive suffering. I suffered through my abusive father and suffered through my abusive boyfriends but it took me most of my life to figure out that I had an abusive friend.
Marie was the best friend you could ever have in crisis. And I had a lot of them. My life was drama from one minute to the next and I was often in need of rescue from one situation or another. Sometimes, I confess, I was so uncomfortable with the quiet that I created a drama so that there would be noise. I'm not proud of that.
She would often tell me I needed therapy and at the age of 24, I entered therapy. She might have been shocked when I actually did it.
It was the slow slide to the beginning of the end of many things for me. For the first time in our relationship, I got a voice. You know, if you tell someone to stand up for themselves enough times, eventually they will stand up to you.
It was the end of my tolerating abusive relationships. And that included her treating me like crap whenever she felt like it. I had tolerated her discouraging me from pursuing things she didn't approve of, tolerated her jealousy of my other friends, tolerated her calling my answering machine the day before New Year's eve, making plans with my answering machine (I actually had other plans) and then getting mad at me on my answering machine when I wasn't home on New Year's eve (I was working!) and going out with my ex-boyfriend instead, then bitching at me about it later...
Confused yet? We didn't speak for three months after that incident because I wasn't going to be held responsible for her making plans with my answering machine. But I got nostalgic and missed her and called her on Easter...
It went like that for a long time. She could be the nicest person, the most generous and loving, the most supportive friend- or the most evil, nasty, insulting low down cruel person you have ever met. She was babysitting one night at my parent's house and she left our boys outside on the back porch at midnight and they played with lighter fluid. They were eleven. When her son had third degree burns on him from lighting himself on fire, I rushed home from work, got someone to watch the kids and stayed up all night at the hospital with her.
The kid's father wasn't there but I was.
It was a tragic accident and I wasn't angry with her for her negligence of not watching the boys or properly keeping an eye on things because she had suffered enough. Never mind that my child had minor burns as well- and the accident was one hundred percent her son's own fault- she sued my parents.
Yeah- she tried to do that. Even though my parents were out of town and she was the responsible adult, she decided since it was their house, she would try to sue them.
And I stopped speaking to her for a very long time- I think it must have been a year because I told her this might destroy any trust I had left with her and she continued. Of course the case was thrown out before it ever went any where.
And she called me up one day to apologize and I forgave her. And tried to move past it. At some point after this, she gave me a cute blanket for Christmas or my birthday and it says "Friendship is Forever" and we said to each other, if our friendship can survive what was in our past, it can survive anything.
And I thought we might make it. But it became increasingly obvious over the next few years that she is an abusive bully who would do whatever she felt like to make me feel bad about myself and tear me down. She tried to bully her way into being my maid of honor (though that honor was long ago promised to my best friend from childhood) in my wedding and then proceeded to insult me because I wanted to wear a white dress.
Yes, she actually told me that I would be stepping on everything she held dear in her life if I wore white. That got her kicked out of the wedding party. I could go on with the litany of her abuses- the time she told me my son should have been an abortion-
I don't know why I felt I should keep forgiving her. Because friendship is forever?
People would ask me, why do you put up with her. I would defend her good side but the fact of the matter is that I was in an abusive friendship.
The final straw was when I located my son's half sister on my space and sent her an email- the girl was fifteen at the time and my son very much wanted to meet his father and his sister, so I reached out to her (this is a long and complex story) but Marie said "You are no better than a child abuser."
and that began a litany of nasty emails back and forth with one another.
I'm not proud of some of the things I said to her- I don't know if she regrets what she said to me but at the end I told her I did not see any hope for this friendship unless we went to therapy to seek some help and she said she would think about it. Think about it? Really?
That was it. I realized for the first time- I was better off without this friendship. That I was done. Forever. That this frienship was over forever. I didn't need to go to therapy with her to fix what is irretrievably broken. I have real friends who care about me who don't tear me down and make me question myself, who don't constantly try to make me feel bad about myself, who say things with my best interests at heart. I wanted her to be something she would never be. A friends without jealousy, nastiness and conditions on her kindness. So I let go.
It took me such a long time to realize I was in an abusive friendship- that she was abusing me on the most base of levels and that her hypocrisy was intolerable.
She used to find reasons to try to separate me from my other friends- she hated everyone I liked. And these people were not allowed to make mistakes. I was supposed to forgive her atrocities but she wanted me to judge harshly the most minor of indiscretions from others.
The long and short of this is that blanket still exists and I still keep it in my house as my badge of survival and thank God I didn't have that friendship forever. I've been in recovery from her for three years now and have never been so happy to have someone out of my life!

Inspiration

2010-04-22T19:19:00.000-05:00

In 2000, John and I moved into our first apartment together. We were pretty excited to be out from under our parents and together on our own for the first time.
At the time, I had almost paid myself out of debt and it was a pretty fresh start. My kids were starting at a new school and both of us were working full time. We kind of ruled the Loop from end to end.
I was a manager at Cicero's and he was a manager at Blueberry Hill. There were lots of things I liked about my job but it wasn't really a calling for me. There is a huge difference between things I am good at and things I should be doing. For example, I'm quite good at math- but I don't like it, have never had a passion for it and have no use for it except to count my money with.
So, I was pretty good at being a waitress, a bartender, running a restaurant and managing people, writing a schedule and being a boss. I was pretty good at smoothing over pissed off customers, hiring people, firing people- relating to my employees and doing all of the things that were necessary in my job.
But I was pretty miserable most of the time. Some days I would go in to work and feel as if the essence of my soul were being sucked out of me. I felt trapped, depressed and in some way resigned. I was a little like a caged animal some nights. Generally, things began slipping as the motivation to do the job started to dissipate. I need a challenge, I need something different. I need to do something bigger than me.
I began to feel as if there was no way out for me, but being who I am, I began to plot my escape from prison. I knew close to the end when I was nothing but whiny- it had to be over soon.
I remember deciding I was going to open my own live theater. I went out and bought business planning software for my new computer and I designed a logo and a whole ad campaign for my new business. I called it "Inspiration Theater" and it made me happy just to dream about it. I made business cards and everything.
I suppose everyone at work thought I was a bit nuts but I set my mind on it and I was going to find a way to do it.
Now that I had the dream, the goal, I decided that I had to find out everything I could about running a theater company so I began from the ground up.
I think I dreamed my way into this happening for me. It was all I thought about, all I talked about and when one of my regular customers asked me to be his Assistant Director, I could not believe some of this was beginning to become reality.
OKAY- the reality of this is that it takes a lot to run a theater company- I knew from my first experience, I was going to need a lot more experience, but I was ready to learn it ground up and I did. A lot of people took me in and taught me so much.
Life does funny things to you. It all seems so impulsive looking back now- maybe it was. Maybe I just envisioned this until it came true- I don't know. I was driving one day- cannot remember where I was going but I turned the car around and I literally decided on a whim to go by Webster University and the next thing I know, I had signed up for classes and re-enrolled as a degree seeking student. I hadn't planned to do it that day, I just did it (I am so glad I did it)
I went home and told John who was shocked and a little pissed off. "you could have discussed this with me before you did it."
I told him I didn't have to discuss anything with him, this was my life and I was going back to school. I don't think he meant it in a mean way or anything but I couldn't handle anyone saying that was a bad decision.
So, nine years later, I had a lot of experience but still no theater company and of course, I had dived full force into film as well. Last Spring, I decided to produce my own short film. I knew I was going to need a name for my production company. I didn't have to sweat over it, I knew exactly what I would name it, I simply worried it was already taken- but luck was with me-
Inspired Productions was not taken. That's the name of my LLC- and I made sure and included the future possibility of a theater company with that name when I registered it, I put down the company was for film and theater. Dream it. Be it. Live it. I still can't believe my own determination took me here.

Sex and Power in life and theater

2010-04-19T17:35:00.000-05:00

I'm directing another play. A great joy for me. I love doing this work better than anything in the world. When I am there- acting, writing, directing, I feel very strongly that this is my purpose. Sometimes it seems to me a very frivolous purpose but other times a very meaningful place to be. If I do this right, I will touch people and change them the way I have been touched and changed. I cannot describe fully the exhiliartion I feel when I create.
Art for me is about realization and moments of inspiration.
I'm particularly enjoying this play that I'm directing because there are some really meaty themes to be explored- it's about a bi-racial man in New York who has the power to heal people. He's a reluctant healer (the best kind, if you ask me)seeking not to sell himself or his gift but has hidden from it his entire life.
I have done some things in directing this play which I think I'm going to incorporate into rehearsal from now on. After our first full read through, I scheduled a rehearsal where all we did was talk about the characters and explore their relationship to the world, who they were, where they have been, what each actors feeling was about each individual character.
I went around in a circle and each person has a chance to say who his/her character was, why he/she was there, why he/she was important to the story, and what he/she brought into the room with him/her.
I expected this to be helpful to the cast but it was more than that, it was kind of transformative for me. I realized that I was going to be able to bring out deep, rich characters and I was so happy about the way this turned out. Each actor really jumped into the exploration and was completely present in their character. I loved the conversation. Everyone was welcome in this discussion and the actors gave valuable insight to one another.
One of the characters in this play is a battered wife. Another is a black woman who married a white Polish man in the sixties. They are very different women but both have a rich and complex relationship with sex and power.
I have thought deeply about this from time to time. I have not disclosed my own past as a battered wife to the cast because there's no purpose to that disclosure- I'm not hiding it at all but I have not found it to be relevant. In addition to the fact that this character is completely different from me. I feel nearly no kinship with her except for this one thing in common.
We also have this delightful drag queen in this play, what a fabulous character she is. Someone in the cast noted that a lot of times men become drag queens because they feel more powerful as women.
The women and I exchanged a look with one another when he said that. What? Really? Give up your masculinity to seek power?
Then I realized of course, sex is incredibly powerful. Of course it is. Lots of times, drag queens have been ineffectual or not that attractive men. Makeup and hair and accessories often make them beautiful, lavish peacocks... I said that right, not peahens.
Sex is our female celebrated power. Look at Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn- changed the religion of an entire country. Attraction is a powerful, inarticulate, irrational thing. Men have this, too but we have cultivated generations of women to use it to gain power.
Whenever I would have a boss who dominated me excessively, the kind you hate who is mean and unfair and cruel, I would inevitably dream I seduced him and had wild sex with him. This was usually with a man I despised who I was not attracted to in any way, but sex was the way I could subconsciously control him in my head. I wonder how much of this is evolutionary.
The dreams stopped when I realized what was happening.
This has been a fascinating journey so far. And we are just at the beginning of rehearsal process. I love how I learn something new and fresh from each time I do this.

I have a movie

2010-04-16T17:51:00.000-05:00

Attached is the opening scene from my film. Last night I took a look at the nearly finished version of my film. There is temporary music on it and we still need to get the sound mixing and finished score on there but I have a movie. Right now it is 32 minutes long.
I'm excited about it. I'm proud of it. I can't wait to publicly show it to everyone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-_nnVck4c4

Feeling alive

2010-04-15T18:19:00.000-05:00

Okay- every now and then I have to do something that is just a bit naughty. Can't resist.
I was travelling and stayed at a Days Inn on Sunday night- but I passed up the Hampton which looked better. I probably saved some money but when I was eating the less than stellar breakfast at Days, I had a sudden urge to see what the breakfast was like at the Hampton. So I hopped in my car and drove over there and... darn... it was a really nice spread. Cheese omelettes, bacon, waffles, apples and bananas, yogurt- yum- there were lots of choices.
Too bad I was full from the other breakfast. But I noticed the lovely indoor pool and hot tub. I could see it through the lobby glass and I had to go down the elevator to take a closer look.
I was in luck, there was no key card required to get in the pool room. I know, sometimes I am a teenager. I went back to my hotel, put on my swim suit and went back over and had a nice swim. It was a little naughty but totally worth it.

No Regrets

2010-04-15T17:00:00.000-05:00

This was quite a busy last couple of days...and a few days ago, I had a long drive by myself to reflect on all of it. I like reflecting, ruminating, taking time for deep thought. With no distractions and the steady sound of the radio, I had time to think deeply, to begin to plot a story.
I believe great things spring from boredom. It is only when our base needs are met that our brain allows us to be truly creative-
On Wednesday night, I began my drive down to Galena, Missouri to pick up my ex boyfriend's daughter so she could attend my son's aunt's wedding. Does this sound odd? I know it does. Have you all figured out the family tree yet?
Let me go back.
I dated Bryan for three years and he is the father of my oldest son, Cory. In the time we were dating, I was a teen, we were together from age 15- 18, he is three years older than me. We officially and permanently broke up when I was 18 and Cory was a couple months old. In the time we were dating, I became very close with his mother, and his sister, Sara was a little kid, nine when I met her- but even then it was easy to see she would become an extraordinary individual.
Over the years, I stayed close to his family, and it was more than just me taking Cory to visit his grandma and aunt. There has always been a real bond anyway. She's the mother in law I always wanted. When I was pregnant, she begged me not to marry her son because she knew he would really destroy me-
Anyway, the fact that Bryan and I never married did not stop us from being family- we just were. When Sara grew up and went to college for a while there, she and I were attending Webster at the same time. We took a Latin class together and had lunch a couple times a week. I cherish those times because we got to spend some really great time together- and I got to know this amazing person who really is very much like a little sister to me. When she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I was deeply honored.
At the engagement party, they were lamenting how to get Sara's niece, Chelsey up to St. Louis to be a part of the wedding and spontaneously I said, "I'll go pick her up."
Now, understand, this child is my son's half sister, and my ex boyfriend's child. I had never actally met her before but I had corresponded a little with her on my space (that is another story about how I found Bryan again after he was estranged from the family for eight years.)
So, I know this is weird- that all of us would be okay with this arrangement but I don't like living by other people's list of appropriate behaviors. Chelsey needed a ride- they wanted her there. I have a car. I took my twelve year old daughter with me so Chelsey (age 17) would have some company-
Galena, Missouri is a little over four hours away- I drove down on Wednesday night, dropped off my toddler in Cuba, MO with the babysitter and Marissa and I stayed at a Days Inn in Ozark, Missouri. I didn't really feel like trying to take the trip all in one day, I mean, sure it was possible but I had bridesmaid duties and shopping to do and I didn't want to exhaust myself with an all day trip on Thursday.
I picked up Chelsey around noon on Thursday and that girl just got right in the car and seemed immediately comfortable. It was a strange and wonderful bonding experience. By the time I dropped her off six hours later (we stopped for a late lunch and at the Vacuum Cleaner museum- other story)we were like old friends and I was ready to adopt her.
At one point, on the drive back, she said "If you had stayed with my dad, I could have been your fourth child." which just pulled at my heart strings. She's having huge issues and is estranged from her mother and that just brings out the maternal. I have a soft spot for girls who are a little lost without a mom.
I have to say, my ex hit the cool kid jackpot. He's such a pain in the ass, I have no idea how he pulled that one off.
In fact, the child I had with him who he subsequently abandoned- and while I love him dearly- was a huge challenge.
Drugs, rebellion, nasty temper, capable of violence. Just like his dad. Irony.
Bryan gets the straight A student who is endearing and charming and sweet?
The Universe is amused by its irony. Me- not so much. But Bryan has two boys to raise yet, I am sure he will have his own set of challenges.
So, okay, I'm over it and have for the most part forgiven Bryan for his trangressions against me. I have my moments of bitterness- being abandoned in the delivery room so he could continue to get drunk at the bar wasn't fun. Surviving being beaten up while pregnant with his child, not fun. But it made me strong. In fact, I wouldn't change the fact that he left me alone in the delivery room and ran away, I'm absurdly grateful that he was a coward.
I did not know my own strength and fortitude to go through that alone. For the first time, I knew my own strength, could feel it coursing through me. I was a survivor.
So- the day after the wedding, I drove back to Galena with Chelsey and I didn't take Marissa. I dropped off Chelsey with him- the first time I have seen him since Cory was a baby- I went and checked into my hotel and he dropped the kids off with Grandma and we met up at Ruby Tuesday for a drink. I had hot tea. He had a beer. Some things never change.
I invited him to that meeting. I felt some sort of need to bookend things. I need to forgive him and he needed something. I think the whole time he was thinking he was holding himself back from something romantic. It's not there. I feel no attraction for this man. I know a good deal of the things he says to me are bullshit exaggerations.
For him, I'm the one who got away. For me, he is a reminder of the life I escaped to fulfill my potential. He is a reflection of the way I survived my own foolish choices. I look at the way he is living and know absolutely that I would not live like that. I have no doubt I made the right decisions in the long run.
When he first pulled up in that white car with the two little boys in the back, and they got out of the car, he tenderly asked them if they wanted a treat from inside the gas station, and gave them each a dollar and sent them inside to pick out what they wanted- my heart hurt. I had never seen him be a father, and while my son waited and hoped and cried at night because he didn't know his dad, grew up without one and felt nothing but abandoned, no matter how I comforted him, I questioned my decision right then and there. I looked at Bryan and I felt like a knife slid into my stomach. I had no idea he was capable of being a parent. I could not breathe.
In a moment, I was back there when Cory was a year old, screaming when Bryan tried to come near him because he was a stranger to him. He hadn't bothered to see him in six months and Cory had no idea who he was and didn't want to come near him and didn't want him to touch him.
I called Bryan a few days after Cory's birthday and told him. "You have a decision to make. Your choice is this- quit drinking, quit drugging and be a father- show up twice a week minimum to be in his life. Clean up. Get a steady job, pay child support and spend time with him. Or go away, and stay away until I call you when he's ready. I'll give you a couple days to think about it."
But I knew he would choose drugs before I ever gave him the choice. I just gave Bryan a way out and I believed Cory would be better off without him, because with him promised a lot of pain and disappointment. When Bryan called me up a couple days later and blew up in my face and told me he was going away, I wasn't surprised. This was the first time I had ever questioned that decision was when I saw him with those boys- and I thought, did I deny my son a father?
Later on at Ruby Tuesday, Bryan started to tell me about the meth years, and the years when he was a drug dealer, his brief time in the porn industry. The times he went to jail- oh it went on and on. Just this year, he and his kids have moved four times and changed schools just as many times. This is what his kids had lived through with him in the home.
This is not a life I would have tolerated. This is not a life I would have let my son live. He went through some rough teen years but he came out whole on the other side because he had a better way to live modeled for him- in part- the other part, I just got lucky.
I took a huge sigh and knew it was okay. I knew I did the right thing. No regrets.

On Education

2010-03-24T18:29:00.000-05:00

In the last few years, I've caught up with some people from my past- a few people I went to school with, a few people I lost touch with-
For the most part it has been nice. I had a terrible ten year high school reunion. No one I was close with showed up and I felt as if I was in a sea of vultures with no life preserve. I went into chatty survival mode, it was awful.
But now I have another significant reunion coming up and I am really looking forward to this one.
For one thing, they don't scare me any more and my own trauma is a part of my past I'm not that angry about any more. I spent a lot of time bitching about the bullies and writing about them and working out all that pain and angst. I mean, it really caught me off guard running into a schoolmate by accident at Cicero's about eight years ago. I was still so pissed off... she just brought it to the surface.
But then I have been thinking how much I have changed and how really, I should give those girls a chance. I decided to wipe the slate clean, and deal with them like I was meeting them for the first time, because in some ways, I am. I never really knew them back then- at least the ones I disliked.
I had a wonderful dinner with a former classmate in New York, a wonderful set of emails from a girl who was quite mean to me way back when and an exchange that ended up being quite cathartic.
And I think I have forgiveness in my heart for them- don't get me wrong, I still think some of their behavior was reprehesible and I doubt I will be shy telling them so but I forgive those lost little girls who were acting out.
I also think I have been quite lucky in many ways. As I was having dinner with my old classmate, she talked a lot about the pressure to be the best in school, to have the most A's and the highest scores and how competitive she was in certain classes because some other girl was excelling right next to her.
She wasn't mean about it- she just felt the internal pressure.
I thought back and realized my only competition was myself. I really did not care if I got an A in Algebra or if the girl next me was getting one. I only cared about getting the best grade I could get in the classes I gave a damn about. Which were mostly English and French and Drama.
I had no issues with knowing I could excel in whatever I wanted. I chose to excel here. I was only let down by myself. I was so self contained and secure in my intelligence, I knew very early that it was only me holding me back.
Sometimes I would forget there were others. If I hadn't been competing for a role on stage, I doubt I would have been competing at all. I like to win, I admit but I want everyone who deserves to be there to just be there. And there was no point in making a competition where there was one.
I'm actually significantly grateful for all that angst- it's given me great depth in my writing. I don't think the key is to pit kids against one another. I really feel like the better way is to unlock their potential.
As I ponder this, I know I will have more on it later...

Old thoughts on an old religion

2010-03-19T16:20:00.000-05:00

So, I have been thinking about religion and faith and church hopping. When I was young, it was really easy to believe in God because everyone told you that you should and so I did. At one point, I learned my dad was an atheist and I was literally horrified.
But I didn't like my dad so it was easy to reject him and whatever he believed. He was surely the opposite of good and love and I rejected him and his beliefs.
When I was in middle school, I began to desire a belief in myself and I wanted to believe what I knew, not what people told me to believe. I quickly decided that sex with love was not evil and decided that the belief that fornication was sinful was outdated and silly and that I was already deciding that some things in the Bible were ridiculous.
I knew there was no way I was going to obey my husband- was not happening. For a very shy girl, I had some brave thoughts and they were not always the easiest to put into action.
But I didn't have a problem with faith- I believed because I did, because my mother did, because it seemed a very logical thing to do and now I feel logic is going to get me in trouble. It doesn't really bother my mother that my father is an atheist. I asked her recently, with all her education and all that she knew of the hypocrisy and sexism and inherent contradictions in the Bible- how could she believe in God?
I mean, my mother is a super educated woman- she knows the things that most of us don't. She's read the Dead Sea Scrolls- in person- she translates the new testament from Greek- she knows all about the co-opted holidays and the ridiculous rules of Leviticus. She knows things that shake faith, confound belief and make even die hard theologians scratch their heads.
And she said to me "Are you crazy? Of course I believe in God."
Because I have always known just because you go to church doesn't make you a Christian- and doesn't mean you believe anything that the Pastor says. Church is a social function- has been for a long time. It's what people do on Sundays- it's where people go to find acceptance and often find the single most judgemental people ever. But they want to be part of that clique, so they hang around.
I find the act of being an atheist one of the single most brave things I have come across. Many or most of the atheists I know live the most moral lives- and they live without fear of going to hell. I know a few brave atheists who are not afraid to say they are and I find them simply inspiring in so many ways.
My father is a hypocrite in many ways but he doesn't lie, steal and I truly believe he has never cheated on my mother. He has never cheated on a test- if a cashier gives him too much change, he gives it back. He doesn't drink excessively, do drugs or even look at pornography. He readily hands out money to the poor and to charities and has a code of ethics that he follows very strongly.
Weird, eh?
I'm not going to pretend that man is perfect. It would have been nice if he had it in his code of conduct to not beat up his wife and kids but, you know, everyone's a sinner. But I still have to say he puts some serious Christians to shame.
In the face of this, I have to say, I have had a pretty serious crisis of faith going on. I struggle with what I know versus what I cannot prove all the time. I struggle with logic to believe what logic tells me is probably a fairy tale.
Faith is an act of will. Sometimes just believing that everything will work out in the end gets you through the day. I think religion can be a dangerous addiction and also a saving grace.
My oldest brother ran away from home when he was fifteen- we didn't know he was alive until he was seventeen and called us up one day. He was a drug addict and only he knows what he did to survive those years on the street. When he was nineteen, he was 'saved' on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, and we were all quite relieved. He straightened up, quit drugs, got a steady job- married and had a family and he was in the church for years- I was quite relieved he was in the church. I do believe it saved his life and gave him a new addiction- a bit more healthy than his last one.
When I was fourteen, I went to stay with him one summer and did the walk down the church aisle to be saved. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders and was lighter than ever until I got home and reality crashed in.
This was not the drug that was going to make me happy. I was going to have to figure out a lot more. No, I didn't do drugs, no I didn't cheat on tests.
Once I asked God to show himself, to give me a sign that he was there- help me find my hairbrush- there it was. Faith is an act of will, a choice we make, proof is something very different in every person's eyes.
I know my husband loves me because I can feel it, because he does things that show it, but I have zero tangible proof that he loves me. Really I could be feeling it all by myself. How many people do you know that are deluding themselves in relationships? There are lots of things that we take on faith, that which we have no proof.
This will not be my last thought on this subject, I'm sure.

you should thank your husband

2010-03-17T14:26:00.000-05:00

I've been a mother for a very long time. More time than I care to tell people. I had the oldest child so long that people start doing math in their head immediately... For the first eleven years, I was a single parent with three children. If wanted to do anything, go anywhere, work or go to school, I needed a babysitter or day care or school hours.
I barely left the house for the first two years of my oldest son's life. I lived with my parents who were out of town a significant amount of time and it was announced to me by my mother when I brought the child home from the hospital "You can live here but I am not your personal babysitter."
Which pissed me off because why would she think that of me? But I'm glad she said it and it toughened me up a lot. I also watched other young moms regularly dump their kids on the mom they thought had no life. That was not my mom. That ultimately was not me.
My mother has helped me and stood by me more than any one in my life has but she pushed me to become an adult- and she did not coddle me when I needed to be standing on my own. She always let me know I could do it myself. And sometimes it was downright unpleasant. Once I was begging her to just give me twenty minutes in the shower and she said to me- 'when I wanted a shower, I had to take the baby in with me and strap him in his seat. Otherwise, wait for him to take a nap.'
So, I learned to do it. Does that sound mean to you? I thought so at the time but I learned to be less helpless- and more resourceful. She knew she could cripple me or teach me to do this on my own.
So, after eleven years and three disappointing and abusive relationships, I was a single mom giving birth to my fourth child in a relationship that was very promising and has turned out to be very fulfilling and wonderful but from the beginning- he has been hands on with his daughter. I had to learn to share responsibility. What? You can watch her while I take a shower?
We can go 50/50 on the chores and the child care? I can go out with my friends and I don't have to arrange a sitter? It was hard for me to learn to share, I was so used to doing it all. He used to get one night out a week and I used to get one night out a week and one night was ours together at home-But nowadays, neither one of us goes out as much- I go out for work or events but most nights we stay home.
I like to travel, some for work, some for pleasure- he does not always want to go or he can't go as he has to work. So it's usually a combination of my fantastic babysitter and my wonderful husband.
In the early days of this, he used to argue with me about it, he didn't want me to leave but he has become accustomed to it and now understands that if I need to go, I need to go. He has gone out of town a couple times without me- but I do it more frequently for sure.
Without fail, every time I go out for the evening for pleasure, or go out of town, someone will ask me "who is watching your children?"
Most times, I say, my husband, their father... and people will say "you should thank your husband"
Men and women say this. And I am always thinking- do they think I need a reminder? Do I appear ungrateful?
First of all, I am grateful for him in my life. He is a wonderful and loving human being and the best father on the planet, okay?
I don't have to fall on my knees and thank him every time he does his job! I don't expect him to do that for me! Do I expect him to thank me every time he goes to work for caring for his children? Do I expect him to thank me if he wants to go to the baseball game with his friends? No, it's implicit- we are grateful for one another and what HE does is no more extraordinary that what I do.
If anyone thinks after eleven years of single parenting that I am not very thankful to have some help, you don't know me. But he is just doing what he should be doing, parenting his children. I should really not be scolded for his excellent parenting- and that is what it is. I get accused of being spoiled, entitled and ungrateful. You should thank your husband is code for 'you realize you are a woman and should not have such privileges as being able to go out of town by yourself for five days, why are you so lucky?'
I guess this would not bother me so much if it didn't happen every time and I find myself having the same discussion over and over. And then I appear ungrateful. But hello, people, no one ever asks him to be grateful to me for doing my job parenting my children and being kind enough to allow him to be a human being and go out with his friends and have a life and have a job and get to interact with adults.
So for the last time, yes, I know how lucky I am to have a plugged in husband who thinks his children and wife are a priority- YOU don't need to remind me.
I actually take all the children on long trips and he gets to stay here by himself and go out with his friends and have some quiet time- should he fall on his knees when I take the kids to Florida for spring break?
So- knock it off, people. In case you didn't know, it's sexist when you say it. It's sexist when you assume he should be the one going out of town and that I am extra lucky when my husband is just being a father. It's offensive and it's sexist- it's sexist when people are shocked at our non traditional 50/50 relationship and people presume that I am not taking on my role as a mother.
But I forgive you all for that because maybe this is a little surprising to you- you are used to women NOT doing these things and NOT taking on these roles and NOT exercising independence. Before I was married, I had a fantastic babysitter who watched my kids while I worked and went out of town and NO ONE ever suggested to me that I should thank her (and believe me, I did) but no one ever suggested this to me because it was her job to watch my children. I paid her to do it- the love she gave them was free- and the most priceless thing in the Universe but no one ever said to me "you should thank your babysitter."
People often said "you must have a really wonderful babysitter." to which I replied- why yes, I do, she is the best in the world and I am ever so lucky to have her in my life and she loves my children as if they were her very own. She's more than a babysitter, she is family to me and I love her more than you will ever know.
And I would say the same about my husband.

So far this year

2010-01-12T02:27:00.000-06:00

So far this year, I have exercised every day but one day since it has become 2010 but I have not gotten on the scale really. I have kind of modified my diet a little- but mostly tried to just stick to the 1200 calorie goal. I have discovered through a recommendation online that livestrong.com has a diet tracker on The Daily Plate that keeps a food diary for me and it is way cooler than the one on Spark People- this one is really easy to use and easy to put in the amount of exercise I do- which today consisted of the Pilates ball and rearranging the whole entire living room.
I like it.
So far this year I have had an argument with a sexist prick and his wife on facebook and they are now trying to harrass me via email after I blocked them both they continue to find other ways. I want to be done with those close minded fools so I can move on to something positive.
So far this year I have not made my vision board but I intend to by the end of the week.
So far this year I have not edited my film because the hard drive was bad but the new ones came in the mail so we should be able to get started soon!
So far this year I talked to someone really cool about doing music for my film and he said yes!
So far this year I have not made time for my online class but I have to do that soon.
I need to make commitments to myself and stick to them. I need to establish deadlines- so this week I promise I will create my vision board and work on my online class!

Musings on a New decade

2010-01-03T23:47:00.001-06:00

2009 was an interesting and challenging year. When I was a child, the year 2000 seemed like this distant dream that would never come, it seemed so far away. In fact, film makers had dreamed up a far different reality for us that what we have. I'm not sure science could have imagined what we have today.

I've seen a lot of people wondering where our hover boards and jet packs are. For Christmas, my son gave me "2001" and it was funny to see what the future looked like in 1968, our imaginations were never bigger or further off. In that vein, now surviving the first decade of a new millenium, I am feeling reflective on what I have learned and seen.

First, I have learned profoundly that people really can change and really do change. I have seen so much evidence in myself of change, and I have always been a believer in second chances that I cannot now imagine why I was afraid to let myself see it in others. Facebook has opened up a whole world of people I used to know- that I never really knew, so all my classmates from the past, some of you I knew- but lots of you I had no idea. I never imagined that you- who seemed to have so much together had the same fears, shyness and insecurities as I did. In those years, I think we are so wrapped up in our own profound struggle, and opening up to others was a deadly game of social chance, that I don't know that we could know one another in any safe way. The fact that we connected at all was kind of a miracle.

But I welcome the opportunity to know you now and to hear your story. So much of my own pain has been healed this year by talking with people who walked the halls with me then and walked through their own fires. My mind has been opened and challenged and it has been gratifying and real to re-connect with so many people. And I will greet you as if this is the first time we meet- welcoming the door to getting to know who you are today without the baggage of the past hanging over us.

Second- in a wholly different capacity- I learned once again, some people are not my friends and that even though they are in grown up bodies that they are not mature and there are still users and liars and thieves in this world. I'm grateful, though that I came across them. Important lessons were learned.
So, part of my new year is to stop beating myself up for giving my friendship to a few women (and a few men) who mightily abused it, and to focus on those who support me and deserve my loyalty and goodness. My challenge now is to let go of the people that have made me feel bad over and over and to embrace the ones who have come into my life in a good way. This has been an interesting year for this challenge because I have always had true friends, real friends. I have always been exactly who I am- there is little pretense with me- and I ask for real in return.
I have no time for superficial in those very close to me, I'd rather know how you really feel- even if it is painful. So, it was very difficult for me to realize that I have misjudged. I was wrong about a few people. I have been lucky with good instincts and good friends but I forgive myself for not being right all the time. It was a hard and necessary lesson. I think the biggest lesson was that it was not my fault. I gave something real and received a lie in return. There was good faith there that was broken.

Third- I learned I can make my own dreams come true. That the only thing holding me back was me and that luck is preparation meeting opportunity. I began to prepare for my future- and live the life I am meant to live instead of the one I lament that did not turn out the way I planned.
This was the year when I found myself more completely as a film maker and a director and I will continue to move forward, challenging myself by writing more and producing more and finding more talented people with dreams. I am profoundly grateful for film and theater in my life. I have always felt when I am acting and directing that this is what I was put on this earth to do. There is a peace in my soul when I am doing these things. This dream that seemed so distant when I was a child is a reality now and I am grateful to be fulfilling this. To do the work is what matters and what makes me happy.
I began the year playing the lead in a play and closed the year directing my film.
I'm grateful to those that took that journey with me- that took the time to come with me and create art.

Lastly- I am grateful for good friends and for my family.
Let me begin with my friends. This journey would not be the same without you. I would fall down without your support and encouragement. I am so blessed with so many special people in my life- some have been there for what seems like forever- my bestest friend Annie, my life would not be the same without you- no one knows me like you- and you love me anyway!
My mother has always been my rock and my inspiration. She is smart, savvy, talented and brave, she amazes me every day and she has a huge and generous heart. If I can be half the human being she is, I will have succeeded in life. There have been so many times I have disappointed her and not been worthy of her support but she has always been there, picking me up and pushing me out there again and never letting me give up on me.
I am grateful for my children- all five of them have taught me lessons in love and challenges in patience and perserverance in life. They are all unique and special and have woven their own places in my heart. I have not always been a perfect mother but I try every day to be worthy of being their mother and I am proud of them every day.
And my amazing husband, I thought I was done with men, really. I knew he was the one fifteen years ago, not when I kissed him for the first time on New Year's Eve- that was unexpected and random but the first time I saw him get up in the middle of the night to let the cat out and never a solitary complaint about it. I could never have imagined that when I made a list of the perfect guy for me that I would meet him. It has not always been the easiest relationship, we have had some tough challenges but I never once thought I would quit on this- because he is the most loving and supportive person. My heart still flutters when I hear his car pull into the driveway and he is the one I want to tell everything to. I feel safe letting him know my every secret. Safe from judgment. Safe from jealousy. He is my soft place to fall when things are tough.
We are a team. He is my partner in every sense, and I feel there is nothing we cannot face together.
So, I look forward to the next decade, the next year. To my old friends, I cherish you, you have been there in the best of times and worst of times, we have grown together.
To my new friends, I look forward to knowing you better and can't wait to listen to your stories with an open heart.
I wish for all of you that you face this new year with courage and that you are blessed with wisdom and that you believe in yourself and your ability to matter to yourself and to someone else.
Happy New Year

Symbolic

2010-01-01T21:37:00.000-06:00

The picture in my blog is from El Matador Beach in California. I've been there a couple of times- this last picture was taken on Independence Day. 2009.
I was staring at it, thinking it was quite symbolic for a few reasons.
First, I think the ocean has always contained the whisper of my soul. I was born near the ocean, Santa Monica- and I always feel at home there- as tumultuous and windy and wild and beautiful as it is- the ocean holds my key.
I love the rocks, I love the mountains.
So, in this picture is a very tall cliff. It represents the journey I am on, and the high wall I have to climb. In this picture, you'll notice there are some tangles of algae and seaweed, they are the everyday things I have to step over- and try not to step in. Those messes are both out in the open and hiding, I'll have to work hard not to tangle myself in my own mess and that of other people- and of course the rise and fall of the ocean itself. It both breathes and renews as well as takes from me.
The ocean is a powerful force. It makes me strong and can sap my strength away. The beach is my solace- my peace. The sun, shining down on me, illuminating me and giving me hope.
In all that I see are life saving and life endangering, to not take the risks that life has given, unthinkable for me. The ocean is a gift. My soul is inspired.

Reflections on the past from the New year

2010-01-01T17:26:00.000-06:00

This I wrote several years ago:

What was Left Out

Current mood: indignant

Category: Writing and Poetry
Monday June 23, 2008

My dad is a poet. He's kind of famous in his own right. A few years ago, he wrote an autobiography. I went to visit New College in Oxford in 2002 where my dad was the guest speaker. The class was studying my dad. It's creepy to me. My brother's and I are not in it. It was explained to me that "IT wasn't about you."

That really wasn't the point. Part of me is relieved I'm not in it. I don't have to tell him he got me wrong, which he usually does. I didn't have to watch him gloss over the truth or just flat deny it.

But I cannot imagine writing an autobiography without mentioning my children. He goes back and forth in time a lot and even references points where we were definitely alive but nada. My brothers are not offended or shocked by this. Their attitude is "whatever". It's just more proof to me that he is an incredibly self centered individual.

Here's what else he left out.

His mother was Irish and his father was French and American Indian. His father abandoned the family shortly after he and his twin sister were born and I don't think he ever saw the man again so his mother relied a great deal on her family to help her out. My dad was always looking for father figures and was pretty close with his maternal grandpa and one of his favorite uncles was his mother's brother, Woody.

He had great affection for Woody, but I never liked him. He always made my skin crawl but I never thought about it too overmuch. He was drunk a lot and kids tend to be frightened by drunken uncles that are loud and talk too much. My dad grew up in rural Oklahoma on an Indian Reservation. His step father was full blooded Osage Indian and he was raised in the tribe. Most of this is in the autobiography. Here is what isn't.

Woody married a Ponca Indian woman named Jewell. They had a few kids and he spent his married life being drunk and unreliable and abusing the hell out of his wife and kids. Wish I could say this wasn't the norm in that time, that area, that culture, but it was. That didn't mean that it was patently okay cause it wasn't. There were quite a few folks who thought it was NOT okay to beat up on your wife.

I don't know how many years into that marriage this happened but the story goes, Woody and Jewell were driving, Woody was half drunk as usual and the car blew out a tire. Somehow this became Jewell's fault and a fight broke out on the side of the road. He beat her up pretty good that day and everyone driving by got a front row seat. No one bothered to stop or intervene. But something must have snapped in Jewell that day.

I'd like to think she was just done. Done with all of it and the public humiliation just sent her right over that edge. While Woody had his hands under the car, Jewell managed to pull the jack out and drop the car on him, trapping him. Then she walked away, hitched a ride and never looked back.

Woody survived it, albeit with a broken hand and a huge ego poke but he never laid a hand on that woman again.

I like the imagery of her dropping the weight of the car on the hands that beat her. My dad continued to adore his Aunt Jewell as well as his Uncle Woody even long after the divorce. But somehow he could never see that bad side of Woody.

Jewell was a seer, a highly sensitive individual and she could take your hands and tell you something you wouldn't understand for years. I was alternately fascinated with her and a little frightened of the intense way she looked at me. She did seem to me to be an overwhelmingly good person and when I finally heard this story (my mother told it to me, not my dad) I had so much respect and admiration for her, I hardly knew what to say. What a brave, terrifying and amazing thing to do. In general, I don't accept that violence is the response to violence but getting away is the goal and I think she did what she had to do.

Those are the stories I wish went in that book. But they live in me. He can't admit them because they would reveal too much about him. I thought that was what you were supposed to do in an autobiography.