State of Grace

Happy "New" Year!

2012-01-03T22:15:00.001-05:00

Fresh Start. Clean Break. Blank Page. Make a wish...

That's true every day actually but when we toss the old calendar for the new it really feels like anything is possible. And this year I intend to live this holiday like never before in my life.

Still transitioning...still manifesting though I'm not sure exactly what, where, when or how.

Or WHO.

Who I am or will be that is. No other "whos" are concerning me currently.

2011 was certainly kinder in many ways than 2009/2010. I finalized the divorce I didn't want. I found a new home. I spent lots and lots of quality time with my children, my family, my friends, myself. And the dog of course.

I tried to step back out into the working world, but the arts gig wasn't a good fit given all the other things going on. That was a disappointment for me, in myself of course, that I couldn't find a way to make it fit me. I never got my workshop finished and will be paying back the grant. No one signed up despite some impressive PR from the original venue I hooked up with. Timing was horrible. I knew I shouldn't have applied actually-knew when I was applying with so much spiraling around me in my personal life. Too distracted. Too tired. Too busy.

But...it's ok.

I think if there's one thing I've learned from having the rug pulled out from under me it is this: I am no longer going to try so hard to make things work that so obviously don't or aren't healthy for me. And that, even if something would be fantastic, if I'm not in the right place to give it my best positive energy, then I will no longer feel bad about "failing." I used to bend myself in all different directions trying to make everything work. The failed blended family experiment was hopefully my last lesson in that.

I have a lot of things cooking right now. Open and close Rabbit Hole in the next week and a half. Mixed feelings about it. It's wonderful- cast, crew, director, script, venue-kismet. I feel blessed to have had the privilege of channeling such an amazing, deep, inspirational character. However I have a feeling I am going to miss her, and all of her family, come Sunday the 15th.

I am looking into some other part time arts gigs currently. I have another Middle School Shakespeare gig lined up for spring- so they must have liked me enough to ask me back. A non-profit consulting place is interested in chatting with me about how one goes about doing that for a living. Meeting with someone about a possible masters degree again as well.

So much to figure out. But so much of the hardest stuff behind me.

THIS year...is my year.

Transitions and Manifestations

2011-10-02T17:21:00.004-04:00

If I have any advice for those who find themselves in the midst of a traumatic and unsolicited transition after all I've gone through the past few years it is this...

Don't fake it. It won't help you make it. What will help? Only doing exactly what you have to in order to get buy, while also feeding your soul with everything and all in the world that makes you have any bit of joy. And while you're at it...start very slowly allowing dreams to come back to you and trust them to guide you.

I have been doing so much transitioning the past few months there's been no time or room for me to write or focus on writing. Even now as I type my little Koala who is sick again is hanging her full body weight on my left forearm attempting to make creating this blog uncomfortable enough that I will cave and head into the living room to watch another episode of some Nick or Disney fantasy life for kids. ICarly or Wizards of Waverly or Jesse the nanny in NYC are awaiting me (well in truth I'm reading the latest Stephen King short story collection while Anna's watching TV, but she seems OK with that for some reason.)

So I don't have much time-still unpacking and sorting and purging the old life away making room for the new.

I was inspired to write something today though, to mark the next huge transition I am stepping into tomorrow. So I got on...and I read through my most recent post with an amazing sense of awe. You see...

What I was dreaming about in that post...I manifested. Just at a time when I felt I'd never again believe in any such phenomenon.

Tomorrow I start a new job. I will be running a small arts organization in my hometown. Now that in itself is something to ponder- I grew up in a small town that only had two things they cared about celebrating-the US Constitution once a year- and sports the other 11 months.

This time last year I was cheered and coached to write a small grant request for the local arts district's annual grant giving season. I was awarded one. That alone was prize enough. But at the gathering to give them out I ran into an old family friend from my small town who asked me to serve on their fledgling arts council- around for a few seasons but still quite new. I did. What else did I have to do? (Well a lot of things I didn't want to do but had to do. But this? This was something I could actually enjoy doing.)

So I went. And I did my best though still distracted with the impending divorce and move looming over me.

Then a few people on the arts council were discussing their needs at the center. I tossed my name in as a potential candidate for a part time job there. Over the summer their board decided to place an add and a friend tipped me off they were posting a gig.

I applied...interviewed along with 4 other candidates.

And I got it.

And now I look back to that day in the gallery...to how I had decided that I needed to work in an arts org with no idea that job was even possibly opening up.

Wow. Thanks Universe- thanks for pointing me the right direction again.

So wish me luck. Tomorrow I start working in the arts "for a living." Hopefully I can do a great job and justify it turning into full time in a year or so when I will have to be transitioning into that level of employment. If not it will provide me with a ton of experience so I can look for a full time job a bit easier than having no job the past 7 or 8 years. I'm nervous...a bit sad to leave my stay at home mom status behind, but...I couldn't have dreamed a better job into being.

Thanks, as always, for "listening."

Leaping faithfully

2011-06-22T10:32:00.014-04:00

I am sitting in the wonderful gallery known as 2nd April helping out while Todd is caring for Brennis (who is now home- yay!) and I have already learned something new. Bring material to work on. Now for the artists here with me, that means of course ART. I am not a visual artist. I would love to be but never studied it enough to grab a hold of it. I can however, always find something to write about. So I hopped online for some inspiration and (of course) surfed FB a bit. I came across a blog post by the author of Falling Apart in One Piece - a birthday present from my sister the month my soon to be exhusband moved out. It was just what I needed to read right then, about author Stacy Morrison's journey through an unanticipated and unwanted divorce, which in some ways was very similar to mine and in others completely different- like all marriages and divorces tend to be. But the sentiment of a unilaterally terminated marriage seems highly universal.

I remember thinking that I could have handled things better if I had some of the things in place that Stacy did- a dream job as chief editor at Redbook, and a nanny for my child for example. I now know that it doesn't matter how much you think you have going for you- a huge transition and grief over the loss of your dreams for your family is still a very difficult road to tow. I also know that her job was brand new and full of heavy loads of responsibilities that I cannot comprehend being able to navigate my early months of separation and loss.

I sent Stacy a note about how much her book helped me. She graciously wrote back and we have cheered each other on through cyber space. I have followed her journey through losing both her parents, and now we once again find ourselves in the similar predicament of trying to figure out what we want to be when we grow up.

In her latest blog about tranisition, she talks in depth about all the possible choices for her and in many ways they are similar to mine- practical and safe bets for earning a living, vs freelance creative ventures that never can guarantee income or security.

This is and has always been my quandry- how to combine my need to earn my living creatively with my drive to feel secure financially. In the past it meant a day job and volunteering in the arts. That worked when I was young and full of energy as well as had less responsibilities -including 3 kids who need to eat, go to the Dr, and pursue their own creative or otherwise ventures in order to be...well...kids.

In the next few weeks I have to pack up my whole home, go to court and agree to the divorce I never wanted, and move into a new townhome. So yes...that all needs to be checked off my list first. I very "impractically" volunteered to help at the Gallery these couple of days, and then again on First Friday (the day I get my keys but I need to promote my workshop I'm teaching in July anyway.) I wanted to help, to give to the guys and fellow artist community who give of themselves often. And once the big things are off my list I can volunteer a few more times until the guys are both back on their feet and back here full time.

I am also taking these couple of days to taste what it feels like to come to a place like this to work every day.

And I'm liking it.

I am sitting in this gallery today...and dreaming. Of my own office here for the Howland Fry Theatre Project. I had written and heard from the guys about the possibility of that the week before Brennis became ill. Once I heard about his surgery, I shelved it and focused again on getting through the divorce and move these next few weeks and then will figure out my finances. It would take a leap of faith and commitment financially. But once Todd and Brennis are back in business in person we'll get together and talk about what's available and cost to see if I can swing it or not. If not that's ok too. It will come when it's supposed to.

This past year has been about letting go of so many things. But now I realize it's kind of freeing really to lose all you thought you had lined up. Because nothing is ever a given...nothing is ever truly secure. And if you don't let go of all those worries and practicalities you won't create the empty space for something magical to waltz right into your world.

Thanks again...for "listening."

Vision

2011-06-19T09:43:00.010-04:00

I have been longing to do a vision board for over 2 years, but wanted to wait til I could actually envision moving forward. It's always interesting to see what images and words jump out at you and I found out I am further ahead than I thought in many ways while the things I thought were on my mind most were reflected in teeny tiny words/images. The biggest surprise was apparently dating and romance are on my mind more than I would have ever imagined for myself a few years ago. Therapy and healing are still peeking through but no longer my primary focus. Creativity and security are an unlikely pair, but I am completely determined to make it my life's work. Thanks to Lara- my sole (soul) student for my vision board class (save Anna who made a Father's Day card which was already delivered today-

this card for Brennis-

And of course, this one for Matthew of the dreamy pic-

For the Love of Todd (and BRENNIS!)

2011-06-17T09:52:00.007-04:00

Artists of all kinds have the collective reputation for being a bit self absorbed by the rest of the world. We sacrifice money, time, stability, and most of all according to the non-artists in my life at times- our relationships for our art.

The past two years of my life I have come to know firsthand that isn’t true in the grandest of possible ways.

In the Fall of 2009, I passed a colonoscopy and mammogram with flying colors. My yearly thyroid check was the same- somewhere on the brink of hyper but I could put off treating it again. Those are the test results I always dread and having another year or two of being free and clear had me walking into my yearly GYN appointment with complete confidence I could check some of the most unpleasant maintenance appointments off my list.

Looking back I now realize why we should really stop worrying about most of the things we do. Unlike what the people whispering secrets in the faux guru world would have us believe, it’s never the things you fear that come to you and knock you down.

It’s those you never even see coming.

“How long has this lesion been here?” is not a question you want your GYN to ask you. Nor is it one you could even adequately answer unless you practice yoga in the shower.

With a mirror.

Or several.

I had no idea when the growth had started other than she hadn’t noticed anything the fall before. It could have been weeks and terribly fast growing, or have been there since last October. I wasn’t sure which was preferred at that point. And like most patients who are hit with news there’s a toxic and potential threat on their body I asked her no questions, set up the excision and biopsy and went home to do my own research.

I have to say knowledge may be power, but in many cases with such diagnoses, God damn the internet. I had about a month to research, to worry, to realize that even with her having told me something was there that all the yoga and mirrors in the world wouldn’t have made a difference if you don’t know what you’re looking for.

I didn’t share this with many people pre-surgery. Why worry them? Why let them know I was worried? I took the approach I have on many a health crisis from the past- pretend it’s nothing and it will be so. It usually doesn’t work by the way. It didn’t this time either.

Somewhere in the midst of painful procedures, path reports, and adding a new specialist to my roster I became closer to (or further from depending on the comfort level of those reading) my Facebook friends-a lot of whom I only knew peripherally through the budding Arts District in Canton. And if the internet be damned for too much (mis) information at times, God bless it for its ability to connect those sitting on a couch in their living room in too much pain to leave the house and scared out of their wits about their health.

There’s another reason I was reaching out online, though I wasn’t aware of it due to the distractions of my health. As things progressed from Fall to Winter, I could feel that I was in fact dealing with this crisis alone despite being surrounded by a household of people. My kids were too young to be burdened with it, though they were old enough to share a little of what was happening and why I wasn’t able to do much for them for a few weeks. But my husband wasn’t there- at least figuratively. I made and received lots of valid sounding reasons for this, such as it was a scary thing and some people deal with that by withdrawing from it. That sounded good and I went with that. However over the next few months it became apparent that something else was wrong. I wouldn’t fully grasp how alone I was for another month or more, nor how alone I would come to feel in so many ways for the next few years.

On December 28th, 2009 I typed a status update to reflect being made privy that what I was feeling was in fact a unilateral decision to end my marriage. Oh- and it wasn’t mine.

That evening my Facebook status simply read…

Devastated.

I won’t tell you what my sister or niece had to say about it on someone else’s wall, but my nuclear family rocks. Just sayin’.

What I hadn’t considered was that those who had been following along so closely with my health concerns would interpret this as something far scarier than it was-for them I mean. Because for me it was far scarier than anything my health could muster up to distract me.

I refrained from posting details of course. I was still hopeful this was simply a case of temporary insanity. It was not.

Temporary at least.

The next Friday was First Friday. The theme was Fire and Ice (hmmm...) I wanted to go. I wanted to stay home and pull a blanket over my head too. But I had been doing that for months already and needed to breathe.

I didn’t know the artists at the Galleries of 2^nd April that well, just the owners, Todd and Brennis. I always collected hugs from them on First Fridays. I like to think I’m the only one, but I’m not. It’s ok though. In this case I don’t mind sharing them. I couldn't keep them to myself even if I tried. These two guys are truly the heart of the Arts District here. But more on them later.

As I walked into the gallery I saw an attorney friend I know through theatre and was met with such a simple yet loaded question when one's life has been flipped to black and white...before and after.

"How are you!"

I filled him in. He hugged me and tried to reassure me the way so many people do when they know that words cannot contain enough love and support. I asked him if he knew the attorney I had called and made an appointment with the day before and was entirely reassured.

“I think you’re in good hands. I know the prosecutors don’t like to see him walk in with a client. He’s that thorough.”

Now that’s my favorite kind of reference- who’s the guy people don’t want to see walking to the other table in court? That's my guy.

Then he pointed and said, “Well-hey! There he is now!”

And so I turned and was introduced to one of two professionals who would champion me for the next few years. All I recall was that he was extremely tall and politely said hi as though he had any clue I had talked to him the day before on the phone. He then he walked off to catch up with his family. This was one of the first tiny suggestions that I could ever come back to the feeling that my life made some sort of sense over all- that I could start to believe that coincidences were not just that in other-wise hostile Universe. It seemed less intimidating to sit down with him the next week having at least seen him and met him in person already. And this 1.5 years later I find it highly apropos that it occurred in the Gallery that has in many ways become my second home and second life post ...well...haste I suppose.

What I remember most about that night was it was the first time I laughed-at myself, at my situation, and at my friend Todd.

I walked up to the counter for my hug, and was met by Todd whose expression turned from joyful to very serious when he saw me.

He leaned across the counter, lowered his voice and asked “What’s going on? I saw your status on Facebook…is it your health?”

I whispered six words, as though not saying them very loud would make them not true- the way people whisper the word “cancer.”

Then the hug came.

And the tears.

And with the most serious expression of sincerity the following question.

“You want me to break his knee caps?”

Now you have to know Todd perhaps to get why this is insanely funny. And let’s just say that the personality of he whose knee caps were in question makes it more so. I informed him of a past history of Military Academy meets Armor division and like any respectable artistic person he had to withdraw the offer with, “Oh well…shit. Guess not then. But I would have you know.” And then he smiled and winked and grabbed Brennis who was mid-transaction and not at all paying attention to our conversation.

“Take Brennis!" He joyfully exclaimed.

"You can have him! He doesn’t cook or anything and is kind of a pain sometimes, but well…he’s yours if it helps!”

And Brennis looked at him like he was crazy for just a second, then shrugged, then said, “Ok” while smiling that huge Brennis smile. Then he hugged me too.

And I laughed (a little.) And fell in love with both of them (a lot.)

I have spent the past 1.5 years rebuilding my life piece by peace. I still follow up with that specialist along with several others and have been more than blessed with the professionals that have come my way to champion my cause.

But the most profound healing that has taken place, is in and around the community which inhabits that gallery on a daily basis. My family shrank in some highly painful ways, but has multiplied in others too lovely to even comprehend.

This week I was reminded of just how incredible this family of Artists is. And why I am one of them. Really. They actually let me in. And seem to want to keep me. ;)

A few weeks ago Brennis had his own health crisis- half of the duo which is in fact the heart of the Arts District needs to heal his own heart. And Todd needs to be carried as he cares for Brennis.

This extended family has stepped up in the most amazing way- everything from hospital care packages to covering time at the Gallery so it can stay open, to planning benefits to help financially. One big heart of a family beating together to help one of its own (who just happens to have the biggest heart of anyone I have ever had the privilege to meet.)

So if you’re reading…

Stop into the Gallery called 2^nd April in person or online. I’ll be there several times working the register myself. Drop them a kind word or make a purchase to support them.

And most of all...thanks for reading, for watching, for listening to and supporting your local artists. We are all so very blessed to be among them.

A Single Man

2011-06-13T09:10:00.009-04:00

Time is ticking down on a strange inbetween place for me- finalizing one part of my life, and beginning the next. I have mixed feelings about it. None of it was my doing, or choosing. For the first time in my adult life I have fully realized I truly don't have control of the future. And for the first time in nearly 2 years, I am starting to understand that's ok, that no one really does, and that having the rug totally pulled out on you can be a cathartic and -freeing from attachment to outcome- experience. I mean if we could control our future at all, surely we would miss some horrible experiences, but would we have had some of the most amazing events of our lives that we never could have imagined into being? If I had a magic mirror I can assure you there's one little girl in the world who may not have come to be. And for that I think not knowing what's coming can turn from anxiety ridden to anticipation in one...tiny...heartbeat of a moment.

Early in this difficult journey- last February I believe-my sister asked me to see A Single Man at the Palace Theatre.

I looked up the content of the movie, and was concerned about how potentially weighted with triggers it would be. Two things overrode that worry.

One, I absolutely adore the Canton Palace Theatre and far prefer it's splendor to stadium seating, overpriced gourmet butter popcorn, rocking seats and drink cup holders. As with many things downtown in or around the Arts District, I wanted to reclaim it as my own as soon as possible and create new memories for myself that had nothing to do with anything of my life the prior 6 years.

And secondly (blush) I have had a huge crush on Mr. Colin Firth since he was Mr. Mark Darcy in Bridget Jone's Diary. And now that I'll be free to date I also like to believe his gorgeous Italian wife will walk out on him leaving him heartbroken with (of course) only me to console him. Hey- it could happen. Surely I'd be his first choice, right?

If I had any doubts whether I was ready to see such a film so early in my own traumatic grief process, the opening scene confirmed them for me. Mr. Firth's character, George Falconer, is having a nightmare he is drowning, then that he is at the scene of his partner's death. By the time his states via voice over, "for the last eight months, waking up has actually hurt," I realized that I was no where near ready for this material and thought about walking back out of the theatre. Instead I found myself transfixed with how accurate every line, every image, displayed the same exact experience I was having. I also was concerned about the fact this character, fictional as he may be, was already 8 months out and still so distraught. I was only about 2 months in, and couldn't for the life of me picture myself surviving that intensity for 6 more months. Looking back, I'm so glad I happened upon it. Rather than flee a sobbing mess I sat there nodding and feeling validated (and a sobbing mess) through every scene, and though I could have done without the tragic irony ending, I did get the point of the film-that life would perhaps someday start to feel normal again.

George's testimony to grief put my experience into tangible images and words for me. Lines like-

It takes time in the morning for me to become George, time to adjust to what is expected of George and how he is to behave. By the time I have dressed and put the final layer of polish on the now slightly stiff but quite perfect George I know fully what part I'm suppose to play.

Looking in the mirror staring back at me isn't so much a face as the expression of a predicament.

Just get through the goddam day.

For the first time in my life I can't see my future. Everyday goes by in a haze, but today I have decided will be different.

Sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty.

If one is not enjoying one's present, there isn't a great deal to suggest that the future should be any better.

One of the most profoundly helpful things the movie provided for me, was something I was struggling to explain to other people- a physical aspect of my grief that was leaving me feeling like I was losing my mind. But thanks to A Single Man I had an artistic interpretation of this symptom to help others understand it.

The movie is shot in a way that it looks like an older 70's film- Zapruder –esq quality- all grainy and washed out in color. But when George connects with another human being, his grief subsides briefly and everything comes into focus and the colors become exaggeratedly brilliant. As his grief grabs hold of him again everything fades back into the dim world of someone struggling to heal. It didn't take long into the film before I realized this was totally intentional but only understood it because in fact my world was grainy/brilliant/too dim/too bright on a daily basis at that point. I would drive into my neighborhood where I have lived for 7 years, and felt like I was in a strange place- somewhere akin to another state entirely both literal and metaphysical. As cliche as it sounds, I was in a dream from which I could hope to pinch myself awake. Time held no meaning anymore as well, and I had to start taking a new path into my allotment as every time I pulled onto Diamond from Market I would recall the very first time, the very first invitation to dinner, the very first meeting of the child who I would come to parent for 6 years. My memory was playing tricks on me to the degree I felt like I had walked into my own non-linear adaptation of my world with sensory memory transporting me back- the smell of someone cooking on the grill, a fire pit going, sunscreen, lawn mower humming, the sun spilling into the kitchen at 5pm while I was trying to cook dinner for my now shrunken family. Bittersweet nostalgia enveloped me as well as living in a home that was no longer considered my own. I was a temporary and unwanted guest of the owner, being viewed like a pesty parasite, tolerated because the kind of exterminator required took a lot of money and effort. Better to just make the environment inhospitable enough that the unwanted occupant leaves of their own accord.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had another year of healing and a hell of a lot of legalities to get through.

After seeing the movie, I started reading a book on grief (would say which but honestly I read/skimmed about 5 of them throughout those early months) which explains these physical symptoms. However in true artistic interpretation, Mr. Tom Ford's film channeled the experience for those who may be blessed to the degree that they have yet to experience them.

The book references a term most of us are familiar with already- "Fight or flight response." Traumatic grief actually is interpreted by your body as an enemy attacking. The hyper stimulated state can last for months (mine did and still occasionally pops back up.) I found that until I made it through the first year I was nearly constantly in that state-even during sleep like George was. I am relieved to report that at 8 months I was a lot further ahead than George in many ways, though not quite ready to be jumping back into the water as he does in the movie.

The film finishes the way any Oscar worthy Indie films does. No spoiler from me, but I will simply leave you with the words from the film that best describe where I am today- ready soon to jump into the water again.

A few times in my life I've had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.

One integral part of my spiritual side which I lost was I stopped believing in "meant to be" December 28th, 2009. I struggled to hold onto it, because it justified so many things for me up until that moment that everything flipped from gray to black and white around me.

And though I actually still don't believe in "meant to be," I now see this as something that I needed to let go of anyway. "Meant to be" validates a lot of dysfunctional behavior and toxic situations for people-myself included. But I’m starting to find a little faith again. The Universe is mysterious, beautiful and hostile all at the same time. But the only direction I can go from here is back up into it.

Thanks…for “listening.”

2011-06-11T01:00:00.001-04:00

Saw him tonight at the Canton Blues Fest -phenomenal. Can't wait for more Blues tomorrow night!

Perfect

2011-05-18T07:58:00.007-04:00

This goes out to every woman who has walked this path of healing before me, and all those who sadly will follow.

I have to say, keep in mind while watching that these two young women are competing in a win or lose/in or out competition here, and in order to give the best performance they worked together on it rather than trying to out do each other. So sad that either had to leave the show after this. It's not in this clip, but when the "loser" comes down to hug her coach Cee Lo Green goodbye, he tells her he will take care of her too. :)

2011-05-13T23:08:00.003-04:00

Continuing on with some songs that have helped me along the way. I love Adele, but this version by Haley Rhinehart on American Idol of Adele's "Rollin' in the Deep," had far more emotion than the original artist's recording. Tho I must admit Adele's video had some mighty powerful emotional imagery. Here are both- enjoy!

Positively Zen

2011-05-02T10:52:00.003-04:00

After a year plus of the most difficult transition of my life, I am nearly free. I have debated time and time again what to do about the blogs of the past. This one, which is a highly painful dose of reality of all that is gone or never was to begin with, is going to remain because I have poured too much of myself and my children's history into it to let it go.

The new one however, "Positively Zen," I can't afford to keep. I started it in September of 2009 on Typepad for all the bells and whistles that site provides, and have been paying $15 bucks a month to sustain that one week or so of posts, because downgrading to a free blog would undo a lot of those fancy things that I went to Typepad for.

But today I finally downgraded it to free. Should have a long time ago and kept the $250 odd dollars just having it up there has cost me. But in all honesty? What's that amount compared to all else I have lost along the way.

It was very weird to go back and read how hard I was trying to be positive -totally unaware of the toxic situation about to surround and shatter my world both in my health and personal life.

So I didn't linger on it. As Becca says in Rabbit Hole- "Quick and painless- like a band-aid." Of course it's taken me nearly one and a half years for quick to feel somewhat akin to painless. Perhaps "numbness" is a better word.

I'll be re-starting this blog -title, pic and perhaps even a slightly edited post or two- on Blogger in July when I will be able to continue the journey I tried to attempt in the fall of 2009. I'm proud I attempted it then, when I was feeling the effects of efforts of those closest to me as well as those I'd never met drowning out any hope for positivity at that time in my life.

Thanks to everyone who has allowed me the negative time necessary to heal from so much hurt. I couldn't have done it without each and every friend-0ld and new- who all lifted me up through this spiritually trying time, whether you even knew what I was healing from or not.

Positively seeing you in July!

A diva Edith Piaf canta "Ne me quite pas"

2011-02-23T20:40:00.003-05:00

Wow... forgot how much I absolutely love her. Now that's interpreting a song. I am going to surround myself in amazing music for the next month as I hopefully transition fully into my new life. More to follow.

Sara Bareilles, Ingrid Michaelson - Winter Song

2010-12-23T08:45:00.002-05:00

The Last Word

2010-11-07T17:47:00.002-05:00

Stopping by to say hi- fabulous weekend regardless of horrific cold and no voice. Hmmm...perhaps because of no voice ;)

Posting Songs right now seem to help me stay on here a bit, while still documenting my feelings regarding all the changes I'm facing and processing.

So here's the song of the day- ENJOY!

Ray LaMontagne - Be Here Now

2010-09-05T21:19:00.000-04:00

Big Dreams are Coming Back My Way

2010-07-01T10:48:00.002-04:00

The song says it all...

I'm BAAAAAAAACK!

2010-02-14T16:42:00.003-05:00

Well, sorta. Lot's of changes for me right now, that have me focusing my energy in many different directions at once. It's a growth process, complete with growing pains of sorts that I am unable to share.

I am taking down my Positivity Blog from another source since it cost money every month, and coming back to blogger.

So look for the new, improved and totally intentional life of...

State of Gracez.

Coming soon. To a blog near you :)

Til then...

Account inACTIVE

2009-07-13T10:54:00.003-04:00

What a sad state of gracez this is! I have been so busy with life or something like it, that I have neglected my little blog, my little space for creative thought.

Damn Facebook! Ok...I love facebook as well, but it is quite addictive.

More writing to come in the following weeks. Much to catch up on. Still no time this week to do it! Although til then I will have to return to an old template to get that obnoxious "photobucket inactive" crap off there. Not sure when I became a slave to the photobucket folks, but am assuming it had to do with an add compliance issue through my blogher network. So if the blogher folks are reading...

help! I can't comply with the three column format, as when I did it screwed up my blog.

Anyway...

More next week when I will once again have time to write on here.

Transcending Women

2009-02-04T08:13:00.005-05:00

My sister sent this to me today, a great way to start my day along with a cup of joe, as I await my little rooster's daily morning announcement-
"Mama! Sun is UP!!!!"

Enjoy my sisters, moms, daughters, friends, Ya-Ya Stepsistas, Company of Women Writers, North Canton Newcomers, and the Old Elm Play Group mom's! I love you all and thank you for being a profound part of my life.

Happy New Year!!!!

2009-01-04T18:36:00.002-05:00

Since the focus on a new year is happiness, thought I'd pass along this diddy. I am working on happiness within rather than trying to grab it from without. These Buddhist guys are onto something ;)

Happiness and suffering come from your own mind, not from outside. Your own mind is the cause of happiness; your own mind is the cause of suffering. To obtain happiness and pacify suffering, you have to work within your own mind.

-Lama Zopa Rinpoche, "The Door To Satisfaction"
~Beliefnet.com

Under Construction

2008-12-12T01:48:00.003-05:00

I apologize for the unattractive template at the moment. I had to do some rearranging with tutorials due to requirements to keep up with my ad obligations. Laura from Blogher was very nice and helpful with a tutorial site. Unfortunately, the site didn't choose to give examples from my template so I after hunting, pecking, and cursing my way through several attempts, I had to let my fuchsia go. I am in much need of sleep now, and since the blog is once again ad friendly, I can retire and try next week. Til then, sorry for the strange golden orange color that clashes with my beautiful Buddha pic (which is completely off center but try as I might at nearly 2 am, I cannot reconcile it to change it's position. You see, I am in desperate need of template tutorials that have the exact same codes as whatever template I'm using, and darn it if none of them ever seem to.)

Argh. To be somewhat computer literate. T'is a blessing and a curse (hunt and peck.)

2008-12-11T08:24:00.004-05:00

Today's Quote
Forgiveness means giving up
all hope of a better past.
-Landrum Bolling

Beliefnet.com

Prop 8~ The Musical

2008-12-05T10:20:00.003-05:00

Ok, this may be a theatre thing, but personally I think this is fantastic. What a cast!!!!

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

An Actor's (Not Quite Nightmare) Profoundly Deep Dream

2008-11-20T09:02:00.027-05:00

I had a dream about Fry Tuesday night. It started out like one I've had before, most recently over this past summer. Sort of an "Actor's Nightmare" where you're at the theatre but don't know what you're doing there, or on stage and can't remember the show you're in, the lines you are supposed to be saying, and everyone else acts as though you should and do.

This one was about acting class rather than performance- a situation that would be more uncomfortable than nightmarish for me. I wonder if other professions have "nightmares"? Like a teacher's nightmare where you don't know the school, the class or the material. Or the Dr's nightmare where you're doing a surgery that you've not been trained to do. Sorry- that's an interesting tangent to explore another time!

We were in the conference room. I didn't recognize anyone else, but Fry was there, however, he didn't realize he had passed away. He was irritated that everyone was ignoring him. No one was listening to him or doing what he told them to do, because they couldn't hear or see him. It was very "Scroogish", like when the ghosts transport him around the past, present, and future and he yells at the people in the scenes he's being shown, or even at his former/future self, but no one can hear him.

Except in this case, I was the only one who could. Throughout the dream this predicament was only slightly unsettling for me, odd given the fact that in real life if Fry walked into the conference room and talked to me now that he's gone...I would really think I'd lost it.

Anyway, once Fry figured out I could hear him, he started rattling off all these directions for me- how to teach, what to cover, what the others needed corrected on, etc. Meanwhile I frantically ran around trying to fulfill his wishes and convey his directions to the class, who all looked at me like, "Who do you think you are, BILL FRY????"

Dreams for me are like plays, where you are mid action/line/emotion, and BOOM! Lights out/back up in another scene entirely.

We were in my car, my OLD car, my parents' old car actually. Ford Fairmont, shit brown to match the rust. I was giving him a ride home to his apartment. I did this many times in real life (many of us did- Fry never had a driver's license) so it's wasn't so strange to be in the car with him. He puffed away at his More cigarette (dark brown menthols in the green box. Do you know why so many actors smoke menthols? Because actors are poor and mooch cigs off everyone, and most actors HATE menthol cigarettes, so if you are a cheap actor who can get used to them you are more likely to discourage other cheap actors from stealing/mooching them off of you.)

Sorry. Back to task.

We chatted on the ride home, Fry seemingly still oblivious that he was no longer of this world.

Well...Fry never was "of this world" to start with- so far the dream wasn't all that odd.

Then we arrived at his apartment. Here's the weird part. I asked to come up. And he said yes. Now...I don't think I ever asked, and I know I was never invited into Fry's apartment. I've always been insanely curious as to what it was like (his office was terrible- ashes everywhere, books falling off the shelves, etc) so I just wondered how he lived. I pictured highly disheveled, books stacked to the ceiling, photos stuffed in between them...

But in my dream, the place was very tidy. At least the kitchen was, and that's really all the further I went.

I know that Fry's real life apartment would not have a basement, but in my dream it did. And he opened the door to show me that because there was something about it that was upsetting him he wanted me to look at.

I peeked down the stairs, and saw a several actors, in period (Where's Charlie?) costume, strolling around, in some fog, with lots of lights (Rick Lombardo show????) One woman with a 1900's dress and parasol, saw us and motioned for Fry to come down there. I felt it was an after life/otherworldly place, and knew I couldn't go with him. I started to say, "He doesn't know yet-" and the woman raised her hand up slowly, finger to her lips...

shhhhhhhhhh.....inaudible as a mime.

Then she smiled warmly to me and nodded that she understood, and gave me a pleading look, inquiring if I could help him down.

I looked at Fry.

He stood peering down to the stage full of actors needing direction, like he knew somehow he needed to get down to them, but was unsure of his footing on the basement stairs.

He hesitated, not ready to go.

Then he turned back toward me, his hand still on the door knob, looking as though he couldn't decide if he should shut it in front of or behind himself.

Again the woman looked at me for help, and I could feel how much they were waiting for him. That they needed him...and it was where he needed to be.

I looked at him, started to cry and said,

"I love you Fry. I'm sorry I never told you before."

He hugged me, holding onto me tightly before pulling back away.

Then he said, "Oh Jennifer...I know that. And you know I always loved you too."

Then he walked down the stairs, and disappeared with the rest of the cast who were awaiting him.

And I woke up.

Sadness.
Loss.
Peace.
Closure.

I do love you Fry.
And I do know.

Strike

2008-11-18T15:19:00.038-05:00

Monday morning I woke up feeling out of sorts. It's the same feeling I have always experienced when a show ends, a really fantastic ensemble piece, and we strike the stage. The set is dismantled, the costumes returned to the rack outside the wardrobe room to be cleaned and rehung for another show. The dressing rooms are wiped clean. All that remains as evidence of the production are the memories of those who performed, worked, or saw the show. Everyone takes part in strike, with few exceptions for age and frailty, before anyone can enjoy the cast party (otherwise everyone is enjoying the food, and two people are tearing down the set.)

Then comes the party. A celebration of a job well done, either at the theatre or when we were really lucky, at the fantastic estate of Kathleen and Bill (Doc) Howland, complete with swimming pool and trampoline for summer shows, and a basement with a pinball machine for winter ones. Oh- yeah and peacocks and ostriches running around the compound.

My good friend Patric, the one in the middle with the glasses, used to cry at the cast party.
Heather Howland (on the right of this photo rehearsing Pied Piper with Lisa Kurtz), who was Kathleen's daughter and occupant of the aforementioned residence, reminded me so in an email the other day. I used to feel so bad for Patric. I had been doing shows since the age of 5, so I didn't quite get why he was so sad. Maybe it was just his first show, I reasoned, and he'll realize that you just immediately audition for the next one, and within a week of rehearsals it will be just as fun, with new friends and some old, as the last play. But I recall Patric crying at the end of most of the shows we did together those first few seasons, and I felt helpless to console him because I really didn't understand it.

However, as I grew older, and had a few magical moments with cast, crew, director myself, I began to grasp why Patric mourned the end of the show.

Fry's Memorial was Sunday night. Waves of nostalgia came to me the weeks before scanning all those pictures. In a way, I felt I was living through all those rehearsals, classes, performances, strikes, and cast parties once more. Then the Memorial came, the show if you will, with an audience filled up with many of those same characters, now all grown up, grown older, than they were the last time we shared the stage.

And of course I cried off and on throughout the evening, like Patric at a cast party.

I haven't done so myself for every show I've ever worked on. But as Patric grew out of it, I seem to have grown into it. As I get older, my teachers, parents of my friends, and some friends of my own have left me. Now each season, whether they be of the theatrical or literal kind, feels like a gift to drink in, savor, fully soak up, and then tuck away for reminiscing and waxing poetic later.

In Fry's Arena, an actor, director, or stage manager, were fully involved throughout the production. The crew, who often came from the acting class groups, ventured in during tech week and were instantly equally vested. When the stage was struck, everyone who had occupied your every spare moment for days, weeks, or months slipped silently (or not) out of the stage door one last time. You knew you would never again be in the same room together as an ensemble, and were left feeling a mixture of relief and mourning, the degrees of which depended on just how wonderful or horrible the experience was.

When it was the right combination of cast, crew, direction, and character, the loss can put you in an incredible funk the first few days you resume your "day job" life.
There were a few standouts in my Junior/Youth theatre days-
A Christmas Carol

I Never Saw Another Butterfly

The Homecoming

Pied Piper

Little Women

and The Butterfingers Angel, etc.

But I usually applied that "just throw yourself into the next show" theory to chase the post show blues away.

In adulthood, there have only been a few such times -Anne of Green Gables,

Jesus Christ Superstar (at the Guild),

The Glass Menagerie (with Kathleen directing, my mom as my Mother, and Keith and Tom from Fry's class with me) and

The Miracle Worker (at Kent Stark), after which I got into my car to leave the theatre the last night, and cried the whole way home.

Sobbed.

I wasn't ready to let the show, the people, my character, or the moment go. I knew walking to my car, before even pulling out of the parking lot, that the show, the cast, the experience was a rare, fantastic, magical moment in my life, and had already become a memory that will fill me with longing for years to come. You never know if it was the last time that will happen. And after going back to college for my BA, and burning myself out working or acting in nearly every production at Stark for a few seasons, combined with working full time, single motherhood, the play ending usually fell into the relief category. I have not done a show in over five years. That's never happened to me before. And sometimes I fear my curtain has done called.

But...

That same feeling of strike, has haunted me the past few weeks, whenever I connect with a Junior/Youth Theatre alum, and start talking shop. By last week, as I sat in Fry's office sorting through and scanning pictures, the waves caught up with me in a flood of nostalgic loss. Not just for Fry.

It was seeing all the kids I was "raised" with, in the photos, trapped in time, in black and white, mid sentence in improv or rehearsal, building a "machine" in class, constructing a set, learning to apply their makeup. It was Pat Hemphill adjusting a costume, Fry and Kathleen, in their late 30's I imagine, on stage together in The Gingerbread Lady. I sent that picture to Heather, who responded that it was her mom's first play at the Guild, and her first time working with Fry. It was a meeting of minds that would grow to a best friendship for the rest of their lives.

There was a picture of my brother, pre-accident, the only clear figure in a "whirling" exercise or dance of some sort, while everyone else was a blur around him.
And there was another of him and his best friend Geoff Mize doing a scene for rehearsal or class.

Frozen in time.

I could just sit there all day frozen along with them- an awkward 12 year old, wishing to be grown up and join in with her older brothers and their fabulous peers- to me the "Greatest Generation" of kids to grace Fry's stage. At least to the watchful eyes of a 12 year old on the brink of adolescence, a year before tragedy would likely freeze so much of that time for me, as the time "before"-

Before the accident took my older brother from us
Before my mother had to quit her dreams to care for him
Before all those kids grew up, left town, moved on.

And after...
I remember a sadness in that theatre, as the news of the accident spread throughout the day during classes, me sharing it with those who hadn't heard yet. I recall it was the annual costume sale, and I was sad my mom wasn't there so I could buy some of my old costumes like we always did. Classes and plays continued, "the show must go on,"but the first of many ghosts, a classmate dead the other disabled for life, had already befallen our small family like company of players.

That sadness followed us, followed me the next few years of shows. It wasn't truly healed until I came back in my 20's, rejoined Fry's class and made a new generation of friendships.

I have been pining for the Players Guild since I left the second time, to pursue other theatre experiences and gain my BA in the subject at the Kent Stark Theatre. And I made many lifelong friends there as well. But with Fry's death I feel a need to return "home" as I said in the other blogs.

But how?

How when there are so many ghosts in those halls for me...

some literal- Kathleen, Pat Hemphill, now Fry...
Others figurative- my brother, our cast/classmates, tech directors, artistic directors, fellow actors and crew members...all moved on.

Damn Fry and that all that sensory memory stuff he taught us. All I have to do is ring the buzzer and have someone buzz me in- it starts right there. Then if someone's pounding together a set, if lines are being read, if there's a sewing machine stitching, if I smell sawdust- Ha! Dust in general- make-up, hairspray, feel the velvet of a curtain...

I am instantly transported to another time, another place.

And up until last month someone would be there who knew, who remembered it all with me.

How to put that all behind me? Audition? Do another show, meet new people
make new memories?

Or...
Teach.

It came to me this week, when responding to an email from Fry's niece, Barb, to whom I had given my blog and email address at the Memorial Sunday night. I had wanted to talk to her at his graveside service last month, but never having met them I didn't feel it was the right time. We are the same age, and both writers! Heather has said she can just see Fry in Heaven, sitting around smoking cigarettes catching up with Kathleen, Pat, and Maggy, while Gretchen reminds him to hit the ashtray with his ashes (for God's sake!) And from that table, it would seem that Fry is still directing me, arranging yet another new friendship somehow.

Thanks Fry.

"VERY Good!!!! There! there! there!"

Barb wrote to tell me that she read and enjoyed my blogs about her uncle, very gracious if you ask me, since I'm so long winded. ;) She also asked if and what I was teaching at the Guild. I replied I hadn't even approached anyone in a position to make it happen about that possibility yet. In all honesty, the prospect of teaching one class to honor a man I took thousands of classes from seems daunting. Where the heck to start?

Later in the day I started mulling it over again. Was there anything we didn't cover? Was there something I wished we had at the time?

I thought of all the amazing classes, and eclectic instructors he snagged for us-

Lare Sattler for Juggling
My mom and Anne Meiser for puppeteering
Kathleen for classic theatre
Lauren Landis for mime
Jim Brothers for Tae Kwon Do
Duane Brubaugh for make up
Karen Ziemba (tony winner!) for dance (Will never forget that Tapico song!)

Then it came to me. As a young writer, the one thing in all those years we never did and I always wanted to-

Playwriting- monologues, scenes, one acts...

How obvious!
And of course instantly the lesson plans fell into place.
I am typing up my resume now!

Barb wrote to me about her writing. She's been published in Renaissance magazine, something I'm sure made her uncle, a closet poet and playwright, very proud. She said after the family's had a chance to read through the poems, she would be happy to get together with me to read them.

Wow...

What an honor that would be.

Maybe we can use them in the class somehow.

I think Fry would really like that.

Tribute to Bill Fry

2008-11-17T07:18:00.013-05:00

When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments; tenderness for what he is,
and respect for what he may become.

-Louis Pasteur

I found this quote yesterday morning, as I was trying to dig back in to everyday normal life- dishes needed done, laundry for 6, and soon to be 3 Anna wanted some attention back from her mommy's constant computer work scanning pictures, and finding and writing to old friends.

I needed a day or so to gather my thoughts and wits about me, to do this latest blog (but I'm sure not the last, as writing this one turned into a draft for the next) about the Memorial Service Sunday evening for my late teacher, Bill Fry.

It's no small task to write about a man who likely shaped my life more than any other person I have ever known. Even more impressive he did so completely unintentionally, and likely unknowingly, though I hope the latter's not the case.

The quote impressed upon me, a very Fry-esq theory of teaching theatre, and life lessons in general, to kids. I have been trying to help my husband understand just what was so amazing and unique about a childhood in the theatre, community theatre in particular, Fry's youth theatre program in specific.

I finally came up with this- I know of no other arena in life, where adults and children become peers, equals, cohorts, friends, as they do in the theatre. Not all of them, of course. There are grouchy adults and precocious children who can't get along anywhere. But for the rest of us, no where in the world save the stage, can we all stand together, and share the responsibility of a production's success or it's failure. I remember when I was tiny, around 5, that adults herded us from dressing room to green room to stage and back again so we wouldn't miss a cue. I witnessed this with Tiny Tim in my adult stint of Christmas Carol.

But by the age of 8, I was on my own for entrances and exits, for memorizing my blocking and lines, showing up on time, making my entrances on cue, and saving a scene from someone's else's missed line.

I had larger parts than adults, smaller parts than younger kids, no parts and handled props, worked lights, painted sets....

Right alongside adults doing the same things.

And at the post rehearsal/production gatherings- Tim's Tavern, John's Bar, Ruslees, Butlers, Taggarts, Sparta Lounge...

Got kicked out with everyone else, whether it had been the adults or the kids that got out of hand and ornery.

Where else in the world do you have all that?

Sunday night was very hard. I saw people I had seen off and on the past 20 years, one or two I hadn't seen since 10th grade, and a few I may never see again.

And we all know that ensemble won't likely ever be gathered together again in the same theatre in my lifetime.

The night started with a reception given by Fry's family, nieces I had seen at the funeral.

The upper lobby was packed with people from every decade since the Players Guild opened in 1970. There were folks I didn't expect to see, and some missing I was counting on reconnecting with. I hoped those in the latter group all knew about it and had some reason they couldn't come, but I feared that not everyone found out in time to make it who wanted to. I had been busy trying to track down everyone I could think of, but was still thinking of a few more on Sunday.

We all settled into our seats and heard speakers- Joe Martuccio MC'd and kept the night flowing from tribute to tribute.

Carla Derr gave a very poignant speech about Fry, only losing her emotional hold when she said,

"I love you Fry and I will miss you..."
I'm sure I was not alone when my grip slipped emotionally right along with her.

Then the cast of Quilters and Nunsense sang a few of their songs from two of his favorite shows. Toots didn't think she could do it, but of course her training and talent won out and she made it through.

Fry's niece Barb has inherited some of her uncle's wit and perfect comedic timing. She started off talking about always seeing her uncle as "one of those theatre people" to the family, which of course had the biggest laugh of the night. Her thoughts on her uncle were profoundly heartfelt. And I wished we had known his family as much as she said they wished they had known him.

Joe presented a gift of all Fry's poems to Barb and her sister, some of which had been read throughout the night. A few were full of grace and beauty, a couple full of "piss and vinegar." (Side note-I gotta get a copy of that "Now my Cockles only Cackle every other day" one. I can remember him rattling that one off, in the green room, out of the blue so many times. I don't know that I knew then that he actually wrote it- at 38 no less, two full years younger than me!)

Jodi Wilson, the board President-elect, spoke as well, moving me to tears again, briefly sharing her life long history at the Guild having been under Fry's direction countless times. She also announced what we were all hoping for, that the Arena theatre (a name that always sort of irritated Fry because it's wasn't actually accurate for a three sided theatre) will from now on be

The William G. Fry Theatre

(though I think for some of us it will be "Fry's Arena" for short. There! There! There!)

David Sponhour narrated a fabulous slide show, while Steve Parsons played magic on the piano. Pictures covering the history of the Guild according to Fry, on stage
and off, images of kids in shows- learning, maturing, growing and moving forward, while Fry watched, taught, and learned as much as the lessons he shared, for the last 35 years.

Elizabeth Mapp read Heather Howland Bobbit's letter about Fry and Kathleen's dream turned reality of creating an incredible, safe, disciplined, creative theatrical environment for kids to learn about theatre and about life.

Erin Ianni read a touching tribute to Fry for her mother MaryLou, who didn't think she'd be able to read it herself. And I realized at that moment that though I had at first wanted to speak as well Sunday night, I never tried very hard to let anyone know it. I just knew all my professionalism would have turned to mush the minute I tried to put my love for Fry into words in front of an audience. Fry did it at Kathleen's funeral service, and I just don't know how he managed. I guess he was just that good. :)

Rabbi Spitzer spoke, shared a letter from his son that summed it all up perfectly. In the letter, Gabe Spitzer reminisced of a rehearsal where a young cast member did something "unmentionable with his nose, then showed it to the rest of us..." the rehearsal came to a screeching halt, as everyone laughed hysterically. According to Gabe, Fry just sat there, waiting for all of them to wear themselves out, then said something like, "Good...now put that energy back into your performance..." I'm paraphrasing but you get the gist of it. All of us had a "giggly" rehearsal almost every show, and Fry knew by instinct to let it play out, pass, and then move on from it.

These things are what made him a genius of a teacher.

When the Tribute ended a few of us mentioned Tim's Tavern. My brother Jef and I headed over there, where only Keith Berger, Jane Lasse, and Barry Wakser were gathered. It seemed empty, for even if no one else wanted to go out after rehearsal, Fry would join anyone who would have his company, smoke a More cigarette, and talk about theatre.

We discussed the history of the Guild, the need to archive the history while there are still people around who recognize the performers and the plays in all those pictures. We discussed the future of theatre education at the Guild, how we all took all those amazing classes for granted. How you must be forward thinking, but not forget the lessons of the past. If it's not broken don't fix it, and if it is, when did it break, what was abandoned that should be brought back, etc.

I left there feeing loss, inspiration, gratitude, and determination. More on where I'm headed with all of those tomorrow.

It was a fabulous tribute to an incredible life. Amazing that a man who led a very simple existence, didn't own a car, walked to work every day of his life, and made a living doing something he loved, could have made such a deep and profound connection to so may people, and shaped so many lives. I'll say it again-

There never was a more contented soul.

A Wink and A Nod from Fry

2008-11-08T10:30:00.023-05:00

So no sh#t there I was, checking my email last week. One of my old theatre friends, one of my last, close friends on staff at the Players Guild, sent me a message with the subject:

"Pics of you with Bill Fry."

My heart skipped a beat. I thought perhaps she found some old pictures of us from rehearsals or classes, or in costume. I hoped she found the picture of us from his birthday party, but I really thought that was a long shot. I wrote back to say I'd stop by the next day to check them out.

I took Anna with me to the theatre on Wed afternoon. We entered the stage door, as I have a million times since I was 5, only now I can almost easily reach the buzzer to be let in (it's still a stretch, but I remember a time before I could hit it myself.) We heard pounding from the main stage to our right, and I took Anna in to say hi to Craig (the current tech director.) Craig is another old theatre friend, though for me he represents Kent Stark rather than the Guild, as the Stark stage is where we met and did most of our shows together. He also was one of my young guy friends who helped me tremendously while I was a single mom, mowing my lawn for me several times a summer so I wouldn't have to kill myself trying to keep up.

Then Anna and I headed down the perilous stairs that kids have been tripping down for generations, though a few decades ago the Guild did invest in some stair grips to help (but I still held onto Anna and the railing tightly.)

We went into the secretary's area. This used to be a very posh little office for Gretchen Kloes, the PG's secretary throughout most of my youth. Gretchen was very organized and had beautiful shelves full of interesting objects, as well as a sliding dividing panel that locked the office up completely when she left. I believe the panel fell by the wayside years ago, and now the office area is overstuffed with cubicles, shoving two other desks for other staff members in there. Sad to see it now all crowded and unkempt.

Gretchen was quite fond of me (like I said I USED to be this tiny shy and polite little waif once upon a time.) She would always let me (but not the other more precocious kids) look at her fascinating collection of large geodes that she had on the shelves. I thought they were magical with all their light refracting facets-surely more precious than diamonds, and I handled them with the utmost care and respect.

Gretchen retired when she became ill with cancer. She bravely fought it many years and passed away a long time ago.

I sometimes think the Guild's Golden Age walked out the door with Gretchen. She was a force to be reckoned with, ran a tight ship, took crap from no one, and oversaw the care of that facility, brand new when she started there, as if it was her own home.

I didn't see my friend Carrie behind her cubicle, just an older woman (secretary?) who I believe was Janet Barry, the wife of Nick, the actor formerly known as Scrooge throughout the 1980's.

Then Carrie popped out from her desk, and handed me an envelope. Most were pictures of me and castmates from Anne of Green Gables (1991) that I had taken on my own camera and given the doubles to Fry.

But the last pic...

Was taken 5 years ago at his 70th b-day party. There I am, very thin, full of single mom/working full time/theatre BA pursuit, with a very proud looking teacher.

It is a fabulous picture, isn't it?

I don't always believe in everything about that "Secret" stuff- you know, put your request out to the universe and it will happen sorta thing. But, my friend found this picture, and hadn't even read my blog to know I had been looking for it.

Wow.

All I have to say is...

Thanks Fry. And just so you know it will be on my desk, when I have my own cubicle somewhere in the depths of theatre catacombs while I'm teaching kids the lessons learned from years of careful and accidental study with you. ;)

Carrie and Josh, the Managing Director there, have allowed me another honor. I will be taking my scanner down there next week and scanning all the other pictures Fry left in his office so I can send many of them off to any of my former Junior/Youth theatre classmates I can find. The past few years I've attempted to get in contact with my former Players Guild Youth Theatre alumni, hoping to host a reunion while Fry was still around to take part in and enjoy it. Regrettably, I was busy, disorganized, with other projects always landing in the way of that one.

I had located one man, Dallas Hardcastle, on classmates.com, but hadn't heard back from him or his older brother Terry. I only knew Dallas briefly, from a few plays and classes he took part in, but was much closer to Terry.

We met in one of Fry's classes when we were around nine years old. The last time I saw or spoke with Terry we were in high school. Then he moved on to professional theatre throughout the US, where he's had a lovely career. I got married, had kids, got divorced, went back to school, got remarried, had a kid....life has changed a lot since we last spoke. So has Terry's voice, which is why when I received a voice mail from him on my way into the theatre, I had to listen to the message twice to really believe it was him.

My mom, my brother and myself all have contact with several of my Youth Theatre friends or their parents, and I started a Yahoo Group a while back hoping others would search us out. It fizzled, and I never got back on task. But I think of all of them often, as we really were such an extended family all those seasons. To me those people represent my childhood, my adolescence, my therapists, my gurus, my mentors, my friends...best friends. And even though I am still determined to host such a reunion...the loss of Fry's presence will make for a heavier night than it could have been.

Life does always find a way to intervene those best intentions, doesn't it?
And when it does, we wait for death and loss to inspire.

I haven't talked to Terry yet, as we have played phone tag all week. As soon as I post the final draft of this, I will be trying his number again, and this time won't let anything deter me from speaking with him.

I had fully intended to call Terry back while I was reminiscing in Fry's office, so I could start our conversation with, "You'll never guess where I am...in Fry's office looking at a picture of you from Butterfinger's Angel..."

But, I underestimated the effect of the theatre, the office, the pictures, the scripts, and Anna's patience level for being in the "bowels of the theatre" as Fry like to call them.

Fry's office was formerly a tiny storage room called the Triangle Room, for it's shape and lack of any foreseeable function in it's design. We used it for props that belonged to or were currently in use for youth theatre shows...eh-chem...although my brothers and their friends likely used it for other more secretive purposes (damn teenagers!)

It became his office around the time I became a teenager, so I am not privy to any other "functions" it served, with the exception of being the only approved designated smoking room after the Guild became a smoke free building in the 90's. I have a feeling that was quite a heated campaign between the pro smokers Fry and Pat Hemphill (the then costumer) and the pro- smoke free facility since it was years before state law would mandate it anyway. In the end they compromised on two unlikely designated smoking areas- the wardrobe room and Fry's office, with only paid staff allowed to smoke in them. Now having your only designated smoking areas be a room filled with costumes to be damaged or ignited, and another about 3 x 5 feet, with no ventilation leads me to believe the board knew it had some good people it couldn't afford to lose over cigarettes. And though smoking rights were to be for staff only, fry gave sanctuary to other smokers, especially in the dead of winter. A few times I tried to hang out in there myself, but the smoke was so thick you didn't need one of your own to be smoking.

And now, as Anna immediately pointed out to me when we went in there...

"Mommy this room smells funny!"

She didn't like it in there. There wasn't much to do, just old nicotine filled scripts and ghostly black and white photos of students gone by.

It was a convenient and private office for Fry, not just for smoking as he was still able to do that anywhere in the theatre when the office was Christened his domain. He had formerly been upstairs where at least a little natural light coming in the first floor entry door and two story windows, could bounce it's way down those treacherous stairs and into the office hallway. In contrast, Fry's triangle room office was devoid of ANY light save the incandescent one, or a lamp he put in there so it could be darker and less distracting during performances. Before his office moved down there, he could only watch from the audience (helpless in a crisis) or in an uncomfortable metal chair backstage of the alcove entrance. Most directors leave the show to the stage manager after it opens, which a good thing sometimes, as I have worked with those who can't handle the mishaps without blowing a gasket. And several miserable times I have worked backstage with a few directors who have shown me my share of glares or lectures for fubars that inevitably accompany live theatre performances. But...

I never remember once in thirty plus times of working with him, a similar experience from Fry. Even though he was there every night just in case, he always let the stage manager/cast/crew handle any unexpected "drama" calmly waiting to discuss what happened if necessary before the next show in an attempt to avoid an undesired repeat performance.

I have seen him annoyed, perplexed, impassioned, disgusted...

But never angry. And now that I have teens and am around teens and am in my 40's I must say for that alone that Bill Fry may have been the greatest actor of all time.

He taught many, turned off some, but in the end affected most of us more than any other teacher we ever will have.

There was a lot of closure in that office last Wed. There will be even more at the memorial service next Sunday I'm sure.

We all need that when we lose someone, especially those who's meaning in our lives we can never grasp until they aren't around anymore to share it with them.

After the picture I had never seen surfaced, Terry left me a message, and then I spent an afternoon re-living my amazing childhood onstage...

I feel like I'm entering the III Act of my Players Guild career. The stage was set in Act I, the plot was furthered in Act II, and now the purpose comes with Act III. Ok that's a bit cheesy I know...

It would have made Fry roll eyes, say "Oh GOD don't be CUTE Jennifer. (Laughing) There! There! There!"

It's time for me to make good on a promise I made to Fry the last few times I saw him - one of those times right before that picture was taken. I am finding my way back home, to teach kids theatre, the way Bill Fry taught me. Now that he's gone, I feel the baton must truly be passed. I could get in a few other smaller theatres I'm sure, who due to their overhead have much less pressure for the Youth Theatre programs to perform. Unfortunately, the Guild is no where near the facility it was, back when government supported arts, and businesses endorsed the rest.

Decades of neglect from lack of funding have made large community theatres lose ground and become in danger of folding or turning professional. And that would be a terrible loss for Canton, for theatre, for all of us.

And since I'm still around, the only one really left from those days that still goes anywhere near the Guild, I feel a responsibility and a calling...

Back to my home, my sanctuary, my stage...the place where dreams begin.

Mr. Fry's Opus

2008-10-21T15:40:00.056-04:00

William G. Fry was my teacher.

Or, as he fondly referred to Kathleen Howland...

My "Guru."

He was just plain Bill to some, Mr. Fry to others, but for most of us who studied under him from the 1970s until last week, he was simply-

Fry.

We first shared the stage in Gypsy when I was five, which had a "director's nightmare" of a scene full of precocious kids, and their even more so stage moms. The cast was full of inexperienced moms and kids (like us) with only that one scene to occupy our time and energy until curtain call. My mom tells me that she and Fry often shared the honor of watching all of us kids for the majority of the show in the Green Room, a 15 x 20' space, composed of uncomfortable vinyl furniture, several plastic square tables, a large round table, and florescent green shag carpeting. Every night Fry would tell her, "I have 17 nieces and nephews! I don't need to be surrounded by kids at the theatre!"

But it was during that show that he took a shinning to me. Somewhere along the way of that production, I must have demonstrated that, despite my petite size and lack of experience I had an unusually high level of concentration. Really, I was shy in new environments and didn't like to rock the boat. I hadn't even wanted to be in the show and hadn't actually auditioned, but was there every night with the rest of my family. I was finally talked into it by the director, with the help of a costumer who produced a tiny sequined tutu and tiara, taunting me with, "If you are in the show, you get to wear this!"

I also know it certainly wasn't my talent that drew him to me, as all I did in that show was twirl across the stage following my graceful ballet-trained older sister. The audience was quite taken with my "performance" of course, but at best my delivery was "cute." Fry hated cute. He said so relentlessly during rehearsals, if he thought we were going that direction in our performance.

Nope.
It was definitely the fact that I was the most quiet and focused child in the Green Room.
Or...maybe just a shy extrovert.
Whatever the reason, when Fry directed a reader's theatre production of I Never Saw Another Butterfly later that same season he cast my mom and siblings, but threw in a request for her to "Make sure and bring that littlest one along." Or as she tells it, "He only cast the rest of us so he could have you." I was pretty agreeable back then. I did what a director told me, and didn't veer from their instruction. And at the age of five, that brought me the reputation of being a "natural" who could always hit my mark.

We shared the stage again in the next play I was in- The Miracle Worker. Fry played the part of the Dr, appearing in one short opening scene. I was Sarah, "the littlest child," a student of Annie Sullivan's at Perkins School for the Blind.

I was 8.

I remember a lot about that show. I had some lines. One was, "Don't go Annie, where the sun is fierce," and the way it was grammatically constructed confused me. I remember the director, the same one who handed me a part in Gypsy, not enjoying being around the kids very much, and being sequestered once again to the Green Room. I remember George Mitchell, a wonderful, kind and generous actor, perfectly cast as the kind and generous Mr. Anagnos. I remember George carrying me on stage and staring blankly as I was instructed so I could appear to be blind. The night my mom picked me up after we blocked that scene George complimented me to her, saying how naturally I took to the part.

I also had two of my first crushes in that play. One on a little boy named Anthony who played Percy. The other came from having to audition for the first time, therefore not being asked to be in the show, and being crushed that I didn't get the part of Helen.

I cried so hard after they posted the cast list, that my mom threatened to call the director and tell him to cast "one of the other eighty girls who tried out and would give anything to have your part." She also told me if I didn't stop crying she would never let me audition again.

That was the very last time I ever let my mother see me cry over a part.

And I remember watching Helen and Annie every night without fail, while the other kids were off goofing around. I studied how fabulous they were, how they were so detailed and in character, and tucked it all away for another time and place, until as an adult I would finally realize my dream of playing the title role in the same play.

One thing I barely remember in the show, was the presence of Bill Fry. But I will say, that he must have been paying attention to us kids, and to me in particular. He must have observed all that studying I did. He likely noticed that after our scene ended, I would gather the rest of my scene mates, and find an adult free zone to act out many of Annie and Helen's scenes, so I could apply what I was learning.

Because, though he claimed not to be particularly fond of kids, I have a feeling he was fascinated by our ability to totally emerge ourselves in character, even if nobody was watching.

Just for the fun of it.

I will never know for sure, but something tickled him about us kids. Because later that year he signed on to become the Players Guild's Educational Director. It was one of the Guild's few paid staff positions at that time, and he held the title for over 30 years before retiring to the status of Director Emeritus.

His bark could sting, but he never bit. He rather liked to tease us. My friend Amber and I would give him a ride to Fisher Foods after class sometimes, and go in with him as he picked up his staples for the week. We would follow him around obnoxiously calling him "Dad" attempting to annoy him. His theatre timing would always wait to respond until there was an audience. Therefore, while he was checking out as we laid it on most thick begging for candy or gum, he would turn to the unsuspecting clerk and darkly confide to her, "I told their mother to eat her young!"
He loved us in spite of himself.

He balanced strict theatre discipline with energetic and exciting classes or rehearsals, so you always looked forward to the privilege of working with him. His devotion to the then faltering Junior Theatre program turned it into it's own independently successful company, often helping the Guild hit budget in otherwise slow seasons.

He became my teacher at the age of nine, and directed me that year in what would be our first of over thirty Junior/Youth/Family Theatre collaborations.

I was cast as "The Girl With the Doll," a generically named leading lady and ghostly waif who haunts Scrooge throughout the play for his miserly, and compassionless ways. That part typecast me for the rest of my childhood with Fry, which ironically was something he vigorously attempted to teach us to avoid. Regardless, until I turned 18 the only "sure thing" part I could snag throughout my youth was one who's main function was to appear sickly and dying.

I played Beth in Little Women who dies before the third act, under Fry's direction.

Twice.

When I say "twice" I don't mean for two performances, or that she died twice before the third act. I mean I played Beth in two separate productions, both directed by Fry. The first was at age 12, and then again at 15. Her character dies before the third act, the one where the three remaining sisters get to wear the cool puffy sleeved dresses and kiss boys-every night. Beth gets to wear a nightgown, and lay around under a blanket looking pale all through act II. On the positive side, in the 12 year old version, I had a fantastic scene stealing death scene with Jo, got to make the audience cry, and then snuggle backstage every night, in my jammies and blanket, and watch everyone else squirm as they had to kiss the boys.

Though by the second time round at 15, I would have really rather been wearing the puffy sleeved dresses and kissing those boys. Oh and speaking of my waify roles, Fry cast me a second time in I Never Saw Another Butterfly when I was ten. And though that time I could have participated in the reading part of readers' theatre, I never had a line in either show.

It was part of Fry's way, to cast me in a lead one show/ a bit part the next, or not at all. And then I was so desperately eager to be involved, I would swallow my sour grapes and work the show. He was constantly telling us that there are no small parts, only small actors, and made it his life's mission to drive that message home. If ever he had favorites, he rarely let it be known, and kept us humble by not always handing us a part that someone else could handle. Many of the most profound lessons, both of craft and character, came not from the teacher, but from not being cast in the part you wanted, thereby having the time to watch and observe other students, work backstage, and totally drink in the art of theatre.

Whether on stage or off, a favorite pastime for most of us was coming up with clever titles/rebuttles for endless array of lectures Fry repeated to us in each class and every production.

Lecture number 14- "BE ON TIME."
-addendum for clarification
"ON TIME MEANS TEN MINUTES BEFORE REHEARSAL!"

And, after rehearsal, number 32- "Ok people! Your mother doesn't work here- POLICE THE AREA"
-addendum 1 for clarification- "POLICE THE AREA MEANS PICK UP YOUR TRASH AND THROW IT AWAY!"
-addendum 2 for smart assed students (ie Zen and Amber)- "Your Mother MAY work here but your trash is not her job!"

After 17 years of study, a few decent but mainly bit parts, Fry finally rewarded me with the title role in Anne of Green Gables.

And I thought I had arrived. It was official.

I was an actor.

Ironically, the last time I worked with Fry was opposite him in another version of A Christmas Carol. This time he was Scrooge, a part he was born to play, not due to his own nature but rather in his understanding of the dynamics of Character. For years the part had been played by a well known and beloved local actor named Nick Barry, who's comical performance of Scrooge entertained audiences the first 10 or so years the Player's Guild did the production. But in the 11th year, the original director and playwright left, causing Nick to decide that it was time to retire his performance as well.

I loved Nick and his hilarious Scrooge, but always dreamed of seeing Fry play it. I knew from years as his student that he would go in a much deeper direction, giving Scrooge a greater evolution from detestable Humbug to reformed faithful of Christmas and life itself.

When I joined the cast in Fry's second year in the role, I was given a generically named part as "Fred's Wife" (yes it was a trend in my career ;) Everyone in the cast liked to call her "Wilma", after another famous Fred's wife, which I found insulting to the character. I guess when most of a cast has been in the same show for 11 years, they have to find ways to entertain themselves, like the euchre tournaments in the green room, the "find the spam" hidden on stage during performances, etc. I think those are cute and clever, but as usual, I took my part too seriously. I stated to everyone that I had re-named my character Margaret after my Grandmother. The other actors in my scene, two of them Youth Theatre alum themselves, respected my wishes. But no one else in the show did, and continued to tease me as "Wilma" for my two years in the part.

Except my teacher.

Fry told me he always thought that was stupid and called me Margaret with a grin that reflected his satisfaction and hubris at having raised me up so well. And in that grin the pupil felt recognized for her years of careful study.

Still....I treasure the role of "Margaret" for one and one reason only.

She afforded me my only scene, in the 35 years I've known him, on stage with Fry.

It's the last scene in A Christmas Carol, when Scrooge is transformed and begs forgiveness from his nephew's wife. And it included the privilege of laying a single kiss upon his cheek. If memory serves, I believe is the only time in my life I was able to bestow him such an honor.

It's a funny story actually, as one of his most repeated (and valuable) lectures to us as teens involved stage kisses and actor hygiene-
# 4- ALWAYS WEAR DEODORANT, NEVER WEAR PERFUME, NEVER EAT GARLIC OR ONIONS AND MAKE SURE TO USE A MINT OR MOUTHWASH BEFORE A KISSING SCENE

Well, it wasn't that kind of kiss of course, so breath wasn't a concern. But after flying with ghosts in and out of the past, present and future for several hours, while wearing a flannel nightshirt, wool pants, a scarf and hat...let's just say, that having to kiss Scrooge as though I was excited to do so, took considerable concentration. And even the most impressive method acting wouldn't have helped my performance, if I hadn't been so thrilled to be there with him that I didn't mind in the first place.

He felt terrible that there was no time or place to clean off a pristine spot for my lips to land, because he never left the stage the entire last act. So every night as I leaned in to kiss him, he would wink and over emphasize his line, "Forgive me," to which I responded with my line, "Of course," and enthusiastically took my mark, in all it's salty, sweaty, makeup smearing nastiness.

Every night after the show, if he was in his office when I walked past on my way out, he would tell me, "I can't believe you do that every night without demanding a raise!"
"It's called acting," I would tease. Then he would take the opportunity to remind me, in my then prenatal state, that he would like to have a namesake. He even went so far as to offer to cast me in every role I ever wanted, for the rest of my life.

If I even for one minute thought he meant it, Tanner would be a "Billy. "

"There...there...there...."

This morning, my mother reminded me that a few years ago she tried to take a picture of Fry and me together after a performance of A Christmas Carol and her camera froze. Guess that camera never learned how to step up and perform from Bill Fry.

A photo does exist somewhere, though sadly I don't possess a copy.

It was taken several years ago, when I attended a birthday party in his honor, and I gave him a book called~The Great Acting Teachers and Their Methods. Inside I wrote to him that I bought the book trying to learn all the things I might have missed along the way, since he was my only teacher for most of my childhood. Then I started reading, then skimming, then realized I didn't need to finish it. Because I couldn't find anything in it that he hadn't covered in class. The lessons were so subtle at times, that most of the time we just felt like we were playing, rather than working or learning. I never worked with a better teacher or director, a master who could heard a cast of actors from "birth to 100" as he liked to say. I had forgotten my camera that night and asked another woman to take a picture for me on hers. She never remembered to send it to me, and I forgot to ask. We always think there will be another opportunity. But like live theatre, sometimes those moments fly by and are gone forever.

He was pleased with the book and the sentiment though. He rarely betrayed his deepest feelings, but that night I almost saw him cry.

I meant what I wrote too. I never appreciated it at the time, but Fry taught his students every theory and practice, how to improvise and play theatre games, let go of inhibitions and dive deep into character. But perhaps the greatest and most valuable lesson, was his belief that fostering a good cast and crew relationship, was vital to the success of the production.

It wasn't all warm and mushy. There were tough lessons too.

Discipline People!!! Theatre takes DISCIPLINE!

Articulation people! Enunciate! Eeeelooongaaaate those vowels and hittttt those consonanttttts! It doesn't matter how wonderfully you're emoting if the audience doesn't understand you!

I feel personally his main goal was to inspire us to respect the process of performance- from first read through to final dress, from "hairy week" to "giggle rehearsal", from the drudgery of blocking rehearsals to the insecurity of the first night off book. His directorial techniques were so smooth, so well thought out, that we seemed to effortless glide through those 6 weeks every production. And though I have never met an actor who wasn't thrilled to get to opening night and finally hear the laughter, sniffles, or applause, Fry instilled in his students a love of the journey rather than the destination only.

When I have the opportunity to direct students birth to 100 myself one day, I hope his ways will live on through me. And though it saddens me more than I anticipated to know now that he won't get to be there, I will do my best to honor his lessons and delivery style, and teach the practice, the concepts,and the application of all of them.

There was no creed in Fry's theatre- you try it all, take what works and leave the rest.

Fry possessed such depth, such a vast and eclectic array of all things theatre. But perhaps his most profound lesson, came from hearing him repeatedly state over the years that the thing he loved most about theatre was that he never stopped learning more. If he ever did, he'd quit. And though he retired a few years ago, he was still there, and was due to teach a class this week. That's why I have no doubt that the teacher continued to enjoy and learn from

His students.

And them from him. One of the lectures I didn't like in particular, but he seemed hell bent on relating to us, was to major in anything in college but theatre, so we would have something to fall back on. I tried to follow that advice my first time round, but dropped out, because I couldn't find another subject I was so passionate about. When I returned to college after my divorce in 2000, I decided to go against him and get my BA in Theatre Studies. By the time I was finished, I realized that he was right about the degree, especially given all I had already absorbed, and how few new lessons my degree in theatre brought my way, as well as the burn out, loss of drive I experienced studying my passion for a grade. Even so, when I told him I had finished, and was planning on becoming a teacher using his model, he smiled some more hubris my way while complaining,

"You kids never listen! (laughter) There there there!"

Never did there exist a more contented soul. He lived his life on a diet of show tunes and More cigarettes, only leaving the Players Guild to go to dinner with his theatre family, or home to rest. To me he seemed ageless- perpetually fifty years old, though he must have been a mere 4 years older than me now when I first met him, and was in his mid seventies the last time I saw him. It had been so long he didn't recognize me instantly, and once he did, demanded, "Where the hell have you been?!?!? And when you coming back down here? We miss you!"

Where I had been was busy. Now a mother of four myself I can't imagine how my mom did it with and for us.

And regrettably, I didn't get back down there. It was the last time I saw him. We always think we have more time. But theatre people are circus types, and you would think by now I would know better. Few are content to stay put in one arena for long. Though I do still have a few contacts at the Guild, I was never sure if someone would be working there during the day, who knew me way back when.

With one exception.

Up until his last day on earth...
For the last 38 years, anyone and everyone who was ever involved at the Guild, no matter for one season or the last 38, knew there would always be one soul at work, ready to take a break and catch up over coffee or cigarettes, who would tell whoever else had wandered in the door during your absence just exactly who you were, what you did there, how wonderful it was back then...

One who knew me, who cared, who missed, and who will always be...

My Guru.

My mom always liked to say to him, "We raised some good kids together, didn't we Fry?"

And they did. Along with my own mom, Fry, costumer Pat Hemphill and teacher/board member Kathleen Howland raised us up well. They were a sort of surrogate parents for me, who all made sure that even when tragedy struck my family removing my mom from her presence in the theatre, that mine was able to remain.

Fry was the last of my paternal surrogates to leave my life. But his lessons, all their lessons have contributed tremendously to who I am. And though I am so incredibly fortunate to have my own parents still with me...

Today I feel an orphan of sorts. The curtain has fallen, and the stage is bare.

Call the teacher who made you the performer, the coach who made you the player, the instructor who inspired you to take up your career.

And tell them thank you for making you everything you are today.

It's Heeeeeeere!

2008-10-15T08:56:00.002-04:00

My EEE PC came on Monday morning (the 6th! That was fast!) Then we went out of town for a family wedding in Jersey and I took it wit' me on the road.

Very handy size, very quick, easy etc. Lots of storage though I had heard and read the mini-notebooks were storage shy. It has more than our old laptop does.

My only complaint is as far as I can tell (still researching for a better way) the only way I can disable the mouse pad on it is to disable through the task bar. That's kind of a pain, but necessary when typing due to the tiny keyboard. I will be mid-word, mid-sentence and all of a sudden I'm writing in another paragraph from accidentally hitting the pad. But as long as it's disabled I'm good with the external mini mouse.

My only disappointment was a long, but superficial scratch on the lid. I will live with it, as I'm the only one who knows it's there. I contacted BuyDig.com where I purchased it, but since it happened at the factory level there's nothing they can do. They did send me a laptop carrying case...but it's big enough to fit a full size laptop so I gave it to Rick for his.

I will be taking it on the road with me again this week, as I am headed to meet up with my Stepsistas at our 2nd "Quarterly" Stepmom Retreat this coming weekend.

I will be posting my experience from the first trip tomorrow, then will post about this one next week.

Til then....

Happy typing!

My 40th Birthday Present is ON IT'S WAY!

2008-09-30T10:44:00.024-04:00

I finally did it.

After months of online reviews, research, and chickening out, I have ordered my 40th b-day present.

My first Notebook.

It should be here in a week or so! That is, of course, if the store I bought it from (which is out of the office til Thursday due to Rosh Hashanah ) doesn't run out before filling my order. I'm hoping that the fact that they closed for several days will send all other frenzied buyers off to other sites, guaranteeing that site still has one to send me.

These are some hot tamales I gotta tell ya.

Every time I have decided to go ahead and order one, immediately whatever store I have been eying due to price or features runs out of them.

I first saw an Asus EEE PC at my writer's retreat last April. A woman, who's fabulous husband not only bought her the first EEE PC (700) but also registered her for the Company of Women Writer's Retreat when he saw it online, because he wanted to support and encourage her writing.

I think Rick has a twin soul in the art of husbandry.

When I came home I told him I really wanted one of those mini-notebooks and he said SURE!

They are relatively cheap, and small and cute...

But...

Then I went about looking into exactly what they are capable of doing.

The EEE P 700’s tiny size was big on cute factor, but small on performance. I also watched many video reviews by people who are typists and those who are hunt, peck, cursers (Rick would fall into the latter category, myself in the former.) The typists, who all like to rest their fingers on the “home keys” like I do hated the 700 through 900’s tiny, cramped keyboard. The “hunt and peckers (tee-hee) didn’t mind it as much.

But since I am rather quick at typing the way we were taught to be typists in Mr. Chlebeck’s 1985 typing class, I knew I would end up with carpal tunnel trying to use that keyboard. Additionally, the small screen requires constant scrolling when editing what you’ve typed, as well as when you are trying to view web pages.

My MAC obsessed older brother suggested I not buy anything under 10" so I would be spared tons of frustration.

So I started searching.

Well, most higher end laptops are much larger and more expensive than the Asus EEE PCs, turning me back toward that brand/style.

Then, the heavens blessed me with Asus's newest endeavor.

The 1000H EEE PC. Nearly full keyboard and screen, as well as more storage, stronger/longer battery, and the ability to add more storage later should I love it and want to keep it.

But small enough to still allow for my most coveted feature.

PORTABILITY.

As soon as I get it I am off to coffee shops to write in peace (ie minus four meddling kids, an adoring husband and new energetic puppy) a few nights a week!

For now, I won't go on and on about it, til I receive, lest I hate it and regret it-or worse, it never shows up due to selling out yet again.

Til then,

I'll be here, at my desktop, in between requests for my undivided attention by all those who can't find/pick up/put away anything, eat a snack or put their dishes away, wash or fold their laundry, watch or read Curious George, go potty inside (Anna) or outside (Maggie)/play with their kitchen, ball, boodabone (etc, etc, etc) without my assistance or at the very least my somewhat divided attention.

Ahhh....

Can't wait to meet you, my little EEE PC :)

How Very Zen Like (Given my previous post!)

2008-09-22T14:10:00.009-04:00

Do not just memorize sayings, recite words, and discuss Zen and the way based on books. The Zen way is not in books.

Even if you can recite the teachings of the whole canon and all the masters and philosophers, they are just useless words of no avail when you are facing death.

-Chien-ju

~from~
www.beliefnet.com

A LITERAL Obsession

2008-09-19T12:39:00.007-04:00

My friend Meredith posted about this on her My Space blog. Unfortunately, I can't link you to the post, because you have to be her "friend" to read it.

So since you can't, I'll fill ya in. She wrote about her addiction to the Rite Aid makeup aisle, and her particular weakness for all types of voluminous eye lash promising concoctions. She confessed how she can spend hours there browsing, and gets peeved if someone suggests it's time to step away from the make up.

Her post was so honest, raw, and brave regarding her life long addiction, I decided to come out of the closet with my dirty little secret as well.

My name is Zen and...

I am a book hoarder.
(Hello Zen!)

Ok so it's not dirty because they aren't those kind of books. And it's not so secret to anyone who has ever seen my home, helped me move, or heard me rave, suggest, ward off from any of the titles I actually devour from cover to cover.

I do the same thing at Boarders that Meredith admitted doing at the makeup aisle in Rite Aid. It's bad enough the kids ask to wait in the car, or for me to go another time when they're not with me.

However, Boarders tends to be an expensive habit. Can only afford one "hit" there. So when I get a "literal" jonesin' I wander to the other side of town...the seedy, unkempt, starkly lit with florescent bulbs so no respectable reader would go there...

Discount book stores at Outlet Malls.
Or just plain old discount stores that carry books. Ollies...Tuesday Morning...

And don't even get me started on those used/buy out book stands I run into while on vacation, or in college towns or at artsy crafty festivals.

If the price is marked down to "half off" I could stay all day, easily justifying 5 or (ok ten) books in my basket, about things I never even dreamed I wanted to read, even books about dream interpretation (I have at least two that I know of.)

Recently I came home with a few books for Rick and me to share. That's the term I use for "I wanted this but couldn't justify buying it for little ole' me alone so it's for you too honey."

Now before you judge me, Rick does that too. I can think of some impulse tool, or gadgety items that he came home with in the past "for us." And honestly I gotta tell you, we both really always have been extremely curious about those secretive Free Masons. Oh- and those couple of books I picked up for us that give all the historical references to the Da Vinci Code, and Symbology will come in handy if we ever re-read it. Because we both actually did read it a few years ago.

For a while I had a hankerin' for the "Idiots" and "Dummies" series.
(Please save your snickering as to the "why" they appealed to me for later.)

I have

The Idiots Guide to Tarot and Fortune Telling (as well as Tarot for Dummies)-

- because I just couldn't decide which would have my fortune telling practice up and running more quickly. Oh- and I thought they might be great topics for conversation with Adri's Aunt, Sister Jean, should she ever decide to grace me with a conversation in the future. And I'm sure we could discuss the following as well-

The Idiot's Guide to Buddhism and bedfellow Idiot's Guide to Hinduism

Purchased because the obvious first step in attaining spiritual bliss should start with admitting we are all starting out ignorantly "unblissful"

I also possess

The Idiot's Guide to Stepparenting -

-there's a title my step daughter would approve of I'm sure. Actually this one is a bit condescending to any seasoned and disillusioned step parent. My favorite over simplified advice? Just have family game night to solve all blended family woes!

And, my all time personal favorite in the Idiot series, because I purchased it solely to display and not at all for content-

The Idiots Guide to Homeland Security. Personally, I suspect it was ghost authored by the current commander in chief. If McCain/Palin win (God forbid) I will have to send it off to DC in January, so Palin can brief herself with a book designed with her needs in mind.

I have also picked up other quick studies like Essential Philosophy, and the Everything Ghosts books to cover any metaphysical and philosophical debates I might find myself in at all the alumni cocktail parties I don't attend.

Of course, I would be amiss if I didn't mention that in my 40 years on this planet, I have either received as gifts or purchased for myself every take on the subject of "Zen" known to Buddha.

How can I rationalize all those discount books?

Well...they are cheap of course. And such obscure titles I might never find in Boarders or Barnes (never mind that there may be a very good reason these books found themselves cheap and obscure.)

Of course at Ollie's you do have to be selective. Though their religious coffee table and "Idiots" guide books offer great diversity, their fiction is unusually Christian theme oriented. Many a time I purchased what looked like an interesting novel, only to start reading about the main character's life being centered around praying to God for every decision that comes their way. I learned at Ollie's to make sure to read not just the synopsis on the jacket (where one would think a Christian themed book would proudly announce it's agenda) but skim through the first chapter as well.

Interestingly, Ollie's also has the most impressive selection of adolescent gay and lesbian themed books as well. Though I think that's great and offers an albeit strange kind of balance, the extremes of both subjects makes me skim carefully when shopping for the kids as well.

Like my friend Meredith's make up drawer, I have shelves of books read, half read, want to read, never will. There are books started and tossed aside for another in every bathroom in the house. And bookcases in every room. Not more than one or two per, but really- why am I buying all of them? Why in the world do I think I need them? Haven't I ever heard of the library?????

I have. My mom works there in fact. Yet....

still I buy more.

As does Rick, unfortunately, because he is also a hoarder of books. Sometimes I think it's why we love each other so much. We would never, ever dream of telling each other we don't need another book! We have some similar, but mostly varied tastes. In a well organized pricey store like Boarders, or Barnes and Noble, I head toward all things metaphysical / spiritual/philosophical/self helpful/fictional/theatrical/poetic-al/writing-al.

Rick heads to history, historical fiction, and sports.

OK. So he's less of a hoarder than an avid reader. But he humors my addiction because it's rather intellectual. Well, books are anyway. I would be if I actually read some of them all the way through.

I think I buy them because they will take me away from my problems, my boredom, my uneventful (or overly eventful depending on the day) existence. They will make me smarter, more worldly,amazingly organized, a competent writer, a better cook.

(Oh...alright. A cook AT ALL.)

I buy books for Anna, gift books for friends and family (and if I really like them I have to get myself one too of course.)

I come from a long line of hoarders- I mean collectors- I mean future clients of Clean Sweep. (My addiction to that show is a subject for another blog.)

Most of us in my family hoard all things, but stick to books in particular. Even my mom who has not only heard of, but clocks in at the county library each day, will read a book for free, then go buy one because she liked it so well.

My greatest fear is that I will end up with those piles/paths in my house that you see old professors have in their houses in movies. It's part of their sad, lonely existence with only books left to be their companions. Although that would be preferable to my other fear of ending up on Oprah as a project for Peter Walsh.

That isn't enough to stop me for now, though. I just keep buying them, and creating my own eclectic library. And one day may become my own eccentric home librarian, like a literary obsessed Ms Haversham, kids will be fascinated and repulsed at the same time.

Every New Year's Resolution is the same-

Stop buying and start reading from my own impressive collection.

Then, the first week of January, I head out to exchange an extra calendar, or book I already had,only to end up adding two more to take their place.

Speaking of a "place" for books, don't even get me started on my secondary addiction related quest- decently made bookcases to smartly house all my books.

I have looked high and low, on and off line. My searches have brought me to desperately consider my least favorite yet highly affordable option of Sauder "Woodworking" (ironic title given it's affordability is due to it's pressed wood, full of chemicals and bad for the environment construction. Last spring I broke down and purchased some contemporary geometric designed bookcases from Target I had been eyeing and talking myself out of due to price for over two years. I had them delivered (so incredibly sorry for your back UPS man) knowing there was "some assembly required."

Ummm Yeah.

Heads up to those of you who are mislead. "Some" is a very ambiguous and relative term. Those bookcases weren't too bad, but were like putting a complex, eighty pound life size wooden puzzle together. Each one took several hours, though the second went much faster as I was more familiar with the design after putting the first one together. I did require a few assistants and Noah and Tanner stepped up to the task. Actually, both boys proved to have advanced geometric and design minds when it came to that project. I was grateful for their help. They may have a future in design of assembly requiring furniture.

And I must add that the kids, especially Anna, inheriting all three older siblings children's book collection, needed her own bookcase, small enough that she wouldn't crawl up and pull it down on herself. I finally ended up buying not one, but two "doll house" book cases for her. Well, that is to say I purchased two in order to try and get one out of them, because the first one had broken parts. So did the second. And after trying for several hours to make furniture out of poorly designed particle board, I learned the value of reading the online reviews of "some assembly" furniture. Because everyone complained about the flimsy, missing parts, wobbly constructed doll house bookcase, but I thought- Oh NO! I'm a pro! I just put together two geometrically puzzling full size bookcases! And hardware that was so fabulous with that one is the same hardware on this one that is 1/4th the price!

However, the cam locks and accompanying cam dowels that were so helpful on the Target bookcases (because the shelves were perpendicular to each other) failed to prove as useful on the cheap Target doll house bookcase roof (because it was at a 45 degree angle not 90 degrees which is not how cam locks are designed to work.

So I ended up turning a garage sale (eek! Those are also very dangerous for a family of hoarders) find into a bookcase for Anna. Originally a kids pastel kitchen, it now neatly holds all her books, though I did have to prop it up with some of Rick's old textbooks from teaching Systems Engineering (see there's a good reason to hold onto books too! They are good props on furniture not designed for the purpose for which you wish to use it!

Hmmm....now that I have the design and measurements of my favorite bookcases, I might have to take up woodworking and pirate my own geometric designed bookcases...

Oh- great. Now my addiction is leading to a life of white collar crime.

What's next? EBAY????

Oh wait. I tried that already. And yes it was for books. But these were the out of print kind, from my childhood that I lost in the great Manor house flood of 2000. And since I found them, I went on to buy my siblings copies of some of their favorites.

That's completely legit, right? I haven't been on Ebay since last Christmas.

Honest... I haven't.

But the holidays are just around the corner!

I'm BAAAAAACK AGAIN

2008-09-18T16:50:00.001-04:00

Well, first my internet goes wacky, then Ohio gets hit with a hurricane of all things and I lose power.

Hopefully, I am officially back, barring natural and otherwise events.

More posting to follow!!!!!

Big Dream

2008-09-10T12:38:00.010-04:00

I'm BAAAAACKKK!

I am way behind on posting as the internet is still not working (according to my computer's start up menu, though here I sit typing on my blog, so go figure on the wonders of technology!)

Anyhoo, I FINALLY found a fabulous video of Samantha Mathis singing what just may be my favorite song of all time. I have wanted to get my hands on this little diddy to sing myself forever, and am once again grateful to that internet phenom You Tube for providing a place for all things obscure that needed a venue (as well as those that didn't but oh well.)

The song is called Big Dream (officially) or Maybe God's a Woman Too (by most of us who have been googling it for years trying to find a recording of it.) It is from a little Indy movie made in 1993 called The Thing Called Love starring River Phoenix (sadly in his last role) the aforementioned Ms. Mathis, K.T Oslin, several country music cameos (Trisha Yearwood and Pam Tillis to name a few) and then little known actors Sandra Bullock and Dermot Mulroney.

For some ridiculous reason this song was not included on the soundtrack, and until recently was mighty hard to come by. I can only guess there was a copyright issue that would not allow it on the album, since the song is the climatic opus which finally affords Ms Mathis's character her shot at stepping out from behind the bar and onto the coveted, mythic fame making stage at Nashiville's Bluebird Cafe.

Enjoy the listen!

Technical Difficulties

2008-09-03T09:29:00.005-04:00

Hey all (or "you" if my mom's the only one reading!)

I have been internet challenged for the past few weeks, with it coming on and cutting off in spurts. So I apologize for the lack of blogging.

I will have more posts up and running next week at earliest, as it may cut off again with no notice.

But I did want to say, that I FINALLY got my pre-ordered, autographed copy of Life is a Verb by Patti Digh! And will be breaking into it as soon as I finish Virginia Woolf's A Room Of One's Own.

More later!

The 37 days challenge...

2008-08-05T14:32:00.007-04:00

This started as a response to a fellow blogger and author of "Life is a Verb" Patti Digh. Here is the link, if anyone else would like to contribute to the project. This is the unabridged version of what I sent Patti. The last 326 words ( Patti had a limit of 370- whew! That was tough!) are part of what I submitted myself. Thanks Patti- for inspiring me yet again.

If had If I had 37 days left I would spend them writing letters, telling stories, for and with the people I love.

To my mother Jane, thank you for my life, for this gift, for art, theatre, literature... for being my mom.
To my father Jim, thank you for always doing your best as my dad , for providing for us, doing for us, helping us, supporting us, and for telling me “I love you” every time we talk, even though your own father never said it once to you.

To my sister Jylene, I love you, I am so proud of you. You are such a wonderful person, what a mentor for motherhood, for womanhood you have been for me.
To my oldest brother Jim, I love you, I forgive you. I will forever miss the big brother I knew as a kid. I wish you peace.
To my youngest brother Jef, Thank you for our close relationship growing up, for offering to beat up my old boyfriends when they deserved it, for always believing in and supporting me.
To my sister-in-law, Tacha, you are amazing, brave enthusiastic, an incredible mom. I wish you health and laughter always.

To my grandma Peg, I love you, I always have. I am so sorry that I never took enough time to know you well.

To my nieces and nephews,
Nicole, I love you. Relax, enjoy, find yourself, and live in the moment!
Hailey, Love you too! Keep up the good work, but embrace the ride and have some fun along the way.
Ian, my long lost lamb. I love you. And I wish you the best in finding what matters most someday, and the gratitude that goes along with it.
Lonny, Lydia, Loukia, Maddie, Kaitlyn, Taylor, Jake….what joys you are. I can’t wait to see who you become!

To Uncle Bill, much love to you, loved your laugh and ornery ways when I was young (as Aunt kathy would say) you were such a pill sometimes!
To my Aunt Pat and Uncle Wayne, thanks for all the love and kindness.
Uncle Orman, thanks for the love, AND bailing me out of my first and only speeding ticket.
Uncle Tom, thanks for still calling me your “Birthday Girl” as I turned 40 this year.

To my cousins….

To Amy…cousin, sister, aunt…you are all of these and more. Thank you for taking such an interest in me, in my life, in my childhood. You are the best fun a "kid" could ever have.
To Sheri, Chip, Tom, Janet, Ed…you were my favorites (Shhhh don’t tell the others.) Thanks for being more than relatives, and such good friends.
To Bob, Belinda, David…God bless. Miss you. We were like siblings more than cousins. Stinks to grow up. And to Bob especially, thanks for telling your friends to quit picking on me in high school .
To Mike and Monica, I‘m so impressed with your capacity to love and forgive others.
To Chris and Greg I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better.
To Beth and Lorie, pillars of strength, I wish you much happiness, and no more sorrow.
And to Danny…good luck in all you do.

To my mother-in-law and father-in-law, Helen and Rich…
Thank you for raising a most amazing son, for loving me and my children as though we’d been there all along, for trusting me with your son’s happiness, and your granddaughter’s upbringing.

To my husband’s brother Dave and his wife Shan, thanks for all the support, love, acceptance, appreciation, caring about me and my sons, for reaching out to my stepdaughter and being wonderful role models of living life to the fullest.

To all my husband’s aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmother Doris…
My gratitude for knowing you, and for all the love you’ve shown to me and my children. Thanks for allowing me the privilege to be a part of your family.

To my friends.. Old and new…near and far…thank you so much for everything. All the fun, all the love, all the support, all the sharing, all the caring…can’t say enough. Amber, Wilkie, Lorie, Chris, Lisa, Michelle, …the best girlfriends I ever knew. “My Stepsisters“…the most amazing group of women I have yet to meet.

To my fellow writers, what incredible inspirations you all turned out to be. My fellow actors some turned lifelong friends (Patric, Laura, Dave, Steve, Dan, Chris, Deb, Carrie, Scott, Alexa, Matt, Craig, Tina, Joe, Rod, Tiff, and EVERYONE else...thanks for all the “PLAYing,” for all the creative energy, all the deep and forever friendships in the transient theatre world.

And to my teachers…Bill Fry, Mrs Linder, Mrs. Karasarides, Dave Rees, Polly Haddin, Nancy Mckowski, Dan Nadon, Phil Robb, Joe Wagner,Tom and Terry Sosnowski...and even Dr Rosemary Bank (you tough cookie) and many more…thanks for, challenging, believing, encouraging, bestowing, sharing, supporting…driving me to be the best writer, actor, and student I could.

To Ken, thank you for allowing me the security of your love for 11 years. Thank you for helping me grow up, and for letting me go even when you didn't want to when our chosen paths in life were dividing. Thank you for two amazing sons, for being a fabulous dad to them, for putting them first every time, and for becoming one of my best friends.

To Lesley for being such a wonderful stepmom to my sons, for reaching out, for letting go of the small stuff, for showing me how much you are capable of giving, sharing, understanding. For being my friend even though "that's weird!"

To J, thank you for teaching me so much about myself, my ability to love selflessly, for letting go when it was best, for being my friend no matter where life takes us.

To all those who went before me…
Grandma and Grandpa Mac, Maryanne Anderson, Aunt Cindy, Aunt Kathy, Nick, Julie, Dave, Lita, Pat, Kathleen,
I am forever grateful for every kindness, every life’s lesson, every inspiring moment. I’ll see ya on the other side.

To my loving, nurturing, supportive, amazing husband Rick,
Thank you, for all of it.
For Anna.
For being my friend, my lover, my partner, my confidant.
For trusting us, for allowing me to learn to love and trust my heart again.
For walking across hot coals, picking me up, carrying me across, and saving my feet from burning.
You are the rock I lean on…the shoulder on which I rest.
I wish for you a lifetime of love, as infinite as your own capacity to give.
I love you… more.

To my oldest son Tanner,
You are amazing, strong, brilliant, giving. I am so proud of you. Thank you for letting me learn how to be a mom with you. I wish for you a passion to dive into, a wife to love you, and a son just like you ;)
I love you forever…like you for always…as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.

To my youngest son Noah,
Thanks for always showing your love. I so admire your zest for life, your compassion for others, your ability to live and love fully in the moment, and laugh at yourself for the sake of making others happy. You are a joy to be around. Don’t ever lose that! I love you all the way to the moon…and back.

To my stepdaughter Adri,
Thank you for bringing to me my biggest life lessons of unconditional love. Never give up. Love yourself, find yourself, be yourself. I love you.

To my own baby girl, Anna,
I am so grateful you chose me to be your mom. I am so incredibly sorry to ever have to leave you. Thank you for being my best friend, my “one last chance” as a new mother. I wish you a life of joy, passion, service, gratitude….and a full sense of yourself. Follow your dreams, and have a few good ones for me along the way.
Good night moon…goodnight stars… goodnight air….goodnight noises everywhere.

Self Righteous Attacks - Knoxville Hate Crime

2008-07-28T10:19:00.045-04:00

I had some many things I wanted to post about this week, but found myself busy-bodying around my house, cleaning out my garage, putting up my curtains in my newly redecorated dining room, making time to take in an Art show yesterday, and meeting an incredibly talented young man, who's mother was overwhelmed at the attention he was receiving at this, his first show.

All those topics, some interesting, some silly, some mundane will have to wait.

Because while I was puttering around, and enjoying the beautiful, sunny, July Sunday afternoon at Mount Union College's Art Fest with my mom and my cousin, somewhere someone else was mourning losing their parent, sibling, grandparent, foster dad. And others, are praying their critically injured loved ones heal. Because Sunday morning a man walked into a Unitarian Universalist Congregation in Knoxville, TN and open fired.

It isn't the first time a hate crime has focused on a church or religious organization. It isn't even the first one involving my own religious institution. But this time it really hit home.

I watched the tape on CNN news, forwarded through my church's web group, and was brought to tears. I watched as children stood on what should be safe and hollowed ground, their church play interrupted by gunfire and death. I watched as a woman was trying to dial her cell phone to tell someone she loved what had happened, her hand shaking so badly, she could barely hold her phone. I looked on as fellow congregants hugged and consoled each other.

I read, that when the gun fire first occurred, the congregation thought it was a sound effect, part of the kids play they were watching. They were confused, and it took a minute before they panicked and dropped to the floor. And I imagined how the parents of the kids on the stage performing, ran right in front of spraying bullets to grab their precious children.

I was inspired by the bravery of some of those congregants, one in particular who lost his life by standing in between the man firing, rather than stepping aside for him to hit someone else. Others who in an instant seized the opportunity of the assailant reloading his weapon, to take action, tackling him and bringing him to the ground, risking death themselves to save their fellow church members.

Sadly, they couldn't save all of them, and two are dead. Five more are critically injured. As we know from VA Tech, it could have been oh so many more. I thought about my tiny congregation, in our small new home, sitting watching our religious education kids give a service on their own. With our backs or our sides to our door, relaxed, smiling, video taping our children.

My own church is such a small tight group. Last I heard, our membership was around 50. Though my congregation has been meeting on Sunday since the early 90's, they only recently were able to purchase their own home, a small office building just five short minutes up the road. This was a difficult transition for our group, as some were opposed to the building due to its limited capacity of seating and parking. But we also needed a permanent home due to twice having to end our leases on short notice when renting other venues. The first "eviction" came after a service on euthanasia, where someone inadvertently left a pamphlet on the topic laying on a chair when they cleaned up. They had been meeting in a retirement center, a resident there found it and the board received a "get out now" phone call the next day.

For years we were settled into the basement of a United Church of Christ, our fellow religious liberal family. The building was old and showing years of wear and neglect, as was the congregation of UCCs attending it. When the members upstairs were out numbered by our members downstairs, the UCCs decided to fold, blend into another local congregation, and handed the building back to the national UCC. The new congregation coming in, needed the whole facility, and we were given a few months notice to relocate again.

We settled into the Arts in Stark building, which has a beautiful sanctuary, where I took this photo. It was pretty, but not ours. Once again we could not have our library, our piano, our pamphlets, our hymnals, or our sign, permanently out front.

And our flaming chalice was snuffed out, as no open flames were allowed in our lease. Once again, there was a sense of transitional home, a lack of security, a fear that any moment we could be asked or told to move again.

Some members were gained with all the change, and some were lost, and so it goes when things seem impermanent and unstable.

We searched and finally found this small office building turned sanctuary, and called it home. We could hold Coffee House nights again, game nights, special speakers, new classes during any day, any time of the week we wanted. It may be small, and imperfect as a church, but it is OUR church, OUR home.

MY home. My first religious home. We attended my Grandma and Kurtpa McClellend's church, Otterbein United Methodist, every Christmas and Easter while I was growing up. But I didn't really know the people or the kids, was always in guest mode there, not quite sure what they were talking, about or what the few rituals the Methodists held onto really meant. After my brother was head injured in 1981, then my Grandma passed away a few years later, we stopped attending at all.

After my divorce I went "church shopping" and only made it to three of them. First of course, was Otterbein, most familiar and welcoming. Went with my mom, who still knows many people there. Next was Bethel Lutheran, where my exhusband's family attended, and I had been there several times while married to him. Lastly, to a non-denominational Evangelical church called Temple of Praise, where my sons had attended daycare for several years. I went to all of these first, because they were familiar, I would know a person or two, and it wouldn't seem so foreign.

And though I found them somewhat interesting and moving, they never felt like home. I just sit right in between rationalist and idealist. Between all thing supernatural and all things scientific. Actually, if anything seems most reverent, magical, mystical, mythological to me, it is science, with the space for all things God falling into the deep realms of those things too intricate and inexplicable. You see, that's where I believe miracles lay waiting. So where to find all of those things wrapped up in one church?

One Saturday morning, when my sons were at their dad's house, I pulled out the Canton Repository to look at the "church adds" for my next visit. I hadn't really done this yet, but I had just exhausted all those churches I was familiar with, so now I needed to step up my research and step out of my comfort zone.

Isn't that always the way we make amazing personal discoveries?

I opened the local section to see the headline, "Spiritual Search Leads Some To Customize Their Journey". The article seemed to be an obvious "God Wink" in the right direction.

The first man in the article was Agnostic, and didn't attend a church. The other woman in the piece called herself UU Hindu, and attended the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Greater Canton. What a mouthful.

It was the first time I had ever heard of the combination of UU with another religion. Five years down the road, however, I am quite familiar with the practice. Many UUs introduce themselves as UU Christian, UU Hindu, UU Buddhist, UUMuslim, UUJewish, UU Humanist, UU Deist, UU Atheist, UU Agnostic. Many more of us call ourselves UU only at first, then as conversation ensues, we will define themselves more by what they are not, as in “Hi. My name is Zen and I’m a ‘recovering’ Catholic, Baptist, Pentecostal, Latter Day Saint, Jehovah's Witness, Methodist etc, like a religious 12 Step program.

Everyone together say, "HI ZEN."

And then, there are just UUs. That's me. Still searching to see if I have a calling to one particular realm. BUT finding out more and more that I am really in love with all world religions to pick just one.

So I got up early one February Sunday, and got ready for church (still a foreign and unfamiliar ritual given my twice a year, C and E status growing up). I went out to start my jeep to discover that a huge winter storm had descended upon us. Was God in fact "winking" me back into hibernation in my warm and cozy cocoon? Or was He challenging me to see if I was really ready to step into worlds previously unfamiliar.

Undaunted, I shoveled enough to get to my jeep, and headed out cautiously down the drift covered paths previously known as roads. I arrived a little late, but was comforted by the thought of something the Hindu woman, (I now know well as Mary Strickland) said in the interview. "Where else can you show up late, and no one minds when you go back and poor yourself a cup of coffee before settling into your seat?" These really sounded like my kind of people. I do, as I have mentioned many times, come from Circus stock.

I walked into the door, saw the little sanctuary already in the middle of their service, of UCCs. There was a sign indicating the UUCGC was down the stairs to the right. I went. Slowly, listening to a piano playing a prelude, by the elderly hands of a gentleman I now know as Eric Beu.

I walked behind the three sided rows of chairs and settled into one in the back row. I glanced around during the rest of the prelude, until my eyes came to rest on this poster

I studied it smiling. Every single world religious symbol, with the words, "We Celebrate Diversity" in bold and colorful print in the center. There were a few on the top I didn't recognize, but now know are the flaming chalice. The symbol of UU faith, of light, of love, of knowledge, of connection to all living things, no matter how small.

The symbol of my faith.

I was home.

So as I said my congregation now has it's own home. We have been featured several times in UU World Magazine, the national UU publication put out by the Unitarian Universalist Association of America. Now we are taking the next leap of faith and searching for a part time minister. This too is challenging as everyone's ideas are so different, and all voices will be heard throughout the process.

It's an exciting time for us. We are growing. The parking lot some of us were concerned about is full, and many Sundays we have to walk across the street from another business who's not open on Sundays.

There are some challenges in taking this less traveled individualized spiritual path. First of all, the name our faith chose, as a result of two churches merging in the 1970's, is a tongue twister, and little known or understood outside our own small circles. I have been told I have no faith, because we don't enforce any creed or dogma. I have been told we're just a group, a club, of liberals hiding under a church to get a tax break. That sounds like a lot of work for 50 or less people if you ask me, but it has been casually tossed my way at times.

It isn't easy, being the the most religiously liberal and diverse church in the Ohio "Bible Belt." My own church didn't even settle into the most open minded section of the county. A new multiplex fundamentalist conservative Christian Church goes up in our church "neighborhood" (which is also mine) every 6 months, or so it seems. I am surrounded in my allotment by people who attend every other church but mine. Many of my neighbor's kids go to a local Christian school through high school.

I take Anna to a young mom's play group next door, a neighbor I love dearly. Though her thoughts on parenting are similar to mine and her young friends are always welcoming to me, feel sort of out of place. They all attend the same conservative church, share the same core religious values, which do tend to be conservative fundamentalist. And because I am a guest there, I would never feel comfortable expressing my full opinion, though I am privy to theirs because, well they all share them with each other. And now that I have finally found my own religious and spiritual home, I find I am less at ease among those I'm not sure would tolerate my beliefs, if they really looked into what they were. My neighbor does, and I think she has some understanding. But her friends? I have discussed perhaps opening my home to them to give back for their welcome into the playgroup. However, I am slow to offer when my own UU poster, the same as the one I first saw in my own church, greets people in the first few feet of my home. My book shelves? Well, The Holy/King James/ New Living Bibles, sit right next to the History of God, History of Buddha, History of Muhammad right next to God is Red, Conversations with God, the Lost Scriptures, Thank God for Evolution, and finally...

Tarot Cards for Dummies.

And that shelf is second. My writing books are all on the top shelf place of honor.
Let's not even get started on my collection of Buddhas that occupy every room, as well as other varied religious symbols. So am I just a closet UU? Or should I be an "Evangelical" of sorts, sharing my Gospel with any who will listen.

Like the woman in Family Video the other night, who saw me eying the Golden Compass, and couldn't help herself from cautioning me, "That movie is AGAINST GOD."

I was a bit taken aback, and not expecting to be in the position to have a religious discussion (isn't that when they always show up?) I simply responded, "Oh. Well, I don't think that would bother me." To which she hummphed self righteously, "Well, I guess if you're an Atheist." I said, "Well, I'm not an atheist, I just am not concerned about the movie."

Of course I thought of a million things to say AFTER we left. Everything from, "Oh? It's an Atheist movie? Hey honey- I found one for the kids!" To "Oh? An atheist movie? Honey, did you find Brokeback Mountain for us yet? Here's that one I read about that we wanted for the kids!" To "No I'm not an atheist, but I know some from my UU church right across the street from here."

I was wearing an OM necklace, not a cross. I do own a cross and I do wear it sometimes. I revere that cross above all my other pieces of religious jewelry. Not because it represents Christ, though of course it does. It is also one of the last remaining gifts I received from my grandmother for graduating high school. I honestly think this type of person is so convinced they're possess the only possible truth, that can't imagine anyone in their right mind wouldn't agree and appreciate their good intentions toward my children's immortal souls.

Speaking of immortal souls, I did finally become enlightened as to the Golden Compass anti-God reference. My teacher was the young clerk who was totally unaware of her other patron's attempt to shepherd me toward more family value friendly fair. As in two movies in which the lead characters have one night stands, never find out about the resulting child until 5 or ten years later. Interesting choices. Anyway, the young clerk was enthusiastically confirming I'd made the right choice after all, as she had seen it in the theatre, not expecting to like it, and was "blown away." Well... at the ripe old age of 40, I hardly expected to be blown away by a fantasy movie, but you never know. When I told her I was pleased to hear that, since another renter had tried to warn me away because it was "against God," she looked irritated, and responded like a pro who had fielded this particular criticism one too many times.

"Ok...first of all, it's fiction, and it's author was atheist. It deals with another world where peoples souls walk around outside their bodies in the form of animals-" I assured her more explanation was unnecessary. I may not be Atheist, but I'm not afraid of them. Perhaps because the Atheists I know and love never once have told me I shouldn't watch, shouldn't read, shouldn't think anything I want to. They may think my beliefs silly or unfounded, but we have learned to agree to disagree, and don't really see the point in arguing about it. Then again, we are not Evangelicals of our faiths, and don't feel compelled to save, convince or spread any sort of gospel truth.

Although, as a 40 year old I am compelled to say one truth. I wasn't that interested in the Golden Compass, nor did my kids get involved deeply in it's "Atheist" plot. Actually, I think if that was the intention of the author, he missed the mark, as the characters seemed deeply, spiritually attached to their animal souls. If I had not heard anything to the contrary prior to viewing The Golden Compass, I would have assumed it to be about the spiritual teachings of indigenous peoples, given all the animal soul companion stuff. I found it ironic that any plot involving souls would be considered remotely Atheist. Though I did see a lot of anti organized religion themes. But then again, I find those in most sci-fi/fantasy and mythological story telling.)

And so I return to the sad report of the killing of two Unitarian Universalist church members. Who's congregation is part of a larger community, who by and large fight for social justice, against oppression, and believe in the inherent worth and dignity and interconnected web of every living thing. Who accept your belief system whatever it shall be, as long as it does not infringe upon the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness of someone else on their own individual life path.

That means that though we celebrate diversity, we don't let anyone and everyone join us. We will welcome all who come in peace, and usually let it go when someone approaches us with self righteousness. We do this because as liberals, we believe you are allowed to your opinion, even if we don't agree with it. We don't generally try to change your mind, but rather to understand why you feel the way you do. It would be lovely, if this respect would be returned rather than seen as a weakness to exploit and target.

However, this intolerance we often face, which comes from our tolerance for diversity, has challenged us enough in the past that we are also tough. I am incredibly proud of the brave UUs throughout history, many of whom died helping to bring about the birth of our nation, or helping African American slaves through the Underground Railroad. Some were murdered while helping poor southern blacks to register to vote in the 1960's, and, on this past Sunday, some who were gunned down in their sanctuary because "all are welcome" including gay, bi, and transgender people.

Please keep the members of the Knoxville TN Unitarian Universalist Congregation and their families with you in your thoughts and prayers.

Make your voice heard.
Intolerance against violence...
Against Hate crimes....
Against those who celebrate diversity.

Blessed Be.

"Ever since there has been only one true God, there has been killing in His name."
~ The DaVinci Code

Here's a little ditty I've been working on for my family

2008-07-24T02:49:00.010-04:00

There’s George’s shop
We’re getting close
Turn sharp
Easy to miss
Steep drop
Down to
The gravel drive
Turn ’round and park on grass

Jump out
Run fast
No need to lock
Can’t wait to shout
We're here Kurt-Pa!
Leaping through
The stepping stones
To concrete stoop
jump skip and hop

Laughter rings
Cowbells on door
Run in
without a knock
Salutations
Every Sunday
Brings the same
Young flock

Handmade washstand
Smells of pine
First stop
To be explored
Lipstick samples
Costume wigs-
Don’t touch!
Kindly ignore

Bottom shelf
Feel Free to plunder
Broken crayons
And books to color
Faded names
Unfinished pictures
Golden tales
From days of yonder

Smallest, roundest
Kitchen table
Stretches with a leaf
Stovetop full
Oven? A cake!
Tiny fingers
Sneak a taste
Of Grandma’s butter cream

Peek in the junk drawer
For a treat-
KIDS!
Go outside and play
Wait-please be helpful
Gather mint
For ice tea made
Great grandma’s way

Untamed Violets
Buttercups
Green apples
show the way
To Lemon balm
And wild mint
Leave some
For birds we always say

Pine tree tents
full of mosquitoes
Swing from
Vines of weeping willow
Go find grandpa
In the shop
"Food's almost ready
Time to STOP!"

Printing press is LOUD
Can’t hear us
So we walk about
He jumps and startles
Angry? Naw!
That ornery grin says, “just kiddin!”
We head up to the house!

Table set and
smells so good
As each one
finds a seat
Mine’s a stool
Sits up too high
I'm youngest,
Leaning down to reach

Tiny kitchen-dinning room
Holds all those here
And more
Join hands
Sing Johnny Appleseed
A prayer of thanks
In harmony-
“Oh the Lord is Good to Me….”

Ahhhhhmennnnn

:)

If you start reading the blogs below this post

2008-07-18T15:29:00.001-04:00

Please go back to the first on entitled, "Living and Loving...in the moment (Part Une)"

Otherwise it may not make much sense!

Thanks!

Living, Loving...in the Moment (Finis)

2008-07-13T11:39:00.010-04:00

On March 19, 2005, I married my best friend, lover, confidant. It was almost exactly one year after Lita died.

At the start of the ceremony, we lit a unity candle we would later use to unite with each other, and with our children in a family unity candle ceremony. We also had two more candles lit, one for Lita, and another for Kathleen Howland, who had lost a several year battle with ovarian cancer, at the age 77, of September of that same year.

Kathleen was a long time family theatre friend, mentor, actress, director, and teacher. She is one of only two or three directors I can think of, ever to afford my mother and me the opportunity to "play" our real life roles onstage. In 1997, mom and I auditioned for Kathleen for The Glass Menagerie at the then newly started Louisville Community Theatre. I had an advantage this time. Not only was Laura Wingfield the type Kathleen had known me to be my whole Players Guild Youth Theatre career, but, I was also the only actress Laura's age to show up for auditions. There was, however, another actress auditioning for Amanda. Kathleen was one of two directors who always thought of mom's type as "Marmee" in Little Women ever since, well, ever since mom played Marmee and I played Beth. (I was Beth twice for the same director. Beth/Laura = my type!) Unfortunately, Kathleen went with the actress she didn't know, thinking her over the top comedic talent could be channeled into an overbearing, over the top Amanda Wingfield.

The two clashed from day one, and rehearsal was a bit strained and stressful. Along with myself, the rest of the cast- Keith Berger as Tom, and Tom Bryant as the gentlemen caller- had known and/or worked with Kathleen for years, as well as all of us knowing each other from the Players Guild. The other actress worked primarily at a smaller, more laid back theatre in town, in which the directors were so laid back that if you announced at one rehearsal you couldn't come to the next, it was no biggie. Kathleen was a professional though, community theatre or not. At times she could come across as a little brash when she thought someone was dropping the ball, but for those of us who knew her or had worked with her, we knew it came from that place of professionalism and perfectionism regarding her craft. But, the actress playing Amanda decided one night not to return to rehearsal, over two weeks in!

I will never forget walking into that rehearsal, a few minutes late myself. Noah, who was only about 3 or 4 months old, was still nursing, and I hadn't been feeling well on top of that. Kathleen was very generous with those extenuating circumstances, but I always worried when late that I might have over extended her sympathies. So that night, I climbed the rickety stairs to the rehearsal area (a dingy old nearly condemned set of apartments over the old Hardware Store on Main Street in Louisville) five or ten minutes late again, worrying about receiving my own arse chewing by Kathleen. I was greeted by Tom saying, "OH- Kathleen! HERE's JENNIFER!" and thinking "Oh crap...they're all standing around waiting on ME."

Kathleen rushed up, a determined and irritated look on her face and exlaimed, "Little Zen Zen! Thank GOD. Do you think your mom would still like to play Amanda? Or will she be offended I ask after not choosing her like I should have in the first place."

Ummmm.... my mind had to switch gears. Then they told me that Joan had decided to leave the cast.

Well then! YES I do believe my mom would like to play Amanda!

Mom took over Amanda Wingfield with little over two weeks of rehearsals to go. Anyone who knows that iconic character from the Tennessee Williams classic knows exactly how challenging that character is, how many fat monologues there are to learn, and just how impossible 2 weeks would be to accomplish that.

Joan asked to re-join the next day, but having already re-cast, and working with my mom in one rehearsal, Kathleen said no. I remember one scene in particular, where Kathleen realized my mom was the perfect Amanda. It's where someone on the other end of the phone hangs up on Amanda, shocking and offending her. Joan and Kathleen had worked and worked on this scene in particular, with Kathleen trying to get Joan to do something to show her irritation, and Joan continuing to try to do this through her line only. The first night my mom read that scene, she got to the part where the woman hung up on her, and held the receiver away, glared at it, then said, "That woman HUNG UP ON ME!" The gesture of first glaring in disbelief at the phone was exactly what Kathleen was hoping for. She stopped my mom right there and said, "OH Janey! That's PERFECT! I tried and tried to get that Joan woman to understand that, and you did it on your first try!!!!" Kathleen was never more smitten with my mother than after that show. And they had a decades old friendship already.

Kathleen was a tough director, and being her former student made it hard to voice my opinion. One difference we had was over Laura's reaction to the gentlemen caller's rejection after he kisses her, when he tells her that he has a finance. My Laura wanted to cry, Kathleen was directing me to be really happy for him. Night after night I tried to give her what she wanted. Finally, one night, she said, "Zen honey, why would Laura want to cry when she just got her biggest wish- a kiss from him?" I said, "Well, she had a fantasy about him all through high school, then he shows up in her living room years later, shows he really likes her, enough to kiss her. In that moment, Laura thinks that maybe she will have a normal life, get away from her mother, and the fantasy has come true after all. Then in the next moment, Jim tells her he can't call again. She is crushed, confused, yet is still caught up in the moment of that kiss. So when she says, "You won't...call...again?" She is hoping that she's misunderstanding what he's saying.

Kathleen simply said, "Well then honey, you've obviously thought all that through. You go ahead and cry, and let's see how it goes."

I did.

It stayed.

She was an actor's director. (Those are the best.)

Kathleen and I did one more play together. She played my overbearing, crazy mom. Jodi Wilson and Pat Burns, actresses I had worked with in my teens, joined me as my sisters on stage. And Carla Derr directed.

The play was called Independence, by Lee Blessing. It was one of only two times in my life I was asked to be in a show, no audition required. Those opportunities are so hard to turn down, especially when you hear the rest of the cast are some of your favorite actress around.

Oh- and the title appealed to me since I had just finalized my divorce the month before.

Kathleen struggled with her lines, but this was not due to ill health or getting older. Kathleen always had a knack for challenging her co-stars with interesting choices in dialog. I remember another director/teacher/icon/ and best friend to Kathleen, Bill Fry, telling a story from when they were in their 40's or so. I forget the play, but they had a scene together that one night Kathleen started giving Fry dialog from the third act...in the second act. This went on for sometime before they exited, and Fry was frantically trying to get her back to the correct sequential dialog before the end of the play was given away. They walked off stage for intermission, and Fry said Kathleen turned to him, narrow eyed, and hissed, "I saved your ASS out there!" She was totally unaware that she was the one in the wrong act! Fry loved to tell that story and would laugh and laugh when telling it, "There-ha-ha- there-ha-ha-there!!!!!!" (Former Bill Fry students will enjoy the "there-there" inside joke!)

But all of this history, is really not why we lit a candle for her at our ceremony. It was her amazing marriage, one that I was privy to in a family way having spent so much time with them during my adolescence.

I spent almost every weekend at their home in the months following my brother's head injury. On several occasions, I remember getting up in the morning to a lovely breakfast at the Howland's breakfeast nook. Kathleen and Bill would be sitting there, exchanging terms of endearment with each other. TACKY at times. She called him Pookie or something similar I can't recall now. And he called her his own pet names. Once she told me I should pinch his earlobe, because it was so cute. "Isn't that just the cutest ear lobe you ever saw Zen Zen????" I remember thinking they were odd, but cute. I also remember thinking I had never seen two adults, in their fifties, in love, but evidently this must be what it would look like.

Kathleen and her husband Bill (or Doc) had the most amazing marriage, worthy of a whole blog all its own. But let’s just say, that I never met another couple like them. They ran off to get hitched at 17 or 18, and never stopped showing each other how much they loved each other. I remember the last time I saw them, when Kathleen had already been ill for sometime. They were at a play, it was intermission, and a 70 plus year old Bill had traversed the spiral staircase down to the concessions to pick up a package of M and M’s (evidently her favorite) to bring back up to her since she was too frail to make the journey herself. I will never forget her saying, “For me???? Oh Skippy! How I love and adore you!” In the most joyful tone, as though he had just given her the moon on a silver platter.

When I heard she was nearing the end, I had sent a letter to her and Bill, telling them how much they meant to me, how when my family suffered the traumatic accident that paralyzed my older brother, she and Bill took me in every weekend for several months, while my parents stood guard by my brother’s hospital bed. I told her how much she taught me about acting, theatre, kindness, love, marriage, all by example. How I would never forget them and loved them so.

A few weeks later at Kathleen’s calling hours Bill hugged me exclaiming “Little Zen Zen is here!” It is what Kathleen and Bill always called me, and he still will today even though "Little" Zen Zen is now 40.

We invited him to our wedding. He sent a wedding present and regrets that he couldn’t attend because, “I’m just not ready to go to celebrations in public without her yet, please except my apologies…”

In our wedding program we wrote, "We lite these candles in memory of Lita who inspired my search for happiness, and Kathleen who showed me what it looked like."

Sometimes I think I should send him that program, now that it’s been a few years and it won't be as raw. I want to let him know once more how much their example helped me to know that Rick was the man I should spend my life with. But then again, it will always be raw to Bill. My mom saw him recently with a group of writer friends, and they all had coffee together. She told me that a friend told him, “Bill, you really must find a new love to enjoy your life with.”

To which Bill responded,

“Oh….no. You only really get that once, and I already had it. My love with Kathleen was enough to last me forever.”

Once upon a time there were two exquisitely ordinary, every day, creative, giving, fabulous, people, who were supportive , nurturing, romantic, and passionately in love for over 50 years.

Now that's the fairytale I want to tell Anna every night before she goes to bed.

Right after I've told her the tale of a young warrior princess named Lita Elizabeth Schrock, who fought the dragon Cancer and in doing so with such bravery, inspired others to live in the moment and search for happiness. Though Lita's life was brief and the dragon cancer won in the end, her lite burns on in all who carry her memory with them. None more so than her name sake, Anna Elizabeth, whose parents meeting, marrying, and having their baby girl, was directly inspired by Lita's brief and courageous life.

And so the Fairy Princess Anna Elizabeth was born to a home filled with love and gratitude. A home with a mommy and daddy, devoted to their marriage, and to all their children-
Tanner, Noah, Adri, and Anna.

And they lived happily ever after.

Living, Loving in the Moment (part duex)

2008-07-09T10:18:00.015-04:00

As I said the last post, that hospital visit was the last time I saw my young friend Lita.

Every time she was released to go home, she got worse and was readmitted. In February her church did a benefit for her and her family. Lita was Greek and German. This was the Greek side. The food was provided by Angelo’s, a fabulous little Italian restaurant which was where she was last employed before she became ill.

There was a table for her friends, many of them the from Kent State Stark campus theatre, where I met Lita when she worked props for the Miracle Worker. Most of us hadn’t seen each other in a very long time, as it was a university theatre, with students coming and going , therefore even more transient than regular community theatres.

Because we were theatre people, we were not at all shy, and the Greek church members instantly took a shine to us. There was a Greek band, Greek dancing, and the “unofficial” dance instructor grabbed several of us theatre girls and drug us onto the floor to teach us the moves. Of course, given our backgrounds in musical theatre, we were quick studies and soon were laughing and dancing and keeping up with the “professionals”. Well….at least with the dance instructor and the little kids he teaches!

When we were leaving Terri Sosnowski, professor, fellow actress, and mother to Alexa, one of Lita and my dearest friends, hugged me hard. She whispered in my ear, "YOU aren't moving or going away anywhere, are you?"

I assured her that having two sons who I shared with their father meant that no, in fact, I was a safe bet to stay put.

That night at the benefit reminded me of Maryanne’s last birthday party- joy mixed with concern, sorrow. It was a celebration to honor and support Lita, with all her closest friends, family, and fellow members of her church. The only difference was we still had hope, but it was a hope mixed with sadness when it was announced that Lita, who was supposed to come to the benefit and had been doing fairly well the past week or so, had taken a turn again and was readmitted to the hospital that day.

That was her last time admitted. They released her shortly after to go home. There was nothing else they could do for her.

Once she went home from the hospital, her mother was very understandably protective of her, and Lita was never able to return my phone calls. I was so “busy” with work, school, kids that I ended up playing phone tag with Lita’s Aunt Anna Marie, who had befriended me and kept in contact with me, keeping me up to date so I could pass messages onto Lita’s other friends. Now I only can hope that her mom was able to pass along the messages, that Lita was alert enough to receive them, so that she would know that I was thinking of her as well as all her young theatre friends..

A month or so after the benefit, Anna Marie called me and left an urgent message that I should go to see Lita, because it wasn't looking good. I tried to contact her, but her mom was obviously distressed and told me that Lita wasn’t up to visitors but she would let her know I called. A few other young theatre friends called me a few days later, to say they had reached Lita’s mom and arranged for us to go to visit her. Then the next day we all got a call that her family had her transported to seek a last hope treatment to a University Hospital almost 3 hours away, so we would have to wait to see her until she got back.

But Lita passed away that week. I'm not sure if she even got back to her home first, or was still at the University Hospital.

As a parent, on one hand I can so understand why her family was desperately trying to save her, even up to the last breath she took. But all the same, given our conversations, which I’m sure were not the same ones she felt comfortable having with her family, I worried that she was encouraged to fight up until the last possible minute. I hope she got to go home first, to her own bed, rather than dying at a hospital. I wish her friends would have been able to see her, to let her know how much we loved her and would miss her

And with certainly no disrespect to her family, I hope that their fear and desperation did not bring to her the end she expressed to me that she feared the most…not being ready to let go.

Losing Lita had such an impact on me personally, I can’t imagine the loss for those even closer to her.

But when she died...I thought....

How can I honor her? How can I take the loss of this bright, energetic, passionate, ornery, opinionated, compassionate brave, young woman and make any sense of it?

I remember leaving the last conversation I had with her in the hospital and thinking on the way home,

“If my Dr. told me I had something like this, that I needed to fight for my life, would I do it? Or am I too disillusioned with my life right now to save myself? I have something that Lita longed for. I am a mother of two beautiful sons. I am nearly done with a BA that Lita so had her heart set on finishing. I am living for “someday/maybe/ hopefully/ when I’m done with this, when I’ve completed that…”

I was not, nor had I been for quite some time, living in the moment of today, embracing the gift that was my life. My body, even in it’s flawed and at times health challenged state, was overall healthy enough to get me where I needed to go, and deserved to be appreciated a hell of a lot more.

It was a frigid March Sunday when I went to Lita's calling hours. I was late and all of my friends had already gone through the line. They were worried about me going through alone, and awaited my arrival rather than leave me on my own.

From there we all ventured over to the Sosnowski's house where a sort of Kent Stark waked ensued. Lita had been such a part of the Sosnowski's lives, having lived with them as part of their family for a few years off and on, that you could literally feel her presence. I thought about the story Terri had told before of when she went shopping for ornaments for her own daughters, Ardith and Alexa. She decided since Lita was living with them at the time she would get her one too, and added her name to the list for the artist to personalize them all. It wasn't until she returned home from picking them up she realized that she must have confused the person taking the order. There were ornaments for "Ardith", "Alexa"....

and "Alita".

She was going to have them fix it but it was too close to Christmas. So she decided it would be funny to go ahead and give Lita the ornament as is.

Lita loved that ornament, and told Terri, "Don't you dare change it! I am finally really part of your family!"

That night around Terri's kitchen table, we laughed and cried, and laughed until we cried.

I sat there, in the company of all my “old” yet younger than me theatre friends, who had either graduated from Kent or moved onto other universities. Some were off on adventures in other cities. And I was keenly aware of an overwhelming sort of bittersweet nostalgia wrapping around me. Laughing, remembering, sharing, just as we had at the benefit the month before. Only this time at this table, Terri's table, where we had all sat so many times before, many of those with Lita among us. This time, we all knew perhaps more fully than we had at that benefit, that we may all never be in the same room, this room, together again.

I will never forget when we were leaving that evening, Terri saying to all of us,

“Man…I am really going to miss all of you kids.”

I remember feeling for the first time that Terri, an accomplished English professor, didn't have the words or the ability to express them. Not really a loss of words, God no! That would never happen with Terri Sosnowski! It seemed to me that it was more, the emotions were too deep, too dear, to share outloud.

When I left that night, my heart was in contradiction. So torn between the joy and camaraderie rekindled, yet at a loss for the young life we were leaving behind. Grateful for our reunion, yet heavy hearted knowing that it may always be the last of its kind.

And I thought about empty nest for the first time. My mom never had a chance at it with my brother's disability keeping him home well into his thirties. I was too young to possibly know how brief and fleeting your kids are in your care. Yet watching Terri that night, I realized that through both their daughters' adolescence, the Sosnowskis had a house so full of teenage angst, mischief, celebration and chaos, full of life and all its glorious potential. When Ardith moved out there was still Alexa, and all her crazy theatre/high school girlfriends constantly in and out. A few, Audrey and Lita, had actually moved in with the Sosnowskis, Lita staying well after Audrey and Alexa got their own apartment.

Now Alexa had moved all the way to Florida

And Lita was gone.

When your nest empties, it’s not just your kids you will miss, but all the wonderful, interesting, evolving young people they bring in and out of your home. And I also finally understood Terri's question of me at the benefit over a month before.

No, I wasn't going anywhere. But like Terri I was feeling as though they were all leaving me. Passing me by on their way to their own young bright futures all over the world.

And I left there that night heavy in my heart. Alone in bed that night, my thoughts turned back to the man. The man I had the ridiculous notion to share with Lita on one of those last visits. When she asked how I was doing and I was ignorantly honest with her.

I started to become more and more upset with myself that I wasn’t making time for those I loved, because I was so distracted with one who couldn’t love me the way I deserved to be loved. Why was I wishing away my life, my gift...

How would that honor the loss of a young woman robbed of life in her 26th year?

That night, I sent an email to the man I was holding in my heart, that I was holding my life still in hopes of one day….maybe….someday….

I asked to see him one last time.

He came to me, late at night. We talked, cried...and said goodbye.

As he drove away I felt a calmness envelope me. And somewhere somehow, I knew it was the last time I would ever see him.

Well after he left I laid in bed wide awake, but still no tears came through me.

I felt...

Closure.

As though I was...

Released.

And my heart grew very still and quiet.

I realized for the first time in a long time, that I was not mourning the lost relationship, but a loss of myself.

And I felt something slightly short of a miracle. I felt a small space, almost sacred place, opening in my heart. A crack in an airtight shield.

And into that space, I placed a prayer. A surrender prayer it’s called:

"If it's really not him I'm to end up with. Then Ok. Are you listening God? I get it. I’m ready. I need to move on and find happiness. So whoever you think he is…please send him to me. Even if I think you're wrong. Even if I can’t believe it’s the right guy. I will give it a chance. I promise. Because I am finally ready to be happy again."

Two weeks later, I had a disastrous date with a guy I met online, who to me seemed absolutely perfect and what I was looking for at first "type." However he turned out to be using internet dating services to meet women for reasons other than dating.

(I nicknamed him “No Means No Joe” if that’s any indicator.)

When he canceled our second date after I insinuated I would not be sleeping with him any time soon, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I actually joined Yahoo Personals, as in paying the 20 bucks, so that I could finally contact people instead of waiting to see who showed up in my inbox. I then went to a “trash” bin in my Yahoo Personals account, to see who I had placed there, convinced at first glance that we would never be right for each other. (Because before Mr. No Means No Joe, I just knew I could so tell from a small profile pic and a paragraph if a man was worth dating.) I then found an Army Major, single dad, who had written me a month before, inquiring if I was interested in getting to know him. When I first received his note, I thought, “Army Major and Theatre Major? No way. ‘Don’t ask don’t tell’ meets ‘Here’s my gay friend Patric I’ve known since 3rd grade’? Hell no way. KSU ROTC instructor meets future KSU BA in Theatre Studies student?

Next Dogs and Cats will be sleeping together!!!!!!

But I dug him out of the trash bin and sent him a note. He wrote right back. I found out he was rather funny in a surprising, I didn’t think the Army had a sense of humor, way.

And in him I found a handsome, amazingly generous, giving, nurturing, actively engaging, humorous, politically conservative, (yet) incredibly open minded, supportive, caring, loving man…

So after holding him at arm’s length, allowing him to woo and reel me in for several months, I decided God was right and knew me and what was good for me better than I did myself.

And I can’t help wondering if Lita wasn’t somewhere, giving me a nudge in the right direction. I like to think so in light of meeting him so quickly after losing her. I owe so much of my own personal bliss, Rick and Anna in particular, to her...to losing Lita. Tremendous cost for such a lesson. But I really believe wherever she is, that she is proud I finally got what it took her own illness to teach her.

Live now, love now. That is the beautiful gift Lita left anyone who knew her.

The rest of the story, including one more loving couple's influence, on Fri.

Living, Loving...in the moment (Part Une)

2008-07-07T09:47:00.011-04:00

I started this blog last week. I didn't realize how much of this was in me, just waiting to come out. The final blog was so large (around 8,000 plus words!) that I didn't post it (or anything) at all. I wanted to put it up for a few days, come back to it, and see if I really needed to say all of it.

I did.

But, in the interest of how much anyone else wants to read of it at once, I am posting it in sections. So if you wish to read the whole story, tune in on Wed for the next installment!

Here goes.

As a culture we spend so much of our lives wishing and waiting for others to hand us the happiness we deserve. We live for the next lover, friend, job, car, degree, house, furniture, computer, camera, pair of shoes….to fill up a void that cannot be fulfilled through anything external. That kind of bliss comes from deep within and cannot be found until we are able to dig deep into our own selves, and see it was right there inside us all along. We have to discover gratitude for all the gifts we already possess, both in our own minds and bodies, as well as from those who surround us. Then and only then, will all the other trimmings of a wonderful love filled life find their way into our lives.

Before I met my husband Rick, I was a single mom for 5 and a half years. I had only dated once, about 2 and a half years after my divorce, and it only lasted a few months. I then let go of what was a very unfulfilling “relationship” (I even hesitate to call it that.) The main positive I got from that whole experience was that finally, at 33 years old, I had learned when to throw in the towel. I gave it a couple of months and saw it was heading no where quickly. In the past, when I was very much younger, I would have held on for fear of being alone again. Yet, though I had not dated at all after my divorce, I let this person go, with very little ill feelings. We didn't fit. It was that simple.

Not too long after that, I became involved with an old flame. Over the next two or three years, we went through a devastating and heart breaking, on again/off again relationship. We did fit it seemed, though our life circumstances most certainly did not. Even when we mutually decided not to see each other anymore, I kept holding onto to him in my heart, well after we had both decided it was best to part and go our separate ways. No matter what I did, however, I just couldn’t seem to completely let go of him and move on. I trudged along, through mothering the boys, going to work, going to class. I was treading water emotionally, over scheduling myself so that I could be continually moving, and dodging my deepest most painful feelings.

A year after we said goodbye, I was seemingly no closer to letting go completely and moving on with my life.

I was stuck.

Then I had an epiphany. But finally seeing the light came at a high price. That is, having a young friend, only twenty-six, see the proverbial light herself, and have to walk into it.

In March of 2005, I lost my young, twenty-six year old friend Lita (short for Elizabeth) to cervical cancer. I was so busy, and had so many colds that I only got to visit her a few times in the hospital. But when I did we spent several amazing hours talking about life, death, dreams, and letting go...

When I first visited with her she had blood clots in her lungs, and cancer spreading from her where her uterus used to be. All she talked about was not being able to let go of never being a mom, being pregnant, giving birth. I remember thinking, "Oh honey…please get through that disappointment. Because you have more urgent realities to address now." But she was stuck herself.

The last time I saw her, she had let of ever having children, but not of life. She was convinced she had a purpose here yet unfulfilled. We talked about this for a long time, and I listened more than talked. When I did respond I told her that she did have so much to offer. That she needed to pour all her energy into getting better and keep her mind focused on how she will feel once she is healthy, as well as the new dreams she was creating for herself. She was vibrant and in wonderful spirits. She was thrilled that I came and stayed so long, because she said a lot of her younger friends seemed to have a hard time seeing her ill. Our talk turned more serious after a while, and it was then she expressed a fear of not being ready to let go of life if the time came.

I told her of my experience with my Mother-in-law, my first husband Ken’s mom Maryanne, who passed away of liver cancer in 1990 in her own bed, surrounded by her children. How when Maryanne was diagnosed after exploratory surgery in 1989, her children followed her physician out to the hall to ask all the important imperative questions regarding her prognosis. That I had initially followed their lead, until looking around us all in the hallway I realized Maryanne was lying in her hospital bed alone, having just been told in essence that she was dying within the next 6 months to a year.

I went back into her room and asked her, “Do you want to be alone right now?“

She reached out her frail hand to me, tears welling up in her eyes and whispered, “No.“

I took her hand. I believe it was the first time I ever held it since first shaking it when I met her a little over a year before. We stayed in there, me standing beside her bed, holding each other’s hands, until the rest of the family returned.

The last time I held her hand was almost a full year later. It was two days after her 61st birthday. Two nights after we had a huge party for her, where all of her friends and family came (over 50 of them) to essentially celebrate her birthday, her life, and say goodbye to her.

The evening after her birthday, she had a near death experience, where she was panicked, frightened, and unable to speak for what seemed forever. While Ken and Phyllis held her hand, I called their two other siblings, Rick and Karen, and told them to come right away. All of the kids, the grandkids, and everyone came over and took turns holding her hand until the frightening moment passed, and she could breath normally, and talk again.

Then she seemed to have what would be her final “second wind.” So we all stayed up late into the night, joking and laughing about all the silly crazy family stories. Like when Rick, the oldest brother, along with his friends, set a field on fire and sent his younger sister Phyllis for water. She return with one glassful. Then there was the time that Ken and his sister Karen decided to do home improvements in the kitchen, and nailed two by fours to the floor through the linoleum. Or when Rick allowed Ken, 14 years younger than him, to row the fishing boat on an outing with Rick’s college buddies. But they “forgot” (accidentally on purpose) to tell Ken that the anchor was down. So Ken rowed and rowed forever, going around in circles and never reaching the shore, only to look up and sigh about how HARD it was and valiantly continuing his efforts to impress his older brother‘s friends (who were trying not to pee their pants they were laughing so hard.)

It was a beautiful evening. But the earlier episode that brought everyone running to Maryanne’s bedside was scary.

That night, we all just wanted to keep talking with her, keep her smiling and laughing, as if we could suspend time and thereby keep her with us just a little longer. I think we all knew that she would be gone before another sunset.

We each had a moment alone with her before she went to sleep. I don't know what she said to each of her kids, but to me...

She said, "I am so very thankful Ken has you to help him through this. You will forever be a part of our family now. I love you." Those words came back to me many times throughout my marriage, whenever I was thinking of leaving. I just really hated to disappoint Maryanne.

As I said earlier, this was the night before….

The last time I held Maryanne’s hand.

Throughout the night she had a few more scares, lots more pain. Per the standing orders the hospice nurse gave them, to give her as much morphine as she asked for because it really didn’t matter about addiction at this point, Ken and Phyllis came close to the maximum does possible. Ken told me later what the hospice nurse had actually said to them- “If she asks for it, give it, as much as you are comfortable giving to her. I leave that to your discretion.”

This is one of the most amazing and important gifts of hospice. No judgment. An understanding that sometimes, too much morphine is ok, when someone is in that degree of pain.

Ken said he came close that night to the maximum does…just shy of going over. If she had asked for more, I’m sure he or his sister would have given it.

She was holding on for one more goodbye.

The next morning Ken woke me and told me to call the kids again. He was sure this time, she would not be coming out of the episode. She was so frightened, again she couldn’t speak, and that seemed to upset her the most. It was so hard to be brave and help her to leave us, but we knew it was what she needed us to do. I could read, quite clearly on her face, the fear of leaving us behind, the wish for one more chance to tell us she loved us. We stood encircling her bed, all of us were holding her hands, caressing her legs, arms, and face, smoothing her hair, wiping her silent tears. We told her over and over that we loved her, that she could stop fighting, that it was ok to leave us, that she had done such a wonderful job raising her family, that we would all be alright and would help each other through.

In an hour or less, she took her last, deep, desperate breath, and then she passed away.

I was 22 years old. Not being married to her son yet, it was a privilege I think, to be there, to be a part of helping her let go of life and move on to wherever her spirit was going next.

I did not share all of that with Lita. She was hell bent on recovery and I didn’t want to bring her focus to preparing for the alternative. I do believe, especially in Maryanne’s case, that the Dr telling us 6 months to a year, gave her a year at most.

I happen to know of a pancreatic cancer patient, our next door neighbor and father to one of my sister’s best friend’s growing up, who chose not to know how long he had. The Dr told his wife the same prognosis as Maryanne’s was, but he had no clue himself. He lived 3 or 4 more YEARS. I shared THAT with Lita. And she was reading all these “Beat Cancer” books centered around diet, attitude, and alternative treatment. She was in a really good place, and where she needed to be if she had a chance to live.

So I simply assured her that I had never known a person going through what she was, that was not ready to let go, if in fact that time came. Not that they weren't afraid to go, I think we all are, but they were also ready to let go when it was time. We also talked about making the most of every day. And I shared my favorite Maryanne quote with her.

One morning the last month or so Maryanne was alive, Ken went into her room one dreary April shower filled morning and opened the window for her. He turned, saw she was awake, and said to her, “Sorry Mom, looks like a dreary day out there.”

To which Maryanne smiled and said, “But it’s a day.”

Lita liked that story. We both so enjoyed our visit that we promised to have another as soon as she got out.

Sadly, that was the last time I saw her.

The Baby Borrowers is on TONIGHT

2008-06-25T07:51:00.003-04:00

Just thought I'd send out that reminder. In light of last week's news of a rumored "pregnancy pact" in a Gloucester Mass high school I am even more convinced that The Baby Borrowers, with it's subtitle "It's not entertainment, it's birth control," should be on everyone's must see, must DVR/TIVO and show to all teens repeatedly until they stop thinking babies are a cool source of unconditional love and instant emancipation.

LOVE(ing) Story

2008-06-17T15:40:00.041-04:00

"I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about."

~Mildred Loving June 15, 2007

On June 16th, 2008, Phyllis Lyon and Del Martinthese, two women who have been in a committed relationship for fifty-five years, were able to become legally married in San Fransisco.

"When we first got together, we were not really thinking about getting married, we were thinking about getting together,' Lyon said to laughter, standing behind Martin's wheelchair. 'I think it's a wonderful day. We are very happy.'

'Ditto,' said Martin." (Yahoo News)

Why-oh why-does anyone question the validity of this union? These women have been together longer than most couples of the opposite sex that I know. I just wish everyone would get over it already, and see that love knows no boundaries of race or gender. As I ask all people deeply concerned about same sex marriage as the downfall of mankind, really...

Can you please explain to me how this affects you personally?

A few weeks ago I watched as a teary eyed Ellen gave the news that she would be marrying long time partner Portia DeRossi. I found myself teary-eyed for them. To tell the truth, Ellen is so damn funny and sorta cute and that Portia is such an incredibly beautiful woman, if I weren't such a flaming heterosexual I'd want to date either one of them myself. Sorry, I digress in attempts to add some humor to honor the great Ms DeGeneres.

I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend of mine, David, on my front stoop about 15 or so years ago. He stopped by because his partner, who was a special education teacher, was attending a wedding of a co-worker, and couldn't bring David with him for fear of losing his job. I remarked how sad I thought that was, and how I took for granted the fact that my husband and I could go anywhere we wanted, hold hands any time we wanted, and introduce ourselves any way we chose to. We never had to hide we were a couple from anyone. I just never got that conversation out of my mind. I had grown up in the theatre, surrounded by gay couples free to be, well, couples. And because of that I was comfortable with it, and never thought more deeply about it until that night, speaking with my friend. My friend who stopped by because he felt left out, not accepted by his partner's side. Those friends stayed in that relationship for close to 15 years before they parted, much more amicably than any straight married couple I ever met.

I also had a similar conversation a few years ago with a theatre friend who has been involved in a committed relationship with her partner for years. Now in their 40's/50's, one is a teacher, and the other a guidance counselor at the same high school. Most of the students have likely figured out the status of their relationship, but since they are so respected by the kids, none of them make a big deal out of it. However, K, the counselor, shared with me how parents, unaware they are a couple, will call her or come in and tell her, "Put my kid in another teacher's class. I don't want that woman anywhere near my daughter." They are totally oblivious to the fact that they are confiding in the very person "that" woman goes home to every night. As a matter of fact the very woman who "that" woman has gone home to for well over a decade. It's so amazing that, even in 2008, so many Americans, who claim to embrace God given civil rights, demonstrate such a high level of ignorance and complete lack of tact.

It can be no coincidence that this morning Rick, my loving husband of three years, left out an article that he just knew I would be interested in. It was about Loving Vs Virginia, the historic Supreme court case that won the right of inter-racial couples to marry. Last year was it's 40th anniversary.

Meaning in my lifetime (albeit I wasn't actually here yet, but close enough) it was illegal for couples of different races to marry. It was just as passionately debated against as the downfall of the human race, as the fierce protests occurring today about same sex couples marrying. Seems ludicrous now, 40 years later that African Americans, Native Americans, Hispanics, Asians and Caucasians, could not legally marry each other in every state, doesn't it?

Well it does to me. I can only hope that forty years from now, when I'm 80, I can hear my grandchildren say the same about the fight to keep same sex couples from marrying. I really am praying for the day that I hear, "Grandma, was it really once illegal for two consenting adults to marry in the United States of America????"

I try to keep in mind that humanity is thousands of years old, and so if inter-racial marriage wasn't legal until 1967, then there's hope for us yet. After all, forty years is only a minuscule blip on the evolutionary screen.

On May 2, 2008 Mildred Loving passed on from this life and was reunited with her late husband Richard, who passed away in 1975. I could post forever on my own thoughts about her case, but of course, no one says it better than she did, in a statement released for the 40th anniversary of the case that "gave" her the "right" to marry the man she loved.

Loving for All

By Mildred Loving*

Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement

"When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn't to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.

We didn't get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn't allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am a woman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed it was okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who should marry whom.

When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, called marriage, to match. Isn't that what marriage is?

Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the "crime" of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared:

"Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix." He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence if we left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.

We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were not fighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.

Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn't have to fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP Legal Defense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the country willing to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that, "The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men," a "basic civil right."

My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God's plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have given way, and today's young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.

Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the "wrong kind of person" for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people's religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people's civil rights.

I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about."

The State of Woman

2008-06-17T12:09:00.008-04:00

I was on another site today, with my fellow step moms, and the discussion of "unwed" mothers came up. I was so struck by the phrase, and all it has encompassed throughout recent history, that I just had to put my thoughts into words.

I just keep thinking about the way the term "unwed mothers" has been used to put women down. They are statistics, or spoken of in hushed tones. When my mother was a girl, they went off to homes in the middle of the night, until their babies were born. Now there are daycares in high schools. It's old fashioned to focus on a mother's marital status, because so many women are choosing not to wed if they are pregnant. Or, if they reach a certain age and have no committed relationship in site, and they want to have a baby, they have one anyway. I must say that I have always thought and continue to think that is an admirable journey. That is empowerment. However, with every positive there seems to be a price. And now that I am a little older, wiser, and the parent of teenagers, I am starting to see it more clearly.

I saw one woman on Oprah a while back who went a little too far and had embryos implanted when she couldn't conceive. Guess what? She had four babies. Her family is very upset with her because she can't take care of all of them by herself and they have had to help her substantially, both with time and money since she can't work anymore. That was quite an interesting show, as I never thought about that particular outcome happening before.

In high school, we had to carry an egg around for a week. We had to keep an hourly journal for activities for our egg, and who was watching it when we were busy. If we didn't break it we passed as parents. If we did we failed. It was an interesting experiment. However with an egg you can leave it in your room and barring a sibling trying to sabotage you, it will be fine when you return hours or days later.

Not so with a real kid.

There's a new show coming on this summer called The Baby Borrowers, where the producers have given teens and young adults a few toddlers and infants to care for during a certain period of time. From what I've seen in the previews, the kids are very confidant in their ability to "parent." And, according to the commercials I've seen, the kids are very disillusioned by the end of the show. I am watching this with my kids. Hell, I might even sign them up to be on it! I think perhaps community centers and high schools should have this as a mandatory class.

I have seen so many young women try this experiment for real, meeting men, getting pregnant, over and over. Never marrying at all, let alone first, a sort of serial maternity. I believe that sadly, many young women are insecure and see babies as a source of unconditional love, or an instant emancipation into adulthood. I don't believe those who do so understand their motives because I'm not sure they give pregnancy or parenting very much rational thought. Both on television and in conversations with my kids' friends, I have at times heard teens talk about having babies as "sounding like fun." It sends shivers up my spine. Fun? They have no idea.

Now that I am a stepmom of a 13 year old, I am I suppose paying more attention than I was a few years ago. I now am privy to conversations and observations of 13 year old girls, that I wasn't before. I am alarmed with all the self-objectifying behavior, focusing so heavily on name brands, hairstyles, make-up, tight clothes, push-up bras, all to attract young boys or young men. Ironically, in our youth based society there is an obsession among young girls to look older, a preoccupation on how, when and with whom they will lose their virginity, as though it's something to check off a list. There is something sad about adolescent and young women these days. They appear to be lost.

For some reason, women in their 30's and older seem to be the last generation that as a whole tend to think through life's lessons, making changes in behavior after successfully navigating difficult challenges. I think it's no coincidence that we are the last who remember a time before MTV, internet, unlimited credit, and 24 hour cable. Many of us also recall the ERA campaign, burning bras, and Charlie commercials.

Now, I have to say that for most of my 40 years on earth, I never considered myself a feminist. I was a child of the seventies and I understood and witnessed some of the issues the feminists fought for. However, as a young woman I felt overwhelmed with the concept that we were not only allowed to seek degrees and careers, but were expected to. The problem was that many of us had mothers who stayed home, and therefore we had no real role model for the "new and improved standard" of of superwomanhood. On top of which we were also expected to be supermoms, able to leap to the top of tall corporate buildings while giving birth and returning to the boardrooms in a single bound. Oh- and we were never to use our sexuality as a method of achieving anything, though we had to be prepared for the inevitable accusation of it when we reached success.

I often dreamed of a balance, where femininity could be celebrated as well as intelligence and drive. I was a little put off by feminists, most recently when "Mommy Wars" were proclaimed. I posted on this very blog my angry response to feminist authors declaring that I shouldn't have been "given" a degree if I then planned to stay home and raise children. If I did this I was slapping my feminist foresisters in the proverbial face. While in my senior year of college, I wrote a provocative essay about how I hesitated to align myself with a group who would label me, or corner me in any way. After all, what good was a feminist movement that told me that I owed them for my freedom to choose my vocation and the pay back was I could choose any vocation save staying at home to raise my children? What was the point of fighting for us if women went from no choices, to all choices, and back to no choices again?

Well...then I became a mother of a 13 year old girl. I now find myself understanding why the feminists are upset with us, as well as why we need to have a feminist renaissance. We have had our needs met. We can own property and vote. We can buy whatever we want and live wherever we wish. We can go to any college in the US, and pursue any degree our hearts desire. In essence, we now have it so good we have become smug. Each generation removed from the fight has, through our own apathy for the cause, taught our own daughters to trample on the freedoms that prior generations of women fought so hard for. The youngest generations are turning their noses up at the very rights that were won. They think that sex is empowering- a tool to get where you want to go. Materialistic bliss in an entitlement, and they may do as they please, consequences be damned.

Recently, my personal concerns for Adrienne's attitudes toward life led me to search for an advocacy group to get each of my kids involved with, but her in particular. I discovered there's a group of young feminists in Cincinnati. "Perfect!" I thought. However, it's a bit of a commute, and unfortunately, nothing like it exists within a reasonable distance of home. But I'm not giving up. If I have to start my own chapter and group I will do it. Someone has to. If the current trend continues, we'll be back in the fifties, with our daughters wearing dresses and pearls while ironing or cooking dinner, combing their kids hair and putting ribbons in their own to ready themselves for their husbands return from his rough day at the office.

Z Bucket List

2008-06-12T12:21:00.012-04:00

Recently, Tanner, Noah and I started a new Mother/Sons tradition of Monday night double features at the Dollar Movie Theatre. Yes, the seats need some mending, and yes the popcorn is a little stale compared to the $8 a movie theatres, but what can I say? The price is definitely right when you're a family of six on a budget.

We also discovered quite accidentally, that on Monday nights our local Dollar Theatre shows movies for 50¢ a piece, for groups of three or more. Noah just won a $15 gift certificate to this movie theatre and, at the 50¢ a piece night, translates to 10 movies a piece! Which in turn equals five nights of Mother/Sons double features, just enough to go every other Monday, which is when they are at our house, for the rest of the summer!

The last time we went we saw The Bucket List and The Spiderwick Chronicles. These were both Noah's choices because we were there to celebrate his 11th birthday. I chose the order however, because I figured Bucket List would be a little slow and Spiderwick a little more action filled, and it was going to be a long night with two movies.

I chose correctly.

We had fun, though they weren't my favorite movies I have ever seen. The Bucket List didn't get me all sappy and teary eyed as I thought it might. However it did inspire me to do some thinking about a sort of "Bucket List" of my own.

I have been tossing that idea around for a while, ever since seeing Elizabeth Gilbert on Oprah discussing her book, Eat, Pray, Love. She was so inspiring that they had her on twice within a few weeks or so, to follow up with audience members who had been inspired to rethink their priorities after hearing her speak or reading her book. In the first appearance, Gilbert suggested making a list of things we really want to try or experience in our lifetime; the kinds of things that we put off in order to do all the "less selfish" things we think we should do. A "things to do before I die" or, per the movie, a "before I kick the bucket" list.

So after hearing about said list from my Eat, Pray, Love Guru, then from the movie with the boys, then again this morning via my Step Mom support group friends, I decided it was time to make up mine.

So far it's up to 50, not the 100 that Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman had on their list. But I'm only 40 as opposed to their ripe old ages, and I'm sure by then I could easily think of a hundred or more.

So....

Here's Z's Bucket List- Fifty Things I would like to do in my 40's

1. Say no when I need to and yes when I want to

2. Create Space for meditation

3. Make my health a priority

4. Learn to love my body in its current state

5. Call my family and friends more often to tell them I love them

6. Send a real card in the real mail to a different friend once a week

7. Find more women friends my age

8. Go and sit alone for an afternoon in my late grandparents home in the country

9. Form a Step Mom Retreat

10. Finish writing my play, my novel, start my memoir

11. Forgive and let go of past hurts

12. Spend less time recording my life and more time living it

13. Visit my 93 year old grandmother, even though we’ve never been close

14. Visit my disabled brother and heal our relationship

15. Consume less (unhealthy foods, unnecessary goods, and energy resources)

16. Get a dog

17. Go for more walks

18. Go to lunch with my mom once a month

19. Audition for a play again for the first time in years

20. Go to matinées of foreign films alone

21. Read more fiction ( put down the self improvement books)

22. Take a writing class

23. Take a photography class

24. Learn to play my Seagull (acoustic guitar)

25. Take a tap dancing class again

26. Restart Voice lessons

27. Learn to belly dance

28. Take a cooking class

29. Start a garden- LEARN to garden!

30. Find a sitter two Sat nights a month for a date with my husband

31. Take ballroom dancing lessons with my Husband

32. Read a novel to my sons

33. Volunteer for a good cause

34. Volunteer for a good cause with each of my kids

35. Do a play with my kids

36. Start a young girls writing retreat with my SD

37. Do an artistic project with each of my kids

38. Teach my kids to each cook one meal from scratch

39. Take my kids to the drive in movies

40. Take my kids camping

41. Initiate steps to becoming a lay leader

42. Establish a budget for family fiscal health

43. Apply for my Masters in Religion at Meadville

44. Go to the ocean

45. Visit nearby summer festivals

46. Host a dinner party

47. Have a tea party

48. Have a cocktail party

49. Watch less TV

50. Reduce clutter in my life

Utter Disgust (TPing isn't funny it's VANDALISM)

2008-06-09T08:48:00.020-04:00

We have a thirteen year old in the house who has, for some unknown reason, created an enemy in the neighborhood- a set of fourteen year old girls, who's parents evidently think that's well above the age of responsible parenting because their teens are running around unsupervised at one o'clock in the morning. As my husband and I were just discussing yesterday regarding curfews and teens, nothing good happens after midnight.

This morning Rick woke me up with, "Tell Adri to clean the yard when she gets home."

I groaned in utter disgust.

This TPing has happened to us 5 times in the past several months, and each and every time the offenders become more brave and the TPing gets worse. This time is was accompanied by vomit and rotten eggs (fortunately the ingredients were mutually exclusive as the eggs were raw, but still a lovely vision for me before breakfast.) I'm sure that even by 6 AM when I went out to clean it up, the eggs would have successfully cooked into my paint if they had made it to my car. Luckily they must have been interrupted, perhaps when the alcohol poisoned teen let loose under one of my trees.

I know I should have left it for Adri to clean, however, I went ahead and took care of it. For one, I have questioned her about it in the past, and she is very upset. I - ninja Zen- can tell easily when she's telling me a tall tale, and when she's hiding something. Can't always tell what that something is, but just that it is amiss. Plus the TP-ers always seem to manage to do the task when she's not home anyway so I would have to look at it, blood pressure boiling, all morning. I worked too hard on my front yard, wind chimes, flowering plants, shrubs trimmed and flower bed mulched, to let these ignorant, arrogant, self-entitled, disrespectful children ruin all my hard work.

I also didn't want to give them the opportunity for pictures/bragging rights of their work.

I was pretty sure they wouldn't be awake at 6am like I was, since the crime must have been committed after midnight (when I went to bed) and I'm sure they were hung over nicely as well, per their evidence of drinking in the form of vomit in my front yard.

So there I was, at 6am, in the already 90 degree/ 80 percent humidity weather, climbing up a ladder a couple dozen times, pulling down all but one roll and a few straggles of toilet paper that I could not safely reach from atop my precarious perch.

God help me if I ever fall cleaning this up.

On second thought, God help them.

Beacause I am so very angry.

I know this isn't a typical post for me, but I just am so tired of this.

This as in the entitled, materialistic "Generation Me" that my generation of parents seem so bent on rearing.

Now when we hear "But all the COOL parents let their kids-"

Have a cell phone and Xbox, with an uncensored side order of IPOD.

Every other kid at their school seems to also have but are not limited to -

Any and all use of the computers, internet and TVs in their bedrooms allowing for complete privacy, and absent of any hint of parental controls.

These "friends" have complete purchase power of their clothes, no budget, wear whatever they want including short shorts, push-up bras, low riding/underwear showing pants.

They always go to the mall/movies/sporting events alone, and are never questioned as to whether or not parental supervision is taking place wherever they are headed off to.

The sad part is...I have talked to some of these parents and .....

it's true.

You know I never really felt the pangs of peer pressure as a teen, because I had my own ideas about what was right and wrong, about what was appropriate behavior, what were "wants" and what were "needs," so I didn't feel pressured to keep up or do what everyone else was doing. I grew up believing in being accountable for my actions. Much as my now 11 year old son Noah does (who, speaking of trees has not fallen far from mine. :)

Whenever his teenage siblings make fun of him for listening and doing the right thing, he proudly tells me "I think for myself Mom. There's nothing wrong with being a good kid and listening to your parents. Why would I want to be grounded all summer?"

God love him. It's nice to know I'm doing something right.

So I didn't deal with or feel pressured by my peers growing up. But now? My parental peers are pressuring ME to keep up with them through their teenagers.

"All the COOL parents are doing it!" has been a battle cry for teens for decades. The difference is, now it somewhat true. Well...the part about all the parents giving in, living vicariously through and purchasing "happiness" for and being buddies to their teenagers, is true. I don't agree on the use of the term "COOL" however. Maybe that's because the term "cool" and "parents" are or should be considered an oxymoron (with emphasis on the second half of that term.)

On a positive note, in my search today to see how to go about catching teen vandals and pressing charges, I found out a lot! And though it's unfair that our kids will have to do without a few more of their current lists of "wants vs needs", we will be purchasing some video surveillance equipment, getting the trees trimmed and thinned out (making it harder for the TP to get caught in them) and motion sensor lights.

In short we are declaring war.

And if their parents don't like it when we grab their "precious children" and drag them by force into our own holding cell (ie my husband's office complete with military swords on the walls) til the cops get here? Then perhaps they will start acting like parents, impose some age appropriate restrictions and consequences, and grow up already themselves.

On a side note I was pleased to also come across a story about a mall in New Orleans, that teens were boycotting in protest (along with some ridiculous "parents") because the mall created a "curfew" for teens under the age of 16. They cannot be in the mall, unless accompanied by an adult over 21, on Fridays and Saturdays after 4 pm until closing. I found several articles about this online, and despite the "teen and tween" protests to boycott sales, the adults were all commenting that they would be returning to shop at the mall to show their support. There's even a my space support group for the mall, including many teens who agree it's out of control.

And these self righteous teens and tweens (some 10 or younger) who chose to boycott to exercise their financial power in protest? Were the same ones not spending money there anyway, who's parents drop them off and go to work or out themselves, using the mall as a babysitter.

The sites were flooded with support for the curfew.

Now if I could figure out how to get one imposed in my neighborhood.

Tales of Denial

2008-06-03T09:20:00.038-04:00

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, 37 Days, when I came to a startling revelation. Now I do usually have many have epiphanies while on Patti's blog, but rarely would I classify them as "startling." More like peaceful, spiritual, enlightening, Zen-like epiphanies.

This particular blog was a thank-you from Patti to a reader for giving her food for thought about handing out stickers to cranky toddlers and preschoolers on airplanes. I happen to think this is perfectly acceptable and friendly behavior on such a horrible experience such as air travel (especially for the other passengers listening to a wildly uncomfortable or bored child for several hours.) But it set one mom off just a smidgen.

The rather heated comments that followed Patti's gratitude for another view point, ranged from "how dare someone give stickers to a misbehaving two year old" to "what kind of mother are you that you don't bring your own darn stickers!" I felt so protective of Patti, the "What Would You Do With 37 Days To Live" guru, that my "mother hen" meets "fellow blogger" instincts came out. My hackles, once raised cannot be denied. I just had to put my two cents in as well. I didn't say this much in my comment on Patti's blog, because I try not to wax poetic in someone else's space. But...this is the tale of how I became a legend among tired, single, poor, working mom college students, and infamous among poor, tired, cranky, selfish, tyrannical toddlers.

I spent six years as a full time working, 2/3 time studying/acting, 1/2 time single mother of two sons. That is to say, I did all the above, including being a mom all the time, but only had my sons with me every other week. During that time, I did a financial dance of poverty level income, meets reasonably low mortgage, meets money pit home repairs, including a furnace that was once hit by lightening and ever since was very fickle, especially in the dead of winter. Somewhere around the middle of that time period, I also totaled my (completely mine, no loans) car and had to replace it in a jiffy with a decent used one, adding a previously unnecessary car payment to my already "subsidized by home equity/student loans" income.

Now my sons were only 2 and 5 when I began my single mom (and all of the above) status. Like all little kids with no understanding of money or lack thereof, they made the usual requests on our trips to Acme/Target/or (God forgive me) Walmart. I'm always reminded of kids in supermarkets when I read the Very Hungary Caterpillar.

You know the part where he eats all the junk food and then gets a stomach ache?

These necessities included but were not limited to-

several different kinds of pop-tarts, cereal, squirt guns, silly putty, coloring books, action figures, Hot Wheels (all in the cereal aisle of course,) potato chips, corn puffs, candy bars, packs of gum, and stuffed toys from crane sporting money eating vending machines.

I said no.

Hard to imagine looking at the angelic picture above that I could, isn't it? Luckily for me I had two things going for me. One could say it was born out of necessity and lack of funding, but as luck would have it they did at times resemble heathen aliens rather than this picture.

Oh and actually, I found I rather liked saying no.

So when stores came out with those "solutions" to keeping kids amused, i.e. carts with huge plastic cars attached (causing the boys to fight over who was "really driving") or instant daycare centers as germ filled as the aforementioned "autocarts" I'm sure) were more trouble than they were worth. So I said no even though it was FREE.

I so much started to enjoy my absolute power, that I became...

The Keeper Of The Fun

Throughout the next several years of my poor, unamused sons' lives I did my best to only reward good behavior with fun. I rationed out financial or material fun, as though they were sugar and cigarettes in war torn Europe. Sometimes if they were really good in the store they got 50-cent toys out of the "gumball" machines , or a ride on the 50 cent jumbo jet/train/dinosaur outside the store. Or they were allowed to pick two or three things (a piece!) from the Dollar Store. Or, on the many occasions where I was too tired (see crazed schedule I was keeping above) to fight one more "Pleeeeeeeze mom! " Too frail to utter one more "Define 'want' vs 'need' for me!" I occasionally gave in, but added such a dose of guilt that any spoils of war were, well...spoiled. My sons still comment on this strategy and it's success, and I'm sure that they will employ the same techniques one day for their own kids.

*(Note to my future grandchildren- Don't worry, I'll spoil you as all grammys and grandmas do, and help to drive your parents crazy with my hypocrisies! It's a payback for their teen years. )

When I met and remarried, my frugality relaxed some, and my kids now have many more wants than they need to. I still share the boys with their father and stepmom, but am also full time mother of one step daughter and our joint project- two and a half year old Anna. When I met Rick he was amazed at my sons' reaction to my first, sometimes second (intonation rising if I had to repeat it) "No" to whatever they asked for. My sons were very interested in their new stepsister's frequently given into requests, as she was an only child of two professional level income parents, and was used to extra money for all those aforementioned "necessities." She came by her shopping savvy by way of material appeasement from two parents who were not on the same page (Rick was on the Wall Street Journal sites while his ex was on the Home Shopping Network.)

During one of our early trips to Target then Kohls, Adri had managed to snag a crossword puzzle book and the boys a gumball out of the machine at the first store. The second one had all the kids eyeing the toy department (right across from the shoes, God love 'em.) Adri started begging and Rick became agitated. Then the boys said, "Mom, can we get?" And I said, "Nope-we're here for shoes." And that was that.

And "that's all she wrote" for Rick. I think he may have fallen in love with me that day. I know he fell in love with my mean old mom techniques at least. He told me so later. And I'm afraid that it didn't take long for my "No means no" to material bliss attitude to rub off on Rick , much I'm sure to Adri's chagrin.

I have continued what is now our family tradition with Anna, in that she doesn't get to buy something very often either. Though my future grandma hypocrisy does shine through with her being my "late life" baby and my first baby girl to boot.

Therefore I have indulged myself on several occasions on her behalf, most recently on a leotard, tutu, tights and ballet slippers-

Oh yeah- and the Princess Play tent to go with it that I couldn't resist at Pat Catans. So in addition to not being in the running for "Mother of the Year," I am only human after all.

In my defense, I don't give into her demands for a toy at the grocery store, just because they're right there in the cereal aisle, or impulse candy purchases at the cash register.

No small feat now that even places like Home Depot sport a full service cash "Candy Bar" at each checkout. (When will the madness end????)

And so I am determined to "mean" the materialism out of her just like I did her older brothers.

One mother on Patti's blog discussed the unfairness to children who are dragged along on errands and proudly claimed super mom status because her purse is a virtual arsenal of candy, gum, stickers and...

A harmonica.

Well.

I'm not sure who the harmonica is for, the child? Or is mom going to whip it out and entertain the kid? Either way, I'm not sure I want to hear the toddler version of the blues while I'm in line with Anna.

I don't battle carry boredom ammo (Rick likes how his military influence makes it into my blog posts, so there's one for you honey. ;)

My purse contains (if I'm lucky) my gum, my wallet, and if Anna hasn't pulled them out to play with and misplaced them, my list, a pen to cross things off it, and my ever growing key chain of store id/discount cards.

No stickers...just the boring store. No food for her (I don't even go for the free kid's cookie-now there's a bad habit to start.) Not even the cool kids car/cart mutation, no matter what other nicer mom passes us trying to fit everything in the tiny top compartment, and manage steering it with her toddler/preschoolers weighing it down. Thank God those steering wheels don't work on those things. I tried it once in a moment of weakness with a cranky nap deprived Anna, and nearly crashed into another harried mom with a toddler driving underneath her. I don't think my USAA auto covers grocery store aisles.

But..my mean anti-material momness goes further than the store.

I possess no in car DVD players (not even on long trips) because the thought of my two and a half year spending any more time watching DVD's or TV than she already does now (say, when I'm blogging for instance) makes me cringe. My older kids have Gameboys and I did break down for a Leapster (no games just drawing) for Anna for when we are desperate to quiet her on a 6 hour drive to see her Grammy and Pops. And for the older ones, they may bring along their Ipods if I'm really nice, (purchased by other parents) which Rick and I take away at the slightest sign of ungrateful behavior.

You know? I used to LOVE long trips in the car to my grandparents. I would lean back and look out the window and imagine tons of things. Create whole tales for people walking along side of the country roads, or watch the moon follow us home. Before we all had to "Buckle Up-It's the Law" I laid down in the back seat if I was the only passenger. Sometimes it was to try and keep from breathing in the fragrant countryside, or gravel road dust storm on our short jaunt over to my Aunt Kathy's house. On longer car trips,which were few and far between when I was growing up, I laid in the back of our station wagon and daydreamed with my friend, or read a book, maybe took a nap. At night I loved to lay back there and watch the patterns of light dance across the window.

Kids may be bored. It is through boredom that true creativity is born. I am not an entertainer of my kids, they must fend for themselves a little.

And yes, I might be annoyed if a stranger gave my children anything when they are throwing fits. But, I can be graciously subtle, and will never curse the kindness of strangers, no matter if they offer Anna stickers when she's screaming in the checkout line about wanting "animal crackers now first!" She might not even accept them herself (she's quite shy about strangers.) As a matter of fact, the other day a nice old lady (probably a Grandma) gave me some tissues when Anna was coughing and crying because she was afraid her cough would make her throw up. I said a tired, "Thank you, but I'm not sure they will help," because she had been sick and coughing herself into throwing up all that week. However, the tissues helped her calm down. Thanks Somebody's Grandma. You definitely have the credentials, patience, and a purse to make Magyver's Granny proud.

Now before I get all kinds of defensive Mommy comments about my soapbox I want to let you all know that I do say, to each their own. However, as the mother of two thirteen year olds, I have to warn you. The male version is not so bad about name brands and buying things, but the female of the species went from "Why do I have to comb my hair in the morning?" to "Why do I have to use cheap Suave Shampoo instead of 4 dollar a bottle Herbal Essence " in one short year. I have seen the future of your indulgence, and though as I said I can be guilty of it myself, it's never by way of giving into a child's impulse (oh- and yes those teenagers are still children, not your buddies, your pal, your peer. But that's another blog for another day.) So mother's of toddlers, if you aren't careful now, they will have an insatiable drive for material bliss when they reach adolescence. And believe you me, you will want to have the "No means NO policy in place well before then.

Oh- and one last thing to ponder.

I may not be up for mother of the year any time soon, but I am proud to know I have successfully given (at least some of ) my children enough material for their future best selling memoir called,

My Mom Ruined My Life and Other Sad Tales of Denial

Anna's Fashion Statement of the Week

2008-05-30T09:19:00.009-04:00

Or....How we like to kick off the summer at our house....OR...how to accentuate your cast!

Now wait! I'm not ready for my photo shoot yet hand me that...

Sticker!!!!

One must balance the splint with a sticker on the opposite knee, don't you know.

There. now I'm ready :)

It's important when switching from a neutral colored splint, to choose your favorite color since you'll be living with that for the next 10 days.

Make sure it's a color that you have plenty of in your wardrobe. Obviously, pink was a good choice for me! But don't overdo the pink. Make sure you find other colors to offset it.

Things to do when you have a cast...

Play Leapster while crawling up onto the ottoman (that mommy usually says to get off of!)

(note the purple glasses. I thought they were a nice touch!)

Pretend you're standing up on your walking cast since Mommy keeps hounding you to walk on it. (What is she anyway- can't she see my ankle's broken? How could I possibly walk on it?!?!?)

Sit too close to the TV watching Cinderella because now is the perfect time to bend the rules and play the sympathy card...

"Well HI Mommy! What do you mean sit on the couch instead of right next to the TV?"

"But don't you know my 'feet hurts'?"

Oh alright...I'll watch from the couch.

The other thing you can do is play on daddy's laptop (which you're not supposed to but once again, if you can't get away with things when you have a broken ankle, when can ya?)

I've seen them push this button before to get it started...

Nothing's happening!

Maybe this one- oops! "Hi again Mommy!!!"

Oh man...Mommy's spoil all the fun.

The Tale of the Fairy Dust Buster

2008-05-28T09:51:00.012-04:00

This is the story of a little girl, a dustbuster, a tutu, a magic wand, and .....

A piece of dust that did not want to be busted....

There once was a fairy named Anna who loved to "help" her mommy with the chores.

Her mommy was very proud and encouraged Anna's help by getting her fairy sized appliances.

One day, Anna was helping mommy with her fairy dustbuster when she came across a rather stubborn piece of dust.

"I will NOT be busted!" Exclaimed the dust.

Anna thought about resorting to brute force by lifting the dust with her fingers. BUT....

After re-accessing the situation, decided...

There might be a BETTER way!

Her fairy magic wand!

Won't mommy be proud of her resourcefulness!

Now...how to make the two work together...

Perhaps this will do it.

Hmmmm....that didn't work!

Perhaps just carrying it will help.

Curses! Foiled again!!!!!

Maybe the wand is all I need!

Huh???Well at least I managed to move the dust!

One more try...

Is thing on?

Well....the dust lived to be busted another day. Now it's time for my next trick!!!!

Zen Wisdom

2008-05-24T11:13:00.005-04:00

A religious leader came to visit Rabi'a, and was shocked to see that her clothes were in tatters. He said: 'There are many people who would provide you with decent clothes, if you would only allow them.' Rabi'a replied: 'Everything in this world is on loan to us from God. I am ashamed to accept the loan of a loan.' The man went away, and said to others: 'It is astonishing that a mere woman has reached such spiritual heights. She refuses to spend any time on material matters.'

-Attar, "Rabi'a"

beliefnet.com

Sad State of Anna

2008-05-22T14:44:00.004-04:00

Anna is sick this week. And so am I after her continuous coughing on me for several nights straight, followed by a side of no sleep as she coughed herself into throwing up four days/nights in a row...there will not be any posts this week other than this one.

I will return next week with many posts already under construction.

Right now I am off to get a shower as she is finally asleep in her own bed!

Weekly Zen ~ Wisdom from the Bathroom Stall

2008-05-14T11:52:00.004-04:00

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.

~Henri Bergson

Anna Fashion Statement of the Week

2008-05-12T07:37:00.006-04:00

Do you like my latest? I call it, "play into evening wear."

This are my "knock off" Crocs. My Pops knows a guy (Ma says that's the only way I'd be sporting 30 dollar rubber shoes) so I got spoiled by the real ones. I love them so much that I couldn't wait for a pair to "fall off a truck" this time so my Ma got me some for 5 bucks! She says that they are handy for outdoor play because you just wash them out, but she sometimes has to put them away because I won't take them off and well....rubber shoes do have their down side (stinky feet!) I can't believe my own ma says my feet stink. Geesh!

Thumbs up on the ensemble so far but....

I find a need to soften the girly side so let's try this!

So....now you's like?

What?
Naw?!? You want I should come over there and explain why this is the next big fashion trend? Maybe I'll just send cousin Timmy or Nicky from Jersey to take care a' ya!

I thought you'd see it my way! You know it ain't easy bein' a trend setta.

Happy Mother's Day!

2008-05-11T09:20:00.012-04:00

For Anna

I gave up ever having you
Though I always felt you near
Keeping company with other souls
Til mine was ready for yours here

Your laugh lites up my day
I can sooth most any tear
Your smile is contagious
And can melt away my deepest fear

I don’t know why you chose me
Though my gratitude is clear
As precious moments turn to memories
And days fly into to years

Zen
Mother's Day 2008

My New Favorite Pastime (Turns out America was right all along!)

2008-05-08T11:54:00.024-04:00

Last night I took Noah to his baseball practice. The field is only half a mile from our house, but is across a busy street with no sidewalks. Noah is not very astute at noticing cars when crossing the street yet, so we don't let him ride his bike there. Usually, I drop him off and come back later, because I'm not that into baseball (I know, I'm not being considered for mother of the year any time soon anyway) and practice is forever long- 5:30 to 8pm. Also, on any given evening all our kids have practice at three different places, and I am usually irritated by the interruption they have on our nice spring to summer evenings. What's that? By "they" do I mean the practices or the kids?

Hmmmmm....

YES.

Now before you think I'm the worst mom in Little League history, allow me to explain.
In previous years my experience with the little league coaches were that they seemed a bit obsessive and would say that practice ended at 7:30, but keep them hitting or running til dark.

The last year the boys were in Little League I was pregnant with Anna. And here is the tale of how I became infamous among coaches, and a legend among Little League parents.

It all started when I would show up at the time practice was supposed to end, and patiently try to wait until the coach was ready to end it.

I would be hungry since practice started at 5, and ended at 7:30, therefore we hadn't had dinner yet. Now I admit, that this, combined with my ever growing obvious prenatal state, had me behaving with somewhat less patience and grace then I normally bestow on such activities. I would very politely, pointedly ask the coach to release Tanner. This was, of course, crossing a time honored Coach's and parent's tradition, which had Rick gently questioning my motives more than once. Though toward the end even Rick was becoming annoyed at this particular Coach's lack of respecting our parental rights to our children well after practice was to have ended. But, with some patience and careful training, in time, this Coach came to see my waddling up from the parking lot as his cue to check his watch and wrap things up.

Then the games began and all claims of pregnancy induced etiquette were off.

I have found some coach's wives to be equally over zealous, and that coach's wife in particular. On the last practice I was told to be back at 7:30, which I clarified about 5 times before leaving. It was at this same field about five minutes from my house, so if they wanted him later it would be fine, but I didn't want to keep driving back and forth.

Have I mentioned I was in my second trimester?

So I pulled up in the van and could tell they were not going to be finishing up anytime soon. This was the last practice, the night before they started tournaments. This team barely won any games. They played on all corners of my very large county, and I would drive all over only to see my son sit out all but two innings of the game, in the hot sun with his red-headed self frying away.

So this last practice...after checking and triple/quadruple checking when it would be done, I left my air conditioned van, waddled up, at seven forty-five, and was met by Coach's wife, who I didn't know was such, but apparently knew who I was...as such.

"They are playing a scrimmage, "she announced to me. I irritatedly responded with, "Well...I sure wish someone would have told me that when I dropped him off. I was told to be back no later than 7:30."

Her next, rather offensive response caused me to realize I wasn't dealing with just any parent (especially the way the other parents were regarding me with a super hero pregnant mom status, sent to fight the powers of evil, egotistical little league coaches and their wives for them.)

Coach's wife proclaimed,

"We didn't know that when you dropped him off. The other team was nice enough to offer. This is the last practice and they need it if they have any chance of winning the tournament!"

Well, a Coach and his wife can dream I suppose.

Carefully, I assessed mine enemy, and realized she wasn't worth my blood pressure going up. Nope, I was going to wait to get my digs in, to the man who sent his woman to attempt to avoid me one last time. I stood there in the hot June sun, no supper, very pregnant, waiting. Watching. Biding my time waiting for the right opportunity.

(Insert the music from the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly here.)

At 8:15 the scrimmage ends. Tanner's team loses the scrimmage. (Is anyone else sensing a pattern here?) Oh and have I mentioned that the Coach is fond of having them run laps after the other team leaves when they lose (or win!)?

So at 8:15, a full 45 minutes after I was told my son would be finished....

The coach decided they should have a pep talk. After they run laps of course. They have been here since FIVE O'clock. There is a collective sigh of discontent among the parents.

Then a voice rings out from the crowd. It's mine. Quiet, pleasant, inquiring.

"Hey coach?"
He turns and I can almost see him flinch at the site of me, pregnant....sweaty....HUNGRY....

And knowing my probable cause he pleads, "Can I just have him a few extra minutes?"
I say, "You've had him forty-five extra minutes already."
The other parents are smirking, enjoying, silently cheering me.

Except coach's wife who simply humphs! again.

Needless to say, there's no winning for the coach when faced with such a super hero pregnant mom. He knows he's finished. He forfeits...defers...to my awesome prenatal prowess.

Tanner is embarrassed. He pleads in the van that I never do it again.
I promise him I won't if...

he lets me sign him up for YMCA ball the next year. I heard a rumor that it's a positive, non-competitive experience, and said experience meets, practices, and plays at the same field, only two times a week, for one hour timed games. That in said experience all kids play every inning, all kids are cheered on, by all parents and coaches (and their wives if they show up) of both teams. Sounds lovely.

He doesn't answer.

The next spring Tanner says he would like to try Y ball instead.

His dad says, " I don't think Y ball is very good."
I say, "But they only play at the fields five minutes away instead of all over town."
His dad says, "Y ball isn't competitive."
I say, "Well then. Perhaps in addition to not driving forty minutes to games we will actually get to see Tanner PLAY in them."
His dad says, "I really would like him to stay in Little League."
I say, "Ok...then can you take him all the time? Because I spent last year miserably pregnant driving all over the county only to see him warm the bench."
His dad says, "He can try Y ball."

But Noah was set on Little League, and his dad agreed to take him all over the county to do it. We said fine. That we would gladly pay for and cover Y ball.

Rick offered to coach and the coach was thrilled. Then, since Noah was done with Little League in time, he got to join the team as well. AND, Ken (Tanner's dad) offered to coach too, that is if Rick was ok with that. (We are an awesome blended family, don't you think?) And Rick responded, "Of course...they're YOUR sons."

And that's the year that my sons had their DADS both coach. I have pictures to prove it. Now Y ball was pretty sad. The coaches pitched. To 10-12 year olds. Some kids didn't even know to run to the bases when they accidentally made contact with the ball.

BUT...my sons helped their Dads coach the other kids. For once both Tanner and Noah were the BEST players on the team. They had such a good time they opted to ONLY play Y ball the next year. And Rick and Ken opted to be the coaches from the start. Together. Adrienne even joined the team.

During practices their teammates found the situation curious. Once a girl asked Rick, "Are you Noah's dad?"
Rick said, "No. I'm Noah's Stepdad."
The girl then inquired, "Well then who's that other guy over there?"
Rick answered, "Noah's Dad."
The girl gave a very strange, puzzled expression and stated, "THAT'S weird!"

Surely it is. But it's our weird and we're sticking to it.

So this year we leave Y ball behind. Noah is back in Little league and the coach, as I said, practices WAY long. But...he usually finishes within ten minutes of the scheduled end. Tanner has opted for a church team, complete with learning versus. We just tell him not to mention what church mom heads to every week and he should do just fine.

I have been running them to practice and dancing the complicated how to pick them up at the same time at two different fields dance, BUT they ONLY play at those fields! Whooopeee!

And then last night I had an epiphany. I don't know why it didn't happen sooner.

I discovered the joy of baseball.
For mom's anyway.

The weather was horrible, blowing, raining, looking like thunder (whatever that looks like since thunder is a sound!) So I brought a good book and read it while my youngest son got drenched practicing while the heavens opened upon him. After the rain ended the coach called them into the covered dugout (interesting choice of order there) for a pep talk after the previous night's loss. I sat there thinking, "Why doesn't this irritate me? This practicing through terrible weather, only to seek coverage After it stops, never considering calling it due to weather.

Then it hit me.

I was enjoying my time reading in the car!

And once I get my new little laptop...I could spend practices writing in the car.

No WONDER my mom drove us to rehearsals non-stop and classes every Sat at the Guild. She either did some volunteering there herself, went to the store alone, or read. Alone.

When you have four kids...alone time is reverent.
Healing.
Soulful solitude.

Now....Now I get it. What was I thinking before?

My kids are allowed to go to any practices for any sport they like. I will gladly transport to all. But I'm not leaving my car!!!!.

2008-05-07T13:31:00.009-04:00

Since the dawn of human consciousness, religion has been the mightiest force driving humankind toward an unknown goal. It has allowed the teeming millions to experience a greater joy and a creative fervor; it has furnished them with the strength and the courage to achieve imperishable cultural feats and enabled them to reach unimaginable spiritual heights.
-Muhammad Asad Loepold Weiss, "Islamic Sufism" From "The Bounty of Allah," translated by Aneela Khalid Arshed.

beliefnet.com

Another Milestone

2008-04-29T07:53:00.024-04:00

When I turned 10...

Gosh at first I didn't remember much about that milestone into double digits. My initial thoughts conjured up a three tiered cake with a golden ballerina on top. That ballerina still exists somewhere in my father's house, as well as in this badly fading photo. But after I started digging through my childhood photo album I discovered that cake was in fact, for my ninth birthday.

My tenth birthday was the year I had a huge sleepover for my best girlfriends in my fourth grade class. You turn ten in fourth grade right?

Standing behind me are (L-R) Beth, Lana, and Michelle. Sitting are Sherry, me, Raquel, and Renee.
Wow...fourth grade. We had a miserable crabby old teacher named Mrs. Street who, due to what I now know was an extreme case of Strabismus (wandering eye) could see you doing something bad without seemingly looking your direction. She often confused me with Renee, which I now attribute to what must have been amblyopia (as in lazy eye, as in vision, likely caused by the Strabismus- wow- can't take the ophthalmogy out of the assistant even four years later!)

That sleepover was a wild time.

Looking at these photos for the first time in years, I realized that thanks to joining my class reunion committee, I have had a chance to either see or email Beth and Raquel.

I always thought Renee was so pretty and glamorous that I didn't understand why Mrs. Street got us mixed up all the time. Looking back we did favor each other, and were almost sisterly in that we actually shared the same birthday, as well as hospital room when we were born. I wonder what my "twin" is up to now.

Sherry moved away during elementary school.

Sadly, Michelle, never got past the milestone of thirteen. She became ill with leukemia the same year these photos were taken. She passed away in seventh grade. That loss is the first I remember of someone so young that I knew so well.

Turning twenty was bad. So bad in fact I couldn't find a picture of celebrating it. This one is from turning 21. Much more important milestone than twenty after all. Legal. Grown up. By the time this picture was taken, I was well on my way to dropping out of my first stint at college. One of the first of many twenties regrets.

When I turned thirty, my life took off.

I was a stay at home mom in an unhappy marriage. I had two children, then about to turn 4 and 1. I felt unfulfilled and in need of change. The milestone of thirty propelled me into realizing that I had not even begun to figure out what I wanted to do or be when I grew up. And I was evolving toward an understanding that the current path I was taking, wasn't one I would look back on one day and be proud of. I was "getting by" "making do" "content". But far from happy.

The year between thirty and thirty-one was a metamorphosis of sorts. A cathartic awakening. And shortly before my 31st birthday, I decided to listen to a quote I heard...one that haunted me every time I was afraid to take a risk for happiness.

"Leap and the net will find you."

I felt my first husband couldn't join or even follow me on that journey. So I left my safety net and filed for divorce. I went back to work and school. Life was stressful, but for the first time it seemed heavier on the "Full" than the "stress". By my 31st birthday, thirty pounds of emotionally fed layers melted off as easily as a Hershey's kiss on a summer day in Miami. Or Hell...whichever's faster.

Today, as I turn 40, I find myself full circle in many ways. I now have a total of four kids. I am a stay at home mom with a toddler. I am now happily married, and know that my husband of three years will not only follow, or join me on my journey toward fulfillment, but...

Encourages me to stay on the path.

However, I am still struggling with unhealthy relationships, both with teenagers, and chocolate. The chocolate I can walk away from. The teens I cannot, and that makes it hard to leave my friend, cocoa behind me either. Teens definitely challenge the art of unconditional loving. The difficulty lies in the fact that they see themselves as mature and full grown. You know they are not. Therefore you as the parent, the grown up, must attempt to let go just enough, so that you don't all go down in a cesspool of contempt and bitterness, while still finding ways to teach them, guide them toward responsibility and self sufficiency. Knowing that reaching that place took me til the age of thirty...well, lets just say it seems a daunting task.

Every angst filled glare, baiting of arguments, every eye roll or questioning of my right to request anything of them and...

I just get that jonesin' for some cocoa, mocha, bittersweet, tollhouse, fudge. And unfortunately, when I go into denial about my chocoholic tendencies, well....as Shakira says, "My Hips Don't Lie." Neither does the full length mirror in my bathroom, or candid photos at family events. The same emotionally fed thirty pounds are back to haunt me.

This year for me is about finding that balance. How do I find that thirty year old woman who was so unbelievably certain in her path that she leapt for the proverbial net, knowing that it would find her? Where did she go? Did I wear her out the five years I was single-mothering, working, schooling?

I hope not.

I did have an incredible week I am still trying to sort through. I had a lovely time with my friend Lorie, my mom, her friend Stella, my cousin Amy, and so many wonderful friends I have come to know through the Company of Women retreat. One, as I posted earlier this week, we lost the day after returning home, and that is still sitting with me as well.

Then I barely had time to exhale when I was off to Meadville Lombard in Chicago. Spent three days (on top of the past year) pondering a Masters of Arts in Religion. Knowing it's the next step, but not being able to take it due to other obligations is hard.

Something is still holding me back, still waiting to show itself in the next year.

I have a feeling....

That soon my dear old friends catharsis and metamorphosis will show up at my door once more.

I am anticipating their arrival. We have a lot to discuss over a cup of mocha java....

Decaf with a double shot of fat free cream.

A Loss for Words

2008-04-22T12:16:00.011-04:00

I am just now winding down after an AMAZING writer's retreat, yet gearing up for my trip to Chicago for Meadville Lombard's prospective student conference. I am trying to remain in the moment of each experience, soaking up every minute, all the while wishing they were a few weeks apart so I could savor all the more.

The weekend was full of inspiration, reflection, catching up with my old high school friend, as well as many familiar returning faces. My friend Lorie and I both turn 40 this year and celebrated at the retreat (my 5th, her first) by bringing wine, chocolate and presents.

I learned many wonderful things (of course!) as I do every single year, and have decided to devote different posts to each lesson (there's that stretching out the savoring thing again.)

So this post, I want only to focus on the most poignant part of this years retreat for me, well, likely for us all. It is a bittersweet reflection.

Sadly, one of my favorite instructors, a poet named Judi Beach, had to back out of the retreat at the last minute. She had discovered only weeks before that she had stage four liver cancer and her health rapidly declined.

She passed away yesterday.

Judi was one of the most generous writers and instructors I have ever known, and my only regret is that I didn't get to know her better over the years. She was such an amazing instructor that she was requested to return every year. You may read more about her on her website, which I discovered has not been updated yet. I found this to be completely poetic, as I still feel such energy from Judi I doubt she will ever feel gone to me. I almost feel like sending out an email to her and that, wherever she is, she will receive it and smile.

Here is one of my favorite poems of Judi's-

From...How far Light must Travel

Light

Sun comes in where it can, secure in its welcome.
The moon, too, trails through the house.
And if the sun or moon is not available,
we find comfort in the incandescence of lamps.
We take advantage of every bright source
to place our paintings and art, our photos of loved ones.
Houseplants collaborate for light from a single window.
We are never without it even on nights of no moon.
When the wind has blown electricity into the next county,
we reach for flashlight or candle, praise the domestication of fire.
In the presence of light, whatever the source, we do not feel alone.

There are times when we forget we can see in shadow
and times the heart's darkness forgets the sun is waiting to get in.
But even the blind know that light brings warmth.
A cold rock resting in a ribcage will find heat and beat again.

~Judi Beach

Ironically, the Jackie Greene song that is playing on this post, was the one I chose to use last week because of it's opening line, "I've been thinkin' bout some women." I thought that was a perfect song to accompany my retreat post. I had no idea at the time that Judy was ill.

I forgot it was on here today, until I was finished with the first draft of the post and tested it out. As I listen only one word came to mind- apropos. Please send loving thoughts to Judi's family as you listen to the whole song.

As I keep in mind the positive direction I'm headed on my own journeys this week, I am choosing to reflect on Judi's light. That amazing bright aura surrounded her and enveloped everyone she met. I will follow it as a beacon in the dark this week, toward my future bright and full of reflection.

Peace, love, and red wine