Death Isn't Funny?

 Let me say first for the Grammar Monitors out there, the "?" in the title of this post is intentional. On the rare occasion in an actor's life a role comes along that you just can't pass up. You read the script, and you know this is a role you must play, and if lucky enough to be chosen to play the role, you feel honored and realize the incredible privilege you have to be trusted to bring this role to life and tell this story. If you get one role like that in your whole career (so far, almost 51 years for me, and still going) you're lucky. I felt that way when Dawn Westbrook cast me as Della Brady in The Cake at Richmond Triangle Players back in 2020. Several people heard me say, "If I never do another play again, I'm okay with that because Della is the highpoint of my career." Little did I know, at the time, how prophetic that statement was as we closed in March of 2020, and 3 weeks later the World "closed." Luckily, theatre survived the Pandemic. I can't say it's thriving, but it is certainly striving to become what it once was. I have only been on stage once since playing Della. I understudied and ended up finishing the run in a role in Barefoot in the Park for VaRep. I love Neil Simon, and I had a great time playing the role, but it was short-lived, only about 3 weeks. I haven't auditioned for a lot, and I have been focusing on my acting studio, Amaryllis Studios and mounting and directing our own production of Chess, the Musical last July and Godspell this July. All that to say, I wasn't really planning on doing any acting anytime soon. On December 3rd of last year that all changed. I received an email from Kerrigan Sullivan, the Department Chair for the Performing Arts at Brightpoint Community College with the Subject line: Potential Role. Any actor who is reading this right now knows the little skip your heartbeat takes when you read those words. The email went on to say that they were producing a brand new work and would I be interested in playing the role of Mother. She attached the script. I received the email at 10:10pm. I read the script immediately and sent an email back after midnight accepting the offer. The Play is called WillJee, and I have not been this impressed with something I've read since I read The Cake. The story, the characters, the dialogue is so rooted in reality! I'm sure part of that comes from the fact that it is based on a real situation the playwright went through with is sister when she was diagnosed with cancer. That's a big thing for me. Do I believe these people? Do I relate? this play has a lot of humor, like laugh out loud humor, and that may be surprising to you considering it deals with death and cancer and mental illness, but, as I often say when I am faced with trials, "It's either laugh or cry. I choose to laugh." I'm tickled to pieces that I am getting to do this! A lovely article by Dave Timberline was posted in Style Weekly today. Check it out, and come check out the play. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll laugh while you're crying. It's an amazing piece of theatre, and you will be sorry if you miss it. This one is going places! I'm just glad I get to be a small part of it.

And Flights of Angels

I said goodbye to a friend today. I first knew Sherry Jeffords Brandmahl as the "cool older girl" in our folk group. We were both raised in the same church, Westhampton United Methodist. Sherry's mother, Beth Jeffords, was my very first choir director, Cherub Choir, I was 3. You had to be in Middle School to be in the folk group, and I was thrilled when I got to sing with the "big kids." I remember thinking how pretty Sherry was, long blond hair and these huge dark eyes and a voice like an angel. Sherry was older than me, so I didn't really hang around with her. I was too little. I did not know at the time, but years later we would meet again and embark on a journey filled with lots of highs and a few lows but a great friendship. I met up with Sherry again in my 20's. We were, again, attending the same church, Discovery United Methodist Church. My husband at the time was the music director, and Sherry was in the choir. The church had 3 services back to back. I always felt like the 8:30 service got cheated on music, so I started a group called "The 8:30 Girls." It was a quartet. I was singing Soprano along with another friend, Janet, and two ladies needed to sing the lower alto parts. I knew I wanted to ask Sherry. She was always a great alto. She agreed, and the group was formed, Me, Janet, Debbie and Sherry. We started practicing, and soon we had quite a repertoire. One Sunday came, and "The 8:30 Girls" were singing at an outdoor service. It was a bright, sunny morning, and all of us wore sunglasses. From that morning on we were known as Shades of Faith. Something special happens when you sing with a group of people. You are creating a sound together. We had rehearsals sometimes where we laughed more than we sang. I loved those days! I was lucky enough to be in two groups with Sherry. In addition to Shades, we were both in a group called Messenger. My Ex was the lead singer, Sherry's brother, Billy, played drums, our associate pastor, Dan, played keyboards and guitar, and 3 ladies sang tight, back-up harmony. Sherry was, you guessed it, our alto. If there was ever a group that could have gone somewhere, it was Messenger. As it often does, life had other plans. At the height of Messenger's journey my husband left me and the church, and just like that, it was over. That brings me to one of my favorite memories of Sherry. My marriage didn't break up in the most amicable way. I came home to an empty house, and I was reeling. I called Dan, and he called Sherry and Bill to come to church so we could break the news. Sherry and Bill came right over. They were right there for me, and Sherry continued to be there for me. She helped me through some of the toughest years of my life. We had long talks. I always knew she was on my side. The last time I saw Sherry was a couple of years ago. She had come with her parents and sister to see a show I was in. I saw them after the show, and Sherry hadn't changed a bit, just as beautiful as ever. Cancer took Sherry away from us last Friday, and today I attended her Standing Room Only funeral. Obviously Sherry touched many lives besides mine. I listened as a good friend of ours, Sandra Bottoms, led a beautiful service. I listened to our dear friend, Donald Coles, sing a song Sherry requested when she knew her path was taking its final turn. It was a comforting song. Just like Sherry to try to comfort me even in her passing. Good bye, sweet friend.

Mike's "Cysta" is Already a Problem Tennant

Back in the middle of July I wrote an entry with an update on my tumor (Mike Wazowski). I know several of you have been following my progress through this whole tumor/brain surgery ordeal that started a little less than a year ago. Wow! That's hard to believe that it's been almost a year since the exisitence of Mike was first discovered. So much has happened in these last 10 months. When one is told that they have a tumor it strikes a chord. No matter what is said after that, you have this initial feeling of dread. It is probably because we've watched too many scenes in movies or on TV where the hero or heroine fights bravely to the death with a brain tumor, we instantly think CANCER. Mine was not cancer. It was never thought to be cancer, but knowing that, I almost took it too lightly at first. Even after everything was removed, (well, not everything) I felt fine, by my standards. I have my granfather's "shake it off" constitution, so I thought I'm feeling fine. It's all over, and even if there is something hanging around, I can live with it until it poses a threat. I had made all mylittle plans of waiting until May to have my surgery. Afterall that fits better with my schedule, and I can bank enough time at work to be able to take the month needed to recover at full salary instead of 2/3 or, worse, days with no salary at all. NEWSFLASH: Threat posed! Last week I saw Dr. Astruc, the eye specialist who first caught the problem, for a routine follow-up. Part of the follow-up was a field of vision test as I had had the previous 2 visits since Mike had mostly affected my peripheral vision. I was a little worried when I took the eye test, you know the one with the letters, and my right eye was acting the same way it had when all this mess started but not as bad. The last letter in the line was invisible, not the last 2. But, as we tend to do as humans, I rationalized. It's dark in here. Maybe I have something in my eye, etc., etc. Then I went to take the field of vision test, and we started the process of staring down the long tunnel and clicking the plastic piece in my hand every time I saw a flash of light. Back to the examining room to wait for Dr. Astruc. As he looked at the results compared with my results in May, I didn't hear what I wanted to hear. Left eye? PERFECT! Right eye? Another dark spot has appeared. Well, CRAP! He said that he thought the cyst was probably causing that, but he would send the report to Dr. Sahni, my neurosurgeon, and he would make the determination of how to proceed. I saw Dr. Astruc on a Wednesday, and Thursday morning I got a call from Dr. Sahni. To summarize: My plans to wait until May went out the window. In fact, when I told Dr. Sahni I wanted to wait until then, he chuckled and said, "No, you cannot wait until then." So as it stands now, I am shooting for the first week of November, almost exactly where I was a year ago. I'm not thrilled, but it is what it is. What else am I going to do? This time they will do what Dr. Sahni called an Inter-operative MRI. That means they will do the MRI while I am still under to make sure EVRYONE vacates! I can tell you one thing. Mike's not getting his security deposit back!

Listen to Your Heart

On July 28th I wrote a post about a little heart scare that I had, and my preliminary diagnoses from the doctor. Yesterday, FINALLY, I went in for my stress test. I have to say I was a little nervous. I'm in fair shape, but I've never had one of these before. I had visions of passing out or not being able to do it at all, or, the worst of all, what if I had to run? YIKES!!! I jokingly tell people I don't run unless some one's chasing me. But early yesterday morning I made my way to the Cardio Vascular Specialists and got all hooked up and started on the treadmill. If you've never had a stress test, a little explanation. You are exercising so that your heart rate will elevate. I was told that they needed to get my heart rate over 145. A normal resting heart rate is somewhere between 60 and 100. The reason they need to raise your heart rate is to see how your heart tolerates exercise. You start out easy at a slow rate and gradually they raise the incline and increase the speed. As soon as you reach your target rate you have to quickly lie down on a bed and they take ultrasound pictures of your heart. The first two stages, not too bad. The third was close to jogging, and it was becoming a little harder to breath normally. Luckily I reached my target pretty close into Phase 3, and I got to stop. The doctor looked at the pictures, and I was told that everything looked good. My heart tolerates exercise well, and that there was no sign of heart attack or any active blockage. Excellent news! So what was the jaw pain back in July? Not sure. The good news is it wasn't a heart attack or a warning sign of anything else heart related. Maybe it was just the aches and pains of getting older. The important thing is that I got it checked out. We have to listen and pay attention to our own bodies, and, unfortunately, sometimes we have to push to make sure the doctors are doing everything they are supposed to be doing, and they are not becoming the DISMISSERS. In the past few years, I have had 2 friends who were diagnosed with cancer, but both had to push further for treatment because they knew something was wrong, something wasn't normal. My generation tends to just accept whatever we are told about our medical condition. I think, well he's the doctor. He should know. But there are incompetent doctors just like there are incompetent teachers, plumbers, lawyers, and the list goes on and on. Think Frank Burns from M*A*S*H. So, listen to your heart or your stomach or your breast or your brain. Because nobody knows your body better than you do.

And in the End....

We're all going to die. That's the plain and simple truth. No one lives forever, so death is no surprise. It is how and when we die that troubles us. I remember seeing a made-for-tv movie when I was 10 about a woman who was dying of cancer. I can't remember the entire movie, but I think it was probably the first time I had ever heard of cancer. My family has no history of cancer, so I had never dealt with a relative having the disease. I do remember thinking, even though I was only 10, if I ever get cancer, and they tell me there's nothing they can do, I'm not going to have chemo therapy because I want to live what little time I have left not being sick as a dog. Now, let me interject here. I am not saying that no one should have chemo therapy who has cancer. I know how much good it can do. I have seen it help my friends. In this particular film it was a matter of you have very little time. We can extend your life a little bit, but you'll be sick for the rest of your days kind of thing. I decided then that I didn't want THAT! 40 years later, at age 50. I still feel that way. At least I say I would make that decision, but, truth be told, I don't think any of us can make a decision like that until we hear those actual words, "There's nothing we can do." I have been catching episodes of a show called Chasing Life. It centers around a young woman in her 20's who has been diagnosed with Leukemia. As she deals with having cancer she meets a young man who has a brain tumor. He tells her that he has opted not to have surgery to try and remove the tumor because of the risks of going into a coma or living life as a vegetable. He wants to die with dignity and his mind in tact. That poses the question is it life we want or quality of life? Right now, without the threat of death hanging over my head, I would choose quality of life even if it was shorter. But....ask me again if living a few extra months, even in a weak and sick state,  would allow me to see my daughters get married or my first grandchild born, and I may have a different outlook all together. I found out today that someone I know has heard those words, and it made me think, and it pissed me off, and I wasn't going to give it the Mary Sunshine treatment and look at the bright side. Let's be honest. When someone tells you you are going to die. This awful thing you have is going to kill you, there is no bright side, and frankly it pisses me off more when people try to offer phrases like, "You've lived a full life," or "5 or 10 more years, that's pretty good!" I'm sorry! No it's not. It's SHIT! I know people mean well when they say these things, but sometimes it's just better to own what's wrong and face it head on, and know we don't always have to put on a brave front. It's okay to be mad as hell that you have cancer and it's going to rob you of your life. I mean, come on! You have cancer! I didn't tell my friend anything except that I was sorry, and I was here for him. And isn't that all we really want in life is someone to be there for us in good times and bad? It doesn't make the rough times easy, but it sure as hell makes them a lot less hard!

Relay for Life

In 2008 I had a rare and wonderful opportunity as an actor. I had a stage partner who was as giving and natural as any I had ever worked with. We were cast as husband and wife in a show called "Breakfast with Les and Bess" This show called for pages of dialogue between just me and my fellow actor. With someone else in his role, it could have been a nightmare. It was a joy!! I am relatively sure that anyone seeing that performance may have thought we were actually married to each other in real life. Our chemistry and rapport was just that good! For the brief 3 week run, I felt like this actor was my husband. I was so proud of the work we did together! The couple in this show have their differences. In fact, you think they might even split. You see them fight and argue, but in the end you find out that they really love each other, and that for all of Les' arguing, what he really wants is more time with his Bess. There is a scene at the end of the show, and the character of Les makes a gesture that is so sweet to show his wife just how much he loves her. It's the final moment in the show. I can still see myself looking at my sweet friend with a little tear in my eye and grabbing his hand as the lights went down. The actor was Jay McCullough. Why did I tell you that story, you ask? Because shortly after that show closed, Jay found out he had cancer, and in 2009 it took him from us. My family has no history of cancer, thank God, so I had never lost anyone close to me to the disease. I guess that's why Jay's death affected me so much. Cancer robbed the world of this wonderful, giving, sweet talented man. I felt cheated. I wanted more time with him. I wanted more chances to work with him, to create with him, and cancer said, "NO!"
I am sure you have heard of Relay for Life. My workplace has a team who is walking. I cannot be there for the event, but I have committed to raise money. I've dedicated my efforts to Jay's memory. The link will take you to my page. Please help me with my goal so that the world doesn't have to lose any more wonderful people like Jay to this frightening disease.

“Invisible threads are the strongest ties” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

There are certain people that come into your life that you have a definite connection with. It's a deep, unexplainable connection. It almost transcends reality. I have just such a connection with a very dear friend of mine. He is probably my oldest friend as we met each other in 1975. A traumatic event that we went through together in May of that same year turned acquaintances into life long friends. We have stayed in touch throughout all of these years, sometimes on a more regular basis than others, but through it all, this connection has remained. We live a good distance from each other. We live separate lives, but I know he will always be there if I need him, and he knows that about me too. All through my life, he has been able to sense when I need to hear from him. At one of the lowest points in my life when I was bearing a huge burden in secret for fear of letting the world know what I was going through, I heard from my friend. When he called, I had probably not heard from him in years, but the sound of his voice immediately lifted my spirits. I didn't share my secret burden, but just talking to him was just what I needed.
Recently my friend found out he had a very aggressive form of cancer. Surgery was set to try and fix the problem, remove the organ that was diseased. The fear? The cancer may have spread, and therefore would not be able to be removed. Pretty scary! Let's face it. None of us ever wants to hear the "C" word. If anyone tells you it doesn't strike a chord of panic when heard in a diagnosis, I would venture to say they would be lying. I was concerned. I prayed for him. I put him on my Sunday school prayer list, but throughout the entire period of the time I found out until now, I felt this sense of calm. That little voice inside saying to me, "Everything is going to be okay." My daughter even commented to me how calm I was about the whole thing. Now, I have to say, I am not a panicky person. I keep my head in most crisis situations. It is not until everything is all over that I usually fall apart and always in private. I never shared this with my friend because I didn't want to seem like I was not taking this very difficult situation seriously, I was. My connection to him just made me feel a peace about the whole ordeal. Today I found out that he's, in his words, "OK" The surgery was successful, and the cancer had stayed contained. I am thrilled, overjoyed, and true to form, I fell apart, in private, after it was all over, not tears of sadness but extreme joy that my friend and his family have been freed, and my "connection" remains.