The First of the Lasts

I have decided to write this blog post today because I can cry at home without attracting too much attention. Just kidding! Not really. I have already started, and I'm only 5 sentences in. Tomorrow, September 3, 2013, my youngest, my baby, will begin her senior year in high school. For this household, it will be our last ever first day of school. I cannot believe that I have watched her do this for 13 years already. I can still remember exactly what she was wearing her first day of Kindergarten, a little jeans jumper and a striped purple shirt, and no I didn't have to search through pictures to recall. She had a little bob haircut, a style in later years she told me she disliked greatly. That wouldn't be the last opinion she would share through her school years as she definitely speaks her mind. :) I walked her and her sister down to the bus top and cried just like I am now, and I am sure there will be many tears shed this year as I watch this beautiful young woman experience all the things that have to do with your final year in school knowing it's the last bit of childhood I have to hold onto. If you read this blog at all or if you know me personally, you know that our life has been a struggle. She has grown up without a father as a daily presence in her life as her father and I separated when she was 2. Some would say, "Well that's all she has ever known, so it probably wasn't that bad," and that argument has valid points. How can you miss what you never had? But on the other hand, you don't even have the memories of what it is to be daddy's little girl. Thank God for my father as he took over that role for both of my girls but especially my youngest. They shared lots of time together as we lived with my parents for her preschool years and beyond. Her older sister was already in school so that made for lots of quality time spent with my dad as he was retired and her primary caregiver for most of the day. If you asked her she would say that I have been all she has ever needed, but it's really the other way around. My children were my saviors. I pulled myself up because of them. That little girl in the jeans jumper has lifted my spirits more than she will ever know with her wisdom far beyond her years. Her depth of compassion is staggering! I know that tomorrow will carry with it bittersweet feelings as we experience the first of many lasts this year together. Bitter, well for obvious reasons as I have already gone through three tissues typing this and sweet because I am so proud of the young woman she has become. I know every parent says that about their kid, but for this one, there's something more, something none of us will ever know. Every person she comes in contact with will be touched in some way by her humor, her compassion, her honesty, and it will change them. I know she has changed me, and at the risk of her reading this, and saying, "Mom, that's so cheesy!" I will close with these lyrics: Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
                                                        But because I knew you,
                                                        I have been changed for good.
Go change the world, sweet girl! I love you!

Someone Else's Skin

I can't remember the very first time I saw the film, To Kill a Mockingbird. I believe it was somewhere around my early 20's. I will turn 50 this October, and in the last 30 years I have probably watched it at least 5 times. I loved the film, and was even set to name my second child Atticus, but God gave me a girl. Seeing the film almost 30 years ago you would think that at sometime I would have read Harper Lee's novel that the book was based on. I am ashamed to say that I had not, until now. Back in July, I was cast in a local production of To Kill a Mockingbird. In some of our very early rehearsals, the director suggested that we read the novel to get a real feel of the background of the fictional town of Maycomb, Alabama, the setting for Lee's story. So, 2 weeks ago, I trotted into Barnes and Noble and bought the novel. Now, I am not much of a reader. It's not that I don't enjoy reading, I've just always been a child of television and movies. It was like pulling eye teeth to get me to do any of reading in high school. I became the master of skimming to get the general idea. In fact, I became so good at it, that I once received an A+ on a critical analysis I turned in on D. H. Lawrence's Sons and Lovers, a book I never read, but only skimmed with this comment, "This is one of the best critical analyses I have ever read on this book!" Go figure. So...I got lazy and coasted most of the time when it came to required reading. This time was different. I was really reading this book for research for a part on the stage, my true passion. I am so glad that I did. I finished it today, exactly two weeks after I started it. I cried several times. I laughed, and I thought....a lot! This book was written in 1960, 3 years before I was born. It's setting takes place in 1935, but the themes are just as relevant today, maybe even more so. Many people think this book is about race, black and white, and how we treat each other, and to some degree it is, but it's so much more. Atticus, after finding that his daughter, Scout, has had some trouble with her teacher at school tells her, "If you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." I don't know about you, but I think that one simple trick, as Atticus puts it, is the answer to world peace. I can't say that I always do that as I encounter people each day. I'm surprised, considering I must have heard my grandmother say a million times that we should follow the golden rule. If you don't know what that is, I'll enlighten you, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." As I read this beloved story, Harper Lee put me in someone else's skin several times, the falsely accused Tom Robinson, the physically abused Mayella Ewell, the neglected Dill Harris, the poverty stricken Cunninghams, the courageous addict, Mrs. Dubose,  and of course, the reclusive Boo Radley. As I "walked around" in their skin, I learned a thing or two about myself, and hopefully next time a situation arises,  I won't be so quick to pass judgement or assume the worst about someone, and maybe, just maybe, they might extend me the same courtesy.

Give Us Dirty Laundry

One of my friends on Facebook shared a photo last night. I looked at the photo, read the name, but didn't recognize it, and scrolled on to play my next level of "Candy Crush" Then this morning, another friend of mine posted this status, Maybe one day a person who saves countless children's lives will get as much attention and recognition as a person who takes them. Why is the media negative? Because that's what we tell them we want. It made me think of the Don Henley song, "Dirty Laundry" 


We got the bubble-headed bleached blond comes on at 5,
She can tell you 'bout the plane crash with a gleam in her eye,
It's interesting when people die,
Give us dirty laundry.
We have become a society who crave tragedy! We relish in celebrities woes! We want that dirty laundry! Now, before people get offended, I am not pointing fingers at anyone in particular, and when I say "we", I am not actually accusing anyone who reads this of being a ravenous wolf salivating at the prospect of seeing death, destruction and mayhem. I am merely making an observation. Case in point: Let's go back to the picture I mentioned above. The photo shared was that of Antoinette Tuff. For those of you who do not know who that is, she is the bookkeeper, yes, you read that right, the bookkeeper who talked an armed gunman into surrendering his weapons at an Atlanta Elementary school yesterday. The result? Over 800 students, an undisclosed number of staff, police officers on the scene, and even the shooter walked away from the scene without a scratch! I had to do a google search for "Georgia Elementary School" to find her name and the story. Of the 14 hits that came up on the first page, only 2 talk about Antoinette. The others are about the gunman, the AK47, and the shots fired. I saw nothing on Facebook when this was unfolding except one mention of a gunman at a Georgia Elementary School, and then nothing else until my friend shared Antoinette's photo last night. I have two local news station that come up in my news feed. Obviously, once it was over, and no one was hurt, I'm guessing, the story didn't make the cut for the teaser to go to the news station's website or watch the evening's broadcast. No, Antoinette's heroism and bravery were trumped by the three psychopath assholes who killed a jogger because they were bored. We read of the stories of the gladiators fighting to the death and feeding people to live animals while 1000's cheered, and we think it disgusting and vile and uncivilized, but is today's media frenzy obsessed with death and destruction really that different? And if we stopped watching, and turned it off, and stopped sharing it through social media, wouldn't they stop? I caught myself today. The story of the jogger killed came up on my news feed, and I got ready to share it on my timeline with my proclamation of my shock and disgust, and I stopped myself. I'm going to try very hard from this day forward to share good news. Does that mean I won't speak out against injustice? NO! But it does mean that I will stop and think before I hit that share button what and why I'm actually sharing. 

The Man Who Made the Shower Curtain Terrifying

Today is Alfred Hitchcock's birthday. I was never a big  fan growing up, and to this day, I still have never seen Psycho. It wasn't that I didn't like Hitchcock films. I just never gave them a chance because I was a big chicken. Then, in my late 20's, I was working for Time-Life. They had just broken into selling video and music series in addition to book series. Every year they held a big sale of all the current offerings at low, low prices for their employees. Books for $1. Videos for $5 and CD's for $3. I purchased a copy of a film called Notorious. It starred Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant, two of my favorite stars from that era. I didn't really pay attention to the fact that it was a Hitchcock film. I popped it into the VCR and watched it for the first time. It was released in 1946 and centers around the espionage and intrigue of World War II and the Nazis. It's really a mystery and suspense movie, not a scary movie, which is why I liked it so much. I had always thought all of Hitchcock's films were like Psycho and The Birds. Those genres were not to my liking, but with this new discovery of Hitchcock's mystery genre, I went in search of other titles. Thus began my pilgrimage to the master of suspense. In those days you could not get your movies streaming on your laptop, in fact there were no laptops. You had to go to the Blockbuster Video, yes video; not DVD, store and rent them. I started with  Rope, then Spellbound,  Strangers on a Train, Vertigo, The Man Who Knew Too Much, Rebecca, Dial M for Murder and my all time favorite, Rear Window. 

A few years back Hollywood tried to recreate this movie magic with a film called Disturbia. They failed. Hitchcock has a definite style. It's very slow and methodical. Nothing big and flashy. The best turn in this clip is the slow take that Raymond Burr takes directly into the camera, and you know. That was Hitchcock, drawing you in with every take. The top grosser of all time is of course, Psycho. As I said, I've never seen it, and I doubt I ever will. Of course, I'm sure it doesn't touch some of the things that I've seen on Criminal Minds or Supernatural, but I still don't want to see it. Without it, I still look behind the shower curtain every time I go in a bathroom where it is drawn. I don't need anything else to fuel my fire of fear and paranoia. The fact that I am not alone in that fear , I'm sure, is pleasing to Mr. Hitchcock, wherever he is. He made us look at every flock of birds in a different way. He made us wonder about the stranger next to us, and he made us hold our breath hoping someone would arrive to save our hero or heroine. Thank you for making our hearts beat a little faster in the dark!

Phoenix Rising

Recently I had the opportunity to meet a wonderful young man. I had the privilege of watching him perform. He had it all, the quintessential triple threat. He could sing. He could dance, and he could act. Often times when one is so talented, especially at a young age, they are less than humble. Not the case with this young man, he was humble and polite, and he had a genuineness about him. I liked him immediately, and that is not usually the case with me. When watching someone like that, I think we tend to believe that they must have a great life, look at how happy and full of joy they seem. I was amazed to find that this young man had not had such a perfect life, and had dealt with his share of adversity. Yet, here he was, this example of everything life had to offer. It made me stop and look at my own life and the lives of my girls. If you would ask most of the people who have crossed my path whether briefly or for a lifetime, most would say that I am a very upbeat person. I have a positive attitude. I smile A LOT, and I am known for my hearty laugh. No one would guess that my life has been dotted, from infancy almost, with the consuming fire of challenge and tragedy. Now, before I even continue, let me say that this is not a blog about gaining pity or sympathy from anyone. My first brush with adversity, admitting that I cannot remember, came when I was 6 months old. I clinically died having stopped breathing from a serious bout with pneumonia. That was in 1963, and no parents took courses in infant CPR. My father did the only thing he could think of to get me to start breathing. He held me upside down by my feet and struck me on the back, and I began to breathe. First fire extinguished. I rose out of those ashes and started into childhood, a great one, and then at the age of 11, I was in a terrible car accident and the back passenger side window exploded in my face resulting in over 100 stitches in my forehead, nose and right eyelid. Oh, did I mention all I ever wanted to be was an actress, and entertainer? This second fire would be a little harder to overcome. It would bring years of surgeries and teasing, but I continued to rise above the challenges and endure the pain of surgery all the while still auditioning every chance I got. I continued to get work, even landing a modeling job for a newspaper print ad at the age of 20, just 9 years after the accident. In 1991, I lost my first child to miscarriage. I was devastated by this fire, but still came through and went on to have two beautiful children. And finally in 1998 I would face the worst fire of all. My marriage of 15 years to my high school sweetheart and the love of my life ended when he walked out after months of having an affair leaving me with nothing. Surely this would be the fire that would consume me totally. There was no way of rising out of these ashes, but I did. It really is true. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I was determined not to let this last fire leave me in nothing but burned memories and broken pieces. I had two little girls to raise. Two little girls, now 17 and 20, who have become a phoenix in their own lives and like the young man that I met, have grown into bright and talented young women with every opportunity the world has to offer despite the fire that began their lives. If you are reading this and you are walking through your own fire right now, know that you can get through it, and you, like all of us, will rise out of the ashes a beautiful bird ready to soar.

Cut, Print, Moving on

Yesterday was an anniversary of mine that I did not realize until I got on Facebook in the afternoon. 15 years ago on July 30th, 1998, principal photography was completed on an independent feature film called "When Love Walks In". Why is that important to me, you ask? Because I was in that feature film. I can't believe for as long as I've had this blog that I've never written about this experience before. It all began, for me, in the summer of 1997. I was doing a production of "City of Angels" at Dogwood Dell, an amphitheater here in Richmond. I met a new actress in the cast named Katie, and we became friends. She was just getting in on the beginnings of an independent feature film with a friend she had worked with in the past. He was writing and producing the film, and his brother was directing. They were still looking for an actress to play the role of her mother, and Katie asked if I was interested, and so it began. After several meetings with producer and casting and re-casting the roles in the film, because of conflicts, we finally began shooting in the Spring of 1998. This was bare bones  film making at its finest. Kent Williamson, the producer/writer, had a full time job, and so did most of the crew and actors in the film, so we were shooting on vacation time, two weeks in the early spring, and then two weeks in the middle of July. It was definitely a family affair. The shoot was in Kent's hometown of Charlottesville, VA, just about an hour's drive from me, so housing was provided for me, and by housing, I mean I stayed in the spare bedroom of Kent's family home. Kent's mother and wife were craft services. In film and television production that is who provides your food while on set. We were fed VERY well. :) My costumes were all my own clothes coordinated with a costumer, and I did my own hair and make-up. Now, it may sound like I'm trying to paint a drab picture. I'm not! I just want you to get the Hollywood version of filming with star trailers and make-up chairs and wardrobe rooms, out of your head. Prior to filming, the cast had met for some read-thrus and discussion, so I had been to the Williamson house before, and when it came time to make the trip, I knew the drive well. I drove up the night before because shooting was supposed to begin very early the following day. Before embarking on this journey, the only experience I had had in film was standing in the background on my high school campus while a local show shot a promo. Saying I was nervous would be an extreme understatement. I rose early and went to the "set", a house of a friend of Kent's who agreed to let us use it for filming the exteriors and interiors of my character, Nora Machiavelli's house. At the time of filming I was 34 years old. I had spent the last 24 years as a stage actress. That may not mean a lot to most of you, but ask the crew what it meant to them the first day of shooting. The scene we were filming was one where Nora's ring had gotten caught on the garbage disposal blades as she was trying to unclog it. They set up the shot, a much longer process than I ever imagined, and we were doing our first take. I knew my lines, and I began. The crew was outside shooting through the kitchen window with sound and the boom (the big microphone they hold over the actor's heads) operator was inside the kitchen with me. It was just me, and all my lines were spoken into the phone as I was supposed to be talking to my daughter. "Cut!" the director yelled. Brad Williamson, Kent's brother was the director. Brad came over to me. "That was really great, but we need you to be a little quieter in the next take." Being on the stage, I was used to PROJECTING, not thinking about the fact that there's a very powerful microphone just over my head. Take 2. "Cut!" "That was really good, but you keep moving out of the shot." Again, my stage training had groomed me to be bigger than life, and we were shooting real life. When you watch a television show or a movie, you don't think about how small the space is the actors are working in. My space for this particular scene was as big as the window. We finally got the "garbage disposal" scene shot, and we were moving on. The afternoon we were shooting me forging my daughter's signature on a letter. Just a shot of my hands signing her name, Annelise Machiavelli. 17 takes. Don't ask! I spent most of my first night in that spare bedroom rethinking what I'd dreamed of being since I was 3, a movie star. This is not at all what I thought it would be. I don't like this, and worse yet, I'm bad at it. If you knew me, you'd know how much that last phrase was devastating to me, but I stuck with it, and thanks to the EXTREME patience of the director and crew, by the end of the Spring shoot, I had learned how to act for the camera, and better yet I learned to appreciate the differences from stage acting. You can't be subtle on the stage. You can't whisper. No one can see a tear rolling down your cheek. The spring shoot wrapped, and I would put "When Love Walks In" out of my mind until summer.
The shooting schedule was to begin in mid July. I was walking into the summer shoot a whole different person, emotionally and physically. I had lost about 50 lbs. The cause for the weight loss was also the cause for my emotional change. 2 weeks prior to shooting, I had come home from a trip to an empty house, and my husband of 15 years was gone, leaving me and our two small children with nothing. A lot of people in my life at the time could not believe that I was going to finish shooting the film. Well, those people don't know me very well. First of all, I would have never done that to Kent and Brad and the crew. It costs a huge amount of money to film, and to have to scrap all of my footage from the spring and recast would have been a huge setback to the production. Secondly, when I start something, I finish it. I wasn't walking out. Writing this just now, I realize the cruel irony in that. If you've heard anything about filming, you probably know that scenes are not shot chronologically. I'm pretty sure that at least one part of a scene we shot at dinner in the living room was the heavier me, and when I walk into the kitchen that in reality is supposed to be a split second later, I am 50 lbs. lighter. Needless to say, there was a lot of Spring footage of me that ended up on the cutting room floor. It is, however, preserved on the DVD as deleted scenes. The summer shoot meant more to me than I can tell you. As an actor many times you use tragedy in your life to fuel your performance. I had a tanker full. I was surrounded by supporting, loving people, and let's face it, it was a distraction from the reeling hell my life had just turned into. Thank you, Kent and Brad and Karen and all the crew for saving me that summer and letting me laugh and cry.
Fast forward to 2005. When actors make a film of any type, often times they never see their work, and certainly not immediately, unless they watch something called "dailies" where they see the raw footage shot during the day. I had never seen anything but a trailer that had been put together from different clips of the film. Because this was an independent film, shot and financed, post production took 7 years. I had never seen the finished product. Imagine my shock when Kent called me and told me that the film had been submitted to the Bare Bones International Independent Film Festival in Oklahoma and had received several nominations, including one for me for Best Actress in a Feature Film. This was an amazing moment for me. I decided, no matter what, I was going to that festival. I ended up winning, and in my acceptance speech I said that as actors we say it's about the love of what we do, and it is, but is sure is nice when someone recognizes the hard work you put into something and honors you for it. That summer of '98 brought a lot of things into my life, mostly bad, but filming When Love Walks In with Paladin Pictures, Kent's production company, was a bright spot that brought me more than I could have ever asked for in knowledge and experience, but mostly in making that 3 year old little girl's dream a reality.

"The consequences of an act affect the probability of it's occurring again." ~ B. F. Skinner

I received an email the other day from a longtime friend who regularly reads my blog posts. She said in the email that she was surprised that she had not seen a post from me about the Zimmerman verdict. When the verdict was released, I thought about writing a post. It would have been a knee-jerk reaction post. I remember how shocked I was almost 18 months ago when this actually happened. I changed my profile picture on Facebook to Trayvon's picture to bring awareness and in memoriam for a young life lost senselessly on February 26, 2012. I remember the news items that came out after the shooting, and I was amazed that George Zimmerman was not arrested and charged. As is the case with most stories like this, the media grabs on and will not let go, and most of what we see and hear is exactly what the media wants us to see and hear. They try to shape our opinions and form our thoughts, and most of the time, albeit probably subconsciously, we let them. How many of us really try to read the details of exactly what happens? How many of us make a snap judgement because of a sensational headline we read on our newsfeed or a 15 second sound byte from a reporter on television? Do we really delve into the facts of the case? Originally George Zimmerman was released for lack of evidence. Then the media stirred the racism pot, and 6 weeks later he was arrested for murder. Was George Zimmerman a racist? I don't know. Did he go out that night with the intention of finding a young black man to kill him? I don't know. What do I know? George Zimmerman shot and killed Trayvon Martin. What I don't know is exactly what happened that led to that event. Only two people know that, and one of them is dead. From reading the accounts of what happened that night and listening to the 911 calls, this is what I think. George Zimmerman acted irresponsibly out of fear and frustration and a little bit of power gone to his head, no pun intended. There had been break-ins in Zimmerman's gated community, and because of this the neighborhood thought it would be a good idea to form a neighborhood watch group. Sounds reasonable, right? George Zimmerman was elected by his neighbor's to be the coordinator of the program. On the night of the shooting Zimmerman was not on patrol. He was actually running an errand and saw Trayvon and felt he was suspicious looking. He called the NON-emergency Police number and reported his observations. While on the phone with the dispatcher, he says that the man is running. When asked if he is following him, Zimmerman replies yes, and the dispatcher says "we don't need you to do that." Zimmerman answers with "okay" The call ended at 7:15PM. By 7:17PM, Police arrived on the scene and Trayvon had already been shot. What happened in those 2 minutes? Zimmerman says Trayvon confronted him, and after an altercation he shot Trayvon in self defense. Eyewitnesses do say they saw the "fight", but no one seems to give an account of what started the fight. There is testimony of Trayvon making a call to a friend expressing concern over someone following him. Apparently, the friend tells him to run to where he is staying. The "running" is what seemed to start the wheels in motion for Zimmerman. Zimmerman also gave a statement that Trayvon had circled his car, and that he had put the window up to avoid confrontation. If that was the case, why did he get out of the car to chase Trayvon while he was running? Why didn't he just stay in his car and wait for police? Here's what I think happened: George Zimmerman was extremely frustrated about the state of his neighborhood. In the span of a little over a year, police had been called to the gated community 402 times, that averages out to more than once a day. The neighbors are concerned and more than that, they are afraid. They want to feel safe, and so they decide to elect George Zimmerman to coordinate a Neighborhood watch program. My guess would be that Zimmerman took this job seriously, maybe a little too seriously. I think that night that he was running his errand in the rain, and saw someone he didn't know in his neighborhood, he decided to be the hero. I'll catch this one, he's thinking, and so he follows him, observing his "suspicious" behavior. Did he follow him because he was black? No, I don't think so. It was dark and raining, I doubt he could even tell his race from the car. From Trayvon's perspective, he's walking home in the rain from a convenience store in a neighborhood where he is a guest, not familiar to the locals. Testimony was given that he was on his phone with a friend and that he noticed that this "creepy ass cracker" was following him. She told him to run to the townhouse where he was staying. I don't know about you, but if I were a 17 year old boy and a grown man was following me in a car, I would run too. Unfortunately, that's all Zimmerman needed to assume Trayvon was guilty of something, and he was going to do his duty, and get this "asshole that always gets away" Even though he was told not to pursue him, Zimmerman did, and he had a gun. When the two came face to face, I'm sure they did fight. If I were Trayvon, I would try to beat up some creepy guy who had been following me, and now was right in front of me. Zimmerman had no legal authority to do anything to Trayvon, but report what he thought was going on, and let the police handle it. That was the problem. He made a choice to take on the role of cop for a day, and then things got terribly out of hand. He put himself in a situation he was not trained to handle, and he ended up shooting and killing a 17 year old boy that was a visitor to his community. Welcome to the neighborhood.
I am not a legal expert. I was not in the courtroom to listen to the trial each day, and I do not know the intricacies of Florida law. Do I think the jury was wrong? No. What we seem to forget is one tiny little phrase, "beyond a reasonable doubt" If I was on the jury, would I have voted guilty? I don't know because I wasn't there. I didn't hear what they heard. I didn't see what they saw, and that's just the point. I've never even served on a jury for a traffic ticket, let alone a high profile murder case like this one. I cannot imagine the responsibility! I keep thinking of the movie 12 Angry Men. If you haven't seen it, rent it, and watch it. It will change the way you feel about the justice system and juries in general.
Do I think George Zimmerman shot Trayvon because he was afraid for his life? Yes, I do, but I still think he should have been held accountable for taking another life because he set all the wheels in motion that put him in that situation of feeling like he had to use "lethal force" to protect himself. To me it's like someone picking a fight with me, and then because I'm kicking their ass, they shoot me. Not really a fair fight, is it? Trayvon was not committing a crime. He did not deserve to die because an over zealous guy with a gun thought he was up to no good. We know he shot Trayvon, we have the weapon he used. His actions led to the altercation which led to a death. How can we say he is not responsible? How does he not suffer any consequences? A lawyer friend of mine said it best, "If he broke the law, he should be punished. If he didn't, they [Florida] need better laws."