A Debt We Will Never Be Able to Repay

So much of what we perceive of history nowadays is what we see in film and television. When I was growing up through the 60's and 70's I never wanted to see a war picture. They were boring. That was something for boys. I carried this feeling into my adult life. I don't usually want to see a war picture, so when "Saving Private Ryan" came out I had no desire to see it, eventhough I love Tom Hanks. Sometime last summer I was flipping through the channels and I came across the film. I had heard that the first part of the film, the Omaha Beach Scene, was extremely gory and violent. Spielberg had wanted people to see the truth, the reality of war. Well, he got what he wanted. There is no glamour, no glory. It is 24 minutes of noise. Noise of bullets flying and explosions and yelling. Watching it was one of those things where you want to look away, but you can't. If you have the opportunity, rent it and watch it. As a child in history class, when we had talked about the invasion of Normandy, I always thought of it as a victory, we win. I never realized how many lives were lost on that day in minutes until I saw "Saving Private Ryan." There is this amazing shot at the end of the Omaha Beach sequence. The noise has stopped. It's silent except for the waves crashing on shore over the bodies and then the camera pans, and you see nothing but bodies of soldiers and the ocean water is turning red with blood. It's an amazing scene. It made me feel a whole new appreciation for what those men went through. I thought, how did they do that? How can someone willingly walk into a situation knowing there is a very strong chance they will never survive? Not only that, but that they are doing it for people they have never met or will meet. So often in fiction war is romanticized. The young soldier goes dashing into battle, eager to fight and conquer the foe, but watching this very real depiction made me realize they were scared boys barely out of their childhood. Saying thank you is not enough for them or for their families and loved ones who lost them. At least we have a day to honor them, right? Right, a day that has become about cook-outs and the pool opening and big sales events. I'm not saying people can't have fun while they have a well-deserved day off work. I'm just saying, for a few moments, stop and remember why you are FREE to do those things and how very much it cost.

When a Pebble is Dropped in the Water, How Far Do the Ripples Go?

A very good friend of mine told me that the best writing is when the author is totally honest. If there is such a phrase, I am radically honest. I always tell people, “If you don’t want to hear the truth, DON’T ASK ME!” This will be one of those posts, so….if you are uncomfortable with the truth, STOP HERE!
One of my favorite movies is Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life.” If you’ve never seen it, you must see it at least once in your lifetime. The story, briefly, centers around one man, George Bailey, who, through circumstances beyond his control finds himself at the end of his rope. He decides the best thing to do is end his life by jumping from a bridge into the icy water. Rather than ending his own life, he ends up saving what he later finds to be an angel trying to earn his wings named Clarence. Clarence grants George’s wish that he’d never been born. As he sees how life would be without him and how his loved ones are affected he realizes he really had a wonderful life. Near the end of the film Clarence says the following line to George, “Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?”Right now, my family is dealing with the aftermath of an awful hole that someone has left. Yesterday, my daughter found out that one of her very dear friends lost their mother. She committed suicide. I don’t know the circumstances surrounding this event. I am not claiming to know anything about what happened, nor do I intend to start a debate in this post about suicide. What I do want to discuss is that famous line by Clarence the angel, “Each man’s life touches so many other lives.” When I decided to become a parent, my life changed. It changed because it was no longer my life. I started living every minute, taking every breath, making every decision for that small little life that I had brought into this world. It was longer about me. It was about them. Children are not our possessions. They are on loan to us. When you think about it, it is an awesome responsibility! Another human being will forever be connected to me. Everything I choose to do will in some way have an effect on my child. I realize that we all make mistakes, that no one is perfect, but when one makes a conscious, and, yes, I will say it, selfish choice without any consideration of how it will affect their child it fills me with so much anger. Because of the choice this mother made to take her own life, she made the choice to leave, permanently. This child will grow up without a mother, they will not have their mother there to cheer them when they are handed their high school and college diplomas. When they marry, there will be an empty place in the family photo, and when they have children of their own they will never be able to say, “This is your Grandma.” This child will survive, but from this point on, they will live with that “awful hole” that Clarence spoke about. Every event in their lives will have that shadow of “I wish my mom could have been here to see this.” That choice that was made was like a pebble thrown in the water, and unfortunately, the ripples will be felt for many, many years by so many people, friends, co-workers, parents, but the child is who I feel for most. Perhaps that is because my child is hurting for her friend, ripple, and I am hurting for her, ripple. When will they ever end?

The End of the Holy Brownies Pilgrimage

The sad day has arrived. My 7 day eBay auction expired, and the Holy Brownies did not even receive one bid. I did not expect them too, but it has certainly been a fun ride since the blessed brownies came out of the oven on May 11th. Their pilgrimage for fame among the food relics was short-lived and no monetary rewards were gained, but they did provide a little humor and fun for several of my Facebook friends. In their short, iconic life they have been posted on Facebook, this blog, and they even went "on tour" as an illustration for my Sunday school lesson last week. Have they failed their purpose simply because they were not sold? Heavens, NO! (Ha, Ha, "Heavens," get it? Sorry, couldn't help myself) For a week they provided a smile or a laugh or even fodder for converstaion that may have sparked a friendship or lifted someone's spirits for a day. They were "food for thought" and now they are just food.

Oh, if life were made of moments.......

I think secretly every parent wishes their child would follow in their footsteps, whether it be the proverbial storefront sign that adds, "and son" when the child comes of age to enter the business or the daughter who shares the same passion for a hobby her mother loves.
I have shared before in this blog that I have a passion for the theater. I was "bitten by the bug", as they say, early in life. I did my first professional show at age 10 and diligently searched "The Green Section" every Saturday - who remembers that? - for audition notices. I still wait for audition notices, but now "The Green Section" has been replaced by an email distribution list and checking theater websites. I act as often as I can, and I usually end up doing at least one show a year.
I also have another role, MOM. In 1992 I was blessed with a little girl. I taught her to bow before she could walk, and she was doing impressions at the age of two. She was a baby lamb in Theatre IV's "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" when she was 5 and played her first lead, "Annie", when she was in 5th grade. She will turn 18 in less than a year, and last night I had the opportunity to audition with her as a peer. Now, this is the part when it will seem that I am biased or just a proud parent, but ask anyone who knows me, I do not hand out praise like lollipops at the bank. If I say something, I mean it, even with my own children. She and I auditioned for a show called "Over the River and Through the Woods" at HTC. I watched her walk up to read, and at first I was following along in the script, and then I just decided to watch. She was so natural, so polished as if she had been rehearsing the part for a week. She was doing what we call in the acting world a "cold reading." A "cold reading" is when you are handed the script, asked to turn to a page and just read the part without ever having seen it before. Most actors will tell you they do not like cold readings. I LOVE them!! So does my daughter, apparently, and for good reason. She rocked at it! I was in awe of her talent, and yes, I was extremely proud. But I also realized at that "moment" that she's not my little girl anymore. She's grown into a poised, confident woman. She wants to act, that's all she wants to do. It's all she's ever wanted to do, and, in that way she is following in my footsteps. I have confidence, however, that she will go further than my footsteps lead and take the acting world by storm.
In Stephen Sondheim's musical, "Into the Woods", there is a song and one of the lyrics is:
"Oh, if life were made of moments, even now and then a bad one, but if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one."
I am so thankful that I was able to have that "moment" with my daughter and that I got a glimpse into one of many "moments" she'll have in her career.

Detours sometimes take us to a place we might never have explored.

35 years ago today, probably right around this same time, 11:30 EST, I was driving in a carpool with 5 other people in a Hornet. We were on our way home from Swift Creek Mill Playhouse in Colonial Heights where we had just performed "Teahouse of the August Moon." I was 11 years old, the youngest in the car. We were traveling down Leigh Street. As we entered the intersection of Leigh and Belvidere, I remember hearing brakes screeching, a sound I still hate to this day, and glass breaking and then we were stopped. I looked to my left at Ed, someone who would turn out to be one of my closest friends. He had blood all over his face. It then dawned on me that we must have been in an accident. I made some comment about the blood. He told me it was mine. I didn't understand. I wasn't in any pain. I didn't remember being cut. My forehead itched a little. I reached up to scratch it, and instead of feeling my fingernail on my skin, my fingers went in, and then the blood began to flow instantly, the way water runs down your face when you rinse your hair in the shower. I couldn't see anything, and I started to panic. "I can't see!," I said, and Ed told me I was alright. I was cut pretty bad, but I was going to be fine. Someone came over to the car and wrapped a sheet around my head to try and stop the bleeding. I knew I was going to have to go to the hospital. I had never been to the hospital. Here I was, an 11 year old girl in downtown Richmond at 11:30 PM without her parents getting ready to ride in an ambulance to MCV hospital. Ed told me he would ride with me. What followed was a lot of noise as they attempted to cut us out of the car. They gave us some kind of cloth to cover ourselves as they broke what glass was left out of the windows. I could hear all kinds of voices and the crunch of metal. Through it all, Ed kept me calm. He rode with me to the ER. He only left me when they made him. I was being wheeled on the gurney through the doors of the ER. They asked Ed if he was my father. When he answered no, he was told he couldn't come any further. I will spare you the details of everything that happened in the next several hours. I ended up having surgery at 4AM to piece together what was left of the upper half of my face. My forehead was cut all the way to my skull, my nose all the way to my cartilage, and my right eyelid was torn almost in half. The reason I felt no pain in the actual accident was that all my nerves had been severed. I came out of that surgery with over 100 stitches in my face.
You see, when we went through that intersection, a drunk driver ran the stop sign at Belvidere and plowed into us on my side throwing my head into the back passenger window.
Right now, you may be asking why I shared this today. Mostly because despite what happened 35 years ago and in some cases because of what happened, I AM SO BLESSED. Ed was there for me that night, and visited me in the hospital every day until I was released. We are still close friends, and we share a really special bond that began that night. Going through my pre-teen and teen years with major scars covering my face taught me to be tough and strong. It taught me to let people see what was inside so they could get past what was outside. 8 years of plastic surgery every 6 months taught me patience and how to deal with pain and maybe in some ways prepared me for not only physical but emotional pain that I would have to deal with much later in my adult life.
I posted a picture of myself that my daughter took. It isn't airbrushed to remove anything. That's exactly the way I look today. Most people say they can't see the scars. Of course, I still can because I know they are there, but I have still been able to do what that 11 year old dreamed of doing in spite of what happened. I have modeled and worked in film and I have been working as an actress consistently all through my life. I believe most of that is because of who I am inside, a part of me I may not have nurtured had it not been for that major detour in life 35 years ago.

Holy Brownie Update

As promised I am posting a photo today of the Holy Brownies with an outline of the figures. I have also put the item up for auction on eBay. No bids yet, but I have had 5 views. I've also provided much amusement for my Facebook friends. It's a 7-day auction. I'll let you know what happens.
On a side note:Yesterday's post mentioned the "Special" brownie episode on Barney Miller. Here's the same link I provided yesterday to that episode: "Barney Miller" If you need a laugh today, and you get a chance, watch it. I did last night. It's just as funny today as it was when it originally aired.

Jesus, Mary and ......BROWNIES?

Last night I baked brownies. I don't bake a lot, not because I don't like it, I just don't find the time. However, I had been promising one of my daughter's friends that I would bake him brownies. He calls them "crack brownies." I am assuming because he thinks they are addictive. Let me set the record straight. I have not, nor will I ever bake or partake of "SPECIAL" brownies. You know, the ones that Harris brought in on Barney Miller and most of the precinct ended up high. Still one of my favorite episodes, but I digress. I included the above disclaimer because after I share my story, you may think that I did partake.
A couple of weeks ago my daughter and I were in a fun shop in Carytown called "Mongrel." I'm sure that Richmonders reading this are familiar with said shop. The gift items are very eclectic. She came across a book that was filled with photos of everyday items that contained religious images MIRACULOUSLY. Everything was in there from a potato chip shaped like the Pope's hat to Jesus on a grilled cheese. We had the best time looking through the book and laughing. Some were pretty cool, but others were really stretching and downright ridiculous. I am proud to say I now join the ranks of either the ridiculous or the sublime. Last night as I pulled my brownies out of the oven I noticed that one of the pans had a rather swirly design baked onto the surface. On closer examination, I saw clearly, even if no one else in the house did, the image of Madonna (no not the singer, the Mother of our Lord) and child, halo and all. I called to my daughter, "Hey," I said, "Mary and Jesus are in the brownies." She came to see. I asked could she see it and she unenthusiastically agreed. She may have just been humoring me. Sure, Mom. I see it!
I have posted the photo here for you to decide if you can see it. I'll post a photo tomorrow that outlines the image to help you see it if you can't. I didn't do that with this post because I don't want to influence in any way your perception.
Don't worry. I'm not ready for the guys in the white coats...yet. I don't think this is a miracle or a sign of the apocalypse or that I'm communicating with Heaven. I just thought it was neat and wanted to share. My sister says I should sell my "Holy Brownies" on eBay. Who knows, I just might. If they bring a lot it might just be a miracle after all.

One of my best roles.......MOM!

Today is Mother's day. I spent it with two of the most wonderful people in the world, my daughters. We spent all day together. We didn't do anything particularly special, we were just WITH each other. I have a very different kind of relationship with my daughters. We talk about everything. I trust them and they trust me. We're true friends! I think that's rare for teenagers and their moms. I'm not saying we're perfect, we have our ups and downs, but I am so blessed to have them in my life. They're wonderful daughters but more than that they're wonderful people! No matter what, I know they'll make their mark in the world because they believe in themselves. I am so proud to be their mom, so I don't need gifts and cards on this day because the young women they have become is the best gift they could ever give me! Thanks, girls, for giving me the honor of being your MOM.

They deserve more than an apple.

Today marks the end of Teacher Appreciation Week. I am glad that they have a week to celebrate the people who, week in, week out, show up to do this tireless, often thankless job. Hence, the creation of Teacher Appreciation Week.
There is a teacher who stands on the sidewalk at the drop-off of my daughter's middle school. He makes sure that the kids are safe and that traffic moves in a constant flow. Before he was there, Drop-Off was a NIGHTMARE. Day after day he stands there in the rain, the cold, the wind, the sweltering heat from 7:45AM until 8:30AM. This week we gave him a gift card to Starbucks. I watched as my daughter got out of the car and walked up to him. When she handed the card to him, a smile broke out on his face, and I could tell he was surprised to receive anything. My daughter does not have him as a teacher. The only interaction we have with him is that drive-by each morning. I'm sure no student walks by daily and thanks him for making sure they don't get run over in the parking lot, but he still stands out there every day. I'm glad that, at least for yesterday morning, he felt appreciated.
Teachers make a huge impression on our lives. We spend countless hours with them. Some students spend more time with their teachers than their own parents. There have been several through my years of schooling that had a major influence on my life. At the risk of boring you, I'm going to use the rest of this post to mention them and thank them for taking the time to inspire me.
Gretchen Buise - 4th Grade Drama Teacher at St. Catherine's School
Gretchen was the first person to encourage me to audition for a professional theater production. I did, ended up being cast, and have acted ever since.
Archer DiPeppe - 9th grade - Directed my first high school show, Godspell
Mr. DiPeppe took a group of 10 students who could sing and created an experience that I had never felt before, nor have since. It was magical. He cared about us, and it showed. We, the cast and crew, were a family, and that's what made the show great. I still am close with several people from that cast, and still stay in touch with Mr. DiPeppe. Sorry, I still have a hard time calling him Arch.
Therese Morse - Forensics Coach - 9th - 12th Grade
I loved "Ms. M," that's what we called her. She came to Tucker the same year I did. She built a powerhouse Speech and Debate team. At every tournament, Tucker was the team to beat. She had at least one student, but usually more, compete in Nationals every year I was there. She spent hours with us making sure we were ready, hours she didn't get paid for.
Mary Jane Huffman - 12th grade English Teacher
My first experience with Ms. Huffman was as my homeroom teacher when I came to Tucker. To be truthful, I thought she was weird. Looking back as an adult, I'm sure she just didn't love the task of having to deal with a homeroom every day. When I got my schedule senior year and saw that I had her for English, I was not thrilled. Once I walked into her class, all that changed. She loved English Literature with every fiber of her being. She got excited about the Canterbury Tales, and Beowulf, and that got me excited. She made me love Literature and that was no easy task.
Jeff Saunders - Drama Teacher 10th - 12th grade
I'll be honest here. Jeff and I butted heads more than a few times, but he gave me opportunity after opportunity to perform. He appreciated my talent and desire to perform, and showed me that. I definitely didn't appreciate him at the time. I chose not to see the dedication and commitment he gave to the drama program at Tucker. I have a new appreciation for Jeff and what he did for us after seeing what my own girls experience in school as far as drama goes.
These are just a few names, but I hope I have jogged a memory of yours, and that maybe you'll find a way to say "Thank You" to a teacher who influenced you.

Happy Birthday, Fancy Pants!

If he was still living, today would be my grandfather's 101st birthday. It's going to be hard to describe this wonderful man who had a profound impact on my life. I was lucky enough to grow up with my maternal grandparents just 6 doors down from my house, and later in my teen years, they lived with us. Needless to say, my sister and I spent a lot of time at my grandparents' house. We spent almost every weekend with them through our elementary years. We had our own bedrooms. It was truly a home away from home. Needless to say, spending all this time with them in my formative years allowed me to build an extremely close relationship with both of them but particularly with my grandfather, or "Grampy" as I usually called him. "Grampy" and I were cut from the same cloth. We both spoke our minds, tended to "fly off the handle" as he would describe it or "blow our tops," probably because we are and were both very passionate individuals with specific opinions and thoughts that we would fight to the death in defense of. Truth be told, stubbornness was certainly a trait I inherited from him, but I also get my ease of talking to people from him, my love of laughter and my love of music and singing was inspired by him. Music was always in his household and particularly "The Sound of Music." I grew up singing "Edleweiss,""Do-Re-Mi," and "Climb Every Mountain." One of my fondest memories is my grandfather singing "The Lord's Prayer" accapella at my wedding.
As I stated earlier, he loved to laugh, and he loved a good joke. He had a loud hearty laugh, something else I get from him, and as his laughter died down after a joke, he'd say, "Oh, that's comic!"
He liked to be comfortable. You'd never catch him in a suit and tie unless he had to be. He liked his pants baggy and his collar unbuttoned. In fact, if he was home for the evening, he was usually walking around the house in his boxer shorts, covered by a button-up shirt with a long shirttail. He referred to this attire as "fancy pants."
He drank hot tea with milk always and he spoke backwards all the time as in switching first letters of words. This proved many times to get him in trouble. I remember once when he was describing the ingredients of a Thanksgiving dessert to an aunt who was particularly stuffy he listed one of the ingredients, brown sugar, but he said it backwards as shrown bugar. She was not amused. I just laughed.
One of his prize possessions in his later years, I'm talking past 65, was a 1968 blue Oldsmobile Cutlass Convertible. It had a glass packed muffler, and if you don't know what that means, that's what makes those classic muscle cars make that loud "VROOOMMM" when you take off. He loved that sound! I remember riding with him in my teen years. We'd pull up to a red light. He'd look over to the car next to him, and then turn to me, wearing the little driving cap he always wore, and say, "You think I can beat 'em?" When the light changed to green he'd floor it. Never anything unsafe, he just loved making that "VROOOMMM!," beating the other car away from the light.
He loved life and everything about it! He was married to my grandmother for 50 years, and unless he was sick, he brought breakfast in bed to his "Miss Tippy Toe," his pet name for her, every morning. He was always thinking of others, and he loved animals, especially dogs. He called every dog he came across "Friend", and there were many times that he brought home a rescued turtle from the road.
He left me way too soon, just 5 months after my 19th birthday. My great sadness is that my children never got to meet him. They would have loved him as did I.

What a difference a Year makes!

I always look forward to “Arts in the Park” every May. If you’ve never been, you have to go. The grounds of Byrd Park surrounding the carillon are filled with vendors who make everything from pottery, to jewelry, to birdfeeders, and the list goes on and on. Booths filled with amazing paintings and photography are everywhere. I’ve been going for at least 20 years, and I don’t think I’ve ever been able to visit every booth any particular year. It’s an awesome, sometimes overwhelming, explosion of creativity. Parking is almost impossible. You are indeed blessed if you can find street parking anywhere near, and, of course, if you do, you must be a skilled parallel parker. More and likely you will be walking a couple of blocks to get to the event. I always see at least one person I know, usually several, while I am walking to or from or wandering from booth to booth.
Last year, walking to “Arts in the Park”, I saw a dear friend. He was coming from the event and he was eating an ice cream cone or funnel cake, I can’t remember which. I was really surprised to see him, and I was thrilled and a little anxious at the same time. Anxious because I had learned a few months before seeing him that he had been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. When I found out the news, it really hit me hard!!!! Part of the reason was that I had actually known this wonderful man for over 18 years, but had only really grown close to him over the previous year. We met for the first time doing a show at Swift Creek Mill Playhouse called “Me and My Girl” in 1991. From 1991 to 2009, we did 6 shows together. The final show we were in was a play called “Breakfast with Les and Bess” He was Les, and I was Bess. We played a married couple who did a morning radio show from their New York Apartment. The show was built around their relationship, and a huge bulk of the show was these two actors relating to each other. I did some of my finest work on stage in that show largely due to my co-star. I had never had better chemistry with anyone on stage. It was magic! Even when I look at pictures from the show, they don’t look like “pictures from a show.” They look like snapshots from the lives of these two people. Sadly there is no videotape of this show. I wish there were. During the rehearsals and performances of “Les and Bess” I had the privilege to really get to know my friend. He was wonderfully talented and sweet and so giving on stage and off. Knowing him made me a better person.
So this year, when I was walking to “Arts in the Park,” I thought about last year when I met Jay eating his treat. He looked thin and a little tired, but he saw me, and he smiled that fabulous smile of his, and I gave him a big hug. When I was planning to go to “Arts in the Park” this year, I thought about what a difference a year makes. Jay left us in October of 2009. I miss him!!!, and I am sure I will never head down that sidewalk again on my way to the white tents that sprout all over Byrd Park without remembering meeting Jay and his smile that very warm day in May and hoping they have funnel cake and ice cream in Heaven.