Waiting out the storm...confession.

I have finally come down a little from all of the initial excitement from the first Ya Mama! Review. and the shout out in the Village Voice, both were dizzying and wonderful. And my family and I have decisions to make based on those dizzying wonderful things...

And that is what I wanted to happen; yay show! And my mind is all a flutter and I feel like I'm detoxing or something....

Oh. yeah. That's what it is; there's a hurricane coming.

Hurricanes, are significant to me, having grown up in New Orleans. Especially now that the New Orleans I know is gone, and has been replaced by this new New Orleans that I have not yet had the courage to visit. Honestly. I haven't been back yet. I'm thinking its about time.

But as I talked with my sister today, who is in New York, ironically, and we went down the list of things she should have in the house, I felt as if I were preparing too, and then felt really odd. And unprepared. I wasn't going to the store. I'm once again not there while its happening. I'm held captive by the images from The Weather Channel and CNN.com. I'm waiting.

Waiting for God to show up and show out. Praying and knowing that my family will be protected. And still waiting with bated breath. I am having a physical reaction to this storm and it is surreal and odd. The sun is shining. But, its almost as if I can't see it. I will my mind to be in the reality of the natural surroundings I am in...Aisha calls on skype. The sky in Manhattan was different from the sky in Brooklyn she says. How so, I ask, it looked like a hurricane was coming, oh yeah, I know what that looks like.

I remember what we used to do before the storms. In the calm before the storm. We would walk. Walk along the levee on Haynes Blvd. New Orleans East, 9th ward. Home.

We would smell the ozone in the air, the promise of the wind and rain, lightning and thunder to come. But what we saw was the calm, Lake Pontchatrain, a sheet of gray blue green glass, rimmed with a blue purple black sky. Not a wave not a ripple. Just a piece of glass. Silence. Air so wet you could drink a cup of water just by inhaling. Calm. Palm trees, soon to be bent, gently rustling in the wind, accepting of what was to come.

I force my mind to the present, Aisha is calling me on skype. My sister, who is in New York, with my nephew and brother in law, and my cousin. Yeah, we're good, she says, he's still sleeping from the walk. He wakes up to nurse. My youngest awakens from her nap, comes downstairs, she sees my face and is upset, perhaps sensing my worry. She wants to nurse. She is weaning, so I usually wouldn't this time of day, but I let her needing the comfort of her trust in my ability to comfort her, and my sister and I share a moment, nursing our babies together. So close, yet so far away. She is worried. I am worried. She will perhaps chant tonight. I will, am praying.

I check twitter, someone is calling on Oya and Yemanja. Another calls out to Christ, yet another is completely oblivious to the worry that is gripping half of the country right now and talks about his "haters" I force my mind to the present. I match my breath to my heart beat and intentionally calm both.

Lord. I am worried. I don't want to worry. Christ calmed the storms with a simple phrase; peace be still. All these things will you do and greater, He said. My mind hurtles forward to my maternal grandmother's house. No longer a part of the family, the house I mean, but a part of a distant memory, a little plaque in the china cabinet, "Worry is like a rocking chair, it'll keep you moving, but won't take you anywhere" Breathe. Peace, be still.

My son, 4, runs over, Mom, he says, as his nimble feet never touch the floor for more than a second at a time, I just won this boomerang game, I got all the points! He holds up his hand for a high five and I reciprocate, "Good job, Man!" I say, and give him my best proud mommy smile.

I realize, I've kept them inside all day, because in my mind, its raining. I look out the window and realize that the sun is shining brightly. Breathe. I am having a physical reaction to what is not happening here. As if I am connected to all hurricanes everywhere. This is ridiculous. "Nina, I'm going back to the store. I'm going to get more candles before the close." Okay, I say, be careful.

Breathe. What's that thing I say in the play? Oh yeah, its one of my favorite lines. I think its poetic...

You learn to live with the storms...Peace. Be Still.

The Regular Stuff

I am often amazed that the "regular-ness" of my life is interesting to people. It's magical and wonderful to me, because my life has been, challenging. The longer I live, (which is not very long at all, my grandmother just celebrated her 93rd birthday, just thinking about doing ANYTHING for 93 years is impressive); the longer I live, more I realize how little I know, and just how "irregular" or "not normal" everyone's life is. There is no such thing as "regular" or "normal". So the fact that I have some semblance of something that seems like normal, or that is my idea of it, well that's the stuff dreams are made of.

But I do admit, the life of an artist, seems glamorous. KEYWORD: seems. Don't get me wrong. It definetly has its moments of glamour: curtain call on opening night, cast photos, cast party, interviews, etc etc. But those moments are just that: moments.

The rest of the time is, well: work, pain, constant self-examination, constant upgrading, constant learning, taking critiques, and criticism, solicited and unsolicited, laundry, and dinner, and "don't forget to..." and and and...

I think the thing that is most amazing is that I manage to remain sane. I am extremely blessed; I mean, extremely. I know people who have been through less and not survived with their minds intact. The only reason that I have the life I have, I think, is because God knew I would appreciate the process, the results; that I would relish the flow of it, and notice the patterns, and find wonder and magic and joy in them.

That I would get stupid excited over the littlest things and recognize them as incredible blessings and not just luck. That I would cry when others cry and hurt when they hurt, but still believe that there is joy in the morning and in the mourning. That I would see the beauty shining through the ashes.

That's the regular stuff. Everyday possesses just enough regular and just enough mystery and magic, if only we'll open our eyes to it.

Enter LIFE, stage left, part 2

So, where was I? Oh, yes Revival, we got to revival, and there are like 10,000 kids in children's ministry, well not 10,000, but it seems that way, especially to an inexperienced teacher. And they aren't kids who go to our church regularly, so they are testing boundaries. Great.

Me:
Minister Annette, I'm staying with you tonight to help out.

Min. Annette:
But, you're on the schedule for tomorrow, you don't have to do that Sister Nina. I'll see you tomorrow.

some kid tries to pick up his younger sibling and DDT him...we exchange looks. I smirk, and go to the side of the room with the toddlers and start singing the alphabet. They look at me as if to say, "Who is this magic woman?" and then I just start moving up and down and doing silly stuff, they do it with me, we transition to the cleanup song and start picking up the blocks.

Random Parent:
You are so anointed to do this.

Me:
Hahahahahaaaa! she looks confused Yes, thank you. continue to laugh at myself and Life. "Oh, I know you think you are winning Life, but I got something for you!!"


So, what happens next? Jonathan and I wind up being with children's ministry for most of revival...they needed us. Hey, I'm well rooted and grounded, plus, if you give your service, you get the CD, so no biggie. I brought my puppet, they laughed, I told stories, made a complete and total fool of myself; anything for the kids. And then, miracle of miracles, the car got fixed...for a day! Womp, womp.

Me:
Bring that thing back to Gino, tell him we don't want it anymore and we are not paying for it.

Hubby:
Well, we can't drive it over there...

Me:
Tow it there.

Hubby:
I don't want to pay for that--

Me:
So, you want to keep paying for the car--

Hubby:
You have a point.

Gino:
I'll take a month off, take it to my guy and we'll see if he can fix it.

Us:
Cool.

WRONG. Car still doesn't work. Fine, Life, you win, you can have the car, I don't even want the car. Please take the car. We'll get a new car. Oh, wait, we spent all the money we could have used to get a car trying to fix the car. Riiiiggghhht. Oh, but there's that other mon...nope, going to the FRINGE! Gotta pay for advertising, and there's this unmissable workshop with this Emmy Award Winning Casting Director, and a Major Audition coming up and and and and.....!!!!

AAARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!

Breathe. Its okay. I can do ALL THINGS through Christ...even this. There is something in here somewhere for me. I know there is. There's a lesson. Or some comedy. Or some humility.

I haven't written anything longer than a tweet in two weeks.
#EPIC FAIL.

These are my thoughts, as I walk home from the grocery store, all three kids, double stroller and groceries in tow on the Fourth of July, I will find some time. God, I need you to give me some time. Like Joshua, remember how you held the sun, so he could win the battle? This is quite as a big a deal, it won't save a nation. but, I just need time to slow down a bit and...pop. What was that?


You have got to be kidding me. How in the name of all that is holy did the wheel pop off of the stroller? I didn't even hit anything. And then people pass by me as I sit on the sidewalk, with my groceries, and my three kids, and my groceries, and NO ONE offers to help. They don't even say hello, "Oh, its the 'single mother' syndrome, you know, when people see a woman, with her kids, and they assume, because the man isn't attached to her hip, that she is a single mother and therefore treat her WORSE. That is the dumbest thing. It happens all the time, I have several friends who have experienced this. Black friends. Again, another post, for another day. I mean, why do you treat me WORSE because you think I'm a young single mother. You would think people would treat you BETTER, try to help you...I digress. 


Anyway, after trying to fix it for about 20 minutes, and people passing me, I see a group of teenage boys, about 4 of them, I call out. 


Me:
Hey, fellas! Can you help me? They cross the street, eager to assist. They seem to be thinking, "she's not scared of us?" They begin to try to fix it with vigor, nothing is working, we are all baffled. I thank them, release them, they go on their way. Standing a little taller, they did a good deed, sort of. 


I give all the kids a Popsicle, miraculously, they haven't melted. I take the boy out, he's four, he can walk. put the two year old in the front, hand the 10 year old a couple of bags and begin the trek home. It gets harder the closer we get, I almost have to carry the stroller so that I don't strip the pole. And eventually we make it. I'm tired. I'm worn. But I'm okay. And in the grand scheme of things, its okay. The kids are happy, we're all safe, so once again, hey its okay. And there is some kind of lesson about my transportation issues. And I'll understand it all by and by. Yeah, I'm southern. 

Oh, wait, wasn't the new scene supposed to show how I cope with every day life of being a mom and an artist, and a wife and a Christian and ...what did I write in that blog...hmmm

The Fire of forgiveness: purpose.

"And the Lord said, If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea; and it should obey you."
Luke 17:6 (KJV, emphasis added)


"Forgiveness says, 'I cannot afford to spend the energy it takes to stay angry at you. I cut the chord so that I can be free, and you can be crazy, if you want.' Forgiveness is a decision. If you cannot forgive, you have exalted your emotions over your decisions. If you have decided to follow Christ, then you have decided to live a lifestyle in which your faith is exalted above your emotions.  It (forgiveness) was so important, that Christ paused dying to do it..."
Bishop T.D. Jakes

"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do..."
Luke 23:34

Theater is therapeutic NOT therapy: we are often taught as actors and students of acting to keep this distinction clear. I fully agree with this distinction. I do not find it "cool" to go to the "deepest darkest places of my life" to "cry" in character. In fact I think that's dumb and dangerous. Why would I want to put myself through that show after show after show. Not wanting to do that is one of the reasons I enjoy the Meisner technique, it lets the actor work out their emotional instrument just like you can work out the body, but without going to the "deep dark place"

That said...what does one do when the "deep dark place" is what the play is about? Crap. This is the conundrum I find myself in...right after that preposition. Sorry, I grew up with two writers (sometimes I still don't consider myself one, though I write quite a bit).

Anyway, I actually did have to answer this question. There were days in rehearsal (the first go round) when I would be paralyzed by emotion and rehearsal would stop. For hours as we talked about things I mistakenly believed I had let go of long ago. The good thing about the stopping, is that my director, who also happens to be a dear friend, possesses the skill to know how far to let me go, how much to let me wallow, and when to push me. What we found in all of that talking was the story I actually needed to tell. We found it, about three weeks before the show was supposed to go up. I actually had, three or four versions of the script in rehearsal; and that's not so bad for a new work actually.

I really started writing this play thinking it was going to be this delightful, quirky comedy about my adorable kids...

hahahahahhahaaaa!

Yeah, that makes me laugh out loud. There are still quite a few humorous moments. And one of the missing scenes is turning out to be funny (I hope). But there was a day in particular when I realized that I was angry at my mother, biological, Thelisa, or rather that I had all of these unexplored, untouchable feelings, surrounding her and her death. It was the day that my sister sent me a link to this book:

It is available on amazon.com here:
Motherless Mother's by Hope Edelman

Yeah, I read the first couple of pages of the introduction and it messed me up for three days. In a good way.

I can be very analytical at times.  And I pulled several things from the six pages I read:

1. Hope interviewed over 1000 women for the book
2. Over 500,000 copies have been sold
3. All of the women in the book are experiencing/have experienced similar challenges regardless of the WAY their mother died or WHEN
4. The idea that we are having these singular experiences is a LIE.

Once I got over my own emotions enough to push forward, (with Cathy's help and guidance, thank God for her) I had and continue to have a drive to tell this story. Because people need to know that they are not alone. I made a decision that day to begin the process of forgiveness: of Thelisa (biological mom), of Betty (stepmom), of Greg (daddy,) of all sides of the family, and most of all of myself. With that decision I found a freedom that I had not experienced before. I knew that I was going into the fiery furnace like the three Hebrew boys but that I would come out without ash, or the smell of smoke. And that whatever pain I went through to get to the open door on the other side, was going to give others hope that there is life after death. Whether it be the death of a parent, the death of a child, the death of a part of their lives. There is hope.

Selah (pause and think about that).