'What a to-do, "to do" today at a minute or two till two...

T-T-D (always)


pray
make ttd list
coffee
breakfast for kids
lunch for hubby
plan dinner, make sure to defrost whatever
make sure baby's cloth pull ups are washed and dried thoroughly
make sure oldest has a snack & lunch $
pack brief case/bag for the 5 diff places I'm going today
$$ for parking
$$ for gas
get everyone dressed
see oldest off to bus
get younger too fed and in car

breathe...pray again

drop off
take 4 calls on way to first gig
do first gig
second gig
third gig
lunch...not what I wanted...what did I want? Oh yeah, something healthier than what I ate
how did I get caught in a world of turkey sandwiches on wheat bread?? there has to be something more exciting...

have a vision of greatness, write it down, be inspired
oh crap, almost late for meeting, walk in just in time,
everyone else is late, so I feel accomplished, then ashamed that I feel
accomplished because they are late, because this time last year, I would have been 15 minutes late
...breathe, calm down, it really is okay, you have gotten the time thing almost under control

PAY ATTENTION! you're in a meeting. Right, being the glamorous actor that I am...
I need something green...no Nina, a sour apple blow pop does not count.
I don't even really want that anyway...
How did I wind up in the car? Auto pilot...whose calling...I do not have the energy for that conversation right now...sigh

pray again....

breathe

Got another idea...call my cousin, discuss idea, call sister, discuss motherhood and call hubby discuss married life and ideas...call bff, laugh and giggle and, yeah we better get to the gig and sure, call you later and and and....

what am I really going through? the day is half over and the second half seems so big...and I need a BREAK and I'll check my facebook on my nifty phone and HEY! I got the part! YES! and back to reality...(what song was that...1980s...OH YEAH, this one...)

pick up little ones
listen to their day
meet oldest one
check her homework and yes, you can play with friend across the street, in the backyard
so all of the boogie-men who ride up and down the street looking for little girls won't see you

and wow, I remembered to defrost the thing we're gonna eat! Gold star for me! Kids do something incredibly cute that makes life worth living...

hubby gets home (everyone cheers!) Kisses me passionately, (he really does, not making it up) looks at me like he is the luckiest man alive and he is going to sop me up with a biscuit, yeah, still southern after all this time...eat dinner, enjoy company, watch something silly before bed

remember that vision
dream...
dream
dream
give thanks
give thanks
give thanks

repeat.

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.

Butterflies are never afraid

So you get an AMAZING review. That is fantastic! How do you continue to make it real every time? How do you make sure that you don't get lazy? How do you make sure that you still give your absolute best?

There are a couple of ways that I make sure it happens: I stay nervous. Honestly, I let myself feel it, and I live there in that feeling of not knowing. In the place of uncertainty, in the place of NEED. I need the audience, especially in this piece. If I don't remember that it is always about them, the audience, then I have failed at the task of this piece--to give the people the information that there is hope, that there is beauty, that there is LIFE, even if there has been pain, and trauma.

I live in the butterflies, and find the wonder in the moment, find the newness of discovery, find the fear, and run headlong into it. As a general rule, the thing that I am afraid of, the place where I am scared to go as an actor, is the place, where I should be. The butterflies have no fear of living in my belly, so I welcome their fluttering wings.

So, hello butterflies, so nice to feel you again. Let's make this one real for the people. They need us as much as we need them.

Our first NYC Review

Our First Review!!! is up and it is simply amazing!

I am extremely humbled by the kind words of our reviewer, proud of the work we've done, and grateful to God for the opportunity to share it with a wider audience.

AND I'M SOOOO EXCITED!!! AHHHHH!

Bigger crowd tonight, very loving, very responsive, amazingly giving. They gave me a standing O, and I had to come out for a second bow. It doesn't get much better than that. :)

FringeNYC days 1&2

Well, well, well, my, my, my...

Sorry, its Sunday, still in church mode. Anyway, here is a brief recap of days 1 & 2 of performances.

opening night... I almost skipped one of the MOST important scenes in the play!!! Okay, so you know that moment in the movies when they show the slow motion run and someone screaming, "nooooooo!" yeah, that's what happened in my head. I recovered and my stage manager assures me that no one knew, except me and the way I managed to recover the scene added an interesting twist, so, no harm, no foul.

The audience was very loving and so connected with me; it was one of those magical nights of being with the audience beat for beat.

Day 2 was better from my end, I didn't almost skip a scene, lol, I got there a little extra early just to settle myself in the space. And the audience SIZE was not good. But the audience ENERGY was amazing, it was only 5 or 6 people, which I was honestly bummed about--I mean who wants to perform to an almost empty house?


But then I remembered, hey there are like 194 shows in the Fringe, and Broadway, and and and ... folks don't know me...YET.

One of the five or six was a critic for nytheatre.com. He went up to my director as I was changing and said, I did hear him, just didn't know who he was, but I heard him say, "She is amazing..." and he said some other stuff I didn't hear. So hopefully, I'll have this amazing review to share in a day or two :).

In the meantime, I'll keep busking outside of other Fringe shows and in the little shops and at Fringe Central, and pounding pavement to get butts in seats! I'm having a blast, and my biggest fan arrives tomorrow, so, it only goes uphill from here. Jonathan is thee best audience member in the world. Seriously, people often say they will pay to have him in the audience. So, I am looking forward to that. :)

The Deepest

Yeah. So I have said before that I like Meisner technique because you can access your emotional well without having to go to your deepest darkest stuff. But what happens when the material is about your deepest darkest place?

Well, I hit that wall today. There are those moments that are wonderful and brilliant. And there are the moments that are very difficult for me personally-suddenly, in a way they weren't the last time I did the show or even yesterday. There are those moments when I feel victorious and and and...

And I have a brilliant director who knows how to take me to the hard place=the place where I leave off being self-indulgent and become a servant. It becomes about the audience. And as long as the moment isn't about me and its about the audience learning this information and changing, growing, or taking action because of it.

Service; the deepest. 

Didn't see it coming

...and why didn't I? I just wrote about it yesterday. But as the excitement of this new venture is upon me, all I can think is I WANT MY MOMMY!


Well, that's a little dramatic. It is not constant. But, well this line from the play describes it accurately:

I instantly feel that desert place in my soul,
that heat, parched passion place,
longing for one drop of anything Thelisa.

Yeah, that's pretty much it. It comes and takes me suddenly, swiftly, I'm there, I cry. Its gone. This is all very new for me. But I have given the grief permission to be here. So here it is...Wow. Didn't know it would be like this. I've never grieved before. I am realizing that I have NEVER grieved before. I didn't grieve her, so I didn't know how to grieve anything or anyone.

I had fair warning. I've finally started actually reading the Motherless Mothers book. So, I should have known it was coming. But I didn't. This event, the Fringe that is, is a huge big deal for me. Possibly career and therefore life altering in a wonderful way. Of course I want my mother there to witness it. And she's not. So...

Well. Here we are.

Solo

One of the hardest things about solo work, is well, its solo.


I need the audience. Its all about serving it to them anyway. And this sounds like whining, even to me, but it is hard to make it new and different for the same person who has been watching you do it day after day. Alas, that is the WORK of the work. So I will not complain.

I am my own scene partner, there is no one to call and say, hey let's go over this scene, or to call me and say that .I don't have anyone but me telling me if that was good or if that sucked, or if that was interesting and let's explore it some more...I shouldn't say NO ONE, I do have some very wonderful friends, who have given of their time and allowed me to use their eyes.

It's even more...challenging when its a show that has been mounted once and your director is in a different city, and she thinks your just the greatest thing since sliced bread and just trusts you to get it done...and your children need you and you feel guilty because you need to rehearse and your husband needs you to rub his back after his 12 hour day, that he worked so that you can be an artist and the laundry needs to be folded and you're doing one of the scariest things in your life and and and...

I am clearly having a moment today. And it all boils down to this: I WANT MY MOMMY. If she were here, I think that I could call her and she would understand, at the very least, me. If not the particulars of my peculiar life, I just know that somehow, she would understand ME. And I realize that the most wonderful gift that  going through the process of this show has given me, is that I can finally say that, "I want my mommy" and not feel guilty about crying for missing what I never had. I can finally GRIEVE. And that is a good thing. It hurts. It is painful, and it is scary, but, after the pain washes over me, and I cry and fret, and feel like it is so unfair that I have to face this life without her, I breathe, and I am okay.

The sky didn't fall. No one else died because I allowed myself to feel it, and no one was hurt. I didn't lose control of my life even though I may have lost control of my emotions momentarily, and and and...

I'm still here. Solo.

Preview...

I'm trying out the new scenes this week to see what's working and what's not. Super excited. Solo shows can be such a strange process, because you are your own scene partner, or the audience is--either way, the only eyes you have are your director and trusted friends. And even the director, depending on the piece is more of a co-conspirator.

I know Cathy and I hit a wall during the first leg of the process; the same wall every show hits, where you are in it so deep, it's difficult to tell if its good, or if it just means that much to you because of the time you've spent with it.

You need those extra eyes. Thank God for the trusted eyes I have in this process! But here is a taste of one of the new sections, just the text...

Birthday Dance!!

I'm still here! I made it another year! HAAAAAAA! Let's dance!

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.

different...

There are times that I feel so odd.
I feel like I don't fit anywhere with any of my "peer groups."
Woman
Wife
Mother
Actor
Christian
Black
30s

I often feel like we (me and whomever I happen to be with) can relate up to a point, and then it just stops, like there is this abrupt fork in the road, where either our experiences or beliefs or maturity levels move away from one another. And it can be very disconcerting. I don't know if the people I have experienced this fork with, discern the split. I don't know if it is as jarring to them as it is to me. I've never asked.

It's such a subtle, stealthy, shocking feeling. I get caught up in the experience. I pick it up in my mind and turn the moment over in my mind. And, honestly, to acknowledge the split, would feel like a betrayal to the part of the road where we walk together.

I find myself in moments of extreme crisis thinking about how poetic the moment is and locking it away in a box in my mind, filing it away in "this is going in the play/movie/sitcom" file. Then another side of me, is like, "what is wrong with you? why are you thinking about how poetic this is?" But, my artist friends get it.

Then there's the part of me that completely forgets about me and everything is about the hubby and the kids. But there are times when even that gets ridiculous, like, um, go and drink some water if you want some, really, its not a treat, its necessary. Its WATER, NINA.

**sigh**

This is the artistic ebb...time to refill the well.

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

DATES! DATES! DATES!

I promise I will continue the older story, its too good not to, BUT... We have dates!!!

VENUE #3: CSV Kabayitos
107 Suffolk Street
(Rivington & Delancey Streets)
SUBWAY:
F train to Delancey Street
J, M to Essex Street




FRI 12 @ 5:30p
SAT 13 @ 9p
MON 15 @ 8:30p
THU 18 @ 7p
FRI 19 @ 5p
SAT 20 @ 4:45p


Pass it on! 

Enter LIFE, stage left.

AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!!

Yeah, that good. This week has been ...challenging. 


The plan this summer was:
1. Mommy does not work her usual summer gig: arts camps.
2. keep little ones home, which would do two things: save money, let them have mommy time
3. Have part time nanny, that way, mommy could still do "work" in the morning i.e. write and work on the play
4. Attend Revival (my favorite part of summer)
5. Save money for the Fringe.
6. Save money for the Fringe.
7. Did I remember to say save money for the Fringe.

So far what has happened, this summer:

1. Mommy does not work her summer gig: arts camps (Yay me! understand it is very hard for me to not be "working" in that way, it really is, I'm so used to doing it)

2. Keep the kids home, more mommy time, save money.  2pts! They definitely have more mommy time, I also feel like this by the end of the day:



3. Our wonderful babysitter, who is a part of the family, is our "part time nanny" because, well, nannies cost money, and I'm not rolling that deep yet. But she is wonderful and does all of the educational stuff (a la try-to-keep-them-on-a-preschool-type-schedule-thingy-because-they-need-intellectual-stimulation-constantly-type-of-deal. The only draw back is that she has to be picked up and dropped off...that's okay...mommy sucks it up gets up early. I do my best work in the morning. She's with the kids, I get to go to my beautiful library which is only two blocks or so away. I write, I'm not distracted by, "the floor needs to be mopped, and I have to plan dinner, and I need to wash clothes" and all of that. And I can sit in the quiet space and look out the pretty window and be an "artist" Ooo, I'm fancy...riiiiiggggghhhhttt.


Enter LIFE, stage left.

Nina:
What was number 4 again? (scrolls to the top of the page)

Life:
Hahahaa! Score!

Nina:
Oh, yes, attend Revival. Theme this year, "The Return of Power" Lord knows I need that.

Flashback to earlier last week:

Nina is driving and the car becomes demon possessed, begins locking and unlocking itself, beeping, something sounded like it popped, am I on the highway when this crap is happening? Why, yes, I am, of course I am, it would not be interesting if I were on a regular street, did the car begin to lose speed? Of course! Life is dramatic, especially MY LIFE, what do I do? I pray! Ding, ding, ding! Score for Nina. sticks tongue out at life! Take that! Hahaahahaha! Angels, do your thing, in the name of Jesus, I have covenant, and hey, we've been down this road before. Get me home, safely, without anyone else getting hurt. Amen. Car continues to lose speed as I exit the highway to take the street, settles to coasting at 35, excellent, keep up the good work Angels, I am eternally gratefully, really, I don't need another car accident. For real, the creek was enough (another post, for another day)...Car stops fully right at the intersection, exactly two blocks from the house, I almost feel their wings as they take off. Thanks again, waves...people away from the stopped car as she talks to her personal superhero, Jonathan on the phone. What's that you say? Triple A is on the way? Awesome! in a perfect impersonation of her 10 year old 


Enter two huge Fireman, from nowhere


Fireman guy 1:
Ma'am we're going to push your vehicle into that little parking lot.

Fireman guy 2:
Yes, that way you will be safe.

Me:
Thanks!

Turns key in ignition, car laughs at her, but it does give just enough to put car in neutral. They push, I steer, in lot. Great, thanks guys! Hey, where'd they go? Hmmmm....Okay, walking home, guess I'll get my workout for today. Oh crap! How is nanny going to get to work? How am I going to get oldest to camp? How am I going to get to the workshop that I agreed to teach on Friday even though I'm not supposed to be working on anything but the Fringe? Crap, crap, crap!

Life:
BWAHAHAHAHAAAA!

Nina:
looks Life square in the face, sticks out her tongue, pulls out her secret weapon, the iPhone! Calls and texts as she walking at speeds never seen before!


Erin, I need you to pick me up for the workshop on Friday, my car died, great, thanks
Kevona, we're going to walk 10-yr-old to camp today, car died, I'm walking home, now, no it's not too much walking, its getting me ready for my New York blocks. (take that! Ha!)
Kaitlin, I need your mom to bring you, and pick you up, is that okay? Great! See you Friday!

Looks at life...Now what?

Life:
with a smirk, and a singsong voice...forgot about Revival...

Nina stares, gets a twinkle in her eye...speaks aloud.


Me:
Okay, God, we got to get to revival, I need you to help us out. sticks tongue at Life. Receives a text from one her best friends "I have the van back, I'll take y'all to revival" Mwahahahahhaa! Score for Nina. dances around. Now what? HA!

To be continued...because, I have to go cook breakfast...

Process

One of the ways we were taught to decipher or translate Shakespearean text for ourselves in my graduate program was very simple. The method was one I was very familiar with, having been raised by an Ivy League English major, my father's response to almost every question was, "look it up."


Well, our professors taught us to look up the word, but they also taught us that in terms of the acting, we shouldn't only use the definition that seemed most obvious. But, we should also choose the definition that was most interesting to us. By doing this, we unlocked magic keys to opening the text. If it was interesting to us, it would be interesting to the audience; that was the main point. 


One of my major question when I started writing this play, was will anybody really care? My life is interesting to me, because, well, its my life. 


I mean, who am I kidding, it makes good theater: young black girl (ooo DOUBLE minority, there's something there), has a parent who commits suicide and she saw it (yikes! the horror!), father remarries, drama ensues through teenage years with stepparent (we love to watch peoples turmoil), secrets (ooo what are those???) but wait, now she's an actor? (that's exotic and exciting, and hear they're kind of wild, don't they all go on drunken binges and crash eventually?) Oh, but wait, she's married AND has three kids? (WOW! that's a lot of kids!) I hate when they say that, its not. NINE is a lot of kids. etc etc etc...


As I pondered and continue to ponder why its interesting, or should be to anyone besides me and my immediate family, the conclusion I've come to is this: its not the life itself, the events, and such, but the process of getting there that's interesting to me. 
proc·ess

[pros-es; especially Brit. proh-ses]   

–noun

1.

a systematic series of actions directed to some end: 

2.

a continuous action, operation, or series of changes taking place in a definite manner: 

3.

Law .

a.

the summons, mandate, or writ by which a defendant or thing is brought before court for litigation.

b.

the whole course of the proceedings  in an action at law.

6.    the action of going forward or on.

7.

the condition of being carried on.

How I got here, at this in the journey, in one piece, with a sound mind, is amazing even to me. But what I do know, is there is some purpose to it, it is continuous, the whole course of it, I must move forward, even if I'm carried. 

And that notion, that this process MUST happen, is very interesting to me. 

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).

A Little Piece of magic

One of the most frustrating things about being a mother--and an artist--is when the art MUST wait because the babies need you NOW...but the art beckons NOW. That's where the idea for the play came from in the first place. I was juggling everything in my life one day, and talking with one of my girlfriends about it, the fabulous Keni-chan, and we both stopped in the middle of the conversation and had a big ol' belly laugh.

Nina:
If anyone saw a transcript of this conversation...

Keni-chan:
Jordan! Get down! I know, chile they would think we crazy...

Nina:
Jahi! No son, okay... that's fine. I know right. Absolutely nuts.

Keni-chan:
There is a play in that somewhere...

Nina:
Hmmm...

Today, I was on a walk with my kids, beautiful day. Sun shining, light breeze, people on their steps, porches and stoops, chipmunks running across our path. (They always delight me, we didn't have those in New Orleans, and the mutant squirrels in Cleveland, which are all the size of a small dog, give me more than a moment of pause...)

And it hits me...The missing scene.

Well, one of them, I think. I don't think that there are more than two and they are short. We have a little more time in the Fringe Presentation of the show than we did in the Big [Box] Series at CPT, because I was presenting on a double bill with another artist. Well there are a couple of things I want to explore a little more in the writing so that show feels complete. Things that are only addressed in a sentence at best, because I just ran out of time to sufficiently explore those subjects when they arose in the revisions process.

But here I am on this walk, and it hits me and I think I have the answer and it flutters away just as quickly as it came, like a beautiful butterfly, that you thought you saw, and you know you saw it, it was like a little piece of personal magic. And then its gone.

And my silly self found the time to "Tweet" my frustration that I lost the idea. I could have written myself a cryptic note on the "notes" function on the dumb "phone" that would have sparked something about the little piece of magic I thought I saw.

So what's the most frustrating part of this scenario is I know better. This is not my first show, how many young writers have I mentored and said, hey, keep a little notebook with you, or a recorder so you don't lose ideas? I feel like Charlie Brown "aaarrrrggghhh!"

But I also know that it will come back. Or something better. Because that is a part of the process as well. Its like when you're potty training the third child, and they do not behave like the other two AT ALL. There are certain things you know to expect. But it doesn't make you want to deal with the crap any more than you did the first time. But, admittedly, when you know its coming, it is more bearable.

So process I will, I think it's coming back to me... (smile)

1 in every 1000

"...Let God be found true, though every man be found a liar..."
Romans 3:4 English Standard Version

Nina Domingue as "Thelisa" in the Drano scene from "Ya Mama!"

The one thing that was of utmost importance to me when I started writing this play was telling the truth. About my life, the choices I've made, the effects they have had on myself and others. The truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God.

Seriously.

I feel it is my reasonable service. God saw fit to keep me here, against all the odds, so I feel obligated to tell the truth about it.

And Truth means a lot of things. But what did telling the truth mean to the other people in my life? After all, even though it is my story, other people are a part of it and well, telling the truth also meant exposing some business that didn't belong solely to me.

And people seem to be terrified of exposure. Like the sky is going to fall if people know something about them. But people always know. They find out eventually. They may not understand what they know; I think that is truly what frightens people. Being misunderstood. And, "what would people think?" And what am I going to have to deal with because of what they think...well...

Mostly my parents, my father and my stepmother. My biological mother is deceased. My sister, who would most likely act as mediator, or not, my children, my husband. My dad's side of the family, my mom's side of the family...(insert torrent of thoughts that could cause one to hyperventilate here). Ultimately, I decided that it didn't matter and I didn't care. I had to tell the story for many reasons. I'll explore many of them in the blog. But I'll start here:

1 in every 1000 women suffer from postpartum psychosis. It is the disease that is most often misdiagnosed as postpartum depression. 85% of cases end in suicide or infanticide if left untreated. The disease gets worse with each pregnancy.

And it is the disease my mother died from. No one wants to talk about it. But I do.

That's the truth.