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 Especially now that the New Orleans I know is gone, and has been replaced by this new New Orleans that I have not yet had the courage to visit.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.
Showing posts with label Ya Mama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ya Mama. Show all posts
Friday, August 26, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
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!
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!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
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...
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...
Saturday, June 18, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
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).
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).
Saturday, June 11, 2011
1 in every 1000
"...Let God be found true, though every man be found a liar..."
Romans 3:4 English Standard Version
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.
Romans 3:4 English Standard Version
 |
| Nina Domingue as "Thelisa" in the Drano scene from "Ya Mama!" |
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.
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