Eve and the Red Reset Button

three hundred and sixty five revolutions
and a gravity law to boot
couldn't keep my feet solid in this earth
she said as she grasped the fruit

Letter for a December Baby

Found:

in a copy of Hamlet purchased at a used book store, tucked between the pages of Act Four.

Letter for a December Baby

You’ll like being the girl that listens to jazz and languidly floats thought out the open bathroom window on puffs of cigarette smoke. You’ll find yourself happiest like a moving painting with no speech- all image and form. These quiet, winter night hours when you haven’t spoken a word- just glided through your apartment like a ghost touching where and when you want. Expressing the supreme form of solitude that will drive your desire to reenter humanity feeling like you have a richness to offer, a texture gained from opiate night visions when the world seems to be only a canvas of your imagination. Yes, a shell of eyes and breasts and legs and color, but far from the ill connotation of emptiness. Your shell, an oyster even, taking in the small particles of a scientific world and rolling them around in silky nacre, all in preparation for a hardening, an anticipation for the transfer from your fleshy pieces of warm sanctuary to a reality where you wildly insist there lies hope for their beauty.

You will not always be this girl.

But tonight, and for now, it is the particular season of your life.

a story for a year 2006-2010

the thrill is gone, she said

the thrill is gone she said to me

on the street as i passed by

and the shrillness of it haunted me all the way home

my mind went searching for a response to her accusation.

elaborate fantasies:

(the slippery, forceful, wet throws of sex

or the stop you in your tracks reverse the car and go get the girl)

when you are eight you are a princess in a fairy story

fifteen, sneaking out in your boyfriends first car

twenty and the wild ride of testing freedom sans the true heavy crown of adulthood,

twenty six becomes a candlelight bourbon in a studio

straddling the fence.

on one side lusty, youthful memories almost close enough to touch

(like breath that appears and fades when the heat from your mouth hits the cold air)

but the other side?

it is a fence now after all

meant to protect valuables

a reminder to build the border of territory

and then thirty? forty? fifty? shrill warning cries on the street at strangers...

at a certain age

is it still charming to believe in runaway nights and sticky stars?

i can only answer her

the thrill is not gone, not gone. no no no

you simply must make the choice to hold on to it,

although learn to keep it politely hidden away at parties.

-2010

reflection

i love more quietly now.
not any less intensely, no
don't be mistaken
the waters of my heart are ever as powerful
as they were;
but they churn at new sapphire levels,
close the core of the earth, where stone is forged,
no longer lingering toward the surface
where gusty wind becomes the fierce, quick master.
i am keeping my currents grounded
so that now, over time,
the continents of my life will be moved in the name of Love:
shaped by patience and time,
rather than the whims of an Aeolus-like god.

-2009

autumn

always at this time, never fails. i find myself in tears. because? ...
the leaves are changing in birmingham and the air is crisp. my mother is making tortilla soup. the front door is open and the mid day pours in while i nap on the couch to the ambient noise of a humming ceiling fan and the football game my father is watching in the other room. a kitty stretches on the floor in the beams of sunlight. there is a pumpkin on the front porch and my sister is not so far away. my car is parked in the cul-de-sac in front of our house and i love feeling the leaves crunch under my feet, because i never take the sidewalk. i hear the kitchen chairs slide across the hardwood floor. i smell the cinnamon from my mother's spiced candles, and when the phone rings it is a childhood friend that i can embrace in mere minutes. i feel the peace of being wrapped in familiarity and love, along with the chenille blanket that is always invitingly draped across the edge of the sofa. i am languid, warm, and safe. i am home in autumn, with quiet eyes and waterless cheeks.

-2009

divorce (or the beginning of the end of the beginning)

the pictures are already coming off the walls,
vacant spots,
stray nails with no purpose.
just a reminder of structures once designed with reason
but the use is lost.
all that’s left are meaningless parts
missing the whole,
forshadowing the ultimate deconstruction.

-------------------

why am i surprised?
i don’t even like to write in pen
too stark
too permanant
too ominous.
now the delicacy of pencil lead-
the fragile marks on clean paper,
never pushing the pressure: needing to be ever present.
only leaving traces of thought in beautiful smoky strokes,
somehow wisely owning the transitory nature of life.
this
is where i find some comfort.

-----------------------

my mother called.
the tree she planted when i was born
blooms every april,
white blossoms
for 22 years.
this year
they all bloomed pink.

-2008

ladies night

i drink too much wine, a little green tea, and stay up too late talking, reading beautiful books, and thinking too much. i take off all my clothes and lay in bed, feeling my body merge with sheet and soft mattress.shedding. listening to the hum of ceiling fan and lull of synthetic ocean waves.mmmmm that stillness in the cycle of one day which has ended, merging into another. dawn is a funny time. one window frame ripe with possibilities. is it wrong to find something you could weep over everyday? everyday i feel like something lands on me, i am so taken. a look, a song, a touch- leaves me so full i don't know what to do with it. can i do what i was meant for? can i accept the hugeness of it? i hope so. but i have to start DOING so more often. i let many things fall to the wayside...to be so passionate i sure can be lazy. and that is dangerous. especially if i want the privilege of making a living as an artist in this world.

-2007

grad school

"what we usually call 'developing one's talent' is nothing more than freeing it from the influences that hamper, occlude, and frequently destroy it entirely."
-michael chekhov

to burn that deeply, to live a life so scared and so open that you can wail and thrash and love so immensely, so true. to spark a light in the darkness with your tears and determination. to not let this world own the last thing you can hold dear, your ability to love and live more than you fear. when are we able to regain our lost right? ...frozen by ambition and projected insecurities...when can we give in? and just melt. invoking strength, but not strong like cold steel, or stone. strong like liquid; like water forging through time in its rage of freedom... opening our guts to be pulled forth into the web of humanity we often ignore: not owning our talents as reflections of ego, but truly offering ourselves up as vessels. we end up destroying the gifts that were meant to be our contribution to this world by indulging in fear.

-2006

Ode for the Occasional Insomniac (aka: the dreamers)

Well, it may sound trite, but life is so beautiful to me that a lot of times I can’t sleep because I just don’t want to let go of it. As if I stayed awake longer it would stop time from taking the present moment away, which in actuality I know full well it is perpetually doing. It just doesn’t seem true until I drift off and close my eyes… and then when they open again it’s as if they are reacting to the loss- like at the exact moment that I am swindled of a bit of that nectar of life my body instinctively responds, propelling me into attention- begging me to yell, “stop thief!” But in reality, the tectonic plates are shifting under our feet at the pace with which our fingernails grow; time acting in correlation (not being kind enough to rob us with such a gift of swift awareness, but rather sneaking in at such a steady and consistent rate that we begin to recognize the tortoise as a bit of the antagonist in that old Aesop’s fable). I suppose I could go into the Grasshopper and the Ant or The Fox and the Grapes now, but enough analogy for one night, no? At a certain point we must all resign to the Master Pirates of dewy youth- Sleep and Time: cruel enough to take with no discrimination and yet romantic enough to keep fondly provoking the hollows of our mystery regarding hearts.

one more group of three

repetition. repetition. variation.
the three of comedy.
and yet, i read the things i have written at fifteen, nineteen, and since the glory of facebook...even just three years ago. and i feel every moment of everything i composed in the past. i could write it again with the same fingers tip tapping out the arial font- clickity click clack. with the same ache and joy. working by moonlight and wrapping my thoughts in the thick, velvety blanket of night...posing queries like i have never met a lick of melatonin in my small, earthly existence.
the question becomes: is this humorous?! well, i suppose i should find the comedy in my life...so thank you, gods of memory and of media. i am now laughing with the constellations, and it's definitely the best kind of raucousness- straight from the belly.

Julie and Julia

I watched the movie tonight for the first time. Yes, I am late to join in on these things. Yes, I was richly rewarded for the wait. The performances, oh yes, the performances. But the words, the wine, the saturated beauty of every single puzzle piece that went into this inspiring and genuine story. Delicious.

I love that Julia Child wanted to change the world with her cooking, with her words of cooking. Oh, the pages upon pages of carefully articulated results yielded from the art of trial and error! She laughs while packing up the box (holding her eight years of work) to send to her publisher for approval as if it is so naive to hope and wish that she could do something that could change the world. It is what we all want, isn't it? To inspire, yes, but I really believe it is ultimately, to share. That is why we story tell- weaving our webs with whatever malleable substance we can get our mortal hands on- words, paints, clay, treble clef or bass, numbers, protractors...seeking the art of living, of telling the story we are pursuing. However, it is the sharing that matters most. It isn't real until it is shared. The result matters, but not because IT actually matters, but because it can be passed on.

This is why I love language, cooking, wine, and music.... the laughter that comes from a warm kitchen while stories are exchanged and palates are satiated and pleasured. And to think all of this can happen, and it CAN change people's lives. This is why I loved this movie, because it links hope with ordinary life. Now, I know that everything in comparison with this movie is not so simple, or pretty, or perfect- but jeez, it does happen every once in a while! Make a personal vow to take in a little more- that little bit of hope in you to work on a dream- that little bit of heaven in a slow cooked meal- that conversation that suddenly extends until dawn. Simply put: let's savor our stories. Put it on simmer and let it goooooooooooo.......

It's been a long time

Since I rock and rolled yea! (insert bad ass guitar riff here)

Thank you Led Zeppelin for leading me off...

It has been a long time. And i promise to write more soon. But for now, a short synopsis:

Get in line to ride a roller coaster in your favorite outfit on a first date but make friends with the other people about to get on the ride, second guess your decision fifteen times while you are waiting, step into the attraction with caution and exhilaration, immediately enjoy the thrill of the ride as it starts, twist and turn with confidence, suddenly throw up on your new date, become mortified, watch your date leave, then unexpectedly become surrounded with support by the new friends you made in line who were luckily just on the ride too and totally understand. Swish your mouth out with some diet coke, and climb on another ride with some awesome new people. You might throw up again, or you might ace it this time. But it's worth a try...that is why you came to amusement park, after all. To ride the rides, not sit on the bench and eat cotton candy.

I hope that can sum it up for now.

That, and a favorite quote by Galileo:

"I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."

the city gives back

"Don't worry, the city will eventually give back. I learned that after my first two years here, and my relationship with LA is much, much better." This was the advice of a childhood friend after I told him I had been here for two weeks. I was very happy to be able to look him in the eye and say, " I know!" My first week of submitting had me auditioning, booking a job, and going on a shoot for Spike TV. Thank you, city! I have begun to figure out what streets around me connect, and I have stopped being intimidated in traffic. Thank you self for deciding to be fearless!

Ah, but here's the rub- remember those cycles? This place might be the perfect candidate for the main character of the prodigal son story....except it keeps happening over   and    over   and   over again! On one hand: my meter has run out and no ticket, someone let me actually merge gracefully on the freeway, another human being made eye contact with me while being very busy and important in Target- but they looked! Oh, welcome back LA to my loving arms!

and then. You catch a cold. While my nose is running down my face with as little direction as I have without my GPS, I stumble around just wanting to get into the freakin' post office. Why is there NO PARKING! Will I get to my OBGYN appointment and will I survive it? (you know, the truly lovely curse of being a woman in a new city is finding just the right person to try and make you feel the least amount of terrified while you are probed by foreign objects and hands). After visiting the office, I return to my car to find that the weather has completely changed. The sky no longer sunny but foggy, and I am in a sleeveless shirt freezing in the newfound gales of wind. I have no jacket. I am supposed to be on my way to an audition where I have to make out with another character and at this point I am thinking it's not going to happen unless he wants to be subject to the extra bacteria breeding in my body. Cold, swollen, and a bit defeated I remember there are two other audition dates, so I can reschedule. A nice plus. I am determined and I think- ok- I will reverse my karma! The prodigal son will return! I will give the homeless man who is opening doors for people (going ignored, I might add) one of my dollars. Whew. I feel better. I feel better until I step right into four inches of mud and water in my sandaled feet. WHAT?! Ok, fine. Just another flip side of the coin, right? Although my patience is starting to wear thin, as is my energy and my health.

Laundry. Meters. QUARTERS! The magical coin in the city of angels. I stop at a bank hoping to exchange my last bit of cash for the opportunity to get in and out of overcrowded stores and clean clothes. The lot is guarded, of course, and I smile and say hello to the guard as I walk in and he welcomes me to the bank. The quarters are as easy as pie! I was afraid I would have to be a Bank of America loyal, but it wasn't so. With  my quarters pocketed, I exit and and tell the guard goodbye and to have a nice night.

I climb into my car, try to give my nose some direction, and struggle to find chapstick to put on my lips. In the mirror, I notice the guard coming over to my car. I immediately think I have done something wrong (must be the years of teenage delinquency...) and mildly panic as I roll down my window. 

"Can I have your autograph next time you come in, miss?" 

Oh, that's it. He mistook me for a celebrity for some crazy reason. I smiled and told him I didn't think he would want it, I wasn't anybody he knew and it was probably a mistake if he thought he recognized me. But he smiled back at me and said, "I know. My name is Edwardo. People come in and out of here all day and never even look at me standing by the door. You said hello, but you had wow! energy- you lit up my day. I decided that I didn't know what you were going to try to do- but that you were going to be good at it. That's why I think I need your autograph!"

I told him I was an actress that had just moved here and he told me, "Oh! It will be a piece of cake! You will walk into the room and knock them back with your presence. They would be crazy not to hire you!"

Um, can Edwardo always be the casting director in every audition I go on?! But alas, Edwardo knows absolutely nothing about acting. Yet he did know something about lifting my spirits.

I promised him if I ever came back to the Bank of America on Vermont, I would bring him an autograph. As I drove away, I remembered what my friend said. The city does give back. 

Right after I pulled out, I passed by an old U-HAUL truck that had been left on the side of the street. It was terribly ugly, beat up and graffitied. On the back side it said in huge letters, "EGO". What an interesting thing to see after my negotiations today, trying to find the good and encouraging from within a cloud of uncertainty. It was a reminder for me in several ways: to not get caught up or discouraged in the city's vibe of swollen ego, to remember that we all need to be on the giving/receiving end of a boost of encouragement, and to continue to look for the balance that will keep us happy, confident, healthy, and kind.

I came home, climbed into my pj's, and began the long night shift hour of online submitting for non union roles...and just when I started to get really tired and was on my tenth kleenex, I remembered Edwardo, and all of my Edwardo's along the way. It's really not such a bad day to be in the city after all.

Day One

Day one of my blogging- day 17 of life in Los Angeles. day 9,146 of life on planet Earth. 

Whew! 

I should start at the beginning, or at one of them...hence the term,  "embrace the phoenix". It takes courage and surrender to allow life's events to hit you, pass through you, synthesize in your body, and keep walking on. Little life cycles on macro and microscopic scales. It can happen five times a day, two times a week, one time in a year, etc....but all on different levels. The ability to accept it- no, not just accept, but THRIVE with it. This is what I strive for. 

I am so grateful to be where I am. I sit here, typing in a new apartment in a city that greets you at the airport with the claim of, "Los Angeles: City of Arts and Entertainment". Well, hot damn! Arts and entertainment make my blood boil in the best of ways. When I walked off the plane and saw that sign, I had a little Ruby Keeler moment! 

But what leads me here? It is another rebirth. On the other side of a divorce and seemingly endless heartache, on the other side of structured school and plans, on the other side of a southern world and all its standards and ideas....slowly but surely, rebirth in oh so many ways. 

I have been lucky to have endless support from my family, and lots of truly amazing teachers along the way that have come in the form of friends, lovers, and educators. I wake up and greet the city each day with the list of things I am thankful for (for those who know me and how hard I sleep- it's the only thing that will actually get me out of bed! ;) and I set out to do the work that I am lucky to be able to do. 

I am at the very beginning and that used to embarrass me. Not anymore. 

I have no agent. I just moved. I have a theatre background. I have only begun to pound the pavement in this crazy town.

But I have heart. I have prayer. and most of all, I have faith. It is my middle name, after all.