I'm still kickin'...

Yes, I am still periodically blogging, but I have transferred everything over to my new blog -
http://40andawake.blogspot.com/

I'm keeping this one active for the time being, but any new posts will be at the link above. Subscribe... or don't... or whatever.

Namaste!

Resurrection of 'The First Kiss'

My 'official' first kiss was in the summer of '86 (I think - the years get fuzzy these days). The son of my grandparents' friends invited me out to dinner (my first chaperoned 'date'). We were on the wooden stairs leading up to the game room of an Old West themed restaurant - the smell of BBQ chicken and smoked ribs in the air. At the last possible second, I realized how rank my breath was - and closed my lips tightly in an attempt to hide my oral odor. "Addicted to Love" was playing on the speakers overhead. Oh, how true those lyrics turned out to be!

After multiple boyfriends, two failed short-term marriages and one miserable long-term relationship, I've learned a few things. Unfortunately, I've learned more about what love IS NOT... but the power of rational thought has also allowed me to translate this into what love IS.

“Unless its mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of our time. There are too many mediocre things in life; love shouldn’t be one of them.” ~ Unknown

I've recently experienced my own rebirth in love - a resurrection of that which I once thought dead and forever gone. I hold the hope that this was indeed my last "first kiss" - rising from the ashes to remind me that we are all capable and deserving of love.

Love is a consistent, truthful, fulfilled, healing way of relating to ourselves and others.
Love is freely given and received. It is not earned nor legislated, imprisoned nor held hostage.
Love speaks out for justice and protests when harm is being done.
Love does not come with conditions, stipulations, agenda, addenda, or codes. Healthy love, however, comes with guidelines and parameters and "rules" co-created by its participants.
Love cannot be turned on as a reward or turned off as a punishment. Only something else pretending to be love can be used as a lure or hook for bait and switch, imitated or insinuated, but the 'real deal' can never be delivered if it doesn't occur naturally and freely from the heart.
Love points out the consequences of hurting oneself and others.
Love is bigger than you are. You can invite love, but you cannot dictate how, when, and where love expresses itself. You can choose to surrender to love or not, but it is unpredictable and irrefutable.
Love allows room for anger, grief, or pain. It does not cower or diminish in the presence of these things.
Love does not say directly or indirectly that if you want to be loved, you must "be a good girl", or "nice", or "do what I want".
Love isn't a power-struggle or about control. It is win some/lose some. It is compromise.
Love honors the sovereignty of each soul.
Love doesn't hurt. If it hurts, it's something else - fear, attachment, idolatry, addiction, possession.
Love isn't perfect. There is room for mistakes and quirks and missteps. Love means being hurt sometimes, but not irreparably.

Unconditional love is not being a self-sacrificing doormat or loving someone "no matter what". Unconditional love begins with loving yourself enough to protect you from the people you love if that is necessary. Until you start loving, honoring and respecting yourself, you are not truly GIVING - you are attempting to TAKE self worth from others.

Last night, the Supreme Court of the United States ordered that all Americans are afforded the right to marry in all 50 states. The predominant sentiment among my newsfeed right now is, "Love Wins".

Yes. Yes, it does.

Love is the dissolution of the borders between "you" and "me" and "them". Those lines are conceptual and imaginary anyway, and love offers a clear vision to see the world without them. Love wins. It is powerful. To love someone is to partake on the greatest adventure - it is unknown and wild, carefree and brutal, rich and honest, deep and meaningful.

For the past 24 hours, I've been reminiscing about young love, and daydreaming about what all of this means for my children and my children's children - who will never know a world in which people are not free to publicly (and legally) declare their love for and devotion to their partner. This gives me hope for a more tolerant, inclusive, loving, future world.

“Throughout this life you will meet one person who is unlike any other. You could talk to this person for hours and never get bored. You could tell them anything and they would never judge you. This person is your soul mate, your best friend. Don’t ever let them go.” ~ Unknown

Rebuilding Trust

I have squirrels in my back yard - one in particular who will climb on to my patio screen and chatter until I toss him a scrap of bread or a cracker. (I've named him Marvin.) He snatches his treats and hops to a safe distance where he can watch me warily as he nibbles. (We've run this routine for a good year now.) Because I have cats (and until recently, a dog) who can fly out the pet door at any moment, most of the other critters keep their distance. But Marvin is always there. He taunts the cats (and has tussled with one of them at least once) and flaunts his courage to the other squirrels who stay far away - close to their escape routes.

This morning, he used my head as a landing pad and jumped from the screen to my noggin and then hopped down within 8 inches of my feet and looked up as if to say, "Your move, giant woman."

I tossed him a scrap of bread, and instead of snatching it and retreating to a safe distance like he always does, he stayed. Nibbled right there at my feet.

I crouched down to be closer. He flinched, but didn't bolt. After a second he resumed eating, and upon finishing his treat looked to me for the next one. I held out my hand.

He sniffed the air, inched closer, stood 'at the ready' (I could swear I saw him take a deep breath) inched closer again - and snatched a bit of tortilla right out of my hand with the slightest brush of fur and tiny nails. Again, he didn't retreat - just sat there and ate his fill.

Trust.

It took us a year to build.

No words, no 'relationship status', no intentions, no expectations. My patience. His courage. A mutual respect for the damage we could inflict upon one another. Care (mostly on my part) not to compromise that respect. To honor it - nurture it - celebrate it. (Quietly, and without any sudden movements.)

I imagine this wouldn't mean much to most people, but to me... it's everything.

Trust can be rebuilt. It will take time. It will take patience and courage.
The rewards, though intangible, are what feed my soul.

Remembrances

I'll never forget the day you left.
The weather was as fickle and bipolar as I. Sunny one moment, drizzling grey the next.
The desert dryness of the paper as I wrapped the plates we both love.
Our dog... who smelled of sweat and Fritos.
The cats - hiding in corners. One of them as old as "us".
The red-sided garter snakes that taunted me from the side of your U-Haul with the simple question,
"Where will U go next?"
I don't know.
I don't know anything right now.
If I try to think too hard, I forget to breathe.

The ring of the doorbell and the leap of my heart when it reached for the impossible one last time, opening to a stranger with a slender package.
The new blinds for our room... my room.
The pit in my belly swells with the clouds.
Will you be okay? Will I be okay?

I still expect to hear the jingle of a collar and the patter of paws as the dog makes her rounds.
Like a zombie, I shuffle from room to room seeing everything and nothing.
You left your Gatorade on the coffee table, half-drunk.
If I lift it to my lips, can I still taste you?

Gone in an instant are the vile names we called each other, the hurts we hurled so carelessly, the pain we bore silently for years.
There is an echo... losing strength with every repetition... until there is only the vacuum of silence.
I want to cry and scream and wail and chase you down to beg you to stay.
I'll change. I'll be different.
Better. Stronger. Kinder.

The phone rings to distract me from my selfish indulgence to embrace the pain.
The voice on the other end speaks words of encouragement that wrap my heart in hope. She tells me that I am better today than I was yesterday. Stronger now than I've ever been. Kinder than I am even aware.

The universe heralded your exit with dramatic booms and thunderous applause, raining sheets of silver that stripped my garden to its roots.
The only survivors, the potatoes, safely buried in their protective cocoons.
The beans, once the pride of my labours... are a heap of delicate, fragile tendrils, their fat leaves caked with compost and soil, weighing them down to the earth that promises to reclaim them.
The landscape is desolate, but I urge them to fight... to survive... to thrive, even.

I will never forget the day you left.
The first time I've seen my son cry since Junior High.
He poured his rum and coke and sliced a lime - just like yours.
I poured a glass of KJ Chardonnay - just like old times.
We talked about our next step. Our "plan".
We inventory the things you left behind. The Keurig, the bathroom hooks, a painting...
us.

My tears blur the path - I can only see one step at a time.
I trust the rain will cleanse.
I trust my heart will heal.
I trust you will be well.

Emotional Sabotage and 'The Retroactive Lie'

Human memory is a funny thing.
While some elements of a memory may be fixed and immovable, other elements are fluid and evolving as we age, grow, gain wisdom, and put distance between the present and our brain's catalogue of past events.

Some of my memories of the past many years hover and shift like shadows from a candle. Other memories are as bright and hot as the flame itself - always moving, shifting - details emerging and retreating back into the recesses, a new discovery and different landscape each time I revisit.

What happens when someone informs you that your memories of the past aren't accurate - or truthful - or even real?
Do you blow out that flame, discard your experiences and emotions and start over?
Or do you protect those memories and allow them to illuminate your present decisions?

The Scenario:
You and your partner attend a dinner party. You splurge on a new outfit/pair of shoes/hair-do for the occasion and your partner is effusive in his praise over your appearance. You attend the party, feeling like a million bucks on the arm of your mate. The two of you drink, dance, socialize, and you are the belle of the ball. You arrive home slightly tipsy, have sex with your guy, and fall into bed with the thought, "What a great night!"
Several years later, you are chatting with your mate and something spurs a recollection of the dinner party the two of you attended some years back. You bubble with remembered excitement about how fantastic that party was and what a great time you had.
"I hated that party," replies your mate. "Bob was there, and you know we don't get along. You were drunk early in the evening, making your rounds in that ridiculous dress/pair of shoes/hair-do, and I spent most of the night hopelessly flirting with the girl at the bar, hoping to escape the scene you were making."

As an empath, my response is immediate. What right do I have to keep my happy memories, when the person I love (and profess to share my life with) has only unhappy memories of the same event?

Even more devastating, what happens when your partner admits that they've not been committed to the same goals (or even the relationship itself) for quite some time? How quickly do we replay every event, milestone, intimate exchange, or argument and "rewire" our memories to be more accurate?

ALL of our experiences are subjective. We bring our history, our convictions, our baggage to the party and use them as filters to judge and categorize. What touches me or brings me to tears may not affect the person next to me. It doesn't have to.

Embrace it. Lean into it. Learn from it. Love it. Don't give in to the sabotage, and don't allow the 'retroactive lie' to invalidate your character and constitution. YOU have all the knowledge and experience you need to make the decisions that are right for you.

Just because my partner wasn't experiencing our relationship the same way, doesn't mean my experience isn't real and true. Our experiences don't need to be shared in order to be valid. To allow others to compromise that is to invalidate your own reactions, responses and feelings. Oftentimes based on nothing more than 'hearsay'.

Don't ever let someone else rewrite your story. It is yours and yours alone.

The Dawn of Mid-Life

I turn forty tomorrow.

I can remember being 9 or 10, sitting on the counter in my bathroom with the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet angled to face the large mirror above the sink. I could stick my face between the two mirrors for a view of me x infinity.

It was there that I first pondered existential questions that led to wondering what I would look like as an adult and who I would become.

Some of my musings weren't far off the mark. I look like my mom (when she wore her hair long). I've worked in the arts and with children for all of my adult life. I did not become a singing missionary, a veterinarian, or the best tap-dancer in all of the Southwest United States.

I had great expectations, as I imagine most young people do. At some point, I was sure I'd be married with children in a nice home close to family and friends with neighbors that went to the same church and had block parties on holidays. 

My story is one that has been retold at political rallies, key note addresses, motivational workshops, you name it. But my story is ever-evolving, and parts of it so far removed that it feels as if they belong to someone else.

I was a gold-star kid, academically and socially adept, poised for success. Scholarships to Universities, job offers with major players in my desired profession, opportunities galore. I felt invincible.

With only 3 months left until my High School graduation, I got pregnant. I was dating a boy I'd met while working over the summer with high-risk elementary school kids. I liked him a lot. He was good-looking, fastidious, goal-oriented - strong in the areas I felt weak. We were reckless and careless and had too much time on our hands. Both of our sets of parents were going through divorces at the time and we were left without much supervision. It was a volatile combination.

I was kicked out of the house and my relationship with my parents became truly adversarial. I lost my family, my church family, my scholarship offers and my job prospects in one fell swoop. I gave into the social and religious pressure to get married, and we bought a house and had a second child by the time we were 20.

At 21, we separated. At 22, we divorced. I persevered in my chosen profession and started taking classes again. At 24, I remarried a very sweet man who tried his best to be my partner in every way. It wasn't him - it really was me. We separated when I was 26. I rediscovered my passion for the arts and revisited pursuing a degree. At 27, I fell in love with my leading man in a community theatre play. (I know, it's so cliche. Sorry.) For 13 years, we were a bi-polar, on-again-off-again roller coaster. My focus was primarily on creating a life that was exciting and "fun", my kids grew up, I moved away when they started college, my son moved in with me a year and a half later, and the boyfriend dumped me (for good) last August. 

Throughout my life, I've determined my value and worth based on my relationships. Some studies will say that this is because I'm inherently female. Some experts will say I'm co-dependent. My horoscope says I'm a typical Pisces. Whatever the root cause, I understand and accept that part of me. It helps to define who I am, but it does not encompass my fully-realized purpose.

And so it is that I'm here, starting a new blog as part of my rediscovery. Starting a new chapter in my story. I'm redefining relationships and rebuilding ones I've neglected (including my relationship with myself), and not allowing fear of failure to stop me from trying something new.

I also started gardening. So there's that. 

Farewell, 39. You were one hell of a year. I'm not sad to see you go.

Hello, 40! I hope you'll be as good to me as I intend to be to you. 
Don't let me down.

Revelations in Doggie Bags

Okay, so yes... it has been months upon months since I've posted. Lots of life changes, new full-time job, new awesome cause, new lifestyle habits. Which haven't included blogging. Don't judge.

Anyhow, upon moving to Florida, I noticed some changes in my dog's coat that made me start to research everything from environmental factors to diet. It doesn't hurt that I have access to the homeopathic crack-den that is Pinterest. After much reading and recipe-searching, here's what the grocery list looked like:

16oz. spinach               1.68
5 c. mixed vegetables   4.50
Ground Chuck (1.3lbs)4.00
Ground Turkey (2lbs)  6.00
Bacon (1pkg.)             3.98
12 oz.Cottage Cheese 1.98
8 Eggs*                        1.00
1 c. Rolled Oats          1.00
Rosemary                     .50
12oz. Kidney Beans      .78
12oz. Black Beans        .78
8oz. Beef Stock          1.82
2 c. Brown Rice            .37
Total Ingredient Cost = 27.44   ($13.72/week)

I made both batches at the same time, since they have so many similar ingredients. The general rule is 1/3 protein (animal protein is advised) and 2/3 veggies and grains. Here's how it went down:

Boiled small pots of water on my back burners for the rice and rolled oats, substituting about an ounce of water for beef stock. With about 10 minutes left to go with the rice, I threw in about 1/2tsp. of finely chopped Rosemary. In a pan on my front burner, I cooked up the bacon.
Once done with those elements, I threw the bacon and rice in a large bowl to cool and set aside the cooked rolled oats as well.
I deglazed my bacon pan (it was very lean bacon - very little fat to speak of) with a few ounces of the beef stock and thawed my frozen spinach with just enough water to cover it in the pan. Set aside spinach to cool.
Throw your ground chuck into the recently vacated spinach pan with some beef stock and start browning that bad boy.
While the beef was browning, I took my (now cooled) ingredients to the food processor. Brown rice and bacon together - a few nice zaps until it's a pasty, unappealing mess. Set aside. Throw in spinach and veggies for a few zaps until it looks like an overzealous slaw. Set aside.
Once the ground chuck is cooked, drain and set aside. Use the same pan to cook your turkey with whatever is left of your beef stock.

Now the fun part: In two LARGE Tupperware containers, I portioned out half of the bacon & brown rice slurry, the veggie slurry and the rolled oats. I used canned beans (because this was enough work already) and mashed them by hand until they were good and macerated. Divvy those up between your containers as well. One container received all of the turkey and half of the cottage cheese. The other container got the ground chuck and the other half of the cottage cheese. Mix all parts well. Refrigerate. (I threw the 'beef meal' in the freezer to thaw for next week. If you can fit both in your fridge, then you can alternate meals and be an uber super hero. My small eco fridge relegates me to sidekick status.)

*A note about the eggs. The eggs are additional protein for the 'beef  meal', which I intend to freeze. Since eggs don't freeze well, I'm waiting to add them (you can use them raw or cooked) until I thaw it out next week. Just before refrigerating is also when you'll want to add any essential oils (ie: Fish oil for coat.) If you're not freezing your beef, add in the eggs all willy-nilly. Again, raw or cooked - your choice - there are arguments for and against either option, so do your own research.

About halfway through the food-processing portion of the project, the delicious aromas of rosemary, brown rice and bacon began to blend together - definitely smelled more like dog food at that point. (Which is right around the time my Roxie started to stand sentry at the kitchen - which ended up being awesome because I made her taste-test every step of the way.)
I was worried about the pasty-glue texture of the rice and oats - but that did NOT seem to bother the dog one bit. She didn't lift her head out of her bowl until it was licked clean. AND... so far... no post-dinner nuclear dog farts. SCORE!

At a cost that is the same (or slightly cheaper), and took about 2 hours total in the kitchen, we've got 2 weeks of dog food - and a survival option suitable for humans in case of emergency. I'm pretty stoked!

I'll update if she grows horns or starts losing her fur. I'll also update as we try out new recipes!

2013 in Review

I can't believe we've reached the end of another year.
And I'm still here.

2013 was a year of resolutions. Not the kind of resolutions usually proclaimed on January 1st. I didn't lose weight, I didn't quit eating crap, I didn't work out more, I wasn't nominated for a Tony.

I saw closure on issues that had been unresolved for decades. Issues that had slowly chipped away at my confidence and feeling of competence without me even realizing it. I've been approaching life with a compounded feeling of trepidation each year - not sure what life would throw at me, and without the confidence that I could handle it.

A collaboration that has been in the works for the better part of this year saw it's first round-table reading, and prompted the start of two more scripts. Writing more has meant blogging less, so none of this has been without sacrifices, but it has been a progression of small victories for me.

I didn't get out to a lot of the auditions I would have liked to. In fact, I didn't get out much this year at all. Save for theatre pilgrimages to Little Rock and Phoenix for shows, I frequented my local haunts (the beach, the neighborhood, farmer's market)... but mostly the inside of my condo. (Or glued to my laptop on the patio. Sorry... lanai.) It has been lonely... but as my support circle grows one person at a time, I can't help but be bolstered by the people who believe in me.

I have no idea what 2014 is going to bring, but I can only feel hope in place of the usual hesitation. My old sense of adventure is beginning to return as I shake off the weight of the past and look forward to the unknown.

We've made it this far.
Bring it on.

The Season of (not) Giving...

Just as a disclaimer: This is not a feel-good Christmas post. That'll come later. Today it's another political rant. I'm feeling feisty.

I like to be up-to-date on current events, but I don't watch network news. (*Unless I know someone on the show - usually theatre or event promos, serial killer friends... that kind of thing.) I scour the internet for sources from the far left, the far right, and the obscure, because I believe in the merit of "his side, her side, and the truth" ...in most cases.

The danger of getting most of my news from the internet is that I am easily persuaded by passionate arguments on everything from saving the Mexican Grey Wolf to ending bullying to anti-GMO campaigns and budget cuts to education/arts/welfare... you get the picture. I end up on ALL the email lists.

During one quarterly cleaning of my inbox, I discovered that every email from any 'cause' I'd ever cyber-joined  led to politics or money. Usually both.


There seem to be two primary categories. The first, a crowd-funded grass-roots campaign to build this or preserve that, usually with specific objectives and collective accountability on how funds are to be used. The second is the 'campaign' or 'committee' dedicated to wiping out this or fighting that. Primarily political, and focused on combating corporate funding of this or that initiative.

Sometimes it's small... a little link at the top or bottom of the email. Sometimes a shiny little radio button with 'DONATE' in an attractive font. Sometimes it's the entire body of the email. But it's always there. "Support our cause - with your money."

I'll use Al Franken (U.S. Senator, Minnesota) as an example of the second/latter category. (In full disclosure, I'm on his mailing list - and not because I think the guy is an asshat. But he IS a politician nevertheless.)
His campaign shot off an email asking for donations to reach their December goal of $200,000. The reason for this request: Karl Rove and his allies are running attack ads. (I'm just going to let that one sink in... for anyone who has ever felt the need to combat someone talking shit about you.)
He goes further to mention a $22.5 million check to Rove's "attack ad factory" as motivation to donate generously to his counter-cause.

So... let me get this straight. The bad guy wants the good guy out of office, so he's going to spend a lot of his money on nasty (and expensive) ad time to throw down the smack talk? Okay. So, what are you going to do with your Christmas money, Mr. Franken? Buy up the air time so he can't? Clever... but expensive and wasteful. Run counter-attack ads? Is it even worth acknowledging if you're the 'good guy'? Send him some expensive liquor with a nice note saying, 'Please don't attack me on the TeeVee anymore"? That only works in the movies. And really... you're going to combat $22.5 million? Give up already.

Wouldn't the best counter-campaign be one in which you could say, "Yeah... Karl is giving me shade. But I'm too busy improving living conditions for the poor or investing in better education to deal with that right now." I mean... wouldn't the ideal 'testimonial' be public opinion on your reputation as a politician that gets shit done? Take a look at Wendy Davis. She didn't even have to get shit done! But when people saw her 'trying' to get shit done, they took notice and lit up the Twitterverse. On a day when half the people in Texas didn't know who she was, she gained a national audience instantaneously.
If you're a politician or a PAC, I'll consider giving you money if you've got a proven record of getting shit done. What I won't consider (even for a second) is giving you money to fight other politicians and PACs. In fact, I scoff. Did you learn nothing on the playground? Let the thugs scrap it out next to the bike rack. Rise above, do you... and get some shit done. Shelter the homeless. Raise the minimum wage. Improve state welfare programs by co-opting from local farmers to give healthy and sustainable food options to the poor. Put the arts back in our schools and community centers.

With my limited experience in fundraising and 501(c)3 administration, I could give you fifty different options on how to use $200,000 to better your community immediately.

And that brings me to the former of the two categories, predominantly non-profit organizations or independent projects on kickstarter or gofundme. The same rule applies. Get shit done. People generally like to back successful projects. The more you can produce a quality outcome, the more people you will attract who want to be part of that legacy.
I'm guilty of this one myself, having launched a gofundme for my move to FL and misjudging how quickly I could get my organization on its feet while still writing, reading, administrating, and generally getting shit done. But now that I'm up and running, it is getting done. We're having readings. Scripts are being written and revised. And the momentum is unmistakable. We will end this year with over twice the donations we had last year. If I expect to keep it up, I've gotta make sure I'm getting shit done. That's how it works.

*On a side note, I will be running a kickstarter campaign to run a counter-attack ad against anyone who has ever disagreed with me politically, economically, artistically, or otherwise.
**J/K. Ain't nobody got time for that.

I've decided to skew my perspective when it comes to the 'Season of Giving'. Rather than putting my $11 into the Salvation Army bucket, I'll buy lunch for the homeless fellah on the corner of Ringling & Tamiami. Rather than throw a paltry amount to Greenpeace, I'll donate to Myakka state park right down the road. Or the wildlife sanctuary. I'll give to places where I can see and feel the difference it makes.

I think money being 'the root of all evil' has a lot to do with intention. Are we funding efforts to tear down and destroy, or are we funding efforts to protect and create?
An anonymous check to a local community theatre or youth program could completely change their year. A box of non-perishables on the doorstep of a struggling single mom will make her weep with relief and gratitude. 

I don't have much to give, but when I do... it won't be for politics. I'll put my money where my heart is. The people and the communities that are precious to me. Together, I trust we'll be able to get shit done.

Words, words, words

Writing is making me crazy emphasizing my already well-established insanity.
They say that what you write reveals a vast amount about you. (And by "They", I mean one mentor and two written sources or one written source and two mentors.) They also say to write what you know.
Looking on my growing catalog of plays and my book (which hasn't been touched in almost 6 months), I'm looking for a trend or 'niche' that would help describe my voice or 'type' of writing.

We've got a historical piece on the Suffragette movement, a government conspiracy play, a contemporary 'chick play', a black rom-com, and an adaptation of one of my favorite cult movies into a musical (with most of the music still yet to be written). Sigh.

With the exception of the latter, they all have undertones of politics, religion and economics. Funny... because as a general rule, I'm bitter and jaded about all three of those subjects. I guess what you write about really does reveal something about the writer. I'm exorcising my demons, I suppose. And learning focus.

What I don't write about... is my kids. (Though they are the central characters in my book - which is fiction.)
Even in blogging and Facebook/Twitter updates, I censor myself on a regular basis when it comes to my son and daughter. Part of this is due to a bad experience when a stalker found and used photos of them to taunt and torment me... I discovered then how easily the internet can be used to invade your life. The other part of me doesn't want to reveal too much about my kids because the more secrets they have to reveal in their memoirs, the better price they'll get.

Now that they've both graduated High School and are on to college, I still feel protective of them... but I'm also finding myself more vocal about celebrating the amazing adults they've become. I'm at that strange phase of life where it feels odd to thank my 'kids' in my bio, because they aren't kids any more. Even though they'll always be my babies.

And therein lies the rub. Shouldn't I be writing about my kids more? Especially now that they can't be teased in grade school when I turn their childhood anecdotes into a series of children's books? Or are some things just too precious to expose to that kind of vulnerability?

Or maybe I should just stop procrastinating and get back to revisions.

Can Someone Please Tell Me...

What happened to November?!

Last I checked, it was October... I left just as Fall and Halloween decorations were beginning to adorn my neighbors' doors!
I have a vague recollection of doing a show, and some fuzzy memories involving pies and turkey, but it's a blur. Sometimes life happens so fast that I don't feel like I have time to take it in and digest it all. I can only respond and volley and snap into action. An unchoreographed waltz with an undesignated lead. Once the action settles, I look back and say, "What just happened there?"

So... the highlights and lowlights of the past month and a half:
I spent 5 weeks in my hometown of Mesa, Arizona doing a fun little romp called 'Menopause The Musical' with Prather Entertainment (Broadway Palm, Dutch Apple, The Palms) and met an extraordinary group of women who took me in with kindness, consideration, and patience. It was a very fortuitous and serendipitous opportunity, and I had a blast being back on my 'old stompin' grounds'.

During my time there, I got to see my daughter (for like a minute) and her BF, my mom and step-dad, my sisters in law, Grandma & Grandpa, my dad, many of my dear(est) friends, and spent some extended time with my son. If you'd have told me in October that he would be living with me in Florida by Thanksgiving, I wouldn't have believed you. But that's the unpredictability of life, yo. He is here. His ginormous shoes infuriatingly in the center of the living room. And I couldn't be happier.

My playwright collaborators and I put together a reading for Testament of Will that renewed my interest in the project and helped to illuminate the direction we want to go with it. So, that was invaluable... and just kinda awesome, 'cuz our actors rocked it out. Now we just need to replace about half of the exposition with humor and compelling shit. No pressure. Done by Christmas. Eep!

We drove out to West Palm for Thanksgiving at Rhonda's (with about 40+ people) and I think I slept for the next two days straight. We'll call it an extreme food coma. I barely remember the drive home, but I know it happened 'cuz there are still leftovers in my fridge.

I've gotten some bites on packets I sent to local talent agencies on this side of the state, so I'm hoping to finally start setting down some roots in Flurrrida before I have to leave again. It'll be good to finally dip my toes in the market here after a year of feeling like I'm on vacation. (*Snap out of it, Andi. You live here. Stop gawking and get some work done!*)

I'm also starting to put together writing samples for a portfolio since there are so many free-lance jobs around here... and Mama needs some extra money for the pantry. (Not to mention Christmas. Holy crap, it's so close already!)

So here it is... already December. The last page of the calendar... another year marked off one day at a time. And no clue what the year ahead will hold for me. One thing I can guarantee... it'll be unpredictable.
Hopefully I'll remember most of it.
Unlike November.

Seriously. What just happened?

Life on the road - Homecomings

There are many positive and negative aspects to doing regional theatre, many funny and poignant anecdotes... but today, we're going to focus on travel.

I'm 'out of state' several times a year now... sometimes for a few days to hit auditions, sometimes for weeks or months at a time for rehearsals and productions. I love to travel. I love to fly. I love road trips. I love to explore new places. I love the adventure. I love falling in love with towns I never thought about (like Savannah, GA) or places I never imagined I'd have a chance to see (like Maui). And even though I'm a sucker for jet-setting, I get homesick very easily.
By day two, I miss my family, my animals, and my 'routine' at home. By week two, I miss my kitchen and my creature comforts - my artsy projects and half of my 'technical equipment' that wasn't worth the luggage or shipping fees to bring along.

The silver lining in all the misery of separation anxiety and whisking cake batter with a wooden spoon from 1990 is the long-awaited and much anticipated homecoming.
After spending last week in Lancaster, PA, I was missing home and musing with my soon-to-be-castmates about their time away from their loved ones, the beauty of Skype and technology that keeps us all connected, and the strength and support we get from our 'anchors'. There is no mistaking the energy backstage on the closing day of a show. There is usually a bit of sadness and reluctance to leave our new family, and a ton of sheer, ants-in-the-pants excitement and joy towards reuniting with our old one.

My homecomings have begun to follow their own formulaic routine as of late... Beginning with my New York pace from the jetway to the 'arrivals' gate outside... while the other 15 people in the airport meander about (7 of which are TSA or flight crew). Happy reunion with J, who is all choked up.... because he's no longer responsible for 100% of the household chores - and can finally catch up on all the shows he wasn't allowed to watch without me.
Happy reunion with Roxanne (my dog) who apparently (hop, hop) thought I was dead (hop) and might not ever return (hop, hop, hop) to rub her belly again (hop) and really needs to figure out why my feet smell strange, (hop) but mostly the belly thing (hop, hop, circle-sprint, collapse, roll).
Two of the cats come out to see what the commotion is and stop to sample the new scratching post by the front door - the one that looks exactly like my suitcase. They leave, unimpressed.
I take my suitcase into the bedroom, give J the condensed version of every little detail of my flight, followed by the highlights of my time away as I pour a glass of wine and throw out dinner suggestions. We settle on ordering take-out Chinese so we can play the new Diablo 3 together and then watch Key & Peele. I decide that unpacking and laundry can wait until tomorrow.
I unsuccessfully try to coax Sparky onto my lap. (He's my familiar - and my favorite - but don't tell the others.) He's mad at me for leaving, so I'm getting the silent treatment as he pretends not to see me.
Waking up the next morning - in my own bed - there's a spring in my step as I convert the patio table into my workspace for the day and watch the squirrels and blue jays fight for the treats I've left outside the back door. Sparky jumps up onto my lap - purring - and all is once again right in my world...
...20 minutes later when I go to unpack my suitcase - I find that he has pissed on it.

Welcome Home.

Happy Anniversary!

I kinda blew by an important milestone without celebrating it properly, so here's some recognition.

First, this is the first year of many many years that I did not call my mother or send my father an email wishing them a 'Happy Anniversary' at the end of August. (Even though they've been divorced for over 20 years now.) I've always taken some twisted pleasure in being the 'catalyst baby' - which means I take partial credit for their decision to marry and the existence of my three brothers. The tongue-in-cheek celebration was as much about their decision to raise me together as it was about another year of adulthood in which I got to skate by as the artsy-fartsy, 'black sheep, hippie bastard love-child.
Both of my parents are now remarried to partners that make them infinitely more happy than they were together, so it seems a little mean-spirited to wish them a happy (failed) anniversary... but I still celebrate it privately in my heart. :)

Second, and more significant, is my one-year anniversary of moving to Florida.
HOORAY!

There have been ups and downs, but mostly 'ups'... and while I miss the hell out of my friends and family, I couldn't be happier about where I am right now.
The hardest transition has been the distance from my kids. It's unnerving to be this far away, and yet... they're both in college and venturing into their own adult lives, so I'd be doing a lot of knitting and worrying and missing them - no matter where my location.
I'm immensely thankful for technology (if my infuriating son would ever use it) and I'm thankful for the UPS store being so close and giving me the corporate discount for care packages shipped across the country.
I've learned that jellyfish stings feel just like bee stings and that my eyes are really sensitive to saltwater. I've learned that racoons and possums are nuts for cat food, but that the squirrels are partial to my burnt croissants. I learned that sometimes you get really lucky with awesome neighbors if you just put yourself out there and say 'Hi'. I also learned to screen potential roommates with a bit more caution.

After living in AZ all of my life, I knew it would be a while before this desert rat transitioned into a tropical beach bum. However, Florida does share some similarities with my home state that make me feel comfortable and acclimated. There is a 'winter visitor' season here just like there is back home. People out here also drive like D-bags, get a little stir-crazy during the summer, and the politics are just as shady. 'Monsoon season' is the same time of year, but it's 'Tropical Storm Season' here and it rains almost daily for at least an hour.

I had some specific goals set for my first year out here. And I didn't meet all of my goals, I accomplished a few things that were absolute surprises for me.
I have yet to do a 'bona fide' show in Florida, but I've hit a handful of auditions and at least started to stick my toe in the water of the theatre community out here. I went back to AZ to do a production in the Fall and left again in the Spring to do a show in Little Rock - which to me, is the best of ALL worlds!
My focus has shifted a bit to writing - a big surprise, but a pleasant one - an outlet that I've always used personally, but never publicly. With that shift came my registration for the tutor program with the Sarasota Literacy Council, and a few other projects that made the list of goals for my second year here in Florida.
I haven't been to New York since the Spring, which speaks to my level of 'nesting'... I haven't had the gypsy urge to go people-watching and free-hugging in Times Square or hit the nearest port-of-call for cruise line auditions, which is odd. I typically get those urges on a weekly basis. I think that means I'm content here. For how long, who knows? But I'm thankful. Very thankful.
And especially to those who helped me get here... friends and family that helped me along the way - either financially or with encouragement and moral support - I can't thank you enough.

Happy Anniversary.

When Society gives us a fish... we make sushi.

"If every crisis is an opportunity, then artists are facing the opportunity of a lifetime." - Kerry Lengel

A journalist/theatre critic in my hometown has started a great debate about the state of the arts – both locally and on a broader scale. The debate is one that is controversial among artists and non-artists alike, and one that I have some pretty strong opinions about. So, of course I'll weigh in via my blog. 'Cuz that's how I roll.

Lengel writes, “Across the arts-and-culture sector, virtually every organization, large and small, has had to slash spending... after dozens of conversations with arts executives and industry watchers, I have come to see a strange sort of silver lining in this existential crisis. The Great Recession has done more than force arts groups to re-examine their business models, it is also forcing them to face the hardest truth of all: Society doesn’t owe you anything.”

From a personal standpoint, I kinda agree with that hard truth. The choice of wording is a little assumptive, but I understand the message.
Essentially, it IS up to the writers to write the right rites (sorry, had to) and up to the directors to innovate and improve. It is up to the actors to engage and inspire and the marketers to market and the costumers to costume and for everyone to do what they do best – which is why I assume we're all here in the first place. No one expects to throw crap on a stage and attract funding or an audience (except Honey Boo-Boo and the Kardashians).

Society doesn't owe it to us at all.
Society owes it to themselves.

Without art, we lose connection with something that is bigger than ourselves. Without the arts, we lose what is the best (and worst) part of being human – our ability to create and surprise and inspire... to move and be moved. To transcend and participate in something beyond our inconsequential mortal fictions.

Mr. Lengel inspired much debate with his words. He moved people – either affecting them positively or negatively – and perhaps even a few heartrates increased as passionate debate stirred within. In my book, that makes Mr. Lengel an artist himself. And thus, his responsibility is no less than mine to use his gifts to inspire the community to support it's own artistic voice. He sparked debate. Love it or hate it, he was successful in stirring up something within a community that was worth the dialogue.

Art is collaborative. It requires the artist to feed the community as much as it requires the community to feed the artist. In harmony, it is self-sustaining. In disharmony, it is cynical and apathetic.
On a practical level alone, it is proven that communities that support and encourage the arts see significant drops in crime, truancy and teen pregnancy among their youth. The arts have been used to promote literacy, recreate history, educate, engage and inspire since the beginning of man. Clinton played the sax. Obama sings. DaVinci, Edison, Einstein, Tesla, Graham-Bell - all scientific and technological innovators. 
And artists and poets and musicians.

The same innovation and creativity required to create remarkable works of art is the same innovation and creativity required to find success in business or to forward technology and industry. These qualities are evolutionary and revolutionary and should NEVER be suppressed.

Society owes it to themselves.

Artists are creation machines. And there is much to be learned when we can turn that mirror in on itself and lend a voice to the arts-and-culture representations of our communities... our 'society'.

We are failing because we (as a 'society') have put an emphasis on production rather than creation; buying into the notion that we are valuable based on the quantity, the quality, and under which oppressive circumstances we can sustain or increase what we produce.

We are slipping into an age where we treasure consumerism over creation, productivity over inspiration, and pragmatism over passion – threatening the existence of our collective intangible human soul. 

But arts groups aren't failing everywhere. There are organizations (and communities) that are thriving. 

Predecessors passing the torch to the next generation of visionaries – and those who have toiled through years of up and down experiences, fashioning new legacies to be passed along to their successors. Thriving.

Why? Because they feed their community – outreach programs, collaborative productions, unconventional locales, innovative settings, controversial content, celebrity box office billings – and in return, their community feeds them. Neither side is apathetic. Both are passionate, excited, and anticipating 'the next big thing' they will create together. It is self-sustaining. And self-destructive. When one side fails, both sides fail.

'Society' is responsible for supporting and continuing the arts in their own communities and artists must create that which is worth preserving.

It is not enough to make art. We must make good art.

And we must be a reminder to our communities that art is essential – if nothing else, to touch base with our own imaginations rather than the touch screen of our latest app.

When was the last time you hooted and clapped and guffawed out loud? When was the last time someone's poetic words moved you to tears? When was the last time you stopped and marveled at the beauty around you? When was the last time you hummed a tune? Or doodled in your note pad? That is the byproduct of art. The ability to relate to another person - most likely a stranger to you - and their concepts or theories or feelings or notions is the beauty and wonder and marvel of the human condition. Other side effects of art include: inspiration, motivation, joy, surprise, alarm, laughter, tears, guffaws, victorious cries, breathless sighs, snickers (available at concessions), intrigue, adaptability, dialogue, debate, connection, imagination...

Society doesn't owe me anything. I'm an artist. A creation machine. I began early, and I will continue to create as long as I have a pulse.

Society owes it to themselves to encourage, promote, preserve, maintain and participate in the arts; because we are all artists.We're all responsible. 

We're all creation machines.

We all need to be.

Or our 'society' is doomed.

Profanely Indecent De-Friending

I lost a Facebook friend today.

Truth is, I don't pay attention to the number of friends I have. And being in the industry I'm in, friends come and go with the ebb and tide of the theatre season... or a political term... or a wave of gossip. I don't usually take it personally. We binge and purge depending on where we are in our lives and what kind of validation or entertainment we seek.

Then there are those that seek to teach a lesson when they go. The friends that don't slip silently away from your newsfeed with a click of a button, but announce loudly, "I'm leaving and here's why!" That's what happened today. This 'de-friending' was only significant because it was both a family member and a lesson-giver.

"Andi - I just wanted to explain why I am taking you off of my Friends list. I do not appreciate some of your vulgar language or some of the raunchy things you have posted. I still love you as family, but I can nor condone your actions or behavior and just wanted you to understand. I will continue to pray for you."

Now, this isn't the first time I've been admonished by a friend or family member for my outrageously smutty or crude behavior. But as always, I feel like I have to ask, "Do you KNOW me?" I gave up shame for Lent some time ago and I haven't been the same since. So, let me discuss...

First of all, can we stop pretending that Facebook connections are equivalent to condoning someone's actions or behavior? They're not. I've got plenty of friends that participate in practices that I'm not particularly keen on (like butt-sex). Not only do I NOTbelieve that our cyberfriendship gives me the right to comment on (or stands to symbolize my validation of) their butt-sex, but I don't believe that any of them NEED my validation to continue having butt-sex ...or post reference to it on their profiles as often as they'd like. Thus, I am also not asking anyone to condone my cyber behavior.

Second, I don't filter my posts. If you're on my friends list, you're seeing EVERYTHING I post. I don't feel the need, nor do I have the time to separate friends from family, conservatives from liberals, theatre peeps from civilians, former students from former teachers, etc. I post what I post and say what I say and everyone gets to see it the same as everyone else. My parents, my kids, my friends, my ex-boyfriends, my frenemies... all treated to the same verbal vomit and self-promotion that I find relevant and post-worthy. Do I think everyone will agree and relate with what I post? No. My friends are much too diverse. Some will 'like' it, some will hate it, some won't see it because they hid me from their newsfeed long ago. That's the beauty of using your own features for you. You don't have to see what you don't want to. Unless it's an ad. Then you're just screwed. Then again (and this is where I do agree with him) the easier way to filter your newsfeed is to simply remove anyone that doesn't think and feel exactly the way you do. One of the basic tenets of Christ, I presume to be among the lost 11th-15th commandments. Ghandi said "Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are all in harmony." I am happy.

Third, if you find me raunchy, vulgar and offensive online - enough to cut ties with me - then it's probably in our mutual best interest. In the past month, I've posted references to poop, dicks, assholes, pin-up girls, 80's pop trivia, epic fails, skinny bitches, shark teeth, nude beaches, drinks with friends, funny tampon commercials, support of gay marriage and kids going off to college. Oh, and Amanda Palmer singing in the nude. None of which I find obscene, smutty, lewd, crude, or profanely indecent. Believe it or not, I actually do censor what I post online. So you can imagine how raunchy and vulgar my life really is! Full of foul language and inappropriate behavior, lewd and provocative dress, sex, lies, scandal, racism, sexism, fascism, polyamorism... whatever - you name it, I've lived it. Lived it for the adventure, the experience, the perspective and the human connection. And I love and cherish every single crude moment of it.

I find merit in Amanda Palmer's nude response to The Daily Mail. I find humor in the tampon commercial and Wil Wheaton's 'Don't be a Dick' Day. I find relevance and satire in friends musing online about the 'Real Housewives of Whoretown". I am liberated and unoffended. I do not have a sensitive constitution. I do not believe that the world should be made up of people who think and feel and behave and create the same way. THAT, to me, is an offensive thought. And if I'm offensive, how does one conduct oneself in the 'secular world'? If I'm that nasty, then you must not have basic cable.
And so my response was,


"Dear  _____, I'm sorry you feel the way you do, but I do understand. Your judgment and condemnation is not the first I've encountered. But I do not need anyone to condone or validate the blessed life I live. My raunch and vulgarity are parts of what make me a successful actress, writer, and comedienne. I don't believe that one of the tenets of Christ was to remove people from our lives who think, feel or behave differently, but I respect your decision to do so. Just because we are family does not mean we have to be 'friends'. I do not particularly agree with the views you express or the behavior you display, but I simply hid you from my news feed long ago. I'm sure there are others that deserve and need your prayers much more than I. Please breathe a sigh of relief and rest assured that my salvation is not in your hands. I personally release you from any responsibility or connection to me and my immortal soul. I hope that you can once again enjoy your newsfeed without my invasive offense. Sincerely, Andi"

One less online 'friend', and yet I feel oddly liberated that there is one less person watching my newsfeed for content to judge and condemn. It's also one less notification about today's bible verse or the movement to squelch the rights of others in the name of Christianity. Ghandi also said "I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ." (I think Ghandi may have met my great-uncle.) He also said that no one can hurt you without your permission. I also believe that to be true. There can be many perceived offenses in my life that I could allow to hurt - offenses that would cut off familial relationships or long-worn friendships. I choose stronger attributes instead - like love, tolerance, forgiveness, faith and loyalty. 
Or I just hit the 'unfriend' button and walk away - because it is not my place to judge intentions nor to teach lessons. I'll leave that to the elite chosen few. 

While you cannot choose your family, you can choose your Facebook friends... and sometimes that's way better in the long run.
And on that note, I'm off to live my smutty, morally crude life doing what I love and thanking my higher power for the abundance and joy I experience every day. 

 

I have a blog?!

Me (the actress) and Me (the writer) are in a big fight. BIG. 

It has been going on all week.

I'm anxious to get my foot in the door with the local theatre scene here in FL, so I've been trying to focus on auditions here in between my travels and adventures. Being the 'new kid' in any theatre community can be tough - and there is no equivalent to a Laura Durant in the sunshine state - so it requires some extra vigilance and networking on my part. Something that my writer-self has no patience for.

I'm working on four projects right now. A novel, two plays, and a musical adaptation. Yes, I'm an unfocused Pisces and I overwhelm myself with many creative ventures at once. That's just how I roll. Two of my written projects are collaborations, which takes some pressure off. And all of them have a different feel, energy, content, etc... So it lends itself well to my daily moods. Feeling cheeky? We work on the comedy or the musical. Feeling research-y? We work on the historical piece. Feeling evasive and calculating? We work on the novel. It's not the best system in the world, but it works.

Both worlds collided when I started writing up my business plan and starter materials for TMC, LLC.

I'm not very good at mixing art with business. I'm the person that people hire when they need a creative, passionate, driven, hungry artist. People do not hire me for my business sense. I can crunch numbers when I have to, but it kills my soul little decimal points at a time.

Anyhow, all this business mumbo-jumbo has resulted in writer's block. Oh, and I forgot I had a blog.

To summarize the past two months, I did 'Death of a Salesman' out at Arkansas Rep. It was a great show with amazing artists and I had a blast! Came back to FL and did FPTAs (with a couple of my gal pals who flew/drove out for 'em) then flew back to AZ for my baby girl's graduation and am now back in FL, debating auditions in Ft. Myers & St. Pete's this month, callbacks in Orlando next month, and a possible trip back to NY for auditions in mid-July. (The writer within is railing against all this actor-y nonsense, claiming that we have too much work to do.)

In the meantime, Hello blog! It's nice to see you again! Hopefully my pansy, fragile little writer ego will settle its ass down and pop over once in a while to say 'hi'.

It's not you, it's me.

The Equality Blog

In 1948, a speech was given by Alben Barkley quoting Thomas Jefferson,
"He did not proclaim that all the white, or the black, or the red, or the yellow men are equal; that all Christian or Jewish men are equal; that all Protestant and Catholic men are equal; that all rich and poor men are equal; that all good and bad men are equal. What he declared was that all men are equal; and the equality which he proclaimed was the equality in the right to enjoy the blessings of free government in which they may participate and to which they have given their support."

Truman said, "We believe that all men are entitled to equal opportunities for jobs, for homes, for good health and for education. We believe that all men should have a voice in their government and that government should protect, not usurp, the rights of the people."

Currently, the gay community is without rights. They are usurped. An entire community denied the right to marry by its own government. And I'm shocked that there is still debate among ourselves when the onus should be on our government to defend such a heinous miscarriage of both justice and liberty to its people.

We are good at labeling each other. We judge and categorize so that we can determine who should be included or excluded from our lives - based on compatibility, relation, "common interests".
Are you a believer? Do you have kids? Where'd you go to college? What was your major? Where DID you get those shoes?! Are you on Grindr? Facebook? Match.com? Alpha Beta Kappa Dappa Poopty Doo!

When I started my elementary education, I remember learning about two basic parties - Democrats and Republicans. (My daddy said we were the latter.)
Now there are liberals and conservatives and progressives and tea-bags and the Republic of the Flying Spaghetti Monster for cryin' out loud!
And I deal with it in my industry as well. Are you a triple-threat? No? Cut. Ages 35-45?  Yes? Stay. 5'5"-5'9". Stay. Caucasians can go. Women, stay. Divas, go.

In our efforts to specify which group we belong to and separate ourselves from those we don't, we've sub-categorized and factioned ourselves to death. We ostracize and denounce, validate and advocate until there's a very small subset that we can call 'my people'.
Sometimes merely based on 'beliefs'.

Some people believe that onions taste great. I believe they are the devil's fruit. I hate them. But I have enough common sense not to hate the person who believes they're awesome. In fact, I might spend a dozen years in an intimate relationship with an onion-loving freak!

I don't believe that onion lovers have the right to impose on my onion-free existence just because an archaic book of proverbs and parables says that onions are fantastic and clear out your arteries. And I'll fight like a she-devil if anyone tries to hold me down and forcibly put them in my mouth!
I feel just as vehemently about anyone else being forced to eat onions... Or being denied the right to.

Because I'm on team 'people'.

Not just my people or your people, but ALL people.
And the rights of the people must be protected, not usurped.

R. Kelly believes he can fly.
Whitney Houston believes in you and me.
And The Darkness believes in a thing called love.
I believe in equality.

And Team People.

And life without onions.

Thankful!!

I can't believe I haven't updated my blog in so long!!

I got settled into my new home in Florida... just in time to come back to AZ to work a 7-week contract. I extended my return ticket so that I could stay in town for Thanksgiving, but I go back to FL on Monday.

It was a whirlwind visit... and I didn't realize I'd be as busy as I was. I didn't get nearly enough time with family and my daughter is quite peeved as a result. But I'm thankful for every stolen moment I have with them and can't wait to have them out for a visit in December.

Two of my three brothers were there with their respective broods and it was nostalgic to have all the kids gathered at the 'kiddie table'... like we once were.

Carving the turkey with my mom, teasing my sister-in-law for braving Black Friday, bantering with GGma (who might possibly think I'm a lesbian), and generally enjoying what may be my last holiday in AZ for who knows how long...

I'm thankful to have a job that brought me back to AZ for this holiday. Thankful that my kids will both be out to visit in less than a month. Thankful that I have an adorable apartment just begging to be decorated for Christmas...

I'm excited for the prospects that are around the corner and though it's always hard to leave my ol' home, I'm thankful to be going to my new one.

2200 Miles Across the Sea... An Odyssey

It began on Monday morning... at about 6am...

Ann and I loaded up the rest of our belongings into my Jeep Cherokee, transported two cats into their traveling cage and set off for a 2200 mile journey across the country – towing everything I own in a 6x12 trailer.

We made it 20 minutes from Tucson when the gaff tape securing the front end of my Jeep came loose and began flapping in the wind. We pulled over to reaffix the tape when we heard a torrential downpour coming from the underside of the vehicle. Alas, it was raining coolant. Everywhere. The entire undercarriage was dripping with the green stuff. After a quick call to Jason and to my mechanic, I was reassured that I had merely overfilled the reservoir and as the Jeep heated up, would have to purge somewhere...

We drove into Tucson for our first fuel stop – no raining undercarriage – and decided that all was well.

We realized we had a problem about 20 minutes later... somewhere around mile marker 290. My temp guage started to spike and my RPMs were running really high on some of the smaller hills... and having seized an engine once before, I knew I wanted to get off the road before I did permanent damage.

We pulled over at mile marker 295, called AAA and waited for our tow. And since we were two girls traveling with two cats and stranded in the middle of the desert, we were put on 'priority' status – meaning someone would be there within 30 minutes.

An hour and ten minutes later, “Big Dave” arrived.

The first words out of Big Dave's mouth were, “Didn't anyone tell you you're overloaded?!!”

Umm.... no?

Big Dave proceeds to tell us that he can tell just by looking at how low the Jeep is sitting that she's hauling more than she can tow. I tell him that she sits that low with the trailer empty. He says he's not surprised and that if the guys installing my hitch didn't catch it, the guy who popped the trailer on the back of my Jeep should have.

Great.

So, he pulls the Jeep up on the back of his truck, hitches up the trailer and tows us (and the cats) to his garage in Benson, Arizona.

It's now crawling up on 11:30am Monday.

They run diagnostics on the Jeep and decide that she's fine... but there's no way she'll haul our load all the way to Florida. Time to improvise.

We call U-Haul and they offer to transfer our contract over to a 10-foot box truck with a tow dolly on the back for the Jeep. So, at 3pm in 112-degree heat, we transfer all of my belongings from the trailer into the box truck with nary an inch to spare. (With special thanks to our new friend, Matthew – a truck driver waiting for a repair at the same shop – who was enthralled by our cats and happy to have audience for his 'cwazy stowies'.) The cats have to give up their spacious crate for a single cat-carrier that will fit between the bucket seats in the cab of the truck, but it looks like we're all going to fit.

The mechanic disconnects my drive line and hooks the Jeep up to the tow dolly and we close down the shop at 5:30 after paying $350 for the tow, diagnostic, and drive line disconnect... and another $1900 for the new U-Haul contract. (I didn't actually get a receipt or contract for this new set-up and was told the $1900. was only for the tow dolly... this will be important information later.)

After a quick stop at Wendy's to pee and get situated, we were back on our way by 6:30pm. A 7-hour delay in Benson, Arizona was enough to take the wind out of my sails without the added $2000+ expense... but we were determined.

We drove until we hit Las Cruces, New Mexico.

We hit a rest stop around midnight that overlooked the city lights and caught a 4-hour nap. As the sun was beginning to light the horizon at 4:30am, we drove to meet it... dreading the day ahead of us.

My timeline gets fuzzy around this part because there was no change in landscape between Arizona and Texas, but we crossed the state line somewhere around 8 or 9 in the morning (Texas time?). I knew going in that this would be the longest, most tedious stretch of the drive. And it was.

We crossed into Texas at the Mexico border and drove right into the Wild Wild West.

Federales, Border Patrol, Dogs... several miles of high fences and SUV's parked on their not-so-grassy knolls watching the south... we held our breath as they asked us to state our citizenship. I stammered... as it's not a typical question I get... and said “Here?” (Blank stares.) “OH! America!! I'm an American citizen!”

They waved us through while Ann was still rolling her eyes and giggling at me.

An entire day of Texas... Texas... nothing but Texas... Everything is NOT bigger in Texas. It's mostly the same size. Except their speed limits are slightly higher - which would have been cool had we not been in a 10-foot box truck towing a Jeep Cherokee and only capable of going about 60-65MPH. Even that speed had Ann screaming “SLOW DOWN” at regular intervals, so.. thanks for the thought, Texas.

Ann took a shift behind the wheel later in the day which had her going through Houston during rush hour traffic – an ordeal that required a stop afterward so we could both change our soiled underclothes.

The landscape changed very suddenly when we got into eastern Texas. The desert virtually disappears with a monolithic cityscape, which then dissolves into trees and rolling plains.

Now, Texas wasn't horrible... it's just a HUGE state and much of the drive is tedious (and contrary to common belief that the drive is straight and flat, it's got some frequent hills and valleys.) So, it only added to the general state of panic to discover that Wells Fargo had frozen my debit card (after having been used at only gas stations from south AZ to Texas) and the $2000+ from 'Big Dave's Towing and Auto' had maxed me to my limit on those funds. I had a four-hour stretch in Texas where I was genuinely and sincerely concerned that we were going to be stranded in the middle of the country without any gas money to get us to our destination. I was seriously sunk.

Until Jason saved the day from all the way back in AZ – after having sold some of the items I left back home, he went above and beyond to make sure I could have access to those funds (even cancelling his own birthday dinner to make it happen.) It worked out that funds became available mere minutes before we'd have to stop for gas.

We had some serious guardian angels hooking us up along the way.

And so we crossed into Louisiana territory sometime in the dead of night and began the harrowing experience of navigating the bayou.

I will add here that Louisiana was the ONE state we were both looking forward to seeing. Of course it was just our luck that we'd drive through in the dead of night.

As if that wasn't bad enough, I discovered (the hard way) that Louisiana has the worst roads ever. EVER. Two slender lanes of highway traffic were hugged on either side by cement barricades and the only other vehicles on the road were ginormous trucks captained by sleepy drivers. We were run off of the road by one such driver... who, in an attempt to pass us, never quite made it all the way over to the left lane and started drifting back almost immediately. I pulled over once he got within inches of my rearview mirror and we sat on the shoulder for a second – shaking and breathing and willing our heart rates to return to normal. We watched him bob and weave his way through about the next 60 miles before we lost him. Scariest moments of my life so far... driving in Louisiana at night. Not cool. Not cool at all.

There was a stretch of road between Louisiana and Mississippi that was particularly bumpy and I swore I saw two cars swerve out of the way behind me... we stopped to check that the back of the Jeep hadn't popped open and after satisfying our curiosity that nothing was amiss, we continued.

At the Mississippi state line (and after 26 hours straight since New Mexico) we hit a rest stop for another nap around 6am... this one lasted only about an hour. I woke up realizing we'd been boxed in on either side by huge semi trucks and were breathing in the most toxic fumes I've ever inhaled in my life (and I've inhaled a LOT of toxic fumes!) After a cowgirl shower in the rest stop bathroom, we continued on – ignoring the slight headache and the stench burned into my nostrils.

Mississippi and Alabama were a bit of a bleary-eyed blur – I saw my first water in the form of a bay entering Alabama and I cried. But as soon as we entered those states, we seemed to be on our way out of them.

We crossed the state line into Florida – elated – and got pulled over within about 5-10 minutes.

Why?

Apparently I missed the sign for the Agricultural Inspection Station. I thought it was just another weigh-station for the commercial trucks, but there's a little addendum that says “All Rental Vehicles” are required to stop. To skip it is a ticket, $180. fine and a Class II Misdemeanor on your license.

Oops.

After my “I didn't see it and I'm new here” speech, the cop had me unlock the back of the truck so he could peek and made me promise not to miss the next one. I had my speech all prepared when we drove up to the perplexed looking inspector.

“Coming from Phoenix to Sarasota. Two domestic cats, no fruits or vegetables, no live plants.”

We were waved through without a second glance.

Jacksonville teased me for hours. I saw a sign that said 279 miles to Jacksonville. After driving for at least an hour and a half, I saw another sign that said 282 miles to Jacksonville. I'm not kidding you. It's like being stuck in the Twilight Zone. The more you drive, the further away you get from your destination. I was cursing Jacksonville at regular intervals.

We finally arrived in Tampa and celebrated with more gas and some food before hitting the last hourlong stretch.

We arrived at our apartment somewhere around 10:30/11pm and I promptly had a breakdown in the parking lot of 'Barnacle Bills' (across from my complex) where we parked the U-Haul and the Jeep.

Part of my emotional collapse was having been through the ordeal of driving for three days (with a 7-hour delay and truck transfer in Benson, AZ) with the cats and all of the other minor setbacks. Part of it was the relief that we finally made it here. Part of it was arriving road-weary and emotionally spent and having no one on my destination end to hold me and tell me everything was going to be ok.

Yup. I'm still a needy little princess, aren't I?

But hey, I drove 2200 miles across the country under less than stellar circumstances and got all of my stuff here intact. Humans and animals included!

I mean, it's no huge accomplishment. People used to make that same journey in covered wagons and shit, so who am I to crow?

But man, do I feel like a beast!!!

We had another slight hiccup when we returned the truck to U-Haul only to discover that when they disconnected my drive line, they didn't secure my drive shaft properly. We believe it fell out somewhere on that bumpy road to love between Louisiana and Alabama – and that's why I saw cars swerve. It apparently bounced off of my gas tank and escaped the undercarriage without doing any major damage... but my first few days in Sarasota were spent tracking down a new drive shaft, a U-joint, and now a mechanic that can replace all the transmission fluid that was lost. Awesome!

All told, U-Haul made $2886. off of us this move (and we're fighting for credit back, since the first contract for the hitch and trailer only lasted two days before we had to change it up) and cost me an additonal $500 in repairs to the Jeep (which I've also claimed against their insurance). Not to mention the fact that we were supposed to get credit on the second contract and 'Big Dave' made it sound like we did, but paid through the nose for the dolly instead... not so much. Shady people, shady business.

Expensive? Yes.

Will I ever move with U-Haul again? Not in a million years.

Am I glad to be “home”?

Boy, you'd better believe it!!!