I posted this on Facebook today. The response was so overwhelming I thought I'd share it here. If you'd like to see the original post, here's the link: http://on.fb.me/16EKtgu

In praise of actors, my people, my kin:

In 15 years of auditioning for national commercials, I've never booked. Not one. I've taken awesome classes, I do strong work, I'm not a novice. I work in other mediums--TV, films, theater. Not commercials. Not yet. Lots of callbacks, "on avails," etc, but never the booking. So this week, I'm on avail for a big one, right? Which basically means it's down to me and a couple other actors for the role. And my agent texts me last night and says, "So sorry hon, you've been released," which means I didn't get the gig. Again. Also? Didn't get the huge guest star for that long-running network show I went in for on the same day. And? The killer role at that fantastic theater I spent most of last week preparing a taped audition for--no word. Yet. So you know what I'm going to do?

I'm going to do what actors do. I'm going to keep showing up. Keep doing the work. Keep putting myself on the line. When you see an actor's performance on the screen or in the theater, you're seeing the tip of the iceberg. You aren't seeing the hundreds of other auditions it took to get to that job. Don't misunderstand--this is neither bitch-fest nor complaint. This is what I signed up for. It's what I love to do. The thing that so many people who aren't actors--and even some who are--don't understand is that "no" is standard issue for us. We just don't listen to it.

 

absence

I've neglected this page. Not that I imagine anyone's on tenterhooks waiting for my next post; I just don't like to let things go unattended. I'm a doer,  a list-maker; my father's daughter, I like to "git 'er done." But sometimes your list gets shot to shit. Sometimes life gets in the way.  Earth-shattering life, the kind where you lose your footing as sure as if a temblor had passed beneath you. I said goodbye to my dear, sweet mama in September, and things have looked very different since then. I'm sure a lot of you know first-hand all that comes with that. If that's true for you, please know you have my sympathies. Sincerely.

Thousands of miles separated us, but my mom and I talked nearly every day on the phone. We had a system worked out, a code. She'd call from Pennsylvania in the morning once she was up so that when I woke on the west coast three hours later, I'd see her missed call and know she was okay. I'd have my coffee then ring her once I'd dropped Wyatt at school. All these months later, it's the rare morning that goes by when I don't have that split-second thought to pick up the phone to call her on my drive back from dropping Wyatt at the train. Every time, I shake my head as if to clear something stuck, then give her my monologue on the thises and thats of my life out loud.

Being with my brother (my rock) at our mother's bedside those days-turned-into-nights-turned-into-goodbye was one of the greatest gifts of my life. There's a long story I won't tell here, but trust me when I say I know that my mother in all her stubbornness and strength willed everything that happened so I could be across the country with her and Joel when she left. She was a force to be reckoned with, Dona was. She was a light. She was a laugher, a dancer, a hoot. She was fiercely loyal and could hold a grudge like nobody's business, but one kind word and she'd melt like butter on burnt toast (her favorite.) She baked a Texas sheet cake so delicious you'd want to eat it by the fistful and preferred Pepsi to Coke. She is so very, dearly missed.

But our Dona instilled in me a fair amount of her iron strength--I am also my mother's daughter--and slowly, surely, I'm finding my footing once again. The path just looks very different now.

raccoons be crazy. or is it me?

Once again instead of walking the trash to the dumpster right away, I left it outside my front door overnight. And once again, a raccoon got into it leaving a huge, disgusting mess for me to clean up. I could shake my little fists at the sky and curse the deceptively adorable ball of filthy fur. But what good would that do?

A raccoon will be a raccoon. It will get hungry and look for things to eat. When it finds things to eat, it will use its tiny, fierce claws and teeth to tear apart whatever contains the treasures. It will get what it needs.

I can't fault the little critter for that and even if I could, I can't change its behavior; it would be silly of me to do anything other than expect it to behave like a large scavenging rodent. All I can do is look at my own part in the situation and change my behavior so that I can get what I need. Solution: straight to the dumpster next time.

Thanks, scoundrel teacher, for the life lesson/terribly obvious metaphor for relationships of all kinds. I owe you a snack.

Photo courtesy of the states of Missouri & Illinois, I guess.