Mar 8, 2015 | Awakenings
Workshop leader Heidi Durrow and her tribe of aspiring novelists at the cinematic home of the Djerassi program.
So it has been a while since I posted. But following my awesome experience with a new offering affiliated with the Djerassi Resident Artists Program, my mindset has changed and so too, my actions.
I was one of seven aspiring debut novelists selected for a writing workshop/retreat led by Heidi Durrow, author of the soul-stirring “The Girl Who Fell From the Sky.”
After reading her exquisite debut novel several years ago, I told Heidi, via Facebook, that her book made me tear up my manuscript and start a major revision. Just days ago, we discussed my revised manuscript during the workshop, which turned out to be even more fabulous than I anticipated. Heidi is not just a terrific wordsmith, she is an insightful teacher. And she is funny, kind-hearted, relentless and brilliant to boot.
Durrow fostered a safe setting for seven strangers to bond and in the process forge a tribe of writers determined to polish and publish our novels. We all felt validated by the fact that the only way to get to the cinematic landscape that serves as home to the program is by invitation.
My private writer’s studio had a majestic view of the coastal grasslands, rolling emerald hills and Santa Cruz Mountains overlooking the shimmering Pacific Ocean. Trails wind throughout the property past towering Redwoods, babbling creeks and dozens of stunning sculptures created by the program’s visual artists.
The workshop/retreat is a new entity for the Djerassi Resident Artist Program, internationally recognized as one of the best artist residency programs.
Artist.
I left Durrow and Djerassi feeling like one for the first time. And now that my mindset has changed, so has my energy. That is why last Saturday, I spent the afternoon attending the area’s first FLOW Collective, a series of inspirational speakers from diverse occupations who shared how they engage “in a vibrant space of creating, living and producing.”
Speakers such as Kym Grinnage inspired me with his daily morning ritual of thanking the universe for what he has and moving on from there. He operates from “an attitude of gratitude,” said the vice president and general manager at NBC 12.
The stimulating program, which organizers plan to make annual, was also interactive. So I pitched my FLIPPER GIRL screenplay and caught the attention of a successful director. We’ll see where that goes. And if nowhere, I will keep trying, because my work, my novel and scripts, which all deal with adolescents struggling with identity and finding their voice, have something important to say in my signature style.
I am an artist.
May 20, 2013 | Awakenings
Unplugging from the internet and cell phone for a week seemed unimaginable when I set off for a 7-day Caribbean cruise with my mom.
During previous cruises I would use my phone to check email and text and we always purchased the ship’s cheapest internet package to stay connected.
After learning the cost for checking email on my cell this year, I decided on a 50-minute internet package to stay in touch with my hubby and respond to work-related emails. Due to a snafu, I ended up using all my minutes sending articles to an editor on the first day!
That left me with the option of purchasing another email package or paying 75 cents a minute for internet. I declined, opting instead to hope for the best that no one needed to reach me with earth-shattering news.
Instead, I focused on the magical moments unfolding at any given time: the swoosh and roar of the immense sea from our stateroom balcony or one of the lovely decks of our mammoth ship; the sounds of a “dragon breathing” emitted from the spectacular rocks edging the beachfront of Labadee, Royal Caribbean’s postcard pretty port in Haiti; and, my mom’s eyes filled with glee as she watched a broadway-caliber production dazzle us all. We also enjoyed a memorable Mother’s Day.
For someone constantly plugged in, internet withdrawal lasted less than three days. A few panicky times I wondered if anyone needed to reach me, if something bad had happened to a loved one. At those times I was tempted to pay the 75 cents per-minute fee to check email. In retrospect, I am glad I did not check out from my vacation to check in. A week of not monitoring three different emails, my website, Facebook and LinkedIn, among several other daily sites, was downright refreshing and mentally liberating. When we returned to Florida Saturday, I learned no one needed me immediately.
The lesson learned was to check in a lot less and not wait until vacation to do so!
Apr 14, 2013 | Awakenings
Two minutes into the Ukrop’s Monument Ave. 10K yesterday, I started weeping. The tears caught me off guard. I was swept up in a wave of walkers and joggers moving along Broad Street when I spotted several blind participants easing into the far right side of the walking path. Elated by their participation in Richmond’s biggest street party, I turned around to get a good look. I watched as their walking aids flicked back and forth and winced as a sighted helper behind them got jostled. Maybe they just planned to walk a part of the 6.2 miles stretch, I thought. Whatever their plans, I was rooting for them. I asked my hubby to snap this photo.
As we headed left on Lombardy Street, the tears fell. I knew they were tears of gratitude, for it was a glorious, sun-kissed morning and I was blessed to see it and my walking partner, a fabulous husband whose friendship has enriched my life. I knew they were tears tinged with guilt. How much do I take for granted in my life? But I also felt something I had trouble articulating. I promised to dig deeper.
It wasn’t until this morning that my mind journeyed to my sister, Vietta, who lived to be several weeks old. Vietta was born with three holes in her heart. Mom said infants with this condition were called “blue babies” because that was the hue they turned when they could no longer breathe. Had she lived, Vietta would have been handicapped and in a wheelchair, mom was told. I was about 3 when Vietta died, but I still remember my pale, baby sister with the dark hair.
This sister I barely knew had an impact. Growing up, I tried not to make fun of handicapped children as so many of my peers did. Sometimes, when I looked at kids unable to walk or see, I imagined my sister. Without conscientiously realizing it, I saw handicapped children differently. Over the years, disabled became the preferred term to handicapped and I was quick to correct offenders.
It was not until this morning, decades after my sister’s death, that I fully realized my emotional connection to the disabled community, as tenuous as it may be. I realize now that the tears were, in part, for the event’s beautiful diversity, but also for the willingness of these walkers to participate. To be seen. How many people did they impact?
Around mile 4 during the event, my plantar fasciitis threatened to rise up. For about half a mile, I flirted with quitting as walkers passed me in droves. Then, I remembered the blind walkers. I adjusted my attitude and set my sights on finishing the second half of the 10K quicker than the first. We did. I can only hope that this inclusive event was as inspiring for everyone.
Dec 4, 2012 | Awakenings
The gift of walking was an unexpected theme this weekend as I spent time with my family in Philly and NYC. On Friday, I learned my mom went to the ER Wednesday night after having trouble walking.
She hid the disturbing news from me since I had a table read of my screenplay that evening. A selfless person, she did not want to spoil the thrill that embraced me all night long. Learning about her hospital trip while visiting two days later was a jolt. She received medicine to help with the debilitating pain that drove her to the ER until tests can reveal what’s going on. The medicine was a real godsend as we saw “Lion King” on Broadway Saturday only to discover catching a cab back to the hotel was mission impossible.
And so we walked. Mom maintained a steady clip, which warmed my icy heart, face, hands and coatless body. I left my heavy Shearling coat in the hotel because who needed it when we were just going to hop into a cab after the show, right?
In a light sweater covering a thin dress, I hoofed a mile in heels, trying to ignore that it was 39 degrees outside. Mom, who could barely move two days earlier, wasn’t complaining so why should I? As long as I kept moving, the winter weather was bearable.
Headed home today on Amtrak, I glanced out the window as the train pulled into a station. A mother pushed an older girl in a stroller. A disability left the girl’s body twisted and distorted, but that’s not what caught my eye. On her feet were the coolest leopard-print shoes. Instantly I knew she was a teenager, interested in fashion like most girls her age. I wondered about her as the train pulled away. Without meeting her, I knew she would give anything to be able to walk in any pair of shoes, stylish or not.
I always ride Amtrak so I can reflect. I am grateful I did so this weekend. Tomorrow is supposed to be a glorious day. I can’t wait for my walk in the park. The days that follow may be rainy, gloomy or frigid. Whatever the climate, I will walk in gratitude of countless blessings, including my mom and a healthy pair of legs.
Apr 27, 2012 | Awakenings
Stephanie Elfman
The beauty of life unfolds during the most unexpected moments. I know this too well. Still, I was reminded earlier this month after seeing a woman who can best be described as a cousin-in-law if such a term exist.
Stephanie, my favorite cousin and a surrogate little sister, died in a car accident in 1997. She was 23, a recent University of Virginia grad and a sweet young woman on the cusp of blooming. The only solace I had and clung to during the dark days was a relatively fresh memory of us together enjoying each other’s company.
Stephanie’s favorite cousins reconnect
She had spent time with me and my husband several weeks prior to the accident. As usual, we giggled about topics only we could find funny. During a Broadway performance of Fences, we became fixated on a silly joke no one else in the free world would find amusing. I still don’t know why we weren’t ejected for a giggle-fest that while muted, was constant and tear-inducing for us.
When I thought about family members getting sick and possibly dying, Stephanie, 13 years younger than I, was never on the list.
An only child, Stephanie was also the first cousin to Sheri, who I recently saw at a mutual friend’s baby shower. We could not believe how the years had sped by or how much we still missed Stephanie. We recalled how losing her at such a young age reminds us to find the laughter and joy in life. But loving Stephanie was not the only bond. We discovered we shared a similar view about children as well as unpleasant people. We both love writing and want to do more of it for fun and to pay bills. We had not seen each other for many years and as we spoke we searched each other’s face for a resemblance to Steph, our shared bloodline. We posed for this photo to send to Steph’s mom, our Aunt Mary.
This photo cannot begin to show the love we carry in our hearts for our cousin, who connected us one glorious Saturday. Sheri, like Stephanie, is Jewish. I grew up Catholic. Sheri is white and I am obviously not. Stephanie was biracial and I think really starting to celebrate her special blend when she was snatched away. What a kick it would have been for her to have witnessed the election of Barak Obama, a biracial president.
I think of Stephanie often and imagine the conversations, laughter and tears we would share now.
For Stephanie’s favorite cousins to reconnect was more than coincidence. I think it was Stephanie’s way of showing us she thinks about us, too.
Feb 20, 2011 | Awakenings
Confederate descendants and re-enactors will mark the 150th anniversary of the Civil War throughout the year. Events, such as today’s reenactment of the swearing in ceremony of Jefferson Davis, confederate civil way president, and a parade in Montgomery, Alabama, distorts history.
That the event occurred during Black History Month seems fitting. In observance of the sesquicentennial, below is the Richmond Times-Dispatch column I wrote in 2000 that sums up my arguments about why honoring the confederacy honors slavery. What do you think?
Now that we’re in the midst of the state’s Confederate History Month, I decided to take a closer look at what the Confederates were all about.
I started by reading the Confederate constitutions, specifically the Permanent Constitution adopted March 11, 1861. It is modeled after the U.S. Constitution but has some glaring differences.
Several deal with protecting slavery as an institution.
Those who argue that slavery wasn’t at the heart of the Confederates’ issues haven’t read this document, which was designed to protect and expand slavery.
It stipulated that no law “denying or impairing the right of property in negro slaves shall be passed.”
As to the expansion of slavery in new areas, “In all such territory, the institution of negro slavery, as it now exists in the Confederate States, shall be recognized and protected by Congress by the territorial government; and the inhabitants of the several Confederate States and Territories shall have the right to take to such territory any slaves lawfully held by them in any of the States or Territories.”
Alexander H. Stephens, who served as vice president of the Confederate States during the Civil War, made a speech in Savannah, Ga., shortly after adoption of this constitution.
As to the institution of Negro slavery: “This was the immediate cause of the late rupture and the present revolution,” he said.
On the newly established Confederate government: “Its foundations are laid, its cornerstone rests upon the great truth, that the negro is not equal to the white man. That slavery – subordination to the superior race – is his normal condition,” said Stephens, a slave owner.
Weeks later, Robert H. Smith, one of the framers of the document, told an audience,
“We have dissolved the late Union chiefly because of the negro quarrel.”
The last time I wrote about the reasons many African-Americans find the flying of the Confederate flag at statehouses or other public places reprehensible, I heard from many Confederate supporters who didn’t understand the gist of my argument.
So let me try again.
I understand that many of your ancestors didn’t own slaves. Or that they were fighting to defend their homeland, or fighting for states’ rights.
But I also believe none of them was fighting against the white supremacy that made black slavery an American institution for about 250 years.
That the Confederates wanted to preserve their lifestyle – their culture – on the backs of the black men, women and children who made such a lifestyle possible cannot be argued.
And it infuriates the descendants of those slaves when the government decides to honor these Confederate leaders, this Confederate heritage.
Think about it. It’s an insult and, I would argue, a racist act for government to sanction Confederate symbols.
“In Germany, it’s illegal today to paint a swastika on a wall,” said Cheryl Johnson-Odim, head of the Liberal Education Department at Columbia College Chicago and an African-American historian.
“Some people may argue that it’s just a symbol of the Nazi party. But it’s an exact parallel to this case.”
Ron Walters, a professor of government and politics at the University of Maryland, agreed.
“A lot of modern apologists for the Confederacy want to pull the slavery aspect of it apart from the rest of it and pretend there is some sort of pristine Southern [culture] apart from the institution of slavery, which undergirded it,” he said.
Walters has no problem with Southerners who want to honor their ancestors as long as they do it privately.
“The reason, of course, is that the Confederacy was defeated. It would be like proclaiming Nazi Week. It was a defeated power, a racist power, and it was oppressive to black and Native Americans and others. As such it is a regimen that should not have a place of honor in this society.”
Walters finds it “abominable” that Gov. Jim Gilmore issued the proclamation.
There is little use for “Confederate Heritage,” said Michael J. Birkner, chairman of the Department of History at Gettysburg College in Pennsylvania.
“Huff and puff as much as they want, those [who] want to celebrate the Confederacy are celebrating a system that made chattel slavery its foundation,” Birkner said last week. “I know all the arguments about how most Confederate soldiers didn’t own slaves and many were focused mainly on states’ rights or, more likely, simply protecting their mates and their home turf. Perhaps people should simply celebrate the bravery of the common soldier.
“The Confederacy itself deserves to be dead and buried. It was a bad idea and a bad system.
“It is possible to separate reverence for ancestors who fought in the war or for the Southern fighting man from fond recollections of a pervasively racist and racially oppressive system.
“`Confederate Heritage’ fails to do that.”
