Oct 22, 2010 | Awakenings
I went to a private viewing of “Waiting for Superman.” I found this masterfully executed film dazzling and disturbing. It reminded me that movies can move you to act. Clever, funny and heartbreaking, I found myself unable to leave the theater long after the credits rolled, partly because of my screenwriting and filmmaking aspirations, but also because of the emotional impact of what unfolded on the big screen.
My tears washed away the little makeup I wore. Not one to telegraph the highlights of a film, I will say this: For those who believe “Waiting for Superman” is pro charter schools, this statistic is shared: 1 out of 5 charter schools have newsworthy results. As a former education reporter, I was pleased that telling detail was not cut. My criticism, and spoiler alert, is that the film focused on finding quality schools for students fortunate to have parents who value education in our proud-to-be-dumb-culture. Another statistic shared: 68 percent of incarcerated men in Pennsylvania prisons lack a GED. It’s a no-brainer to say most of them lacked advocates for their education. Enrolling the most motivated and brightest students into selected schools is more than a brain drain, it makes teaching easier and excellence achievable. And following such children produces awesome narratives for a film.
That’s not to take anything away from the sweet-faced children featured in the documentary. They blew me away. So much so that I ditched plans to go slogging (slow jogging) on a sun-hugged afternoon in Byrd Park to participate in a discussion after the film at the University of Richmond. There, led by a team from Leadership Metro Richmond, we discussed what we can do as a community to help public schools. Reforms that encompass the complex causes of student failure and not one-sided reforms should anchor the community conversations stoked by the film. This documentary illustrates the power of visual storytelling and how it can move us to act in unexpected ways. And to think differently. Because I realize, gender discrepancy aside, I am superman. And so are you. The kids are waiting for us.
Sep 30, 2010 | Awakenings
I’ve tried, but I can’t erase the tiny South Pacific nation of Tuvalu off my mental radar. Tuvalu you ask? Yes, Tuvalu, better known as the first nation that may disappear under rising sea waters produced by global warming — you know, the environmental catastrophe some argue isn’t real. I’m willing to bet some naysayers believe every minute of their favorite TV reality shows. I’ll address this wacky tangent a little later.
So back on point. Located midway between Hawaii and Australia, Tuvalu became an obsession after I learned about eco-artist Vincent Huang. The Taiwanese artist may also be obsessed with this low-lying nation of about 10,000 Polynesians. He uses his thought-provoking art to direct attention to the plight of a shrinking Tuvalu, which for the past decade, has earned millions by selling .tv internet domains. Cyber fairy dust rained down on the world’s fourth-smallest nation more than a decade ago when it received its unique country’s suffix of .tv. Such domains are great marketing tools for television companies as well as video businesses and hobbyists.
But as fascinating as all that is, my obsession is with the indigenous people who call Tuvalu home. What is their history? What will happen to their simple way of life? Where will they go?
Afelee Falema Pita, the nation’s ambassador to the U.N., sounds the alarm wherever he can. While there is disagreement about what causes Tuvalu to be one of the most vulnerable places on earth to the rising waters, the Tuvaluans are certain about this: high tides are ruining their main crop, submerging fruit plantations and eroding coconut trees. Sea water actually bubbles up through soil.
But, real life, like on reality TV, be it about shallow housewives or inebriated slackers, is so much more fun to discuss than Tuvalu being the first nation to bear the brunt of nature’s fury with the polluting lifestyles of industrialized nations.
How I long to visit and tell this story about a distant people and place not on many mental radars but whose climate woes may be fueled, in part, by our nation’s gargantuan carbon footprint. That kind of makes this distant story a local one, regardless of where you live. Tuvaluans have some amazing stories to share. I feel a need to share them. Actually, I must be precise: I am obsessed with sharing them.
So there, I put my dream assignment out on Internet blast. Who knows? Maybe someone can help make my pet project happen. All I know is if I never talk about my desire to go and report on Tuvalu’s plight, I have a head start on nothing happening. Unlike Huang, I can’t draw. But I know a thing or two about delivering compelling stories that amplify voices that need to be heard. And my passport is updated.
Sep 27, 2010 | Awakenings
Armed with my new pedometer, a gift from hubby, we set out to clock 10,000 steps by hiking the restored Forest Hill Lake trail and the Buttermilk Trail to end up on Belle Isle in downtown Richmond.
The renovated Forest Hill Lake blew me away, starting with a marker to name the new pedestrian bridge for the Harvey Family, who were killed on Jan. 1, 2006. Their smiling faces etched in the bronze plaque saddened me. My spirit lifted as we passed the gussied up lake, with its cute gazebo and benches. Blessed with a glorious sky that occasionally hinted at dumping much needed rain, we trekked down a path into a world I never visited before in the decades I have called Virginia home.
The temperature dropped at least 10 degrees as we moved under a canopy of trees. What a loss when we fail to explore our own backyard, I thought. I felt otherworldly as we stepped gingerly over rock- and bark-studded trails that often snaked up and downhill. Having sprained my ankle a few weeks ago, I walked carefully in the steep woodlands. We were alone, except for a few mountain bikers and joggers whizzing by. Several times I glanced back, realizing this was a perfect opportunity for the trail demons to do away with us just like in horror movies. When hubby found a hefty branch for a walking stick, I exhaled.
Three miles later, we approached the fast-flowing river. I suggested we climb onto the boulders jutting from the James River and enjoy the view. Hubby wanted to head back to beat the rain. I reminded him he loved the water and we’d stay briefly. Mesmerized, we sat for 30 minutes. A perfect breeze whispered for me to stretch out and enjoy a nap just like a couple sleeping on their bellies several rocks away. But the gurgling dance of the river cascading through the Fall Line hypnotized me. Serenity among the skyscrapers. Where had I been?
I shifted into kid-mode and pestered hubby with questions about the James River. Where did the river start? (Blue Ridge Mountains.) When the river was high, did it cover the boulder we sat on? (Yes.) Why didn’t we come to the river more often? (I didn’t know you wanted to.) I shut my trap as we gleefully watched a duck bobbing along in the current. Suddenly, he paused, his hind parts greeting the sky, as he dived for dinner.
We nodded with satisfaction at the diversity of the rock dwellers. And we made a promise: same place next week. But we’ll be better prepared to enjoy this 410-mile long river’s charms with a picnic on a boulder and a beach towel for a daylight doze. When walking 16,321 steps (8 miles) in a matter of hours, chillaxing makes sense. When you have the majestic James River in your backyard to embrace, doing so is a gift.
Sep 9, 2010 | Awakenings
A blue funk propelled me to lace up my sneakers and go for a walk. At 10:05 p.m. I am blessed to live in a lovely low-crime community (the perfect locale in horror movies, but I digress).
Off I went, droopy-shoulders, self-worth so low I had to pull down my socks to see it. I meandered shadowy cul de sacs and gawked at stars crowding the navy sky. In the darkness the neighborhood’s 80-foot trees seemed to loom taller and the velvet sky stretched forever. Dwarfed by such natural splendor, I felt more insignificant and really, really small in this grand universe. How could I, a speck of unfocused protoplasm, matter in the larger scheme of things?
Then I remembered Stephen Hawking and his new book. The Grand Design argues the universe created itself. God need not apply. I have not read the book but instantly disagreed when I scanned an article about it a few days ago. I remembered I paused, thinking that DNA is the instruction manual for life. I’m not a rocket scientist, but if instructions exist didn’t something create the instructions? I thought about this again as I passed towering trees, an infinite sky and winking stars.
Suddenly I began to feel better. That happens when I link unrelated thoughts and get a mini epiphany. I mattered to my family, friends and a few enemies. I mattered. If this hippy speck of protoplasm has an impact on the lives of others on this gargantuan planet, well… I was pretty awesome after all. Five minutes into my trek and already I felt better. Empowerment, regardless of the source, injects a bounce in your step and laughter in your eyes. I strutted down the middle of the road like I owned it, smiling like the suburban stealth killers in horror movies. A man walking his dog actually crossed the street as I approached with my insaniac grin and deliberate gait. I like to think the dog tugged him away in search of someone else’s lawn to defile. As we came within clear view of each other, he looked me over and determined I was safe. Maybe sane, too. We exchanged pleasantries.
I walked 1.5 miles, all the while appreciating the beauty of a desaturated neighborhood. I listened to the cacophony of creatures in the dark and inhaled fragrances of unseen flowers. By the time I returned home, I felt so radiant the stars asked me to dim my shine. Who knew a night stroll borne out of sadness could turn so delicious? Whether feeling blue or buoyant, I think a nightly stroll may be a habit worth forming.
Aug 28, 2010 | Awakenings
Welcome! This blog is about people who promote topics I am passionate about: screenwriting, female empowerment, diversity and philanthropy. But, at its core, this is my homage to individuals inspiring troubled souls (aren’t we all) to start anew.
Visit anytime for a cup of cheer and a bite of motivation.
