Tag: life (Page 9 of 13)

gretel never had it so good

March 4, 2010 / jeanne / 18 Comments

earlier this week at unabashedly female, my darling julie says (among many other noteworthy things) “. . . this witnessing of story, of voice, of truth by one woman to another. This is where we find power.”

over at renegade conversations, ronna detrick writes about how coming out of the shadows requires two things: counsel and companions.

tonight i am going to see a rehearsal for “steel magnolias” performed by the senior apprentice company in the theatre company my daughter started back in 2005. my daughter is directing these 12 teenage girls, and oh the experiences she’s opened up to these girls. oh the opportunities. she divided the girls into two casts, and when cast a is performing, cast b is the backstage crew and vice versa, giving them hands-on experience in providing support and receiving support. each girl has also been assigned a production assignment, not only affording opportunities to learn new skills, but to see that any one production takes an entire village of people that are all too easily overlooked. without the steel magnolias willing to do production, there’s be no tickets sold, no press releases written, no web site updated, no programs, no concessions, no venue, no sound and lights.

three years ago, i played m’lynn to daughter alison’s shelby. to say it was a clarifying, once-in-a-lifetime experience rings hollow and falls way, way short. one day i will write about it and the context around that experience that made it all that it was. but today there’s something else on my mind . . .

“steel magnolias,” as you probably know, is a story of women who support and encourage and hold the space for each other, and that’s why my daughter chose this particular play for these 12 teenage girls: she wants these girls to experience (both onstage and off) the feeling of women coming together in support of one another instead of the cattiness, back-stabbing, nitpicking behavior that too often defines women’s togetherness. as i wrote in a note accompanying the holiday gift my daughter and i conjured up for the girls: Steel Magnolias are a special breed, and we need more of them. Steel Magnolias are strong women who delight and celebrate being female. They own who they are – even the polarities – without explanation or apology, and they encourage and cheer others to do the same. Steel Magnolias are not into woman’s inhumanity to woman, choosing instead to support each other without judgment or personal agenda; listen more than they talk; be available without hesitation at 3 a.m.

by exposing these girls to steel magnolias even before they have the life experiences to fully appreciate and convey it, my moxie hopes to teach them about theatre, leadership skills, communication skills, and perhaps most importantly: female friendship. she takes on big projects, my moxie, and this is one she’s willing to devote herself to because she knows it truly does take a village to make much-needed change, and she wants to do her part to change the way women relate to each other. the rest of us can do our part by supporting, encouraging, and affirming each other. by forging and forming the relationships we want to enjoy.

i am so so fortunate to have steel magnolias right here around me, women i turn to when i need help or retuning, to laugh or to vent. and today we have something the ladies of chinquapin, louisiana did not have: the internet. since rejoining twitter last december, my steel magnolia forest has grown rich and lush and bountiful. i don’t know when i’ve ever felt so supported, so encouraged, so affirmed. i grow as i find women who share my interests, and i grow as i am exposed to things i never knew existed. if i get lost in my steel magnolia forest, a trail of breadcrumbs readily appears left by women who have experienced the same or similar. if i stub my toe in this forest or if i am stung or bitten, healing ointments and remedies are generously offered. the trees in my forest rise above the little scrubs and ankle-biters, choosing fresh air and light over thorns and sticky bushes that want to draw blood and hog the sun. in the forest with these women, i grow comfortable enough to tell my stories and speak my truth, southern accent and all.

to all of you who are trees in my steel magnolia forest (and most, though not all of you, are on my traipse page), thank you.

thank you.

~~~
about the photos:
i tend to commemorate things in cloth, as i did when i took to the stage as m’lynn back in 2007. woven strips of blue sky torn to find the true grain. images of tears born of both laughter and crying – often at the same time. enough raw edges and stray threads to make it real. sparkling beads laid down in the shape of a heart in shades of shelby’s pink. on the back side, we have an earthy fabric, fertile, a place for love to take root, and we see the seemingly randomly-placed stitches that hold it all together. all bound at the edges with soft pink shibori dyed by talented friend, a digital steel magnolia called glennis.

rightful sound

March 1, 2010 / jeanne / 25 Comments

in her memoir, grand obsession, perri knize writes of her year-long search for The Perfect Piano. she eventually finds The Piano, refinances and remodels her house to accommodate it, but alas: when it arrives, the magical sound is gone. but the memory of that sound and the way she felt when she played that particular piano fuels her as she embarks on a journey that takes more than three years years, fills her with a plethora of knowledge about things she’d never heard of, and enlists an impressive cast of characters to “fix” her piano, to restore it to its rightful sound.

its rightful sound.

last friday, i started writing a post about the arts, and as so often happens when writing, i wound up writing something totally different. instead of a little ditty extolling some of the oft-overlooked benefits of participation in the performing arts, i crafted what i can only call a flapdoodle on what, exactly, constitutes power. is it letters after a name? a title? a hat? the number of people you have on staff? your appearance and how you carry your pocketbook?

perhaps it was the spring fever of writing that had me feeling near ready to explode, to break out, to lose the lid. in person, i’m, well, not to jinx it into dried-up dust, but i’m funny.* and a bit on the irreverent side. the things that other people are too nice to say have a way of parachuting right out of me. that’s when i’m audible. when i write, i’m ever cognizant of who might be reading this and how it might be received, so when i turn funny in writing, it kinda’ goes flat on account of over explaining every teensy little ole’ thing.

i like making people laugh, and i happen to believe there can be much important stuff like perspective and philosophy cloaked by humor. anyway, there i was, writing seriously serious about the often unseen value of performing arts when my fingers turned flapdoodle on me, and i have to tell you we had ourselves a big time, my fingers and me. then i up and mashed the “publish” button before i could talk myself out of it, and i smiled my way through the rest of the day.

see, usually i’m a little too tentative, too scared of smackdown to post anything i feel like isn’t going to be well received. but since being on twitter, i’ve met women who make me feel comfortable enough, safe enough to mash “send” because i know they’ll be patient and accepting . . . even though they might actually wonder if i’m in dire and immediate need of an exorcist.

still smiling and riding that wave of powerful confidence, i read julie daley’s post and cut loose with my heartfelt comment before i could stop myself from sharing a story that has chapped my butt since it happened. julie sure nailed it when she said it sounded like i was having a fireball day. fireball friday: yes, yes it was.

i rode the night out feeling this surge, wondering if it was really power i was enjoying, not caring what it’s called, just delighted to have it trespass. friday night i happened upon an upcoming writing workshop that required participants to submit some 20 pages of a memoir for discussion, and i – the one who consistently says “pass” when it’s my time to read, to share – i printed out the registration form, determined.

but then came saturday morning. oh lord.

i had to make a decision, and i made the wrong decision. wrong because i didn’t listen to myself. i heard that songbird of confidence – i even stopped the guy’s hand as he was going to note my selection – but i talked myself out of it, and let me tell you: i crashed and crashed hard. for 24 hours i replayed the scene over and over and over, knowing i could not undo it. it was nothing short of agony.

the good news is: it’s an inconsequential decision. totally, absolutely inconsequential as far as end results go.

the bad news is: that sweet surge of confidence is questioned, diminished, and bruised. the full-body smile is gone, dissolved into a vague memory. i listened to myself on friday and soared. didn’t listen to myself 24 hours later, and splat.

what went wrong? did i cross the line from confidence into cocky? i don’t think so. did i over-rate friday’s post? well, maybe it wasn’t my best writing – it reads a bit on the manufactured side in spots – but no. was it just the full moon? i certainly am positively affected by the full moon, but no, this was clear: i took a risk. i did something i wouldn’t normally do, and i was absolutely okay if it wasn’t well received. for the first time since becoming a word traveler, it was enough that i wrote and published it.

what do i do, i asked my manchild last night. the first paper i wrote in grad school cracked the faculty up – shoot, they asked me to submit it to literary journals for publication. (i didn’t.) do i forget funny and stick to serious, reflective tones? do i keep trying the funny, knowing that writing humor is different from doing humor? do i do both ’cause i am both?

can both humor and reflection be my rightful sound, or do i have to choose cause it’s now freshly documented: choosing is not something i’m ‘specially good at.

* now that i’ve called myself funny, we both know i’ll never again get so much as a smile. sigh.

but you can call me “Her Highest Petticoat Potentate”

February 26, 2010 / jeanne / 16 Comments

or (and you might want to take a deep breath first) “ArchSupremest Of The Very Supreme And Sovereign pFemale Pharaoh Till The Cows Fly Home” for short.* the “Arch” is a nod to religion. the “Supremest” and “Supreme” – well, what’s a good title without accessories? and “Pharaoh” because everybody knows that’s a ruler with a bite. (among other things.)

i might make it “ArchSupremest Of The Supreme And Sovereign pFemale Pharaoh, TTCFH”. i haven’t decided yet. i mean, it’d make sense from a power position because it looks like a degree that was painful and took forever to obtain.**

this started out to be a post on something really important, but damned if i can remember what it was now. whatever it was, though, it was important, i know that much. something i felt i felt so strongly about i knew i needed a little title to give me credibility and power and to get some seriously serious attention. so i started poking around google, and, well, here we are.

i asked for suggestions on facebook***, and i got “queen” and “beloved leader”, and while i know you’re not supposed to torpedo ideas right out of the gate*^x4, honestly, i don’t think i could make the “beloved” part stick after people heard what i was planning on proposing. (and still will once i remember it) (i’ll probably remember once i get this little title thing worked out).

“queen” comes with way too much baggage, and besides i checked, and out of all my pocketbooks, i don’t have a single one that looks all that queenly. no patent leathers. don’t have one without a shoulder strap, for that matter, and i ask you: how queenly would it look for a short gal like me to be dragging her pocketbook around on the ground behind her. (yes, i thought about kicking it out in front of me as i go but that’s not all that becoming to an all-powerful monarch either.) (and honestly, i haven’t been doing yoga nearly long enough to trust myself standing on one foot while the other one moves.)

pfunny that nobody suggested “president”. not that i’d even audition that one, anyway.

i played phoebe reece in the “farndale avenue housing estate’s townswomen’s guild’s dramatic society’s production of a christmas carol” not once but twice, and let me tell you, there’s a woman with p.o.w.e.r. but i plan to cower over more than the 7 people who saw me on stage, so how would everybody (besides those 7*^{x 5}, of course) know to quake appropriately? it could be embarrassing and quite honestly, deadly.

then there’s my dog, named phoebe because the kids gave her to us as a christmas present during my first farndale gig.*^{x 6} and while it’s true that pfour-legged phoebe has the power-like-none-other to pull me out of the coveted writing zone to go fetch her and the tagalong cats a treat, i’m still just not convinced “phoebe” would be instantly recognizable as power to the untrained eye.

not too long ago, i was called to the amphitheater stage on the night “oliver!” closed on account of the cast wanted to give me The Most Beautiful Roses Ever. and when nancy admitted she didn’t know what to call me, fagin chirped in with “goddess” which i have to admit has a pretty nice ring to it, especially over the loud speakers and in front of all those people. but it sounds like i’d have to behave and look on the beautiful side of things, so maybe not.

now “mama” is a title that can pack a punch, but football just represents one segment of my intended subjects.

i want a kickass title. something that’ll size me up at a Woman To Be Reckoned With And Listened To Right Off The Bat. a title that’ll have people standing in line ~~hours~~ months ahead to purchase one of the pens i’ll use to sign my orders into, well, orders.*^{x 7} (and yes, i know the trick about using a different pen for each letter. i’m all over that cause “ka ching, ka ching” is sure to be one of my ~~silent~~ mottos.)

the blogess has already taken “czar” (i’d give her credit, but i don’t know how to reference a tweet*^{x 8 & 9}) (even a funny one). and speaking of the bloggess, do y’all think she’d mind very much if i just copied her post and pasted it in over here at my place? i think i can photoshop out her face from under that cat (which i’m thinking would make a flattering informal crown when i’m out working in the royal yard or bagging up the royal trash or walking to the royal mailbox) and insert mine easy enough. i’ll keep her shoulders and the towel, of course. only seems fair.

plus i’d like to prove that i can be benevolent.

on occasion.

well, loyal subjects-in-the-making, since i’m not yet fully staffed, i am not only writing this little ole’ post all by my little ole’ self (Sovereign though i may be), i must go tend to some Very Important And Sometimes Onerous Things That Petticoat Potentates Must Do Whether They Want To Or Not.

so carry on.

and write if you get work.

* you know i’m such a sucker (a sovereign one, it goes without saying) for alliteration, i almost put a “p” in front of every word, but then i figured all those people who got hooked on phonics would sue me in hopes of paying for their rehab.

** the way i figure it, once i’m launched, at least one institute of higher learning (probably more) is gonna’ bestow some honorary letters after my name free of charge. might even throw me a little party with free food and open bar afterwards, too.

*** for now, i’m “injeanneious” there. or “jeanne hewell-chambers”. just in case you’re interested.

*^{x 4} even though i can, you know.

*^{x 5} okay, make that 6 because i forgot to mention the stay awake requirement when i paid my mother to come.

*^{x 6} don’t get used to so much personal information cause i’m gonna’ have to start keeping the monarchey lid on things for the protection of my peeps. not that my edicts and decrees will be unpopular, mind you, it’s just that i’ll be so wildly, fantastically popular, everybody will want a piece of me.

*^{x 7} for those of you who like to plan ahead, kissing up is not only allowed, it’s downright encouraged.

*^{x 8 & 9} which reminds me: one of the first things i’ll have to do it give myself more twitterwidth because my title alone eats up more than 140 characters and what with retweets and all. note to Sovereign Supremest Of The Supreme Self: slap a crown on that fail whale (but first: it’s not a killer whale, is it?). and the little birdies, too, while you’re at it. and for all you inquiring minds out there, @whollyjeanne is my twitter name. for now, anyway.

p.s. and for the record, no, i have not had a royaltini.

yet.

how they got in there, i’ll never know

February 23, 2010 / jeanne / 9 Comments

so there i was,
clearing and cleaning a rental property,
getting it all spiffied up and ready
to welcome
and shelter
its new person,
when i opened the grill to find this:

you just never know
where you’re gonna’ find
new life,
spring,
possibility,
[insert your own metaphor]
so stay awake
be ready,
and behave yourself*.

*and just so you know: that last one need not involve a long-term commitment.

diving in, at last

February 22, 2010 / jeanne / 14 Comments

my thesis semester found me managing my daughter’s campaign for state legislature. she was one of 4 candidates, and she wound up in a runoff with the older male career politician, an election she lost by the barest of margins. and by the time the last runoff votes were counted, i had 10 days to write my thesis. because it felt right, i worked from the table located in the center of our home – the chrome and glass table that was the first piece of furniture we bought as a married couple. every morning i’d light a candle, push everything and everyone else aside, and get to work. i had no time for angst or indecision. no time to argue with myself or let anything come between me and those notecards.

it was wonderful. you know what i’m talking about – being in that place that defies description where time and doubt don’t exist. that place i never wanted to leave.

but all too soon the thesis was turned in . . . and the first draft approved with only a note from faculty saying they were staying out of my way, leaving it up to me to massage if and as desired.

i wish that’s how i worked all the time – and lord knows, i wish i could get there without all the stress of having to fit it in, but alas. though i come up with more ideas than i can say grace over, and though questions are my native language (next to southern, of course), i have this annoying tendency to think them right out of existence before ever letting them fully hatch. or to run right over them with a ridiculously overloaded to do list.

that’s probably why i collect these stories about people who plunge right into something, making it up and deciphering it as they go. (there are at least 2 more right now begging me to give them some post time.) it’s how i want to be – just follow an interest without having to define, justify, or explain why it’s a good idea, why it will not be a waste of my time. i long to be a story in my own collection.

for more years than i care to count, i’ve carried around ideas for several books and plays, working on them and entertaining myself . . . but only on the inside. now let me be real clear here: nobody’s telling me i shouldn’t be working on these projects. nobody is telling me my ideas are ridiculous or that i’m wasting my time or who do i think i am. i am my biggest wall.

this morning, though, i leapt.

i wasn’t sure which project i’d work on when i got to the studio, i was only sure that it’s time. and without slowing down enough to even begin a thought, i started transcribing newspaper articles about the bank robbery. my maternal granddaddy was the county sheriff, you see, and my paternal granddaddy was the town’s banker, (yep, i couldn’t do a damn thing.) when my daddy was 5 years old, armed bandits came to town. because the vault couldn’t be opened on their schedule, the highwaymen (as the newspapers called them) brought out the whiskey, kept out the guns, and held my daddy and his family prisoners in their own home for more than 10 hours. it’s something that doesn’t happen to just every family, and yet it’s a story that was told surprisingly little around our dinner table. i don’t know that i’ll uncover reasons for the reluctance to talk about it, but i already know that it’s time to tell this story.

and i can’t – i won’t – wait.

p.s. that picture? it’s my granddaddy’s banker’s chair – in its original green leather – and it will be my constant companion as i discover this story.

diving in: 2

February 21, 2010 / jeanne / 8 Comments

fast forward several years . . .

daughter moxie and i are visiting the antique extravaganza that comes once a month. i spy this blue thing that i find intriguing, captivating.

i have to have it.

the woman who selling it is cute in that cute-as-a-button sort of way, and french, so i ask if i can call her frenchie, explaining that anything other than english and southern eludes me. flatout eludes me.

“it’s glass,” she tells me, and as as i stand mesmerized, she continues . . . “years ago i was visiting the new england states when i came upon this big blue blob on the ground. my entire body told me i had to have it.”

“i want that,” she told the man as she pointed to the blue blob on the ground.

“that? do you even know what it is?” the man asked in reply.

“no,” she said, “i only know that i want it.”

“what on earth are you planning to do with that, that whatever it is?” asked her husband.

“i don’t know yet,” she said, “i only know that i have to have it.”

“don’t you even want to know what it is?” the man persisted.

“okay, fine,” she said. “tell me what it is.”

“it’s glass. it was supposed to be windows for a big office building, but there were bubbles so they poured it on the ground and went back to make more.”

“so this is flawed glass?” she asked, now even more sure she had to have it. “how much?”

the day came when it arrived on her doorstep. for the briefest moment after the shippers unloaded it, she wondered what on earth she had done, why she hadn’t thought this through a bit more – especially given that, as it turned out, she’d only seen the tiptop of the blue glassberg that clear summer day in new england. this chunk of glass was ginormous, and now it was hers, so without spending another minute thinking about it, she found her biggest hammer and set to work. she had no plan – not even a skeleton of an idea. she just hammered away, and eventually she’d busted the huge chunk of glass into smaller glass chunklets. somewhere along the way she pursued another wild idea and got a blacksmith to build her some stands. then, not knowing that else to do, she rented a booth at the once-a-month antique market, and, well, in less than a year i am buying her last 2 pieces – one for me, one for my boy, slug.

now i promise we’ll tie this all together tomorrow.

or the day after . . .

(p.s. in the picture, that “whiteness” at the bottom of the top glass chunklet is where the molten glass met the earth.)

fruits just aren’t my color

February 18, 2010 / jeanne / 30 Comments

this is what i dream my life will look like:

this is what it usually looks like by the end of any given day:

(hint: it’s a pig that’s been slaughtered, stuffed, and buried with hot coals.)

and i’m working on changing that.
it’s just that reprogramming a lifetime of
ingrained influences
takes a while.
longer than i expected, actually.
but i’m on it
(most of the time)
cause really,
i don’t look that good in
pineapple.

good night, sweethearts

February 9, 2010 / jeanne / 16 Comments

i’ve got several pots on the stove over here, but i tell you what: i’m just not that good at sleepwriting, so i’m gonna’ wish y’all sweet dreams and say “see you in the morning”. those of you gettin’ snow, stay warm and enjoy your oreos, popcorn, and wine. those of you in the rain, i hear there are still tickets available for seats on the ark. and to those of you in search of the lightswitch and to those of you breaking, much, much love and big, big, big hug.

costume jewelry

February 1, 2010 / jeanne / 43 Comments

she flew all the way across country
to see her son star in a show.
on the way to the theatre, they stopped for a pre-show dinner
in the famous los angeles eating establishment called
subway.

she ordered a 6” turkey on white.

~~~

the man who wheeled everything he owned
in the grocery store cart
came just inside the door
and called out
“hey,” flailing his arm in her direction
ambling towards her table.

~~~

the boy had gone to get some tea
at the self-serve drink machine
in the back of the restaurant.

~~~

the scraggly stranger
beckoned louder as he approached.
and when she could no longer make him invisible,
she looked up
to find her boy standing between
her and the stranger.
“you want something?” the boy asked,
making himself as large as possible.

~~~

“i just wanted to tell her something,”
the man said
looking around the boy
and speaking to her as though nobody else existed.
“i like your necklace,” he said.
“what?” she asked, stunned.
“i think that’s a very pretty necklace – I like it – and I just wanted you to know.”
then he was gone,
pushing his world
through parking lots and along sidewalks,
near large plate glass windows,
lingering on small, seemingly inconsequential things,
taking the time to let a stranger know
she’d been seen.

untitled because i have no idea what to call this

January 30, 2010 / jeanne / 38 Comments

i’ve been offline for far too long, tending to things that simply have to be done.
well, guess what: writing has to be done, too.
writing is my life raft,
my ticket to worlds beyond where i shop for groceries,
my train to discoveries and quarries and ores.

i think better when i write.

keep my fingers away from the keyboard for too long, and my thoughts become fuzzy, uncertain, timid.
let my fingers romp regularly, and i’m confident, clear, (more) courageous.
let my fingers languish too long, and i slouch.
let my fingers dance with words daily, and i smile more – inside and out – and stand taller, too.

away = small.
write here = abundance.

away = alone.
write here = connections.

away = shallow panting.
write here = slow, deep breathing.

when i’m away from writing, my to do list that grows more than it wanes.
when i’m write here, i’m actually (and strangely) more productive.

when i don’t write, my brain chases its tail, going faster and faster and faster.
when i take the time to write, my soul has time to exhale and take a look around,
turn over rocks,
and roll down hills without worrying about grass stains.

when i don’t write, 2 + 2 = 4.
when i do write, i am quick to note that i just say 2 + 2 = 4
because that’s what most people are comfortable with,
all the while rubik-cubing ways that 2 + 2 = all sorts of different answers.

when i don’t write, the world is reduced to faded primary colors.
when i do write, there are at least 64,000 different colors – and it’s not the least bit overwhelming.

i don’t write, i get cranky.
i do write, and well, okay: i sometimes still get cranky.

i don’t write, and it becomes harder to write.

i don’t write, and it becomes harder to think of something to write about.

so why don’t i write daily?

the readily available and easy answer is: there’s not enough time.
but we both know that i have the same amount of time that everybody else has,
i just choose to spend it differently.
i mean, if i had diabetes,
i’d make time to check my blood glucose levels and take insulin, right?

perhaps the common answer is fear.
afraid that my writing sucks,
that i’ll be rejected,
that i’ll just have to go eat worms.

but truth be known,
there’s something else:
a little something we like to call guilt.
for more years than i care to think about,
my adorable husband
has trekked off to a job he never wanted
and doesn’t much like.
so why should i get to do something i enjoy?
i mean, really, what makes me so damned special?
if he’s miserable, it seems only fair that i should be miserable, too, right?
isn’t that why we learned equations in high school?

so merrily we roll along.

this time writing hasn’t solved anything, but
i’ve clarified it,
sat it on the table,
and that counts.