Thursday, January 17, 2008

My inner voice... not so stupid afterall!

Lately I've found it almost laughable how easy it has become to see my path clearly. It's as if God (if you will) is walking ahead of me with a machete and cutting down all of the weeds and excess foliage so that I can easily walk along my path and see what should be my next step. Part of this feeling comes from my new found decision to listen to my inner voice. When my inner voice whispered, "This is not the year for you to go to NYC", I listened and made the decision and sent an email graciously turning down the invitation. What happened? Within days I'd begun an exchange with a lady at MAC Channel 9, a cable channel for the arts in Nashville, about possible programming with Artsy Mamas. Next, I'm faced with an ethical dilemma. I had been cast in the Murfreesboro VDAY ( a fund raising event where there is a production of the Vagina Monologues and the proceeds go to benefit, in our case, the local Domestic Violence program). I love the work and I love the idea. I was incredibly excited and humbled to be a part of such a wonderful national cause. But due to a concern that I had, I chose to bow out of my part. Within hours, I was on the telephone with aforementioned television lady being told that my dreams of creating my own television show were very doable, discussing funding and set design, and, sigh, hearing the words, "That probably won't be as hard as you think" after I mentioned my hush hush goal of obtaining an Artsy Mamas book deal by 2010.
Pinch me. Am I awake?
Let me give you a little history. I'm a television nut. Most of my best childhood memories have some sort of connection to the tube. From "Laverne and Shirley" to "Today's Special"... my friends on the small screen offered me a peek into a world that was unknown to me. Adventure, love, happiness, freedom, creativity, singing, dancing, and peace. For whatever reason, I've always felt that I would end up involved with this industry. While I may have co-starred and co-written a sitcom in college, I still didn't feel that I'd yet touched upon the genre of television for which I was greatly destined. I WAS TO BE A TALKSHOW HOST. Not in a Rikki Lake sense. More like Rachel Ray. They call it magazine format. I call it fun. When I was in 10th grade, there was this boy who was a jerk who (I later learned was on drugs at the time) would torment me and say horrible things to me in class. One day I was, rather loudly, voicing my opinion, as usual, and said boy yelled something like, "Shut up! You are such an idiot. Why don't you just shut the hell up?" Mrs Wilson, my teacher and friend, told him that he'd be laughing at himself one day when I had my own television show. I'd never breathed a word about my dream to her. She just knew, I guess. It was at that moment when I accepted into my heart that this was even a possibility. That I could actually, in reality, have my own television program one day and that people who knew me could see it. I suppose over the years I let the "excess foliage" keep me from following that path... or any path at all for that matter. But I never got over that moment, that feeling, of accepting in my heart that a dream could possibly come true.

I write this still a little bit in shock. I have a dream. I realized that Artsy Mamas could, possibly, act as a vehicle for that dream. I just didn't imagine it happening so quickly or so easily. Upon second thought, the hell I've experienced which got me to the place where I could even put into motion the creation of Artsy Mamas was not so easy. I suppose I've been working towards this goal since I was 13 years old and being heckled in the hallway for wearing go go boots to the junior high. I suppose HE has been ripening me for this time in my life all along. And I'm so glad I've listened. Because this is all kinds of fun.

On a side note... when the Captain is working we have some sort of a routine around here. When he is NOT working, however, anything and everything goes. The past two nights I have been out. Tuesday night I went to Barnes and Noble to visit with my grief support group turned family. Then last night my dear pal Angel hosted a lovely little shindig at her home. We decoupaged votive candle holders (I'm surprised her fingers aren't stuck together... she's become a decoupage nut) with pages from an old copy of GONE WITH THE WIND. So our candle holders say things like the N word, damned Yankee, and never wanting to be pregnant again. Social commentary through art. Reminded me of that scene in my other favorite movie "Ghost World" where Enid is taking summer school and she brings in the giant poster of Cook's Chicken for her found art. Anyway, I drank Detox tea from a china cup. I vented and that was great. And I was given a lovely goody bag. An impromptu gathering of great style, wonderful company, and much love. I was glad to have been invited. After I got home, the wails of "Help me Daddy" started to flow down the hall from the donut's bedroom. I waited a little while, thinking she would go back to sleep. No such luck. I walked into her room and said, "Hey Sister". "Hey there Mama" she answered. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Can you change my diaper?" she replied. Sure enough. A middle of the night poo is unusual for her but she was dirty nonetheless. The next three hours were filled with (her) farts and (everyone's) laughs. We watched last night's episode of "American Idol" on tivo. Donut would politely yell "BAD SINGER!!!" at the singers who were... well... bad. Every thirty seconds she would turn around, straddling my lap, and point at my chest saying things like, "That's my mama!" and she'd lean down, grab me as tight as her petite arms could muster and gruuuuuuuunt a big hug and squealing, "I love you sooooo much! So much!" (wonder where she heard that?) And after the hug would, inevitably would come the vacuum lips. This is where she sucks onto my neck and doesn't let go, often times leaving a hickey. At nearly one o'clock, she was putting together the train track. We're almost certain that she did not stop talking for the whole three hours. At one point she started telling us that she didn't want to sleep. This child is such a delight and a joy. I thank God every day for giving me a little girl... the one I didn't want.

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