A New Beginning.

Welcome back, Readers!

After a long hiatus, RJ is back online and raring to go!

You'll be privy to several entries that I've written during this hiatus - and they'll be published off and on between now and December 2012 (when the world will be ending, apparently).

It's a privilege to be back with you.  To be officially back online.

So many changes have happened for me and for my family since I last wrote here in real time.

We have converted an old school bus into a home, and we are headed off on some incredible adventures as a family - some of which I am sure I will be able to share with you here.

In the meantime, I am finishing up my final acting class with my teenaged actors at my studio in Olde Towne Leonardtown, Maryland, closing up my shop, moving my paintings and pieces of my life into storage or selling them or giving them to friends and family...

It's funny.  My advanced teen and tween acting class consists of all girls at present.  The environment is nurturing for all of us, I think.  We've been able to explore this craft at a level not possible in mixed company.

There is a certain amount of self-consciousness around the opposite sex that doesn't exist when you segregate the genders.

Girls are free to be wild, interesting, rebellious...  the internal is allowed to become the external without fear of ridicule or "looking stupid".

This gathering of women together is important on so many levels.  Not just in the classroom, but in the rest of our lives as well.

There is something sacred about women connecting with one another.  Something beautiful.

When we set aside our petty competitions and differences and decide to be simply supportive of one another, to acknowledge our own individual talents and beauty...  it  is...  Divine.

Welcome back, readers - old and new...  it is so wonderful to be writing for you, talking with you, and joining our spirits in this miraculous way.

More to come soon...

~ Missy (Redefined Juliet)

Friends.

I am so bad at friends.

Bad at making them.  Bad at keeping them.  Bad at caring for them the way I know I should.

There was a time when I was good at making friends.  As a kid, it was easy.  But I wasn't very good at being very nice to those friends.  The friends I made would often start to annoy me, and there were only ever a few that I made the effort to keep.

Those friends are still friends and probably will be friends forever - but I'm still bad at reminding them I care about them.  Sending a card or note or picture or giving them a phone call is not something that comes naturally for me.  I think about them often, but I don't make an EFFORT.

My friends from around here, I'm JUST NOW getting sort of comfortable with.

I know that sounds insane.  We've lived here eight years.  Lately though, it takes me THAT LONG to open up to people.  To feel comfortable enough to be myself.  And sometimes that scares people.

Suddenly I'm not the person they imagined I was.  Suddenly they don't like me as much anymore.  Or they like me more - it depends on the person.

Either way, I'm worried about it.

I saw this entry from a friend's blog and it made me want to cry.  In fact, it inspired this entire post.

I see Sara with all those friends and their kids and everyone hanging out together and I wonder:  "Why don't we have that?"  Granted, we have a lot of friends who don't really care much for football - but it's not just the Superbowl.  We had invitations to go places and we accepted one of them and not the others (which was hard enough), but it's the atmosphere I feel in those pictures that I think is missing from my life.

I blame myself.

I don't really know what I blame myself FOR exactly.  My introversion or my anxiety or my pickiness or what.  But I'm sure it's my fault.  True to stereotypical femaleness, I'm internalizing all of my issues, which doesn't really help anything, but if it's my fault at least I feel like I have some control.

I think that's the bottom line with internalizing things.  If it's my fault I can fix it.  If it's someone else's fault I can't do anything about it.

Friendship is harder when you grow up.

As a kid you have these built in friendships at school or extracurricular activities or church or what have you.  As a grown up you can see the consequences of entering a relationship with another human being.  You have old wounds you are still nursing.  You are reminded of another circumstance or another person.  You are SO BUSY.  There are all these considerations about age and children and religion and politics.  It's sort of ridiculous, really.  I wish I could go into a relationship with other people and not think about these things.

It's funny because plenty of those really great friends I made in the past, the ones who will be around forever, disagree with me on plenty of things.  It's the mutual respect that we've gained in knowing one another so long that lets us get past those things.

So how to you cultivate that same respect in a new relationship.

I am so bad at being a grown up.

I just can't figure it out.  So many parts of it don't make sense to me.  Maybe I'm just thirty.

Tons of the women in my life have mentioned that thirty is this time when they sort of "wake up" and figure out who they are or something.

Well - I can see that - my life is changing and I feel I am growing in leaps and bounds as a person - but figuring it out?  Check back when I'm sixty.

Communion

Forgiveness
Shines sweet and warm
Dripping like syrup from tree top
And pouring itself - honey - to my tea cup

I know I am not worthy

Forgiveness makes warm feelings
But brings with it the humility of what you've done
What you didn't do
What you missed

the mark:

You missed it.

Tangible and hand-holding
True Love is measured in
This Cup.

Followers.

I just checked on the other blog I write, and noted that I had a new "follower".  It's kind of a weird term - but really, what would be better?  You do, in fact, follow a blog - follow the life of the person, or follow their thought train, or follow their photography or their artistic journey or their weight loss story or what have you.

The new follower sort of made my heart skip a little bit.

She is a friend from my teenage years - one with whom I grew apart, but one I never really stopped thinking about.

Stephanie and I were PK friends.  That's "preacher's kid" for those of you unfamiliar with the term.  It's an interesting life to lead, as my other PK friends will be quick to tell you.  A lot of life lived "in the fishbowl", so to speak, and so, though few and far between, my PK friends have always been especially dear to me.

Stephanie and I met at the District Christmas Party on my father's district and we were in the same grade at school and seemed to have quite a bit in common.  For awhile, we only saw each other at the Christmas party, once a year.  Then Stephanie invited me to come to baseball/softball camp with her and another friend (of hers) and I went.  I found the experience outstanding.  One of little self-consciousness and much self-confidence - which was especially important for middle school me, who felt awkward and strange in too big feet and enormous glasses.

For reasons I'm not sure I can explain, Stephanie and I grew apart.

Even upon attending the same college, we never really talked much after her dad moved to another district.

I mourned the loss.

At each Christmas party we would exchange M&Ms.

The tradition was born when we realized that every year the favors were the same: red and green M&Ms.  And so, one year, we each took one, and promised to bring it back the next year, as a tradition.

I still have the M&M from the last party we both attended.

I guess that's pretty sentimental and maybe a little dumb.

I keep it in a wooden box labeled:  Girl's Treasures.  My dad got the box for me when I was a wee thing.  I don't remember how old I was.  It was always a stalwart on my dresser or buried deep in a drawer as I got older and the things inside seemed more sacred to me.

It sits on my dresser now.  My adult self barely glances inside.  Just every so often...

It contains the M&M from my friendship with Stephanie, who is now following my blog about my family.  It also contains:

-  a photograph of the first boy I ever REALLY liked
-  a pin from my first serious boyfriend
-  a tiny plastic elephant with a blue bow around its neck from the baby shower thrown for me when I was pregnant with my son
-  a baby tooth from my dog, Cricket, who grew up with me and died while I was in college from cancer
-  a champagne cork from a wedding I attended as flower girl at the age of six - the bride and groom popped the cork in the parking lot and champagne was passed around.  I scrounged up the cork from the pavement and kept it.
-  a Play-Dough "orange head" wearing a red sweatshirt with a "W" across the chest - an "artistic" representation of our arch swimming rivals from my high school days - made for me by our team captain and good friend, Jessica

I think that might be all that is inside the box.

I couldn't tell you why I keep all of those things.

They are somehow special in their own ways.  Things I can't bring myself to throw away.  It seems like tossing the memory.

Someday I will probably end up having to explain the items to my children or grandchildren - or maybe they will find them after I'm gone and wonder what I wanted with a dog's tooth or a champagne cork.  Maybe they'll apply some strange significance to each item or make up a story.  Maybe I will have the honor of telling them myself.

I will say one thing for sure - M&Ms certainly have an extensive shelf life.

The Vagina Monologues.

Last night I went with some girl friends to see The Vagina Monologues, by Eve Ensler. If you've not been following my blog, I'll explain quickly. The Vagina Monologues are a compilation of monologues based on Eve's experience interviewing 200 women from all walks of life about their vaginae (plural of "vagina" for those of you who didn't know - I, personally, just learned this). I saw this production at the local college, and you know what? It was good.

The Monologues were compiled to raise awareness about female sexuality and the exploitation of women - to empower women and to raise awareness about the atrocities committed against women around the world at the same time.

You leave the performance with a lot to think about.

The Monologues have been performed by one woman. Three women. Last night there were about forty young women involved. It's a big deal. The Monologues are traditionally performed on or around V-Day (February 14th), and the "V" doesn't stand for Valentine. The day was established after the Monologues became widely successful and Eve decided that she could do more. That the piece could do more. Mean more. Be more. V-day is celebrated all around the world to raise awareness, to empower women: V-Day: until the violence stops.

This year, the focus for V-Day is on the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I hadn't even heard about the conflict there until last night. I mean, I'd seen Blood Diamond, I knew there was trouble in that area of Africa, but I didn't know that 500,000 women and girls had been sold into the sex trade. That they were raped and tortured and taken from their parents as little girls and forced to bear the children, the housework, and the sexual fantasies of men in their forties. Young girls. SO young.

There was a monologue specifically about this as a feature last night. It was...powerful.

I read these things and I feel so powerless. I hate to be so... I don't know... AMERICAN...and just throw money at a problem. I want to do more. I'm trying with this blog to raise more awareness. I hope to try and convince our local community theatre to host a V-Day event next year. I want a t-shirt from the V-day website so I can open conversations and talk to people about what's going on in the Congo. I hope that you will do something. I hope that you will take some action. Maybe you are in a place in your life right now where you can GO THERE. Maybe you can go and help. There are tons of organizations doing this RIGHT NOW.

The IRC
Stop Child Slavery
and Invisible Children

Not to mention V-Day.

I urge you to visit these sites and think about what you can do to help. I urge you to buy a t-shirt. I urge you to tell your friends what you know, to research what is happening in Africa and around the world to young women and little girls. And I urge you to pray. If you have no money, no means, then you can still pray. Pray for peace and salvation. Pray for love to win over terror and violence. Pray for the empowerment and education of women and the mercy of the ruling governments.

...

Thanks for reading.

Butterfly: Road to One Act Festival Part 4

So it's over now.

I'm not sure how to feel about everything.

We came away with first runner up - which basically means if either of the two plays they chose to go on decides they don't want to or can't make it to regionals, THEN we get to go. So...pretty much we aren't going to regionals. We did come away with best original script, and I am really happy for Trish, our writer, she deserved it, especially since during the judges critique they were very harsh on the writing - obviously that was just to mask their true feelings about the merit of this piece. We also won an award for technical excellence. No acting awards.

That's hard for me.

I have never been so anxiety-ridden as I was that weekend - not abnormal anxiety - normal person anxiety. I felt like we really had a shot at winning. I didn't know exactly what to expect from the event or who would be there or how it would all go or if I would succeed in making all of my costume changes in time. I worried about the audience response, especially since much of the weekend was taken up with comedies. Not that there's anything wrong with comedy, it's just that ours is not a comedy, and if the audience is expecting one, we might not get as great a response...

Here I am talking like it didn't already happen.

I admit that overall it was a GREAT weekend. I learned SO much from the wonderful women I spent the time with.

I was sad about the judges.

I really felt like David made them uncomfortable. As he should have. But especially from the male judge I felt a lot of negative energy.

I also felt like they gave a lot of just plain mean comments to all of the plays - not just ours - things that couldn't help really in the future, just made you feel like you sucked.

On the ride home I just didn't know what to say, how to talk about what I was feeling. I was glad we did so well but it was almost worse that we got first runner up. It made us know how close we were.

The judges deliberated for three hours while all the casts and crews and whatnot sat in a restaurant waiting and waiting - long after the coffee had dried up, still we sat. It was agonizing. After all that waiting - nothing.

I knew as soon as they announced the acting awards and none of us were mentioned that there was no way we'd won.

That damned acting awards is tearing me up. I admit it. This is the first time in my entire theatre career that I felt like I could honestly say I was good. I have never worked this hard on a role. I have been told I was good in the past. I have felt good ABOUT my performance, but I have never felt so validated as an actor as in this particular piece.

It's not just that.

This piece is important. I wanted it to go on just because this was the kind of piece that people need to see. Something that teaches. Something that makes the audience question everything on the way home from the theatre. That's what theatre is about, after all. If a play doesn't leave you questioning, it hasn't done it's job. Even comedy should be able to pull this off if they're worth their salt.

I guess it's just a let down.

I don't regret a second of the time spent. It has been the best theatrical experience I have ever had, and that's saying a lot, since I've been doing theatre since the toddler years, quite literally.

The weekend was simply incredible - the festival itself aside.

We stayed at our producer's house (okay, it's her boyfriend, Steve's house...but whatever). It was SUCH a beautiful house. We ate amazing food. I learned lots about vegan cooking. We went for a 2 mile run Saturday morning. We watched the video of the production from June 2009 and saw how much we'd grown. We got lost all over the area about a billion times. We listened to music from Quebec. We did yoga. We read books. We discussed politics and religion and feminism and gay rights and abortion and art and being an artist and a mother and just about everything else you could possibly discuss. I felt like for a brief little weekend I was sort of living my fantasy of living in a community of artists - the weekend has fed my creativity into the week. I feel like doing everything. I feel more myself than I have felt...well...ever.

I'm excited about my art. I'm excited about who I am and who the people around me are and who my family is. I missed them like crazy while I was gone. I missed my own bed and my own house and the feeling of my husband's skin against mine and the feeling of my daughter climbing up into my lap to have If You Give a Moose a Muffinn read one more time and the smiling eyes and kisses on the cheek provided by my five year old son.

Everything about the weekend honestly made me feel ALIVE. I am sad about us not winning. It's hard for me to believe it's over, to be honest. I am sad that I didn't get an acting nod to feed my ego. But I am so thankful for that weekend or rejuvenation and deeper understanding of who I am. Of what it means to be a woman. I feel like I've really been missing out all these years.

Oh - before I wrap up completely, I wanted to note that I've added Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues to "my favorites" widget - it's in the sidebar there to your right. If you don't know the piece, I recommend you read it with an open mind. The piece is to be produced on Valentine's Day. V-day. Until the violence stops - the Vagina Monologues are about stopping violence against women. About power for women. About owning your womanhood. If you haven't read the piece, go over to the widget and click and order it and give it a try. It's quickly become a theatrical feminist classic.

Girl Friends.

About a year ago I had this stunning realization.

I had had very few real girl friends in my life. VERY few.

Diana and Jenny - friends during preschool.

Then Sarah - elementary, middle school, and some of high school. We used to pretend we were boys - Josh and Rick. I was Josh. She was Rick. We played football and watched Penn State games and rarely did anything remotely girly. Now she's an out lesbian and I'm well...I'm me. We haven't really connected in years. I found her on facebook a few months ago and we've exchanged a few words, but I admit to being afraid to find her and hang out. It's been such a long time... I don't know what I would say.

Jess - she was one of my only girlfriends in high school. I tried hard to have others, but we sort of drifted apart. Jess and I are actually still friends. She's one of those motivating people. I never opened up and bared my soul really with her - by that time I had developed some sort of random fear of other women - but she taught me a lot and helped me get through some tough times in my life by cheering me on in all things.

Kat.

Heather.

Summer.

Deborah.

A gaggle of former students I now see as sisters...

It was only very recently that I realized girl friends were important.

I was having this fairly good week - I went through a long period of depression from which I'm only now recovering - and I remember it was this great day... I had been going through this horrid identity crisis after I quit teaching and decided to stay home with my kids - I felt worthless - I didn't know who I was...

I remembered that Kat had said she wanted to sign her son up for swimming lessons. I remember that today was the last day to register - so I called her and told her about it. Both of us had moved to the area from elsewhere and both of us were fairly new moms - but I was less new. She was nervous about going to the sign ups so I offered to drive her there and help her out. This anxiety was something I understood, and I didn't have to worry because I had already been through the process. Helping someone out felt good. And the other thing was - hanging out with her one on one felt good too. I felt renewed when I got home. I had helped someone and I had worked on establishing a new sort of relationship with someone. I had something to offer.

That night, Summer called and asked if I wanted to go and see Sex and the City - the movie - with her.

I wasn't into the shows - I didn't have HBO and I wasn't motivated enough to rent the DVDs and we didn't have Netflix then, but I agreed to go.

This was the first time I would have ever been to the movies with just another girl.

I tried once with Jess, but my best friend at the time, Adam (a guy, shock of shocks) sort of followed us there and hung out with us. We went to see Romeo + Juliet. I think I may have called him and told him we would be there. I was trying to hook him up with Jess - but I was also terrified of being one on one with another girl. I don't know why. I don't know why to this day - but it still carries a lot of anxiety for me. Maybe someday a shrink will explain all of this, but I'm trying for the time being to stay out of therapy...

Anyway, Summer called and invited me to go and see this movie and I said I would go.

I felt sort of guilty because I was leaving Michael at home, but he assured me that he would be fine and I should just go with my friend.

It was one of the most fun experiences of my life.

I know that sounds sort of ridiculous - but going to see that movie that night and sharing that sort of female-female bonding - I'm not sure I had ever let myself do that before - not in forever. Not really.

And the movie was one of my favorites. I didn't know a lot about the story except from hearsay from others, but that movie taught me about girlfriends. What that relationship means. What you talk about - where you go - how you function as friends. I know it's just a movie, but it opened my eyes to this whole world that I was missing out on - one that I NEEDED.

I taped the ticket stub for the movie on my wall upstairs.

Everyone in my family has a wall - well, a part of one, covered with plywood. We can use that space to tape up whatever we want - reflections of ourselves.

Mine is covered with photographs of my children and of my husband and of former students and extended family and poetry and cards and news articles and this ticket stub.

Recently I added a picture of Jenny and me, one of my best friends from preschool and kindergarten. We are wearing pigtails and holding those water balloon things with a hole in the center you get at the fair. Sort of Slinkys made of liquid and latex. We're holding them up like noses and smiling.

It helps me remember that first innocent friendship.

I've had some scars along the way. Girls I thought were friends trying to steal my boyfriend. Girls who were mean to me and stole my lunch money and untied my dresses and pulled my hair in ninth grade. Girls who told me straight to my face that I was "ugly". But that ticket stub and that picture - no matter what happens - will serve to remind me the value of girl friends. Bumpy road or not - we need each other.

Kat and I have grown apart since college when we were roommates and shared everything. She will be moving to New York soon. Right now she lives diagonally across the street. We don't hang out like we thought we would when she and her family first moved here, but she is there for me when I need her, and I am there for her.

I remember my mom being here while I was essentially in labor for three weeks with my daughter and Kat called and asked if I could run over to her house and take a pie out of the oven. This was such a fluid occurrence that I didn't even think about it. Of course I would. My mom was sort of baffled, "I wish I had friend like that," she said, "someone I could just call if I had pies in the oven."

I didn't know quite what to say.

I've learned that having girl friends is like that.