Thelma Louise Carter

I just received the news by email. It didn't contain much information, just a little note to let me know that Thelma Louise Carter, teacher of Shakespeare and Life, passed away.

Thelma Carter. If you had a class with Thelma at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, you were special. Just like if you got picked for Hugh's 2nd year acting class. Then you were on the fast track. We all had Thelma in second year for Shakespeare, of course. I can't imagine anyone will ever teach it with the excitement, passion, skill and patience - not to mention a generous dose of "you sound like a bad Olivier impersonation" or "well, that was boring". Thelma Carter who took Shakespeare out of modern theatre and returned it to the past where it belonged and made purists out of thousands of kids - I don't know a single one of us who didn't come out of that class without a pure, vibrant obsession with doing Shakespeare - hell, with advocating Shakespeare. I'm still ready to share the whole thing lock, stock and scansion with anyone who might possibly even listen (unfortunately, those people were scared away years ago). It was because of Thelma Louise Carter that I was able to play Shakespeare in SoHo and play my heart out one evening to an audience of one. But even more importantly, it was because of Thelma Carter that I stayed in New York as long as I did, and started getting the auditions I deserved.

Thelma Carter didn't just believe in acting as a profession. She believed in acting as a reverse therapy. In class, it wasn't uncommon to hear us say "I'm confused" and before we could get much farther, Thelma would say to us "Confusion is a choice." Of course, being twenty somethings, we would resist this idea whole hog. But after a few weeks of listening to who Thelma was and seeing how she lived her life and being touched by her inner warmth and strength, we realized that it was true: in life (just like on stage or in business), confusion is a choice. If you do not understand, then you ask and ask and ask again until you do. If you do not understand and you continue to not understand and you do nothing or very little to become Un-confused, then you have made the choice to be confused. She also used to tell us that boredom is a choice. And, if you think about it (unless you're twelve and just can't admit it), you'll see just how right she is. Sometimes it's good to be bored. Then we are forced to take some time to notice our surroundings, our personal agendas, our states of being.

Validation was the one that won me over - and the one that is giving me the hardest time right now. Thelma used to say "all characters like all people seek validation". She also taught me that "villains are the heros of their own stories". I loved playing the villainess. I learned from Thelma Carter that the best villains are the ones you hate yourself for liking. Truly good villains are charming and likeable. She had a speech she gave about how, if she were casting MacBeth (hey, I'm not in a theatre, I can actually say the name), the three witches would be little old ladies wrapped in pink wooly shawls who looked like the old ladies living next door that gave out iced sugar cookies each Halloween. And it's true. When true evil comes from little old ladies in Miss Marple guise, it really is horrifying. That's how serial killers get us, right?

Thelma Carter was an exceptional person who lived an exceptional life. She embodied all that was good about humanity and acting in a completely accessible and truly gracious persona. If I live to be 100, I will never be half the woman and humanitarian that Thelma Carter was.

Which brings us to the selfish portion of our program. A memorial service will be held at one of the theatres in the school in a few weeks. More than likely I will not be able to attend, for many reasons. And I'll probably be grateful for that. I don't know how I could walk into that theatre full of alumni, many of whom I will know and who will know me, and keep my head up. These are people who saw me bloom and flourish in my talents and my craft and knew that I was just scratching the surface. I had everything going for me, as well as the business understanding and ego to back it all up. But, for a while, I lost the flame and with that flame, I lost my life's direction. There is only one thing (professionally speaking) that I have ever wanted to do in my life. I've tried on other coats and hats, but what's the point when you're as good at something a I am at theatre? And I can do it all: musicals, drama (Thelma Carter's Playing for Time), comedy, cabaret, commedia d'el arte, Greek Tragedy (Thelma Carter's Trojan Women), Restoration Comedy...we got a good education at AADA and I was fortunate enough to be adaptable. Which is why I made the elite Third Year Rep Company at the School. I was starting to do well in New York. I had made a lot of friends (surprise!) in the business, had done some voice overs and infomercials, was an extra on a soap, and began receiving calls to significant auditions. All I had to do was stick it out. But, as I said, I lost my flame, my passion. And now, here I am in Maine of all places, which doesn't have the largest professional theatre community and a great deal of that is summer based and an even greater deal of that casts out of New York. There are fewer and fewer roles for "mothers" and character actresses. Not to mention that I just don't have the connections or the network, the materials (perhaps even the chops, anymore), the child care, the support or a husband who actually understands the least little thing about how any of it works. The auditions. The call backs. The networking. The rehearsal and performance schedules. The need for flexibility. There's a reason so many professional actors retire after they have children and even more just never breed at all.

No, I can't walk into a theatre full of working professionals and admit that I'm doing absolutely nothing right now. And sure, eventually I'll get myself involved in a theatre here or work with the youth theatre that produces one or two shows a year. But unless you're a theatre professional who has spent years working with other theatre professionals, you really don't understand how not the same it is. The best I can liken it to is: say you've won five gold medals swimming in the Olympics and then the rest of your life you do nothing more than race your siblings in your parents' pool. Not that it isn't fun and not that it isn't swimming and even racing...but it's not the same. There's no real challenge and there's no real...well, anything. Sometimes it's hard to content yourself with that. Especially when it had always been your intention to race and return to the Olympics as long as you were able.

Anyway, God Bless Thelma Louise Carter who changed my life forever on one grey afternoon when she chose "I've Got Life" from Hair as my theme song. God Bless Her.

Much ABlog About Nothing

Tonight I had homework. No, really, homework. Last night I had homework - but I forgot to do it and had to rush through it this morning before Bean turned it in for me. The night before that I had homework, too. What kind of school gives the parents homework for the first three nights? Sign this, fill out that, Check all boxes that apply on the Checklists for Assessing "How Students Are Smart". Oh, and by the way, Mrs. Glen, you didn't complete this assignment, please do so by tomorrow. (I swear I didn't realize there was stuff on the back, too)

Open House was tonight. Quite a bit different than the B.I. School's open house. First of all, Bath Middle School didn't have to throw a pot luck dinner to get everyone there. There was a terrific turnout althought I don't know what the official headcount was. The baby made me quite a few acquaintances...kids and dogs, I'm tellin' ya, great conversation starters. I even ran into the two people in town that I had actually somewhat met before: the lady who moved here from Wyoming and lives a few streets over and the Priest from the Episcopal Church next door (who's a nice enough guy with a sense of humor and all, but he's no Terry Matthews) No displays, no emergency room cleaning. Just teachers in their classrooms meeting parents and giving out more homework to the parents. Sheesh! It lasted exactly one hour and when 7:00 p.m. rolled around a pleasant, God like voice came over the loudspeaker and very nicely told us all to leave now, please, thank you very much. What? Like teacher's have lives? The kids that were there for open house seemed to be almost excited to be showing off their school and teachers. I even overheard two kids in the courtyard (yep, an honest to goodness courtyard with grass and a tree and everything) discussing what, exactly, they liked best about the physical plant. Which kinda reminded me of Block Island, what with the new school and everything. Except, I have to wonder...while the new building and facilities will greatly improve the day to day experience of the education, it's not changing some of the internal problems that the school has - and probably will continue to have. There are still firmly entrenched teachers there who are not exactly top notch, with complaint files thicker than my wrist but who have "their own houses". There are some fantastic teachers at BIS, but it's no real secret who the not so fantastic teachers are and why they're not so fantastic. Policy in some areas is a bit absurd and a little too much catering is done to teacher's summer employment schedules. (And at the Bath Middle School, teachers are required to show up at least half an hour before school starts - huh!) And I would really like to see something done for the non-athletic kids at BIS. But, then again, that's not my concern now, is it? Except, of course, for my nephew. Who I think will probably fit in well with the BIS. Not meant in an insulting manner. There are some kids who do well in that kind of environment and some who don't. But let's remember while we're bragging about the BI kids who are going on to college, etc., that a lot of that has to do with the kids themselves, and the parents behind them, than it does with the improved teaching curriculum. There are some kids who are just motivated, and there's been quite the influx of them at the school lately. And there are some parents now who don't have a family business to hand down and are really pushing that college degree.

Another unique thing I've integrated into my new life (for lack of a better word) here is the water. As my teenager so adequately expressed in a post, the water here tastes like...well, not good. Tastes extremely chlorinated. So we found this little place just barely over into Brunswick that sells gallons of water for a quarter. Spring water. Tested four times a year. Tell me people anywhere can get this kind of experience! I go to Shaw's. I buy a gallon jug of their water (cuz, folks, there ain't no real difference between Shaw's and Poland Springs except the price) and drink it. Then I take the now empty jugs (I keep three) and twice a week I head over the the water place where I actually get about a gallon and a half for a quarter. Takes me five minutes tops to fill them. So, fifty cents for three gallons of water. Then I run it through the Brita when I get home, just to be on the safer side, and everybody's happy. And here I thought my interesting experiences were all done...

Thank you for all those well-wishing emails I've received. I appreciate the suggestions (even the weirder ones) and the moral support more than I can express. And, yes, it did take me almost four full weeks just to spackle and sand the bathroom walls. But I have managed to paint the ceiling thus far. Maybe I'll get the bathroom walls by Hallowe'en, eh?

And for my family members, feel free to extend invitations for me at any and all times. No, really, don't hold back out of politeness.

Why Can't They Be Like We Were...

Perfect in every way.

Well, crap. It seems that some of the kids here hang out in town. I reiterate: crap.

However, on a bright note. First day of school and my daughter gives me the look o' death on exiting the car. Never mind that I was nervous as hell about what time to show up, where to drop off, the fact that our entire family including the dog was in the car to cheer her on - let's face it, my license plate already says Rhode Island, I don't need to stand out anymore as the mom who doesn't know what she's doing. We all know I don't, anyway. Two o' the clock rolls around and I'm waiting in line in the spot behind the parents (that the parent handbook says we're not supposed to do and yet everybody does - just like BI?) who do know what they're doing and I see my child walking toward me. Trying not to smile. I wave to her and she doesn't glare, sink lower or try to ignore me. The omens are good. The stars seem to be aligned in my favor. Then she gets in the front seat. She never gets in the front seat. Had a really good day, she tells me. Met lots of people and the kids here are really nice, she says. They have a rock climbing wall in gym, Ma. (okay, now that's just cool.)

Wanna take a drive around?

Well...Erica's gonna call.

It's time to feed the baby anyway. Erica calls. The kid meets her two (maybe more) new friends at the library (where the "city" park is located as well) and then goes to hang out in town. She stops at a little costume jewelry shop and then gets fudge.

So, basically, it's just like hanging out on BI?

Not exactly. We went into the Dunkin' Donuts.

Kid after my own heart.

Can I sleep over at Erica's house Friday night?

And yet...she never listens to a thing her mother says. Didn't I tell her she'd make friends? Oy.

Makes me think of Debbie Tibbetts and Barbara Sinnow during our Junior High (Middle School, now) days. Those were turbulent, wonderful times. My daughter (who swears she's not going to any dances) mentions the first dance is the 16th. Hey, I love to shop for clothes for my gorgeous daughter. Dad hates to pay for them, but he's not here, is he? I mean, I've never shopped for a size 3 in my life, so I'll be damned if I'm gonna miss this opportunity.

It won't last. She's 13. It never lasts. (not the size 3, I'm talking about the good mood bubble) But my, oh my, what a happy household while it does.

Hmmm...tomorrow's trash day. Think I can get her to clean the cat box before school or am I pushing my luck?

P.S. Yes, Everett, you did stir the pot. Now she wants a digital camera for Christmas. I told her she'd be lucky if she gets food. "Here ya go, kid, Merry Christmas. I got you a ball of yarn."

Blatant Advertising

No, not the stuff I have to keep deleting off my posts.

My daughter started a blog. You know, the award winning writer, that daughter? Now, I've been kinda loathe to read it cuz I know it's probably a little more foul mouthed than I'd like or much more bitchin', moanin' and whinin' than I'd like to hear (not that I wouldn't be bored, depressed and pissed off, too, if I were 13 and forced to move to a state nobody but my dad wants to live in and not like I haven't been doing more than my share of grousing). But I admit, I read it and I really kinda liked it. Don't tell her, though, I think that might ruin it for her. I think you should go visit the blog. Unless you're a perv or in the pen, in which case you better stay the hell away from my daughter cuz you do NOT wanna see me with my Irish up!

I think I might get this right...it's (and please keep a straight face on the name) island-grl.blogspot.com. If I didn't get it right, then you can find her comments on a few posts ago as iluvmonkeys, click on that and it'll take you there.

To quote a thingy my aunt sent me: now I know why some mothers eat their young.

And on another note...sweetie, I know you don't wanna hear this, but in most other towns than Block Island, the only kids hanging out in town at night with all the drunks are addicts, pushers, pimps and prostitutes. That's one of the reasons we moved. Because eventually, you will realize there's more to do to entertain yourself than watching people get trashed and pee themselves. 'kay? And you've already told me that some of the kids your age drink and get stoned and you're still hanging out in town with them, so much as I hate to say this: I can live with you being pissed at me until you're 30, I can handle you hating me for the rest of your life, I can even handle you screaming how I've ruined your life cuz I won't let you hang out in town until 11:00 pm or somesuch, but the one thing I could never live with is if something happened to you because I wasn't the adult and used better judgement. You don't have to like it, you don't have to understand it, you don't have to agree with it. You just have to follow the rule.

By the way, Block Islanders, I don't even know where the local bar is...oh wait, I remember passing one downtown across from the post office. That's the only one I've seen so far. Huh. Makes you think, don't it?

And Then...

The hot water heater broke today.

*sigh*

I would like a margarita now. And some cheese quesadillas.