The last time I saw him was in Surfside Beach, South Carolina. Many of my happiest memories were from those times at the beach with my Granddad and the rest of our family. He was standing on the deck, looking out at our whole family- aunts, uncles, cousins, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren playing in the idyllic orange light of the setting summer sun as the surf rolled in- and he said to me, “There it is. There is my contribution to humanity… My contribution to humanity.”

Monday was Veteran’s Day Observed. It was also the day the world lost a great veteran airplane pilot from World War Two. Today I honor the contribution to humanity that was my grandfather. The man who inspired me to grow tomatoes, find peace with the world around me, and remain calm in the center of a storm.

A man who was raised on a farm in rural North Carolina, whose own father was a preacher, Granddad never lost faith. Even when he was ill and facing a recent surgery. He was always brave, kind, strong, and thoughtful. He loved a good football game and long discussions about the stock market. He loved to grow tomatoes and cucumbers in his backyard. He never killed bugs because, as he told me, “They didn’t want to live any less than I do.” He seemed to find many of the truths early on that the rest of us search our entire lives for.

He didn’t hear very well in the last few years of his life, but I know he understood that I loved and admired him very much. I felt an unspoken kinship with him and his generous, quiet heart. He helped my own father to become who he is and, in doing so, shaped who I am. I am part of his contribution to humanity. All of my aunts and uncles and cousins are, too.

What a contribution it was. Thank you, Granddad, for giving us all so much.

With love.

fleeckr:

summersong by Ragnarly

Today, I find myself laid up on the couch, swollen ankle propped up on an old folded quilt and some small pillows. (Should be better in a day or two doc says, so, dear reader, don’t worry, I’ll be back to my old tricks in no time at all.)

Falling off a stepladder yesterday had oddly given me some much needed ‘time-off’ to work on the projects nearest to my heart. I’ve been catching up on the ‘War Letters’ that I am inspired to turn into a play. I have managed to narrow it down to my four favorites from each grandparent. Now to intersperse them into a bit of a script…

Since I can’t really walk or do much of anything, I am forced to be focused. This means: no cleaning to distract me, no exercise, no errands to run, no time off of working on this to go to work, only time, and space, to really work. I might even have a first draft by the end of the day…

I find myself surprised at how glad I am to have an opportunity to stay focused. In a world where there is never enough time or money or space, it is ever increasingly difficult to get done what needs to get done.

So, I have been reading their sweet and honest love letters. I am learning about the real people my grandparents were back in the 1940’s. I am falling in love with their slang, their sentimentality, and the fact that they poured their hearts out to each other with complete abandon. Sending their love thousands of miles on either side of an ocean. They wrote letters to each other every single day of the war. There are over five hundred that made it the half century since and I have only managed to read a quarter of that. But that is enough for inspiration. Enough for something beautiful. Something magical. Something uniquely human about this story.

The biggest thing I am learning from reading these letters, is something very, very small.

In life, the strongest memories are usually of an instance. The way an eye twinkled in the the sun as a sudden breeze tossed a lock of hair. The way a dimple would crop up telling us that a smile would follow. The smell of pipe smoke fading across time and a memory of a moment in a house. Saturday nights twirling in a tiny kitchen. The crackle of a radio on. These are the bits within the letters that capture my imagination. Not only because they draw a picture of a specific memory, but because there is something lovely and magical in their retelling of it to each other. As if, somehow, through the distance of space and time, they were able to share a unique and intimate perspective on a moment and how deeply personal and moving even the tiniest of memories could be. But why share that? There is something about finely crafting an intricately detailed story that pulls the reader or listener closer. Perhaps their detailed letters were serving as a link across the miles. A chain. Drawing them together even if they were battlefields, countries, half a world, and an ocean apart.

(Source: liznyc)

New York City. You inspire me. Everyday you begin anew. As if each day is fresh off the press and the old news is just lining the kitty litter box. I like that. Beginning anew. Forever with a chance of rebirth.

After having a few brilliant auditions, one not-super-great audition, a few callbacks, and a few setbacks, I was feeling a wee bit down in the dumps. But something about getting back up and trying again. Something about that undaunted spirit of hope courses through human veins. Something about the unwavering belief in one’s own gifts and need for self expression lifted me out of the doldrums this morning. I can begin anew. I can with sensitivity and nuance create new work and master the art of auditioning. I can start fresh. Dust off past disappointments. Emerge from a blue cocoon and spread my wings.

So, thank you New York City. The hope of your sunlit mornings inspires me.

fleeckr:

through the glass (by Christopher Frank Beitz)

The world unfolds around you. Revealing itself to you piece by piece. You learn about it, you help create it, you find its nuance. You find its magic. Its otherworldliness. You help it find balance, come unglued, fall apart, put it back together, get it what it wants. The imaginary becomes real…

When I was a little kid I was a big time reader. In fact, I used to get so absorbed in books that I would read through whole dinners with my family and they had trouble getting my attention. So, eventually (and I think we may have been the only home in America like this) they made a rule that I could not bring a book to the table. What a nerd.

But, actually, maybe not.

Imagination. Concentration. Empathy. Focus. I learned as a child that this was what absorbed and interested me. The world comes alive and unfolds around the reader. The reader comes alive and absorbs the story. The reader becomes alive.

The reader becomes the character, lives for them, fights for them, defends them against their enemies, wants so badly for them to finally get what they want.

It should come as no surprise that I became an actor. The physical embodiment of what makes me feel alive. No surprise at all. Becoming alive anew every day. What could possibly be a better way to live?

I’ve recently begun researching/creating/writing two new projects for myself to act in that excite me and energize my creative fire. It’s an effort. It’s a bit daunting. But my imagination will not let me quit. I am feeling alive when I work on it.

So I begin.

Starting with page one.

darksilenceinsuburbia:

Laurindo Feliciano. Compendium.

Tonight we open at the Traverse in Edinburgh and I am so excited! I woke up super early- without an alarm- like a kid on the first day of school.

It’s really a bit hard for me to comprehend that in less than one week my graduate school experience will be over. It has been an amazing, life changing adventure and I am a better person for it. I think my brain is a bit in denial that it could ever be finished.

But my heart is ready. It’s time to get out there and get back in the world. It’s time to share what I have learned and how I have grown. It’s time to reconnect with my family and friends whom I have not seen for a year or more. It’s time to go back to New York City and make some work.

Yes! It’s time to create something new!

So, cheers! To all those who are stepping out into the void and the big, wide, open unknown:

May we find magic in our hats and courage in our hearts.

And…like my Mom wrote in our birthday cards growing up…

May the world be our oyster

and may we find many pearls.

antiquecameras:

origin (by Joshua Kemble)

Vasisthasana

Let’s start with that I am a yogi. I LOVE yoga. In fact, I love anything physical. I like the challenge. I like the feeling of success when I learn to do something new. I thrive on it. But this post is not about yoga. Or athletics.

It’s about recovering from an injury that frightened the daylights out of you. It’s about that day when you realize “Hey, I’ve gotten the use of my arm back.” Even if it’s not all the way back.

Last week, in my yoga practice, I tried a version of vasisthasana that I have not tried since December. In December, I was trying to learn another new physical activity- acrobalance. And while I still love it, it was the source of a major rotator cuff injury that I will probably never fully recover from. It has been a long road of acceptance of this fact and some great physical therapy since then.

I thought for sure, in December, when I couldn’t raise my right arm, that I would never be able to teach another yoga class or practice asana, or even hail a taxicab. I definitely thought sideways arm balances were out of the question.

But I have been working at both healing and accepting the injury for many months now. I found a daily dedication to practicing my physio (that’s what they call it here in the UK) and have found much more improvement than I ever expected.

So, on a whim, I tried it- the one armed, sideways plank that is vasisthasana. And my shoulder didn’t break. It didn’t ache afterward. And it felt strong. I knew that I had to use my muscles and alignment to keep it from re-injuring itself. But what an amazing feeling to have done it. After all this hard work, pain, and anxiety, to finally feel like I have the potential for accomplishing the things I thought about doing in November.

So, in the end, this post is about hope. Hard work, hope, and a little determination to not be the victim of life’s accidents.

May we all find our own source of hope that gets us through any setbacks, large, or small. We may never be the same, but maybe we can move past that to something newer, bigger, and stronger. Have a great week!