Ms. Appleby Lives

Ms. Appleby has recently come back into my life. She was my first professional acting job in Los Angeles. I didn't always love her, but, especially now, she has become very precious to me. Ms. Appleby taught me the business. I met some great people on the set and learned how to act in front of a camera. I fell in love with film and television. Ms. Appleby opened that door.

Beyond the work, Ms. Appleby has introduced me to some very generous people who have given me the gift of an interest in my character. They have sent me messages saying that I have had some little impact on their lives. They tell me that I encouraged their interest in education; that I was the kind of teacher they would like to have. It is, for me, a little bit of immortality to be remembered.

My career has not been as successful as I would have liked. To be honest, I act now more as a sideline than with any real hope of a full-time career. Sometimes our dreams are bigger than our ability to accomplish them. My dreams, however, have been fulfilled to a certain degree. I have my union cards. I've been on successful prime time television. I was a part of Powers Rangers' first season which went to the top with a bullet. I've gotten to do work that I love. And I'll continue, God willing, to do this thing that gives me so much bliss as long as I'm physically able.

Ms. Appleby reminds me that I am foremost an actor among all the other things I do. It is for this reason that I have renamed my blog. Ms. Appleby was a wise old broad, she was the original wise nobody. She had to be. She taught anything the school asked her to--English, Science, History. You name it, she taught it. She dealt with Bulk and Skull and those other pesky morphing teens. She may not have been a pretty girl, but she was warm and caring and had a commitment to her mission--the education of her students.

So, Ms. Appleby, thank you. I dedicate this blog to you and hope that some of your wisdom will creep into these musings of mine. We'll keep to the high road, remembering that we are both educators. May our students always learn something from us.

Love and Other Strangers

I went to see Valentine's Day today. I love Garry Marshall movies. They sing to my romantic heart. I believe in movie romance--happily ever after and love conquers all. Of course, in a Garry Marshall movie, the right people always get together, which is not always certain in real life. I walked out of the theatre today wanting to fall in love. Thank you Garry Marshall.

Trouble is that I'm not good at romantic love. I'm a great friend, a good parent, a passable mentor, those loves require only opening my heart. In these loving relationships, you can protect some part of yourself. For romantic love one needs to be totally vulnerable--sex sees to that. Friends can trod on your heart and bruise it. A lover can actually break it. Been there, done that.

I think my problem is that I've never been able to do recreational sex. You know the kind I mean--where everyone knows from the beginning that there is no attachment, only physical attraction. Recreational sex requires body confidence. As a fat girl, I've never had that. No one gets to see my avoirdupois by chance. I don't believe even my mother has seen me naked since I was old enough to dress myself. At any rate, I have to know that the person I'm undressing with loves me before I take my clothes off. But recreational sex allows you to become less attached to and more comfortable with the act, which takes some of the pressure off falling in love.

Okay that's glib. I guess the reality is a little more complicated. Beyond body inhibitions, I'm old fashioned about sex. I believe that it is the natural extension of a loving relationship. Sex for me is not just a recreational activity. It's a commitment from one loving heart to another. And that's where movie romance lets you down.

Movies almost never show the morning after you have sex for the first time. They almost never explore the anxiety, the questioning. Was it good for him? Will he respect me? Will he call me again? Did he hate my body? Blah, blah, blah. All that sixteen year old stuff that creeps in no matter how old you are. Movies don't talk about the hard work that it takes to maintain relationships. They don't teach you how to argue, how to compromise, how to overcome problems. Movie romances rarely have problems and if they do, they solve them in one hour and thirty minutes give or take a few minutes. Real life should be so easy!

I was in love once. I expected the romantic comedy my soul longed for. Instead, I got a screwball comedy that left no one laughing and me crying. I don't wish I hadn't experienced it. It did have some positive points, but it soured me for ever having another romance. I'm not a good man picker and, at 61, I'm probably beyond the romancing age.

But I still love romantic movies. I still cry when the boy and girl get together. I still believe in love and I still believe love can last. As long as my heart continues to beat, I will be a hopeful romantic loving the idea of being in love.

Green-Eyed Monster

Surfing the net, I discovered that someone who used to be my friend is doing well. I am fighting to bless their success and be grateful for what I learned from them, but I find myself needing to pick up my sword and shield to fight that great green monster--jealousy.

I find myself judging my life by the standard of someone who never valued what I valued. We always had different paths, different dreams, different criteria for assessing success. Money was their standard. I wanted to follow my heart. They wanted me to follow the money. Contentment was my standard of success. And, to be truthful, most of the time I am content. But money is a great thing. I'd love to have more. Mostly, I'd like to have enough to be generous and to travel. But I have not been blessed with money. I have accomplishment--an education, respect, friends. Sometimes that doesn't feel like enough. What if they were right and I was wrong?

The J dragon rears its ugly head and combat begins. Inside the battle rages. I strive for the high ground, positive self-talk, but years of berating my choices, my lifestyle, push me into a corner. I pray, I meditate, I practice my affirmations, but the wiley green monster peeks around the corner and sticks out its tongue. I try to put it out of my mind, and fire streaks out of its mouth and sears my resolve.

I suppose we all have our never ending wars. Mine come at my own invitation. My self-confidence is a fragile thing and like a kid with a skinned knee, I pick at it never allowing self-esteem to really heal and become strong. I keep trying. Maybe by the time I'm 90, I'll succeed.