together we sit on a huge rock
watching the wind blows stories from long ago
maybe we are in a dust bowl
or on top of a red dune in the desert
i tell you
you are my best friend ever
i loved you since the day you were born
you smile at me
and take small cubes of sugar
to drop into silver goblets
do you also believe in green fairies?
they were there
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
A vision of the World
With decorated pine trees in malls and gardens, easy to ensemble fakes on fliers and boxed on retail-racks, we know Christmas is coming. Jingle Bells and Mister Snowman over the intercom contribute to the jolly-holly spirit of spending big time and after every trip the heap-up of red, green and golden boxes in front of the fireplace grows.
Between the junk mail are Christmas cards on recycled paper, donations wanted; self stamped envelopes and a pamphlet of World Vision: “Livestock will help the community break the cycle of poverty” with pictures of cows, chicken, goats, pigs and rabbits.
Years ago Ricky invited me to accompany her to visiting a severely abused girl; called Samantha X. Ricky was a journalist for a Christian magazine at the time and at the foster home Ricky interviewed the parents, while I spent time with SX, recovering from chicken pox. The mother asked me to put some Calamine lotion on the marks, but every stroke resent a shock through little Samantha’s body, as if she’s reminded of being cigarette burnt all over again.
Never in my entire career working with children as such, I’ve seen such expressionless eyes. The blue eyes literally shut down, her spirit smothered by years of maltreatment. To compensate for her loss, her room had enough toys and apparatus to outfit an entire Kindergarten. Toy companies like Fisher-Price and Lego were so taken by her story that they treated SX with the very best. Every now and then SX got up from her tricycle, reached for a toy, cautiously pat to see if it’s real and then went back to her position of observing.
Ricky called us to the sitting room where tea was served. The foster mommy asked SX to sing us her song and with a sweet resonance, but stripped from emotion SX followed the parents’ voices: “Jesus loves me yes He do…”
It was my turn being shocked. “Jesus loves this little totally traumatized child? Is it not rude to let her sing this of all songs? “
The foster dad must have read my mind and said something never to forget: “SX must regain her trust in mankind. It’s easier for SX to externalize the message, whilst slowly integrating Love and Trust by realizing the foster parents are the hands and the heart of God.” Many years passed and for all we know SX is a mother today, playing with well cared for children and not thinking back.
Bless the many people and companies reaching out to those suffering a lack of what we consider as basic -- restoring the belief in mankind. I once again open the pamphlet of World Vision and look at the pictures of the children, patting animals. “We donated a stable of animals,” says Judy Clark from Nova Scotia. In front of the fireplace are a Christmas tree with the gold, mirth and incense underneath and inside the stable a donkey.
Between the junk mail are Christmas cards on recycled paper, donations wanted; self stamped envelopes and a pamphlet of World Vision: “Livestock will help the community break the cycle of poverty” with pictures of cows, chicken, goats, pigs and rabbits.
Years ago Ricky invited me to accompany her to visiting a severely abused girl; called Samantha X. Ricky was a journalist for a Christian magazine at the time and at the foster home Ricky interviewed the parents, while I spent time with SX, recovering from chicken pox. The mother asked me to put some Calamine lotion on the marks, but every stroke resent a shock through little Samantha’s body, as if she’s reminded of being cigarette burnt all over again.
Never in my entire career working with children as such, I’ve seen such expressionless eyes. The blue eyes literally shut down, her spirit smothered by years of maltreatment. To compensate for her loss, her room had enough toys and apparatus to outfit an entire Kindergarten. Toy companies like Fisher-Price and Lego were so taken by her story that they treated SX with the very best. Every now and then SX got up from her tricycle, reached for a toy, cautiously pat to see if it’s real and then went back to her position of observing.
Ricky called us to the sitting room where tea was served. The foster mommy asked SX to sing us her song and with a sweet resonance, but stripped from emotion SX followed the parents’ voices: “Jesus loves me yes He do…”
It was my turn being shocked. “Jesus loves this little totally traumatized child? Is it not rude to let her sing this of all songs? “
The foster dad must have read my mind and said something never to forget: “SX must regain her trust in mankind. It’s easier for SX to externalize the message, whilst slowly integrating Love and Trust by realizing the foster parents are the hands and the heart of God.” Many years passed and for all we know SX is a mother today, playing with well cared for children and not thinking back.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Be yourself -- WHAT?
The one thing that freaks me out is if someone says: “Just be yourself.” It is quite common practice to encourage the candidates with the words during beauty pageants, competitions, job interviews and other stressful situations.
Ever tried to figure out whom else can the candidate be, but him/herself? Sure one can be stressed-out, nervous, angry, forgetful, but the name tag doesn’t change.
During a training session for counselors, a delegate mentioned there are two kinds of patients: “Those who want to be helped, and the other not so much.” He doesn't get the facilitator idea, but he'll hopefully get there.
The next fellow totally agrees, mentioning a patient being with the 13the counselor and describing the tactics and different schools in detail. Who says practice doesn’t make perfect?
This phenomenon can be described as integrating loss or pain as an identity. The patient can gain confidence by reminding him/herself of intense situations, subconsciously believing that in the case of another occurrence, the patient will be prepared. Say Mary can’t have children and keeps telling her story to everyone numerous times. She becomes Mary Childless were Sophie in a similar situation moves on and is Sophie without children. This principle can be applied to many life-altering situations.
Mary is a perfect example of being "pro-active" by answering questions in advance. Sophie on the other hand deals with it only when she needs to.
The question isn’t who upholds the truth and who not, both Mary and Sophie own their status.
(Even diagnosed with a multi-personality disorder and hospitalized, the patient has only one body, one soul with different names).
The good news is: You are yourself, no need to try and be it. So next time you’re stressed-out, angry, worried, snappy or whatever, embrace the emotion and work through it. Decide whether you want to be Tommy-X or Tommy who has X.
Please don’t try to be anyone else, because the good news is you simply can’t.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
writer's block.
They say a picture says more than a thousand words.
The writer couldn't find any...
The writer couldn't find any...
Photo courtesy of John Calitz
Friday, November 5, 2010
Samantha goes to Cannes
After two years of writing, many listings in competitions and a couple of weeks before the Cannes Film Festival in France, Samantha receives an e-mail to die for: An invitation to meet with a producer. A script must not gather dust they say, so Samantha heads to the mall and finds a travel agent.
Unfortunately even the last minute deals can be pricy and as one can imagine the bank is not too lenient when it comes to increasing limits on an ordinary job and bi-weekly salary. Samantha maxes her Visa out for the all inclusive travel plan and one star hotel in Nice.
At 16:00 our time Samantha arrives at the airport with 120 Euros, a travel bag stacked with energy bars, cheese, cereal, a borrowed jacket and a script to sell.
Security at the airport is tight and the length of Samantha’s trip raises suspicion. “You fly to Nice, stay for a day and return? What’s your business, Madam?” Samantha decides there’s no time like show time, pitches the logline and gets her seat secured after a totally unexpected reaction: they inquire, wish her good luck and treat her like she’s famous. Samantha starts to feel like Cannes.
Three flights later, a pulsating headache, airbags under the eyes and flight snacks in the bag, Samantha pulls her luggage down the narrow ally in Nice, trying to find the single starred hotel before the sunset. French for beginners doesn't do the trick, but luckily there’s a fellow that walks Samantha to the hotel and thank her for the opportunity to practice his English.
The hotel with the cold-water shower doesn’t have shampoo included, but Samantha finds a supermarket around the corner with everything from bananas to liquor and lucky for her, shampoo.
The night underneath the window has lots of not so kosher activities going on and sirens of police cars patrolling, can be heard into the early hours of the morning.
Around six Samantha ignores the mirror, puts her high heels in the backpack where the script is and sneaker it towards the crowded train station. Festivalgoers with Cannes-badges, cameras and name brand clothes pay and run to platform 2. After 11 Euros for a return ticket, Samantha runs and catches the train just in time. The next train is only in two hours and will make her totally late for THE meeting.
In Cannes the red carpet gets rolled out in front of the hall where Angelina and Brad are to walk later the day. At first Samantha ends up in the wrong line-up for last minute passes, run to the Palace entrance and gets a dreadful picture on the pass to wear for the rest of the day. Looking at the picture totally unnerves her -- so much for the first impressions, but no time to ponder. Five minutes before meeting the producer, Samantha walks the pebbled pathway between the yachts, the waving flags, tents, and drizzling rain and away from the red carpet.
While waiting Samantha frantically recall what to say when meeting with the producer. Pitch, followed by more movies of that kind, then favorite actor and then closing the deal.
The producer is ten minutes late and Samantha follows him to the deck with umbrellas and wine. After the small talk the producer asks his one and only question: “What’s the budget?” Samantha remembers something about low, medium and high budgets and with a certain amount of confidence she says: “High, very high.” He must be an excellent judge of character. He pushes his luck: “Six figures-like?”
"Two Million I would say?" Samantha sees him gasping for air and assures him she’s talking US not in his currency. For the next five minutes he lectures Samantha, burning to pitch, on budgets and ends his pitch with: ”2 million US or Euros or whatever currency is a very low budget movie”.
Samantha accepts the glass of wine. The producer has another meeting, so he runs off with “It was nice to meet with you”, and leaves her on the deck. The kind waiter puts his hand on Samantha’s shoulder and serves her a sandwich.
For the rest of the day Samantha hangs out in Cannes, hides behind the sunglasses, uses her pass to go to screenings, cheer with the crowd when a celebrity is said to be behind the hundreds of flashing cameras and every now and she sits down to drink a five Euro American coffee. Samantha catches the last train back to her one star hotel in Nice.
Early the next morning she checks out and wanders in the streets of Nice, visits the flower market and sits on the beach. By dusk she counts the last of the Euros for the taxi and can’t wait for the meals in flight.
After deplaning Samantha is recognized by the security guard of three days prior to her leaving the country. He treats her as if I walked on that red carpet surrounded by the Paparazzi.
{Samantha still pays off on her Visa card. Samantha still writes scripts. And Samantha still can’t spell budget, but she’s working on that.}
Unfortunately even the last minute deals can be pricy and as one can imagine the bank is not too lenient when it comes to increasing limits on an ordinary job and bi-weekly salary. Samantha maxes her Visa out for the all inclusive travel plan and one star hotel in Nice.
At 16:00 our time Samantha arrives at the airport with 120 Euros, a travel bag stacked with energy bars, cheese, cereal, a borrowed jacket and a script to sell.
Security at the airport is tight and the length of Samantha’s trip raises suspicion. “You fly to Nice, stay for a day and return? What’s your business, Madam?” Samantha decides there’s no time like show time, pitches the logline and gets her seat secured after a totally unexpected reaction: they inquire, wish her good luck and treat her like she’s famous. Samantha starts to feel like Cannes.
Three flights later, a pulsating headache, airbags under the eyes and flight snacks in the bag, Samantha pulls her luggage down the narrow ally in Nice, trying to find the single starred hotel before the sunset. French for beginners doesn't do the trick, but luckily there’s a fellow that walks Samantha to the hotel and thank her for the opportunity to practice his English.
The hotel with the cold-water shower doesn’t have shampoo included, but Samantha finds a supermarket around the corner with everything from bananas to liquor and lucky for her, shampoo.
The night underneath the window has lots of not so kosher activities going on and sirens of police cars patrolling, can be heard into the early hours of the morning.
Around six Samantha ignores the mirror, puts her high heels in the backpack where the script is and sneaker it towards the crowded train station. Festivalgoers with Cannes-badges, cameras and name brand clothes pay and run to platform 2. After 11 Euros for a return ticket, Samantha runs and catches the train just in time. The next train is only in two hours and will make her totally late for THE meeting.
In Cannes the red carpet gets rolled out in front of the hall where Angelina and Brad are to walk later the day. At first Samantha ends up in the wrong line-up for last minute passes, run to the Palace entrance and gets a dreadful picture on the pass to wear for the rest of the day. Looking at the picture totally unnerves her -- so much for the first impressions, but no time to ponder. Five minutes before meeting the producer, Samantha walks the pebbled pathway between the yachts, the waving flags, tents, and drizzling rain and away from the red carpet.
While waiting Samantha frantically recall what to say when meeting with the producer. Pitch, followed by more movies of that kind, then favorite actor and then closing the deal.
The producer is ten minutes late and Samantha follows him to the deck with umbrellas and wine. After the small talk the producer asks his one and only question: “What’s the budget?” Samantha remembers something about low, medium and high budgets and with a certain amount of confidence she says: “High, very high.” He must be an excellent judge of character. He pushes his luck: “Six figures-like?”
"Two Million I would say?" Samantha sees him gasping for air and assures him she’s talking US not in his currency. For the next five minutes he lectures Samantha, burning to pitch, on budgets and ends his pitch with: ”2 million US or Euros or whatever currency is a very low budget movie”.
Samantha accepts the glass of wine. The producer has another meeting, so he runs off with “It was nice to meet with you”, and leaves her on the deck. The kind waiter puts his hand on Samantha’s shoulder and serves her a sandwich.
For the rest of the day Samantha hangs out in Cannes, hides behind the sunglasses, uses her pass to go to screenings, cheer with the crowd when a celebrity is said to be behind the hundreds of flashing cameras and every now and she sits down to drink a five Euro American coffee. Samantha catches the last train back to her one star hotel in Nice.
Early the next morning she checks out and wanders in the streets of Nice, visits the flower market and sits on the beach. By dusk she counts the last of the Euros for the taxi and can’t wait for the meals in flight.
After deplaning Samantha is recognized by the security guard of three days prior to her leaving the country. He treats her as if I walked on that red carpet surrounded by the Paparazzi.
{Samantha still pays off on her Visa card. Samantha still writes scripts. And Samantha still can’t spell budget, but she’s working on that.}
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