Out With the Old!

My Year of Treading Lightly

This morning, as we lay in bed, Steve reminded me of this old chinese story: 

Good Luck Bad Luck!

There was a farmer who used an old horse to till his fields. One day, the horse escaped into the hills and when the farmer's neighbors sympathized with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, "Was it bad luck?  Maybe."  

A week later, the horse returned with a herd of wild horses from the hills and this time the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck.  The farmer's reply was, "Good luck? Maybe."  

Then, when the farmer's son was attempting to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off the horse and broke his leg. Everyone thought this was very bad luck. The farmers only reaction was, "Bad luck? Maybe."

Some weeks later, the army marched into the village and drafted every able-bodied youth they found there. When the army saw the farmer's son with his broken leg, they let him off. "Good luck?  Maybe."  
It's been one helluva year.  Breaking my right femur on March 6th was certainly some damn bad luck.  It's shaped my entire year, and been a real challenge emotionally and physically.  But there's been some good luck mixed in.  Like the unexpected surprise when Vanderbilt Hospital waived a large portion of my bill last month, after I fretted over it for several.  And although I lost some home buyer-clients in the months while laid up with my broken leg, I just sold a beautiful home that Arita, one of my best friends, gave me the privilege to list, and I'll have some Christmas money.  

I was looking forward to celebrating the home sale yesterday (Thursday) by taking the day off to just lay around and relax.  But then again, did I really deserve it?  After all,  Steve and I just got back Sunday from a nine day trip to Hilton Head, Savannah, and Charleston, where I worked (a little) with Steve critiquing the songs of country songwriters in Georgia.  Some more great luck:  Steve's cousin donated a week's stay in a beautiful condo  and we earned money while we were there!

So, Wednesday evening, while leaving a songwriting workshop, I stepped off the porch of the host's house, landed on an uneven place, and fell all the way to the sidewalk, twisting my ankle and scraping and bending my right knee in half.  The four other songwriters I was leaving with scrambled to pick me up, carried me back inside where I sat awhile with ice on my knee and ankle.  As planned, I spent the whole day Thursday laying around and relaxing.  Today, as bruises and pain have settled in and I can barely walk (again!), I'm relaxing some more!  

I'm just wondering:  Did I really have to fall and re-injure my leg to justify laying around and relaxing?

Bad luck?  Maybe.

Lost AND Found

Last week, I got the opportunity to work as a "Screener"; screening talent here in Nashville at an open call for the reality t.v. show, "The Glee Project."  I was hired by my long-time friend, and one-time boyfriend (from 35 years ago), Robert Ulrich, who is a very successful casting director in Los Angeles, as well as one of the judges on "The Glee Project."  Robert recently won his first emmy for outstanding casting director of the hit show, "Glee!"


When Robert called me about the gig, he also asked me to recommend some other candidates in Nashville who might be experienced enough to be a "Screener" or "Camera Operator", so I made some calls, and rounded up several of my talented friends who also got to be involved.  So, in effect, I was a location Casting Director!

The Nashville Casting Crew, with Robert

Robert Ulrich and I both grew up in the Central Valley, California--He in Modesto, me in Ceres.  I was 17 years old when I got involved with the Modesto Youth Theatre after seeing Robert, my sister Beverly, and my friend Brian in an amazing production of the musical, "On The Town."  The Modesto Youth Theatre was an excellent training ground for many talented kids, and for so many of us, it was a huge life-shaping experience.  It was the Modesto Youth Theatre that solidified my desire to become a professional dancer and actress.


So, it was Old Home Week in Nashville.  Brian, (who came out to Nashville to help me with my broken femur in April and is still here) and Margaret Rose, (also from Youth Theatre days) who drove up from Orlando, and I, all met with Robert over dinner last Tuesday night and spent hours talking shop about "The Glee Project."


On Wednesday, November 9th, we gathered bright and early at the convention center, where young people were lined up around the block, ready to try out for their big break in show business.  It was such a thrill to be auditioning talented, up- and-coming singer/dancer/actors and to be surrounded by video cameras, because they were shooting a documentary of the entire process.   I felt right at home in the environment.  I was invigorated and joyous.  The gig only lasted two days, for 12 hours each day.  Long hours that flew by.  We closed out our reunion with Robert at a final dinner where we again talked for hours about the auditions.


The day after the job was over, I noticed I waffled between elation and depression.  I was elated to be a part of the entertainment world again, and depressed that I was no longer living that life.  Watching those young singers pour their hearts out made me realize how much I loved performing, and how I'd lost sight of that fact.  Somehow 13 years have gone by since I moved to Nashville, and 5 years have passed since I last performed here in local theatre.  I've been buried in my "real job."  I realize this was a choice.  I had given L.A. 17 years of my soul, and  left there with the decision that if I couldn't be a "player" then I didn't want to be there anymore.  As far as the last five years, I don't know where they went!  Now, I long to be back in the limelight.  I'm sure I  could play a parent on "Glee," or a teacher, or a janitor?!  Or perhaps a cameo as one of the former stars of the 20-Minute Work-Out, complete with my post-broken-femur limp.   "Hey, Mr. Ulrich, Here I Am!  I'm the Greatest Star, I am by Far, But No One Knows It!" 

All in a Day's Walk

Although my right femur is no longer broken and I'm walking as well as one can expect at seven months, I'm still "expressly forbidden" by my spousal equivalent Steve, to walk our three dogs without any help.  He doesn't want me to fall again!  Maneuvering the three dogs on their leashes is no easy task since two of them weigh 90 pounds, and the third one becomes a ferocious little bitch when she sees other female dogs walk by.  But I have no choice when Steve and our live-in friend, Brian, are both unavailable, and the dogs are begging to go to the park! 


So, this morning as soon as Steve left for work and while Brian slept, I braved it (as I've done many times).  I risked being pulled, tripping, falling, and getting tangled up in the leashes because I love my dogs and they love going for walks.  


When we got to the park, I saw my neighbor, Mr. Johnson, an elderly man, walking by himself.  I'd never seen him beyond his front yard, so I asked, "what are you doing out here?"  He surprised me when he said he was stiff and needed some exercise.  (I couldn't help thinking that  he ought to give his dog some exercise!)  


My history with Mr. Johnson goes back several years.  I've watched him acquire puppies since 2003, plant them in his yard on a short chain where he leaves them to rot while they live out their short lives. I plotted a few years ago to steal a sweet pitbull puppy he had named Bouncer, but Bouncer was one of the lucky ones.  He broke free from his chain.  Most of the dogs I've seen in Mr. Johnson's yard simply die young.  I've called Metro Animal Control over the years but it never helped.


As he usually does whenever he sees my dogs, Mr. Johnson said, "oh, those dogs, they is honeys"  "Oh yeah, they's honeys."  I said, "Yes, they are!"  Then he said, "We lost our big dog."  (This didn't really surprise me, since I had recently noticed a new little dog chained up in his front yard.)  "Oh?"  I asked.  "Yeah,...she died,"  he said.  "the heat got her."  I felt my rage rise up through my cheeks as I got sick to my stomach.  I had seen that beautiful, sweet and friendly rottweiler chained up outside in the hot sun all summer.


I asked Mr. Johnson how old the dog was.  He said, "I don't know, she was my daughter's dog."  "Maybe, 10?"  Incredulous, I said, "I think she was only about one, wasn't she?"  Then he said, "Well, we all gonna go sometime."  And I said with a disgusted smirk, "Well, I'd rather it be later than sooner.


Trying to impart a little wisdom upon his ignorant, deaf ears, I said, "It was a hot summer.  That's why I keep my dogs in the house all summer.  It's too hot to leave dogs outside.  Is your daughter going to keep the little dog in the house?"  He shrugged, then said with his shit-eating grin, "I don't know."  I wanted to scream:  "YOU AND YOUR FAMILY NEED TO STOP GETTING DOGS!"  Instead, I held my breath, smiled politely, and somberly walked my dogs home. 


I was still upset as I ran the water for my shower.  When I started to get in, I noticed a huge grasshopper struggling to hop up the side of my tub, trying to escape the water, fighting for survival.  For an instant, I thought of killing the grasshopper.  Instead, I ran and got a couple of paper cups and helped him out of the tub.  I covered one cup with the other until I got him outside and released him on the front porch.  I wondered if the grasshopper felt afraid while he was inside the cup.  I thought of how I had his life in my hands.  Then I thought of Mr. Johnson and his innocent rottweiler, and how that poor helpless dog didn't stand a chance in this world.


I went and lay on the couch with my dog Spike, buried my face in her fur, and cried.

Old News

"I broke my femur," is old news.  


I had my six month check-up on September 9th.  When the orthopedic surgeon came into the exam room, I was missing.  I had gone to the bathroom, and was returning down the hall, when he came out of the room looking for his patient.  When he saw me, it was apparent that he didn't recognize me.  He stared, and then said, "If I didn't have this chart to refer to, I wouldn't know which leg I operated on!  You are walking really well!"  (And I paid $400 for this appointment??)


I told the doctor that I was still having persistent pain when bending my knee and walking down stairs.  I mentioned that he had told me previously that I'd be back to normal at six months-walking normally, doing all of my normal activities, even dancing.  "Did I say that?"  He chuckled.  Then he said with a grin, "You'll never be back to normal."  


What????


I sat there, aghast.  I  think he was making a light hearted joke, but I didn't appreciate it.  He went on to say that I was always going to be aware of my injury.  I told him my hip hurt when I walked.  He said, "well maybe you have some arthritis, I haven't checked your hip."  WHAT???  I said, "don't tell me that!  I haven't had any hip problems prior to this accident, I think it's related to my injury."  He said, "maybe."  MAYBE??


The irony is that I had almost cancelled this appointment.  I knew it was going to be expensive (they take $300 worth of 
x-rays every time I go in), I already owe over $30,000, and I figured I wouldn't learn anything new.  The doctor would just say I was healing well.


What a surprise to learn that I would "never be back to normal."  


Note to self:  a)  Doctors don't know everything.  b)  Who wants to be normal, anyway?