This morning I woke up and the very first thought that popped into my head was that "all things seem possible." Amen.
God Bless,
Robyn
Thursday, December 25, 2014
All Things Seem Possible
This has been a dear, sweet Christmas I will cherish forever. I miss my Mama and my dear, love Aunt Joyce so much. They made my childhood Christmases growing up so very special and I cherish them. But I am thankful to be cozy at Jon's home with his beloved family! I am blessed to have him and his family in my life.
Monday, December 22, 2014
Merry Christmas
We wish you all a very Merry Christmas and Happy, Healthy New Year! Signing off for a few days - attempting to disconnect a little - and take time to reflect on the past year. The many blessings we have been given, the incredible, dear people who have stayed by our side through difficult times, and the miracle of life and love. Sending our blessings and love to friends and family all over the world!
Love,
Jon, Robyn, & Harper
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Feeling Feelings Late at Night
I have had an incredible Sunday, Monday and most of Tuesday this week. I realized after my last blog post how great I felt. I was so relieved to get some of those thoughts and feelings out by writing. It didn't even matter how many people read it, although many did. Thank you. But, it just felt so good to have those words pour out of me. To have a place for them. I have been really happy since. Lighter. Laughing more. Actually relaxing. The C word stayed away from my brain for hours on end. Until tonight. We were just sitting on the couch watching TV after dinner. Jon was falling asleep. My brain turned on and began churning all those dreaded thoughts about cancer, treatments, what ifs, oh no's, etc. That's how it works, my friends. It sneaks up on you. Jon went to bed and I stayed up. I'm restless and I hate it when the world comes into sharp focus late at night. Now I'm searching the internet for...I don't even know what. Comfort? Answers? Compassion? Companionship? It's funny how a search engine can transport you from one thing to another. I thought maybe writing a post would again make me feel better. So, here I am. With no certain intent. I thought I'd share what I came upon in my searching...
A Short Film: I love Marcel the Shell
Another Blog: My Husband's Tumor
A Short Film: I love Marcel the Shell
Another Blog: My Husband's Tumor
Nora and Aaron Purmort and their baby Ralphie. I recently found her blog. Aaron passed on from a brain tumor this month. Another young couple, both artists, facing cancer. Nora is a beautiful writer. I feel her pain and sorrow. I wish I could give her a hug. No, this probably isn't the healthiest thing for me to be reading. Especially at midnight. But I love them. And I don't even know them. I love how she stresses that theirs is a big love story with a little bit of cancer. They never let cancer consume or define them. She loves him. Cancer nor death can tarnish that love. Even after multiple treatments and chemotherapies, they chose to try for a baby and were successful. She writes about how not just any love can handle the stress of cancer and I relate to it so much and it makes me feel better. I love her will to keep on keeping on. In his obituary, which he wrote, Aaron revealed his true identity: Spiderman. Perhaps you heard about it. Read more about them here: http://myhusbandstumor.com
Music: Interpol - Evil
TV: Really Good Stories
Granny Zola called daytime soap operas her stories. We just started watching two really great stories and I'm excited to see them unfold. True Detectives is highly acclaimed and we're a little late hopping on the bandwagon. McConaughey's character is both mysterious and vulnerable. It's a good murder mystery that seems to move fast. This fall Jon introduced me to Twin Peaks for the first time and I loved it, so TD reminds me of that. We also began watching Transparent. The pilot may be the best I've ever seen. Watching it, I feel both love and hate, enjoying it so much but also wishing I were the creator. All the characters are really lost and messed up, which makes me like it even more. I can relate. I don't know about you, but I love a good television show. In my next quarter at SCAD, I may get the opportunity to pitch a TV show to some studio execs. I'm really excited about this. I have two that I'd love to create. Jon and I have written a pilot inspired by our college years and growing up/falling in love in art school. And I have written a sitcom pilot inspired by my time working at a veterinarian's office. I think it's really funny. So, we'll see what happens...
Movies: Tis the Season...for an Oscar Race
We've seen many good films recently. Birdman, The Better Angels, Top 5, The Homesman, and more. Here are two that I'm really looking forward to. Wild because I read the book, it broke my heart, and made me roar. If you are not familiar with Cheryl Strayed's story, take some time to look her up. She is bold. And the trailer for Selma is one of the best I have ever seen. The music choice is strong and makes me want to stand up. The topic, taken from a moment in history, is especially relevant today. And the director is an African American female. This is rare in Hollywood and in the film biz in general. I'm also following the Sony hacking because I find it all very amusing. Anyone else?
Nirvana
Jon went to bed early tonight because he literally stayed up all night last night working on his movie. I had a terrible nights sleep without him by my side. But I understand and love it when he stays up working. I wake up often and tip toe into the hallway to spy on my little night owl editing away. You already know this, but I love him so much!
Favorite Book I want to re-read soon: Wuthering Heights
Memories
We had the best group of friends in college. I won't tell you too much because we're going to write a TV show all about it. But to sum it up, Jon and I fell in love with each other and became best friends amongst a slightly larger group of friends who were simply the best. We all grew very close as we spent our weekends making movies and hanging out. We even moved into the same dorm building, with the girls living in one dorm and the guys in another. It felt so cool to say things like, "What are the guys up to?" or "Let's go see the guys." They lived one floor above us. Our group of friends in college was like the group of friends you see on TV, in shows like Friends or Dawson's Creek, and you think, "I want that!" I'm so glad we had it. I can close my eyes and time travel back to these days and smile from ear to ear. Here's a photo of our little gang. I love them all so much. If we had a mega DVD box set of our series, this photo would be on the cover:
Wow. This photo was uploaded to Facebook on December 18, 2006. Eight years to the date, tomorrow. I cringed as I typed that. Time goes by too fast. Good thing I have the ability to time travel. I love these people so much, have I already said that? Natalie (I think you can figure out which one she is) is one of the best souls I have ever met. We reconnected a few years after college and have stayed in touch. She definitely stepped up when Jon was diagnosed. She was one of a handful of friends who stood by me during that really difficult period. Our relationship may be long distance, but I always know I can count on her. She and Andy (the red head to her left who is also a genius and was featured on the Rosie O'Donnell talk show at a young age) are now married and they came to visit us soon after Jon was diagnosed. I remember her saying over the phone, "If it's cancer, we're coming." How amazing of her??? I cry thinking about it. She is a super talented editor who will soon own Hollywood and make right all the wrongs done by Sony.
The bright smile in the red vest is Doug. Doug introduced me and Jon and I am forever in his debt. My father's first wife (and mother of my half-sister) knew her Pastor's son attended SCAD. Ha! It sounds like a farce. My father's ex-wife's pastor's son's best friend's uncle's great grandmother, etc! Doug and I met in Sylvester, GA at the Bistro (remember the Bistro?) and he agreed to check in on me at school. He did drop by. Unexpected. A knock on my door, just a few days after I moved to Savannah. I was in my pajamas, hair a mess, retainer in place. I held a box of tissues in my hand because I got into the habit of crying myself to sleep. I was very close to calling it quits and going back home. But then I opened the door to find that ever so handsome man you see in the photo wearing the blue beanie cap, glasses and grey sweater. #Dreamy. When I think of the crazy web that was spun for us to meet each other, I stand back amazed. In awe of how this world can work miracles.
I guess that's enough rambling for now. I'm still wide awake, but I think I'll make some tea and watch an episode of Gilmore Girls.
Goodnight.
Love,
Robyn
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Baby in the Corner
In 1987, the world gave you me and Dirty Dancing.
You're welcome.
I have seen Dirty Dancing maybe one million times. Seriously. One of my first conscious memories ever was of watching Patrick Swayze gyrating on our gigantic box-shaped television screen in the living room of our tiny double wide trailer in the middle of a peanut field. I'm pretty sure it was before I could talk. You see, my mother loved Patrick Swayze. Every woman in the late eighties loved Patrick Swayze, but I'm pretty sure my mother thought she was going to find him and marry him. I remember watching DD with my teenage niece April who would spend the weekend with us, possibly just to watch DD in rotation, because that's how we rolled at our house! Dirty Dancing. 24/7. (Yes, she was my niece because I was born an Aunt and am now a Great-Aunt, it's a long story for another blog!)
My mother never really censored me - and I'm grateful for this although I don't believe all children should grow up like this. It worked for us. Her idea of censoring me was asking me to go to the kitchen during the hot pottery scene in Ghost, where I preceded to watch from the hidden corner. When it was over, I was allowed to come back in and we'd watch together, you know, like every mother and four year old do. These were special times.
When Johnny says "Nobody puts Baby in a corner," I knew at that young age that I wanted a love like that. A man who would defy expectations and the father's law for the woman he loved. I would force my cousins to catch me in the air and spin me around, my arms open elegantly. Just like Baby, I could fly! From Dirty Dancing, I learned how to cha cha cha, that this is my dance space and that is yours, to never look down, and how to call my lover boy, (a scene I would recreate alone in my bedroom up until I was much too old to discuss). As I've gotten older, the allure of Dirty Dancing has never lost its touch. I can still watch it on repeat.
I always wanted that kind of passionate love shared by Johnny and Baby. Jon and I don't take to too many staged camp recitals these days, but we dance often in our apartment. Please do not let his shy demeanor fool you, he has moves and is quite a dancer! What I never thought I'd want is to get married and have a baby. After sitting through numerous therapy sessions, I think all along I yearned to get married and have the traditional American family. Mother, Father, One Girl, One Boy. Baby was in the corner, but I tried to fool myself out of this growing up. I wasn't raised in a traditional family, but by a single mother. I rejoiced in school when teachers reminded us that families came in all different shapes and sizes. For a long time, I convinced myself that no one really had a "father" because God the Heavenly Father was actually our true father and the dads on the playground were actually stand ins. Does this make any sense? I was a weird kid. I blame it on HBO.
Anyway, the idea of having a baby never crossed my mind. I didn't play with baby dolls or barbies. Obviously, I was too busy watching DD, but I remember my Aunt Joyce snickering that I'd change my mind. I'd shout "ew" and run off to memorize my index of dog breeds - we've already established I was weird! The idea of being a mother was not appealing. That is, until I went to Hibachi with my high school boyfriend. I was innocently sitting there, minding my own business, waiting for the onion volcano, when a five year old stranger sat next to me. The catch was that she kind of looked like me. She had dark brown eyes and bangs. We started talking about The Little Mermaid. I imagined that the three of us were a family. That was the moment I was bitten by the bug and Baby was officially out of the corner of my mind.
When I met Jon, I knew immediately that I wanted to have his child. He was this special creature and I spent hours thinking about what he was like as a baby and how I wanted one. Y'all, women are creepy! A friend told me recently that she was around my age when her ovaries began aching when she caught sight of a child. I get it. Women who are meant to be mothers, and not all women are, but those who are begin feeling this yearning. I think about it. I dream about it. I roll my eyes at all the cutesy baby photos on facebook, pretend to vomit, and then secretly cry on the inside because I want one. It is crazy to think my best friend for life has two and countless others whom I graduated with also have multiples!
With all that is our life, we don't know that we can have children. If cancer wasn't a part of our life, we certainly wouldn't think about it happening for another good five years. But since that is not our life, I worry that we may miss our chance or may have already missed our chance. I know I'm certifiable when I sit around wishing I had accidentally gotten pregnant at 18 when we first met and equally crazy when I try to convince myself having a dog is the same thing. Please don't tell my Harper Grace, but I know deep down it's not. I'm not afraid of adoption, but I would like to at least try for our own. A doctor told me not to give up on the idea, so that provided a great big bright light of hope. Our future is so uncertain. Sometimes I think I'm crazy for wanting to bring a child into this. But then I think of all the love my mother gave me and how I want to pass that down. I think about how I want to watch Dirty Dancing with a toddler and share in that special moment. I think about what it would feel like to have a baby growing inside me. I do not think about child birth because that just looks terrible, but I think about the moment right after when you hold them for the first time. I think about what the fusion of me and Jon would look like in the flesh. How it would be a beautiful representation of our love and all that we mean to each other. How it would certainly wear glasses and be ticklish and creative in some way. How it would be the smartest, cutest, bestest baby that ever lived and nobody better tell me otherwise. And how I would get angry like my mama did if that baby ever got their feelings hurt. How I would try to refrain from pulling out the shotgun and screaming "Nobody puts my Baby in the corner," but I make no guarantees, because after all, I love that baby more than life itself and - I am my mother's daughter.
So, who knows? Who knows what's to become of us? I do feel that I am a mother inside and I will put my faith in God, or strive to do so, and allow that to come out in the way it is meant to. Here's a little poem I wrote about these feelings:
Fly from this earth like a bird to the stars
To the moon, past the sun, why even to mars!
Limits are set for us each to break down
And for a child as bright as you those dreams will abound.
My baby, I pray each night to my God
That we'll be blessed with your spirit as you ripen my bod.
For a father, you couldn't ask for one sweeter or kinder
And a devoted mother in me, I promise you'll find her.
A mama and papa to watch as you grow
A blessing you'd be, Oh! what love you would know.
Love,
Robyn
You're welcome.
I have seen Dirty Dancing maybe one million times. Seriously. One of my first conscious memories ever was of watching Patrick Swayze gyrating on our gigantic box-shaped television screen in the living room of our tiny double wide trailer in the middle of a peanut field. I'm pretty sure it was before I could talk. You see, my mother loved Patrick Swayze. Every woman in the late eighties loved Patrick Swayze, but I'm pretty sure my mother thought she was going to find him and marry him. I remember watching DD with my teenage niece April who would spend the weekend with us, possibly just to watch DD in rotation, because that's how we rolled at our house! Dirty Dancing. 24/7. (Yes, she was my niece because I was born an Aunt and am now a Great-Aunt, it's a long story for another blog!)
My mother never really censored me - and I'm grateful for this although I don't believe all children should grow up like this. It worked for us. Her idea of censoring me was asking me to go to the kitchen during the hot pottery scene in Ghost, where I preceded to watch from the hidden corner. When it was over, I was allowed to come back in and we'd watch together, you know, like every mother and four year old do. These were special times.
When Johnny says "Nobody puts Baby in a corner," I knew at that young age that I wanted a love like that. A man who would defy expectations and the father's law for the woman he loved. I would force my cousins to catch me in the air and spin me around, my arms open elegantly. Just like Baby, I could fly! From Dirty Dancing, I learned how to cha cha cha, that this is my dance space and that is yours, to never look down, and how to call my lover boy, (a scene I would recreate alone in my bedroom up until I was much too old to discuss). As I've gotten older, the allure of Dirty Dancing has never lost its touch. I can still watch it on repeat.
I always wanted that kind of passionate love shared by Johnny and Baby. Jon and I don't take to too many staged camp recitals these days, but we dance often in our apartment. Please do not let his shy demeanor fool you, he has moves and is quite a dancer! What I never thought I'd want is to get married and have a baby. After sitting through numerous therapy sessions, I think all along I yearned to get married and have the traditional American family. Mother, Father, One Girl, One Boy. Baby was in the corner, but I tried to fool myself out of this growing up. I wasn't raised in a traditional family, but by a single mother. I rejoiced in school when teachers reminded us that families came in all different shapes and sizes. For a long time, I convinced myself that no one really had a "father" because God the Heavenly Father was actually our true father and the dads on the playground were actually stand ins. Does this make any sense? I was a weird kid. I blame it on HBO.
Anyway, the idea of having a baby never crossed my mind. I didn't play with baby dolls or barbies. Obviously, I was too busy watching DD, but I remember my Aunt Joyce snickering that I'd change my mind. I'd shout "ew" and run off to memorize my index of dog breeds - we've already established I was weird! The idea of being a mother was not appealing. That is, until I went to Hibachi with my high school boyfriend. I was innocently sitting there, minding my own business, waiting for the onion volcano, when a five year old stranger sat next to me. The catch was that she kind of looked like me. She had dark brown eyes and bangs. We started talking about The Little Mermaid. I imagined that the three of us were a family. That was the moment I was bitten by the bug and Baby was officially out of the corner of my mind.
When I met Jon, I knew immediately that I wanted to have his child. He was this special creature and I spent hours thinking about what he was like as a baby and how I wanted one. Y'all, women are creepy! A friend told me recently that she was around my age when her ovaries began aching when she caught sight of a child. I get it. Women who are meant to be mothers, and not all women are, but those who are begin feeling this yearning. I think about it. I dream about it. I roll my eyes at all the cutesy baby photos on facebook, pretend to vomit, and then secretly cry on the inside because I want one. It is crazy to think my best friend for life has two and countless others whom I graduated with also have multiples!
With all that is our life, we don't know that we can have children. If cancer wasn't a part of our life, we certainly wouldn't think about it happening for another good five years. But since that is not our life, I worry that we may miss our chance or may have already missed our chance. I know I'm certifiable when I sit around wishing I had accidentally gotten pregnant at 18 when we first met and equally crazy when I try to convince myself having a dog is the same thing. Please don't tell my Harper Grace, but I know deep down it's not. I'm not afraid of adoption, but I would like to at least try for our own. A doctor told me not to give up on the idea, so that provided a great big bright light of hope. Our future is so uncertain. Sometimes I think I'm crazy for wanting to bring a child into this. But then I think of all the love my mother gave me and how I want to pass that down. I think about how I want to watch Dirty Dancing with a toddler and share in that special moment. I think about what it would feel like to have a baby growing inside me. I do not think about child birth because that just looks terrible, but I think about the moment right after when you hold them for the first time. I think about what the fusion of me and Jon would look like in the flesh. How it would be a beautiful representation of our love and all that we mean to each other. How it would certainly wear glasses and be ticklish and creative in some way. How it would be the smartest, cutest, bestest baby that ever lived and nobody better tell me otherwise. And how I would get angry like my mama did if that baby ever got their feelings hurt. How I would try to refrain from pulling out the shotgun and screaming "Nobody puts my Baby in the corner," but I make no guarantees, because after all, I love that baby more than life itself and - I am my mother's daughter.
So, who knows? Who knows what's to become of us? I do feel that I am a mother inside and I will put my faith in God, or strive to do so, and allow that to come out in the way it is meant to. Here's a little poem I wrote about these feelings:
_____________________________________
Fly from this earth like a bird to the stars
To the moon, past the sun, why even to mars!
Limits are set for us each to break down
And for a child as bright as you those dreams will abound.
My baby, I pray each night to my God
That we'll be blessed with your spirit as you ripen my bod.
For a father, you couldn't ask for one sweeter or kinder
And a devoted mother in me, I promise you'll find her.
A mama and papa to watch as you grow
A blessing you'd be, Oh! what love you would know.
Love,
Robyn
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Strange Magic
Heavily, her steps grinded on the black pavement beneath her feet. She hurried along at night on a strange sidewalk of a busy city as bright headlights blinded the path. She was approximately twenty seconds away from the fight that occurred inside the parked car in a crowded lot. The frustration of finding a place to park after a long, strenuous day of doctor appointments and waiting had gotten to the both of them. They desperately wanted to retreat to their tiny apartment outside the city, far away from the chaos of buzzing life. There, they could be alone. Quiet. There, they could hide in the secret little life they had created together. Time moved slower in that apartment and they yearned to be back there. However, an obligation had led to their attendance of a hip event hosted by two dear friends. Young friends, their age, but without the worries of cancer that had shrouded our young couple for more than a year and was now a part of their life. They wanted to go inside and feel like normal twenty somethings, drink a beer or too, laugh frivolously, talk too seriously about their current creative endeavors, pretend to know more than they actually did about life, love, politics, art. But at this point, they knew more than they wanted to know about life and the shit that comes with it. That immature feeling was an impossibility.
Her steps pounded on the wet concrete and a light drizzle of raindrops began to fall. She could now see the street corner. Moments ago, he had admitted something so heartbreaking to her she could barely stand the thought. "I don't want to be me anymore." he said. Her response? Speechless. Silence. She knew what he meant. He didn't want cancer lurking inside his body. She was sure the thought of being someone else was liberating, but the thought of him not being himself tore her open. In truth, it was her greatest fear. She needed him, like oxygen. But feeling the exhaustion and annoyances of the day, she could not admit this fact. She just looked at him and gave an pathetic whimper. He got out of the car and walked toward the theatre. With the slam of the door, her eyes followed him until he was gone.
She didn't cross the street to follow him. She remained on her side and for a long distance, they walked in step. Torn apart, but still in sync, remaining the same. Traffic raced by and she thought of running into it to get to him. But did he want her? She turned and walked on with red lipstick, meant to conceal her nakedness, bleeding down her mouth and torn stockings unraveling with each step. As she approached the corner, she turned back and looked across the street again. He was gone. Vanished. She thought about the night they met and the dirty streets of Savannah they walked into the morning hours filled with the presence of young love. Now, with time and the messiness of life interfering between them, she was alone and afraid. What if they had remained strangers?
She turned and carried on her slow march to the corner. Perhaps she'd just keep walking into the night. A car slowed down next to her and blasted Electric Light Orchestra's "Strange Magic."
You're sailing softly through the sun
in a broken stone age dawn.
You fly so high.
I get a strange magic,
oh, what a strange magic,
Her steps pounded on the wet concrete and a light drizzle of raindrops began to fall. She could now see the street corner. Moments ago, he had admitted something so heartbreaking to her she could barely stand the thought. "I don't want to be me anymore." he said. Her response? Speechless. Silence. She knew what he meant. He didn't want cancer lurking inside his body. She was sure the thought of being someone else was liberating, but the thought of him not being himself tore her open. In truth, it was her greatest fear. She needed him, like oxygen. But feeling the exhaustion and annoyances of the day, she could not admit this fact. She just looked at him and gave an pathetic whimper. He got out of the car and walked toward the theatre. With the slam of the door, her eyes followed him until he was gone.
She didn't cross the street to follow him. She remained on her side and for a long distance, they walked in step. Torn apart, but still in sync, remaining the same. Traffic raced by and she thought of running into it to get to him. But did he want her? She turned and walked on with red lipstick, meant to conceal her nakedness, bleeding down her mouth and torn stockings unraveling with each step. As she approached the corner, she turned back and looked across the street again. He was gone. Vanished. She thought about the night they met and the dirty streets of Savannah they walked into the morning hours filled with the presence of young love. Now, with time and the messiness of life interfering between them, she was alone and afraid. What if they had remained strangers?
She turned and carried on her slow march to the corner. Perhaps she'd just keep walking into the night. A car slowed down next to her and blasted Electric Light Orchestra's "Strange Magic."
You're sailing softly through the sun
in a broken stone age dawn.
You fly so high.
I get a strange magic,
oh, what a strange magic,
Once again she looked back, but this time he had appeared. Once again, he was waiting for her across the street. His shoulders were not crumpled low and deep into his chest. He stood there, proud and confident, cancer and all. His head was up and his arms were slightly open toward her. She departed her path to the street crossing and weaved in between honking cars and bicycles to reach him on the other side. In a flash, the foreign universe that was treating her without compassion had turned it's cruel eye and welcomed her once again with an optimistic hopefulness. Even the disheveled homeless man on the corner flashed her a friendly smile and waved to her, shouting something in her direction that she couldn't quite understand. When she greeted her love, they both realized he was asking if either one of them had a cigarette. Really? A cigarette? Although she wanted to gesture a profanity and write this off as another ironic, cruel joke made by the universe, she turned to her love and they both burst into laughter.
You're walking meadows in my mind,
making waves across my time,
oh no, oh no.
I get a strange magic,
oh, what a strange magic,
making waves across my time,
oh no, oh no.
I get a strange magic,
oh, what a strange magic,
Hand in hand, they reached the theatre. Underneath the burning lights of the marquee, he pulled her in close to him, gently wiped the smudge of mascara, and smiled with his eyes. She knew that no matter what happened to them in the future, they were never meant to be strangers, and she leaned in to his hard, deep kiss, allowing herself for one moment to float above the ground.
______________________________________
Yesterday was a stressful appointment where we received results from Jon's latest CT scan. The wait was excruciating and painful, as always. My heart throbbed and Jon became very insular. I'm struggling with my beliefs in life, death, and God, but I swear to you, I felt angels in that room with us. Maybe I'm just becoming delusional and desperate, but I saw Jon's grandparents holding him as he sat on the exam table. One on each side, draped over him with their heads on his shoulders. Smiling assuringly to me and comforting him in a way I could not reach out and do. Our doctor is very kind. He told us that the scan was "relatively stable" and he was optimistic about the results. He said there is nothing to be done right now, but we are watching a few spots that have slightly grown. This could indicate resistance to the current medication and in the new year, we may be looking at switching treatments. Although, we would love to keep on this track, we knew this time would come eventually and we are pleased with the current options available to us. Our doctor is consulting with his colleagues across the nation about available clinical trials in preparation for when that time comes. The transition will obviously be a strain on us financially and could conflict with my going back to school, but we are game for changes and will keep fighting hard and living harder. I am thankful to God and current medical advancements because there are options with the possibility of more and better options in the not so distant future. For now, we are casting our worries away and leaning in to each other as we celebrate this special time of year with gratitude.
Oh, I'm never gonna be the same again,
now I've seen the way it's got to end,
sweet dream, sweet dream.
Strange magic,
oh, what a strange magic,
oh, it's a strange magic.
Got a strange magic,
got a strange magic.
It's magic, it's magic, it's magic.
now I've seen the way it's got to end,
sweet dream, sweet dream.
Strange magic,
oh, what a strange magic,
oh, it's a strange magic.
Got a strange magic,
got a strange magic.
It's magic, it's magic, it's magic.
Love,
Robyn
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Why do I write?
Why now do I find I'm capable of putting pen to paper to stroke? Was it simply your gift to me? Was it something given to me by you so deep I could never find words to complete. If I ask the question a thousand times and if my writing could cure you of all pain, I'd write and write and write and write 'til decaying fingers turned green then black then fell off into the dark of the night. Then, I'd learn to write with my left hand and then toes, and though crooked and scraggly the lines formed would align, I'd write until I could write no more, but I'd find a way around again because the answer to my rhyme, my riddle is you. You are why I write. Why I live.
Love,
Robyn
Friday, December 5, 2014
The Places You Will Go
This week was filled with ups and downs, but we are celebrating with a fun, relaxing weekend before an even more stressful Monday when a follow-up appointment presents itself. Jon is feeling well and our little home is all decorated for Christmas, making us feel all warm and cozy!
Earlier in the week, I found out that a dear friend passed away last weekend in a car accident. She was young, beautiful, smart, and talented. We met in NYC in an acting program. While there, I made so many deep friendships that will last forever. We used to always talk about how I would visit her in her native Australia. I'm so sad because that trip will never come to be. It got me thinking about all the places Jon and I talk about going. Life is so short and we never know what lies ahead, but it's important to always keep dreaming. I'm going to do my best this weekend to come to peace with the sorrowful passing of my dear friend, the frustrations and anxiety of awaiting test results, and place my mind with happy thoughts of someday vacations to these wonderful places at the top of our list!
1. Austin
Earlier in the week, I found out that a dear friend passed away last weekend in a car accident. She was young, beautiful, smart, and talented. We met in NYC in an acting program. While there, I made so many deep friendships that will last forever. We used to always talk about how I would visit her in her native Australia. I'm so sad because that trip will never come to be. It got me thinking about all the places Jon and I talk about going. Life is so short and we never know what lies ahead, but it's important to always keep dreaming. I'm going to do my best this weekend to come to peace with the sorrowful passing of my dear friend, the frustrations and anxiety of awaiting test results, and place my mind with happy thoughts of someday vacations to these wonderful places at the top of our list!
1. Austin
Austin is Jon's number one destination...to visit and maybe even one day to live! We discuss it often. There are many stops on our list, but the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema is at the top!
2. Newfoundland
3. Los Angeles
I was there once for less than 24 hours and can't wait to go back with Jon! We want to visit friends + do a few of the studio movie tours!
4. Paris
Visiting the streets of Paris would be an absolute dream come true!
5. New Orleans
Have a great weekend,
Robyn
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Yonder
Many, many thoughts are stirring in my brain and on my heart this Sunday morning. I thought I might sit down and write them out - share them or simply lift them slightly off my shoulders. It's Sunday and you won't find me in a church. Part of me hates this, but another part feels liberated. Growing up, I attended church with my aunt and uncle. I found a church home for a short period of time when I moved back home after college. It was a country church, filled with wonderful, kind people and I really enjoyed it. But I feel like I primarily attended it because it was my father's church and I felt closer to him there. After all, the last time I saw him was there, in that sanctuary, lying in his coffin. Reading this back, I realize how morose I must come off, I always have identified greatly with the macabre. I apologize and promise this blog does get slightly more cheerful!
Jon and I haven't been too proactive in finding a church home close to Serenbe. We have a close group of friends who we pray with and I always know the Interfaith group will welcome me. I really enjoyed attending that until one time, the topic was something I fear the most - death. I'll admit, it scared me off. The group is filled with people from many walks of faith and their views on death vary greatly. Part of me wants a cookie-cutter "this is for certain what happens and there is no other answer" heaven and hell answer, but the other part of me is okay with just not knowing exactly what happens - although I do believe we evolve in some way. The latter can actually be freeing for me, especially during hard times when I suffer the most. When it all boils down to it, I think of myself as a spiritual being. I believe in God, but I'm not a strict Baptist Christian. The reason for that is because I've felt shunned at times while listening to a Baptist preacher condemn alcoholics, homosexuals, the lost, the damned, or the mad. I can't do that. My heart is just so full and tender. I know I'm a sinner, we all are, so I cannot judge. Much to my family's possible disapproval, I have identified greatly with Buddhist teachings and my favorite conversations about faith involves Jon speaking of the stars and the moon and creation and the beauty of life in nature. He can speak of it so abstractly, yet it feels so real. His faith is simple. Mine - at this point in my life - is complicated and I'm not afraid to admit I don't have it all figured out.
Speaking of faith, Jon and I saw a beautiful movie Thanksgiving night. As many families were winding down their festivities and the crescent moon peaked out from behind the trees, Jon and I hopped in the car to catch the last screening of the film The Better Angels in Midtown Atlanta. We were the only ones in attendance, but I think we gave it a delicate farewell. The narrative presents the life of young Abe Lincoln in a loose, I'll say vulnerable, structure. By no surprise, it is produced by Terrance Malick and moments ring true to his personal aesthetic. However, the filmmaker, A.J. Edwards, brings forth his own unique characteristics. In his debut feature, he beautifully melds swooping camera movements (in and out of trees, through meadows) with subtle, still, steady shots (wind in the trees as a gateway to heaven, water running down a stream) that will leave you breathless. The film is narrated by the older version of Abe's cousin, Dennis Hanks, who moved in with Abe's family when his own passed away. Presented in black and white, the film is a poetic meditation on the hardships and struggles faced in the 1800s by our ancestors. The audience witnesses a young Abe as he is crafted and shaped into the great leader he will one day become. The film attributes this transformation to two angels in his life.
Jon and I haven't been too proactive in finding a church home close to Serenbe. We have a close group of friends who we pray with and I always know the Interfaith group will welcome me. I really enjoyed attending that until one time, the topic was something I fear the most - death. I'll admit, it scared me off. The group is filled with people from many walks of faith and their views on death vary greatly. Part of me wants a cookie-cutter "this is for certain what happens and there is no other answer" heaven and hell answer, but the other part of me is okay with just not knowing exactly what happens - although I do believe we evolve in some way. The latter can actually be freeing for me, especially during hard times when I suffer the most. When it all boils down to it, I think of myself as a spiritual being. I believe in God, but I'm not a strict Baptist Christian. The reason for that is because I've felt shunned at times while listening to a Baptist preacher condemn alcoholics, homosexuals, the lost, the damned, or the mad. I can't do that. My heart is just so full and tender. I know I'm a sinner, we all are, so I cannot judge. Much to my family's possible disapproval, I have identified greatly with Buddhist teachings and my favorite conversations about faith involves Jon speaking of the stars and the moon and creation and the beauty of life in nature. He can speak of it so abstractly, yet it feels so real. His faith is simple. Mine - at this point in my life - is complicated and I'm not afraid to admit I don't have it all figured out.
Speaking of faith, Jon and I saw a beautiful movie Thanksgiving night. As many families were winding down their festivities and the crescent moon peaked out from behind the trees, Jon and I hopped in the car to catch the last screening of the film The Better Angels in Midtown Atlanta. We were the only ones in attendance, but I think we gave it a delicate farewell. The narrative presents the life of young Abe Lincoln in a loose, I'll say vulnerable, structure. By no surprise, it is produced by Terrance Malick and moments ring true to his personal aesthetic. However, the filmmaker, A.J. Edwards, brings forth his own unique characteristics. In his debut feature, he beautifully melds swooping camera movements (in and out of trees, through meadows) with subtle, still, steady shots (wind in the trees as a gateway to heaven, water running down a stream) that will leave you breathless. The film is narrated by the older version of Abe's cousin, Dennis Hanks, who moved in with Abe's family when his own passed away. Presented in black and white, the film is a poetic meditation on the hardships and struggles faced in the 1800s by our ancestors. The audience witnesses a young Abe as he is crafted and shaped into the great leader he will one day become. The film attributes this transformation to two angels in his life.
"God tells us truths in parables" ~The Better Angels
Abe's mother, Nancy, is portrayed brilliantly by one of my favorite actresses (and talented director/writer) Brit Marling. She is ethereal and evocative as the first angel in young Abe's life. The narrator speaks softly of her, telling us that she put her faith, not on earth, but in what lies yonder. Tragically, she passed away when Abe was only eight from a milk sickness. His father, Thomas, married again soon after to a woman named Sarah, played by the beautiful Diane Kruger. As a widow, the marriage is more of an arrangement necessary to meet the every day needs of people during these times. At first, Abe is unsure of the new woman in his life, afraid she will strive to replace his mother. Sarah carefully wins him over, as she too recognizes something special in this young boy who drifts, loves to read, and ponders within nature.
Since our screening, I have thought often upon these two strong angels and researched their lives in more detail. I am fascinated by their faith. Really by the faith of all who endured such strenuous hardships during this time in America. I think often upon their small triumphs - the crop thriving, gathering enough clean water, living through a minor illness - and think of how we live today in America. Back then, they were lucky to live into their 30s. Happy to have a four wall structure with a roof over their heads. They faced sickness and death often. They were brave because they had to be brave. I don't know if it is any comfort to others, but contemplating past lives makes me feel very human, and somehow makes me feel better. Less alone. All in all, The Better Angels is a beautiful reflection upon childhood, faith, and spirituality. The slow pace and lack of plot is not for everyone, but for those who are more welcoming, it will leave an immense impact on your soul. This kind of film is right up Jon's alley - everything about it is what he wants to create and I was thrilled to screen it with him! If you're wondering, this is now our number 1 movie of the year and it will be a tough one to beat!
A poster with this image now hangs in our living room - a cherished keepsake for Jon. Thank you to Midtown Arts Cinema owner who searched for it in the store room and gifted it to us!
So, what else is on my mind this Sunday morning? Well, I happened to catch Oprah's Super Soul Sunday with one of my favorite authors and spiritual leaders, Pema Chodron. In New York, per a brilliant instructor's recommendation, I read her book When Things Fall Apart. Through the years, and through my struggles, I have often returned to it's teachings and I highly recommend every one read it. I keep it by my bedside. Pema said in her interview that when we are suffering, it is best to first identify it in our body, then breath in deeply to that area. With each in breath, our heart will grow. I remember, when Jon was first hospitalized, before he was diagnosed, lying in a small waiting room. It was closed off and had no windows. I would go in there and lie down around 3am in the morning when I couldn't sleep. I'd call my mother and Aunt Joyce and cry out to them. They wanted to help and would send me love, but nothing could rid me of the wretched pain and loneliness I felt. I'd wail over and over until my stomach would flip and I'd reach for the trashcan and dry heave. These, my friends, are the ugliest moments in your life. Moments you want to share with everyone and no one at the same time. Deep and utter pain. Pema teaches us that these moments are crucial to every human beings life. They are, in fact, what make us human. She says that if you breath in deep enough, you will feel the pain felt by all those in the world present, who came before you and who will come after. Suffering, along with joy, is just another thread in the tapestry of our life. Heady, I know, but it all relates back to the angels of Abe Lincoln's life.
As a last thought before I close, I want to remind everyone that no matter your situation, we are all surrounded by guardian angels every second of the day. Jon and I have many, many angels who have brought light into otherwise dark moments. For them, we are so grateful. Grateful beyond measure. From those who supported us as we got married and gifted us with a beautiful, unforgettable ceremony to those who help us financially, from those who offer kindness and encouragement to those are silently praying, we are blessed and surrounded by love. We don't always know who gives us gifts or who helps us out, but we are so very thankful for them. Their love inspires us to pay it forward and we are thinking of ways we can do so. As we all get caught up in the season, let us remember that the gift of love and kindness is the most important one of all!
Black and White photo inspired by The Better Angels and Nirvana: a short film about cancer.
I'll close with a reminder that this is the last day of November - Lung Cancer Awareness Month. Of course it isn't for us, in fact we have scans and radiation next week. Our struggles, along with so many others, continues. Please keep us, and all in the lung cancer community, in your prayers going forward. Jon and I were blessed with a most wonderful Thanksgiving and our spirits are high. We are decorating for Christmas, watching favorite movies and tv shows, and enjoying long reading sessions. (I'm still reading This is Where I Leave You and he just started The Homesman, which is now a movie directed by Tommy Lee Jones). I hope you all had a blessed Thanksgiving and are doing well!
Love,
Robyn
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Grad School
Last week, I wrapped up my first quarter in graduate school. I always dreamed of going back, but for some reason, I thought it would never happen. All that changed after the events of last year. With Jon's encouragement, I decided to go for it, and here I am! On my way to an MFA in Film with hopes of teaching screenwriting, directing, and cinema history in a college setting.
I took two classes, one being Sound Design and the other an online History of Cinema course. The wealth of knowledge that I obtained is grand and I was very proud to succeed again in academia. Going back to grad school, which I highly recommend if you are considering it, gave me two key things. First, my passion for cinema was once again ignited. I immersed myself in the process of research, reading, and projects. Most notably, my love for silent films and the French New Wave grew immensely! Second, I gained more confidence as a filmmaker. I have always been intimidated by the film industry. Even when I was deciding my major for a BFA, I contemplated film, but chose against it because my confidence level wasn't high enough. After my experiences with Picture Show and Nirvana, as well as my grad courses, I feel a shift. I feel more in control of my vision as a filmmaker, with passion and intellectualism, as well as technique to back it up. For this, I am very grateful.
With that being said, I want to share my final projects. The first, my Sound Design final, is the 1926 silent film Ménilmontant - a French Impressionist film. The challenge was to add sound and music to the silent piece. I wanted to give the film a modern touch, grounding it in reality, while also staying true to it's impressionistic poetism. Check it out HERE.
For my research paper in history, I focused on the first female filmmaker - Alice Guy Blaché. So much of her work and legacy has been lost and overshadowed by more famous male directors like Georges Méléis and D.W. Griffith, but she is phenomenal and worthy of great praise! She was one of the first (if not the first) fiction film director and she owned her own studio in America before women even had the right to vote. Even many film students are not familiar with her work, so please take the time to read a few excerpts from my paper. I tied in her story with the overall rise and fall of women filmmakers during the silent era (women were once common in the film industry!) and discussed the modern state of female directors.
On the way to finals.
I took two classes, one being Sound Design and the other an online History of Cinema course. The wealth of knowledge that I obtained is grand and I was very proud to succeed again in academia. Going back to grad school, which I highly recommend if you are considering it, gave me two key things. First, my passion for cinema was once again ignited. I immersed myself in the process of research, reading, and projects. Most notably, my love for silent films and the French New Wave grew immensely! Second, I gained more confidence as a filmmaker. I have always been intimidated by the film industry. Even when I was deciding my major for a BFA, I contemplated film, but chose against it because my confidence level wasn't high enough. After my experiences with Picture Show and Nirvana, as well as my grad courses, I feel a shift. I feel more in control of my vision as a filmmaker, with passion and intellectualism, as well as technique to back it up. For this, I am very grateful.
Yolande Beaulieu in Ménilmontant
With that being said, I want to share my final projects. The first, my Sound Design final, is the 1926 silent film Ménilmontant - a French Impressionist film. The challenge was to add sound and music to the silent piece. I wanted to give the film a modern touch, grounding it in reality, while also staying true to it's impressionistic poetism. Check it out HERE.
For my research paper in history, I focused on the first female filmmaker - Alice Guy Blaché. So much of her work and legacy has been lost and overshadowed by more famous male directors like Georges Méléis and D.W. Griffith, but she is phenomenal and worthy of great praise! She was one of the first (if not the first) fiction film director and she owned her own studio in America before women even had the right to vote. Even many film students are not familiar with her work, so please take the time to read a few excerpts from my paper. I tied in her story with the overall rise and fall of women filmmakers during the silent era (women were once common in the film industry!) and discussed the modern state of female directors.
Alice Guy Blaché - First Female Director
From Page 1
The first female film director, Alice Guy Blaché, is well known for stating, “There is nothing connected with the staging of a motion picture that a woman cannot do as easily as a man” (qtd. in Wexman 13). If this statement is true, why then have women notably played a lesser role than men in the Hollywood industry, especially in the field of directing? Women flourished as filmmakers in the beginning of cinema. In fact, numerous female filmmakers contributed vast knowledge, creativity, and skill in the silent era. Women, such as Blaché, helped build the foundation upon which narrative structure would grow. In addition, their technical achievements rivaled those of their male counterparts. Unfortunately, early film historians considerably diminished their contributions due to the fact that women were thrust out of the industry following World War I. In the 1970s, after the collapse of the traditional Hollywood studio system in the late 1940s, prominent female film directors would again emerge. Thus, the development of the Hollywood studio system attributed to the vanishing roles of women as directors, a phenomenon which closely paralleled the rise and fall of Alice Guy Blaché’s career.
The first female film director, Alice Guy Blaché, is well known for stating, “There is nothing connected with the staging of a motion picture that a woman cannot do as easily as a man” (qtd. in Wexman 13). If this statement is true, why then have women notably played a lesser role than men in the Hollywood industry, especially in the field of directing? Women flourished as filmmakers in the beginning of cinema. In fact, numerous female filmmakers contributed vast knowledge, creativity, and skill in the silent era. Women, such as Blaché, helped build the foundation upon which narrative structure would grow. In addition, their technical achievements rivaled those of their male counterparts. Unfortunately, early film historians considerably diminished their contributions due to the fact that women were thrust out of the industry following World War I. In the 1970s, after the collapse of the traditional Hollywood studio system in the late 1940s, prominent female film directors would again emerge. Thus, the development of the Hollywood studio system attributed to the vanishing roles of women as directors, a phenomenon which closely paralleled the rise and fall of Alice Guy Blaché’s career.
From Page 3
Blaché states, “If the future development of motion pictures had been foreseen at this time, I should never have obtained his consent. My youth, my inexperience, my sex, all conspired against me.” (qtd. in Simon 5). Early pioneers like Gaumont, Edison, and the Lumiére brothers had little faith in the future of cinema and did not recognize it as a legitimate art form. In her essay, “True Womanhood in Hollywood: Gendered Business Strategies and the Rise and Fall of the Female Filmmaker, 1896-1928,” Karen Ward Mahar attributes three factors to the inclusion of women into the early film industry. According to her, before the 1920’s, the industry was “ungendered” because it was new, initial success caused labor shortages, and it operated outside the boundaries of “legitimate” business practices. Women were therefore allowed to participate in the passing “fad” of filmmaking and, as I will explore, would prove essential in establishing its respectability and staying power.
Blaché states, “If the future development of motion pictures had been foreseen at this time, I should never have obtained his consent. My youth, my inexperience, my sex, all conspired against me.” (qtd. in Simon 5). Early pioneers like Gaumont, Edison, and the Lumiére brothers had little faith in the future of cinema and did not recognize it as a legitimate art form. In her essay, “True Womanhood in Hollywood: Gendered Business Strategies and the Rise and Fall of the Female Filmmaker, 1896-1928,” Karen Ward Mahar attributes three factors to the inclusion of women into the early film industry. According to her, before the 1920’s, the industry was “ungendered” because it was new, initial success caused labor shortages, and it operated outside the boundaries of “legitimate” business practices. Women were therefore allowed to participate in the passing “fad” of filmmaking and, as I will explore, would prove essential in establishing its respectability and staying power.
From Page 5
Alice Guy Blaché arrived in the United States in 1907 and heralded the advent of female directors and producers working in the industry. With her leadership, women began taking a more active role in the production side of motion pictures, directing films before they even had the right to vote. During this period, Blaché proved herself as a definitive figure in the development of motion pictures and broke barriers down for women in the United States when she established her own production company, Solax Studios, in Fort Lee, New Jersey. At Solax she served as “director-general” and made hundreds of films, including Dick Whittington and His Cat, her most ambitious film at Solax. During this period, Blaché also gave birth to two children and according to McMahan, her rate of production equaled that of D.W. Griffith (xx). Significantly, she created an assortment of genre films that were equal to, if not sometimes superior to her male counterparts, such as comedies, westerns, melodramas, and military films. Throughout her career, she pioneered visual techniques, such as hand painted color, superimposition, and synced sound to picture long before it became the standard. She ultimately worked in cinema longer than fellow pioneers, Edison, the Lumiére Brothers, and Méliés, who had all given up film by 1914.
Alice Guy Blaché arrived in the United States in 1907 and heralded the advent of female directors and producers working in the industry. With her leadership, women began taking a more active role in the production side of motion pictures, directing films before they even had the right to vote. During this period, Blaché proved herself as a definitive figure in the development of motion pictures and broke barriers down for women in the United States when she established her own production company, Solax Studios, in Fort Lee, New Jersey. At Solax she served as “director-general” and made hundreds of films, including Dick Whittington and His Cat, her most ambitious film at Solax. During this period, Blaché also gave birth to two children and according to McMahan, her rate of production equaled that of D.W. Griffith (xx). Significantly, she created an assortment of genre films that were equal to, if not sometimes superior to her male counterparts, such as comedies, westerns, melodramas, and military films. Throughout her career, she pioneered visual techniques, such as hand painted color, superimposition, and synced sound to picture long before it became the standard. She ultimately worked in cinema longer than fellow pioneers, Edison, the Lumiére Brothers, and Méliés, who had all given up film by 1914.
From Page 9
The end of the 1920s ushered in the Golden Age of Hollywood. The need for women diminished when respectability was secured with the middle class audience. Financial legitimacy was now the major priority of the industry. Although women had achieved high-level positions in filmmaking, primarily due to their artistic abilities, the role of women in the financial arena was nonexistent. “Unfortunately for Lois Weber, and the women in the industry who were in her shadow, the efficient, masculinized, businessman-filmmaker – the type most admired by the investment community and the emerging studio system – became the Hollywood ideal in the years following WWI” (Mahar 102). The successful director was typified as the masculine, boots wearing, mega-phone wielding dictator of production. In contract, women were stereotyped as emotional, soft, artistic, and intuitive. These traits were considered suitable for positions in screenwriting, but not for the role of a director. Moreover, the gendering classification strategies of the Hollywood studio system brought about women’s disappearance in filmmaking.
The end of the 1920s ushered in the Golden Age of Hollywood. The need for women diminished when respectability was secured with the middle class audience. Financial legitimacy was now the major priority of the industry. Although women had achieved high-level positions in filmmaking, primarily due to their artistic abilities, the role of women in the financial arena was nonexistent. “Unfortunately for Lois Weber, and the women in the industry who were in her shadow, the efficient, masculinized, businessman-filmmaker – the type most admired by the investment community and the emerging studio system – became the Hollywood ideal in the years following WWI” (Mahar 102). The successful director was typified as the masculine, boots wearing, mega-phone wielding dictator of production. In contract, women were stereotyped as emotional, soft, artistic, and intuitive. These traits were considered suitable for positions in screenwriting, but not for the role of a director. Moreover, the gendering classification strategies of the Hollywood studio system brought about women’s disappearance in filmmaking.
From Page 11
When it comes to changing history, Peirce concludes that men are privileged in the Hollywood film industry and they have been for decades, until they decide to “give up some of the pie,” change will not occur. Director Kasi Lemmons, who released Black Nativity in 2013, is a full-time faculty member in the graduate film program at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, and takes a more optimistic approach, as she witnesses, “very talented women up and coming as directors, writers and DPs. I think it’s a new world, and we have to be careful not to be trapped in anachronistic pessimism” (qtd. in Dawes). Perhaps writer/director Lynn Shelton puts it best, “I didn’t start making feature films until I was 39, and it totally had to do with my confidence level” (qtd. in Dawes). This lack of confidence is a direct result of women such as Weber and Blaché being written out of film history. In two cinema studies textbooks, including Film History: An Introduction and A History of Film, the work of Blaché and Weber is diminished to slightly more than a footnote in history. However, in the future, if film historians choose to include more information about such filmmakers, the results will prove to have a positive effect on women directors today.
-Robyn
When it comes to changing history, Peirce concludes that men are privileged in the Hollywood film industry and they have been for decades, until they decide to “give up some of the pie,” change will not occur. Director Kasi Lemmons, who released Black Nativity in 2013, is a full-time faculty member in the graduate film program at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, and takes a more optimistic approach, as she witnesses, “very talented women up and coming as directors, writers and DPs. I think it’s a new world, and we have to be careful not to be trapped in anachronistic pessimism” (qtd. in Dawes). Perhaps writer/director Lynn Shelton puts it best, “I didn’t start making feature films until I was 39, and it totally had to do with my confidence level” (qtd. in Dawes). This lack of confidence is a direct result of women such as Weber and Blaché being written out of film history. In two cinema studies textbooks, including Film History: An Introduction and A History of Film, the work of Blaché and Weber is diminished to slightly more than a footnote in history. However, in the future, if film historians choose to include more information about such filmmakers, the results will prove to have a positive effect on women directors today.
-Robyn
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Big Girl Panties
I had the most wonderful, southern grandmother anyone on earth could ever ask for. Growing up, my Granny Zola was always there for me. She helped my mother and my Aunt Joyce raise me and we even lived with her for several years when I was very young. I will never forget her hands - long, boney fingers and smooth, silky skin draped over blue and purple veins. I remember them being cold - like mine often are - and she would say, "cold hands, warm heart," as she would hug me tight to her chest, smooth my bangs away from my eyes, or wipe away a tear. When she watched her "stories" on television, she'd become so immersed that her dentures would fall out of place and she'd have to pop them back in. I remember the click. I would giggle as she wiped the corners of her mouth with a folded paper towel, which she always had on hand. She'd bellow "Oooowoooo" when Beau, Hope, or Marlena incited another dramatic scandal that she did not approve of, but secretly loved! On long nights, when my mother would be out working, Granny Zola would let me curl up next to her in bed. Her sheets smelled of Nivea face cream, mentholatum vapor rub, mothballs, and my Papa's lingering cologne - the perfect combination. With her dentures removed, she'd sing me to sleep - usually an old gospel hymn - Will the Circle Be Unbroken was always a favorite. And with her soft blue eyes, brought to life by her long, silky nightgown in the faintest of street light shining in the window off Pine Street, she'd give me a kiss and tell me everything was going to be alright.
Granny Zola was a wonderful person and I am thankful for the time I spent with her. She once was a nurse and delivered many babies into the world. She also raised four children of her own and she was an amazing cook! There will never be anything like her sweet tea ever again in this world - the best! One saying from Granny Z that I remember very clearly is when she told me to put on my "big girl panties." I would usually be crying about something or another - maybe I wanted my mama, possibly my Aunt "Doyce," maybe my cousins were picking on me - like they always do, or maybe I was just upset because Lassie wasn't on - but she'd get that stern, southern glare in her eye, one brow cocked up high, and she'd tell me directly - it was time to be a big girl! I can hear it like it was yesterday.
Thursday night I was lying in bed, anxious with nerves, Jon's brain scan was scheduled for the next day. Cancer has brought us together in so many ways. For one, we know we can't both fall apart at the same time. Sometimes we do, and these make for miserable days. But, in general, we know that when one person is down, the other needs to do all they can to bring them up. He had a bad week and felt depressed with the oncoming appointment. I held it together. I had finals to complete - which I'll talk about later - and had to keep strong when little things didn't go our way. A flat tire? Let me handle it! Dinner? I'll whip it up! Bank account low? I'll find a job! It broke my heart to watch him sit around all week and I knew he was worried, but I chugged along, trying to put Friday in the back of my mind and focus on our daily needs as a family. Once Thursday night came and my final class had come and gone, I couldn't hold it together any longer. We talked for a while and he told me his fears and worries. I listened, but then the stress became too much and I broke down in tears. Now, it was his turn to take care of me. And he did. He held my little head while I cried and cried into his chest. He swept my bangs from my eyes, wiped my tears, and told me everything was going to be alright. Granny Zola was by our side guiding him to say the right thing. I just know she was.
After my outburst, I popped a sleeping pill, and drifted off. You gotta do what you gotta do to get through nights like these. Before I fell into a deep slumber, I thought to myself, "When did I become such a big girl?" I have always thought of myself as an independent. I was raised by a single mother, I moved away from home on my own at the first chance, and I've had to grow up fast in many ways. But laying there, feeling so vulnerable and helpless, I wondered how in the world I was going to put on my "big girl panties" the next day and walk into that doctor's office and get these results. Jon and I met when we were babies in college. How did we get old enough for cancer?
The next day came and I almost overslept (thanks xanax!). We went through all the motions and marched into that hospital right by ourselves, like big kids do. I waited as he got the scan. I watched people around me. I became overwhelmed with emotion as a daughter wheeled her father (about 90 years old) into the waiting room. His body was deteriorating, but his eyes were bright and all he wanted was a cold cup of water. He couldn't wait to get out of there because they had a lunch date with gumbo at their favorite restaurant. They do it every time they come into the city for an appointment. With giant smiles on their faces they exclaimed, "It's our thing!" I watched a young girl, probably around my age, as a nurse wheeled her in and she plugged her phone in the wall next to me. She was kind and asked me sweetly if she was blocking my view of the television. "Not at all," I replied. Behind thick glasses her eyes danced as she watched videos on her phone. I wondered why she was alone. Did she not have family to come with her? How serious is her condition? I wanted to speak to her more, but they soon came to get her and take her back. Then, I was left all alone. Sitting there, just waiting.
Being surrounded by these people breaks my heart. We are these people. We are all these people at some point in our life. The child waiting on the parent. The spouse waiting on their partner. And even, eventually, the one going at it all alone. I can't help but wonder where God is in this world of suffering. I ask this question to myself often and I am perplexed. At my worst, I am angry and pissed off. At my best, I sit in awe of life, breathe, and smile. I certainly do not have the answers - but, perhaps, the answer is simple. Perhaps God can be found in the small things. The kiss of my dog, the smile on Jon's face, or even that bowl of gumbo waiting on you after a long, hard day.
We got "okay" news. Not what we wanted to hear, but not bad. One stubborn brain met has grown a little bit. The radiologist believes it, being the largest of all of them originally, was just not effected strong enough with whole brain radiation - as that is a light amount of radiation in general. So, Jon will have targeted radiation therapy to that one spot the week after Thanksgiving. We also have CT scans that week where we find out what is going on in the lungs. I hope and pray they are stable and that we can zap this one met and have a joyous Christmas. But, hey, every day is Christmas when you spend it with the one you love.
This was a long post, if you made it all the way down here...thank you! I'll wait til next time to post all about my first quarter in grad school! I'll even share a couple projects that I am really proud of!!!
Love,
Robyn
Granny Zola was a wonderful person and I am thankful for the time I spent with her. She once was a nurse and delivered many babies into the world. She also raised four children of her own and she was an amazing cook! There will never be anything like her sweet tea ever again in this world - the best! One saying from Granny Z that I remember very clearly is when she told me to put on my "big girl panties." I would usually be crying about something or another - maybe I wanted my mama, possibly my Aunt "Doyce," maybe my cousins were picking on me - like they always do, or maybe I was just upset because Lassie wasn't on - but she'd get that stern, southern glare in her eye, one brow cocked up high, and she'd tell me directly - it was time to be a big girl! I can hear it like it was yesterday.
Thursday night I was lying in bed, anxious with nerves, Jon's brain scan was scheduled for the next day. Cancer has brought us together in so many ways. For one, we know we can't both fall apart at the same time. Sometimes we do, and these make for miserable days. But, in general, we know that when one person is down, the other needs to do all they can to bring them up. He had a bad week and felt depressed with the oncoming appointment. I held it together. I had finals to complete - which I'll talk about later - and had to keep strong when little things didn't go our way. A flat tire? Let me handle it! Dinner? I'll whip it up! Bank account low? I'll find a job! It broke my heart to watch him sit around all week and I knew he was worried, but I chugged along, trying to put Friday in the back of my mind and focus on our daily needs as a family. Once Thursday night came and my final class had come and gone, I couldn't hold it together any longer. We talked for a while and he told me his fears and worries. I listened, but then the stress became too much and I broke down in tears. Now, it was his turn to take care of me. And he did. He held my little head while I cried and cried into his chest. He swept my bangs from my eyes, wiped my tears, and told me everything was going to be alright. Granny Zola was by our side guiding him to say the right thing. I just know she was.
After my outburst, I popped a sleeping pill, and drifted off. You gotta do what you gotta do to get through nights like these. Before I fell into a deep slumber, I thought to myself, "When did I become such a big girl?" I have always thought of myself as an independent. I was raised by a single mother, I moved away from home on my own at the first chance, and I've had to grow up fast in many ways. But laying there, feeling so vulnerable and helpless, I wondered how in the world I was going to put on my "big girl panties" the next day and walk into that doctor's office and get these results. Jon and I met when we were babies in college. How did we get old enough for cancer?
The next day came and I almost overslept (thanks xanax!). We went through all the motions and marched into that hospital right by ourselves, like big kids do. I waited as he got the scan. I watched people around me. I became overwhelmed with emotion as a daughter wheeled her father (about 90 years old) into the waiting room. His body was deteriorating, but his eyes were bright and all he wanted was a cold cup of water. He couldn't wait to get out of there because they had a lunch date with gumbo at their favorite restaurant. They do it every time they come into the city for an appointment. With giant smiles on their faces they exclaimed, "It's our thing!" I watched a young girl, probably around my age, as a nurse wheeled her in and she plugged her phone in the wall next to me. She was kind and asked me sweetly if she was blocking my view of the television. "Not at all," I replied. Behind thick glasses her eyes danced as she watched videos on her phone. I wondered why she was alone. Did she not have family to come with her? How serious is her condition? I wanted to speak to her more, but they soon came to get her and take her back. Then, I was left all alone. Sitting there, just waiting.
Being surrounded by these people breaks my heart. We are these people. We are all these people at some point in our life. The child waiting on the parent. The spouse waiting on their partner. And even, eventually, the one going at it all alone. I can't help but wonder where God is in this world of suffering. I ask this question to myself often and I am perplexed. At my worst, I am angry and pissed off. At my best, I sit in awe of life, breathe, and smile. I certainly do not have the answers - but, perhaps, the answer is simple. Perhaps God can be found in the small things. The kiss of my dog, the smile on Jon's face, or even that bowl of gumbo waiting on you after a long, hard day.
We got "okay" news. Not what we wanted to hear, but not bad. One stubborn brain met has grown a little bit. The radiologist believes it, being the largest of all of them originally, was just not effected strong enough with whole brain radiation - as that is a light amount of radiation in general. So, Jon will have targeted radiation therapy to that one spot the week after Thanksgiving. We also have CT scans that week where we find out what is going on in the lungs. I hope and pray they are stable and that we can zap this one met and have a joyous Christmas. But, hey, every day is Christmas when you spend it with the one you love.
This was a long post, if you made it all the way down here...thank you! I'll wait til next time to post all about my first quarter in grad school! I'll even share a couple projects that I am really proud of!!!
Love,
Robyn
Friday, November 14, 2014
Nirvana: a state of perfect happiness; an ideal or idyllic place
The first trailer of Nirvana: a short film about cancer from writer/director/editor (and most incredible husband, soulmate, artist, survivor, lover of life, my Nirvana) Jonathan Hicks. I am honored to be a part of your life and vision.
Nirvana Production Stills: Robyn Hicks (top) Barry Nash (bottom)
ONE DAY
If I was given a purpose
In this life I lead
It was to love my God.
If I was given a passion
With each breath inside I took
It was to share your Love.
If I was given one day
On your Earth in which I walk
It was to see the beauty in nature you did bare
My Heart. Your Hands.
Your Eyes. I start.
In the moment of my creation
You gave life to me.
A purpose.
A passion.
One Day.
-Robyn Hicks
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Can You Hear Me?
We are now about half way through Lung Cancer Awareness Month and I couldn't help but feel a little defeated when I saw the news this morning. In the America we live in, Kim Kardashian can attempt to "break the internet" by exposing herself with full frontal and backside nudity, while people like me struggle to be heard. If lung cancer, with its harsh statistics and stigma, could get half the attention she does from one photo, imagine how much more awareness could be raised? If lung cancer could get a portion of the millions of dollars she makes to "document" her life and expose herself, how many more lives could we save? If lung cancer could pursuade major media networks to pay it nearly as much attention as they do to one photo of Kardashian, imagine how much change we could make toward the nation's deadliest cancer killer.
This post will not generate as much attention as Kim Kardashian's ass. Tomorrow, folks won't be gathered around the water cooler talking about lung cancer and how we have to do all we can to change it and fast! The fact that lung cancer is being diagnosed more and more in young, never smokers won't be the breaking news on the Today Show. But, if you're reading this, just take a moment to imagine...
You've just been told you have cancer. You take a deep breath, then it hits you. Lung cancer. Your heart stops. You are told you have 6 months to 2 years to live. A day, a moment, is not guaranteed. As you slowly begin to breath in and out, you take a look around. You realize all that you see is transient.
Suddenly, that photo of Kim Kardashian doesn't seem as important any more, does it?
To donate to Lung Cancer Research or JOIN the "I Won't Quit" campaign, please click here: http://jointhefight.yournextstepisthecure.org
This post will not generate as much attention as Kim Kardashian's ass. Tomorrow, folks won't be gathered around the water cooler talking about lung cancer and how we have to do all we can to change it and fast! The fact that lung cancer is being diagnosed more and more in young, never smokers won't be the breaking news on the Today Show. But, if you're reading this, just take a moment to imagine...
You've just been told you have cancer. You take a deep breath, then it hits you. Lung cancer. Your heart stops. You are told you have 6 months to 2 years to live. A day, a moment, is not guaranteed. As you slowly begin to breath in and out, you take a look around. You realize all that you see is transient.
Suddenly, that photo of Kim Kardashian doesn't seem as important any more, does it?
To donate to Lung Cancer Research or JOIN the "I Won't Quit" campaign, please click here: http://jointhefight.yournextstepisthecure.org
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