We will soon be on the road to Savannah, maybe even a similar route that Sherman took during the Civil War. Hopefully, there will be no battles; and this trip will proceed without incident. I’m a teacher, after all, not a soldier; and we will be traveling in our bus for the final shoot of the film. The entire crew is moving to Savannah for five days.
We are now waiting in the parking lot for someone who is late. It could have been me as I didn’t want to get up this morning, and I kept setting the snooze button. I was mostly packed except for the laptop and a few clothes. I brought my coffee with me to drink in the car and my yogurt and pear to eat after I got here. I had no traffic and almost no red lights, so I was here in twenty minutes. “Here” is at the parking lot on Mountain Industrial where the stage is. We leave our cars and ride the bus shuttle.
I must say I am glad I wasn’t the one who was late as I really believe in punctuality. Two people kept all of us waiting for 45 minutes. I was 5 minutes late arriving at 10:05 AM so I guess I can’t complain too much. Even with the monsoon rain, I had no delays. If I had had any delays, I too would have just arrived.
One thing I’ve already decided, I’m getting an i-phone and letting my landline go. This would be great if I could immediately go to the internet. The guy in front of me on the bus has and i-phone so he has everything he needs for the trip. I had to pack up this bulky laptop and cords. Of course, I may not have another film out of town for a year so it isn’t like I’m ever very far away from my study.
I’m reminded of Jack Kerouac’s "On the Road". I seriously doubt this is going to be the poetic experience his trip was. We’re going straight to Savannah, then to the hotel which is in the harbor. Hopefully it won’t rain for five days as I brought my bating suit. (That, by the way, was the purchase of the day. I had to have a new suit that at least was sort of flattering and camouflaged my stomach until I can lose back down to 120 pounds. Of course, it’s black, and a Jantzen. What else would I buy? Maybe I can now start swimming with my silver sneaker membership anywhere they have a pool. (That's right, I'm now 66 years old.
I’m afraid the battery power for my laptop may not last much longer, for sure not the entire trip. My earlier plans were to sleep the entire way. The seats are not so amenable to sleeping; besides, I’m cold. I forgot to bring a blanket and a pillow. I do have a whole seat to myself, however. In fact, most of us do. There are probably ten people on the bus. Some of the folks left yesterday in vans, some are driving, and the actors all flew. By the time you go to the airport, get to the gate, load, fly, unload, get your luggage, then drive to the hotel, it probably takes longer to fly than it does to drive. You still have to be at the airport a couple of hours before the flight. Even at the airport, you may have to wait on a plane, especially in the kind of weather we are having today.
Oh no, I can hear just a little bit of someone’s music, just enough to sound like an alarm system or whining dog in the neighborhood. At least, for the moment no one is twittering outloud with a megaphone. I think I will close for now, the beginning of my very own rendition of “on the road.” This one is "Rozanne’s on the road" or "Teacher on the road."
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Set tutor
When I decided to become a teacher some many years ago, I had never heard of a set tutor. It never crossed my mind that I would teach anywhere but in an elementary school. However, over the past 23 years that has changed and I have been a set tutor on numerous films. I know what I do, but most of the folks on the set don't know what I do. Some think I teach the child his or her lines. Some I know probably wonder why I hang out on set as one production assistant put it one time. Many a day, I also wonder what I am doing on a movie set.
I am about education, about teaching the child his lessons when he is out of school for a film. The assignments the child brings are just the part of the iceberg you see. I rarely have ever had the teacher's manuals, other teachers to consult in the school, or even answers to any of the assignments. Generally, I have to create my own lesson plans, do my own research on the topic, work out the problems myself to correct the child's work. It helps considerably if I at least know a little more about the topic than the child. It's hard to be up on all the information of all the topics all the time. I too have to study the assignments.
This topic will be continued at a later date as I'm much to tired to talk about being a set tutor after being a set tutor all day with a nine year old boy.
I am about education, about teaching the child his lessons when he is out of school for a film. The assignments the child brings are just the part of the iceberg you see. I rarely have ever had the teacher's manuals, other teachers to consult in the school, or even answers to any of the assignments. Generally, I have to create my own lesson plans, do my own research on the topic, work out the problems myself to correct the child's work. It helps considerably if I at least know a little more about the topic than the child. It's hard to be up on all the information of all the topics all the time. I too have to study the assignments.
This topic will be continued at a later date as I'm much to tired to talk about being a set tutor after being a set tutor all day with a nine year old boy.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
My Daddy Died Today
I remember he died in 2000, and it was almost the first day of spring. The date was March 21, 2000. He was born in 1910, before World War I, World War II, the Korean War, and Vietnam, yet he was in the military during all but the World War I. He was a career Naval officer with a specialty in codes and ciphers. The obituary has already been published on March 21, 2000; however, there was a misprint that he died on March 22. I am not trying to make a correction or write another obituary.
This is more personal, what it means for a daughter to lose her daddy that she had called Daddy from her earliest memories. From what my mother told me, when Daddy was in Africa for a couple of years during World War II, I would look at his picture and call him my Little Daddy. One of my uncles who lived with us on the farm I called my Big Daddy. I guess it must have been difficult for a toddler to understand what a Daddy was that she had no memories of ever meeting. He went off to war when I was just a baby, and my mother and I went back to the farm to live with my daddy's parents until his return.
Now some 65 years later, those memories that were told to me by my mother of my daddy and the memories from my own experiences with him are almost indistinguishable. The memories come to consciousness from time to time, but especially on the anniversary of his death nine years ago and on his birthday. It doesn't matter what I am doing, but those two days are his days totally. I don't feel a morose sadness, but a pleasant memory of his life and of the relationship of a daughter and a father. Time does heal the loss, but you always have that time of loss. Today is my own personal All Saint's Day or as they say in Mexico, Dia de los Muertos. If I were Catholic, I would have gone to Mass today and lit a candle, so I guess we can say this is my candle for my daddy.
It isn't as though I had the perfect father, but now that I have grown children I can see that my father was a good father, a loving man filled with care and forgiveness for his fellowman, especially his older daughter. I was not an easy daughter to raise. As my mother used to say when I was a teenager that I cursed worse than a drunken sailor. I was all about me, and few people could please me. I used to wonder why I wasn't the most popular girl in school, but I was too self conscious and critical of myself and secretly of most everyone else. Maybe this is the plight of many teenagers and why they are given parents.
I can't think of Daddy without thinking of the good times, the trips, the time he built a board for me to mount the petri dishes of mold for my science project. There's the time he accidentally killed my white persian cat Princess who was asleep on the engine when he started the car. I remember our trips back to Missouri to visit family or our trips to Oklahoma for funerals of family members. Everyone would be asleep but Daddy and me. He was a chain smoker so we were constantly deciding it was too cold with the window down or too smokey with the window up. We'd listen to the radio from all these small town stations across Texas. I was afraid to go to sleep because I was sure I was the designated family member to keep him awake.
Then I have to remember my attitudes, how I'd just have a fit because he chewed his food with the manners of a sailor on a ship or that he turned the radio up too loud. A few times he had a little switch from the a tree he'd use on my legs such as when I'd argue with my mother or fuss with my sister. In more recent years, I burdened him with some of my adult difficulties of a divorce, lack of financial stability, and emotional traumas; yet he was always reassuring, believing in me when no one else did, reassuring me I could do it. That voice of his is still with me today, that I can do it, whatever that may mean in the day.
This is more personal, what it means for a daughter to lose her daddy that she had called Daddy from her earliest memories. From what my mother told me, when Daddy was in Africa for a couple of years during World War II, I would look at his picture and call him my Little Daddy. One of my uncles who lived with us on the farm I called my Big Daddy. I guess it must have been difficult for a toddler to understand what a Daddy was that she had no memories of ever meeting. He went off to war when I was just a baby, and my mother and I went back to the farm to live with my daddy's parents until his return.
Now some 65 years later, those memories that were told to me by my mother of my daddy and the memories from my own experiences with him are almost indistinguishable. The memories come to consciousness from time to time, but especially on the anniversary of his death nine years ago and on his birthday. It doesn't matter what I am doing, but those two days are his days totally. I don't feel a morose sadness, but a pleasant memory of his life and of the relationship of a daughter and a father. Time does heal the loss, but you always have that time of loss. Today is my own personal All Saint's Day or as they say in Mexico, Dia de los Muertos. If I were Catholic, I would have gone to Mass today and lit a candle, so I guess we can say this is my candle for my daddy.
It isn't as though I had the perfect father, but now that I have grown children I can see that my father was a good father, a loving man filled with care and forgiveness for his fellowman, especially his older daughter. I was not an easy daughter to raise. As my mother used to say when I was a teenager that I cursed worse than a drunken sailor. I was all about me, and few people could please me. I used to wonder why I wasn't the most popular girl in school, but I was too self conscious and critical of myself and secretly of most everyone else. Maybe this is the plight of many teenagers and why they are given parents.
I can't think of Daddy without thinking of the good times, the trips, the time he built a board for me to mount the petri dishes of mold for my science project. There's the time he accidentally killed my white persian cat Princess who was asleep on the engine when he started the car. I remember our trips back to Missouri to visit family or our trips to Oklahoma for funerals of family members. Everyone would be asleep but Daddy and me. He was a chain smoker so we were constantly deciding it was too cold with the window down or too smokey with the window up. We'd listen to the radio from all these small town stations across Texas. I was afraid to go to sleep because I was sure I was the designated family member to keep him awake.
Then I have to remember my attitudes, how I'd just have a fit because he chewed his food with the manners of a sailor on a ship or that he turned the radio up too loud. A few times he had a little switch from the a tree he'd use on my legs such as when I'd argue with my mother or fuss with my sister. In more recent years, I burdened him with some of my adult difficulties of a divorce, lack of financial stability, and emotional traumas; yet he was always reassuring, believing in me when no one else did, reassuring me I could do it. That voice of his is still with me today, that I can do it, whatever that may mean in the day.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Accidents Happen
After the death of Natasha Richardson, I am again reminded of the brevity of life, the delicate line between life and death. She was in her prime as an actress and a woman, mother of two, a wife, daughter, sister, and friend. We know she's dead froma skiing accident, but we don't yet know the other variables that may have caused her death. We assume she had healh insurance or certainly wealth to pay for any hospital care in that she and her family are all famous moviestars.
Whether it's Natasha skiing in Canada or my son skiing in Nevada, some things transcend fame, wealth, or age; and that is life and death. It is also good health. In the midst of the shock of her sudden death, I was reminded again of something so mundane that many of us take it for granted--health care. Even with the best of health care, Natasha still died. However, we hope she had health insurance so that now the family isn't burdened with extra expense after the death of a loved one.
I am an older woman recently on medicare and social security, and I am reminded regularly of the importance of health insurance. There have been times in my life when I had no health insurance, either because of a pre-existing condition or the cost of premiums was too much for me to afford. I remember my mother facing cancer back in the 60s, and she had no health insurance because of pre-existing conditions.
However, as a mother myself, I'm always more concerned about those closest to me--my family. Though children grow up, marry, and have their own lives, a mother still at times has some of the leftover caretaking from the years of caring for an infant or young child. I think some of it is the feeling one has when you lose a limb but can still feel the arm there. Maybe it's just me or maybe it's all mothers. Maybe it has nothing to do with being a mother at all but is more our human concern for our family, friends or people we don't even know.
We want our family to have health care, the best of health care if any of them is in a ski accident. But without health insurance, the care may be limited. Some hospitals won't even admit you without insurance or if they do, you know you will be looking at a bill in the thousands and thousands of dollars. When children are younger, you have more control over their health care. You make the decision which doctor they will go to. You give them their medicine at the right time and the right dose. You cook for them, and you help them brush their teeth. You see that they sleep through the night. Adult children are now grown; they don't need you to do all these things for them. You know you are supposed to mind your own business, but you worry when they may be one of those millions without health insurance or that they ignore the dental appointments. You know that it's all you can do to take care of yourself and let the other adults in your family take of of themselves. Your sister has to deal with breast cancer. Your aunt had Alzheimer's in her latter years which was most difficult for her husband and son. Your mother-in-law had heart trouble. You own mother died of pancreatic cancer when she was only 52.
But then there's an accident, maybe a ski accident like Natasha's, and you start wondering what would happen if your son had an accident on a ski slope and if there's no health insurance for his care. You say, this can't be America when my son doesn't have health insurance. How could my own mother not have had health insurance during the most painful days of her life, and during the final days of the cancer. Health insurance becomes personal when it's my family. It's more than just an item in the news.
Whether it's Natasha skiing in Canada or my son skiing in Nevada, some things transcend fame, wealth, or age; and that is life and death. It is also good health. In the midst of the shock of her sudden death, I was reminded again of something so mundane that many of us take it for granted--health care. Even with the best of health care, Natasha still died. However, we hope she had health insurance so that now the family isn't burdened with extra expense after the death of a loved one.
I am an older woman recently on medicare and social security, and I am reminded regularly of the importance of health insurance. There have been times in my life when I had no health insurance, either because of a pre-existing condition or the cost of premiums was too much for me to afford. I remember my mother facing cancer back in the 60s, and she had no health insurance because of pre-existing conditions.
However, as a mother myself, I'm always more concerned about those closest to me--my family. Though children grow up, marry, and have their own lives, a mother still at times has some of the leftover caretaking from the years of caring for an infant or young child. I think some of it is the feeling one has when you lose a limb but can still feel the arm there. Maybe it's just me or maybe it's all mothers. Maybe it has nothing to do with being a mother at all but is more our human concern for our family, friends or people we don't even know.
We want our family to have health care, the best of health care if any of them is in a ski accident. But without health insurance, the care may be limited. Some hospitals won't even admit you without insurance or if they do, you know you will be looking at a bill in the thousands and thousands of dollars. When children are younger, you have more control over their health care. You make the decision which doctor they will go to. You give them their medicine at the right time and the right dose. You cook for them, and you help them brush their teeth. You see that they sleep through the night. Adult children are now grown; they don't need you to do all these things for them. You know you are supposed to mind your own business, but you worry when they may be one of those millions without health insurance or that they ignore the dental appointments. You know that it's all you can do to take care of yourself and let the other adults in your family take of of themselves. Your sister has to deal with breast cancer. Your aunt had Alzheimer's in her latter years which was most difficult for her husband and son. Your mother-in-law had heart trouble. You own mother died of pancreatic cancer when she was only 52.
But then there's an accident, maybe a ski accident like Natasha's, and you start wondering what would happen if your son had an accident on a ski slope and if there's no health insurance for his care. You say, this can't be America when my son doesn't have health insurance. How could my own mother not have had health insurance during the most painful days of her life, and during the final days of the cancer. Health insurance becomes personal when it's my family. It's more than just an item in the news.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Teachers Like to be the Boss
Unfortunately, I had written this entire piece, and I made the mistake of not writing it first in Word and then copying it or at least saving it frequently as a draft. I don't guess I'll do that again. So now I will have to try to write this again from memory. I guess that is one way of revising an article. I did notice I moved back and forth from teachers like to be the boss to why I have performance anxiety. Maybe I had two stories at once. I know somehow I can retrieve the lost document, but I don't remember how. This is one good reason a first draft should be written in pencil in a legal pad.
3/17/2009
I should be able to begin again since what I was writing is something I've been living with all my life. I personally like to be the boss. I'm only talking about one teacher, and that is me. I was this way as a child. We would play school, and I would always be the teacher. As I've grown older, I realize I do better in a teaching setting, whether it is in a classroom or on a filmset, when I have the freedom to teach as I know best. I certainly can follow guidelines or lesson plans; however, when a parent, supervisor, or anyone else starts telling me that I should spend more time on one subject or another or to work on only what's assigned, I begin to get very anxious. I become more involved in watching what I do than what I actually do. I begin to suffer from performance anxiety and become very self centered. I forget my primary purpose which is to teach the child or children.
When I'm allowed more respect to do what I do best with the education and experience I have, then I function better; and I think I'm a better teacher. Perhaps this is one reason I'm not teaching full-time. These days there are so many reports to write, numerous supervisors observing you, parents with various demands for their children. It's more like teaching by committee. Even on a filmset when I'm the only teacher, there are numerous variables that affect my teaching. Parents may prefer only the bare essentials of education to get by the law or they may only want me to complete certain assignments. Most of teaching is more than what is in the book or the worksheet. However, the worksheet and test is the part that shows. It's like the part of the iceberg above water, whereas I may research several concepts online, teacher's manual or from my own library. I'm not one of those people who has a photographic memory that everything I've ever learned is right there when I need it in my mind. I have to study also for each assignment.
I have found that I particularly enjoy summer camp. I teach a couple of different kinds of classes with about six classes a day. There are no textbooks or requirements. I basically come up with the lesson plan and adjust each one to the class I'm teaching. Sometimes I feel like a farmer. When I'm teaching my cooking class, I may change the plan for the day if suddenly strawberries are on sale or a child brings in a particular recipe. With the acting class, much depends on where the kids go with a topic. They choose their play, often creating it in class, and I am more of a guide than giving them worksheets and tests and grades. I guess the "test and grade" would be the performance. Interestingly, I think they learn as much in the summer camp classes as if I gave them a textbook on the subjects, with all the objectives, rubrics, reports that a teacher does in a regular classroom.
It's sort of the same concept that Randy Pausch used with his classes at MIT where the students were playing games, but meanwhile they were learning ALICE. He mentioned this technique in his last lecture. Not that I pretend to be a famous computer scientist, but the same as natural food is usually healthier than what comes out of a can, teaching naturally as a part of a child's curiosity, input, and creativity often will accomplish more than any amount of standarized testing, parent conferences, report cards, homework worksheets. Maybe this concept only works at summer camp and MIT. However, maybe someday a graduate student will perform a study for his/her dissertation on the various modes of teaching.
For today, I will close. This is not the same piece I wrote earlier. Perhaps as I continue, the rest of the piece will come to me.
3/17/2009
I should be able to begin again since what I was writing is something I've been living with all my life. I personally like to be the boss. I'm only talking about one teacher, and that is me. I was this way as a child. We would play school, and I would always be the teacher. As I've grown older, I realize I do better in a teaching setting, whether it is in a classroom or on a filmset, when I have the freedom to teach as I know best. I certainly can follow guidelines or lesson plans; however, when a parent, supervisor, or anyone else starts telling me that I should spend more time on one subject or another or to work on only what's assigned, I begin to get very anxious. I become more involved in watching what I do than what I actually do. I begin to suffer from performance anxiety and become very self centered. I forget my primary purpose which is to teach the child or children.
When I'm allowed more respect to do what I do best with the education and experience I have, then I function better; and I think I'm a better teacher. Perhaps this is one reason I'm not teaching full-time. These days there are so many reports to write, numerous supervisors observing you, parents with various demands for their children. It's more like teaching by committee. Even on a filmset when I'm the only teacher, there are numerous variables that affect my teaching. Parents may prefer only the bare essentials of education to get by the law or they may only want me to complete certain assignments. Most of teaching is more than what is in the book or the worksheet. However, the worksheet and test is the part that shows. It's like the part of the iceberg above water, whereas I may research several concepts online, teacher's manual or from my own library. I'm not one of those people who has a photographic memory that everything I've ever learned is right there when I need it in my mind. I have to study also for each assignment.
I have found that I particularly enjoy summer camp. I teach a couple of different kinds of classes with about six classes a day. There are no textbooks or requirements. I basically come up with the lesson plan and adjust each one to the class I'm teaching. Sometimes I feel like a farmer. When I'm teaching my cooking class, I may change the plan for the day if suddenly strawberries are on sale or a child brings in a particular recipe. With the acting class, much depends on where the kids go with a topic. They choose their play, often creating it in class, and I am more of a guide than giving them worksheets and tests and grades. I guess the "test and grade" would be the performance. Interestingly, I think they learn as much in the summer camp classes as if I gave them a textbook on the subjects, with all the objectives, rubrics, reports that a teacher does in a regular classroom.
It's sort of the same concept that Randy Pausch used with his classes at MIT where the students were playing games, but meanwhile they were learning ALICE. He mentioned this technique in his last lecture. Not that I pretend to be a famous computer scientist, but the same as natural food is usually healthier than what comes out of a can, teaching naturally as a part of a child's curiosity, input, and creativity often will accomplish more than any amount of standarized testing, parent conferences, report cards, homework worksheets. Maybe this concept only works at summer camp and MIT. However, maybe someday a graduate student will perform a study for his/her dissertation on the various modes of teaching.
For today, I will close. This is not the same piece I wrote earlier. Perhaps as I continue, the rest of the piece will come to me.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Right Decision/Wrong Decision
After all these years I still don't know when I've made the right decision or the wrong decision until some time has passed. Most recently I went ahead with one film which I will call Film A since it was a definite date right away and the dates for for another film, Film B, were sort of vague. I wasn't even sure if Film B was going to bring a kid or hire an adult actor who looks young. They could have hired a CA kid or the mother could have brought her own teacher. Then after I tell Film A "yes" and I'm supposed to start work this week, Film B called, and I had to turn it down. Since there was no one available in the union, I mentioned it to Ms. J. I was then cancelled by Film A for Tuesday so I agreed to come to the Film B and bring Ms. J. with me for them to meet. She went with me at no pay and more or less shadowed me for the day.
Supposedly I am to work for the Film A on Wed, but it was cancelled late on Tuesday, after Film B finally decided to hire Ms. J. I didn't hear from Film A for Thursday, just no call. Then today, Film A production called to say it didn't look like the kid would be in on Friday either; and they were vague about next week which is spring break. Originally I was to work this week in preproduction and school him, work next week and bank time since it is his spring break, school the next week, and go with them for three days on location. Now it's looking like I'll be lucky if I even get one week's work on Film A. Meanwhile, Film B will probably be here till April and provide several weeks if not a month of steady work after all. So Ms. J. will be on the show.
Now this is where the question arises. Did I make the right decision or the wrong decision? It's sort of like changing lanes on the freeway, taking a different route so it might be less congested or something as simple as changing lines at the grocery store. I change lines because there are three people in front of me and only one in the next line. However, the lady needs a price check on five items, her check needs approval, then she forgot something, she wants cigarettes, and they have to unpack a new box for her brand. Ten people have now finished in the orginal line, and I'm still in line behind the one lady. However, because I was in the store an extra 10 minutes when I leave the store, there has just been a wreck in the very lane I would have been driving in. So did I make the right decision or the wrong decision.
There are people who missed a flight, thinking it had totally messed up the trip, only to find out the plane they missed crashed. I get a divorce, but it's the worst decision ever. But then 30 years later, I realize I would have never made the progress I've made had I been married. I would have probably been as immature and spoiled as ever, very dependent and neurotic. However, did I mature because I was on my own or would I have matured anyway simply because I got older?
So I'm still not sure if I made the right decision about about Film B except I am so glad I'm not driving an hour to an hour and a half each way. I'm glad I'm not dealing with some of the scenes. Maybe I only work for Film A a week, and it is a big success or maybe there is no subsequent work with Film A and I only end up with a week of work.
Do I feel glad for Ms. J, in that she has lost so much of her retirement in the stock market and for a month has a steady job. I know we had a great time on the drive and being on set together. It was different being with another teacher to verify I have a tough job. I think it is hard for most women not to be jealous of siblings, relatives, women friends when something works out for others instead of them. However, so far, I have been glad Ms. J is doing the job rather than someone I didn't know. She definitely hit it off well with the mother, and I think she will be good with the child. Who knows maybe she'll find a new career.
You may file this under unread mail or you can respond with your own feelings about destiny. Is it good if you are forced to move on to another career? How does your own attitude affect the outcome and so on ad infinitum . . . .
Supposedly I am to work for the Film A on Wed, but it was cancelled late on Tuesday, after Film B finally decided to hire Ms. J. I didn't hear from Film A for Thursday, just no call. Then today, Film A production called to say it didn't look like the kid would be in on Friday either; and they were vague about next week which is spring break. Originally I was to work this week in preproduction and school him, work next week and bank time since it is his spring break, school the next week, and go with them for three days on location. Now it's looking like I'll be lucky if I even get one week's work on Film A. Meanwhile, Film B will probably be here till April and provide several weeks if not a month of steady work after all. So Ms. J. will be on the show.
Now this is where the question arises. Did I make the right decision or the wrong decision? It's sort of like changing lanes on the freeway, taking a different route so it might be less congested or something as simple as changing lines at the grocery store. I change lines because there are three people in front of me and only one in the next line. However, the lady needs a price check on five items, her check needs approval, then she forgot something, she wants cigarettes, and they have to unpack a new box for her brand. Ten people have now finished in the orginal line, and I'm still in line behind the one lady. However, because I was in the store an extra 10 minutes when I leave the store, there has just been a wreck in the very lane I would have been driving in. So did I make the right decision or the wrong decision.
There are people who missed a flight, thinking it had totally messed up the trip, only to find out the plane they missed crashed. I get a divorce, but it's the worst decision ever. But then 30 years later, I realize I would have never made the progress I've made had I been married. I would have probably been as immature and spoiled as ever, very dependent and neurotic. However, did I mature because I was on my own or would I have matured anyway simply because I got older?
So I'm still not sure if I made the right decision about about Film B except I am so glad I'm not driving an hour to an hour and a half each way. I'm glad I'm not dealing with some of the scenes. Maybe I only work for Film A a week, and it is a big success or maybe there is no subsequent work with Film A and I only end up with a week of work.
Do I feel glad for Ms. J, in that she has lost so much of her retirement in the stock market and for a month has a steady job. I know we had a great time on the drive and being on set together. It was different being with another teacher to verify I have a tough job. I think it is hard for most women not to be jealous of siblings, relatives, women friends when something works out for others instead of them. However, so far, I have been glad Ms. J is doing the job rather than someone I didn't know. She definitely hit it off well with the mother, and I think she will be good with the child. Who knows maybe she'll find a new career.
You may file this under unread mail or you can respond with your own feelings about destiny. Is it good if you are forced to move on to another career? How does your own attitude affect the outcome and so on ad infinitum . . . .
Haiku
How wonderful is this! I love the blog. All of the poems are so poignant.
http://abottleofmessages.blogspot.com Now if I can figure out how to put a link to this on my page besides in a post. David's poem.
In courthouses,
at funerals:
our family reunions
http://abottleofmessages.blogspot.com Now if I can figure out how to put a link to this on my page besides in a post. David's poem.
In courthouses,
at funerals:
our family reunions
It all starts here.
I don't have much more to say about a white buffalo. I'm only using the name because my son, David, set me up with this blog and that was the name he gave me. Now I'm stuck with it.
Rozanne
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