You Just Never Know

So, being in a nostalgic mood this weekend, something on Facebook sparked me and I tried to look up a couple of people I used to know - just out of curiousity. I found one person who probably wouldn't remember me much - the ones who stay don't always remember the ones who go.

Finally, I typed a name - Drew Keriakedes. He was a boy I knew in Florida and exchanged letters with occasionally until my 9th grade year. He was best friends with my first crush, Bart. Sadly, I found this article. How sad to die when it sounds like he finally found some peace in his world.

The last letter I ever received from him was after he had left home (maybe age 15 or so) and made his way to California. He could not reconcile some of his life with the beliefs of his family and he was living an existance I couldn't really even imagine. At the time, I had just written an article about an organization Gerald McRaney was involved in which helped runaway kids. I sent Drew the information and I never heard from him again. I suspect he didn't really have a regular address for a long time, but I don't know if that is true or not.


My heart is heavy. I think this must be why I was feeling nostalgic yesterday...something in the air. Sad.



Here's another article - just a little info about Drew's family from back when I knew him.

Whitney, Fame and Being Authentic

I was saddened, though not surprised, to hear of Whitney Houston's death yesterday. Considering some of her life choices, it is not a shocking outcome, but no less tragic than anyone else's death.

I feel a little like the Grinch whose heart was two sizes too small saying this but I wanted to speak my piece about this.

I find it strange that people rushed the music stores to purchase Whitney Houston's music - much like they did with Michael Jackson.  While they were alive, many "fans" treated them like they were pariahs. Then suddenly, when they die, everyone has to rush to shower their memory with love, bring flowers and gush incessantly about how much the person was "their favorite" or "like a sister" or "my hero" or whatever other adjective you want to add.

I don't understand that kind of fickleness.  I liked Whitney Houston's voice (and Michael Jackson's in his "Thriller" days), but I have the music of theirs that I liked.  If one of my favorite singers died, I would already have all of their music - because they are my favorite. It just seems so odd that we don't recognize what we have when we have it.

If I love a person's music, art, writing, presence, I want them to know it (in whatever way I can show) while they are still alive. I want to support them in their life.  Imagine if, when Whitney was making her comeback a couple of years ago, everyone had run out to purchase her new album without even hearing it - just because they wanted to support her coming back.  Maybe, that kind of support, at that time in her life, would have led her down a different path.

I'm not blaming people for her death - I'm just wondering if there is a way to turn this kind of thing around. I would love it if the next troubled star we see gets love and support while they are alive and can use it. Maybe if we stop buying "The Enquirer" and "Us" magazine and spend our money on their product, not the unseemly parts of their lives, being famous might be a tad bit easier. I don't know.  Just thinking about all of this.

#Trust30 Day 11: Divine Idea

#Trust30 is an online initiative and 30-day writing challenge that encourages you to look within and trust yourself. Use this as an opportunity to reflect on your now, and to create direction for your future. 30 prompts from inspiring thought-leaders will guide you on your writing journey. Sign up below to receive the prompts by email. If you like this pledge, check out reverb10, it's inspiring.

Divine Idea by Fabian Kruse

Imitation is Suicide. Insist on yourself; never imitate. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Write down in which areas of your life you have to overcome these suicidal tendencies of imitation, and how you can transform them into a newborn you – one that doesn’t hide its uniqueness, but thrives on it. There is a “divine idea which each of us represents” – which is yours?

(Author: Fabian Kruse)

When I read some of these prompts, I feel like they are talking to someone else - my life just isn't that grand and maybe isn't even that purpose-full. It is somewhat uncomfortable to realize that maybe I just don't think in these terms...

Anyway, the one way that I have not imitated and have embraced my uniqueness is in my grief process. I was so lucky that I was not constrained by the societal "shoulds" - I could tell that my grieving process was sometimes misunderstood or made people uncomfortable after Roby died, but I was so raw - like someone had stripped all the skin off my body. My family had never taught me some of the repressive ways of the American grieving process (pacing, covering up, not talking about it, etc.).  I couldn't do anything that looked or sounded like pretending - it just WAS. I was sort of surprised daily by waking up still alive, so the rest sort of just happened.

Once I worked through the rawest stages and as I was frantically reading books about death and dying, I realized that I had been given an incredible gift by the people who knew me - space and time to grieve in the way I needed - and that many people don't have that luxury. As I have moved along through the world, I have tried to support others in their grief process - in knowing that it is different for each person and that honoring your own process is so important.

I guess this is one area where I have really followed my own path. Maybe it wasn't MY divine idea, but it ended up being something I believe, something I support and something that I try to remember every day.

Remembering Dean

On April 26, 1995, I lost my dear friend, Dean Cannavino.  He was an amazing actor, teacher, mentor and performer.  He was generous and funny and charismatic.  He died of AIDS.

I met Dean in the Fall of 1989 when he moved to Portland temporarily to star in a show with Northwest Theatre of the Deaf called "The Signal Season of Dummy Hoy" about a Deaf baseball player who was instrumental in creating the signals still used in baseball today.  It was a tremendous opportunity for me as an interpreter, as a signer, as a human being in the world.  Dean and I became fast friends.  Ironically, because I met him in his professional world, I always knew him as Dean. When he met people in the community, he introduced himself as "Dino" but I always called him Dean.

I remember so many things about my time with Dean (I'm looking for the photos to scan). Two memories stand out for me - one was just after a few weeks working on the show. I was at the middle school where I interpreted and one of the Deaf students asked me, "What are you doing now that is different?"  I wasn't really sure what they meant and I asked them about it.  The student said, "Your signing is different...more clear, something is different."  I knew immediately that it was from working with Dean, from working on the play, from meeting Deaf adults in the community instead of languishing - linguistically- in K-12.  I knew immediately that I needed more input so that my output would continue to improve.  I was SO LUCKY to have opportunities given to me where I could grow and be with people who were so generous and willing to mentor me.

The other memory that stands out is the memory of the closing night party after "Dummy Hoy".  It was at Dean's house (where he had been living during his temporary stay in Portland) and everyone was there. I was shy and not a member of the cast - I had served in other capacities for the show.  I so wanted to just follow Dean around and cherish every moment with him, but so did everyone else. He was incredibly charismatic and people just gravitated to him. Slowly, after everyone had eaten, people started leaving one by one...pretty soon, having no purpose, I started collecting dishes and cups and cleaning up.  Eventually, it was just Dean and I in the kitchen trying to avoid the end.  When we realized it was just the two of us, we both sheepishly admitted that we didn't want to say goodbye.  We had a good cry over it and promised to stay in touch.  I didn't think we would.  We did. For many years.  He went home again, but it wasn't long before he realized that he missed the Portland community and came back.

I have lots of other memories, obviously, but those two are the ones that came to me today as I was remembering him.

I miss you, Dean. Take care of Alan for us.

Alan Champion - Teacher, Mentor, Friend

One of my favorite pictures of Candy and Alan together. From 1999 "TDF/TAP Interpreting for the Theatre" program at The Juilliard School.  

Candace Broeker-Penn and Alan Champion interpreting for a theatrical production

Alan teaching/interpreting

Alan in a tuxedo. Lovely. 

The instant I saw Alan Champion in New York City, in the Juilliard School in 1999 for the "Interpreting for the Theatre" Intensive program, I leaned over to my friend and said, "I LOVE him!"  I felt an instant connection/fascination/adoration for him. As the week went on, that feeling intensified.  It never went away. I left at the end of the week feeling bereft.  I was determined that I needed more contact and more opportunity to meet him, know him, work with him, let him teach me and mentor me and hopefully get to know him better. 

 I went back to visit the program a few years later when one of my friends went. And then another time and another. I think I went 3 times to support my friends and then I went back and I took the program again in 2005. Something about the way Alan saw the world and expressed himself resonated deeply for me. He had high expectations of everyone around him, including himself. He was funny, brilliant, kind, wicked. He was a great teacher, a brilliant interpreter, a kind person. He was well-rounded for an interpreter - he sang classical music and raised show cats.

There is so much more I want to say and yet, when it all comes down to it, I was in his physical presence only a few times. We were Facebook friends and one night, I had a dream about him. I sent him an email and I told him how much he had touched me and that I didn't want to presume, but I just felt a strong connection to him and I wanted to thank him for his presence in my life. He wrote back and told me about his illness - he had a rare form of cancer.  He said our friendship was the kind that if we didn't see each other for 85 years, we would just pick up where we left off. What a gift!

Tragically, the world lost an incredibly talented, kind, funny, joyous human being today. Alan passed away surrounded by his family after a mighty struggle with cancer. My heart is broken right now. I regret that I didn't go to New York in the fall to see him one last time. I hate that I let "life" get in the way.

Alan, I miss you already.  

***All the links lead to articles or videos of Alan from various sources. This was my personal little tribute, but there are many more that remember Alan's work as a sign language interpreter on Broadway and in other capacities. 

Sunday, Sunday

I did relatively nothing yesterday, so today, I had to get my behind in gear. Listening to "The Lion King", getting my script ready for rehearsal, going to rehearsal. Worked on cleaning out my car, although I didn't finish (it was raining too hard to finish).  I wanted to go to the movies today but rehearsal was at the time I usually like to go, so I gave it a miss.

I'm also reading a good book right now, although I haven't made any progress in it this weekend. Will take some time this week to read more. Looking forward to doing some art when the show is done - I'd like to think I might do some before then, but I know I won't.

Getting ready to buy a ticket to Las Vegas for a work trip. It is funny how I can go for months and months and not travel anywhere and then I will take a trip that generates a bunch more trips. Vegas will be short - a few days, but it will be good to see some of my colleagues in person. Some notables will be missing, but life must go on.

Also, a woman from my LIAV telecourse passed away last week. She was a firecracker and lived her life so fully we were all just amazed by her. I am saddened by her death but glad I had the chance to know someone who was so full of life. Celeste, wherever you are, thanks for your courage and your participation in our group. I am richer having known you.