Time to Shine

Maria Peterson Photography

Goodbye 2010. Time to shine in 2011.

People often ask why I moved to a place they call Sodom, meaning Los Angeles.  What they really mean is: "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!!" 

Honestly? 

I wanted to see my legs again. wear sundresses. dance on the beach. drive with the top down.

Friends promised I'd get used to the cold, foggy Bay Area summers. I never did. 

And I didn't even consider moving back East in winter; suffered too much frostbite reporting in blizzard conditions. We'd freeze even wearing station-issued parkas.

I didn't handle the cold or the spotlight well back then. Viewers could be mean, my ego fragile.  And they didn't teach us in journalism school how to handle haters.

"Honey, blot your lips!" a viewer had sneered at my first TV job. Yet, our anchor Pam had turned being trashed into treasure. 

"Blot?" she'd ask before going on set. It became our code for, "Do I look ok?" 

What we were really saying is, "I got your back."

So what was I thinking moving to LA?  Well, sunshine. But in my heart I was saying, "God, here I am. Use me.  If this is the place, I'm ready." 

So thanks for your prayers. Thanks for having my back.  Time to shine in 2011.  Blot?

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Trinkets and Trees

Maria Peterson Photography

Tiffany's and some other luxury brand stores just opened in our coastal town. Amusing -  the juxtaposition of beach-goers dressed in tank tops and flip-flops toting those exclusive little blue bags.

Did you know you can actually buy Tiffany's boxes on eBay?  

"For those who want to try to illicit the oohs and aahs without the genuine article," wrote Luxist blogger Deidre Woollard.

Deceiving loved ones by giving them fake gems in a Tiffany box? The Grinch would be proud. Reminds me of the story of Jesus cursing the fig tree because it appeared lush yet was bearing no fruit. No one wants to be deceived, whether by a trinket or a tree.

It seems we're growing tired of the chasing the elusive Hollywood and Madison Avenue fantasies. We long for the genuine: real love. intimacy. purpose. Maybe we're searching for substance over shallowness because of misfortune, maybe because of tragedy - the kinds of things that make us seek deeper meaning.

Whatever the reason, I pray you experience God's heart of love this Christmas and not settle for an imitation...even if it's wrapped in a pretty blue box.

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Brides, Brooms and Grooms

I've been home visiting family and a four-year-old who quoted me lines from Disney's The Princess and the Frog while insisting we rehearse for my wedding. 

Never mind that I'm not engaged.

Four-year-old is dead set to be a flower girl. She's decided I'm her best bet. 

"Let's practice for your wedding," she said, "You just need a broom."  Took me a second to realize she meant groom not broom.

I wasn't about to leave the warm diner where we were sharing Mickey Mouse pancakes for a fake ceremony in the cold. I tried offering alternative relatives.

"Practice with my niece," I said.

"Not her," four-year-old rolled her eyes dramatically, implying niece is a bad girl.

"What about grandma?" I tried.

"She has too many wrinkles," countered future Bridezilla.

Ever try arguing with a four-year-old wearing a pink tutu and tin foil tiara?  Arms linked, we walked slowly through the restaurant humming, "Here Comes the Bride."  Never mind strangers staring - when you're four, nothing inhibits love.

Surrendering the heart is so much harder as adults. I thought of several friends who are having marital trouble.  Love has grown cold. 

But then I remembered Solomon, the king who falls for an improbable bride: "See! The winter is past. Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me."

Flower girl may have seen one too many Disney flicks but I envied her openness to love.

Maybe the weather wasn't so bad after all. "Shall we walk like brides out to the car?" I asked. She excitedly replied, "And if you don't get a broom, maybe you can borrow my daddy!"

Love really is simple when you're four.

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In the Recording Studio



Matthew Marsden and Garcelle Beauvais in
"Eyes to See."  Photo: Caroline Choi photo

Just finished in the recording studio for Eyes to See. The film is based on true events surrounding the work of a relief team I covered in Haiti last January after the massive earthquake. 

The film's director asked me to voice the role of a newscaster for the opening scenes. This was my first time seeing footage.  Some scenes brought tears to my eyes.

The film's stars were at the recording studio when I arrived. Matthew Marsden (Transformers, Rambo) and NYPD Blue's Garcelle Beauvais needed to re-record some lines.

Between sessions, Matthew brought up  George Clooney's work in Sudan;* I had expected light-hearted from the funny Englishman.

"How can I help standing here in a recording studio in Hollywood?" the director ended the conversation - frustrated at our own inability to help, and also wanting us to stay focused  since we were running behind schedule. 

We went back to our lines but the question nagged at me. How can we make a difference when the need is so great? Sudan. Haiti. Hollywood - even here hundreds of homeless people sleep in alleys and beg tourists for money.

"At least one hospital..." I started the script again, grateful that at least my voice might draw attention to the plight of a country in need.

*(There are safety fears with concerns that the upcoming South Sudanese cessation vote may cause civil war.)

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Freely

On Tuesday, I will get up and choose what clothes to wear.
Somewhere else in the world a woman will be forced to cover her face, hair and skin in black cloaks.

On Tuesday, I will wear a gift--a necklace bearing a cross.
Somewhere a man will be executed for revealing his faith.

On Tuesday, I will drive to my appointments.
Somewhere a woman will face imprisonment for breaking the law by driving a car.

On Tuesday, I will make dinner with friends.
Somewhere a woman will be murdered for talking to a man who is not her husband; an "honor killing" her family will say.

On Tuesday, I will go to the store by myself.
Somewhere a wife will remain trapped inside her house, forbidden to travel, get an education or go out alone.

On Tuesday, I will dream about my wedding night.
Somewhere a girl will be subjected to genital mutilation; later, even while still in puberty, she will be forced to marry a man who may treat her worse than his livestock.

On Tuesday, I will flirt with my neighbor.
Somewhere a woman will be stoned for a suspected "sexual indiscretion" that she may never have committed.

On Tuesday, I will watch kids play in the park.
Somewhere children will be gang-raped and tortured; "spoils of war" soldiers will say.

On Tuesday, I will go to my polling place.Somewhere a man will die fighting for his voice to be heard.

On Tuesday, I will say a prayer of thanksgiving.
Somewhere from behind bars prisoners will pray for freedom.

On Tuesday, I will Dress. Drive. Work. Play. Dream. Love. Pray. Vote...freely. Please vote on Tuesday.

© 2010 Shay Holland

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Lazarus Rising From the Dead

The drive to the North Hollywood casting studios can be unpredictable so I've learned to avoid Santa Monica and Sunset Boulevards and leave at least twice the amount of time to get there than I think it will take.

I arrived before my call time and signed in to audition for a commercial for the world's most famous burger chain.

"We're waiting for your husband," the casting director explained I was going to have to wait.  I needed a partner to audition with since the commercial called for a husband and wife. Five white guys and I sat in the waiting room. 

"I can audition with one of them," I offered. 

"Advertisers aren't that creative," the director responded. Okay.

Lazarus (my TV husband's name, not the guy Jesus raised from the dead) arrived late (big no-no) so we didn't get the usual five-minute prep. 

It showed. 

We had to start over three times, which might not have been so bad if my fake husband hadn't kept using the name of a competitor's chain!

Goodbye SAG national paycheck. Goodbye residuals. 

But I've learned even if it doesn't seem like you'll book a part, give it all you've got anyway. Sometimes it turns out you're right for the part afterall.

After one audition, I had a feeling I might book the part but the director cast someone else. The day of the shoot,  my agent called saying the other actor's flight was delayed - in another country! The director wanted me to replace her on set that day. I showed up ready to work (that director later cast me in several projects).

Back to Lazarus. "I just had something else on my mind," he apologized. I wasn't mad though, because lately I've had a feeling that dreams, promises, that seem dead are going to come back to life. Thanks for the reminder, Lazarus.

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The Road Less Traveled

"I took the one less traveled...and that has made all the difference." ~Robert Frost
Photo: Maria Peterson Photography

"Shay?" said a woman's voice on the phone. I knew what she was going to say before she said it. 

"Shay, he's gone." No one calls at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday with good news. 

Not even when it's your birthday.

He'd taken the road less traveled hoping to save souls in San Francisco. He'd fed the homeless when their stench made it nearly impossible to be around them. He'd befriended the skateboard kids who came looking for food, and sometimes to steal money. He'd helped me settle in the city not knowing whether or not I was just another con artist trying to take advantage of his kindness.

He encouraged me to take the path less traveled, to follow a dream....a long shot by anyone's standards. Too old, too dark, too "thick" by Hollywood's standards. 

"Go," he said. "Pursue the adventure of God's calling."

"You're setting out to do something only God can accomplish," he wrote to me in an email as I headed to Hollywood in the spring of 2007. 

At times when the way seems impossible and I've grown weary, I get this picture of him cheering from heaven. "Go!" he shouts. "Follow the yearning in your heart!"

He left on my birthday but somehow I know he'll share with me in the fulfillment of an impossible dream.

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Love in a Red Sack

Photo:  Maria Peterson Photography

This picture my friend Maria took hints to me of love. Blooms and candlelight and music. Expectancy.

I've wanted to write about marriage even though I don't have relationship credentials. But do prayers count? Do tears? Does faith?

I've stood at the altar with friends who vowed to cherish eachother forever. I've wept with those same friends as their vows deteriorated into ugly words, sexless nights and shattered plates.

Most times there was no unfaithfulness, no beatings, no addiction; just a slow death of love. 

"I feel like he walked out of the marriage long ago," said one friend.

Once passionate hearts turned to hearts of stone. Irreconcilably broken. The enemy of love whispers, These are my friends. I'm so much like them. Will my marriage die, too?

Statistically, I'll never marry. The stats say I'm too old, too black, too educated. I read this Washington Post article, Marriage is for White People, that said, "African American women are the least likely in any society to marry." 

Given the odds, you'd think I'd be jaded about marriage.

But I'm not. See, I think marriage was meant to be the closest representation of heaven on earth; to reflect the very heart of God singing a song to our heart. When God banished man from Eden, He made sure he wasn't alone.

So I don't just see a woman shopping in the photo. I see the bright bloom of possibility. Expectation. Hope fulfilled. Overflowing from a cheerful red sack.

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Breathe

Filming a scene with Garcelle Beauvais on the set of "Eyes to See"

Filming just wrapped on the movie inspired by our team's work in Haiti after the earthquake. It's often hard to walk away from a prodution because of the bonds formed with the cast and crew. 

This time was no different.

Eyes to See, starring Matthew Marsden (Rambo, Transformers), is about a cameraman forced to choose between helping people and doing his job after the earthquake. An actor asked how I felt being on set after having experienced the tragedy firsthand. "Like I can breathe again," I answered.

Actors taking a break on the LA set of "Eyes to See"

Despite working 12-hour days covered in fake blood and dirt,  shooting dozens of takes at 2 am and enduring blistering heat, my lungs filled with the air of creativity and purpose.

Few doors have opened for me to tell meaningful stories since moving to LA and just when it seems I'll have to go back to covering pimps and perverts, a project like this comes along.

Struggling to finish the film in Haiti, director Dave de Vos wondered if it was worth it. "And then I stand here where so many lives were lost," he says, "I see the spirit of the Haitian people, the smiles of the children, and the hope for the future, and I remember."

Dave is donating the film's royalties to a Haitian rebuilding nonprofit. My part is small in comparison but I'm grateful to play a role. Grateful this movie isn't about egos. Grateful to put my head up and breathe.

"I remember our call to help the least, the last and the lost; our mission to shine a light on hope. That's why we have to get it right." ~Dave de Vos

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Action!

Filming "Eyes to See" at Blue Cloud Ranchi in California

Back on set! I have a small part in the film inspired by our trip to Haiti after the earthquake. Eyes to See tells the story of the disaster's aftermath through the eyes of a news photographer. With a cast led by Matthew Marsden (Rambo, Transformers) and Garcelle Beauvais (NYPD Blue, The Jaime Foxx Show), director Dave de Vos says "it's a story of hope even amidst the tragedy."

I feel a bit emotional on set. My thoughts go back to the ruins of Port au Prince.  Even though it's been nine months, the suffering remains so great. This week a worker at the orphanage where we stayed said one of the kids may not make it through the night due to a brain infection. "Don't let them stick me with needles," little Juno told doctors, "They hurt!!!"

Fortunately it looks like surgeons will be able to save Juno's life but what about his future? No family. Sick. And yet...dare we dream for him? With him?

Yes...not because this film will make a difference in his life, but because hope refuses to stay buried in the rubble.

Nine months ago when people asked me why face the risks in Haiti, I answered, "This is a moment in history in which I've been invited to play a role. How can I say no?"  

I have the same feeling on set:  a sense of being in the right place, at the right time, with the right people - a trifecta of grace. 

Map vini an Ayiti anko. I will return to Haiti.

Sadly Juno (hugging the stuffed animal above) died a few weeks after I wrote this post.

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Haiti Film Underway!

Actor Nikki Storm prepares to film a scene in "Eyes to See" at Blue Cloud Ranchi

Filming has started on the movie inspired by our Haiti team! Eyes to See stars Matthew Marsden (Rambo and Transformers) and Garcelle Beauvais, a native Haitian known (NYPD Blue, Franklin & Bash).  The film is about a photographer forced to choose between doing his job and helping people after the earthquake.

Nine months after the disaster, orphanage workers tell us the children are coping despite immense suffering. Grief though, finds a way to assert itself. unstoppable tears. pain. anger.

Grief still feels foreign to me.  Being a reporter demands staying emotionally disconnected in order to handle the violence and death of the lens through which we see the world. 

A few years ago the news reported that a mom had thrown her three babies into the San Francisco Bay. The tide swept away the tiny bodies before anyone could save them.  Divers were searching by the Golden Gate Bridge near where I lived at the time.

I walked the Bay half-hoping to find a miracle. "God, you've made me unfit for news," I wept. Away from the crime beat, I was discovering tears I'd never shed no matter how many murders I saw.

Today I was thinking about something a friend wrote while keeping vigil at his dad's bedside. "Jesus wept," he'd written, "but not tears of despair."  

Jesus wept. The shortest verse in the Bible. 

And a thought came to me that made grief ok: sometimes tears precede miracles.

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Navigating Love

As friends pray for a miracle to save their dad's life, I'm amazed at the strength of their faith. It's made me think about family. Love.

Back when we owned a big, white Buick and no one wore seatbelts, I loved being my dad's navigator on road trips. He'd let me read the map even though I'd sometimes get us lost.

I remember a near-miss one winter. Icy roads. A car plowing through a red light. A thick utility pole. My dad's split-second decision - throwing his body across mine, trying to save me from the impact.

Another memory...one trip where my dad entrusted me with his big bag of coins for the tolls. Leaning across him, I'd toss our fare into the bucket. 

"Pay the toll," he said at the second plaza.  

"But I paid it last time," I said. 

"What do you mean?'" he demanded. 

"I already paid it," I insisted.

Not knowing the coins were meant to last us through three states, I'd emptied the bag into the first toll without him noticing.  My dad dug out his wallet to pay the fare.

I eventually grew up, bought my own car, moved cross country to work in TV.  Family took a backseat to career.  Dad and I struggled to navigate love far apart.

One foggy day, a near miss. A car swerves into my lane. I pull over, shaken. A memory from years ago. Icy roads. A utility pole. My father shielding my body with his. 

"Your dad would do the same thing all over again," I sensed God saying.

Our car had stopped inches from the pole that day when my dad had been willing to sacrifice his life for mine. Pain and distance melted away. I was again navigating safely at my father's side.

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The One That Got Away

Ty Penning, "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition." Photo:  Getty Images

Lately I've been thinking about the one that got away.  Not a man.  The Dream Job.

Extreme Makeover: Home Edition was holding an international search for a new designer. Some of you know my passion for architecture and design. I've studied the trade since writing an interior design newspaper column and eventually earned my General Contractor's license.

I decided to send the casting director my materials even though I'd be up again some of the most talented designers in the world. I was stunned to get called in to audition out of thousands of hopefuls. 

I drove to the studio early the day of the audition so that I'd have time to freshen up; make sure I didn't have toilet paper stuck to my shoe.  

The director conducted an interview-style audition, judging personality and skill. That type of tryout can be challenging since there is no scripted dialogue to help guide the audition but after years of ad-libbing breaking news live shots, I was in my element. 

I got a call-back.

Then the door suddenly closed.  The star host's arrest for DUI put the search on hold. Indefinitely. Ty Pennington quickly apologized with the show's future was in jeopardy. 

So that's the one that got away. And, like all first loves, you never forget.

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Brazilians and Bachelors

Brazil got me thinking about love and affection. Everyone greeted us with hugs and kisses; there are no strangers in Brazil.  So different than our American culture where anything more than a quick handshake is suspect.

The touchy-feely Brazilian nature is as foreign to me as the language. Growing up on military bases, salutes were exchanged more than hugs. In Brazil I challenged myself to let down my guard, to the amazement of friends back home.

"You couldn't even share a bed with me," Tina reminded me, "You asked the hotel for a cot." Yes, but who sleeps with the bride the night before her wedding?

Why is it so hard to speak the language of affection?  Is our addiction to shows like the The Bachelor a way of meeting an unmet craving for intimacy?

Season 3's Bachelor lived near me so I watched as 25 women competed for the rose. Meet Andrew Firestone and enter to win a year's supply of Top Ramen, our grocery store would have these absurd promotions.

The neighbors were truly sad when Andrew's engagement fizzled. What did they expect? In 14 seasons, no bachelor has ever married the lover holding the final rose.

"Harmless habit," friends defend tuning in to a show with a 100% failure rate. Or is it porn for the heart? Cheap romance to fill a void? Exotic locales, steamy kisses, rose-petal strewn bedrooms. "It's the fairytale aspect," said one writer.

Of course. Fantasy sell. Sex and champagne can woo a heart for a season. But tenderness and affection? They'll win it for a lifetime.

Do you know what it means to come home to a woman who gives you a little tenderness and affection?  It means you're in the wrong house. 
~Henry Youngman

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Better than Botox

Just when I decided to put away the skateboard and stop playing video games and embrace the whole aging thing, everything changed.

Blame Steve Jobs.

I used to be an early adopter - until it got ridiculously expensive and Apple became the world's fastest-growing cult. I've never been a conformist.

And then I held it: the. tablet.  I was minding my own business on the Santa Monica Promenade when I saw one of the glistening jewels sitting alone on a store display table.  Very odd, since the other iPads were surrounded three-deep by cult members.

The serpent seduced with the Apple.  In my hands was the fountain of youth. Videogames. Comics. Disney on demand.  The 9.7" capsule held an elixir far more potent than Botox. I was transformed like Queen Gimhilde  in Snow White, the magic mirror at my command.

Then I felt eyes drilling into the back of my head. A boy glared at me as if to say, "Lady, you look ridiculous playing video games with curlers in your hair."  

The spell was broken. 

I gingerly put down the tablet.  I was saved. My bank account not depleted by $499. Plus tax. Plus data plan. Plus accessories. Plus apps.

You almost had me, Mr. Jobs. And just for the record, I wasn't wearing curlers.

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Defying Limits

I've been feeling so trapped by monotony that I tried riding backwards in elevators just for kicks. Really bothers people when someone defies convention. Or is there some law that says elevator passengers must stand facing forward?

I've always resisted boundaries that limit creativity and adventure. As a kid, if an adult told me, "Girls don't climb trees," I'd climb the highest one.  When teachers said, "Draw inside the lines," I colored perfectly outside the lines. 

Yes, challenge boundaries in the wrong way and you land in jail. or worse.  But defy limits in the right way? You can change the world.

I was thinking of two Haitian boys who told us their parents died when their houses collapsed in the earthquake.  They said they ran for their lives but got lost and had been running ever since. We brought them to our camp to take care of them.

Natasha with our adventurers Kevin and Manu. Haiti 2010

That night our hosts brought back a stranded traveler. As fate would have it, she recognized the boys from a school in the city. 

Turns out they weren't exactly orphans running for their lives.  They'd made up the story.  We couldn't be mad; they'd just wanted an adventure. We arranged to take them home in the morning.

I hope to see the boys again - maybe write a children's book about their adventure.  I'm not condoning their actions - they could have gotten hurt or worse.  But imagine the men they can become if given the chance to run with an extraordinary vision for their country.

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Justice of the Heart


A friend sent me a casting notice for a movie about a serial killer based on true events. I never imagined the possibility of auditioning for the role of a TV newscaster would reveal the ending to a real life case.

Friends have suggested I write books about the murder cases I've covered but the idea never appealed to me; maybe because there aren't any happy endings.  "You go on but you can't forget the things you saw," said my mother.  Can't forget the victims - or the killers.

No Movie Script
I wish it had just been a movie when my TV station sent me to cover the murder of a nurse named Martha Bryant who'd been attacked driving home from work.  The horrific killing rocked a quiet Oregon town. 

I can't forget police describing how the killer tried to rape her: "When he realized she was of no use to him sexually due to her injuries, he executed her."  Shot her point blank in the head in the back seat of his car.

Police began to suspect a soft-spoken family man who lived nearby. My cameraman and I went to his house to interview him but workers were tearing it down.  Someone had torched it. 

"Found this," a worker handed me a charred slip of paper, "don't know if it means anything."

Chills ran through me after one glance. It was a search warrant showing cops were looking for possessions of a dozen women in the man's house. 

If my hunch was right, police thought he may have killed before. Many times.

Phone calls confirmed the women listed in the search warrant were either missing or dead. The trail of possible victims ran from Florida to Oregon. 

I went on the air with the exclusive report that a serial killer might be at work. Police asked a judge to have me arrested for illegal possession of the warrant because I refused to reveal how I got it.  

Until now.

Cesar Barone eventually went on trial for Martha's murder and more. I sat behind him at the defense table every day in court.  During a break, he spoke to me for the first time. "Can you do me a favor?" he asked. "Can you check on my dogs?"

I never aired his comment; seemed too cruel to the victims' families.  Never aired his wife's story either; she'd met Barone a decade earlier through a personal ad.  She had no idea she'd fallen in love with a serial killer.

No Hollywood Ending
Today I learned Barone is dead.  Died on death row at 49 still insisting he was innocent (crime writer Anne Rule wrote a book about him but he never gained the notoriety of his former Florida cellmate, Ted Bundy).

I wish it had been a movie and the director would say, "Cut!" but there's no tidy Hollywood ending for Barone's wife and kids or his victims. 

But maybe life scored justice in the end:  Barone died of a cancerous tumor wrapped around his heart.

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Uncovered Treasures

Walking along the cool, sapphire waters of the Pacific. Sunshine glistening on the waves. Sea treasures - oysters, starfish, mussels, sponges, anemones - uncovered by the low tide.

I'm with a friend I met the day we flew to Haiti. Sarah had stayed in Port-au-Prince to run a clinic set up at an orphanage after the earthquake. This is the first time we've seen each other since hugging goodbye under a mango tree.

"Part of it is closure," she says of coming to see our team in California.  Like a book you can't put down, we struggle to close this chapter.

We went to the disaster zone expecting to feel the ache of death and despair.  Instead, for some of us Haiti became a place of rebirth.

"Haiti awakened something inside me," our friend, Kezia tries to explain. "My life hasn't really been the same since."

Sitting under the mango tree at base camp, I'd told Kezia she was meant to be a storyteller, a desire she'd buried long ago. In Haiti she'd let it stir in her heart again. "I felt like I'd been given permission to dream," she said. 

Closed doors. disappointments. failures...our dreams had become ghosts - until Haiti.

Sarah described Haiti as a place "where hugs were bandaids, hands became hope and a song bonded souls." It felt selfish to be with victims who lost so much only to find a song in our souls.

I, too, had abandoned myself to the song.  At times I was a writer, at times a nurse's aide, at times an orphan's playmate.  Limitations were removed. 

I struggle to find words. Kezia does it for me.

"Not being able to express yourself speaks of something new happening inside you. You are letting His purposes be worked out rather than making it fit a model you've seen before," she says. "That is trust."

Walking along the shore, I want to ask Sarah, "It's ok to keep the treasure we found in Haiti, right?"  But words are lost among the riches uncovered by the changing tide.

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Storytellers

It's an overused but true saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. Every TV writer's heard a million times, "Write to video." 

I know when I truly got what that means.

I'd written a lead story about an illegal, multistate puppy mill ring. Our news director tore up my script. 

"See these images?" he said, cuing up shots of sad puppies whimpering behind chain link fencing. "Start here. Then go into this sound bite."

He showed me how to turn a good story into an extraordinary one; not being exploitive but using the full impact of the visual medium.  

He also gave me my first big breaks: the anchor desk, top story live shots (threatening to fire me if I screwed up), network stories.

He could be a tyrant, too. When a childhood friend's mom died, he told me not to come back if I left during a critical news time. I walked out, driving six hours in a blizzard to get to the funeral.

He called a few days later demanding to know why I wasn't at work. "You fired me," I said. "Show up," he said. It was his way of saying, "You're still on the team." 

That year we took the station to first in the ratings for the first time in 40 years.

He was fiercely competitive but taught me to use that drive to dig beyond surface facts. He denied me only one title: war correspondent. Despite the risk, I'd wanted to cover history from Iraq's frontlines.

Eventually I'd go to the frontlines of war zones of a different kind - inner cities, disaster zones, Haiti...

Storytellers.  We see the risk, but we also see the chance to tell history. See those images? Start there.

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Champions

Maria Peterson Photography

My childhood friend, Stello, came to visit and we got to talking about junior high. We can remember our first crushes but for the life of us we can't remember why we started calling eachother by our last names - and still do.

We played soccer a lot back then. We can still recall our team's starting lineup:  Stello, me, Missy, Ruthie, Pam...

An undefeated season took us to the district championships against our biggest rival. Coach kept us starters in the whole game but the score stayed tied at zero.  Exhausted, we faced a kickoff.

Each of us remembers that game a little differently. Stello, at center, was held scoreless at the front line. I missed a penalty kick, something that hadn't happened all season. Our goalie let a ball dribble by her. 

And our rival? Well, they made one lousy kickoff point.

We'd bawled unashamedly. We hadn't played just to win a title or to impress a boy on the sidelines. We had played for eachother. I had wanted my teammates to be champions more than I had wanted it for myself and they had wanted the same for me. 

But in the end we'd fallen short. Our season was over.

"Why do we still care about a soccer game so long ago?" I asked Stello before she left.  She thought awhile and then wrote in my notes, "What would the world be like if we cared more about the other's success than our own?"

So decades later defeat finally lost its sting as we imagined a world that looked like it did back on that soccer field.  First crushes included, of course.

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No Ordinary Life

Nurse Kerry jumped on a plan with only hours notice to return to Haiti

Received a distressing message today from a relief team nurse who just flew back to Haiti to help at the orphanage clinic we set up after the earthquake. Aftershocks had forced them to evacuate.

"All the children woke up, fear was within each of them," Kerry said. They'd been outside all night, most of the children too hurt to go anywhere else.

Each time the ground shakes in Haiti, it shakes in my heart.  Images run through my mind. A starving baby asleep in my arms. Sick orphans huddled on the wet ground.

I keep having a dream that I'm trying to drive my car to Haiti but a tidal wave blocks my way.

Some of my teammates returned to Haiti with only hours notice to help expand the clinic at New Life Children's Home thanks to the donation of a large UNICEF tent.  We call the clinic "Wimmer's Wing" after EMT Sarah Wimmer who stayed behind to help run it.

I expected those middle-of-the-night phone calls as a TV news crime reporter. The overnight producer would give me just enough details to throw on clothes and get out the door. Shooting. Northeast. Multiple fatalities.  

Even after leaving the crime beat, I still carry a backpack of clothes in my trunk...

As I look at how the story of my life has unfolded - from the viewer who sent a Kleenex with the snarky advice, "Honey, blot your lips," to Hollywood to Haiti - I've come to see that I'm not meant to live an ordinary life...even if that means crossing the ocean on a moment's notice simply to go hold a child's hand.

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Haiti: Chapter Two Begins

Haitian kids peer at us from an old truck (Photo: Dane Melberg)

Got a call today from the relief team leader I covered in Haiti to see if I can go back next week! The last trip came together in days so we'll see.

Transformational Development Agency is expanding the clinic at New Life Children's Home thanks to a large UNICEF tent.  There is an urgent need for medical staff, especially physical therapists and pediatric specialists. Sarah, our teammate who stayed in Haiti, says they need prosthetics for kids who lost limbs in the earthquake but have no idea how they'll get them.

While the needs are endless in Haiti, I can help by keeping the story in the public eye. But the longer it takes to return, the more every day life intrudes: the agent calls for an audition. the landlord wants a decision about renewing my lease. the car needs some maintenance...

I struggle with a conflicting sense of calling to both Hollywood and Haiti. Perhaps my destiny is in Haiti's ruins. But as one of our paramedics said to me, "The 'high' we experienced there may never happen again."

He's right. We experienced a rare time of working at our peak ability; of loving unreservedly; of total unity of vision.

"Why go back?" my sister asked. Why put myself in danger again?  For the same reason as before: it seems like a moment in history in which I've been invited to play a role.

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Haiti: Part 5 - Beauty for Ashes

medical team planning for the day


I've posted a few stories about covering the earthquake in Haiti.  To read part 4, click here.

Our Haiti relief team is having a reunion tonight! This was one of the best groups of people I've ever met. Most of us plan to go back to Haiti at some point. Even though I still don't see how it all fits together - the journey from Hollywood to Haiti - it was where I belonged.

Haiti - part 5

We're leaving Haiti today. We have to return to the U.S. a few days earlier than we'd planned. The re-opening of the main airport in Port-au-Prince will mean tighter restrictions. 

Even though we came into the country legally, our leaders are worried Haitian authorities might give us trouble trying to get a large team of nearly 40 doctors, nurses, paramedics and journalists back out.

I'm torn between wanting to stay and wanting to go home. Someone asks if I've said goodbye to baby Kevin - I can't hold him one more time and just walk away.

Our gear's loaded in the tap-tap by 7:30 am. I hug the staff at New Life Children's Home and say goodbye to a teammate who has chosen to stay behind a few weeks to help run the clinic. I met Sarah through a Facebook friend and two weeks later we were on a plane to Haiti. She's a hero to us - a lifesaver to the injured children with nowhere to go.

Dr. Jolie & Sarah Wimmer (rt) (Scott Mortensen photo)

We give Sarah one more hug, jump in the tap-tap, and drive through the orphanage's teal gates one last time. We truly experienced beauty in the ashes.

Back in the US
A teammate hospitalized with life-threatening dengue fever wrote:

In the worst moments, I would close my eyes and see the faces of the sweet souls we met in Haiti and wonder who was caring for them. I'd find myself falling asleep praying for the lives in the countless images that play across the slide show in my mind and heart. That in itself is the silver lining to this. ~Bree

"Don't forget me."  Scott Mortensen photo

A photographer who took these pictures urged us to make sure the people we met are not forgotten. I will do my part until I return, Haiti.  Map vini an Ayiti anko.

To read about my return to Haiti two years after the earthquake, click here.

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