Blot Your Lips!

until...

2012-01-27T15:05:00.000-08:00

Playing at Santa Monica beach. photo Dane Melberg

believe.

I did not know the depth of my heart's emptiness until He came to fill it ~ a friend's gentle word...a soft touch...a lingering prayer...

Did not realize the toil and labor had taken such a toll until He gave me rest along the shore ~ a crimson sunset...a perfectly-shaped crescent moon...a brilliant blue sky...

Did not know the disappointments and losses had caused such brokenness until he sent me comfort ~ a song sung as if just to me...a call to say "i love you"...a loved one's visit from far away...

Awaiting the fulfillment of His promises yet set aside until He parts the sea...He alone renews my hope.

niece's Nickelodeon shoot

2012-01-20T19:43:00.000-08:00

shooting a Nickelodeon promo in Los Angeles

Just want to give a shout out to my niece who was in LA this week shooting a small part in a Nickelodeon TV show. She also booked a principal role in a SAG commercial back in Chicago! (for non-entertainment industry types, SAG is the Screen Actors Guild so professional role vs. a non-union role).

My niece's story is very inspiring for anyone pursuing what might seem to be a pipe dream so I meant to interview her for a longer piece but ran out of time this trip. She went years without getting a single role but asked directors for a chance to work in theater doing anything they'd let her do--makeup, hair, painting sets. She learned her craft from the "outside in", not by being on stage but by showing up no matter the cost. She later spent an entire summer getting up while it was still dark outside to take a train from her home into the city for acting classes. I wish I had her discipline and passion.

I've been on the move non-stop since the year started, hence the lack of posts. I plan to get back to blogging soon. It's going to be a whole new chapter! Thanks for staying on the journey with me.

press on!

2012-01-01T17:37:00.000-08:00

"See yourself as you wish to be

and you will see how beautiful you are."

A friend posted this image on Facebook and at first glance it seemed sad to me, as if the elderly woman is reflecting on who she used to be. Then I looked closer and saw the antiques record player in the corner and the smile on her face and realized she's having fun...imagining. playing. Is she reminiscing? Or is she looking ahead? to a time when she won't need her wheelchair anymore. to dancing in heaven...

A brighter day--I guess that's the message behind the image. I was raised in the Southern Black Baptist tradition where dancing was forbidden, along with booze, tobacco and drums (something about them being the devil's instruments). But now that 2012 is here, something in the air already seems like it's going to be a season to dance. To let go of past disappointments. Forgetting what lies behind and straining towards what is ahead, I press on...

Press on. See yourself as you wish to be...I get a feeling for many of us 2012 is going to be a year of hope fulfilled. Bet even some old school Southern Baptists will be breaking out the dancing shoes. Happy New Year!

eternally Christmas

2011-12-25T10:45:00.000-08:00

near my family's home. photo Maria Peterson Photography

Looking out at the barren Midwest landscape, I try to imagine heaven. Is it eternally spring? eternally sunny? eternally Christmas?

Your presents...they're still under the tree I guess. I don't know what your grandmother will do with them. I've been trying all week to think of something to say but the words just sound hollow. What do you say to a grandmother who just lost her daughter and three grandkids? What do you say to a three-year-old who can't even comprehend that she'll never hug her mom or play with her brothers or twin sister again? There's not even snow on Christmas to cover the charred home that became a coffin...

I guess Christmas in heaven must be incredible. Dancing with Jesus. joy. laughter. love. Still, I know your family wishes you were here. Merry Christmas Indera, My'Zhirik, Ky'Yrik and Ni'Miya.

A memorial fund has been set up for the mom and three kids our extended family lost in a house fire last week. For details, see WTAE/ABC here or copy and past the link http://www.wtae.com/r/30001123/detail.html

faith wins.

2011-12-14T17:22:00.000-08:00

...the skies proclaim the work of his hands...photo Shay Holland 12.11.11

The skies turned red as with rage; then black as with vengeance. Thick clouds hovered like dark demonic forces ready to unleash destruction. Standing along a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I felt as if I was challenging something in the storm.

I was exhausted. Honestly, 2011 has been a hard year, but not for the usual reasons. While the economy has faltered, my wallet has flourished; while the country has suffered, I've been secure. Yet, silencing the artist inside for a paycheck in the corporate world comes at a cost. The future seems bleak...already lost to an invisible foe who's only goal is to destroy dreams.

"Why did you give up music?" I recently asked a new friend who had laid down her pursuit of a career in the industry. Her answer's repeated a million times in Hollywood: doors closed. no opportunities. no money.

"You walked away from music but it didn't walk away from you," I told her. Have you ever looked at someone and felt you could read their heart in their face? I could see she has paid the price for a story that someone else needs to hear. "There's still a song inside of you waiting to be sung," I said, "music still waiting to be written..."

"I don't think it will look the same, but I will try again," she told me before leaving. Dreams seldom look the same after they've been broken.

Confronting the storm clouds the next day, I challenged the song stealer: "You can kill my dreams but not my faith." Like my friend's, my dream is broken but I'm confident that He who began a good work in us is faithful to complete it to the end. Just as the sun always reappears after the storms, faith always wins.

half-naked neighbors & miracles

2011-11-29T14:45:00.000-08:00

Back home just in time to miss the early winter snow! My friend Maria snapped this photo near my brother's place.  We pulled off a Thanksgiving feast for almost 20 people despite circumstances conspiring against us--from storms to a sump pump crisis to even being forced to evacuate my apartment building before the trip; one resident ran outside half-naked and barefoot fleeing the piercing fire sirens.

Another resident emerged seemingly prepared for the apocalypse, wearing a backpack of supplies (toothbrush, underwear, etc.), layers of clothes (protection against cold + to swap when dirty) and heavy boots (in case of debris).

"Hey, how'd you pack all that so fast?" asked a neighbor who'd fled carrying only his shaggy white dog. "Um, I was getting ready for a trip."

I confess. I'm the panty-packing, toothbrush-toting survivalist.  Lest my neighbors fear they live next to Unabomber's cousin, let me explain (aside from living in earthquake country).

One of my first big assignments was covering a freight train derailment in rural Illinois.  A young mother somehow crashed her pickup into the side of a train; the train dragged the truck more than a mile before derailing.  Rescuers had found the mom's body but not the baby who'd been with her when she left home. There was a sliver of hope the baby was still alive, maybe ejected by the force of the crash.

I'd been heading home when the story broke and unprepared to spend the freezing night outside miles from civilization; there wasn't even a 7-11 (the rural equivalent of Wal-Mart) to buy extra socks and snacks.  Still, my photographer and I walked the dark tracks with the rescuers; maybe our camera's light might illuminate the tiny body...

Then at dawn, a miracle of sorts.  News came that the mom had inexplicably left the baby with a sitter just before the crash--the child had been safe all night.

That long, cold night taught me the value of being prepared, whether for an assignment or a crisis...and that sometimes miracles happen long before we can see them.

p.s. And the half-naked neighbor? Well, we all escaped the stove fire just fine.

parents and predators

2011-11-10T19:08:00.000-08:00

Journalists make a living observing people and the consequences of their actions. Often we're covering the mess left behind--like the one hounding Penn State's Joe Paterno. Questions will always remain about why he didn't call police when he learned his assistant football coach might be molesting boys.

Life doesn't stop while we huddle on the sidelines--perhaps Paterno was weighing what to do--but if the charges are true, he and others did far too little to stop a pedophile.

If parents can stomach it, read the grand jury report--it illuminates how a suspected child rapist got away with it for so long (the report is sexually graphic.) One of the most disturbing parts is about employees who knew Victim 8 was being attacked in the shower but didn't even call 911 because, "They might lose their jobs." The report made me want to do more to keep kids from becoming victims (including online*).

As reporters we're trained to investigate, to expose twisted truths; most parents are not. The grand jury report gives insight into questions to ask that could reveal whether someone might be molesting your child: Why does this adult give my child gifts for no reason? Is my child acting out when seeing a certain adult? Is an adult spending odd hours with my child, like taking them out of class? Is there anything unusual about my child's appearance, like wet hair or disheveled clothes, after being with this adult?

If there's a positive side to this scandal, it's not only that we'll be better equipped to identify predators, but that we'll be more compelled to protect children--even if they're not ours.

drawing from Strollerderby

*Safeguard children online:

Avoid posting children's full names--this is nearly impossible with the popularity of photo sharing sites but molesters do surf the web for children to lure by name.
Don't post your kids' schools, ages or specifics about where they play sports, hobbies, etc.
It's alarming how many friends still list addresses on their profiles! All anyone legitimately looking for you needs is the nearest city. In photos, avoid showing house numbers.
Avoid posting pictures of cars that show the license plate--it's not just law enforcement that can use the number to get protected information.
I have a hard time with parents posting naked/Lolita-esque photos of kids. Yes, they're innocent but I've seen child porn on the crime beat--adorable to us screams "SEX SEX SEX" to a predator.

If it's on the Internet, it's not private.

ridiculous, crazy faith

2011-10-27T18:57:00.000-07:00

create.

There's a quote in Overheard in the Newsroom from a crime reporter taking on a new assignment: “I’m kind of glad to get away from pot for a while and move on to perverts.”

Sometimes you feel so stuck that even covering stories about molesters and rapists brings a needed change. I'm about ready to go back to the perverts.

I thought freelancing would give me more time to pursue creative dreams. Writing children's books. Studying photography. Acting. Baking. I was wrong. "Being a freelancer means being a hustler," my friend Patrice says in the best blog post I've read on the subject.* "If anyone tells you that being a freelancer is easy, they are on some serious 1985 cocaine."

I'm not good at hustling (but try any other way of getting paid by a client with an accountant stealing from vendor paychecks!). So on top of freelancing, I took a gig writing financial materials and the work has exploded (just had a piece presented to members of Congress). I barely have time to update my Facebook status.

But there's a cost to writing stuff, or doing a high volume of anything, you're not passionate about. In time, the artist inside will revolt. A crisis of faith sets in. A sense of futility mocks from the shadows.

"Being a freelancer takes a person of ridiculous, crazy and often stupid-looking faith," says Patrice. Something inside clings to this ridiculous, crazy faith that God has a plan. So I open the children's book I started writing two years ago and start editing...

The true artist will continue to create--must create--even when there is no paycheck.

*Read Patrice Patrick's blog post on freelancing here

most wanted

2011-10-10T14:39:00.000-07:00

James "Whitey" Bulger as a young mobster

I've been neglecting to blog as I've been crazy busy--and mourning my losses. Well, not my losses but what could have been my gain if I'd been more observant of my neighbors.

The press is reporting that a former Icelandic beauty queen claimed the $2 million reward for the tip that led to the capture of mobster James "Whitey" Bulger. Bulger, the former leader of the Boston Winter Hill Gang, had been on the FBI's "Most Wanted" for the murders of 19 people in the 1970's and '80's.

I walk by Bulger's old apartment nearly every day on my way to the beach. Posing as a retiree, the mob boss and his girlfriend had been living "in plain sight," as one article put it, in this quiet neighborhood more than a decade. The area's unremarkable except for it's proximity to the ocean; mostly 70's apartment buildings along a wide, palm-tree lined street.

Media reports say a former Miss Iceland brought down one of the world's most wanted fugitives (had been right up there with terrorist Osama bin Laden). "Seems that Anna, who had a past life as a cheesy B-rated television starlet, had befriended Bulger's girlfriend after the two women took an interest in a local stray cat," explains writer Randy Economy.

Anna saw a report about the 81-year-old Bulger and his girlfriend and recognized our former neighbors. She is now $2 million richer and certainly the heroine of a future movie.

Bulger's place hasn't yet become a tourist zoo but I'm sure it will once Hollywood inks a movie deal. Along with a tidy nest egg, the FBI said they found an arsenal of weapons in the apartment. Forget Bingo--wonder what else those senior citizens across the street are up to?

after the vows...

2011-09-21T17:30:00.000-07:00

Wedding day. Photo K. Lewis 2011

If marriage is God's design, then why is it often so hard to make it work? I got to thinking about this recently when a friend announced her engagement--at the same time another friend announced her break up.

Sadly, I've seen more endings to marriages than beginnings. Covering the crime beat, cops will tell you some of the most volatile calls are when one partner decides to leave the other.

To supplement paychecks at my first small market TV news gig, I took a part-time office job at a women's shelter. Police brought in most victims with their kids and the clothes on their backs.

I never got used to seeing the swollen faces, black eyes, bruises...I didn't understand how mothers could stay with men who shattered their kids' bones, or worse. "They feel like they have no choice," the director explained, "Most go back."

Later I was the one dialing 911 for a friend fleeing an explosive husband. She'd called terrified he might come home and find her packing. I'd been there when they met. Celebrated their engagement. Helped pick the wedding decorations. No one saw warning signs; the beatings started after the vows. "I'm calling the police," I said, "That'll give you time to get out." I'd covered enough crime stories to know this one could turn fatal.

My friend's experience is common--one in four women are in abusive relationships (and more women are becoming the attackers).* The reasons a marriage goes from flowers to fists are as intricate as the design of a wedding dress. And love's promises--to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish...until death do us part--just as fragile.

for help, Domestic Violence Resource Center www.dvrc-or.org

she still stands

2011-09-08T13:56:00.000-07:00

"Lady of Light, shine." by Shay Holland in LA Times online

The LA Times online recently ran this photo I shot outside an antiques store.  The owners display collectibles and old movie props but weeks had passed without a buyer for the 8' statue.  Just before the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, Lady Liberty's torch caught my eye.

As journalists, we make a living reporting other peoples' tragedies. Lost lives usually mean bigger ratings; 9/11 was no different. Except that it was our tragedy, too. There's a saying, "History always leaves a witness."  We were all witnesses.

I lived near the Golden Gate Bridge at the time. The area around the monument went into lockdown. The F-14 fighter jets overhead made a potential threat to our lives seem imminent.

I didn't try to get an assignment. Tears are of no use in the newsroom; mine would not stop.  Only one other story had had such a personal impact: the crash of TWA Flight 800. I'd instantly felt that the explosion that killed 380 people was not an accident.

Even before I learned that my friend and confidant, homicide Detective Sue Hill, was on board, grief had poured from a place that I guess is the soul--that place that senses far more than our minds comprehend.

No tributes mark the date; no monuments honor the victims; no one can prove whether a missile or mechanical failure brought down Sue's flight,* but I'm convinced  these tragedies five years apart--on 7/17 and 9/11--were somehow linked.

These lost lives remind us of the cost we pay to live in a free country--by no means perfect, her leaders are often wrongly motivated; her people often selfish and proud. Yet, despite terrorism, catastrophe and war, her Light still shines. She still stands.

*"The Mysterious Death of Detective Sue Hill," The Rap Sheet, Nov 2005
http://www.portlandpoliceassociation.com/rsissues/Nov05Rap.pdf

with this ring...

2011-08-25T11:01:00.000-07:00

photo Maria Peterson PhotographyIt's impossible to work in Hollywood media and avoid celebrity gossip--even the obit writer will eventually chronicle the stars. So I haven't ignored the Will Smith and Jada rumors.

The Smiths have stood out as a triumph over divorce statistics--perhaps even more so for African Americans; we apparently have the worst marriage rates of any racial group.*

"I have a friend writing a story on the state of relationships between men and women," a colleague asked if I'd be willing to be interviewed for a national magazine article. I was hesitant. Truth is journalists often make lousy partners. Constant deadline stress, long separations from home, traumatic events--it all takes a toll on our relationships. We're also used to being in control and emotionally shut down--the nightly news is no place for tears.

But I don't want statistics--which are especially grim for highly educated black women; we're the least likely in any society to marry*--to dictate my view of marriage. Just because we screw up commitment doesn't mean the design's flawed any more than a car accident means the brakes are bad. No matter how "hostile," as the writer described the relationship between men and women, I still believe the ring matters.

Due to the magazine's lead time, it'll be a few months before the article comes out. Maybe Will and Jada will be on the cover...maybe celebrating another anniversary.

*Marriage is for White People, By Joy Jones, The Washington Post

what if...

2011-08-09T17:04:00.000-07:00

Going through firefighter training for a news story on female firefighters (Shay, left) I really wanted to become a firefighter growing up. Witnessing a heroic rescue on our street, I was awed by the trucks and ladders and the firefighters' determination to save a life--even if was just a cat stuck in a tree.

Few of us in our small town pursued our childhood dreams. Even though our lives turned out (mostly) fine, I sometimes wonder what if we'd followed those innocent aspirations. Me? I ended up chasing fire trucks, not driving them.

There'd been signs of a literary future: an introspective kid, I preferred Reader's Digest over boys, did crossword puzzles in ink, laminated my library card. The solace I found in words eventually led to a career writing stories, including one about firefighters.

I attended firefighting academy for a story on the lack of females in the profession.* One test required carrying a 200-pound man (not a dummy!) from a burning house. I don't know anyone my size who could do that--especially not wearing 50 pounds of gear, breathing from an oxygen mask AND racing a stopwatch. So I did the logical thing: dragged him. The trainer stopped me. Apparently pulling a man down the stairs is not a safe way to rescue him.

Another test called for freeing victims from a car wreck using the Jaws of Life. This meant lifting the 60-pound hydraulic tool waist high to pry apart the metal. The trainer stopped me again. Apparently balancing the Jaws on one's knees is not a smart technique.

The highrise test required climbing a truck ladder and leaning over the top--at least five stories up--without a net or harness. This time the trainer did not have to stop me.

But unlike the strength tests, I knew I had a shot at this one, if I could overcome fear. I tried again. Made it to the top (higher than any non-recruits, left) but failed at the last step; couldn't bring myself to dangle over the concrete.

The what ifs...Some dreams are just not written in heaven but maybe they help us become who we were meant to be all along.

*only 2.5% of US firefighters are women, LA Weekly article on female firefighters

Hollywood johns & egos

2011-07-28T15:56:00.000-07:00

photo by Cathy Nelson ArkleReason #316 I'm grateful to live in America: plumbers on call 24/7. My throne room flooded this week. "Turn da wata off," the plumber said in a thick accent. I followed his instructions but Niagara Falls kept flowing. Mr. Plumber trekked out in the middle of the night.

Ironically, I'd just been reading about Hollywood bathrooms, egos and the problems they cause. I was catching up on a friend's blog, The Hollywood Railroad, where he writes about a $200,000 john that helped lead to an NBC exec's ouster. "I have seen this sort of deluxe doghouse/executive bathroom before...not 60 feet from my news desk," Karl writes. "Not a six-figure model, but it did house a lot of...hand-lotion."

I think I know the place; worked at the same magazine. I promised to keep certain Hollywood stories to myself (until I'm paid to write a TV show) but for the record, this private john did house a weird amount of lotion; dozens of bottles lined in near-obsessive rows.

A perk of our jobs was going to entertainment industry events where the magazine paid to display its logo. But since we often worked right up to red carpet time, I didn't have hours to drive home, make like Cinderella, and get back to Hollywood.

The magazine's execs would usually leave early on event nights. That's when it paid to know the Guardian of the Executive Loo; she'd slip us the key so we could use the shower. As Karl said, this wasn't the six figure model like the one at NBC, but it sure was better than baby wipes.

And I swear I never touched any of that lotion.

stalkers

2011-07-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

photo © 2011 by J.D. Laske Photography Just read an article about the ESPN reporter who was secretly video taped in her hotel rooms. Erin Andrews says she still gets perverted messages about the nude footage the stalker leaked and fans still yell, "I've seen you naked!"

"People don't understand that while I wasn't physically touched, I was violated," Andrews tells Marie Claire magazine. Fear. Suspicion. Mistrust. I get that.

"I'm at your window," said an unidentified male caller. Police responding to my 911 call searched for signs of an intruder but found no one. This is why Erin's story hits home. I never got used to those creepy calls while working the crime beat. And even though we had bodyguards on some recent assignments, I'm learning to trust again.

Newsroom security is always tight to prevent someone from hijacking a live broadcast so I felt relatively safe there--until the night a man was waiting for me in the lobby of the TV station where I worked at the time. He appeared to be hiding something behind his back. I didn't wait for the guard to explain before bolting back into the studio.

"Do you know a man's in the lobby?" I asked our producer. The guard was supposed to notify him when visitors showed up during newscasts. The guard had never called. "Call the police," he told the assignment editor, while moving us to a safe exit.

Who knew why the stranger had shown up near midnight claiming to be my boyfriend? He was gone by the time police arrived. The security breach unfortunately cost the guard his job but it could have been much worse.

Erin's stalker, an insurance salesman she'd never met, got 30 months in jail but many are never caught. And the victims? "I'm traumatized every day," Andrews says, "This will never be over."*

*Read the Marie Claire article for helpful safety advice

4th of July

2011-06-30T17:48:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about someone I never got to meet. I can't help remembering him around 4th of July.

...The newsroom burst into action with the energy that means one thing: breaking news. "Double team it!" shouted our news director. "Go live at 5:00!"

Peeling out of the station, we raced to the scene where several National Guard soldiers were missing--somehow swept away in a creek near Iowa's Camp Dodge.

We knew only a few facts: a training drill. turbulent waters. a capsized boat. divers searching. My job was to gather details to feed to our more seasoned reporter who would give viewers live updates on the rescue effort throughout the broadcast.

With air time minutes away, our lead reporter handed me the mic. "I don't have enough information," she said, "This is your story. You take it." Even though I didn't have much live shot experience at the time, I think growing up as a military brat helped wire me for the intensity of breaking news--calm, clear-headed in chaos--stuff they can't teach you in journalism school.

"Divers search for four National Guard soldiers after their boat capsizes near Camp Dodge..."

I don't remember my exact words but I still remember the vivid contrasts of that summer day: brilliant sun rays piercing murky water. lush trees shading brittle grass. life--death. colliding.

"Guardsman who drowned was Sioux City sergeant," read the headlines.* Divers had managed to rescue all but one. I'll never meet him but I still think of him around 4th of July. I'm sorry I didn't pray for you that day. Thank you for your sacrifice.

*Des Moines Register

climb again

2011-06-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

photo Maria Peterson www. mariapetersonphotography.comYou taught me how to climb, to swing, to play when I was a child. In a way those are the greatest gifts anyone's given me.

I seemed born with an instinct to climb. As a baby, I'd try to escape the confines of my crib. Eventually you decided to teach me a way to scale the bars safely so I wouldn't fall on my head.

Later, trees beckoned--particularly a three-story behemoth in our yard. We were content swinging from the lower branches at first but you knew it was only a matter of time before we'd try to go higher. "Stay close to the trunk," you instructed, "The branches are stronger there." As I got older, I spent a lot of time hiding out in that tree, hovering above the rooftops.

I was about 11 when you let me go rock climbing and rappelling with the Army recruits. I loved going with you on those ROTC trips. We'd never had an accident until Starved Rock. Falling...slamming into the rocks. You tried to hide your fear but I saw it in the way your eyes never left me whenever I put on a harness after that.

I've lost my footing a little over the years...Fear. Falls. Failures. But I'm ready to climb again, Dad...to swing, to play. Thank you for teaching me. Happy Father's Day.

the tunnel's end

2011-06-06T13:12:00.000-07:00

Another photo I shot is running in the online LA Times. I recently took this picture underneath the pier in Santa Monica. I was actually trying to get a shot of the pier's iconic ferris wheel at sunset but the angle wasn't working.

I decided to take a shortcut to the other side of the pier before the sun slipped away. There's a path that runs under the wooden structure but I usually avoid it (it's dark, creepy and smells like urine).

I was determined to get a photo for our Coast2coast photography project so I entered the tunnel. Near the end I saw light streaming through the pillars. At first I kept walking toward the beach. Then I stopped and turned back to drink in the message: Though shadows linger, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

In that moment as the light pierced the darkness, it didn't seem like a cliché.

The photo above, "Where the sun never shines," can be seen by scrolling through the LA Times Southern California Moments photo gallery

storm chasing

2011-05-25T16:47:00.000-07:00

a cross atop a severely damaged church in Joplin, Missouri-5.23.11Available for hire: one experienced storm chaser and live shot reporter.

I woke up thinking about a 15-month old boy missing after the Midwest tornadoes. News reports say the father had used his own body to shield his son and wife but the tornado ripped the child away. As of last reports the hospitalized parents were too injured to know their baby is gone.

So here I am again, ready to head back if I get an assignment. Why? Why give up comfort and security for a story? Why face danger for potentially no reward?

I grew up in tornado alley and returned to work at a rural TV station there after grad school. Speeding down dirt roads, chasing funnel clouds, tracking a path of twisted trees and flattened corn stalks--just another day's work.

"Please don't go," said my friend Esther when I told her about my plan. "It's not the risk or the thrill," I struggled to explain. "I know the child's probably dead but there's something about that family's story..."

After thinking a few minutes, Esther began to speak: "It's because the father covering his child with his body--it points to God," she said. "Even in tragedy, the father was there. The tragedy doesn't discredit the father's love. That is the true character of God."

A father's love. A love even the most severe storm cannot quench. These are the stories worth telling...buried under the rubble.

spring. the end of the world again?

2011-05-10T10:55:00.001-07:00

a promise fulfilled becomes a tree of life...photo http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/May marks my 11-year anniversary in California. The world didn't end as predicted in 2000 (remember Y2K?) so that spring I'd packed the few things that fit into my two-seater, headed south on the I-5 and showed up on an acquaintance's doorstep in the Bay Area.

Fast forward seven years. Spring again. Packed again. Back on the I-5 headed for LA. "God has released you to pursue the adventure of His calling," said my friend and pastor.

Even though I didn't clearly see the reasons for change, it felt like time. When the move fell into place so quickly--my roommate and I took the first apartment we found on the Internet that would rent to us sight unseen--it seemed to confirm it was time to go.

"I feel like LA holds part of God's redemptive plan for me," I'd told friends. Yet I have a lingering sense of delayed hope. As a striving young reporter, I'd wasted the platforms I could have used to help others. Regrets? certainly. Redemption? absolutely.

Perhaps spring is a sign that hope blossoms into purpose in the right time. But why do my new beginnings seem to coincide with the end of the world? Some groups warn May 21st is Judgment Day starting here in the Pacific Rim (read the prophecy here). So I'll either have a front row seat to the Rapture...or a new beginning.

photos in LA Times

2011-04-26T14:14:00.001-07:00

I was browsing through the LA Times online today when I saw two photos I submitted had been published! I've entered their Southern California Moments photography competition even though I've shot these unedited photos on my iPhone!
from the LA Times "Southern California Moments" 04.26.2011

This inspires me to want to study photography so I can take on more photojournalism assignments. A friend and I also launched our Coast2coast project where we're shooting the sunrise and sunset from opposite ends of the country on the same day.

We hope to partner with some international orphanages, including one in Haiti, to teach kids photography. My project partner would do the teaching since I still have a lot to learn.

I'm also getting ready to write a magazine pitch about some of the Haiti-related film and media work since the earthquake so it seems the dots are starting to connect.

He said. She said. the iPad said.

2011-04-20T16:16:00.000-07:00

photo © Maria Peterson Photography http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/ They say dog lovers choose pets that look like them. And that after a while, couples start to resemble eachother. If only communication worked the same way. Instead it seems many couples end up barely talking over time.

The breakdown starts when we're singles looking for love. He says, "We should hang out." Does he mean "I think you're hot"? or "I like you like a sister" hang out?

We women make it just as confusing for guys. You ask us out and we say, "Sure, find me on Facebook," which probably means, "I'll reject your friend request because I think you're a stalker."

I've been blaming the death of quality dating on the younger generation whose relationships consist mainly of chat and sexting. But maybe youth isn't the culprit.

I wrote on Facebook: "Saw the sweetest proposal! Guy takes his girlfriend to look at iPads. Staff brings her one and when she turns it on there's a message on the screen, 'Will you marry me?'"

Comments rolled in: He needed to man up and not do it via technology.

He needs to stop hiding behind technology.

I am not a fan of men trying to get at women via technology.

I'd expect the backlash from my old-school peers but these comments were coming from my most liberal 20-something friends!

Seeing the guy's effort to surprise his girlfriend, I defended the digital proposal: "I don't like guys using FB or texting to ask for a date, calling's better, but he'd obviously spent time planning to make it memorable."

My young friends won't budge, insisting technology is just something we hide behind to avoid rejection. So maybe today's dating confusion stems from the age old problem of fear of intimacy and its risk of failure....or that we might wind up looking like a pug.

from the rising of the sun...

2011-04-14T13:37:00.001-07:00

Coast2coast project - sunrise 04.11 © 2011 Russell Cederberg Photography A friend who works in PR suggested we submit our Coast2coast photography project to magazines so we're excited about the possibilities. My friend Russell and I are shooting the sunrise and sunset from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, on the same day--something most of us will never see in person.

We ran into a few gloomy weeks on one coast or the other and I had some problems with my iPhone camera but we've stayed on track to shoot through Easter and then hopefully sell some of the pictures to raise funds for a friend's orphanage in India. Here are some of the images:
Pacific sunset above - "even after a hard day my spirit feels at rest here." 04.11.11 Shay Holland

Atlantic sunrise above - "smoky, brooding, restless clouds wrapped their ghostly fingers around the dawn" 04.12.11 Russell Cederberg Photography

Pacific sunset - "sandpipers...fearless of the crashing waves" 04.12.11 Shay Holland

Stop by to see more photos at our virtual gallery: www.facebook.com/pages/Coast2coast/151847334878074

images

2011-04-01T18:44:00.000-07:00

Sunrise and sunset from opposite coasts on the same day... sunrise above -"later that morning the volume increased" (photo Russell Cederberg)sunset above - "i thought the white streaks were vapour trails but no planes in sight" (photo Shay)

Embarking on an unexpected adventure! A photographer friend and I are shooting the sunrise and sunset from coast to coast on the same day--a sight most of us will never see in person.

He lives near the Atlantic Ocean; I'm 3,000 miles away at the Pacific. Russell had been posting sunrise photos on Facebook, while I'd been capturing sunset images on my iPhone. We started talking about posting the pictures on the same days and the idea was born.

I don't have any photography training but I have learned to "see" like a photographer from working in media, the visual medium. One thing you hear over and over as a journalist is, "let the pictures tell the story!" And part of the beauty of this project is its simplicity. No fancy camera tricks--just point and click. God's handiwork often doesn't need our editing anyway.

We'd planned to get enough shots for an Easter show but then decided to keep going and maybe sell the photos to benefit a friend's orphanage in India. We just launched a virtual art gallery this week! Take a tour at our Facebook page Coast2coast.

See Coast2coast here and Russell's professional website here

you are beautiful

2011-03-17T17:08:00.000-07:00

photo Maria Peterson http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/ An elderly woman recently approached me in the store. "You have a cute nose," she said. "Is it yours?"

"She asked because you live in Hollywood," a friend said. Maybe. Or have we become so used to images of injected, tucked and implanted women that we're surprised at the real thing?

Friends said my perspective on cosmetic surgery would change as I got older; it hasn't yet. I still think women often look less attractive after their procedures. I have a friend whose lips are so plump she reminds me of the Joker. I'm not being mean; I just thought her mouth was the right size and shape for her thin face before the fillers.

I used to dread representing my station at public events; viewers often ridiculed my natural hair, full lips, "ample" (size six!) hips. So my TV bosses would bring in a crew--stylist, hair and makeup artists--to craft me into the perfect talking head. "Make me a blonde for all I care," I finally said fed up. "It's your money."

I've learned to accept the ugly side of the image business but I still don't want to be "enhanced" to look like Beyonce or Debbie Morgan (I often get told I look like the actor). They're gorgeous, talented women but why be nipped, Botoxed, augmented and reduced into someone else's version of me?

Thankfully the mirror doesn't have to remain enemy #1. Accepting our natural beauty is worth far more than any perpetually perky boobs or flawlessly sculpted abs will ever be.

the price

2011-03-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

Legos photo Maria Peterson http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/ Sometimes a writer starts a story with no idea how it'll end, sorta like Legos--you start snapping pieces together with no idea what you'll build.

Such is the case with this blog. I started writing it as a way to log stories after meeting a TV producer who wants to do a show about journalists. Then an earthquake hit 3,000 miles from Hollywood. No red carpets. No makeup artists. No paparazzi. Instead, the base of a mango tree for an office. Armed security for escorts. Broken, dry ground for a bed.

I was afraid to go but I knew I couldn't stay just because I'd grown comfortable. I had to go back to disaster zones. And front lines. And revolutions. I could understand why CBS reporter Lara Logan vowed to return despite being gang raped in Egypt...sometimes even fear can't stop you from doing what you're called to do.

I was a grad student the first time someone attacked me on a story--a deranged man who tried to smash our gear to the ground. We weren't hurt but we learned the camera is often a magnet for crazy and evil people--and to keep an eye out for a rock to defend yourself.

I considered getting a gun permit as my assignments grew more dangerous (the daughter of an Infantryman, my marksman father taught me to shoot at an age most girls play Barbies), particularly while covering the murder of a young mother.

Two masked men had stormed into the offices of a gang prevention program yelling, "Give us your purses! Give us the money!" They shot Christina Clegg, a mother of three, as she worked at her desk. It was made to look like a botched payday robbery but who pumps five rounds into a mom at work? "Get off the story," the neighbors warned, "They'll kill you, too."

Sources eventually led us to the main suspect who threatened to kill me for airing exclusives about his alleged role in the hit. For months I feared being shot or run off a cliff until police finally had enough evidence to arrest him. Bastard husband. Grover Clegg is serving life in prison for hiring his own brother to kill his wife...for insurance money.

And so I'll go back. Because there will always be people like Grover Clegg. And sometimes just a mic and a camera can help bring justice.

*more than 800 journalists have been killed in the last 15 years, according to Reporters without Borders

the storyteller's calling

2011-02-24T10:44:00.001-08:00

I was walking along the beach the other day when I encountered a man in an orange prison jumpsuit. I was a little frightened since the seagulls were the only other living creatures along the deserted shoreline--hardly the ideal protectors.

Should I walk away slowly? Call 911 on my cell phone? Run like mad?

You'd think living near Hollywood I'd know by now that things aren't always what they seem. Turns out the "escaped convict" was waiting for a camera crew to arrive for a photo shoot.

Watching the photographer, subject and nature shift and move with each other was like turning the pages of a book. Storytellers. Crafting tales with images instead of words.

In my mind the beach melted away and I thought of Haiti where I'd write while camped out under the mango tree. This is where I finally got it: for some of us storytelling is a calling, not a vocation.

"The times when I got to uncover someone's story," said my teammate Kezia, "when I got to ask questions and discover something I would not have known had I not hunted for it, those are the things that moved me."

The story unfolding on the sandy stage stirred something in my soul. The calling. Yes, it's still there.

Haiti film wins award!

2011-02-10T16:41:00.000-08:00

Doorpost Awards with "Eyes to See" director Dave de Vos and makeup artist Ayumi Moore Just wanted to let everyone know the Haiti film, Eyes to See, took runner-up in the Doorpost Film competition! Matthew Marsden (Rambo, Transformers) also won "Best Actor" for playing the cameraman forced to choose between helping people and doing his job in the earthquake's aftermath.

We met on a plane to Haiti, unsure of what to expect or if we'd make it back home safely. Our experiences inspired the filmmaker documenting our story, Dave de Vos, to write a feature film.

The man who took us to Haiti wrote of the second place finish:

...I sat with you in a tent in a very broken Haiti a year ago and we knew we had God to run our plans by. I sat with you last night a year later and saw the next step of that come to fruition and birth the next phase at the same time with God still in charge. Second only in a voting context but first in your journey. Rikki

I'm not sure where the next step leads but thank you for persevering with us from Hollywood to Haiti and back again. As the director of the winning film, The Man Who Never Cried, said, "We are storytellers. This is why we create."

jump cut

2011-01-27T13:44:00.000-08:00

photo by Maria Peterson www.mariapetersonphotography.com

"Mommy says my legs are fat," the little girl told me. I'm all for fighting childhood obesity but she didn't even look chubby. Branded "fat" by first grade, I wondered what demons lurked in her future: self-hatred? depression? perfectionism? I was such a perfectionist that a professor worried how I'd handle the criticism that comes with a TV career. "You're too hard on yourself," she said at my frustration over a mistake.

I'd run out of time to fix a jump cut (an unintentional edit that makes it look like a subject jumps between shots). And while a jump cut isn't lethal, there's no room for flaws when your performance is measured frame-by-frame, image-by-image. The bad edit was like a neon sign flashing: FAILURE. FAILURE. FAILURE.

To prepare us for TV's rigid deadlines and demand for accuracy, certain errors meant automatically failing an assignment. Misspelled name? "F." Mispronounced city? "F." Late to class? Don't bother coming. "Doesn't matter if you're Dan Rather," our professor warned. "The news airs without you."

It took years for me to see the difference between perfectionism and excellence. I finally got it when I heard a speaker say, "If your perfect life is coming between you and love, you're paying too high a price."

What he meant is: If your family walks on eggshells, your husband is afraid of kissing you for fear of smudging your lipstick and your kids tremble at spilling milk, then your perfect life costs too much.

For the times when life is messy or our thighs are fat or there's a jump cut in our story, perfectionism is unforgiving; excellence gives grace.

from Haiti to Hollywood

2011-01-21T16:31:00.000-08:00

filming the Haiti movie, "Eyes to See" A year ago today I was headed to Haiti to help document the work of a medical relief team after the devastating earthquake. This year the story is on the big screen in Hollywood.

This weekend is the first public screening of Eyes to See, a feature film about a photographer who must choose between helping people and doing his job in the disaster's aftermath (we held a private showing at Kodak and I still cried even though I'd already seen the movie twice!).

I'm just going to post a short note of thanks now but to see pictures of the filming, click here or copy and paste the link below in your browser:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=256285&id=837660889&l=321d136920

eat more seafood

2011-01-11T16:52:00.000-08:00

image Global Whisperer

I'm a few days late making my New Year's resolution: Eat more seafood. I'm not a crustacean lover; never got used to squishy foods like oysters or mussels. Blame it on the childhood trauma suffered at the hands of a waiter who served me gourmet shrimp--cold, slimy head and claws still attached. The chef eventually brought me a bowl of soup.

I don't usually make resolutions but this is about more than fish. It really says: I'm ready for something new...especially since storms clouded 2010--from working in earthquake-ravaged Haiti to flying 8,000 miles to be with a sick loved one.

There are two choices in the storm: faith or fear. Faith fights for life (or maybe to let go); fear drains faith. So maybe 2010 was about choosing faith.

And 2011? It feels like it holds something new, maybe a promise fulfilled? I think of how the pearl inside an oyster starts as an irritant--not unlike delays, hope deferred, disappointments. So maybe 2011 holds a pearl that was forming all along.

photo Cathy Nelson Arkle

time to shine

2010-12-29T18:00:00.000-08:00

photo by Maria Peterson http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/
Well, this is my last post of 2010. Time to shine in 2011.

People often ask why I moved to LA (what they really mean is: "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!") Honestly? I wanted to see my legs again. I wanted to wear sundresses. dance on the beach. drive with the top down.

Friends promised I'd get used to the cold, foggy San Francisco summers. I never did. And I didn't even consider moving back East in the 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 deal with a harsh, critical public.

"Blot your lips," a viewer had sneered about our anchor's makeup. I never forgot how our anchor 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. And if this is the place, I'm ready." So thanks for your prayers. Thanks for having my back. Shine in 2011.

trinkets and trees

2010-12-16T14:39:00.001-08:00

photo by Maria Peterson http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/ Tiffany's and some other high end stores recently opened in my beach neighborhood. It's kind of amusing to see the flip-flop crowd carrying around those distinctive 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 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 superficial exploits portrayed in Hollywood. We long for the genuine over the superficial: 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'll experience God's heart of love this Christmas and not settle for a counterfeit, even if it's wrapped in a pretty little blue box.

watch the Haiti film!

2010-12-09T13:23:00.000-08:00

Official "Eyes to See" movie poster (a de Vos Entertainment Production) The envelope, please. The Haiti film, Eyes to See, is ready for viewing! The film was inspired by our team's work in Port-au-Prince after the earthquake.

I was trying to decide whether to post the link to watch the movie online because it really deserves to be seen on the big screen; there's some astonishing visual effects, particularly in one of the aftershock scenes. But after seeing it myself, I couldn't resist. The film was chosen as one of four finalists out of hundreds submitted for the international Doorpost Film Competition so it's posted on the website.

Alas, I and some others from the real Haiti team who worked as actors in the film met with the cutting room floor. I do appear as an earthquake survivor but my newscaster role was cut from the big opening scene (we'll discuss this later with our director!)

So grab your popcorn and a drink (and Kleenex), shut off the phone and enjoy the movie! Click the link to watch Eyes to See or view at http://www.thedoorpost.com/vote/

brides, brooms and grooms

2010-12-02T13:18:00.000-08:00

"You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes." ~King Solomon I haven't written lately because I was in the Midwest visiting family and entertaining a four-year-old who quoted me lines from Disney's "The Princess and the Frog" upon insisting that we rehearse for my wedding. Never mind that I'm not engaged.

Four-year-old is determined to be a flower girl. For some reason she's decided I'm her best shot. "Let's practice for your wedding," she said. "You just need a broom," she informed me. Took me a second to realize she meant groom not broom.

There's no way I was leaving the warm diner where we were sharing Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes for a pretend ceremony in the freezing cold. I tried offering replacement relatives.

"Practice with my niece," I offered.
"Not her," said four-year-old, insinuating niece is a bad girl.
"What about grandma?" I tried.
"She has too many wrinkles," stated future Bridezilla.

It's futile to argue with a four-year-old dressed in a pink gown and tin foil tiara. She pulled me from the booth and marched me slowly through the restaurant like a bride walking down the aisle. Never mind strangers staring; when you're four, nothing inhibits love.

It seems so much harder for adults. Several friends are having marital trouble; love has grown cold. I thought of Solomon, the king who falls for an unlikely bride, and his surrender to love blossomed even in barrenness. "See! The winter is past...arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me."

Four-year-old may have watched one too many Disney flicks but I envied her heart so open to love. I decided the weather didn't matter afterall. "Shall we walk like brides all the way to the car?" Delighted, she got an idea: "If you don't have a broom, maybe you can borrow my daddy." Love really is easier when you're four.

sneak peek on the set of "Eyes to See"

2010-11-17T14:31:00.001-08:00

Shay and Dominique as earthquake survivors in "Eyes to See"

Now that the Haiti film is almost ready for the big screen, the director's letting me give a sneak peek from the set of Eyes to See. I loved acting with this teen, Dominique. Despite doing take after take in 110-degree heat, not even the dirt, sweat and fake blood could steal her joy!

We're raising money to bring the story to theaters since LA rentals can run over a thousand dollars an hour! Although some venues have given us reduced rates, we need to pay the fees now because director Dave de Vos is giving all his royalties to help earthquake survivors.

Eyes to See, based on real life events, depicts the quake's aftermath through the eyes of a news photographer played by Matthew Marsden (Rambo, Transformers) who must choose between helping people and doing his job.

production still from the Haiti set of "Eyes to See"

I met the director when we both covered the work of a medical relief team in Haiti. We had no idea saying "yes" last January would lead to making a movie. We want to take this story of hope and compassion around the world. Thank you for supporting us!

in the recording studio

2010-11-11T16:22:00.000-08:00

Matthew Marsden & Garcelle Beauvais in "Eyes to See" (photo Caroline Choi)

Just finished doing some voiceover work for Eyes to See. The film is based on true events from the disaster relief team I went to Haiti with after last January's earthquake. The film's director asked me to voice the role of a newscaster describing the earthquake.

This was the first time I'd seen any of the footage and some of the scenes actually made me cry!

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

As we talked between sessions, Matthew brought up actor George Clooney's work in Sudan--not the kind of topic you expect from a funny Englishman (there are fears the upcoming vote South Sudanese vote on whether to split from the North could lead to civil war).

"How can I help standing here in a recording studio in Hollywood?" asked the director, a bit frustrated and wanting us to stay focused as we were already running late. But his question nagged at me. Sudan. Haiti. Hollywood...it often seems futile to try to help in my own neighborhood where the homeless sleep in the alleys and beg tourists for money.

"At least one hospital..." I started the script again, grateful that at least my voice might help Haiti.

freely

2010-11-01T10:35:00.000-07:00

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.

preparation

2010-10-26T16:59:00.000-07:00

"Preparation." photo by Maria Peterson www.facesbymariapeterson.com

"We're waiting for your husband," the casting director explained the delay. I needed a partner to audition with since the spot for the world's most famous fast food chain featured a husband and wife. Five white guys were sitting in the waiting room. "I can audition with one of them," I suggested. "Advertisers aren't that creative," the director responded.

Lazarus (my TV husband's name, not the guy Jesus raised from the dead) showed up late 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 partner hadn't kept using a competitor's name!

Goodbye SAG national paycheck. Goodbye residuals. Probably was for the best. The commercial required eating a burger and I'm not sure I'd want to eat a cow if we'd booked the gig (not for moral reasons, just never could digest red meat).

But I've learned even if a role doesn't seem like a fit, show up anyway. Prepared. Sometimes it turns out you're right for something you don't book.

After one audition, I had a feeling I would get the part but the director cast someone else. The day of the shoot, my agent called--the other actor's flight was stuck somewhere. I showed up on set camera ready; that director ended up casting me in several future projects.

"I just had something else on my mind," my TV husband 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.

the road less traveled

2010-10-19T16:58:00.000-07:00

"...I took the one less traveled...and that has made all the difference." ~Robert Frost "Shay?" said a woman's voice on the other end of the phone. I knew what she was going to say before she said it. "Shay, he's gone." No one calls at 6:30 on a Saturday morning with good news. Not even when it's your birthday.

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

He encouraged me to take the path less traveled to pursue 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 reminded me in an email as I headed to Los Angeles in the spring of 2007. At times when the path seems long and dark and I've grown weary, I get this picture of him cheerleading me on from heaven. "Go!" he shouts. "Follow the yearning in your heart!"

He left on my birthday last year but somehow I know he'll share with me in the fulfillment of a dream. Stay tuned.

photo by Maria Peterson www.facesbymariapeterson.com

Love in a red sack

2010-10-07T14:19:00.001-07:00

This picture my friend Maria took of a young woman carrying flowers in a cheerful canvas sack hints to me of love. Blooms and candlelight and music. Expectancy.

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

I've stood at the altar with friends as they vowed to cherish their mates forever. I've wept with those same friends as their unions deteriorated into stinging 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," is how a friend described it.

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 three strikes, 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 first bloom of love. Expectation. Possibility. Hope fulfilled. Overflowing out of a cheerful red sack.

breathe

2010-09-28T15:55:00.000-07:00

Actors take a break between scenes on the Los Angeles film set of "Eyes to See"

Filming just wrapped on the movie inspired by our team's work in Haiti after the January earthquake. I'm often sad when a production ends; you form such deep bonds with the cast and crew that it feels like a breakup.

Eyes to See, starring Matthew Marsden (Rambo, Transformers), is a story of hope about a news photographer forced to choose between helping people and doing his job.

During a break in shooting one night, another actor asked how I felt being on set. "I feel like I can breathe again," I answered. Despite working 12-hour days covered in fake blood and dirt. Despite filming take after take at 2 am. Despite working in blistering heat. Like a swimmer surfacing from the depths, my lungs filled with the air of purpose and creativity.

Few doors have opened for me to tell stories I really care about since coming to Hollywood three years ago. And just when it seems like I'll have to accept a gig stalking celebrities in rehab or caught in their latest tryst, a project like this comes along.

I met the director, Dave de Vos, while he was filming a documentary in Haiti and I was there writing about the disaster. Exhausted and struggling to complete the film, Dave wrote:

"Sometimes I ask myself, 'Why put yourself, your friends and your family through such torture for a short film?' And then I stand here where so many lives were lost...I see the spirit of the Haitian people, the smiles of the children, and the hope for the future, and I remember."

Dave plans to donate his royalties to a Haitian nonprofit helping survivors rebuild. My sacrifice is minor in comparison but I'm grateful to have a role. Grateful this movie isn't about egos but helping others. Grateful to put my head up and breathe.

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

Action!

2010-09-16T13:02:00.001-07:00

Port-au-Prince after the earthquake (photo by Dane Melberg)

Back on set! I have a small acting role in the movie inspired by our team's trip to Haiti after the 7.0 magnitude earthquake. Eyes to See tells the story of the quake'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 the film is "a story of hope even amidst the tragedy."

I feel sort of emotional on set; it takes me back to the ruins of Haiti even though it's been nine months. The suffering remains so great. This week a staffer at the orphanage where stayed we let us know one of the kids may not make it through the night due to a brain infection. "Don't let them stick me with needles," Juno told workers, "They hurt!!!"

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

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

Nine months ago when people asked why go to Haiti amid the risk and uncertainty, I wrote, "This was a moment in history in which I was being invited to play a role. How could I say no?" I have the same feeling working 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 died October, 2010~

Haiti film underway!

2010-09-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

The movie inspired by our team's trip to Haiti starts production next week! Eyes to See stars Matthew Marsden of Rambo and Transformers, and Garcelle Beauvais, a native Haitian whose credits include NYPD Blue and film roles. The script is based on the real Haiti earthquake and tells the story of a photographer forced to choose between his job and helping people in the midst of covering a disaster.

Orphanage staffers we worked with in Port-au-Prince tell us the children are coping despite unimaginable suffering. Grief though, always seems to assert itself. Unstoppable tears. Searing pain. Anger.

Grief still feels foreign to me. Being a crime reporter demanded staying emotionally detached in order to handle the constant violence and death of the lens through which I saw the world.

A few years ago the news reported that a woman had thrown her three children off a pier into the San Francisco Bay. People witnessing the horror were unable to stop her. Rescue divers were searching the waters from the pier to the Golden Gate Bridge, near where I lived.

I walked along the Bay, not looking for a story--I'd been doing TV commercials and corporate films instead of news--half-hoping for a miracle. "God, you've made me unfit for news," I realized. Away from crime reporting, my heart had slowly revealed a pool of tears I'd never shed no matter how many murders I covered.

The other night walking along the ocean, I was thinking about grief and something a friend wrote while keeping vigil at his father's bedside. "Jesus wept," he'd written, "but not tears of despair." Jesus wept with his friends who thought Lazarus' life was over; the shortest verse in the Bible. And a thought came to me that hadn't in Haiti: maybe tears precede miracles.

navigating love

2010-08-25T12:57:00.000-07:00

(photo by Dane Melberg) As some 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. (I rarely write about my intensely private family so I'm hoping they'll forgive me.)

Back when we owned a big Buick and no one wore seatbelts, I loved helping my dad navigate on road trips. He'd let me read the map even though I sometimes led us off course.

I remember an incident one winter. Icy roads. Another car suddenly barreling through the intersection. My dad veering furiously to avoid crashing. Thick utility pole. My dad's split-second decision; throwing his body across mine, trying to shield me from being crushed.

On another trip, my dad entrusted me with his big bag of coins for the turnpike tolls. Leaning across him, I could reach the bucket to pay our fare.

"Pay the toll," he instructed me at the second plaza. "But I paid it last time," I said. "What do you mean, 'you paid it last time?'" he said. "I already paid it," I insisted.

I'd emptied the entire bag of coins into the first toll, not realizing the money needed to last through three states. My father dug out his wallet as we waited for a fare collector to come open the gate.

Eventually I'd grow up, get my own car, move cross country to work in TV news. Family took a backseat to story-chasing; dad and I struggled to navigate love far apart.

Driving to church one grey day, a near miss. A car swerves into my path. I pull over, shaken. A memory from years ago. Dad and I in the front seat. Icy roads. A utility pole.

In my mind's eye, I see my father shield my body with his. "Your dad would do the same thing all over again," I sensed God saying to me. "Sacrifice his life for yours."

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

the great escape

2010-08-13T17:04:00.000-07:00

Change. Simplicity. Order. Seems a lot of us are craving those things. Maybe that's why the JetBlue flight attendant who quit his job by hurling down the evacuation slide, beers in hand, became an instant "hero" for his defiant act of liberation.

Despite talk Steven Slater may have staged his exit, his great escape resonates with the masses. "Hasn't everyone thought about doing it?" writes Samantha Gross. "When the cubicle started to feel more like a prison than a calling?"

I think we're yearning for newness and order because our lives are so hectic, so often confined by 24-hour wireless tethers. Doing humanitarian work in Haiti and Brazil gave me a temporary escape; rearranging the furniture helps, too--bringing external order to an internal longing. But believing there's a Divine plan for meaningful life? Well, that's really what keeps me from flinging myself down an emergency chute.

You gotta hand it to Steven Slater--he's not wasting his 15 minutes of fame on unemployment. He's hired a Hollywood agent (the same one who repped troubled stars like Grey's Anatomy doc Isaiah Washington and Mel Gibson's lover); a rumored Slater reality show would feature disgruntled workers quitting their jobs in extreme ways.

Seriously? Slater's no hero. He's just another angry worker facing criminal charges for wrong workplace behavior. Maybe he should have rearranged his furniture instead.

the one that got away

2010-08-03T17:26:00.000-07:00

San Francisco entryway (Shay's designs, Andrew Buchan photography)

For some reason I've been thinking a lot lately about the one that got away. Not a man (well, sort of), but the dream job.

I was working at The Hollywood Reporter when I got called in to audition for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Some of you know my passion for design. I learned trade secrets while writing a newspaper design column and earned my General Contractor's license.

I'd heard Extreme Makeover was conducting a worldwide search for a new designer to add to the team. On a whim, I submitted my headshot and resume. I was stunned to get called to audition out of thousands of designers; I didn't even have a portfolio! (friends came to the rescue, sending pictures of spaces I'd designed)

I got to the studio early to peek in the mirror and make sure I didn't have gum stuck to the seat of my pants or anything. The casting directors conducted an interview-style audition, judging personality and skill. That style of audition can be nerve-wracking but I prefer it after years of doing TV news live shots--no scripted dialogue. Ready for round two.

Here's where the man comes in. Google Ty Pennington and you'll find the backstory that jeopardized the show's future. The show's host quickly apologized for his DUI arrest but the curtain came down on the search for a new designer. So that's the one that got away. And like first loves, you never forget.

Brazilians and bachelors

2010-07-11T16:13:00.000-07:00

No racy terms but this post deals with adult topics.My trip to Brazil has me thinking about love and affection. We were often greeted with hugs, kisses, cuddles--there are truly no strangers among Brazilians. Such contrast to our American culture where just shaking hands too long might give someone the wrong idea.

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

"You couldn't even share a bed with me when you were here," Tina reminded me, "You asked the hotel for a cot." Yes, but it felt awkward sharing the bridal bed the night before her wedding.

Why is so hard to speak the language of affection and intimacy? Are we really trying to meet a starving need by gorging on romantic entertainment like the The Bachelor?

Season 3's bachelor lived near me so I watched as 25 single women vied for the diamond ring. "Meet Andrew Firestone and enter to win a year's supply of Top Ramen," our local grocery store came up with some ridiculous promotion.

My neighbors were genuinely sad when Andrew's engagement to Jen Scheftt ended. What did they expect? In the show's 14 seasons, not one bachelor has married the woman to whom he gave the final rose (one bachelor did later marry a contestant who was not his final choice).*

"A harmless addiction," my friends defend tuning in to a show with a 100% failure rate. Or is it porn for the heart--phony affection and intimacy that at least fills some of the void in our own lives? Exotic locations, steamy kisses, rose-petal strewn bedrooms--just close the doors before ripping off the clothes. "It's the fairytale aspect," says one TV writer.

Of course. Fantasy sells. 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 will give you a little tenderness, a little affection? It means you're in the wrong house. ~Henry Youngman

Back from Brazil

2010-07-06T17:20:00.000-07:00

Home from Brazil! I can report that it was one of the best trips of my life. We worked hard building the camp for inner-city kids in the mountains of Belo Horizonte but we laughed and played even harder. Our team was made up of about 25 volunteers, mostly Southern California teens who dubbed me "Shay baby" (pronounced loudly, "Shay baay-baaayy!"). I smiled every time I heard my new moniker ringing through the camp.

The girls and I wielded sledgehammers to help knock down several brick walls, earning us the title, "Power Hitters." We tore down much of the original 100-seat cafeteria to make room for a 300-seat expansion; that involved moving about 14,000 clay roofing tiles (I have no idea how Autumn pushed so many wheelbarrows!)

One of the highlights was being joined by 30 underprivileged kids. Project Love International, the nonprofit that organized our trip, runs a school in the city but the kids don't usually come to camp now since its winter in Brazil. I helped run the zip line set up by a professional company and even took a couple runs myself!

Just like the mission in Haiti, I feel like I received far more than I was able to give, especially when I got some tough news from home; the team showered me with prayers, love and hugs. Despite tears in my eyes at times, I worked with joy in my heart.

Click the link to see more pictures from our trip:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=185119&id=837660889&l=c0abd7fe8f

from Brazil

2010-06-25T08:36:00.000-07:00

fierce! the girls knocking down walls to make room for a bigger dining hall I haven't had a chance to get online much from the mountains of Brazil at the kids camp we're building but wanted to post some pictures. Hopefully I'll have time to write more this weekend!

Click here to view Brazil pics:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=185119&id=837660889&l=c0abd7fe8f

a stranger's help

2010-06-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

workers taking a break at the camp in Brazil (Dane Melberg photo 2010) I got a call from our team leader telling me that they had received a large anonymous gift to help cover my cost of going to Brazil to build the kids' camp. The gift made me think about the cost of dreaming big, like Abby Sunderland.

Observers have called Abby's parents foolish for letting their 16-year-old attempt to become the youngest person to sail solo around the world. Foolish or not, Abby could never have tried what she did if others hadn't believed in her enough to back her hopes.

Add it up: media reports say Abby's boat, "Wild Eyes," cost $200,000; then there's years of training; tens of thousands in gear; boat maintenance and repair. And yes, rescue costs once massive waves ripped the mast off Abby's sailboat, leaving her stranded in the Indian Ocean.

I admire Abby. In highschool about the only ambitions my friends and I had were trying to sneak into the county fair or score beer on a Friday night. Dreaming came later.

I hope that when I meet the kids in Brazil, I can challenge them to dream big. And despite poverty and other limitations, I pray that people come into their lives who help provide a way. Maybe even a stranger.

Brazil

2010-06-09T16:32:00.001-07:00

Dane helping build the kids camp in Brazil last year (Aaron Williams photo)The Brazilian Consulate did what they said couldn't be done! They said they couldn't issue a Visa in time for me to go with a team that's building a summer camp for inner-city kids but now they say it will be ready the day before the team leaves. The team's videographer was just diagnosed with cancer and I'm hoping to fill in shooting and writing some stories.

I've been longing for greater creative opportunities internationally since I went to Haiti with the earthquake relief team but there are almost as many challenges trying to get to Brazil. The airfare's posing as big a challenge as the Visa, running twice as much and requiring far more frequent flyer miles than expected.

This trip combines my passions: kids, construction and journalism. And truth be told, the adventure addict in me can't resist the idea of trekking into the mountains of Brazil on a humanitarian mission. Not sure how things will work out but I've already started packing.

blame it on the Jetsons

2010-05-19T16:06:00.000-07:00

I need some ideas to add to the list of Things to do before I die. I only had two things left (excluding getting married and that kind of stuff) and it's down to the last item.
1.) Go skydiving
2.) Get a tattoo

"Are you having a midlife crisis?" my sister asked. No,it's the same crisis I've been having since I was seven and adults began asking, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "An astronaut." Blame it on the planet-hopping Jetsons.

"But you can't, you're a girl..." a black girl (this was before NASA sent women of any color into orbit. I think it's still true no woman has walked on the moon.)

Try again. "A missionary nurse." I could explore the world and help people, too. This seemed to satisfy the adults in our Bible Belt town.

But in my heart I still wanted to be an astronaut. I even made a little capsule out of cardboard to practice flying into space. Knees curled to my chest, I'd sit inside and pray I wouldn't grow too tall because I'd read most astronauts were under 5'9". The moon was not my goal--men had already walked there--but somewhere beyond.

I think God often puts a sense of what we're uniquely created for in our hearts as children but it gets crushed--negative words, fear, doubt...In time we lose the ability to move toward the vision we had when we were seven.

I don't think my destiny is to fly to Mars but it is to strive for greatness. How many people even try to do the things they dreamed of as a child, small or great? And me? I've saved the biggest item on the bucket list 'til now: Go skydiving.

soar

2010-05-11T13:42:00.001-07:00

One of the guys from our Haiti disaster relief team is a Hollywood filmmaker who made a documentary about our trip that we're screening this weekend (he's also writing a feature film set in Haiti). My heart still turns toward Haiti even though it's been four months since the earthquake.

I miss nights at base camp. Stillness broken only by the hum of insects. whispers and giggles in our tents. a child crying in the clinic. a loud rooster that couldn't tell dawn from dark (he dodged a stone or two tossed his way at 3 am!)

One night as I lay in my tent peering out the window flap, I thought, "God, You've ruined me for ordinary life." Even in the rubble, Haiti had reawakened something in me. I've been restless ever since.

I didn't want to come back to Hollywood--didn't have a plan, just dreaded the same old routine--but my teammates encouraged me that someone needs to tell the stories beyond the nightly news. I'm here but my heart is far away.

When I was younger, the adventurer in me sometimes followed reckless paths. Now, I go skydiving and want a tattoo. Funny how at a time in life when most people wouldn't dare jump out of a plane, I long to soar.

I'm not really afraid to jump. At a certain point being stagnant is worse than launching into the unknown. Besides, under the stars in Haiti my heart answered heaven's invitation: "Soar."

My Haiti teammate Sarah Wimmer tandem jumping in the photo below

We'd planned "Heights for Haiti" skydive in June to raise funds for injured kids but due to logistics have to postpone.

Click below to see my Haiti album:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

better than Botox

2010-05-03T17:12:00.001-07:00

Just when I decided to embrace the whole aging thing and become one of those people who need a 12-year-old to program their phone, everything changed. Blame Steve Jobs.

I used to be an early adopter--until it got too expensive and Apple became the world's fastest-growing cult; I've never been a conformist. I refuse to tithe at the House of Apple.

And then I held it. Apple's magic tablet. I don't know what possessed me. I was strolling along the Promenade when I saw one of the glistening machines sitting alone on a store display table--odd, since the other iPads were surrounded three-deep by cult members. I walked in the door and beheld the sleek, compact gizmo. The serpent enticed with a taste of the Apple and I bit.

I picked up the 9.7" capsule. In my hands I held the elixir of youth. Videogames. Comics. Disney on demand...The little box seduced with an injection far more potent than Botox. My inner child-geek fed trance-like at the altar. I was transformed into the queen of the world, the universe at the command of my fingertips.

Then I felt eyes drilling into the back of my head. A boy glared at me as if to say, "Lady, you look ridiculous standing there with curlers in your hair playing videogames." The spell was broken. I gingerly let go of the tablet, which he snatched up in his grubby hands. 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.

vision

2010-04-24T16:25:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling so stuck lately that I've been riding backwards in elevators just for a change. It's an amusing experiment judging from others' reactions. I wonder why it bothers us so much when someone defies convention? There's no law against riding backwards in elevators, is there?

I've always resisted limits that thwart creativity and adventure. As a kid, if adults said, "Girls don't climb trees," I'd find the highest one to climb. When teachers said, "Draw inside the lines," I colored very carefully outside the lines. Yes, it's a rebellious trait: challenge boundaries in the wrong way and you land in jail or worse. But rebel against limitations in the right way and you can change the world.

I was thinking of two boys we met in Haiti who told us their parents died when their houses fell down in the earthquake. The boys said they ran for their lives but got lost and had been running ever since. We brought them to our camp to care for them.

That night our hosts brought back a stranded traveler. As fate would have it, she knew the boys from a school she works with in Haiti. Turns out they weren't exactly homeless orphans running for their lives; they'd made up the story (although one of them had lost a parent). We couldn't be mad--they'd just wanted an adventure. We arranged to take them home the next day.

Natasha with our run-away adventurers, Kevin and Manu, in Haiti Jan. 2010 I'm not condoning the boys' actions--they could have fallen into the wrong hands--but imagine the men they could become given the chance to run with an extraordinary vision for their country.

I hope to see the boys when I return to Haiti; maybe write a children's book about the world they ran to during the quake to help other kids facing tragedy. Until then it's going to take a lot more than riding backwards in elevators to satisfy my own craving for adventure but I don't plan on running away any time soon.

justice of the heart

2010-04-12T20:50:00.000-07:00

**this blog post contains violent and sexual content** photo by Maria Peterson www.mariapetersonphotography.com

A friend sent me a casting notice for an upcoming movie about a serial child killer based on true events. I haven't read the script but I never imagined the idea of auditioning for a newscaster's role would lead to the end of a real life case.

"You're like a soldier," said my mother. "You go on but you can't forget the things you saw." Can't forget the victims or the killers I covered as a crime reporter. Friends have suggested I write books about the cases but it never appealed to me; maybe because nothing can bring back the victims.

I wish it had just been a movie when my station sent me to cover the murder of nurse-midwife Martha Bryant on her way home from work. The horrific attack rocked a quiet Oregon community. I still hear the detective describing the attack: "When he realized she was of no use to him sexually due to her injuries, he executed her." Shot her in the head.

Police began to suspect a soft-spoken husband and father who lived nearby. My photographer and I went to his house to try and interview him but workmen were tearing it down--someone had intentionally torched the place. "Found this," one of the men handed me a tattered piece of paper, "don't know if it means anything."

Chills ran through me. The man had given me a search warrant showing detectives were looking for possessions of nearly a dozen women. If my hunch was right, they suspected Cesar Barone may have killed before. Many times.

Phone calls confirmed half the women were missing or dead; the trail of possible victims stretched from Florida to Oregon. I went on air with the exclusive report. Police wanted to arrest me for illegal possession of the search warrant because I never revealed how I got it, until now.

Barone was eventually tried for muliple murders in the 1990's. I sat behind him and his attorney in court every day. During a break, Barone spoke to me for the first time in two years since Martha's murder. "Can you do me a favor?" he asked. "Can you check on my dogs?"

I never aired his comment. Or his wife's story; seemed too cruel. She'd married Barone a decade earlier after meeting through a personals ad; she had no idea she'd fallen in love with a serial killer.

Today I learned Barone is dead. Died at 49 claiming his innocence on death row (author Anne Rule wrote a book about him but he never gained the notoriety of killers like Ted Bundy, his former cellmate in a Florida prison).

I wish I was a director and could say, "Cut!" There's no tidy Hollywood ending for Barone's wife or his victims but maybe life scored justice in the end: Barone died of a cancerous tumor wrapped around his heart.

uncovered

2010-03-30T12:52:00.001-07:00

a starfish at Neptune beach (© Russell Cederberg Photography) Walking along the cool, sapphire waters of the Pacific. Sunshine glistening off the waves. A vast array of sea life--oysters, starfish, mussels, sponges, anemones--lay uncovered by the ebbing tide.

I'm at the beach with a friend I met the day we flew to Haiti. Sarah had stayed in Port-au-Prince to run the hospital we helped set up after the rest of us returned to the US. Now she's seeing us for the first time since Haiti. "Part of it is closure," she says.

Like a book you can't put down, we struggle to close this chapter. It's hard to explain but for some of us Haiti was a place of rediscovery. We went expecting to feel the weight of death and despair but instead, "Haiti awakened something inside me," said our teammate Kezia. "My life hasn't really been the same since."

Sitting under the mango tree at base camp one night I'd told Kezia she was meant to be a storyteller--a desire she'd buried long ago. But in Haiti, she'd dared to walk in expectation. "I remember feeling I'd been given permission to dream," she said. Lost time; disappointments; missed chances--whatever the reasons, 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 in a way, being among people who lost so much only to find ourselves living out a song in our souls.

I, too, had abandoned myself to follow the song--at times I was a journalist, at times a nurse's aid; limitations were removed. I struggle to explain. Kezia does it for me: "Not being able to express yourself speaks of something new happening inside you," she says. "You are letting His purposes be worked out in you rather than making it fit a model you've seen before. That is trust."

Walking along the shore, I want to tell Sarah, "It's ok to keep the treasure we found in Haiti, right?" But we are lost in awe at the wonders uncovered by the changing tide.

Click the link to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

storytellers

2010-03-16T11:20:00.001-07:00

photo by Maria Peterson www.facesofchicago.com

It's an overused but true adage that a picture is worth a thousand words. Every TV writer's heard a million times, "Write to video." I remember when I first truly got what that means.

I'd written a good script about an illegal, multistate puppy mill ring. My news director tore it up. "See these images?" he said. "Start here. Then go into this sound bite." He showed me how to use the pictures 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: live shots (threatening to fire me if I screwed up), network stories, the anchor desk. 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 went to the funeral. He called later asking why I wasn't at work. "You fired me," I said. "Show up," he said. It was his way of saying, "You're part of the team." We took the station to first place in the market ratings for the first time in 40 years.

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

And then came the earthquake in Haiti--a war zone created by nature, not man--but frontline nonetheless. I'll finish some stories I started in Haiti and then other parts of the world beckon. Storytellers--we see the risk, but we also see the opportunity to tell history. See the images? Start there.

champions

2010-03-10T13:49:00.001-08:00

photo by Maria Peterson www.facesofchicago.com

My childhood friend, Stello, came to visit this week 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 still recall the starting lineup on our 8th grade team--Stello, me, Missy, Ruthie, Pam...An undefeated season led us to the district championships. Coach kept us starters in the entire game but the score remained tied at zero at the final whistle. Exhausted, we faced a kickoff.

Each of us probably remembers that game a little differently. Stello was held scoreless at the front line. Missy let a ball dribble by her. I missed a penalty kick. And our opponents? Well, they scored 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, or even to beat our opponent; we had played for eachother. I'd wanted my teammates to be champions more than I'd wanted it for myself and they'd wanted the same for me. But in the end we'd let eachother down. Our season was over.

"Why do we still care?" I asked Stello. "Why does a soccer game ages ago matter?" As she got ready to leave, she wrote on 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.

Great news about Keven!

2010-02-26T11:52:00.000-08:00

I'm still rejoicing at some great news today! One of my teammates who returned to Haiti sent me a message, "You'd be shocked at the difference in Keven. He's put on weight." Today I saw the evidence! He looks so healthy in the pictures with one of the nurses. His skin no longer has the patchy white tell-tale signs of malnutrition and indeed, he's growing!

Here's Keven's "before" picture at two-weeks-old where he's barely larger than a stuffed teddy bear; he was abandoned at birth and severely underweight. I fell in love instantly.

Looking at the pictures today of Keven's peaceful, beautiful face, I felt as if God was saying, "He's ok, I've got him covered. He's going to be ok." Leaving Keven in Haiti was heart-wrenching but these pictures today radiate hope. I can see a future for Keven.

Keven today seven weeks after Haiti's devastating Jan 12th earthquake

I have no doubts about my purpose in Haiti. "Being in a position to help is an honor not a burden," said one of my teammates. To have been among the first to hold Keven, to feed him, to soothe him--for a few brief days God gave me the honor of giving this baby a mother's love.

no ordinary life

2010-02-22T12:38:00.000-08:00

nurse Kerry hopped on a plane with only hours notice to return to Haiti

Received a distressing email today from a teammate who just flew back to Haiti to help staff the hospital we set up at an orphanage. They'd had to evacuate the building due to aftershocks. "All the children woke up, fear was within each of them," Kerry said. They'd been outside all night, most of the children too injured to go anywhere else.

Each time the ground rumbles in Haiti, it rumbles in my heart, too. Images play in my mind: a starving baby asleep in my arms; injured, hurting orphans sleeping on the wet ground...I keep having a dream that I'm driving my car to Haiti but ocean walls block me.

Some of my teammates returned to Haiti with only hours notice to help with the expansion of our hospital (dubbed "Wimmer's Wing" after our friend Sarah who stayed to run it) thanks to UNICEF's donation of a large tent.

I came to expect those middle-of-the-night phone calls when I was a TV news crime reporter. It was usually the overnight producer, "Shooting, northeast, multiple fatalities," giving me just enough details to throw on clothes and get out the door. Sometimes we'd be gone for days. Even now I still carry an overnight bag in my trunk.

But as I look at how this blog's unfolded--from the viewer who sent our anchor a Kleenex with the advice, "Honey, blot your lips," to Hollywood to the foreign land of Haiti--I've come to the conclusion that I'm not meant to live an ordinary life, even if that means leaving on a moment's notice to go hold a child's hand in the middle of the night.

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Haiti: Chapter Two begins

2010-02-19T16:53:00.000-08:00

"...whatsoever you do for the least of these..." (photo by Brian Field)

I got a call today from the humanitarian group whose work I covered in Haiti to see if I can go back next week! The earliest I could return would be a few weeks but the last trip came together in days so we'll see.

The organization, Transformational Development Agency, is expanding the hospital we set up at New Life Orphanage. UNICEF donated a large tent but there's an urgent need for staff, especially physical therapists and pediatric specialists. Sarah, our teammate who stayed to run the hospital, says they need prosthetics for kids who lost limbs in the earthquake but have no idea how they'll get them. Dr. Jolie & Sarah treat a little girl in Haiti (photo by Scott Mortensen)

While the needs are endless, it seems I can contribute most as a journalist. Yet the longer it takes to return, the more everyday obligations intrude: the agent calls for an audition, the apartment manager wants a decision about renewing my lease, the car needs work...My first trip to Haiti already feels like just a memory.

I struggle with a conflicting sense of calling to both Hollywood and Haiti. Perhaps my destiny is in Haiti's ruins but as one EMT said, "The 'high' we experienced there may never happen again." He's right. We experienced the rare sense of working at our peak ability; of loving deeply and unreservedly; of total unity of vision.

"Why go back?" my sister asked. For the same reason I went before: it seems like a moment in history in which I've been invited to play a role. I once heard a singer explain why she chose a risky music career say, "When the Red Sea parts, you just walk through it." Seems my Sea parts to Haiti...

Haitian kids peering out from inside an old truck (photo by Dane Melberg)
Some of my teammates and I vowed not to forget Haiti once it fades from the headlines. So even though it may be a while before I return, I plan to keep our vow.

See my Haiti pictures at this link:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Our Haiti patient featured in NY Times

2010-02-16T18:49:00.000-08:00

Mystil, one of our Haiti team's patients, was featured in a New York Times article (NYT photo)

The New York Times ran a front-page article this past weekend about one of our team's patients, Mystil, and our teammate, Sarah Wimmer, who stayed behind at the makeshift hospital we set up at New Life Orphanage. The article's heartbreaking but worth the read:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/12/world/americas/13doctors.html

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Haiti: Last Day-Beauty for Ashes...

2010-02-11T16:54:00.000-08:00

Our Haiti team's 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--my journey from Hollywood to Haiti--I was where I belonged.

Haiti-Last Day: We're leaving Haiti today. We're returning to the States a couple of days early due to the re-opening of the main airport in Port-au-Prince; that means tighter restrictions and we risked difficulty with such a large group (nearly 40 doctors, nurses, paramedics and journalists).

Part of me is ready to go home and part of me wants to stay. Someone asks if I've said goodbye to two-week-old Keven; I can't hold him one more time and just walk away.

Our gear's loaded by 7:30 am. I say goodbye to the staff at New Life Orphanage and a teammate who has chosen to stay in Haiti a few more weeks to run the hospital we set up. I met Sarah through a mutual Facebook friend and two weeks later we went to Haiti. She's a hero to us for staying--a lifesaver to the injured children with nowhere to go. Sarah Wimmer with one of Haiti's tiny earthquake survivors

We hug Sarah, jump in the tap-tap, and drive through the orphanage's teal gates one last time. We truly experienced beauty amid ashes.
---
Back in the US, a teammate was hospitalized with life-threatening dengue fever. Struggling to recover, she 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...~Breeour doctors saved the boy's life in the middle (photo by Scott Mortensen)

A friend 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.

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Haiti: Day Four. Miracles

2010-02-07T14:45:00.000-08:00

"If God had a face, what would it look like?" ~Joan Osborne, "One of Us"
Haiti-Day Four: We're going to tour areas of downtown Port-au-Prince devastated in the January 12th earthquake; this will be our first time at the wrecked Presidential palace.

The weather's been mercifully fair and cloudy all week, low 80s, some drizzle, so we can ride in the back of the tap-tap (flatbed truck taxi) without scorching in the sun. Mercifully as well, aftershocks have been mild. The city is in ruins as far as the eye can see. Rich and poor, ordinary and famous, white and black--every neighborhood equally devastated by the quake.

A truck is blocking the narrow dirt road (driving in Haiti is nuts! there are very few traffic lights even at intersections) so we start talking to people on the sidewalk since it looks like we'll be stuck a while.

A young man speaks to us in Creole. "He wants help recovering three family members' bodies so he can give them a proper burial," our interpreter explains. "They died when their house fell on them in the earthquake."

What can we do? We don't have heavy equipment to move the tons of rubble that became their grave. For a moment, I question why God sent us here if He wasn't going to do miracles like raise the dead or move the stones with a wind the way He parted the Red Sea. Why has God been so seemingly blind to a nation's despair? I long to see God do something Hollywood filmmakers couldn't copy if they tried a hundred years.

Our driver inches forward as traffic starts moving. "We're sorry," our translator tells the man, "We can't help you." If a miracle happened that day, I didn't see it.

Back at base camp, I struggle with a sense of futility. What difference can I--our team--make in the midst of such tragedy? It may not seem like much, but there's one thing I can do. I walk to the orphanage and hold a malnourished two-week-old infant, orphaned without ever knowing a mother's touch...
--
Later back in California, it strikes me that I did witness miracles in Haiti. I saw my teammates yield to faith the moment they said, "I'll go." I saw hope as they set broken bones and comforted broken hearts. I saw love as they held strangers and gave water to thirsty children....Miracles you see not with your eyes but with your heart--faith, hope and love. team member Dave de Vos carries a wounded child in Haiti

Click the link to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Haiti: Day Three-an orphanage worker's story

2010-02-05T10:06:00.000-08:00

"I don't feel like a hero or special but lucky to have the faith and the ability to help." ~ Dr. Jolie (photo by Scott Mortensen)Haiti-Day Three: "I just felt like I needed to get up early and walk around the orphanage and pray," Patty tells me about the day of the earthquake, "I don't know why." She works at the compound where we're staying. One of few American-made structures in Haiti, the orphanage appears almost untouched by the massive quake that killed more than 200,000 people.

I'm staying at base camp to write an article for a London publication while our medical team goes to a clinic. Patty's offered to let me shower in her apartment. There's no hot water but I'm grateful after days of getting only sponge baths from a bucket.

Later I ask Patty more about the earthquake. "It didn't start out like a normal day," she says. "The guard came running in saying someone left a baby in the road." A note attached to the baby's clothes led the staff to a 17-year-old mother who said she left the child because she had no money for food. She agreed to bring Natalia's birth certificate to the orphanage later that day.

"Then the earthquake happened," Patty recalls. "I was getting thrown everywhere. The sound was deafening. I tried to run outside, the ground was heaving." Patty didn't know at first that beyond the gates, Port-au-Prince was in ruins. "But then I looked to the hills and there was nothing but a cloud of dust rising up. I knew it was bad. 'Oh, my God,' I said, 'Oh, my God.'"

Natalia's mother never returned that day. No one knows if she's alive or dead.

Patty asks if I want to see Natalia. As we walk past orphans, many with physical handicaps, tears fill my eyes but I don't want to cry. Natalia's playing on a slide--she's plump and healthy, unlike the emaciated babies I've seen.

Natalia was abandoned before the earthquake--it may have saved her lifeI try to get Natalia to smile but she doesn't like the playtime interruption. Holding her, I think, "Natalia, I'm sorry you were left in the road. I'm sorry you'll probably never know what happened to your mommy." Later it occurs to me that being abandoned on a dirt road may have saved Natalia's life.

As the sun sets and the team returns, I'm grateful to sit with them under the mango tree. I feel their hope and love; and hope rises for Haiti's future, for Natalia.

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Haiti: Day Two-Peace in his soul

2010-02-04T10:04:00.000-08:00

"Finally arrived to what I thought was home...only to realize a far off place that has faced total devastation...is much more home." ~Kerry scenes of devastation everywhere we went in Haiti (Shay's photos 1/26/10)

I've never fallen in love with so many people in such a short time. Even though most of my Haiti team members were strangers to me when we first boarded the plane, we were forever knit together by the time we left. Several of us stayed up all night our last time together. "I feel like I've broken up with a boyfriend I still love," said Jolie. We loved hard and we loved well for that one week in Haiti...

Haiti-Day Two: Today we drive through some of the worst areas of devastation from the 7.0 magnitude earthquake on our way to treat patients in a Haitian slum. The dirt roads are so narrow it's amazing our tap-tap (the open-air flatbed truck we use as a taxi) fits through the streets.

We jump off the truck as we arrive at a windowless alley garage that's been turned into a clinic. People line up outside and a crowd quickly gathers. "Food! Water!" they cry out in Creole. We carry only medical supplies. We fear the crowd might riot.

But instead of rioting, children want us to play with them, sick people ask for prayer, young men check out us women. Bree's passing out sticker's to kids who delight in them as if they were Playstations; boys squeal as Brian tosses them in the air; women bring babies to sit on my lap. It feels like a neighborhood picnic--except we have no food. Dr. Ian Armstrong with some of the children (photo by David de Vos)

An interpreter who traveled with us from the US hasn't seen his family since before the earthquake. He's been able to get word to his sisters in a nearby village. Somehow they find us and are reunited in the midst of the crowd.

Duty interrupts play. Our doctors have found a seriously injured man who has gone virtually untreated since a building collapsed on him. We'll use our tap-tap as an ambulance to get him to the hospital. Some men take the bench from the back of the pickup to use as a stretcher. Despite being strapped to a board--he has a head injury and a leg broken in two places--I'm struck by the dignity in the man's face. He winces but never complains. "My daughter," is all he says. His daughter climbs in the truck to be near him. I want to stay, too, but I'm asked to ride up front; the heavier men will ride in back to weigh down the truck and try to make the ride less bumpy.

Later back at base camp, I think of the injured father. There was something special about him, that dignity he carried. Even in the midst of his pain and sorrow, he held on to the peace in his soul.

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

Haiti: Day One

2010-02-02T10:42:00.000-08:00

"...Haiti did not feel like a foreign land; it felt like the land in which I had always belonged." ~Shay I got a message today from a Haiti team member asking, "Shay, do we still need to check your bags?" She was referring to an email from our team leader jokingly saying he thought I might have a child stashed in my bag when we left Haiti.

"Today I was thinking of two-week-old Keven," I responded. "I wonder if he's sad, is someone holding him, is he sleeping, is he smiling?" I know it was right to leave Keven at the orphanage but it's hard to leave an infant who falls asleep holding my hand. baby Keven sleeping holding my thumb (Shay's photos 1/27/10)

Haiti-Day One: We can see sheets blanketing the landscape as we fly into Port-au-Prince. From the air, the colorful fabrics look like people's laundry hanging out to dry. From the ground, we see the sheets are actually makeshift tents.

We throw our gear into a flatbed pickup truck (a taxi in Haiti called a "tap-tap") and climb into the back. I'm a little frightened as we pull out of the airport and head to an orphanage where the rest of our team has set up base camp. The airport guards seemed to be our only protection from the mob of homeless Haitians lining the roadway.

As we drive past, men try to sell us trinkets, women beg for food, boys ask for money. I realize the people don't want to hurt us; they're asking for our help. From then on Haiti does not feel like a foreign land; it feels like the land in which I had always belonged.

The roads to the orphanage are surprisingly clear of debris. An armed guard slides back a heavy, metal gate to let our tap-tap enter. Our leader, Rikki Alakija, gives a brief orientation warning us about our safety: "Please do not walk around the compound perimeter at night. The guards will not know it's you and we want to take everyone home who came with us."

We're settling into our tents when we hear someone calling, "We need a nurse!" We have two nurses in our four-person tent. I follow the nurses to what I thought was a crumbling storehouse.

The scene reminds me of something you see in Auschwitz movies: a concrete floor, bare lightbulbs, smell of urine, children on cots with blood soaking through bandages. The orphanage has set up a makeshift hospital for the earthquake's youngest victims; brought here because they have nowhere else to go.

A baby burned on the upper half of her body when a pot of boiling water spilled on her in the earthquake needs her bandages changed. The nurse snaps on rubber gloves. I do the same, suddenly no longer a journalist. "Scissors. Bandages," she gives me directions and I run back and forth grabbing supplies off benches used as shelves.

We work steadily on several patients. Sometimes I'm just giving a cup of water to a child with a broken leg; other times I'm getting pain medications for nurses to administer; frequently I'm trying to hide my tears. Haiti has already begun to steal my heart.

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

I will return

2010-02-01T15:48:00.001-08:00

I've been trying to blog about my experience in Haiti since arriving last week and haven't been able to. I think because it's something you hold in your heart, not in your words. I fell in love with the people and with my team. I fell more in love with God who poured out hope and comfort in us and through us.

This photo captured by one of the EMTs on our medical relief team speaks far more than I can express. Doctors believe the child is five or six years old but so malnourished it's hard to tell. How can you just leave when your heart wants to stay and love?

I promise I'll be posting more as soon as I'm done writing some articles for publication. The journey has only just begun. I left Haiti knowing that I will return--in Creole, "Map vini an Ayiti anko."

Click the link below to see my Haiti pictures:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

images from Haiti

2010-01-31T13:47:00.000-08:00

I'm under deadline to write another Haiti article so I don't have time yet to blog about our trip. People have been asking to see more pictures so I posted some I took in Port-au-Prince. You should be able to open this Facebook link even if you don't have an account or cut and paste into your browser: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=143158&id=837660889&l=3c429bf406

saving Lives in Haiti

2010-01-28T12:35:00.000-08:00

Just now able to get out my first post since arriving in Haiti this week. I'll have to fill in lots of blanks but here's the latest from an article I'm writing for a London publication:

Thursday, January 28, 2010 - Port-au-Prince, Haiti.
Transformational Development Agency's team has just left an area of Port-au-Prince where a family asked them to help recover the bodies of three loved ones buried under their house when it collapsed in the January 12th earthquake. There is nothing the team or anyone else can do to remove the thousands of pounds of rubble without the heavy equipment still needed to clear much of Haiti's ruins.

a man clears rubble from a collapsed house (Shay's photos 1/28/10)

TDA's 40-member team, comprised mostly of doctors, nurses, paramedics and EMT's, has been performing surgeries and other medical procedures since Sunday on people severly injured in the earthquake that killed an estimated 150,000 people. "Initially you just try to stop the bleeding, then you go from there," said Los Angeles, California paramedic Dane Melberg.

Treating a wounded man who had not received care since the earthquake (Shay's photos 1/28/10)

Despite initial safety concerns, violence has not hindered the team's work and they have not seen riots over food shortages, corpses left to burn in the streets, or machete-wielding gangs looting properties as portrayed in the media.

Touring some of Haiti's most heavily damaged towns today, the team is finding that critical medical needs are stabilizing. Dr. Ian Armstrong, a California neurosurgeon, credits his colleagues with saving lives that would otherwise be lost more than two weeks after the 7.0 magnitude earthquake.

Armstrong said the intervention of one of TDA's doctors meant the difference between life and death for a one-year-old boy named Jerry suffering from a possible skull fracture. "She absolutely saved that boy's life," he said of Dr. Jolie Pfaler of St. John's Hospital in Santa Monica, California. Pfaler found that the boy had never been x-rayed or assessed and was able to get him immediate surgery at the main makeshift tent hospital at Port-au-Prince airport.

Amidst the tragedy of the Haiti situation, the team celebrated reuniting one of its own members with his family, whom he'd not seen since before the earthquake. Edison Senat traveled with TDA from the United States to serve as an interpreter. On January 12th, he'd received a text message from his father that said, "Haiti destroyed. We had a terrible earthquake." While several friends and two cousins were killed, Senat was able to hug his three sisters for the first time in nearly a year when they were able to meet him at a TDA medical clinic. Holding back tears, Edison said, "I know God protected my family."

TDA interpreter Edison Senat is reunited with his sisters in Haiti

TDA's team includes several non-medical volunteers as well. They have been instrumental in offering comfort and encouragement to earthquake victims, particularly orphaned children. Bree Bailey, a Production Manager at California's Lionsgate Studios, said she came on the trip because, "A doctor may come here and fix a child's broken bone, you may come here and fix a child's broken heart."

TDA team leader Rikki Alakija is already looking to future involvement in the country as Haiti begins the long process towards rebuilding. He plans to bring construction teams within the next month or two and expects TDA to be involved in developing employment opportunities to help those left jobless as a result of the quake.

As the team prepares to return to the United States, Alakija summed up their feelings, saying, "When everybody leaves here, they will take a little bit of Haiti with them and leave a little bit of themselves in Haiti."

from Hollywood to Haiti!!

2010-01-24T00:01:00.000-08:00

Haiti response team en route to Port-au-Prince. January 2010 Just a quick note to let everyone know we're on our way to Haiti! We left LAX this afternoon and are now in Florida where it's 3 am. Our team will fly out in phases over the next 24 hours on private planes owned by Joe Gibbs Racing. The former Washington Redskins coach sent three jets to transport relief teams to Haiti since the Port-au-Prince airport is still closed to commercial flights.

It's been a ton of work transporting 40 people and supplies but Delta Airlines ended up letting us check everything for free from LA to Miami. That was a big help since we're each carrying our own fairly large packs containing food, sleeping bag, clothes and necessities.

Our doctors, nurses, EMT's and paramedics will fly first to take the medical supplies and treat victims. I'll leave in the next shift with the non-medical personnel (journalists and support staff). The team, mostly men and eight women, seems like an incredible group. Safety is a major concern but we're trusting for amazing things to happen. I hope to be able to get Internet service and you should also be able to read updates at www.tdaafrica.com. Thank you everyone for your support!

packing for Haiti

2010-01-22T22:52:00.000-08:00

Hail, torrential rains, exhaustion and other roadblocks were the order of the day as we packed for Haiti. Our group, Transformational Development Agency (TDA) posted these photos:

A tarp covers a car as TDA volunteers unload boxes being shipped to Haiti

Not even heavy rains could stop volunteers from donating and packing medical supplies, water and food for Team TDA's trip to Haiti tomorrow.

One of dozens of boxes of medical supplies we're transporting to Haiti

About 50 doctors, nurses, EMT's and others will be setting up a medical clinic at an orphanage in Port-au-Prince. I'll be serving as a journalist and helping with logistics.

Below, Dr. Yodi Alakija, TDA's founder, has overseen the relief mission since the January 12th earthquake killed tens of thousands of people Below, Rikki Alakija, TDA's team leader, takes a call while project leader Melissa Herrmann prepares boxes for shipping I'm not sure if I'll be able to blog from Haiti but will post updates when I can. Thanks to everyone for your support, encouragement, financial gifts and, most of all, prayers.

hindrances to Haiti

2010-01-21T14:19:00.000-08:00

"Search teams refuse to abandon hope after two children were pulled alive from the rubble." AFP I write this post fighting tears because I may have to cancel my trip to Haiti in these hours just before take off. I'd had a sinking feeling when our departure was delayed--first from Wednesday to Friday and then to Saturday--that other deadlines could prevent me from going.

Honestly? I didn't want to go to Haiti when the head of Transformational Development Agency first asked me to go help her team with media and logistics support. I'm not a doctor or a nurse or a rescuer. I couldn't see myself walking among dead bodies, living in horrendous conditions, facing certain dangers.

But as I saw the destruction and heard of missing loved ones and wept at the suffering, I kept thinking about a quote I'd heard years ago; some attribute it to Dwight L. Moody: "The world has yet to see what God can do with a life fully yielded to Him." And so I said yes, because maybe my life is that one.

My blog's title, Blot Your Lips, was appropriate when I was writing about the journey to Hollywood, not Haiti. But as I've embraced what somehow feels like destiny, I've become filled with expectation. Nehemiah rebuilt a wall that should have taken months or years in 52 days because God touched the work. Like the miraculous rescue of the child above pulled from the rubble more than a week after the quake, maybe God will put his touch to Haiti.

So even though today brought obstacles to my trip my heart still says, "Yes, there's hope."

delayed departure

2010-01-20T19:11:00.000-08:00

Port-au-Prince--a soldier plays with an infant Haitian earthquake survivor (AP photo)The 6.1 aftershock jolted Haiti hard today. "Are you still going?" several people asked in the wake of the latest danger. My mind is made up. I don't know what's waiting for us there, but I'm ready to go.

I had to laugh at myself as I packed hygienic supplies. Only a designer would see something pretty in the mundane little tubes and baggies sorted on a tray to clear off counter space. The colors and composition reminded me of beauty for ashes, a promise of restoration. I'm rapidly crossing items off the checklist sent to us by our relief group, Transformational Development Agency. Just a few more things to do, including buying small gifts for the children at the orphanage where we'll be setting up a medical clinic. And thanks to some Dartmouth friends, I'm prepared to live under the stars in Port-au-Prince. "Take whatever you need," said my friend Alex. She could almost run an REI store out of her place, she has so much camping gear. "I'll leave the door open for you," she said. About all that's left is to get on the plane. Unfortunately due to the massive logistics of our medical mission, we've now had to push back our departure to Saturday.

searching in Haiti

2010-01-19T17:54:00.000-08:00

a makeshift tent camp in Haiti (UN Photo Marco Dormino)"Je cherche pour ma mere," said a friend's Facebook message just after Haiti's massive earthquake. Translated it says, "I'm searching for my mother." The message written in French continued, "Please help me find her."

A mother missing in Haiti after last Tuesday's earthquake left tens of thousands of people dead. A daughter desperately trying to find her. As I read the plea for help I thought, "God, if you send me to Haiti, I will look for her mother," knowing such a search would likely be futile among a sea of refugees and ruins.

Now what seemed like a far-flung thought is becoming reality. I leave Friday with a team that will be setting up a medical clinic at an orphanage in Port-au-Prince. Along with my passport, water purification tablets, tent and protein bars, I'll be carrying a picture of my friend's mom and a number in case phones work in Haiti. My French is rusty but it'll be enough to read signs and communicate with those who don't speak English. While the odds are against me locating my friend's mom, wouldn't it be a miracle?

p.s. I just received this message: "Wanted to let you know that my mother is alive and well!"

fifteen seconds

2010-01-17T13:34:00.000-08:00

a rescue worker saves a child in Haiti, Associated Press photoAs crime reporters leaving on dangerous assignments, we'd sometimes say, "Make sure I get my 15 seconds." See, a dead journalist is worth about 15 seconds on network news. Even though our jobs could cost our lives, we were compelled to go. Now getting ready for Haiti, old instincts become familiar again.

As journalists, we learn to tell history in seconds. In 15 seconds, an earthquake topples a nation. An assassin's bullet slays a civil rights leader. A man steps on the moon. A levee breaks. A wall falls in Berlin. A plane crashes into a tower.

But I'm Miss Hollywood now. I go to red carpet events and wear lipstick. I'm not cut out for sleeping in the dirt and eating from a tin can. Yet something tells me I was created to walk among the ruins and devastation of a nation, to comfort orphans and widows, to hold the dying.

Yes, we're afraid for our safety. The leader of the NGO I'm traveling with, Transformational Development Agency, told reporters: "We know we're going into a dangerous situation, but people are dying because nobody is there to help." Dying now not from injuries but simply because they have no food or water. In an age of wireless networks, 3D and satellite, we can't get a cup of water to a thirsty man.

I resisted going at first mostly because of fear, the horrific conditions, the overwhelming sense of futility. But as I told a friend, "I realized this is a moment in history in which I've been invited to play a role. How can I say no any longer?"

heading to Haiti

2010-01-16T16:17:00.000-08:00

Associated Press photo of tiny earthquake survivor 01.12.2010 I'm pressed for time as I get ready to head to Haiti to cover the work of a medical relief team. I had a dream last night that even a week after the earthquake, buried children--their bodies preserved in the dirt--were brought to life at a collapsed school! I didn't originally see myself going to Haiti but when I awoke I knew I needed to be on that plane.

I've been assisting a medical relief team with Transformational Development Agency (TDA) that leaves Wednesday. TDA's founder, Dr. Yodi Alakija, is a close friend.

We'll be flying from Miami on chartered jets transporting medical supplies, clothing, as well as security. I'm part of a short-term team that will be based at a tent camp at an orphanage.

The truth is I'm nervous, a bit scared and not exactly thrilled about sleeping in the dirt for a week. But like Isaiah, I said, "Yes" and He said, "Go."

Click the link to read an article about our Haiti team: Westlake Village charity to send medical team to Haiti» Ventura County Star

Haiti

2010-01-14T18:24:00.000-08:00

Photo, Elim International Missions Paintbrush in one hand, cell phone in the other, my friend coordinated a medical relief team leaving for Haiti in a few days. I'd offered to come help paint her family's new home while she fielded calls from around the world on behalf of her global development organization.

Me? I was overwhelmed by the task at hand, "We must get this other wall painted tonight," my friend kept insisting. I couldn't begin to fathom the task awaiting the team that will land in Port-au-Prince in a few days. I'm not sure whether I'll be on that plane.

Here's the information from Transformational Development Agency's website if you want to help:

TDA is mobilizing URGENT support for earthquake victims in Haiti. We are hoping to have an initial short-term team on the ground in Port-au-Prince within a few days.

The International Red Cross estimated that up to one-third of Haiti's 9 million residents have been affected by the quake, although the worst damage was centered in the densely populated capital of Port-au-Prince.

Haiti's Prime Minister, Jean-Max Bellerive, told CNN that it could be "well over 100,000," while leading Sen. Youri Latortue told The Associated Press that 500,000 people could be dead. Both acknowledged they have no way of knowing.

destinations

2010-01-11T17:09:00.000-08:00

photo by Maria http://www.mariapetersonphotography.com/ I had this dream last night that I was trying to climb a steep hill on my bike to get to a crucial meeting but every few feet the bike's chain would fall off. I'd stop and put the chain back on but a few feet later it would just fall off again.

"Wow, you don't even need to explain," my friend Tina said as I told her the dream. "It's like you're pedaling and pedaling, but..." The last two-and-a-half years of my life since I moved to LA pretty much summed up in a dream; no interpretation required.

Once I realized the bike was broken beyond repair in the dream, I started trying to hitch a ride (dangerous, yes, but it was a dream) but the cars were all traveling on a different highway below. I woke up with that panicky feeling you have after dreaming you forgot to study for an exam.

But you know what? I have no doubt I'm supposed to keep climbing the hill one way or another. It's not just me who's trying to get to a destination; it's all the artists carrying a vision to use their gifts for the purposes God designed. I don't know how dreams work but busted bike chain or not, this dream needs part two: reaching the destination. It's time. Soon.

Katie, come home

2010-01-06T11:30:00.000-08:00

Well, 2010 AD, how does it feel turning one week old? I don't make New Year's resolutions, but sometimes I make wishes; this year I wish Katie would come home.

I started blogging because of Katie--her and others whose stories I covered as an investigative reporter. I decided to record some of their stories in case I wanted to use the material to write a TV show about journalists.

Sometimes I feel like Haley Joel Osment's character in the The Sixth Sense. "I see dead people," the boy tells a shrink (Bruce Willis). While I don't actually see dead people, I can't forget some names and faces, like Katie's.

Katie Eggleston, a recent college grad with California surfer girl looks, was excited to start her first job at Allnet in Portland. It was the last day anyone saw her.

Police found Katie's car near the airport with her purse inside; they speculated Katie had left with a lover. My gut said no; what 20-something woman runs away and leaves behind her lipstick? Still, cases grow cold quickly without solid leads. I kept in touch with her parents as tips surfaced but eventually lost contact.

I recently found an old letter from Katie's parents. "We want to let you know how much we appreciate the straightforward reporting you did regarding Katie's disappearance," wrote Katie's mom, sharing her terrible anguish over her missing child.

I knew I had to retell Katie's story; my gut tells me one day someone will come forward with a tip that sheds light on her disappearance.

A while ago a friend of Katie's posted a message in case she's alive: "Katie, it's okay, you can come home now." (Bend Bugle, 5/4/2001) So that's my wish. Katie, come home.

Katie remains Case #1954DFOR in the Doe Missing Persons Network

see...

2009-12-28T23:07:00.001-08:00

Heading home from the midwest. Icestorm, blizzard, freezing temps--looking forward to the beach! Even 2,000 miles away from Hollywood though, I couldn't escape its influence.

After being snowed in more than a day, we decided to venture to the theater in my sister's SUV. I was outvoted: Avatar 3D--5 votes; Princess & the Frog--1 vote.

In the sci-fi flick about a blue-skinned tribe whose planet is threatened by humans, the story follows two characters' journey from enemies to lovers. When they first meet, the Na'vi being calls the Avatar man foolish. "You don't see," she accuses him. As I sat in the theater adjusting my 3D glasses, I kept thinking about that line for some reason.

James Cameron, the director who also brought Titanic to the big screen, actually began developing Avatar nearly 15 years ago. The Chicago Trib quotes Cameron as saying he couldn't produce the movie until now because, "technology needed to catch up." Fifteen years from conception to realization.

"I see you," they Na'vi woman and the Avatar coo once they fall in love. So maybe that's the point: Love sees. Sees the craftsman who carries a vision for years without quitting even though tools don't exist to bring it to fruition. Sees the pioneer who embraces the unseen, believing one day there will be a finished product. Sees the artist who, though the vision tarries, waits for it. Taking off my 3D glasses as I left the theater I thought to myself, "I, too, want to see."

superheroes

2009-12-13T16:12:00.000-08:00

"Can you be at the casting studio at 2:30?" my agent asked. "Sure," I said. Checking my email, I saw a problem: the casting director was asking to see tall actors for a role opposite a Superhero. I knew I could nail the character--"She's tough, lean and statuesque"--so I put on my 4" heels and strutted to the audition.

The casting director seemed enthusiastic after my audition. Honestly? I'd love to play a Superhero. Who said crimefighters have to be tall? Tobey Maguire's only 5'8" and that didn't stop him from becoming the world's top webslinger.

I was one of those kids who believed I was endowed with superhuman powers. Accompanied by my superdoll Dusty, I'd scale the highest trees, whip bullies on the playground, race cars on my bike...all in training to save mankind.

I'd often tie a parachute around Dusty and hurl her off a cliff into a pile of leaves (some stunts I knew not to attempt myself). One day Dusty missed the landing pad, crashing with a horrific snap on the concrete. Her head severed from her body.

"Your dad came home to find you prostrated with grief," my mother recalls. "He got a shoebox and shovel and out to the backyard went gravedigger and chief mourner. The beheaded dolly was buried amid tears and deep sorrow." She bought me a new doll but it wasn't the same. That day I learned even superheroes are mortal.

These days my definition of superhero is different. They're the ones whose faith births miracles; who pray for healing for a dying friend; who love the unlovable; who remain hidden so others can shine. Their courage produces a divine exchange: beauty for ashes, joy for sorrow, strength for weakness. Their names are Melissa, Steve, Maria, Phil, Esther, Jackie...

Oh, in my heart I still long to rid the world of evil. And if the call comes to play a Superhero, being less-than-statuesque won't stop me any more than it did Tobey. Besides, I hold journalism credentials, just like Spidey and Superman.

p.s. Spiderman, you know where to find me.

a friend's daughter in the photo by Maria www.facesofchicago.com

rebirth

2009-12-06T15:26:00.000-08:00

...to everything there is a season...photo by Maria Peterson Looking out the window today I was surprised to see leaves falling from a tree. I live at the ocean surrounded mostly by palms and evergreens; the early darkness is one of the only signs of the changing season.

I don't miss winter. Back in the midwest, my TV news job often meant working outside in subzero temperatures covering fires, floods and blizzards. Once my photographer and I got stranded during an icestorm when our satellite truck's mast froze in the air (the truck's safety device kept it from driving unless the mast was down). No matter how hard Mike scraped the ice, the mast would refreeze faster than he could work.

We put in an emergency call to highway patrol. "The roads are impassable," the dispatcher said, "We've got to try to reach the accidents first." We'd be ok as long as we had gas to run the heater. A state trooper eventually rescued us. We endured a brutal, fatal winter that year. I left soon after and never moved back.

Winter feels like death to me...fading promises...barrenness. Hollywood lately has seemed that way. Unfruitful. Bleak. Destiny choked under a mound of frozen dirt.

But watching those leaves fall today reminded me there's a season for all things. We survive the storms. Barrenness yields to rebirth. Hold on to the promise as long as it takes.

love affairs

2009-12-01T16:49:00.000-08:00

I wish it wasn't true, all the stuff being said about Tiger Woods and his alleged affairs. I told myself I wasn't going to write about love and sex and the wreckage you see in Hollywood but the topic keeps coming up. Actually it seems like most people I know are longing for so much more in their own relationships.

It's easy to fall in love in Hollywood. Problem is it's usually not real love. Lust. Creative union. Passion. Whatever you want to call it. But so few of us seem to know what true love is anymore that it's hard to tell the counterfeit.

If there's one lesson I've learned it's that true love is often unglamorous, as my friend Karin put it. It often can't sustain the passion, heat and itensity of what I call, "creative love." Creative love is when you're birthing a vision with someone and bringing it to fruition, whether it's a feature film or a charity fundraiser, and fall deeply for your co-creator even if one of you is married. Connection--it's why so many actors jump from one co-star's bed to another.

So how do you know when you've found your soulmate? How do you know when it's true love? Well, I guess we're going on a journey. And just for the record, I don't think a cheating spouse deserves to get beaten with a golf club; abuse is never right in any relationship. Tell someone if it's happening to you.

cops, robbers and bunnies

2009-11-23T12:21:00.000-08:00

We all know God could have stopped Adam and Eve from eating the forbidden fruit. But He didn’t. Free will. Choice is a tricky thing; Adam and Eve missed their full potential because of it. I know I’m not the only one who can relate.

In 2nd grade I wrote a story about a bunny's adventures that my teacher secretly submitted to a publisher. I remember the principal waiting for me in the hallway. I thought I was in trouble. Instead they said the publisher wanted to turn my story into a book. “They want you to write what happens to the bunny after he goes in his hole,” my teacher said excitedly.

I froze. Pitch black darkness, that’s what happens. Maybe the bunny dies down there. “I don’t know what happens,” I said. Second grade and already paralyzed by fear of failure.

Years later as a TV crime reporter, I’d gone from writing about bunnies to cops and robbers. The networks soon came calling. “We have a position for you,” Joan at CBS New York said. I was instantly back in 2nd grade. Pitch black darkness. Maybe the bunny dies. “I just started my job. It’s too cold there.” Lame excuses.

“You have to write about it,” my friend Maria urged, “It's relevant. Overcoming fear is part of the process." Deal with it, she insists, "because something big is coming for you. I can feel it.”

So maybe destiny is more grace than choice; offering courage to overcome fear. Destiny. Free will. Opportunity. This time I will say yes.

Tinsel on the Town

2009-11-21T16:52:00.000-08:00

I was interviewed about Baron Entertainment's 10 year anniversary in "Tinsel on the Town." Check it out online! http://actorsentertainment.com/tinsel-on-the-town/baron-entertainment-10-year-anniversary-party-part-2/

You'll have to wait for my few seconds on camera at about 4:25 and 5:25. We celebrated with Rod Baron last week at Miyagi's on Sunset in Hollywood. Thanks, Rod and the Actors Entertainment team!

change

2009-11-17T13:36:00.000-08:00

photograph by my childhood friend, Maria www.facesofchicago.com Once when I was about seven, I ran away from home. Took my bike. And my little brother. Didn't occur to me we'd need food or water or money. I had a place planned for us to live, an old building near our house. One of the windows was busted out and we could slip in through there. Didn't occur to me it was breaking and entering.

We made it to the building five blocks away before my older sister chased us down on her bike. "You're in big trouble," she declared triumphantly. The gig was up 30 minutes later. Funny thing is I really thought we'd be gone forever. Just me, my bike, and my little brother.

Lately I've felt like running away...one of those seasons where everything within is just screaming for change. Movement. Breakthrough. Yet life feels stagnant. Fenced in. Stifled by lack of opportunity to fully engage my creative self.

Problem is when you're an adult, running away isn't nearly as simple as when you're seven and all you want is a bike and a companion. Adulthood makes things complicated. What will happen to my apartment? Who will water the plants? Where will I sleep? Is it really running away if the Facebook universe can find me?

So instead of running away, I wait for the vision to come to pass. Try not to despise the small beginnings. Cling to Faith. Being sure of what I hope for and certain of what I do not see. Besides, I don't think my brother would go for breaking and entering anymore.

honor

2009-11-11T09:50:00.000-08:00

Dear Hero,

I remember the first time I saw the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. I scanned the thousands of names. put my hand out. touched the smooth, cold granite. then tears at the miracle that your name is not written on that wall. I am so grateful you came home from the battlefield.

I can't imagine the sacrifices you've made for me to grow up in a country where I as a black woman can vote, drive a car, worship freely--things I've tried not to take for granted.

Growing up you'd bring me with you as you trained the ROTC. You saw that I had courage (foolish at times!) and let me try the training exercises with the recruits--rock climbing, flying in helicopters, learning to shoot a weapon...

Remember the day I fell during a rappelling exercise? All you could do from the ground was watch as my body slammed into the rocks until the safety rope pulled taut. Miraculously I didn't break a bone. You've been like that safety rope--pulling taut when I stumble but never stopping me from climbing.

After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I asked what you'd say if you were addressing the nation. You answered, "God bless the USA." You've fought the good fight and today you'd still die for this country. Major, you are an amazing man.

For you on Veteran's Day,
Your Butterfly

(2008 to my father who fought for our freedom for more than two decades & would re-enlist now in his '70's if the military would let him.)

red carpets & cattle calls

2009-11-03T17:33:00.000-08:00

Cattle call-type audition--about as far from the red carpet as an actor can get. I like how wisegeek.com explains the process, "in which hundreds or even thousands of performers vie for roles. The chances of winning a major role through a cattle call are notoriously slim."

Actors and models sent by their agents for this national print campaign crammed into the poorly-ventilated waiting room. Knowing most would get axed in the first round, it almost didn't seem worth the price of the Sunset Boulevard parking garage fee; some actors walked out.

This is the first time I've had to face the LA cattle call. As I debated whether to stay, a word popped into my head: perseverance.

"Someone's going to book this gig," I thought, "Someone who perseveres." So I pulled out my cell phone, clicked on Facebook, and waited for my turn at a few seconds in front of the camera. Number 1104.

It's been said many times Hollywood kills far more red carpet dreams than it makes. I'm not so sure about that; I wonder if it's just that far more dreamers quit than persevere.

"Success seems to be largely a matter of hanging on after others have let go." ~William Feather

oh sure, honey, I can ride a bull

2009-10-30T13:25:00.000-07:00

Ahh, wedded bliss. Everything's fresh and new. Feels like the honeymoon will last forever. So much to discover. It's perfect in TV land....until the deception kicks in.

So my actor/fake husband, Dwayne, and I were auditioning for this national commercial today and the casting director made us vow that we weren't allergic to the product. My husband might have been lying.

Dwayne confessed to me that he's been dishonest in auditions before. One role he booked required shooting at the ocean. The part called for swimming but the director decided to shoot Dwayne's scenes in a boat instead. Lucky for Dwayne.

See, the truth is Sugar Daddy can't even dog paddle. I asked Dwayne how he would have bluffed if the director had said swim. "Well, no way I was jumping in the water!" he didn't even have an alibi, like a broken rib or something.

Yes, people fabricate resumes. And even though the potential of getting caught is pretty high for actors, it happens all the time--"Oh sure, I ride [check one: ___skateboards, ___motorcycles, ___bulls] like a pro."

So what if Dwayne and I book this gig but he has a seizure on set because it turns out he IS allergic to the product? We'd BOTH get fired because we were hired as a COUPLE. So my advice? Husbands and wives: Don't lie. Don't cheat. Put eachother first. Forget bull-riding. Learn to swim.

mercy

2009-10-27T11:28:00.000-07:00

Maybe I should have titled my blog, "Blot Your Lips: Life Ain't Pretty." I wanted to be honest & so some posts deal with violence, sex, drugs---

I'm trying to remember the name of that TV show about a girl who encounters God in ordinary people she meets. Something like that happened to me recently in Hollywood.

I was at a lounge to meet a colleague and saw a guy who'd tried to pick me up the first time we met, clumsily fueled by too much booze.

He was apologetic so we started talking. He thought I might be interested in helping him write new parole legislation. "You honestly believe most criminals can be rehabilitated?" I challenged. "You don't?" he countered. Jaded as it may seem, I can recall only one criminal that I felt deserved a second chance.

...It was my first time inside a prison. I felt vulnerable stripping off coat, purse, jewelry for security guards. Sounds of clanging metal bars, inmates cat-calling as guards led us to a cell for supervised visits.

My photographer and I were shooting a sweeps series about juvenile crime; prison officials had agreed to let us interview one of the state's youngest inmates sentenced as an adult. Guards brought him to the room in leg and arm shackles. I was stunned. He couldn't have weighed more than 120 pounds; he looked about 14.

We didn't have much time so I got straight to the point. "What gang?" I asked. "Crips," he said.

"Why'd you kill that kid?" I asked. "'Cuz he shot my dog," he answered.

Silence. He knew I got it. His unspoken words said: That kid killed the only thing that was mine. Pain. Hopelessness. Street justice.

I stayed in touch with Anthony the next few years on the pretense he was a source into the gangs I covered. Really, we were becoming friends.

Anthony would draw in his cell; sketches of cops handcuffing a boy. A pregnant girlfriend. Christ on a cross. A weeping boy becoming a man behind barbed wire fences.

Our stories got the attention of a college that thought Anthony could qualify for a long-distance program for artists. Anthony gave me some drawings to say thank you.

Now I found myself wondering if in some way I'd failed Anthony. I'd been one of his only advocates. When I quit the crime beat, I quit on him in a way. Sure, he owed something for the life he took but...He shot my dog...

"You have to make peace with your past," the man's voice at the lounge brought me back to the present. "Most of us who've dealt with criminals have to make peace with the fact that justice isn't clear." I think he was Mercy. He was telling me it's ok not to know if Anthony deserved to live or die for his crime. Mercy doesn't even the score. Mercy clears the scorecard and forgives the past.

Anthony, I hope you made it.

popping pills

2009-10-20T10:38:00.000-07:00

Got quite a greeting from a hometown friend I hadn't seen in years. "I heard you'd become a drug addict," Julie told me. Despite some pretty self-destructive past behavior, heaven must have assigned a host of angels to keep me from popping or injecting all I've been offered.

I've lived in cities from New York to San Francisco and never seen as many drugs as in LA. This Hollywood exec I know is a walking pharmaceutical ad--stress meds, anti-depressants, sleeping pills--one accidental overdose away from death.

She said she wants off drugs but can't cope. Once when she left a prescription vial on her desk I wrote down the doctor's name, you know, in case there was ever an investigation. I've lost track of her but hear through the grapevine she's ok.

I understand needing to escape. So did Heath Ledger. Michael Jackson. Anna Nicole Smith. River Phoenix. Chris Farley. Kurt Cobain...Creative voices forever silenced by drugs. Anna Nicole once told an interviewer, "Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and will always be." I hope she's finally found the peace no pill can offer.

By the way, Julie, the closest I've come to being a drug addict was auditioning for a role in the film, "Rent." They didn't cast me. I wasn't really believable as a crackhead anyway, especially since I edited all the R-rated dialogue.

perfect image

2009-10-15T16:11:00.000-07:00

photo www.mariapetersonphotgraphy.com Some people are born for Hollywood--perfect images of the human race. As I was reminded at a recent audition, I'm not one of them.

A woman with a tape measure met us at the sign-in table. Generally actors just fill out a size card: height, weight, bust, hips, etc. There might be a scale but it's rare. We're trusted to give accurate sizes because if we book a role and the wardrobe doesn't fit, there might not be a payday.

The tape measure felt like a judge: "Verdict? Guilty." Everyone knows plus-sized women are rarely cast as eye candy and here I was having a plus-sized flashback.

When I first started working in TV news, I honestly thought viewers would be more concerned about my storylines than my waistline. I came out of the womb BIG, the largest of five siblings. I lost weight after receiving some pretty humiliating viewer comments.

Then there's hair and skin bias. Chris Rock's new film Good Hair documents the ugly truth--can't be sportin' no nappy tresses or ebony pigment. When I first moved to LA I wanted to read for a newscaster role that specified "light-skinned" blacks. I pitched myself anyway and booked it. (Showfax magazine excerpted a piece I wrote about the experience called Nappy Hair and Big Lips http://more.showfax.com/columns/avoice/archives/2007_08_27.html)

So I may not have been born with Hollywood assets but I'm ok with that. Oh, the booty might be smaller these days but I've learned something they can't teach you in journalism school: don't let other peoples' tape measures judge you.

atonement

2009-10-09T15:57:00.000-07:00

Long before coming to Hollywood, my sights were set on a network news gig in New York. I had no idea when I started writing this blog that moving into the present would require revisiting my past.

...Soon after starting my first job as a TV reporter at a small NBC affiliate, I was assigned to cover a hostage standoff. Swat teams were negotiating with a man who'd taken five children and a woman captive inside a house. Police thought the crisis would end quickly when the man, believed to be a family acquaintance, released one of the kids.

As things dragged on, I decided to draft my script so I'd be ready to go on air as soon as the standoff ended. "A gunman has just released four children and a woman he's been holding hostage in this house..." I wrote, trying to get my lead line just right.

Hours passed. Things grew quiet. The phone line went dead. After nearly a day with no response from the gunman, swat teams got ready to storm the house. I don't remember exactly how we got the official word: "They're all dead." The gunman must have ordered everyone to the basement since no shots were heard outside then killed them before shooting himself.

I went into one of the station's soundproof editing suites. "No!" I screamed, "that's not what I wrote! That's not how it ends, God, no!" I'd never felt such pain. The murders crushed me. It wasn't that I thought I was God and could script outcomes but I'd been certain the kids would come out alive, not in bodybags.

I had to go face my producer. But first I made a vow: I would never hurt like that again for anyone. I willed my heart to become stone. From then on I would pursue justice armed with a pen and a news camera. Maybe I was trying to make atonement for those children's lives. Whatever the case, in time I, too, would become a hostage. Of darkness. Trapped in a fortress, void of the ability to feel deeply, to love...

"Six people, including four children, are dead tonight after a tragic ending to the hostage standoff we've been following..." the broadcast opened on cue. I learned that day that a human life is worth a minute and 45 seconds on the nightly news.

now you're in love...next!

2009-10-07T13:25:00.000-07:00

photo www.mariapetersonphotography.com Just finished a "go-see" (the print equivalent of a commercial audition) for a bank ad campaign. It's a nice gig that shoots next week if I book it. I was supposed to audition alone but the photographer wanted a partner for a late 20s/early 30s thin Asian guy. I was next on deck so voila: short black lady meet skinny Asian guy. Now you're in love.

First she had us pose with our arms around eachother, which can be awkward when you've met your partner 30-seconds before but he was sweet and I liked him. Ms. Photographer, however, felt we were stiff, "It's not a prom picture!" We laughed and relaxed.

Then she instructed us to walk arm-in-arm, "Faster, faster!" (I guess for a wind-blown look); amusing since my partner was about 8" taller and I was wearing heels so I barely matched his stride. Our photographer seemed pleased with our five minutes worth of shots though. I've learned to let go of the outcome after auditions or the constant re-play in your head will drive you crazy.

I know some actors hate auditioning but I enjoy it; I guess because of my news background I don't mind not knowing what to expect in the audition room. Oh sure I get nervous, especially on days I can't get to the studio early and prep, but it's still mostly fun. Those brief moments in the room help make the waiting and disappointment and hope deferred in Hollywood worth it. Next!

girly girls and tomboys

2009-09-28T17:59:00.000-07:00

I'm still trying to figure out this blogging thing. It seems pretty narcissistic unless there's a product or service or even baby pictures to post. I'm not sure I want my thoughts out in cyberspace. Some friends have encouraged me to write a blog though, so I'm taking the plunge. photo by my friend Maria Peterson www.facesofchicago.com

This is a season of experimenting artistically and creatively for me, a time to take chances. I don't really see myself as a risk taker anymore, which is ironic because a lot of people told me it was a crazy risk when I headed for an unknown future in Hollywood.

So I've been advised to look more Miss Hollywood, closer to how directors and others would cast me. The problem is my outside says "girly girl" (not just any girly girl, the PERKY girly girl) but my inside still says tomboy.

I was such a tomboy growing up that I used to charge the other grade schoolers a nickel for "protection" on the playground. Mostly I made sure the boys didn't pull up the girls' dresses to see their underpants. I was pretty intimidating. I was so strong and fast and TALL (early growth spurt) that another boy and I even had our own gym class. My 6th grade teacher will vouch for this story.

My looks have apparently not kept up with my womanly evolution. So I've been encouraged to enhance my girly girl self (thank you, Miss M). Maybe that's why I've been thinking of that viewer's advice to our anchor when I got my first TV job: "Blot your lips, honey." So here I am. Finally blotting.

concealed evidence

2009-09-22T17:40:00.000-07:00

Funny how your past intrudes into your present in the most awkward ways. This post might seem morbid but it's not meant to be; in my heart is something redemptive but I can't fully articulate it.

Recently I was with a group of alums from my college. The conversation turned to the Yale grad student found murdered in a campus lab. The killing had captured our interest since it had happened at a sister school; we were speculating on a motive and whether the attack was premeditated.

"The killer would have come up with a better plan to get rid of the body if he'd planned the it," I said. "He would have known blood stains are hard to clean." Awkward silence. I could tell my colleagues were wondering why I knew so much about hiding dead bodies.

It's just that as a crime reporter I'd spent countless hours at murder scenes and talked to dozens of families of murder victims. I was the first journalist allowed to attend the Portland Chapter meetings of Parents of Murdered Children after covering a story about a girl whose body was found ditched along a California highway. She'd met the wrong person somewhere. I wanted to see justice for her.

Back to the conversation about the Yale student. She'd been at the lab working on cutting-edge medical research; she was supposed to have gotten married in a few days. As our group sat 3,000 miles away discussing her fate, it struck me maybe there's a reason for all the horrible things I've witnessed. Honestly, I don't know what it is yet but maybe there's something redemptive in those places of darkness.

Concealed evidence. Maybe our pasts hide clues about our destiny until we're ready to step into something greater.

Blot Your Lips!

2009-09-18T13:34:00.000-07:00

Weird stuff happens on the bus to Hollywood, not to mention the detours, pit stops and deadends. But sometimes you can find good souvenirs along the way.

One of my first pit stops was at a midwest TV station surrounded by cornfields--my first on-air reporting job after grad school at an NBC affiliate. Sometimes the 10:00 news anchor would share her fan letters with me (that's us sitting behind the news desk in the photo.)

I've never forgotten one particular letter. A viewer had mailed a crisp white Kleenex with the words, "Honey, blot your lips!" written in bold, red marker. In the center of the tissue, the viewer had demonstrated the perfect blotting technique.

Instead of getting offended, I think our anchor tacked that Kleenex to her bulletin board. Sometimes before going on air we'd ask, "Blot?" It became our cue to check eachother's makeup, hair and mics since our station was too small to afford stylists.

Pam taught me that we don't have to be competitors just because we're vying for the same spotlight. And she taught me that the things other people intend to put you down can be turned around to help you. I hope she kept that Kleenex, it'd make a great souvenir.