The Little House in Miami

“The house is closed.  Your keys are now mementos,” was the text that I received from my brother Steve after the family home had sold last week.   I stood there in my office and let out a small gasp.   I knew the closing was supposed to be that Friday or Monday in Miami depending the last minute details from the buyers.   Still, the idea of never going into the house which we had owned since 1958 seemed at bit surreal.   My arrival at the house on 90^th court did not happen until 1963, so my sister Kathy and brothers Bill and Steve had some extra time to make it their own before they had to deal with a new baby.  Sharon was born in 1964 which then made the family complete. 

I had not been home since my father died in 2002 when I went down for the funeral.  Being in the house and not seeing him sit in his recliner also seemed to be surreal although ironically that’s where he passed away.   Max and I had moved to Georgia in 1998 and had been down periodically, but Mom and Dad came up so often it didn’t seem necessary to go down there to see them.   A few years ago when Mom could not live alone anymore she moved up to Tallahassee so the house had been vacant since then.  My mother still had to pay the taxes and run the AC so that her South Florida home would not be overrun with mold which the moist tropical weather can do in just a few weeks.  

The words of the text were still stinging.  Fighting back tears was a losing battle so I quickly ducked into the bathroom so none of my co-workers could see me.  The house I grew up in was no longer ours - I could never go home again.  I had to work late that night so I didn’t get home until after 10:00 p.m.  I told Max the house was sold and he could see it affected me.   He hugged me and said it was a very good house.  I told him I wanted the new family to laugh and love as much as we did. 

The next morning I cuddled with my husband, put my head on his chest and started to cry.  A large chapter of my life was now most definitely closed and could never be reopened-and now it belonged to someone else.  So much had happened in the Cody house.  I knew how rare it was that one family could own a house that was not a farm or an estate in England for over 56 years - in the South Florida suburbs that is just unheard of.  

Gazing out of the second floor window of my own house, I thought about when I was a little girl.  I would look out my bedroom window during the Christmas season and I felt especially safe seeing the holiday lights.  I guess as a kid, I reasoned that nothing bad could happen as long as my window was framed in multiple colors of red, green, blue and orange.  When I put the Christmas lights up at our house, I make a special effort to have lights frame our bedroom window so I can look outside and feel that all is right with the world.  Our ranch house did not have a fire place (we lived in Miami, which is not a place known for cold weather hence the lack of a hearth) - so my parents would tell us that they would stay up and let Santa in.  

On Christmas morning, the Cody kids would descend on the presents that were in five different piles that all had the same number of presents.   We got to open two before church and then the rest after services and going out to breakfast.   Since Miami never really got cold in the winter, we’d run around in Miami Dolphin Jerseys with shorts and go to our friend’s houses to see what sort of  holiday haul they got.   Yeah, back then, you could just walk down the street and hang with your friends - there was no cell phones, Facebooking or Tweeting.   You could also smell the different holiday feasts being cooked as you walked on the sidewalk from house to house.  

Our backyard had a swing set that my sister Sharon and I would play on since we were close in age - just 16 months apart.   Unlike Georgia, the terrain in Miami is pretty flat so our backyard was fenced in but connected to four other houses in the back and to the side.  You could cut between the yards to go directly across to Southwest Sr. High which was literally a stone’s throw from my house.  If the jalousie windows were open, you could hear the marching band practicing for football season.   The backyard also kept a little plastic kiddie pool which Sharon and I splashed in as little three and four year old girlie bears.  It was an idyllic little house on a little lot in a simple middle class neighborhood - it was home.  

It was the place I learned to walk, talk and  have my hair done by my big sister Kathy.  It was the place where we did Easter egg hunts year after year even after we had grown up and gotten our own homes and apartments nearby.  It was a place where you could walk for hours on Halloween and come back with a pillow case full of candy.  It was the place where my family discussed around the dinner table what was going on the Vietnam War and my sister’s need to demonstrate against it, the assassinations of the Kennedys, why Nixon was a crook, the first gay rights demonstrations with Anita Bryant, the Dolphin’s perfect season, etc.  It was a place where you could eat politically incorrect food like a sausage noodle casserole, ham & corn pudding and bacon and swiss cheese quiche (which my dad and brothers devoured easily because they didn’t care whether people thought they were real men).  It was the place were I got my two front baby teeth knocked out riding a bike in the street and where I hit my head on the water heater and sliced my forehead open both of which resulted in panicked runs to South Miami Hospital (luckily, my being a genuinely clumsy kid did not warrant a visit from DFACS).  It was where Max and my dad bonded over cooking and our refrigerator made chirping sounds like a bird - that went on for years which Max found charming. 

As I look out my own living room window writing this, the leaves are beginning to change  because it’s autumn - something I never got to experience in Miami.  We’ve lived in this house for 10 years and it’s bigger than that petite house in Miami.  Each of my kids has their own rooms and the bathrooms are a pretty good size.  It’s two stories which is not something you saw a lot of in Miami in the late 1950’s to 1970’s.  We get snow here from time to time and are not any better prepared then the folks in South Florida were when it snowed in 1977 as Snowmaggeon this year so painfully pointed out.   I’m not sure we’ll live here for 56 years, but I hope that my kids have the sort of happy memories I had in that little house that managed to shelter two parents and five kids who could not have been more different.  Maybe the proximity in that house helped us learn the fine art of having to get along.  The beauty of having a big family in a little space is that it’s always noisy and sulking quietly in your room is impossible because once one sibling pisses you off something else happens and you form a temporary alliance for pay back.  

As I texted back to my brother Steve - he reminded me that I still have the

memories and I reminded him I still had the canisters of home movies in which I transfer every year for the family to look at for the holidays.  Maybe this year I can find footage that is strictly about the house - that little house that held a family together through for almost six decades of Easter Egg hunts, Halloweens, Christmas mornings, Thanksgivings, five weddings, 14 grandkids and a funeral.  Maybe my brothers and sisters will remember how close we were physically and emotionally - even though we live in different states.   And maybe my kids and I will watch TV together in the master bedroom because watching TV in your parents room while sitting on their bed is the best thing ever and we’ll have bacon and swiss cheese quiche for brunch.  Yeah, Max was right - it was a very good house. 

My Improvelution

I've been doing improvisational theater on and off for about 28 years.    My love affair started in 1984 when I got to take a class at the Florida State theater department.   I loved the non-structure of it.  You had to understand how to work with your scene partner but you were free to create any character, anywhere and at any time.   You were not stifled by the words of the playwright because second by second you were creating the character, the dialogue and the movement of the scene instantaneously.  It could be in Ancient Greece or modern times or a 1950's sitcom - it could be where ever your imagination took you because you could mime your scenery, costume and props.  Your partner had to take what you served them and volley it back to you so that you could both build a really good scene.   That's what I love about improv - it  can be as exciting as a tennis match.  You have control and yet absolutely no control at the same time.  You might come in with a strong idea of how the scene would go but then your partner would have a different idea and you had to go with that.    Good improv scenes are a lot like life - the best ones run on possibilities and acceptance - allowing yourself to say "Yes, and..."  not "No, that will never work."    And just like life, you will meet obstacles that will challenge how committed you are to really sticking with something that you love. 

I didn't major in theater when I went to college because it didn't seem practical and frankly I was afraid I wasn't good enough, even though I was the president of drama club in high school and got cast in plays.    So I settled for something that seemed to make sense for me - becoming a dietitian.   I was very conscious about nutrition and exercise so I figured I would be a good candidate to help counsel others on how to maintain their health.  I had left high school with a 3.8 average and was ranked number 21 in my class.  College should have been a great time for me - but because I was following my practicality and not my passion - I was floundering.   I was getting Ds and even failed a biochemistry class which had never happened to me before.    I was having crying jags for hours on a regular basis because I was so miserable - the only bright spots were the theater classes.  I did audition for plays at FSU, but found that most of the grad students and professors only wanted to cast theater majors and those that had been cast in shows before.    I knew people who had gone for a four year degree in theater and still didn't see any stage time because the same people kept getting cast.  I knew it wasn't me but the system, but it was still pretty frustrating.   So after four years of giving it the old college try - I left Florida State without a degree in anything and my spirits pretty low. 

I got back to Miami and started to wait tables which ironically would have been exactly the same thing I would have done if I had gotten my bachelors in Theater.   The world of food service had it's perks like tips, cute waiters and discounted entrees but I needed more from my life.   I went to see a group called Mental Floss to see what the professional improv acting scene in Miami was like.  They were extremely funny and just what I was looking for - they even had a few women in the group.  When they announced that they would have auditions I was totally there.   I remember that I got to do a scene with Marc who was a company member and it was really funny.   The feedback was very positive and I was asked to start doing workshops with the group which would eventually lead to performing on a regular basis.  

The workshops were led by the founder who was frankly the weakest person on stage, but I was hoping he'd be a better instructor then performer.   He gave some good direction but when the players from the group were there, they openly disrespected him which didn't set a good tone in the workshops.   I tried to stay out of it because I just wanted to start performing.   Finally, after a few months, I finally got my chance and got to do a show with the regular cast.  It was an amazing night - one of those times when everything flowed.  I was in half the games in the show and it seemed like one of those perfect tennis matches when you could hit the ball back with the same strength that you received it.   I left the theater walking on air and one of the guys, Patrick, asked me if I wanted to get something to eat with the company.   I felt so honored and accepted.   That night started my road to doing improvisation professionally. 

Patrick and I started dating shortly after that which at first seemed to be a really good thing.  He saw himself as my mentor - someone who had gotten his Master's Degree in Fine Arts at the Asolo Conservatory in Sarasota which ironically was a program of the Florida State Theater department.   He had very definite ideas about what sort of performer I should be and no matter how much the audience seemed to enjoy my performance, he never really had much positive to say - he never put me down overtly - but he never praised me when I knew I had done a really good show.   I should mention that my last boyfriend was a guy who got angry for no reason, insulted me and also hurt me on one occasion so having a passive-agressive guy like Patrick seemed like a step up. 

As time went on, I created characters like Fluffy La Puff, a stereotypical dumb blond that made Jane Mansfield look like Einstein, Billy Idol's little sister, Billy Jo Idol and Eunice Frump, a country bumpkin who was the creator of "Puddin' on a Bun."   I'd get great feedback from the audience after the shows - people would come up to me in the lobby and tell me how much they enjoyed what I did, that I reminded them of Carol Burnett or Gilda Radner (two of my comedy goddesses by the way), but I rarely got much positive feedback from the other guys in the group.   It wasn't just me, there were a few other women in the troupe that were also experiencing the same thing - always being made to feel like the weak sisters in the group.   In the years since then, I've talked to other women who have had similar experiences.  The comedy world can be extremely sexiest and hard on even the most talented of women.  Even John Belushi used to give Gilda, Jane Curtain and Laraine Newman a hard time on Saturday Night Live.  Belushi flat out stated that women were just not as funny as men.   And so it went, the audience loved the women in the group and the men just kept limiting what we could do.   It was like hitting your head against the wall.   I wanted to leave but since I was also dating Patrick, it felt like my entire world would collapse - no boyfriend and nowhere to perform comedy - who else would want me?  I felt really trapped and I didn't know how to get out. 

Then one day, I got a call at work from Marc who was now the director who told me that he and the other guys in the group decided to put me on inactive because I was not up to speed.  He told me not to feel bad that another woman in the group had also been asked to leave.  When I asked him why he never gave us any type of direction in workshop for what we needed to improve on - his reply was "You're supposed to know!"   I replied, "The whole point if you being director is to direct people who don't know - so if you're not happy with what  we do - then it's your fault for not acting like director!"  which probably was not what he wanted to hear.   Now I'll admit that I probably had areas that I needed to work on but if they are never brought to your attention, you'll never get better.  It also didn't help that the women in the cast felt like they were being singled out.   Amazingly, I still decided to help out working in the box office hoping they would put me back on stage again.   The best part was having people walk up to me and ask if I was in show that night and me telling them that I working behind the scenes.   "Man, that sucks, we wanted to see Fluffy," said one patron within ear shot of Marc.  That same week, I also has two people stop me in Dadeland Mall to tell me how much they enjoyed me in the shows.  My guardian angels were sending me signs that all was not lost and that despite the opinions of some of the guys in the group - I was a good performer - I just needed some solid direction.   

One night after a show, the guys came over to Patrick's to play cards.  It was raining pretty hard and they were out of poker snacks and expected me to go out in the monsoon to get them.  I should have said "Hell no bitches!" but instead I got my purse, my keys, and slumped out of the door.  I fumed in the car but then got a wonderful idea.  I came back and put out their food and then asked sweetly if I they would deal me in.   They condescended and figured that I probably hadn't played cards much so they could exploit that.   Unfortunately for them, I'd been playing cards since I was ten, when my Mom and Dad used to show us the ins and outs of five card draw, seven card stud and black jack during our summers at Fort Myers Beach.   I knew a straight from a dead man's hand and didn't need a ton of wild cards to win the pot.  At first I didn't bet much and pretended that I didn't understand what a good hand was.   They rolled their eyes and took my money in that first round.   I could see them chuckling - even Patrick was joining in.   I kept my poker face knowing that I would win it back and then some.    I won the second hand and pretended like it was pure luck - again betting a modest amount.    As the night wore on, I was winning the majority of the pots, folding every now and then to not let on that I was setting them up for that last big win.   Finally, we got to the last hand in which they all bet their money (which was about $60 bucks) and I had another $20 in the pot.    Everyone had to show their hand and Sal thought he had it with four queens which included three face cards a wild card (you can use wild cards to help substitute when you don't have enough of one card to complete your hand - it's a bonus if you're lucky enough to get one).   Unfortunately, I had four kings (without a wild card) and an ace which beat his queens.  Now, I know that guardian angels don't usually get involved in poker, but I felt that they worked through me to let those boys know that you should never assume that a woman is incapable of anything - whether it's improv or poker.   Their stunned faces were priceless and it had stopped raining when I got back in the car to drive home. 

A few months later, I had finally had enough and stopped going to Mental Floss altogether.   In the meantime, I started auditioning for other theater companies and got cast in almost everything I tried out for.   At one time I was in different stages of rehearsals for three shows and I met the love of my life - Max.    Patrick and I finally broke up.   It felt great to be free of all that negativity.  

A year later, I started my own improv theater group, the Eclectic Company because I loved the art of improv and wanted to do it my own way.  I got a top notch group of actors who later unbeknownst to me - had also been told by Mental Floss that they were not good enough either.   The Eclectic Company shows on South Beach were a huge success and word got back to the guys at Floss that there was a new game in town and it was being run by me.  That was the start of my journey as a woman who was willing to buck the trend of improv groups led by a bunch of white guys.  It has not always been easy - performing spaces and actors  have come and gone, but my love of the art of improv has always been there - whether I was actively performing or teaching it.  Today, as the Artistic Director of the OTC Comedy Troupe, I get to work with smart and funny women and men who just want to do good improv and support each other.   

So to those that feel like there are obstacles put in their way and begin to question their passion - I say stick with it and don't look at a roadblock as a bad thing.  Sometimes it's a guidepost that puts you on a different path.   If I hadn't left Mental Floss, I would have been trying to please people that just weren't going to give me a chance no matter what I did and it would have sucked the joy of improv right out of me.  I never would have met Max.  I never would have seen that I was capable of innovating the art like doing a live improv webshow that got over 225,000 views.    Those roadblocks ended up being the best things that ever happened to me.   As any smart gambler can tell you - you don't have to play every hand you've ever been dealt - you just have to stay in the game.   

The Toy Drive

I've done quite a few things working for non-profits but by far, the best and hardest thing I have ever done was run an annual toy drive at Children's Home Society of Florida for 500 to 600 children who had been abused, abandoned and neglected.    I was playing Santa for kids to whom a present for the holidays meant everything and it was a huge responsibility to get it right.    I liked working behind the scenes with a team of elves to help St. Nick bring hope to these kids who needed it most during that time of year.  Short of raising my own kids, it's probably the most important thing I've ever done.   

Back in the early 90s, Children's Home Society (CHS) had emergency shelters for young children, an infant center for abused, abandoned and crack babies, a daycare program for kids with HIV, group homes for teens, HIV foster care and regular foster care.   In an average month, they had between 500 to 600 kids who needed services.   I worked in the administrative offices which was on the second floor of the emergency shelter.   You'd often see the children as they were entering the shelter.  Sometimes they were very scared - sobbing and clutching the hands of their caseworker or sometimes very happy like they were checking into a hotel holding all their possessions in nothing more than garbage bags.   I would look out my window and see those children be very reserved their first few days at the shelter, but once they got a warm bed to sleep in, three meals a day and a predictable schedule, they really began to thrive and smile - seeing that always made me work harder.  

When I first took over the toy drive, it seemed like the kids in McLamore Emergency Shelter got the lion's share of the gifts - after all they were the ones that people could see and visit.   We'd have all sorts of well meaning groups bring tons of toys and sweets to the 22 shelter kids not realizing that it was the literal tip of the CHS iceberg.   There was no one person handling the donations, so the program managers that had contacts with community groups were the ones that got presents for their kids - the ones who didn't have the time or connections to ask, went without a gift for their kids for the holidays.   To me this was not a fair situation - no child in the program should wake up on Christmas morning without a present to open.  I decided to take on the entire drive to make sure that every child in the programs got something for Christmas.   So as the CHS "Santa" I would ask the program managers to get lists from each of their kids.  I would then type each Christmas list into an excel list and sort it by program, age, sex of the child, program and donor company if I had one.   That was as computerized as you could get in the early 90's and I was able to keep track of the toys coming in and what to send out. 

The first year was a learning curve.   It was hard getting the managers who had their contacts to open up and share for fear that their kids would lose out but once you explained that there were kids in the programs that barely got anything - maybe one toy from the Dollar Store that their case managers bought them versus the kids who got 10 to 20 gifts that were worth hundreds of dollars from other donors - they saw the light.  I got access to a large office space to sort the toys as they came in.  I needed to get the deadlines from the foster care programs because their items needed to be ready two weeks before Christmas so that the case workers could have plenty of time to deliver them to their clients who lived all over Miami.   We needed to tell our donors not to wrap them because we needed to see if they were appropriate.   We once had a well meaning person donate a father and son boxing set which under normal circumstances would have been fine but as a gift for an abused child, not so much.  

I coordinated with businesses and got them to adopt a program and gave them the wish lists which sometimes I had to modify.   The teen girls would ask for half carat diamond earrings and large TVs which was understandable but not realistic - so we'd ask for gift cards, costume jewelry and small TVs they could have in their rooms.  I always asked for books for the kids that were age appropriate and the donors got to pick those - it gave them a chance to share the joy of the Cat in the Hat, Hop on Pop, and Good Night Moon with another child.    The important thing was to give them a good Christmas but not one so extravagant that when they got placed in a home it would be hard for their parents, foster parents or new parents to live up to the a very grandiose CHS Christmas.    

I learned to start contacting businesses in September to get on their radar and ask if they wanted to do a general toy drive or adopt a program.  I would make sure to ask for batteries for all those toys that needed them.    I learned that kids from ages 4 to 10 got the largest number of the donations so I had to educate people that we had infants and teens in the programs and they needed things too, like gift cards for the kids 14 and up and socks, diapers, onsies and pajamas for the infants.   

By mid December my office would became Santa Central.  Toys coming in every hour on the hour.   I also had people asking me every 30 minutes where their toys were even through their deadline was a few days away.   The interruptions became so bad that I decided I needed a spokesperson who would answer the gift questions for me.   So I would find a talking Barbie, put a ribbon around her and wear her on my neck.  When some asked me for the 20th time that day when their presents would be ready, I'd ask my spokes model who usually had some words of wisdom like "I love the sun!",  "Ken and I are going shopping!" and "My job is great."   I would smile and tell them they had their answer and I would call them when their gifts were ready. 

Each year, the drive got bigger and bigger and I would end up working 10, 11 12 hours a day for a month leading up to Christmas and managed to lose seven pounds each year because I never had time to eat.   It didn't matter, getting the presents to those kids was the most important thing.   I needed to give them their faith back and let them know that people cared about them.    I was usually exhausted by Christmas Eve and wondered how Kris Kringle did it.   I only had 600 kids to help - he had billions. 

We'd usually have people bring toys unannounced on December 23rd or Christmas Eve hoping to save the day but the toys had already been distributed or were ready to be placed under the tree at the shelters for Christmas morning.  What we did with those toys was put them in the gift closet so that kids could have a present on their birthdays or we'd give the extreme overflow to charities whose toy drives were not going so well. 

Once the holidays were over, I'd clean up my office and get back into my regular schedule.   I'd wonder how Christmas morning at those homes and shelters went.   I knew that me and the CHS team had pulled off another Christmas miracle and all our kids had a wonderful day.    A week after Christmas, one of the case workers named Andrea called me and I could tell she was holding back tears.   "Are you okay?" I asked trying to figure out what was wrong.   "I just got a call from Octavos' mother -" she said quietly.   I know that Octavos was in the HIV daycare program and I really wanted to make sure that they had a good Christmas since his mother had full blown AIDS and Octavos was HIV positive.  "He didn't get his gifts?" I asked as my heart sank.   "Yes, yes,  he did get his gifts and it was wonderful.   His mom is very sick and could barely talk but she kept on saying 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.'  I thought you might want to know."   We were both quiet and you could hear us both sniffing on each end of the phone.   "I wanted you and your donors to know what a difference it made to that family."   I thanked her for sharing that, closed my office door and cried while I heard the sounds of the McLamore kids play outside with their new toys.  I learned later that it was the last Christmas that Octavos and his mother would ever spent together.  She died a few months later and Octavos died that fall.   

I guess that people who give to toy drives don't always get to see the faces of the kids they help on Christmas morning  - they are with their own families having fun or trying to prevent a meltdown either from a child or an in-law, but I can tell you from my experience that anything that you can do helps.   It doesn't even have to be for kids, it can be the elderly who are in assisted living or nursing homes, they need things too like blankets, socks or big print books.   It doesn't matter if you can give money.   Volunteers that help sort cans for food, clothing or toys drives are priceless.   Just call the charity you want to help in advance and ask what they need.   Trust me, they will be grateful that you asked first and will be more than happy to let you know.   Because my guess is that there will be a Santa's Helper on the other side of the line who hasn't had time for lunch but who believes in what they are doing so much that they don't need have a spokes Barbie to say "My job is great!"

First Sight

The first time I saw the love of my life Max, he was wearing a t-shirt that said "I'm not wearing any underwear, film at 11:00!"  His long wavy brown hair was flowing over his shoulders right to the top of his tattoo of a pig devil named Hot Stuff holding a musket.    He was cutting up with his friend Richard, smoking a cigarette and going over his lines.    I had never really been into heavy metal bands, but was pretty sure this guy was probably in one. 

I was 24 at the time and dressed in a white shorts, a white shirt that was tied in a knot at my waist, white sneakers and my long blond hair was spilling over my shoulders (apparently I wanted to play the part of the vestal virgin).   I asked if this was the place for the auditions and expected to be condescended to  (as a life long blond, folks generally assume you're not very bright right off the bat - a big mistake).   But instead of making fun of me, he made eye contact briefly, immediately looked down and said "Yes" quietly.     "Oh, my God, he's shy.  That's so cute," I thought as we waited to go in and read for the show. 

We both got cast in the show All Men are Whores, (that was the original name of the play) for the FIU Playwrights' Festival.  As the weeks of rehearsals progressed,  I found myself drawn to this man who smelled of cigarettes and Wella Balsam.   For a guy with long hair, it was always very well conditioned and soft.  Best of all, I could talk to him easily.  But because I was dating another actor in the improv troupe Mental Floss, he had to remain my buddy Max.   He was also dating someone else, a gorgeous actress in Miami, so our relationship had to stay friendly and nothing more.   Ironically he played the two timing lead with me as his thing on the side.   

One day, we were rehearsing on the set with the rest of the cast watching and we had to do a long passionate kiss.   We had been just stage kissing in the other rehearsals, but something about that day - his minty fresh breath, the cream rinse in his hair, the warmth of his neck and the fact that he never treated me like a dumb blond converged into the moment when I forgot where I was.  I genuinely kissed him - a full on french kiss.  The scene ended and I felt mortified.  "That was so unprofessional, what must he think of me?" I thought as I hastily got up from the couch, shook his hand and said, "Good working with you," and then left quickly, my heart ready to pound out of my chest.   How could I have done that?  He's my buddy, nothing more I told myself and didn't say anything to Patrick, my boyfriend.  He was an actor too, but he wouldn't understand - our relationship was tentative enough as it was.   We had a five day break in rehearsals so I was hoping that Max would forget all about it. 

A few days later, I was auditioning for another play, called Raining Backwards.   I did my monologue and afterwards talked to the producer and then saw Max talking to the director.  It turns out he was also a designer and would be building the set.   I said a quick "Hi" and felt my face starting to flush.  "Hey," he said and we exchanged some quick pleasantries about the play we were in.   It seemed weird and random to see him there.  I had not mentioned this audition and he hadn't mentioned that he was the designer.  "Okay, what's going on?" I asked the universe as I drove home that day.  

I got over the tonsil hockey incident and we kept rehearsing  All Men are Whores.   One weekend, shortly before we were supposed to open, I auditioned for another play called Robin Goodfellow which was the children's theater version of A Midsummer's Night Dream.   I was auditioning for Titania when Max walked in.  "My God, does this guy know everyone in town?" I thought.  Again, another random meeting that neither one of us had mentioned.   We both got cast as the fairy queen and king for this show which had a six months month rehearsal schedule which under normal circumstances I would have objected to -- but it gave me an excuse to see Max on a regular basis.    On the drive home from this audition it was clear that the universe wanted us to be together.  

Whore Dogs  opened and was pretty well received (we had to change the title from All Men are Whores since the playwright had stolen the original name from a David Mamet play).   Patrick broke up with me shortly after it opened.   I was a little sad but not devestated.  It had never really been a good relationship from the start, just convenient.  I grew tired of his passive-agressive behavior.   I called Max that night using a ruse about starting an improv group and pumping him for information about decent theaters to work with.  He sensed that something was wrong but didn't press me for details.   The last thing I wanted to do at that point was date another actor - I just needed my buddy Max to talk to.  

As the rehearsals for Robin Goodfellow continued, Max and I got to know each other better and I let him know after six weeks that Patrick was no longer in the picture.   He told me that his girlfriend had gone to New York, but hadn't called in two weeks and it was pretty much over over.   So we went out, had chicken wings and talked about acting, our lives and the future.     

If you had told me 25 years ago I'd be married to a guy who was a dead ringer Ted Nugent, I would have said "Who the hell is Ted Nugent?"  Then after finding out,  I would have said, "No freaking way!  I'm going to marry a yuppie like Miles Silverberg," who was a character on Murphy Brown.    That was supposed to be my type - the career driven guy that would work all the time, be a little neurotic and make tons of money - that guy was supposed to make me happy.    But I wonder how many women have walked by guys like Max and never given them a second look in their quest for a doctor or a lawyer who could give financial security but not much else.   I've been around tons of women who had the nice house, cars,  and vacations.   But after being around them and their husbands for 10 minutes, it's pretty clear they've sold their souls for designer clothes, handbags and lunches at Bal Harbor.   I used to come home from work and think they could buy and sell me 10 times over but I wouldn't trade my life with them for anything.  Of course not all women who are married to well to do men end up like that,  but I feel for those that didn't give themselves a chance to be happy with someone who was not their "type."

In our 19 years of marriage, we've survived Hurricane Andrew, the deaths of three of four of our parents, a malpractice lawsuit, Max's near death from chicken pox, a child diagnosed with autism, and moving to Georgia without really knowing a soul.    It's been a challenge at times to make ends meet and we've had our fights along the way, but everyday I look at him I thank God and our guardian angels for those random auditions.  He's still my lover and my best friend - my buddy Max.  I think tonight we'll cuddle on the couch, say how much we love each other and watch a film at 11:00.