The soap opera One Life to Live is going off the air.  All My Children already gasped its last breath and General Hospital is teetering on its high heels.

Soap operas were originally broadcast over the radio and got their moniker because their sponsors were soap manufacturers like Proctor and Gamble and Colgate-Palmolive.

Back then their target audiences were the housewives who were at home during the day, doing the laundry and cleaning the house, while their kids were in school and their husbands were out in the workforce.

They also began to build a following among the college-aged kids…even guys reluctantly admitted they were hooked on the lives of the people who resided in the fictitious cities of Llanview, Pine Valley and Port Charles.

Soap operas depicted everyday life to the extreme, so in a sense they were the first reality shows.  They took the family dynamic of wealth and power, pitted it against the ordinary working class and mixed in danger, romance, crime and poverty.  Characters morphed from good to bad and back to good again.  Sometimes they were good and bad at the same time. Every soap character seemed to have an evil twin story line or two.  There was scandal and sorrow, greed and loss, love and hate.  Just when you thought the story line couldn’t get any darker, they’d throw in a wedding or two, a natural catastrophe and the birth of a baby…sometimes all in the same hour.

As the censors began to loosen up, the episodes took on more challenging and contemporary story lines.  Subjects that used to be taboo were played out on daytime television.  Infidelity and divorce….homosexuality and interracial relationships…rape and disease…the best and the worst of humanity was played out in the soaps…and the viewers put their own reality aside to experience it.

Now the soaps are going the way of the dinosaur.  In our fast fix culture, we no longer have the patience to watch a story line build over time.  We just aren’t  that interested in real reality.

Reality shows of today are slick and fast paced…manipulated to be outrageous rather than thought provoking.

I was a stuntwoman and worked most of the soaps shot in New York City.  My specialty was stairfalls.

My mother used to watch All My Children and One Life to Live.  She would call to give me a heads up when one of the characters became pregnant.  I knew I’d be falling down the stairs about six weeks later because they almost always lost the baby in a tragic stair fall.

I’ve fallen down a well, gotten set on fire, caught in an avalanche of boulders in the Lost City of Eterna, been knocked out of a canoe and had an underwater cat fight, was chased by a cougar, pushed off a cliff, washed down a river, got trapped in burning buildings, tumbled down more stairs than I can count and gotten hit by a car…on purpose.  And I had a blast.

Working on soaps is grueling…it’s a long long day and the crew and the actors are some of the hardest working people I’ve ever seen.  When the cameras stop rolling, the actors continue to represent their shows by doing more charity work and personal appearances than any other performer.  Their fans are very important to them and they are very generous with their time.

Tad and Dixie on All My Children had a story line where Tad’s evil twin chased them through a forest.  I was hired as the stunt double for Dixie played by Cady McClain.  They flew us all to an isolated mountain area  in Toronto in November to do the location shoot.  Michael E. Knight, who played Tad, was also playing his evil twin.  They had an actor who stepped in when the scene called for both of them to be on camera at the same time.  He was shot from behind.  When they called the “twin” to set, he was referred to as “the head and shoulder”.

Tad’s evil twin knocked me off of a cliff with a tree branch…I was then washed down an icy cold river only to end up being chased through the forest by a vicious cougar.  At least that was the plan.

The fall off of the cliff went without a hitch. Tad’s stunt double and I got washed down the river.  It was winter, it was snowing, and the water was freezing.  I was wearing a drysuit so my body didn’t get wet, but my head went under water.  OMG.

They had the handler bring the cougar to the set the next day to meet me. Cougars are huge and this one was gorgeous.  I’m not going to lie…he was also a little scary looking.  He sniffed me up and down, but he didn’t lick his lips…so I felt good about that.

The handler explained to me that cougars pull their prey down by the legs and then go for the neck for the kill.  He is saying this matter-of-factly and I am nodding like I’ve heard it before.  At least I’ll know what to expect…huh…what?!?

He tells me that this particular cougar hasn’t demonstrated that kind of behavior before, but the whole time he is reassuring me, the cat is staring off  into space.  He has an opinion of his own.

The next morning we reported to the set.  They had put big nets up and there were guys standing there with tranquilizer guns.  Hmmm.  The idea was to put me and the cougar inside the nets.  I was to run to the tree at the end of the path…with the cougar chasing me.  They had put little hand-holds into the back of the tree for me to grab to help me climb it.

I was looking at the cougar and thinking…I’ll be up that tree in ten seconds.  I got inside the nets…they gave me a head start.  I heard them put the cougar in behind me.

Most of you are probably too young to remember the old Tarzan movies.  At some point, in every one of those films, Tarzan’s son Boy and his chimp Cheetah would be running for their lives and at the last minute they’d both climb a tree and get out of harm’s way.  The camera would speed up the action and Boy and Cheetah looked like they were running a hundred miles an hour and they scaled the tree at the speed of light.

Well kids…as soon as they called “action” I started running down that path like Boy.  I hit that tree and climbed it without ever touching the hand-holds.  I got to the top and turned around.  The cougar was laying on the path licking its paws…totally disinterested in me.

Take two.  I went back up to the top of the path.  The guys with the guns are watching the handler get the cougar back into his starting position.  I make eye contact with the cat.  He is expressionless and doesn’t even blink.  Uh oh.

Action.  I race down the path again and scramble up the tree.  The cougar is walking slowly toward me.  He knows exactly what he is doing.  He is playing with me…big cat…little mouse.  Everyone else thinks he’s being lazy and uncooperative…but I know the truth.  I saw the smirk.

Two more takes…one has the cougar laying on his back stretching his legs in the air.  The other has him leaning against the base of the tree like he’s had too much to drink.  He is not drugged so I know this is an act.  He knows that I am in a weakened state from supporting my body weight and climbing the tree so many times.  I’m onto him.

I suggest they tie a pork chop to my ass, because in my heart I know I don’t have a lot of tree climbing left in me and I would much rather the cougar kill me while chasing me…than have me drop out of the tree like an apple right in front of him.

The handler decides that the cougar is getting irritated and has had enough.  The director thinks they can piece it together…I know they have enough tree climbing footage.  The first few takes I genuinely looked terrified…the last few I think I might have been laughing.

The next day I can’t lift my arms up over my head.  Lucky for me, we were going back into the icy cold water, so I knew that at least the swelling would have a chance to do down.

After we wrapped shooting, there was a cast party at the hotel.  The handler brought the cougar and it sat down next to me and put its paw on my foot. Cougars don’t smell that good.  I was thinking they should have sprayed him with some air freshener.  He never looked up at me once.

But any time I tried to shift or get up he put pressure down on my foot.  I’m guessing he was telling me that he would chase me when HE felt like it and until then, I was going to sit there and wait like bait.  He stayed for most of the party…and I never left my seat.

I did a car hit once on One Life to Live that could have gone better.  Soaps didn’t go out of the studio that much…so location shoots were a big deal and it called for a lot of crew in addition to all the actors and stunt people.

Carlo Hesser, the villain of that particular story arch…was standing talking to Renee…Asa Buchanan’s wife…a car driven by Tina was hurtling toward them and at the last minute Carlo Hesser’s stunt double would dive out of the way…and Renee, who I was doubling, would be hit by the car.

I was wearing a full length sable coat which is kind of a greasy fur.  I remember thinking that the hood of the car looked really shiny and I didn’t push off as hard…JUST IN CASE.

Well…when the coat hit the hood of the car, I slid so fast up it that my head went through the windshield.  I flipped off the top of the roof and down the side of the car and the rear wheels ran over my legs.

This all happened in a matter of seconds.  When my head went through the windshield I grayed out and I didn’t tuck my chin so my head slammed back on the pavement.  I can still hear the sound it made…like a melon being tossed.

I was laying on the road looking up at the night sky.  My whole upper body was numb.  I remember thinking that the crescent moon looked like a cow should be jumping over it.  I think I even said that out loud.  It was a beautiful starry night and all I could think of was that I had paralyzed myself doing a soap opera stunt.  I felt water on my face and I asked if it was raining.

The ambulance driver was leaning over me.  He thought I was delirious. He was nervous and sweating profusely…all over me…it might have been his first job.  He slapped a collar around my neck, strapped me to a board and off we went to the emergency room, siren blaring.

I felt the feeling coming back into my arms so I knew I was okay and asked if I could sit up but they wouldn’t let me.  When we got to the hospital there was a lot of pandemonium in the hallway.  I heard them say that a two hundred pound woman had been hit by a car and they were trying to decide if they needed to call in a trauma team.

An ABC rep had ridden with me in the ambulance.  I looked up at her.  “What a coincidence. Someone else was hit by a car too.”

I thought the ABC rep was there out of concern for me, but I think they sent her to make sure she got the sable back.  They got the coat off of me and started cutting off my pants.

Stunt people take every kind of precaution.  I was wearing a huge fur coat, so I had on every stunt pad I owned, including some heavy duty shin pads.  I weighed less than 125 pounds, but underneath the coat I looked like the Michelin Tire Man.

“Where is she in here?”  The doctor who was cutting my pants was getting frustrated.

“Do they think I’m the two hundred pound woman who got hit by a car?  Ask them not to cut my pads…I need them for tomorrow.”

They scanned me from head to toe.  I had a knot like a fist on the back of my head, but otherwise, I was fine.  I was lucky too.  Putting on all those pads probably saved my legs.

They salvaged my stunt pads and the next day I flew to Pittsburgh to get thrown around by a monster in a Steven King movie directed by George Romero.  They had a hard time getting the wig over the knot on the back of my head.  Otherwise, I was A-ok.

Months later on another location shoot, we were headed up in the elevator to the roof of a building.  We were going to crawl across a ladder placed over the alleyway to the building on the other side.  Some crew guys were telling me about a job they’d done where a stunt had gone bad.

“I can still hear that chick’s head hitting the road, man.  It sounded like a freaking watermelon splitting.”

They were talking about me.  Yikes.

Things change…popularity and staying power is determined by the advertising buck.

Who knows?  The soaps could make a comeback.

I was lucky to be part of soap history.  I fell down almost every staircase in Pine Valley and Llanview and I loved every step of it…

Day Three Hundred and thirty nine…One Life to Live is enough…if you do it right…

Cynthia Neilson

I’m off on a high seas adventure.  The internet access will be spotty so I will be keeping a daily diary and update my cyber pyramid when I return.

Some guys that I used to work with are staying at the Ponderosa for me.  None of these men are dating material…I’ve seen their feet.  They are planning a week of target shooting and campfire sitting.  Uh huh.  I’ve childproofed my house and set first aid kits and fire extinguishers in plain sight.

I also removed the dishes and glassware and left them paper cups and plates.   I’ve eaten with the crunch and slurp orchestra…it isn’t pretty.  I tied a garbage bag to the doorknob of the back door.  They will have to pass it to go out.

I know that I’ll return to Animal House.  Fair trade.

I’m leaving on the Legendary Blues Cruise… some of the top names in rhythm and blues will be performing around the clock.  The passengers are allowed to bring instruments aboard and jam with them.  It’s a very cool concept, especially if you’re an aspiring musician.  My fellow cruisers are mostly middle-aged with a few young ones thrown in to keep it interesting.

My friend Dr. C sings in a band and they are all going.  I am the street team, as I am not allowed within five feet of a musical instrument or a dance floor.

I have no musical anything.  At a party once, someone handed me a cowbell to play and it was taken away from me ten seconds later…NO MORE COWBELL.

The gym and the spa become my home away from home for the week and I am not proud to say that I won the award for the most money spent there two years in a row.  I tried to solicit a sponsor for this year, but that won’t be happening.  So I’ll spend my time sweating with the oldies and soaking in the hydro-pool that I call a human crockpot.

Holland America is a classy cruise line…except for next week.  We take over the ship and it becomes a party-hardy floating boom box.  There are people who will disembark at the end of the trip wearing the same clothes they had on the first day we boarded.

As soon as the lifeboat safety drills are over and we head out to sea, one of our blues pirates climbs to the front of the ship and hangs a banner that reads:

OUR SHIP KICKS ASS!

When we pull into port it is like the arrival of Chevy Chase’s crazy cousin played by Randy Quaid in the National Lampoon movies.

Once everyone boards, there are only two concerns…Where can I find the music and what is the drink of the day?

That is the theme for the rest of the week…and a great foil for seasickness. I don’t get seasick.  I sleep really well…like a pen tucked in a pocket protector on those skinny little beds.  There are three of us in our stateroom…me, Dr. C, and Joe…the drummer for their band.  Joe is an honorary girl.  He’s seen things….

We have a daily routine…I wake up, shake Dr. C’s foot and after a little caffeine fuel we head off to the gym.  I don’t give her a choice…but she is dedicated and I think she really enjoys it.  After the workout we head to the steam room and then jump into the crockpot.

The crockpot has a rack that you can slide up on and lay there in the bubbling hot water…delicious.  One time I turned to Dr. C like a spoiled aristocrat to complain, “It’s a little cold today.  They should turn up the heat.”

Be careful what you wish for.  We got in again later that day.  It was HOT…too hot and I thought the skin was boiling off of my bones.  I got out to sit on the side and cool down.  Dr. C stayed up on the rack like a piece of chicken in hot oil.  There was a man in there too…relaxed…his eyes closed.

Another woman came in with a towel wrapped around her.  Dr. C was climbing out…and passed her on the stairs as she dropped the towel.

She was naked.

Hey….I like naked…but I like private naked and this was not a clothing optional crockpot and she wasn’t Pamela Anderson.

The poor guy who was relaxing turned over and caught a glimpse of the naked lady.  He didn’t know where to put his eyes…and the only way out was past her leaning near the stairs.  I had to leave…it was too painful to watch.

Pirate Night is always interesting.  I bring two outfits with me…one a little skimpier than the other, depending on whether or not I’ve already started on the drink of the day.

On one of the cruises there was an older lady with a long gray braid on the top of her head.  She was about five feet tall and shaped like a pear.  She was always dancing around and whirling the braid like a propeller.  She had fantastic energy though and a lot of confidence and absolutely no self-esteem issues.

Our ship docked at a private beach and I decided to go for a run.  As I was heading back down the beach I passed her laying out in all of her glory on a beach towel.  She was wearing two stars and a stripe held together by some string.  She was laying on her side and opening and shutting her leg.

Each time she opened her leg I saw Australia…and I think I saw New Zealand too…if you know what I mean.

There were five young guys walking behind me…they were the only five  guys on the ship with their original testosterone.  She stretched and called to them.  I looked over my shoulder and saw them stop at her towel.  They were trying not to be rude.  She leaned up on her elbow and continued to open and close her leg.

There isn’t any amount of pornography that can fix what they witnessed.

I have long hair and I worried that one day I might be headed toward a long gray braid and a loose skin suit with a hint of fabric…but then I saw the drink of the day was being served and that hideous thought left my head.

I had decided to take the horseback riding tour.  I have eleven horses who haven’t had a saddle on their backs in months…and I was going to pay a ridiculous amount of money to take a glorified pony ride…but part of the ride was in the ocean….so I DIDN’T CARE…I was totally psyched.

I was early for the tram, so I took a seat near the sign in desk.  A cool cat named Watermelon Slim approached me holding two little Dutch flags.  He was tall and skinny with long hair and some kind of mustache that is too long on one side.

He proceeded to do a combination martial arts/geisha dance.  After each intricate move he would pose and cross the flags across his chest.   I looked around to see if anyone else was enjoying his performance.  I was the only one.   When he finished he took a little bow.  I clapped…a little too enthusiastically.   He was about to start the encore when thankfully the tram pulled up.

There was a blind woman with a seeing eye dog on the tram.  She was taking the horseback ride.  She was beautiful with long blonde hair and a knock out body.  She looked like Lady Godiva on her horse.

There were also two Spanish women who had never ridden and were chattering nervously.  I noticed an older lady wearing britches with her sandals.  Huh.

There is only one reason why someone does this…so everyone will know she is a rider.

I hoped I got to ride near National Velvet…this was going to be good.  A British woman was sitting near me waiting to mount.  She was eyeing the chick in the britches too.

I have been a rider for a long time.  I always consider myself a beginner when I am riding someone else’s horses.  I keep my mouth shut and let them tell me what to do.

The stable hand put me on a horse and when he saw me take the reins and put my feet in the stirrups he asked me if I was a rider. I said yes.

He told everyone else to follow me into the ring.  By the time everyone was mounted I ended up right behind National Velvet.  She was already giving riding advice to the Spanish women.  They began shrieking because their horses had stopped to pee…ayyyyyeeee ayyyyyyeeee.

This was going to be fun.

National Velvet couldn’t get her horse to move.  She was right in front of me.  I was last in line.  The guide told her not to let the horse ride HER.  She wasn’t listening…she was too busy leaning over to tell the horse what to do.  We were going up a hill and she dropped her reins over the horse’s head.

The horses the two Spanish girls were riding took a step or two at a trot as they headed up the hill and they were shrieking again…ayyyyyeeee ayyyyeeee.

National Velvet’s horse was lifting one hoof at a time every fifteen seconds.  We had to stay in a single line so I was still at the bottom of the hill at a stand still.

The guide rode back to me and winked.  “I’ll make it up to you Tennessee.”

We finally made it back down to the beach for the water ride and took off our shoes.  The guide told me to stay right behind him.  We rode the horses into the surf and took off at a ball’s ass run…leaving everyone behind us.  It was glorious.  When we reached the end of the beach, we turned and flew past the others who were plopping along.  As we raced by them, I hear the Spanish girls shrieking…

At the other end of the beach he turned and raised his hand to me.  “All right…high five me…cowgirl from Tennessee.”

It was a total blast.  National Velvet’s britches were soaked and she looked like she sucked on a lemon.  The Spanish chicks were chattering at a dog whistle decibel.  I decided not to take the tram back and took a run down the beach instead.  I beat them back…

This year is shaping up to be another fantastic voyage…

I still haven’t packed and I have to find my pirate costume…

Day Three Hundred and Thirty Eight…yo ho ho…for now…

Cynthia Neilson

I’m back from my adventure on the high seas and have resumed construction on my cyber pyramid.  I’ve condensed my time away into diary form, I can’t account for a day or two…this will just be easier on all of us.

The Pirate’s Code dictates that “what happens on the ship stays on the ship” but I’m willing to mutiny for herstory’s sake.

Friday…Day One:  I had set my alarm on my cell phone for 4 a.m. but forgot to take it off of vibrate.  I have a back-up alarm clock that runs on AA batteries, which of course, were missing.  The only batteries left in my spare battery box belonged to a hearing aid and the smoke alarm.  I took the batteries out of the remote control to my daughter’s television.  I found out later that she had taken them out of my back-up alarm clock.  Neither alarm wakes me up.

4:30 a.m.:  I jolt awake.  I have to leave my house by 5:30 a.m.  I have not packed.  I haven’t even gotten my suitcase down from the attic.  I like to live on the edge.

I have pull down stairs to my attic in the hallway.  The handle is about six inches too high for me to reach, and even though I know I will have to drag a chair from the kitchen to climb on, I still try jumping to grab it.

I climb the ladder and turn on the attic light.  I notice that the bag of deadly mouse cuisine that I placed there about a week ago is empty.  I’m also pretty certain that there is a furry little carcass stuck to one of the ladder rungs.  No time to check it out.  It’s pretty cold in the attic…it’ll keep until I get back.  I’m behind schedule and I’M ON VACATION.  I toss the bag down and let the stairs up with a thud.  Nothing falls out, so maybe I was seeing things….

There is a strange wet spot in the bottom of the suitcase and my little mouse friends have been using one of the zipper compartments to store the little blue poison pellets that they are supposed to eat.  I’d like to think it’s for later consumption, but I know it to be an “up yours”.  I drag the bag outside and dump it out.  I empty the Febreeze into the bottom of the suitcase…I’m good to go.

I am seriously behind schedule.  No time to pack sensibly…I’ll just open my closet and grab a handful of clothes and some shoes.  The only important items that I don’t want to leave behind are my pirate’s costume and wig for wig night.  These are essential for a proper Blues Cruise experience.

I check the clock…I need to wash and flat-iron my hair.  It will be the last time before we sail, as once my hair hits the ocean air it expands like one of those wonder sponges and goes all tumbleweed.

By the time I drag my suitcase out to the car, I am an hour behind schedule. My Jeep is parked on a hill.  I open the back and turn to lift my suitcase.  It’s  one of those giant duffle type bags with a lot of zippers and straps.  It’s almost as tall as I am and it looks like it’s stuffed with a small body.  I can’t lift it up high enough to hoist it into the back of the car.  I get it about halfway in and it slips back out.  If I were a crybaby, now would be the time to turn on the tears.  I get the bag under my shoulders and try to lift it up that way.  No go.  Then it dawns on me to empty some of it…

Success…I’M ON VACATION.

I zipped by and picked up my girlfriend CBS.  She is standing by the door.  She sees the look on my face and doesn’t say a word.  Off we go…we’re ON VACATION.

We decided to fly to Ft. Lauderdale this year.  We’ve driven in the past…but the weather and my creek are too unpredictable.  One year the weather was bad the day before we left and I had to leave my Jeep parked on the other side of the creek…just in case.  My plan was to drive my pick-up out in the event that the water was up in the creek…it sits higher than my Jeep.  Great plan…if my truck would have started…

Desperate times call for desperate measures.  I put the truck in gear and headed down the hill.  It isn’t a stick shift, so there was no possibility of popping the clutch.  I just figured if I got enough momentum I could make it over the creek.  The plan had a few flaws.  It’s not a straight run.  I had no power steering and it was pouring rain.  I would have made it too, if I hadn’t instinctively put my foot on the brake to avoid the tree at the bottom of the hill.

Turned out, the creek was only six inches deep.  My Jeep was sitting stone-faced on the opposite side.  I ripped a hole in a garbage bag I found under the seat of the truck and fashioned myself a poncho…pulled up the legs of my jeans and humped my luggage over the creek and was on my way.

A year wiser and a vehicle shorter…we headed to the Nashville Airport.  It was a beautiful morning.  I dragged my bag up to the check-in.  It weighed 63 pounds…13 pounds over the weight limit.  What had I packed?  Oh well…I paid the extra fifty dollars…no biggie…I’M ON VACATION.

The flight was smooth and quick and we landed in Ft. Lauderdale ahead of schedule.  We arrived on Friday.  The ship wasn’t sailing until Sunday…two days to relax and get ready to sail…

The hotels near the piers are holding areas for departing cruise ship passengers.  They are all hanging out in the pool area.  The average age is 60.   As we drag our bags past the pool on our way to the room, I have a deja vu…I’ve seen this before…

An old bald guy with a scrawny pony-tail runs in front of me and dives into the pool…oh yeah…now I remember…the pool scene in “Cocoon”…

Uh-oh…now that I think of it…with the exception of the hotel staff, I’ve not seen anyone under the age of forty-five.  I am surrounded by ancients…and I am one of them…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Reality check.  It is what it is.  It’s too early for cocktails, so CBS and I decide to walk over to the K-Mart shopping center down the street.  There we join the rest of the cruise zombies, standing in line to buy last minute items that will never leave our suitcases.

On our way back to the hotel I fall off of my flip-flops and trip over a curb…I try to stop my forward momentum and tumble into a hedge.  A car with a young couple slows down.  I see her shaking her head.  I know she thinks I am just one of those crazy old cruise ship broads, already partying hardy and drunk off my ass in the middle of the K-Mart shopping plaza.

I’ve stubbed my toe and chipped off part of my freshly painted French pedicure…my nail now sits at a jaunty angle and it will drive me crazy for the rest of the week.  I put it out of my head…I’M ON VACATION.

When we get back to the hotel, I notice a room off of the pool area with gym equipment in it.  For a minute I entertain the idea of working out…like one more good sweat will put me into the bikini without the cover-up….then I see that the gym is actually in the hotel right next door…problem solved…

That night there is a party by the pool.  It is being dejayed by a radio announcer who is broadcasting live…the cruisers who are hosting the party are leaving on a fifties cruise the next day…

We’re leaving the day after that on a “blues cruise”…which we think gives us a slightly edgier badge of cool…but we join their pool party anyway…there’s free pizza and a bunch of really fun people dancing wildly…and badly…I fit right in.

We find out that the dancing is being streamed…live…over the internet.  There is already enough blackmail footage of my dancing in existence…I decide to call it a night…I don’t want to peak my partying before we even get on our ship….tomorrow is another day…and for some reason I keep thinking about “Rosemary’s Baby”…..

The next morning I head over to run around the K-Mart shopping center again…it is huge and I estimate that if I run around it and head past Home Depot three times it will be about three miles.  The guy who is hosing the sidewalk in front of Home Depot smiles and waves…I try to jump over the spray…

Oh well…I can put my sneakers out to dry on our ship verandah tomorrow…

Later that morning CBS and I head over to buy some more things we don’t need.  My hair gets tangled in some hangars in Marshall’s and yanks me backwards…three times.  I decide to buy a twelve dollar maxi-dress which is seven inches too long for me…because everyone needs one…and my debit card gets rejected…WHHHHAAAAAA…what?!?  I have another one…that one gets rejected too.  I feel panic setting in…I know I have plenty of money in my accounts.  I go outside to call the number on the back of my card.  I don’t have my glasses…it takes me a few tries to get the number right…lucky for me the bank chick hears the panic in my voice.  Apparently in Florida and parts of California, if you shop in the twelve dollar dress stores and they try to run your debit card as a credit card it will not go through.

Moral…don’t buy twelve dollar dresses unless you are using cash.

The rest of our party arrives later that day…they are all part of a band and will be playing on the ship…they unload their luggage and their instruments and we all meet by the pool with the rest of the ancients…I’m not fighting it anymore…I AM ONE OF THEM.

Sometime in the afternoon we get the brilliant idea to wobble across a six lane highway to get some Mexican food.  My girlfriend with the knee replacement is holding my arm so I won’t fall off my flip-flops again in the middle of the road.

Some kind of unnatural selection seems to be going on in Ft. Lauderdale…there are an awful lot of young people driving sports cars who appear to be gunning for the elderly…who, for them, is anyone over forty.

We made it across the six lane highway…and I stayed on my flip-flops, but I know I was in at least two cars’ sight lines…

The day turned into night…we headed over to the kick-off party…everyone looked fresh faced, wide-eyed and excited…we are friends now with many return cruisers.  Time to get some rest…for most it will be the last good night’s sleep they’ll get for the next week….

The next morning we join the rest of the line waiters…the place savers…and the perpetually late.  It’s time to be bundled off to the cruise ships…

This ride is about to start.

The line of ancients for the ship that is docked next to us is quiet and refined.  There are an assortment of Jazzy chairs and canes and the latest in cruise wear.

I look at our line…we are also a collection of ancients, in a bizarro parallel universe…guys with long gray hair and tie-dye shirts…some dragging guitar cases…others…boxes of booze and wine…chicks with tattoos and halter tops…our Jazzy chairs are decorated with beer cupholders and Mardi Gras beads.

Our cruise oozes a classless sophistication that is driven home by the sign we’ve stretched across the back of the ship that screams:  Our Ship Kicks Ass!

We are the fun ones…and when our floating boom box pulls into port, all the other ship’s passengers will wish they could stow away on our ride.

The Holland America staff is efficient and gets us boarded quickly.  Of course it is probably best they get us off of the pier….

The Legendary Blues Cruise is a floating music party…famous blues peeps come on board to entertain and the passengers who play can bring their instruments and join in jams all around the ship…for an amateur musician it is nirvana…they get to rub elbows with the pros…who can’t get away from the fans…unless they can swim REALLY FAR.

By the end of the week everyone is family…related by blues and booze and lack of snooze.

The ship has barely left the port and the food begins to flow…I have made up my mind that I am spending my week in the gym and AWAY from the bread and fattening food.  There is enough fruit and salad to keep me from falling off of the food wagon…I feel strong and thinnish and pledge to stay that way…we are four hours out…so far…so good.

CBS and I are sharing our stateroom with Joe…the drummer for their band.  He is shoved into a corner with his belongings…this is girl town and he is overruled.  He’s traveled with us before…he knows the ropes.

I unpack my 63 pound suitcase…my grab bag packing style has produced my work out clothes, my wig and pirate outfit, my wishful thinking bikini and more likely Miracle suit, and eight pairs of jeans…one with giant holes in the back pockets and knees and another with a broken zipper.  I only packed three shirts.  Won’t matter, I’ll fit right in with the peeps who are dressed in the same clothes they arrived in for the entire week.  Casual includes just turning your shorts inside out on this trip.  Most of the 63 pounds belongs to the assortment of shoes I shoved into the bottom of the bag.  I’m certain I won’t be tottering around on my Louboutins, but they deserved a cruise…I tuck them back into the bag and slip on my free fall flip-flops…they will be my shoes of the day unless I’m wearing my sneakers.

I head up to the gym…by the time I finish…I’ve signed us up for the hydro-pool (or “crock-pot” as we fondly call the human oil and boil) and I’m in the indoor cycling class and the boot camp.  I did the boot camp the year before.  If not being able to sit up quickly or walk straight were results, then I got them.  I was excited to see they were offering it again.

First night out and CBS, Marvin, Doc and Joe head up to the Crow’s Nest to play in the jam…Sheila, Phyllis and I are the street team.  I take my seat in the cushy chairs near the window.  The sun is setting and it is glorious.  I sip the drink of the day and don’t even think about the cookie and ice-cream bar on the Lido Deck.

Later, when I pass it on my way to the stairs, I toss my head and laugh.  I am not even tempted.  It is the end of day one…

My first indoor cycling class goes off without a hitch.  The trainer is pretty raucous and it is a really great workout.  The sea is pretty calm…which is good because riding a bike inside a rolling ship can be challenging….I have an hour before boot camp so I head into the Lido to eat a healthy egg white omelet WITHOUT bread and some fresh fruit.  Look at me…all healthy…with a strut, even…

Boot camp is exactly what I expected it to be…I was drenched.  I headed into the crock pot to have a good soak.  There are several people on the rack bubbling away…so I try to get inside the ring in the center with the high spray jets…they are strong and I can’t hang onto the rail without getting pitched back out into the pool.

The people on the rack are laying back with their eyes closed…peaceful…

I can’t sit still for long and I realize something about myself…I don’t know how to relax.

Hmmm…when I get back to the room there is a complementary travel can of condoms on each of our beds…unless CBS and I plan to fill them with water and toss them off of our balcony, there is no chance we’ll be cracking them open…I’ve scoped out my only possibility and he was wearing a wristband that said “Fall Risk”…enough said.  We toss them over to Joe…he has selective hearing and has tuned us out.

I have a confession…I am not really into blues music…I am, however, into the gym and the spa and the casino.  I trot myself down to the casino and decide to play a two cent machine.  I put in twenty dollars and a few minutes later I had two hundred…ho ho ho….I lose it ten minutes later…ha ha ha.

Wig night on the ship is ridiculous fun…I have a lavender wild child wig…last year I wore the same one in pink…it was the only time I got any attention or play on the ship…apparently polyester pink hair drives men insane…take note girls.  Note to self:  the lavender wig does not have the same effect.

CBS has dressed Marvin in a red Wendy wig with pigtails.  I draw freckles on him and she paints his lips with 24 hour cherry red gloss.  He looks like the horror movie character Chuckie’s sister.  Later that night when he is playing his guitar he looks like Bette Davis from “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane”….scary…

Night and day…or day and night…already it doesn’t matter…on a ship with so much booze and so much partying, it is amazing to me that I have never seen any fights…ever.

I sit up too fast the next morning…my abs are not working…I am folded in half…in pain.  I warn Joe not to laugh or I will fold him up in the sofa bed…he laughs anyway because he knows I can’t extend my arms far enough to do it.  Boot camp has taken a heavy toll…but I put my sneakers on and head off for another day of pain without weight gain…no bread again…I am so proud of me.

Tuesday afternoon we pull into Puerto Rico…I’ve been there before so I don’t go ashore…I am going to attempt to deflate my tumbleweed hairdo and stuff it under a hat…it’s Pirate Night…my favorite night on the ship…not everyone dresses up, but the ones that do pull out all the stops…and I am here to tell you that a good pirate costume (and a Pina Colada) can give almost any guy a Johnny Depp sexiness…yep…look around the next time you’re in a room full of pirates…on a rocking ship…having lost count of your drinks of the day…yo ho ho…I’m just saying…

The next two days we are pulling into ports…St. Croix and St. Marteen…the ship is able to dock so we can come and go as we please.  One of the mega-ships pulls in next to us…it looks like the Starship Enterprise…with three large screens and an amphitheater in the rear…I am thinking if they play a movie we will be able to watch it like we’re at a drive-in…that’s how huge it is…

I wanted to take a biking tour on one of the islands, but there are some time changes when you’re at sea…and I overslept…and that’s the story I’m going with…

It’s dessert night and the feature is everything chocolate…I consider going off of my “diet” and decide that now might be the time…it isn’t until 11:30 that night and I put in a wake-up call in case I fall asleep….around 12:45 I wander down and choose a chocolate covered candy apple.  I can tell you straight up that I kicked myself the next day for not having cake…followed by cake with a little cake on the side.

And that is how I fell off of the food wagon and into the sea of salty and sweet and all that is bread.

Two more days of indoor cycling and boot camp might delay a little damage, but not undo the breadfest that I participated in for the remainder of the trip.

Like a locust, I cut a swarth through the crusty rolls in the bread basket…sans butter…like that would make a difference…

I followed that up with the box of Belgium chocolates that I bought for my friend Pat back at home…she wouldn’t have liked them…I did her a favor and took the fall.

I must have fallen asleep with one in my hand…I found it melted there and licked it off quietly…like a chocolate junkie…

Our roomie Joe had been stumbling in about an hour before daylight every morning…this morning he came in, laid down, got back up and left…when he came back to the room, he was only wearing shorts and he was soaking wet.  We still haven’t figured that one out…some things should just stay unexplained…

CBS stalked Shamekia Copeland and asked her to come up to the Crow’s Nest to hear the band sing one of her songs…I have known CBS for a long time…her jaw dropped when Shamekia showed up and she was silent for a full sixty seconds, which is a record for her….after she sang, she sat with Shamekia and chatted…I took their pic…between you and me…CBS could have jumped overboard and gone home….that visit by Shamekia made her week…and fyi…she rocked Shamekia’s song too….

We left the ship the way we came…a rag-tag bunch of middle-aged people who refuse to give-in to age and just stay away from mirrors…rocking and rolling and singing the blues…dancing the night away…and most of the day too…

Day three hundred and thirty seven through three hundred and twenty seven…

We are family….

 

Cynthia Neilson

Once there was a town called Satisfactory.  The people who lived there were not open to change.  They wanted things in Satisfactory to remain exactly as they were.  They all saw life through the same window.  There was no up or down or side to side…just straight ahead.

There were no mirrors in Satisfactory…no need…because everyone was the same.

In order to live in Satisfactory, you had to wear blinders and ear muffs and walk around with your hand over your mouth.

It was a tidy town because you were taught early on how to sweep things under the rug and make excuses.

On Sundays the people of Satisfactory would go to church.  They would sit proudly in the front pews because they were God’s favorites.  It didn’t matter what they did at home…they knew that once they walked through the door of God’s house…they were forgiven.

One day a family named Unacceptable moved to Satisfactory.  The town was outraged when the Unacceptables wouldn’t put on the blinders and the ear muffs.  They were loud and wore odd clothing.  They were…different.

The people of Satisfactory pretended to tolerate the Unacceptables…but an undercurrent of dislike and distrust spread throughout the town and grew a life of its own.

The Satisfactories refused to acknowledge that there was another way of seeing and hearing and speaking…they did not want different.  They taught their children to distrust different too.

Because you see…different was Unacceptable.  And the people of Satisfactory began to see different as a disease and feared that it might spread through their town…and change things.

The older Unacceptables had grown accustomed to folding their wings and blending in…but the younger ones struggled.  They didn’t know how to fit in and acted out just so people would look at them instead of through them.  They wanted so badly to be acknowledged that they did anything to be noticed…attention for the sake of attention…at any cost.  It was a losing battle because the very thing that set them apart and gave them the color in their life was also what made them invisible and prevented them from ever being Satisfactory.

The young Satisfactories finally went too far, and cut a young Unacceptable from the herd.  They never intended to let him be part of their crowd…they were not interested in trying to understand or accept him.  They had been taught that different was Unacceptable.  In a pack mentality, they slowly surrounded him and drained him of his joy and beauty and different spirit.

No one would admit that they saw his pain or heard his cries because they were wearing blinders and ear muffs…until it was too late.

and one desperate day he let go…and the color drained from him and he faded away…

…alone.

The Satisfactories were caught off guard.  They took off their blinders and saw guilt in each other’s eyes.  To ease the pain that their indifference and intolerance caused, they tried to make themselves into victims to hide their shame.

They ran to church to ask God if he would forgive them.  God answered wearily:

“You covered your eyes with blinders so you only saw what you wanted to see…you covered your ears so you only heard what you wanted to hear…and you covered your mouths until you spoke the words YOU wanted to say.

If I had wanted all of you to see life through the same window I would have given you the same eyes.  If I wanted you all to hear the same music I would have given you the same ears…and if I wanted you all to speak the same words I would have given you the same mouths.

I made all of you different…but you are the same to me…and because of that I forgive you.  One day I hope you can forgive each other.”

And now…Satisfactory has become what they feared most…Unacceptable.

************************************************************************************************

For Phillip Parker-age 14

Though you never found your place here on earth…know that you have one here, forever, on my cyber pyramid.  I hope that wherever you are…you are flying joyfully and making your own music.

May the heavens echo forever…

Phillip Parker was here…Phillip Parker mattered…

Day Three Hundred and Twenty Six…open your minds and your hearts will follow….

Cynthia Neilson

It was Thanksgiving 1997 when we left Staten Island, New York to stake our claim here in middle Tennessee.  Our plan was to leave immediately after the closing on our house in New York.  My ex-husband had some driving pick-ups to shoot on the movie “StepMom” with Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon.  He planned to meet me at the attorney’s office when he was done.  It takes a crowd to close a house in NYC… assembled around the table…our attorney, the buyer’s attorney, the bank attorneys, the real estate agents…there were at least ten of us sitting there waiting to sign the stack of papers set in front of us.

My ex was running late.  When he finally showed up he had the entire second unit camera crew and the picture car and trailer with him.  They pulled up outside the attorney’s office and waited while he ran upstairs to sign his name.

The closing crowd for our farm in Tennessee consisted of me, the real estate agent, who was also the owner, and the Farm Credit Bureau agent.

My daughter was 8 and my son was 6 when we relocated.  The public school they attended in NYC had almost four thousand students.  The elementary school I enrolled them in near our farm had less than two hundred students.

When I brought them in after the Thanksgiving break for their first day, there was a dog running down the hallway.  It didn’t throw me.  They had to go through a metal detector back in NYC, so the dog seemed like a perfect tradeoff.

The school relied heavily on contributions from the community for any extras and I saw this as my opportunity to give back.  I couldn’t travel as much to do stunt work once the kids were in school, so the idea of really getting involved with them there appealed to me as a chance for a new adventure.

Fortunately for me, the principal never said “no” to my crazy money-making ideas…including the penny drive, which we kicked off by dressing Pat in a giant penny costume.

Truthfully, we had a very fortunate life, and it would have been just as easy for me to write a check, but the schemes my posse and I hatched were way more fun and it became therapy for me.

I went to the first PTA meeting and only three women showed up.  One of them walked up to me and said, “We don’t want city people here.  They bring nothing but trouble.”  The other woman, Carmelia, rolled her eyes.  I knew she and I would be friends and we still are to this day.

My friend Pat, who I run with almost every day, was the only other Mom who wouldn’t back away when she saw me coming.  Once the three of us got up to speed, there was no turning back, and I can honestly tell you that they have NEVER second-guessed me.  Both of them have seen me fall to my knees, but would swear to you that it didn’t happen…their friendship is one of my most cherished treasures.

We did the candy sales and the wrapping paper sales, but I was in the entertainment business, and I was restless to do something spectacular.

The school had a small gym/auditorium, with bleachers on one side and a stage on the other.  I went to the principal with the idea to do a show with the kids and use it as a fundraiser.

Not just a little singing and dancing…a full three act play with lights and costumes and music.  The teachers were skeptical.  It had never been done and they doubted the kids could pull it off.

The principal gave me the nod, with the understanding that I would only have the kids for a half an hour at the end of each day for rehearsal.

I had Pat and Carmelia, my posse, and I was armed with what I call my failure to yield.  I rushed home and wrote a three act play about time travel and held auditions the next week.  One hundred and eighty kids tried out.

I didn’t want to turn any of them away so I went home and rewrote the third act so that we could cast everyone who auditioned.

“Night of a Thousand Years” was a tale about five kids who find a time machine.  In the first act they traveled back in time to visit Leonardo Da Vinci in his studio.  The second act brought them to the Little Big Horn where they tried to convince Custer not to fight the Indians.  The third act brought our time travelers to the future where only one human being was left alive.  The plants and animals and insects could all talk.  It was the bulk of my cast and at one point I would have almost one hundred kids on the stage at the same time.

Pat and Carmelia jumped right in and took over costume design.  They had jobs during the day, so we dragged our sewing machines into the cafeteria at night and made it our costume department.  Eventually other parents began to get curious and started showing up to help.  Everyone was welcome, and if you had a glue gun…even better.

The show got bigger and bigger.  I was totally out of control because none of them would say NO to me.  We would work into the early hours of the morning sewing and gluing and the costumes were as good as any in a Broadway show.

I didn’t have enough room on the main stage, so we built two more stages that sat on either side of it.  One of them had a trap door that we used in our first act.

I gave the teachers a rehearsal schedule and every afternoon for a half an hour at the end of the day they would send my actors to me.  I had six weeks to get the show mounted.

The boy that I had cast as Da Vinci was as southern as cornbread.  About two weeks into rehearsal he showed up and started spouting his lines with an Italian accent.  Most adults wouldn’t have the courage to do that.

The five main characters included Pat’s daughter and my third grade son and Carmelia’s third grade son.  They were in every scene and had a lot of dialogue.  I figured it was a good idea to cast them, as we could rehearse extra with them at home…but we never had to.  They did it on their own.

One of my friends who worked “Law and Order” steered me to where I could get some lights.  I had make-up flown in from Los Angeles.  This was going to be top-notch and totally professional.

I put total trust in Pat and Carmelia that they would deliver one hundred and eighty costumes.  They are both meticulous seamstresses.  I am not.  They measure and mark before they cut cloth.  I don’t.  Several of our costumes had to be created without a pattern.  I would just eyeball it…and it always worked.  That drove them absolutely crazy, but in the other shows we ended up doing together,  I heard them telling other volunteers, “Just eyeball it.”

Not all of our designs worked…we made prototypes if we weren’t sure about the outcome…and we covered a lot of mistakes with glitter.

“Just eyeball it.”  “More glitter.”  “It’s in the details.”  “It’s gonna be big.”

The night of our dress rehearsal, I put a chair into the center of the gym and sat down to watch.  Pat and Carmelia were putting the finishing touches on the costumes.  They had never seen the show from start to finish.

Dress rehearsal went horribly.  The kids forgot their lines and missed their entrances.  When it was over, I turned triumphantly and threw my hands in the air.  “We have a hit.”

Pat and Carmelia stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“Bad dress…good show.  It’s the best luck in the theater.”  They wouldn’t make eye contact with me…but two more shows and two more bad dress rehearsals later and they’d turn to me and say, “Bad dress…good show.”

Opening night was a sell-out.  The gym was packed.  We got extra chairs from the funeral home and there wasn’t an empty seat.

Backstage in the dressing room, the kids were quiet and focused.  Some local hairdressers had volunteered to help with the make-up and hair and were getting everyone ready.

I gathered my crew who were mostly sixth, seventh and eighth graders.  I handed out headsets and radios.  We were all in black t-shirts that said “stage crew”.

They listened as I gave them their final instructions.  Then I handed the show over to my sixth grade stage manager Rachel.  I was no longer in control.

The five main characters took their places behind one of the side stages waiting for the overture to end.

One of the older girls grabbed my arm, her eyes like saucers.  “Miss Cynthia…we can’t do it.”  They were all wide-eyed, my son included.

“You’ll feel the lights when you walk out.  The third line is funny and the audience will laugh and then you will be fine.  I’ll be right here when you come off of the stage.”  I had a lump in my throat.

They nodded, took their places for their entrance, and showed their own failure to yield.

I held my breathe.  The audience laughed at the third line.  The kids sounded confident and sure of themselves.  When they came off of the stage after the first scene they were so amped up they ran me over to get to the next stage.

There was a six foot loaf of bread that we had glued together for the second act and during the intermission they ate it…glue and all.

The third act began with the entrance of the only human being left on earth.  My daughter was playing the three hundred year old woman, led in by a parade of animals and insects.  I took my place at the door to the gym to herd them in.

The beautiful Enya music came up and I opened the door.  The audience had turned in their seats to watch.  A group of first grade butterflies fluttered up the aisle, followed by a beautiful peacock.  Skunks and rabbits and kangaroos were followed by bees and birds.  There were monkeys and bears and cats and dogs…

My daughter was the last in line, led by a giant snail.  She was wearing a white wig that trailed along the floor and a long shimmering robe.  I touched her elbow to tell her when to go.  She turned to me and said, “I’ve got this Mom.”  Yes she did.

I will never forget the looks on the faces of the audience as the parade went by.  The animals and insects took their places with the talking weeds and boulders and trees on the stage.  By the time the oldest woman in the world joined them, there were almost one hundred kids on the stage.  It looked like a scene from a Disney movie.  It took my breathe away.

We had a talking boulder up on stage.  The boy whose face was in the cutout was grinning.  My radio headset crackled.  It was Rachel, my stage manager.  She had to help him into the boulder before the curtain opened and make sure his face was in place in the cutout.

“Miss Cynthia…they opened the curtain too fast…I’m stuck inside the boulder.”

“Do you need me to finish running the show?”  I didn’t want to start laughing.

“No M’am…I just wanted you to know where I am…I can finish from inside the boulder.”  And that is exactly what my sixth grade stage manager did.

The third act ended and the final curtain closed.  The gym was silent.  Uh oh…

The kids lined up for their bows.  I had chosen an Andrea Bocelli aria for the music and it started to play…we opened the curtain….and one hundred and eighty cast and crew members began pouring out to take their bows.

And the audience exploded with camera flashes and cheering and clapping…it was thunderous and went on for almost fifteen minutes.  The kids took their bows and their encores like a bunch of seasoned professionals.

Pat, Carmelia and I were exhausted.  I had a rag tied around my head because I hadn’t washed my hair for over two weeks and I might have been wearing two different shoes.  They didn’t look much better.

It was our finest hour.

I have been privileged with a wonderful life…had many extraordinary experiences…dined with movie stars and traveled the world…

For me, that curtain call will stand as one of the most exciting and proudest moments of my life.  As a writer, I was honored to have my words brought to life with such enthusiasm and excitement.  As a mom I was bursting with pride…and as an adult, I was humbled by children who knew nothing of limitations and simply believed.

My ex missed the show…he was in Morocco stunt coordinating the movie “Gladiator”.  When he came home he watched the video tape.  He was blown away.  Even though “Gladiator” turned out to be one of the finest movies of all time…we had the best show.

After the curtain call, one of the teachers who had been the most skeptical came up to me.  She had tears in her eyes.  She took my hand and said, “I didn’t believe they could pull it off.  I was wrong.  I’m sorry.”

“They’re kids…they don’t know failure unless it’s pointed out to them.”  It never occurred to me that the kids might not pull it off..

We went on to do two more shows before our kids went over to the high school.

Our second show took place in a mansion…we had a fireplace and a revolving bookcase and a huge chandelier.  During the second act we had a fully costumed masquerade with a choreographed dance number.

I rewrote the third act to involve an underwater dream sequence and my wardrobe department came up with a giant turtle, clam, mermaids, a school of fish and a sea witch.

Our final show had a circus theme.  Carmelia’s dad Jack built us a giant circus ring which we put in the center of the gym.  I idly mentioned that I wished I had an elephant for the finale…and Carmelia’s brother, who is a tinsman, built me a metal elephant to scale, with eyes that opened and closed and a trunk that moved up and down.  Our main characters rode it as we pushed it in during the finale.  We stuffed Pat inside to work the eyes and the trunk.  The audience went ballistic.

All these years later…our kids are in college and grown up…

We were so lucky…wouldn’t change a thing…

well…maybe a little more glitter….

Day three hundred and twenty five…the way we were….

 

Cynthia Neilson