My email to Asheville City Council regarding BID proposal

Dear City Council Members,

As a citizen of Asheville, I am against the Asheville Business Improvement District proposal. Many reasons I have stated publically and do not need to repeat here.
However, I do want to say that as someone who knows about and helped quite a bit with the revitalization of downtown Asheville, in essence the BID proposal is a large Community Watch program. I am in complete agreement with the downtown community if they would like to form such a program. However, I do not believe any taxpayer dollars need to be given to this privately-run group (even if Council decides to select the board and oversee the organization). The City of Asheville already provides adequate services to downtown. In all honesty, I believe the money, if given to BID, will most likely go towards administrative costs and not at all be used for the greater good of downtown.

If you agree to give this group money, then every other community in Asheville has the right to form a similar 'BID' group and come to City Council, expecting a similar percentage of dollars be given to their Community Watch programs. While it would be wonderful to do so for every community, there just isn't enough money to go around, as has recently been pointed out regarding raises of City employees. I do support putting money into other areas of Asheville, such as much needed sidewalks and public transportation, but not into such community watch programs as is BID.

Best regards,
Tracy D. Hyorth

First contact: Solving my adoption puzzle

This is the very first article I ever had published. It is about my first conversation with my birth mother and a note to my adoptive parents. It took many hours of editing and re-writes to get it ready for print. I was, after all, a very inexperienced writer at the time. Twenty-nine years later, I realize the title should have been something like 'The beginning to solving my adoption puzzle,' because my story continues to unravel today. This was first published in the Baton Rouge Morning Advocate where I worked at a newsroom typist and aide and began my writing career in 1983.

 

We're not quite flying around in George Jetson type cars ... maybe soon

I am totally all over the place today. Metaphorically that is. About the only thing I'm doing around Asheville is having dropped Zach off at school and going to pick him up soon. Not sure I'll look much different from the hippie attire I was wearing this morning - me wrapped in a purple Indian blanket, wearing my 'life is good' warm jammie pants and a black & white toboggan hat to keep my ears warm and bed-head hidden. (Hey it's Asheville ... I looked not at all out of place for an early morning mom drop-off and besides, it's my day off.)

Nope. Where I've gone today is around the world on my laptop and tablet. Made new friends. Learned what's happening in issues important to me. Just doing some internet cruising. Amazing when you really think about it. Who'd a thunk it? And if you remember when calculators cost over a $100 bucks, then you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Alphie read me a tweet he'd gotten from someone, somewhere, this morning: "Fifty years from now, your kids are not going to want to listen to you talk about twitter."

Yep. That's for sure. Zach could care less now when we tell him we only grew up with maybe - maybe - four TV stations and that's only because we both lived in or near big cities. And he surely isn't interested in hearing about how hard it was to find a good radio station if you happened to be visiting somewhere out in the boondocks of Texas. He sits, nods and smiles. Surrounded by his smart phone, ipod touch, laptop, all while flipping through Pandora radio. He's saving up for some wireless headphones.

We're not quite flying around in George Jetson type cars as I'd hoped we'd be doing by now, but that time may happen in Zach's lifetime. Amazing. Just amazing.

P.S. And just in case you're wondering, I won't be wearing by favorite purple blanket when I go to pick Zach up, but I am going to have that 'boggan cap on. It's cold outside ... ;)

‘The Laramie Project’ could be Anywhere, USA, even Asheville, NC ... playing at BeBe Theatre

Heavy hitting. Timely. Controversial. Necessary. Real life. But certainly not depressing.

That’s the attitude of Different Strokes! Performing Arts Collective Managing Artistic Director Shephanie Hickling Beckman and the actors involved who are committed to staging plays with a message.

“Our mission (is) to present theatre that confronts issues of social diversity as reflected in the world around us: a world that isn’t always pretty or on its best behaviour. We do not choose our plays; the seemingly apparent needs of our community tend to choose the plays we produce,” Beckman points out one Saturday afternoon after rehearsal in the Grove Arcade basement.

Bullying in the schools, in Asheville, and around the country is what prompted Different Strokes! to take on their latest production, ‘The Laramie Project,’ based on a series of interviews with Laramie, Wyoming (population just over 26,000) residents just after the 1998 murder of University of Wyoming student Matthew Shepard who was gay, taken out in the country, beaten and tortured by two local young men and tied to a barbed wire fence. He spent 18 hours strapped to that fence until a local cyclist found Shepard unconscious, and at first thought him to be a scarecrow.

Part of the proceeds of this show will benefit Youth OUTright, a local group that supports and empowers gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and questioning youth to be confident and vital members of the Western North Carolina community, according to Beckman.

“We as a group of artists and people who care about this community, have a responsibility to take on all taboo subjects - lay it all out there on the table, and see how many of the unspoken issues are affecting so many,” says Beckman. It could be Anywhere, USA or it could be Asheville.”

And though The Laramie Project’ has had thousands of performances around the world, Beckman says the show is as relevant today as it was when it premiered in 2000.

“For me this play is no longer about Laramie or a particular victim,” says Beckman “Hate crimes are committed everywhere in every minute of every day. Even here in Asheville, although many times the crimes are described simply as robberies and not told to be the hate crimes that they really are. Until federal hate crime legislation includes sexual orientation as a protected class, this story and those like it cannot be outdated, overstated or overdone.”

But Beckman is not just doing a repeat of what has already been shown. The original script called for 60 characters to be played by 8 actors and in Beckman’s mind seemed like a series of dialogues. Dialogues that didn’t really pull her into the story or make her care very much about the story of Matthew Shepard even though it was an important tale and one she was originally drawn to so she could learn more about Shepard’s plight.

Instead, she decided to turn those dialogues into more of a play, and not just a play about a man who was a victim of gay-bashing. It all turned into something much more passionate. More personal.

“Wake up ya’ll,” Beckman says. “Hate crimes exist not only against Gays, but against Jewish people, Muslims, Blacks, homeless people, women and so many more. It’s about what we as a society allow to happen to people every day. Whether it’s with our fists, or our mouths.”

Her actors too have learned so much more than they realized they would. In having to play different characters, some at odds with themselves and some the total opposite of another character they’re playing, each has had to take hard looks at their own feelings and perhaps judgements they did not realize they were making against other people. Straight men have had to reach down and understand gay men. White men have had to try and understand what it feels to be a Latino. A mother learned to look into the eyes of a “you’re going to hell because you’re gay” preacher and somehow realized she must try and reach that preacher.

In the end, we not only see the slice of the ugliness that happened in Laramie, Wyoming, but we also see the changes human beings goes through once they’ve been so close to the face of the horrific.

As Beckman puts it, “Some of the people in Laramie seem to remain untouched, but others, their lives and attitudes are changed forever. And ultimately, the recognition of all of those attitudes is what we want the audience to see, feel and leave thinking about and perhaps even start their own conversations.”

***

The cast features Mandy Bean, Scott Bean, Jeremy Carter, Kirstin Daniel, Patrick Hackney, Roberto Hess, Rod Leigh, Peter Millis, Jonathan Milner, Carla Pridgen, Hope Spragg and Jim Slautich. Stephanie Hickling Beckman directs and Catilin Lane serves as stage manager.

The show runs two weekends only: December 1-10, Thursday, Fridays and Saturdays at 7:30 pm at the BeBe Theatre in downtown Asheville. Tickets for $15 at the door and $12 in advance. Reservations strongly recommended and may be made online at differentstrokesavl.com or by calling (828) 275-2093.

Be careful where you drive during WNC leaf season.

Ten 18-wheelers just on my little jaunt on Patton Avenue last night because I-240 West was closed. That's just plain stupid. It is SO past time for the I-26 connection to have been built. Asheville has invited the world to our area, but has absolutely no infrastructure. Insane, I say. Insane. Of course by the time city and NC state officials can agree on anything, I'll probably be having to walk to get around anywhere 'cause I'll be too blind to drive. But wait ... we don't have safe sidewalks in most of our neighborhoods either. 

Oh well ... get out there and enjoy the beautiful fall day in WNC folks. If you don't live here or are not yet here, you might want to high tail it on here for the very best color. Winds a blowin'. A good deal of leaves could possibly be settling into the mountain soil as soon as next weekend.

Just be careful wherever you drive.

Zachman, #72 on Asheville High JV Cougar Football made this Texas Momma Proud

     Been absent from the blogger world for a while, but that happens. So a brief catch-up is necessary. In case you're interested.
     I've just had a 2nd corneal transplant and am healing and hopeful this next chance at sight is the blessing I've been waiting for since I was 9-years-old. That's when I got hit with a glow-in-the-dark super ball straight up in my wide open left eye while visiting kin in Texas City, Texas.
     And Zach is now a sophomore at Asheville High and has the whole world opening up for him and the opportunity to reach academic and personal achievements I'm not sure that kid ever believed he'd be able to do. But the academics story is for another time.
     This tale is about a born and bred Texan momma who gets rather peeved at football games when people don't yell enough at the kids, the coaches and anyone else who might get on your nerves. I got to see my 6'1, 210 teenager start at his first home JV football game.

     Zach looked SOOOO awesome on that field last night. He's HUGE!!! He's not a perfect player, but that's what JV is for - get him broken in. Tore my heart apart though when I saw him get upset and fall down on the field, mad at himself and then Coach giving him a going over. I wanted to kick the coach's you know what, but hey, if the man didn't think Zach was worth anything, he wouldn't be giving him a talking to. You're supposed to get on your players. But Coach also told Zach he'd finally got some things right, so he's not on my full kick-ass list just yet. Zach played the entire game on offense except for two plays that he got pulled out of for holding. It happens.
     The best part was at the end of the game when he came running up to us on the field with the biggest grin ever and grabbed us, about knockin' me over. Sweat, OMG. but it was wonderful!!! What an incredible momma moment.
     You probably know football in Texas IS everything. (Forget that Rick Perry dude.) So I started out yelling and screaming, making my eyeball hurt so bad that Alphie had to go beg someone for some extra strength Excedrin for me. And the field lights ... oh man... I had to put my blind girl sunglasses made to fit over my regular glasses back on. I looked like some dumb white ass Stevie Wonder woman wanna be sitting up in those stands with those things on. But I didn't care; there was no way I was leaving that game!!!
     And there was no way I wasn't going to get that slobbery hug.

A Mother's Day tale not to be shared on Mother's Day

Ok. I can write this down today. My cherished Mother’s Day card from Zach has fallen on the floor, landing amongst the dust bunnies behind the couch. My morning intake of caffeine is now sipped out of the odd-shaped ceramic coffee mug he lovingly made for me in electives class. And, I absolutely love the chamber pot (odd name I know, but it’s not for bathroom usage) he also created with his two ‘tiny always to Mommie’ hands. My eye drops fit perfectly in there upside down, helping me squeeze every $10 squirt out of there that I can. Those buggers are expensive.

I did not participate in the ever so social online posting of a picture of my mother a week and a half ago. I have two mothers. And neither one were ever much of a mom. One birthed me. The other raised me. Ain’t neither one getting elected for Mom of the Year.

The one who birthed me met me in my early 20s. She’s even seen a picture of my teen, her blood grandson, yet she cares not. She once told me, “How do we know whose baby they put my signature with? You’re dead to me. Leave me alone.”

The one who raised me, the one who I called Mother did love me in her own way. I think. I have a favorite picture of her. And it’s a beautiful one. I've always wished I had a picture of myself like that. I want to post it and maybe I will add it as an update. But, right now my computer has just recovered from a hard drive crash and I can’t yet connect to my scanner. And it was time to write this story. (Yes, an excuse, but the truth … love those kind.)

Anyway, Marietta, my adopted mom, was gorgeous. She was a ‘40s knock out. Her black and white portrait hints of a dark-haired Lauren Bacall. She was even a Rosie the Riveter, worked at Bell Helicopter in Fort Worth, Texas during World War II. She was one of the few skinny ones who could fit in those small spaces and for that, she got lots of attention. And dates, I’m sure.

She was a true Bohemian of that era. Wish I knew all of her stories, but she wasn’t that kind of mom. We never really talked much.

Instead, she took to the bottle when she should have been putting her natural artistry into the drawings and paintings she could have produced, or playing the piano or organ with the touch of an angel.

She’d met my Dad while he was still in the military. He was a dashing young Navy cook, wild as they came. They fell in lust, married, and were off to California to live a life of drinks, art, music, smoky nightclubs and who know’s what else. But that didn’t happen.

Instead, one day while Daddy was visiting my mom’s Methodist church with her parents, he up and joined and committed that very day to spending the rest of his life speaking from a pulpit and visiting those in need of the kind of Christian minister that was for real He’d been there, done it all and was truly given the Calling. He didn't judge. He talked of Grace.

Nope. Marietta didn’t like that too much. She tried. For a while, she played the organ like the good little preacher’s wife, tried to keep the smile on at all the churchly functions. But it just wasn’t meant for her. She had the style of Jackie Kennedy and the looks of a movie star, but lived in a glass house under the watchful eyes of many a judgemental sinner.

She tried to share some of her creativity with me. I still sometimes redraw a painting of hers that hung in the living room of whatever parsonage we were in at the time. And she did sit me down at the ripe young age of five and go over and over and over ‘Ke Sera Sera’ with me until I finally got it right so I could star in the Weatherford Kindergarten School Musical Finale. I had a voice, she said, but I’d been hanging around my father too much and I was acting tone deaf just because he was.

And there was the key to our very awkward mother/daugther relationship. She was jealous of me. All because I loved my Daddy. Just the way he was.

Thank God for Zach. Through him, with him, I have learned how to be a good Mom. Happy Belated!