Spirited Woman Blogger Team

Guest Blogger - Mary Rose Betten - The Dark Has Its Own Light

Mary Rose Betten is a playwright, poet, retired character actress, and three-time Clio award-winner. Recently her 41-year marriage to her husband, "the theologian" ended, suddenly. Her life has been filled with road blocks, humor and courage. Back by popular demand, she has added a fourth post to her series. It is about her determination to be an actress.

An aspiring actress in New York I exaggerated by padding my bra, shoulders and resume. Outright lying true, but I had this habit of eating to maintain.

Like my first stand-up comic appearance on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show I had never appeared in a nightclub. Oh, I’d done “open mikes,” at the world famous Duplex cabaret in Greenwich Village with: Dick Cavet, Rodney Dangerfield, Jay Leno and Richard Prior appearing on the same night. Of course they did their five minutes and I did mine but come on, technically I “appeared” with them, just later in the evening, okay, early in the morning, so the place was almost empty but I was there.

Ultimately open mikes, landed me The Tonight Show! Unknowns  come on last, if there’s time remaining you come on. Behind curtains you wait, kleenex in arm pits. First clue you’re not going on? Tonight Show theme music swells. Home you go, back you come, ready you stand, curtains open, claim that couch,  from his desk Johnny asks,  “Where are you appearing?”

“Oh,” I fabricated “The Duplex.” Appreciative of the national plug, the Duplex booked me. My act resembled an eulogy but hey, I was appearing, actually appearing, so people exited when I entered yet I was appearing wasn’t I?

On to Mike Douglas, Merv Griffin, next big break; Dean Martin’s Comedy Hour selected to film my five minutes at The MGM Grand in Las Vegas billed as an up and coming star on national TV. I sent telegrams to every casting director in the known world. Minutes, just seconds, nano-seconds before my segment aired, President Nixon came on national TV to resign, casting my face on the cutting room floor. A new president, sure, but it took me a year to pay for those telegrams.

Guest Blogger - Mary Rose Betten - A Girl Went Away

Mary Rose Betten is a playwright, poet, retired character actress, and three-time Clio award-winner. Recently her 41-year marriage to her husband, "the theologian" ended, suddenly. Her life has been filled with road blocks, humor and courage. This is her third post in her series. It is brilliantly written about her search for her birth daughter - and those she met along the way.

I was one of them. But my story’s not contained in Ann Fessler’s book, The Girls Who Went Away. After graduating high school from a private academy in Illinois, June, 1954 - though had they known I was pregnant, graduation would have been forbidden, I gave birth November 12th, in a forgettable town near Canada with the regrettable name of Plattsburgh, New York. Had there been cell phones then I wouldn’t be telling this hidden story. My parents died never knowing they had a grand daughter surrendered to New York Catholic Charities.

I had no counseling, so I chose not to see her, determined it would be easier. No one suggested  I’d spend my life searching faces of girls her age. Today I could be her grandmother but still I grab my glasses should a woman mention she’s 58.

To induce labor, the nun in charge of the maternity ward, with all the grace of Hitler’s mother, spooned me way too much castor oil, enjoying  it far more than Jesus meant for her to. Today I relish the thought that Plattsburgh, hospital is now demolished.

In 2010 I decided to search for my birth daughter through a terrific internet agency, not for my lawyers or federal agencies with their laws. Women who assist through this agency, called “angels” are mothers who relinquished their own babies and know exactly the right words,the right tone and are true to their moniker.  Today New York state law requires Catholic charities surrender their records limiting contact possibliities.  My favorite angel tactic, though there are many, is for the “angels” to go through Plattsburgh area yearbooks comparing my picture at age 18 to senior girls with November 12, 1954 birthdays. Through this improbable adventure I received 17 addresses of probable daughters and began writing, waiting and hoping and waiting.

Guest Blogger - Mary Rose Betten - I Didn't Know I was Dead Until the Librarian Told Me!

Mary Rose Betten is a playwright, poet, retired character actress, and three-time Clio award-winner. After her 41-year marriage to her husband, "the theologian" ended, suddenly - she has had quite a ride of unexpected events. This is her second post in her three-part series.

After my divorce and the end of my 41-year marriage friends pitched in and helped me move into a retirement home. The most wrenching task was donating my books to the local library. Books that I cherished and had collected over many years.

Over the last decade, I had become a poet and purchased every book my poet friends wrote as well as books on how to write poetry. It became an obsession more than a hobby. And when our town built a stunning new library with a separate wing of “previously loved” books for sale - too inexpensive to refuse.

Recently at the recreation center in my new "retirement village," I was introduced to a man who offered to show me about. We began to walk and he said, “Hi, I’m Rudy. I work at the local library.”

“Hello Rudy,” I put out my hand, ‘I’m Mary Rose. He looked stunned. I thought I might have offended him by offering to shake hands.

“Oh,” Rudy uttered, “A famous poetess named Mary Rose just passed away, she donated all her books to the library.”

“Rudy, I exclaimed, that was me, I’m not famous and I’m not dead.”

He couldn’t believe it and kept repeating, “I'll have to tell them at the library.”

It made me think of that Mark Twain quote: ”Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”

Guest Blogger - Mary Rose Betten - My Doctor Advised Writing a Letter To Santa - Hey, There's A Chance I'm not a Tree

We all get holiday letters. Just comes with the time of year. But, very rarely do we get one from a playwright, poet, retired character actress, and three-time Clio award-winner - that makes us want to laugh and cry out loud. After her 41-year marriage to a theologian ended, Mary Rose Betten had her first Christmas alone. This is quite a Christmas letter.

Moving into my new digs I found ancient pictures of both my nieces on Santa’s knee. What must it be like to believe in Santa? Never did I think at 75 I’d be asking Santa for anything. My 41-year marriage ended  when my husband phoned to say he wasn’t coming home but planned to live on his sailboat. True to his prediction the divorce papers were served. The day after our divorce became final an e-mail arrived from a friend informing me my now ex-husband had remarried.

The weirdest part of shock is numbness. It’s like being a tree: rooted in place yet losing leaves, being snowed upon, and fearing fierce winds.

Step one seemed to be, move out of the house the three of us had lived in for 18 years. My only child had an issue with her father, I haven’t seen her for 12 years. My family now consists of a feral cat with the social grace of an egg plant. Friends pitched in and moved me to a retirement village where I paid $500.00 to bring my cat. She is on my lap as I write this Christmas letter. This is a Christmas letter?

“Get busy,” my Dr. advised signing the prescription to double my Prozac, so I taught  a writing class and driving there the first day I got a ticket that cost more than I paid to call my cat room mate. I spent Thanksgiving with  friends. Through out the meal a guest related tales of her third honeymoon between occasional nips on the neck from her old-new husband. The only thing that made sense was the mashed potatoes.

Getting close to Christmas, my brother, who jump-started my acting career passed away, leaving only one sister and one brother from the original ten of us. Life looked so bleak I cancelled the big celebration I had planned for my housewarming. Enough with  loss I screamed at God but He was busy clearing his throat since my ex-husband requested I apply for an annulment so he could work again. Did I tell you he is a R.C. Theologian? Hello, is this the Pope? Say, I have a question.