The One with the 2011 Recap.

As was the case last year, I am taking the time now to look back on the past twelve months of my life. It's been a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and twists and turns, but it certainly has also been a year of many firsts, many lasts, and many experiences and opportunities I wouldn't trade for anything.

Dear 2011, thank you for:

• 2011 resolutions (some I met, some I did not... which I will share in a later post)
• Completely inappropriate laughing fits
• In general, lots and lots and lots of laughing
• Sushi
• Wii Fit
• Incredible productions I was able to attend (especially the ones I didn't expect to be as brilliant as they were!)
• A total of 45 pounds gone (since September 2010), 15 pounds this year
• Grapes
• Maddie and our Make-A-Treat Sundays
• A Tale of Two Cities
• Days of Plenty Benefit Concert
• Slumbies
• Waffles
• Stephanie J Block & Julia Murney
• Size 2/Gold Pants
• Diet Dr. Pepper
• BOOKS
• Time to myself
• Loving myself and therefore loving those around me more
• A dream role
• Mom's visits
• Mom, in general
• New, wonderful, dear, sweet friends
• Old friends
• Some of the most heartwarming emails
• Teachers
• Ames and Emily
• Kyle
• Mackenzie, Rick, Olivia, Jenessa (and many other people who were friends "before" and are still friends now)
• Rockstar Recovery energy drinks
• My new iPhone
• Making my blog private
• "The Book of Awesome"
• Moving to Salt Lake
• Talented, talented, talented, talented friends (Holy cow, did I mention they're talented?)
• Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
• Random (but unbelievably wonderful) acts of kindness
• Nitro Freeze
• Fireworks and best friends
• Back-to-back shows
• Shopping for my costumes... whaaaa?
• Joseph and the Amazing Show I Did a Zillion Times
• The sickness from hell (... I actually am grateful for this because it PASSED.)
• Twitter
• Pinterest
• Learning how to say no
• Tiny Wings (shh, don't judge)
• Fun, fun weekends
• Restarting the blog
• A new bed
• Mary and Martha
• Megan & Megan
• Puppies
• NY apartment-searching
• Homemade Thanksgiving dinner
• Comfortable comfort parties
• Werewolf game nights
• The Help
• Movies and movies and movies
• Tucanos
• New music
• Desperate Housewives
• Grey's Anatomy
• Modern Family
• The Tributes to Thanksgiving blog month
• GRADUATION
• Bangs
• The audition that ne'er saw a callback
• A Christmas Carol
• The trip home for the holidays
• Les Miserables in Dallas (I'll cover more on that later, as well)

I am quite certain that I missed a few things here and there, but I'll fill those in as they come to mind. These experiences and instances are as memorable as they are because of the people that I share them with: family and friends, old and new. I am so humbled by the continuous blessings each and every one of you are.

The One about the Baby.

This is Demarcus James Malone, Jr. He was born on December 4, 2009, two years ago today. He is my little sister's baby boy. He passed away on December 5, 2009, just a day old. He had what is called hypoplastic left heart syndrome and was missing a lung entirely. The funeral service was held on December 9, 2009.

I never got to meet him or even see him in person after he had passed, but I have a deep love for this little boy that I can't explain. My heart aches over the loss that my family felt in his passing, especially my sister. She is a strong one, that Martha. I have said it before, and I'll say it again: she handled and continues to handle her loss with such grace and faith. I love her so much and am proud of her for being such a strong girl.

When a person you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure. He is and always will be a precious treasure.

Rest in peace, sweet little boy. We love you.

The One where I Finish the Tributes.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #30: "When I started counting my blessings, my whole life turned around." - Willie Nelson

Well, here it is. The last day of November and the final tribute to Thanksgiving. It's no surprise that I'm going to write today about the experience this past month's blogging has been and how it has blessed my life.

Approval is a powerful thing. Feeling like an influence of some kind is a powerful thing. Sticking out, feeling important, being well-liked... all powerful forces in human make-up. Sometimes, we even thrive on these things. I would be lying if I told you that I didn't care whether people read my blog or not. If I really didn't care, I wouldn't make it public. It would be merely a journal of my personal thoughts for my eyes only. But I put it out there on purpose...

It's not just for me.

There. I said it.

Does it release some pent-up feelings? Yes. Does it allow me to improve on my writing? Yes. Does it take up some time during the day? Yes. All these things and SO MUCH more? Yes.

But this is the truth. I know that I am viewed sometimes as a snarky person... sometimes catty, cold, bitchy. I know that I sometimes come across that way. These posts, though, from the very beginning - while they have absolutely helped me - are so that people can better understand me. If they want to, of course. I'm not going to force anyone to read this. I want people to understand that sometimes that cattiness isn't cattiness, but focus. I want people to understand that sometimes the bitchiness isn't bitchiness at all, but frustration with myself. I want people to understand that sometimes the snarkiness isn't snarkiness, but misunderstanding. I want people to understand that the coldness isn't coldness at all, but the only way I might be able to hide the hurt I might be feeling.

I want people to understand, by reading this, that I am trying to be a better person everyday. I want to be held to my written word. I want to work harder because it's out in the universe for anyone and everyone to read.

That being said, these tributes over the past month have produced some expected results in my behavior, but they have also produced some unexpected reactions from some of the people reading them. People didn't comment much on the actual blog, and that was mildly discouraging at first, but then I started to feel like my words were putting me in a better mood, that showing gratitude made me love people better. Then, I received responses from loved ones all over the board - my mom, my brother, my friends, some of my teachers, from people that I never expected to actually be reading it, and, more recently, one from a complete stranger even who stumbled upon my blog because she was searching for a picture of a "chili-bowl haircut" in Google. Most of these responses occurred toward the end of this month, and most of them were private messages or emails or text messages.

It wasn't necessary for me to receive these responses, but every single one certainly touched my heart and pushed me to keep writing. Even about the little things.

I know, and I hope you know that this whole challenge this month wasn't for the purpose of acclaim. More important than these tender responses was what I felt as I finished each tribute. Each one came from the very bottom of my heart, some from so deep that, until it was written in its own little post, I didn't realize I felt so strongly about them.

It was not easy. Not even a little. It was time-consuming. But the time spent on these little pieces paled in comparison to the blessings I received because I counted my blessings. An endless cycle of gifts, blessings, treasures, cherished moments and memories. This gave me to the opportunity to realize that I've got it real good.

The One about Miss Harper.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #29: "You don't have to be a 'person of influence' to be influential. In fact, the most influential people in my life are probably not even aware of the things they've taught me." - Scott Adams

Back in April, I focused part of a post on another very influential teacher, Miss Harper. She was my high school theatre director. Truthfully, I've been sitting here for several minutes trying to figure out where exactly to begin in an attempt to explain such an astounding person.

I think I'll start from the beginning; that usually seems like a smart move.

When I was a freshman, my best friend at the time, Jasmine, told me that the One-Act Play she was in was short one of its roles and there would be an audition reading that night. The weird thing is, I don't remember much of that reading, except walking away with the role. I bring this up because that was my first taste of "acting," my first attempt, really (unless you count the Wizard of Oz spin-off in the fourth grade... which I don't). Jasmine loved it and, if I'm remembering correctly, was actually quite good at it. She told me that I would love it, too, so I decided to take a whack at it.

Is it terrible that I can't even remember what the play was called? Why can't I remember? Because just two days later, I had to drop it due to scheduling conflicts. I remember, though, during those two days, being told how special it was to work with Miss Harper, how much fun it was. For those two days, I was intimidated by the whole situation, including Miss Harper and the cast of the show.

For whatever reason in the Universe, I got that little taste of theatre, but didn't become fully immersed in it until the next school year when I played Annie in Annie. I've talked about it before, that pivotal moment right when I saw the cast list on the callboard when Miss Harper put her arm around my shoulder and said, "Now, we're going to have to work on getting you out of that shell. You can't be shy anymore."

And somehow, in those few seconds, I was immediately attached and drawn to this teacher and determined to come right out of my shell in order to make her proud. Rehearsals were alien to me, but Miss Harper was very clear and helpful and explained anything I didn't understand. She was very patient with me and so kind to me, too. I made the decision, during the run of Annie, that I would absolutely take a class from her the next year.

I had boy problems during my sophomore year. I had my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and my first heartbreak. I was (and always have been, I suppose) a bit dramatic, of course, but I also wore/wear my emotions on my sleeve. The day after John and I broke up, I was walking down the hall to the choir room, which was just past the Black Box classroom. Miss Harper usually waited at the door as her students came into her class each day so that she could greet them. I would always say hello to her. This particular day, I was really down in the dumps and didn't really know how to handle what I was feeling. Miss Harper knew something was up and sat me down to talk. I skipped choir that day and, instead, sat in her office and cried and cried to her about what I thought, at the time, was the worst thing that could even happen to a girl. It was a bit pathetic, considering John and I had only been dating for a couple of months. She didn't make me feel like what I was saying or how I was hurting was wrong or pathetic, though. Instead, she just offered kind words and a listening ear.

By the time I left that day, I realized that I had placed all of my trust in this person. She had been completely selfless and completely helpful. I was so grateful for that. Throughout the rest of the school year, I would come by and visit every now and then even though I wasn't in the theatre classes. I would hug Miss Harper on the way to choir. We would talk about what I wanted to do with my life, and I'm pretty certain she's the very first person I ever told my "Castle on a Cloud" Les Miserables experience from 1994 (you can read it at the very end of this post). She encouraged me to consider enrolling in theatre classes for the next year.

And I did. From there on out, I participated in the department in any and every way that I could - the drama club, the Leo Awards, the fall musical (Into the Woods), the spring One-Act Play (J.B.), the garage sale, the car washes, you name it. That continued through my senior year with The Wizard of Oz and By the Bog of Cats. With each day, I felt myself growing as a performer. With each day, I was becoming more and more passionate about it.

I won't get into too much detail, but I will say that Miss Harper helped me through some extremely steep moments of my teenage life. She did so with such love and care that I am floored when I think about it now. She never judged, only lifted me up. On the flipside, she also strongly encouraged my performing aspirations. She challenged me to work harder. She tested me. She questioned my choices. She complimented and constructively criticized.

Because of her support and her believing in me, because of her pushing me toward my goals, because of her teaching me and giving me the proper tools to grow as an actress, I believe she has been an important guidance to get me where I am today. Because of her kindness and her spirit and her heart and her teaching skills and her passion for the arts and her understanding and expression of them, I have been able to pursue a career that has become one of the single-most powerful forces in my life.

She truly has a gift of teaching; I would be a fool to not show some gratitude to her for pointing me in the direction that I was meant to go in in order to chase my greatest dreams.

Today she is the teacher that I keep in contact with the most from grade school. When I am home for the holidays, I like to make it a point to see her, to catch up with her. But when I'm not home, even from 1,500 miles away, I still feel that amazing support I always felt when I was in her classroom or in her rehearsals. She affected my life, she blessed my life, and she continues to do so even now.

...

So it's clear, as I've highlighted these wonderful people in my last few posts (and even ones further back this month like Jim and Adam), that I have really lucked out in the teacher/mentor department. Interestingly enough, though, when I decided that I was going to do this, that I was going to point out these great people, I didn't know how effective it would actually be. On me. How much it would touch my heart to write about them.

Each one made me feel proud of the people that have been part of my education. From Miss Hunter to Jim Christian, from Mrs. Ritchey to Mrs. Owens, these people have so powerfully made such permanent and precious handprints on my heart. It hasn't all been rainbows and butterflies; some of these men and women taught me lessons that were very difficult to learn; sometimes I needed a good metaphorical slap across the face, and they were the best ones to do it.

I have attended eighteen and a half years of school, and as my schooling (for now) comes to an end, it's my turn to give back. I must, in my day-to-day experiences and actions, make these people proud by living what they've taught me, whether it be in math or nature or reading or singing or performing or appreciating or analyzing or health or safety... I really could go on and on forever. I choose to give back to them by being a good person and by living my dreams and my life in a way that would make even myself proud.

The coolest thing is, I'm not the only one who feels this way about these great people. These amazing men and women continue to alter and touch the lives of so many students, day in and day out, even after retirement. I hope that those who are learning from them are not taking them for granted.

They are truly some of the best people I have or will ever know.

The One about the Theatre.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #28: "Acting is fun for me and it doesn't really matter how, whether it's hard work or easy work, it's always fun." - Tommy Lee Jones

I want this to remain as professional as possible, but I always want to "gush" about it as much as I can.

The last sixteen months have been very busy for me, which I prefer. It's been especially busy thanks to one place, though. Since August of last year, I have been driving to and from West Valley City to a theatre that has sort of become one of my favorite places to be.

The Hale has been an incredible place to work. I have met some of my closest friends there. I have experienced some of my greatest memories there. I have discovered myself there. I have experimented; I have worked; I have cried; I have died laughing. So much has happened in that little building that I am grateful for - from the auditions to the callbacks, from the rehearsals to the performances - and I would be a fool to avoid saying these things about it in these little tributes. It has, after all, been a huge part of my life for quite a while.

It is a positive force in my daily life that I have held onto, luckily. The people, the shows, the atmosphere, the entire experience, has been so pleasant and put-together. Each show has had its ups and downs, but each show has allowed me to grow more and more as a performer. It is a place that I feel cherished, secure, and unharmed. It is a place I love to be, and I am so glad I get to be there.

The One about Mrs Owens.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #27: "A good teacher can inspire hope, ignite the imagination, and instill a love of learning." - Brad Henry

I played the clarinet in the band in sixth grade at the intermediate school and continued playing it through my seventh and eighth grade years at the junior high. By the time my seventh grade year rolled around, I was sort of over it. I needed something else to hold my sanity intact, it seemed. So, during registration at the end of my seventh grade year, I chose choir in addition to band.

Growing up, after I was about eight years old and on, I got picked on a lot because of my weight and my hair and my boyish facial features. When I entered junior high, I only expected it to get worse. And it did.

My seventh grade year was pretty terrible. My hair was in its infamous chili-bowl cut. I was a troubled teenager. I made myself - and my mom, especially - miserable. I cried a lot. I was really negative and I felt horrible about what I looked like. I wasn't a mischief; I was shy and quiet most of the time. It was just a mess of negative emotions all over the board. But really: junior high, for just about any kid, sucks.

Except there was one hour of everyday when I was in the eighth grade during school hours that I was able to sort of be a "star," and that was in choir. I took everything in my life pretty seriously (you think I'm bad now?... be grateful you didn't know me then!), so I was very focused on staying as alert and on-the-ball as possible. It wasn't hard for me to do because it really was so enjoyable. Thanks to Mrs. Owens, the choir teacher.

From the very first day I met her, she made me feel like a million bucks. She had groups of four people come up to the piano and sing for her. If I'm remembering correctly, it was "America, the Beautiful." She kept looking at me while we were singing, not saying anything, just with a curious expression. She came up to me at the end of the class and asked me if I had taken voice lessons. I told her I had been for eight years. She said, "You have a gift." That simple.

The class met first thing each morning. Mrs. Owens made us laugh, made us cry (good-cry), made us think, and (silly as it may sound) made us grow. It quickly became the reason that I liked going to school. It became the thing that made the rest of the day just right. Mrs. Owens also taught at the high school when she left the junior high campus. There, she taught four choirs: Mixed Choir, Ladies' Choir, A Cappella Choir, and Show Choir. That meant that when I finished my eighth grade year at the junior high and moved onto the ninth grade at the high school, I would still get to have her as my teacher. When I started the ninth grade, I decided to take both Ladies' Choir and A Cappella Choir and dropped out of Band.

Choir became a little safe haven for me. It was its own little room far away from the rest of the classrooms, with high ceilings, stereos, risers, and whiteboards. My ninth grade year was so wonderful there. I met some people who became dear friends; I went to Branson; I sang my heart out; I even danced a little. Mrs. Owens absolutely became a mentor, someone I felt I could talk to for hours, someone who I could listen to for hours, someone I could joke with, someone who took good care of her students. She was the teacher who made her choirs feel like they were a chorus of angels because of how hard we worked. She taught us how to "blend" as singers, how to feel what we were singing. She was the teacher that made learning music enjoyable. She was that teacher who stopped teaching us music momentarily in order to talk to us about the attacks on September 11th, in order to ease our minds even a little. She was the teacher who let us stop singing to go see the snow falling outside. She was the teacher who made us laugh until we cried, the teacher who joked with us, the teacher who pranked us. The teacher who absolutely and undoubtedly loved her students from the very bottom of her big heart.

Toward the end of my ninth grade year, things started to get a little weird. The seniors were taking extra initiative in preparing everyone for the next year. There seemed to be more tears than even I thought normal. I had an inkling something big was going to happen at the end of the year, but I wasn't sure what it was.

One day, during Ladies' Choir, we were rehearsing a Disney medley we would be singing for the concert at the end of the year. At the very beginning of it, I had the solo, "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes." Mrs. Owens was accompanying us on the piano. As I sang, I watched Mrs. Owens' eyes well up, and tears started to fall. That's when I knew what was happening. She was leaving my high school to go teach somewhere else. I didn't say anything to anyone about it - besides my brother - because I still wasn't sure. But sure enough, a few days later, Mrs. Owens had us all sit down, and she told us the news. She would be teaching at another high school closer to her home. I was so sad. She had become a dear, dear friend, and I was so sad that I wasn't going to get to learn from her anymore.

The next years of high school came and went. I found my niche in theatre, but I stayed in choir. I saw Mrs. Owens at competitions and we would hug tight. We wrote emails back and forth for a while. I even went to visit her at her house and talked to her for several hours. She offered advice on boys, college, and life in general; we talked about her choirs and her personal life as well. Then I graduated and went away to college. I came back one year and attended her Christmas concert. As I watched and listened to her choirs sing, I was filled with such an overwhelming feeling of advantage and gratification for those two years that I took classes from Mrs. Owens. I felt so lucky laugh with her, cry with her, learn from her, and just know such an amazing lady.

The One about the Bedroom.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #26: “Better keep yourself clean and bright. You are the window through which you must see the world.” - George Bernard Shaw

Listen. I know it seems like a stupid thing to be grateful for, but I just finished cleaning my room. As I look around at the small space, I have such a sense of relief. Sure, in a few hours, it could be a mess again, but for now, things are in such order. For whatever reason, I'm able to get more done on my homework. I'm able to blog better. I'm better to even sleep better. Next up, laundry. And everything will feel just right. It's so easy to feel at peace. See? There are tiny things to be grateful for.

The One about Mrs Ritchey.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #25: "After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music." - Aldous Huxley

"Angie, do you want to take voice lessons? If you do, you have to be serious about it." That's somewhere along the lines of what my mom said to me before she signed me up for voice lessons as a six-year-old. Apparently I agreed to her conditions to take it seriously. Which is really no surprise, because even as a six-year-old, there is recorded evidence that I was sort of out-of-control serious about pretty much everything, but especially singing. Old home videos prove that I was determined to be in the spotlight for my voice - fake vibrato and all - no matter if it meant pushing three-year-old Martha out of the camera's view.

Se. Ri. Ous.

When it was time for my first voice lesson, of course I didn't know what to expect. But that was the first time I ever felt like I was auditioning for something. My mom and I practiced "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus" from the Children's Songbook (it was my very favorite song to sing when I was that age) and headed to the house about fifteen minutes away from our own home.

It was a brown wooden house with a huge driveway, steps leading up to the front door. My mom and I waited and the door opened. There she stood: Helen Ritchey, owner and operator of The Ritchey School of Music. She was an older lady, tall and very thin, with shoulder-length curly brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, and high cheekbones. She shook both of our hands and we went in. To my right was a gigantic living room with high ceilings and quilts hanging on the wall. There was a small lofted area directly above the kitchen. To my left was the "studio." It was a very small room with two pianos and huge wooden cases of sheet music and books. There was a door on the far wall that led to the garage.

The next thing I remember is singing the song for Mrs. Ritchey. She smiled the whole way through. I remember my heart pounding as I sang for her, as if I thought she wouldn't take me on as a student if I didn't blow her away. Even as a six-year-old. I think my mom left after that and we began my very first voice lesson. It consisted mostly of warm-ups: placing my back and shoulders up against the door in the studio that led to the garage in order to keep a straight back, placing my arms in a "rainbow" over my head in order to open up my lungs, smiling and frowning very quickly, lip-buzzing, you name it. By the time I walked out of my first lesson, my six-year-old brain was going crazy. I had so much fun and could not wait to return the next week.

As I think about it now, I am seriously staggered by the technique she taught with and the ideas she had. I wish I had realized when I was taking lessons from her that she was such a musical genius. See, it was school to her and she needed it to be school to her students as well. Each half-hour-long lesson was jam-packed full of information: warm-ups, theory lessons, theory tests, etc. Thanks to Mrs. Ritchey, I know how to read music - bass and treble clef; in fact, I knew how to read both staffs by the time I was eight years old. I learned how to read time signatures and keep a steady beat. Before I was ten years old, I was able to articulate what a ritard was, a fermata, pianissimo, sforzando, andante, crescendo, and the list goes on and on and on. I didn't love the music theory tests then, but I certainly do now.

But here's the real kicker. Mrs. Ritchey, for the nine years that I took from her, had me dip my feet into every genre you could imagine. In my almost-ten years with her, I am willing to bet we "checked off" over 200 songs. I sang country; I sang gospel; I sang pop; I sang movie songs; I sang classical; I sang contemporary, folk, Christian, vachai, opera, Latin, oldies, blues, musical theatre, calypso, legit, carol, Italian, lullabies... I seriously could go on forever. Because of this extremely extensive array of music styles, some of which I despised doing at the time, I was able to close the chapter with Mrs. Ritchey when I was fifteen years old with so much under my belt to help me in the future.
Of course the other voices teachers I had after Mrs. Ritchey have helped me continue to grow as a singer, but I believe that the work that Mrs. Ritchey put into me was what kept the ball rolling. Because of the gospel training, I can sometimes sing like a black lady. (Sounds crazy, but I'm serious.) Because of the country training, I was able to later learn how to yodel and utilize my "twang" in songs and roles that came around. I also fully believe that I have a three-octave range because of the training I received from Mrs. Ritchey in those unbelievably boring (yet obviously effective) vachai, Latin and Italian pieces, the opera songs, etc.

It's just one of those things that you don't realize at the time is going to literally help shape you into the performer or person you will be.

She absolutely gave me the gift of music in the nine years that I took lessons from her, and she did it with such grace, such esteem, such warmth, and such wisdom. She made me love to sing and she made me want to be good at it. I am truly grateful for what she has done for me.

The One on the Holiday.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #24: "There is no love sincerer than the love of food." - George Bernard Shaw

I'm going to take a little break from talking about teachers in order to show appreciation for the holiday at hand, the whole motivation behind starting this little tribute journal: Thanksgiving.

I love Thanksgiving. Of course Christmas is my favorite holiday, but Thanksgiving is certainly standing strong in second place. I think I love it for a lot of things:

The Parade. I've never been big into parades in towns or anything like that. I actually think they're a bit on the silly side... and I think that's thanks to my obsession with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. If a parade isn't like that, I feel like it's a bit of a waste of my time. It was never a huge tradition in my family to watch it. I just really grew attached over the years to the grand spectacle it is hyped up to be. If I don't get food for Thanksgiving, watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade is enough for me to feel "full" of the holiday. I love New York; I love knowing that one day, I'm going to get to stand on those streets and watch that parade in real life; I love the glitz and glamor; I love the costumes, the floats, the music; I love that is ringing in the Christmas season with absolute age-old, vintage classiness.

The Shopping. Black Friday. I love it. I've gone the last few years, and I find it such a rush to be in those crowds, working your way to that thing that you want to purchase the most. The deals are often mind-blowing. This year, I didn't go, because I'm trying to keep things steady financially. But I lived vicariously through the tweets, the blog posts, the Facebook status updates, etc. It was hilarious reading about people's run-ins with other shoppers. It was so amazing to see what people accomplished in those hours and who shopped the longest (one friend shopped for SEVENTEEN hours straight). I loved seeing the bargains people walked away with. It's just the hustle and bustle. I love it.

Family and Food. Here's the deal: what I always remember about Thanksgiving in the Jeffries home is eating a huge Thanksgiving "linner" (late lunch, early dinner). It was about the food. My mom would wake up early, early, early and start cooking for the day. By 9 AM, the house was warm and the air was full of the delectable smells coming from the kitchen. It was always pretty traditional, with turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and rolls. Our family often had pecan pie or peanut butter pie or pumpkin pie, ice cream, green beans with bacon. Just lots and lots of food. That my mom slaved away on. We'd pull out the nice China dishes, clean the kitchen and chow down. Again, like most people, by the time we finished eating, it was "food coma" time. That meant after the dishes were clean, we'd take a nap.

These last few fourth Thursdays in November I've spent away from my family in Texas. I think the last time I had Thanksgiving dinner in Texas was in 2006, now that I think about it. Five years. Before this year, I sort of didn't care how I spent Thanksgiving. If it wasn't with my family, I didn't really want to spend it with anyone else's. I was content making my stuffing and that would be enough for me. This year, I decided to go all out. I woke up at 7:30 AM and worked on the meal. I cooked everything I could think that mom cooked, even the green beans with bacon (they weren't nearly as good as Mom's, but I tried!).
I grew a new-found respect for my mother in her efforts each big holiday to cook for our family. I had no idea how many hours and how much work went into each little thing. As soon as the meal was over, Martha and I cleaned the kitchen and dishes. As soon as that was done, I took a nice nap to sleep off the "food coma." Just like home.

What Thanksgiving Represents. Most importantly, above all of these things, Thanksgiving is a time for us to give thanks. While, yes, we should do this everyday of every year, it is a time when most of us get the time away from our regular lives to say "thank you" to whomever, or whatever, we feel needs or deserves it. Thanksgiving is a sweet holiday meant to be spent with those we love and appreciate. If we can't be with them, we can at least say "thank you" to them and for them.

I'm thankful for each and every one of my loved ones, wherever you may be. Happy Thanksgiving.

The One about Mrs Thompson.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #23: "We cannot hold a torch to light another's path without brightening our own." - Ben Sweetland

My last post was about my sweet kindergarten teacher, Miss Hunter. When I left Miss Hunter's class, I remember being so excited to move onto my next year. My first grade teacher left much to be expected. She had the reputation I'm sure every teacher wants: the mean one, the one that you could always hear yelling at her students if you were in another classroom. Second grade wasn't much fun, either. She seemed bored, a bit old and worn out. I remember really not liking the sound of her speaking voice. By the time my second grade year was coming to an end, I was over school. I didn't like going anymore.

In my hometown, when a student was about to go into the third grade, he or she was considered for the "Gifted and Talented Ennis" group. This meant that the student would transfer to a different elementary on the other side of town and take "GATE" classes there. My brother had advanced into the program and I had a feeling I would, too. I used to get stellar grades. All A's for a long time. (I'm pretty sure my first B was in fifth grade, shortly after I got hit in the head by a piece of rebar the summer after my fourth grade year. You do the math. But maybe that was or is just an excuse for me becoming a "slacker" in the fifth grade. Possible. Very, very possible.)

So, I transferred. And met Mrs. Thompson. She was head of the GATE program at Austin Elementary. At that time, she was in her early fifties. From the moment I met her, I knew I would like her. She carried that same air about her that Miss Hunter had. Joy, laughter, love. I grew extremely attached to her.

She called me "Angela." Up until that point, I'd gone by "Angie," because that's what my family called me. But she started using my real name; at first, I was a little irked by it, but then one day I asked her why she did that. She said, with a laugh, "Because it's just so elegant." (This is also the moment that I learned the meaning of the word "elegant.") Ever since then, I've gone by Angela.

She taught me how to write. I didn't like it, but that's definitely where the skills were learned. She insisted constantly that we write essays about books and daily happenings. Now, because of her hammering it into her students' heads, I am proud of the writing techniques I have developed.

She read me some of the best books. One book she chose to read to us was "The Giver" by Lois Lowry. First of all, the book is mind-blowing. I read it again a little over two years ago and still became enchanted by it. Mrs. Thompson had moments in her classes set aside to read to us. She used voices and expressions as she read, which grabbed everyone's attention, and she led discussions at the end of each chapter. In the last few pages of "The Giver," Mrs. Thompson cried. She wasn't sobbing; she wasn't making a big to-do about it. I just remember seeing tears falling down her cheeks as she finished reading the book to us. She felt books and, in turn... we did, too.

She loved to hear me sing. When she found out I could, she was the sweetest, most supportive fan ever. Like my make-shift, proud little grandma. She called me her "star."

One of the most beloved things about growing up is running into teachers, mentors, and friends from the past. I used to work at Starbucks in my hometown for about five months after I graduated, before I went away to BYU-Idaho. Every now and then, people would come in that I knew. Most of the time it was just that awkward, "Hey, I know you, but I'm going to treat you like every other customer because I don't really know you that well, and while I'm making your drink, I'll act like I care about what you've been doing for the past ten years and vice versa..." I tried to avoid it if I could.

Somewhere in my five months there, I got a surprising visitor: Mrs. Thompson. She came up to the register that I was working at and ordered her drink while she dug in her purse. We both recognized each other at the same time. I ran around the counter and hugged her so tight. There wasn't really much time to catch up since I was working, but that hug meant so much. I saw her a few other times after that when she would come in and we would have a very friendly exchange. I haven't really seen her since then, but I think about her often.

Mrs. Thompson was another one of those life-changing teachers. It was clear that she was meant to be a teacher, that she was good at what she did and that she loved each and every minute of it. I need to find her and thank her for making me love school all over again.

The One about Miss Hunter.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #22: "Teaching is the profession that teaches all the other professions." - Unknown

Two of my tributes this month have been dedicated to influential teachers that I have had. With graduation - the end of school - on the horizon (I'm talking SIXTEEN DAYS), I think it's important for me to look back on the 19 years of school that I've had and reflect on a few more teachers who have truly helped to mold me into who I am and even who I will become. There are several, so I'm just going to separate them into different posts throughout the rest of the week. Today's deserves one, really, that's all her own.
Remember Miss Honey in Matilda? That was my kindergarten teacher, Miss Ray. I'm serious... she looked like her; she treated her students just like Miss Honey treated her own. I don't remember how long Miss Ray was my teacher; I just remember she left us early for some reason. I cried the day she left (though that's not really saying much since I literally cried everyday until I was 14 years old). I think I grew so fond of her because, aside from my mother, no one had even resembled anyone who could take me under her wing.

When she left, our class was split up and sent to the other kindergarten teachers. There were four options for the 20-ish students to go: Mrs. Munn, Mrs.Tenney, Miss Solorio, and Miss Hunter. (Isn't it amazing that we can remember things like this?!) My brother had Miss Hunter when he was in kindergarten and he loved her, so when I got put into her class, I was thrilled. In fact, on the day they told us which teacher's classroom we would be joining, I saw Miss Hunter on the other end of the hallway and yelled, "I'M IN YOUR CLASS!"

But even with my excitement and even as a kindergartener, I was skeptical of this change. I didn't think Miss Hunter could replace Miss Ray. I didn't think she could love me as much as Miss Ray did. I didn't think I could have as much fun with Miss Hunter as I did in Miss Ray's class.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

The best word I can use to describe Miss Hunter is joy. She laughed so much in our class; I can still remember her merry laugh. She always seemed so spry, so buoyant and youthful. She had the brightest and most contagious smile. She taught me the importance in not being a "tattle-tail." She even had a gigantic tail on the wall in the classroom that served as a warning to anyone who told on someone for the sake of telling... the "tattle-tailer" would have to wear the tale; I never saw anyone wear it. She taught me organization skills; when it would be time to go play outside, she would let me finish arranging my crayons in my Spacemaker supply box. She gave me a big ol' kiss on the cheek the day that I showed up and told her I could read and let me read "Hop On Pop" by Dr. Seuss to my class. I remember watching her radiate with delight on the back row of the "Reading Rug."

My elementary held a reunion during my senior year of high school, and I got to see Miss Hunter again; she looked as if she hadn't aged a day in the 13 years since I'd been in her class. When I hugged her, I did get a bit emotional. She always did give the best hugs. I talked to her for a good half an hour about my plans and aspirations. I remember my surprise when she nodded, almost knowingly, as she said, "Baby, if anyone can do it, you can." I saw Miss Hunter again a little over a year later, when she came to my brother's wedding reception. I watched as she beamed with pride to see Roy, who was genuinely one of her favorite students, as happy as he was married to the woman of his dreams.

Miss Hunter probably didn't realize when she took on the role of a kindergarten teacher that she was going to be as significant as she was to both my life and Roy's life and even my mom's life. When I talk about Miss Hunter to my mom, our feelings about her parallel. She made school fun. She is joy. She is happy. She is a sincere, honest, wonderful woman, and a perfect teacher.

The One with Days Off.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #21: "For fast-acting relief, try slowing down." - Lily Tomlin

Remember my post a while back about feeling like a robot? It was right in the midst of Joseph performances. From mid-March until the end of September, I was going to work and class every weekday and rehearsing or performing everyday but Sunday. Sundays were spent taking care of things I had gotten behind on during the week because of how busy I was.

It was so hard. I probably would've died in order to have a day off.

And then the calm came. Now, I have at least one additional day off during the week. I have some nights off. TIME OFF.

And starting Wednesday, I have five days off. In which I fully intend to do this...
And probably this, too...
And somewhere in there, I'll pack up and move...

The One with Christmas Commercials.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #20: "Good work is good work wherever it's done, in a play, a motion picture or television, and that includes commercials. " - Parker Stevenson

One of the many things that I remember about my early childhood are TV commercials. Maybe that means that we watched too much TV; I like to think we dabbled in lots of different areas of culture, including the art that is the small screen, the telly, the boob tube, the idiot box.

My siblings and I will frequently reminisce about certain commercials, like the "Pizza in the mornin'" one or the "My Buddy/Kid Sister" ad. Silly as it may sound, I'm grateful for these little treasures that make us laugh about our pasts.

As I've been catching up on Modern Family, Grey's Anatomy, and Desperate Housewives on Hulu this weekend, I'm reminded more and more that Christmas is near because of the commercials that have aired in the breaks. As I was watching them, I thought, "They just don't make Christmas commercials like they used to."

And that sent me on the search for my top favorite Christmas commercials I watched as I was growing up. (You may want to go to the bottom of the page and pause the music player before you watch any of these!)

I remember this ad as the first commercial that ever made me cry. I'm fairly certain it wasn't airing with any program I was watching, but instead I saw it on a VHS tape of a Christmas movie my parents had recorded.


"Oh, Bill..."


And this one REALLY creeped me out.


The classic...


And who could forget this one?


I always wanted a polar bear thanks to this one.


There's just SO MANY!

The One with Mom's Love Note.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #19: "I cannot forget my mother. She is my bridge. When I needed to get across, she steadied herself long enough for me to run across safely." - Renita Weems

Today is a very special lady's birthday. When I started these tributes, I was so excited that my mom's birthday fell in the month of November, because that meant that I would have one more reason to gab about such an amazing woman. How I wish I could be with her today while she celebrates in Texas, maybe to help make it a little more special, but the best that I can do is send love from afar and express, maybe a little bit, how grateful and glad I am that she was born. Growing up, when we asked her what she wanted for her birthday, my mom would always say, "Just write me a love-note." I know it's not much, and it couldn't possibly cover everything I feel for my her, but... here's your love-note, Mom.


Dear Mom,

Today it felt completely appropriate to send you a big cyber hug since I’m not with you in person on your birthday. I also thought it might be fun to have a few really kind strangers and perhaps a few familiar friends add their birthday wishes. (Go ahead. Wish my mom a happy birthday in the comments.)

You have been my biggest supporter since… well... forever. You check my blog faithfully; you are the first to be excited about anything I’m doing; you are my best friend; you give me the best praise; you believe in me; we have the best times together.

Mom, thank you again and again and again for everything you are and everything you do. Thank you for serving our family so devotedly. Thank you for picking Dad, too. I count my blessings every single day that I ended up with you two as my sweet parents.

Thank you for being supportive every step of the way as I've planned and achieved goals and struggled to make them. Thank you for NEVER making me feel pressured when I make any big life decisions; and most of all, thank you for being encouraging with the ones I am especially most passionate about.
You work harder than anyone I have ever known. You are the strongest women I have ever known. (Hence the picture.) I know that your strength is why I am as strong as I am today, and I hope to continue to live by your example. In fact, if I ended up just like you, I would be so very proud of my life.

Thank you for every sacrifice you’ve made for me and for Roy and Martha and for the family as a whole. Thank you for loving me through every hissy fit, attitude adjustment, tantrum and tear, every mood swing and anything I ever did that caused you heartache. I hope today has been special for you because you deserve that at least. I can't wait to hug you in a month or so. I love you so much. Happy birthday, Mom!

Love, Angie

The One about Jim.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #18: "A mentor is someone who sees more talent and ability within you than you see in yourself... and helps bring it out of you." - Bob Proctor

For the majority of my life, it wasn't even a question of where I was going to go to college. It was always BYU as a vocal performance major. Eventually it turned to a desire to be an MDT major, but it was still BYU.

But when I applied in 2004 and wasn't accepted (thanks to my only-average ACT scores and 3.5 GPA), I turned to my second choice, BYU-Idaho, where I would major in Theatre/Speech Education. When I got to BYU-Idaho in January of 2006, I started auditioning for shows. In the year and a half that I was there, I was only cast in one production as a chorus member who was onstage for literally sixty seconds. It was all about seniority there; if a role was between a really good freshman and a mediocre senior, it went to the senior. The director of one of the shows even pulled me aside to tell me he would've given me a lead role if the school weren't so fixated on casting upperclassmen.

Because of these little details, I started resenting the school and the department. By the time I'd done three semesters there, I was over it. It wasn't just because of the seniority issue; things just seemed like they were being dealt with so flippantly in the department. Theatre wasn't really fun to anyone there; it was a job, a chore, a pain. I didn't feel that way, so I felt like I definitely didn't belong there.

In the earlier part of the spring semester in 2007, my mom called me with news that one of her closest friends would be directing a show that summer in Jackson Hole and that there was a role that I might be interested in. Auditions were even being held at BYU-Idaho in February. When the time came, I auditioned and was cast in Chaps! and The Music Man.

I've blogged a bit about that special summer before; I really do attribute those few months as some of the most influential of my life for many reasons. Since I was in The Music Man and Chaps!, I didn't work closely with the director of the other show in the repertory schedule, Nunsense. His name was Jim Christian. Of course I'd met him, but I'd hardly spoken a word to him, really. However, after a little while, we started working on the choreography of The Music Man, which Jim was also doing.

We worked on learning "Shipoopi" during one day of rehearsal. I was floored by his patience for the actors in the process. He seemed so smart, so competent, so prepared, so utterly and completely qualified. A few days later, he came into our Chaps! rehearsal to help choreograph one number. Of course I struggled with the steps... like I do. Then Jim said, "I'm here to help you. Let's just break it down into parts. This can be fun, Angela."

For the rest of the time that he was in Jackson after that, I didn't work too closely with him, but I respected and admired him from afar. And I secretly wished I could work with him as my director.
This picture was taken on the last day that Jim was in Jackson, which was opening night of Nunsense. The whole time he was gone, I kept wondering what it would be like to work with him again. In so little time, I had grown such an appreciation for his work ethic and the dedication he put into each individual. I thought the opportunities had passed me by.

During that summer, I was enrolled in six credits at BYU-Idaho: one was an internship at the theatre in Jackson, and the other was a Book of Mormon class. On the day that I thought the class started in mid-June, I logged into my student portal. My face went white when I realized that my class wasn't starting on that day, but it was ending. I emailed the professor and explained my mistake, but I never heard from him. Instead, on the last day of the semester, I received an F in the class. The very next day, I received an email from BYU-Idaho putting me on Academic Suspension. I appealed my situation and was put on Academic Probation.

Then it hit me: I didn't like being at BYU-Idaho in the first place. Why fight to get back in? I could find a better place to go to school. One day in Jackson, someone mentioned that Jim was head of the musical theatre department at Weber State University. I hadn't even really heard of the place, but I took a little bit of time to ask two of the three people in the summer stock cast about the department, the shows and the school in general. After lots of reflection, I knew that Weber was where I needed to be. I knew I had to learn more from Jim.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way about Jim. He is the picture of a perfect theatre professor. Besides an impeccable educator, Jim is a mentor, a counselor, and a director.

I credit the man for teaching me how to know my voice. You see, before I went to Weber, I knew what could come out of my mouth when I sang, but I didn't know how to control when it happened or how it happened. I didn't know what steps to take to get the sound that would occasionally come out. I had good singing days, and I had bad singing days. Instead of me being in control of my voice, my voice just picked and chose when it would do whatever it was that it was doing. I took voice lessons from Jim during my first semester at Weber, in Spring of 2008 (and almost every semester after that!). I remember leaving my very first lesson, calling my mom and crying (tears of joy, of course!) because I felt like I had learned more about my voice in one hour-long lesson than I had in all my 16 years of voice lessons before. He taught me that I had the power to be the "belter" I wanted to be. He taught me how to take care of my voice. He taught me that it's okay to make a mistake and to experiment with my voice. In one single lesson with him, there was no question that I'd made the right decision in choosing to attend Weber. Every lesson was a development, an opportunity to polish, improve and refine my instrument.

On December 10, 2009, I had a voice lesson. If this days sounds familiar from a few posts back, you'll remember it as the day that my "Papaw" passed away. I'd gotten the call about it around 2 AM that morning, so I'd been sitting with it for some time. Just five days before that, my newborn nephew had passed away as well. My family had been blindsided, and I felt so helpless being in Utah. I walked into my voice lesson, and I couldn't really hide how distraught I was. Without any hesitation, Jim said, "Do you need to talk?" and I just sort of fell apart. Right there. In his office. I couldn't help it. We talked so much about our core beliefs and how to make things like this make sense in order to keep living our lives. He offered personal insights and and open heart. I wept. And when I was leaving his office at the end of my scheduled lesson, after an entire hour of constant reflection, I didn't feel so helpless. Instead, I felt enveloped in an understanding that things really were going to be okay.

I am floored by his talents as a theatre master and Einstein when it comes to voices and acting and dancing and expression onstage. I have met few people with the gusto and strong stand in profession that Jim bestows. He is absolutely, positively brilliant.

But you see, Jim is more than just an outstanding professor or choreographer or voice teacher or director. He certainly is all of those things to the utmost degree. But he is also my friend. A bit of a saving grace, a confidante, who offers wisdom in the most respectable and understanding way. A downright good person.

People ask me why I chose Weber, and it's really for one reason: Jim. Because of his guidance and his incredible knack for teaching, I feel like I have gotten more out of my college experience as a performer than I ever imagined getting. I feel like I learned more; I feel like I played more; I feel like the opportunities have been endless. When I graduate in December, I will walk away with a heart full of gratitude for the chances Jim gave me in performing, knowledge I received in the classroom, in voice lessons, in rehearsals, and in conversations.

Jim has helped me understand how to not only be a better performer... but a better person, too. Simply by setting a wonderful example in his everyday life.

The One about This Blog.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #17: "Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Benjamin Franklin

You'll notice that my last few posts have been relatively short; I have to admit that I haven't been as gung-ho about putting in as much time as I usually do in order to post everyday. A lot of the time I even find that I don't quite finish a post and decide to post it the next day instead.

It's harder than I thought it would be.

But that aside, and certainly more significantly, this blog is a real blessing. Of course I've said that before... only because I mean it. A sweet friend made several very nice coments to me about my blog recently that really got me thinking about it.

I'm not really a public speaker. I never have been. I tend to freeze up a bit when I'm put on the spot to improvise something. I say "uhm" and "like" and "uhh" and "so" a billion times throughout a presentation or a speech or an interview or anything ad-libbed, really. It's just not my thing. But give me a script to read or memorize or a song to sing and those fears go away. I used to think that made me unoriginal... and then I realized that writing is just my form of expressing my thoughts; it's my comfort. I understand that people just work differently; their brains simply function a little bit differently. And that's okay; that's exactly what makes the world go 'round.
I don't know when I became so engrossed in writing. Maybe it's the perfectionist nature I've accrued in my 24 years that started it. I remember being very interested in the writing part of the state tests as far back as the third grade. I used to want to be a writer. In fact, I used to write short stories and poems in junior high that I would spend hours trying to perfect. I'm obsessed with grammar and punctuation. Anyone who knows me (or reads this blog, hopefully) knows that I'm a stickler for grammar, spelling and tidiness in presenting what I have to say, whether it be via text, chat/instant message, assignments, letters... I use commas, apostrophes, question marks, exclamation marks, accents, ellipses, etc. It's actually fun for me to edit a paper. It's fun for me to find new way to use punctuation. Of course I make mistakes, but if I can edit them, I absolutely will.

This blog seems to satisfy my writing urges. It gives me incredible closure on issues that I might not have otherwise stated. It gives me a chance to write the things that I maybe couldn't say.

It's my outlet, my little safe haven, and I am exceptionally grateful that it's here for me to use.

The One with LaChanze.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #16: "He who sings frightens away his ills." - Miguel de Cervantes

Sometimes we feel mad. Sometimes we feel sad. Sometimes we feel frustrated. Sometimes we feel hurt. Sometimes we feel helpless.

I've always loved driving; I've found that it really relieves a lot of stress (if it's just to drive... sometimes having a destination can be stressful). In fact, when I was living in Ogden, on Sundays, I would take about an hour drive up in the Ogden Canyon and just take in the scenery.

But I've found that more than just driving, singing and driving relieves more stress and sadness and frustration and anger and helplessness. It's a medicine of its own. And there is just something about being in your car or your shower or a place where you are the only one who can hear you - there are no inhibitions, no need for insecurities, total and complete vulnerability.

Sometimes I can just get in my car, drive and sing. And all is right in my little world.

I know this video isn't in her room or her car or her shower... but there is just something about how candid and unbridled she is. And maybe some of these lyrics and expressions and soul is how I feel when I sing all by myself.

The One with Modern Family.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #15: "The Emerald City at the end of my yellow-brick road..." - Mitchell

Listen, I know it's small and simple, but I warned you that some of these would be small and simple. It is certainly something that I've grown grateful for because I have used it lately as a little escape from the homework that's been piling up.

I've finished Season One and I'm so excited to keep watching...
It's just honest. And therefore, hilarious and relatable.

They say things that actually have happened to me. Like this... "Calm down, you know I grew up around many animals. One time a rooster attacked me and my mom rung its neck and we had it for dinner."

I'm serious. Only it was my dad and he shot it.

The One with the Puppies.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #14: "Whoever said you can't buy happiness forgot little puppies." - Gene Hill

I won't really say much today (because I'm ridiculously behind on my homework and must focus on that, unfortunately)... except that sometimes coming in from a downer sort of day to a living room full of tiny puppies makes you forget you were ever down in the first place.
I'm amazed that I can sit for so long and just stare at them, not saying a word, and be completely content. They're the cutest, sweetest form of therapy.

The One about Julie Andrews.

Tribute to Thanksgiving #13: "As simple as it sounds, we all must try to be the best person we can: by making the best choices, by making the most of the talents we've been given." - Mary Lou Retton

My mom has always been a very well-rounded musician: she has a lovely singing voice, an excellent ear, and plays the piano beautifully, too. At some point in her earlier life, she picked up the French horn and gave it a whirl; that was where my mom found her niche. She changed her major while she was at BYU to French horn performance and took the department by storm. These are, of course, stories I've heard from her college friends. I didn't get to ever really hear her play that much growing up, but occasionally she'd perform with a symphony in the area and she even made a Christmas CD one year.

Needless to say, thanks to the well-rounded talents that my mother possessed, music was a big part of the Jeffries home. I'm told that I have been singing since I was 2 1/2 years old. At that time, my mom was the director of a performance group chain called Sunshine Generation; the program originated in Utah. My brother and I were both in the group and spent time traveling with my mom and the 20+ performers to various towns and events.

I actually don't know when my parents knew that I could sing. I suppose I should ask them. All I know is that I started taking voice lessons when I was 6 years old.

Regardless of when or how it happened, it's just been in my life for as long as I can remember.
I've talked about my love for Julie Andrews before. I've talked about her class and her voice and her talents in general. I have a deep, deep respect for this woman - not just because of her talent, but because she has lived through my greatest fear: losing her ability to sing.

I'd heard stories and read articles and seen snippets of interviews where she talked about her vocal cord damage, but until today - until I decided what I was going to post about as today's tribute - I didn't really dig deep to hear it all. I spent hours researching the tragedy, and it resulted in so many tears being shed.
I remember when The Princess Diaries 2 was released and there was so much talk of Julie Andrews making her singing comeback in the movie. I know I'm not the only one who watched this part of the movie and hurt for her as she sang. Her range in the song was about four notes and she strained to hit even those. She spoke-sang most of the song.

I just can't imagine.

In an interview with Barbara Walters in February of 1999, just 19 months after the surgery that changed her life, she said, "To not sing with an orchestra, to not be able to communicate through my voice which I've done all my life and not to be able to phrase lyrics and give people that kind of joy, I think I would be totally devastated."

You can watch the "nitty-gritty" part of the interview here.

She underwent what was assumed to be a standard procedure in removing non-cancerous nodules from her throat and, in the end, was left unable to sing.

Without question, that is my greatest fear. Maybe it seems petty. Maybe. But it certainly isn't something I take lightly. In the last few years, I've become especially dependent on my voice. I think it's because I am recognizing that it is the tool that will help me achieve my dreams. The truth is, aside from my family and my beliefs, my voice has been the one constant I've had. To lose that... well, I just don't know how I'd be able to do that.

(And yet, I know I would have to if it came to that.)

In the 20/20 interview, Julie is questioned with a huge what if. Barbara Walters asked, "Julie, if you can't sing anymore, how would it change your life?"

She paused for a long time before she said it just as I would feel it, "Oh, I think it would change something inside me forever."

Amen, sista'.

So... after turning myself into a blubbering fool, it's important for me to specify what exactly I'm making this tribute about. I feel so lucky and grateful to have the joy that is singing in my life. I fully intend on doing everything I can to keep it around, and I hope to never, ever, ever take it for granted.