An Internet Love Letter

As you know, Mark and I are working on a documentary about Dub Taylor. I was asked to post on the new blog about our documentary, and Mark was taken aback at how sweet it was. I guess I am cheating by cutting and pasting, but I wanted to share it. You can see the original post at http://dubtaylor.blogspot.com/.

The Journey

The journey of this documentary is very special to me, even though I came in towards the middle of the process. I have known Mark since I was in the sixth grade. His mother was my sixth grade teacher and Mark and I were involved in a few school activities together. Ever since then, I knew that Mark was a very special person. When Mark and I reconnected in April last year, he told me about his passion for filmmaking and how excited he was to be working on his first project. I had been working on some short films in college, so I told him if he needed any help with any aspect of the process, I would be available.

It was only a few weeks after we started dating that I was on my way to meet Dixie Carter for an interview about her experience working with Dub Taylor. The journey started making unexpected turns when we got a phone call that we could interview Buck Taylor as well on this trip. It was really exciting, and we got a ton of footage that was essential to the project's success.

The next trip was to some B-Western experts in Augusta. Mark and I went alone, and by this time, Mark and I were planning a wedding, so I snuck off and did some wedding dress shopping while he got more interviews. Next, we interviewed Bobby Copeland in Tennessee. Even though we got some good footage, I remember that being a horrible trip because I was sick as a dog and I drove most of the way.

Our most recent trip was to Oklahoma City, where we interviewed some representatives of Dub's old high school, Classen High School. We also were able to meet with the curator of the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum and to get a great interview and some wonderful b-roll footage.

What I have taken away from this experience so far is that the team that is working on this project is really dedicated to great filmmaking. Mark has such a unique vision and passion, and the people that allow us to interview them are visibly calm and relaxed around him, which I contribute to his extraordinary amount of compassion. Mark's love of good story-telling, along with his team who understand and execute his vision, make me proud to say that I am an executive producer of a great project, and a proud wife of a wonderful man. This might sound strange, but I think that this is the essence of Dub Taylor's legacy: that people remember not who he was or what he looked like, but that he contributed to some of the best memories of people's lives. Whether it be little boys going to see B-Westerns, or a father and daughter watching a rerun of Bonanza together, or a couple of kids who fell in love working on his documentary, Dub's legacy, to me, is that he could provide an outlet for joy in people's lives. I truly believe that, and in turn, truly believe in this project.

Kasey Ray-Stokes

Short Circuit

Well, I don't have one cohesive thought that will be a connecting thread in this post. I have not been posting lately because I haven't really have anything to say, but I was starting to feel guilty, so here it goes.

1. Ever since I got married, I have been sick. Mark and I have chronic headaches, stomach viruses, allergies, acid reflux, etc. We can't really figure out what the main cause is, except for an overwhelming move, weight gain, a limited amount of sleep, stress, and major life changes. We are still trying to figure it out, so if you can think of something that we are missing, let me know.

2. That brings me to my next point: weight gain is the most depressing thing in the universe. I blame it on our kitchen (who refuses to stay clean, so we HAVE to eat out every meal) and all of the stress from the past few months. Even though I have identified the culprits, I don't feel any better. I actually hate my body worse than I ever have. My fat jeans are now my jeans. I would vomit if I could. Just kidding, sort of.

3. This whole novel writing thing stinks. I hate formal structure and the feeling of failure that won't escape my head. It really makes me not feel creative, as well as the weight gain that makes me depressed and hungry constantly. It is hard to keep me in a chair long enough to write a coherent sentence.

4. Mark's documentary is progressing. We just got back from Oklahoma City and are considering taking another trip to LA and possibly Seattle. The documentary premieres exactly two months from now, so there isn't that much left to do, except for make some sense out of the raw footage and promote it. There are several sites dedicated to the project and a few "behind the scenes" shorts on youtube.com. I know that Mark will be so glad when that is over.

5. I am the absolute worst housewife ever. Every day when Mark gets home and asks me how my day went, I look back on it and realized that all of the tiny things I did do not make a difference in the grand scheme of our lives. The house is still a mess, it is dirty and unorganized, I haven't done anything on our list of things to do when we first got married, and it really appears as if I sit around and eat bon-bons all day. In fact, I am running all around town looking for a particular brand of shampoo that no one carries, or writing a bajillion thank you cards, or trying to find receipts so that we can deduct the documentary for our tax purposes (talk about fun...), or any of the other mindless things that people have to find time to do. I feel like my mind is getting soft. The first few weeks of marriage were hard because I had an identity crisis. Now, I am coming out of it, but still feel frazzled like never before. It is definitely a strange sensation, but thank goodness I married Mark. No one else would make me stay sane during this process.

So that's it. Not coherent, but honest as always.

A Little Bump in the Road to Happiness

Today was a sad day because I finally turned Rosco over to the animal shelter. This morning was really rainy and wet, and he wasn't in the kennel we left out there for him because there was about two inches of water in the bottom of it. So I went out there in my bathrobe and glasses (in the pouring rain) to feed him and tried to figure out how to keep him dry. Mark suggested to drag the hammock out there to keep him and his food dry, but he kept getting himself wrapped around it and howling like he was dying, so I made another trip out there and took a huge box we had and finally got him out of the rain. However, he learned how to dig holes, so as I watched him through a window, I realized today was the day that we must part. I put him in the back of my car and drove him to the shelter, as he howled so loud in the back seat that I busted out laughing from just how ridiculous the situation was. I pulled into a parking space, took his red collar off that Mark picked out for him, and took him to a toothless chain smoker who told me that he would be fine. I feel horrible, like I just dropped off my child at a boarding school, never to see him again. I just hope there will be someone out here that will love him enough to make him not dig holes and not howl quite as much.

A Short Update

Mark and I are settled (sorta) in our apartment in Lyons. We are foster parents of a rottweiler puppy we named Rosco, but we are looking for a permanent home for him because we are usually gone on the weekends and cannot take him. I will post pictures of him, Buster, our apartment and our wedding later. We are doing fine in Lyons, but there is not a whole lot to do around here. Marriage is fun so far, but we feel more like we are playing house than acting like mature married people.

Leaving What I Know

Starting around the time when I was in middle school, I would pray for my husband. I had a long laundry list of things that I wanted in a husband, down to his height, eye color, hair color, profession, demeanor, etc. I would fall asleep before I rattled off everything, but I am sure that God turned His attention elsewhere before I did. As I got older, I would pray that my current boyfriend would change this or that about his personality so that he could be well-suited for husband material. These were not small character flaws; I would ask for things only God could do, like "Please make him stop selling drugs," or "Please make him stop living in his parents' house," or "Please make him stop shouting profanities at me when he gets mad."

A few years ago, I was dating someone who I thought was the person I was supposed to marry. When I realized that God had not made him stop shouting profanities at me or even love me more (which was another fervent prayer I often did), I decided to change my approach. I prayed that God would take him away if he was not supposed to be mine. This changed my perspective from holding on tightly to the wrong person to releasing the wrong person and allowing the right person to find me. It sounded like a huge move in the faith department, and I guess it was, but when God did take him from me, I was devastated. I had a lot of emotional grief to work through and a lot of soul-searching, but eventually, I did work through it.

After that, I would immediately start praying that prayer when I met someone. That way, I always knew that I was with the right person for the moment, and that if we broke up, God was going to provide me with someone better. When Mark and I found each other in April, I started praying that prayer. We decided that we really were not in the right mindset to date someone, so that provided an opportunity for us to become closer friends than I had ever had with a guy. We told each other things about our lives that we had never really revealed to anyone else, and when we realized that we still had feelings for each other after all of that, we knew we had to be together. I was so skeptical of him from the beginning. I had always liked him in school, but he just did not seem to be the person I had been praying for all of these years. I thought that his genuine care and compassion was an act, his good-humored nature was fleeting, and his love for me was a scam. I realized, finally, that I knew nothing about love or relationships, and God knew that, so he completely ignored my laundry list and gave me exactly what I needed, not asked for.

The process of dating, becoming engaged, and marrying my husband made me realize that I don't know a lot more than I know about myself, relationships, God, and life in general. I do know that God's plan for me defies my logic, is better than anything I could have asked for, and definitely includes Mark. In two days, I am moving to Lyons, GA. We will be there for five months, then we move to Roanoke, VA for six weeks, then we are moving to Los Angeles for a year. If we love it, we will stay longer. If we hate it, we will come back to Lyons because Mark has his job secured after this next year. We don't know how we are going to accomplish any of it, but we are planning on looking out for the path that God has set for us. We both have realized that making a laundry list for God to fulfill limits what He can do for you. It is hard to come to terms with the fact that God does not need you to help Him guide your path in life. Thank God I don't have that ability.

Our Wedding Photos

Here are some pictures of the Ray-Stokes union on December 26th. Mark's brother, Luke, took all of the photos for us and his dad performed the ceremony. I will put some more on the blog later.

Becoming an Honest Woman

Mark and I decided on the 22nd to get married on the 26th, so we are officially married. It was a small ceremony with just our immediate families attending. Our grandmothers didn't even find out until the day after. Mark and I really wanted to be together and we didn't see the point in staying apart just so we could plan a wedding. We are planning a big bash in February to allow everybody to come and celebrate our love for one another. I am sorry if this hurts anybody's feelings, but we couldn't stay apart anymore. We are still technically on our honeymoon, so I will write more later (and post some pictures).

Yuck!

These are the proofs I got from the company that was taking pictures at the graduation on Saturday. There is nothing worse than seeing a picture of yourself looking disgustingly fat. I can't play my old smoke-and-mirrors game in that black sack. Yuck!

p.s. I am excited that I graduated, but these pictures are not fun.

The End of the Long, Winding Road

This morning was the first morning when I woke up, I thought, "Holy Crap, I am graduating in two days." I have been so stressed out that I haven't had time to really focus and think about what huge milestone this is.

I can barely remember the first day of my college career. I had just turned 18 a few days before and my first class was at 8 a.m. It was Music Theory, a class that I had not qualified for, but my music professor did not want me to fall behind, so he forced me to take it. I dropped out of it, without withdrawing from it, giving me my first "F" ever. I really didn't care though. I hated college, and I really didn't want to go through with it.

Fast forward to two years later, my music professor had felt up me and every other attractive music major and moved to Indiana because there were rumors that he was having an affair with a band member. I decided that school was not for me since I cried every day. I got a job at a bank and that was my first full-time job. I did that for a semester, then quickly signed up for classes the next semester. I was decided to become a Spanish major, so I signed up for Spanish 1001, which was the first Spanish class I had ever taken. I took two years of French in high school, and was awesome in it, but all of the French classes were 8 a.m. classes, so I went for Spanish. I had high hopes of being trilingual. I had a clue that Spanish was not my major when my Spanish teacher laughed when he found out I had declared it.

Then I became discouraged and became a General Studies major, until my boss in University Relations told me that I had a real talent for writing, so I changed to English Communications. Now, I am finally graduating after five and a half years. It feels great, but I feel like I should have a Master's instead of a Bachelor's degree. I feel exhausted and ready to search for what I really want to do in life. This is my new venture. Having Mark by my side and a small sense of security really helps.

I Might Hate This Week

Yesterday I did some intensive reading about Joyce, and even though I don't have the best handle on him, I get some of it. I feel somewhat better about him, and I really do like his work. It is just really compact, leaving it hard to unravel and research. I think my thesis will go something like this: "The female characters represent a part of Gabriel's struggle with Ireland, with his wife, Gretta, representing the purest part of Ireland, and through her he realizes that by hating Ireland, he loses the purest part of himself." Or something like that anyway. The paper is due tomorrow, but I have done all of my research, so it is just a matter of putting it all together today. Wish me luck.

But, I still hate Spanish, and in about an hour I am going to have to tell a story in Spanish that I have yet to memorize. I don't really give a ham sandwich about it anymore.

Oh, and I start my period on Wednesday. Nice.

I Hate This Week

I just want to say that I hate this week: December 2 through December 9. If I don't jump off of a building, I will graduate next Saturday.

I also hate James Joyce, people too scared to write anything academic about him, British Literature teachers who give two papers during finals week, and the Norton Anthology for adding Joyce to the book.

I hate Spanish 4, memorizing Spanish stories, and anything subjunctive.

I hate Fitzgerald and T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," and Ezra Pound. And, no, I don't think that April is the cruelest month.

I hate teachers who do not teach a single thing all semester. I hate the financial aid department at Armstrong. (They didn't do anything recently, but they are sorry in the general sense.)

I hate the campus police who insist on giving me tickets when I refuse to buy a $50 decal for one more semester. It's non-sensical. It's nunsense.

That's all for now.

Directionally Challenged

I have always been very aware of my surroundings. It could be that my parents always taught me know where I am at all times in case someone tries to steal me or otherwise brutalize me in any form. Thankfully, I never had to use my navigational skills in that capacity, but I did retain that grounded feeling of always having my bearings in no time flat. New York, Dublin, and Atlanta are all very familiar places to me. I went out in a rickshaw in Mumbai by myself when I was 17 and didn't feel at all worried, and I always knew where my hotel was in relation to where I was. I think I have made my point.

However, when it comes to the direction that I want my life to go, the directions elude me. Mark and I have been talking a lot about this aimlessness I sometimes possess because it gets more complicated when your muffled directions cause another person's pristine guide to their life to become not so clear. Since Mark and I are going to Hollins University for the summer, he suggested that I enroll in some creative writing classes. Hollins is one of the best creative writing programs in the nation (or the world, as Mark says), so I would probably get a lot out of it. The best part is that the application process is very much portfolio based, which is good for me because my GPA and my GRE scores indicate that I have a mental handicap. So, if I want to be considered for the program (whether it be creative writing, children's literature, playwriting, or screenwriting), I have to have a banging portfolio.

This leads to the problem: my portfolio stinks. I haven't written anything worth looking at a second time since, well, forever. Specifically, it has been at least a year since I have written anything in any sort of structured or peer-reviewed atmosphere. I have a perfect opportunity to write and get feedback from excellent writers and well-read academic critical thinkers with my blog, but I am afraid of the people I truly care about on this planet thinking that I have no talent. But, this is an opportunity to produce writing (which is what I want to do) and get feedback, and I have the motivation of a graduate school application deadline (January 6 for creative writing and February 15 for all the others).

So, I am going to start posting poems, prose, non-fiction and sometimes self-deprecating works. I am working on a poem that borders on children's literature, but I just got too scared to post it yet. Maybe tomorrow.

What makes an executive producer?

Let me give some background information to this post. Mark is making his first documentary on Dub Taylor, a prolific Western actor who is not known by his name, but is known by his face and laugh. Ever since we reconnected in April, he has been making connections and doing the groundwork for a successful documentary.

Shortly after we started dating officially in July, I was able to go with him and his "executive producer," James, to an interview with Dixie Carter and Buck Taylor. I was his rock, his one source of sanity throughout the trip because everyone else was annoying at times.

The next time he set up an interview in Augusta, I dutifully went with him on two separate occasions and charmed the pants off of a handful of old cowboys. Could Mark have done that by himself? I think not.

Then, I provided resources for Mark to interview David Zucker when he came to Savannah. Sure, "James the executive producer" went with him and provided a camera for B-roll footage, but I gave Mark directions and we all know how priceless good directions are for Mark.

However, where was James when Mark set up an interview with Bobby Copeland, a western writer? Not in Oak Ridge, TN (home of the nuclear bomb). I was up at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday, on the first day of my period with cramps that would crush a watermelon, feeding Tylenol Sinus to Mark and Midol to myself and driving all the way home in the middle of the night. That, my friends, is dedication.

I thought it was time to negotiate an executive producer credit after all of this hard work, but Mark said that executive producers give $2000 to the project. Where is James's $2000? I think that if we totalled up all of the love and support and time I have INVESTED in this project, there would be more than enough to suffice the requirements needed to be an executive producer.

Totally Unrelated to All Things Wedding

I have really enjoyed my survey classes of British and American Lit. I just wanted to share some of my favorites that I have been reading lately.

This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

In a Station of the Metro
by Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Leda and the Swan
by W. B. Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

The Red Wheelbarrow
by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

A Kink in the Plan

Bad news, ladies. I looked at the dress that is shown below for the bridesmaid dress in person, and it looks ghetto. There is a mesh overlay on the dress. Not cute, wispy mesh; stretchy eighties mesh. So, I found some alternatives. We still have a couple of months, so we can keep looking if these don't suit your fancy.

Step Four (Getting Annoyed with the Title Yet?)

I don't have a photo with this post because I just bought my wedding gown last night. The dress had been discontinued the week before, so I grabbed it because it was my perfect size (without needing alterations) and now it is in an undisclosed location. Okay, it's at Mom's. It's gorgeous and I am happy with it. The best part is that I got it 65% off of the original price. Am I a bargain shopper or what?

Another thing is that I am not sure if we should do the carriage thing because it will be hot and we might all smell like horse butt. I could be distracted because I have a keen sense of smell. Instead, I might get a room in a bed and breakfast right in front of the wedding site so that I can watch how the set-up is progressing, and then everybody can get ready there and just walk across the street. What do you think about that?

Step Three

Here are a couple of pictures that I found of bouquets that I liked. The first one would be mine, with a variation. I would want green hydrangeas instead of the green flower shown in the photo. The second picture is the blue hydrangea bouquet I want the bridesmaids to have.

Also, I have a website on theknot.com that is pretty ghetto now because I haven't done a lot to it yet, but I will try to continue to update it as best as I can. If you have time, you can go look at it.

http://weddings.theknot.com/pwp/view/co_main.aspx?coupleid=3294284493412050

Step Two

We have picked the location for the wedding and the time. The wedding will be held at 2:30 p.m., June 2,2007 at Forsyth Park. I paid for the location today. I think that we are moving along nicely with the wedding plans. I have found a wedding planner and I am going to meet with her on Wednesday and have possibly found a photographer. Keep your fingers crossed! I also made an appointment to go to a secret bridal gown shop in Savannah on Saturday. Hopefully I will find a dress that is not a fortune and makes me want to take pictures in it. I am starting to get excited about the ceremony! (I have always been excited about the marriage part...I hope that goes without saying.)

Step One (with many more to come)

PREFACE: You know that feeling of frustration and hopelessness when you obssess about something that you have no ultimate control over? That is the surprising feeling that I have about this wedding. Of course I am happy about the MARRIAGE part of it, but the wedding, not so much. I know that when I arrive there on that day, it will be beautiful, but I am so frustrated. Okay, I know, poor me, I am getting married, I am so destitute, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, it is pretty hard to pull this thing together. The hardest parts are not knowing what to choose. I didn't grow up knowing exactly where I wanted to get married and how it was going to look like. I think it has evolved so much that now I am confused.

MAIN POINT: Here is the only thing that is (tenatively) agreed upon: the bridesmaid's dress. I wanted a chocolate brown, tea length dress that could be worn again and that wasn't very expensive. I think that this is a lovely choice.

A Kiss from a Bee

Today, I was walking through Armstrong and thinking that it is a shame that most of the students do not take the time to appreciate the beauty that is found in the flower gardens on campus. I was taking my time, observing the curve of the leaves and the pointed petals that multiplied on the prettiest flower I have ever seen. I wanted to take one, to keep it near me because of the stark beauty it held as butterflies flickered among the thick stems and delicate petals.

My mind wandered to a subject that has been the priority in my life lately: my wedding. I considered the flower again and decided that this flower was indeed very bridal. Happy with my discovery, I smiled and continued walking to class. My mind continued to float along, thinking about my wedding and how excited I am to be with Mark. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a black figure flying beside me. I didn't pay much attention at first because there were tons of butterflies all around. After a while, my dark friend had not left my side, so I looked closer to see what he looked like. I was expecting a beautiful, ebony butterfly. I was startled when I realized it was a bee. I jerked my hand a few inches away, but froze as the bee came towards my hand. I was worried that it would sting me, but it brushed the back of my hand and flew away.

There has been a difference in my awareness of nature ever since my father passed away a few weeks ago. If this moment with the bee had occurred a few months ago, I wouldn't have thought of it again. Now, I look out for signs that my dad is still around, and it humored me that he could appear in my life as a friendly bee. Bees usually frighten me, which I express through anger, swatting the air and frowning. Today I was more startled than afraid and it was nice to have a friend accompany me to class. It made me glad that my dad would pop up when I was thinking about my wedding, and I told him, in my mind, that I wished he could be there with me on that day. As I walked through the door, out of the warm sun, I promised myself to watch out for bees in June.