I was brought up in a very open, rural countryside in the middle of nowhere. There were no cell phones. If your lights went out, you were lit by candlelight for a good four days before they can get to you. And so, my imagination was crazy.
In the week following Sandy, we weren't flooded, but we were without everything else - I ended up living by candlelight - no phones, no computers, no light, no power. If we took a walk at night to go and find something to eat, it was completely black, with no lights coming out of the windows, no street lights: a very apocalyptic feeling.
My job stays the same, whether we're acting by candlelight, against a green screen, or on a stage somewhere. Which is just as well, because I really couldn't do anything else.
My dad grew up in a mud hut and studied by candlelight. He was 14 when he got a scholarship to Russia. He was super clever - the cleverest person. He landed in 5ft of snow, and was alone at 14, studying science and engineering. He didn't have a bed, and he slept on a table.
Do-gooders are easily overlooked. We're supposed to be soft, touchy-feely types, who wear Birkenstocks, compost everything, and write poetry by candlelight.
As a child, I felt that Hallowe'en was a time when creatures of the night suddenly came to life - we would turn off all the lights in the house and let flickering candlelight conjure up scary shadows and create the effect of imaginary figures lurking in dark corners.
I go on walks during lunch breaks and travel with a fold-up yoga mat. I also love reading by candlelight at night.
I grew up on a mountain in Tennessee, and my brothers and I love to go to The Mountain Opry when we are home. There is alway an abundance of laughter and joy, and anyone can get up on stage and dance and sing. My family also goes to a candlelight service at church on Christmas Eve. It's such a wonderful way to spend the night before Christmas.
Funny you mention my dinner parties when I have just suggested that inviting close friends over to share a meal with candlelight and wine at your table could be a form of religious experience for some people. To me it's a form of sacrament.
Cale: I need a pass for my daughter.
Jenna: John...
Cale: Look, no, no, you don't understand. Okay? Look, she's a freak for all this kind of stuff, so if I get her in, I'm, like, Dad of the Year. All right? And I will owe you so much more than just a candlelight dinner.
