I have let most of the month of January go without the dreaded blog about resolutions, probably because they are pretty banal--lose weight, get more sleep, write more, exercise more, find a meaningful day job and not something that feels like running a cheese grater over my brain, etc.
For sure, there's plenty to work on--but the one resolution I keep--and one that everyone can benefit from--is to count blessings regularly. It's easy to get caught up in negativity--and even if it increases the number of hits to my blog, (eye roll, sigh) it really isn't where I live. Counting blessings keeps me grounded.
I am blessed. I have good health, and I love life.
My family is awesome. I have teenage sons who are easy to get along with, and really make me proud of them for having good sense (most of the time) and their eyes on the future, not just the present. I feel blessed that we actually have long conversations and laugh together a lot.
I am blessed that I have been married for a looooong time and it doesn't feel like it. I married the best guy, and I am amazed by him constantly for his wisdom, good sense, and wicked sense of humor. He's also a much better cook than I am.
I am blessed with a great Dad who is doing really well since my mom passed away. He's working, staying active, and jokes about cruising for chicks when he's going to the public library.
I am blessed that my in-laws all great people, and they have never once fit the stereotypes.
I am blessed that I can run again, and in yoga I can bend all the way down to put my hands flat on the floor. After a debilitating back injury a couple years ago, I can't tell you how much this makes me happy.
I am blessed to work with such awesome people on my side job with the high school speech and debate team. I feel blessed that we are focused on the development of the students instead of just priming them for competition. We develop good speakers and actors and debaters, not good forensicators. (Though it is nice when they win anyway. I won't deny that we've been ranked one of the top 100 teams in the nation out of 3000.) It is a blessing to teach kids who want to be there, and to watch them grow from uncertain children to outstanding adults. It's nice to know that sometimes, they let us know we had an influence on their lives in profound ways.
I am super blessed to have the support and freedom to pursue passions such as theatre, music and art. I can't always be as involved as I would like to be, because life/work/family happens, but there is still room, and I am so grateful! Right now I am so excited to be rehearsing a show with a new script so beautifully written it made me cry, and it's being directed by a person who is truly a genius.
Blessings lift you, and reminding yourself of them keeps the eye on what really is important. Life is very, very good.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Growing growing growing
Yesterday I took my youngest to buy clothes. This is a remarkably rare thing--he doesn't care if he's wearing hand me downs, and still doesn't really care about his appearance. However, he's in a tremendous growth spurt, and we don't have any hand me down pants in his current size since his brother is still wearing his gangsta style to make the legs fit. (Honestly, I would like to take him shopping too.)
I was waiting for my youngest outside the dressing room, and it occurred to me as I looked around that this was probably one of the last times, if not THE last time I would be taking him to shop in the boys section of the store. The boy has grown to be one inch taller than me, and this is just the beginning.
I am now not only the only female (besides the cat) in the house, but I'm now also the shortest person in the house (besides that cat and the bird.)
The bittersweet side is that everyone is growing up. The up side is, I will soon have an excellent wardrobe of hand me down hoodies, jackets, and sweatshirts.
I was waiting for my youngest outside the dressing room, and it occurred to me as I looked around that this was probably one of the last times, if not THE last time I would be taking him to shop in the boys section of the store. The boy has grown to be one inch taller than me, and this is just the beginning.
I am now not only the only female (besides the cat) in the house, but I'm now also the shortest person in the house (besides that cat and the bird.)
The bittersweet side is that everyone is growing up. The up side is, I will soon have an excellent wardrobe of hand me down hoodies, jackets, and sweatshirts.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Shall I be blunt...
As a youngster, I was often tactless in how I would convey my opinions. I had to learn through hard lessons and trial and error how to diplomatically convey my concerns with grace through many years of practice. I became really good at this as a sales manager, and use my skills to this day guiding my high school students.
I have been mostly successful in this, but lately, I have lost patience with some people and found myself reverting to blunt, frank expression for getting people's attention--or at least catharsis when at wit's end with otherwise smart people who are being too arrogant, too brainwashed or too idiotic. It has surprised me, because I have been out of this mode for a long time, and it only comes out with certainty on my part that disaster, minor or major is imminent. Pay attention if I am blunt with you. I don't do it easily or lightly, and I mean business, and I only do it if I AM RIGHT and you must be heading for disaster.
Here is the update to my previous post. I was probably too quickly blunt with that artistic director, but by damn, his script was a mess, frighteningly so, and it was not close to being ready for anything. I was frightened for them, really. These are not bad people. I WANT them to succeed. Sure enough, the reviews are terrible so far, and the blame for the show's failure are all being laid right on his doorstep as writer and director and no one else's. The critics could be reading my words to him EXACTLY from three months ago because they are now being brutally blunt, publicly. I was 100% right, and now his show is in jeopardy, as is his reputation, as is his theatre company (update--A grant came in. Bad show will only be a bummer. Whew.) He should have listened to me. Small comfort. This does not bring me happiness at all (except that the grant came in so they aren't ruined.)
I had another occasion this week where bluntness happened, because being compassionate an understanding didn't get anywhere and time is running out. I have a friend who is allowing themself to be pulled around by their nose by a cute looking psychopath who knows how to spin a mean mindfuck, and I can just see a really, really bad situation is just about to happen. It's like seeing someone is speeding in their car towards a brick wall, and all I can do is shout, "WATCH OUT YOU IDIOT!!!!!!!" And hope they steers away in time. I was completely blunt with the facts, which caught that person off guard, and I hope to God they got shaken out of their stupor in time to get away from a bad situation.
I don't feel that verbal "blunt force trauma" will or should become a habit. It really isn't pleasant for either party, though I am probably getting the better end of the deal. I feel like a crude Cassandra. For them, they got straight facts forcefully snapping them awake, and if they listen, good. If not, they have to deal with knowing I warned them, and now they have to pay a steep price.
I have been mostly successful in this, but lately, I have lost patience with some people and found myself reverting to blunt, frank expression for getting people's attention--or at least catharsis when at wit's end with otherwise smart people who are being too arrogant, too brainwashed or too idiotic. It has surprised me, because I have been out of this mode for a long time, and it only comes out with certainty on my part that disaster, minor or major is imminent. Pay attention if I am blunt with you. I don't do it easily or lightly, and I mean business, and I only do it if I AM RIGHT and you must be heading for disaster.
Here is the update to my previous post. I was probably too quickly blunt with that artistic director, but by damn, his script was a mess, frighteningly so, and it was not close to being ready for anything. I was frightened for them, really. These are not bad people. I WANT them to succeed. Sure enough, the reviews are terrible so far, and the blame for the show's failure are all being laid right on his doorstep as writer and director and no one else's. The critics could be reading my words to him EXACTLY from three months ago because they are now being brutally blunt, publicly. I was 100% right, and now his show is in jeopardy, as is his reputation, as is his theatre company (update--A grant came in. Bad show will only be a bummer. Whew.) He should have listened to me. Small comfort. This does not bring me happiness at all (except that the grant came in so they aren't ruined.)
I had another occasion this week where bluntness happened, because being compassionate an understanding didn't get anywhere and time is running out. I have a friend who is allowing themself to be pulled around by their nose by a cute looking psychopath who knows how to spin a mean mindfuck, and I can just see a really, really bad situation is just about to happen. It's like seeing someone is speeding in their car towards a brick wall, and all I can do is shout, "WATCH OUT YOU IDIOT!!!!!!!" And hope they steers away in time. I was completely blunt with the facts, which caught that person off guard, and I hope to God they got shaken out of their stupor in time to get away from a bad situation.
I don't feel that verbal "blunt force trauma" will or should become a habit. It really isn't pleasant for either party, though I am probably getting the better end of the deal. I feel like a crude Cassandra. For them, they got straight facts forcefully snapping them awake, and if they listen, good. If not, they have to deal with knowing I warned them, and now they have to pay a steep price.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Minor drama, for sure.
Here's an "easter egg" for anyone who is looking for dirt on a certain little "drama" unfolding in my life.
Early last year I was asked to be on the board of directors for this theatre company. I thought it might be an interesting project, but what the position entailed was never really defined, so it became frustrating.
I decided to leave when offered a part in one of the productions that happened to be written by the artistic director. This was a show that had not been shown to the board, mostly because it hadn't been written yet. I read the working draft of the show and to put it nicely, "it needed a LOT of work." It was 4 hours long and still unfinished. Plotting and characters were hard to follow and undefined. Lots of women naked and brutalized for "edginess" out of sheer misogyny and not to make a statement or more importantly, move the plot forward. I also couldn't tell who his target audience was or even what the story was really about. It was a mess.
I got "into dialogue" with the artistic director, and apparently it didn't matter what anyone said to him, it was "all going to work itself out in rehearsal." He "didn't believe" in staged readings or "feedback" before going into full production.
Being a veteran actor of one too many plays that were half finished at the beginning of the rehearsal period, I knew this was a recipe for disaster. I didn't want to be viewed as responsible for allowing it to commence (though it had in truth, never been offered for review before production, nor had we approved it as a group anyway as a new show.)
So, I quit. Wrote a friendly, tactful resignation letter. I feel sometimes people have to be allowed to make their own mistakes, and it isn't up to me help them find money or support to pay for it.
About a month ago, the artistic director must have thought that my quitting would make a great publicity angle. I'm not really sure why. I was asked for a statement, and I made a very bland, boring one; that I felt producing the show that I was shown as a mistake, my concerns were not listened to, so as a volunteer, I quit. It's one thing to have a strong difference with someone, it's quite another let him use you for some bullshit PR move. Pressed for more details, I declined.
The article came out this past week, and since I was declined to elaborate, the artistic director decided to give the magazine my resignation letter for fodder. UPDATE: This was a misguided but apparently not malicious move on the part of the assistant artistic director. Resignation letters are internal communication, and not for broadcast. They did not ask my permission. It doesn't make me look bad, it makes them look questionable for giving it over after I refused to comment. I had phrased everything in that letter pretty kindly though, so the article still didn't have much "controversy" to it.
The show opens this weekend. With the weirdo publicity angle, he has already cast doubt on his own show. This is not a good thing to do. It's still over 3 hours long. The publicity stills popping up on Facebook make everyone look lost. The set is relentlessly orange and brown, and so are the costumes. I have little hope that this is going to turn out well.
So, that has been my ordeal of "swirling controversy." Stay tuned for more "drama" as it happens.
Early last year I was asked to be on the board of directors for this theatre company. I thought it might be an interesting project, but what the position entailed was never really defined, so it became frustrating.
I decided to leave when offered a part in one of the productions that happened to be written by the artistic director. This was a show that had not been shown to the board, mostly because it hadn't been written yet. I read the working draft of the show and to put it nicely, "it needed a LOT of work." It was 4 hours long and still unfinished. Plotting and characters were hard to follow and undefined. Lots of women naked and brutalized for "edginess" out of sheer misogyny and not to make a statement or more importantly, move the plot forward. I also couldn't tell who his target audience was or even what the story was really about. It was a mess.
I got "into dialogue" with the artistic director, and apparently it didn't matter what anyone said to him, it was "all going to work itself out in rehearsal." He "didn't believe" in staged readings or "feedback" before going into full production.
Being a veteran actor of one too many plays that were half finished at the beginning of the rehearsal period, I knew this was a recipe for disaster. I didn't want to be viewed as responsible for allowing it to commence (though it had in truth, never been offered for review before production, nor had we approved it as a group anyway as a new show.)
So, I quit. Wrote a friendly, tactful resignation letter. I feel sometimes people have to be allowed to make their own mistakes, and it isn't up to me help them find money or support to pay for it.
About a month ago, the artistic director must have thought that my quitting would make a great publicity angle. I'm not really sure why. I was asked for a statement, and I made a very bland, boring one; that I felt producing the show that I was shown as a mistake, my concerns were not listened to, so as a volunteer, I quit. It's one thing to have a strong difference with someone, it's quite another let him use you for some bullshit PR move. Pressed for more details, I declined.
The article came out this past week, and since I was declined to elaborate, the artistic director decided to give the magazine my resignation letter for fodder. UPDATE: This was a misguided but apparently not malicious move on the part of the assistant artistic director. Resignation letters are internal communication, and not for broadcast. They did not ask my permission. It doesn't make me look bad, it makes them look questionable for giving it over after I refused to comment. I had phrased everything in that letter pretty kindly though, so the article still didn't have much "controversy" to it.
The show opens this weekend. With the weirdo publicity angle, he has already cast doubt on his own show. This is not a good thing to do. It's still over 3 hours long. The publicity stills popping up on Facebook make everyone look lost. The set is relentlessly orange and brown, and so are the costumes. I have little hope that this is going to turn out well.
So, that has been my ordeal of "swirling controversy." Stay tuned for more "drama" as it happens.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Christmas and New Years!
Christmas was hard, as expected, but because we limped along with what we have always done, I think it made it easier on the whole family in the long run. Having one important person missing was change enough, totally changing everything else we do would have been traumatic.
New Years Eve, my nuclear family exchanges gifts as if it was Christmas Day. This started back when my husband and I were first married and couldn't afford to fly back to Ohio and do family presents, then also give each other gifts as well. We decided that we would celebrate our Christmas one month later. It ended up working so well, we've been doing the later holiday ever since.
As we get older, we aren't going all out on gifts to each other. We have enough "stuff." So, now we do small things like edible treats, and replacement items. This year, Dan got me a microwave. The one we have is 15 years old and rusting. He made it special by wrapping the new one up, and singing me the Sun TV "I Got Me a Microwave Oven" jingle from about 20-25 years ago. It's probably up there in most annoying radio jingles--it's catchy, and back when they were running it, ubiquitous. Ask anyone who grew up in Central Ohio during the 80s and 90s--they can sing it for you.
With a polka-esque gusto:
"I got me a microwave oven/a gift for my family!!!!
My wife loves her microwave oven/she says that it sets her free!!!!!
It cooks up so much faster and better/and uses less energy!!!!!
I got me a microwave oven/I got it at Sun TV!!!!!
Don't you be a kitchen slave/get yourself a microwave!!!!!
Don't get left home on the range!!!!!
Microwave food is delicious!/ Cooks faster and more nutritious!!!!!
It's time to make the change!!!!!!
I got me a Microwave oven/ I got it at Sun TV!!!!!!"
New Years Eve was 3 days ago, and I'm still humming "I Got Me a Microwave Oven" against my will. It's a gift that keeps giving.
New Years Eve, my nuclear family exchanges gifts as if it was Christmas Day. This started back when my husband and I were first married and couldn't afford to fly back to Ohio and do family presents, then also give each other gifts as well. We decided that we would celebrate our Christmas one month later. It ended up working so well, we've been doing the later holiday ever since.
As we get older, we aren't going all out on gifts to each other. We have enough "stuff." So, now we do small things like edible treats, and replacement items. This year, Dan got me a microwave. The one we have is 15 years old and rusting. He made it special by wrapping the new one up, and singing me the Sun TV "I Got Me a Microwave Oven" jingle from about 20-25 years ago. It's probably up there in most annoying radio jingles--it's catchy, and back when they were running it, ubiquitous. Ask anyone who grew up in Central Ohio during the 80s and 90s--they can sing it for you.
With a polka-esque gusto:
"I got me a microwave oven/a gift for my family!!!!
My wife loves her microwave oven/she says that it sets her free!!!!!
It cooks up so much faster and better/and uses less energy!!!!!
I got me a microwave oven/I got it at Sun TV!!!!!
Don't you be a kitchen slave/get yourself a microwave!!!!!
Don't get left home on the range!!!!!
Microwave food is delicious!/ Cooks faster and more nutritious!!!!!
It's time to make the change!!!!!!
I got me a Microwave oven/ I got it at Sun TV!!!!!!"
New Years Eve was 3 days ago, and I'm still humming "I Got Me a Microwave Oven" against my will. It's a gift that keeps giving.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Insomnia part 2
This is a strange week. I feel an anxiety without having an actual event to think is causing it. It could be the holidays, but actually, I am pretty cool with them, even looking forward to whatever they bring. This year, it's really up in the air, because usually we go out to Ohio and my Dad is still not sure if he wants to deal with the whole family holiday crap without Mom. I'm ambivalent as well, but I would like to have my Dad out here, if not for New Years then for President's Day.
I can't believe the evil going on in Washington DC with the Bush tax credits being extended to everyone, even the super rich. I thought they were stupid when they were instituted, I thought they were stupid when we had two wars to fund, and I think their stupid now. Not rescinding at this time for the middle and lower class makes sense, since that gets put right back into the economy, but the rich? They only saved their tax savings and not put it back in to the economy, so why give it to them right now? These are individuals, not businesses, so it isn't like a lot of jobs are going to come out of them.
Republicans are evil to again deny medical coverage for first responders of 9/11. EVIL EVIL EVIL. Users and EVIL. Self serving and EVIL.
I can't believe the evil going on in Washington DC with the Bush tax credits being extended to everyone, even the super rich. I thought they were stupid when they were instituted, I thought they were stupid when we had two wars to fund, and I think their stupid now. Not rescinding at this time for the middle and lower class makes sense, since that gets put right back into the economy, but the rich? They only saved their tax savings and not put it back in to the economy, so why give it to them right now? These are individuals, not businesses, so it isn't like a lot of jobs are going to come out of them.
Republicans are evil to again deny medical coverage for first responders of 9/11. EVIL EVIL EVIL. Users and EVIL. Self serving and EVIL.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Insomia
Tonight I will try not to wake up in the middle of the night and dwell over the tax cuts for the rich/Republicans hate America debacle. It's not up to me to resolve.
I will not fantasize about telling off all the fat old white rich men in Congress.
I will not yell in my mind at people whom I think are stupid or are acting stupidly.
I will not worry about global warming, economic ruin and the impending loss of fossil fuels.
I will just go to sleep, and tomorrow, I will work on stuff I can control.
I will not fantasize about telling off all the fat old white rich men in Congress.
I will not yell in my mind at people whom I think are stupid or are acting stupidly.
I will not worry about global warming, economic ruin and the impending loss of fossil fuels.
I will just go to sleep, and tomorrow, I will work on stuff I can control.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Why I don't like Indiana
Drove though Indiana twice within the past 7 days. I don't like Indiana. It creeps me out. Here is why:
1. Basketball worship.
2. So darn flat. Makes one ready to get out of there, away from the unrelenting corn fields and plentiful pig farms.
3. The place breeds inchoately unpleasant people. Pale, taciturn boys in the college speech circuit liked to make excuses to touch me with clammy hands (hand shaking in greeting or touching my arm while passing) and never made eye contact. Lately, I have met several women whom I would classify as borderline personalities who delight in wrecking the lives of others. All three were from Indiana. Coincidence? (Probably. But they're terrible ambassadors.) Many nice people come from Indiana too, but they generally move away.
4. Cross the border from Ohio to Indiana, and suddenly you are assaulted with overt and rather hostile Christian billboards all the way to Illinois. Would you convert for "JESUS IS REAL." "JESUS IS WATCHING YOU" "WE ARE A CHRISTIAN NATION" over an angry looking bald eagle and "DO YOU KNOW HOW YOU ARE SPENDING ETERNITY? DO YOU?" There are several roadside crosses vying for most obnoxiously monolithic. Today, when we stopped for Skyline Chili, the restaurant was playing nothing but Christian praise songs. I'm pretty sure that isn't part of the corporate image. It's also one of the most relentlessly monotonous music archtypes one can inflict upon others. I did eat faster, and maybe that was the point.
The thing is, I am Christian, and I was offended by the heavy hammer of fundamentalists in Indiana. I don't like being pounded on the head with it. I don't want to be associated with people who think relentless propaganda is love.
5. Indiana never lets you know if a rest stop has been closed until you walk up to the restroom building. Bastards!
1. Basketball worship.
2. So darn flat. Makes one ready to get out of there, away from the unrelenting corn fields and plentiful pig farms.
3. The place breeds inchoately unpleasant people. Pale, taciturn boys in the college speech circuit liked to make excuses to touch me with clammy hands (hand shaking in greeting or touching my arm while passing) and never made eye contact. Lately, I have met several women whom I would classify as borderline personalities who delight in wrecking the lives of others. All three were from Indiana. Coincidence? (Probably. But they're terrible ambassadors.) Many nice people come from Indiana too, but they generally move away.
4. Cross the border from Ohio to Indiana, and suddenly you are assaulted with overt and rather hostile Christian billboards all the way to Illinois. Would you convert for "JESUS IS REAL." "JESUS IS WATCHING YOU" "WE ARE A CHRISTIAN NATION" over an angry looking bald eagle and "DO YOU KNOW HOW YOU ARE SPENDING ETERNITY? DO YOU?" There are several roadside crosses vying for most obnoxiously monolithic. Today, when we stopped for Skyline Chili, the restaurant was playing nothing but Christian praise songs. I'm pretty sure that isn't part of the corporate image. It's also one of the most relentlessly monotonous music archtypes one can inflict upon others. I did eat faster, and maybe that was the point.
The thing is, I am Christian, and I was offended by the heavy hammer of fundamentalists in Indiana. I don't like being pounded on the head with it. I don't want to be associated with people who think relentless propaganda is love.
5. Indiana never lets you know if a rest stop has been closed until you walk up to the restroom building. Bastards!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
What's going on, what goes on...
I haven't blogged for a while because life has been happening. Also, I configured my cookie permission thingy in the computer in such a way I couldn't access Blogger for a while. It didn't really matter, I didn't feel very chatty anyway.
Back in August, my Mom passed away suddenly. It was a triple whammy of a cancerous lung tumor pushing against her heart to give her a heart attack, that broke apart and spread a clot, that caused a stroke and caused several organs to start failing. Or, the cancer had spread to her brain and caused a stroke, and the blood clots were just a bonus. Anyway, it was incredibly rapid and now she is gone.
I feel I was very fortunate that I could get into town fast enough that I was able to see her while she was still able to see me and recognize me, and we could talk a little. I could tell her I loved her, and she told me she loved me. She knew I was there.
I also feel fortunate that we were able to be friends for many, many years, since she was through menopause and I was through adolescence. We had time to bond as mothers and as friends, and I will always cherish that.
The first month after she passed, I just hermited myself. I cried almost every day. Unloading the dishwasher made me sad, because that is when I would call her. I didn't really feel like auditioning, I didn't feel like going out. I didn't socialize. After about a month, I felt ready to face the world, and since then, I have been functioning pretty well. However, it doesn't take much for me to get choked up at a moment's notice, and it's always unexpected.
All it takes is someone talking about their mom, or a song or a poem, a smell, or seeing something in a store or a show that she would like, to start a little breakdown.
A couple weeks ago, Peggy, my voice teacher, and I were going through the songs of Phantom of the Opera, since I have been asked to sing it whenever I go back to Columbus at the karaoke my brother and I frequent. She started playing the song, "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" and one phrase into it, I started sobbing so hard I thought my eyes would fall out. It totally took me by surprise, but Peggy understood. She's 75, and has lost a lot of people out of her life. She knows how it goes.
Last week, I had a speech student start working on performing a poem called "The Smell of Oranges" by J.J. Jonas, which is about the son of a fruit seller. Because my student is just 15 years old, he really didn't get at first that it was a love and remembrance poem of the father, whom the son loved dearly. He just saw the grousing about the father from the point of view of an adolescent remembrance part of the poem. The student didn't understand the adult perspective. When the father died, the son then craved the scent of oranges that reminded him of his father's hands. The student asked how he should interpret that section. I read it for him, and of course, tears sprung into my eyes reading the last passage. It was kind of embarrassing, but I was able to talk to him about how things that annoyed you become cherished, and the kind of longing and nostalgia this creates. (He totally got it, and came in First at the tournament this weekend with his newly informed poetry interpretation. It is a lovely poem, you should look it up.)
My Dad is mourning in all the normal ways one mourns for a wife and friend of 50 years. He seems to be progressing very well, all things considered. I now call him just about every day, even if nothing is going on. My Dad and I have always been close, and closer in personality and likes than my Mom and I were, so it's great to have a reason to be in contact more often anyway. I am hoping he will come spend some time here with me for a while, but he isn't ready to go traveling yet. There's a cocooning stage to mourning, and the house with her and all her stuff is a nice and cozy place. He has moments of restlessness, but he isn't ready to head out just yet. No need to rush things, they will happen when they happen. Also, he may get a sweet consulting job back where he has worked before, and getting back to that routine would be financially gratifying, so he can't miss out on that. Tomorrow he turns 75, but doesn't act, move or look like it. I hope I do that well!
Since my Mom's passing, I feel more vulnerable, but I also feel more in touch with what's important. At first a lot of things irritated me very easily, but now I have a slower approach to getting upset, especially at other people. Perhaps because my own heart is so heavy, I find myself being much more empathetic and slower to become impatient. This is a good thing.
Some days, I miss my Mom more than others. Some days, I feel her just behind me, or I feel her soft, warm cheek on mine. I feel like in some way, she is with me, and I like that.
So, that's what's been going on, and now, I am back to this blog, with a heavier heart, but new understanding of...well, something or other. We'll find out together. I'll write again soon.
Back in August, my Mom passed away suddenly. It was a triple whammy of a cancerous lung tumor pushing against her heart to give her a heart attack, that broke apart and spread a clot, that caused a stroke and caused several organs to start failing. Or, the cancer had spread to her brain and caused a stroke, and the blood clots were just a bonus. Anyway, it was incredibly rapid and now she is gone.
I feel I was very fortunate that I could get into town fast enough that I was able to see her while she was still able to see me and recognize me, and we could talk a little. I could tell her I loved her, and she told me she loved me. She knew I was there.
I also feel fortunate that we were able to be friends for many, many years, since she was through menopause and I was through adolescence. We had time to bond as mothers and as friends, and I will always cherish that.
The first month after she passed, I just hermited myself. I cried almost every day. Unloading the dishwasher made me sad, because that is when I would call her. I didn't really feel like auditioning, I didn't feel like going out. I didn't socialize. After about a month, I felt ready to face the world, and since then, I have been functioning pretty well. However, it doesn't take much for me to get choked up at a moment's notice, and it's always unexpected.
All it takes is someone talking about their mom, or a song or a poem, a smell, or seeing something in a store or a show that she would like, to start a little breakdown.
A couple weeks ago, Peggy, my voice teacher, and I were going through the songs of Phantom of the Opera, since I have been asked to sing it whenever I go back to Columbus at the karaoke my brother and I frequent. She started playing the song, "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" and one phrase into it, I started sobbing so hard I thought my eyes would fall out. It totally took me by surprise, but Peggy understood. She's 75, and has lost a lot of people out of her life. She knows how it goes.
Last week, I had a speech student start working on performing a poem called "The Smell of Oranges" by J.J. Jonas, which is about the son of a fruit seller. Because my student is just 15 years old, he really didn't get at first that it was a love and remembrance poem of the father, whom the son loved dearly. He just saw the grousing about the father from the point of view of an adolescent remembrance part of the poem. The student didn't understand the adult perspective. When the father died, the son then craved the scent of oranges that reminded him of his father's hands. The student asked how he should interpret that section. I read it for him, and of course, tears sprung into my eyes reading the last passage. It was kind of embarrassing, but I was able to talk to him about how things that annoyed you become cherished, and the kind of longing and nostalgia this creates. (He totally got it, and came in First at the tournament this weekend with his newly informed poetry interpretation. It is a lovely poem, you should look it up.)
My Dad is mourning in all the normal ways one mourns for a wife and friend of 50 years. He seems to be progressing very well, all things considered. I now call him just about every day, even if nothing is going on. My Dad and I have always been close, and closer in personality and likes than my Mom and I were, so it's great to have a reason to be in contact more often anyway. I am hoping he will come spend some time here with me for a while, but he isn't ready to go traveling yet. There's a cocooning stage to mourning, and the house with her and all her stuff is a nice and cozy place. He has moments of restlessness, but he isn't ready to head out just yet. No need to rush things, they will happen when they happen. Also, he may get a sweet consulting job back where he has worked before, and getting back to that routine would be financially gratifying, so he can't miss out on that. Tomorrow he turns 75, but doesn't act, move or look like it. I hope I do that well!
Since my Mom's passing, I feel more vulnerable, but I also feel more in touch with what's important. At first a lot of things irritated me very easily, but now I have a slower approach to getting upset, especially at other people. Perhaps because my own heart is so heavy, I find myself being much more empathetic and slower to become impatient. This is a good thing.
Some days, I miss my Mom more than others. Some days, I feel her just behind me, or I feel her soft, warm cheek on mine. I feel like in some way, she is with me, and I like that.
So, that's what's been going on, and now, I am back to this blog, with a heavier heart, but new understanding of...well, something or other. We'll find out together. I'll write again soon.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Toy Story 3--the Story of Letting Go
Last weekend, my 14-year-old and I went to see Toy Story 3.
By the end both my son and I were in tears, and we had a hard time keeping ourselves together until we got home and could sob a little in peace. It struck both of us in a tender spot.
In the story, Andy, the boy, is getting ready to go off to college, and his mom is fussing at him to decide what he is going to throw away, donate, or put in the attic. He still has a toy box of his favorite toys, but he hasn't played with them for years. He reluctantly puts most of his faithful toys into a garbage bag to take up to the attic, but through a series of events, they nearly get thrown away and then end up getting donated to a nightmare of a daycare center. The toys escape, and try to make their way back to Andy. The journey is harrowing, exciting, intense and even has a moment where it seems that the toys are truly facing a horrifying end together.
Woody the Cowboy, Andy's favorite toy, keeps faith throughout that Andy loves his toys. In the end, Woody's faith in Andy is justified very sweetly, and all ends well.
The theme underneath it all was the difficulty of moving on, outgrowing a stage in life and moving on to the next; of leaving behind childish things, of changing relationships and honoring the past by passing on the things that are cherished instead of putting them away to be forgotten.
Both my son and I are in the process of these changes in our own lives. He still loves kid stuff, but is drawn towards teen and grown up interests. He is a very sentimental person. Even when he was 4, he had me take pictures of him with all his favorite toys "so my kids will know what I played with when I was their age." He still has his tattered baby blanket he has had since he was born under his pillow at night. We have a fair number of toys that have been boxed in the basement, too precious to give away, still visited when younger friends come over with guilty pleasure. When Andy gives the beloved toys to his 3 year old neighbor and enjoys playing with them with her one more time before wistfully leaving home for college, it just broke my son up.
I have heard from other friends that they have had similar reactions to this movie. Even those of us who have been adults for quite some time feel the visceral tug of love and longing for our own toys and childhood pastimes we have long put away. Things such as these can still resonate with as much love and comfort in memory as we put into them in the first place.
For me, well...I'm approaching the first year where I don't have a child in my house anymore--I will have 2 teenagers. And soon, within a decade, we will be on our own again. As much as enjoy the boys as they are now, a part of me wishes so much that I could have their younger selves running around too, because I have cherished their childhoods deeply, and loved every step of the way. When Andy's mom looked around his empty room before he left for college and wept, I cried too, because that day is coming sooner than I want it to.
Pixar did it again, crafting a story that resonates deeply with both adults and children in profound ways. I give it an A++ and recommend it for everyone.
By the end both my son and I were in tears, and we had a hard time keeping ourselves together until we got home and could sob a little in peace. It struck both of us in a tender spot.
In the story, Andy, the boy, is getting ready to go off to college, and his mom is fussing at him to decide what he is going to throw away, donate, or put in the attic. He still has a toy box of his favorite toys, but he hasn't played with them for years. He reluctantly puts most of his faithful toys into a garbage bag to take up to the attic, but through a series of events, they nearly get thrown away and then end up getting donated to a nightmare of a daycare center. The toys escape, and try to make their way back to Andy. The journey is harrowing, exciting, intense and even has a moment where it seems that the toys are truly facing a horrifying end together.
Woody the Cowboy, Andy's favorite toy, keeps faith throughout that Andy loves his toys. In the end, Woody's faith in Andy is justified very sweetly, and all ends well.
The theme underneath it all was the difficulty of moving on, outgrowing a stage in life and moving on to the next; of leaving behind childish things, of changing relationships and honoring the past by passing on the things that are cherished instead of putting them away to be forgotten.
Both my son and I are in the process of these changes in our own lives. He still loves kid stuff, but is drawn towards teen and grown up interests. He is a very sentimental person. Even when he was 4, he had me take pictures of him with all his favorite toys "so my kids will know what I played with when I was their age." He still has his tattered baby blanket he has had since he was born under his pillow at night. We have a fair number of toys that have been boxed in the basement, too precious to give away, still visited when younger friends come over with guilty pleasure. When Andy gives the beloved toys to his 3 year old neighbor and enjoys playing with them with her one more time before wistfully leaving home for college, it just broke my son up.
I have heard from other friends that they have had similar reactions to this movie. Even those of us who have been adults for quite some time feel the visceral tug of love and longing for our own toys and childhood pastimes we have long put away. Things such as these can still resonate with as much love and comfort in memory as we put into them in the first place.
For me, well...I'm approaching the first year where I don't have a child in my house anymore--I will have 2 teenagers. And soon, within a decade, we will be on our own again. As much as enjoy the boys as they are now, a part of me wishes so much that I could have their younger selves running around too, because I have cherished their childhoods deeply, and loved every step of the way. When Andy's mom looked around his empty room before he left for college and wept, I cried too, because that day is coming sooner than I want it to.
Pixar did it again, crafting a story that resonates deeply with both adults and children in profound ways. I give it an A++ and recommend it for everyone.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Oil Spill Sorrow, Anger and Despair
Well, I have decided that sending the corporate offices of BP, Halliburton and TransOcean all the dead fish and wildlife they are creating is a satisfying fantasy. In my mind, I will also send a few thousand tons of dead oily baby animals to the U.S. energy regulatory commission that thought getting excessive gifts from the oil company employees was part of their job description, and actually doing any regulation oversight of those companies was optional.
I will not advocate actually doing that though, because it wouldn't be the executives and middle management that would have to clean that up, either.
They would probably get some of the long-term unemployed or poor illegals to do it for $10/hr, and those folks would suffer from all the ill health effects that the fishermen in the Gulf are being asked to take on without safety equipment.
So, being practical, I switch my karmic fantasy payback position to be that all decision makers from all the guilty parties--oil companies, contractors and regulators--be mandated to spend one week a month for as long as clean up lasts in the thick of the clean up, with no better safety equipment than the least of the clean up workers presently. I would still like them to do their jobs for the rest of the time (when they aren't hospitalized with burned out lungs and skin rashes) and maybe they will actually do them better.
I despair that BP will actually get the hole plugged--ever. I despair that Halliburton will keep getting government contracts and working with oil companies, never getting the consequences they deserve for shoddy, second rate work that has killed our troops and caused one of the links in this catastrophe. I despair that the broken congress will dither away, stuck in their puerile mindset that petty politics and snarkiness is the reason their constituents put them in office.
But mostly, I despair for the ocean and its creatures big and small. The Gulf is ruined. The kill off will likely nearly be complete. As it stands now, the currents are taking the oil out to open ocean, and may contaminate the Atlantic all the way up to Northern Europe. Then, there is hurricane season. Oy vey.
I also despair, because when it comes right down to it, we are all guilty of killing the Gulf (and potentially, a good part of the Atlantic). Stupid gas guzzling consumers that we are, we also should be getting our karmic come-uppance as well. We will. And that is no fantasy.
I will not advocate actually doing that though, because it wouldn't be the executives and middle management that would have to clean that up, either.
They would probably get some of the long-term unemployed or poor illegals to do it for $10/hr, and those folks would suffer from all the ill health effects that the fishermen in the Gulf are being asked to take on without safety equipment.
So, being practical, I switch my karmic fantasy payback position to be that all decision makers from all the guilty parties--oil companies, contractors and regulators--be mandated to spend one week a month for as long as clean up lasts in the thick of the clean up, with no better safety equipment than the least of the clean up workers presently. I would still like them to do their jobs for the rest of the time (when they aren't hospitalized with burned out lungs and skin rashes) and maybe they will actually do them better.
I despair that BP will actually get the hole plugged--ever. I despair that Halliburton will keep getting government contracts and working with oil companies, never getting the consequences they deserve for shoddy, second rate work that has killed our troops and caused one of the links in this catastrophe. I despair that the broken congress will dither away, stuck in their puerile mindset that petty politics and snarkiness is the reason their constituents put them in office.
But mostly, I despair for the ocean and its creatures big and small. The Gulf is ruined. The kill off will likely nearly be complete. As it stands now, the currents are taking the oil out to open ocean, and may contaminate the Atlantic all the way up to Northern Europe. Then, there is hurricane season. Oy vey.
I also despair, because when it comes right down to it, we are all guilty of killing the Gulf (and potentially, a good part of the Atlantic). Stupid gas guzzling consumers that we are, we also should be getting our karmic come-uppance as well. We will. And that is no fantasy.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Put some compassionate motivation into BP, Halliburton and Ilk
The news from the Gulf just gets worse and worse. For some reason, BP is in charge of who gets to look at just how bad it is. They shouldn't have any rights in this way, but I guess that is how it goes when big corporations practically own part of the government. BP, Haliburton,TransOcean et al don't even have the grace to look like they really even care in their press conferences, as they lie blithely about what kind of environmental degradation they have imposed upon the Gulf, and now it looks like Florida, and likely all the way out to the Atlantic.
If they get to keep their cap of $75 million in damages, I think there will be one hell of a citizen backlash. If the government allows that to be the case, it will be a definite that our government no longer for the people, but for the corporations and for corporations only.
Or maybe if we can't get around the cap, we should make it legal to go karmic!
Since none of these corporate entities are really interested in accepting responsibility for the mess (see all the ridiculous fingerpointing for which Obama rightly called them out), I think that we should actually give them a little more immediacy to their predicament. I mean, if we can't make them pay the money to really fix things, let's give them some extremely bad karma.
As people clean up from this major catastrophe, collect all the dead, oil-covered animals that they find, and ship them unrefrigerated to the corporate offices and employees' homes of each of the companies responsible. Don't stop until the leak is stopped and they not only admit, but are properly horrified how much harm they have done with their negligence. Don't stop until they seriously make an effort to clean up their mess using their formidable reserves of corporate cash.
They may not give a rat's ass about the suffering of animals and people who are far away, but I imagine even the most narcissistic bastard may start to feel some "compassionate motivation" beyond corporate bottom line if they have a few thousand oily dead fish and birds in every corner of their buildings and homes.
I would also like to make it a rule that until the end of time, any press conference,interview or public appearance of any of the above's corporate leaders should end with all of them getting slapped across the face with an oily dead fish and dropped in a vat of sludge.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Dangers of Gardening
This is a very treacherous time of year for me.
I have finally started being able to run about 10-15 miles a week without noticing it on my repairing back, and do some weight lifting regularly. I can touch my toes, and bicycle without fear. I am normal sized again, and feel okay in shorts.
But it's gardening time--what racked me up in the first place for all of last summer.
So far, I have been able to slowly get my flowers and veggies in the ground in small increments. Weeds are being removed by either my sons' strong young hands and backs or myself on hands and knees and not bent over. Still--the garden was a jungle from my not being able to weed last year. My sons cannot always differentiate from plant friend or foe, so the delicate stuff is up to me.
My back is pinging, and so it is all going very slowly.
The garden is ambitious. So far I have mustard, romaine and mesclun lettuces, spinach, mache, onions, breadseed poppies, 6 varieties of peppers, beat-spinach greens, kohlrabi and 4 tomato plants planted. I have 12 tomato plants to go, and will also fit in basil, amaranth, cucamelons, lemon cucumbers and about 12 marigold plants to guard the tomato plants from tomato horn worm. Perennials to maintain are grapes, asparagus, chives, and gold raspberries. Sprouting and growing indiscriminately is salsify, also known as oyster plant.
The problem with coming back and almost being healed from a debilitating back injury is how easy it can be to re-injure yourself with a bad lift or bend.
The garden is shaping up. It is beautiful. It is dangerous. It is calling to me.
I have finally started being able to run about 10-15 miles a week without noticing it on my repairing back, and do some weight lifting regularly. I can touch my toes, and bicycle without fear. I am normal sized again, and feel okay in shorts.
But it's gardening time--what racked me up in the first place for all of last summer.
So far, I have been able to slowly get my flowers and veggies in the ground in small increments. Weeds are being removed by either my sons' strong young hands and backs or myself on hands and knees and not bent over. Still--the garden was a jungle from my not being able to weed last year. My sons cannot always differentiate from plant friend or foe, so the delicate stuff is up to me.
My back is pinging, and so it is all going very slowly.
The garden is ambitious. So far I have mustard, romaine and mesclun lettuces, spinach, mache, onions, breadseed poppies, 6 varieties of peppers, beat-spinach greens, kohlrabi and 4 tomato plants planted. I have 12 tomato plants to go, and will also fit in basil, amaranth, cucamelons, lemon cucumbers and about 12 marigold plants to guard the tomato plants from tomato horn worm. Perennials to maintain are grapes, asparagus, chives, and gold raspberries. Sprouting and growing indiscriminately is salsify, also known as oyster plant.
The problem with coming back and almost being healed from a debilitating back injury is how easy it can be to re-injure yourself with a bad lift or bend.
The garden is shaping up. It is beautiful. It is dangerous. It is calling to me.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sedition= Sarah Palin, Glenn Beck, Fox News, GOP Leadership
If anyone gets physically harmed because the blatantly violent rhetoric of any of the above, they should be brought up on sedition charges, sentenced, and sent to prison with all the other terrorists.
The blood will be on their hands, and no amount of winking and bleating about lame stream media will wash it away. Gun sites are for taking aim to kill, Sarah. No one here votes with their guns, so please don't pretend, Sarah, that it was just a colorful way to say take back the vote.
These people are not so stupid to think they control the crazies. Sadly, I think it will just be a matter of time before someone commits acts of violence against others feeling they have the above's tacit blessing.
The blood will be on their hands, and no amount of winking and bleating about lame stream media will wash it away. Gun sites are for taking aim to kill, Sarah. No one here votes with their guns, so please don't pretend, Sarah, that it was just a colorful way to say take back the vote.
These people are not so stupid to think they control the crazies. Sadly, I think it will just be a matter of time before someone commits acts of violence against others feeling they have the above's tacit blessing.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Burlesque Surprise!
Last night we went out for my "free party" at The Spot in Chicago. The party deal basically that birthday person gets free drinks for a two hour time period, and any of guests get discounted drinks throughout the night. Wednesday is also karaoke night, so it seemed like a good fit.
However, I did not have a lot of friends that could wrestle up the energy to make it out on a Wednesday night. Out of about 70 invites through an events page on Facebook, only 15 thought they might attend, and only 5 of them made it.
The poor turnout could be me, it could be the midweek, or maybe, just maybe, it also could be The Spot. If it doesn't have a reputation for being a tad tacky, I am going to give it one, at least this time.
We were sent to the upstairs room for our get together. I had about 7 of the 15 maybes back out via text message in the two hours prior, so I was a little concerned that Dan and I were the party. The Spot did not seem to care, and they did honor the free drinks for 2 hours. Since I'm not a huge drinker, I don't think it was a strain for them.
Then we were told that karaoke would be held off until after a special free tech rehearsal for their new burlesque show.
Say what?!!?
Oh, yes! A stripper burlesque girlie show, with the Flamin' Dames. Surprise!
Just what I never expected for my birthday!
We were already there, so what the hell. Two male friends showed up just in time for the show, and it was a profoundly surreal experience.
The motif was apparently science fiction geekdom. It started with Wonderwoman dancing a little, and then ripping her top off. It was emceed by a fat guy dressed as Jango Fett from Star Wars, and a long haired redneck guy with no discernible reason for being there. They cracked jokes with such obscure references to comics, fantasy and sci fi throughout that no one in the audience knew what they were talking about (not even ME!).
Then girls came out dressed as ninjas, danced a little, and ripped their tops off.
More obscure jokes, then girls dressed as X-Men danced a little, and then ripped their tops off.
Jokes, Assassins danced, then ripped their tops off.
Jokes, Robots danced, then ripped their tops off.
And it went on and on, for almost an HOUR, all permutations of stock sci fi characters, dancing, then ripping their tops off. It was a precocious 11 year old's wet dream.
Not being a tit woman, I was bored very quickly. Even the finale, danced to the Disco Star Wars Theme, failed to get me excited, and I love Star Wars. I had to quickly reassure my male friends that this really was not something of which I had prior knowledge. It was awkward for the whole table, but then we started making fun of the situation, and that provided much needed entertainment value.
It was wrong on so many levels. It was sprung on us unawares. The choreography was really predictable---dance dance dance aaaaaaaand boobs. The costumes unintentionally gave the dancing what little suspense it should have had by using real bras with hooks in the back.
This made the choreography actually more like, dance dance dance(nervous look, struggle struggle struggle) aaaaaaaand boobs (with pasties).
The "comics" emceeing the show really needed better material, actual characters, and some sort of awareness of the audience.
But mostly, burlesque is such a passe art form. Unless it is revamped, made into something new, with vibrant choreography and scintillating humor, it just isn't worth putting an audience through it.
However, this show was just amusing enough to keep me from walking out, especially since it was free, and karaoke was afterwards.
More friends showed up later on once the karaoke started, we had a great story to tell them, and a fairly decent time was had by all.
However, I did not have a lot of friends that could wrestle up the energy to make it out on a Wednesday night. Out of about 70 invites through an events page on Facebook, only 15 thought they might attend, and only 5 of them made it.
The poor turnout could be me, it could be the midweek, or maybe, just maybe, it also could be The Spot. If it doesn't have a reputation for being a tad tacky, I am going to give it one, at least this time.
We were sent to the upstairs room for our get together. I had about 7 of the 15 maybes back out via text message in the two hours prior, so I was a little concerned that Dan and I were the party. The Spot did not seem to care, and they did honor the free drinks for 2 hours. Since I'm not a huge drinker, I don't think it was a strain for them.
Then we were told that karaoke would be held off until after a special free tech rehearsal for their new burlesque show.
Say what?!!?
Oh, yes! A stripper burlesque girlie show, with the Flamin' Dames. Surprise!
Just what I never expected for my birthday!
We were already there, so what the hell. Two male friends showed up just in time for the show, and it was a profoundly surreal experience.
The motif was apparently science fiction geekdom. It started with Wonderwoman dancing a little, and then ripping her top off. It was emceed by a fat guy dressed as Jango Fett from Star Wars, and a long haired redneck guy with no discernible reason for being there. They cracked jokes with such obscure references to comics, fantasy and sci fi throughout that no one in the audience knew what they were talking about (not even ME!).
Then girls came out dressed as ninjas, danced a little, and ripped their tops off.
More obscure jokes, then girls dressed as X-Men danced a little, and then ripped their tops off.
Jokes, Assassins danced, then ripped their tops off.
Jokes, Robots danced, then ripped their tops off.
And it went on and on, for almost an HOUR, all permutations of stock sci fi characters, dancing, then ripping their tops off. It was a precocious 11 year old's wet dream.
Not being a tit woman, I was bored very quickly. Even the finale, danced to the Disco Star Wars Theme, failed to get me excited, and I love Star Wars. I had to quickly reassure my male friends that this really was not something of which I had prior knowledge. It was awkward for the whole table, but then we started making fun of the situation, and that provided much needed entertainment value.
It was wrong on so many levels. It was sprung on us unawares. The choreography was really predictable---dance dance dance aaaaaaaand boobs. The costumes unintentionally gave the dancing what little suspense it should have had by using real bras with hooks in the back.
This made the choreography actually more like, dance dance dance(nervous look, struggle struggle struggle) aaaaaaaand boobs (with pasties).
The "comics" emceeing the show really needed better material, actual characters, and some sort of awareness of the audience.
But mostly, burlesque is such a passe art form. Unless it is revamped, made into something new, with vibrant choreography and scintillating humor, it just isn't worth putting an audience through it.
However, this show was just amusing enough to keep me from walking out, especially since it was free, and karaoke was afterwards.
More friends showed up later on once the karaoke started, we had a great story to tell them, and a fairly decent time was had by all.
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