So, I guess it's time for another blog experiment check in.
I still enjoy blogging. I love writing, and writing about little episodes in my life is still a challenge I look forward to. I am getting a lot of editing practice as I have to go back several times to change the sentences that sounded right in my head but look wrong on the page. I enjoy the false sense of importance that blogging affords. Actually, that one is a bit confusing - does blogging make the obscures like me feel important, or does blogging prove that the obscures like me ARE important? I'll leave that one to the internet scholars.
In my own life I am having to work hard at letting go of the feeling that every second of my day MUST be used productively. The voices in my head (relax, I don't ACTUALLY hear voices - the metaphorical voices in my head) yell at me constantly about all the work that needs to be done. If I take a few moments to myself I don't enjoy them because there are boxes to be unpacked, grant applications to write, weeds to whack, carpets to steam, etc. etc. I am working on letting myself relax.
I do love the summer season. Years ago the summer seasons were about relentless socializing, having a blast at work and then having a blast after work. Now that we live here permanently the season is more like my explosive creative time when I get to perform daily and miss my kids in the process, then I come home to be with the kids and miss the theatre.
Despite the odd pressures of my life: my MIL and her worsening condition, the amount of work that needs to be done around the house, the stress J is under all the time, I always am aware that it's a very good life I have.
So where does blogging fit in? Well, I suppose I find it a challenge to express to the world what I think is a particular gift of mine - the ability to find beauty in the mundane and to seek profundity in everything that happens to me. I guess that is really what an artist does - finds beauty in the cracks and corners of life. So for now, I'll keep it up.
Thanks for reading.
The street where I live...
Wednesday, 25 July 2012
Sunday, 22 July 2012
The Show Must Go On (except for Mondays)
Here is something about being a performer that I can say for sure: that old saying "the show must go on" is like a religion to we who make our living as entertainers. The voice in our souls that demands we be there, on that stage, at that moment, is as powerful as the compulsion a doctor has to heal, a preacher has to preach.
I have been a professional performer for twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven. And I can still count on one hand the number of times I have had to cancel a performance.
For the past three years I have been performing solo shows at the Theatre at the Site. And by solo, I mean, I am all by myself on stage. So, if I can't do the show, there is no show.
In 2011 I had to cancel two shows. I cancelled the first show the morning after I was in a car fire. My car had started on fire, and before I could get the vehicle to safety I had inhaled much smoke. Two paramedics advised me to cancel my solo show which I would've performed the next morning because, they informed me, smoke can have a delayed and damaging effect on the vocal cords. As I rely on my voice to make my living, I conceded. Later that same season I experienced a severe allergic reaction and developed contact dermatitis that caused unbearable itchiness and a rash so unsightly it was shocking. I consulted with my producer and stage manager and they each advised me to cancel a show to seek medical attention. I did so. In 2012 (just last week in fact) I was forced to cancel a show when my MIL was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and I was her her sole means of support at the time as J was away and she doesn't have anyone else. I had no choice, really. Each time I've had to cancel a show I felt sick with guilt. This just isn't what we do, we performers. We perform through aches and pains and traumas and injuries. We smile and sing and dig deep and do it. It is sacred to us, this mantra "the show MUST go on." I have seen actors doubled over in pain in the wings, and as soon as they hear their cue they are on that stage giving all they have. I have seen performers get through a scene or a number, walk off stage, and collapse from sickness, or pain, or grief.
And what about those times when only one person - or a handful of people show up to see a show? Well, the general rule of thumb for theatre is that a company has the option of cancelling a performance if the number of people in the audience will be fewer than the number of people on stage. So, for a performer like me, who does much solo work, that pretty much means I only cancel if no-one shows. I have performed my solo shows to houses packed to capacity and to tiny crowds of one, two, three patrons. If only one person shows I ask that person if s/he is comfortable being the only audience member, and if so, I am happy to do the show. It is often a very lovely experience, a small audience show. I do them all the time.
Yesterday it was brought to my attention that a couple from a nearby town had come to the Site on a Monday, the only day I do not have scheduled performances. And they showed up at the Theatre for my 11am show. When they discovered there was no show they jumped to the baffling conclusion that the cast at the Theatre had decided to cancel shows that day because we didn't feel like doing them. Not only did they walk all over the Site repeating this false and slanderous information, they then repeated it to anyone who would listen in their town, and then wrote a letter to the editor of the area's newspaper saying the same erroneous, insulting and out and out false claim. The newspaper printed this letter without bothering to fact check with anyone from the Site, who could have cleared the situation up with a simple piece of information: "there is no 11 am show on Mondays." In fact, in a odd twist, these interesting people quoted from our website and mentioned that there is no show on Mondays, yet neglected to mention that they turned up at the theatre ON A MONDAY. Had they wished, they could have consulted the marquis that would have been a few feet from their faces while they were pounding on the doors of a clearly closed building and seen that our musical revue was to be performed at 1pm (which it was).
So I suppose this post is in defense of myself, but also of every performer who gets out there and gets the job done no matter what. The show must, and does, go on. If I cancelled a show every time I simply didn't feel up to it I would be cancelling shows left, right, and centre. But I don't. Ever. Unless it seems like my only choice.
I love what I do, and in my line of work professional reputation is huge. I hope those people who were slightly inconvenienced by their own inability to understand a schedule will think twice the next time they feel compelled to grossly overreact to a situation that was, in fact, of their own making, and to compromise the reputation of an entire company of dedicated and ridiculously hard working actors. I could be a bigger person here and say I hope they come back and see my shows on a day that they are actually playing, but I'd really rather they didn't. My shows mean the world to me, and I would rather people like these stayed far away from my sacred places.
I have been a professional performer for twenty-seven years. Twenty-seven. And I can still count on one hand the number of times I have had to cancel a performance.
For the past three years I have been performing solo shows at the Theatre at the Site. And by solo, I mean, I am all by myself on stage. So, if I can't do the show, there is no show.
In 2011 I had to cancel two shows. I cancelled the first show the morning after I was in a car fire. My car had started on fire, and before I could get the vehicle to safety I had inhaled much smoke. Two paramedics advised me to cancel my solo show which I would've performed the next morning because, they informed me, smoke can have a delayed and damaging effect on the vocal cords. As I rely on my voice to make my living, I conceded. Later that same season I experienced a severe allergic reaction and developed contact dermatitis that caused unbearable itchiness and a rash so unsightly it was shocking. I consulted with my producer and stage manager and they each advised me to cancel a show to seek medical attention. I did so. In 2012 (just last week in fact) I was forced to cancel a show when my MIL was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and I was her her sole means of support at the time as J was away and she doesn't have anyone else. I had no choice, really. Each time I've had to cancel a show I felt sick with guilt. This just isn't what we do, we performers. We perform through aches and pains and traumas and injuries. We smile and sing and dig deep and do it. It is sacred to us, this mantra "the show MUST go on." I have seen actors doubled over in pain in the wings, and as soon as they hear their cue they are on that stage giving all they have. I have seen performers get through a scene or a number, walk off stage, and collapse from sickness, or pain, or grief.
And what about those times when only one person - or a handful of people show up to see a show? Well, the general rule of thumb for theatre is that a company has the option of cancelling a performance if the number of people in the audience will be fewer than the number of people on stage. So, for a performer like me, who does much solo work, that pretty much means I only cancel if no-one shows. I have performed my solo shows to houses packed to capacity and to tiny crowds of one, two, three patrons. If only one person shows I ask that person if s/he is comfortable being the only audience member, and if so, I am happy to do the show. It is often a very lovely experience, a small audience show. I do them all the time.
Yesterday it was brought to my attention that a couple from a nearby town had come to the Site on a Monday, the only day I do not have scheduled performances. And they showed up at the Theatre for my 11am show. When they discovered there was no show they jumped to the baffling conclusion that the cast at the Theatre had decided to cancel shows that day because we didn't feel like doing them. Not only did they walk all over the Site repeating this false and slanderous information, they then repeated it to anyone who would listen in their town, and then wrote a letter to the editor of the area's newspaper saying the same erroneous, insulting and out and out false claim. The newspaper printed this letter without bothering to fact check with anyone from the Site, who could have cleared the situation up with a simple piece of information: "there is no 11 am show on Mondays." In fact, in a odd twist, these interesting people quoted from our website and mentioned that there is no show on Mondays, yet neglected to mention that they turned up at the theatre ON A MONDAY. Had they wished, they could have consulted the marquis that would have been a few feet from their faces while they were pounding on the doors of a clearly closed building and seen that our musical revue was to be performed at 1pm (which it was).
So I suppose this post is in defense of myself, but also of every performer who gets out there and gets the job done no matter what. The show must, and does, go on. If I cancelled a show every time I simply didn't feel up to it I would be cancelling shows left, right, and centre. But I don't. Ever. Unless it seems like my only choice.
I love what I do, and in my line of work professional reputation is huge. I hope those people who were slightly inconvenienced by their own inability to understand a schedule will think twice the next time they feel compelled to grossly overreact to a situation that was, in fact, of their own making, and to compromise the reputation of an entire company of dedicated and ridiculously hard working actors. I could be a bigger person here and say I hope they come back and see my shows on a day that they are actually playing, but I'd really rather they didn't. My shows mean the world to me, and I would rather people like these stayed far away from my sacred places.
Thursday, 19 July 2012
July Crazies
I was just texting with my husband who is in Winnipeg opening a show he directed and I co-wrote. He told me that he heard from a very mystical and hilariously wise acquaintance that July is the most tumultuous month. I must agree.
Every July seems to bring with it the big old crazies of every manner - people, circumstances, weather.
Last July 17th I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming through my vents. My car was on fire. I made it home and then the local volunteer fire brigade spent a couple of hours in my back yard putting out the flames, cutting the wires, and generally making a massive, heroic mess of the place, and the car, while tourists and locals offered support and took pictures. That same night a rogue tourist was seen trying to steal the same car. By the time he decided to attempt this grand theft auto the car had a melted dash, a scorched and cracked windshield, cut wires and was flooded with water and that fire fighting foam that was now ashy grey muck. Poor guy. Talk about picking the wrong mark (he eventually gave up and ended up stealing a different vehicle and after a joyride he ditched the stolen truck in the local lake). J was out of town at the time, so I had to deal with the whole fire situation, plus the kids, by myself. I called my boss at the Theatre to cancel my solo show for the next morning (the 18th) as I had been advised that the amount of smoke I had inhaled might make me hoarse.
Yesterday, July 17th, the one year anniversary of the car fire, started out so well. I had a great morning show. I was conserving energy because, as an experiment, I had decided to offer both of my solo shows to whomever from the Site wanted to attend (it can be hard for people to make it to other performers' shows as we are all so intensely engaged in our own schedules, so I decided to offer evening shows just to let anyone who might want to see them, see them).
We had a company meeting scheduled for five o'clock, so I had asked MIL earlier if she could watch the girls while I went out to the Site for about three hours for meeting and shows. Although I am not entirely comfortable with her watching the girls, she loves to do it, the girls love her, and as long as I set firm ground rules it usually goes well save for the inevitable mess I have waiting for me when I get home.
So, yesterday afternoon I reminded MIL that she was to watch the girls in two hours. About an hour later she came up the stairs in a T-shirt style night gown. She seemed to be in a cheerful mood and told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone. I said I had made some pork curry, and advised her to feed it to the girls in about an hour. She agreed. About a minute later she looked at me and asked: "have they eaten dinner?" I said that we'd just talked about this. Then she told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone. Hmmmm.
MIL has dementia, but at this point she has lots of really good days interspersed with some horrible rage and depression episodes. This had seemed like a good day, but now I wasn't so sure.
I asked her how she was feeling and she said: "woozy". She said she didn't think she should watch the girls. She has NEVER said this before.
I tried to call my fabulous friend who watches the girls a few times a week to see if she could pinch hit, but she wasn't available. I called a local girl and asked if she could come right over to babysit. She could. I suggested to MIL that she go downstairs and go to sleep. It has been very hot here, so I assumed she had taken too much sun.
I raced out to the Site. In the midst of the company meeting the phone rang and it was the above mentioned fab friend who very calmly told me that MIL had gone over to the store (local hang out, right next door to our place) and said she wasn't feeling right. They called 911. It was too late to cancel the shows...or was it? I could hear people rattling the theatre doors as I stood on stage and called the hospital. MIL was still in the ambulance, so I explained that she was on her way, that she was heavily medicated, that I didn't know if she's taken her proper doses for the day, etc. etc. I called back a bit later and was able to talk to MIL who was now in the waiting room. She was teary, confused, complaining of backache and stress. I somehow got through the show, but this is a show I know very well, so I basically did the performance while thinking about what to do next.
After the show I told the lovely folks who'd shown up (it was sweltering and there was a competing concert, so a modest but lovely little group) that I had to get in to the hospital. I asked my dear friend who was running the lights to let the people who had come for the second show to know that I just couldn't do it at that time.
I went to the dressing room and called the hospital. The man said that she had been discharged and was waiting for me. I explained that MIL has dementia, that it would take me the better part of two hours to get home and arrange it all and then get to town, and asked him to make sure she was not abandoned in the waiting room. I raced home, and on the way saw the ambulance attendants pulling into the ambulance station. I stopped and asked them what was happening. Of course, due to confidentiality they could only hint about it, but one of them said I'd be wise to make sure I told the hospital "my side of the story." Once again: hmmmmm.
You see...it seems that with MIL's particular kind of dementia there must one one big villain character in her personal movie. It used to be her ex, then it was her ex-tenant, and now it is very much ME. I am, in her mind, the worst person who has ever existed. For the past two years I have helped her deal with her massive financial mess. I have started the process of getting her help for her mental health. I have fielded phone call after phone call from her ex, from people who are suing her, from people who are charging her with assault, but all she can see is that I am short with her for destroying the house ("who CARES if it's messy?" she pleads, incredulously, as I beg her to just TRY to stop letting her dog poo and pee in the house, and I beg her not to disassemble any more major appliances which she cannot put back together again). And she demonizes me daily to anyone who will listen. Now, I concede that we are not one big happy, but when we bought this place we were very clear and all agreed that J and I needed our own personal space and that we would respect her privacy if she respected ours back. But as soon as she moved in she was offended if we had a dinner or watched a film without her, and would have an adolescent-like snit wherein she would play wounded and confused by the mean girl upstairs. It's been brutal. Brutal. And I also concede that I have lost my patience with her on more than one occasion, but this is usually when she has done something so amazingly bizarre to me that I just can't believe it. So I could see that she had clearly trashed me to the ambulance attendants, both of whom are friends of mine. I felt sick.
I raced home and explained to the teenage sitter that she would have to walk home (all of five minutes) as I had to deal with an emergency ("But it's SO hot!") Mrrrrr.
I called my fab friend to see if she could come over and stay with the girls while I ran into town but unbeknownst to both of us her little two year old had turned off the ringer on the phone so she didn't get the message until I'd already got the girls and MIL's dog in the car and headed off.
When I got to the hospital the staff was overly cheerful and I knew right away that they had been treated to a few hours of horror stories about me. Oh joy.
I chatted with the doctor, explained the situation, and he told me that MIL has a bladder infection and any infection will cause extremes in dementia episodes. He gave me a prescription. As it was now dark, the kids were hyper I decided I should rent us all a room for the night. One of the nurses called a nearby place to see if they took pets, and off we went to a nice hotel where I called my producer to ask permission to cancel my morning show just like last year's July 18th show (insert ominous chord).
This morning MIL and I had a very long talk about her continued need to villainize me. I accepted the places where I am culpable, and I reinforced what I have always told her: that she is a very good grandmother. She is. I think, and hope, that we made a little progress.
We had a nice day in town shopping, although it was funny to see MIL walking around in her night gown (we had no changes of clothes with us).
On our drive home we noticed an ambulance and rows of cars facing in either direction on the highway. I hoped it wasn't something to do with one of my friends. This highway is travelled by either tourists or someone we know. As we got closer we could see a tiny black bear cub lying on the road. It had clearly been hit by a car, but was still alive and in distress. People were bringing the little animal water in bottles, and a whole brigade was focused on helping. It was a lovely, heartbreaking, and completely crazy thing to see.
So it seems July really is the oddest month.
Hey July. Wtf is up with you?
Every July seems to bring with it the big old crazies of every manner - people, circumstances, weather.
Last July 17th I was driving home from work when I noticed smoke coming through my vents. My car was on fire. I made it home and then the local volunteer fire brigade spent a couple of hours in my back yard putting out the flames, cutting the wires, and generally making a massive, heroic mess of the place, and the car, while tourists and locals offered support and took pictures. That same night a rogue tourist was seen trying to steal the same car. By the time he decided to attempt this grand theft auto the car had a melted dash, a scorched and cracked windshield, cut wires and was flooded with water and that fire fighting foam that was now ashy grey muck. Poor guy. Talk about picking the wrong mark (he eventually gave up and ended up stealing a different vehicle and after a joyride he ditched the stolen truck in the local lake). J was out of town at the time, so I had to deal with the whole fire situation, plus the kids, by myself. I called my boss at the Theatre to cancel my solo show for the next morning (the 18th) as I had been advised that the amount of smoke I had inhaled might make me hoarse.
Yesterday, July 17th, the one year anniversary of the car fire, started out so well. I had a great morning show. I was conserving energy because, as an experiment, I had decided to offer both of my solo shows to whomever from the Site wanted to attend (it can be hard for people to make it to other performers' shows as we are all so intensely engaged in our own schedules, so I decided to offer evening shows just to let anyone who might want to see them, see them).
We had a company meeting scheduled for five o'clock, so I had asked MIL earlier if she could watch the girls while I went out to the Site for about three hours for meeting and shows. Although I am not entirely comfortable with her watching the girls, she loves to do it, the girls love her, and as long as I set firm ground rules it usually goes well save for the inevitable mess I have waiting for me when I get home.
So, yesterday afternoon I reminded MIL that she was to watch the girls in two hours. About an hour later she came up the stairs in a T-shirt style night gown. She seemed to be in a cheerful mood and told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone. I said I had made some pork curry, and advised her to feed it to the girls in about an hour. She agreed. About a minute later she looked at me and asked: "have they eaten dinner?" I said that we'd just talked about this. Then she told me a story about the neighbour's dog chewing up a cell phone. Hmmmm.
MIL has dementia, but at this point she has lots of really good days interspersed with some horrible rage and depression episodes. This had seemed like a good day, but now I wasn't so sure.
I asked her how she was feeling and she said: "woozy". She said she didn't think she should watch the girls. She has NEVER said this before.
I tried to call my fabulous friend who watches the girls a few times a week to see if she could pinch hit, but she wasn't available. I called a local girl and asked if she could come right over to babysit. She could. I suggested to MIL that she go downstairs and go to sleep. It has been very hot here, so I assumed she had taken too much sun.
I raced out to the Site. In the midst of the company meeting the phone rang and it was the above mentioned fab friend who very calmly told me that MIL had gone over to the store (local hang out, right next door to our place) and said she wasn't feeling right. They called 911. It was too late to cancel the shows...or was it? I could hear people rattling the theatre doors as I stood on stage and called the hospital. MIL was still in the ambulance, so I explained that she was on her way, that she was heavily medicated, that I didn't know if she's taken her proper doses for the day, etc. etc. I called back a bit later and was able to talk to MIL who was now in the waiting room. She was teary, confused, complaining of backache and stress. I somehow got through the show, but this is a show I know very well, so I basically did the performance while thinking about what to do next.
After the show I told the lovely folks who'd shown up (it was sweltering and there was a competing concert, so a modest but lovely little group) that I had to get in to the hospital. I asked my dear friend who was running the lights to let the people who had come for the second show to know that I just couldn't do it at that time.
I went to the dressing room and called the hospital. The man said that she had been discharged and was waiting for me. I explained that MIL has dementia, that it would take me the better part of two hours to get home and arrange it all and then get to town, and asked him to make sure she was not abandoned in the waiting room. I raced home, and on the way saw the ambulance attendants pulling into the ambulance station. I stopped and asked them what was happening. Of course, due to confidentiality they could only hint about it, but one of them said I'd be wise to make sure I told the hospital "my side of the story." Once again: hmmmmm.
You see...it seems that with MIL's particular kind of dementia there must one one big villain character in her personal movie. It used to be her ex, then it was her ex-tenant, and now it is very much ME. I am, in her mind, the worst person who has ever existed. For the past two years I have helped her deal with her massive financial mess. I have started the process of getting her help for her mental health. I have fielded phone call after phone call from her ex, from people who are suing her, from people who are charging her with assault, but all she can see is that I am short with her for destroying the house ("who CARES if it's messy?" she pleads, incredulously, as I beg her to just TRY to stop letting her dog poo and pee in the house, and I beg her not to disassemble any more major appliances which she cannot put back together again). And she demonizes me daily to anyone who will listen. Now, I concede that we are not one big happy, but when we bought this place we were very clear and all agreed that J and I needed our own personal space and that we would respect her privacy if she respected ours back. But as soon as she moved in she was offended if we had a dinner or watched a film without her, and would have an adolescent-like snit wherein she would play wounded and confused by the mean girl upstairs. It's been brutal. Brutal. And I also concede that I have lost my patience with her on more than one occasion, but this is usually when she has done something so amazingly bizarre to me that I just can't believe it. So I could see that she had clearly trashed me to the ambulance attendants, both of whom are friends of mine. I felt sick.
I raced home and explained to the teenage sitter that she would have to walk home (all of five minutes) as I had to deal with an emergency ("But it's SO hot!") Mrrrrr.
I called my fab friend to see if she could come over and stay with the girls while I ran into town but unbeknownst to both of us her little two year old had turned off the ringer on the phone so she didn't get the message until I'd already got the girls and MIL's dog in the car and headed off.
When I got to the hospital the staff was overly cheerful and I knew right away that they had been treated to a few hours of horror stories about me. Oh joy.
I chatted with the doctor, explained the situation, and he told me that MIL has a bladder infection and any infection will cause extremes in dementia episodes. He gave me a prescription. As it was now dark, the kids were hyper I decided I should rent us all a room for the night. One of the nurses called a nearby place to see if they took pets, and off we went to a nice hotel where I called my producer to ask permission to cancel my morning show just like last year's July 18th show (insert ominous chord).
This morning MIL and I had a very long talk about her continued need to villainize me. I accepted the places where I am culpable, and I reinforced what I have always told her: that she is a very good grandmother. She is. I think, and hope, that we made a little progress.
We had a nice day in town shopping, although it was funny to see MIL walking around in her night gown (we had no changes of clothes with us).
On our drive home we noticed an ambulance and rows of cars facing in either direction on the highway. I hoped it wasn't something to do with one of my friends. This highway is travelled by either tourists or someone we know. As we got closer we could see a tiny black bear cub lying on the road. It had clearly been hit by a car, but was still alive and in distress. People were bringing the little animal water in bottles, and a whole brigade was focused on helping. It was a lovely, heartbreaking, and completely crazy thing to see.
So it seems July really is the oddest month.
Hey July. Wtf is up with you?
Friday, 13 July 2012
Gotta Give
J and I have managed to organise our lives so that, right now, in this moment, we have everything we've ever wanted. We have a home, two beautiful children, we live in the mountains, we have good jobs, and yet, we are still a fraction away from nirvana as there is one HUGE impediment to our complete happiness, and that is the fact that it all comes at a cost.
We have become sought after artists - and the trade off for this is no days off. We have beautiful children - yet we feel we are not there for them enough. We have a home we love - yet we are too busy to keep up with yard work, etc. I have my long dreamed of sanctuary and I never feel at peace here because my ailing, extremely messy to the point of filthy, mother in law makes me so ill at ease that I can never relax in my own home and I can no longer even bear to go down to the lower floor of the house as it breaks my heart to see what she's done to the place. We have a wonderful marriage, yet we see one another so rarely that when we do we need to use the time to get stuff done rather than have any quality time together.
We are busy morning, noon and night. At our worst we resent one another for not being there to support and are competitive about who has the tougher lot. At our best we remember to be grateful because this is what we wished for.
I have, as a result of all this, determined that once the busy summer season is over, I am taking on nothing new. I have decided not to start PhD studies, for now. I have decided to spend the Fall and Winter being with my daughters, creating art that I can do on my own, really and truly moving in to this house, dealing with the mom in law situation, and trying to just be. It sounds creepily New Age-y, which I hate, but I think we are truly at the "something's gotta give" place and I am more than happy to be the one to give in and say: "enough."
I'd like to write more now, but the truth is I need to rush off to another rehearsal (this after a full day of work) and J is out of town directing a show. The girls are at me to play with them and I have no energy left. Yep, something's gotta give.
We have become sought after artists - and the trade off for this is no days off. We have beautiful children - yet we feel we are not there for them enough. We have a home we love - yet we are too busy to keep up with yard work, etc. I have my long dreamed of sanctuary and I never feel at peace here because my ailing, extremely messy to the point of filthy, mother in law makes me so ill at ease that I can never relax in my own home and I can no longer even bear to go down to the lower floor of the house as it breaks my heart to see what she's done to the place. We have a wonderful marriage, yet we see one another so rarely that when we do we need to use the time to get stuff done rather than have any quality time together.
We are busy morning, noon and night. At our worst we resent one another for not being there to support and are competitive about who has the tougher lot. At our best we remember to be grateful because this is what we wished for.
I have, as a result of all this, determined that once the busy summer season is over, I am taking on nothing new. I have decided not to start PhD studies, for now. I have decided to spend the Fall and Winter being with my daughters, creating art that I can do on my own, really and truly moving in to this house, dealing with the mom in law situation, and trying to just be. It sounds creepily New Age-y, which I hate, but I think we are truly at the "something's gotta give" place and I am more than happy to be the one to give in and say: "enough."
I'd like to write more now, but the truth is I need to rush off to another rehearsal (this after a full day of work) and J is out of town directing a show. The girls are at me to play with them and I have no energy left. Yep, something's gotta give.
Tuesday, 10 July 2012
Bugs and Other News
So summer has descended upon our little mountain town. June was all rain, July is hot and sweaty and BUGGY.
Living on top of a mountain is a joy, but it comes at a price. And that price is this: every single thing is intense. If it is hot, it is boiling and dusty and if it is cold it is torrential rain, hail, snow, lightening, thunder. And if it is any combination of hot and cold the bugs come out and they are crazy bad this year. July is all about no-see-ums and mosquitoes. No-see-ums are sent to earth by Lucifer himself. These tiny black demons can get through any minuscule crack, and screens are no match. In August the black flies will join the party.
Other than the bugs, life is grand here in our town. I am in three shows at the Theatre in the Site. Two of the shows are my solo pieces, and I am also in the evening show that we do on weekends. Rehearsal was intense (naturally) but now that the shows are up and running I am having a blast. I work with a fantastic company. We honestly all get along and I look forward to seeing my co-workers every day.
The girls are thriving and the wonderful friend we have engaged to babysit them three days a week is fabulous.
So, life is good. Except for the bugs. Which is why I have sucked at blogging lately. When life is good there is no need to talk about it, I guess.
Living on top of a mountain is a joy, but it comes at a price. And that price is this: every single thing is intense. If it is hot, it is boiling and dusty and if it is cold it is torrential rain, hail, snow, lightening, thunder. And if it is any combination of hot and cold the bugs come out and they are crazy bad this year. July is all about no-see-ums and mosquitoes. No-see-ums are sent to earth by Lucifer himself. These tiny black demons can get through any minuscule crack, and screens are no match. In August the black flies will join the party.
Other than the bugs, life is grand here in our town. I am in three shows at the Theatre in the Site. Two of the shows are my solo pieces, and I am also in the evening show that we do on weekends. Rehearsal was intense (naturally) but now that the shows are up and running I am having a blast. I work with a fantastic company. We honestly all get along and I look forward to seeing my co-workers every day.
The girls are thriving and the wonderful friend we have engaged to babysit them three days a week is fabulous.
So, life is good. Except for the bugs. Which is why I have sucked at blogging lately. When life is good there is no need to talk about it, I guess.
Monday, 2 July 2012
Proust Me
1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Having time off with nothing to do and nothing weighing on my mind, while eqipped with art supplies, the internet and some good dvds.
Having time off with nothing to do and nothing weighing on my mind, while eqipped with art supplies, the internet and some good dvds.
2. What is your greatest fear?
That my kids will be harmed or hurt.
3. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Anxiety and meanness.
4. What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Inability to recognize and appreciate irony.
5. Which living person do you most admire?
My husband.
6. What is your greatest extravagance?
The internet.
7. What is your current state of mind?
Simultaneously relaxed and anxious.
8. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
They're all overrated.
9. On what occasion do you lie?
When it serves me.
10. What do you most dislike about your appearance?
Double chin.
11. Which living person do you most despise?
Any homophobe.
12. What is the quality you most like in a man?
Wit.
13. What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Wit.
14. Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Fuck.
15. What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Art.
16. When and where were you happiest?
In 2000, standing on a mountain with the man I would marry.
17. Which talent would you most like to have?
I wish I was a better singer.
18. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I would be naturally thin.
19. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I have been true to myself as an artist.
20. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?
A less neurotic version of me.
21. Where would you most like to live?
I would like to be a person with a good, comfortable home in several places.
22. What is your most treasured possession?
My jewelry.
23. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Worry.
24. What is your favorite occupation?
Writer.
25. What is your most marked characteristic?
Physically: hair. Other: I think I'm funny.
26. What do you most value in your friends?
The ability to get the joke, and to give it back.
27. Who are your favorite writers?
Anita Brookner, Maya Angelou, JK Rowling.
28. Who is your hero of fiction?
Harry Potter.
29. Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Well, I guess I have to say Queen Victoria.
30. Who are your heroes in real life?
My husband and children, my uncle, my sisters.
31. What are your favorite names?
The ones I gave my daughters.
32. What is it that you most dislike?
Regret and anxiety.
33. What is your greatest regret?
That it took me so long to understand myself, and that I spent so much time and energy on self-loathing.
34. How would you like to die?
Satisfied.
35. What is your motto?
As long as it's funny.
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