Merry Christmas from the Barthson Household!

It has been a busy holiday season already, preempting any blogging for the last 10 days.

David had a very successful 16th birthday party with select friends and some family... and the comforts of most teenage boys; pizza, soda, ice cream, video games, lazer tag and bumper cars. Both of the working computers are monopolized during the day with the kids checking their emails, Facebooks, MySpaces, Twitters and of course... questing all the livelong day in World of Warcraft. Ah, the joyous sounds of Orcs in battle... it must be Christmas.

I haven't wrapped presents yet, but most of our Christmas shopping and crafting is done. I've never been organized enough to get Christmas cards out in time... and while I gather the kids and Jason every year for a 'Holiday Photo', it always ends up being a goof-off session for the family and no usable and appropriate picture has ever come out of it.

And so it is that I once again give a 'nod' to the technological advancements of Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Al Gore (inventor of the internet) and offer up my e-Christmas letter in the form of bloggery.

Dear Family, Friends, Friends of Family, Familial Acquaintances and awkward lost relations,

Welcome to the Barthson Family Christmas Letter! This year has been alternately very exciting and absolutely mundane in the lives of Jason, Andi, David and Christina.

At this time last year, Jason and I were performing in 'A Winter's Tale' with Southwest Shakespeare Company. Our body of work last year brought some AriZoni nominations and I took one home for Best Supporting Actress in a contracted play for the role of Nerissa in 'The Merchant of Venice'. The accolade was bittersweet as Jason and I left the company amidst a lot of hooplah and unnecessary drama at the end of the season. We were incredibly sad to cut ties with the company as it's really the only consistent Shakespeare gig in town and we loved the people involved . However, it has also opened up venues and vehicles that we may not have considered otherwise.
In addition to cracking our teeth in the voiceover market, I reintroduced myself to the world of musical theatre and was blessedly cast in Phoenix Theatre's production of 'Curtains'. In addition to working with an amazing group of people (cast and crew alike) I was able to get involved with some of their fundraising and outreach programs. It did my heart good to know that there is still plenty of work out there for plenty of good causes. http://ryanhouse.org/
During the day, Jason and I have been working from home with a company that offers proofreading and copywriting for various websites and 'E-how' forums. It has allowed us the flexibility to continue with our dramatic exploits and artistic ventures. We still dabble in creative photography and I have recently opened up a side business offering 'belly-casting' to pregnant women. http://livingartstudios.org/
We moved in June to East Mesa and are now living at Power and Brown in a cute little brick house with a fireplace and a converted office with a workshop in the garage for all of my crafting projects.
This year, David started his Sophomore year at Combs High School. He worked his li'l butt off in summer school to make up a necessary English credit and is now mainstreamed in all of his courses in High School. His art projects have become a focal point as his ceramics now decorate most corners of the house. His taste in music is stellar... and I say this because he dislikes Mariah Carey as much as I do. He is a typical 16-year-old boy in that he'd rather play Halo or World of Warcraft than do his homework, but he's still a snuggler who will watch sappy movies with his mom.
Christina is a blur these days as she juggles her schoolwork (all A's and B's), her social life (and current boyfriend Cody), with yearbook, Student Council, dance, theatre, soccer and volleyball. She is every bit as melodramatic as her mother, but thankfully smarter. Once she gets over her stage fright, we're all in trouble.
And finally... the cats... and we're down to four after losing Ozzy. Benedick, Sawyer, Claire and Spartacus (Sparkleberry) are spoiled rotten as usual. They are fat. They run the place and keep us on schedule.
And there you have our 'year in review' update. The economy tanked and we saw a lot of friends and family hit hard, which has us concerned.... but hopeful. Our lives didn't change much... we were poor artists last year and we're poor artists this year. And wouldn't have it any other way. We lost our car in August (on our way back from San Diego) and a couple of angels in our lives (Uncle Kyle and Aunt Pat) saw to it that we had transportation when we needed it. We left our positions with Southwest Shakespeare and opportunities opened up in places we never expected.
The year taught me about taking those leaps of faith. It taught me about standing up for what I know is right and good. It taught me about loyalty and persistence. It taught me about human frailty and personal victory. It also reinforced my belief that I am happiest when I am following my 'calling'. To sing, to dance, to laugh, to love... to spread joy.
I thank you, my friends and family, for being my motivation and my inspiration. Thank you for supporting me and loving me despite all my flaws. It is because of you that I have found such passion for life and art.

Wishing you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from my family to yours.

Andi

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

I love to write. I really do.
Just like I love to act, sing, dance, and generally make a fool of myself in front of large crowds of people.

But there is something about my psyche or egomania that loves to differentiate between the work I love to do and the work I do to pay the bills.

In my theatre career, the shows I have loved the most and the projects that have challenged me the most were (with a few exceptions) unpaid or poorly paid gigs. And the projects that pay the best (software voiceovers, corporate gigs) have little to no 'personal gratification' to them at all.

And so it is with writing. My part-time day job is reading and writing. No joke. Alternately, I get some jobs that are mere proofreading and others that are involved research and summary projects. I read articles, published columns and blogs and such (mostly about business, finance and politics) and summarize them into small blurbs that are easily understandable to the average Joe. I don't get to decide which topics I write about and very rarely do I come across a project that piques my interest. I get bored with the material quickly and lose the motivation to write about my own stuff... leaving all three of my blog readers and my Facebook fans in the lurch. Sorry 'bout that.

As Christmas nears, the need to make more money has me taking on more work than my ADD brain can safely handle. And unfortunately, none of the articles have anything to do with art, fashion, social trends or the theatre. Damn. I'm going a little stir-crazy.

If only someone would pay me to blog...
...then again, it would probably only lose its luster if they did.

And so it is that I must get back to my oh-so-exciting federal bailout summaries in the hopes that I can make enough money to support my acting habit. I'm keeping my chin up, though. It could be worse... I could be waiting tables. Experience has shown that I'm a pretty crappy waitress anyhow.

Homo Crucifixion

A friend posted the link to a news story regarding a movement in California to ban divorce.
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2009/12/01/politics/main5845245.shtml

It is being tied in with the overturning of Prop 8 and the state's decision to ban gay marriage. The argument has become one of 'morality' between popular religious groups, citing that homosexuality is wrong according to the bible and should be afforded no 'rights' in legislation. Sanctity of marriage, right?

I was raised in a conservative Christian household. I learned from a very early age that there were fundamental 'morality' guidelines that I was to abide by. It was a long list of what-not-to-do. Don't kill, don't practice idolatry, don't bone your neighbor's wife, don't be an asshole to your parents, the basic 10 commandments. On further inspection of the bible, however, I was riddled with the questions that I imagine every inquisitive young adult has regarding the sacred text. My confusion only grew as I became old enough to question the doctrine I had followed naturally in my youth.

I met my first gay couple when I was cast in a local production of 'Annie' when I was 12. For most of the rehearsal process, we 'orphans' were on our own rehearsal track, having very little exposure to the adult cast members. It wasn't until we were closer to opening that I met Rodney and David, both members of the adult chorus.

I had watched Rodney (who I believe was the male dance captain) with awe through the rehearsals as he effortlessly kicked and leaped across the stage. He was a striking young man with piercing eyes, a chiseled face, legs for miles and perfectly pointed toes. He was probably in his mid-20's at the time, but I had an instant schoolgirl crush for the handsome dancing machine. He carpooled with another young man in the chorus who had one of the most amazing singing voices I had ever heard. As a young and naive girl, I naturally assumed they were 'BFF's.

I will never forget the tech rehearsal when I turned a corner to find them on the floor in a heap, giggling like little girls. Rodney had attempted a dance lift with David and had dropped him (they were both tall and built similarly.) Feeling like an intruder, I turned to leave when Rodney jumped up and asked if I'd try the lift he and David had just failed. I happily acquiesced, thrilled to have the chance to interact with the talented duo. We twirled and spun and they took turns tossing me this way and that before we eventually fell into a Rockette-esque kick line for our 'big finish'. From that day on, we were an inseparable trio.
I followed them around like a puppy, gleaning whatever information they were willing to share about dance, music, the theatre, etc. It was clear that they were the best of friends and they quickly 'adopted' me as their own orphan mascot. I was thrilled! The more time I spent with them backstage, the more their relationship puzzled me. I knew that theatre people were more affectionate and demonstrative than most people I had met, but their interactions were different. I finally got up the gumption and asked if they were related. They laughed and shared a 'look' before explaining that they were partners. "Partners in what?" (The only 'partners' I could think of were the partners at my dad's accounting firm and cowboys... I thought perhaps it was theatre lingo.) They clarified (in a whisper) that they were gay.

I'm sure now that they were having some fun at my expense with the conspiratorial whispers, but it somehow made the confession seem dangerous and exotic to my 12-year-old brain. Gay?? As in men loving men? No way. I'd only heard about such types in the briefest of instances and always in the context of the bible saying that such people were horrible sinners. I was both crushed and concerned, knowing that my new friends... these brilliant and beautiful people were going to hell.

I remember praying for them at night, asking God to help them not be gay.

Over the course of our production (which played for several weeks at Gammage and then again at the SunDome) I got to know several of the other adults in the cast. I was taken in by the charm of Bob Sorenson (who played our FDR) and the patient instruction of Noel Irick (the dance captain who taught me what a 'develope' was) as well as several other talented idols of mine (John Sankovich, Teresa Springer, Karen Morrow, John Schuck, Sarah Tattersall, and Molly Iforgetherlastname). But didn't get as close to them as I did my adoptive 'fathers', Rodney and David. I watched them for signs of evil, certain that the gay demon would expose himself if I was observant enough. But day after day, night after night, all I witnessed was love, acceptance and compassion.

At twelve, I didn't have a great understanding of sex. It was beyond my comprehension as I was just growing boobies myself, so I didn't think of relationships along the lines of fornication... though I knew that word was in the bible and had a bad connotation.

I can look back now and see that the relationship between Rodney and David started a chain reaction of questions that I would ask myself and respected elders as I struggled with the doctrine of my faith.

How could two people loving each other be an abomination to God? Wasn't there also a bible verse that says 'God is love'? How could that possibly be sinful? Were my brothers in danger of loving each other too much and being damned, too?? Gay didn't mean 'sexually deviant' to me as I had no notion of 'sexual normalcy'. All I knew was that these two beautiful men were damned for loving one another and it made me incredibly sad.

It wasn't until several years later (when I was experiencing the height of my own hormonal puberty) that I began to understand the moral repercussions of sexual deviance. I was able to research sexual abominations of the bible such as bestiality, homosexuality, adultery, premarital sex, and relations with a woman during her menses. (I love that word, menses. C'mon... say it out loud and giggle with me.)

I had spent a preponderance of my youth believing that sex was unpleasant, but a woman's 'Christian duty' to her husband. (I found out for myself at 17 that sex was indeed pleasant and only in the aftermath of losing my virginity did I seriously contemplate the moral sin I had committed by having premarital sex.) It only raised more questions, since I truly believed sex and physical intimacy to be an extension of or an expression of love and desire for another person. By engaging in premarital sex, I was now in the same 'sinner' category as the sexual deviants that raped animals and had butt-sex... which only raised more questions.

Being relatively sheltered, I wasn't allowed to listen to the radio or watch MTV, HBO, or anything that wasn't 'family friendly'. My Madonna cassette ('True Blue', which I received from a friend as a birthday gift) mysteriously disappeared from my room a week later. I saw my first Rated-R movie on a date when I was 16, unbeknown to my parents. So, I cannot blame my own promiscuity on my upbringing or the influence of sex on TV or in mainstream media. Was I genetically predisposed to like sex?

My relationship with the church and with God suffered because I knew it wasn't acceptable to 'pick and choose' parts of the bible to follow. I understood from family and church elders that the bible was to be taken in its entirety as a moral code for my life from start to finish. Being so 'black and white' meant that if I couldn't accept all of it, then I was following none of it.

For years now, I have been unable to classify myself as belonging to any particular religion. I still relate most closely with Christianity, but my grandmother will tell you that my soul is damned to hell because I no longer attend church regularly and disagree with some of the fundamental beliefs I was raised to accept as 'God's Law'. I cannot belong to a 'spiritual collective' that condemns, judges and rejects people who are valuable and viable children of God because they do not fit into the exclusive morality box we have developed in order to make us feel more like God's 'elite'.

I don't believe that homosexuality is immoral.
I believe that homosexuality is amoral and that homosexuals individually are either moral or immoral... just as heterosexuals are.
"God is no respecter of persons." (Acts 10:34 KJV) I believe that. And, I believe it applies not only to earthly appearance but also to physical expression, personality, and sexual orientation. I believe that He cares not one jot, iota, or yod about any aspect of our being human except that we try to reflect Him and His loving ways in all that we do. Spiritually speaking, love is the only real thing that can be multiplied and bear fruit. I believe that sexuality is, at worst, a parody of... or, at best, a parable of... the creative powers of God and the communion His saints have with one another in their "at-one-ment" with Him.

I believe that scripture interprets scripture... much like you find clues in Shakespeare to indicate and uncover meanings and motivations that aren't immediately clear to our understanding.

As the truth that God loves and accepts homosexuals is revealed to the Christian community, those who victimize and bully homosexuals in the name of religion will no longer have a cloak for their trespasses. Coming to an understanding that God loves everyone... and that God accepts everyone for who he or she is, and what he or she is in terms of sexual orientation... is crucial to countering the lies that have been spread about the irreconcilability of Christianity and homosexuality. Unfortunately, those lies have kept many homosexuals from Christ and Christianity. Hell, I'm not even gay... but that idea has kept ME from attending church for fear that I would be condemned by my peers for loving and accepting homosexuality as non-threatening and so very much less than deviant.

Homosexuals and heterosexuals are like cats and dogs. I have known many cats and dogs that are able to coexist. They just don't always understand one another. Most homosexuals have been thoroughly exposed to, and indoctrinated by, the interests, experiences and belief systems common to the dominant heterosexual culture and climate. It's no wonder we're fighting a morality war.

It is my true and heartfelt belief that God loves everyone. I am fairly certain that I am not going to hell because I've performed sodomy (very well, too). I'm fairly certain that God's only concern is that I love... not how I love...

I love both of my ex-husbands for many reasons, though I'm infinitely glad that separation and divorce was a viable option for me. Rather than banning divorce, I'd much rather see the Christian collective practice the love, acceptance, tolerance and compassion that God teaches.

I also hope that one day the gay community will forgive the harassment and injustice they have suffered at the hands of ignorance. In many cases, seven times seventy may prove to be the correct statistic.

Kenny

My hands are cold and I can't help but think of Kenny.

In the summer of 2008, I met a man named Kenneth through mutual friends in the theatre. Everyone called him 'Kenny'... and a small collective referred to him as the 'Falstaff of Tempe'.

Kenny was gregarious and acerbic... a larger-than-life personality. Incredibly intelligent, artistic, and genuinely funny, Kenny kept company with a diverse group of people and had a stunningly beautiful girlfriend who was a good 20 years younger than he. Even if his mouth wasn't curved upwards, his eyes were always twinkling with a hidden smile of mischief or merriment.

I never knew a healthy Kenny. He had been battling cancer for some time, and was frequently marred with the sticky residue left behind by medical tape and medicinal patches. His large frame couldn't hide his pale skin or the dark circles under his eyes. He had good days and bad days dependent on his level of pain and discomfort. There was always some level of discomfort. Often I would visit and the first question would be "So, is it a good day or a bad day?" His response was likely something to the effect of, "Well, I'm not dead yet, so it's gotta be a good day."
Because I have a hard time opening up to people, and am especially private about my own medical affairs, I expected Kenny to keep me at 'arms distance' (as I probably would have done if the roles were reversed). He was guarded the first couple of times we met and later explained that he had some preconceived notions about my character based on gossip from mutual acquaintances. By the third or fourth time we met, however, we were talking about music and art, exchanging favored clips on youtube, discussing children, parenting, politics. It wasn't long before I was harassing him to play his banjo for me while we joked and yukked it up. Every time he called, I answered the phone with the same greeting. "What's the frequency, Kenneth?"

On his 'good days', there was laughter... and much of it. On his 'bad days' he would talk about death and I would snap at him for being such a Negative Nancy. By the late Fall, Kenny's health was deteriorating. On the surface, he didn't look any different... but his breathing was a bit more labored and it took more effort to move from one place to another. He was having a rougher time and his girlfriend invited Jason and I over to lift his spirits and spend some time together. I remember that night so well. We laughed... Boy, did we laugh...
Kenny was a collector. He loved the quirky items you only find at private garage or estate sales... the kinds of things antique shops would have no interest in. Old personal family photos from decades long forgotten, outdated magazines from the 40's and 50's with ads for cigarettes and weight-gain products for women desirous of being more 'curvy'. Ha! We went through cracked and worn black and white pictures of people we never knew and made up stories about who they were and what their lives were like. It was a wonderful night.

Shortly after that, Kenny was admitted into Hospice. It was a rude awakening for me as I was in denial about how bad his health really was. How could he be dying when we were just laughing and joking and sharing stories about life and human nature and making the world a better place?? Kenny was one of the good ones and I wasn't ready to let go of such a precious friend who was so new to my life.

Kenny returned home from Hospice, but my joy was short-lived when I realized it wasn't because he was getting better but rather because he needed the comfort of home to ease his passing. I was crushed.

It was now starting to cool down as Winter approached. Our visits were shorter now as Kenny was confined to his bed. I would pop in to say 'Hi' and see how he was feeling. At this point, the illness and the medications were wreaking havoc on his system. He was constantly hot and uncomfortable and I felt helpless not being able to do anything to ease his discomfort. Until the evening I came in and hugged him before realizing that my hands were icy cold from being outside. I apologized for my cold hands, but before I could remove them, he grabbed them and put them on his burning forehead, groaning dramatically with relief. It became a ritual that I would stop in and warm my hands on Kenny's face, back and neck... giving him a short reprieve from the burning within.

I remember the call from Chelsea (his girlfriend) when she suggested I might want to come by for a visit. We had just finished rehearsal down the road and so my friend Jim and I popped over for a quick visit.

Kenny and I talked briefly again about some of the same subjects that had become routine. He talked about dying, and expressed his acceptance of that and his contentment with his life. We talked about our children and the 'legacy' we leave behind. He was so proud of his son, calling him his 'best accomplishment' and believing him to be the sole purpose of his life. He asked me the same question he had asked on prior occasions, "Why are you so nice to me?" I didn't understand the question. I would reply that 'you reap what you sow' and that I couldn't imagine NOT being nice to someone like Kenny... who was so immediately likeable. When I was with Kenny, I didn't worry about how I looked or concern myself with being PC and saying the right thing. He was just openly accepting of people... because he loved them. Well, most of them... ;) I knew something was different that night. Kenny wasn't smiling like he had before. In and out of consciousness, his mood was somber and his tone was serious when he spoke. I joked a smile out of him finally and gave him a last hug before saying my goodbyes. As I hugged him, he whispered in my ear "Pray for me."
And I did.
Kenny died that day.

It was the last time I saw him and the memory of our conversation still brings tears to my eyes. When I feel despondent or have lost my faith in humanity, Kenny's words echo in my soul... reminding me to give people the freedom to be flawed and to love them anyway. There are times when I think he was a much better person than I could ever hope to be. He was the last person who was truly 'kind' to me... for no reason.

It is approaching the one-year anniversary of his passing. I didn't realize that until I sat down on the patio and attempted to type with fingers half-frozen from the cold winter morning.

My hands are cold and I can't help but think of Kenny.

The crazy cat lady

I am the crazy cat lady.

I lived with both dogs and cats growing up, but our cats were always indoor/outdoor cats (read mostly outdoor).

Everything I've read says that cats are very independent creatures with little to no 'pack' mentality. But I disagree.

To give some background, Jason and I moved in together (officially) in September of 2001. In November, we solidified our relationship by adopting two dependents; Beatrice and Benedick.
Beatrice was an older female who instantly preyed upon Jason's weak spot for the 'underdog' or the animal who would otherwise go unadopted. I fell in love with a ball of fur no bigger than my hand, who was scaling the door to his kennel and mewing pitifully. We (begrudgingly) decided on taking home the older female when the shelter associate explained that they were having a 'two-for-one' on cats. Adopt one, get one free!! So, we brought home both cats. Beatrice spent the first two months under our bed and little baby Benedick spent the first two months draining our wallets from vet visits to cure him of Bordatella. (The feline version of 'kennel cough'.)
Beatrice had obviously been an outdoor cat as we soon learned. The only time she came inside was to use the bathroom. No joke. She eventually stopped coming home for meals, but would meow at the back door to be let in, where she would promptly do her business and ask to be let out again. Eventually, she stopped coming home altogether.
But Benedick was always a homebody. He went from being a scrawny, snotty li'l furball to a 13-pound Mainecoon in no time.

He was our 'only child' for years until a friend of a friend had two litters of kittens and still needed to find a home for one...



It was two days after Jason's birthday in 2005 when I drove to go pick up our new addition, a tortoiseshell female. Upon arriving, I saw another little kitten (all black) and inquired as to whether she had found a home for that one as well.
Big mistake. Ha.
She explained that the black kitten was from her other litter and had an umbilical hernia that was quite pronounced, making him unadoptable. She was pretty sure it was going to require costly surgery and he'd have to be put down. I instantly collected both kittens in my carrier and off we went for home. (Thank goodness Jay has a soft spot for unadoptables. I didn't get into any trouble whatsoever!)

This was also the year that our family had discovered 'LOST'... the TV series. So, our new additions were named Claire and Sawyer. Sawyer grew to a healthy size and age and got his surgery where they tucked his spleen and gallbladder back into their correct cavity and gave him a nice, flat tummy that would make any Beverly Hills housewife jealous.
Claire and Sawyer decided to get in one last propagation before being fixed. Upon discovering her pregnancy, my daughter asked if we could keep one of the kittens. Ummm... no. We already had three cats. And even that was gently nudging me into a certain kind of depression. (I love cats, but honestly don't want to be a crazy cat lady.)
Thinking I knew something about genetics, I looked at my black cat and my tortoiseshell and relented with a "Fine, you can keep the white one." Parental Psychology, right? She feels like she got her way and I got one over on the kid 'cuz there's no way these two will ever have a white cat.
The firstborn was calico just like mom and the second and third were midnight black just like daddy. The last.... was white. With blue eyes. Our genetic freak.
What makes him a freak is that he got all of the recessive genes... and statistically speaking, should be either blind or deaf. But our little Spartacus was neither.

'Sparky' should technically belong to my daughter... but he and I have bonded. I'm sure some of it has to do with imprinting and early bonding. He was born in our house, slept beside my bed in the whelping box... and at two years old, we now have routines together.
He typically wakes me up in the mornings by 'making muffins' on my belly or my backside... or by curling up by my head and purring loudly.
First thing in the morning (or after my walk) I'm typically outside on the patio working on my laptop, answering emails, blogging, etc. Spartacus knows that this is 'cuddle time' where I will be in one spot for a bit. Every morning, he jumps onto my lap, 'makes muffins' on my thigh and then curls up for his morning nap. After dinner when I typically catch up on my recorded shows, he will do the same. If I'm not in an appropriate position on the couch, he will whine and yell until I accommodate him. No joke.

When I'm in a show, he mopes in the evenings and harasses Jason until I come home. When I return home after being gone for an extended period of time, he becomes my shadow.
And every night as I fall asleep, he is either snuggled between Jason and I, or draped over us, or against my available side, purring...

It's hard for me to imagine people that don't like animals. I love all my furry babies and I cringe at the thought of any animal being mistreated. The display of what I can only call 'unconditional love' is immense from these "less intelligent" creatures. Granted, the love is sometimes on the condition that they are fed... but I find it impossible not to care for them and love them right back.

I guess in a way, I've already become the crazy cat lady. My children are growing up so fast and it's inevitable that one day, I'll have only my cats (and Jason) to care for and look after. I guess it's a good thing I'm in a relationship with another softie.

However, I think four cats is plenty. More than plenty. I don't see adding to the mix any time soon. Besides, Benedick is still pretty sore about losing his 'only child' status. We now refer to him as "Grumpy Uncle Benny" around the house. He's the only cat I know that does tricks, which I think is awesome.

And on that note, I believe it is time for me to get my day started... I have a strict agenda which requires that I do not leave the house. I'm NOT a Black Friday fan and you probably couldn't pay me to contend with the crazed shoppers and insane traffic. I say probably, 'cuz I'm poor and most likely do have a price... but since no one is offering me money to go shopping today, I'm going to stay home and decorate the house with the kids. Take THAT consumer capitalism!! (Who am I kidding? I'll do most of my holiday shopping online and pay almost full retail price. Whatever. Don't judge me.)

Happy Thanksgiving and a very Happy Holiday season!!!

Happy Thanksgiving!!

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving... and I have so much to be thankful for.
Today, I'll pick up the kids after a half-day of school and bring them home where we'll go through homework that needs to be completed over their break and start on some of the baking and cooking for tomorrow.
Thanksgiving was always a huge family affair growing up. I can remember spending the holiday at my Grandma's house with tables and chairs set up all around the backyard and a huge buffet of dishes in every shape and color - the favored recipes of family members always being included. Dave and Lynn's fruit salads, Susie's pies and cheesecakes... cousins and second-cousins, the pastor and his wife, foreign exchange students and other temporary family adoptees. Huge.
As family members began to splinter through divorce as well as marry and procreate the next generation, we began to celebrate separately or in smaller familial groups. Mom had moved to Oregon and our matriarch was no longer planning and hosting for us.
It was then that Jason and I started hosting our own Thanksgiving. It left us flexible with the kids so that they could celebrate both with us and with their dad's side of the family. It also allowed us to cook some of the dishes we wouldn't otherwise (with family taking care of the bulk) and open our home to friends that didn't have families in town with which to celebrate.
My dear friend Scott (Pandora) has been doing the same for years and calling it their 'Annual Peasant's Feast'. They are in Phoenix. We called ours the 'Orphan's Thanksgiving' and hosted at our 'east side' location in Mesa. Equity actors in town on contract, friends and family separated by work, or those just wanting a second helping after their own celebrations were welcome to join in either or both. And one year, Jay and I wrapped up our Orphan's Thanksgiving just in time to make it to the Peasant's Feast ourselves.
I was always very thankful for my large extended family and do sometimes wish that I was still tightly woven into the fibers of it.
But this seems to be the year where 'the best of both worlds' comes to fruition. Tonight, I'll spend some time in the kitchen with the kids and Jay (not all at once, mind you) and tomorrow, the kids will spend time with their dad's side of the family in the early afternoon. I'll pick them up and head to my mom's where we'll combine our efforts and produce a feast fit for kings. The doors are open for anyone on the east side of town who wishes to join us, and we're sure to have a great supply of leftovers for the week.
As is tradition, the cats will get their Thanksgiving treat of smoked salmon. (I know, they're spoiled. Whatev.)
And on Friday... the kids and I will unpack our Christmas decorations. Christina and I will put Jason and David to work while we set out to find a suitable tree.
My adult life hasn't always been one of routine or tradition, but I find that we've settled into our own adaptation of the holidays I once knew. Christina and I will bake cakes, cookies, breads and pastries. David and Jason will make sure the fire is cracklin'. There will be music. And laughter. And love. Family.

I have so very much to be thankful for.

Christina asked for a new phone for Christmas and it turns out that hers is dying anyhow. Well, her phone came in already... so she'll be getting one of her major gifts a bit early. (I'm thankful they're at the age where we can do that kind of thing.)

As I write, there is a purring kitten on my lap, a cool breeze on the patio and steam rising from my mug of hot cocoa. Plus, I'm the current champion (between Jay and I) in both Bejeweled Blitz and Lexulous. Call me boring, but I couldn't be more content.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

The David Blog

Welcome to what has obviously become my weekly blog.

It's so hard to blog daily. I don't have that much on a daily basis that is worth extended discussion or analysis. Plus, with the advent of Facebook and Twitter it seems we all microblog daily. 'Andi Watson is eating jelly beans', 'Andi is beating her children', 'Andi pooped so hard she saw stars'... and so on and so on...

And so it is that this is Thanksgiving week. We had been doing our yearly 'orphan's Thanksgiving' but this year, neither Jason nor myself are doing a show over the holidays nor are we housing or entertaining actors from out of town. (Which has been the norm for about the last 4 years or so now.)
So, we decided that we're still going to open our doors for the holiday (this time at mom's house. Yay!) though we don't expect to have the turnout we did in years prior. We'll see how it goes.

I've done the major Christmas shopping for both Christina and Jason. I just have David left... and will have to be creative in order to cover both his birthday AND Christmas. And not just any birthday, but his 16th. I can't quite believe it. Sixteen years. It's quite a milestone for our family.

To give a little history about David... many know that I had him at a very young age. I became pregnant my senior year of high school. Thankfully, I wasn't showing by graduation... my close friends and family knew I was knocked up, but for the rest of the school (and my teachers) it was business as usual.
My father had kicked me out of his house after learning about the pregnancy and I lived with my mom for the last two months of school with the understanding that I would be on my own once I graduated.
I graduated with honors and set out to find a job that had health benefits to cover prenatal care and the birth. Promptly upon graduating, I started work with AT&T at their call center in Mesa.
Before I could draw my first paycheck, however, my father sold my car to settle debts I owed (for rent and insurance while I was living with him my Senior year). I had tried unsuccessfully to find a roommate situation close to my work... and ended up in a sleazy apartment with a woman who fed her two-year-old day old beans and stale bread. She had no TV or phone and was struggling to make enough money to send to her 'baby daddy' in prison.
My best friend Amanda and her father showed up one evening with a truck to move my possessions out of this woman's apartment and into their home where I lived for the next two months. What a change it was to be surrounded by loving, encouraging friends and family. Two days a week, Amanda got her butt out of bed at the ungodliest of hours to drive me to work. The other three days, I was in the office carpool. Saving my pennies for a deposit on a place to live and hopefully a vehicle of my own eventually. To this day, I still believe I never would have made it without my extended family to take me in.
By July, I had a one-bedroom apartment close enough to work that I could walk there and did so every day. Rain, 116-degree heat, etc... I waddled my happy butt to work every day, thankful that I had made it to a place where I had a home and a future for myself and my child.
I was young enough that I hadn't picked up any horrible habits yet. I didn't smoke, didn't drink, hadn't yet become addicted to caffeine. I ate right, got good rest (what else can you do without cable?) and had my daily half-mile walk to work and back. I was in great health throughout my pregnancy and everything was 'business as usual'...
I finally relented and married David's dad in October of '93 and David was born in December. We lived in my dinky little apartment for about six months before we closed on a cute little house in Chandler and waited for the construction to complete.
It wasn't until David was about nine months to a year old that I began to notice developmental issues. He wasn't developing language or interpersonal communication skills at the rate he should have. We started having him tested for everything his pediatrician requested. Medical professionals deemed that it must be his hearing and suggested he have his tonsils and adenoids removed. The next step would be to put tubes in his ears if that didn't help. Well, his hearing tests came back normal so the next step was more tests. BAER, OAE, CAT scans, neurological tests, etc. Many came back inconclusive. By this time, David was 5 and starting his first year of school. He struggled socially and had horrible tantrums of frustration that stemmed from his inability to communicate. At the time, two of the four pediatricians that we had consulted were suggesting Ritalin or other forms of medicating him to control behavior. I was adamantly against it unless they could prove to me beyond reasonable doubt that it was what he needed. They couldn't. We went back to testing.
Thankfully, we now had the schools, educators, and professionals in child development evaluating David as well. We heard suggestions of many different learning disabilities and social disorders, which is where we first started hearing terms like 'autistic' and 'pervasive developmental disorder'. Woah.
David spent most of his elementary education in 'special ed' classes. It was there that they discovered his mild dyslexia, which helped to explain his difficulty (read stubborn refusal) with reading or writing. Through therapy and the education system, we finally reached a diagnosis of HFA or 'high-functioning autism' with characteristics indicating Asperger's Syndrome.

I went through a long period in which I didn't really discuss David's issues. Most of my closest friends never suspected that David was anything other than a somewhat quiet and awkward kid. Some asked about his odd behaviors and I would explain that he was developmentally disabled or had learning disabilities. It took me a couple of years to actually use the word 'autism'. Because I knew so precious little about it, it was a scary word to me. One that meant my son might never know freedom or independence. The only thing I knew about autism was that Jenny McCarthy was against vaccinating her children because of it.

Fast forward to the present... David is in his Sophomore year of High School. He is now integrated into regular classes (though he spent two months in summer school to make up English credits) and is what they call 'mainstreamed' into the 'normal' adolescent hierarchy. (Though calling high school kids 'normal' is a stretch in any scenario.) He is still awkward and shy, but the last two years have seen leaps and bounds in his development and his ability to engage in both social and solitary situations.
It has been a long road.

He still needs assistance in the kitchen and may not have a driver's license in the very immediate future, but he's learning to be self-sufficient and responsible... one step at a time. He still has a bad habit of accidentally hiding things like the remote control, keys, cell phone chargers, etc.

I'm thankful that we stood by our decision to pursue diagnosis and I'm thankful that David was given a (mostly) normal life. His dad is hard on him, which kills me sometimes. As a mom, I want to protect and shield him from anything unpleasant or difficult. But he is becoming a strong young man and has always been a beautiful, sensitive and loving boy. Now he's 6 feet tall and gangly... and a beautiful, sensitive and loving teen.

David has worked really hard the past few years and 'mainstream' status is his victory over his prognosis. He is now talking about the kinds of jobs he'd like to work at and the things he wants to do with his life as an adult. It's a huge step and brings me great joy to see the small transformations, though this is something he will struggle with all his life.

Next month, he will turn 16. It's mind-boggling to think that it was 16 years ago that I gave birth to this... young man. I laugh, I cry... I run to the mirror to make sure I don't look 50 yet.

We have found mutual forms of communicating with music and laughter. I love to make my son laugh... it is one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard in my life.

A week in review...

...because it has been that long since I last blogged. I'm getting bad about it again.

My walking went from daily to sporadic over the weekend. I use the kids as an excuse, but they really aren't one.

So... in the last week... I went on an indy movie audition, had two photo shoots, dressed up as Madonna for an event at the Herberger, had a callback for PT, came down with a nasty cold, and have been working on the belly cast I'm doing for a friend. I have two holiday events coming up and a fundraiser event for Ryan House (ryanhouse.org). It's becoming quite busy, so I'm actually a little relieved that I'm not doing a show right now.

I also grew a few gray hairs this weekend as I put my son behind the wheel of a car for the first time. Oh, heavens! I thought I was going to crap my pants. It quickly changed from a 'driving lesson' into 'a lesson about the brake pedal'. That was all I could handle. Poor kid went around the block at 5 mph because I wouldn't let him put his foot on the gas. My nerves couldn't take it. Baby steps.

And on that note, I am going to baby step my way to bed and hopefully blog a bit more regularly this week.
But I leave you with an oh-so-exciting slideshow of my current work-in-progress.

This is the initial casting... the morning after Kristi and I did it.
Below is after I reinforced it and started sanding the belly.














This is after most of the sanding is done... you can see patches where there are spots that needed to be filled or reinforced.


I'll go through and detail it again and do another coat of primer. It's far from the finished product. We're actually going to paint and decorate this one. So, I'll post pics of the finished product once it's done. :)




TA DA!

The End.

Happy Veterans Day!

I'm getting horrible about blogging... but I did walk today!!
I have 'time' issues. Just not enough time in the day to fit in all of the things I want to do. Grrrr.
I had a wonderful afternoon with my friend Kristi yesterday.
She and I met doing a murder mystery dinner theatre years and years ago (prolly '99 or 2000) and while we haven't done any other shows together since then, we've maintained the kind of friendship that two passionate artists have. She is pregnant with her first child now and due in about two weeks or so. (It's a boy!) So yesterday, we spent the afternoon doing a quick maternity photo shoot and a belly-cast (a plaster casing of her pregnant bust). It was SO much fun to sit and gab about life and family and relationships and people as well as talking shop about theatre and our craft. It was encouraging and uplifting and left me feeling like she had done ME a huge favor by coming over and being a part of my day.
Today is Veterans Day, so the kids are enjoying the beautiful weather and a day off of school with us. We watched Transformers 2 last night and today Christina and I will catch up on SYTYCD... after which, I've got to get back to editing pics and helping David with his report on Ancient Greece for school. joy.
Tomorrow I'm auditioning for an indy movie and doing another shoot and on Friday, I'll be in full-on 'Madonna' gear for a celebrity event which will mark the first of several over the holiday season. Whew!! I don't know how I'd get by without my iphone right now... it is far more organized than I am. Thank god.
And on that note, I must leave blogworld for photoworld and get my butt in gear.

Happy Veterans Day and my personal thanks to all who have served and sacrificed.

Lordy, it's gettin' busy!

So I obviously didn't get a chance to sit down and blog this weekend. And today was really no exception.
I've got a slew of photo shoots going on this week, which means that when I'm not actually shooting, I'm editing. (Not my forte, but I'm getting better.)
Tomorrow I'm doing a maternity shoot and a belly-casting, which I'm very excited about... and am running into Phoenix for a costume fitting before picking up the kids (no school Wednesday) for some family fun-time. Whew! I forgot how frenetic it gets around here during the holiday season.

My daughter needs a new dress for her first official 'formal' dance and my son is about to turn 16 in a month. Now that's a whole 'nother blog altogether!!

I will do my best to keep blogging this week in spite of the hectic schedule. I didn't walk or jog this weekend and felt a little off-kilter as a result. All day Saturday I had the feeling that I had forgotten something or missed something important. By Sunday, I realized that my body had already adopted the new routine and was letting me know.

And now, I must be off to bed so I can wake early enough to extend my distance a bit more.
Happy Monday.

TGIF - Day 5

Woke up late and had to work early this morning, so my 'round the block adventures' will have to take place this evening. I can tell a difference already as I feel a bit antsy this afternoon, but am hoping that multi-tasking on the blog will help keep me temporarily distracted.

This weekend, I will also reluctantly pull out the boxes of Christmas decorations and sift through them to see what has survived the packing and moving. I still refuse to put anything up as it is waaaay too early (for me). But I'm pretty sure some of my Fall decor is mixed in with the batch and that I will display with merriment and joy.

I haven't started Christmas shopping yet. I'm horrible about Christmas shopping. I don't really know how to set a budget or make a definitive list. If I were to cut down my holiday spending it would look something like:
85%: David and Christina
5%: Jason
10%: Everybody else
We've had some really rough holidays in past years. When Jason and I left UoP and went on tour, we made our yearly salary by mid-summer but had a hard time making it last through the winter. Thank goodness for holiday events and corporate gigs! We were scarcely able to put food on the table and relied on the kindness of strangers... well, friends and family, really. My mom would send care packages of groceries, Lois and Brent let us tag along on their Costco membership, Maren surprised us once with bags of goodies... and we bought our stocking stuffers at the Dollar Store. We couldn't afford a tree, so we had a 'Christmas Chair' instead. Yup. A 'Christmas Chair'. The kids and I decorated our big overstuffed chair with tinsel, ornaments and bows. A few years later, we would 'paint' our Christmas Tree on a huge wall mirror and tape the tinsel and ornaments to it, giving at least a 2-D effect.
Because we've been blessed with enough work through the holidays, I think I overcompensate for those earlier years by spoiling the kids as much as possible. They were always such good sports about those sparse Christmases and I think they only brought us closer together as a family.
This year, I'm hoping I can rein myself in a bit. Some of my holiday budget will be going towards David's 16th birthday. Lord. Sixteen. It doesn't seem possible. He deserves something special and has been working really hard this year. He's struggled his entire life with learning disabilities and was finally diagnosed as high-functioning autistic, but has been mainstreamed this year at his High School. He's making some great strides, but still struggles quite a bit with the reading and writing required. Despite a few missteps early in the semester, he has been showing a lot of focus and responsibility and I'm really proud of him.
However, I don't know what to call his birthday... it's a 'sweet sixteen' for a girl... is it a 'super sixteen'?... a 'sick sixteen'?... I'm not hip to the lingo.

And on that note, I'm afraid I must return to the world of editing and brochure-making. Joy.
Happy Opening to all those that are getting ready to open shows this week! And a blessed tech week to those that labor on the precipice.

Day four of the boring blog titles...

Stuck to yesterday's route, which Jay estimates at about a mile and a half to two miles. It still seems a paltry distance, but we've both agreed that we'll be at three miles by next week. That's plenty soon enough.
Have I mentioned my calves ache? Mental note to stretch more didn't really sink in.

Had an audition last night, which was really fun, but could have gone a little better... in any case, I'm glad I went. Had fun with the audition itself and got the chance to catch up with some friends I hadn't seen in a while. Like my pregnant friend Kristi, who is about to pop!! We're doing a maternity photo shoot and a belly-cast next week and I can't wait!!

Kristi and I talked a tiny bit about relationships, which has been the subject of many conversations with friends lately.
One of the wonderful characteristics about my friendship circle is the age range that it encompasses. I have several young friends who are just getting married, many friends that are into their 7th-10th year of marriage or on their second marriage, and several friends who have been married well over 15-20 years. It's interesting to look at the wide demographic and the various states of the relationships they represent.
I've been doing a lot of analyzing lately. Two of my dear friends are at crossroads in their relationships. Both stories are frighteningly similar.... a 'rough time' extended into months and years of financial, emotional, spiritual and physical struggle and as the dust settles, both are left wondering which way is up and why they're even together.
Relationships are hard. Relationships are hard because people are constantly evolving. Constantly learning.
When that happens, habits and routines can change, opinions can change, convictions and ideals can change... until one morning you wake up to find a leftist Liberal in bed where your conservative Republican husband used to be. Or perhaps YOU are now the leftist Liberal feminist and your conservative husband is left to freak out about where his barefoot and pregnant wife disappeared to.
It's difficult to recover sometimes, which is why I think so many marriages end in divorce or succumb to infidelity.
Faith-based marriages aren't always better off, but when the dust settles, the common commitment to God is often a good platform from which a dissenting couple can make a 'leap of faith' in their relationship.
But it's not fool-proof. Obviously.
And people... all of us... are fools.
In our common quest for companionship or the common fear or distaste for living alone, we make mistakes. We enter into relationships without the wisdom or experience to tell us 'how' to make it work successfully. Or we enter into relationships selfishly that just make us feel better about who we are... temporarily.
And it is temporary.
If I had any words of wisdom (which I really don't) I'd tell my friends that 'this too, shall pass'. That going through a 'rough time' in your marriage is normal. Common. There will be friends and family that will listen to you vent and even perhaps over-dramatize your situation; offering quips like, "I can't believe you put up with that!" or "Why do you let him/her treat you like that?" And I don't mean in response to abuse, abandonment or neglect, but in response to something like not putting the toilet seat down or a hot verbal exchange during an argument. It becomes harder to distinguish your emotions from those you've elicited from others... and that just leads to more confusion. Hence mother's warning not to involve friends and family into your private affairs at home.
Trust me... every time Jason and I had a public spat or a long-standing argument, the rumor boomerang came back with news of our dramatic break-up. Even I was over-dramatic about it at times, having grown up in a household where my parents didn't fight or argue much at all. When there was a disagreement, the house simply grew quiet... so the first time Jason raised his voice to me in anger, I was sure we were headed for Splitsville. I did myself a great disservice early in our relationship when I confided in friends that were more interested in sharing my dirty laundry with the gossip chain than helping me analyze and fix it. Gradually, I started seeking wisdom from people I look up to and respect... those who had been in successful relationships... didn't matter if they were 'married' or not. It made a world of difference.

I'm not always 'happy' about what is going on in my life or my relationship. Depends on the day. Sometimes I'm really steamed about the condition of the toilet seat or the state of my bank account. Sometimes Jason is really steamed that he can't find any clean boxers because I've been wearing them around the house all week.
What I can say is that I'm blessed. Blessed to have a car in the garage, a roof over my head, food on the table, a relationship with a man who loves me deeply, blessed to have a family that laughs and sings and talks to one another. Blessed to be part of a community that encourages others to continue learning and creating and evolving... regardless.
The 'rough times' are just that. Rough times. It's temporary. And without those rough times, we'd never appreciate the good stuff.

That's all I've got.

Speaking of blessings, though... we will be once again hosting our annual 'Orphan's Thanksgiving Pot Luck' again this year. I guess this will also technically count as our 'housewarming' since we've only hosted small private parties since moving into our new home on the east side. (represent)
I will post details on Facebook and in specific emails once we nail down times and such.

I'm sure I have a few construction-paper hand-Turkeys (circa 1999) to display around here.
And then I've gotta get my booty in gear for this dag-nabbed Christmas thingie everyone's talking about. Oy. Should probably get into the garage next week and haul out the half-smashed decorations.

Watson out.

Day three... and let the rumpus begin!

Got a late start, but went further today than yesterday. Jason is being very good not to mock what is still a remedial fitness regime at best. My calves are still tight. But at my age, I'm thrilled to be able to say that anything is tight. So, go me!

It is already doing wonders for my mood, though. I haven't been nearly as grumpy and grumblesome as I typically am before noon. I guess that's a good thing. :)

Have a callback this evening at PT and I'm woefully underprepared. Here's to hoping that flying by the seat of my pants will spark some genius creativity. Woo Hoo!

I'm going to try to find some time to blog a bit more this evening. For now, I need to shower, prep and run some errands. Run. Oy.

New Routine (Day 2)

Went further today, but didn't run. Kept it at a brisk walk. My calves are a little tight today, indicating that I probably need to stretch more. Mental note taken.

I've been thinking a lot about Scotty J.
He was a wonderful human being and a tremendous talent in our theatre community. He passed very suddenly on Saturday night and the entire extended theatre family is still reeling from the loss.
I never got the chance to bond with Scotty as castmates often do over common projects. I met Scotty at karaoke several years ago... and then again at auditions... and again through common friends over drinks... until we just naturally greeted each other with a hug or a smile and a 'weenky-face' across a room. He was always gracious, never pretentious.
I've slowly realized that my relationship with many people in the theatre community doesn't extend much further than my relationship did with Scotty.
I'll make a sincere admission that I keep people at arm's length... emotionally, personally, etc. Sure, I share stories and quips and anecdotes about my life, but I typically don't get 'close' to people. Perhaps some of this stems from a lifestyle in which my 'co-workers' change every two months or so. Perhaps some of this is a result of disappointments or perceived betrayals. Regardless the reason, it's not my preference.
As friends move away and acquaintances leave this life before they're given the chance to be friends; I'm humbled by those who have touched my life, however fleeting it may have been. For a while now, I have viewed every relationship as a potential heartbreak. If I don't get close, I won't grieve the loss when they're gone. But it also means I don't celebrate them while they're here.
To my friends who have reached out and made the greatest of efforts to keep me in your life (even though I don't call, don't return emails, or don't show up), I sincerely apologize for being such a shit. I have been hurting and grieving over the last two years or so and it has affected every relationship I have and has prevented relationships from healing and/or growing. My 'self-preservation mode' really is nothing more than selfish. I do get busy with work and the kids and my sincere desire to have our personal 'family time', which has become sacred to me. But I can certainly make more of an effort than I have been lately. Especially to those friends who have been so near and dear to me through such rough times.
Jason, Kaitlin, Richard, Nathalie, Amanda, Mandy, Roland, Trey, Doc, Jimmy P, Keath, Erika, Rachael, Johanna, Tracy, Franc, Geoff, Ammy, David and Christina... I love you guys so much. Thanks for sticking with me... even when I'm an asshat.
Day Two.
Done.

The New Routine (Day 1)

My Uncle Matt has cancer. My Aunt Cheryl has cancer. My mother lost her thyroid and two lymph nodes to cancer when I was very young. Her mom (my "Nanny") and her aunt (my "Mamo") lost their lives to cancer.
You would think I'd know better than to ever pick up a cigarette. But I did. In a rebellious phase after my divorce, I promptly got a tattoo, had my belly-button pierced, and took up smoking. All habits and characteristics that my ex-husband had expressed distaste for. I don't regret the tattoo. The belly-button piercing closed up the first time I had to remove my ring to wear a corset for six weeks. I regret ever picking up a cigarette.
As an artist, I don't always lead a very disciplined lifestyle. I'm disciplined about my work and rigorous with my 'off-hours', devoting a good amount of time to learning lines and researching text, setting, character, etc. But I am not disciplined about my diet, my physical routine, or just how I treat my body in general. As soon as a show closes, I can guarantee to put on 5-10 pounds. (I love my gelato!) When I begin rehearsals, I shed that 5-10 pounds during the rehearsal process, keep it off during the production, and promptly put it back on after the show has closed. Rinse and repeat. It's not the healthiest yo-yo and I'm not at the age where I can sustain that kind of back and forth without having to also nurse weak ankles, aching knees and a knotted back.
My Uncle Matt had begun to train for marathons with his wife when he received his cancer diagnosis. I haven't really had the chance to talk to him about it at length, but he has been on my mind a lot as I read his blog and chuckle at his Facebook updates. He and his wife (Syria) are both talented performers in their own right and I'm honored to be able to say that I performed onstage with both of them years ago. (And still dream of giving my aunt a run for her money should I ever get the chance to play Mrs. Shinn or Yente. She's an amazing character actress and was way too young for either role when she played them, but was brilliant!) I guess one of my biggest faults is that I don't often open up and tell people how inspirational they have been to me personally or spiritually or artistically. Matt and Syria encompass all three.
And so it is that I started talking to Jason about our routine and lifestyle. After joking about whether or not we should all shave our heads for Christmas, we decided instead to pay homage by breaking some habits and starting a routine.

This morning, I woke up and put on my sporty shoes. And ran.

I didn't run far and I didn't run long. But I did it.

I'm hoping that with the increase in water consumption and the cessation of smoking that the wheeze will go away... or at least not kick in at the first 20 yards... and while I can't promise to cut out the caffeine, I suspect it will be on a gradual decline.
Jay and I already love to cook for each other and take great pride in being able to grab tufts of our own organic herbs (growing on the window sill) and fresh veggies from the corner market to whip up something healthy and fun. Extra points if it's ethnic cuisine! Our one big indulgence is sushi, which we save for special occasions. Or make up special occasions for. Whatever. Don't judge me. A morning walk/run is the next logical step in a healthier lifestyle.

It is my hope to also incorporate a little more time for blogging in my routine. For starters, because I really do love to write... and because it will help keep me accountable. It's also a nice way to document observations like seeing my neighborhood up-close and personal with it's droopy-faced pumpkins and limp ghosts on the webbed walkways, and the first wreath of the season on someone's front door, the window of which bore a yellow ribbon... the dogs, the kids, the fellah working on his truck...

They say the hardest part of running is making it out the door. I personally think the hardest part is the actual 'running' part... but what do I know? I'm new at this.
Thanks, Uncle Matt... for helping me make it out the door. And thanks, Jason... for keeping me motivated.
Day One.
Done.

And the curtain goes down...

So yesterday was the closing performance for 'Curtains'.
While I've been thrilled at the prospect of home-cooked meals for myself and the children every evening and simple things like long, languid showers and a glass of wine on the patio in the evenings; I'm waiting for the depression to sink in.
I guess it's not 'depression' as much as it's a feeling of restlessness that actors go through while waiting for the next project to come along. Regardless how overwhelmed I get with family and work and writing and photography, theatre is my true creative outlet and I often find myself getting antsy very shortly after the curtain has fallen.

The up-side is that I get a chance to have a bit of a social life now. I also find that the definition of such has changed over the years. In my 20's... the 'social life' meant hanging at karaoke bars and dance clubs, meeting as many new people as possible, and forging friendships that really didn't extend past 'last call'.
These days, I prefer to entertain at home with select friends that have stood the test of time and have their own interesting perspective to add to conversations on life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Not that my theatre friends don't... but there are only a select few that I would count among my 'nearest and dearest'. Theatre folk (myself included) tend to be fickle. As Heidi Klum would say, "One day you're in... and the next day, you're out."

This is also the first time in seven years that I'm not doing a show over the holidays. With the exception of a few corporate gigs, I'll be spending my spare time at home... maybe even do some Christmas shopping in an actual store. Wow. What a concept.

And on that note, I'm realizing that I have approximately two weeks to build my daughter's Halloween costume (Supergirl) and find knee-high red boots. It's the only time of year when shopping at a 'stripper store' for your 14-year-old daughters' footwear and accessories is acceptable. (Or at least that's how I justify it.)

I'm sure that once I dust off the sewing machine and start on all the projects around the house that I've been putting off for months, I'll be fine and won't feel the absence of rehearsals in my life. It's only for two months until I start the next show, but still... I'm a big baby when I'm not doing something onstage.

I will miss this cast. I had the opportunity to work with some incredibly talented people who were eager to explore and always positive. I will miss the smiles and laughter backstage and onstage.

sigh.

And so we move on to the next chapter.
And... scene.

Falling over myself...

So it's almost the end of September and I haven't blogged in about a month.
Part of the reason is my work schedule and my rehearsal schedule, which have left me precious free time with which to catch up on my DVR playlist, Facebook status, Twitter, etc. Besides which, I do a lot of writing for my 'day job', so blogging had to take a backseat for a little bit.

I've been playing Niki Harris in 'Curtains' at Phoenix Theatre. We just opened last week and are into our second week of performances now. I'm having a blast! Was a bit overwhelmed when we first started, but I think I'm getting the hang of things now.

It's not as easy to go back and forth between genres of theatre as I thought it would be. When I (sorta) left musical theatre to go into (straight) plays, I was a bit too broad in my characterization and movements. Being ready to burst into song and dance at any given moment is a bit counter-intuitive to claiming my space and staying grounded. For me, anyhow. And making the switch to the classics (Shakespeare, Shaw, Moliere) was an even heavier immersion into text and more technical aspects of performing.
Transitioning back into the more presentational style of musical theatre has been a challenge. The reviews are out, however, and so far so good. No one has seen it necessary to lambaste me or call me out on my lack of dance training... so I'm calling it a success! :)

I also just won 'best supporting actress' at the AriZoni awards for playing the role of Nerissa in 'Merchant of Venice'. It was very much unexpected due to the stiff competition. I can't pretend to understand how awards work or who gets what recognition. The role of Nerissa is a small one and can be played so many different ways; but it's not iconic, nor was it particularly challenging. (Well, the role wasn't particularly challenging... the process definitely was... but that was more due to the theatre company and the director than anything else.) On one hand, I'm pleased to have something tangible to note the work I did last season. On the other hand, I think there are far more talented actresses who gave far better performances in far better shows. So, it's bittersweet.

Well, we'll see what this season brings. It promises to be interesting to say the least. And I'm hoping that by the end of the summer, my plans to move will come to fruition. Keeping my fingers crossed anyhow. :)

I shouldn't even be here today...

I just spent an amazing weekend in San Diego.

It was closing weekend of Measure for Measure with Poor Players and it was also the weekend of my BFs birthday. So, what better way to celebrate than to plan a roadtrip and take a weekend off and get outta town, right?

We left very early Friday morning and drove out in beautiful weather, making it to California mid-morning and settling into San Diego by noon. Glorious.

We puttered around the hotel, had drinks at the bar, laughed on the patio... and left for the show.

Which was no less than stellar. Wonderful performances, a beautiful concept... dark, humorous... a delicious evening.

Our Saturday was no less amazing as we set out to adventure and found some amazing local cuisine, got a peek into the job and real estate market, stuffed ourselves with a decadent supper of wine and cheeses, played poker with friends and made our plans to return home... rested and rejuvenated.

Then our radiator exploded and we overheated an hour west of Phoenix.

Thankfully, my mother put off her canning project and drove all the way out to pick us up while the car was towed to the nearest shop in Buckeye. Oy.
Today, I got the news that there is no compression in the motor and that I need new heads and rings. Double Oy.
I have no clue what it's going to cost me. I couldn't bear to make the phone calls today for estimates. I put it off to tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'll brace myself for the worst and figure out if it's more appropriate to sell it to salvage and see if I can buy a used clunker to get me around for the next few months. Which kills me. Even though it's not the most practical family car (it's a Nissan 240sx), it has served us well and been through some fun adventures. I've got an emotional attachment to it and would hate to say goodbye. We shall see...

I hate cars. I'm pretty sure I hate them because I do not understand them. Which is bigoted or ignorant or just stubborn of me. sigh. I guess I just wish it didn't cost so much to simply 'exist'. We're born into debt. It's no joke.

Anyone know how to work on motors? For cheap?

Because I lack discipline

I told myself that I was going to blog every day.
Made it a goal. A personal challenge.
Fail.

Some time ago, I was involved with a group of artists that met every week as we went through The Artist's Way by Julie Cameron. One of her exercises is called 'morning pages'. You start every day by writing. Doesn't matter if you paint, dance, act, sing, write, etc... everyone starts with morning pages. It is part purgative, part stimulant (mentally and artistically speaking) and it is for me the hardest part of the entire 12 week process.
Why?
Because I lack discipline.

Not everywhere, mind you. For instance, I've never missed a performance. I've been called to fill in for actors who are sick or injured, but I've never been too sick or injured to perform. I don't typically have conflicts during the rehearsal period... though I have been known to juggle schedules when doing two or more projects at a time. I guess that speaks for dedication, tenacity, and maybe work ethic... but doesn't really say much for discipline.

I've always dieted poorly, which is why I spent a good deal of my 20's as a size 20 at 209lbs. My metabolism finally evened out (as did my work regime) in my 30's and routine helped me to lose weight and plateau at 135. (Though I pack on about 10 pounds between shows and lose about 5 during every tech week... but I digress.)

My daily 'routine' is consistently disorganized and depends mostly upon what projects I have, what work there is, what the kids are doing, etc.

I'm constantly unprepared for and rarely attend general auditions. I would rather perform for an auditorium full of celebrities and bitches who hate me than depend on 32 bars of an up-tempo and a ballad to make a stellar impression. I get nervous. I shake. I sweat. I talk too much. I giggle inappropriately. Most of this would be eliminated if I just had the discipline to prep myself properly. I shudder to think what I would accomplish if I had the discipline to put into practice the things I merely think or talk about.

I mean, really... I can't even blog on a consistent basis.
Why?
No real reason...
I just lack discipline.

Back to School!!

Most of my friends have already sent their children off; freshly pressed in their new school clothes, lunchboxes packed with deliberation and love...
Mine will start High School on Monday.
High School.
I don't know about the kids, but I am petrified.
I am vicariously smack in the crux of adolescence, folks. It's just as scary and awkward as it was when I was going through puberty.
I forgot how absolutely crucial it is to have the right clothes... the right haircut... the right bag... the right shoes... (Great training if your best friends in adulthood are raging queens, however.)
It's mind-boggling. I don't know how I got here.
I'm barely even responsible enough to pay my bills on time. I can barely work my own cell phone. And I have the task of readying these children... MY children... for the torturous transition into adulthood. And the roller-coaster that is High School.
It almost makes me cry with the same intensity I did on their first day of elementary school.
I'm excited, though. Excited to share the discovery, the creative thought, the challenges... and even the disappointments of the next few years.
Their personalities are beginning to take shape beyond what I can mold and influence and it's breathtaking to watch the evolution and the metamorphosis of these amazing souls.

I looked across the courtyard at orientation where a sea of anxious faces greeted one another and I couldn't help but give in to faith and hope...
...for the quality of their future.
(And the quality of my own future as I shell out a small fortune for everything from lunch money to elective fees to sports uniforms.)
*Not to mention the pushy lady at Office Max who tried to sell me the $200.00 graphing calculator for my Freshman, only to conclude her diatribe (after I declined to invest) with "Yeah, you'll probably want to check with her teachers since this calculator is banned in most high schools."
The same calculator you just spent the last 10 minutes trying to sell me?? WTF?? Thanks for wasting my time. Whatever.


I also can't help but get excited that I will no longer have to kick the kids off the computer in order to get work done during the day... and there is the added benefit of having the TV and the PS3 readily available...


Maybe I'll enjoy this back-to-school thing after all. :)

Monday Evangelism

Monday is a busy day for missionaries.
I imagine that this is largely due to being all worked up after Sunday's sermon and a renewed vigor to be 'fishers of men'.
I find it funny, strange, and slightly annoying that missionaries don't respect 'no trespassing' or 'no soliciting' signs. I mentioned this to several well-meaning souls who found themselves attempting to witness at my front door. They all looked puzzled. As if to say "God's love for you transcends solicitation and trespassing."
Oh, screw off! (On the inside.)
But I do try to be polite. I tell them I'm not interested in joining their church, but thank them for their work. Mostly because I respect anyone who is going door to door in this heat, regardless the cause.
Sometimes they're pushy. (Jehovah's Witnesses particularly.) Sometimes they're just very very very very friendly and talkative. (Mormons.)

I had the pleasure today (my 'weekend' as most theatre people understand Equity Monday is our only day off) of NOT sleeping in due to the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Jehovah's Witnesses. Watchtower. I was bleary-eyed and remember very little about the conversation other than telling them that I wasn't interested and not to trespass as per the signs posted at every entrance of our private development. I may have mumbled 'douchebags' audibly as I closed the door. I don't remember. It was early and I was awake.
I had just settled back into bed, feeling my body start to go limp when the doorbell rang again. This time, I flew out of bed... ready to give those fellahs a piece of my mind.
Different fellahs.
These two, much younger... white shirt, black tie and shiny nameplates announcing them as Elder Dean and Elder Barry. I couldn't help it and laughed out loud, pointing to the nameplate. Ha! Elderberry!! They didn't laugh. Didn't even crack a smile. Started right in on their schpiel about love or some kind of crap. I interrupted them with a very polite smile and said I was not interested in joining the mormon church of latter day jesus christ saints or whatever...
That got a smile.
I then explained that the Jehovah's Witnesses had just been here and that they said I'd have to lose my yearly birthday celebration, but that I could wear whatever panties I want. Mormons, however, require those regulation panties. Though they'd allow me to continue celebrating my birthday (yippee!!! says the gal way into her 30's!) "So you see" I explained to the Elders, "at my age, cute panties trump birthdays. God or no god."


I shut the door and went back to bed.

Season Generals

Today was the culmination of much stress and preparation. My final 'season general' audition for the summer. I think.
For those who aren't 'in the know' on how the dark underbelly of theatre works, here's a crash course:
In Arizona, there is a definitive theatre 'season'. It typically runs from Fall through the Spring, peaking during the Winter when we get our influx of 'Winter Visitors' or 'Snowbirds' or 'Bluehairs' or whatever you prefer to call them. There are a handful of theatres that run year-round; but most resort to teaching summer workshops or running youth programs to get through the unbearably hot months of scarce artistic offerings.
Most actors in Arizona have been spending the last few months prepping and making appointments for 'season generals'. These are the 'bulk' auditions held by most of the major theatres during the summer and it typically means being considered for any or all shows on their season roster.
Preparation for these auditions means putting together resumes and headshots and also prepping AT LEAST two contrasting monologues and/or two contrasting songs if you are auditioning for musicals. Easy, right? Not for this cookie!

I have some really bad habits in auditions. I get VERY nervous. I've never understood this about myself. I can play a screaming maniac in my underwear to sold out houses without missing a beat or flubbing a single line. But if you line 3-7 people up behind a table to watch me, I'm sunk. That's it. Put a fork in me. Done.
I hate musical auditions simply because there is NO way to hide the unmistakable vibrato of nerves. Yes, I know I sound like my 300lb., operatic, 6th grade choir teacher. No, it's not intentional.
I do much better auditioning for plays, though even that is tough for me. Most of my 'straight show' experience is in the classics. No one wants the classics at an audition. Everyone does the classics and most do them poorly. Shakespeare, Shaw, Moliere, whatever... any time I have prepped a classical audition piece, I've gotten flack for it. I have to admit, however, that it hasn't stopped me from using Shakespeare as an audition piece. One of my mentors (and a brilliant director and voice teacher, whom I miss dearly) once said to me that I should stick with what I do well. He was pretty blunt and didn't pull any punches when he pointed out my weaknesses. He warned me to NEVER show weaknesses in an audition. "If you're debating between a piece you know you do well and a piece that 'fits' the parameters of what you're auditioning for or is impressive (aka 'fireworky') then you need to stick with what you do WELL. Use it as a gimmick if you have to. Become the 'Pinter' fellah or the 'Sondheim' gal as long as you can knock it out of the ballpark and leave your panel cheering for the great entertainment they've just seen. If you're mediocre about it, don't bother.

So, I've stuck with that philosophy to some extent and try to stick with what I know. With what I do 'well'. Sometimes it works... sometimes I fall flat on my face. This time, I'm just glad to have made it through every scheduled audition (and some with successful results).

I hate the preparation. The decisions to be made between pieces that show range of character or emotion, vocal range, and the ability to do whatever the director has in his head that he might wanna make you do... and no, I'm not talking about the casting couch; since I've never run into an actual 'casting couch' situation. Except for that one time I auditioned as a vocalist for 'Bash on Ash'. (The head honcho was so pissed I wouldn't meet him for dinner and drinks that he left a ranting 20-minute voicemail asking "Who do you think you are?!" and vowing I would "NEVER work in this town". I saved it for months and listened to it whenever I needed a good laugh.) Needless to say, the casting couch doesn't really exist... and if it does, then all the more power to ya. Simply 'cuz that only requires the prep of a good shower and shave beforehand. And certainly much more 'instant gratification'.

Now that the season generals are done (for the most part) there is nothing to do but wait. Oh sure... there's still the job, the kids and the daily routine to attend to. But, there's an uncertainty. Did they like me? Was it okay? Not okay? Did they hate me? Am I even appropriate for any of the open roles?? I don't ever feel the 'closure' until I hear through the grapevine that such-and-such is cast... or until I get "the callback".

But that's a whole 'nother blog.

So, on that note: I hope I didn't talk too much or seem like I had the personality of a zit to any of the many directors I auditioned for. If they didn't like me, I suppose there's always next year. And if they did like me, I'll hopefully get a second chance to knock their socks off at callbacks.
For now, I can happily check off four season general auditions, five callback auditions and two confirmed contracts for next season. Not off to a bad start... and as I pop the cork on my bottle of wine, I can't help but feel that it's deserved.

Cheers.