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
Monday, December 21, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
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.
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.
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