Casting Calls Pt. 2

Sawyer is still MIA.
He has tags and ID, so we figure that no news is probably good news.

Unless he has surreptitiously been 'adopted' by someone. He is a pretty cool cat. Did I mention he's a ninja?

I suppose the bright spot in all of this is that I've only had to remove one partially-mauled lizard from the living room floor in the past week. In other news, the bird mortality rate has lowered drastically in our immediate vicinity. So, there's that...

Made it through my callback Sunday for 'Noises Off'. It didn't suck, but it wasn't stellar. Honestly, because it has been so long since I've auditioned for Matthew, I was happy to be upright, palsy-free and not peeing myself. It's the little victories.


I think my first read went better than the second. I wasn't prepped as well for the second character, and so that was the predominant theme in my head as I gave a STELLAR callback...

...in my car on the way home.

But that's always how it is for me. After any audition and even after most rehearsals... I spend a quiet car ride home (usually turning down the radio at some point while I rehash lines to myself) tweaking what I did, analyzing what I should or shouldn't have done, and which 'bad habits' snuck into my audition. Oy vey.

Obsess much?
Yeah. I do.

But I don't think I'm the only one. I figure any and every actor does that in their head... at least if they want to improve on what they just did for 'next time'. I have a tendency to obsess while its fresh in my head and then go home and stew in it for a while before I finally allow myself to be distracted once again by 'real life'.

So between rehearsals this week for an event on Saturday, a callback on Wednesday, another general on Tuesday, two photo shoots, and an old high school friend coming into town, I'm hoping I won't have too much extra time on my hands to obsess. Especially since I don't expect word on casting until well into mid/late June.

I joked with my mom on the phone that every summer is my 'annual job search'. It's considered the 'off-season' for theatre in the Valley. The snowbirds and heat intolerant move to cooler climates until after the late monsoons have come and gone. Which means a good portion of our loyal audiences are absent.

Several theatres run workshops and classes over the summer (PT's 'Summer of Dance' anyone?) but they're also announcing the following season and beginning the process of casting. By the end of the summer, I usually have a good idea how much theatre work I'll have for the following year. It's akin to the report on the orange crop forecasts from 'Trading Spaces'. At times I really hate it... the instability of this industry and not ever really feeling like I could ever be financially 'secure' with JUST theatre and performance-related gigs. But on the other hand, I've learned to finesse the art of living within my means and have no credit card debt or outstanding loans. So, it has established some good financial habits... even if only in theory. And I do like having a bit of extra time to spend with the kids while they're on summer vacation. That's always a huge plus.

I'm also finding that fewer women are pregnant in Arizona in the summer. Shocker. So, there has been a bit of a lull in my belly-casting, but I'm hoping that will pick up soon when I finally get my pamphlet stocks all printed and distributed. Oh... and did I mention going back to school? Yeah... Like Doc says, "When it rains, it pours."

Priority #1: Kicking the last of this cold so I have the slightest chance of being a bit more productive. I would much rather be at my mom's, sipping some fruity drink by the pool, lazing in the sunshine... but instead, I'm dutifully consuming my fluids and cold medicine between napping, doing dishes, and changing over laundry.

Happy Birthday to my dad... who is, like, 102 today. Just kidding. He's 55. Old fart. :)

And as it is Memorial Day, thoughts and prayers to friends and family of the fallen and a heartfelt salute to survivors and veterans for their service and sacrifice.

Onward... and forward.

Callbacks and Calling Back the Black Cat

One of my cats disappeared Monday night.
Sawyer, our No. 2 patriarch of the pride is known for his hunting skills. He has been faithfully gifting us with creatures since we granted him access to the wild outdoors almost a year ago. We knew we would be taking a risk by letting our cats out. We are responsible pet owners in that they are fixed, have all their shots and have the appropriate collars and tags with our number visible.

But that doesn't protect them from the dangers that can still befall them... and the most dangerous predator of all (as Bambi would say) ...man.

As if it were some kind of premonition, Jay and I had witnessed what looked like an enormous black crow feasting on the carcass of a black cat Monday afternoon. It made us rush home and check on our babies, but they were all accounted for.

Until Tuesday morning when Sawyer didn't show up for breakfast.

My spoiled lazy cats NEVER miss breakfast.

And so by Wednesday, I was a nervous wreck when he still hadn't showed up.

I had to put all of my angst aside (temporarily) by Wednesday afternoon for a callback at PT for 'Hairspray'.

Now, I don't know how long I have to do this before the auditioning part gets easier... but after years in this business, I'm still a nervous wreck at auditions. Still!
I have an easier time with callbacks than generals. I feel like there's a little less pressure, but it's still so hard. I don't know when I'll reach the age of maturity or the level of professionalism that will keep my hands from shaking.
It doesn't help that I still feel like I have to prove myself (both personally and professionally) in the face of the upset at Southwest (which has been eerily similar to the fallout after the upset at Stagebrush so many years ago). It has been really hard for me to bounce back into musicals after so many years of not utilizing those skills or my instrument.
And oh Lord, my internal monologues are just so exacerbating!

Upon walking into the greenroom to check in, it goes a little something like this:
"Phew. I'm on time. Right on! A little sweaty. Gotta breathe. Cool down.
Ugh. There's 'that guy'. Awkward. Keep moving. Don't break your stride. Do this.
Oh, there's Kathi! Sweet! And Sally Jo! And Patti Davis! Love them!! Oh... they're all reading for the same role I am.
Shit.
Well what the hell am I even doing here? I should just save the trouble and get back in the car and drive home.
I gotta pee first. And check my lipstick.
Oh, they're assigning groups. Well, guess I'll just have to stick it out and give it the ol' 'college try'.
Cool... I know that chick. And that one. And that guy. Okay... I get to read with some people I know. This is looking up. Yay for hugs and people I haven't seen in a while!
Crap... it's our turn to read.
This stairwell always smells like maple syrup.
Read it again. Listen to the direction. Was that really funnier or just bigger? Was it even bigger? Was it the same exact read both times? Probably.
Shit.
Now we sing.
Great.
Belters to the left of me, Opera to the right... here I am, stuck in the middle of my mixed voice... on an E stuck in the middle of my mixed voice... humming to myself.... stuck in the middle...
And we wait...
and wait...
and wait...
god, this is killing me...
Thank heavens for friendly faces and talk of food and Alyssa who is like Eeyore, but hot.
We sing.
I hit that effing E.
He didn't make me sing it again.
Why didn't he ask for it again?
The others sang through it twice. All of them? I think so. Maybe not.
Shit.
I should have been paying more attention instead of joking with Kathi and yukkin' it up with Sally Jo. But it helped my nerves. But now I won't know what singing it once really means!
Does that mean it sucked? Could he not bear to hear it one more time? Was that my go-ahead-and-sing-it-once-but-we've-already-ruled-you-out consolation run?
Dammit, I hate auditions.
Don't analyze. Don't compare yourself. You did what you could do. Be grateful you're being considered at all among the women in this room. Go home and drink a glass of wine to a job well done.
Hell yes."

And now that my hands no longer resemble those of a palsy sufferer, I'm able to reflect via keyboard and say that all in all, I feel good about callbacks. I don't know that this is exactly the right role for me (though I like to delude myself into thinking that every role I audition for is the right role for me) but I do hope to work at PT again this season. I had a blast with the run of Curtains last season and got to work with some really fun and amazing people.

And so with one callback down and one to go this week... and another round of generals next Tuesday, I count myself well on the way to conquering some demons.

Immediately following my callback, I called home to see if there was any sign of our missing furry demon.

It is now Thursday and we've seen no sign and heard no word.

The other cats have noticed and Sparky has taken to periodically yowling at me as if it were my fault and I should be out looking for him. (Which I have. Not like I have much chance of spotting a black cat while driving around foreign neighborhoods in the huge Cherokee, but I've done it - sure that I look like I'm either casing joints or searching for kids to prey upon.)

I'm trying not to get too down about it. My pets really are my babies and so I can't help but be preoccupied with worry. Jay has tried to console me by explaining that he's gone to visit the Riparian Preserve (a bird sanctuary nearby) and will be back in a few days.

I'm holding out hope.

And hoping that whatever energy I can put out there in the universe will help me get through callbacks and call back my cat.

I'm sure he's got at least seven lives left. That should be plenty enough to get him home.

The time that LOST saved my relationship

Okay, for those of you who are not fans of LOST... I'm sure you're sick of hearing about it what with all the hoopla surrounding the finale last night. Feel free to skip this blog entry. I won't be offended.

I had heard the hype and my family were all engrossed in the show from its inception. However, as an actor... I typically have rehearsals and shows in the evenings. Thus, I have never really gotten attached to any particular show. Unless we buy the season collections on DVD, I just don't make a commitment to a television show. (Well, until my acquisition of a nifty-neato DVR.) Such was the case with LOST. It was well into the second season and I had yet to watch 3 minutes of an episode.

At this particular time in my life, I was in a really rough spot in my relationship. Jay and I had been together for almost five years. Employment stress was at an all-time high, our theatrical careers weren't where we wanted them to be, the kids were in turmoil, we were broke... and had lost hope in our ability to resolve the issues that kept us from being as loving as we had been. We were fighting constantly and it was affecting us professionally as well as personally. We decided to 'take a break' (ala Ross & Rachel, though I only watched a handful of 'Friends' episodes) but were too poor to live apart. We set up 'ground rules' of living as roommates and pretty much stopped speaking altogether unless it was absolutely necessary. I had turned 31 that February and like every year, had my annual birthday lunch with dad. He proceeded to tell me that he was going to cure me (of the lack of needless TV in my life) by bringing over every single episode of LOST he had on his zip drive.
What?
Seriously.
I had just purchased a used computer from Michael Peck (because up until this point, I had been using Jason's) and it was just begging to have its storage plundered and used up by countless episodes of a show I'll probably never watch, right?
Fine, dad... bring it over.
We sat on the floor of my bedroom where my monitor was propped up on an old grocery crate and watched the pilot together.

I
was
hooked.

The sheer scope of the show hit me from the start. The backdrop of 'Survivor' with the cinematic and production values of any major motion picture were enough to make me take notice. Not only that, but the writing was clever and intelligent. Immediately, I was invested in these characters and rooting for their survival (or demise). They were beautiful and real... with that credit going to the writers and actors. But I digress....

After watching the pilot with my dad, I opted not to watch any further just then. Though I did have the entire day off (with the weekend on the horizon) I wasn't yet ready to settle in for an entire season.

Plus, I couldn't get over the thought that Jason would be really impressed with the show. Even if he only watched the pilot episode. I mean, pilots are supposed to be rough around the edges. No one knows if it's gonna get picked up yet, characters aren't always completely fleshed out yet, etc. So, this one was a stand-out for sure. And even though we were barely speaking, I knew that we could both use an 'olive branch' of some sort to lead us to a hopefully more peaceful weekend.

I waited until he had gotten home from work and I remember vividly that he was in the kitchen getting a snack and a drink when I sheepishly leaned against the wall and said,
"Hey."
"Hey" he said cautiously, not looking at me.
"So my dad brought over the first season and a half of LOST. It's on my computer. I watched the pilot."
"Yeah?"
"It's pretty effing awesome. I don't know what you have going on tonight... or this weekend... but if you wanna watch it, I'd totally watch it again."
"It's worth seeing?"
"Yeah. If you can stand being in close proximity with me for that long."
(eyeroll followed by sheepish grin)

And so it started. We watched the pilot episode together and by the end, we had made a 'nest' out of pillows and blankets on the floor of my bedroom. We watched episode after episode, finally falling asleep around 2 or 3am that night. The next day, after running errands and finding ourselves both at home in the early afternoon, we reconstructed our nest and brought in snacks to continue our LOSTfest. By the time we returned to work on Monday, we were caught up with where the real world was... and felt mildly chagrined that we had to wait a whole week for the next chapter.

But something else happened that weekend.

Between episodes, we talked. We discussed what we really thought was going on. We cried with Locke when he was betrayed by his father, we fell in love with Hurley, we hated Michael, we mourned Ecko, we triumphed with Charlie and Claire. We shed tears and held hands. We laughed. We bonded. We fancied ourselves a Sun and Jin... we wanted to be like Rose and Bernard.

It led to reintroducing a 'date night', though it wasn't what we intended. We found ourselves setting aside that evening mid-week to be together and slowly... our relationship began to open up again to allow the free communication that had been missing. By late summer of that year, we were back in full-swing... our relationship stronger than it had been. We adopted two kittens shortly after Jason's birthday. Their names: Sawyer and Claire.

I've told the story more than once - mostly to those who have never watched the show. Jason and I frequently joke that 'LOST saved our relationship'. So, it was with more than just an attachment to the entertainment that I grieved the end of an epic journey... and not just for those on the island.

LOST was a global phenomenon. It changed the face of television.

Once upon a time, it saved my relationship.

Take THAT, American Idol.

Class6 Delivers Quite a Blow

Neil LaBute is one of my favorite playwrights. His work is uncomfortable. It delves into the darker side of human nature, evoking discussion and analysis for days. When Bash first opened Off-Broadway, it was promoted as Bash: Latter-Day Plays (three one acts), and was the catalyst for LaBute's disfellowshipment from the Mormon church.

I had never seen the production and so I was quite pleased to see that Class 6 was closing its inaugural season with the show. I feel guilty for attending the pay-what-you-can Preview simply because the show I got was worth much more than what I paid.

Director Eric Schoen has assembled a cast of four, each as engaging and enraging as the next. The staging is simple, a black box and four chairs. The actors do not stand or pace to and fro. They sit... and reel you in.

There was no intermission. I didn't miss it one bit.

From the moment Eric Zaklukiewicz began a monologue that had to be quite a bitch to memorize, I was hooked. What started as a rambling, disjointed tale by a misogynist salesman, morphed into the deliberate retelling of a chilling crime. A crime for which there is no reason nor answer. Uncomfortable and heartbreaking, I couldn't help but to both hate and pity him.

(I'll try not to spoil any plot points. The beauty of LaBute is that if you don't know the show, you WILL be taken on an emotional roller-coaster ride.)

The second offering by duo Carlo La Tempa (John) and Portia Beacham (Sue) dialed up the humor and intensity a notch when describing the events of a formal church event. Their pacing was impeccable as they simultaneously related their perspectives to the audience without ever interacting with one another. Ms. Beacham was ever the poised and perfect WASP girlfriend and graciously allowed the abrasive, but somehow still charming La Tempa to land his laugh lines with the comedic timing of a true pro. I found myself along for the road trip and could only sit in rapt horror as John betrayed us with his nonchalant beating of a middle-aged homosexual in a bathroom.

Before I could catch my breath, I was transported to an interrogation room where a meek, but articulate woman (Brittany Bradford) illustrated the events surrounding the relationship she had with her English teacher at the age of 13. Ms. Bradford is a treat to watch. I'd dare call her an 'actor's actor' as I found myself absolutely mesmerized by her ability to reach so easily and organically into a place that is dark and sacred and bring us right along with her.

Perhaps I've become a bit jaded about the theatre scene lately, but I was very pleasantly surprised tonight. This is not fluff or 'feel-good' theatre. It is the kind of performance that begs for a few cocktails afterward and a hearty discussion amongst friends. Three stories of violence and loss by four amazing local performers. I cannot recommend it enough; if only for the performances of La Tempa and Bradford, which are well worth the full price ticket.

Now performing at The Little Theatre at Phoenix Theatre through May 30th.
http://class6theatre.org/

Seriously.
You won't regret it.
I promise.

Suicide is Painless

Before I even begin, let me start by saying that this post will probably not be a popular one. It deals with a sensitive subject and my not-so-sensitive opinion about it, so be forewarned.

Secondly, I had an epiphany this morning that is totally unrelated, but I believe that the BS skills I learned in my HS English classes will come in handy and allow me to somehow weave it into this post. Have faith.

On Thursday, I was informed that our little theatre community had lost yet another talented individual to death. The unofficial news spread just as quickly that his death was a suicide. The sad thing... no one I spoke to about it seemed at all surprised. "He was troubled," they say. "He was dealing with demons," people explain. And the ultimate caveat... "Tortured artist."

In May of 2008, a writer friend of mine committed suicide after losing his job at a flailing local newspaper and running into problems stemming from a repeated DUI offense. I heard the same explanations at the time. "He was a self-imposed perfectionist suffering from his inner demons." "He was troubled." ..."Tortured writer."

I never met my maternal grandfather. He was a 'troubled man' who was 'dealing with inner demons' and so he 'chose to end his life' when my mother and her sister were still just kids. He was a decorated war hero, a pilot in the Air Force, that had flown several high-profile missions against nazi targets in southern Europe. A painted portrait of him hung in our house and it used to creep me out as a kid. He left a suicide note in a Sun Pontiac envelope and his legacy (in my life) is no more than a collection of amazing photos from his days flying a B-24 Liberator. His name wasn't often mentioned in our house.

I have countless friends whose lives have been altered and devastated by suicide... and the events of the past week have had me humming the theme song to MASH in that tragically ironic way as I contemplate the ways in which suicide is in no way painless.

In the case of the friend who passed two years ago this month, he left an entire theatre and journalism community stunned and confused. This was no emo fellah sporting a 'woe is me' attitude and guyliner. He was just an average American Joe with problems.

In the case of the fellow artist who passed this week, he leaves behind a devastated mother (who has just lost her 28-year-old son) and a myriad associates and co-artists who have at some point been either infuriated or inspired by him. He was young. So young. And he had problems.

My grandfather... may have committed suicide to save himself the trouble of facing consequences for poor decisions during and after his military career. It's possible someone else may have done the job for him had he not made the swift decision himself. He was an emotionally unstable veteran with problems.

I'm angry with them. And it's not fair. I want to be able to mourn them properly and grieve and celebrate their presence and influence in my life, but I'm prevented by the anger and confusion that I feel.

Suicide is cowardly. It is selfish.

I will admit that on more than one occasion, I've fantasized about falling asleep to never wake up. I've had those 'to be or not to be' moments with myself when I felt like my responsibilities and obstacles were insurmountable. But I was just incapable of being that selfish. And don't get me wrong... I'm selfish. I'm one of the most selfish people I know. But I can't turn off that part of me that considers the pain and anguish of those I'd leave behind.

Maybe I'm just a narcissist and place too much importance on my role in other people's lives, but I can't reconcile being the cause of someone's pain. Especially someone I care about.

Furthermore, the whole concept of suicide (to me) means that you've figured it all out for yourself. There's nothing left to learn, nothing remarkable worth experiencing. I know people that have lived very full lives at 100 that indicate they are still learning new things every day.

We all have problems and we all have issues. And though we compare and quantify who 'has it better' or who 'has it worse' than we do, the truth of the matter is that the human condition is more similar than we acknowledge. Your worst day and my worst day might not have anything more in common except for the fact that they were our 'worst days' and we felt the same depth of extreme emotion... sadness, fear, anxiety, despair. Your best day and my best day can still be factored down to the lowest common denominator of euphoria, joy, victory.

The complex emotions we feel and our ability to express them creatively is what makes us human - much more so than our ability to use tools and develop intricate civilizations. (In my opinion.) Our art... our expression... is so vital to our existence. Though not always pleasant.

And speaking of art... My epiphany this morning was not an anticipated one.
I accidentally clicked on a photo of one of those 3-D art things. You know... the picture that looks nothing more like a bunch of colored dots all over the page. You're supposed to stare at it until you 'see' the picture take shape right in front of your disbelieving eyes.
Well, until this morning, I was starting to believe that they were all a bunch of hogwash. I'd never ever ever been successful and I've made a downright fool of myself in local malls trying.

Until this morning.

I started thinking about art and what it says and whether or not a bunch of dots on a page could be considered art... when I found myself staring into space (aka my monitor) and an honest-to-goodness horse appeared. With a broken picket fence behind it. Holy crap!

And to think that I had almost completely given up on ever understanding or appreciating that kind of art. You see, new things to learn and experience every day. Even on accident.

And so it is with mixed feelings that I write this... knowing that another voice has been silenced. One that was tortured by the dark side of this emotional existence, but will no longer express it through any medium save for the art he leaves behind.

It makes me angry.
It makes me sad.
It makes me grateful that I am made of 'sterner stuff'.
So far... nothing has been unbearable.
And so I count my blessings and hope that they have each found peace on the other side.














Noah Todd as Osric

SWShakespeare's Hamlet (Photo: Laura Durant)





Chris Page
Writer, Critic, Musician, General Funny-Man
















Col. Earl Osborne
Husband, father, commander

Happy Mother's Day

It's official. I'm getting old.

I try to explain to my mother (who is actually older than me, believe it or not) that there is a great benefit to aging. Well, there are several when you begin to include discount meals and movie tickets... but one of the greatest benefits of aging is that you can finally stop being PC and start speaking your mind.

My mother, however, is a martyr. And I don't mean that in the sarcastic 'let me help you with your cross' kind of way... I mean the woman is a veritable Saint.

I won't even get into her story of triumph under the most dire of circumstances, but suffice it to say that she has been through trauma that would have broken me no less than three times over... and she managed to emerge with some of the most unshakable grace, poise, faith and dignity that I have witnessed in any woman... ever.

And this was all before one of the most challenging phases of her life began; when she became pregnant at the age of 17.

My father was witty and charismatic and I suspect that both of them were wounded and vulnerable. Pressured to marry (as society/family/church would expect them to) my mother was a mother by her Senior year of High School and already struggling to fulfill the demands of a wife as well. It makes my head spin.

She and my father had three more children (all boys. *sigh*) after me and finally divorced when I was 16. (I say 'finally' because my mother truly has the highest threshold for patience that I've ever seen... so if she was at her breaking point, then she must have been putting up with crap for some time.)

My mother was always my silent champion, even when I betrayed her and chose to live with my dad after their divorce. Not only did I choose to live with my father, but I stopped speaking to my mother unless I had to. One fateful day in April... I had to.

I was pregnant.
She was the first person I ran to for help.

What a selfish little punk I was to put her through that kind of grief and expect that she'd drop everything and come to my rescue. But she did. Without question.

She nursed her dying mother, aunt and uncle before moving to Oregon to spend the remaining years with her husband's parents before they passed away. She has always existed in some kind of superhuman realm in which she could internalize her own grief and anger and stoically comfort others.

This isn't to say that she was always soft and cuddly. She showed some tough love to us on more than one occasion and I will admit that there were times when I hated her for it.

She tried to play peacemaker during a period of several years when one of my brothers and I weren't speaking to each other. We finally reconciled, and since then, I suspect my mother has been content that there is peace among the family (even if we don't all get together as often as we really should.)

There are many times when I could have learned from my mother's ability to maintain grace under fire. More than once I have popped off when I shouldn't have or voiced an opinion or rash judgment when it wasn't warranted. That particular virtue hasn't gained me a ton of friends; and I often wonder if God didn't think it would be a funny joke to give me the abundance of 'voice' that my mother sometimes lacked.

This is why I think aging is wonderful. If I tell a kid to 'eff off', his mom gets pissy with me... but if an 80-year-old tells a kid to 'eff off', his mom may actually APOLOGIZE before shuffling Junior out of the way. You see? Absolute freedom to speak your mind!

I've never known my mom to be cynical. She's definitely a glass is 'half-full' kind of person. -As she was today when half of her four kids attended the Mother's Day BBQ - that the poor woman had to put together herself! (With the help of her husband, our step-dad... 'cuz he's just about as awesome as she is.)

I'm a Pisces and an actress, so from time to time I love to wallow in the bitterness and jaded cynicism. I also think it makes for good comedy. Sometimes I write a comedy sketch in my head about slipping my mom a pill that strips her of her poise and inhibitions for an entire day.

I'd just take hours to sit and talk about everything that pisses her off.

She is simultaneously an amazing example and impossible standard to live up to.

She was there every step of the way when I gave birth to my son.
She has been a consistent presence in my life and in the lives of my children.
She has fed me, housed me, clothed me, encouraged me, supported me, and devoted countless hours and unfathomable tears to me.
From crafting sweatshirts for every orphan in 'Annie' to innumerable visits to the ER, manual labor on our landscapes and interiors to babysitting and a fully-stocked (raidable) freezer; I hope that I can someday find the way to express that the little things don't go unnoticed.

And she has never EVER asked for anything in return.

After an afternoon spent with family I'm reminded that these bonds may stretch and contract, but they can never really be broken. If anything, the more I age, the more emphasis I put on those family bonds.
I'm not always great at being able to juggle my attention between being a mother and being a decent daughter to my own mother. I can't even imagine that at my age, my mother had already suffered the loss of her own mother (who she cared for in the last several months of my Nanny's life).


There are many people that say my mother's faith in God is responsible for her amazing character. And I do believe that her faith has had a profound impact on her life. However, I know plenty of people who have been 'reformed and redeemed by the spirit' who are still assholes. So I do believe that there is something unique to my mother that transcends merely being a good or godly woman.

Her strength humbles me.

And she has only given me a very mild ration of shit for not including her in my program bios.

So here it is that I sit... sated and humbled... and once again in awe of the grace and beauty of my mother. And thrilled to grow older with her as one of my dearest friends and greatest mentors.

Happy Mother's Day.

This Little Parent Stayed Home...

This one is for all the moms out there.
Mother's Day is soon approaching... which has me analyzing some of the more and less attractive aspects of motherhood and gave me the idea for this particular entry.

When my children were first born, it was my only wish to stay home with them as long as possible. I was a teen mom with a minimal support system. By the time my son was six months old, my husband and I had purchased a home. So by the time our daughter was on the way, two incomes were necessary to keep us ahead of our debts. Our biggest conflicts were the fights over my desire to stay home with the children.

At the time, the only 'real' support I had for staying home came from my grandmother. I often view her as one of a lost generation, still holding on to outdated ideas and philosophies... but on this, we were in agreement.
My husband was coming from a family culture in which success was measured by the acquisition of stuff and things and he couldn't justify the loss of my income. I was having an emotional and instinctual response to motherhood by wanting to spend as much time as possible being the one to nurture and raise my children. I had even put together a financial chart of expenses for infant daycare in the hopes that my logical explanation would sway him.

I stayed home for almost a year with my son, but had to return to work and did... just in time to find out I was pregnant with my daughter. I (mostly) stayed home with her, taking on part-time work - but essentially being a stay-at-home mom (much to my husband's chagrin) for the first 9 months of her life.

Among many challenges (not the least of which was being a divorced mom with primary custody of my two children) was the challenge of being able to spend more time with my kids.

Even though they are now teenagers, I'm still dedicated to the pursuit of spending as much time with them as possible while simultaneously avoiding the corporate machine.

I lost several jobs when my children were young. My son was an undiagnosed autistic and had been kicked out of several preschools and daycares. I can't count the number of times I had to leave work early or take my sick/vacation days to wait out a suspension or drive around town checking out new child care.

But with all of its challenges, it somehow worked out. I certainly didn't get to spend as much time with my kids as I would have liked, but I spent a fair amount of time at home with them until they were of school age.

I fervently believe, however, that it IS possible. I also believe that this generation - my generation - who grew up primarily as latch-key kids with two working parents, are the catalyst for change.
I see more and more parents rejecting the public school system in favor of private, charter and home-schooling. Many of them are choosing to stay home or supplementing income with work-from-home opportunities. In any case, I see parents taking a more active role in the decisions being made for their children rather than merely entrusting them to state & county employees or members of the previous generation.

I left my last 'corporate' job in 2006. Since then, 'corporate job' has come to mean performing at a business event.

I don't consider myself an uber-success story. We live on a shoestring budget and don't have the funds for a whole lot of extras. (We haven't had a family vacation since 2003.) But we have extended cable! :)

I think the benefits of working from home cannot be valued monetarily. We don't have the additional stress of a corporate office environment. Not only that, but we get to choose our work and involve ourselves in the kind of projects and work that we love. Therefore, when we wind up 'bringing our work home with us' (and we ALL bring our work home with us, whether we intend to or not,) we're bringing home work that we LOVE. That, I think, is an invaluable benefit and a great example to our kids that they don't have to compromise and work a standard 9-5 if their circumstances call for a more creative livelihood.

If I had to estimate, I'd say that we put in more than a 40-hour work week. But we rarely calculate our hours because it's so pleasant to be engrossed in what we do.

In any case, I hope that I can encourage anyone out there who is thinking about making a change - to have confidence that it is possible. It takes patience, determination and compromise, but it is absolutely possible.

I have a friend in L.A. who is an amazing woman and is spearheading a movement to bring parents back into the home. Well, I should say she and her husband are spearheading the movement.

I met Ally and Chris several years ago. Ally and Jason dated in high school and he would often comment that she and I would get along famously. He was right. A gifted artist and performer, she is one of those personalities that lights up the room when she enters. Ally is bubbly and genuine and Chris (also a talented artist/performer) is just as engaging. They both have extensive theatre resumes, and are using their skills and talents to work for them in the most amazing ways.

Firstly, Ally runs the website http://www.ourmilkmoney.com/

It is a comprehensive directory of self-employed parents and a great resource for parents who want to get started with their own business. If you are self-employed, I encourage you to join the directory. If not, I encourage you to support home-based businesses in your area.

Secondly, Ally is doing a podcast radio show every Friday night. If you can't tune in, her episodes are available here http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/this-little-parent-stayed/id357476643 or on itunes for free download.

I don't normally do 'plugs' in my blog, but Ally and Chris are soldiers on a mission that is close to my heart. I know that their philosophy is similar to many of my friends here in Arizona who are trying to find creative resolutions to the parenting vs. career dilemma.

It is possible. Have confidence.

And give my friend Ally a listen... she's kinda awesome. :)

ArrrrggggghhhhhH!

WE HAVE A CHUBBY GIRL DOWN!

-REPEAT-

THE CHUBBY GIRL HAS FALLEN DOWN!!!

I have gained 15 pounds since January.
FIFTEEN.
Last night I was watching one of those infomercials where they pull out the 5-pound clot of putrid yellow vaseline fat...
yeah...
THREE of those.



I've always struggled with my weight. I inherited my mom's petite frame and my father's generous window dressing. I was a lanky, skinny tomboy until I hit puberty. Through adolescence, my weight fluctuated... I was thin when I was active and thick when I wasn't.

After a few years of doing stage shows back-to-back, I began to gradually drop the extra weight I had been carrying since the birth of my kids... and last year made it to my goal of 135lbs. (The weight I was when I got pregnant with my first born.)

Short-lived as it was.

Unless I'm in a show, I don't get a whole lot of exercise. I loathe the gym, and when I get busy with work and the kids, I convince myself that I don't have the time and energy for my morning or evening walk/jog. But this isn't the only contributing factor.

I, like so many I know, eat my feelings. I eat when I'm bored, stressed or depressed. More than once, I've 'come to' after consuming a half-gallon of ice cream and three hours of continuous programing on the Lifetime Movie Network (which I lovingly refer to as Lifetime: TV for Victims).

I guess it's fair to say that I've experienced a bit of boredom (my corporate shows and VO work are typically a one-shot deal as opposed to a four-week rehearsal process and a 2-4 week run) as well as stress (because I still don't have a conventional 'day job' and family finances are always on perilous ground - in addition to the stress of raising two teenagers) as well as depression (I've 'lost' several friends in the past few years to death, relocation, or unnecessary drama - and though many of them are merely friends removed, they aren't as readily accessible to my 'inner circle' and I miss them dearly.)

I know... whine, whine, whine...

After some self-analysis, I also think that some of my weight gain was subconscious.
I'm a people-pleaser. I want people to like me... but I often cross the line of 'trying too hard' and having it backfire completely.
And while most of my friends were supportive of my weight loss... some of them (and even some acquaintances and strangers) expressed concern for my health and well-being. Since I was happy with my weight, I didn't understand the big 'to do'; but I think subconsciously I may have opted to pack some pounds back on.

And now I look in the mirror and groan.

My clothes don't fit and I'm a huge fan of elastic and drawstring waist bands right now.

And I'm miserable.

So... while I hate the idea of disappointing or offending my critics and supporters alike, I think I'm going to have to get my ass back in gear and go back to being a skinny bitch.

I'll never be a size 0 or even a size 2... and I wouldn't want to be. I'm a woman. I have boobs and hips. I would look even more ridiculous than I do as a size 10. But I'm happiest when I'm a 7/8. My clothes hang right and I don't have to unbutton my pants after every meal.

I'm going back to a stricter diet, which is great... because it has forced Jason and I to plan our menus and cook more at home - thus saving us a bit of money on our food budget and relieving a bit of the financial stress... and so the circle of life that spiraled me into chubbyhood can now build upon itself to lift me out of the dark and wondrous world of Ben & Jerry and back into the land of sleeveless tops and belted dresses.

And on a totally different side-note, Lisa... if you are reading this, we really need to have you over. Seriously. We can talk books. (sarcasm) But for real... come over. Soon. I promise we won't exercise.