Okay, so... there have been a buttload of projects going on, which has kept me from the daily blogging glory I so aspire to. (cough cough) Yeah... excuses.
But in all reality... no, really... reality TV, that is... we are working on a documentary series right now that has kinda taken over our lives in what precious spare time we still had. I'm thinking that perhaps I can do double-duty and just post video blogs ('vlogs' the kids call them nowadays) but I'm honestly not that ambitious. Plus, there's something about writing that is cathartic for me. It's not quite the same as pouring your guts out into a handycam. Which is admittedly still very awkward and foreign. But... all in the name of art, right?!
The studio has had both Jason and I hoppin' from photo shoots to belly castings and it feels good to be this busy again. Finances are tight as usual during the summer months, but it feels less oppressive when our schedules are filled at least. Plus, we tend to argue less and accomplish more when we're both involved in artistic or creative endeavors. Both photography and the sculpting have been a much welcomed and needed outlet for us.
The kids have been home for summer break which has been more awesome than I can even express. It's a challenge as we find our work-from-home environment tossed on its ear with two teenagers sleeping on couches or competing for computer time. But the house feels like 'home' again as we talk about random issues and topics late into the night and plan family events and projects together. It is amazing to me how quickly they've grown and how much their understanding of life and the world expands every day. They humble me daily. I will be disappointed when they go back to school... only because it means frenetic schedules and less free time for us to just enjoy each other.
They will return to school and I'll return to stage in August. My first project of the season is the role of Poppy in Noises Off (a 1982 farce written by English playwright Michael Frayn) with Phoenix Theatre which will perform in September. After that, I will begin rehearsals as Velma in Hairspray (the musical based on the 1988 John Water's film) with Phoenix Theatre, which will perform in November and December. It's an amazing start to the season and I'm so excited I'm peeing myself quite frequently.
Add to that the projects that are expanding Living Art Studios and some of the potential projects with Arizona Curriculum Theatre and Th (sic) Sense... and well, it looks like it's gearing up to be a fun and adventure-filled season with some talented friends.
And on that note, I'm off to outline some videos, sand a belly and figure out what I'm making for dinner. Today, I'm thankful that I didn't have to go out in this heat. Props to Jason for taking on the chore of the weekly grocery shopping. Woot!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Happy Father's Day!
Father's Day is an awkward holiday for me.
Mostly because I don't have a very close relationship with my own dad.
Mine is a common story, I'm sure... I was always a bit closer to my dad growing up, but as a teenager, my rebellion changed our relationship and it never quite recovered. After my parents divorced, my father remarried and save for a few experiences onstage together, his wife and I have never gotten along. So... a former 'daddy's girl', fallen from grace. I have issues with approval and abandonment, to say the least. Family gatherings are often a source of stress for me.
Our annual birthday lunches have declined to the point where it's now June (mine is in Feb, his is in May) and we still have yet to make good on just a meal together. It's awkward... trying to fit everything into a quick hour before he heads back to the office to see clients or before I run off to pick up the kids... whatever. I have far too much to say and hear and express and reconcile with him to fit it into an hour. So, we make do with superficial conversation and a quick update on the past year before saying our 'goodbyes' and heading back to our lives.
On the very rare occasion, we've had the chance to work together. That's one of the bright and shining spots in my life. Though my dad works as a CPA during the day, he has always been a musician. There have been rare opportunities in which he has played for a show or we've been pulled in on the same corporate gig. It doesn't happen often, but when it does... I feel like all is right with the world. My dad and me... makin' music together once again... even if it's with ridiculous parody lyrics.
I don't understand it, and when I try to, it only makes me sad and remorseful... but I do miss my dad and the relationship that I imagine we'd have if one or both of us would just take our heads out of our asses for five minutes. We're both stubborn and opinionated (gee, wonder where I get it from?) and I imagine that a lot of our own guilt has a lot to do with why we've never fully reconciled. At least, that's how it is from my end.
Regardless, it does put into perspective relationships and how they change over the years.
It also puts into perspective (for me) what it means to be a 'dad'. As 'they' say, anyone can spill his seed and become a father... but it takes a special man to be a dad.
I had several 'dads' growing up. The fathers of my best friends Rebecca and Julie were instrumental in my teenage life. They were there at times when my own father wasn't or couldn't be and I still think of them as 'father figures'. I also used to babysit for a couple with four kids. Every week, they had a mid-week bible study and I'd spend several hours with their kids (who were - and still are - pretty awesome). Larry (the dad) would drive me home and we'd talk about school and boys and life in general. I remember crying in his truck over breaking up with a longtime boyfriend and getting some pretty sound advice on more than just that occasion... whether I wanted it or not. He passed away just a few years ago and I regret that I missed the opportunity as an adult to let him know how much he meant to my life.
And at a time when the roles of men in my life were convoluted and confusing, my best friend Amanda and her dad showed up at my doorstep and physically removed me from a bad situation. When my own father had washed his hands of me, this one stepped in and changed my world with one gesture. Being a part of that family... and living with them for the month and a half it took me to get on my feet... saved my life. And I am not exaggerating. By proxy, he saved the life of my unborn child as well.
And so it is, as I reflect on what 'Father's Day' means... it occurs to me that it's no longer merely a celebration of genetic lineage.
My kids have had one father all their lives... but they have many dads. Some of them are gay, some of them are straight. Some are in their lives constantly and some come and go on rare occasions.
Jason, who has not fathered any children of his own, has been 'step-dad' to my kids for the past nine years. For jumping into the fray mid-race, he has done an outstanding job. (With the exception of a few movie choices or gracious allowances that had him appropriately nagged and brow-beaten for several days [or months] following.)
With no biological connection whatsoever, he has assumed the role of 'parent' with all of its fine print. Sick kids, angry kids, inattentive kids, inconsiderate kids, mouthy kids... (and yes, we're only talking about mine at the moment.)
He has watched entire paychecks go to Christmas presents, braces, camp fees, summer school, school clothes and cell phones. He has gotten into the car bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived to pick up donuts, prescriptions, ace bandages, party decorations and last-minute supplies for school projects due in 14 hours. He has spent countless hours agonizing over how he can be a better person and example for those kids; and has cried countless tears over their experiences with fear, failure and loss.
It may not mean much to the kids right now, but I hope that they will be able to appreciate later in life the many compromises and sacrifices that have been made by this man who has no legal obligation nor biological instinct to do so.
It certainly gives me a new appreciation for what my ex-husband gave up and adopted to become a father at the age of 18 and what he still sacrifices today so that our kids can have the things we couldn't and didn't growing up. It also increases my understanding of my own dad and his situation at the age of 20 and again at 36.
The world is changing. At least in the Western world, families are no longer defined by biological connection. The unfortunate rate of divorce or estrangement combined with tragedy means that often we make our own family units. Not to mention those fathers who never knew they were fathers (a concept foreign to me as a female, but nevertheless significant and valid)... what determines when or how a man can consider himself a 'dad'? And in these cases, is it the man who fertilized the seed or the man who raised the child that deserves the title? I can debate that one for hours! But I digress...
I consider myself blessed that I have so many wonderful father figures that have influenced my life in so many positive ways. Even in adulthood, I've gained a step-father that is an amazing human being and who makes my mother happier than I can ever remember her being. Furthermore, he seems to appreciate her almost as much as she deserves to be appreciated... and I'll love him forever for that fact alone. He stepped into a family of grown children, but even now, his influence has changed our lives (and our landscapes) for the better.
I find it even more of a blessing that my children have so many wonderful father figures in their lives. I'm confident that should anything happen to me or their dad, my children will be loved and cared for. Fathers, grandfathers, uncles, cousins, and a select troupe of gypsy actors included... our 'family unit' has become pretty big. And eclectic and dysfunctional as it is, I don't know that I would change one thing.
And so... if you are male and have made a positive influence in the life of a child, then Happy Father's Day to you too. After all, it takes a village...
Internal Soundtrack of the Day:
Butterfly Kisses - Bob Carlisle
Pooh Corner - Kenny Loggins
The Living Years - Mike & The Mechanics
Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin
Mostly because I don't have a very close relationship with my own dad.
Mine is a common story, I'm sure... I was always a bit closer to my dad growing up, but as a teenager, my rebellion changed our relationship and it never quite recovered. After my parents divorced, my father remarried and save for a few experiences onstage together, his wife and I have never gotten along. So... a former 'daddy's girl', fallen from grace. I have issues with approval and abandonment, to say the least. Family gatherings are often a source of stress for me.
Our annual birthday lunches have declined to the point where it's now June (mine is in Feb, his is in May) and we still have yet to make good on just a meal together. It's awkward... trying to fit everything into a quick hour before he heads back to the office to see clients or before I run off to pick up the kids... whatever. I have far too much to say and hear and express and reconcile with him to fit it into an hour. So, we make do with superficial conversation and a quick update on the past year before saying our 'goodbyes' and heading back to our lives.
On the very rare occasion, we've had the chance to work together. That's one of the bright and shining spots in my life. Though my dad works as a CPA during the day, he has always been a musician. There have been rare opportunities in which he has played for a show or we've been pulled in on the same corporate gig. It doesn't happen often, but when it does... I feel like all is right with the world. My dad and me... makin' music together once again... even if it's with ridiculous parody lyrics.
I don't understand it, and when I try to, it only makes me sad and remorseful... but I do miss my dad and the relationship that I imagine we'd have if one or both of us would just take our heads out of our asses for five minutes. We're both stubborn and opinionated (gee, wonder where I get it from?) and I imagine that a lot of our own guilt has a lot to do with why we've never fully reconciled. At least, that's how it is from my end.
Regardless, it does put into perspective relationships and how they change over the years.
It also puts into perspective (for me) what it means to be a 'dad'. As 'they' say, anyone can spill his seed and become a father... but it takes a special man to be a dad.
I had several 'dads' growing up. The fathers of my best friends Rebecca and Julie were instrumental in my teenage life. They were there at times when my own father wasn't or couldn't be and I still think of them as 'father figures'. I also used to babysit for a couple with four kids. Every week, they had a mid-week bible study and I'd spend several hours with their kids (who were - and still are - pretty awesome). Larry (the dad) would drive me home and we'd talk about school and boys and life in general. I remember crying in his truck over breaking up with a longtime boyfriend and getting some pretty sound advice on more than just that occasion... whether I wanted it or not. He passed away just a few years ago and I regret that I missed the opportunity as an adult to let him know how much he meant to my life.
And at a time when the roles of men in my life were convoluted and confusing, my best friend Amanda and her dad showed up at my doorstep and physically removed me from a bad situation. When my own father had washed his hands of me, this one stepped in and changed my world with one gesture. Being a part of that family... and living with them for the month and a half it took me to get on my feet... saved my life. And I am not exaggerating. By proxy, he saved the life of my unborn child as well.
And so it is, as I reflect on what 'Father's Day' means... it occurs to me that it's no longer merely a celebration of genetic lineage.
My kids have had one father all their lives... but they have many dads. Some of them are gay, some of them are straight. Some are in their lives constantly and some come and go on rare occasions.
Jason, who has not fathered any children of his own, has been 'step-dad' to my kids for the past nine years. For jumping into the fray mid-race, he has done an outstanding job. (With the exception of a few movie choices or gracious allowances that had him appropriately nagged and brow-beaten for several days [or months] following.)
With no biological connection whatsoever, he has assumed the role of 'parent' with all of its fine print. Sick kids, angry kids, inattentive kids, inconsiderate kids, mouthy kids... (and yes, we're only talking about mine at the moment.)
He has watched entire paychecks go to Christmas presents, braces, camp fees, summer school, school clothes and cell phones. He has gotten into the car bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived to pick up donuts, prescriptions, ace bandages, party decorations and last-minute supplies for school projects due in 14 hours. He has spent countless hours agonizing over how he can be a better person and example for those kids; and has cried countless tears over their experiences with fear, failure and loss.
It may not mean much to the kids right now, but I hope that they will be able to appreciate later in life the many compromises and sacrifices that have been made by this man who has no legal obligation nor biological instinct to do so.
It certainly gives me a new appreciation for what my ex-husband gave up and adopted to become a father at the age of 18 and what he still sacrifices today so that our kids can have the things we couldn't and didn't growing up. It also increases my understanding of my own dad and his situation at the age of 20 and again at 36.
The world is changing. At least in the Western world, families are no longer defined by biological connection. The unfortunate rate of divorce or estrangement combined with tragedy means that often we make our own family units. Not to mention those fathers who never knew they were fathers (a concept foreign to me as a female, but nevertheless significant and valid)... what determines when or how a man can consider himself a 'dad'? And in these cases, is it the man who fertilized the seed or the man who raised the child that deserves the title? I can debate that one for hours! But I digress...
I consider myself blessed that I have so many wonderful father figures that have influenced my life in so many positive ways. Even in adulthood, I've gained a step-father that is an amazing human being and who makes my mother happier than I can ever remember her being. Furthermore, he seems to appreciate her almost as much as she deserves to be appreciated... and I'll love him forever for that fact alone. He stepped into a family of grown children, but even now, his influence has changed our lives (and our landscapes) for the better.
I find it even more of a blessing that my children have so many wonderful father figures in their lives. I'm confident that should anything happen to me or their dad, my children will be loved and cared for. Fathers, grandfathers, uncles, cousins, and a select troupe of gypsy actors included... our 'family unit' has become pretty big. And eclectic and dysfunctional as it is, I don't know that I would change one thing.
And so... if you are male and have made a positive influence in the life of a child, then Happy Father's Day to you too. After all, it takes a village...
Internal Soundtrack of the Day:
Butterfly Kisses - Bob Carlisle
Pooh Corner - Kenny Loggins
The Living Years - Mike & The Mechanics
Cat's in the Cradle - Harry Chapin
Saturday, June 19, 2010
The 'Blah'g...
Okay, so I've admittedly been in a little bit of a funk most of the week.
I could probably take the route of the cop-out and say that I've just been hormonal, but I know that's not the crux of it.
Every once in a while, I get into this 'funk'. It's cyclical... usually about every 6 months... but it hits me hardest during the summer when everything I do is in it's 'off season' and I find myself with much more time to think.
I've been struggling lately with my sense of importance. Everything from my self-importance and how conceited I can be when dealing with others to my desperate desire to 'matter' in this world. At 35, and a struggling (but still maintaining) actress... I guess I expected more from myself by this point. In my youth, I imagined myself at 35... a successful veterinarian or singing missionary, perhaps... but solid and steady in who I was and what purpose I served.
And while my journey may have taken some unexpected twists and turns, I can still identify common themes and characteristics that I exhibited in my youth. Not all of them positive.
I sometimes have a hard time wrapping my brain around the vastness of the universe and thus the uber-vastness of God and his 'omnipotence' while maintaining a grounded sense of self. It is very easy for me to get lost in my own insignificance and shrug while uttering, "what's the f*ckin' point?".
And so it is with a sense of confidence from experience past and humility from mistakes identified that I set out to determine what the hell I'm supposed to be doing with my life. There is not a lot of security in the theatre life. At least not financially. I live gig to gig, project to project, paycheck to paycheck most months out of the year. Everything is carefully and meticulously budgeted down to the nearest rounded two cents. (As an inside joke, because everything around here is about 'my two cents'... and because I don't like math with odd numbers. True story.)
Looking back on my 35 years, I see a lot of chaos. One could argue that from the moment of my premature conception, chaos ensued.
I've justified this as being a passionate whirling-dervish of a personality that can often rub people the wrong way. I don't think before I speak. I'm pretty frank about my opinions (which often change) and I'm often guilty of the very things I'm most vocally opposed to in others. But, hey... I'm passionate, care-free and I live an inspired life, so there's always a trade-off, right?
I'm starting not to believe as much.
Some 'old friends' have recently come back into my life and have served as a reminder... not only a reminder of the chaos that I've created in the lives of these friends, but also the stability of the relationships that we built. I didn't give any of my friends nearly enough credit for what they put up with. I probably still don't.
And in all of this, I've begun to realize how important it is to me to be a positive influence and a solace to these people... as they've been to me. It's not always necessary to be 'on' and ready to entertain or amuse. Sometimes it really is simply about sharing experiences and learning from one another.
Passion and inspiration aside, there's something to be said about peace. Living in a creative symbiosis... nurturing an environment rather than destroying and rebuilding a new one every cycle.
I talk often about theatre friendships and how they wax and wane depending on who you're working with and on what project. Actors bond quickly and deeply... whether we love or hate one another. The process we go through requires it. And because we are so connected to that side of the human condition, it can quite literally hurt... when we go through separation anxiety at the end of a show. I think I've become very accustomed to those relationships. So much so, that my 'constant' friends get lost in the mix. I fall off the face of the earth during tech week and heavy performance schedules.
And when I finally 'do' decide what I want to be when I grow up, what state will my relationships be in? Where will my sense of importance and purpose go when there are no playbills to list my accomplishments?
Will I only be remembered for the chaos?
So yeah... don't know if this blog post will even make sense to most. (I'm a stream-of-consciousness kind of writer anyhow.) But these are the latest epiphanies and questions on my mind as I determine how best to bring peace to the lives of those I come in contact with. Some wrongs need to be righted... some forgiveness shed... and some relationships repaired.
And as I end, I have to send a shout out to Kathi Osborne for schooling me once again... though this time NOT on how best to channel your brash, boozy, inner broad... but rather on the importance of having those people you can call and cry to. Those relationships that stand the test of time and distance (and paternity tests. Kidding.) and still remain intact because of grace and forgiveness.
I hope I can matter as much to some as so many have to me.
I could probably take the route of the cop-out and say that I've just been hormonal, but I know that's not the crux of it.
Every once in a while, I get into this 'funk'. It's cyclical... usually about every 6 months... but it hits me hardest during the summer when everything I do is in it's 'off season' and I find myself with much more time to think.
I've been struggling lately with my sense of importance. Everything from my self-importance and how conceited I can be when dealing with others to my desperate desire to 'matter' in this world. At 35, and a struggling (but still maintaining) actress... I guess I expected more from myself by this point. In my youth, I imagined myself at 35... a successful veterinarian or singing missionary, perhaps... but solid and steady in who I was and what purpose I served.
And while my journey may have taken some unexpected twists and turns, I can still identify common themes and characteristics that I exhibited in my youth. Not all of them positive.
I sometimes have a hard time wrapping my brain around the vastness of the universe and thus the uber-vastness of God and his 'omnipotence' while maintaining a grounded sense of self. It is very easy for me to get lost in my own insignificance and shrug while uttering, "what's the f*ckin' point?".
And so it is with a sense of confidence from experience past and humility from mistakes identified that I set out to determine what the hell I'm supposed to be doing with my life. There is not a lot of security in the theatre life. At least not financially. I live gig to gig, project to project, paycheck to paycheck most months out of the year. Everything is carefully and meticulously budgeted down to the nearest rounded two cents. (As an inside joke, because everything around here is about 'my two cents'... and because I don't like math with odd numbers. True story.)
Looking back on my 35 years, I see a lot of chaos. One could argue that from the moment of my premature conception, chaos ensued.
I've justified this as being a passionate whirling-dervish of a personality that can often rub people the wrong way. I don't think before I speak. I'm pretty frank about my opinions (which often change) and I'm often guilty of the very things I'm most vocally opposed to in others. But, hey... I'm passionate, care-free and I live an inspired life, so there's always a trade-off, right?
I'm starting not to believe as much.
Some 'old friends' have recently come back into my life and have served as a reminder... not only a reminder of the chaos that I've created in the lives of these friends, but also the stability of the relationships that we built. I didn't give any of my friends nearly enough credit for what they put up with. I probably still don't.
And in all of this, I've begun to realize how important it is to me to be a positive influence and a solace to these people... as they've been to me. It's not always necessary to be 'on' and ready to entertain or amuse. Sometimes it really is simply about sharing experiences and learning from one another.
Passion and inspiration aside, there's something to be said about peace. Living in a creative symbiosis... nurturing an environment rather than destroying and rebuilding a new one every cycle.
I talk often about theatre friendships and how they wax and wane depending on who you're working with and on what project. Actors bond quickly and deeply... whether we love or hate one another. The process we go through requires it. And because we are so connected to that side of the human condition, it can quite literally hurt... when we go through separation anxiety at the end of a show. I think I've become very accustomed to those relationships. So much so, that my 'constant' friends get lost in the mix. I fall off the face of the earth during tech week and heavy performance schedules.
And when I finally 'do' decide what I want to be when I grow up, what state will my relationships be in? Where will my sense of importance and purpose go when there are no playbills to list my accomplishments?
Will I only be remembered for the chaos?
So yeah... don't know if this blog post will even make sense to most. (I'm a stream-of-consciousness kind of writer anyhow.) But these are the latest epiphanies and questions on my mind as I determine how best to bring peace to the lives of those I come in contact with. Some wrongs need to be righted... some forgiveness shed... and some relationships repaired.
And as I end, I have to send a shout out to Kathi Osborne for schooling me once again... though this time NOT on how best to channel your brash, boozy, inner broad... but rather on the importance of having those people you can call and cry to. Those relationships that stand the test of time and distance (and paternity tests. Kidding.) and still remain intact because of grace and forgiveness.
I hope I can matter as much to some as so many have to me.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Yes, Christina... there is a Santa Claus
I lie to my children.
Not often, and not out of malice. In fact, I've justified that it's all a part of the method of protective parenting. From serving my own purposes ("Santa only visits if your room is clean") to protecting them from the ugly parts of humanity, I've told them the same lies and half-truths that parents all across the planet have been telling their kids for years.
It's something I've always struggled with. In part, because I feel like my parents did a wonderful job of sheltering me from life's ugliness... which made it a bit of a rude awakening when I set out to make my own life in the world. I've always wanted to be able to give my kids a good dose of 'reality', while still allowing them to see the world with all of the wonder and potential and beauty it possesses.
It becomes much more difficult to pass on those half-truths as my kids get older. They are far too inquisitive and savvy these days and have no qualms about rolling their eyes and sighing loudly if they feel they aren't getting full disclosure. "Because I said so" has never ever worked with them.
My daughter is getting interested in psychology. Such as it is with any school of science or medicine, a lot of the mystery is swept away for a formulaic approach. It can be difficult to analyze the psychology of her teenage heart-throbs while simultaneously trying to relate the desirable qualities of adult relationships. Sound confusing? You should hear our conversations!!
A well-meaning teacher supplied my daughter with some marriage statistics that had her making some broad declarations upon returning home from school one day. Because both of her parents are divorced, she is almost guaranteed to follow in our footsteps. Not only was she mortified, but I could hear the accusation in her voice... as if the sins of the father (and mother) had indeed damned her to spinsterhood. Or a life of confused debauchery at the very least.
It opened up a candid conversation about relationships and the reality of the work involved in long-term relationships. A lot of questions were asked, many of them uncomfortable... but hey, that's just a benefit to having the kind of relationship I have with my kids.
I've not really made an effort to hide my less-than-desirable qualities from my children. They know I smoke. They've been there to support me every time I've tried to quit and they've struggled with me through every failure to kick my habit. They can do basic math, so they know I engaged in premarital sex (and through further grilling, that I actually went through quite a promiscuous phase my Senior year of High School). Most of my faults are pretty obvious ones and would take a great deal of time and energy to hide or lie about.
But it was only a matter of time before they started asking the questions that mattered... and they did.
While I wanted to weave fairy tales to my daughter of men in uniform on valiant steeds that would bring rainbows and bunnies to every day for as long as they both shall live... I found myself in a terrible conundrum. I couldn't lie. I couldn't gloss over the complexity of relationships (not to mention the mind-boggling notion of a mutually fulfilling sex life!) and offer the 'pat answers' that would have satisfied her curiosity; even if not supplying complete candor.
And so it was that I found myself confessing to my daughter (without gratuitous details) that I was at least 50-75% at fault for the failure of my relationships. I confessed equal parts ignorance, naivete, pride, and narcissism... and then the big one.
The deal-breaker.
Infidelity.
I think my biggest 'sin' as a young adult female was believing in the 'perfect relationship'. I believed that once a relationship became painful or required more work than the reward, then it wasn't meant to be. I would walk away, taking it as a sign from the universe that I wasn't where I was supposed to be. Because when I am, everything just falls into place seamlessly. Right? Ha.
Several failed relationships later, and nursing my own shattered heart, I finally stripped away some of the mystery and attacked the formulaic 'science' of it. Two individuals will ALWAYS struggle at maintaining symbiosis. It's the journey and the history between two people that helps to make up the solid foundation of a relationship. It isn't always walks on the beach or 'flour fights' while cooking in the kitchen. It is reconciling emotional baggage as well as bank accounts. It's arguing over sleeping arrangements and whether we can afford to visit the in-laws over Christmas. It's bickering over child-rearing and house-training.
Celebrating success is easy. Grieving failure is hard. And both are instrumental to a solid relationship. There is no 'perfect relationship' because there are no 'perfect' people and therefore no such thing as a 'perfect couple'. It sounds harsh even as I type it and I know I border on sounding like a cynical spinster myself, but I believe it to be true. I think a 'perfect relationship' exists on the same level as 'Santa Claus'.
It is an idea... a concept... a kind of 'faith' that we have that allows us to pursue vulnerability and intimacy with another person. And while Santa may be a bit more forgiving of your shenanigans throughout the year, your relationship won't be.
It takes work. It takes patience. It takes vulnerability and strength. It takes communication and silence.
I pass these ideas on to my daughter in the hope that she doesn't have to make the same mistakes I did. Lord help me if she's doomed to repeat my steps!! (Somehow I highly doubt it.) And since I know she's going to have psychology textbooks next year that are even more clinical about their approach, I don't mind being blunt.
Without lying, I can say that I believe that happy, healthy, long-term relationships do exist. My grandparents, aunts and uncles and several friends have been happily married for periods spanning 10-60 years. And I'll bet that if I asked them all, none of them would say they have the perfect relationship. They would all tell you that it took work and they would proudly wave the flags of obstacles overcome as a proud symbol of their victories and triumphs.
Knowing how hard it is gives me a greater respect for those that have made their relationships work. Gay, straight, married or not... sharing your life with someone is at the same time the most rewarding and most difficult thing to do. At least it is for me... but I'm a selfish person by nature with a grandiose sense of entitlement... so sharing anything (especially my Barbies) is difficult.
But I believe that it's worth believing in. And fighting for. Finding that one person who you can share everything with... your flaws, your aspirations, your bad habits, your dreams, your fears, your fantasies... It can open your life to garner twice the experience, twice the joy, twice the understanding. But it easily requires twice the work.
Is it worth it? I believe so.
But then again, I'm pretty sure I still believe in Santa Claus.
Not often, and not out of malice. In fact, I've justified that it's all a part of the method of protective parenting. From serving my own purposes ("Santa only visits if your room is clean") to protecting them from the ugly parts of humanity, I've told them the same lies and half-truths that parents all across the planet have been telling their kids for years.
It's something I've always struggled with. In part, because I feel like my parents did a wonderful job of sheltering me from life's ugliness... which made it a bit of a rude awakening when I set out to make my own life in the world. I've always wanted to be able to give my kids a good dose of 'reality', while still allowing them to see the world with all of the wonder and potential and beauty it possesses.
It becomes much more difficult to pass on those half-truths as my kids get older. They are far too inquisitive and savvy these days and have no qualms about rolling their eyes and sighing loudly if they feel they aren't getting full disclosure. "Because I said so" has never ever worked with them.
My daughter is getting interested in psychology. Such as it is with any school of science or medicine, a lot of the mystery is swept away for a formulaic approach. It can be difficult to analyze the psychology of her teenage heart-throbs while simultaneously trying to relate the desirable qualities of adult relationships. Sound confusing? You should hear our conversations!!
A well-meaning teacher supplied my daughter with some marriage statistics that had her making some broad declarations upon returning home from school one day. Because both of her parents are divorced, she is almost guaranteed to follow in our footsteps. Not only was she mortified, but I could hear the accusation in her voice... as if the sins of the father (and mother) had indeed damned her to spinsterhood. Or a life of confused debauchery at the very least.
It opened up a candid conversation about relationships and the reality of the work involved in long-term relationships. A lot of questions were asked, many of them uncomfortable... but hey, that's just a benefit to having the kind of relationship I have with my kids.
I've not really made an effort to hide my less-than-desirable qualities from my children. They know I smoke. They've been there to support me every time I've tried to quit and they've struggled with me through every failure to kick my habit. They can do basic math, so they know I engaged in premarital sex (and through further grilling, that I actually went through quite a promiscuous phase my Senior year of High School). Most of my faults are pretty obvious ones and would take a great deal of time and energy to hide or lie about.
But it was only a matter of time before they started asking the questions that mattered... and they did.
While I wanted to weave fairy tales to my daughter of men in uniform on valiant steeds that would bring rainbows and bunnies to every day for as long as they both shall live... I found myself in a terrible conundrum. I couldn't lie. I couldn't gloss over the complexity of relationships (not to mention the mind-boggling notion of a mutually fulfilling sex life!) and offer the 'pat answers' that would have satisfied her curiosity; even if not supplying complete candor.
And so it was that I found myself confessing to my daughter (without gratuitous details) that I was at least 50-75% at fault for the failure of my relationships. I confessed equal parts ignorance, naivete, pride, and narcissism... and then the big one.
The deal-breaker.
Infidelity.
I think my biggest 'sin' as a young adult female was believing in the 'perfect relationship'. I believed that once a relationship became painful or required more work than the reward, then it wasn't meant to be. I would walk away, taking it as a sign from the universe that I wasn't where I was supposed to be. Because when I am, everything just falls into place seamlessly. Right? Ha.
Several failed relationships later, and nursing my own shattered heart, I finally stripped away some of the mystery and attacked the formulaic 'science' of it. Two individuals will ALWAYS struggle at maintaining symbiosis. It's the journey and the history between two people that helps to make up the solid foundation of a relationship. It isn't always walks on the beach or 'flour fights' while cooking in the kitchen. It is reconciling emotional baggage as well as bank accounts. It's arguing over sleeping arrangements and whether we can afford to visit the in-laws over Christmas. It's bickering over child-rearing and house-training.
Celebrating success is easy. Grieving failure is hard. And both are instrumental to a solid relationship. There is no 'perfect relationship' because there are no 'perfect' people and therefore no such thing as a 'perfect couple'. It sounds harsh even as I type it and I know I border on sounding like a cynical spinster myself, but I believe it to be true. I think a 'perfect relationship' exists on the same level as 'Santa Claus'.
It is an idea... a concept... a kind of 'faith' that we have that allows us to pursue vulnerability and intimacy with another person. And while Santa may be a bit more forgiving of your shenanigans throughout the year, your relationship won't be.
It takes work. It takes patience. It takes vulnerability and strength. It takes communication and silence.
I pass these ideas on to my daughter in the hope that she doesn't have to make the same mistakes I did. Lord help me if she's doomed to repeat my steps!! (Somehow I highly doubt it.) And since I know she's going to have psychology textbooks next year that are even more clinical about their approach, I don't mind being blunt.
Without lying, I can say that I believe that happy, healthy, long-term relationships do exist. My grandparents, aunts and uncles and several friends have been happily married for periods spanning 10-60 years. And I'll bet that if I asked them all, none of them would say they have the perfect relationship. They would all tell you that it took work and they would proudly wave the flags of obstacles overcome as a proud symbol of their victories and triumphs.
Knowing how hard it is gives me a greater respect for those that have made their relationships work. Gay, straight, married or not... sharing your life with someone is at the same time the most rewarding and most difficult thing to do. At least it is for me... but I'm a selfish person by nature with a grandiose sense of entitlement... so sharing anything (especially my Barbies) is difficult.
But I believe that it's worth believing in. And fighting for. Finding that one person who you can share everything with... your flaws, your aspirations, your bad habits, your dreams, your fears, your fantasies... It can open your life to garner twice the experience, twice the joy, twice the understanding. But it easily requires twice the work.
Is it worth it? I believe so.
But then again, I'm pretty sure I still believe in Santa Claus.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Animal Instincts
So, we're pretty sure we know what happened to our beloved Sawyer.
Without going into graphic detail (to spare you fellow animal lovers) we have discovered the one and only problem with our beloved new neighborhood...
coyotes.
They aren't common on our side of the development. In fact, I've never seen one. The way our neighborhood is set up, it's actually two complexes combined into one... and the west part of the neighborhood has community dumpsters, which apparently attract the nasty, hateful creatures.
Many of the residents have spotted either the coyotes themselves or the tell-tale detritus left in their wake. I had no clue.
Now, I had already cried over the loss of Sawyer. Even though Jason had told me not to be so hasty and fatalistic, I still ended up on the floor of my bedroom mourning the loss of my 'baby panther' after about 24 hours of his absence. Upon hearing about the coyotes and the most practical and logical explanation to his disappearance, my tears were renewed and I grieved all over again.
On one hand, I'm devastated. He was part of our family.
On the other hand, he had a long and full life with us. He wouldn't have lived past his first year if we hadn't adopted him and gotten him the surgery he desperately needed. It's also not like he got old and just stopped functioning. He was probably stalking birds or lizards and ended up in the wrong part of the neighborhood. He would have gone down fighting, but he would have gone quick. There is some solace in that.
For the person who has a hard time saying 'goodbye'... I've watched our pride dwindle down to three. It feels like something is missing. Especially in the mornings when there is one less warm spot on the bed... one less voice raised in protest over how late I'm feeding them. One less bundle to snuggle on my lap whilst I blog or edit or sing...
It has affected the other cats as well. They are sticking closer to home and are slightly more needy and affectionate than usual.
None of the other cats will eat out of Sawyer's side of the food dish.
It breaks my heart.
I see litters of feral cats about every six months around the dumpsters in the development. I get angry at irresponsible pet owners who allow these cats to breed and overpopulate the area.
I also find it irritatingly ironic that these 'wild' cats with no human family to love them probably have a better survival rate against coyotes than the spoiled, soft, domesticated ones.
It's not like there's anything I can do about it... but I still found myself moping around all day in a bit of a depressed funk.
In addition, we've decided that while we want the cats to have tags and identification, we will remove the 'jingle bell'. While it is a great deterrent to them catching birds, it could prove to be a disadvantage if they ever find themselves hiding from coyotes. I'm probably being a bit obsessive and over-analyzing, but hey, that's what I do.
So yeah... speaking of over-analyzing... I had my general audition for Broadway Palm. I felt great going in. My music was prepped well, I knew my monologue(s) forward and back... but I really didn't need them. My first 16 bars didn't suck, 'cuz they asked for another 16. After that, they kept me for the dance callback.
Again, if I look at the glass as half-full, I'm blessed and thankful that I still look (to some) young enough and fit enough to get thrown into a dance callback with all the 20-somethings. However, cynical/acerbic Andi would like to someday walk into an audition and have them give me the option to monologue-for-my-life instead of dance for it. I would rock that shit out. OR... if they'd only let me dump the conventional choreography and instead perform my interpretive dance to 'It's a Wonderful World', I could ultimately prove my comedic value.
I acknowledge dance as the weakness in my triple-threatedness. I need to do what any professional would do in this situation and get my ass into some classes. PT's 'Summer of Dance' and the Fred Astaire studio are going to be my friends in the coming months. (Though I'm sure my body will say otherwise after Molly and Robbie put me through my paces.)
So, I guess the 'lesson' in the past couple of days has been about following instincts, acknowledging weakness, and accepting the natural progression that is life... even if it means losing a beloved pet to coyotes.
sigh
Without going into graphic detail (to spare you fellow animal lovers) we have discovered the one and only problem with our beloved new neighborhood...
coyotes.
They aren't common on our side of the development. In fact, I've never seen one. The way our neighborhood is set up, it's actually two complexes combined into one... and the west part of the neighborhood has community dumpsters, which apparently attract the nasty, hateful creatures.
Many of the residents have spotted either the coyotes themselves or the tell-tale detritus left in their wake. I had no clue.
Now, I had already cried over the loss of Sawyer. Even though Jason had told me not to be so hasty and fatalistic, I still ended up on the floor of my bedroom mourning the loss of my 'baby panther' after about 24 hours of his absence. Upon hearing about the coyotes and the most practical and logical explanation to his disappearance, my tears were renewed and I grieved all over again.
On one hand, I'm devastated. He was part of our family.
On the other hand, he had a long and full life with us. He wouldn't have lived past his first year if we hadn't adopted him and gotten him the surgery he desperately needed. It's also not like he got old and just stopped functioning. He was probably stalking birds or lizards and ended up in the wrong part of the neighborhood. He would have gone down fighting, but he would have gone quick. There is some solace in that.
For the person who has a hard time saying 'goodbye'... I've watched our pride dwindle down to three. It feels like something is missing. Especially in the mornings when there is one less warm spot on the bed... one less voice raised in protest over how late I'm feeding them. One less bundle to snuggle on my lap whilst I blog or edit or sing...
It has affected the other cats as well. They are sticking closer to home and are slightly more needy and affectionate than usual.
None of the other cats will eat out of Sawyer's side of the food dish.
It breaks my heart.
I see litters of feral cats about every six months around the dumpsters in the development. I get angry at irresponsible pet owners who allow these cats to breed and overpopulate the area.
I also find it irritatingly ironic that these 'wild' cats with no human family to love them probably have a better survival rate against coyotes than the spoiled, soft, domesticated ones.
It's not like there's anything I can do about it... but I still found myself moping around all day in a bit of a depressed funk.
In addition, we've decided that while we want the cats to have tags and identification, we will remove the 'jingle bell'. While it is a great deterrent to them catching birds, it could prove to be a disadvantage if they ever find themselves hiding from coyotes. I'm probably being a bit obsessive and over-analyzing, but hey, that's what I do.
So yeah... speaking of over-analyzing... I had my general audition for Broadway Palm. I felt great going in. My music was prepped well, I knew my monologue(s) forward and back... but I really didn't need them. My first 16 bars didn't suck, 'cuz they asked for another 16. After that, they kept me for the dance callback.
Again, if I look at the glass as half-full, I'm blessed and thankful that I still look (to some) young enough and fit enough to get thrown into a dance callback with all the 20-somethings. However, cynical/acerbic Andi would like to someday walk into an audition and have them give me the option to monologue-for-my-life instead of dance for it. I would rock that shit out. OR... if they'd only let me dump the conventional choreography and instead perform my interpretive dance to 'It's a Wonderful World', I could ultimately prove my comedic value.
I acknowledge dance as the weakness in my triple-threatedness. I need to do what any professional would do in this situation and get my ass into some classes. PT's 'Summer of Dance' and the Fred Astaire studio are going to be my friends in the coming months. (Though I'm sure my body will say otherwise after Molly and Robbie put me through my paces.)
So, I guess the 'lesson' in the past couple of days has been about following instincts, acknowledging weakness, and accepting the natural progression that is life... even if it means losing a beloved pet to coyotes.
sigh
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Insomnia Strikes Again...
I don't really have insomnia. Though I did start looking up sleep disorders once because I was becoming a chronic daytime napper. It turns out that I simply suffer from a lack of definitive routine.
My lifestyle is such that I may work a conventional 9-5 shift for 6-8 weeks, followed by 8-10 weeks of being completely unreachable between the hours of noon and 11pm, followed by two full weeks off, etc. rinse and repeat.
My family and most of my friends get tired of hearing "I can't. I have rehearsal/a show." And so I very much appreciate still getting invitations to socialize... even though I've become somewhat socially repressed.
This week was a whirlwind of callbacks (one of which resulted in casting success! woot!) as well as work, old friends in town, artistic events, etc. It was another glaring reminder from the universe that while I tend to get overwhelmed and stress-out easily, I'm not happy unless I'm impractically busy.
Which is why I hate being an insomniac. Or a night owl. Or whatever you want to call it. After working all day yesterday, an evening rehearsal, followed by 2 hours at the recording studio and then hanging with friends until about 1am, I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep before getting up at 6am (which should be illegal on Saturdays) for a morning gig at PT. After that, I took a friend to the airport and picked up my son. We watched Avatar (I fell asleep halfway through) and woke up an hour or so later to pick up the movie where I had left off. And now... at 3am, I'm wide awake and there is absolutely NOTHING I can do that is going to make me feel the least bit productive. It's frustrating.
I have two months of short-term peripheral projects going on, but won't start the 'big shows' (and I use the plural 'cuz I'm trying to be optimistic for the season) until August.
Being a native of AZ, you'd think I'd be used to the summers by now, but I'm not. I hate them. I am not ever a fan of the stagnant, heavy, hot summer air or the ridiculous temperatures. I do count my blessings that I don't live some place like Texas with the humidity... but I still hate the summers here.
More than that, I'm just finding that the 'pace' of AZ doesn't agree with me any more. I like to think that people operate on different levels of vibration... there are those constantly moving, high-frequency people and those chill, laid-back cats on either end of the spectrum.
I think the earth produces frequencies and vibrations as well (see OM) and that we're often 'called' or 'led' to those places that fit our temperaments and 'vibrations'... for lack of a better word.
I can see myself being insanely happy in the suburbs of Portland or Seattle... or even Savannah, GA. I'm feeling drawn to be nearer to the ocean (or at least water) in addition to feeling like the artistic community in this state is being overrun by budget cuts, lack of funding, and counter-intuitive legislation. The only thing that has kept me in this state is the fact that my family has all been here for the last few years... and my kids are still in school. I haven't been willing to uproot them and separate them from their dad, nor have I been willing to be away from them for more than two weeks at a time... max. It's also the only reason I haven't pursued auditions outside of the state. Until now.
I'm finally biting the bullet and making myself available for out-of-town gigs, just to see where it will go. I've made appointments for some regional auditions, so we'll see where that takes me and whether or not I can handle adopting it as a lifestyle. Baby steps.
The thought of starting over is incredibly intimidating. I have friends and family in this state that I've known for most of my life. I can't even imagine trying to say goodbye to some of them.
I'm horrible at good-byes, btw. Like really, really bad. I don't do funerals well either. I'm known to slip out of a party and offend many by not excusing myself with some kind of verbal acknowledgment. I don't know why. I get stupid sloppy. I took a friend from HS to the airport and barely slowed down, kicking him out next to curbside check-in with an impersonal 'see ya' and some kind of gangster-wanna-be hand signals. Goodbyes, farewells, whatever you want to call them... I have yet to master the art. I will never have that dramatic scene in the movie where the lovers share a lingering kiss and a soulful farewell. By that time, I'm crying with a foot-long length of snot hanging from my nose. I'll never forget the day Jason flew to Florida. I didn't even bring him to the airport. I drove him to the light rail on my way to a student matinee performance. I sobbed the entire way to the light rail with Jay in the car and sobbed the entire way to the theatre. I hate hate hate hate goodbyes.
(And I hate that it's 3:30 and I'm going to wake everyone if I decide to go do dishes and laundry. But hey, it's off-peak hours for SRP, so shouldn't we be taking advantage!? What I should do is start working on my script... for a show that is over two months away.
Nothing like being prepared, right?!?!)
And so it is... that I know someday I will have to say goodbye to some pretty amazing people as I embark on life's journey. I only hope that by that time, I'm better at communicating myself rather than being so selfish and sappy.
In the meantime, however, I'm going to look forward to social time with friends on Monday, auditions Tuesday, more social time Wednesday, and more auditions later in the week.
It seems trite and cliche, but at this point... I've just kinda put it all in God's hands. He's much better with this decision-making shit than I am anyway.
Alright. I'm off to fold. Laundry, that is.
Woot.
My lifestyle is such that I may work a conventional 9-5 shift for 6-8 weeks, followed by 8-10 weeks of being completely unreachable between the hours of noon and 11pm, followed by two full weeks off, etc. rinse and repeat.
My family and most of my friends get tired of hearing "I can't. I have rehearsal/a show." And so I very much appreciate still getting invitations to socialize... even though I've become somewhat socially repressed.
This week was a whirlwind of callbacks (one of which resulted in casting success! woot!) as well as work, old friends in town, artistic events, etc. It was another glaring reminder from the universe that while I tend to get overwhelmed and stress-out easily, I'm not happy unless I'm impractically busy.
Which is why I hate being an insomniac. Or a night owl. Or whatever you want to call it. After working all day yesterday, an evening rehearsal, followed by 2 hours at the recording studio and then hanging with friends until about 1am, I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep before getting up at 6am (which should be illegal on Saturdays) for a morning gig at PT. After that, I took a friend to the airport and picked up my son. We watched Avatar (I fell asleep halfway through) and woke up an hour or so later to pick up the movie where I had left off. And now... at 3am, I'm wide awake and there is absolutely NOTHING I can do that is going to make me feel the least bit productive. It's frustrating.
I have two months of short-term peripheral projects going on, but won't start the 'big shows' (and I use the plural 'cuz I'm trying to be optimistic for the season) until August.
Being a native of AZ, you'd think I'd be used to the summers by now, but I'm not. I hate them. I am not ever a fan of the stagnant, heavy, hot summer air or the ridiculous temperatures. I do count my blessings that I don't live some place like Texas with the humidity... but I still hate the summers here.
More than that, I'm just finding that the 'pace' of AZ doesn't agree with me any more. I like to think that people operate on different levels of vibration... there are those constantly moving, high-frequency people and those chill, laid-back cats on either end of the spectrum.
I think the earth produces frequencies and vibrations as well (see OM) and that we're often 'called' or 'led' to those places that fit our temperaments and 'vibrations'... for lack of a better word.
I can see myself being insanely happy in the suburbs of Portland or Seattle... or even Savannah, GA. I'm feeling drawn to be nearer to the ocean (or at least water) in addition to feeling like the artistic community in this state is being overrun by budget cuts, lack of funding, and counter-intuitive legislation. The only thing that has kept me in this state is the fact that my family has all been here for the last few years... and my kids are still in school. I haven't been willing to uproot them and separate them from their dad, nor have I been willing to be away from them for more than two weeks at a time... max. It's also the only reason I haven't pursued auditions outside of the state. Until now.
I'm finally biting the bullet and making myself available for out-of-town gigs, just to see where it will go. I've made appointments for some regional auditions, so we'll see where that takes me and whether or not I can handle adopting it as a lifestyle. Baby steps.
The thought of starting over is incredibly intimidating. I have friends and family in this state that I've known for most of my life. I can't even imagine trying to say goodbye to some of them.
I'm horrible at good-byes, btw. Like really, really bad. I don't do funerals well either. I'm known to slip out of a party and offend many by not excusing myself with some kind of verbal acknowledgment. I don't know why. I get stupid sloppy. I took a friend from HS to the airport and barely slowed down, kicking him out next to curbside check-in with an impersonal 'see ya' and some kind of gangster-wanna-be hand signals. Goodbyes, farewells, whatever you want to call them... I have yet to master the art. I will never have that dramatic scene in the movie where the lovers share a lingering kiss and a soulful farewell. By that time, I'm crying with a foot-long length of snot hanging from my nose. I'll never forget the day Jason flew to Florida. I didn't even bring him to the airport. I drove him to the light rail on my way to a student matinee performance. I sobbed the entire way to the light rail with Jay in the car and sobbed the entire way to the theatre. I hate hate hate hate goodbyes.
(And I hate that it's 3:30 and I'm going to wake everyone if I decide to go do dishes and laundry. But hey, it's off-peak hours for SRP, so shouldn't we be taking advantage!? What I should do is start working on my script... for a show that is over two months away.
Nothing like being prepared, right?!?!)
And so it is... that I know someday I will have to say goodbye to some pretty amazing people as I embark on life's journey. I only hope that by that time, I'm better at communicating myself rather than being so selfish and sappy.
In the meantime, however, I'm going to look forward to social time with friends on Monday, auditions Tuesday, more social time Wednesday, and more auditions later in the week.
It seems trite and cliche, but at this point... I've just kinda put it all in God's hands. He's much better with this decision-making shit than I am anyway.
Alright. I'm off to fold. Laundry, that is.
Woot.
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