Less Politics. More Art, Please.

I went to the museum on a cold day in December.

It wasn't my intended destination, but I had arrived in the city ahead of traffic and had an hour of time to spare. The wind was strong and the cold biting. For a minute I contemplated converting to the popular American pastime of 'Starbucks', but since I can't stand coffee, I opted for the museum instead.
It was early on a week day and I counted three other patrons other than myself. I hadn't seen the fourth until I rounded the corner and was struck by a colorful canvas, the expanse of which covered enough of the wall that no other art accompanied the piece.

My response to this artwork was emotional and immediate. As with any art, I find myself equally moved (or unaffected) by both the message/theme/content of the art as well as the skill with which the art has been created. The words of a well-written song will make me cry even if the singer lacks the skill to convey their true depth. Contrary to that, a simple portrait painted masterfully will keep me mesmerized.

And so it is that I was so mesmerized by this piece, I didn't notice the older gentleman until I nearly sat on top of him, my eyes still glued to the fine details of the large canvas. He was hunched over, his hands clasped between his knees. His eyes, hidden by huge glasses, seemed transfixed by the masterpiece before him. He looked surprised by my whispered apology as if he hadn't even noticed my ample bottom sashaying in to obstruct his view.

I side-stepped and sat beside him on the bench. In the brief moment that our eyes met, it was clear that we were both fighting back tears... and as I sat down to contemplate why the piece had touched me the way it had, I heard a half-sigh/half-sob from the stranger next to me.
He broke the silence referring to the historical scene before us by asking if I was an aficionado. "Of neither history nor art," I replied. But we struck up an easy, casual banter about a shared appreciation for both the skill of the artist and both the noble honor and tragedy of war portrayed.
We shed tears together, this stranger and I, before he put his warm, aged hand on mine and wished me a blessed holiday as he got up and slowly left the quiet solace we shared. I wondered to myself at the beauty behind art and its ability to bring two completely different people together in a shared moment of humanity.

The piece had an impact, but I had forgotten about the man shortly after I returned to my busy day of appointments and rehearsals.

Until he went to an event on a cold day in January.

He was one of five people murdered in my home state as a young man opened fire on a state representative, her staff and bystanders. Reports say that he dove onto his wife, who had been shot in the leg several times. He died in her arms after being fatally shot in the head.

The social media erupted immediately with the political spin machines on both side going into overdrive as everyone scrambled for someone to blame.

"Sarah Palin has cross-hairs on her website!"

"The shooter was a left-wing pothead!"

And my heart breaks for the lack of humanity. The lack of understanding. The lack of common sense.

Rather than pointing fingers at political factions or demographics, we need to be doing the opposite. There are zealots and mentally unstable individuals in every race, religion, organization, class and subculture. And we are collectively responsible for creating the exclusive, divisive culture in which tolerance is unacceptable and voter registration cards run thicker than blood.

It is possible to disagree and still love, respect and honor one another.

There were no political lines dividing those two strangers on the bench. There was only a brief connection over a shared moment of humanity explored and beauty appreciated.

My heart breaks for this state. For this nation. For our families and our politicians. We have forgotten so much so quickly.

The tears I shed are for a stranger I didn't know, but who was beautiful in some way... no matter what his politics.

Playing Catch-Up

Wow.... so, haven't blogged since Thanksgiving, which means this one will probably be epic as there are many events and issues to cover. (Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm ovulating, which means I'm long-winded and emotional.) My apologies in advance.

Thanksgiving was awesome as was the arrival of early December and (finally) some cooler temperatures in the good ol' 'Zona desert.
Then 'Hairspray' closed and we all cried.
Seriously.
I spiraled into a sullen depression that lasted about three days - which was all the luxury I had before the next script was begging to be re-read and highlighted in anticipation of those rehearsals.
On December 18th, my son... my first born... the light of my life... turned 17.
That ungrateful little betrayer of my youth and vigor. How dare he!!
I also managed to throw my back out during his birthday week, rendering me mostly useless around the house and feelin' like the crazy ol' cat lady on the corner who takes a half-hour just to shuffle down her own driveway like Quasimodo to get the damn mail.
Thank God it happened after the show closed. Not only would it have been brutal to perform in that kind of pain, but my cast would have never let me live it down! Oh, that my middle name were 'Grace'.

I had two weeks to rush the rest of my holiday shopping, house decorating, socializing and errand running before Christmas, which was also uber-awesome.
Now, I don't know about other families, but our little collective of the kids and Jay and I have a VERY hard time keeping secrets. I have tried (and failed) many times at being prepared for Christmas by doing my shopping in September or October... and after two weeks of having the presents in my closet (or other hiding place) I have observed a dozen instances in which said items would have had some practical use or been otherwise appreciated. So, I'll wrap the presents to keep me from spoiling the surprise and just handing them over. By the end of October, beginning of November, the suspense kills me and end up insisting that they be opened and enjoyed. Leaving nothing for Christmas.
And so, this is a time in which my natural tendency to procrastinate actually comes in handy. We managed to stave off the desire to preempt the past few Christmases and continued a family tradition of celebrating on Christmas Eve with a small gift exchange. We usually split Christmas day between my extended family and theatre family/friends while the kids spend the second half of Christmas with their dad.
This year, our celebrations were planned out for three days solid. Our celebration, then my family and some friends on Christmas day and then with my mom, stepdad, brothers, niece(s) and nephews on the day after Christmas.
Because the kids are at an age where the mystery of Santa Claus is no longer, we pulled a full-on bonanza late in the evening on Christmas Eve and let everyone rip into all of their presents (stockings and all).
It was a great Christmas. Wonderful to see friends and family that we don't see often (or at all) during the rest of the year. But it also makes me feel bad to realize how little I see my actual blood (and married) relations - even though we all live within several miles of each other. (Except Justin who had to go and move to Alabama. Party-poopin' home-wrecker.)

Which brings me to relocating. Well... that's gonna be a long one. We'll come back to that.

The New Year came and went without much fanfare. The kids divided their attention between movies, games, texts and Facebook, looking up long for all of us to wish one another a Happy New Year. I think I was asleep by 1am. The kids stayed up 'til 3. Another sign that I'm getting old. Thanks, kids.

Last week was supposed to be an 'easy' week, but I found myself a bit behind on things like taking down decorations and memorizing lines. In addition, two family friends passed away last week. Two memorials in four days, singing at one and reading at the other. I also made another realization. I cannot sing at the memorials of people I know. Readings are fine. No problem. But singing... First, I cannot sing spiritual songs without breaking down. It's odd... even old hymns that I used to sing on a regular basis with nary a tear in my eye. And I even claim that I'm not a 'religious' person. I consider myself spiritual, but I disagree with most organized (and all zealous) religions. Yet have me sing any song related to God or grace or crosses or heaven and I'm a blubbering mess of snot, ugly-cryin' all over the first three pews. Add to that the setting of grief and loss on the faces of people you love and care for... well, it's just hard. I don't care how professional you are.
I tried to hold it together by playing a word-association game in my head with neutral, inane objects - "I 'cling' to the old rugged cross" became a picture of a dryer sheet in my head - and that helped me keep things together somewhat, but my voice still warbled and cracked. I don't do 'grief' well and my heart aches for suffering... whether it be Christ or Joe Schmoe on the street.

It hit me hard that friends and family are passing away with more frequency as I get older and my social and familial circles widen. It's just a fact of life, but this mortality thing has me reeling on a regular basis. I could get all deep and theological about the 'meaning of life' and 'leaving our mark', 'making a difference' and the legacies we leave behind, but it's too early for that just now.

Which will awkwardly bring me back to relocating.

It also hit me pretty hard that this last holiday might be one of the last Christmases I get to spend with my family. No, not 'cuz anyone is getting ready to kick it or anything. We Watsons are a hearty bunch.
But because I have long daydreamed of leaving Arizona... and that possibility seems to be getting closer and closer with each passing day.
Whether you want to blame it on temperament (I'm sanguine) or Zodiacal sign (I'm a Pisces) or personality (I'm ENFP), I don't really 'plan' well. I daydream. I make lists of goals, sure. I have an Excel spreadsheet with both long-term and short-term goals separated into columns of financial, personal, and professional goals. But as the list goes on, the goals sound more like the imaginings of a seven-year-old fairy princess than a 35-year-old actress and single mother of two. I just remembered that my birthday is next month. Oh dear. I'm gonna try and forget again.

Not much has been crossed off of my list of financial goals, except for the fact that I've managed to get out of debt. I pay cash whenever I can and no longer own a credit card (save for the emergency one that is directly linked to my savings account). I own my car, rent my house, and my biggest expense is the fact that I splurge monthly for extended cable and high-speed internet. (I know, I'm just pissing it away, aren't I?)
But the personal and professional goals have been steadily disappearing - and replaced by new goals with a higher bar or loftier standard.
The kids are almost both of driving age. Only two more years and they'll be out of High School.

When I've talked about leaving, one of the caveats was that the kids would have to be old enough and independent enough to be able to travel back and forth and acclimate to cities outside of their birth state. And they're both now at an age where they see the opportunity as an adventure more than a traumatic experience, which makes me consider the possibility more of a reality.

Between the recent elections and passed bills, I have been feeling politically like a bit of a stranger in a strange land. The most recent shootings in Tucson have me questioning even more if this is the place I want to live for the rest of my life. Hell, I don't know if ANY place is the one place I want to live for the rest of my life. Yes, I have commitment issues.

I've often considered throwing my name in the hat to be a cruise entertainer, but I have many friends working that circuit and know how grueling that work can be. Perhaps ten years ago...
As it is, I'm looking forward to the eight weeks I'll be in Arkansas. We'll just call it a 'test run'. :)

In the meantime, my current stress is finding a new place to live. The house that I currently rent is in danger of foreclosing. The owner has offered to terminate my lease early so that he can attempt a short-sale, but that means scrambling to find a suitable alternative and pack this place up, which has accumulated a fair amount of clutter in the past two years. Oy vey.
It wouldn't be so bad except that I just started rehearsing a new show at the theatre down the street. No, really. 3/4 of a mile from my house.

We open 'Murder on the Strip' this Friday at Broadway Palm in the Marquee Theatre. It's an interactive murder mystery dinner-theatre show that is a lot of fun. High-speed, low-drag, and very little stress. I guess you could say that playing M.C. has been the perfect rebound relationship after breaking it off with Velma. Don't worry... I'll go running back into her arms in March. She only hits me 'cuz she loves me.

So, I will return to my early-morning perusal of rental ads and wonder how much longer I'll call Arizona home. A year? Two? Five? God, I hope not five.

I miss my friends.
Hopefully, they will forgive my absence over the chaotic past month and go have a drink with me next week after the show is opened and help me sort out the crazy mess that is my life. We might even solve world hunger while we're at it.

Martini Monday, anyone?
Sushi?
Anyone???