My Montford Family

I've been wanting to write about this for a while now, and finally got around to it.

A little over five years ago, I stumbled across this amazing group of people. It's changed over the years; people have come and gone, for various reasons; friendships have formed and faded, dynamics have changed. It seems a bit narrowing to just refer to it as a Montford family, because few of us are strictly Montford-associated. Most everyone works with other theatre companies, and some are sort of "old-Montford" and don't really actively participate with that particular company any longer, mostly for benign reasons, different opportunities. But Montford is where a lot of us come together, and it's special. It's an association that stays. It's home.

I still remember when I first heard the term; I was at Usual Suspects, meeting up with some people I knew and some I didn't. I was very, very new to the whole community, and I didn't consider myself a full-fledged member by any means, yet. But then Steph introduced me to someone, and her exact words were, "This is Mandy - she's part of the Montford family." For some reason, hearing those words made me so, so happy and proud, because I already felt like these people were family. Hearing someone else confirm it was such a fantastic feeling.

We're like any other family, in a lot of ways. We bicker. We have falling-outs. We laugh together, go on outings together, spend time listening to one another over coffee and chocolate, whiskey and wine. We look out for each other. We celebrate milestones together, birthdays and weddings and babies.

Last month, I had two reminders of just how much of a family we all really are. The first was the passing of a dear member of our family. Kevin was never onstage, but he came faithfully to shows, he offered his companionship and support, and he loved. He was so good at loving, and it makes me smile just thinking about it. Kevin was one of the first people I met at Montford, celebrating Twelfth Night with a party in the green room on a cold January day. He had on a jester's hat. Later that night, several of us went to Usual Suspects; it was really my first time meeting most of these people, but I already felt so at ease with all of them...and I somehow already felt that Kevin, Travis, and Darren would feel like my brothers. They did, and do.

Losing one of those brothers was hard, but being with my Montford family during a lot of that time was somehow very beautiful. On Valentine's Day, we all came together at a service honoring Kevin. Old members and new, close and distant, we shared our grief together in the sort of quiet way that families do. I felt so, so blessed looking around that sanctuary and seeing that that family, so privileged to know these amazing people who don't just come for the happy times, but stick around for the sad, as well.

It happened that the show I was directing for CDS was playing the next night. Several members of that family came to see the show, which might not sound like a big deal. What was a big deal to me is that, by coming out, they were showing their support for the Montford people IN the show; David and his marvelous boys. They were doing just what a family does: supporting one another. They weren't just coming out to see a play; they were coming out to see Ben in a lead role, coming out because he is a part of that family.

Having those two experiences, flush up against one another like that, made me reflect on just how wonderful our community is. There's a quote from a play called Marvin's Room, a play I did in college; it's printed on our show T-shirts, and I remember at the time that no one wanted this particular quote on the shirt. We all thought another quote would have been a much better choice. We thought it didn't make sense out of context, even though in the scene, it does: the main character is talking about how she isn't lucky to have BEEN loved, she is lucky to HAVE loved. I never wear the shirt, because I hardly ever wear T-shirts. But that quote, the one none of us wanted, has stuck with me for all these years, and I always feel like it describes my feelings perfectly:

"I am so lucky to have loved so much."

I had a birthday party.

I feel like a little kid. I had a birthday party, people. A SURPRISE birthday party. On my actual birthday. With friends and candles and a cake with a pony on it and pizza and BIRTHDAY cards. And even a couple of presents. I keep getting all teary-eyed whenever I think about it. Then I get over feeling teary-eyed and feel like jumping up and down.

Anyone out there who has a birthday really close to Christmas knows it's not really the most fun time of the year to celebrate a birthday. I mean, there are a lot of things in life that are a whole lot worse, but...it's just kinda not that fun. Most people forget your birthday entirely (or at least, they did before Facebook). It's rare to get a birthday card from a friend because everyone's so wrapped up with Christmas cards. Presents are usually lumped in as "Christmas and birthday" (which is only cool if it's a really neat present), and forget about having a birthday party; everyone's either out of town or busy with the holidays. So yesterday was really, really awesome for me. I do wish more people could have been there (apparently the whole thing was last minute and the word didn't really get out to everyone), but with the Christmas Carol cast factored in, it felt like a LOT of people. And they all said surprise! And sang me happy birthday!

(Suddenly I'm taken back to a video of myself as a four-year-old child, opening a cheap plastic doll from a random old lady who was the mom of one of my mom's friends. I looked at the package and exclaimed gleefully, "Oh, it's just what I always wanted!". Apparently I take a lot of pleasure in the simple things.)

I have a really awesome husband who managed to keep a secret from me. And I have a really awesome best friend who somehow manages to do just the right thing sometimes.

Connecticut

I have been selfishly trying not to think about Connecticut since Friday. I can't let myself be affected by this, not when there are children who come running up to throw their arms around my legs when I walk into a room with shouts of, "Miss Mandy! Miss Mandy, can I play with your hair? Miss Mandy, will you swing me around? Miss Mandy, come look at my airplane that I built!"

I don't have time to be affected by this. I don't want to be affected by this.

But I am. We all are. Especially those of us who are educators. I kept overhearing snippets of conversation at work, hearing the teachers talk to each other about what they would do if someone barged in on us with a gun. I didn't comment. I tried not to listen. But those thoughts are in my head, too; they've been in my head since Friday. I think to myself, "If I were in the three-year-old room, those windows are easy to open; I'd get them all out the window, tell them to head for the side of the building, because surely they'd have a better chance out there than cornered in their classroom." And then, "What if I were in the infant room? I can only carry two babies at a time; do I put them all in the closet and shield them? Do I stick them into the evacuation crib, treat it like a fire drill, get them out onto the playground and hope whatever maniac is after them doesn't follow?"

The reality is, there is no way to plan for such a thing happening. Such a thing shouldn't be happening. And it's easy to pretend for a little while that it hasn't happened; it's easy to go to holiday parties, enjoying egg nog  and laughter and gift exchanges, but the fact remains that this has happened. There are children that will never see the Christmas presents bought for them; there are teachers who died trying to protect those children. It happened. And it will happen again if something doesn't change. Something has to change.

In the meantime, we all keep going about our lives as best we can, hoping it isn't our town next time. Hoping it isn't us. And I'll keep looking at the smiling faces and bright eyes of all the children in my life, wishing my arms could somehow be big enough to hold them all at once.

Day of the Dead

Home sick with a stomach bug. There are plenty of things I SHOULD be accomplishing with this extra time, but...well, emphasis on the "sick". I kind of just want to stay in bed for a while until I have to head out for other jobs.

I love Halloween. Yesterday was a whole lot of fun - for the first time in my life, I was in a house in an actual neighborhood for the holiday, so I got to see all KINDS of trick-or-treaters. Totally made my night. I also loved seeing Scott and Jason handing out candy - at one point they were doing so at the same time, and we think they may have been mistaken for a couple, judging by the smiles and waves from the parents of the kids, which is just adorable. After all that, I ended up winning third place in a (small) costume contest, which was just awesome - I've never come anywhere close to having the best costume. Then again, I've never entered that many contests.

So, today is Day of the Dead, and I've been seeing people post about their loved ones. It made me realize that I've lost a lot of people that were very important in my life...which reminds me just how lucky I am to have had SO many important people in my life.

Granny, who I barely remember, but still dream about sometimes and still wish to be just like. I miss you, and I am absurdly pleased whenever anyone points out that I have your legs or that my pie crusts taste just like yours did. I might miss you the most because to this day I wish I had gotten more time with you.

Papaw, who used to pass the time with me just sitting on the front porch watching cars go by on the semi-distant highway, guessing what color car would come next. You used to let me win at checkers when I was tiny, until I got mad when I realized you were throwing the game and refused to play with you for a solid month. Somehow what I have of yours is crooked pinky fingers, oddly shaped feet, and determination.

Grandmother, so petite and spunky in this oddly genteel way. I miss your garden and your cookies, and the witty, almost flirty way you joked with people. My mother likes to say "Mary Garrison will never die as long as Mandy's around" whenever I start to leave - because I start to leave at least ten minutes before I actually get out the door, then dawdle around saying goodbye and gathering up things, just like you.

Aunt Doris, always gentle and quiet, but still able to banter with your sister about who got to be the "boss" on any given day. When everyone else laughed at me for wanting to be an actress, and my Mama jokingly said, "Well, if you end up starvin' in New York, don't come running to me!", you put your arm around me and said, "Don't worry, honey, as long as I have something to eat, you will, too." I will never forget that, or our walks, or the way you talked to the barn cats.

Aunt Phyllis, who called me your "sleepin' buddy" because you always shared my bed when you'd come visit. You always kept me awake with your snoring, but I was so happy you'd come to visit, I didn't mind.

Uncle Bill, you and I shared a love of those little cinnamon twists Grandmother would make out of leftover dough. I remember how you used to get down in the floor and play with me, and how sad I was when you died before you got to see me driving a car, since it would have made you proud to see me in that old blue Ford Fairmont.

Roseanne, Mrs. Sheppard, the oldest friend I had in both senses of the word. I guess it's all right to tell you now that I never actually liked those Kit-Kat bars you always gave me, but I was always so pleased that you  thought enough of me to give them to me. I had the florist put one in the flower arrangement for your funeral. I still have the little horse figurine you gave me, and every birthday card you ever sent to me, and I miss your stories so, so much. I tell them to myself sometimes just so I won't forget them, especially the one about the boys playing guitar outside the sleeping porch when you were in boarding school, and how your daddy had to walk to Burnsville in the rain to get a cab so you could be taken to Asheville to have your appendix out, and how your daddy and my great-granddaddy were such good friends, and how your oldest boy died in a car crash. Good and bad and silly and important, I miss hearing you tell them to me.

Aunt Clara, how you were always so mild until something got you angry, but you never spoke an unkind word to me. Uncle Carl, I once mentioned that I liked the applesauce cake you made, and from then on you made one for me every time I came home from college until you weren't able anymore. Aunt Bert, Uncle Tuck, Luther (the first vehicle I ever drove was your old white truck in the cow pasture), Conrad (everyone in our family still calls you "Conard" because that's how Papaw said your name)....

And Krysten. Oh, Krysten, it amazes me that losing you still pains me so much when we hadn't even spoken in years, except on Facebook. I don't even know if we would have been friends as adults. But I see you at preschool all the time, whenever I see two little girls playing pretend together, and I recognize that their play is so similar to ours. I miss your cheeky smile, and the way you used to scream with laughter when my Daddy would tickle your feet, and how you were so spunky. And bossy. Yes, you were bossy, always telling me that you got to choose what we did because you were older by a whole ten months. Mud pies and hay bales and forts, and forts made of hay bales, and hunting for new baby kittens in the barn loft, and watching Disney movies on rainy days, and dancing to Boot Scootin' Boogie in my living room. I remember spending the night at your house over the years, and it seemed so fancy to me, then! You had a waterbed and a Barbie dollhouse, and you lived in a neighborhood, which was so foreign to me. Our white tennis shoes Mama bought us at Roses that we painted with puff paint - mine were ladybugs, yours were bumblebees. And oh, how we could fight! I vividly remember you standing in the back yard, little hands balled up into fists by your sides while we argued with each other...we had been arguing for several minutes, at least, standing there in a face-off near the cherry tree, neither one backing down, until something dawned on me and I asked, "Krysten, what are we fighting about, again?" You just stopped, the frown left your face and was slowly replaced with a grin, and you said, "I have no idea." We both laughed so hard at how silly it all was, we nearly cried. We had a really good childhood together.

I am so lucky to have loved so much.



I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me 
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring 
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good

And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the thing I've done you blame me for

But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share
And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood

Like a ship blown from its mooring 
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood

Who can say if I've been 
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better
And because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good. 

Bigotry and Barbies

I think the one thing I probably have the hardest time understanding in the world is bigotry. I even looked it up just now so that I could have an easier time explaining why I don't understand:

big·ot·ry
   [big-uh-tree]
noun, plural -ries.
1. stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.
2. the actions, beliefs, prejudices, etc., of a bigot.

I think the first four words really sum up everything. "Stubborn and complete intolerance". I mean, I believe in sticking to your own beliefs, and I stick to mine. That doesn't mean I can't listen to someone else's, can't appreciate their side of things. Honestly, the hardest thing in a while that I've had to accept is that a dear friend of mine doesn't believe in souls, and for some reason that's really hard for me, because I do believe in souls so vehemently and because I love this friend and somehow the thought of him not believing in souls makes me really, really sad. But I think me being sad about his belief is definitely not the same thing as intolerance of his belief. Anyway, I digress.

What started this whole line of thought is this blog I've been reading tonight called "Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son." I've read most of the blog entries by now, and it really makes me sad that there are people in the world who can't wrap their head around this little boy's desire to be a princess any more than I can wrap my head around bigotry. It just seems like a no-brainer to me. Kids are going to play with what they're attracted to. Most little boys want to play with guns, and no matter HOW hard PeaceLovingHippieMama (I use that term affectionately) may try to teach nonviolence and ban guns from the house, little boys will build weapons out of Legos and chew them out of peanut butter sandwiches. It doesn't mean they're going to grow up and go on a killing spree. It just means that gender typical boys love playing action hero bang-bang shoot-em-up games. And most people accept this.

People also accept little girls being tom boys. No one thinks twice when little Mary Sue dons jeans and sneakers and starts playing super heroes with the boys. In fact, she's usually applauded for being so tough and holding her own with the guys. Nobody automatically assumes she's a lesbian when she's climbing trees at four years old. Why is it different for little boys? And for that matter, why on EARTH do some people think it's FAIR that it's different?

When I was a little girl, I wore cowgirl boots and jeans and spent a lot of time in the cattle pasture with my daddy and big brother. This was, in fact, my favorite place to be. I made mud-pies, I climbed trees and was brave enough to jump down instead of calling for help when I climbed too high. I was plopped onto the backs of horses (and cows) before I could walk. I was fearless of spiders and snakes and bugs (except locust, which still creep me out). My family was exceedingly proud of my cowgirl ways and my willingness to get dirty, and I loved that. But you know what else I remember loving? Doll houses. Big, beautiful, real wooden doll houses we'd see at the craft store. And tea sets. And Barbie dolls. And oh, those ruffled dresses they sold at Dollywood that were insanely expensive, and the parasols to match...I still get a little teary-eyed over the thought of how badly my little five year old self ached for one of those dresses, and how my mama wouldn't get me one because it was too expensive (and, realizing now how talented she is at the sewing machine, I'm almost bitter that she didn't make me a knock-off copy). I have vowed to buy my children a beautiful doll house because I never got one - although don't get me wrong, I was very spoiled and well taken care of, I just wasn't always listened to when it came to my opinions.

The most hurtful thing my dear, sweet, kind Daddy ever said was meant to be a joke, meant to not even be in my earshot. He was talking to someone about me doing theatre, and he laughed and said, "Yeah, well, I'd thought sure I had myself a cowgirl when she was little." I had to slip off to the bathroom and cry so that Daddy wouldn't see he'd hurt my feelings, because I know he never meant to. He does a great job of loving me, and he and Mama both really try to support the fact that I do theatre and that it's something that obviously isn't going to leave my life. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I have a little rainbow princess boy someday. I see myself as embracing this child's preferences and buying him pink nail polish and creating dress-up clothes for him on my sewing machine, but what about my family? Would they fall into the same category of bigots that sneer at mothers who let their boys dress in pink lace? Would they blame me for buying him Barbies the way those mothers get blamed?

Something else that's seldom brought up is the way people force some little girls into wearing frills and doing girl things. It isn't addressed as much, the same way girls being tomboys isn't such a big deal, but I've seen it. I've seen girls who want nothing more than to play in the mud whose mothers force them into pink frilly dresses and fuss at them for getting sand in their shoes.

Will I buy my little girl frilly dresses? Yes, of course I will. I've waited my whole life for that. But will I keep putting her in those frilly dresses if it becomes obvious she doesn't like them? I hope not. Except maybe once a year. I can hear Scott now: "All right, (daughter's name), it's Mama's birthday, so put your dress on for dinner."

And will I deny my little boy frilly dresses if that's what he wants? Of course not. Will I support him in his gender and sexual identity as he grows older? It seems like a no-brainer, and yet there are people who say they'd rather have their son be missing his left arm than be gay. I just don't understand.

Been a while

Randomly felt like blogging tonight for the first time in a year and a half or so!

I wish for more time to do the things that really matter in life. Like watching the rain fall in the streetlights, or listening to crickets in the summertime, or dancing, or skipping down the streets as they glisten in the moonlight, or hanging out with people you love.

Granted, I do a lot of these things as often as I possibly can. It's just that sometimes, Monday is just around the corner, and I realize that I have to go to work and be responsible and all that jazz just so I can have money to live and eat and do the things that matter. I often play the "what if" game: what if we won the lottery? What would we do with that money? We have all sorts of crazy dreams, from owning a house in Montford for all our actor friends to live in to buying a horse ranch (or, Scott's personal dream, to own a helicopter).

Tonight, however, we were watching his favorite movie, which is Groundhog's Day, and I started playing the "what if" game a different way. What if my life were like that movie? What would I do with that day, over and over, if I knew everything would just start out the same way again tomorrow and there would be no consequences? I know after a while it would get boring, and I'm sure I would eventually just go insane. But just assuming that, in the end, February 3rd would finally come....I mean, it'd be unlimited time. I'd have time for everything. I'd go visit people I haven't seen in too long. I'd convince my friends, one by one, to play hooky from work so we could spend one entire day hanging out together. I'd do some of the things Bill Murrey does in the movie, like learn to play piano (oh, lord, would that I had listened to my parents and taken lessons as a child). And I'd do really silly things, too, like get a different haircut every day to see which one I like the best, since I have such a hard time changing my hairstyle (it's really been the same since I was eleven, except for one perm and one experiment with cutting it to my shoulders). I'd spend days just reading books that I've never gotten to. I'd search for my dream house here in Asheville in the hopes that once tomorrow finally came, I could at least know what I wanted, even if I couldn't afford to buy it. I mean, the possibilities are limitless!

It kind of makes me sad that I don't have the ambition to do some of these things even without unlimited time to accomplish them. But honestly, I'm just not that ambitious. I certainly don't just sit at home every day; anyone who knows me knows that I take every chance I get to get out there and do things with people. It just kind of sucks that the majority of my day, of all our days, have to be spent making money just so we can have the means to get by.

In a nutshell: I wish I had more time to dance.

Random Things

I keep thinking of good subjects for blog posts. Then I forget what it was I was going to write about. So, instead, I'm going to answer one of those random questionnaires. The kind that go around Facebook. This particular one simply asks for 15 random facts. Simple enough. I promise to try to be as absolutely random with these facts as I POSSIBLY can. None of this "My favorite color is cerulean" crap. Which it is, by the way.

1. When I was a little girl and my Granny passed away, my family once caught me standing alone in the middle of a field waving up at the sky. When asked what I was doing, my response was, "Oh, just waving to God and Granny". I also still remember talking to my Granny at the chain link fence in Kindergarten - I would ask God to go and get her for me, then I'd wait a minute, then I'd tell her all about my day. I can't really remember my Granny, but I remember this, and it's my proof that she was my best friend in the whole world. I still talk to her, sometimes, and I still think it's amazing that a woman I only knew for the first 3.5 years of my life has had such a profound impact on me. She is my biggest role model, although all I really have to aspire to are stories of her and a strong physical resemblance.

2. June Bugs are the only creatures I think I've ever been intentionally cruel to. I just hate them so much, and I always have. I would catch them eating our rose bushes and pull their legs and wings off. One flew in my hair while I was sleeping as a child; I'm pretty sure this had something to do with my immense hatred for them. The only other bugs I really, really can't stand are cicadas (locally called locust), and that's more terror than hatred.

3. Apparently there was an Amanda Phillips who got married on September 25th of last year. She also registered at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. This has apparently caused some confusion for some of our wedding guests...most notably my mother, who wondered why the heck we'd registered for beer mugs.

4. I was a dancer for 18 solid years of my life, from the age of 2 to the age of 20. I haven't really danced, other than the occasional number in a musical, since I was 20. On Monday, I will become a ballet teacher for three different ballet classes, ages 3-4. Somehow, even with 18 years of ballet behind me, that 5 year gap has made me utterly terrified of this new development.

5. I really think that everyone has more diverse interests than we give them credit for, and that you can't tell what people like and dislike just by what "type" they fit. However, I also really and truly believe that I have more diverse interests than anyone else I have ever met. I spent a few unhappy months of my life trying to figure out exactly what mold I best belonged in, and I only ended up frustrated. I think there are plenty of people who just don't fit a mold...my problem is I fit so MANY molds. I finally decided to say 'screw it' and now I choose to step into whatever mold I like best at the time. Hence the title of this blog.

6. I have an inexplicable attraction to plump, redheaded women. I really don't know quite where this started. This is not to say that I have the hots for every plump redhead in the world; actually, I would classify myself as at least 95% straight, but I think anyone who thinks they are 100% straight is in complete denial. However, of the women that I am/have been attracted to, whether in real life or on the screen, nearly ALL of them have been plump redheads. I also have a desire to BE a plump, middle-aged redhead. I'm not really sure if the desire to be one fuels my attraction to them, or if it's vice-versa. All I know is, I'm deeply in love with Molly Weasley, Mrs. Paroo from the newest version of The Music Man, the Unsinkable Molly Brown from Titanic, and my third-grade friend Mary's mother.

7. Along the lines of the 'mold' idea...I have never truly decided what it is I want to be. I mean, the thing I MOST want to be is an actress...but I'm happy to do that in a community theatre setting, just so long as I still get to act. But as far as a career? Again, it's not that I can't find what I want to do...I just want to do so many things, I can't settle on one. I love teaching right now, but I still want to bartend. I want to run a bakery. I want to be a veterinary technician. I want to be a private nanny. I want to work as a receptionist. I've already waited tables, house managed a theatre, been a church secretary, and worked in a library. I want to do all those things again, too. Unfortunately, this is no way to make a living. Even MORE unfortunately...Scott is the same way. We're both happy to work any job (although I'm pickier than he is) and we can't settle on any one thing we want to do. However, I think if I could get a job teaching drama in a regular classroom...that'd probably make me happiest. Good thing that's what I went to school for.

8. I really and truly love the musical Cats. And I can't really and truly explain WHY, exactly. With Cats...you either love it, or you don't. If you love it, it's incredibly hard to put into words what's so special about it. But something about the show actually speaks to me, as hokey as that sounds, and the few times I've seen it live, I've been so excited that I've been on the edge of my seat bouncing up and down with tears in my eyes as soon as the overture began. It's an easy musical to make fun of because the fans can be so fanatic, and fanatics are always easy targets. But I will still defend it ever chance I get, even if my defense is simply "Shut up, it's my favorite show".

9. Along the same lines, I really love The Rocky Horror Show/The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It's not the same level of love, and honestly, I don't love it as much as I once did. But most people love RHPS for the spectacle of the live show, for the rice and the water guns and the shouting at the screen. That's fun, and I love it. But not as many people love the movie just for itself, and I really do.

10. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted children. I mean LITERALLY for as long as I can remember. I've been fascinated by babies and pregnancy since I was about 2. People tease me a lot about loving babies so much, and how I'm going to end up pregnant as soon as I'm married...but honestly, if it were just up to me, we really WOULD be having children immediately. It's not practical, no. We don't have the money. We should wait a few years and enjoy married life as a couple first. I know all of these things. People tell me these things constantly, and I always smile and agree with them and say that of course we're going to wait a couple of years. But the truth is, my whole greater purpose in life is to be a mother, and that's the one thing I've always, ALWAYS been sure of. Even when I doubt my abilities as an actress, or my intelligence, or my choices, or anything else that could possibly be doubted about my life and my reason for being here, I have never once doubted that I am supposed to be a mother.

Good grief, this is long. Screw writing 15 things. 10 is enough. I'll make up for it by posting a poem. When I was 11, my poems were really great. I was the best poet in the class, and even had other kids begging me to help them with their poetry assignments. Unfortunately, my abilities as a poet never progressed beyond that of an 11 year old. But I do still dabble.

Simile

sometimes driving down the highway
i wonder where this poetry is
the kind that's supposedly inside me
in this so-called dramatic soul
and all that comes to me are similes
captured old cliches that ring
so prettily in my head
the way the mist twines through the landscape
like a woman's hair through a lover's fingers
or how the street lights shine on a lonely highway
like silver
or how the moon hits your eye
like a big pizza pie
(i never understood that one)
wherefore, romeo, do we relate by comparison?
why does one thing always have to be like some other thing?
i am sure there's some scientific sociological answer
but i don't care much for science
and wouldn't it be nice
to stand on your own
and be like nothing else?

Yesterday I was robbed while at rehearsal. Some very bold thief walked right into the green room, went through my purse, took every cent I had except for one well-hidden dollar (and I mean every cent - they even emptied out my change) and both my credit cards. There were at least twenty people there; this was in broad daylight.

Tonight my car was backed into by a friend while I wasn't there; she called and said it was a "little dented" and scratched, so I said it was no big deal...and then was kind of shocked when I saw the big dent on the back left hand side of my car. No hard feelings, I'm just going to actually bother to have her fix it now - I was going to just leave it when I thought it was a small spot.

Scott no longer has cable...which...is only fair, really, because it had been left hooked up from the last resident and he just never said anything, BUT, the DVD player that is built-in to the TV has also stopped reading disks. Which sucks, because he's only had it since Christmas.

We're out a big chunk of change for having to get his car fixed when the alternator died. Plus he just had to get new tires. Plus my wheels are in desperate need of alignment before my car shakes off the road.

I have, once again, over-committed myself in a big way and no longer have time to do things I need to do. Like plan a wedding. Or at least make my dress.

Now, I'm not normally one to dwell on misfortune...but with the car dent and the robbery ALONE, it seems like the world or fate or God is just out to get both me and Scott this week.

And yet, three months from today, we'll still be married. For better or for worse. So I guess that makes it all okay.

Because sometimes, you just wanna vent.

Alternate title: Mandy and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

For starters, I got no sleep last night. Didn't get back from Rocky til after 2, then got up at 7:30, and I have a cold so it took forever to fall asleep. The reason I got up at 7:30 was to meet up with Michael and carpool to Burnsville for Parkway Playhouse auditions.

Worst. Auditions. Ever.

Don't get me wrong - I felt like my actual audition was great. But the whole process was insanely disorganized, and frustrating to the point that I've decided even if I AM offered a role, I won't accept it. Nothing against Parkway Playhouse in general, because I know a lot of great people who work/have worked for them. And I've heard that in past years, auditions have not been the horrible process they were today. However, seeing as how today is the only experience I have with them...I was thoroughly unimpressed, and I intend to wait at least until next year to try to get involved out there.

Basically, what got me really angry was the complete and utter lack of order. We were numbered as we came in...and those numbers meant absolutely nothing. They didn't take people in order of arrival. At 3:00, there were people who had just been SITTING AROUND since 10:00 and hadn't even gotten to cold read. Meanwhile, there were people who didn't show up until 1:30 who were completely finished by 3:00. I got there at 10:00 and was done by 12:30...but Scott and about four other guys, who also got there at 10:00, was still waiting around. Finally, Scott decided he wasn't even interested in auditioning anymore after seeing the lack of courtesy and professionalism displayed by those running the auditions. I know it was frustrating for the directors, too; they didn't seem to have too much say in the order of things.

It's not that hard, people. Audition actors in the order they show up. If you want to do different groups of guys and girls, that's fine, but MAKE TWO SEPARATE LISTS so you don't have twenty girls finished and the first five guys still sitting around. Let people get their WHOLE audition over with in an orderly fashion instead of expecting them to wait five hours between steps. And if you absolutely have to have someone come back and read for a different part for you, get it done QUICKLY instead of asking them to wait another two hours to read a page of dialogue.

So, by the time we finally got back to Asheville (around 5), I was already just wishing I could start the whole day over and spend it hanging out with Scott instead of completely wasting our time in the middle of Burnsville. Of course, that wasn't the end of the day. When trying to leave for the Alice Underground show, I spent ten minutes looking for my phone. I finally found it, which was good. Then I immediately realized I could not find my license. Finally found it in my floorboard when I got to the theatre; it had fallen out when my purse dumped over at some point.

(After the show was the cast party, which was basically the only really good part of the day. It was a blast, but I wanna get all the bad stuff out of the way first.)

So, Scott took me back to my car after the cast party. I couldn't find my keys anywhere. Finally, I looked inside my car window...to see the keys in the ignition. The only other set is in my mother's purse. Scott brought me home and dropped me off...and then I realized that I should have just gotten him to bring me and get the other set of keys so I could go back and get the car instead of leaving it overnight. It's not exactly parked in the nicest neighborhood; someone I know had her purse stolen out of her car in the same parking lot, and now I'm worried about the possibility of someone breaking the window and taking the car.

And the time changed tonight, so after all that mess, I'm an hour behind on sleep, and I CAN'T sleep anyway because I'm stressed.

The icing on the cake? I came home to find my official rejection letter from Little Shop auditions; I already knew I wasn't cast, but it's such a nice little stab in the back after a long day to find a "Thanks, but no thanks" waiting for you.

The only thing that makes this day at all redeemable was watching (and rewatching) Carol Channing sing a song about jam in a wonderfully horribly campy 1980's TV version of Alice in Wonderland. I laughed til I cried and couldn't sit up straight.

Honestly, that almost makes the whole day worth it.

Slutty vs. Sloppy

The world is buried in snow yet again.

Today, after seeing pictures of a beautiful teenage girl in a beautiful dress, I had the thought, "Beauty is wasted on the young!". And then I started really analyzing WHY I had that particular thought. So now you, my few lucky readers, get to sit through my thought process.

My gut reaction for saying beauty is wasted on the young is two-fold. First of all, most girls don't realize just how beautiful they are in high school until about 5-10 years later. Suddenly, they look back at their old photos and think, "Holy crap, I was gorgeous! Why did I waste so much time moping about because I thought I was too fat/too thin/too short/too tall/too ugly?" Second of all...beautiful young girls don't know what to DO with their beauty. Don't get me wrong, I am in no way trying to insinuate that teenagers should dress up to show off all their assets in a provocative way...which, oddly enough, is the first idea that seems to spring to mind when someone mentions "showing off assets". I just think it's a shame that girls don't seem to know or have much interest in dressing for their body type. They inevitably dress in far too revealing clothes that don't actually flatter their figures, no matter what they might think...or they dress in baggy jeans and T-shirts that ALSO don't flatter them.

I'm trying to understand this phenomenon. To break it down in a really basic form...it seems that girls dress like sluts because they want attention, and girls dress in baggy clothes because they don't want attention. What's sad is, both types end up receiving negative attention. If girls were taught to dress in a manner appropriate for their age and body type...I'm no expert, but I imagine it would do wonders for teenage self-esteem.

I realized pretty quickly after I had my first thought (beauty is wasted on the young) that there's a deeper problem. And, while I know the media is an easy target to pin society's problems on...I really believe the media is at least partly at fault here. It's not the only factor by any means. Even without media, teenage body issues would still exist. But fashion is affected by the media...and subsequently, the way teenage girls dress is affected. The ones who end up looking like sluts dress that way because they see adult women in magazines doing so. The women they see are touted as being the sexiest women in the world, so of course girls are going to try to emulate that. Magazines don't tell them, "Oh, by the way, those clothes the model is wearing? Yeah, they look good on her body type, but a very, very small percentage of real people look good in those clothes."

Some girls take the opposite route. They know they can never look like women they see in the media, so they cover their bodies up completely. They make themselves look sloppy, they hide in oversized jeans and boys t-shirts. Their posture slumps because they feel too tall, or because they're ashamed of their figures. They make fun of the girls who dress like sluts, mainly because they think slutty or sloppy are the only two options they have.

Wouldn't it be great if we started teaching teenagers how to dress for their body types? Instead of just showing them pictures of models in magazines and saying, "Here, this is in style. Go swipe your dad's Visa so you can look like this!", wouldn't it be better to teach them that one of the best ways to look fashionable and look good is to dress in a way that flatters them? I think so many girls could benefit from this. It should be a required topic in health class...and it should include all body types. Fat girls, thin girls, short girls, tall girls. Girls with big boobs, girls with big hips, girls who have pencil-thin waists but flabby arms.

It's true that beauty comes from the inside, but sometimes it's hard to see that beauty when you're wearing clothes three times too small that wouldn't even look good if they had them in your real size.

Willy Wonka, Jr.

It feels far too much like a Friday for some reason, so I'm having trouble getting to sleep. And if the weather keeps up, I might not work tomorrow anyway...I actually sort of HOPE the weather keeps up. I'll be very upset if we had to cancel Willy Wonka and don't even get a snow day to show for it. I'm glad we at least got the school performance in this afternoon, but I WISH they had gone ahead and done the evening performance at 5 instead of trying to wait until 7. Apparently someone didn't want it changed to 5 and made a fuss, but all that did was get the whole thing postponed until (hopefully) Monday. Which is a real shame, since I know at least one kid who had a grandparent who drove in from a couple of states away just to see the show.

Still, I'm hopeful that we'll have a show to do Monday night...and I am so, so proud of these kids. I might have to sit backstage to help the tech crew get their cues for the next show, which will break my heart because I want to watch it again, but at least I got to see them do an amazing job at school this afternoon. They kept the story moving even with all the technical snafus, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.

Yesterday I told Scott that sometimes, I feel like Mary Poppins. I do a lot of contracted work, so I come in for a month or two or three, I put together a show or teach a camp or what have you...and then it's over, and I'm off to the next set of children. I get to stay with the same group of kids a little longer in my preschool classes, but none of them will be with me for more than a year because they'll outgrow the program, and they're so little, I don't even know if they'll remember me. It gets me down sometimes, because I always grow to love my kids. Especially my Wonkerers. At 5:15, I was just watching out the window in tears because I was so afraid my kids weren't going to get to have their second performance, and that I wasn't going to get to see any of them again when I didn't get a chance to give anyone a real goodbye. It really made me realize that I'm going to miss the hell out of these kids. I've seen them five days a week for months, and it's been such a positive experience for me...I can only hope that they've all had a positive experience, too.


I know it's all just part of being a teacher, and I know lots of teachers get attached to their students, especially in something like drama where you spend so much extra time creating a work of art with them. And I am glad that I get to work with so many different ages and ability levels doing contract work. But I do admit that sometimes, I envy some of my colleagues and friends who teach full-time without hopping from place to place. I imagine I wouldn't be so sad about this show ending if I didn't know that it'll probably be the last time I see any of these wonderful, talented kids. I just really hope that I've taught at least some of them something, because they've all taught me way more than I ever expected to learn in this process. I knew I was in for an awesome lesson in how to handle middle schoolers, but it's been so much more than that.

I think the most satisfying lesson actually happened today. I've teased the musical director about how she's the good cop and I'm the bad cop; we've worked incredibly well together, but I've always felt like I was being too tough on the cast. I didn't want to let them off the hook too much, though, because I know how kids can take advantage of a new person if given half the chance (I learned that lesson already and make it a point to start off strict). So I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I was still a little unsure of whether or not the cast actually liked me. I know, it's not important if the kids like you, what's really important is that they've learned something, but it's a really nice bonus when your students like you. I was seriously afraid I wouldn't make it to the afternoon show in time for the beginning today, so I wrote the cast a little note that Beth printed out for them to let them know just how proud I was and just how much I hoped I could get there in time. I wanted to let them know that I WOULD be there for at least part of the show, even if I was late, just in case any of them really were worried about the director being there.

I got my answer when I walked through the doors of the gym - they were onstage singing a warm-up song, and they all stopped singing and started screaming and cheering when they saw I had made it in time. I suddenly felt like I had accomplished something really good, and it wasn't the show. Honestly, the director can only do so much in making a show be good or bad, and the show today was good because the actors made it good. What I HAD accomplished was that I had earned the respect and affection of those wonderful kids. And then seeing them all give such terrific performances...I can only think of one other time off the top of my head that I've been that proud, and that was when I took a high school group to competition and a girl who had never acted before that show won a best actress award.

Okay, I'm starting to get wordy, and I'm basically just rambling on at this point. Let's see if getting all these thoughts out will help me sleep now!

Life in Images*

Something kind of cool just happened, in a weird chain of events.

I was reading over news stories online, since that's pretty much the only way I get my news. There was some really sad stuff about Haiti, and some really uplifting stuff, including a section on CNN.com where people in Haiti were able to communicate to relatives that they are still alive, and relatives are able to use a search engine to find missing loved ones. For some reason, it made me think of a pen pal I had in 5th grade. She wasn't from Haiti...in fact, I actually can't remember exactly WHERE she was from. I know my very first pen pal was from Jamaica - a boy who never answered the letter I sent - but I was given a new one because the first one never replied. I THINK this girl lived in South Africa, and then after about a year of writing to each other, her family moved to New Zealand. We lost contact pretty soon after that...I think because I lost her address. Our letters had been getting less frequent anyway, so she probably assumed my lack of letters meant I'd just lost interest.

Anyway, I still remembered her name after all these years - Krushanta Naidoo. I think I might have tried to search for her back when the internet first became popular, but nothing at ALL turned up - apparently Krushanta Naidoo isn't that common a name. Who knew? But tonight when I searched, results did show up - and the very first one was a Facebook page. All the info was private, but the picture showed a smiling woman around my age posing with a handsome man. I'm not 100% sure that it's my old pen pal, but she seems to be the right age, she's African, and her face seems like it could be an older version of the 11-year-old girl I had a photograph of for years (I tried to find it, but at some point during a college cleaning I probably threw it out). I sent her a message - we'll wait and see if a) she remembers me and b) it's really the same person at all.

What really struck me, though, and what prompted me to write all this down, was our profile pictures. Like I said before, her profile picture (and the only picture I could view) was of her standing (or sitting) beside a nice looking man, a little taller than she is, looks like he's probably a significant other, and she's got her head on his shoulder. I clicked over to my profile...and realized that while Scott and I live in a different world on a different continent, my picture of us is almost the exact same pose.

And I realized that not only is it extremely interesting how common human experiences are represented by pictures in general, but how the pictures we choose to represent ourselves can often point to where we are in our lives.**

I notice that high school and some college kids in general tend to have vaguely "artistic" photos of themselves. Even kids I know who don't fall under any kind of "emo" label have profile pictures that I would feel safe calling emo.

Then there's the older college kids, who seem to follow a trend of making their profile picture either a) a group shot of them*** and their friends at a party b) a group shot of them and their friends on a big adventure or c) a shot of just them.

Then we move into the post-college crowd...at this point a lot of people I know are in serious, long-term relationships, and that, too, is reflected in their profile pictures. I am no exception. A few of the newlyweds have pictures of their wedding day.

Once we start getting past marriage, the next step is often a picture of the new house/apartment. Or, if that step is skipped, the next picture is of the new baby (or, increasingly, baby-on-the-way; ultrasound pics seem to be a new trend).

Oh, and my friends who don't have kids or SOs, or maybe just SOs but not kids, tend to have pictures of their cats.

Now, I don't have a lot of friends who are past the kid stage of their lives. Even my friends with older kids usually have some sort of picture of themselves and their kids as their profile image. However, I do find it interesting that out of the small number of people I know who are past children and into retirement, most of them have almost reverted back to the high school picture - a solitary shot, not really emo, but usually a quiet, simple sort of artistic.

Maybe I'm the only one who has observed these trends among my friends, but I do think it's quite interested to see how a social networking site can paint such a timeline of life events just by observing profile pictures.



*I would like to point out that I find this entire post little ironic, considering the title of this blog and my opinion of my own "image".
**I do realize that everyone does not fit these stereotypes. I'm just observing the trend.
***Please excuse my lack of grammar; I know it isn't proper to use "themselves" or "themself" the way I am here, but I get so sick of the whole "his or herself" thing.

Directing vs. Acting

I'm taking a self-imposed break from most things theatrical for a while until I can get my wedding planning off the ground. Right now, all I've got on my plate is directing Willy Wonka, Jr. at CDS and a Tuesday night acting class I'm getting ready to start teaching elsewhere.

I got to thinking about the kids in Willy Wonka. I'm really impressed by the talent that was shown when they auditioned, and they've been just about as professional as middle schoolers can be expected to be. There are two kids in particular that I was thinking about today; both of them phenomenally talented for their age, and sadly, both of them a little unhappy with their roles.

At least, I THINK they're a little unhappy. For the most part, they're very good sports, but I can tell every now and then that they don't quite understand why they weren't given what they consider "better" parts. The thing is, the reason they have the parts they were cast in is BECAUSE they're so talented. Even though I've tried to reiterate to them that their roles are two of the most challenging in the show (vocally and otherwise), I really think that THEY think I'm just saying that to be encouraging. And I'm not. I really mean it. They were perfect for the roles because I just couldn't see any other kids handling the specific vocality that's required. The roles I cast them in are really and truly two of my favorite characters in the show, and these kids are pulling it off beautifully.

And it got me to thinking...sometimes I wish all actors knew what directors take into consideration when casting a show. Because I've been there, too. Sometimes, as actors...we get parts and we think, "But I KNOW I deserve a better role. I KNOW I totally rocked that audition...and quite frankly, I know I'm better than such-and-such actor who got the lead." Don't deny it; you all know it's true. We've all had those thoughts. It's INCREDIBLY hard to imagine that maybe, just maybe, you got the part you got BECAUSE you're talented and no one else could handle the character role. Let's face it; it's fairly easy to play a lead most of the time. That doesn't mean we don't all want them at some point or another, but leads are typically not the most challenging roles. It's the comic character parts with the funny accents that are the most difficult to pull off successfully.

I just wish I could let these kids know that they really, REALLY are talented and that's why they got the parts they did. I know it wouldn't really help, because that kind of stuff only makes sense when you've been on the other side. If a director had told me five years ago that they cast me in what I considered a crap role because I was talented, not because I sucked...I probably wouldn't have believed them. It might have made me feel a little bit better, but not much.

Oh well. Maybe they'll both grow up and become directors and understand what I was doing. Until then...it's snowy, and cold, and I'm very disappointed that Montford apparently decided not to have a 12th Night party this January. David, if you're reading this, we should totally throw a guerrilla 12th Night celebration after the board meeting next weekend. Except by the time it's over, we will be clawing at the door to get out of that green room.

On Marriage

Sometimes I'm a little overwhelmed by this whole engagement thing. Don't get me wrong - I'm incredibly excited, I've been waiting for this for a long time, and I can't wait to be married to Scott. At the same time, it's kind of akin to moving away from a place you love to go to another place you love - I keep finding myself thinking about "last time" events. This was my last Christmas before I get married. It was my last birthday. It's going to be my last New Year's Eve. I'm not really sad about any of this, but it does make me stop and think about things a little more.

Speaking of weddings, I noticed something strange (and possibly alarming?) about all the wedding website that are out there. They all assume that the couple getting married is already living together. Now, I don't have any moral objection to this. I think it's fine for people to live together before they get married if that's what they think is best for them. Or, in the case of people who can't get married, that's the only option. However, I think it's kind of disturbing that society just assumes an engaged couple is already living together. I have a lot of friends who are shocked to find out that Scott and I aren't moving in together until we get married. When did that become the acceptable norm?

The reason this bothers me is because statistics show that when couples live together before marriage, they're more likely to get divorced. Now, before anyone gets riled up over that, let me reiterate that I don't believe this happens to ALL couples. I know a lot of people who have lived together for years and have ended up very happily married. The problem with living together before marriage is that couples tend to move in together very quickly these days, and after that, marriage eventually seems like the next step to take. Instead of marriage being a big decision that couples really talk through and really WANT, it turns into "Well, we might as well get married."

I don't just gather this information from some statistics I've read about - I've seen it happen far too many times. I've known at least a dozen couples who quite honestly should not have gotten married, but they did it because they were already living together and just figured marriage would make life easier. Some of them did it to try and fix problems that were already in existence, and those problems just magnified after the vows. These couples are all either very unhappy with their relationship, or they're already divorced.

People move in with each other for all sorts of reasons, but the biggest reason seems to be convenience. It's convenient to have one apartment instead of two. It's convenient to split all the bills and pool finances. It's convenient not to have to drive across town to see each other. Society is obsessed with convenience. Society is also full of people who are divorced, obese, and generally unhealthy because of convenience.

And I know there are extenuating circumstances that make moving in together necessary. A friend of mine had to vacate her apartment and had no where else to go because she hadn't found a new place yet, so she moved in with her boyfriend - for a few weeks, until she got her own place. Now, this couple lives together, but they dated for well over a year before even considering taking that step.

My real problem with all this assumption isn't that I think people who live with each other before marriage are doomed for divorce. No, the issue is that people move in together without THINKING. It's typically young people, people my age and a little bit younger, who make the mistake of moving in with each other weeks into a relationship. Granted, there are exceptions where it isn't a mistake, but stay with me here. These people are sharing toothpaste before they've even fully shared their life stories with each other. Does that seem like a logical step? No. So why is moving in together?

My biggest pet peeve of all is people who say "Well, if you don't live together before you get married, how do you know you'll actually get along?" This question is utterly ridiculous to me. If you're serious about marriage, if you're ready to make a commitment to someone that will last for the REST OF YOUR LIVES, you shouldn't have to live together to know if you'll be able to make it work. You are COMMITTING yourselves to making it work. I'm not saying there won't be trials. You WILL drive each other crazy for a while as you learn all of each other's annoying little habits. But if you had moved in with each other, and all those annoying habits were enough to make you NOT want to marry that person...then that wasn't much of a relationship to begin with.

And please, just in case anyone actually reads this and decides to get all riled up over anything I've said, understand that I am not condemning the actual act of living together before marriage. I know lots of couples who live together happily with no plans to marry, or who have lived together in the past and are happily married now. What I'm trying to speak out against is the general attitude towards marriage these days, the casualness people view such a huge commitment with, and I think that the trend of assuming couples live with each other is only adding to that lack of seriousness. I'm aware that there really are positive sides to moving in together. I just wish people would start treating living together the same way they SHOULD be treating marriage - like a serious commitment that's not to be taken lightly.

I could write on for pages about this (too late!), but I'll just let C.S. Lewis sum things up for me:

From Mere Christianity

"The idea that "being in love" is the only reason for remaining married really leaves no room for marriage as a contract or promise at all. If love is the whole thing, then the promise can add nothing; and if it adds nothing, then it should not be made. The curious thing is that lovers themselves, while they remain really in love, know this better than those who talk about love. As Chesterton pointed out, those who are in love have a natural inclination to bind themselves by promises. Love songs all over the world are full of vows of eternal constancy. The Christian law is not forcing upon the passion of love something which is foreign to that passion's own nature: it is demanding that lovers should take seriously something which their passion of itself impels them to do.
And, of course, the promise, made when I am in love and because I am in love, to be true to the beloved as long as I live, commits me to being true even if I cease to be in love. A promise must be about things that I can do, about actions: no one can promise to go on feeling in a certain way. He might as well promise never to have a headache or always to feel hungry."

-- C. S. Lewis

EDIT 2/5/2010: Just found this article and felt that it needed to be linked with this post.

Crazy beautiful life

Sometimes it amazes me how strange and beautiful this world we live in is. This amazing circle we call life is such an interesting journey, and I'm so thankful that I always feel like someone out there is watching out for me.

For instance, today I had planned to go to Beaver Lake and take a walk around while on my break before Willy Wonka rehearsal at Carolina Day. I would have gotten there around 1:30 and left between 3:00 and 3:10. The only reason I didn't go is because Scott and I decided to meet for lunch in Skyland instead. Tonight I caught some headlines in the news and found out that there was a fatal accident this afternoon right in front of the gas station next to Beaver Lake...at 3:10 this afternoon. I immediately felt extremely lucky to be alive. It's very sad that someone out there wasn't so lucky today, but I'm still thankful.


I guess what really started me thinking about all this philosophical life and death stuff was when I logged onto Facebook today and realized that one of my former college professors (who was very close to our age and a friend to most of us) and his wife (who was my voice teacher) had their baby two weeks ago. What really got me is that while they were spending their day welcoming a beautiful little girl into this world, Scott and I spent that same day with his family and friends saying our final goodbyes to his brother, Michael. For some reason, this realization struck me as a very beautiful thing. One of my favorite quotes from Gone with the Wind is when Melanie says, "The happiest days are when babies come." I've always identified with that philosophy - every time I know someone who is having a baby, even if they're only an acquaintance or (most likely) a parent of one of my preschool kids, I'm always excited on the days when babies come. And you know...somewhere in the world, that's every day. Every day is a happy day to someone out there. Even when we're dealing with our own tragedies, somewhere out there, a baby is being born. I think that's reason enough to be happy.

I'm really just spouting off thoughts now, but I'd kind of like to end this with one of my favorite stories, my own personal evidence that God exists and that he has some kind of plan for us. About four years ago now, I was driving down Highway 321 in the afternoon, trying to make it to South Carolina for the monthly showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I was in down there at the time. I foolishly forgot to check the coolant level in my ancient blue Ford before I left, so right when I was at an almost middle-of-nowhere spot on the highway, my car began to overheat like crazy. I knew I couldn't keep driving it, so I pulled off at the next exit I came to without really looking at the exit number or even which direction a gas station was in.

Well, I turned right when the gas station was to the left. I drove for about half a mile, and just when I was getting really anxious and thinking about turning around, I came upon a little country church. "Oh, please God, let there be a water spigot outside the building!" I thought, pulling into the deserted parking lot. I got out of the car and propped the hood up as steam billowed out from under it, then got an empty water jug from the trunk and began looking for a spigot. Miraculously, I found out on the backside of the building and got my car in working order again.

As I was leaving the parking lot, I glanced at the church sign out front, and as soon as I read what was written, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. There was no Bible verse, no announcement about a church picnic or a quote from a famous theologist. The sign contained only three words:

God's Filling Station.

Now, as much as I'd like to leave the story there, there's a second part that didn't come into play until very recently. Even though I traveled down 321 several times over the next three years after that day, I was never able to figure out exactly which exit it was that I had taken to get to that little church. I had been so stressed out about the car at the time that I could only remember turning right off the exit when the gas station was on the left. Well, a little earlier this year, Scott and I were driving somewhere near his home town, and I mentioned to him that a road we were on looked very familiar. I told him the story, asked him if there was a little church down that road, and he said he wasn't sure.

After that day I hadn't thought that much about it, until two weeks ago when I was driving down to Maiden the day before Michael's funeral service. Scott had given me directions to a gas station just off an exit on the left, and he was going to meet me there so I could follow him on the back roads to his house. I was a little earlier, and as soon as I got to the exit, I suddenly realized it was the same road that had looked so familiar to me on our earlier trip.

On a whim, I took a right off the exit. Sure enough, half a mile down the road, there stood that little brick church. I wish I could remember word for word what the sign said this time, and maybe if I was telling this story in a more formal capacity I would just make something up that sounded nice. But I do remember the sign was just as simple as before; no flowery verses quoted, no long fancy speeches. It was a simple message saying to lay your troubles on the Lord.

I don't know a single soul that goes to that little church; I can't even remember the name of it. But that little building will always hold a place in my heart for being so many things: a filling station when I needed it most, a reminder that we are not alone in our troubles, and most of all, a gentle little nudge that God had led me to my wonderful man who had grown up just off that little two-lane road.

No more yielding than a dream.

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve, and so opening weekend of A Midsummer Night's Dream is officially over. My few faithful readers, come and see this show. I don't know what it looks like from the audience's perspective, but so far it's been very well received, and I know I'm having a blast being part of it.

It's funny how the people we spend time with can become more like family than those of our own blood. The Montford Park Players are more of a family unit than any other theatre group I've ever encountered. This is a good and a bad thing. We love and laugh and play like family, we share one another's joys and woes, but as with any other family, there are times when siblings fly at each other's throats. But I'm not speaking about any particular instance, and everyone always seems to kiss and make up, so all and all, I'm of the opinion that the familial feeling we have is a wonderful and rare thing.

It gets me to thinking about how, more often than not, thespians are such a loving breed of creature. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, but I've found that although the stereotype of the catty, shallow actor does exist (and is at least a tiny bit present in all of us), that isn't all there is to it. Everyone can have those unstable moments that actors seem to be famous for, but what people tend to forget is that these are people who bare pieces of soul on a regular basis. It's only natural that they have wild emotional ranges as a result. I'm not trying to say that all actors are bipolar, far from it - most of them are much more levelheaded than they get credit for.

What I AM trying to say is that actors can have such a large capacity for love. Think about it - every couple of months, if we're lucky, we get cast in a new show. That show may or may not be comprised of actors that we have worked with before, and there's almost always at least SOMEONE new, so we readhese old bonds and form new ones. We spend insane amounts of time with other cast members, we set aside all inhibitions in order to be as free as possible onstage, and then all of a sudden, the show is over and we move on to reform a new family unit with a new cast. Sometimes, we might not ever see members of our old family again...but I don't think it's because we don't love each other. I suppose I can't speak for every other actor out there, but I know that I grow to love my cast mates. And I don't stop loving any of them just because I may not see them again.

I guess what really got me to thinking about all this is the fact that I ran into two old high school friends in the same day last Friday, two people that I always loved even though we might never have been best friends. We didn't pretend that we were going to keep in better touch, didn't exchange numbers and make those well-meant promises to go have lunch that people never intend to keep. We just hugged and caught up and laughed and said goodbye, and it was good.

Society seems to perpetuate this idea that in order to really love people, you have to keep in touch with them forever and call them every week, and that those are your best friends. I don't think I quite agree. I think there are people I could easily list among my "best friends" that I only talk to once every few months or less, and there are just as many people I would only call acquaintances that I see every day. There are people I loved dearly in high school that I no longer see because we've all scattered, but I still love them and think of them fondly, and not seeing them for six years hasn't changed that affection. And, in what seems to me to be the saddest situation, there are people I still love who I know no longer hold me in any kind regard. There are a select few who have spurned me, and all but one of that handful went so far as to say they "didn't need me anymore". Those four words hurt more than any other part of those friendships ending, because every time, those words brought the painful realization that a friendship I had believed to be healthy was really one-sided and based only on the other person's need.

But, I digress. The point I'm trying to make is that I still love even those people, and I wonder if this sort of capacity for love is what makes actors able to form and reform such strong family bonds over and over again. Then again, maybe I'm just imagining this trait in all actors. Maybe the best in this kind really are but shadows.

One last note - I've realized that my writing and my inner monologue during the summer tend to take on tones of Shakespearean text. I don't mean the lines I quote deliberately - I mean I catch myself thinking in thees, thous, shalts, wonts, etcetera etcetera. It's vaguely interesting. And now, to bed. Give me your hands if we be friends.

Introspection.

Wow. I just looked through my senior year high school yearbook....and at least half of the messages written in it are along the lines of "good luck on Broadway!" and "I can't wait to see your name up in lights!". What happened? Where did that ambition go? When did I lose the certainty I had?

Sometimes I think I should have gone with my first instinct and just skipped college. I was going to. I was THIS close to hopping on a bus and roughing it in New York City. But I didn't, because I convinced myself I needed a college education. And now where am I? Approximately $15,000 poorer than I was then. Still in WNC - living with my parents, at that. Got that degree, and it isn't doing me any good at all right now. And the worst thing about it is, I've let those dreams get pushed aside. They didn't die. I still have them. I just let reality get in the way, and I'm not pursuing them anymore. The one thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to be a Broadway actress, and I haven't done anything at all to achieve that. I haven't even moved to the right city. And as recent as two years ago, I was telling myself that I was just gonna stick around Asheville for a little while and build up some experience on my resume before taking off to the city....hell, as recently as eight months ago, everyone was asking me when I was going because I kept talking about it. And now....now I have no plans to go. Now my biggest plan is deciding which community theatre production to audition for in the fall.

But maybe...maybe I'm really not meant to go. I don't have the body to be on a stage, especially not when you consider the roles I'm the right age for. I don't have the training, not really. I don't have the money. Maybe I'm meant to be here. Maybe some of us are just born with ambitions that we'll never realize, and for some reason God put us here to give something else to the world instead. I just don't have what it takes to be what I truly want to be.

I know what I do have. I have a wonderful family and a wonderful group of friends. I have the opportunity to act often. I have few expenses. I have a wonderful, wonderful man in my life who I love very much, and every day I'm in awe of the fact that he loves me, too. I have my life. Which is sort of what spurned all this introspection - apparently a guy I graduated high school with was killed in a motorcycle accident Friday night. I remember him, but I can't remember how I knew him. I'm sure we had classes together. I feel like maybe we were sort of casual friends, the kind who might have joined forces for a group project or something. Maybe I let him copy my homework. I have a feeling that he was kind of a class clown at times. But honestly, that's all I can muster from my memory. It's really kind of sad to me, because I normally have such a good memory...and yet I can't remember one real fact about this boy who I'm SURE I at least had a few conversations with over the years. I remember his face, but all aspects of his personality keep getting mushed together with other people when I try to make myself remember. For a moment I'll think he was a guy I made out with once at a party years ago, and then I'll remind myself that no, that was a boy from the freshman showcase when I was a sophomore. And then I'll think to myself, "Oh yeah, he was that guy that always talked back in class" but then I'll realize that I'm actually thinking of a former student of mine.

It's so strange to think about people my age being dead. This is the second person from my graduating class to die. And then there's Karen, who wasn't in my class but who I actually knew. I saw her signature in the yearbook I was looking at earlier - it started out addressing me as "Mommy", told me to keep in touch, and signed off with love. I can't forget seeing her casket being lowered and thinking to myself, "They're putting one of my babies in the ground."

There are people whose lives are so short, but I'm sure that those short lives bring so much to enrich other people's. Some of us are meant to be Broadway stars, and some of us are here to heal a broken heart or help someone become a better person. Just because a person's dreams never get fulfilled doesn't mean that their life wasn't full of value. And every single one of us has dreams that won't come true. Maybe the real key is to be grateful for the ones that do.


"Some people are cut out to battle giants, and others are not."
~Into the Woods

Let's do the Time Warp again!

David was right - I need to post a quick blog about how RHPS went last night.

First off, I want to publicly (not that many people read this, but still) thank Carolina Cinemas for being so awesome. They're REALLY enthusiastic about Rocky Horror, and they've gone out of their way to be nice to us. We got the biggest theatre in house, and supposedly that's going to be our regular theatre. They were great about accomodating anything we needed...and most amazingly of all, the janitorial staff even said that THEY would clean up (usually it's the sole responsibility of the cast to do all the cleaning at the end of the night). So a big thanks to all of them, especially Casey, for being awesome.

I didn't SEE how the show went because I was onstage pretty much the whole time, but it FELT like it was awesome. The crowd wasn't huge, but we probably had about 60+ people, and I'm used to playing to a packed house for RHPS, so I guess in reality it was a really good crowd for a first time. Of course, we had two major obstacles - no props, and no cast! The former problem we handled as best we could, with plans to acquire props as we go along. The latter problem...I must say I am incredible proud of the people who stepped up last night. The only people who had any real experience doing Rocky were myself and Beth (who was Frank with Low Down Cheap Little Punks in Raleigh for a long time). Travis and Darren helped out, and they had both seen the show several times, so that was a big help. Gregory stepped up and was co-Frank with Beth, and he'd never done it before. And best of all...everyone else in the cast was a RHPS virgin! Most of them knew the movie pretty well, but had NEVER seen a live show....and the boy playing Rocky had NEVER EVEN SEEN THE MOVIE. All these kids were about 17-18, and they were such troopers. The girl playing Columbia was especially great - she really knew the film, and she had the sort of boundless enthusiasm that the character really needs.

Of course, what people don't realize is there has to be some sort of set blocking on the stage. Even though you're just copying the movie for the most part, there are no cameras to follow you around or make sure you're at the right angle standing next to the right person, so you have to cheat a little and know when to stand where or an entrance will be off. There weren't any major traffic jams, but that's the first thing I want to get cracking on when we get a real cast put together.

All in all, it was a great night. I'd almost forgotten how much I really love this movie. I know most people just see it as a really cheesy flick and a good excuse to throw toast in a theatre, but I really love the film on its own as well as the whole live experience. I've really missed the high that comes from performing as Magenta...and I can't wait for next month to do the Time Warp again!