I Don't Want It
I couldn’t talk the day I was born. But, if I could, I would have said “I don’t want it.”
Truth be told, even though my mother was in charge, she didn’t want me to have it either. The only reason she gave it to me at all was to derail my father who was on a mission to name me after a gemstone. His top picks were Pearl and Opal which were a close second and third only to Ruby. Can you imagine this? In the 1970s? Good God! If I had the name Ruby on top of the plaid dresses that my mother made me wear along with my flat chest, my Dorothy Hamill hair cut and ugly shoes; Kevin McNamara would have beaten the pulp out of me for good. Curtains. And buried me in the sewage pipes back in Beech Woods.
But, mother was brilliant. While Dad went out to get a burger after I was born, my mother filled out the paperwork and expertly decided to name me after both of my grandmothers – Christine for my Dad’s mother; and Agnes for my mom’s mother. Now what exactly was he going to say to THAT?! “No! I object! How dare you name our daughter after my mother!!” Well played, Mom. Well played.
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Theater: Curiosity
Let me start with two things:
I have immense respect for the work that has been done on The Book Club Play. Actors, designers, playwright, stage manager, director (and many others who very often go unnoticed) ‘made funny’ after all. And they must be very proud of the work they have done. And I had the pleasure of watching.
My blogs have not been reposted by Geva. And, in fact, at this point I have stopped posting them to the Cohort page as well. In that forum they do not seem to be appreciated by many. My blogs talk about a layer beneath this exceptional work – like earning Ethos (e.g. credibility) through connection, paying attention to the lifeblood of this art which is humanity itself and inviting it to have an opinion, removing the tourniquet to allow ideas to flow freely between community and theater, being curious and open to thoughts – both positive and constructive.
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Theater: Standing Outside
I planned to blog about Tech today but I can’t. I was standing outside ringing the bell. And, when nobody answered, I finally gave up.
First, please notice that my blog title does not start with the word ‘GEVA’ as all of the others have. I want to be clear that this is not ‘Geva-specific.’ It’s far more systemic.
One of my biggest concerns for theater based upon my personal experience with the theater community in New York City (and now Rochester as well) is that it tends to be very exclusive. And, because of this, limits both its’ own growth as well as the community’s exposure to this important experience. It is because I have an immense amount of respect and appreciation for this particular art that I want to find the tourniquet, remove it and allow a healthy relationship to flourish between the two.
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14 Months
Tonight I decided to stay home and nurture myself. I made homemade marinara sauce and the house smells lovely; like basil. I tried a new red wine that is just dry enough with a hint of berry. And I drew myself a warm lavender bath with candles. I nursed my cold with some decongestant ~ the third cold of this winter which tells me my resistance is down. And now, I’m in my PJs with my hands on the keyboard and the fireplace glowing. This cushy white bathrobe that Padraic chose to comfort me during some difficult times last year is coming in handy now. And I am crying. Finally.
During this unspeakable year I have hardly been able to cry at all. For those of you who know me well it will come as no surprise that, in a very practical way, I actually scheduled ‘crying time’ into my day because I knew it was essential to my own healing. But then? Nothing.
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A Little Bit of Lasher
I love the smell of talcum powder, especially when nestled in a baby’s soft neck just after a bath. One thing that I wish I had more of are boots….lots of boots…a room FULL of boots. Especially the Western kind that yield with kindness like a lover who knows what he’s doing. I enjoy speckled light cast through leaves on a walk through the woods in the summer, and the sound of a nearby creek or river.
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GEVA: Thanks, Frank!
I haven’t been able to make it to a Geva rehearsal in a few days now. But, I’m so glad to get the stage manager’s notes so that at least I have a feel for what is going on in the room. I have decided that I chose the wrong career. Case in point:
Line from my first email of the day: “Urgent! Please review the refreshed version of the (blah, blah, blah) datasheet for business approval and provide background and justification.”
Line about the characters from the stage manager’s rehearsal notes: “We’re definitely consuming a lot of wine. Do we think these people always drink something white?”
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GEVA: Making the Clay
In writing class this week my instructor was talking about a Memoir entitled “Name All the Animals” by Alison Smith. Just as I do when I write, this particular author journaled furiously for hundreds or thousands of pages just to get her thoughts out there. In other words, she was ‘making the clay’. It certainly wasn’t the book that it would become. But now she had material to work with that she could mould into that book. What I witnessed today at Geva Theater’s rehearsal for The Book Club Play was not so different than this.
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GEVA: The Ever-Elusive Ethos
Back during my days at Colgate University, I could wax Aristotle for hours. Instead, I just want to crawl into bed after a long week. So I’ll be brief about my blog on Ethos and the limits this imposes on the success of theater.
Aristotle’s Rhetoric dealt with the idea of persuasion in three elements:
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Square-Headed Baby
“Writing personally and authentically – and then sharing it – feels a bit like birthing a square-headed baby once a day.”
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2,040 Days to Simmer
In 2011, I lost one of the best friends I have ever had. She made me laugh until I hurt. I lost her because I told her that her life was within her own control and pointed out that she was making choices ~ simple choices ~ that were contributing to her circumstance…just as we all do. I learned the hard way myself long ago that the only way to direct my future was to take responsibility for my present and the part I played in getting there. We are not powerless if we take responsibility. She hated this (and apparently me) and stopped speaking to me entirely. I miss her. If I had it to do all over again knowing this would be the outcome…I would tell her the very same thing. I love her that much.
This notion of choices came up in a very personal way for me this week as my plane was approaching Rochester for landing after 10 days in Spain and 4 more in NYC. We approached over Lake Ontario which does not look nearly as polluted from up above but slowly into view came the factory smoke stacks, and the lookalike row houses. I could hear audible boring reaching into the sky waiting to choke the life out of me. Home? This is my home?
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