Who is it that can tell me who I am? (King Lear, 1.4.230)

You can’t really grow as a human being unless you do some serious soul searching every once in awhile. You know, really putting your life and character under the microscope. There are some who never do this—and they go thru life blissfully unaware of whether they are decent folk or complete douches. Then there are others, and sometimes I count myself among this group, who comb over every minute detail. You can drive yourself crazy this way.


Of course, the tough part is being brutally honest with yourself—especially about your flaws and shortcomings. That can be a bitch. I mean who wants to admit to the not so pretty parts about their personality. Nobody that I can think of…

But then there are the times when we are way too hard on ourselves. When we beat ourselves up for things. We all do it, admit it. I know I do. I think some of that affects my ability to be effective at work—my leftover childhood insecurities. A friend (who knows me very well) pointed out that I go into “your brothers picking on you” defensive mode in the face of criticism. Ouch. But he’s right. All that angst from my formative years comes roaring back at those times. And I mentally kick myself—and curl up into a fetal ball.

If you are lucky though, you get these rare moments when you find out how others perceive you. Which can come as a huge surprise—both in a good way and a bad way.

I had such a moment this past Saturday.

I was telling a (happily married) theatre friend that another theatre friend (single male) was greatly admiring her. And she is a very attractive and warm woman of a certain age. I commented that this man loves the ladies, and joked that I was hurt because he’d never hit on me. Her response was “Maybe you scare him—you do have this power to you.”

Me? Power? Seriously?



Wow—I would never have thought that about myself. It made me feel good.

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile... ~ Love's Labor's Lost, Act I

Bit of excitement at the old homestead on June 2nd. There was a power outage in my area (sadly, kinda common cause the grid is old and strains to handle 21st century electronica).

Well, something went seriously wrong when the power company flipped the switch to restore power at about 5pm, wires crossed or something. Basically, we had a power explosion in my apartment building.

My mom said there was a bang in the wall and the box fan she had on near her chair jumped about 3 inches off the floor. A lady on the 2nd floor said a bulb in her dining area chandelier popped. The guy at the end of our hall had sparks coming out of his air conditioner—his couch almost caught on fire. A girl downstairs had the surge blow a hole in her living room wall.


I met several neighbors—which was nice. Oh, and apparently our door locks are electrical. One hapless neighbor was blaming the black out for the fact he couldn’t unlock his apartment door. (He was 3 sheets to the wind, but none of us wanted to point that fact out to him).

We were without power until midnight—and then only some stuff came back. I had no a/c in my bedroom for a couple of days—torture for me. And our living room TV is fried. Guess we’ll be filing a claim with the power company.

I took my mother to the local mall that night so we could get dinner—and we wound up spending almost $200.00 at a department store. We’re gonna send the bill to the power company.