They are as sick that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing. The Merchant of Venice, 1. 2

well, long time no write....

I have been pulled in many directions since last I posted here.   I have been busy writing theatre reviews for two publications:
www.STAGEmagazine.org    and     www.DelcoNewsNetwork.com

I have been busy spoiling the grandchild mentioned in my last post--Tiny Lady arrived on March 26, 2013 and weighed in at 8lbs.-13oz.    She is the sweetest, most beautiful little girl in my world.  She has a darling little personality and loves to make us all laugh.  I may finally have another actor in the family.

But the most impactful thing in my life has been the lose of a job I'd held for six years.   The company I worked for downsized at the first sign of a drop in business and when all was said and done, about 1,500 of us were out the door.

And I have found myself in the impossible position of trying to get gainful employment at 61.  It has been exceedingly frustrating.  People write you off after a certain age.  They make assumptions that you can't possibly be current on business practices or technology.   What did they think I was doing for the past 15-20 years?  I was working--using current technology and staying abreast of business practices.  Hello.

I've had several phone interviews and at least a dozen face-to-face meetings.  I've registered with every employment/staffing agency in the area.  And nothing.

One employer told a recruiter that he hired someone else because he/she had press release experience and he really needed that.  I had handed the man a copy of a press release I'd written during my interview!!!   And I'm a regularly published writer.   Sheesh.

I have run out of Unemployment benefits, I have used up the small 401K I'd managed to save up and I'm at the end of my rope.

I try to present a professional and positive outlook when I interview. (It gets more and more difficult as each week goes by.)   I can only assume I am the victim of age discrimination, but how do you prove that?

I need some blessings to come my way.  I put this out in the universe and pray for your help.

When we are born we cry that we are come... to this great stage of fools.

I guess you’ve all been wondering what happened to me…


Well, I’ve been busier than a one-armed paperhanger. I may have actually given myself a theatre overdose. [I never ever thought I’d say that!!!] You see, I am now starting rehearsals for my 3rd production in 4 months. [I know, I was clearly out of my mind when I said I could handle that.] I’ve been deep in rehearsals since mid-July. And will continue with that until January 4th of 2013.

BUT—then I’m taking some time off.



Because… [Drum roll]… I’m going to be a grandmother again! My daughter and her awesome fiancé are due to become parents in March.

It has been a whirlwind courtship, but when you know, you know.

You Know?

They seem to be a really good team together. He is a wonderful man and he adores my daughter. What more could a mother ask for?

They had been talking about marriage, but the “Peanut” sped things up considerably. I have to tell myself it was meant to be… she is 37 and a half with one barely functioning ovary. As she said when she called to tell me:”How does that equal pregnant?”

She found out about the baby the week her son turned 21. This may be the biggest gap between kids on record. And telling her son was a little weird for them. “Happy 21st. Here’s your 1st legal beer—oh, and a sibling.” My grandson is very excited about being a big brother—of course, we’ll see how he feels when there’s a crying baby in the next room…

This will be a very different experience for all of us.

This baby will not be a part of my daily life like M was. I won’t be getting daily hugs and a “Hi Mimi.” I’ll only be able to read The Monster at the End of This Book to “Peanut” once in awhile. I may not be there for the first smile, the first time the baby rolls over or sits up. The first steps… All things I enjoyed with my own two, but appreciated more with my grandson. [There is something to be said for maturity…]

With this baby, I will have to drive 25 minutes to see him or her. I won’t have as much input into shaping this child as I did with my grandson.

I always tell people he is a perfect example of “It takes a Village.” The whole family took part in getting him started in life for the first nine years—and he took in the best parts of each of us. His outlook on life is rather unique. He has some of my sarcastic humor, some of my late husband’s gentleness, some of his paternal grandfather’s philosophical approach to things…

The only exception to this is his father. He has not had anything to do with this amazing young man—his loss.

That is something else that is very different this time around. My future son-in-law is totally there for my daughter. He has gone to the doctor’s appointments with her. He made the choice to give his dog up for adoption because Blue was too high-strung to be around a baby. He’s even down-loaded a “daddy-to-be” app to his i-Phone so he’ll know what to do as the pregnancy progresses.

Occasionally my daughter is having a hard time dealing with this. She is too used to going it alone. She has been M’s sole parent his entire life. She has kept the two of them fed, clothed and housed on her own since he was 9. Yes, the grandparents bought clothes and such, but the major responsibility was hers. And she embraced it willingly. She has been a devoted mom to her son. “Peanut” is getting two really cool people to guide him/her through life.



The only thing that may not be different is “Crazy Uncle J.” My son is still as goofy as ever… He was 15 when he became an uncle, and M was like a toy to him and his friends. He would do stuff like put Playdoh mustaches on him when he was an infant, slingshot him from the dining room to the living room in his Johnny-Jump-Up when he was about 1 and teach him highly inappropriate things to say when he was a toddler.

We’re already hiding the Playdoh….

Words, Words, Words--another variation...

air or heir

fare or fair

Been—bean


Bare—bear

Meet—meat

Deer—dear

Fair—fare

Heel—heal

Lead [to be in front]—lead [an alloy]

Pear—pare

Rear [at the end of something]—rear [to raise up]

Stare—stair

Tear [to rip something]—tear [the product of crying]

Wear—where

liar [to tell an untruth] or lyre [an instrument]



And we wonder why people have such a hard time with English…..

Words, Words, Words ~ HAMLET [a variation]

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,



Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces


That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;


'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses


Instead of speech, may form a lasting link


Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces


Frail man, when paper - even a rag like this -
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his.


from Don Juan by Lord Byron


Words do live on eternally, don't they.    Especially now in this age of the internet.    We all need to be very cognizant of what we put out there.   You never know who's got a cell phone that can video tape you.  Just ask Michael Richards or Mel Gibson...

In some ways, it's a good thing.    Hatefulness is exposed more quickly--and people pay the consequences.
 

This is the short and the long of it. ~ Merry Wives of Windsor

Feh!

I am just so over this whole working for a living thing…

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime. ~William Shakespeare

As we approach Mother's Day next week, I thought I'd share this...

******

WHY GOD MADE MOMS

Answers given by 2nd grade school children to the following questions:


Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.



How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.



What ingredients are mothers made of ?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.



Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.



What kind of little girl was your mom?
1. My Mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there , but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.



What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?



Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.



Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.



What's the difference between moms & dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers wi thout scaring them.
3 . Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic; they make you feel better without medicine.



What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.



What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Dye it. You know her hair. I'd dye it, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head .



WHEN YOU STOP LAUGHING --
SEND IT ON TO OTHER MOTHERS, GRANDMOTHERS, AUNTS
and anyone else who has anything to do with kids or just needs a good laugh!!!

“So so” is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but so so.

Ye Olde Blogge Goeth Green Today...


[originally posted 9/8/2009--and still quite appropos, sadly]

That’s kinda how I’ve been feeling lately. I’m having a hard time getting jazzed about life. And I don’t know exactly why. I don't like it when I feel this way, but I don't know what to do to change it. Stuff that I usually enjoy just seems like too much effort. Cher's "Snap out of it" technique just doesn't do it.....




I think it’s a Fibromyalgia thing. I don’t have as much pain as others I know—or I’ve just gotten way too used to it—but I do have a whole laundry list of other weird symptoms. I have a constant high-pitched sound in my ears; I learned that was probably Fibro related doing research online. I seem to constantly have a cold or a virus of some sort—fibro has wrecked my immune system. I get blurred vision—another symptom I learned about doing research. It just gets better and better…..



And of course, there’s the whole sleep thing. God I miss the days of my youth when I could crash for 8 hours no problem. I didn’t know how good I had it. Now it seems like the frickin’ alarm clock is going off right after I’ve finally nodded off. And always just as my dream about Paolo the Pool Boy is getting interesting...... Then I lay there and play “If I don’t do such and such, I can stay here for an extra 5 minutes.”



They say you can’t—or SHOULDN’T— make up for lost sleep on your days off. But that’s what I find myself doing. Then I feel guilty for it. I can’t win.



Any suggestions? Would winning the lottery help? I know Paolo would, but he's yet to show up in my real life.....


3/27/12--the illustration kinda sums it up--my life seems to be melting away and I can't stop it.     I am so exhausted by Saturday that I wind up crashing most of the weekend.   The only plus there is if I don't leave my room, I can't spend any money I don't have.

Something's gotta give--soon!

OH TRUE APOTHOCARY!

Here I go again…




Just saw the following poll on CNN.com:

What should the Supreme Court do with the health care law

President Obama signed two years ago?

Uphold it—51% [141,269]

Toss it all—36% [99,174]

clearly these are people who have government healthcare and EVERYTHING is covered

Toss parts—14% [38,860]



Total votes: 279,303



WOW—finally a response number that isn’t a pathetic/apathetic embarrassment!



Personally, I think the reforms have only scratched the surface. There needs to be accountability with the drug companies. Yes, they offer programs to help low-income people afford their medicines, but they do it by charging those of us that have your standard issue health plan an arm and a leg for ours. Meanwhile, their profits are growing by leaps and bounds. And the stuff costs them miniscule amounts to make.



Plus, they offer kickbacks to doctors, so some of them become prescription happy. “One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small…” Heaven forbid they should find a holistic approach to treating something.



I switched doctors about two years ago for one closer to home. And I couldn’t be happier. She actually listens to me and gives me time and attention. She doesn’t instantly whip out the prescription pad, but discusses options as far as diet and lifestyle.



And let’s not get started on the insurance reforms needed-I don’t think I have enough space here for that. ‘Nuff said that the insurers should not be deciding what course of treatment or medications a patient should have. I have a friend who was just diagnosed with Psoriatic arthritis, which is exceedingly painful. His insurance company says he has to fail treatment with other medications before they will cover the drug that Phil Mickelson says is working wonders for him. Does that seem fair or compassionate to you?

##   ##   ##   ##   ##

It is a heretic that makes the fire, Not she who burns in 't.
The Winter's Tale, 2. 3

And Rick Santorum’s recent wins are freaking me out.  People—you do not want to elect this man to the Presidency. I am from his home state; he will send us all back to the 1900s—especially with his views on women’s issues and gay rights. He is narrow-minded and views women as basically chattel. Is that really what we want for our daughters and granddaughters? I am shocked and appalled that he has gained so many votes in the various primaries. Are there really that many people in this country who want to take a giant step backwards?

Scared s-less here folks.


Then we have the whole birth-control vs. church-run healthcare organizations… I felt the compromise the President proposed was more than reasonable. There are far too many women who cannot afford contraception any other way. Isn’t it better to have planned families all you “family values” people, rather than kids born to unprepared parents who may wind up abusing them or worse?

Another frightening development is legislation proposed in Virginia [and similars laws being debated elsewhwere] that would require women to submit to a wand ultra-sound prior to obtaining an abortion. Women would be forced to have a rather large (and, dare I say, phallic-looking) object inserted into their bodies in order to receive a medical procedure. And what makes it even more upsetting is that this bill was proposed by a woman! I’m flabbergasted.

Now, let me just say that I am pro-choice. That does NOT mean that I think abortions should be performed willy-nilly. People confuse that. Personally, I feel you should do your damndest to prevent a pregnancy if you aren’t willing or ready to be a parent. But I also feel it’s no one else’s business if you choose to terminate a pregnancy. Every baby should be wanted and loved.

We can’t close the barn door once it’s been opened gang. Roe v. Wade was passed in 1973. It has been the law of the land for almost 4 decades. At least 2 generations have grown up since that time. And yet, the religious right still keeps trying to revoke it.

And many people lose sight of the fact that it works both ways.   As a result of Roe v. Wade, I had no say in what my then 15 year old daughter decided to do regarding her pregnancy.   The decision was entirely hers.     A tough pill to swallow for me at the time...


I don’t get it.    How cn anyone in their right mind think the current climate is a good one for the country? 
And I really resent being told I am not a true American if I don’t think the same way they do. Isn’t that what the founders of this country came here to get away from?




And

                  I’m

                               Getting off

                                                       My soapbox

                                                                                           Now.

Many-headed multitude. ~ Coriolanus, 2.3.16

Poor Mama is still having a hard time adjusting to apartment life…



It is a very different beast—and she is not used to it. When she and my dad got married in 1946, they very wisely took advantage of the GI Bill and purchased a house during their engagement. Granted it was a tiny two-bedroom “row house” just outside of the Philadelphia city limits, but it was a house. She always speaks fondly of that place where they started their life together.


By 1953, they had two little boys and I was on the way. So they went further out to the “burbs” and purchased a house in a new development called Chatham Park. It was 3 bedrooms with nice sized front and back yards. A garage was extra, but they felt it was important to have one. They found out just before settlement that that amount wasn’t included in their mortgage and they’d have to come up with the cash to seal the deal. Ever resourceful, my dad sold their car to pay for the garage.


Well, I arrived not long after the last box was unpacked and my younger brother joined the clan 14 months later. So the joint was full. When I was 6, my parents added another bedroom and a bath over that garage [they’d replaced the car within a year of moving in] so we’d all have more room to breathe.


Our family lived in that house until mid-1974 when my parents sold it to move to Jamaica. [My dad needed a relaxed lifestyle due to his health] By this time we four kids were on our own—two of us married and starting our own families.


My parents rented cottages on the island for 3 years and then continued that practice when they moved to St. Croix. It was there they bought their next house—which my youngest brother renovated for them. As my Dad’s health got more and more tenuous, he wanted to be closer to the Veteran’s hospitals where he received his care. So they moved yet again, buying a house in Venice, FLA.


When my Dad died 3 years later, Mom moved to California with my youngest brother—and helped him purchase a house. She lived in one part he in another.


Two years ago I had to make her come back to the East—and winters—because my brother basically kicked her out. So, here we are, sharing a 2-bedroom/2-bath apartment on the 3rd floor of a nice building.


But Mom is still not used to the fact that you have to put up with your neighbors noises. I guess I’ve learned to tune things out during my decade-plus of apartment dwelling. But even with her hearing aids out, she is aware of quite a bit.


For instance, our upstairs neighbors don’t seem to be cognizant of the fact that their floor is our ceiling and there are all sorts of scraping of chairs and thumping on the floor going on til the wee hours. The discovery that they have a cat cleared up some of the mystery as to what was going on ups there—but not all of it.


We also have the door slammers across the hall and the guy downstairs whose cigarette smoke drifts up through the heating system. And an assortment of other interesting characters; I look on it as good character study for my acting and directing.


Well, maybe I’ll win the lottery soon and I can buy us a nice rancher somewhere…

Every wise man's son doth know.

Just had to share this e-mail I got today…



I promise you will laugh til the tears flow.



Can you imagine the nun sitting at her desk grading these papers, all the while trying to keep a straight face and maintain her composure! Pay special attention to the wording and spelling—out of the mouths of babes.

Even if you only have a passing knowledge of the Bible—and Catholic school Catechism, you will find this hilarious.

These are the actual answers given by students to a Catholic Elementary school test:


1. IN THE FIRST BOOK OF THE BIBLE, GUINESSIS. GOD GOT TIRED OF CREATING THE WORLD SO HE TOOK THE SABBATH OFF.



2. ADAM AND EVE WERE CREATED FROM AN APPLE TREE. NOAH'S WIFE WAS JOAN OF ARK. NOAH BUILT AN ARK AND THE ANIMALS CAME ON IN PEARS.



3. LOT’S WIFE WAS A PILLAR OF SALT DURING THE DAY, BUT A BALL OF FIRE DURING THE NIGHT.



4. THE JEWS WERE A PROUD PEOPLE AND THROUGHOUT HISTORY THEY HAD TROUBLE WITH UNSYMPATHETIC GENITALS..



5. SAMPSON WAS A STRONGMAN WHO LET HIMSELF BE LED ASTRAY BY A JEZEBEL LIKE DELILAH.



6. SAMSON SLAYED THE PHILISTINES WITH THE AXE OF THE APOSTLES.



7. MOSES LED THE JEWS TO THE RED SEA WHERE THEY MADE UNLEAVENED BREAD WHICH IS BREAD WITHOUT ANY INGREDIENTS .



8. THE EGYPTIANS WERE ALL DROWNED IN THE DESSERT. AFTERWARDS, MOSES WENT UP TO MOUNT


CYANIDE TO GET THE TEN COMMANDMENTS




9. THE FIRST COMMANDMENTS WAS WHEN EVE TOLD ADAM TO EAT THE APPLE.



10. THE SEVENTH COMMANDMENT IS THOU SHALT NOT ADMIT ADULTERY.



11. MOSES DIED BEFORE HE EVER REACHED CANADA THEN JOSHUA LED THE HEBREWS IN THEBATTLE OF GERITOL.



12. THE GREATEST MIRICLE IN THE BIBLE IS WHEN JOSHUA TOLD HIS SON TO STAND STILL AND HE OBEYED HIM.




13. DAVID WAS A HEBREW KING WHO WAS SKILLED AT PLAYING THE LIAR. HE FOUGHT THE FINKELSTEINS, A RACE OF PEOPLE WHO LIVED IN BIBLICAL TIMES.



14. SOLOMON, ONE OF DAVIDS SONS, HAD 300 WIVES AND 700 PORCUPINES.




15. WHEN MARY HEARD SHE WAS THE MOTHER OF JESUS, SHE SANG THE MAGNA CARTA.



16. WHEN THE THREE WISE GUYS FROM THE EAST SIDE ARRIVED THEY FOUND JESUS IN THE MANAGER.



17. JESUS WAS BORN BECAUSE MARY HAD AN IMMACULATE CONTRAPTION.



18. ST. JOHN THE BLACKSMITH DUMPED WATER ON HIS HEAD.



19. JESUS ENUNCIATED THE GOLDEN RULE, WHICH SAYS TO DO UNTO OTHERS BEFORE THEY DO ONE TO YOU. HE ALSO EXPLAINED A MAN DOTH NOT LIVE BY SWEAT ALONE.



20. IT WAS A MIRICLE WHEN JESUS ROSE FROM THE DEAD AND MANAGED TO GET THE TOMBSTONE OFF THE ENTRANCE.



21. THE PEOPLE WHO FOLLOWED THE LORD WERE CALLED THE 12 DECIBELS.



22. THE EPISTELS WERE THE WIVES OF THE APOSTLES.



23. ONE OF THE OPPOSSUMS WAS ST. MATTHEW WHO WAS ALSO A TAXIMAN.



24. St. PAUL CAVORTED TO CHRISTIANITY, HE PREACHED HOLY ACRIMONY WHICH IS ANOTHER NAME FOR MARRAIGE.



25. CHRISTIANS HAVE ONLY ONE SPOUSE. THIS IS CALLED MONOTONY.

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. The Merchant of Venice, 1. 3

I am, no surprise, following this primary season with great interest.   

I am also getting scared to death of how the political discourse in this country has been reduced to such new lows.    Have any one of these candidates done anything more than pander to whichever group they are standing in front of?     Are real issues being discussed?

I don't think so.   It's just more finger-pointing and nothing is actually getting done.   Nothing real is being said.   And not a damned thing is getting accomplished.   We need to stop all of this partisan stalling and bickering and seriously address the problems in our country.    And, yes, we will need to make compromises.  [Oh no she didn't-she said that dirty word.]

I think this is how the whole election process should go down:

Each candidate gets the same amount of FREE airtime on all of the assorted cable outlets and network channels over an 8 week period prior to the election.    They are to use that time to tell how they would handle a particular issue facing the nation--and how they would pay for it.   Nothing more.   Tell us your plans and then get the hell back to the job we're paying you to do--being a Congressman, a Governor, a Secretary of State...

No grandstanding, no name calling...   AND-no PAC groups!!!!!!

We should also do away with the Electoral College-it's obsolete.   We've had too many elections hijacked by backroom dealings with Electoral College votes.    

And for God's sake--yes, I said God's sake, no co-opting the Lord for your political purposes.    I deeply resent being told that I am less of an American because I don't worship the way Candidate A or B does.    The wonderful concept of separation of church and state that our Founding Fathers so beautifully crafted has been twisted and destroyed over the past 15 years.    And it troubles me.

The Pilgrims endured unbelievable hardships to come to this land because they did not want the rulers telling them how to worship-or who.   That is a private matter between each individual and their particular deity, whatever it may. be.

Oy to the freakin' Vey!!!!

I have been locked out of this account forever!!!!!!!!!!!!

So frustrating.

The purple testament of bleeding war. ~ William Shakespeare

Hey, it’s me….

My long absence from this venue has been due to a number of things—some of which I can’t go into right now.

Anywho, yesterday, as we commemorated Pearl Harbor, I started thinking about some things.   One of which is that a man who spent his life devoted to getting the message of peace out was murdered the day after the 1980 commemoration of that day.    The irony of that is just weird.   (The other one is that my eldest brother, who was a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War, died about 10 days after Lennon.    His alcoholism was triggered by his treatment following his difficult decision.)      So, here’s to John Lennon—and his 2 sons who had to grow up without a father.    And to my brother’s two kids who grew up without theirs.

The other thing I started thinking about was my dad and his experiences in WW II.  

He got turned down by the army because he was stick thin at the time (sadly, I don’t take after him there…).     So, he and his best buddy went and enlisted in the Marine Corps.—the first ones on the scene for most of the battles.    Within days he was at Parris Island in boot camp.    Then it was off to the South Pacific.    He spent the next 2 years in combat; he was stationed for a short while in New Zealand and then it was off to Bougainville Island.     He and his fellow soldiers saw serious battle there.   It was one of the first times Americans faced jungle warfare.

Finally, he was sent back to the States—it suddenly occurred to the powers-that-be that after 2 years, men deserved (and seriously needed) a respite from the front lines.     After about a month’s leave, he had to head back to Parris Island—knowing full well that as an experienced combat soldier, he was going to be returned to the Pacific.     The US was gearing up for the Guadalcanal Campaign.  

Dad was on a troop train just outside of Washington DC when he suddenly passed.    They took him off the train to the nearest VA hospital.    The doctor on duty that weekend looked at him, said “He’s been on leave, he’s probably drunk.  Let him sleep it off.”  and relegated my dad to a bed in a corner somewhere.     Well, when the regular doctor returned on Monday, he wanted to know what was up with the unconscious guy.     When they realized he’d been out for two days, it dawned on then he wasn’t drunk.     His hat (which had been on his lap) with the blood in it has gotten lost in the shuffle of getting him to the hospital.

My dad had experienced a brain hemorrhage on that train that went untreated for 48 hours.    Now, I realize that they probably had a boatload of GIs to deal with, but didn’t anyone in that hospital start to wonder when my dad was still out for the count after 24 hours.    Drunks don’t sleep THAT long.

The poor man suffered neurological problems for the rest of his life; he started having seizures when I was about 9 and when I was in my early 30s, he was diagnosed with an AVM (something one of the Philadelphia Eagles recently developed).      He also had several aneurisms.     He eventually wound up taking several medications to control the seizures and keep him calm—yet the government fought my mother tooth and nail over his qualifying for VA disability.

Yet, he always spoke of his time in the service as one of the best in his life….

My dad died at age 72.   Part of me thinks we were lucky to have him that long, given his fragile health situation. 

But part of me also thinks we might have had so much longer….

*written very late on 12/8/11

Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt. ~ Measure For Measure, 1.4.84

 Doubts—why are some of us riddled with them and others have balls of steel, as it were. I have often wondered about that.   What quality do people like Steve Jobs, Oprah, Barack Obama have that I seem to lack.   What allowed them to look past the risks of taking a certain path to go ahead and attain what I’m sure many told them was impossible.

I am a case study in fearing to attempt.    I sucked at all those things most kids could do.   Whistling took me forever to master.    I couldn’t blow a bubble with gum, I was a mess at sports and I never learned how to ride a bike.     Add to that the fact that my brothers took great joy in making fun of me and you have the perfect recipe for a non-risk taker.     I’ve always tended towards the “play it safe” side of things. Plus, I’m a middle child, so I was always about not rocking the boat too.     Then there’s the whole Catholic school thing of the 1960s….  My daughter has a self-assuredness that I am in awe of.  

I don’t know if it’s all a front, but she doesn’t seem to be intimidated by anyone.    I admire that so much.    [Of course, she is the oldest, so that may have something to do with it.]     I did try to instill in her the idea that women are equals to men, so I’ll take credit for that much of it.  

I know I’m smart and that I have a lot of talents and abilities, but more often than not I let insecurities get the better of me and don’t “go for it.”     The few times I have dug deep to find the courage, I have felt really proud of myself—and enjoyed an awesome experience. 

Like taking on the role of Hamlet’s mother for my first ever foray into Shakespeare.     That was ballsy—I could have totally fallen on my ass.  But I think I rocked it out, if I do say so myself… 

I went through a period of feeling empowered when I decided it was time to save myself from a bad marriage.    Unfortunately, life has enjoyed pissing on me during the decade plus I have been on my own and my get up and go got up and went. 

So I am going to make a concerted effort to push myself more—and grow a pair.

Omittance is no quittance.

hey there...remember me?

well, life has been insane, including a crashed computer.

then, for some reason blogger wouldn't take my password, so I couldn't even vent here.

well, things are settling down a bit-going into the winter doldrums...

but, I am directing a show at Widener University!  STRING OF PEARLS by Michele Lowe.

more info to follow soon.

glad to be back on the blogosphere- hope I haven't lost you all.

I would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in fencing, dancing and bear-baiting. O! had I but followed the arts!

My original life plan—at 15—was to go to NYC after high school and become the toast of Broadway. At 17, when I graduated from high school, it was to work for 2 years, save up as much money as I could and THEN go to NYC and become the toast of Broadway.


Yeah,…um,…well,..here I am. 58 and trudging through the work week to barely keep my head above water.

Yes, I have continued to make my form of art on various stages in the Philly area, but I often wonder what would have happened if I had gone to New York. Would I have made it to the point of actually being a working actor? Or would I have struggled mightily and wound up coming back home, my tail between my legs? Who knows. There’s a strong possibility it would have been the latter—I wasn’t strong enough back then; it’s taken life kicking me around a lot to toughen me up.

You see, a life in the arts in the United States is not easy. We are probably the only country on the planet that does not really support its artists (of all genres). And that’s sad—our art is what defines us as humans. Think how empty life would be without music, film, books, graphic design, theatre….

As the Philly theatre scene burgeoned over the past 30 years, I often wondered why I didn’t jump into the fray. Raising two kids and having to work part-time to keep things going was a factor—theatre work is very erratic at best. Most of the actors and directors I know have teaching jobs to supplement their income. Which is another thing—budgets for arts education are getting decimated. So these folks are finding it harder and harder. And kids are missing out on a vital piece of their development—it’s been proven that arts education helps students in other subjects. And a country that doesn’t foster creativity will suffer—where will the thinkers who can come up with new approaches to issues come from?

My brother and his husband work in the commercial/Broadway world; I have no idea how they keep it all going—they are on unemployment almost as much as they are working. I don’t think I could hack that. A lot of the time, one or both of them is out on the road because nothing was available in Manhattan. That’s a difficult life too.

Of course, when I became my only means of support, it really became crucial to have that steady income. My one foray into working in the arts (on the administrative side) didn’t go so well. I’m still trying to dig myself out of the financial hole that created.

Another thing I can’t help wondering about is whether success in the commercial Broadway world of theatre would have spoiled my love for the art form. Theatre is still an avocation for me. The root of the word “amateur” is “for the love of.”

And I do love it. I love making people laugh; I love making them think; I love touching their hearts.

It adds a precious seeing to the eye. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act iv. Sc. 3.

YE OLDE BLOGGE GOETH GREEN AGAIN TODAY
                ~reposting a little something from 4/28/10

Just an odd jumping off point here…..







Now that the weather is getting mild, I have the windows open in my apartment. I look down on the train station here in Media, Pa. And from very early in the morning til very late at night I can hear the announcements about arrivals and departures. I can’t make out what is being said mind you—it comes across as a monotone, garbled, disembodied voice. Well, this morning it hit me what it reminds me of: the lead singer’s voice in “Pepper” by Butthole Surfers. If you’re not familiar, the song is sort of a spoken word piece: “She was sharin’ Sharon’s outlook on the topic of disease.” The singer is telling a story about a group of young people leading lives of quiet desperation [I guess] somewhere in Texas. The line that sort of stuck in my head was this: “You never know just how you look through other people’s eyes.”






We don’t know how others see us, perceive us. I worry about that way more than I probably should. I mean, why is it important to me that everyone likes me? I don’t like everyone I cross paths with, so why should I waste time and energy worrying about whether folks like me. As long as the people that really matter in my life appreciate what I have to offer, what difference does the rest make? I know I have quite a large circle of acquaintances and friends. And I’m fairly certain that the ones I spend a lot of time with actually enjoy my company, so the rest is insignificant. Right?










♥ ♥ ♥ ♥










As the time gets closer to my move out day, I find myself growing nostalgic about my apartment—it’s seen me through some very rough times. It has embraced me when there was no one else to do so…..






I was married for 26 years. I went right from my parent’s home to living with my boyfriend at 19—and marrying him shortly after turning 20. I separated from my husband in 2000; a story for another time—but I’ve covered some of it in previous posts], and found this place to move into. I had never lived alone in my life—and here I am at 46 signing a lease and applying for utilities in my name—not his. It was a little scary at first. I had never lived alone—would I be able to do it? How would it be not to have someone to talk to or laugh over a funny show with? It was a BIG adjustment, but I learned to like some aspects of living alone [I can watch what I want on TV when I want for one.]






At that time, I was moving from a 3-story, 4 bedroom house to this 1-bedroom apartment. I had to be ruthless as to what I kept and what I gave away to Goodwill—or tossed altogether. “Kids, I love you—but the macaroni portrait of Lincoln you did in 1st grade is gonna get tossed if you don’t come get it.” Of course, I kept EVERY little thing my grandson had done. I have an autobiography he wrote in 2nd grade—cause they’ve experienced so much by age 7. I have a couple of his drawings….. But the best [it has had a place of honor on my fridge since I moved in here] is the note he wrote me when he was 5: “ Dear Mimi—I hope you feel better. Your are the best Mimi ever. Love…”—and he signed his full name. Like I wouldn’t know who it was from otherwise. I think that is the cutest thing. Some things I simply CANNOT part with……










♥ ♥ ♥ ♥






A bit of a clarification…






My post of the other day [ the one with the image of Edvard Munch’s The Scream] had more to do with the stress of packing up/de-thinging, finding a new place that both my mom and I will be comfortable in AND coping with my company’s complete restructuring of the workflow and team structures. Stress and Fibromyalgia do not play well together…. And today was the start of the new model..... First I opened my door to find one of my bras sitting in the hallway [it escaped the basket last night apparently]; then I came out to a flat tire [but I could now join a NASCAR pit crew--I got to the gas station, got air in the tire and made it to work only 5 minutes late]; my first 30 calls were all from new hospitals migrated from other teams, so I had no idea who they were--and one of them yelled at me. But the best part was when I heard a male voice from the top of my cubicle wall asking me how things were going. Thank God I looked up before I answered--it was the president of the company!! Good thing I didn't answer without looking,cause it wouldn't have been pretty. But, I’m a tough old bitch—and I can come here and vent to my wonderful blog peeps.

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

I was born three days late—and I’ve been trying to catch up ever since.

I don’t really like to be late for things, but it happens. I try to budget my time, really I do. I don’t like getting up in the mornings—probably because I may have just gotten to sleep an hour before the damned alarm went off. But, I set my clock ahead by 15 minutes because of this. And I set the alarm for about 25 minutes before I actually need to get up, so I have time to ease into rising. I shower the night before to save time (don’t worry; I do a quick refresher wash in the AM). I even occasionally lay out my outfit ahead of time.

Since I’ve developed all of the fatigue and pain issues, I’ve really had to allow myself time. I just can’t sail out of bed like I used to…

See, I try….. And generally I’m pretty good— it’s other people that fowl me up.

Like jerks that see you waiting to pull out of a side street and they don’t put their turn signal on. Then they turn right next to you, and you’re stuck. Or a-holes who are so busy texting or whatever they don’t realize the light has turned green. Then they get through and I don’t. Or dillweeds who pull out in front of you and go 2 miles an hour. You have to hit the breaks—invariably, when you check the rearview mirror, there’s not a soul behind you.

Like, why would PennDOT start road work during the morning rush? The last thing we all need as we drag our sorry asses to work is to get stuck waiting to get around a lane closure on a portion of a road. I know they have to fix stuff, but can’t they wait until everyone’s at work?

The one that really drives me nuts is the wusses who brake at every curve or hill. Sheesh, learn how to drive for heaven’s sake. One time my friend showed up almost 30 minutes late to our shift at a local theatre company’s box office. He just looked at me and said “I hate when people look on the speed limit as a mandate instead of a suggestion.”

That whole getting to work thing has been my biggest challenge (I have rarely been late to the theatre). I remember slinking into the wallcovering store where I worked about 5 minutes late one day and sheepishly going “Boy that Schuylkill Expressway is a bitch.” I lived about 8 miles from the store via all residential side streets. Hey, if other people could use it, why couldn’t I?

My kids were in nursery school when I started that job—I worked 2 evenings a week and Saturdays. One evening I was getting dressed for work and my son got hurt. I blurted out “I didn’t plan comforting time.” as I took him in my arms. I called the store and said I’d be about 15 minutes late.

In my own defense, I must state that if I am late arriving (like I said, morning is not my strong suit), I will shorten my lunch break or stay past my allotted time to make up for it. I never short-change people.

I was born three days late. It’s been 58 years, but I think I’ve just about caught up.

Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come (2.2) CAESAR

I reviewed a production of Sarah Ruhl’s EURYDICE on Friday night for STAGE Magazine. West Philadelphia’s Curio Theatre Company is producing it—if you’re in the area, by all means check it out. It’s a wonderful production.

It is the third version I have seen of Ms. Ruhl’s imaginative reinvention of the Orpheus myth. The play tells the tragic love story from Eurydice’s point of view, inventing a father that draws her to the Underworld. The viewer is led to believe that Eurydice chooses to stay in the Underworld, to remain a child in her father’s care rather than grow up and be a wife.

Hey—I get it. Many are the days I want to turn in my grown-up card. It’s too damned hard sometimes; it would be great to go back to those carefree times when someone else made all the big decisions and paid all the bills. We didn’t appreciate how good we had it. Someone did the laundry, bought the food, cooked the meals. There was television and lights and heat—and we had no idea it took money to have those things at our fingertips. We picked up the phone, called whomever we wanted, and talked for ages with no thought as to what it was going to cost. Someone got us to and from school, etc., but did we ever once worry about the cost of gas, wear and tear on the car? Or insurance rates? And when we achieved the freedom known as a driver’s license, most of us still had someone else taking care of all those pesky details.

Even the roofs over our heads—we didn’t have a clue what was involved in purchasing that roof, or the multitude of things involved in maintaining it and the walls holding it up. Yeah—some of us were given chores like lawn mowing and dish washing, but that’s a drop in the bucket of all that is involved in running the business known as “family/home.”

Add to that the psychological cost of sustaining a relationship and raising children! You have no effing clue until you’re deep in the throes of it yourself—and most of us still don’t even then. As a parent you have to be a nurturer, a guidance counselor, a behavioral therapist…. The list is endless. And if you want to be a good partner, a lot of those roles come into play there too.

We were also blissfully ignorant of what it means to have a job. To give your time and energy for someone else’s enrichment for 40 hours a week. In some cases, to feel like you’ve sold your soul in order to just barely keep your financial head above water. Let’s face it, very few of us spend our workdays doing something we truly love—those lucky bastards are few and far between. For the rest of us, it’s a mind-numbing and exhausting slog so we can turn around and shell it out for the above named necessities.

Why the hell were we in such a hurry to be adults?

Okay, my kids are grown up and on their own now; it should be easier for me, right? Yeah—not so much.

I still have all of the expenses, and as a renter, I don’t get any tax breaks. It’s a bitch. In this economy, I should be grateful I have a job, I know. But salaries have been stagnant and opportunities for advancement few and far between. And I know I’m running into ageism—I can’t prove it, but I feel it. I want to be happy in my work—I HAVE NO RETIREMENT PLAN, SO I’M GONNA BE AT THIS FOR A LONG TIME. I want to be more financially stable… and I’ll tell you why:

The most recent wrinkle in all of this is having my mom living with me. Don’t get me wrong—I love her dearly and she is a hoot to live with. We are getting along quite well and the partnership has been mutually beneficial in a number of ways.

She will be 89 this coming New Year’s Eve and sometimes I think she’s in better shape than I am. Her mental faculties are sharp as a tack (okay—sometimes she can’t find a word, but who among us doesn’t have that problem occasionally…), and she’s pretty frickin’ spry. She actually busted a samba move the other night during “Dancing with The Stars.”

But I worry—I’m Irish, I can’t help it.

She is a night owl. So when I wake up during the night and see lights still on, I worry that something’s happened to her and that’s why they’re still on. Most nights I refrain from going out to the living room to check ‘cause I don’t want to scare her. I’ve done some secret reconnaissance missions on occasion though.

Every morning before I go to work, I check on her as she sleeps. She tends to lie exceedingly still as she slumbers, so sometimes I have to watch for several minutes to make sure all is well. I’ve come thisclose to putting a mirror under her nose. On workdays, she unlocks the apartment door for me so when I get home I don’t have to fumble with keys. Once in awhile, she gets caught up in her computer stuff and forgets. I try the door when I arrive home and panic if it’s locked—instantly worried something’s wrong inside.

I can’t let her know any of this—she’d be hurt I think. But it’s there now—the idea that the woman I have always thought of as invincible is in the twilight of her life. And I don’t like the thought.

So, yeah, I get Eurydice’s reluctance to growing up—who can blame her. Adulthood’s a bitch.





STAGE Magazine

A horse, a Horse, My Kingdom for a Horse—Part Three. [Seriously, Part III!]

I'd probably have better luck than I've had with cars.

Today is a combination of re-posting two past missives on my never-ending saga with cars and the latest chapter in my ongoing power struggle with the vehicles in my life.



In August 2010, I was forced to take on a car payment I couldn’t really afford because my 1999 Saturn’s clutch/transmission situation had reached the point of no return. I shopped around and found a reasonably priced 2001 Honda Civic with about 73K miles on it. Since I’ve always loved Hondas and the mileage was practically in its infancy (Hondas can go to 200K), I signed on the dotted line. (And got an affordable loan from my credit union.)



Well, the inspection was up this past August… As usual, I was short on funds, so I didn’t get it into the shop til early September. I was expecting maybe tires and brake pads, you know under $400.00.



Yeah—I totally forgot, this was me I was dealing with…



$1,500.00 later the “Check Engine” light finally went out and I was able to pass the emissions test. Part of that was new wheel ball bearings and struts and a bunch of other wheel stuff.



Why God, why? I just drive the things from point a to point B—what am I doing to deserve these financially crushing car bills?



I keep begging my daughter to fall in love with a mechanic, but she just won’t cooperate.



** ** **

Part 1—posted 7/2/09



To say the least, my relationship to vehicles has been quite one-sided: they take and take and take. And I spend and spend and spend. It can get a little frustrating. When I got married in 1973, we had a 1968 Beetle--I learned to drive in that car. I didn't want to learn stick, but it was all we had. And I got pretty good at pop-starting it and double-clutching. When our daughter was born, we felt we needed a safer, bigger, family car... we bought a '73 Ford Pinto...yep, a Pinto.



Then we had his and hers VW sedans--purely by accident too. Eventually my ex went to trucks and I was a Honda girl. But I have never owned a new car, so with all of these vehicles came assorted "issues." There was the car with a different colored hood that embarrassed the crap out of my 80s era, fashion is everything offspring.... One time, I had invoices for a new windshield, a new muffler and a tire on my dashboard to explain why my inspection sticker was slightly expired.



Let's not even talk about the cars we helped our kids buy...one of which my daughter crashed into a tree. "Sweetheart, trees always win." The car was totaled, but thank god she was okay. Several bumps and cuts, but okay.



The first car I ever totally purchased on my own was a Toyota Paseo. I loved that car; it was sporty looking and had great pickup. I felt young again when I drove it. One day, I was driving home from work, all of the lights on the dash lit up and the car just died. It was beyond hope and I was devastated. It was as painful as my divorce—I was losing something special to me. I replaced it with a 1999 Saturn. It was in good shape and had low mileage. Well, the front bumper got caught on a spike sticking up in my apartment's lot and I had to drive around with the bumper bungee-corded onto the car for about 3 months til I could afford to fix it. And somehow, I have no idea how, I wound up with only one hubcap--my son said "Mom, what are you hanging on to?" Then the front panel on the passenger side got broken [cars are made of paper these days] when I gently slid on the ice one day. So, suddenly, I'm driving a hoop-dee--no way can you put a claim in to your insurance! Cause they'll either raise your rates or drop you completely.



So I just drive it, ignore my kids comments and pretend it's a Porsche.



** ** **

Part 2—posted 7/22/09



okay, so tonight was the first read-thru of Fuddy Meers, a play by David Lindsay Abaire [ more on that later]. I'm looking forward to the challenge of playing a stroke victim--with major aphasia....



The read-thru went well; I'm feeling good as I'm driving home around 10ish. First acting role in about a year [the knee injury has had me side-lined since March] and I think I can meet the challenges of the role.



I'm stopped at a red-light, listening to WMMR, wondering what The Daily Show will do tonight... The light changes to green; I go to put my car in gear—nothing. The gearshift just wobbles loosely all over the place. Oh joy.



Had to have the car towed.



Pray to the automobile gods that this isn't going to cost an arm and a leg--I only have one fully functioning one right now anyway.