Time

When I was in college and felt lonely and depressed, I would look at my self in the mirror and try to see what was behind the skin and eyes. (The photo is my senior picture from high school) I tried to see who was in there, who was trying to get out and who other people saw. I memorized the shape of my lips and the curve of my own cheek, I saw the speckles of gold in my brown eyes, and the pores on my nose. I looked at the way each eyelash came out and saw each imperfection in my teeth. I wondered whether I should take the plunge and actually DO something about my bushy eyebrows and even then, noticed the beginnings of the crack in my forehead between them. . Sometimes I would do it while I was drinking (drinking age was 18 for beer then, don't get all "underage drinking!!" on me). It was always interesting to me to watch myself get tipsy. The way I got harder and harder on myself until eventually I could no longer look at myself and my eyes closed. Then, I'd put my head down and fall asleep, to awaken all better the next morning.

I still find myself doing this when I am seriously depressed. Normally, I barely have time to see if I wiped the toothpaste off my chin before I run out of the house, but when I am sunk low in my soul, I will wander up to a mirror and lean up against it, trying to see who is in there, who wants to get out, and who other people see. Though the pupil is one eye is slightly different (from a surgery years ago), the gold speckles in my eyes are the same - and the eyebrows would still make Brooke Shields and Tom Cruise proud, but now I see all these little crinkles in the corners. My lips are smaller and tiny lines emanate from them - now I understand the use of lip liner, how it helps keep the lipstick from feathering out around old ladies' mouths. My eye lids are lower, the crack in my forehead is deeper and I still see the imperfections in my teeth. Things all over are drooping more than they used to, like my nose? What is that? Is your nose supposed to get longer? And other pieces are hurting farther into the day than they should.

This is the slippery side of the 40s - closer to 60 than to 30, and that not only terrifies me, it saddens me. I am not done living and doing all the things I wanted to do. I don't have a list per se, and heaven knows I have had a pretty friggin' spectacular life so far, but I am not ready for it to be on the DOWN side. I don't want to slow down. I am not to a point where I want to sit back and enjoy it...and with my income, I will never be able to retire and really just enjoy life.

I have PLENTY of time, everyone says...Heck, my grandmother is 92 and still drives her self to bridge and my own mother is healthy as a horse and yet....I am afraid of the end. I am afraid of the pain. I don't want to be a hunched over, feeble invalid with someone feeding me and wiping my butt. Who would do that anyway? Who will be there for me? Who will hold my hand as I slip into the blackness of forever. Who will go through my things and decide what gets thrown away and what gets kept....and who will want any of my crap anyway. The comic book collection? My 2 boxes of diaries and journals? My 14 photo albums? Who will want that 40 year old feather pillow I have insisted on toting around the world with me? Will anyone find the stash of emergency cash I have hidden in my room?

sigh....just depressed today, I guess and thought I'd share it with the whole friggin' world, since there isn't anyone here to talk me out of the Pit of Despair I've wallowed into. Aren't ya glad you stopped by, if anyone actually does? Sorry....I will wallow out and shake myself off later...

Pay it Forward

One of you made an incredible last minute donation to my campaign to raise funds for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, putting me over the top of my goal of $1,500. I will let you know who, if she says it is ok...but here's the deal...I am gonna pay it forward! A friend of mine is walking in the Susan Komen walk in San Diego soon and she is just short of HER goal...so I am going to go help her out.....

Here's the challenge....find someone you can help in some way, not necessarily financial, but you know what I mean, and then just ask them to pay it forward (not that my donor asked me to, I just WANNA!!). Sure, PAY IT FORWARD was a great movie (that is a link to the incredibly sad end), but gosh wouldn't it be a wonderful world if we all did shit like that?

Well...why not?

Go on, get outta here - go find someone and see what they need...and fix them....It IS possible to change the world.

and now that I watched the movie ending again, I need to go find something to dry my damn computer off...it is floating in tears!!!

Play Baby

I've always wondered how it would feel to have my newborn baby ripped from my hands and handed to someone else. I know it happens all the time - sensible women realizing they aren't up to the challenge of motherhood, and rather than abandoning the baby at a church or throwing it in a dumpster, they have made the choice to give it up for adoption. Or surrogate moms who are doing the hard word for someone who can't. Not being a mom myself, I have always imagined it would be really hard, after growing this thing inside of you, living, eating, sleeping, breathing for it, and with it, nurturing it, feeling it, seeing it on the ultrasound. And, oh, that moment of quickening, when you first know there is something alive in there...a piece of you that is NOT you...that little kick you know wasn't from bad nachos...throbbing to its heartbeat, flinching with its hiccups.

Then the pain, the push, the deep breathing, the screams, the agony of delivery....the scars made to your body, the stretch marks and nerve damage, the fallen arches, the exploded veins, the loosened muscles and everything else.

But, then there is this life, this new baby with its sweet eyes, unfocused, but surely staring up into your soul, blinking in the new light. A tiny little hand flailing toward your face, a perfect little foot, which you only imagined as it kicked you in the bladder every night, that you can hold and caress, and smell. Oh, that new new baby smell!

Then, in comes some stranger. She gently plucks the baby from your arms, and it is then that the realization of doing the "right thing" would prevail, right? Giving the child to someone who can better provide, better nurture, better care for that tiny little piece of your self takes over and while it might hurt for a little bit, the reality of what you are doing is salvation.

Bullshit

I am not a mother. I have been pregnant, but I have never given birth...to a human child anyway. My children are the plays I direct. I birth little play babies. First I read them or see them as some one else's play baby, but soon, they become a part of me as they infiltrate my dreams. I see them playing out in my head when I am awake, even while I doing statistics, I imagine the actors on stage, the composition of the stage pictures....the colors of the set and the intensity of the lights. Then come the auditions, and I see the potential humans that could become the actors who bring my play baby to life...and I carefully pick the ones who I think will best suit these characters...For months, I dream about these actors in my play baby. I see J and G and M doing my play baby on my imaginary set.

Finally rehearsal begins and they say the lines out loud, not just in my head and my play baby quickens and becomes real. I can touch it and shape it and nurture it. What I eat and how much sleep I get directly affects my play baby, so I go to bed on time and eat my veggies and drink LOTS of water. I give my actors suggestions and ideas and help them find their way to the soul of these characters who make up the play baby I have been dreaming about for months. Instead of genetic testing and amnios, we struggle with blocking and set issues. The costumer brings in choices...did she not hear me when I said NO GREEN CLOTHES...Does she not realize my lead actress is a red head and looks VILE in red?? The set develops and as pieces adorn it, this big green "emerald city" becomes a home for my play baby and the actors begin to really live the play baby's life, and then we add the technical elements of lighting cues and sound effects, the music score becomes a part of the sense and sensibility of the whole thing, and piece by piece, my play baby evolves.

Before you know it, it is opening night, the final push, the final screams of agony and my baby is born. It is OUT THERE for everyone to see...staring up at you with these innocent newborn eyes, curious, yet calm, and just as you settle in to get to know this new baby, this new creation, everyone ooohing and ahhing and sending you flowers....

Then, your producer sends you an email saying YOU ARE DONE. YOU ARE NO LONGER NEEDED to give notes to the cast or crew. You are no longer welcome back stage. You are permitted to attend the performances if there is room in the house, but no more changes, no more notes. Here is your check, turn in your keys, Buh Bye, have a nice day.

I have directed dozens and dozens of plays and I have never had this experience! I have always been there to enjoy the run of my playbaby, to watch it grow and develop, and watch the actors sink into a warm ease with their characters, and then, at the end, when the play baby is all grown up, and there is a final closing performance, and we all cry and say how much fun we had....and then we gently go our separate ways.

That is the way I wanted it to be. I feel so cheated that I put in all this hard work and effort and instead of being allowed to be involved in its growth and development into a fullly realized production, my play baby was ripped from my arms, I've been shuttled out of the hospital and the door has been slammed in my face. I am numb and cold and lost and ever so depressed.....

Dear Sissy

E, darling sister of mine,

I love you sooooo much, but you have never needed anyone's approval to live your life, so why do you constantly seek it out from your mother in law, of all people? You may be married to her son, but you were born MY SISTER - and it does not matter what everyone ELSE in the world has or does, because you are good enough! Just sit there and listen, and be nice to her, count tiles in the floor, whatever - she is sitting there chatting with you, a family member NOT ignoring you, as you so often complain about...hell, I am sure she is scared to talk to you about anything cuz she knows you have a hair trigger and you will bite her head off. AND I SAY THIS CUZ I HAVE ONE TOO!!! You have to walk on tippy toe around me most of the time...

Who CARES if she thinks we come from a trailer park????? I am sure she doesn't, having met the rest of your family, but why, oh why do you feel the need for her to be all gooey and impressed and gushing about you or your kids. She is NOT going to change, so why do you constantly make yourself miserable and make her think you are a bitch? When you say snide or snarky things, she really is not smart enough and just does NOT get it! It only hurts YOU!

Who gives a shit if K walks in and, instead of saying hello, she says "something is burning!" that is HER....you can't judge her, and you need to stop being so judgmental about them! If you hate it so much, Move. Leave P and go somewhere where you won't have to listen to how wonderful R is, or how great T did in soccer, or how cool B's golf score was, or how awesome everyone ELSE in the family is. You KNOW you have class and taste, and your kids are smart, intelligent, well behaved and obviously loved by their aunts and uncles and cousins - I saw that at Thanksgiving last year.

And WHO CARES if your house is "plain" - you don't have solid wood floors or granite countertops or top of the line berber carpet - but you have DOUBLED the square footage of your house since you moved in!! You paint and do all the things that your mother in law was so impressed that R managed to do - maybe she was sharing that with you cuz she knows you work your ass off and you like fixing your house, and she was happy that R was finally getting into it and she thought maybe you would like R a little more if you knew she was trying to do all those things the amazing sister of SSP did!!

STOP comparing yourself to other people, sissy. Count your blessings and you will be happier. Your life will be easier and not so much struggle

I know you think I don't understand, and maybe I don't understand your Yankee inlaws, but I KNOW you and I know you are making yourself miserable by looking out of your palace and seeing how green the grass is everywhere else....Stop. Look at what you have, how healthy and happy your children are, how secure you are in your safe comfortable home. Change what you can, and if all else fails, come to AZ and live with ME...see how happy you will be then!!

I love you

SSP

Opening Night

Tonight, Rabbit Hole opens. We amazingly had a SOLD OUT preview audience last night, and understandably the cast was a little ruffled and dropped some lines and missed some cues. Once, the stage manager was caught on stage when the lights came up a little too early, but for a final dress rehearsal, it was not bad - besides they say you need an off final dress to insure a fab opening, so it should be great.

Here are some photos from rehearsal, and then some pictures of my set....and some of my actors...

Now I am off to direct for the Play in a Day thing...Busy day...but this is why my blog is so boring lately....thanks for stopping by....