This weekend I have been purging my closets and dressers. I don't think I've thoroughly attempted this job since we moved to my Pennsylvania hometown in spring of 2007. At that time we moved to a new state and also to a whole new phase of life which now bears little resemblance to the one we had in Illinois. Part of that change has resulted in me getting 4 clothing sizes bigger, so when I apply the "get rid of anything you haven't worn in a year" rule, there are a LOT of clothes that aren't getting worn.
Weight is a sensitive issue for most women. I reached an uncomfortable high point 8 years ago when I was dealing with the loss of my brother and also reaching the end of nursing my 2nd child. Sometimes life has to get really bad before it can get better. When my brother died I kind of crawled under an emotional rock for about 6 months until sitting alone in the dark actually got so dreary and boring that I eventually crawled out and looked into the sun again. One thing I did was to join a gym and start working out. It got me out of the house and also put me into contact with new people. One of those people was a personal trainer who looked me in the eye and told me that he could help me lose 30-40 pounds. I thought he was crazy; that would make me weigh less than I did in high school. However I was so desperate for change and improvement that I signed on. That journey is a blog post for another day, but when it was all said and done, a 65-lb. weight loss took place. In the process I became a fitness and healthy eating fanatic. I spent approximately 8 hours a week working out, and became the success story poster child of the gym and the personal training dept. At this point in my life I was not working nor involved in theatre at all, so it became my hobby and passion.
After our move I continued to make fitness a priority for the first two years. However, between needing to go back to work and reviving my passion for theatre, soon there were not enough hours in the week anymore to honor my previous commitment. At this point I admit I am not happy about my current weight and size. People still tell me "you look great" but I think that's more about having a smile and being immersed in things I am passionate about. Going shopping for BIGGER clothes is not nearly as much fun as going shopping for smaller ones.
So, as I purge my closet, I must accept that I probably won't wear those clothes with the smaller numbers ever again. I'm holding on to just a few things that are one size smaller, maybe some kind of miracle will occur and I'll be able to take ten pounds off along the way, but realistically I'd rather someone else got some wear out of these things before they're too far gone fashion-wise. Now that my closet is mostly clothes that I can actually consider wearing, it's not only more spacious but less depressing to look at. I don't need all those reminders of my former figure.
The more I purge my closet, the more I want to purge this entire house of so many things that we realistically won't return to. The kids' toys and books, most specifically. Lately the size of our house has felt overwhelming to me. I don't want to be bothered with yard work anymore and wouldn't mind paying an association fee if someone else would take care of it. Our house in Illinois was smaller and when we moved here I thought, "Finally we have room for all our stuff!" Now I'm thinking, why are we paying a bigger mortgage and higher utility bills to maintain a museum of stuff that we don't use in our daily lives? Sure, it's nice to have room to host a cast party or a kids sleepover or out-of-town guests, but those events take place very few days of the year. Plus whenever they occur, I have to spend an entire week hiding all the stuff that creeps out onto the plentiful surfaces.
A friend just sold his large house that had the PERFECT view of the fireworks in State College. I enjoyed this amenity this past 4th of July and felt so lucky to be told I could have a "permanent invitation" to come back every summer. He and his wife decided the upkeep of the pool and house size were not worth the only occasional enjoyment they (and their large network of friends) got from them, and bought an older house in need of restoration out in the more rural section of town. While I'm sad that my "permanent invitation" only got me one amazing 4th of July, I'm now wondering if I should be following their example. What's the point of all this square footage anyway? Does this house really fit the body of my life anymore?
Much to ponder.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Taking one for the team
This morning Diane suggested that I blog about what it's like to have the lead in a show. There's a lot I could say about that, but I worry that much of it would sound either narcissistic or whiney. Then I went for a walk in the woods with my dog, which is my usual Sunday morning ritual, and ran into someone who had seen me on stage this summer. She said she really enjoyed the State College Community Theatre season, with the exception of "Mrs. McThing". (That's the show I had the lead in.)
This is a person I encountered in the woods approximately two years ago and made small talk with while our dogs tore around a field. In our first conversation she ended up unburdening to me that she had unexpectedly lost her son that fall, and was an emotional mess and overwhelmed with all of the unanswered questions that come with losing someone you love, especially as the holiday season approached. I in turn shared the story of losing my own brother and the effect it had on our family, particularly my Mom. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children, and it's very confusing when they do. A few weeks later I sent her a card and told her I was thinking of her and hoped she was finding some peace. She sent a card in return and was so grateful that I had reached out to her ... it was one of those "pay it forward" moments which made me feel good about myself for being a comfort to someone in grief, as I had relied on my own band of angels when I went through something similar.
Fast forward two years ... this morning I saw her ahead on the path and thought, "Oh, haven't seen her in a long time, wonder if we'll have another deep conversation today?" As it turned out, we did not. We talked about theatre, specifically the quirky show I was in. I had my own misgivings about accepting the lead in "Mrs. McThing". It was the underdog show of the season, a last-minute addition made without enough information, and without time to consider alternatives. After the show was added to the season slate, I ordered a used copy of the script and read it in the car en route to Chicago. I had two thoughts: First, "Why did we choose this show?", and second, "Why is there suddenly a giant arrow dangling over my head that says, "Mrs. Howard V. LaRue III"? Months before auditions I knew that this was one quirky, dated script, and also that I was a darn good fit for the lead character, a presumptuous, disapproving mother.
I tried to get cast in a different show that would overlap with Mrs. McThing so that I wouldn't have to make myself available for it, but that didn't work. I seriously asked myself if I wanted to check the box for that show on the audition form, or to limit myself to the more popular shows, even if it meant a smaller or chorus role. In the end I decided to let fate play it's own hand, made myself available for five shows, and declined to rank preferences. My strategy was to get the best possible opportunity the directors could offer. To no one's surprise, I was offered the lead in Mrs. McThing.
It's been a long time since I had a real lead. I'm entirely comfortable being cast in an ensemble with a manageable number of lines and plenty of time for offstage cavorting. However, the road back to theatre since college has been a long one and thought I was ready to take on the challenge. Making the long story of the rehearsal process short, it was a difficult time of year for me to be the lead. I missed blocking rehearsals because I needed to attend my own kids' spring performances. I was working more than I ever had while being in rehearsal for a show, and found I had precious little time to drill lines the way I needed to. I tried and tried and tried but despite my best efforts the lines weren't sticking, largely because so many of them didn't make any sense. I put out a call for help on Facebook for people to run lines with me in the final weekend before tech, and help me they did. I saw Morgan's class perform in her dance recital but ducked out of the auditorium to spend the rest of it sitting in a courtyard running lines with my iPod. My character had over 200 lines, many of them long. Here is a typical excerpt:
"I can't keep her here. I'm afraid of her mother. Oh, Howay-if he had her here-Mrs. McThing would be sure to come around. I can't fact that. No-no-don't sulk. Howay-I man no. Mimi-it's a beautiful place-you'll have a pony like Howay's-a bicycle-swimming pool-dancing lessons-they'll all be so kind to you, dear-oh-let me show you a picture of Miss Finchcroft, the founder."
Lines are easier to memorize when they are somehow sequential, when they tell a story or banter back and forth in response to another character. Mrs. LaRue just rambled on to herself in broken, often repetitive phrases. Even though it didn't matter to the audience if I said them verbatim, my cast mates relied on me to deliver their cues in order, and I couldn't consistently deliver. Tech week was VERY stressful. In addition to not feeling secure about my lines, we got derailed with lighting problems that short changed us on the traditional full run-throughs we needed. At our first tech rehearsal I had no costumes to work with. My friend Drew, the show photographer, has witnessed many tech rehearsals at the Boal Barn, and confirmed that ours was the worst tech rehearsal on record. Not all of the problems were within my control, but many were. I was petrified of performing for a paying audience with the potential to disappoint them, my castmates, the organization of which I am an executive Board member, and most of all myself. Clearly I had taken on too much. To play the lead in a show that is a flop is no honor.
As often happens in non-professional theatre, somehow everything came together. The dress rehearsal was rough with it's fair share of pregnant pauses and improvisation of lines, but we definitely had some momentum to work with by opening night. Costumes appeared, and I planted index cards with my challenging lines in backstage corners so that I could cram them into short-term memory before making entrances. The theatre family gelled; there was no animosity backstage, and that is really quite unusual with a large cast. We were all supportive of each other and laughed at our onstage foibles. We started to love our quirky little show and had a lot of fun with Facebook statii about the play, particularly inserting the prefix "Mc" before any and everything ... McNap, McBarn, McShow, etc. While the audience consensus was that the final five minutes of the show were hard to follow, they enjoyed our characterizations and efforts to take the inherent silliness of the show over the top. While Mrs. McThing didn't send anyone home with a profound new insight about anything, I hope it was entertaining. I learned much about myself as an actress, and many good friendships blossomed. The cast party, which I hosted, was a hoot. We actually got a phone call from one of my neighbors because we were laughing too loudly around my dining room table while playing a game called "True Colors" with the windows open. Great times.
Having the lead in a show isn't about glory. It's about challenge, dependency, disappointment, vulnerability, and fear. This time it was also about fun, and being cast as a character not too different from who I am every day who sweats the small stuff and wishes the world would raise it's bar up to her own personal standards. State College Community Theatre needed a Mrs. Howard V. LaRue III, and I needed a challenge, and preparation met opportunity. I don't aspire to always be the actress who gets to take the final bow during curtain call, but this time I think I earned it.
This is a person I encountered in the woods approximately two years ago and made small talk with while our dogs tore around a field. In our first conversation she ended up unburdening to me that she had unexpectedly lost her son that fall, and was an emotional mess and overwhelmed with all of the unanswered questions that come with losing someone you love, especially as the holiday season approached. I in turn shared the story of losing my own brother and the effect it had on our family, particularly my Mom. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children, and it's very confusing when they do. A few weeks later I sent her a card and told her I was thinking of her and hoped she was finding some peace. She sent a card in return and was so grateful that I had reached out to her ... it was one of those "pay it forward" moments which made me feel good about myself for being a comfort to someone in grief, as I had relied on my own band of angels when I went through something similar.
Fast forward two years ... this morning I saw her ahead on the path and thought, "Oh, haven't seen her in a long time, wonder if we'll have another deep conversation today?" As it turned out, we did not. We talked about theatre, specifically the quirky show I was in. I had my own misgivings about accepting the lead in "Mrs. McThing". It was the underdog show of the season, a last-minute addition made without enough information, and without time to consider alternatives. After the show was added to the season slate, I ordered a used copy of the script and read it in the car en route to Chicago. I had two thoughts: First, "Why did we choose this show?", and second, "Why is there suddenly a giant arrow dangling over my head that says, "Mrs. Howard V. LaRue III"? Months before auditions I knew that this was one quirky, dated script, and also that I was a darn good fit for the lead character, a presumptuous, disapproving mother.
I tried to get cast in a different show that would overlap with Mrs. McThing so that I wouldn't have to make myself available for it, but that didn't work. I seriously asked myself if I wanted to check the box for that show on the audition form, or to limit myself to the more popular shows, even if it meant a smaller or chorus role. In the end I decided to let fate play it's own hand, made myself available for five shows, and declined to rank preferences. My strategy was to get the best possible opportunity the directors could offer. To no one's surprise, I was offered the lead in Mrs. McThing.
It's been a long time since I had a real lead. I'm entirely comfortable being cast in an ensemble with a manageable number of lines and plenty of time for offstage cavorting. However, the road back to theatre since college has been a long one and thought I was ready to take on the challenge. Making the long story of the rehearsal process short, it was a difficult time of year for me to be the lead. I missed blocking rehearsals because I needed to attend my own kids' spring performances. I was working more than I ever had while being in rehearsal for a show, and found I had precious little time to drill lines the way I needed to. I tried and tried and tried but despite my best efforts the lines weren't sticking, largely because so many of them didn't make any sense. I put out a call for help on Facebook for people to run lines with me in the final weekend before tech, and help me they did. I saw Morgan's class perform in her dance recital but ducked out of the auditorium to spend the rest of it sitting in a courtyard running lines with my iPod. My character had over 200 lines, many of them long. Here is a typical excerpt:
"I can't keep her here. I'm afraid of her mother. Oh, Howay-if he had her here-Mrs. McThing would be sure to come around. I can't fact that. No-no-don't sulk. Howay-I man no. Mimi-it's a beautiful place-you'll have a pony like Howay's-a bicycle-swimming pool-dancing lessons-they'll all be so kind to you, dear-oh-let me show you a picture of Miss Finchcroft, the founder."
Lines are easier to memorize when they are somehow sequential, when they tell a story or banter back and forth in response to another character. Mrs. LaRue just rambled on to herself in broken, often repetitive phrases. Even though it didn't matter to the audience if I said them verbatim, my cast mates relied on me to deliver their cues in order, and I couldn't consistently deliver. Tech week was VERY stressful. In addition to not feeling secure about my lines, we got derailed with lighting problems that short changed us on the traditional full run-throughs we needed. At our first tech rehearsal I had no costumes to work with. My friend Drew, the show photographer, has witnessed many tech rehearsals at the Boal Barn, and confirmed that ours was the worst tech rehearsal on record. Not all of the problems were within my control, but many were. I was petrified of performing for a paying audience with the potential to disappoint them, my castmates, the organization of which I am an executive Board member, and most of all myself. Clearly I had taken on too much. To play the lead in a show that is a flop is no honor.
As often happens in non-professional theatre, somehow everything came together. The dress rehearsal was rough with it's fair share of pregnant pauses and improvisation of lines, but we definitely had some momentum to work with by opening night. Costumes appeared, and I planted index cards with my challenging lines in backstage corners so that I could cram them into short-term memory before making entrances. The theatre family gelled; there was no animosity backstage, and that is really quite unusual with a large cast. We were all supportive of each other and laughed at our onstage foibles. We started to love our quirky little show and had a lot of fun with Facebook statii about the play, particularly inserting the prefix "Mc" before any and everything ... McNap, McBarn, McShow, etc. While the audience consensus was that the final five minutes of the show were hard to follow, they enjoyed our characterizations and efforts to take the inherent silliness of the show over the top. While Mrs. McThing didn't send anyone home with a profound new insight about anything, I hope it was entertaining. I learned much about myself as an actress, and many good friendships blossomed. The cast party, which I hosted, was a hoot. We actually got a phone call from one of my neighbors because we were laughing too loudly around my dining room table while playing a game called "True Colors" with the windows open. Great times.
Having the lead in a show isn't about glory. It's about challenge, dependency, disappointment, vulnerability, and fear. This time it was also about fun, and being cast as a character not too different from who I am every day who sweats the small stuff and wishes the world would raise it's bar up to her own personal standards. State College Community Theatre needed a Mrs. Howard V. LaRue III, and I needed a challenge, and preparation met opportunity. I don't aspire to always be the actress who gets to take the final bow during curtain call, but this time I think I earned it.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Fine. You win, ladies.
Those who know me well will laugh when I admit that I really don't like to be outdone. This week it seems like I am surrounded by BLOGGERS. Every time I turn around someone's posting eloquent insights about their life. I don't want to blog! I want my insights to be private or shared selectively! But I also don't want to be left behind while everyone else embarks on a new adventure without me. Hmph.
Diane says I don't have to blog about personal things, she has a friend who blogs about vegan recipes. Even the topic of vegan recipes makes me insecure, because I'm not a Mom who puts much thought into what's for dinner. At one time in my life I subscribed to cooking magazines and saved the food section of the Chicago Tribune to clip the recipes. Since returning to the workforce, that has moved way way down to the bottom of my priority list. There are about 8 things I could make for dinner that my kids both like that don't take much effort from me with time or ingredients. Tonight I outdid myself by making frozen potstickers and shrimp fried rice. (By the way, I make my rice from scratch, with boiling water and everything. And not that Minute Rice or boil-in-a-bag, either. Jasmine rice. Tonight I even added chopped scallions.) My daughter was elated, but my son got braces just yesterday and had a hard time chewing his shrimp. However, they both seemed to appreciate one of their favorite meals.
I really do believe in the concepts of healthy eating, meal planning, and frugal shopping. I admire my friend Mala who raised two sons who love vegetables more than junk food. Joanne has her week's meals listed on her fridge. Amanda B. regularly boasts that the grocery store had to pay her to leave after she redeemed her coupons. I admire those families who make dinner a non-negotiable time for gathering and sharing news of the day. I admire my grandmother who used her china regularly and made every meal a multi-course affair. She would serve us each our own individually molded jello salad on a lettuce leaf ... I would never sacrifice a perfectly good head of lettuce just for visual presentation of fruited jello.
Truth be told, neither my husband nor I grew up with ritual mealtimes, which I'm sure has a lot to do with the loosey-goosey informal meals we serve. My kids do not get napkin rings or individually molded jellos, but they seldom have to fend for themselves. Of course they can make their own grilled cheese sandwiches, ramen soup, pancakes, and scrambled eggs, but they consistently know that one or the other parent has thought about dinner and made sure there was a plan of some kind, even if it was frozen pizza. Not all children are so lucky.
They are fed. They are loved. It is good enough.
Diane says I don't have to blog about personal things, she has a friend who blogs about vegan recipes. Even the topic of vegan recipes makes me insecure, because I'm not a Mom who puts much thought into what's for dinner. At one time in my life I subscribed to cooking magazines and saved the food section of the Chicago Tribune to clip the recipes. Since returning to the workforce, that has moved way way down to the bottom of my priority list. There are about 8 things I could make for dinner that my kids both like that don't take much effort from me with time or ingredients. Tonight I outdid myself by making frozen potstickers and shrimp fried rice. (By the way, I make my rice from scratch, with boiling water and everything. And not that Minute Rice or boil-in-a-bag, either. Jasmine rice. Tonight I even added chopped scallions.) My daughter was elated, but my son got braces just yesterday and had a hard time chewing his shrimp. However, they both seemed to appreciate one of their favorite meals.
I really do believe in the concepts of healthy eating, meal planning, and frugal shopping. I admire my friend Mala who raised two sons who love vegetables more than junk food. Joanne has her week's meals listed on her fridge. Amanda B. regularly boasts that the grocery store had to pay her to leave after she redeemed her coupons. I admire those families who make dinner a non-negotiable time for gathering and sharing news of the day. I admire my grandmother who used her china regularly and made every meal a multi-course affair. She would serve us each our own individually molded jello salad on a lettuce leaf ... I would never sacrifice a perfectly good head of lettuce just for visual presentation of fruited jello.
Truth be told, neither my husband nor I grew up with ritual mealtimes, which I'm sure has a lot to do with the loosey-goosey informal meals we serve. My kids do not get napkin rings or individually molded jellos, but they seldom have to fend for themselves. Of course they can make their own grilled cheese sandwiches, ramen soup, pancakes, and scrambled eggs, but they consistently know that one or the other parent has thought about dinner and made sure there was a plan of some kind, even if it was frozen pizza. Not all children are so lucky.
They are fed. They are loved. It is good enough.
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