I haven't written in a while because of the heavy workload I've had this past month and the fact that I try not to write when I don't have anything to say. Sometimes I get worked up about something but I always remember the advice of Anne Lamont that said never write an email after 10pm. Most of the time I don't get in from work until after 10 pm and I've taken that advice to heart.
Over the past couple of weeks I've been working on the script for the Ghost Tour and struggling with casting shows and trying to work through some of the arts marketing books I've been reading. Last night I went to the wedding of a young man I watched grow up in the theatre. The setting was a beautiful lakeside spot with a green vine arbor and over 200 people who all attended to celebrate the beginning of two people who were coming together to face the future. April couldn't make it and I went by myself. I didn't know most of the people there and was fortunate to find a friend from the theatre who also didn't know a lot of people there, and we looked on as this young man that we had watched grow up, began a new life journey. I left feeling a lot of emotions. A sense of joy at the marriage of this young man, a sense that my presence there was important to him and his family, and a sense of friendship with the person I enjoyed the event with.
I came home and tired to finish the arts marketing book I was reading. I've been struggling with how to make the theatre a place that is successful and has value to the people who perform on stage and the people who sit in the audience I find similar questions in relation to the church service I attended this morning.
I'm on the vestry (the board of directors) of Grace Episcopal Church and this morning I really didn't want to go to church. It's been a long week. The thought of just kicking back this morning was really appealing. I had to work this afternoon with the tech rehearsal for the Secret Life of Girls which opens Thursday. I really craved some time to do nothing. To have no responsibilities. Then the responsible voice in my head said "you are on the vestry. If you don't make the effort why should anyone else." April didn't quite have the same nagging thought that I did so she did take the morning off. However I made Jade go with me since Sunday School started last week and I felt it was important that Jade go because she was my daughter.
We arrived at church this morning for a breakfast put on by the men of the church to celebrate the start of Sunday School. I looked around and there were only a handful of children. Jade whined as I made her go with me this morning, that she was going to be the only kid in her Sunday School class. As we sat there eating breakfast she looked around and said "I told you dad I was going to be the only one." Fortunately for me, a new family came to church this morning with a young boy who went to class with Jade so she wasn't the only one.
I sat there during the service and looked around and saw quite a few empty pews. It really got me to thinking about some of the challenges facing the organizations and churches today.
People are so busy today that they are more likely to look for reasons to not go to something than to find a reason to go. I had a lot of reasons why I could have skipped he wedding last night but in the end I was really glad I went. Why are some churches thriving and others slowly withering. Why are some arts organizations flourishing and others on the verge of collapse. One of the arts books I've read recently says that the only way to success is to boldly set out a course that makes people get excited about your programming. You have to do something that excites people and do it at a high level of quality. It has to engage people and they feel that there presence at the events is something that leaves them feeling invigorated when they leave and glad that they came.
As I sat in church this morning I knew that the teacher who prepared the class for my daughter Jade did so not knowing if she would have none or several children. The choir prepared a beautiful anthem to be sung during the offertory. The deacon did a rousing sermon that challenged me to think. The priest did a good job of creating a service that offered points of reflection and points of action for each person attending. The readers read the scripture well. The teachers who taught the Adult Sunday school classes prepared and did a good job with the material they presented.
But I couldn't help thinking... does it make a difference if I'm here or not? Am I excited and looking forward to returning next week. Or do I do this out of a sense of responsibility? Episcopalians have a tendency to be very intellectual in their worship. The music is pretty to listen to. The readings and sermons are thought provoking.
But what is my part in this process. Is it to sit passively and reflect as an individual and then go my merry way. Except for the exchanging the peace this morning I could have left with really no interaction with others in the church service. I find myself a passive observer to the service. With so many things going on in life, things have to make me passionate about them to keep me interested and involved.
It is this sense of sharing an emotional experience with those around me that makes seeing a great play an experience that I find riveting. There is a sense of something truly exciting happening in live theatre that we experience right along with the characters of a play. When they are devastated we are devastated. When they are vindicated we feel vindication. When they reach out from a state of vulnerability we are right there with them. When I stand at the wedding of a friend I feel their happiness and I feel their joy. I feel a friendship with others who are witnessing with me this special moment.
In some ways I think those churches that seem to succeed today understand this need to have an emotional experience. As I walked out of church this morning I reflected on my emotional experience this morning... To be honest the emotion I most felt was feeling bad for the people who put in so much effort for such a small turnout. If the church doesn't start finding ways to create an emotional experience within the people who attend I'm afraid that it will slowly wither and become a place of only older members who attend out of a sense of responsibility.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Animal plotting
Okay so I put the cat out last week and haven't let her back in. Our cat Maggie has been part of our family for over 15 years. One day she walked up to our house when she was only a year old and decided to make it her home. We had just had to put to sleep our Lhasa apsa (sp?) dog who was 16 years old and Maggie (named after Cat on a Hot Tin roof) filled an emptiness for us. Having had previous cats who lived outside and contracted all sorts of awful diseases we decided that Maggie would be an indoor cat. She remained that for probably 8 years. Until we sold our old house and move to our new home. Unfortunately April didn't want the cat to come with us. I tried to find a new home for the cat but when I couldn't Maggie came along with us. April decided that the cat would no longer have free roam over our home and she was to reside in my study. This lasted for a short time until I grew weary of my study always smelling like a cat and cat hair on all of my papers and books. Maggie's favorite spot to sleep was on the papers on my desk. It was at that point that I put her out during the day times and let her back in at night. A year ago we adopted a yellow lab from a shelter. With Goldie's addition things became a little more tense. But I thought all the animals had settled down.
Last week I came home 3 nights in a row to find that the cat had ignored her litter box consistently and was using various corners in my study. At this point it was time for her to become a total outdoor cat. I put her food and water outside in a location easy to access and began the difficult ordeal of not allowing the cat back in. For the past week Maggie has been appearing on the ledge of every window and door at ground level. Reminding me of what an awfully mean person I am to put her out. Of course April who didn't want the cat is suddenly concerned about the cat and wanting to know what I'm going to do about it. I'm reminded of a monologue in Smoke on the Mountain where the wife tells the husband he's going to kill himself and he's a dammed fool for trying to walk to town during an ice storm and then in the next breath tells him to "hurry up and get going!"
On Saturday night I let the dog out about 10:30 in the back yard and discovered that a large owl was making a nest in the big tree right behind our patio. This was discovered when the owl, about 20 feet from me, screeched at me nearly causing heart failure while I was standing in the dark of the back yard thinking about the cat. I suddenly had visions of the cat being snatched by the owl for lunch and my wife and daughter blaming me for Maggie's demise!
Our dog of course has added to my animal stress by barking from her crate starting between 5 -6 am each morning. Although I get up at 6 am I really do like that last hour of sleep before 6 am.
I'm beginning to think the animals are plotting behind my back. First the cat plotting how to get back in, then the owl plotting to swoop down on me, and now the dog denying me my sleep! One of our friends has started raising chickens in his backyard in the city. I was informed that he has been reading back yard poultry magazine for sometime before he bought a dozen baby chicks that he plans on raising. (Who knew there was such a thing as Back Yard Poultry!) Jade has been begging for weeks to get a duck! I don't think right now I could take another animal on. I still remember the Chaos theory as expressed in Jurassic Park- "Nature always finds a way to overcome any plans made by humans." I just know there is a wild bunny out there plotting my demise at this very moment!
Last week I came home 3 nights in a row to find that the cat had ignored her litter box consistently and was using various corners in my study. At this point it was time for her to become a total outdoor cat. I put her food and water outside in a location easy to access and began the difficult ordeal of not allowing the cat back in. For the past week Maggie has been appearing on the ledge of every window and door at ground level. Reminding me of what an awfully mean person I am to put her out. Of course April who didn't want the cat is suddenly concerned about the cat and wanting to know what I'm going to do about it. I'm reminded of a monologue in Smoke on the Mountain where the wife tells the husband he's going to kill himself and he's a dammed fool for trying to walk to town during an ice storm and then in the next breath tells him to "hurry up and get going!"
On Saturday night I let the dog out about 10:30 in the back yard and discovered that a large owl was making a nest in the big tree right behind our patio. This was discovered when the owl, about 20 feet from me, screeched at me nearly causing heart failure while I was standing in the dark of the back yard thinking about the cat. I suddenly had visions of the cat being snatched by the owl for lunch and my wife and daughter blaming me for Maggie's demise!
Our dog of course has added to my animal stress by barking from her crate starting between 5 -6 am each morning. Although I get up at 6 am I really do like that last hour of sleep before 6 am.
I'm beginning to think the animals are plotting behind my back. First the cat plotting how to get back in, then the owl plotting to swoop down on me, and now the dog denying me my sleep! One of our friends has started raising chickens in his backyard in the city. I was informed that he has been reading back yard poultry magazine for sometime before he bought a dozen baby chicks that he plans on raising. (Who knew there was such a thing as Back Yard Poultry!) Jade has been begging for weeks to get a duck! I don't think right now I could take another animal on. I still remember the Chaos theory as expressed in Jurassic Park- "Nature always finds a way to overcome any plans made by humans." I just know there is a wild bunny out there plotting my demise at this very moment!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
writing
I've been trying to write for a couple of weeks now. I write most mornings in my journal about the things in life that seem to pop up and command my attention. The effort to sit down and start to write something like a play or a piece of poetry or fiction seems to escape me for the moment. This afternoon I sat down and read through about a dozen legends and stories from the Paducah area to try to fashion them into a Ghost Tour as a fundraiser for the theatre. As I read the many accounts I couldn't help think about all of the people who have lived and died in the very buildings that I work in and walk by everyday. People who spent their whole lives getting up in the morning and going to work or raising a family and being part of the community. Some were famous around the world because they cured diseases and others wrote books or performed on Broadway or in film. However most of the people who are the subject of ghost stories are everyday people. They ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some locked themselves away from the rest of the community and became recluses. The kind of people that kids would run up and knock on the door and then run away because they were dared by someone else.
I walk the bookstores (Hi, my name is Michael and I'm a bookaholic.) Thousands and thousands of books line the walls that people have spent years writing and most will be put on the discount table within a year. I walked through a video store the other day and saw row upon row of movies that were all discounted. I'm reminded of the story of Jim Henson and the production team that made the movie the Dark Crystal. After spending almost four years of their life on the film they went to the premiere and afterwards they all sighed and then someone said "Well what shall we do for dinner?" Producing a play is kind of like that. You spend weeks and weeks working on something and then it opens and life is at its peak and then it closes and the next show goes into rehearsal.
I talked with my mother today and she told me that my father is talking less and less. His illness is slowly turning him inward. The question that came to mind, was about who a person is. If you don't remember your family and your friends, you don't know the people around you and you live in a world that seems strange and frightening who are you? My wife told me about a book she just read that a woman who was losing her memory had a list of questions that she had to answer each day, who her children were? Who she was married to? Etc... The day she didn't know the answer to the questions she was instructed to open an envelope and to follow the instructions written on the paper. The instructions told her take all of the pills in a certain bottle. She had made her own suicide plan. However she couldn't remember to follow the instructions after she put the paper down. This person was still capable of feeling and being loved by others but was incapable of knowing who she was. With people with memory lose, who will remember their stories years from now?
I worked on a will this weekend with one of these computer programs that you buy. It talks about leaving assets and estate planning. I have a trunk full of my journals that I have written over my life time. There are lots of things in those journals that I would like my daughter to know- The first time I fell in love. The first time I held my daughter in my arms. The things that scared me most as I went out into the world. The things that I dreamed about doing with my life. Yes, even the mistakes I made along the way that I would like for her to avoid. There are several things that she probably shouldn't know about her father. Who I am has been collected in the pages of those journals. I can't help but wish that my father had written his life down. Not to publish as a book for the world to read, but as a book for me to read. To know who he is when he can't tell me himself. For some of these stories that I've been reading today, the only reason that I know anything about these people is because someone remembered it by writing it down.
A friend of mine once joked that all good stories start out with -There once was a man who had two sons... My father had two sons. I was the oldest and left home as soon as I turned 18. Yesterday was my younger brothers birthday. He still lives in my hometown and works for the same company that my father retired from after 40 years of service. My parents were going over to his house to celebrate with his family. As usual I am hundreds of miles away. My father probably won't remember the occasion, and even though I wasn't there to celebrate with my brothers family and my parents, writing it down has helped me to remember it for him.
In sense maybe I am writing a book with my journals, a book that is important to me. If someday I happen to suffer from the same disease as my father, well maybe I'll have an interesting story to read about a father who had two sons, one of which moved away and had a daughter...
I walk the bookstores (Hi, my name is Michael and I'm a bookaholic.) Thousands and thousands of books line the walls that people have spent years writing and most will be put on the discount table within a year. I walked through a video store the other day and saw row upon row of movies that were all discounted. I'm reminded of the story of Jim Henson and the production team that made the movie the Dark Crystal. After spending almost four years of their life on the film they went to the premiere and afterwards they all sighed and then someone said "Well what shall we do for dinner?" Producing a play is kind of like that. You spend weeks and weeks working on something and then it opens and life is at its peak and then it closes and the next show goes into rehearsal.
I talked with my mother today and she told me that my father is talking less and less. His illness is slowly turning him inward. The question that came to mind, was about who a person is. If you don't remember your family and your friends, you don't know the people around you and you live in a world that seems strange and frightening who are you? My wife told me about a book she just read that a woman who was losing her memory had a list of questions that she had to answer each day, who her children were? Who she was married to? Etc... The day she didn't know the answer to the questions she was instructed to open an envelope and to follow the instructions written on the paper. The instructions told her take all of the pills in a certain bottle. She had made her own suicide plan. However she couldn't remember to follow the instructions after she put the paper down. This person was still capable of feeling and being loved by others but was incapable of knowing who she was. With people with memory lose, who will remember their stories years from now?
I worked on a will this weekend with one of these computer programs that you buy. It talks about leaving assets and estate planning. I have a trunk full of my journals that I have written over my life time. There are lots of things in those journals that I would like my daughter to know- The first time I fell in love. The first time I held my daughter in my arms. The things that scared me most as I went out into the world. The things that I dreamed about doing with my life. Yes, even the mistakes I made along the way that I would like for her to avoid. There are several things that she probably shouldn't know about her father. Who I am has been collected in the pages of those journals. I can't help but wish that my father had written his life down. Not to publish as a book for the world to read, but as a book for me to read. To know who he is when he can't tell me himself. For some of these stories that I've been reading today, the only reason that I know anything about these people is because someone remembered it by writing it down.
A friend of mine once joked that all good stories start out with -There once was a man who had two sons... My father had two sons. I was the oldest and left home as soon as I turned 18. Yesterday was my younger brothers birthday. He still lives in my hometown and works for the same company that my father retired from after 40 years of service. My parents were going over to his house to celebrate with his family. As usual I am hundreds of miles away. My father probably won't remember the occasion, and even though I wasn't there to celebrate with my brothers family and my parents, writing it down has helped me to remember it for him.
In sense maybe I am writing a book with my journals, a book that is important to me. If someday I happen to suffer from the same disease as my father, well maybe I'll have an interesting story to read about a father who had two sons, one of which moved away and had a daughter...
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Uncle Ray
I received news on Wednesday morning that my Uncle Ray had died the day before. The funeral would be on Friday morning and it would be in Michigan. I agonized over whether I could attend or not. It would be about 9 hours drive time one way. About 3 pm on Wednesday I told my mother in Wisconsin that I would be unable to go because of too many conflicts and the drive time. My fathers brother passed away last fall and I couldn't go. My mothers oldest sister passed away the week of the ice storm in January and I couldn't go. It kept rolling around in my head over the course of the next couple of hours that I was losing many of the people who helped form my life and that I wasn't able to be there to mark their passing and celebrate their lives. By the time I got home at 9:30 pm after rehearsal I called my folks back and told them I would be attending. As it turned out my sister who lives in Springfield was also going to go and was going to have drive by herself to the funeral. She was in Wisconsin on vacation when the news arrived and decided to drive back to Springfield with her family to drop them off, get funeral clothes and then drive to Michigan the next morning. She had to leave after the funeral to drive back to Springfield to be at work Sat. morning at 8 am. We arranged to carpool. I drove to Springfield IL on Thursday. We got up at 3 am and left about 4 am on Friday morning and arrived in Michigan at 8:30. The last time I saw my Uncle was over 10 years ago at my sisters wedding. Up until 3 weeks ago when I went on vacation, I hadn't even seen my sister in 5 years.
The city in Michigan is one that my mothers family has lived in all of my life. The last time I visited it was in 1977 for my Grandmothers funeral. I was in college at the time. I didn't know at that time it would be 32 years before I returned. I felt odd driving into the town. Some of the town looked almost the same. Lots of new things added here and there but still somewhat familiar. I've dreamed about that little town occasionally over the years and the picture that was in my head was what it looked like in the late 60's early 70's. I met the rest of my family who had driven over from Wisconsin in the church parking lot and we were the first to arrive at the church.
As my mother's family arrived for the funeral along with many of my cousins who I hadn't seen in 32 years it was a bit like trying to pick out faces of people who I knew as teenagers and were now in there late 40's and 50's. The funeral began at 11 am Eastern time followed by a graveside service and then a dinner back at the church. My sister and I left about 2:30 pm and arrived back in Springfield about 7 pm that night. I left Springfield this morning about 8 and got back to Paducah about 12:30.
My uncle was a man who lived life to the fullest. He was a Korean war veteran, used car dealer and a man who taught me that life was fun and yet he had a powerful sense of values that he passed on to others. He taught me to water ski, to ride motorcycles, to not be afraid to try something new and if it didn't go right to pick yourself up. Laugh and try it again. I remember sitting around the table with all of the aunts and uncles playing rook. There was an expression called shooting the moon which mean you would take all of the tricks in a hand. My uncle was known to shoot the moon more than anyone else who ever played. More times than not he ended up succeeding. Maybe there is a little of him in me that always looks at a challenge and says "What the hell, Let's shoot the moon and do it!" (That's how I agreed to do Wizard of Oz this past June.)
Thanks, Uncle Ray, for the many wonderful moments of my childhood that I will always cherish. Although I haven't seen him in almost 10 years before he died. I will miss him. I may not have physically been back to Berrien Springs, Michigan in 32 years, but there is a part of that little town that I will always carry with me whenever I look up at the moon.
The city in Michigan is one that my mothers family has lived in all of my life. The last time I visited it was in 1977 for my Grandmothers funeral. I was in college at the time. I didn't know at that time it would be 32 years before I returned. I felt odd driving into the town. Some of the town looked almost the same. Lots of new things added here and there but still somewhat familiar. I've dreamed about that little town occasionally over the years and the picture that was in my head was what it looked like in the late 60's early 70's. I met the rest of my family who had driven over from Wisconsin in the church parking lot and we were the first to arrive at the church.
As my mother's family arrived for the funeral along with many of my cousins who I hadn't seen in 32 years it was a bit like trying to pick out faces of people who I knew as teenagers and were now in there late 40's and 50's. The funeral began at 11 am Eastern time followed by a graveside service and then a dinner back at the church. My sister and I left about 2:30 pm and arrived back in Springfield about 7 pm that night. I left Springfield this morning about 8 and got back to Paducah about 12:30.
My uncle was a man who lived life to the fullest. He was a Korean war veteran, used car dealer and a man who taught me that life was fun and yet he had a powerful sense of values that he passed on to others. He taught me to water ski, to ride motorcycles, to not be afraid to try something new and if it didn't go right to pick yourself up. Laugh and try it again. I remember sitting around the table with all of the aunts and uncles playing rook. There was an expression called shooting the moon which mean you would take all of the tricks in a hand. My uncle was known to shoot the moon more than anyone else who ever played. More times than not he ended up succeeding. Maybe there is a little of him in me that always looks at a challenge and says "What the hell, Let's shoot the moon and do it!" (That's how I agreed to do Wizard of Oz this past June.)
Thanks, Uncle Ray, for the many wonderful moments of my childhood that I will always cherish. Although I haven't seen him in almost 10 years before he died. I will miss him. I may not have physically been back to Berrien Springs, Michigan in 32 years, but there is a part of that little town that I will always carry with me whenever I look up at the moon.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Past Present and Future
I'm curious. I've been thinking a lot about the past lately as I work out ideas for a new piece I'm writing. It occurred to me that a preoccupation with the past could also be because the future is uncertain.
At times in life I haven't give the past much thought. Most of the time when I have delved into the past it was because of something that went wrong. Some trauma or trouble that I was facing in life that seemed to have roots in the past. Then I turned my thoughts to excavating past actions, plans, and relationships to uncover where the trouble began and how I might go about "fixing" the problem. When everything was going well, my thoughts were always on the future. Where I wanted to be or what I hoped to accomplish. I didn't have time to think about the past.
When I visit with my father and he starts to look more frail with age I can't help but thinking about the past. About the times that we threw the football out in the backyard as I was trying out for the youth football league. Times when we went deer hunting in Northern Wisconsin or Pheasant hunting in South Dakota. I was just a kid but I remember the late night poker games for nickels and dimes in the northern Wisconsin cabin with two feet of snow outside the door. I remember the farmers daughter in South Dakota and sharing my writing with her about my dreams for what I wanted to accomplish. Playing pool in the local tavern with my brother drinking cokes on a Sunday afternoon while my dad sat at the bar and watched the football games with friends.
At the family retreat weekend that I attended last weekend, all of the adults sat under the front canopy of the inn and talked and kicked back. I spent some time there too but found myself dragged off by my daughter and her young friend who were bored. I finally said okay go ide and I'll count to 20 in a game of hide and seek. I felt a little silly counting to 20 out loud but I have enough theatre ego to let go of the adult and enjoy the "kid" in me as well. My daughter is very good at hiding and is almost never found. I'm wandering out calling to Jade to and Jamie to come out and thinking how much part of me wants to be sitting under that front canopy drinking a beer. But then I think about how my daughter will remember me when I'm almost 80 years old like my father. Will she remember this weekend retreat when we went out in the canoe, roasted marshmellows by the fire and we played hide and seek?
As we enter parts of our lives that seem somehow less promising because of age and physical agility will I think more about those days of my youth- my childhood, high school, or college days, or should I focus more about being where I am right now. I've reached an age where I've accomplished some things in life and yet I feel like there is more left I want to do. I think that we have moments of transition. I seem to be in one of those at the present. I'm reminded of the book Passages that I read many years ago. Part of me is still striving to accomplish certain things in life. Part of me wants to take more time to enjoy the simple pleasures that life brings. A warm summer afternoon with a slight breeze and a nap out on the patio. My daughter doesn't let me rest for long. She is in continual motion and I struggle between trying to teach her that I am not her "entertainment" when she is bored and yet doing something that makes memories she will turn to when I become my fathers age. As my father struggles with his Alzheimer's disease he seems to be lost sometimes. Just staring into space. He can tell me a story with exact detail of when he was a kid...or a story about when I was a kid and he and I did something, yet he can't remember that I came to visit him the day before.
I never thought about most of this stuff when I was younger. I was always focused on the future. But now it seems I'm caught between remembering the past and creating a future for myself and one that can be remembered by my daughter. Creating moments with my father that he won't remember but that I will. What will my daughter remember from the summer of 2009. Maybe playing hide and seek with her father on a cool summer night...
At times in life I haven't give the past much thought. Most of the time when I have delved into the past it was because of something that went wrong. Some trauma or trouble that I was facing in life that seemed to have roots in the past. Then I turned my thoughts to excavating past actions, plans, and relationships to uncover where the trouble began and how I might go about "fixing" the problem. When everything was going well, my thoughts were always on the future. Where I wanted to be or what I hoped to accomplish. I didn't have time to think about the past.
When I visit with my father and he starts to look more frail with age I can't help but thinking about the past. About the times that we threw the football out in the backyard as I was trying out for the youth football league. Times when we went deer hunting in Northern Wisconsin or Pheasant hunting in South Dakota. I was just a kid but I remember the late night poker games for nickels and dimes in the northern Wisconsin cabin with two feet of snow outside the door. I remember the farmers daughter in South Dakota and sharing my writing with her about my dreams for what I wanted to accomplish. Playing pool in the local tavern with my brother drinking cokes on a Sunday afternoon while my dad sat at the bar and watched the football games with friends.
At the family retreat weekend that I attended last weekend, all of the adults sat under the front canopy of the inn and talked and kicked back. I spent some time there too but found myself dragged off by my daughter and her young friend who were bored. I finally said okay go ide and I'll count to 20 in a game of hide and seek. I felt a little silly counting to 20 out loud but I have enough theatre ego to let go of the adult and enjoy the "kid" in me as well. My daughter is very good at hiding and is almost never found. I'm wandering out calling to Jade to and Jamie to come out and thinking how much part of me wants to be sitting under that front canopy drinking a beer. But then I think about how my daughter will remember me when I'm almost 80 years old like my father. Will she remember this weekend retreat when we went out in the canoe, roasted marshmellows by the fire and we played hide and seek?
As we enter parts of our lives that seem somehow less promising because of age and physical agility will I think more about those days of my youth- my childhood, high school, or college days, or should I focus more about being where I am right now. I've reached an age where I've accomplished some things in life and yet I feel like there is more left I want to do. I think that we have moments of transition. I seem to be in one of those at the present. I'm reminded of the book Passages that I read many years ago. Part of me is still striving to accomplish certain things in life. Part of me wants to take more time to enjoy the simple pleasures that life brings. A warm summer afternoon with a slight breeze and a nap out on the patio. My daughter doesn't let me rest for long. She is in continual motion and I struggle between trying to teach her that I am not her "entertainment" when she is bored and yet doing something that makes memories she will turn to when I become my fathers age. As my father struggles with his Alzheimer's disease he seems to be lost sometimes. Just staring into space. He can tell me a story with exact detail of when he was a kid...or a story about when I was a kid and he and I did something, yet he can't remember that I came to visit him the day before.
I never thought about most of this stuff when I was younger. I was always focused on the future. But now it seems I'm caught between remembering the past and creating a future for myself and one that can be remembered by my daughter. Creating moments with my father that he won't remember but that I will. What will my daughter remember from the summer of 2009. Maybe playing hide and seek with her father on a cool summer night...
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Rain
Last night after rehearsal as I was locking up all the buildings something made me stop and look down the street, stop and listen for a moment. My instinct was to run from the building to my car. Something was telling me to wait. Not to run. I found myself thinking of all the other rainy nights in my life. Times I've walked blocks in the rain at night. There is something about the rain that makes my senses come alive. The way the light catches the water as it drips from the branches of the trees and the way every sound seemed to come alive with sound of drops in the puddles. It made me think of this email from a friend the other day.
..something to think about... A guy with a baseball cap, black sweat shirt and a violin.. Washington DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.
After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.
4 minutes later:the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the till and, without stopping, continued to walk.
6 minutes:A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
10 minutes:A3 year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly, as the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced them to move on.
45 minutes:The musician played. Only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace.He collected $32.
1 hour:He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be:If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ....How many other things are we missing?
Next time it rains... don't run to the car... stop and wait.
..something to think about... A guy with a baseball cap, black sweat shirt and a violin.. Washington DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.
After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.
4 minutes later:the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the till and, without stopping, continued to walk.
6 minutes:A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
10 minutes:A3 year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly, as the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced them to move on.
45 minutes:The musician played. Only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace.He collected $32.
1 hour:He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be:If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ....How many other things are we missing?
Next time it rains... don't run to the car... stop and wait.
sore fingers
Last night I got a beer and got out my mandolin and guitar to try to work through some of the music from the new musical I'm working on. At tonight's rehearsal I'm supposed to help teach some of the actors to play guitar and mandolin. I went online and found a wonderful mandolin site for tuning the mandolin. Then with my instruments in tune started to work my way through the songs. My fingers quickly reminded me how long it has been since I played the mandolin. The guitar was only mildly better. I remember as a teenager when I played all the time my fingers got so calloused I could stick a pin in the end without feeling it. Last night I felt every string press. I could at least get through a couple of songs before my fingers were too tender to play. Trying to play chords on the mandolin with its double strings was almost impossible except for the easiest chords. But as I sat there drinking my beer and playing I was reminded of the countless hours I spent alone and with a band playing.
I've got several projects I'm working on at the moment and adding playing the guitar and mandolin to those projects while tempting isn't realistic. I'm at one of those moments in life when I have lots of ideas and wants and need to focus on just one or two. I've been writing a lot lately. How much do you draw from your own life without exposing whether good or bad those who have shared parts of it. I'm a strong believer that ever writer starts at a point that is within them and then transforms it when it moves into written form. I'm caught between wanting to write a play and write a story. I've spent my life in theatre which tends to draw me toward the immediate. The action part of the story. Long descriptive passages I love to read but can't seem to write without getting lost in the description. I remember a passage from Anne Lamont who said that most writers first drafts get burned because if anyone from the outside ever saw them they would think the writer had totally lost all of their talents. My draft are no exception. When I journal I write a stream of consciousness without any editing. When writing I do a certain amount of that but cut out the extra stuff that is irrelevant to the story.
Tonight is rehearsal and we'll see how much my fingers can remember. The beer will have to wait until after rehearsal.
I've got several projects I'm working on at the moment and adding playing the guitar and mandolin to those projects while tempting isn't realistic. I'm at one of those moments in life when I have lots of ideas and wants and need to focus on just one or two. I've been writing a lot lately. How much do you draw from your own life without exposing whether good or bad those who have shared parts of it. I'm a strong believer that ever writer starts at a point that is within them and then transforms it when it moves into written form. I'm caught between wanting to write a play and write a story. I've spent my life in theatre which tends to draw me toward the immediate. The action part of the story. Long descriptive passages I love to read but can't seem to write without getting lost in the description. I remember a passage from Anne Lamont who said that most writers first drafts get burned because if anyone from the outside ever saw them they would think the writer had totally lost all of their talents. My draft are no exception. When I journal I write a stream of consciousness without any editing. When writing I do a certain amount of that but cut out the extra stuff that is irrelevant to the story.
Tonight is rehearsal and we'll see how much my fingers can remember. The beer will have to wait until after rehearsal.
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