Thank you 2019! Winter/Spring

2019 started out with a lovely dinner party at Ralf and Jim's house for New Year's Eve. Some roses they sent home with me.

January and February were kind of a blur of cold weather and low motivation. We had taken an impromptu trip to Mexico, staying in a beautiful jungle/beach hotel, and coming back to bleak Indiana got the better of me. I still enjoyed a January sunset!

 And reading and writing with Abby. This was a really good book written by a Japanese man.

Spent Valentine's Day at Larry's. I had to work that night, but he surprised me with some heart-shaped pizza, heart-shaped cake, and beautiful roses.

Spring could not get here soon enough.

My new neighbors--Burrito and Li'l Red. They live at the Flower and Forest shop down the road.

I went on an audition in January and when I never got a call one way or the other, I realized it would be my last audition ever. 

Until I took one more chance on a snowy, nasty early March evening. I was stunned to learn I had been cast as the competition was overwhelming.

Springtime snow.

We chose Oregon and California Redwoods for our adventure this year.

I like to be present for spring flowers

Magnolia in my back yard. My spirits start to pick up!

Had a really nice birthday in Michigan. My mom took me to Tosi's. Here's an article she wrote about their famous waitress some forty years ago, still hanging in the restaurant. Later we watched Ten Commandments and I found out that I have long lost lover: Yul Brynner.

The next week, I asked a few of my friends--Michele, Eric, Patrick, and Christine to join us at the Venezuelan place down the street then back to my house for margaritas, cake, and a game. Nice quiet birthday with some good friends.

I get excited when my Alliums sprout up!

Some fun back stage at Love, Loss, and What I Wore. On Mother's Day, my mom's best friend from childhood drove her down to see the show, and they had a wonderful time--road tripping, eating out, exploring, and seeing a play they absolutely loved! 

Abby hated me when I had to put a collar around her to make her stop licking a sore!

A yummy pretty salad

Sorting out seeds for my sunflower garden. Turned out I didn't need to plant any. Last year's crop took care of the planting this year.

I have a brother I rarely see. He came back to Michigan to see a friend who had a terminal illness. 

I worked hard in this play and had a great time

Enjoyed a wildflower walk in Eagle Creek on my birthday.

roses from the cast and crew of Love Loss and What I Wore

We went to Sleeping Bear Dunes and the Old Mission Peninsula for Memorial Day Weekend. Stayed in an Airstream on an organic farm. Had a wonderful trip!

 Trillions of Triliums in the northern forests!

Hopped a ferry at the crack of dawn to spend a day on South Manitou Island. Incredible day of hiking and sunshine!

Cherry Everything in Glen Arbor, a beautiful little artist's town in upper Michigan!

Wandered around an old insane asylum, now being repurposed for yuppie pleasure.

Up in the wilderness in the off season, we had a little trouble finding open restaurants. This was one in an old school house. We were surprised to find a Curling Rink inside.

We loved Old Mission Peninsula and Traverse City and the bays. We explored wineries and lighthouses.

The old school house is now a restaurant and Curling arena!

Cozy in our Airstream!

I don't know how these photos get so out of order. My mom's really pretty azaleas.

The ramp field behind the airstream!

Fascinating history at the old asylum for the insane.

Watching the Lovely Weather from Inside. Bugs Be Biting.

We had a hideous heat wave and now it is the most perfect temperature you could ever dream of. I was on my chaise lounge trying to read, trying to write, but mostly feeling guilty about my kitty crying from inside. On my list of projects for my home--screened in porch.

I read a few pages of a new book I like, "City of Girls" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I opened my notebook to a blank page, and blank it stayed. I turned my attention to my lovely Drunk Monkey Gardens, admiring the Honey Locust, the giant fern-like umbrella spreading her branches and protections over half the yard. I think of how I love working at my desk on the second story with the window open, right next to the tree, house of many feathered friends. Then I admired my Black-eyed Susans and Purple Cone Flowers and Sombrero Cone Flowers and wild Fleabane I let go because the dragon and damsel flies like it. And my potted flowers that the hummingbirds and hummingbird moths love--dahlia, calendula, lemon drops, snap dragons, candy striped cosmos, 4 o'clocks, marigolds, salvia. 

Looking at my gardens brought me a few degrees less giddiness that it has the past. But now, sitting here writing about it, I feel the giddiness return.

Abby has taken sentry  on her perch, overlooking the tree, cackling at some moony doves. And I am doing the thing that has always reassured me--stringing together words where there was once just a blank page-well, screen. (Note to self: maybe handwritten journals are just not your bag. Can you just accept that? Yes. But can I keep all of my blank journals and admire their intended use?) And now here come the cicadas all wound up and agitated. 

I have a friend, well acquaintance, who is 38 and basically shucked her life. Shucked it like an ear of corn. Those kernels are pearls. I am fascinated by her. She is mostly known for her sex appeal, which gives her tremendous popularity. Earlier she did some non-paid modeling. She's a mother to an 18 year old, possibly a single mother, not sure where the father is. She was an executive assistant or something like that and did lots of theater. And through no fault of her own, men started gushing on her. Even I found them somewhat annoying. A couple of years ago she left the comforts of the corporate world and became a teacher in one of those charter schools in the inner city. She left her comfy apartment in the northern suburbs and bought a fixer upper in the rough part of town. She talked about restoring her home. Then she rented it out and bought another fixer upper. She tore out the grass in front and back and planted gardens. She spent winters knitting scarves for homeless people. She talked about teaching and the kids. Then she kinda disappeared for eight or nine months, reappearing only in bursts. A half-shaved head. Eating everything in sight Barcelona. Then the next week, living rough in Tennessee backwoods, cooking bacon over a fire. Then she started making hints about her life being overwhelming, spending every weekend in bed for eight or nine months from pure mental exhaustion. She changed schools without mentioning why. Then she started dropping hints about leaving it all behind and headed for the unknown. Her kid was grown and would be headed for college the next year. She rented her house on Airbnb. She moved to that creek in Tennessee and she's kinda homesteading. Sometimes the water goes out and she has to bathe in the creek. This woman was a model, but I guess she was never prissy. Also this model loves to eat, and loves to talk about eating, and does not care if she gains weight. She is of course still massively sexy, with weight only half her hair and no make up. She's teaching at an online school and starting community gardens and running a sort of camp ground of sorts that belongs to her family. And she writes about eating four ears of corn, and look out number five. That's why I say she shucked that urbane life for foraging and found some pearls. And I'm pretty mesmerized by what she's doing and what she has to say about it.

And for the record. When she used to post her sexed up modeling photos from when she let her figure get in the way of her love for food, yeah, back then, we're talking hundreds of likes. Now she's posting pics of no make up and sweaty and driving a tractor and being the happiest she's ever been...and...crickets. One or two likes. What happened to her fans? Not that she asked them to be fans. But where are they, now that she's happy? They only like her when she's being sexy, being something for them. Now she's doing something for herself, something truly inspiring and brave and happy, and where are all these people?

Another friend had her life pretty much fall apart, that is a home and a job. She was homeless and nesting here and there for over a year, but then she announced she would move to Nashville after spending a summer in Michigan. Except there's no job and no house in Nashville either. She's taking a journey of faith, and she's scared, but she falls back on her faith. I don't believe much in that sort of thing, but I am mesmerized by the undertaking at age 52.

They're both on journeys albeit very different.

Maybe I am missing a journey of unknowns. I never liked that trip. I was on it for a while as a young adult and swore it off. 

But there's something off. I think I know what it is. It's my job. I think I'm having a midlife crisis. I had one in my late thirties, but that one was more, holy crap I am 37 and haven't ever had a life of my own. And I got it and loved it and succeeded at it! I'm something! But now I've got this well-paying but IMO totally meaningless job, just like everyone else does at that company, and every day there is more and more bullshit piled on. No, not the actual work for the actual customers. All this behind the scenes total bullshit, and it accomplishes nothing but duplication and hours on a ledger, and a ton of effort and on top of that it is so boring. I can't even describe what I do for a living. how is this even a livelihood? I think this part of it is wearing me out. 

I am looking for adventure again, but I don't know what kind.

Maybe I'll figure out tomorrow, right here. 

Go to the Source

A friend of mine from college recently posted on Facebook a few photos of a quaint inn in one of our bedroom towns, a notebook, and a beautiful breakfast. She had said that all she wanted for her birthday was for her kids to not fight and to find some time to write. Her kids went into a war mode, and the frantic day got away from her before she had time to do one simple thing: write. That's all she wanted. Time and quiet to write. The next day her husband surprised her by booking her a room in the sweet inn with a whole night and morning to herself to devote to writing, while he stayed home and dealt appropriate rebuke to the kids.

It was the most beautiful birthday present, the most selfless act of love I've ever witnessed. He knew what she wanted and didn't take offense that it didn't involve him, and he stepped up to make it happen and made all the plans for her so she wouldn't feel guilty about leaving the family over night.

And here I am with almost nothing but time, and I do not write. I have an office, tons of notebooks, pens, peace and quiet, and no one to answer to once I get home from work. And I do not write. I felt awash in guilt, but not just guilt, prodigal. Squandering. Wasteful. 

Why don't I write?

Why do I write? Who is it for? What does it accomplish.

What is it good for?

Absolutely no one: but me

It is for me. What does it do? What good is it? It helps me figure it out. What is it. It is everything. 

I no longer write for public consumption. But I should write for me. I loved writing here. I began to believe that I had nothing to write about. I must have believed that I did all sowing all the gleaning all the treasure hunting I could in this life.

And that is how I realized today that Life Got Me Like...Huh. 

I'm not sad. But I'm not excited.

I'm used to excitement. It was my drug for many years. It was my raison d etre. It was my rationale. It was my excuse. It was shiny plastic medal that no one cared about.

I've been wondering about my life lately. Maybe a few years. I came down from that high horse of living on the edge. I've questioned lately if I'm in a rut now, or if I'm still trying to operate from a baseline level of manageable time lines and interests.

Does writing make me feel guilty? Like, I should be doing something productive instead of spilling thoughts and anxieties with a little rhyme and romance. Or guilty because it's not very good, and that's my fault? Or guilty because I don't have anything to write about? Or guilty about being so lazy that I don't see the things I have to write about? 

Guilt. How about I kick that hitch hiker off my road trip? 

I am still on a road trip. I have to road trip everyday, journey in place everyday. 

I think writing is like exercising. Do it even when you feel you have no energy, no thoughts. Make a list of things that made you happy or sad. Write out things you accomplished or why you didn't accomplish things.

I wait all year for summer to arrive, but days like these, and what is a day like this? A hideous heat index, that's what. 

But now, like the Neko Case song, it feels as if it's passing me by. 

And it should not. I am feeling this, but this is a lie.

I have a yard full of beautiful flowers to show for it!

My shade garden never took off, and it made me sad, but it's not exactly tragic, either.

We went on a trip to Traverse City!

I was a grown up and did a colonoscopy.

We had dinner with Ralf and Jim and a party at Michele's

We went to a baseball game on 4th of July and watched the fireworks.

We spent a long weekend at my parents' lake house.

We saw a sunset on Lake Michigan.

I stained my deck.

I fixed up my mailbox and birdhouses and painted a purple an old ladder I've been dragging around with me since my days in Salt Lake City, and it resides happily in Drunk Monkey Gardens.

I started running again less than a month ago. I saw a picture of myself from ten or so years ago, and that was my inspiration. I inspired me. And I have to let that happen more often. But it can't happen with my damn hitch hikers and hijackers. I became my own source of inspiration. I can do that. I can do that again. I can do that everyday.

I feel great running again, and look forward to running days. I am being smart about it and listening to my body. I am adding distance slowly. I am cross training. I am focusing on the doing not on the result. I am doing something I never thought I'd do again.

A Little Spotlight is Good for the Soul

We took an impromptu trip to a jungle eco-resort in Mexico in December. Coming back home to a long, brown, ugly Indiana winter took a toll on me. Something you might not know about Indy: it's full of pigs who litter. The litter is always there. This Spring I have taken to cleaning my neighborhood. What I'd really like to do is clean the clocks of these disgusting offenders who throw garbage out the window. Pollution, bare trees, brown grass, grey skies all led to me burrowing indoors all winter, a respite that in past years has given me a cozy feeling. This year it felt like a deep rut into which I was spinning my wheels deeper and deeper.

I went through a period of feeling "foggy," especially in social situations. I had this feeling that I was kinda just floating through it, not connecting to anyone, and longing to get back to the quiet of my home.

The fogginess might have been caused by a vitamin D deficiency, which my doctor diagnosed at my annual screening. She prescribed some vitamin D. It might have also been caused by my tendency toward introversion being thrown into uncomfortable territory. This one surprised and slightly concerned me since this happened at outings with close friends, where I usually feel upbeat and positive.

So I sank into a sort of self-created very comfy trap.

In March, I took a risk by going on an audition. I don't audition much anymore. I decided to take a chance on this one. The theater was packed. Everyone was fantastic. I had to fight off some negativity. I didn't always do well fighting it off. Days went by, and I heard nothing, so I decided that it would be my last audition, and that I did it well and bravely and didn't quit without trying. But then I got the call from the director who offered me what I consider the best parts/roles in the play. This was Love, Loss, and What I Wore. A friend I adore but don't see often enough was cast as well as an acquaintance who has played many of the same roles I have albeit different productions.

Three of us wound up car pooling to rehearsals, which made the drive so much more fun, often more fun than the rehearsals!


I enjoyed digging into characters and developing new skills and new ways of getting to a character. One thing I tried seemed to really pull it all together for me. I had a talking-to with myself. I said, you've read them, memorized them, felt them, rehearsed them, researched them. You sound great,b ut could you connect more meaningfully? And then this question: "Have you LOVED these characters?" I realized I had not. I had not given them sympathy and affection as if they were a dear friend or sister or MYSELF. That night, everyone heard and felt a difference.

To be learning and growing so late in the game--this is my what 40th play since my  late 30s--was just what I needed to break through that cocoon I'd been weaving for several months.

My mom and her best friend-since-she-was-four Donna came to the show on Mother's Day. They drove from Michigan taking the same back roads that Donna's father took back in the 40s and 50s. Donna's extended family lived somewhere in Indiana, and my mom was always invited.

It was so exciting having them in the front row. I could feel my mom's presence, heart, and soul. I found myself in new territory--feeling empathy the way I imagine someone else might. I could hear my words coming out so true and deep. I could feel sorrow and feel empathy. I never had this happen in theater.

Here's a good reminder of why I should not worry about other people and how something affects them: I was a little unsure of what they would think of the play. It's not Hallmark or Lifetime. It's real women talking frankly about life in all its glory and guts. I wondered if they would be uncomfortable with my character who spoke about getting raped or the character who was about to her marry her female fiance. Well, they both LOVED the play. Said it was like nothing they'd ever seen. Said they talked about it the whole four-hour drive home. My mom told me she was proud of me and how well we did, adding in that "You look so pretty." In short, I underestimated them. I was afraid they might be offended. Well, they weren't! They were perfectly capable of taking in the play on the whole and grasping exactly what it meant.

My mom's astute observation: "Gingy" more than anything, more than hardships and missteps, and heartbreaks, and betrayals, more than anything else, she valued her life.

That was my gift from my mom.

The whole play was a gift to me from Jim, the director, from Larry, whom I didn't even tell I was auditioning, from Adrienne, Denise, and Alyssa, and Molly. Larry attended twice. Many friends attended. My mom attended. It was also a gift to me from me. I took a risk. And then I dug deeper into gratitude. And I had a little mantra before I went on stage: be present, be grateful, and be generous.

I said throughout the play that it might be my last, and that was why I wanted to dig deeper than I ever had. And now I don't know if it will be my last. I may never want to audition again. I may never want to be committed to a schedule again. But if I do, it will be a play that is worth my time, like this one was. It ended on a wonderful note, with a fantastic audience full of friends, perhaps my best performance of the run, and a fun party

Springing back to Life

I put myself through some drudgery over the Winter. Spring came, and I began a new, just like the world around me.

My birthday was fun. Around 1 pm on Friday, with the weather fine and my spirits up, I decided I should celebrate with a couple of friends. At first I thought I'd have a simple barbecue on the deck, but no, work had to get in the way of me getting to the store on my lunch hour. I texted Michele and Patrick and devised a simple plan. Eat in a hole-in-the-wall nearby ethnic restaurant then back to my house for margaritas, cake and a game.

Michele and Eric and Patrick and Christina came and picked us up, and we went about 1/4 mile to Tu Casa, a Domincan/Venezuelan restaurant in a janky strip mall. We felt as if we were walking into a private party when we entered, and they looked kind of confused. Finally someone who spoke English greeted us a little warily, wanting to know if we wanted Domincan or Venezuelan food, because after 6 pm, the menu changes to Venezuelan. "Venezuelan it is," we proclaimed. There were no menus or lists, just some photos on the wall, which were not necessarily exemplary of what was actually available. A waitress who spoke no English, came around with her phone, and showed us photos on Google. We all finally found something, and it was interesting to say the least. Food was okay, but my friends were great company and good spirited.

Afterwards we enjoyed a yummy strawberry creme cake I made, some homemade margaritas ala Michele, and played "The Game of Things." It was a really fun and simple evening with lots of laughs, and I felt very fortunate to have friends who made time to celebrate with me at a moment's notice. 

Larry and I were able to squeeze in a nature / wildflower walk at Eagle Creek before the gathering. Wildflowers always cheer me up!

Sunday, Larry surprised me at tech rehearsal by showing up with a cake. After tech he took me out to eat at Season's 52, one of my favorite places. I had scallops and asparagus.

The week before, I went to Michigan for Easter, and my mom took me to dinner at Tosi's. We had a nice night! Afterwards we went home and watched cable TV, which I still always learn is a big waste and let down. We finally settled on Ten Commandments, and I learned that I am madly in love Yul Brynner. 

The nursery down the road adopted some donkeys, Burrito and Lil Red. They are much like the donkeys at Sandos Caracol--aloof unless you have a snack. 

Strawberry shortcake for dessert at my mom's house

Mom and Dad showed me the lake house they bought this Winter

An article my mom wrote about a waitress who was retiring after 64 years was framed and posted on Hall of Fame

Leftover Venezuelan food--a sort of giant sandwich with plantains as the bread.

I love my magnolia tree!

And my crab apple tree

Violets

Dogwood

A tree I like at Eagle Creek.

Welcoming Burrito and Li'l Red to our neighborhood!