Monday, June 12, 2017
iacting kc community: "Thoroughly Modern Millie" Theatre Review
iacting kc community: "Thoroughly Modern Millie" Theatre Review: In " Thoroughly Modern Millie" Voices Rule by Melody Stewart While actresses in Hollywood continue the ever-present ...
Why Other People Suck (or, Why Can't People be Good?)
Sure, I know it sounds overly simplistic. "Why Can't People Be Good?" But it's not such a bad question really. Police officers must ask this on a daily basis. Lawyers, judges, teachers, ministers...No one is immune to asking themselves that question from time to time. But I seem to ask it more and more often.
We know human nature is flawed, but what do we do when "flawed" becomes "sociopathic, weak, completely corruptible and unredeemable"? Have a drink? The story I am about to tell you is true, really happened to me and my family, and unfortunately demonstrates my point with excrutiating accuracy. The names of the participants in the story have been changed, but that in no way changes their responsibility for being shit heads.
About a year ago, my then five year old daughter was molested by our neighbor's fourteen year old son. We believe it only happened once. We pray it only happened once, if such a thing can be prayed for. She told me one night when I was putting her to bed. I tried to stay calm as she told me and I asked for more and more details, details I didn't want to know. My baby was touched and hurt by the very boy we had had in our house a million times, who had spent hours with my older daughter playing Skylanders and Mariocart. He had waited until she was at his house with my older daughter. And when my older daughter, was distracted, playing with his, we'll call him "Todd's" younger brother on their iPads, he lured her into their basement storage room, turned out the lights and pretended it was a game, and that he was helping her get over her fear of the dark. His mother didn't even know he was awake, it being Summer and him being a teenager prone to sleeping in. She didn't know where he was in the house or what he was doing even though she was home. This is not at all unusual for this family.
The incident happened quickly, we think. Afterward, he told her not to tell because she would get in trouble. Thank God she didn't believe him! I thank God every day that she told me, and I worry about the children whose parents don't know.
We did what you are supposed to do in these situations. We contacted his parents, who were friends of ours, told them what our daughter had said and even played a recording my husband had made when he asked her about the incident. The evidence was irrefutable! "Todd's" mother, to her credit, believed us and tried to take steps to get her son counseling. "Todd's" father, on the other hand, was more worried about being sued if they admitted anything really did happen. The boy denied everything.
We went to the police and filed a report. We talked to social services and they interviewed our daughter, who they said made the most credible victim they'd ever met, for a five year old. Her story was excruciatingly detailed and believable, for a five year old. I cried, my husband cried. The social worker told us we had a very strong case. They were sorry. The police officer present for the reporting was sorry. Everyone was sorry except for the boy who did it and his father.
We waited and waited for charges to be filed. Finally, and this is no exaggeration, we received a postcard in the mail that informed us that social services had come to the official conclusion that there was not enough evidence for any finding against the boy. There was no physical evidence, there were no witnesses. Apparently, five year olds with details such as she had cannot be believed, and fourteen year olds with ridiculous counter stories, full of holes and nonsensical logic, can.
We waited for the police to file charges but none could be filed due to the "lack of evidence". To their credit, the police believed her and wished they could do more. They see this a lot, they said. The district attorney wanted to press charges but had no "compounding evidence". They did all they could: they called him in for questioning, his parents had to get an attorney, they all had to wait and worry as we did.
They have a report filed on him now and if any other incidents are reported there will be compounding evidence! This has to be our comfort. It's cold, but it's something.
We told a few of the neighbors who had young daughters what had happened and they were thankful for the information. They seemed to believe us. Good friends of ours in the neighborhood, one of whom had been a social worker, were thankful for the information (they have a young daughter who frequently played with the boy). They seemed to believe us, and were appalled at what "Todd" had done!
And then came the surprise. The boy's parent's attorney had hired an "investigator" who, much to our astonishment and disbelief, had gone around the neighborhood asking neighbors if they had any dirt on my husband. That actually happened! He went to every door and told them about these "false charges" and wanted to know if they could tell him anything suspicious or strange about Bob. The only reason we found out was that one of our friends who lives in the neighborhood told us. Oddly she didn't tell us until months later, but she did finally tell us.
Apparently, the boy's parents were thinking of suing us for slander for telling some of the neighbors what had happened. Unbelievable! Instead of shame, they felt anger at the victim. Instead of taking responsibility, they chose the path of denial, and diversion. And these are people who go to church every Sunday, sit in the front row, and lie to everyone around them.
It's clear to me that the human psyche holds precedence over moral imperatives, and social mores. It is neither moral or good; it is selfish, fearful and desperate to uphold false narratives when it suits it. It is fragile, and sometimes it is evil. This family of the depraved boy who hurt my daughter is the picture on the back of the cereal box. The caption should read, "Missing, a conscience, please help!" Unfortunately, no help can be found.
We know human nature is flawed, but what do we do when "flawed" becomes "sociopathic, weak, completely corruptible and unredeemable"? Have a drink? The story I am about to tell you is true, really happened to me and my family, and unfortunately demonstrates my point with excrutiating accuracy. The names of the participants in the story have been changed, but that in no way changes their responsibility for being shit heads.
About a year ago, my then five year old daughter was molested by our neighbor's fourteen year old son. We believe it only happened once. We pray it only happened once, if such a thing can be prayed for. She told me one night when I was putting her to bed. I tried to stay calm as she told me and I asked for more and more details, details I didn't want to know. My baby was touched and hurt by the very boy we had had in our house a million times, who had spent hours with my older daughter playing Skylanders and Mariocart. He had waited until she was at his house with my older daughter. And when my older daughter, was distracted, playing with his, we'll call him "Todd's" younger brother on their iPads, he lured her into their basement storage room, turned out the lights and pretended it was a game, and that he was helping her get over her fear of the dark. His mother didn't even know he was awake, it being Summer and him being a teenager prone to sleeping in. She didn't know where he was in the house or what he was doing even though she was home. This is not at all unusual for this family.
The incident happened quickly, we think. Afterward, he told her not to tell because she would get in trouble. Thank God she didn't believe him! I thank God every day that she told me, and I worry about the children whose parents don't know.
We did what you are supposed to do in these situations. We contacted his parents, who were friends of ours, told them what our daughter had said and even played a recording my husband had made when he asked her about the incident. The evidence was irrefutable! "Todd's" mother, to her credit, believed us and tried to take steps to get her son counseling. "Todd's" father, on the other hand, was more worried about being sued if they admitted anything really did happen. The boy denied everything.
We went to the police and filed a report. We talked to social services and they interviewed our daughter, who they said made the most credible victim they'd ever met, for a five year old. Her story was excruciatingly detailed and believable, for a five year old. I cried, my husband cried. The social worker told us we had a very strong case. They were sorry. The police officer present for the reporting was sorry. Everyone was sorry except for the boy who did it and his father.
We waited and waited for charges to be filed. Finally, and this is no exaggeration, we received a postcard in the mail that informed us that social services had come to the official conclusion that there was not enough evidence for any finding against the boy. There was no physical evidence, there were no witnesses. Apparently, five year olds with details such as she had cannot be believed, and fourteen year olds with ridiculous counter stories, full of holes and nonsensical logic, can.
We waited for the police to file charges but none could be filed due to the "lack of evidence". To their credit, the police believed her and wished they could do more. They see this a lot, they said. The district attorney wanted to press charges but had no "compounding evidence". They did all they could: they called him in for questioning, his parents had to get an attorney, they all had to wait and worry as we did.
They have a report filed on him now and if any other incidents are reported there will be compounding evidence! This has to be our comfort. It's cold, but it's something.
We told a few of the neighbors who had young daughters what had happened and they were thankful for the information. They seemed to believe us. Good friends of ours in the neighborhood, one of whom had been a social worker, were thankful for the information (they have a young daughter who frequently played with the boy). They seemed to believe us, and were appalled at what "Todd" had done!
And then came the surprise. The boy's parent's attorney had hired an "investigator" who, much to our astonishment and disbelief, had gone around the neighborhood asking neighbors if they had any dirt on my husband. That actually happened! He went to every door and told them about these "false charges" and wanted to know if they could tell him anything suspicious or strange about Bob. The only reason we found out was that one of our friends who lives in the neighborhood told us. Oddly she didn't tell us until months later, but she did finally tell us.
Apparently, the boy's parents were thinking of suing us for slander for telling some of the neighbors what had happened. Unbelievable! Instead of shame, they felt anger at the victim. Instead of taking responsibility, they chose the path of denial, and diversion. And these are people who go to church every Sunday, sit in the front row, and lie to everyone around them.
It's clear to me that the human psyche holds precedence over moral imperatives, and social mores. It is neither moral or good; it is selfish, fearful and desperate to uphold false narratives when it suits it. It is fragile, and sometimes it is evil. This family of the depraved boy who hurt my daughter is the picture on the back of the cereal box. The caption should read, "Missing, a conscience, please help!" Unfortunately, no help can be found.
Back in the Day...
If we haven't all said it at some point we've at least all thought it, "Back in the day" or "Back in my day"...I'm not eighty but I have caught myself saying that to my kids. Then I feel silly or old, or both. Sometimes "Back in the day" actually means something, not the "I walked ten miles in the snow to school, barefoot" but more "I had an experience that lasted me a life time". My recent conversation with actress and acting coach June Barfield afforded me the opportunity to hear an interesting and meaningful "back in the day" story.
I will set the scene: Los Angeles, CA. Early 1950's. June is studying theatre at Los Angeles City College when she gets an opportunity to study at the Stratford CT summer program. As a young actor, she was eager and open to studying different acting methods and she was definitely in the right place at the right time. The Group Theatre had just been established and the founding members, Phoebe Brand, Uta Hagen, Harold Clurman and Sanford Meisner were teaching the summer classes.
The skills and techniques she learned that summer would last her a life time. But it's what she didn't expect to learn, what she had no way of knowing she'd learn, that changed her thinking for good. Living in New York City, where opportunity abounds, June had the chance to take dance from the legendary Martha Graham. In the 1950's Martha Graham was, indeed a legend. Dancers flocked to her studio for the chance of learning something new and significant to their careers. June was no different except that she was an actor, not a dancer. She decided to take a chance, put ego and, frankly, feelings, aside, and take class from one of the greats. She knew, instinctively, something that is widely overlooked today: That something good and valuable must come from this experience - something useful. And it did.
June's story started when she showed up for class, the only non-dancer in the group. Bravely, she stepped up to the bar, and began taking direction of a different type than she was used to. The world of a dancer is built upon two guiding principles: Be able to take direction and learn from your teacher, and discipline, take class everyday or as some put it, practice, practice, practice. Discipline and humility are integral parts of real learning, the key being that one understands that there is always something more one can learn.
June understood this. And so she steadfastly perservered taking class after class, even when Martha Graham would say things to her like, "You call that a first position!". Graham's class toughened her skin the way acting had not. While there is plenty of rejection in the life of an actor, dance is something of another animal when it comes to "correction". That's what it is called in dance. Such a nice word for such a difficult experience. It says in a very old school way, "When I insult your technique, I'm helping you. When I hit you with my long stick (not that Graham did this) I'm giving you the motivation to not make that mistake again." The world of dance is the last holdout to political correctness. Well, one of the last hold outs.
So, June preserved where many did not. While she has used the techniques she learned from Uta Hagen and Sanford Meisner throughout her career, her great lesson learned in the studio of Martha Graham was to show up, and try, try again. As simplistic as that sounds, that is a lesson we all need reminding of, day after day.
June now lives and works as both an actor and teacher in Los Angeles, CA. She teaches a class on the history of the American acting tradition at the Stella Adler Academy of Acting and Theatre in Hollywood.
I will set the scene: Los Angeles, CA. Early 1950's. June is studying theatre at Los Angeles City College when she gets an opportunity to study at the Stratford CT summer program. As a young actor, she was eager and open to studying different acting methods and she was definitely in the right place at the right time. The Group Theatre had just been established and the founding members, Phoebe Brand, Uta Hagen, Harold Clurman and Sanford Meisner were teaching the summer classes.
The skills and techniques she learned that summer would last her a life time. But it's what she didn't expect to learn, what she had no way of knowing she'd learn, that changed her thinking for good. Living in New York City, where opportunity abounds, June had the chance to take dance from the legendary Martha Graham. In the 1950's Martha Graham was, indeed a legend. Dancers flocked to her studio for the chance of learning something new and significant to their careers. June was no different except that she was an actor, not a dancer. She decided to take a chance, put ego and, frankly, feelings, aside, and take class from one of the greats. She knew, instinctively, something that is widely overlooked today: That something good and valuable must come from this experience - something useful. And it did.
June's story started when she showed up for class, the only non-dancer in the group. Bravely, she stepped up to the bar, and began taking direction of a different type than she was used to. The world of a dancer is built upon two guiding principles: Be able to take direction and learn from your teacher, and discipline, take class everyday or as some put it, practice, practice, practice. Discipline and humility are integral parts of real learning, the key being that one understands that there is always something more one can learn.
June understood this. And so she steadfastly perservered taking class after class, even when Martha Graham would say things to her like, "You call that a first position!". Graham's class toughened her skin the way acting had not. While there is plenty of rejection in the life of an actor, dance is something of another animal when it comes to "correction". That's what it is called in dance. Such a nice word for such a difficult experience. It says in a very old school way, "When I insult your technique, I'm helping you. When I hit you with my long stick (not that Graham did this) I'm giving you the motivation to not make that mistake again." The world of dance is the last holdout to political correctness. Well, one of the last hold outs.
So, June preserved where many did not. While she has used the techniques she learned from Uta Hagen and Sanford Meisner throughout her career, her great lesson learned in the studio of Martha Graham was to show up, and try, try again. As simplistic as that sounds, that is a lesson we all need reminding of, day after day.
June now lives and works as both an actor and teacher in Los Angeles, CA. She teaches a class on the history of the American acting tradition at the Stella Adler Academy of Acting and Theatre in Hollywood.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Who Are We Now and What Did We Really Know?
To say that existential questions plague me sounds a bit dramatic but honestly, they really do. This is an essay I wrote back in 2008 and never published on my blog. Life got too busy and complicated. So many years later I've realized that many of the same questions still persist and might always persist. Here is what I was thinking then and what I am thinking about now.
Who am I now and what did I really know then? That is a question that pops into my mind more and more often as I grow older. I suppose it's not a mystery why. I'm nearly forty and I am about to have my second child. I remember when forty seemed ancient and it scares me now that I am about to be what I once considered ancient and I am about to have a child at that "ancient" age! I think that part of the trouble is that I never even imagined what forty would look like, myself at forty, my life at forty, my house, my car, my children...MY children. It seems that I've been rushing to get older all of my life and now I'm swimming up stream to get back!
I once told my husband during an argument that when I was young I really did know more than I do now. He laughed the laugh of the wiser spouse and said that must know more now if I am able to look back and understand myself as a teenager. I said, "It wasn't so much 'understanding' as 'relating'. " The two are actually different. "Understanding" implies that I am at a higher consciousness, or knowledge level than I once was and sometimes, I'm not so sure. Bob (my husband) said that my life and understanding of it was less complicated than it is now. "You mean like a mortgage, a family to take care of, an irritatingly logical husband?" But these are grown up issues.
My teenage life was so much less complicated. My father had just died. I moved schools twice that year after having grown up with the same people in the same school for most of my life. My extended family became the dance company I was a part of, "mothered" by an emotionally desolate artistic director who neither wanted to be a mother nor an artistic director. For to understand and lead your children you have to care about their hearts and minds, not just rehearsing 24/7. In other words, I was over booked and exhausted - confused about the "why" in life and angry about the "what".
All of us, somewhere in us must have some sort of compass that tells us where we are now and where we've been. I think this is supposed to help us understand ourselves better. I am an almost middle aged house wife but my story really started a long time ago when I knew something.
Things I knew in high school:
1. Endless possibilities surrounded me wherever I went. I could do anything (except math). The world called me on - I just had to answer.
2. Adults did NOT know everything!
3. World peace was possible and inevitable.
4. Life should be fun.
I lived in my own world of youth and meaningfulness. Is it naive to believe these things? Songs like "Hey Jude", "All You Need Is Love", "Let It Be" and most importantly "Imagine" spoke to me then and are relevant even now, twenty five years later.
If disillusionment is a sign of intellectual maturity then I must be eighty. I listened and learned from the adults in my life that rebellion was a natural outgrowth of youth and that little by little I would put aside my amusing wonderings and submit to the rigors of adulthood. I heard this from my artistic director, who, in between the verbal humiliation, from time to time would offer the sage advice that life, i.e. the world of ballet, meant "work, work, work" and not as I seemed to think, "fun", and from my uncle, who upon my high school graduation soberly reported to me that those were the best years of my life.
Yet as we get older what have we really learned?
I learned to let go of what I knew and hold on to different intangibles - a good job, a government which is accountable to its citizens, parents (my husband and me) having all the answers, living the American Dream...yet I am just as uncertain about these things as I was certain about the others.
We've all seen, especially in recent times how unstable the principles we were taught actually are. More starkly than in the sixties and seventies when the Beatles wrote those songs, jobs are lost on the whim of a bureaucrat, a CEO, a politician. Government officials have not been held accountable for huge mistakes and errors in judgement, even criminal acts. Let us remember NAFTA (the multitude of politicians telling us the average American doesn't understand the global economy). Apparently, the average politician didn't understand the American economy. The poor response to Katrina, the recent Wall Street bail out, the Iraq War - are these examples of wisdom and maturity? I don't know about anyone else but I can "imagine all the people living life as one". It's better than two wars, a staggering debt and having to explain to my daughter how we let this happen.
I can say now as an almost ancient forty year old woman that I wished I had believed in myself more. I didn't lack courage. I lacked conviction. The world pushed me around and I nudged it back. Now I know it's true that adults don't know everything because I am one, and I've relearned from my five year old daughter that life really should be more about having fun and less about the day to day distractions. As for world peace? We can all still dream and elect people who dream like us. As for me, I'm hoping that who I am now gets better and what I really know becomes more.
Who am I now and what did I really know then? That is a question that pops into my mind more and more often as I grow older. I suppose it's not a mystery why. I'm nearly forty and I am about to have my second child. I remember when forty seemed ancient and it scares me now that I am about to be what I once considered ancient and I am about to have a child at that "ancient" age! I think that part of the trouble is that I never even imagined what forty would look like, myself at forty, my life at forty, my house, my car, my children...MY children. It seems that I've been rushing to get older all of my life and now I'm swimming up stream to get back!
I once told my husband during an argument that when I was young I really did know more than I do now. He laughed the laugh of the wiser spouse and said that must know more now if I am able to look back and understand myself as a teenager. I said, "It wasn't so much 'understanding' as 'relating'. " The two are actually different. "Understanding" implies that I am at a higher consciousness, or knowledge level than I once was and sometimes, I'm not so sure. Bob (my husband) said that my life and understanding of it was less complicated than it is now. "You mean like a mortgage, a family to take care of, an irritatingly logical husband?" But these are grown up issues.
My teenage life was so much less complicated. My father had just died. I moved schools twice that year after having grown up with the same people in the same school for most of my life. My extended family became the dance company I was a part of, "mothered" by an emotionally desolate artistic director who neither wanted to be a mother nor an artistic director. For to understand and lead your children you have to care about their hearts and minds, not just rehearsing 24/7. In other words, I was over booked and exhausted - confused about the "why" in life and angry about the "what".
All of us, somewhere in us must have some sort of compass that tells us where we are now and where we've been. I think this is supposed to help us understand ourselves better. I am an almost middle aged house wife but my story really started a long time ago when I knew something.
Things I knew in high school:
1. Endless possibilities surrounded me wherever I went. I could do anything (except math). The world called me on - I just had to answer.
2. Adults did NOT know everything!
3. World peace was possible and inevitable.
4. Life should be fun.
I lived in my own world of youth and meaningfulness. Is it naive to believe these things? Songs like "Hey Jude", "All You Need Is Love", "Let It Be" and most importantly "Imagine" spoke to me then and are relevant even now, twenty five years later.
If disillusionment is a sign of intellectual maturity then I must be eighty. I listened and learned from the adults in my life that rebellion was a natural outgrowth of youth and that little by little I would put aside my amusing wonderings and submit to the rigors of adulthood. I heard this from my artistic director, who, in between the verbal humiliation, from time to time would offer the sage advice that life, i.e. the world of ballet, meant "work, work, work" and not as I seemed to think, "fun", and from my uncle, who upon my high school graduation soberly reported to me that those were the best years of my life.
Yet as we get older what have we really learned?
I learned to let go of what I knew and hold on to different intangibles - a good job, a government which is accountable to its citizens, parents (my husband and me) having all the answers, living the American Dream...yet I am just as uncertain about these things as I was certain about the others.
We've all seen, especially in recent times how unstable the principles we were taught actually are. More starkly than in the sixties and seventies when the Beatles wrote those songs, jobs are lost on the whim of a bureaucrat, a CEO, a politician. Government officials have not been held accountable for huge mistakes and errors in judgement, even criminal acts. Let us remember NAFTA (the multitude of politicians telling us the average American doesn't understand the global economy). Apparently, the average politician didn't understand the American economy. The poor response to Katrina, the recent Wall Street bail out, the Iraq War - are these examples of wisdom and maturity? I don't know about anyone else but I can "imagine all the people living life as one". It's better than two wars, a staggering debt and having to explain to my daughter how we let this happen.
I can say now as an almost ancient forty year old woman that I wished I had believed in myself more. I didn't lack courage. I lacked conviction. The world pushed me around and I nudged it back. Now I know it's true that adults don't know everything because I am one, and I've relearned from my five year old daughter that life really should be more about having fun and less about the day to day distractions. As for world peace? We can all still dream and elect people who dream like us. As for me, I'm hoping that who I am now gets better and what I really know becomes more.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Creation - The Good Life!
I live in Kansas. On a nature preserve with a lake in my backyard. You can't swim or fish in it but still, it's beautiful. The geese land on the lake twice a day and make you very aware of their presence each time. Same time same place, everyday. They seem to like it but of course, they being geese it's really pretty hard to tell.
If my memory and the writings of Wayne Dyer are to be believed, I created this place in my mind's eye, imagined it, wished for it and my "vibrational match" led me to it six months ago. It or I led myself away from Los Angeles having been so unhappy there for so long, and to this beautiful place, where outside my door lies spread before me a quiet street framed by immaculate lawns, perfectly arranged flowers (mine included) buds lifting up to the street, waving in the breeze to friendly passers by, walking their even friendlier dogs. Paradise. Yes.
Back home in Burbank the a fore mentioned scene could not have taken place. In it's stead would be a busy street leading to a cute little neighborhood park, filled, at times with happy screaming.....happy children. My oldest daughter being one of them. Our lawn, not so immaculate with one weed seemingly curving and spiraling throughout the lawn, making it impossible to actually pull it up without changing the entire landscape. Our neighbor's houses all unique and "full of character" standing beside us with their imperfect lawns and shrubs and trees, some rather unkempt, others a complete loss. Beautiful roses, no matter where we went the roses grew and continue to grow without regard to the mood and arrangement of the other plants. Queens of all they survey. There was always something I wanted to change.
Here there is very little to change if anything. You have to really concentrate - creation, it seems has already happened, spent it's energy and decided to take a long break. Maybe forever, who knows. For someone who has spent a good deal of my life creating something: choreography, short films, children - I wonder what needs creating here. Will I be settled and content like so many around me? Will talking about wine and beer and basket ball games keep my mind occupied until I have nothing left to say accept, "Go Jay Hawks" or "I'll try the Malbec, it's from Argentina!"? I guess that remains to be seen. Must I "rage against the machine"? Well, maybe not rage so much as discuss politely and then quietly change my mind. This is the midwest after all. This is the good life.
If my memory and the writings of Wayne Dyer are to be believed, I created this place in my mind's eye, imagined it, wished for it and my "vibrational match" led me to it six months ago. It or I led myself away from Los Angeles having been so unhappy there for so long, and to this beautiful place, where outside my door lies spread before me a quiet street framed by immaculate lawns, perfectly arranged flowers (mine included) buds lifting up to the street, waving in the breeze to friendly passers by, walking their even friendlier dogs. Paradise. Yes.
Back home in Burbank the a fore mentioned scene could not have taken place. In it's stead would be a busy street leading to a cute little neighborhood park, filled, at times with happy screaming.....happy children. My oldest daughter being one of them. Our lawn, not so immaculate with one weed seemingly curving and spiraling throughout the lawn, making it impossible to actually pull it up without changing the entire landscape. Our neighbor's houses all unique and "full of character" standing beside us with their imperfect lawns and shrubs and trees, some rather unkempt, others a complete loss. Beautiful roses, no matter where we went the roses grew and continue to grow without regard to the mood and arrangement of the other plants. Queens of all they survey. There was always something I wanted to change.
Here there is very little to change if anything. You have to really concentrate - creation, it seems has already happened, spent it's energy and decided to take a long break. Maybe forever, who knows. For someone who has spent a good deal of my life creating something: choreography, short films, children - I wonder what needs creating here. Will I be settled and content like so many around me? Will talking about wine and beer and basket ball games keep my mind occupied until I have nothing left to say accept, "Go Jay Hawks" or "I'll try the Malbec, it's from Argentina!"? I guess that remains to be seen. Must I "rage against the machine"? Well, maybe not rage so much as discuss politely and then quietly change my mind. This is the midwest after all. This is the good life.
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