Willard library

...Is located in a pasture a few miles beyond Lake Griffy. After an inspiring rehearsal yesterday, I called two close friends and invited myself over. We stood at the base of what will soon be a pole barn--huge. She and he discussed dimensions, straw and timeline while I sat in the warm December sun.
We decided to hike back through their property, quiet with only the crunching of leaves under our feet, occasionally commenting on a passing bird, identifying a tree or the enormous horse piles scattered like landmines. My mind was free.

After several miles, we arrived at a small log cabin. And further still there was a quaint green cabin with a bright blue door and a gold door knob. This was Willard Library. The shelves were stacked with mostly children's books, many of which are Newbery Medal winners. Some were ages old. The room reminded me of my grandmother's attic--a treasure full of old toys and books. We stayed and read a few books aloud and watched the sun set through the pained window. I checked out a few books for my daughter--in good faith that I will return them.

Ari explained the history of the library and the generosity of the old man who built it. The library was a cross between something out of Rand's Anthem and The Darling Family Bedroom--Peter Pan. We tracked back, passing the horses that helped to carry the materials out to this desolate space--their hooves as big around as my thighs.

Upon our return, we drank hard cider. Ari played his mandolin, I played guitar.
I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend my Sunday.

Ask me about the 4 D's: Dancing, Dating, Dramatics, Debating... Lolita

I remain....

There is nothing more revolting than the sound of two cars colliding--especially when one is yours, and it is brand new. The horrible sound of metal and fiberglass on metal is just horrifying. Fortunately, neither party was hurt in the incident.
When it rains, it pours. God, I hate that saying no matter how true.

Not to my surprise, I saw no one from school at the shows this weekend. My next two shows are going to be brilliant--I can feel it--the creativity has surged these past few months. You have to put it somewhere, I guess.

I am reading this book recommended by my therapist about controlling energy, using intuitive thoughts and channeling creativity. I have never quite had someone explain how artists work so well before. The preshow meditation was helpful yesterday.

I have been trying to figure out a way to put this into words--and I will most likely fail as I am just letting it flow now.
It strikes me as funny, how being the one to leave a bad situation I am also the one who sacrifices everything. With every visit, I see my daughter changing, and it pains me to leave her. I miss my cats terribly. The drive to and from town is now a torturous ride--I cry uncontrollably--both ways. While talking to acquaintances who ask how the family is, I never know how to respond. And even more painful when they ask how my daughter is. While waiting to be seated at any restaurant the question, "are you waiting for someone?" or "just one today?" "will someone be joining you?" is crushing. I usually counter with, " joining me? Not that I'm aware..." Or "just one..today and every day.." Sarcasm. Fuck Yeah.

The guy who lives next door to me was leaving as I came home and so I introduced myself, seeing we were neighbors and all. While passing in the narrow hallway, he said something incoherent and walked on.

Unfortunately, having extended conversations with people is becoming painfully difficult now. And when I call someone, after a few seconds I want to hang up. When I am out, I like to listen to other people sitting around me just to feel part of it.
Can someone please tell me this is only temporary? Can someone please say it gets better? Who will stand with me? Who will stand by me? Before it consumes me completely--before I can no longer get out of bed. I can't bear this loneliness and isolation much longer.

"half of the time we're gone but we don't know where and we don't know where..."
here I am. --S. and G.

Your good vibes would be appreciated.

glad tidings

It's hard to see your father cry. I have only witnessed it twice; once when we buried his mother, and the other time, when I was really sick. Last night was the third time. And listening to the choked up sobs and snot blowing over a cell phone makes it so---surreal. I just sat there--not sure what to say.

The court date is set for Monday, December 20; the day after my birthday, the day after my babe will spend with her other family celebrating Christmas. The judge would not waive the court fee, so I have to find the cash to pay for that as well.

After a long talk, the longest talk I have ever had with my dad, he passed the phone to my mom and she asked, "Well, should I get him a Christmas present?"
I don't know mom. I don't know.

"how heavy the days..."

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die. -H. Hesse

connections

soul mate.
something stirs in me when people start talking about that concept. Is it a tangible idea? As a person who can't say I have any people that I connect I scoff at it. But part of me hopes deep down that there is a chance--however slight--- that they are out there somewhere. So if you're there, show yourself.
In the mean time, back to work.

Lost mitten

He came through the line twice-- a tall man with large hands. His fingers were encrusted with dirt.
While driving into town this morning, I saw him walking down Rogers. I know him.

I enjoyed looking each person in the face. I made mental note as to who made eye contact, who smiled, who remained guarded. One man looked like The Edge. I told him so after his 3rd or 4th time back up to the line. He was pleased to hear it.
While cleaning up after last call, he came back up,
"You guys rock!" He was so genuine.
"We know it," I said jokingly. He made my holiday.

Working with a group of young, naive, priviledged college girls was, let's just say, interesting. Why were they here? They had to fulfill a requirement for class. They chatted about school and classes-- three of them were planning on going to law school, the other, med school. Since I have been contemplating the idea of going back myself, I probed a bit deeper.
"What type of law are you interested in?"
"I don't really care. I just want to make money. My boyfriend is planning to go to med school.. Would you like corn or pasta?"
"Huh." I admired her ridiculously lofty goal. Funny what information people choose to disclose.
"Wow. I have never used a mop before," the plump one said trying to lift the heavy thing from its bucket. I stared at her, my mouth gaping.

I felt sorry for them. They looked at each person with such apathy, filling the trays, getting their credits, going back home to family. What lessons were learned last night, I wonder?
**
The last few days alone have had me thinking about love actually. And friendship. And I am sad to think that those never really did exist between us. I like to see the best in all people--but generally, people only want what they can get out of you--with as little energy as possible.

Dad's Thanksgiving prayer asked for blessings on the President, our troops overseas and strength in the faith. I was the only one who kepot my eyes open, which is probably a good thing, because the look on my face was of outright horror.

Lots of big decisions on my plate. I am afraid to trust, afraid to love, afraid of being taken for a ride, again.

a day in hell: cat on a hot tin roof relived

later that day....

It must be movie weekend cold and rainy with no fireplace is the recipe for movie time. I just saw The Incredibles. A great way to spend two hours. I think I was the only person laughing out loud in the place. It feels good to laugh.
I heard The remade Ladykillers was not as good as the first. Nothing ever is. But I still need to finish the one I currently have in the machine. My brother in law is a film critic--he recommended an old 40's Noir "The Set-Up" and also a new release called Sideways. Not sure if it's playing in town, but here's to hoping.
I stopped by the house today to pick up my mail. It was strange; the smells, the changes in decor, not a good feeling. Hopefully this will pass.

On the eve of Thanksgiving I witnessed the first snowfall under the lamplight. It was late but I wanted to tell someone. The excitement was simliar to the feeling I used to get when school was cancelled. Although this time, I wasn't sure whom to call--so I watched it through the blinds and went to bed.

Not much to say about the passing holiday but I was able to escape the tension in tact and without many questions. With my birthday in less than a month and Christmas shortly thereafter, I will have to learn to deal with happy coupledom conversations: painting the dining room, the new bedroom suite, surprise birthday presents with thought from newleywed hubbies, putting up christmas decorations, fussing over food preparation, etc.

And then there is "Big Daddy." Enough said.

Just watched the modern day film of Plato's Symposium last night. I didn't find the acting terribly convincing but the whole concept was fairly entertaining.
The other film I picked up on a fluke has been thoroughly entertaining--The Ladykillers. Below is a review from the EFC.

Things I noticed today:
*absent-minded youngish professor leaving his keys and exiting out the entrance of the post office. When I retrieved them for him after he nearly ran me down in the line, he looked at me like I handed him a winning lottery ticket. Didn't know I had such an affect/effect on people.

* the peace and calm in the library on an early Saturday morning. Also the delicious smell of books. I love library gnomes.

*my anxiety and yet the thrill I feel of working at the Community Kitchen today.

*law school loftiness...

THE EFC REVIEW: The Ladykillers
It certainly seems like an artistic and potentially profitable coup that the Coen Brothers were able to get Tom Hanks to star in their latest comedy. And surely it won't hurt the movie that it shares a title with a quietly adored old British comedy. But the one thing working against 'The Ladykillers' is that, while it's a great goofball comedy, the movie fans will want to know how it measures up to the Coens' previous efforts. Judged on that scale alone, this new one is a mite disappointing; on just about any other level, 'The Ladykillers' is a dark and hilarious success across the board.
It must be really difficult once you've made 10 or 12 fantastic movies; everyone expects that level to be maintained. So when the Coens decided to go high-end with their Clooney / Zeta-Jones affair, we felt slighted when it wasn't up to the standards of a Fargo or a Raising Arizona. But like I insisted upon the release of Intolerable Cruelty: even a mildly disappointing Coens flick is better than 92% of anything else playing at the multiplex.

So while The Ladykillers doesn't match the brilliant lunacy of a Big Lebowski or an O Brother...who really cares? Judged on its own merits, The Ladykillers is odd and ingratiating and consistently amusing enough to earn your twelve dollar box office donation. Sometimes a solid triple is just as satisfying as a home run, and (thanks mainly to the inspired work of Tom Hanks and some of the patented Coens lunacy) The Ladykillers is, at the very least, a 2-run double.

Spun off from the 1955 Alec Guinness comedy of the same name, The Ladykillers is about four clueless criminals, a sweet-natured old lady, a big pile of cash, and an uproariously verbose ringleader who goes by the name of Professor G.H. Dorr. The conniving crooks, posing as Renaissance Fair musicians, set up shop in granny's old root cellar while scheming to loot the local casino office. Needless to say, their criminal plans go awry. Early and often.

Much of the film consists of your typical heist contrivances, only filtered through the brilliantly twisted eyes of the brothers Coen. But this time the brothers have Tom Hanks as their lead, and it proves a match made in heaven. Mega-huge superstars like Hanks and George Clooney seem to thrive under the employ of the Coens; to call Hanks' performance here 'one of his funniest ever' seems a lofty compliment (hey he's a funny guy), but it is an accurate one. The always-affable Mr. Hanks gets to wrap his tongue around dozens of long and twisty little monologues; the Coens' intellectually amusing verbosity discovers a newfound friend in Tom Hanks. His breathlessly devious performance is a thing of comedic beauty; the words spilling from his mouth are the arcane icing on a mildly misshapen cake.

The brothers are also somehow able to elicit a strong supporting performance from the generally irritating Marlon Wayans, while crafty character actors like J.K. Simmons (last seen as J. Jonah Jameson in Spider-Man) and Stephen Root (now a Coens staple) steal a few scenes for themselves. Lovable old granny figure Irma P. Hall contributes an excellent performance; her handful of scenes between she and Hanks are near-priceless.

Special notice is due to Roger Deakins' amazingly lovely cinematography and the resoundingly warm and gospel-heavy score by Carter Burwell. And whoever trained the cat (oh yeah, keep your eye on the cat) deserves a cash bonus, because that skinny little furball earned some solid giggles all by herself.

You could be a 'glass half empty' person and acknowledge that 'The Ladykillers' doesn't measure up to the Coens' finest works. Or you could be an appreciative optimist like myself and acknowledge the fact that, after eleven movies, Joel & Ethan have yet to release ONE sub-par flick. 'The Ladykillers' may not rank among the Coens' most excellent films, but I bet it still ends up as one of this year's best comedies.

mixology

Making a mixed cd for someone requires great care and sincerity. It's a lot like picking out the right birthday card for your mom--certain things have to be there--sentiment, words, images created by lyrics all packaged neatly in a cool jewel box. Depending on the person, you want to include songs that remind you of them and they of you. Or perhaps hint at how you feel about them. I love to make them for people I care about. The only problem is you put yourself out there when you share songs--kind of like poetry. And you can't take it back.

What's even worse is when you receive no feedback from the person as to whether or not they liked it--or (god help them) understood it. I am sure most of mine have long been tossed, made into coasters or colorful mobiles. I guess that is something?
I've been holding this one mix aside--waiting to send to a long-distance friend--but I realized that it would go unappreciated. So I kept it for myself.

I haven't received a personal mix from someone since 1994. Until yesterday. So thanks to my observant student who noticed that I needed a pick me up.
To you I wish a Happy Thanksgiving. To all the rest....well.....

Metaphor for life: Rush Hour Traffic

While driving home from Indy last night I was sitting in the midst of traffic, watching the stream of tail and break lights pulse in front of me. A red river or stream. A ribbon of light. The stop and go was driving me insane. And once you are on the freeway, there is no slowing down or getting off.

After three hours of back and forth and mean, rude, apathetic people, the papers are filed. They really need to find someone who has some compassion manning the counter. I mean it's hard enough to go through with the proceedings and then you have to give them to someone who could give a damn. I feel my heart just drying up like an old prune. Solitude is King. Come take me away.

"I see Bastard People"

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
-Taming of the Shrew

I have found there are some people in this world who cannot make polite conversation. It is difficult if not impossible to understand this particular makeup of person. I can talk to pretty much anyone and it's always lighthearted. Now granted, I am not ugly and I do have a really good sense of humor on most days..So the exchange of words, you would think, would be fairly harmless. It boggles. It stupefies, really. And it makes me sad to think we have come so far---only to be right back where we used to be.
So I feel sorry for you people who have trouble casually talking to another person who wants nothing more from you than kindness.

It's hard to live alone--and when the babe stays all weekend, it again becomes a non-stop dance--she dodges, I parry. I am spent.
Just a few priceless moments:
*No Elmo DVD--up at 4:35a.m. to Wallmart: a quest.
*Out of diapers. Had to resort to a swimmer and doubling up on pants--back to Wallmart, changing her on the cold floor in the Infant section.
*Words words words...She is the most talkative, outgoing, curious creature I have ever known.
Together we are Hester and Pearl. Pearl and Hester by the flowing creek.

Word of the day-- delicate

While I was making my daughter dinner, she stood by the front door holding her coat. "Outside?" and "Daddy?" were the only words I could make out of her babble.
Scenes from Mrs. Doubtfire played through my mind. I put the spoon down and went to her.
***

6:15 a.m. traffic rolls on Second Street. We have our routines and most folks who are up and out at this time generally move a lot faster than the rest of the population. I appreciate that. But some days I envy the type B person. Leisurely sipping coffee, reading the paper and whatever else they do...try living with one of these people. A lesson in patience, let me tell you.

I am slowly wading into the holidays. My favorite time of year (ugh). Today I dug out Messiah. "The Halleulah Chorus" always puts a lump in my throat the size of a softball. Handel beats the crap out of that miserable, peppy Vince G. and his trio playing those tired Charlie Brown Songs.

Lolita is moving right along. I find it disturbing (perhaps with a young nymphette of my own) that there are predators in my own backyard lusting after young girls.

***

"The true seeker"

"Only when the lamp of search, of earnest striving, of longing desire, of passionate devotion, of fervid love, of rapture, and ecstasy, is kindled within the seeker's heart, and the breeze of His loving-kindness is wafted upon his soul, will the darkness of error be dispelled, the mists of doubts and misgivings be dissipated, and the lights of knowledge and certitude envelop his being.
At that hour will the mystic Herald, bearing the joyful tidings of the Spirit, shine forth from the City of God resplendent as the morn, and, through the trumpet-blast of knowledge, will awaken the heart, the soul, and the spirit from the slumber of negligence.
Then will the manifold favours and outpouring grace of the holy and everlasting Spirit confer such new life upon the seeker that he will find himself endowed with a new eye, a new ear, a new heart, and a new mind. He will contemplate the manifest signs of the universe, and will penetrate the hidden mysteries of the soul.
Gazing with the eye of God, he will perceive within every atom a door that leadeth him to the stations of absolute certitude. He will discover in all things the mysteries of divine Revelation and the evidences of an everlasting manifestation."
-Baha'u'llah (Kitab-i-Iqan)

red tape.
people chomping on their apples or potato chips.
awkward silence in lunch rooms.
slow-witted people--and the combination slow wit and slow driving.
mirages.
people who don't get the hint when you obviously want them to leave.
asumptions.

10:45a.m. Courts Office
Metal detector, chain smokers outside--toothless, pathetic.
While bitterly attempting to file the papers-I was sent on the "red tape trip", as I like to call it. I was missing something-er-other...I think she said provisional order? By the way, they close at 4p.m. Great(sarcasm).

Parking down town. High Heels and rain. Enough said.

11:00a.m. next stop: obtaining provincial order.
Entered wrong door, had to backtrack outside to front.
Waited for clearance.
"Legal Services please," I said impatiently.
"She's on vacation and won't be back until next week. And then will only be in on Monday because of Thanksgiving and all..."
"Right. Thanksgiving," I whipsered bitterly under my breath. Thanks giving. Giving thanks. I am giving thanks that I left before I said something I would later regret.

11:15a.m. Back onstage
Students waiting in my room to see me.
Publicity is delayed, need exact dimentions for set, choregrapher going to be late today, girl tells me she can't make rehearsal because of an appointment.
Resident skipper eating lunch in room--chomping chomping. I told him to get out.

And I still blush in your presence....

Rung dry

She wrapped her arms 'round my neck
and with an elvish look kissed me goodnight.

her warm body motionless, relaxed next to mine
my thumb pressed in the palm of her hand,
fingers exploring--assuring herself that I was still there.
where else would I want to be?

she gives me reason
to try harder and wait for a warmer season.

***
"No soliciting"
I think my neighbor is dead. I have never met him-her but
I am sure some night my silent room will be disturbed by the heavy footfalls of Coroner Toomey.

For several days I noted a trash bag loaded with garbage outside his apartment door. The first few days it didn't bother me--but the weekend passed and still it remained.
So I caved.
I made an extra trip out to the dumpster and tossed the bag over the side. We share a common floor--just the phantom neighbor and me--
Here's hoping he is alive and well. If not, I pray there was nothing noteworthy in that trash bag. Mr. Toomey will come a' knocking on my door asking me questions....looking for clues.