60 Years Are Too Many: What If The Whole Point Is Destruction?

 14 August 2026

        We've all considered it. Some more seriously than others.

        But...let's say that's it. That's the point. To Burn It All Down.

        Now what?

        I'm writing this down for the first time, so it's going to be messy.

        I am also writing this on my grandson's birthday--he is eight and being raised by lovely adoptive parents.This week is always difficult.

        So in the name of avoidance, I've started wondering What's Next? 

        Literally. We're clearly destroying everything. What happens once it's destroyed?

        I do not wonder "why". It's not Biblical. They--sorry I have to separate for this particular group- like to wave that flag for their christian nationalist (deliberately lower case to demonstrate disrespect)zombies. Zombies who believe everything they are fed because they have no brain power of their own outside of the biological abilities to breathe and pump blood.

        We are the Why. Humans have been given every opportunity to prove they can care for one another and this earth and failed every time.

        When I say "we", I do not include myself. Or y'all. Or my children, or anyone who helps others. I mean the general swath of humans currently living through this. So while I'm not accusing you of being 'we', I have to use 'we' as All Humans. 

        Told you this would be messy. Love you, mean it, thanks for reading.

        I say "we" because "us" and "them" is destructive. We are human. All of us.

        "We" voted twice for a monster. Whether it was rigged, or fake, or whatever: nobody stopped it. Nobody with a smidgeon of power and the ability to say "Do Not Let This Guy Be President" stepped up. The Dems threw Kamala under the bus by yanking Biden late in the game---she didn't even have her party's endorsement! They literally gave up at the two yard line and handed Trump the ball.

        That makes them just as guilty as any republican in office, republican voter or those who chose not to vote at all.    

        That is a "how", not a "why". To be clear.

        So here were are, on the Eve Of Destruction. Remember that song? I do. Before I was a punk, I was a hippie. 

        "The eastern world, it is exploding. Violence flaring, bullets loadin. You're old enough to kill, but not for votin'. You don't believe in war, but what's that gun you're totin'?...I can do this by heart. I don't even have to look it up... here's what I'm singing;

        My blood's so mad, feels like couagulatin',I'm sittin' here just, contemplatin',I can't twist the truth, it knows no regulation, handful of senators don't pass legislation/and marches alone don't bring integration/when human respect is disentegratin', this whole crazy world is JUST TOO FRUSTRATIN'...later there is the great line YOU CAN BURY YOUR DEAD, BUT DON'T LEAVE A TRACE HATE YOUR NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR, BUT DON'T FORGET TO SAY GRACE.

         And there it is. 

         The central excuse they are using for the war, immigration, cuts to medicaid/ education/ disability: Hate.

        We are not here at this moment because of the Bible ("why"). We are here because humans suck.

        They are wrapping it up in a fictional Rapture that they claim to have the power to call forth.         

        First--it's not real. I've spent my life with the Bible, and the whole Rapture/Apocalypse scenario is untrue. Revelation predicts four horsemen of the apocolypse, but it's vague on actual apocolypse details.

        Unless you fell for the movie Left Behind which you were forced to watch at an age when you had no business watching such horror.

        I believe that Revelation tells of the fall of corruption in God's earthly "home". Specifically Israel. It has to happen for a new world to emerge.

        Some believe it's the fall of the entire middle east. I remember first learning about the true meaning, and being deceived about what Israel actually is in my lifetime.I couldn't make it make sense with the genocide. If they're God's chosen, why are they acting like that? Why are Jews abused in every single country, and Israel is murdering everyone in Gaza?

         Meaning I initially didn't believe Israel was the topic of discussion in Revelation. Because in my church, Israel was holy. The promised land. Yada Yada CHOSEN. 

        But in reality, they are bullies. They are guilty of genocide.

        That's a hard shift, friends. Not everyone can do it.

        I did.

        I'm not smarter than anyone else. I just possess the ability to do my own research and ask hard questions and come to my own conclusions.

        So when an appointed DOJ mouthpiece starts screaming and beating his chest, insisting that "we" must join Isreal and go to war with Iran  to "bring about the apocalypse"...I have questions.

        Nowhere in Revelation does it say "And a failed TV host shall lead the battle".

        It's all about the middle east. The eastern world. Not the west. Nothing to do with us. 

        The Biblical narrative is 100% a them problem that our government is making an us problem.  

        Fueled by hatred of fellow humans--most of whom are the weakest of us and need assistance--the mouthpiece has reached what can only be described as a zealot level of insanity. He is apoplectic over the recent revelation that our government has failed to simply feed our naval troops in the middle east. He and the bag of shit holding his leash are yelling "LIES" at the top of their lungs, but they're accusing American Service Members and their families of lying. These are people who fear saying anything, ever about their mental health out of fear of losing their career.

        Ipso Facto; They are not lying.

        This is bad if sailors with several deployments and over a decade of service are willing to admit mental fatigue.

        Unsure how we're participating in the Bring It ON portion of the Biblical apocalypse when we're out of physical weapons and cannot feed the physical crewmen on board the aircraft carrier, but I've digressed.

        This is not our war. Most presidents --OK, so like one president in my lifetime, two if you count Carter---have been smart enough to say No Thank You Friend to Israel's invite to End The World. Obama ended a war he didn't start. Just sayin'. WMD didn't exist. My research on this is dated and may not be relvent, but I think you get my point; Not Our War.

        I'm Gen X, I am tired of living through "once in a lifetime" events. Fuck this shit.

        Just knock it off. 

        I have no issue with my taxes paying for inclusive public education opportunities for MI/S or SSN students. I have no issue with my taxes going to hire bi-lingual teachers to support immigrant populations. I'd be willing to volunteer my time at a Saturday school arrangement to help their parents adjust, understand xcel and xfinity, how to Not Get Ripped Off, where to submit documents, etc. 

        I have an issue with my taxes going to "the military" who blew through their weapons 'cause the warnotwar was unplanned and they cannot manage to feed sailors or make sure they have clean water, working toilets and soap. 

        We are all exhausted. He threw so much shit at the wall all at once and nobody was prepared. I'm grateful for every lawyer and judge who has stepped up, stepped in and stopped--or at least impeded--- the flow of shit cascading from this administration.

        Our administration has graduated from pedo cowards to war criminals. Neat.

        He isn't even running the country, he's completely without cognizance. I have not a shred of empathy or kindness for him or his ilk. I was done when he mocked a physically disabled journalist. That alone will have him burning in hell. I didn't need the 34 felonies or sudden interest in Epstein or the "accidental" death of his first wife. One was enough. One moment that proved he was not human, and I was out.

        The fact that thousands of others stuck around to support him feeds the original thesis-which to be fair you may have forgotten-that destruction was the whole point.

        They know who he is, and got on board. They hate anyone who looks or sounds or worships or loves differently than they do. And that kind of hate spells The End Of Humanity.

        Now, who sent him? If the point was destruction--our destruction, not Israel--what are the chances God sent him?

        God gave us the ability to think for ourselves and make our own choices.

        I posit he is none too proud of that, and will leave that off the table next time around.

        God did not send him. Satan did not send him.

        Men built him. Propped up a narcissist, born of a narcissist. Took money instead of telling on him or feared reprecussions for tattling. Men.

        They built this monster, hurled him at us and hoped they would be protected.

        It's that simple.

        The spiritual war here is not Revelation.

        He may or may not be "The" Anti Christ. People thought it was Hitler. Stalin. My argument is that there is not one Anti Christ; they are legion.

        It is not just the destruction of Israel, or the middle east.

        It is the destruction of greed, the dismantling of power.

        And it will come from inside his own administration.

        It will be ugly, and people will die.

        And then we'll start over.

        We'll return to community, to caring for one another. To respecting nature and the cultures and opinions and religions and sexual orientation of others. Because community is everyone. Every. One. Every Single Person has something to contribute and Every Single Person needs support.

        We will have to claw our way back. We will have to forgive those who caused this. We will have to show empathy to those who showed us none.    

        Yes, you will. Stop shaking your head. That's part of the problem. Don't be part of the problem, be part of the solution. I don't want to have to deal with anyone who supported this insanity, either, but love is used for good, not evil.

        Power is evil.

        We go with love.

        So, all in all, in conclusion, to sum  up: This is not a Biblical apocalypse, this is a Human Apocalypse caused by our own greed and power. The only thing God has to do with this is his mistake of giving us free will and dictating a vague Bible to be translated over centuries and languages and endlessly interpreted. Which he did on purpose to see if we'd overcome--which is the whole point of this destruction; learning a lesson.

        The end is the same: peace. Serenity. "Heaven on Earth", God's return to earth, Buddah, the spaghetti monster---whoever. They'll come back to congratulate us on figuring it out, shake our hands in celebration and help us plant flowers.

        That is my hope.

        Scene.

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Power Outage

    10 August 2026

        Let me begin with an Eternal Shriek.

        (pause for shriek)

        My pay was deposited from the district on Friday. I wish to thank them for the deposit, as in May of 2025, nobody in the district received their pay deposits. It was fixed by noon, but made a giant mess.

        However, I wish to log a complaint with management over my alleged 'Cost of Living' bump. For those who do not teach, lemme 'splain. We get one pay raise a year. No bonuses, we do not get tipped, nothing. Here is your pay for the year, the same every month. 

         As you may not teach but you pay attention, you know teachers are grotesquely underpaid. In some states, it could be called "criminally" underpaid. In Colorado we're "mid". I will break it down later. For now, that's all the informaiton that is relevent.

        We had to switch our insurance this year, as the costs are astronomical. Originally they struck Kaiser as a choice saying it was "too expensive". I've had Kaiser for 15 years, I'm 60 and I've been through the insurance company games of "Choose a primary care Doctor"-"Just kidding, nobody's taking new patients". So I reached out ot he school board and made noise, learned I wasn't the only one, and we kept Kaiser.

        I stayed with my plan, which increased  to $1200 a year. No dental, no vision, just baseline.

        My cost of liviing raise is $1000 a year.

        I imploded.

        I have no idea how I am going to work a weekend job to make up the difference.

        Then I exploded

         I posted on FB, and acquaintances pointed out their own issues: one works in healthcare and has no healthcare insurance.

        It wasn't a post to invite to a pissing contest, but what isn't any more?

        And they're not wrong. But damn, ever since COVID the mantra has been "At least you have a job, shut up, peasant". 

        So I got that going for me.

        But wait! There's more!

        Last week, my mom -who lives about two miles east of us in Lakewood-lost her power for seven hours at one stretch. No warning, no text stating "Heads Up, We're Doing Rolling Blackouts!", nothing. Just went out. She had to call to get an estimated time for her power to return. She's 81. Cool.

        On Saturday, we returned from lunch and couldn't get the garage door open. Because the power was out. No warning, no text, nada. We came in the front door, texted our neighbors and then the power came back for a second, then went out for two hours.

        On Sunday...guess what went out without warning? For an hour this time. 

        This time, it was only on our side of the street. It's always our side of the street. I have no idea why, up here our power lines are buried, but I'm not an electrician.

        Our neighbor across the street has a generator from Costco--I think it's in their backyard. I can hear it but it's not ridiculous. Our next door neighbor also has one, it's clearly in his garage and it's crazy loud. Even with our windows closed we can hear it.

        We talked about getting one when we had rolling blackouts due to the high winds this spring, but they're expensive. But we know which brand to look at, and when we win the lottery we'll get one.

        I hate all monopolies, but I will give AT&T their propers---they refunded customers for a sun SPLOT...burst? FLARE! We weren't even effected, but hey, we got a few bucks off our bill.

        Xcel, however, rolls blackouts and cuts power and increases the charge.

        That's all literal power outages, I am sparing you the complete shut down that has happened to my 60 year old brain and body. 

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Return to The Land Heritage Communities

 

        11 August 2026

        We should know by now not to take these racists lightly.

       The bolder they are, the more aware of their community we become.

        Not scared. Aware. Headed toward angry.

        Aware and should they cross my path---if they ever manage to leave the Apalachias---we will chat.

        The first step to hiding your racist community is to call it "Return to the Land". 

        Sounds homey. Like a farm and llamas.

        Not white folks hating everyone else.

        Their founder Eric Orwoll (as reported on AXIOS)  has referenced Hitler, said the community had a "pretty good radar" for excluding Jews and called himself a "white identitarian."

      " A White Identitarian"

     "You're going to get Hitler 2.0 when you deserve him. He's not just going to show up to a people that aren't putting in the work themselves. We have to put in that work," Orwoll said in a video posted on X.

        They're getting around the fair housing act by setting up a private LLC as a company. So it's a company...not a community?

        Only about 40 people live in this Arkansas paradise at the moment. Probably because you have to submit DNA history to prove you are of European descent, but not the brown parts or the Jewish parts. 

        And, a woman who clearly has a mohawk (in my humble opinion), is suing them, because she applied and was denied. She has Russian Jewish heritage, a black husband and biracial children.

       So she's making a point, and I love it. Good for her.

       For almost two years now I've been disappointed in the number of people willing to get into good trouble. I wish her lawsuit was more loudly shared. It's hard to find news. I saw a post about this community last year, and came across another brief post so I had to go to AXIOS.

        Lawsuits are our last line of defense. God Bless every lawyer taking on ICE victims, every Judge blocking Trump's insanity and every leader demanding access to detention centers.

        And whoever this beautiful woman is, who looked at this racist enclave and said "I have to do something." 

        Rock on, sister! Get in some good trouble.

        Scene.

(FB) 60 Years Are Too Many: Church

     9 August 2026

        This past week, I had drinks with friends, and somehow my departure from organized religion came up. We bonded over being forced to watch Left Behind at much too young of an age, and agreed that evangelicals are abusing children.

        My friends were churchy-churches as kids, as many of us were, but are not so much any more, as most of us. Christopher Durang put it best: "I know many children who are Catholic. I don't know any Catholic adults." This is not a direct quote, as I was sure it was from Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You, but I don't have the play. The point is that it fits my thoughts thematically, as few of us adults are still churchgoers. For a good reason.

        And we all have a story.

        And mine is coming, you've been warned.

        First: Not Catholic. I honestly would not have been able to handle church as a child if we were Catholic. Who can sit still that long with so much pagentry and smoke?

        We attended Berean Fundamental Church in Lakewood. It's on Jewell and for a minute was the River Of Life Church, but now the marqee is in Spanish. I think. I don't speak Spanish, but it looks Spanish.

        I attended that church until I was 12 or 13 (unsure which year). I was tasked with relentlessly inviting other kids to attend Wednesday nights, making me quite popular at school. Kids were constantly begging to be invited to attend church on a Wednesday night. It was relentless, I almost needed a bodyguard.

        NARF!

        In case you missed the sarcasm, I was treated like  a borderline pariah.

       I went to Sunday School on Sunday morning, regular church on Sunday night and AWANA on Wednesdays. There were Saturday things I have a vague recollection of doing, and I think my dad helped mow the church lawn.

        When kids would ask what kind of church I was aggressively pushing on them, I had no answer. My mom said we were "a bounce off of Baptist". But that seems incorrect, as the word "fundamental" was part of the name, but fundamental to what? If I look it up today, it's Fundamental Baptist...but I do not remember that word on the church sign. Maybe it was?

        Ok, went down a google rabbit hole...we were just Berean Fundamental and apparently they still have a summer camp in Lakewood. Eww.

        There were rules we did not follow because I guess we didn't want to. I have no idea why we didn't just go to another church. But my parents said church doctrine stated that we weren't supposed to attend movies, play cards,  listen to rock music or dance. 

        We went to the movies. Mom played Gin Rummy with friends. I liked music. My sisters and I danced like fiends to our records and the radio, largely in front of the box fan. For effect. You know. As one does.

        I imagine my mother saw us as the Partridge Family of the church. She stitched us matching outfits for the holidays, all reflecting her obsession with pioneers and bonnets--my God that woman loved Little House on the Prairie-- and we sang weekly. Mom played the guitar, and her three little well behaved girls would sing with her. We were very compliant. Mom also ran the games on Wednesday night for AWANA.

        I even attended the Pastor's Vacation Bible school at his house after I had outgrown it, because my mom said he needed the support. I would argue I attended that church most of my congnizant life until the age of 13.

        I attended Maranatha Bible Camp for a few summers. Enough that I started spouting that my career dream was to be a Maranatha Bible Camp Counselor. One year, counselors introduced me to Christian Rock. Not like Stryper-they were way later, and it was before Amy Grant and even softer than her. Literally, like soft do wop. I just looked up the album Andrus, Blackwood &Co,Following You, 1978. 

        So. The song "Jesus, You're So Wonderful" was the trigger. 

         I loved it. Mom loved it. Mom learned to play it on the guitar---it's a piano do wop and mom doesn't play piano. So. I assume Rockley's didn't have the sheet music, seems like it would have been a bit obscure. Maybe they did. Or maybe mom just listened to the album and figured it out. I seem to rememer sheet music, though. Whatever. Not relevent.

        I sang it on Sunday morning. I was so excited. I sang it so well. I was a young belt with no idea what a belt was. It felt so good! I sounded so good! 

        There were a few smiles in the congregation, and maybe a sway or two. The audience had enjoyed it, but something was wrong. I was being...judged. It was different than previous performances, where I was judged with smiles and joy. This was very different. Their eyes were cold. Some looked sad. I was a kid, all I knew was it was not the usual reception.

        By the evening service, we were iced out. Nobody would talk to us. I assumed I was not as good of a vocalist as I thought. Everything inside of me crashed. I assumed it was my voice. It never occured to me that it could be the song. It was a song praising Jesus. It was a song by a christian rock band. It had to be the way I sang it.

        By the following Sunday, the pastor's messages had changed to the question of whether or not rock and roll music was sacred.

        The printed pamphlet referred to the "perverted album" of Aqua Lung. 

        I did not sing Jethro Tull. I sang a Christian rock band's song that celebrated Jesus, not a socially relevent comment on the state of homelessness.

        What was going on?

        I sill do not know. All I can tell you is that we left the church. We tried a Baptist church with a strong youth program that did not appeal to me, and mom did not like the music ministry.

         I have not belonged to a "church" since.

        Theatre is my church.

        We can sing and dance, we respect history and all art and all people and we do not judge you for your beliefs, only your commitment to the show.

         Nobody is as judgey as zealous white church people.

          I hung out with one of the ...I guess he was like a "deacon"- right, he was A Big Deal...I hung out with his daughter. Praised as a jewel of Christian Values, she was.

         She taught me how to shoplift.

         And by "taught" I mean she showed me how she was shoplifting, but I couldn't do it. I tried. I lifted a lipstick at Walgreens that I hid in a drawer until we moved to Green Mountain and I threw it away. So Much Guilt.

        But I was the sinner for belting a song praising Jesus.

        I see you.

        I'm good. I do not need your judgment. 

        And I'm smart enough to know you were dangerous, and I'm not the only one you abused. I'm grateful my parents were smart enough to leave, and not stay and boot lick to be allowed back into the fold.  I love that, it taught me volumes about self respect and may have sowed the seeds that grew the mohawk.

        I have no idea why that church changed its name, I assume the pastor left---he was not terribly young--and nobody wanted to keep it going. I'm not mad at the brick and mortar building. It's sill there and I appreciate they've held on as a church and haven't been bulldozed for apartments.

        And I also do no belong to any church. I haven't since. 

        And I don't judge anyone who likes their church. Good for you, go to church.

        Just stop judging me because I don't adhere to your beliefs.

        I have good reason. 

        I see church as controlling; a demon wearing a blonde wig.

        I'm not interested in hearing your side of how great your church is. You heard my side. You have two valid response choices: to say "I'm sorry that happened" or "Me too". 

        "My church is nothing like that," is not a valid response. It's a defense. Glad you like your church. What are you drinking?

       Scene.

        

        

        

60 Years Are Too Many: Postcards To My First And Only Work Wife

 

    3 August 2026

        We all know my application story and why I started teaching.

       Here's a story you don't know.

       Which is also a love letter to Stephanie Ortiz for her birthday.

       After I was soft hired at Littleton--- after the AP and theatre teacher "hired" me -- I had to meet the principal. 

        Dr. W had been the principal for many years, and I was scared to death of him. I had never taught before-only subbed-which is why I accepted the part time theatre position. My kids were in elementary school and I didn't want a full time job. Part time sounded perfect. I could learn to teach while teaching and still be a parent.

        I was sitting in Dr. W's office for my final "interview", which he seemed to take very seriously by putting his feet up on his desk and nodding off. I wore the same dress I had for the initial interview, one nobody ever saw again. I sat up, back straight, dropped the few ed vocab words I'd gleaned like "differentiate" and tried not to hyperventilate. His phone rang.

        He picked up as I was talking, as one does when one is highly engaged with another person. After a brief exchange, he hung up and put his feet back on the floor. He looked at me over a pencil he was twirling.

        "Do you want to be full time?"

        "Excuse me? I applied for the part time theatre position."

        "Yes, but a lang arts teacher just quit. It's part time, so you'd be half and half. Do you want to be full time?"

        No, I did not, and I was even more unqualified to teach lang arts than I was theatre, but I am easily bullied by older men so...I said yes.

        What I did not know is that the previous part time theatre teacher-for whose job I was hired- had not quit teaching or left the building. The PT Theatre job was open because she needed to work full time, so she switched to full time lang arts in the building.

        She had been teaching at Littleton for two years, waiting for exactly this opportunity.

        Which just landed in my lap.

        When I was at my induction in August, the AP gave me a gold LPS pin. He smiled and said "I hear you're the new Ms. Haight".

        What? You hate me? The kids will hate me? What are you saying, sir? I just met you, why so much hate? I'm new hate? There was old hate? Somebody please help me!

        I had no idea who this Haight person was. I do not remember meeting her for the first time. I heard about her from Jim and Don (music), the AP and the theatre teacher, who all called her "Steph" I remember meeting her at some point in the hall outside of 146--I think she came down to say hi to Jim and Don, and I happened to be in the hall. Probably because the door knob to 146 was sticky and I could only get in about half of the time. That tracks. The full time theatre teacher did not help me to figure out how the door worked, or attempt to fix it. He just berated me because I couldn't get the door open, so I spent a lot of time in the hall trying to figure it out.

        She introduced herself. She was Stephanie Haight. AHH!!! Good God, thank you for the connection. She told me --wihout any anger or spite---that I had been hired for the job she had vacated, and she had wanted to be half and half, an opportunity which had not emerged, so she opted to move down the hall and be full time lang arts.  

        And then they hired me and literally the opportunity was offered to me.

        And also, she loved theatre and would be happy to help out in any capacity. 

        The kids loved her. I heard many stories of how bad ass Ms. Haight was--she played pool at cast parties, fell off ladders and bounced, her laugh filled the shop during builds--the kind of stuff techies love. I can still hear her demanding to know the location of the push fish.

         Once we realized we would get along, she changed our badges to photos of Carl and Lenny from The Simpsons. She jumped in to do lights and sets, came down to tell jokes and stopped by my lang arts classroom---which I shared with the woman I regard as my true mentor, a seasoned lang arts teacher--to brighten my day. Her eyes were always the size of saucers, full of glee and love of life. She actually made her lang arts kids memorize the opening of Beowulf and was rabid about the difference between "Old English" and "Elizabethan English" because kids are idiots and think Shakes is Old English.

        Her willingness to help my slaggy inept ass created a smooth transition for students, but unfortunately it also built a "New Vs. Old" rift between us and the full time theatre teacher. We did nothing to feed it, we didn't have to. We just got along and liked the kids. To be fair, any time there's a change, kids get spikey. I did not know anything had happened until the full time theatre teacher accused me of creating a "Kmart camp". I was half theatre and half lang arts; I didn't have upper level theatre kids and only directed the spring shows, initially, then the fall show. He had the musicals, the upper level classes and IB. I did costumes. I literally had no idea what he was talking about, and had to ferret Steph out in her cubicle to be talked down. She knew the drill all too well. Part of why she decided to exit down the hall was this man's browbeating approach to everything. So we bonded even more deeply.

        We went to prom together.

        When I did Laramie Project, I was able to contact Moises Kaufman, who was roommates in college with one of our social studies teachers. I just did it, I called, I followed through. He connected me to Leigh Fondakowski, who happened to be "nearby" in Utah, and willing to come see a rehearsal and chat with the actors. She wasn't 'free' of course, Tectonic felt a donation would be appropriate and I agreed. Steph was all in, she couldn't believe our good fortune. The full time theatre teacher scolded me, said "We're a school, they should do it for free" and "Admin will never agree to a donation".

        So I walked down to admin and said "Can we?" and the Beautiful AP----who remembers the moment to this day----said "Of course!"

        Steph did lights and set with a former student, and we created something unique that teachers still talked about 15 years later. I remember sitting in the house looking at the stage and listening to her walk through the color changes in the light plot. I was so impressed, and again ashamed because in no way was I capable of this job. She was clearly better at tech from every angle. Full stop.

        At some point we started bullying the guys---Jim, Don and at first the theatre teacher, then just the four of us---into performing at the senior cabarets. We rarely had a clear idea for a piece. The first time, I just said Breakfast Club and then wandered down to her room, where they were watching Chicago. I looked at her, pointed to "He had it coming" happening on the screen and said "Why don't we do that?"

        She knew immediately what I meant and we built a base for the scene. The five of us would each be who we were in high school---the stereotype---each in detention. We'd each sing about how we got there, using the structure and chorus of Cellblock Tango.

        Because I'm the punk rocker, I was innocent. The intellect, Jock, theatre kid and band kid were all actually guilty. I sprayed bleach on my shirt to create an Anarchy symbol, Steph wore her trademark side ponytail---the character  Deb in Napoleon Dynamite is Steph---I choreographed something easy everyone could do-mostly stomping-and it killed.

    Steph's sprinkler dance move brought the house down. She can claim she's a techie all she wants. She's funny.

      My husband's standard response when I say Steph's name is "Stephanie is soooo funny." He said it once after a cabaret---I think it was when we did "Suddenly Seymour" as 
"Suddenly Stephanie"---and got smacked. So he says it all the time now.

        One year, after I became full time theatre, we switched classes so she could teach Intro. She missed teaching theatre, and I was bored with Intro, so I took her Comp World Lit Honors and she took Intro. Today I am amazed anyone let us do that. I'm also amazed nobody in Comp World Lit Honors complained to admin and that I still had a job teaching theatre. She clearly loved it and was much better at it than I was.

        Steph always wore heels or pointy toed shoes. She could be heard clicking down the hall. Very What Not To Wear, she always looked put together. Those first few years I tried my best to put together ensembles, but I never achieved the effortless fashion air she possessed. 

        We couldn't be trusted to sit together during staff meetings. We literally wrote notes and drew pictures and cackled like loonies in the back row.

        It was Steph who came into my lang arts classroom when the Virginia Tech shooting happened and whispered "There's been another one." I knew what she meant, but she didn't want to alarm the students. A few years later one of the kids who was in that class told me she remembered that day, and she said she knew there had been a shooting. Not social media, not text, not our whispers; she knew based on how we both looked.

        We went for manis and pedis once, and the salon tech thought we were mother and daughter. I am not that old, she's that short. 

        I said "Pagent wagon" to her once for A Company of Wayward Saints and she and her husband (who may have been a fiance at the time?) built a wooden wagon so durable it stayed until I left the building, to be used in choir pops concerts and as a prop table.

        One time I walked in on her backstage during an off period; she had a wooden broom stick and a bucket of glass. I watched as she added and subtracted glass and other found items to change the sound. She finally saw me and said "Breaking glass! Does this sound right?" We were doing Noises Off and she'd already designed and built an amazing set with students, and had moved on to creating practical sound for a window break. It was scripted but I didn't really care about that particular detail. She did. 

        I got it. She loved theatre. Done with one job, she started the next one. She did lights and sets and props with the same gusto every time. 

        One Halloween I had bags of candy on my desk. I hadn't opened them. As she walked out of the office, she grabbed one of the bags to get a treat, thinking it was open. It was sealed, so she just banged it on my desk a few times, hoping it would explode like a pinata. I laughed harder than I ever have, as she turned to me, indignant, and stated "I just want a piece of candy. I thought it was open," and slammed it on the desk again, hoping the final slam would pop the bag open. When it stayed closed, she threw it on the desk and pouted. Cackling like a witch, I picked it up and opened it for her. She grabbed a handful of mini candy bars and stomped out, heels clicking.

        God I love her.

        On Little Shop Of Horrors she recruited a student to build plant tendrils that would "grow" on the flower shop walls, and others that she wanted to use under the stair units below the apron. Those never quite made it, it was a great idea but I'm not a great director and that show overwhelmed me.  She would have made it work, but I didn't have the time to give her room to do it. I was an asshole. Honestly, I still am. 

        However, she did lights for that show and I still do not know how. The set designer was a retired theatre teacher from our sister school who was difficult to work with. Our locked grid was only 12' from the stage floor and he kept building trucks at 11'5", with no regard for lights. The plant, built by an LHS alum for a community theatre production and graciously loaned to us was 11' tall and 11,000 pounds. We had no fly, a locked grid and no wing space. How she lit that show is still a mystery to me. She had to strike all lights from center because of the plant.

        I went shopping for a wedding dress with her. I attended her wedding. I took the first family photo in the hospital when her oldest was born... who just graduated from high school this May. We sat on the patio of My Brother's Bar with beloved alumni many times.

        We had Carl and Lenny badges, and at some point I recall gettting something like a dog tag that said "Smelly Pirate Hooker", a phrase we love from Anchorman.

        Nobody has ever gotten me like she does. If I scream "Just buy me a walker, David. Buy a goddamned walker and put me it," she will respond with glee and "No more turbans for Miss Talbert."

        Yout get one of these people in your life if you're lucky.  

        I have not lived a good enough life to be this lucky.

    But I think the most fun we had was a mess of a summer production we created called O2V. It was an adapted/butchered Orlando by Virginia Woolf, and Steph played Virginia. She paced on the outside square of the inner circle we built, writing and creating and struggling with her own life as well as creating the story of trans Orlando. 

        It was A Lot.

        It was A Mess.

        It was Ours.

        We used the MK Ultra Warehouse by the Merc---lovingly referred to as The Tuff Shed-- LIDA Project's home. Brian was around and supportive, but LIDA's name wasn't on as producer. He just let us come play. We had my actor friends, another teacher, former, current and future students and my oldest child in the cast. My sister and I costumed. Steph and I wrote. It was hot. My friend Mel created original music that she performed during the show. We all learned how to say "I'm not wearing pants" in Russian. It rained on the tin roof during a performance. The LHS principal at the time attended. It was true community theatre, and I never would have done it without Steph.

        She schlepped to Confier to see me in Steel Magnolias. After the show she said "I have a screw gun, need help with strike?" She Schlepped again to Bailey to see me do a reading of Proof. 

        Her birthday is this week. I could never remember which day, so years ago I just started spamming her Happy Birthday memes beginning on August first. Last year I forgot. I just...forgot. I have no excuse. 

        I've known her since I started teaching. And through three districts and three performing arts departments, she's been my only work wife. I've had colleagues, some better than others, only one villain. But nothing like Steph. Nothing compares to her relentless positivity and true passion for life.

        She left teaching to raise her kids. Luckiest kids in the world. I hope they know that.

        I will send this to her. I'll probably print and mail it. She has no social media, what she calls "Facey Spaces".

        Happy Birthday Beautiful. I miss the crap out of working with you. I wish I could be there to punch you right in the babymaker.

                                            O2V Steph in the foreground.