Community Theatre and Tiny Hands

    I just completed my third show with "A Performing Arts Program". They work year round, but I only work a show in the summer. The first two years I directed the high school kids. This year I was AD on the "Big Show", which combines all ages from about 7 to 17. Oy Vey.
    This is a melted crayon love letter to community theatre and this program.
    When one of the the producers contacted me three years ago, I received an email from someone I had never heard of, working for an organization I had never heard of, asking if I'd be interested in directing a "JR" version of HAIRSPRAY for them. HAIRSPRAY  is a musical.
     I hate musicals. I Hate Musicals.
     I like being in a musical, but since embarking on theatre teacher/director in high school, I have come to hate them. They are too much work for the pay off, we have no budget to do them well, and I don't really "direct" so much as "produce". So I do all the heavy lifting and math and shopping end up designing and building costumes ...and really the show is a choreographer and a music director.
      But they were willing to pay me, so I agreed to meet with her.
      She found her way to my office with the ease of someone who knew the school. Turns out she's an alum. The teacher I replaced had been her teacher.
      Eric and I were slumped in my office (it was lunch, don't get excited) snarking when she arrived.
      She was smiling. She was positive. She was kind. She was soft spoken  and made eye contact. She addressed me with the respect and understanding of someone who does theatre.
       She took me off guard.
       She said  "This is different than what you do here (at school), you won't have to produce. You show up with your coffee, teach two classes, rehearse and walk out the door." I was in.
       Eric tried to slip out, but he got snagged when I introduced him and she said "Hey, we also need a choreographer for Aladdin...." Bam. Caught.
       Three years later and I'm still working for these people. So is Eric. And the depths of the producer's kindness is unprecedented. How is she a producer and kind and supportive? I dunno, dude. I do not know. It helps that the  Producer Producer who fundraises and founded the program is a performing arts guy. And the team are all performing arts teachers and professionals and they produce.... success. There is no negative. I don't sit at lunch and snark with Eric. (Even though I know when we are together we always look like we're snarking, because we both have Resting Bitch Face and we both hate people.) BUT, we do not, there is no real bad here. Sure they have issues but all of their issues stem from growing pains. They are blowing the doors off. There were 80 kids involved in this last show. They do no cut shows 'cause it's a camp.

"Everyone gets a spot in the chorus. Bring white shorts from home." --Tina Fey on her community theatre experience as a kid.

        So some things I have learned from these people:

      SUCCESS in theatre comes from the top. You can have all the talented people in the world, but if you micromanage them or get in their way or have an agenda that is inconsistent with performing arts benefitting kids, your program is going to fail. This group never loses sight of their objective: to encourage growth in kids through performing arts. Hire talented people, and then get out of their way. Lorne Michaels and Tiny Fey can attest to that.
       PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS. If you want talented people, you need to pay them. Most teacher/performer types are used to scraping by, and will happily be a part of something wonderful for no money. However, they can't stay, because eventually they need insurance, or to make their car payment. Want them to stay? Pay them.
       TEAMS MATTER. You need a team that has mutual respect for one another, who believe in the mission of the program, and who respect  and are respected by the producing entities.
        IT TAKES AN ARTIST TO UNDERSTAND ART. Failure is imminent if anyone at the top with power has no idea how theatre works. This is why  public school programs fail. It's not the teachers, I promise. They know their job and how to get results, they just cannot prove it on a standardized test.
        IT TAKES AN ARTIST TO UNDERSTAND ARTISTS. This goes to putting the teams together. Performing arts teachers are all over the place with their personalities, but ultimately many of us are truly introverts who have found performing arts as a way to express ourselves. If you are not a fellow artist, you do not know that, and you frequently misinterpret and misunderstand our responses to everything.
       YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE ANGRY TO PRODUCE. You can be supportive and kind. J is a great producer, kind, supportive, and crazy hard working, because she believes in the program and she loves theatre.
       BUY ARTISTS FOOD AND ALCOHOL AFTER THE SHOW AND THEY WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. This needs no explanation.
     
      All of these elements that create the perfect storm could be because this group has the freedom to do the right thing by being attached to a church, who just want people to grow up and be nice to each other. Not a school that is wound up about grades and rubrics and core subjects. I find it interesting that this program, while through a church, does not feel very church-y. Nobody's forced to pray or memorize bible verses. They just meet at the beginning and end of each day to reflect on a phrase or idea like "respect" or "kindness", which sadly are addressed only because this is associated with a church. Why isn't this model followed everywhere? It's like when the girls were little and we loved Veggie Tales and I had parents tell me they didn't want any part of it because they were athiests or agnostic or whatever.  They'd never watched a single episode, otherwise they would have understood that a tomato and a cucumber were not trying to convert their children. They simply encouraged them to become better people through kindness, patience, humility and rockin' Cheeseburger songs.

      I have come into the program every summer for the last three years completely drained. Negative, damaged, defensive, ready to give up. I leave the program, every summer,  renewed and wishing this was my real job.

     They put up full shows in two weeks. Full Shows. Sometimes it's a high school aged JR with a youngers JR the same two weeks. Sometimes it's a full show with all ages. Sometimes it's the littles doing Jungle Book or Frog and Toad. I can barely get a full musical up in five weeks at the high school, dude, and they do it in two. The different ages come together for warmup, lunch and closing and they get to know one another.
      It's a camp, the kids are there from 9am-4 for two weeks. They bring their lunch, take dance, music and acting classes with rehearsals interspersed. It's brilliant. There is a TD who trains the tech kids and they actually build a set on site. They use the church and other high school stages,  or an elementary for the littles, which makes it even more of a challenge. But they do it. Every time. For ten years. Bam.
      And it's stressful, but it's enjoyable. Everybody does their job. The kids are fully invested. The staff is without ego or need to prove anything to anybody. Nobody misses rehearsal because they have a club meeting, or they have a test or some other more important thing to do. They are there to do a show, and that's it. This is an aspect that I struggle with when I return to my regular job in the fall. I get spoiled over the summer with all of that support from the top and all of those kids 100% invested in the show, and the show only.
      And then I'm grumpy again.

     One of the music directors bought us all tiny hands based on an inside joke. We all rejoiced and found uses for our tiny, plastic hands. Eric chose to congratulate the kids by shaking hands with them, which freaked a few out and was glorious. The director bought me coffee. The kids made Golden Tickets (The show was Willy Wonka, oops, secret it out) for all the artistic team. I received cards and candy and thank you notes from kids and parents alike. The support and love took me so off guard that I had no idea I was expected to be on stage after curtain call to receive gifts with the team. I was actually stunned. If you didn't know me you'd think I was stoned, it was that bad. Wait: 80 grateful kids and a house of grateful parents, all on their feet?  Pinch me.
 
      This is why every spring I anxiously await the arrival of my HELLO SIGN contract from PAA. I cannot believe I am so lucky. I do not deserve this.
      But by God, I'm going to keep doing it.  I LOVE THESE PEOPLE.  I even agreed to direct Dinos Before Dark with grades 2-6. This is not my comfort zone, I don't really "get" this age group. But Wonka prepared me, and we will be on my "home" base at my HS (I may have had something to do with that).  And I am so excited! It will be the best Dinos Before Dark these people have ever seen. Because I want to be there, I love doing it and every single kid is invested.
      And I'm supported by the Producers, who believe that I have the kids' best interest in mind, and trust me. That makes a huge difference, my friends.

AND IN CONCLUSION ALL IN ALL TO SUM UP: I was the boss of the squirrels backstage. They had tails that needed to be pinned to their shirts and styrofoam nuts that had to be wrangled. Here is the final compilation of things I, Kryssi Martin, Theatre Professional, had to say to children.

"Do not pick at your nuts."
"Don't trade nuts, that one is yours, you have to keep it, even if it's broken."
Me:"Come here, Miss Trish will hot glue your nut." Miss Trish: "This is not in my contract."
"No, your nut does not have chocolate in the middle."
"Do not eat your nuts."
"Do not pull at the top of your nut. Hold your nut like a precious jewel."
"Hold your nut with both hands."
"Did you get a chunk of your nut in your eye?" (after which his mom had to fish it out. How Embarrassing)
"Keep your nut with you. We can't have nuts just rolling around everywhere."
"How do you know that isn't your nut? They all look the same."
"Don't drop your nuts."
"Thank you for knowing where the white nuts go."

NOTE: I refrained from any obvious jokes about the squirrels each having only one nut, and their choreographer, Eric, having only one nut. That would have been inappropriate. Which is why I saved it for here.



MY TINY HANDS WRITING A THANK YOU NOTE!

Anxiety, neighbors, Durango, Anxiety, 2000 words go

The last few weeks I have been writing 2000 words a day. Today I decided to post one, this is the inside of my head.


 I'm on the deck, it's 9.19 am, a little late for me to be out writing, but I did some yoga first. Now I'm in my spot until the sun blocks my screen, watching the neighbor's stories. This morning routine of 2000 words can be a challenge. There's always a stupid cat that wants out, a dog that drank all his water, anxiety, blah blah blah Across the street, beginning yesterday morning, my neighbors and all of their company---it appears they are family, grandmas and grandpas and aunts I guess--began schlepping wagons of ice and freezer type food across the street to Lin and Betty's house (next to mine, the one with the retaining wall). I thought I heard one say something about the fridge going out, but then a UHaul trailer appeared, and now it looks like they are actually moving stuff out of their garage. I feel like Gladys on Bewitched. 

I chatted with Betty the evening before last, she is adjusting to dentures and has a nasty cold she can't shake. She stepped out from behind her fence to show me she'd lost so much weight that her pants are falling off of her. She was sick a lot this winter as well. They have their yearly family reunion in Texas coming up next week, and they always drive. Every year I question how smart of a choice that is in their Buick or towncar or whatever that old boat is, but Betty says she'll never fly. "It takes just as long to get through our airport and then the one in Dallas." Fair. These neighbors are a joy. They've had a rough road, but are always kind and ask about Genoa and Harper. Their grand son Atticus has been friends with the girls since they were 3,4 and 5. Harp still hangs out with Atty.

She's at work at Starbucks right now, her third training shift. She gets to work the drive through today. When we get back from Durango and she has her schedule, she's going back to Mad Greens (she calls it Sad Greens) to work hours there as well. They'll hire her back for a few weeks, then promote her to shift lead at $13 an hour. My daughter is a money monster, and that beats $10 at Starbucks. She  labors under the delusion that she will work two jobs, but I can't imagine it working out, as she has a third job filling in as a nanny. That's an entire story unto itself, and has already been written.

Okay, everyone in my neighborhood has a dog, and they all walk them from 7 am -10 am,  bullying and taunting me because I walk my old dog only to the speed bump and back, and the other dog isn't my problem.

Writing I had hoped would alleviate some of my anxiety. I also started reading this book, One Minute Mindfulness which is somewhat helpful. Not as helpful as scrubbing every floor and floorboard in my house, but you have to try many things. Anxiety is not a joke, and at my age I cannot afford it any more, I'm going to give myself a stroke. And it's exhausting. I haven't slept well but one night this summer, and that is ridiculous. It's SUMMER. I start Willly Wonka on Monday, and I tried to get the house scrubbed before that began.

Harp and I are going down to Durango tonight, we'll spend Saturday with G and come back  Sunday morning. Jim wants to see Finding Dory for father's day, and I don't want to drive in the heat, so we'll head out around 6 I guess. Earlier if I can pour H into the car. I only love road trips in the early mornings.  I don't mind early evenings, but after the sun goes down I get  jumpy, I didn't used to, Jim and I drove to and from Houston  through the  night, and when the girls were little we drove to California. At that time my anxiety was Death Valley--valid.  Guess I have always had it, it's just really increased exponentially the last few years.

I get anxious every time we go to Durango. The first visit we didn't even make it there, I freaked out in Ouray and we came home the next morning. That was without Jim, he suddenly couldn't go on the only family trip we could make work that summer, and I agreed to take the girls. But we got there and there is something deeply wrong with Ouray, and the hotel floors were uneven and there were shadows in the mirror and nope. So it wasn't until two years later that we made it to Mesa Verde--- Jim's bucket list---and we drove around the outside of the campus, and G was  not impressed.. Then a year later we went out to visit Ft. Lewis and she met Dennis- he runs the theatre- and that was it. She was sold.  And that trip I had a full on freak out, I worry about the pass, I hate the pass, I hate being on the "wrong side" of any pass in Colorado. I do the same thing in Steamboat. I thought it was the altitude, since anxiety can be physical, high heart rate, etc---but I don't think that's it in Durango. Also that doesn't explain why I start to panic before we go.

This one started yesterday.

So my stomach hurts,and I feel dizzy, and I can't breathe and it's great. It's AWESOME.

10.23
So I got bullied into walking the dogs. It's already hot, and they're black so we only went to the water tank. We were behind an elderly couple who seem to be part of the across the street gathering, he has one of those one armed/crutch/metal things and he was moving uphill at a lovely pace. At the water tank, Sundown broke away--to the extent that he can "break away", more like "hobbled"---and their dog became a bit aggressive. They were kind, he has gap teeth and both are definitely Aussie. I swear the dad does not have an accent, but last year on the fourth they had friends over, and the guy I chatted with had an aussie accent. They are loading up, this is a caravan of some kind. I'm having Walking Dead anxiety, do they know something I do not. There is a truck with a UHaul trailer pulled behind it, a minivan and a  hatchback car loaded up with coolers. How many people and how far are they going? I'll ask Allison, she lives next door and I think she went to college with the mom. She knows everything in the neighborhood....DANG, she's in Chicago.I'm left to my own snooping.

Well, the good news is the walk has quelled my anxiety attack.

I'm just too old any more, I don't want to leave home but I'm grumpy because we never get to take a real vacation and leave home.  Ok, last year we went to Florida, that was great.  But it was only a week, I don't know if we've ever taken a vacation longer than a week. What's that like? Leave your house for two weeks? OH, I had an anxiety attack in St. Augustine as well, so....not related to higher elevations. Science. I'm all about it.

We went to NASA while in Fla, of course, why wouldn't you, and I cried the whole time. It was like visiting a gravesite, a monument to Things We Used To Do That Were Cool.  The Atlantis, the production values, the old guy sitting on his folding chair with a sign that said "Engineer" and which missions he worked. I wanted to talk to him but I don't speak engineer, so I just shook his hand and thanked him. The visit made Genoa think she wanted to change majors---she investigated, discovered math, then decided she could design the next phase of space suit. Harp was duly impressed and expressed interest in learning more about space stuff, but has no interest in the math necessary for space travel. Also, we don't do it any more here in America, so there's that.

When G chose Ft. Lewis I was already in the throes of College Panic Attack, as she had been accepted into OCU and the costumer had started calling to confirm that she was coming so she could assign her shows. The cost--even with the scholarships---was giving me heart palpitations, even though loans are a thing and more scholarship $ was coming. Then she met Dennis and it was over, even though Ft. Lewis is not a "theatre" school, she didn't care. She liked Dennis, she felt comfortable in their tiny theatre and wanted to get a minor in biology. Which she dropped when it was between bio and a trip to Dublin, so there you have that. But it worked out, even though she is declared as a Design and Tech major, she was nominated for the Irene Ryan for her acting in The Little Prince. And she's going to Dublin and London in July---originally they were doing Barcelona as well, I hope they do. It's a collaborative performance class, so they've created a piece to perform at universities over there. I feel like it's a sort of college Fringe Festival.  Between now and her departure I get to worry about getting her a credit card, a cell phone plan, her losing her passport or getting her money stolen...she's Genoa, there is much to worry about. But I don't know why, she's doing great. She got an apartment for the summer, works two jobs--- well, until last night when she quit Pizza Hut for sexual harassment. But she'll get another second job and she'll be fine. She doesn't really need me to worry, but what else am I going to do? I have two gifts: theatre and worrying.

And one of those has been cut off for next year, since I'm not directing at LHS. That's another source of delightful anxiety.

The younger "aunt" and her young daughter have taken off, cooler secured in the front seat. The elderly couple are loading the mini van. I love road trips, I really do miss them. This looks awesome, how come we don't do this any more? Harp and I are going to Durango to see G for one day, that's not very road trippy. It'll be fun to get out, and I wish Jim was coming, but it's not like this event I'm watching. Allison drives to Chicago every summer. Our old neighbor drove to Florida for the summer. We just don't have anywhere to drive  to I guess. The dad is checking the brake lights on the trailer, I don't know where the two girls who live there have gone to. They were in the front yard in their jammies a minute ago. I see only adults in the truck and minivan.  I think mom is taking them in the family car? She just asked an empty front yard if anyone had to go to the bathroom. Wow. This is impressive. Of course in Colorado I'm used to RV's and trucks and SUV's with Thule rocket boxes and bike racks. We used to be those people.

Back when we rented our cars, we had a Tahoe I loved, and then a Suburban that I did not. But that Suburban had a Thule on top, a bike rack on the back, and occasionally pulled a pop up camper. That was us, headed to Turquoise Lake and the Molly Brown Campground---where you have to reserve your spot a year ahead of time. Well, then it was a year, that was 10-12 years ago before everybody bloody moved here, now I bet it's impossible to get a spot two years ahead. I loved that lake.

OH, Shuffly Boy with the German Shepard is walking late today. Dude, it's hot. He walks the dog twice day and I have no idea where he lives. Maybe behind us. But he's a kid, so he shuffles, he doesn't pick up his feet, so you can hear him coming. He's really late, it's 11. HA, I hear Nathan Lane's voice "Gotta run, it's almost eleven!"

WC 2040,
Not bad, although I did break for a walk. Weds I did a 640 word character analysis as part of my routine,. Yesterday I edited and beefed up the "After School Theatre" outline for the guy they hired. I didn't do a word count, though, but it counts, there were words.

The UHaul and truck have left, mom is moving the smaller car into the driveway, and I guess the children are loaded into the mini van? I didn't ser them, but she's talking to someone. I think Grandma and Grandpa are in there too. Big mini van.

I promised myself I'd cross something off the list today, I should probs go in. I need to buy paint to finish the spare room, and I'm saving my pennies for Durango. I'll do that after Willy Wonka, or next weekend. Today I have to dig out CD's for the trip, Jim's Honda is so old we can't listen to the iphone. OOOOH, CD's! Harp has some sort of small speaker arrangement that we can kinda use, I think.

SECOND AUDITION: THE HELL AGAIN?

 10 am
 Uta Hagen has a book An Actor Prepares. I have a blog An Actor Neurotics. I read the script again, first time in thirty years.  Watched the movie again. Again, was grumpy at how different the two are. There are no men in the play except to be discussed and alluded to.    I have never loved this script, I feel like the women are stereotypes and they speak in platitudes. It was written by a man, and I don't like any man's female characters except Edward Albee. His women I understand. Steel Magnolias seems to be an extended stereotype intended to make women cry for monetary gain (ticket sales). It works, don't get me wrong, but it's transparent. And I'm judgy. 
  The men in the play are referred to as couch potatoes and neanderthals. Largely useless, beer drinking entities who do not help out at all. But when they made the movie they cast Tom Skerritt and Sam Shepard and well....they aren't going to play that now, are they? So the movie skews away from the man bashing in the original script quite a bit, allowing these sympathetic, and hard working husbands to emerge---albeit quietly. They aren't given a lot of lines. And that softens the  blow a bit, and frankly gives the story a bit  more balance.
   Just my opinion.
   The stereotype, however, is part of what makes it fun. Ouiser is a bitter old southern woman, the end. No need to dig too deeply. Truvy  is pretty. Clairee is dignified. M'lynn is a mom. Shelby is an ornery child trying to live her own life but is ultimately a moron. Annelle is a "survivor", pulling herself up after the criminal husband leaves her. And Scene. They all hang out in a beauty shop and gossip about the town. Because that's what women do, apparently. It's really a play about drag queens, let's be honest. I volunteer to direct that version!
    I used to feel the same way about Crimes of the Heart, until recently. I looped it into my Acting 1 class and got some really nice work out of the girls. Turns out there's more there than meets the eye when you work on it. Maybe that's my problem with Steel Magnolias, I just don't understand it.
   I don't need to understand it or even like it to want to be in it. I can't explain why, it'd just be fun to act again.
    So I had to drag out a monologue. Everything I have no longer works for anyone over 30, except for Aunt Maddy which is 10 minutes long. Not an audition monologue. So I pulled an old one from Soap Dish, as it can work with a southern dialect and it's short, and "ageless".  It'll be fine.
    I looked up the map, the theatre is 28 minutes from my house. Armed with this information I will still arrive 30 minutes early and end up sitting in the parking lot, texting Eric.
    If  callbacks are tomorrow or Monday,  I can't go, I have auditions for Willy Wonka. There is no callback time listed on the audition notice. 
    I had a terrible nightmare last night, in it the person they hired to replace me as director took over my entire office and let choir kids hang out all the time. It was awful. So I didn't get a great night of sleep, which is good. I look older.
    My lower back/hip has been seizing for a week, I overdid it last Saturday at the gym, so I walk with one hand on my back. I also tore up my pinkie toe breaking in shoes, so I limp. Again: good for age. :)
    I look down at my hands. I have 4 remaining  long fake nails from my last manicure adventure with Harper, three weeks ago. The other 6 have been broken off and hacked at. Another mess that is so me. So I clip two of the nails down and leave the longer thumb nails for balance. If they notice my nails, I've failed anyway, dunno why I bother. It's something to do I suppose.
    I have nothing to wear. I coach "Don't dress for a role, dress nicely. Not prom nice, just church nice." I stand in my closet looking at the hodge podge of hand me downs and funky pants and maxi skirts and realize I don't have "church clothes". So do I go for it as me, since I already am Ouiser, or try to find neutral pieces to cobble together, that may look worse than just committing to poor taste. Or Nathan Lane? I can do Nathan Lane pretty easily. Dear God I cannot even dress myself.
    Just messaged Eric, he recommends the heart ruffle shirt my mother in law gave me. I always get compliments from older women when I wear it, good call.
    Jim made breakfast, I guess I'll go shower?
_______________________________________________
In the shower I realize it's a rant, not a monologue. I can alter my Carrie Fischer Postcards From the Edge in a way that it still works. I'll do that.
__________________________________________________
I arrive 30 minutes early. I text Eric about the tattooed young lady having a cigarette outside the theatre--which is in a strip mall that  also contains other businesses. We decide she's the stage manager. An orange mini arrives, and a disheveled man carrying a pile of papers (clearly scripts), a brown to go bag, what looks like mike stands and his car keys in his mouth, stumbles to the theatre. He returns moments later, moves his car around the block, returns and parks in the same spot, emerges with more papers. He returns to his car a third time to retrieve something I cannot identify before it's time for me to go in.
    I have identified the director!
    The young lady, however, turns out to be an employee at another shop in the strip mall. 
___________________________________________________________

    I have been the wrong age my entire career.
    In  my 20's I read older, and rarely was considered because actors who were actually 30 were better than me. Then I took a decade plus off to be a mom and a teacher. Landing me here, a young looking 50, and still the wrong age.
    The callback went well. Again, Nice People! And I nailed reading for both Ouiser and Clairee. He has a definite type in mind for the other roles that I do not fit, and that's fine. I would have liked to read for M'lynn but it was clear he had a specific type in mind.
     It was a joy to sit there as an actor and watch the proceedings without my judgey director hat.
     I had the best time! I got to be an old southern grumpy and he read enough scenes for me to be funny physically, create a character, nail the meter in the text,and cry! I got to CRY I never get to cry! He was auditioning M'lynn's, you know "My daughter can't run to Texas....why is she dead..." and all I had to do was control my crying until Clairree shoved me down front "Hit her!"
IT WAS THE BEST ABSOLUTELY THE BEST MOMENT!!!
'cause I was actually crying, so I had to say "are you high" through tears and anger and surprise and WHO EVER GETS TO DO THAT?
   Dang I MISS ACTING!
   They have more auditions tomorrow, and I'm confident that I am too young to get cast. But I had such a great time, I'm going to look up more auditions tonight and go to another one. 

 I get it now!  20 years too late but still, I GET IT!

3 June, 2016: The First Bunny Victim is Found

Gatos Diablos 16.

  As I have posted previously, I am quite aware that I am not using Spanish correctly. I just find it funnier this way.  I like the timber and syntax, and I can hear Martin Buchanan's "Monster Truck" voice when I write it. "Gatos Diablos".
   The Devil Cats are back.
   The first victim was stumbled upon at 8.35 am, MST, on the back patio.  Its head was gone and its internal organs had also been removed, and were displayed next to the body. The head was not in sight. The victim, a medium sized Green Mountain bunny, looked like the other thousand bunnies running around. S/he had no notable markings other than the missing head. The murderer was curled up at the edge of the Tarantino scene, calmly awaiting her reward for saving our home from this fuzzy menace. 
   What she received, instead, was my yearly impression of a Jersey bodgea owner washing the blood off of the cement with the garden hose. With the added suburban element of keeping the dogs away from eating the intestines.
    What do they do with the heads?
     Every year I ask this question.
    This year, the coyotes have returned--huzzzAH! And there have been fox sightings--also huzzah! Due to mange, we haven't had fox up here in a few years, hence the bunny menace and the morning power wash. The cats were simply stepping in where the fox and coyote left off. I thought, that since the natural predators had seemed to return, that the cats would have less interest, or competition, or less prey.

     A few years ago, it was birds and mice and large rats. We had a family of fox living next door, and the cats would bring their prey to our porch, and drop it. The next morning, or later in the day, the dead had been removed. I realized that, with a family of baby fox next door, my cats should be disappearing. But they weren't, and we figured out that they had an arrangement with the fox family. The cats caught birds and mice, left them at our door, and under cover of darkness the baby foxes (foxes, is that right? Plural? That looks wrong) would retrieve their dinner.
   AH-HA! The cats are smart! They were feeding the fox family and saving their own hides! Very clever, gatos!

   But then there were no more fox families, no fox adults, nothing. And that was when the bunny corpses began to arrive.
    Without a food chain-self preservation arrangement, I am at a loss as to why the cats A) escalated to bunnies and B) still leave them on the patio. That is when I formulated the gang theory. They are leaving the headless bunnies as a warning. But to who I still do not know.
      One morning last summer---it's in a blog somewhere---I came out to what appeared to be two disemboweled bunnies on the patio and two more on the deck! That was a true Tarantino, you gotta get the body count up there.  As usual they were headless, heads nowhere to be found. I stopped coming out on the deck in the morning to write as the stench was overpowering.  See, I'll power wash  the patio and deck, but that's it. If the dogs don't eat the remains, or at least move them, they just stay in my yard.  A Big Bunny Burial Ground, except for the burying. It's just a body dump. My back yard is the Colorado version of the East River.
   
    But today, there are fox sightings, and I hear coyotes. And I see thousands of bunnies daily, hopping everywhere, twitching their noses and flashing their tails. I feel like Anya "What's with all the carrots, why do they need such good eyesight for anyway?" They are kind of a scourge.  Maybe the cats are doing a public service.

   We'll see. This was only one victim.

    Here is the murderous devil hiding behind the deck. Or awaiting her next prey....YES! She jumped on the dog as he passed! And returned to her spot and....YES! She lept upon  a fellow Diablo who just wanted to pass through.          

WANTED 

"STRUMPH"

RUNS WITH THE GANG "GATOS DIABLOS"

 Do not be fooled by her small size or pretty face. She is the most lethal of the three.

Another Audition? the HELL IS GOING ON?

    So...I really enjoyed auditioning again. When you don't really want the part and you know you aren't right for the show, there is real freedom in just going to play.
    So Immma do it again.
    I'm going to audition in Conifer on Saturday for Steel Magnolias.  My friend Toddie and I used to re enact the bench scene with Ouiser and Clairee with much joy. I have always wanted to be Ouiser, and admittedly I am not old enough BUT, Shirley Maclaine was 55 when she made the movie. I can look and act much older than  50! Unfortunately, for me, I'm a young looking 50. But still it'll be fun! I had to dig out a monologue and do a southern accent. Which  I love, I only get to pull it out once a year when we do Tennessee Williams, I may not be able to maintain it for a full monologue.  But I'm kinda excited to try!
    It'd be more fun if I didn't want the role, I know I'm too young for Ouiser but dammit, I am Ouiser and have been for twenty years! I'm  too old for M'lynn or Truvvy,so I have it set up to be OK if I don't get cast. I can always hide behind the age issue. Go me.  Control Freak: Party of One!
   I teach and preach "YOU CANNOT CONTROL CASTING", but I do not practice what I preach. Why should I? I'm not an actor any more.
   I have a vague recollection of auditioning for this show when I was in my late 20's. I was wwaaaaaaay too young for any of the parts I wanted, and a bit too old for the younger roles. They read me for Annelle, and I was fine. But another actor who wanted the role more and was right for the part won. I haven't thought about that in years. I knew at the callback whose part it was. For someone who spends her life teaching acting, I sure don't recall a lot of my own experiences.  I figure the kids don't need to hear about how I'm a failure, they already know that: "Those who can't do, teach."

WHICH BY THE WAY I SAW A BILLBOARD DOWNTOWN THIS WEEKEND, THERE IS A SHOW ABOUT LOSER TEACHERS AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT IT.  I think it's called Those Who Can't, and the billboard has adults in a bathroom drinking brown liquor.

I do not drink at school.

ANYWAY, that's all I can say about that. 

   So I will keep a fun journal of the audition Saturday. Eric is in Vegas, so I guess I can't  text him. Well, I can, but why would he reply: he's in Vegas. But I will Find the Funny and joy in auditioning for the pure love of theatre. The business sucks, and can make many perspective actors exit stage "SCREW THIS IMMMA GET  A LIFE". But it only sucks if you let it. I teach my kids the difference between love of the craft and the necessity of the business. Just go to auditions and tell a story. Have fun. You are in love with the craft, not the business. Eventually you will be right for a role, and you will be able to have your cake and eat it to. Until then, take classes, enjoy, explore, HAVE FUN. The day it isn't fun is the day you retire.

And become a teacher. 

Postcards from a Cooler Generation PART ONE

  I kinda dig old men.
 I like to say it's been going on the last few years, but when I stop and think about it, I've always had a thing  about old guys.
    I love their stories.
    My High School Theatre teacher qualified as an "old guy" ---HE WAS OLD TO ME--and was a Vietnam Vet.
    My grandpa was from the  WWII Silent Generation. Those guys are awesome, because they don't want to talk about it. I cannot fathom going through something so traumatic that I won't talk about it. I had to travel to Hawaii, boat to the Pearl Harbor memorial, see my family name on the memorial, come back home, and trap my grandpa in a corner in order to learn that "RL Wyckoff" on the Arizona was his cousin.

  I HAD TO ASK! THAT'S KINDA BIG NEWS FOR OUR FAMILY, GRANDPA, DON'T YOU THINK? He shrugged "He was my cousin, I didn't know him that well."  And with that, he was done talking about it.
 
     The last few years I have found myself milking stories out of my dad, my uncle Bob, and randomly crossing paths with Delightful Old Gentlemen! Some I get their names, some I do not. Some just offer me a seat, or comment on my coffee choice;" Ha, you have to wait, you gotta fancy one, didntcha? I got mine fast and I can leave: just coffee." They are all pretty much in their 80's, except for dad and uncle Bob, who are 70's Kinda Guys.

        My dad, uncle Bob and uncle Leroy all drive to Frederick together to get their hair cut by my barber brother in law. It's beyond cute. Todd's shop is barely big enough for the four of them, yet I can imagine them all sitting along the wall, catching up on gossip and mishearing every other word.  Todd is ex Army, my dad was Navy and I don't know if Bob or Leroy have military affiliations, but I am sure they do have opinions. When I sit with Bob, I just listen to whatever story he has in the moment, or ask him about being raised in Denver. I've never asked about military. Bob is the source of The Best Racist Stories Ever in my family.  It was at his wedding (Bob is Hispanic, by the way. We are not)  that an Aunt stood up and loudly asked "Who let in all these Mexicans?"I LOVE THAT STORY! I have no memory of that particular Aunt, and I think I was present at that wedding, albeit very young. However, if I was there I have no doubt that moment imprinted on my brain. He helped the stereotype along by threatening to cut off my ears and make tacos out of them, and wielding kitchen knives while saying "Mexican Credit Cards". I didn't get it. My cousin had to explain it to me. "He's saying he robs people with knives."
"Why would you rob people with knives? He has his own knives." Even at a young age I appreciated commas.
"HE ROBS PEOPLE. HE USES KNIVES TO DO IT."
"No he doesn't, he's in the kitchen,"
"He means Mexicans. Use knives. To rob people."
"Why?"
At that point I'm pretty sure I was punched, or tripped, or walked away from.

_________

One night at the pub, my dad told me stories of being a kid on the farm in Genoa. None of it had I heard before.

He told me my grandpa left home  when he was a kid by hopping a freight. There were too many kids in the house during the depression, so he hopped a freight. Rode it to California. With a guy who died.
...."dad?''.....
"Ya, he wouldn't talk about it. Fella died on the trip I guess."
How John Steinbeck.
___________
  They also lost an entire herd of sheep one winter. Before he had cows, my grandpa had sheep.  A Lot of sheep. The number escapes me, hundreds. A storm blew in, and out there in Genoa there is no cover. It's all flat, a few ravines, which in my memory are just ditches. Sheep, it turns out, aren't the brightest of God's creatures. They all crammed themselves into a ditch, right up against one another, to stay warm or get out of the storm. They crammed so close they suffocated. Every last one of them.
  An entire herd of dead sheep.
  Dad said it was several trailer truckloads of sheep. They had to be removed.
So by the time I came along, grandpa had cows, and chickens, and  a dog and no sheep.
_____
When grandma and grandpa got married, they had the plot of land in Genoa. No money to build a house, just enough for the land. So they dug a hole in the ground and set up housekeeping under a piece of plywood (dad says it may have been tar). Like prairie dogs. Until they could afford the house, which they bought and had transported to the land ---which is so cool to me---and had it placed over the hole in the ground. Which became their cellar, and is the place I remember going down into to explore as a kid. I still have weird dreams about that cellar, mostly about being trapped. They lived in the house for 30 ish years, and no tornado ever touched the house. Considering how dearly tornadoes love that corridor of eastern Colorado, I think it was God's way of giving them a break.



   

audition at 50

GUESS WHAT I DID TODAY TO AVOID PANIC ATTACKS? I auditioned for a community theatre show. First "real" audition in...18 years?

 I did a thing that used to cause me grave anxiety to avoid anxiety. 

 I can train a kid to nail this, but I cannot locate a decent photo of myself,a working printer or remember enough shows to build a resume. I sit in my office at school on my desk top, talking to myself  after ransacking my  sample resumes that I keep to teach kids, and realize none of them are mine.  I have old headshots, but no resumes. I cannot remember anything I did 20 years ago. Was I in theatre? Did I do things?

 I am also lazy, so I had to find a song I already knew in Farrell's stash. Eric tried to help by getting on his phone and looking up songs an old fat woman can sing, and I said "I can't do that" and he said "You pay $3 and hit print" and I said "No, I don't want to learn a whole new song, it's not Broadway, I'm just filling time." He replied with his usual "UGH"  and I said "Yes, this is exhausting. This is why I quit."

 I cannot dress like my type because it's changed and I dunno what it is. I dig out my culottes and a floppy shirt to ensure I look 30 pounds heavier than I am. I kind of look for some mascara but Harper has it all, so I leave the house without makeup. I did take a shower, I'm not an animal. I even wore my cheetah pointy toed flats that make me think I'm being fashionable. They are 15 years old, have gaff tape holding the edges together and clop when I walk. I don't dance so there is no reason to wear jazz shoes. Back In The Day I was a "mover" and I  could execute dance moves taught to me. But arthritis is a bitch so I don't. AND YES ERIC WE ALL KNOW ABOUT CHITA RIVERA, SIT DOWN, I'M NOT CHITA RIVERA.  

 I arrive at the audition location 30 minutes early because I have too much anxiety to sit at home. I figure I'll get a Starbucks while I wait. Anxiety loves coffee. However, the audition location is in an old, sad, saggy strip mall with no Starbucks. No Mom and Pop Coffee. No Fro Yo. All dance studios and regular businesses. Best choice is to sit in the car and stalk the auditioners.

 And text Eric.

Let the Snark Begin! 

So many girls hoping to snag the lead, everyone watched the movie and they want to be Anne Margaret. I did this show in high school, and I wanted to be Anne Margaret but alas, even at 17 I was 80  years old and I was cast as the old mom. I watch their moms walk them in, they are clutching their binders of music, headshot and res tucked inside, short skirts bopping off their butts... I snap Eric photos for Snark Ammo. A ridiculous invasion of privacy, but I didn't invent the camera phone or Paparazzi, I'm just following the example set for me.

 The Snark Fest is lighthearted, we mean no harm. We've directed enough to be kind and gracious, and auditioned enough to know the anxiety is real. It's just a way to pass the time. There are many "Ugh's".

 Everyone auditioning is 30 years younger than I am because it's one of those 50's teeenage shows. I just wanna be a parent in the show. That's my type now, right? 'cause I am a MOM I can PLAY a mom?

 That's hilarious.

 So I'm in the waiting room, filling out my little sheet (I guarantee they cannot read my email address, and I didn't put it on my resume. See above "can't remember things to put  on resume" and "arthritis") I'm seated  next to a young lady in a very short blue dress. "Skater girl" dress, they remind me of Sally's skirt in The Catcher in the Rye every time I  see them. Her very fashionable mom is chatting with the Stage Manager. Maybe she did shows, maybe they know the same people, maybe both. I tried to block it out: " COLORADO CHORALE, DENVER SCHOOL OF THE ARTS, OH YES WELL HE IS NOW WORKING WITH BANANAFACE MCQEEN ON BROADWAY". I text Eric, "I think this woman was in Chicago  with this group, she must be auditioning for Rosie." I take in her manicured hands, her petite frame, her tight A line bob, soft 30 something wrinkles and all the crap returns from past years. Who are these people and what am I doing here? I'm on the wrong side of the door.

 As a director, I'm always in the other room. I had forgotten this part of auditions. I text Eric "Ugh, this is exhausting. This is why I quit."  Everyone is pretty. 

 The director emerges. He looks at me, says nothing, then turns to the fashionable mom and says "You're here for auditions?" and she demures, no no. He then gives me a sidelong glance and retreats behind the door. Awesome. I'm such a mom I can't even get cast as a mom, he thinks I'm just a mom. I'm too mom-ish to play a mom, get me? Soccer moms are moms, not mom/theatre teacher moms. There were other real moms dropping off their daughters, they looked like me. But they didn't have the audacity to audition. They know their place. They saw Fashionable Mom there with the SM and retreated back to the mini van with a book.

  I suddenly have a flash of my own past experience at 15 ( maybe 16), when my mom took me to a Lakewood Players audition for Gypsy. I knew no one and mom came in with me. Unlike this audition, it was open, we all watched each other. I was surprised at how many people seemed to know one another, and how good they all were. And all different ages. True Community Theatre. I was cast as "Electra" and one of the other strippers was the choreographer and like 30 years old (when I was 15, everyone else was 30). 

 The young lady seated next to me--ostensibly my "daughter", so thinks the director- has been called in. Her blue skirt bounces off of her bottom as intended, and again I hear Holden "She wanted to go skating so she could rent one of those skirts her butt looks good in." Ah, Holden, you are still in my head after all these years. 

 I sit and listen, she's good. Pitchy, but who isn't at 15? All the girls here are wearing short skirts that are too short and heels that are too high, giving them the look of baby deer. I am still the only woman of a certain age,  no guys at all, yet a late 20 something shows up. Same dress and heels as the 15 year olds. Dude. I'm dressed like Schleppy the Clown. Neither one of us here is dressed appropriately for our age. Well, I am. If I'm Nathan Lane. 

 That's when it hits me. That's who I look like! I should be strolling down a  sidewalk in Miami Beach yelling I have no peds, why can't we go home?

The young lady emerges from her audition and begins to tell fashionable mom how she screwed up the beginning. We can hear you, dear, we know exactly how it went. And you were fine.
smile emoticonyou were fine. Fashionable Mom and deer exit. My appointment is in five minutes, nobody else has arrived. I think the SM will take me in early, but no. I hear singing from the audition room. The directors are performing for each other. UGH. I'm too old to think that's cute. The SM opens the door and asks if they are ready. She says she thought they had someone in there.... whatever.

The SM ushers me in, and I'm suddenly Nathan Lane.

Pithy, gay, swooshy, and from New York.

My song is "Gorgeous" from Apple Tree. It's the only song from my old repertoire in Farrell's stash that I can pull off at my advanced age and weight. I haven't sung it in years. The accompanist gives me my starting note. I realize too late this song is structured in such a way that you only get the starting note,  and you are expected to sing 4 more notes with no accompaniment, and land in the right place when the piano returns. I smiled and....I nailed it. Not bad for an old lady with a blown ear drum. Once the initial moment was secure,
I relaxed.  Imagine Nathan Lane singing this song. I'll wait.

That was funny, right?

AUDITIONS ARE FUN WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE TO PAY YOUR RENT!

The audition listed "Co Directors". One of them said

"Look for an email tonight" and I nodded, but of course they can't read my writing but whatever. They were really nice people.   

 Of course I didn't get an email. I only checked once, because to check more triggers my friend Kathryn Gray's voice in my head " What are you, a rank amateur?" She was referring to my compulsive need to check voicemail for callbacks, back in the day. It's fine.

There is not a part for Nathan Lane in this show.

But I'm glad I went. It was fun to do a thing again, and not have anxiety about casting. 

And they were nice people.  I could use more nice people in my life.

Scene.