Sunday, August 30, 2009
Why Do we Do What We do? (Or: The Flea, The Mite and The Tse-Tse Fly)
What is the purpose of our living?
Life simply IS. The breath of it resides in organisms microscopic and macro...we are the world, but so is a flea....everything being relative, the flea, the mite, the tse-tse fly "believe" they are alone in the Universe. We think the Cosmos revolves around us? Well, so do the flea, the mite an the tse-tse fly.
Whenever we forget that - and we forget it all the time - we run the risk of genuine hubris...foolish arrogance....and the blindness that creates makes us even more foolish than we naturally are. God laughs at our slightest plan, but he really gets hysterical when we forget our place in it all, and ,except that it kills people, our foolishness is indeed worth a divine laugh or two.
So - what's the point? What the hell is the point?
Let's say , for the sake of this "conversation" , it's all a game and we all want to win it. So , the point is winning ,right? What constitutes "winning"? Who is keeping score? and how do we score? What constitutes a "slam dunk"?
Changing another person's life so that that person experiences being closer to the larger Cosmos, part of a larger, more sensible whole: being part of something Big....that, to me, is what a "Home Run" means in this game of Life: transforming another's experience and/or perception of Life....so that, eventually, we all learn to live together in the only way that matters: CREATING by COLLABORATING.
The stars do it, the planets and circling heavenly orbs of all sorts...they do it...in fact the Universe does it, in ways that still baffle the greatest scientists: it's all about COLLABORATION AND CREATION. We are here to collaborate and create...and it's not that Anybody is looking to see if we're doing it.
The proof is in the pudding of staying alive: the proof is existential: in order to be, we need to create and collaborate...if we don't, we are gone. Truly gone. And no amount of discussion, thinking or blogging about it all will matter because our existence will be history: we will be no more.
And this is as true on the most minute levels of existence as it is on the most gigantic , and on all levels in between. We must create and collaborate or we are gone. Gone from a marriage, gone from a job, gone from a community, gone from a country, gone from life.
THerefore: we must do what most frees us, enables us, demands of us that which allows for maximum creation and collaboration.....and each one of us knows instinctively what that is, which is why some people are plumbers, some are actors, others are business moguls, etc....we go where we are most needed. ANd if we find the right thing we know we need to do, then we put up with any amount of pressure, quibbling, disagreement and pain because we know it's all there to free us, teach us, test us and groom us for our larger abilities. It all seems so clear to me on this Sunday morning.
The flea, the mite, the tse-tse fly and us: we play to win.
Life simply IS. The breath of it resides in organisms microscopic and macro...we are the world, but so is a flea....everything being relative, the flea, the mite, the tse-tse fly "believe" they are alone in the Universe. We think the Cosmos revolves around us? Well, so do the flea, the mite an the tse-tse fly.
Whenever we forget that - and we forget it all the time - we run the risk of genuine hubris...foolish arrogance....and the blindness that creates makes us even more foolish than we naturally are. God laughs at our slightest plan, but he really gets hysterical when we forget our place in it all, and ,except that it kills people, our foolishness is indeed worth a divine laugh or two.
So - what's the point? What the hell is the point?
Let's say , for the sake of this "conversation" , it's all a game and we all want to win it. So , the point is winning ,right? What constitutes "winning"? Who is keeping score? and how do we score? What constitutes a "slam dunk"?
Changing another person's life so that that person experiences being closer to the larger Cosmos, part of a larger, more sensible whole: being part of something Big....that, to me, is what a "Home Run" means in this game of Life: transforming another's experience and/or perception of Life....so that, eventually, we all learn to live together in the only way that matters: CREATING by COLLABORATING.
The stars do it, the planets and circling heavenly orbs of all sorts...they do it...in fact the Universe does it, in ways that still baffle the greatest scientists: it's all about COLLABORATION AND CREATION. We are here to collaborate and create...and it's not that Anybody is looking to see if we're doing it.
The proof is in the pudding of staying alive: the proof is existential: in order to be, we need to create and collaborate...if we don't, we are gone. Truly gone. And no amount of discussion, thinking or blogging about it all will matter because our existence will be history: we will be no more.
And this is as true on the most minute levels of existence as it is on the most gigantic , and on all levels in between. We must create and collaborate or we are gone. Gone from a marriage, gone from a job, gone from a community, gone from a country, gone from life.
THerefore: we must do what most frees us, enables us, demands of us that which allows for maximum creation and collaboration.....and each one of us knows instinctively what that is, which is why some people are plumbers, some are actors, others are business moguls, etc....we go where we are most needed. ANd if we find the right thing we know we need to do, then we put up with any amount of pressure, quibbling, disagreement and pain because we know it's all there to free us, teach us, test us and groom us for our larger abilities. It all seems so clear to me on this Sunday morning.
The flea, the mite, the tse-tse fly and us: we play to win.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunlit St.Patrick's Day God
My mother loved the Kennedy Clan, lock, stock and barrel. Not only did she side with their politics, she believed in their family myth, and each death, each divorce, every hint of scandal affected her deep into her marrow: Camelot was her dream too, and for her, the Kennedy's built The Round Table.
My Junior year in HighSchool - it may have been my Senior Year - Momma took me to NYC during Spring Break to see some shows, and we stayed at the old Americana Hotel on 6th Avenue....I remember discovering the adventure of an actual white phone in our bathroom, and thrilling to the luxury Momma had situated us in. I remember the icy blue eye shadow I wore one evening to a gathering of my friends , and how grownup we all felt to be "partying" in Manhattan. I remember seeing Zero Mostel in FIDDLER, Barbara Streisand in FUNNY GIRL, Geraldine Page in BLACK COMEDY/WHITE LIE and others....but i also remember the St Patrick's Day Parade.
March 17th that year dawned sunny, but turned icy and wet, and as I tromped the streets with friends, a pair of my new favortie soft leather pumps got ruined by sloshing through the icy snow and rain that filled the streets. Momma had gone off early to get a good place on 5th Avenue to see the Parade, and later she told me the highpoint of the Parade for her:
As people gathered onto the VIP Stands set up at a central point of the Avenue, the sky was wet and unforgivingly gray, but as the Kennedy family began to climb the stairs and take their seats of privilege, clouds began to part, and when Ted and Bobby Kennedy came into view, Momma swore, the clouds parted fully, and the sun shone down on to the heads of the beautiful young men, and she told me their hair gleamed like gold! She said it made them look like young gods. She said it was something she'd never forget. And now, as it happen, on this day after Ted Kennedy's death, it's something I am still remembering.
My Junior year in HighSchool - it may have been my Senior Year - Momma took me to NYC during Spring Break to see some shows, and we stayed at the old Americana Hotel on 6th Avenue....I remember discovering the adventure of an actual white phone in our bathroom, and thrilling to the luxury Momma had situated us in. I remember the icy blue eye shadow I wore one evening to a gathering of my friends , and how grownup we all felt to be "partying" in Manhattan. I remember seeing Zero Mostel in FIDDLER, Barbara Streisand in FUNNY GIRL, Geraldine Page in BLACK COMEDY/WHITE LIE and others....but i also remember the St Patrick's Day Parade.
March 17th that year dawned sunny, but turned icy and wet, and as I tromped the streets with friends, a pair of my new favortie soft leather pumps got ruined by sloshing through the icy snow and rain that filled the streets. Momma had gone off early to get a good place on 5th Avenue to see the Parade, and later she told me the highpoint of the Parade for her:
As people gathered onto the VIP Stands set up at a central point of the Avenue, the sky was wet and unforgivingly gray, but as the Kennedy family began to climb the stairs and take their seats of privilege, clouds began to part, and when Ted and Bobby Kennedy came into view, Momma swore, the clouds parted fully, and the sun shone down on to the heads of the beautiful young men, and she told me their hair gleamed like gold! She said it made them look like young gods. She said it was something she'd never forget. And now, as it happen, on this day after Ted Kennedy's death, it's something I am still remembering.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Sunday Morning Earned
When a week is filled with seemingly insurmountable numbers of varied projects, and I can't sleep because my mind is wide awake figuring out how to accomplish them all...when I'm in my office by 6:00 a.m. because not being able to sleep, at least I'll be somewhere where I can really get things done..when I'm up 'til 1:00 or 2;00 a.m. "choreographing" '60's girl group moves in front of my bedroom mirror to take to rehearsal later the same day....and finally, .when each seemingly impossible task actually does get solved and finished...and it all looks like it should, and Tour deadlines are met and things work well....THEN, a Sunday morning like this one feels so so so good! Especially when I can spend it with Peter and the pups watching Sunday morning cartoons in bed....! YAY!
It's a mild and not too hot morning out, and the pups wanted to walk and walk....the air felt sweet against my skin....and reminded me of every morning I've felt grateful for where I was, and who I am, and what I've been blessed with in this lifetime.
On a morning like this, it all feels possible.
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS has another 2 weeks before we go into tech week and we are in good shape with that in mind. We've several marvelous new company members for this show and they are inspiring to work with, they're so good and well-trained and clever and giving. Lucky to have them in this show. Makes my job so much easier.
Speaking of ease: I saw some of FOREVER PLAID on the Main STage last night, and wow, can those boys sing! A lovely, touching and glorious-sounding show, our PLAID, and I have formed warm bonds with the 4 gifted young men in the show...one evening we went drinking on the porch of House on Main and really got to know each other, and they have been most generous in agreeing to do whatever Development and Outreach needs them to do on our theatre's behalf....nice guys.
Well, back to snuggling with my husband and puppies....I almost got back into the personal habit of blogging every day when we were on vacation, and my writer energies were revived...so this morning was an attempt to keep those channels open..it's hard to do that with the schedules we all keep around this place, but I'll keep on trying to find the time, energy and heart to keep it up.
Hello and thanks to all who read here.
xxev.
It's a mild and not too hot morning out, and the pups wanted to walk and walk....the air felt sweet against my skin....and reminded me of every morning I've felt grateful for where I was, and who I am, and what I've been blessed with in this lifetime.
On a morning like this, it all feels possible.
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS has another 2 weeks before we go into tech week and we are in good shape with that in mind. We've several marvelous new company members for this show and they are inspiring to work with, they're so good and well-trained and clever and giving. Lucky to have them in this show. Makes my job so much easier.
Speaking of ease: I saw some of FOREVER PLAID on the Main STage last night, and wow, can those boys sing! A lovely, touching and glorious-sounding show, our PLAID, and I have formed warm bonds with the 4 gifted young men in the show...one evening we went drinking on the porch of House on Main and really got to know each other, and they have been most generous in agreeing to do whatever Development and Outreach needs them to do on our theatre's behalf....nice guys.
Well, back to snuggling with my husband and puppies....I almost got back into the personal habit of blogging every day when we were on vacation, and my writer energies were revived...so this morning was an attempt to keep those channels open..it's hard to do that with the schedules we all keep around this place, but I'll keep on trying to find the time, energy and heart to keep it up.
Hello and thanks to all who read here.
xxev.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Where Does the TIme Fly?
....and before you know it, the vacation you so looked forward to is over and done, and you're forced to go back to the everyday realities of your normal scheduled life....there is no way that this ever feels good..no matter how wondrous your normal life...you've invested too much in the dream of that few days of vacation for anything else to ever fell nearly as good, Well, at least that's where I am this early morning, as I watch our final hours here in the mountains fade away into the normal and nearby future....we drive back to Abingdon in a short while, and i feel sad and blue.
It also means saying goodbye to Paul , who has been spending the last few days here with us while Stephen has gone back to Nashville to be with his ailing Dad. I will miss these times with Paul. But then, I always miss Paul when I am not with him. Nothing new there. Soulmates.
So, what good is vacation, if at the end of it you feel sad and bad? Has perspective been restored? And is our life so bad that the yearning to be on perpetual vacation is a true response to a genuine need? AM I THAT TIRED?
The good fortune of my life has been , and seems to remain, that I am more often than not, engaged in work that not only suits me, but nourishes me as well....and work that I can somehow exist in to help others . This is good. Another fortunate thing: I have never suffered for want of anything, because I've earned my living at a pace that keeps up with my needs and desires. Also, I have been surrounded by generous people always. So, why am I sad? I am going back to a theatre and a job that excites me most of the time, and where i feel effective and creative. I am married to a man I truly love. And we live in a nice home. What am I so damned scared of?
The passing of time? The certainty of Death? Without doubt. So the end of vacation signifies the end of another section of time cordoned off to be "special", and as it passes, so does another little piece of my heart (didn't meant o lapse into song lyric there, but it was so right)....i am nauseous with the notion of the passing of time.
One amazing thing this trip: I discovered the poetry of John Ashbery. Paul gave me a volume of his later works before we came here, and I feel like I've discovered another country to explore. Reading great poets helps me in my life, even more than reading Buddhist instruction...at least at this point. Though we did real a deal of haiku this vacation, and I have to admit, it's powerful stuff. Simple, yet not. Profound, unquestionably. Requires relaxing into, not struggling with, as Ashbery certainly does. Is it possible I enjoy the struggle because it keeps me engaged and away from thinking about the simpler , more inevitable endings we all come to? Or do i think that if i struggle with it, I will face it all more consciously than by letting myself into a simple haiku? Maybe I love to engage with the complex poets because the struggle postpones the inevitable: the letting go. The stepping off the edge of that cliff i have always been afraid of, but have never injured myself in stepping off of all my life?
Maybe i like to figure things out by engaging with language because language is familiar ...and beloved.
Bye to the Mountains for now.
It also means saying goodbye to Paul , who has been spending the last few days here with us while Stephen has gone back to Nashville to be with his ailing Dad. I will miss these times with Paul. But then, I always miss Paul when I am not with him. Nothing new there. Soulmates.
So, what good is vacation, if at the end of it you feel sad and bad? Has perspective been restored? And is our life so bad that the yearning to be on perpetual vacation is a true response to a genuine need? AM I THAT TIRED?
The good fortune of my life has been , and seems to remain, that I am more often than not, engaged in work that not only suits me, but nourishes me as well....and work that I can somehow exist in to help others . This is good. Another fortunate thing: I have never suffered for want of anything, because I've earned my living at a pace that keeps up with my needs and desires. Also, I have been surrounded by generous people always. So, why am I sad? I am going back to a theatre and a job that excites me most of the time, and where i feel effective and creative. I am married to a man I truly love. And we live in a nice home. What am I so damned scared of?
The passing of time? The certainty of Death? Without doubt. So the end of vacation signifies the end of another section of time cordoned off to be "special", and as it passes, so does another little piece of my heart (didn't meant o lapse into song lyric there, but it was so right)....i am nauseous with the notion of the passing of time.
One amazing thing this trip: I discovered the poetry of John Ashbery. Paul gave me a volume of his later works before we came here, and I feel like I've discovered another country to explore. Reading great poets helps me in my life, even more than reading Buddhist instruction...at least at this point. Though we did real a deal of haiku this vacation, and I have to admit, it's powerful stuff. Simple, yet not. Profound, unquestionably. Requires relaxing into, not struggling with, as Ashbery certainly does. Is it possible I enjoy the struggle because it keeps me engaged and away from thinking about the simpler , more inevitable endings we all come to? Or do i think that if i struggle with it, I will face it all more consciously than by letting myself into a simple haiku? Maybe I love to engage with the complex poets because the struggle postpones the inevitable: the letting go. The stepping off the edge of that cliff i have always been afraid of, but have never injured myself in stepping off of all my life?
Maybe i like to figure things out by engaging with language because language is familiar ...and beloved.
Bye to the Mountains for now.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Judgement and Calm
Witnessing the perfect mornings here, from our rented back deck, and seeing the softly shimmering haze that renders the mountain ridges ethereal and lovely every single day, no matter the weather, I understand why painters need to paint these mountains...why each painter may need to find the right way to portray the delicacy and transparency of the light that transforms mere dirt and stone into magic....it's a challenge, any artist would want to answer the call of.....i wish I could paint.
The act of true painting is miraculous to me, and certainly magical, as I have written about before: how do the real artists get living images, with life breathing through the eyes and faces of their subjects, from gross pigment and linseed oil? How do a combination of dabs add up to the image of something that convinces the viewer that what they are looking at is a real person that lives, or has lived? Well, I feel the same about the soft,stirring experience of what I've been seeing from this back deck every morning this week: how is it even possible that what I see is real? And how do painters even begin to capture its deep nature?
Because so many painters - or would - be painters _ are compelled to try, - there are shops and shops and more shops lining the streets of the region with countless attempts on sale. And every so often, one sees the real thing: a surprising and gifted capture, a personal interpretation of the true experience of the mountain sunrise....and this is good. But, of course, nothing beats the real thing...even my feeble attempt to describe it with the flabby paintbrush of my words: these morning mountains are a mystical event every single day.
An ambitious hummingbird just flew super - sonically by my ear! Hey there little thing! The only brightly colored thingon this deck are the words "ASHES ONLY" painted in red on the side of the grill's silver trash can, and no nectar there for you....
And while we're on the subject of local fauna: we went to take a bag of garbage out to the sutrdily constructed wooden garbage bins on the edge of the driveway, and we discovered that something had been there before us on a raid! The extremely heavy cover of the bin had been ripped open - along with its solid steel latching - and the plastic garbage can had been flung out of the wooden bin, IT'S top taken off and garbage examined, devoured and floung down the hill! Claw marks stripped the sides of the wooden bins, and we discovered that bears may well enjoy the salty treasures of Cheese Puffs, for each bag we had emptied and thrwon away was licked clean, and torn in the oddest variety of ways! WE HAD A BEAR ATTACK OUR GARBAGE BINS!!! And he or she treated the sturdily built wooden bins like they were paper!
Suddenly the quiet woods surroundin the house felt filled with danger and I hurriedly helped Peter collect the strewn garbage back into its cans and I locked the doors of thehouse firmly behind us as we snuggled down for a restful evening....yikes. BEARS!
I am so NOT a nature person.
Though I'm glad the bears seemed to enjoy what we had to offer.
What will today bring?
The act of true painting is miraculous to me, and certainly magical, as I have written about before: how do the real artists get living images, with life breathing through the eyes and faces of their subjects, from gross pigment and linseed oil? How do a combination of dabs add up to the image of something that convinces the viewer that what they are looking at is a real person that lives, or has lived? Well, I feel the same about the soft,stirring experience of what I've been seeing from this back deck every morning this week: how is it even possible that what I see is real? And how do painters even begin to capture its deep nature?
Because so many painters - or would - be painters _ are compelled to try, - there are shops and shops and more shops lining the streets of the region with countless attempts on sale. And every so often, one sees the real thing: a surprising and gifted capture, a personal interpretation of the true experience of the mountain sunrise....and this is good. But, of course, nothing beats the real thing...even my feeble attempt to describe it with the flabby paintbrush of my words: these morning mountains are a mystical event every single day.
An ambitious hummingbird just flew super - sonically by my ear! Hey there little thing! The only brightly colored thingon this deck are the words "ASHES ONLY" painted in red on the side of the grill's silver trash can, and no nectar there for you....
And while we're on the subject of local fauna: we went to take a bag of garbage out to the sutrdily constructed wooden garbage bins on the edge of the driveway, and we discovered that something had been there before us on a raid! The extremely heavy cover of the bin had been ripped open - along with its solid steel latching - and the plastic garbage can had been flung out of the wooden bin, IT'S top taken off and garbage examined, devoured and floung down the hill! Claw marks stripped the sides of the wooden bins, and we discovered that bears may well enjoy the salty treasures of Cheese Puffs, for each bag we had emptied and thrwon away was licked clean, and torn in the oddest variety of ways! WE HAD A BEAR ATTACK OUR GARBAGE BINS!!! And he or she treated the sturdily built wooden bins like they were paper!
Suddenly the quiet woods surroundin the house felt filled with danger and I hurriedly helped Peter collect the strewn garbage back into its cans and I locked the doors of thehouse firmly behind us as we snuggled down for a restful evening....yikes. BEARS!
I am so NOT a nature person.
Though I'm glad the bears seemed to enjoy what we had to offer.
What will today bring?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Good Thing Too!
I forgot to mention in yesterday's blog entry that Gatlinburg has a wonderful and wondrous AQUARIUM! Owned,it seems and run as well by the Ripley's folks (they seem to have several major public attractions here in Gatilinburg), Peter and I went to the Aquarium of the Smokies on our first full day here, and not only does it have things I have never seen before, but they are presented in a really accessible and educational way for all to learn from as well as view. THe place was crowded with kids of all ages, strollers,etc...things that would have bothered me in another museum, but the Aquarium is designed to accommodate such traffic and I barely noticed the crowds, I was so intrigued with the fish and other aquatic critters there! LOVED IT! Also, despite the difference in tastes, I am impressed with Gatlinburg's ENERGY...so much going on, for so many to enjoy and engage with....
And we did end up going to Dollywood yesterday after all, and strolling about in the warm, clearing day...business seemed down, as most of the enormous parking lots were empty and there was no wait time for any of the rides (which Stephen went on), nor for the show we all saw: SHA-KON-A_HAY...an Indian word meaning mountains of the blue mist, or something like that, which I thoroughly enjoyed! ...produced in an ENORMOUS 1700-seat venue, barely half-filled with audience...but still that is over 750 people...more than a full house for us...
and I was moved by the central spirit of this large one hour show: that the mountains mean something to the people who are born and raised there for generations...Dolly Parton wrote 8 original songs for this show at her Park, and they are lovely...at a late point in the presentation, this enormous mechanism moves slowly above our heads and no matter how clunky it is , all lit up and guided by computers, when the 4 dancers dressed as Indians are hooked to its 4 cardinal points, lifted in the air above us and start posing as birds in flight, with winged feathers on their muscular arms, I was thrilled! I know, I know: I'm an easy audience, but I am proud of that. And I like that I was moved by this show obviously built for large commercial audiences, and that the heart of it beat well and familiarly with mine....and these actors and singers and dancers (all gymnasts, with extraordinary skills well used in the show) do 3 or 4 shows per day! Parts of the large stage looked like normal stage flooring, but were actually gymnastic floors with bounce and yield, and some of the areas were actually trampolines so the dance movement went vertically as well as horizontally across the wide wide stage...I appreciated that. And I loved the 7 piece country band rocking away on stage left. Those musicians were terrific! Now, how much of it is tracked and how much is live , who knows? But these musicians were definitely getting paid, so i am pretty sure they were playing live, and they sounded really terrific!
I did not much care for Dollywood itself - I am Disney girl myself - but i did enjoy SHA-KON-A- HAY, the show!
It's a glorious sunny day here in the mountains today - and our "outside" activity was to take Stephen to the Knoxville Airport to pick up a car so he could drive to Nashville to be with ailing daddy....Paul is still with us, and will stay here until we all leave on SUnday....nice to have time with him....always a lot to talk about.
There is something about mountains...no question about it...mountains rising up, up, up, creating vales and valleys that people seem to love to settle in and populate with lovely farms, churches and fields gorgeously cultivated with the sweat of their family's brows...there is a culture here I don't pretend to understand or be part of....but there is a certain beauty that even an outsider like me can enjoy, and I have been resting a lot in its ample arms: Momma Mountains.
Have the Jews ever been a "mountain" people?
More soon.
And we did end up going to Dollywood yesterday after all, and strolling about in the warm, clearing day...business seemed down, as most of the enormous parking lots were empty and there was no wait time for any of the rides (which Stephen went on), nor for the show we all saw: SHA-KON-A_HAY...an Indian word meaning mountains of the blue mist, or something like that, which I thoroughly enjoyed! ...produced in an ENORMOUS 1700-seat venue, barely half-filled with audience...but still that is over 750 people...more than a full house for us...
and I was moved by the central spirit of this large one hour show: that the mountains mean something to the people who are born and raised there for generations...Dolly Parton wrote 8 original songs for this show at her Park, and they are lovely...at a late point in the presentation, this enormous mechanism moves slowly above our heads and no matter how clunky it is , all lit up and guided by computers, when the 4 dancers dressed as Indians are hooked to its 4 cardinal points, lifted in the air above us and start posing as birds in flight, with winged feathers on their muscular arms, I was thrilled! I know, I know: I'm an easy audience, but I am proud of that. And I like that I was moved by this show obviously built for large commercial audiences, and that the heart of it beat well and familiarly with mine....and these actors and singers and dancers (all gymnasts, with extraordinary skills well used in the show) do 3 or 4 shows per day! Parts of the large stage looked like normal stage flooring, but were actually gymnastic floors with bounce and yield, and some of the areas were actually trampolines so the dance movement went vertically as well as horizontally across the wide wide stage...I appreciated that. And I loved the 7 piece country band rocking away on stage left. Those musicians were terrific! Now, how much of it is tracked and how much is live , who knows? But these musicians were definitely getting paid, so i am pretty sure they were playing live, and they sounded really terrific!
I did not much care for Dollywood itself - I am Disney girl myself - but i did enjoy SHA-KON-A- HAY, the show!
It's a glorious sunny day here in the mountains today - and our "outside" activity was to take Stephen to the Knoxville Airport to pick up a car so he could drive to Nashville to be with ailing daddy....Paul is still with us, and will stay here until we all leave on SUnday....nice to have time with him....always a lot to talk about.
There is something about mountains...no question about it...mountains rising up, up, up, creating vales and valleys that people seem to love to settle in and populate with lovely farms, churches and fields gorgeously cultivated with the sweat of their family's brows...there is a culture here I don't pretend to understand or be part of....but there is a certain beauty that even an outsider like me can enjoy, and I have been resting a lot in its ample arms: Momma Mountains.
Have the Jews ever been a "mountain" people?
More soon.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Misty Mountain Morning in the Rain
Now, just when I thought it could not get more wonderful here comes this morning laden with cool sweet rains, shrouding the mountain ridges outside our window in a thick cottony grey fog that render the mountains themselves totally invisible....the house is totally quiet except for the electronic hum of necessary things, and Stephen C. and i share the spacious living room for an early morning of...well...living! Peter and Paul are still fast asleep and it is the perfect morning for that as well. Sleeping fast.
Our family plan was to go to Dollywood today, but , no matter the number of umbrellas, we would be foolish to do so. There would be fewer crowds of course, but we would all get terribly wet and our enthusiasm for the adventure would be literally dampened.....in fact soaked into something very unlike enthusiasm....i vote for staying home, snuggling down, sleeping , reading and writing...but let's see what the rest of the group wants.....I am easy with whatever...
I am especially easy this morning, as I am especially worn out from the trek we all took through downtown Gatlinburg last night after dinner....it was like some lurid Joycean dream: blocks and blocks of garishly lit, insistently selling, terrifically tacky stores and restaurants and shops and malls filled with cheap, useless and poorly produced goods...sidewalks filled with families, one looking more miserable than the last for being made to walk up and down these tacky blocks....everyone attempting to convince themselves that this is what family fun is all about....quite an American street scene.....bleary, exhausted, crushed detritus of commercial crap all around us...i felt i was in the middle of a Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, unable to recall the perfect words to describe the horror, albeit man-made and self-fulfilling , horror of it all.
THere was a time i would have had to buy things from various stores on this walk...when I would have returned to our car with bags filled with newly purchased goods....and been delighted for a short while at opening each bag and re-discovering what I had bought....but there was not one single item i saw, smelled or touched last night that I wanted to come close to , not to mention buy...and yet...it was not depressing, as you'd think it might be...no...rather it was fascinating....I am in a place in my life (is wisdom finally coming to me in some form or other??) where such wretched scenes as Gatlinburg at night fascinate rather than hurt me....and we did walk and walk and walk...looking for nothing but looking at a lot of things....so i am tired this morning.
And grateful for the morning rains that are keeping us from rushing to Dollywood!
Stephen is reading aloud to me from GILEAD, a book by Mary Lynn Robinson...gorgeous writing. Perfect thing to do: read aloud from a lovely new fiction.
I sigh with contentment.
The worm of worry sneaks its head out from the thick clouds of happiness that are my climate right now: do i really have to go back to work ? Even though I love that theatre and I love my multi-levelled job there...i am not ready yet to even think about going back there.....and since this is mid-week of a vacation week, i dont have to do that thinking yet. Good. Good. Good.
When a thickly tense working time, in which activities are dictated by demanding jobs, is replaced by a released, free-floating time of rest and emptiness, people seem flung off high cliffs, with wings unused to flying. A slight ( or large, depending on the person) panic sets in and one wonders: now what? How do I behave, how do I think? Who AM I???
This is a natural reaction to the disappearance of tasks....the letting go of certain demands and roles one plays in the daily world....YIKES: Who the HELL am I if I am not my job?????
And I welcome this in my husband...which is why these past few days feel like I am beginning to actually know him again. And i welcome it in myself as well: the place I always return to is the place in me where my writing comes from. No one may ever read it, but as ever, I need to write it...whatever it is...and this is a part of me that has been a part of me for so long, it's probably my most trustworthy part....the writing me. One day, I want to go live there. In the writing part of me.
I love this particular vacation for reminding me of that.
Our family plan was to go to Dollywood today, but , no matter the number of umbrellas, we would be foolish to do so. There would be fewer crowds of course, but we would all get terribly wet and our enthusiasm for the adventure would be literally dampened.....in fact soaked into something very unlike enthusiasm....i vote for staying home, snuggling down, sleeping , reading and writing...but let's see what the rest of the group wants.....I am easy with whatever...
I am especially easy this morning, as I am especially worn out from the trek we all took through downtown Gatlinburg last night after dinner....it was like some lurid Joycean dream: blocks and blocks of garishly lit, insistently selling, terrifically tacky stores and restaurants and shops and malls filled with cheap, useless and poorly produced goods...sidewalks filled with families, one looking more miserable than the last for being made to walk up and down these tacky blocks....everyone attempting to convince themselves that this is what family fun is all about....quite an American street scene.....bleary, exhausted, crushed detritus of commercial crap all around us...i felt i was in the middle of a Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, unable to recall the perfect words to describe the horror, albeit man-made and self-fulfilling , horror of it all.
THere was a time i would have had to buy things from various stores on this walk...when I would have returned to our car with bags filled with newly purchased goods....and been delighted for a short while at opening each bag and re-discovering what I had bought....but there was not one single item i saw, smelled or touched last night that I wanted to come close to , not to mention buy...and yet...it was not depressing, as you'd think it might be...no...rather it was fascinating....I am in a place in my life (is wisdom finally coming to me in some form or other??) where such wretched scenes as Gatlinburg at night fascinate rather than hurt me....and we did walk and walk and walk...looking for nothing but looking at a lot of things....so i am tired this morning.
And grateful for the morning rains that are keeping us from rushing to Dollywood!
Stephen is reading aloud to me from GILEAD, a book by Mary Lynn Robinson...gorgeous writing. Perfect thing to do: read aloud from a lovely new fiction.
I sigh with contentment.
The worm of worry sneaks its head out from the thick clouds of happiness that are my climate right now: do i really have to go back to work ? Even though I love that theatre and I love my multi-levelled job there...i am not ready yet to even think about going back there.....and since this is mid-week of a vacation week, i dont have to do that thinking yet. Good. Good. Good.
When a thickly tense working time, in which activities are dictated by demanding jobs, is replaced by a released, free-floating time of rest and emptiness, people seem flung off high cliffs, with wings unused to flying. A slight ( or large, depending on the person) panic sets in and one wonders: now what? How do I behave, how do I think? Who AM I???
This is a natural reaction to the disappearance of tasks....the letting go of certain demands and roles one plays in the daily world....YIKES: Who the HELL am I if I am not my job?????
And I welcome this in my husband...which is why these past few days feel like I am beginning to actually know him again. And i welcome it in myself as well: the place I always return to is the place in me where my writing comes from. No one may ever read it, but as ever, I need to write it...whatever it is...and this is a part of me that has been a part of me for so long, it's probably my most trustworthy part....the writing me. One day, I want to go live there. In the writing part of me.
I love this particular vacation for reminding me of that.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Blue Ridge Dawn
The sun rises over the Blue RIdge....
Crickets soft chirping....
The spirit's total release.
A morning haiku.....I woke in the pre-dawn dark , and came out here on the deck to watch the sunrise over our particular section of the Blue Ridge: glorious. Coolness of morning, as God slowly turns the dimmer that brings the dawn....the merest hint of pale orange in a sky mixed with grey and cream makes the edges of the 4 or 5 ridges i can see right now seem sharper than they do all day,..later, I will be able to see 8 or 9 ridges, as more of the morning fog lifts....but right now, it's the clarity of the top edges that transfix me: such a delicate but definitive meeting of mountain and sky.
THS IS WHAT I LIVE FOR. Not the sound of an audience laughing or the solving of the next big problem at my theatre office.NO. Not the next steps in a long career, but the release of all that into a world much larger, a vision much wider, a life much more consciously lived.
I am grateful for the time here and now to re-discover that true thing inside me: a place of safety no matter what, my true place of wanting to be where Nature makes a sort of sense not possible in any other part of life.
Nature (what Mankind has named "Nature") throws it all back into the original mix it was before we named it: call it what you will. When i have the chance to exist in its arms, I am lulled back to where I know is right..and to where we all end up anyway, so why struggle? Sitting here on the back deck of the house we're renting in the Blue Ridge Mountains, as the world lightens around me, I know what I don't know in my busy life...what I of course know but forget so easily: we are all safe in this random Universe because we ARE the random Universe...we are all of it...every cloud in the sky, every sweet cricket's chirp...every fragrant whiff of coffee and every single moment of awareness: we are each thing.
Now, why sitting on a deck in the middle of a dawning morning makes me remember that? I don't know...maybe it's all this Buddhist reading I 'm doing...but i feel it inside me as if no other truth ever existed...and it is as simple as simple gets. God...or Buddha..or Me...or Awareness...or simply It..is in this morning dawn.
It is certainly NOT in the wretched garbage people build in the name of what they think is Spirit...and i say this as a result of having driven through some of this country's tackier strips of human striving: Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. (Bless their hearts).
With all due respect to the human beings involved in all that smudged perception of life: what in the world are people doing? In the name of God, and that other god Commerce, they have substituted hugeness, gaudiness, blaring signage and attention-grabbing attractions for anything resembling the true worship of anything that matters..
The Main commercial strip running through Pigeon Forge, TN. ...well, it's terrifying in its commerciality and ugliness. There is a "Broadway type" theatre (what the hell is THAT?) where they show a thing called THE MIRACLE...they CRUCIFY JESUS ON STAGE!!!! AFter a couple of hours of belting out songs about him...and about God...etc...and the women in the show, all dressed up in garments to make them look like they are women of the time of Jesus...well, they wear enough make-up to sink an Ocean Liner and I'm telling you, clearly Dolly Parton is their patron saint, because the larger the hair and the more lurid the make-up (on the men and women), the better they seem to like it! All this so they can charge audiences $35.00 (because it's a Broadway TYPE theatre...if it were a Broadway theatre for real, they'd be paying $135.00)...to see the story of jesus acted out in front of them....complete with CRUCI-FICTION! This stuns me...they WANT to see their object of worship mutilated unto death in the worst possible way. This is odd and sadistic. But people pay for it...maybe the make-up makes up for the pain they witness.
As you can see , I am thoroughly judgmental and horribly amazed by all this...
(yet, the glowing orange disc of a rising sun , oddly reminiscent of the cheeks of THE MIRACLE's actresses i see in their brochures), makes me feel better). God knows, I love make-up as much as the next gal, and have worn it my whole life on stage and off...but in a show about jesus and god and being Christian? I'd say: cut the mascara and lipstick: come see the sunrise from my deck here, and get back to basics...and IF you want to be on Broadway, GO TRY OUT FOR BROADWAY SHOWS IN MANHATTAN ....a real Broadway theatre has its own history..and very few crucifixions, except the literary ones perpetrated by various critics through the hard-working years.
The sun is now yellow...and the sky a mix of delicate greys...the breeze gently rival the murmur of the hot tub waters neaby on the deck...shall i take a morning soak? Perhaps. Perhaps.
More soon.
Crickets soft chirping....
The spirit's total release.
A morning haiku.....I woke in the pre-dawn dark , and came out here on the deck to watch the sunrise over our particular section of the Blue Ridge: glorious. Coolness of morning, as God slowly turns the dimmer that brings the dawn....the merest hint of pale orange in a sky mixed with grey and cream makes the edges of the 4 or 5 ridges i can see right now seem sharper than they do all day,..later, I will be able to see 8 or 9 ridges, as more of the morning fog lifts....but right now, it's the clarity of the top edges that transfix me: such a delicate but definitive meeting of mountain and sky.
THS IS WHAT I LIVE FOR. Not the sound of an audience laughing or the solving of the next big problem at my theatre office.NO. Not the next steps in a long career, but the release of all that into a world much larger, a vision much wider, a life much more consciously lived.
I am grateful for the time here and now to re-discover that true thing inside me: a place of safety no matter what, my true place of wanting to be where Nature makes a sort of sense not possible in any other part of life.
Nature (what Mankind has named "Nature") throws it all back into the original mix it was before we named it: call it what you will. When i have the chance to exist in its arms, I am lulled back to where I know is right..and to where we all end up anyway, so why struggle? Sitting here on the back deck of the house we're renting in the Blue Ridge Mountains, as the world lightens around me, I know what I don't know in my busy life...what I of course know but forget so easily: we are all safe in this random Universe because we ARE the random Universe...we are all of it...every cloud in the sky, every sweet cricket's chirp...every fragrant whiff of coffee and every single moment of awareness: we are each thing.
Now, why sitting on a deck in the middle of a dawning morning makes me remember that? I don't know...maybe it's all this Buddhist reading I 'm doing...but i feel it inside me as if no other truth ever existed...and it is as simple as simple gets. God...or Buddha..or Me...or Awareness...or simply It..is in this morning dawn.
It is certainly NOT in the wretched garbage people build in the name of what they think is Spirit...and i say this as a result of having driven through some of this country's tackier strips of human striving: Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. (Bless their hearts).
With all due respect to the human beings involved in all that smudged perception of life: what in the world are people doing? In the name of God, and that other god Commerce, they have substituted hugeness, gaudiness, blaring signage and attention-grabbing attractions for anything resembling the true worship of anything that matters..
The Main commercial strip running through Pigeon Forge, TN. ...well, it's terrifying in its commerciality and ugliness. There is a "Broadway type" theatre (what the hell is THAT?) where they show a thing called THE MIRACLE...they CRUCIFY JESUS ON STAGE!!!! AFter a couple of hours of belting out songs about him...and about God...etc...and the women in the show, all dressed up in garments to make them look like they are women of the time of Jesus...well, they wear enough make-up to sink an Ocean Liner and I'm telling you, clearly Dolly Parton is their patron saint, because the larger the hair and the more lurid the make-up (on the men and women), the better they seem to like it! All this so they can charge audiences $35.00 (because it's a Broadway TYPE theatre...if it were a Broadway theatre for real, they'd be paying $135.00)...to see the story of jesus acted out in front of them....complete with CRUCI-FICTION! This stuns me...they WANT to see their object of worship mutilated unto death in the worst possible way. This is odd and sadistic. But people pay for it...maybe the make-up makes up for the pain they witness.
As you can see , I am thoroughly judgmental and horribly amazed by all this...
(yet, the glowing orange disc of a rising sun , oddly reminiscent of the cheeks of THE MIRACLE's actresses i see in their brochures), makes me feel better). God knows, I love make-up as much as the next gal, and have worn it my whole life on stage and off...but in a show about jesus and god and being Christian? I'd say: cut the mascara and lipstick: come see the sunrise from my deck here, and get back to basics...and IF you want to be on Broadway, GO TRY OUT FOR BROADWAY SHOWS IN MANHATTAN ....a real Broadway theatre has its own history..and very few crucifixions, except the literary ones perpetrated by various critics through the hard-working years.
The sun is now yellow...and the sky a mix of delicate greys...the breeze gently rival the murmur of the hot tub waters neaby on the deck...shall i take a morning soak? Perhaps. Perhaps.
More soon.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I'll Cross The Blue Mountain...
When I was a kid, about 15 or so, my Daddy (though I called him Poppa...it's this place I am in right now that inspired the "Daddy") bought me my first guitar: a Martin 000-28 New Yorker out of the back of a station wagon in Atlanta Georgia...I was on break from a play I was rehearsing at Georgia Tech and Daddy brought the guitar guy over to my rehearsal, knowing i'd want to pick my own ....i had learned to play on a really awful old guitar my brother had bought for practically no money some months before...i learned by listening to Joan Baez's early record albums,..i would just sit and listen for hours and practice what I heard, emulating how she sounded singing, the simple chords she used on her first recorded songs ("Dona, Dona, Dona", "Shoes Of Spanish Leather",etc). ..and before I knew it , I was playing all around Atlanta, singing up a storm and becoming part of the Atlanta Folk Music Society "scene"..I teamed up with a wonderful guitarist and banjo player and singer with a deep voice named Jeaneane Briles and we were soon the "duo" around town...I sang high and she sang low, and we had a great time...this memory came floating down onto my brain as I sit here on the back deck of the cottage we are renting here in the Blue Ridge Mountains , outside Gatlingburg, TN...Peter and I are on a small break from the theatre, and after this intense and busy and successful summer, I'd say we earned this week of vacation...SHOWTIME AT FIRST BAPTiST closed on Saturday (two days ago) and the rest of the Summer Rep a day or so later....boom! Summer DONE! The entire acting company is on a vacation this week......
Paul and Stephen rented this house for us, sight unseen, and it turns out to be perfect: cool, clean, modern, three bedrooms, a back deck with a lovely hot tub and a small grill...and a view of the Boue Ridges that makes me smile ...quite gorgeous, I must say. Peter and i polished off a full bottle of cold champagne when we got here yesterday, and soaked in the hot tub...and fell exhaustedly into each others arms....slept well in the nice King Sized bed...
More soon...
xxev
Paul and Stephen rented this house for us, sight unseen, and it turns out to be perfect: cool, clean, modern, three bedrooms, a back deck with a lovely hot tub and a small grill...and a view of the Boue Ridges that makes me smile ...quite gorgeous, I must say. Peter and i polished off a full bottle of cold champagne when we got here yesterday, and soaked in the hot tub...and fell exhaustedly into each others arms....slept well in the nice King Sized bed...
More soon...
xxev
Labels: vacation 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Woke Up THis Morning....
...with vacation on my mind....in a few days, Peter and I will take our two pups, as well as Paul and Stephen's doggie Foxy, and drive a little while til we get to the mountain cabin (complete with hot tub) we are renting for a week, near Pigeon Forge, TN. Paul and Stephen will join us after a couple of days, after their sojourn with cousins in Montreat, N.C. and we will all settle down for some days together, of peace, sleep, hot tub soaking and at least a day at good old tacky Dollywood! I mean, I HAVE to go to Dollywood at least once while I'm in this neck of the woods, right? I look forward to it. The few days left here at work, I have three more performances of SHOWTIME AT FIRST BAPTIST, which continues to please audiences into hysterical laughing fits (they sure do love my character "Vera"), a couple of small mountains of papers to move around and complete some actions on in my office, and a much needed appointment a the Martha Washington Spa to get my roots done!!! Paul and Stephen, who are in Nashville at the moment with Stephen's folks, will be back here today or tomorrow...and the week will end, with Peter and I driving away for a much needed rest.
The Highlands Festival has been filling the streets of Abingdon for the past week and a half, and our Appalachian Festival of Plays and Playwrights has been going well. Yesterday, I heard a play I truly loved: BLUE SKY BOYS by Deborah Brevoort, who I also had the pleasure of spending time with at a dinner party the night before...she and her gifted husband Chick Cooper came down for the reading...so glad to know them....BSB is a wondrous play, filled with imagination, whimsy and message, centered around the development of the USA space program in the early days of its life....a stunning and funny play ,really...so glad our folks here nabbed it and the writer to be part of our lives for a while...and I look forward to longer friendship with both Deb and Chuck....gotta go to a Staff meeting now, but it was brought to my attention (by another wonderful playwright and friend Rick Whelan, who is here with his fabulous wife Cathy, who I also adore) that i've not written in the blog for a while, and I awoke this morning with a sharp pain of missing having done so...so....more soon, oh invisible public, I promise!
The Highlands Festival has been filling the streets of Abingdon for the past week and a half, and our Appalachian Festival of Plays and Playwrights has been going well. Yesterday, I heard a play I truly loved: BLUE SKY BOYS by Deborah Brevoort, who I also had the pleasure of spending time with at a dinner party the night before...she and her gifted husband Chick Cooper came down for the reading...so glad to know them....BSB is a wondrous play, filled with imagination, whimsy and message, centered around the development of the USA space program in the early days of its life....a stunning and funny play ,really...so glad our folks here nabbed it and the writer to be part of our lives for a while...and I look forward to longer friendship with both Deb and Chuck....gotta go to a Staff meeting now, but it was brought to my attention (by another wonderful playwright and friend Rick Whelan, who is here with his fabulous wife Cathy, who I also adore) that i've not written in the blog for a while, and I awoke this morning with a sharp pain of missing having done so...so....more soon, oh invisible public, I promise!
