Chance = Change

An apology is in order.

Days ago, I described a character in a book I read.  A creature conceived and designed by a marvelous, imaginative writer, Dan Brown, in his book The Lost Symbol, another of his marvelous religio/mystical  thrillers, along the lines of his Da Vinci Code .

I put the quasi word "religio" in italics, because Dan Brown's books are not truly religious at all. They are potboilers meant to sell, to titillate and to engage avid readers of lurid fiction. I count myself among those readers because I love books of all kinds, and i adore a good yarn spun well.  I also enjoy vaguely mystical, mysterious swipes at all matters that even vaguely whiff of "spirit" because Religion (with a capital R) is a vast subject, one whose vastness covers serious, fine peoples' beliefs as well as crack-pot, odd and minority held views and what people believe in fascinates me no end.

Matters of the Spirit are deeply important to me.  I also feel, as with all deeply important subjects, one must step back and attempt to maintain a sense of objectivity and humor about them...at all times. If we cannot laugh at ourselves ,even in our most serious endeavors, then we lose the ability to see clearly.

Without objectivity and humor, we lose the ability to truly understand others' points of view, and when we lose that ability, we cross the line from our own respectfully held beliefs to intolerance of others'. And intolerance of others' beliefs is unacceptable to me, no matter whose side of the beliefs one is on: we must always at least attempt to understand and respect the way others see the world.

And a comment I wrote about the central evil character in The Lost Symbol looked like it might have crossed that line.

The evil guy was of course over-the-top Dan Brown vintage evil, complete with a shaved head, tattoos all over his body and the  most focused of all evil agendas: to kill in the most tortured and painful ways possible each and every person in the  novel who got in his way...he is a bad guy, through and through, and he is bad in the name of some sort of religious  beliefs he holds that finally have nothing whatsoever to do with any actual religion, but that come from the roots of a medieval Christianity that spawned the symbols everyone is looking for in the book. I said (about this character) "He reminds me of some Evangelical Christians I know."  ......and that was a mean and inaccurate thing to say.

I know no Evangelical Christians who are like that evil guy in the book.

And I certainly did not mean that I think ALL Evangelical Christians are like that.

 If anyone reading my blog thinks I meant that, then I truly do apologize for leading them anywhere near that understanding: it is not what I meant to imply at all.

Any religion, taken to the extremes of its beliefs, can become fanatical. Fanaticism can cause intolerance and fear of others. Fear of others can lead to persecution of those others. And there are people in EVERY RELIGION who do very bad things in the name of it.  No matter what the religion is.

There are wise and good Christians...and there are intolerant and mean ones...there are wise and good Muslims, and there are fanatical, destructive ones...there are wise and good Jews and there are ones who are not...there are wise and good Wiccans and there are dark witches as well....there are the good and the bad on every spiritual path......of course all Buddhists are perfect  (that was a joke....).

I love good people, who do good for others, who include others in their loving lives, who trust in the basic goodness of mankind.  I do not like mean and cruel people, no matter what they say they believe in.   If a person says they are any specific religion, and then they behave in ways that shut others out, harm others, dis-include others, then I think their religion does not do them much good. And I am sad for them. But I do not dis-include them in my life.....unless they try to wipe me off the face of the planet. Then, I need to build a fence, lock a door or move to another neighborhood.

But first, I will meditate and pray for them because their cruelty towards me...teaches me to  listen to what is scaring them.  If they scare me, I am curious: what do they fear?

So - again, I apologize for making some think I was lumping all Evangelicals in the category of "evil people"....please forgive me....and try to understand: I was talking about that guy in the book, and not about you, or anyone else I know who I love, respect, and want very much to never hurt in any way.

I need you all in my life. So , please stay there. All of you. (or come to SF and visit...that would be even better!)

Love,
Evalyn

Labels: Religions/Spiritual Matters

Paul gave us a book on The Tea Ceremony, by the 19th Century scholar Kakuzo Okakura, and in my early morning wakeful hours today, i snuggled down to read it, in one of the chairs in our living room, perfectly situated to see a slice of the Bay and hear the foghorns though the mists.

It's one of the most  enlightening books - and one of the most satisfying -  I've read in a very long time.

Not only does it elucidate the Japanese Tea Ceremony and its evolution through time in China and Japan,  but in so doing, the book gives a succinct history of Taoism, Shinto, Buddhism, Zen, and all the spiritual trends, as well as geographical influences, that made the Ceremony develop as it did through the ages. It is a book about what Okakura has dubbed "Teaism", and about how one little seed of an earthly plant has developed into the rich, multi-layered, fragrant and important liquid that has enveloped so many traditions, insights and ceremonies in human history.  I've always felt that gardening is the perfect metaphor for human strivings of all kinds, and this book deepens that feeling , that intuition, in me.  We've not only so much to learn from nature, we truly are Nature.

Labels: SF Literary

Well...Life is so great, isn't it? SO filled with surprises and so filled with joy!

Sure, people disappoint, plans fall through, sad things happen, and mankind never seems to get a clue about how to treat each other with love and respect (or so it seems), but all in all, Life is filled with goodness....and, as I said: surprise.

I just received some photos from my old dear friend Richard Geer, and they are of him, standing in front of the Barter Theatre Company - that marvelous group of dedicated and gifted actors, administrators, designers, staff and crew- and he is talking to them about a huge project he is going to lead them all into, that he and his company will facilitate in Abingdon, with Barter's considerable help, all about the history of that community, its social profile and, basically, all about its true heart as a community. It 's the sort of brilliant work Richard has been interested in doing for years, and has made his company Community Performance International, I think it's called,  very successful all around our country. He will be doing what he is passionate about: telling peoples' stories! In and around and about Abingdon!

So there he is, standing tall and beautiful, as ever, in front of my dear Barter friends!
I saw my life flash in front of my eyes as I looked as these pictures.  Time stood still.  And I was back in graduate school at the University of Minnesota, sitting in the teacher assistants' office across from the dining hall, and I walked into get lunch and saw this tall, good lookin' guy across the crowded cafe and it was Richard Geer, looking like he had stepped out of a ski poster or something....it was romance at first sight.

And the years have passed, and we are colleagues in the best sense of the word, and I was able to introduce this man's considerable gifts to a place I love so well, by simply arranging for him to meet with another man I admire and respect so much: Rick Rose.  And , i knew it! I knew their chemicals would mix well together, and that something swell would happen...I just knew it!  And now it is.

Ironically, I left just as Geer's time at Barter was starting.  But, such is the peripatetic and intriguing nature of existence....timing is what makes us all dance the way we do.

I am deeply happy here in San Francisco with my dear and gorgeous husband, as you all know...and a part of my heart, as time and experience dictates, is back in Abingdon, with the two Richards. How could it not be?

So all who have the time and energies, find out about this idea of theirs, join in their project, all who read this from Abingdon. It will define a new experience in life for you. It will thrill and amaze you. And give the two Richards special hugs from me. Tell them you read about it on this blog. And that is how you can connect my energies to yours ...and to theirs.

With love.

Labels: Graduate School Memories

I've been cooking more in the past few months than I was ever able to have  the time or energy to do all during the past three years.   And it feels so good to cook for people I love. Also - now do NOT laugh - it actually feels good to do laundry for the man I love too!  Can't explain exactly why. But I'll try to, in this blog entry.

Labels: SF life

There I was, sitting in our little First Tier Davies Hall seats, after a tiring day -  the combination of the hills of my new home town, walking miles through Costco to stock up for the in-laws' visit, and my gym workouts had squashed me flat, but no way was I going to NOT go to the Symphony, so there I was, sitting.

The house was packed - which it is not always - so I figured the Dvorak New World Symphony had a name that attracted audiences, and the SF Symphony had been smart to program it .    Was it possible that the world of symphonic music had it's "Beauty and the Beast" sure-fire programming buzz names? Just like theater?  Of course they do...and it looked like the Dvorak piece was such a one....so there we sat...

The lights dimmed, and the band - a small one for the first act of Mozart violin music - tuned up, looking great and arranged rather unusually, with the strings concentrated in different formations than I was used to seeing.  Out walked Herbert Blomstedt, their venerable conductor emeritus and then a pretty slender woman in a lovely one strap gown, with an 18th century Stradivarius, and off we went into the land of Mozart played brilliantly by the astonishing Arabella Steinbach. Oh my god, she was amazing!  Such virtuoso playing, such skill and dexterity. Such delicacy of pitch! And sweet sweet sweetness of tone. It was heavenly, and stirring.....it sure did wake me up and make me glad to be alive!

THEN: after she stunned us further with an encore , unplanned (except by the wily old conductor who seems to believe in giving the people what they want, even if they think they want to go out to the intermission and go to the bathroom...he knows they really came for the music)....well, she was a one-woman orchestra on that single slender fiddle...it was like nothing I've every heard before.

In this lifetime, I will never be as good at anything as that woman is at the age of 28 on her violin.  Maybe next lifetime, I can start studying something (besides eating) at age three.  Brava Annabella Steinbach!

THEN - after that intermission - the SF Symphony Orchestra played in full force (it was a large and gorgeous sound coming from the full complement of musicians) the most rousing Dvorak: The New World Symphony! GET OUT OF THE WAY: it was stunning.  Glorious.  Moving. Huge sound. Sweet soft dynamics. Utterly right. This orchestra was very proud to show us what it is made of, and I for one, was deeply grateful we were there to hear it. But so were all the thousand others. The encore was again unexpected, but this Herbert Blomstedt knows his audience, and before we could catch out breath he was off into some Smetana anthem  or other and the people were frenzied with appreciation! Such applause and cheering. It was an evening you want to have when you go the Symphony.You want this kind of life-changing sound to come at you from all around you.

It was positively tribal.

And there's another concert - Tchaikovsky piano music!- next week...we will take Peter's folks!

I am content.

Labels: SF Symphony

It seems that one of the essays I've sent out , just a few days ago, has attracted some interest and I've been told it will be published in the April issue of The Marina Times, here in San Francisco.  The Editor, the generous-spirited and cordial Cindy Beckman, emailed me shortly after she read it (it's called My Deal With Buddha: Getting the Piano to the 2nd Floor),told me she thought it was "fun", and she thought she'd have room in her April issue to print it. Would I please send her some bio info for the end tag spot. Yes, you betcha!

It feels like a dream to me.  Almost as good as it felt to be nominated for a Tony Award back in 1985. Now, why is that?  Truly, I feel such elation at this kindly reception, this chance I have for the first time to be published by people I don't know (except for an odd poem or two way back when, in such obscure poetry journals that I think they have long breathed their last, bless them).  And I am floating on a small cloud of accomplishment that feels very pink, indeed.

Why?

Because I have always loved to write - have loved it far more than I have ever loved performing (isn't that odd?) - and only recently have I decided to devote this part of my life to writing, and here is someone saying "yes" to this decision I've made. It's a small "yes" , comparatively - but in a city with the brain-power and worldliness of San Francisco, where so much good writing is going on, and where so many marvelous literary people live and have lived - such a small "yes" is a good quality "yes", at least in my way of thinking , and that is a fine thing.

My heart is filled with the joy of this small, meaningful "yes"....and I am grateful.

Labels: SF Writing

So, I just returned from yet another mad madcap session at the 24-Hour Fitness Gym with my adorable 23-year old trainer Brice, and I am compelled to write about it because it was a very emotional session for me. Why, you ask?  Well, I will tell you...and even if you'd not asked, I would tell you anyway.

When I was a young, tall, slender(er) and spry 20-something actress in Manhattan, everyone belonged to a health club, because , oddly, being young and already perfect was not good enough. One had to be young and constantly working out in order to be even more perfect than one already was: one simply had to work out!

 My club of choice - and the club of many of us who lived on the Upper West Side- was the famed Paris Health Club on West End Avenue at 96th Street.  So popular was it, with the theatre folk, that I even found myself sharing a hot tub with the much-feared NY Post (and sometimes NY Times) critic Clive Barnes, chatting amiably about our workout regimens and never mentioning a word about our shared professions: he knew me and I knew him, and none of that mattered because we were half naked, in bubbling hot water and both exhausted from our gym routines. We saw each other at our absolute worst, and wanted to chat about it, and we didn't care about much else.

We had found the commonest of grounds, and were relaxing on them.  I remember thinking I could never really take his reviews seriously again, because my body was actually much less saggy than his was, no matter that I was a deal younger and a girl. I just couldn't fear him after those times in the hot tub.  So health club memberships served several purposes, health-wise, business-wise, etc.

And I was a pretty regular gym denizen. What I lacked in consistency I made up for in intensity and drive when I did work out.  I always had a gym membership, even when I rarely used it, and I always deducted it as a legit tax/business expense. We all did, since it was part of our professional toolbox to stay fit and pretty.  There were several decades when I was never without a health club membership.

AS the years passed by, however, and I slid more over into the teaching and directing areas of my career, then finally to administration at Barter Theatre, my club days faded gently into the background, and whenever I did finally get off my enlarging rear end to get some exercise, it was usually to walk around some neighborhoods long enough to feel virtuous and call it a day.

But now I live in San Francisco, the city that IS a gym.  And in order to even climb the hill I live o, I have to train for it. So I joined - along with Peter, who is dizzy with a new found workout regimen -the 24-Hour FItness Gyms, so popular in this new city of ours. SO popular , in fact, they sell memberships at Costco, at a discount!  This town is serious about its people getting in shape because it knows that if its citizens allow themselves to get soft and flabby, all business will come to a standstill:  no one will want to walk outside!  SO, EVERYONE belongs to a gym here, and cute latex outfits are very very popular.
No matter your age, you had better buy something made of latex. I wonder if headbands count.

So, not only have we joined, but we have hired personal trainers to make us feel so guilty that if we do not keep our appointments with them, we will feel even worse than we already do.  It helps that mine is  very good at what he does: Brice knows just how far to push me each session, and he is a bright, voluble talker: it's like having my own live radio show playing at all times, taking my mind off how close to totally expiring I constantly am when I am doing as he instructs.  But I keep on, and by the end of our bi-weekly 50-minute sessions together, I feel high as a kite on simply getting it over with!

Today was no exception, and he did work my arms and legs very hard, so that I felt like I was floating out to the garage and that my arms were made of helium-filled balloon animals. But before we got into it, I warmed up in an area where there were a lot of people in their twenty's killing themselves with difficult, strenuous exercise, and I got very sad.  Sad because they seemed to have no idea how very beautiful they already were, without all that hard work. They all seemed to be chasing some elusive ideal that was just beyond their pumping, lifting, slinging, slugging reach, and no matter how hard they grimaced and no matter how many gallons of red-faced sweat poured out of them, it was an ideal that was always going to be far ahead of them: they would never reach it.  I know this now. But I did not know it when I was their age.

So, I got sad for the wisdom I had to live 3 decades or more to receive" perfection is right now.

One consolation is this:  if I had not worked that hard then, I might not be in the shape I am now, relatively youthful for a woman in her 60's. If I hadn't laid down the good bones of my physical self way back then, I might not be as strong as I am now, and that scares me because I am not very strong at all. But at least I am alive with a vibrance that permits me to go to Costco, buy a discounted gym membership and use it. Hell, I'm alive enough and strong enough to have moved across country, change my life and start a new one in a city I love. So who's to say my early health club addiction did not help this time be possible?  I guess we'll never know.

But, for now, I want to reach out to those gorgeous kids sweating next to me in the gym and say: it's okay, you're stunningly beautiful. Relax , take good care of yourself, but remember: you are perfect, ripe and ready,  right now,  just as you are. 

A better use for that medicine ball that seems to weigh three thousand pounds as you lift it over  your head? Toss it at whoever tells you you're not.

Labels: SF Workout

        As perhaps written earlier in this space, Adair Lara's book nearly fell off the shelf into my hands at the Barnes and Noble store in Johnson City. When I purchased it, much against my better judgement, since we were packing far too many books to move to SF, even after selling and giving away hundreds, i had no idea she was SF-based, so when I finished it, and adored it, and THEN saw she was not only based in SF, but was a much-beloved writer for the Chronicle for years , I figured it had to be fate...beshert , in Yiddish, as my mother was so fond of referring to...and so I emailed her quickly, requesting a place in her workshops...after sending her some prose (from this blog, in fact),  she asked me to join her January groups, and so I was in...and now AM in...and am glad.  It's a great focus for me.A genuine learning time.

        Before we all met, mid-January, she sent out some pre-workshop writing exercises she asked us to pick three of, covering such ideas as : write about the history of your hair....write about your father's clothes....write about a rental you've had....write about what's in your closet....stuff like that..provocative ideas to get us kick-started....and i could hardly wait.
        I chose for y first exercise a thing where she asked  that we start writing about a topic we had in mind, using this sentence fragment:  "And another thing that can be said about this topic is...." and then complete that sentence, moving on from there to see where it leads. Then after a page or so of that, beginning the next section on the same topic with this fragment: " What I am NOT going to write about this topic is..." and see where that takes you.  That is very interesting because it turns your mind around and makes you examine the story or essay idea from the entire other side.

Labels: SF Writing

The Laundry Room in our building is clean, spacious and welcoming, and it has a library...of lending books, from all the smart tenants in the three Lombard Place buildings.  I may never have to buy another book again as long as I live here!

Much to say about those small bookshelves sitting by the dependable dryers in our LR, but for now let me say this: I have been lost in the arms of cheap and appealing FICTION all weekend and I am not ashamed to admit it.   I took a large load of laundry down on Saturday morning - with Peter working full time, it's the very least I can do, to become the housewife I was always meant to be - and I left the LR with two marvelous books, by two of the bestselling American writers of the decade: John Grisham and Dan Brown.....in recompense, I took down a few things I can easily do without, literarily speaking, and there must be someone with the same tastes I have because I know that the next time I go down there, my contributions will be gone!  So glad someone else gets pleasure from this lending / exchange thing.

ANYWAY: I spent all of Saturday in the embrace of THE TESTAMENT by John Grisham and while reading, I sat back, figuratively, and let myself be awed by his detailed account of travels in the rain forests of Brazil...because the story is marvelous and filled with lovely characters you adore to hate, as well as the shift of the major character from hopeless drunk to seriously aspiring spiritual man - but the real fun, the the real meat of the read is in those adventures he puts the main guy through in the heavily forested regions of a part of Brazil very few white men go to....

..........a plane crash (how the hell did he know how to write about that without being in one?)....malaria attacks, snakes, bugs, heat....true deathly illnesses, tribes of exoteric and hard-to reach indians...did Grisham go there and do all this?  I was awed! and i enjoyed the mean, venal family he invented who are all snapping at the edges of the multi-billion dollar fortune at risk....the word "billions" creates such pleasurable fun these days...untold wealth...and the goods he fills pages with his nasty family members buying....great fun...so the contrast to the journey of attempting to find the romantic, religious central heir to the fortune is all the more delightful in its horrors, poverty, meager way of living and existing, etc.....extremes beautifully portrayed, so you feel the full impact of both as a reader....I just gobbled through that one at a prodigious rate!

And then I flung it back into the laundry basket to take down next weekend for more!  Next I cracked open a paperback of THE LOST SYMBOL by Dan Brown, our country's most beloved meta-physical fiction writer!   This one is yet again all about deeply mysterious things that are right in front of our faces...and right now, having plowed through 50 percent of it, I am deep underneath the Nation's Capitol and looking for nasty little secret objects, while the life of our heroine is at dire risk at the hands of a tatooed-ugly-maniacal, Believer of the worst sort....reminds me of right wing Evangelicals I know....but he is tall, rich, well-built, intriguing in his sadistic focus and utterly in line with the albino from Davinci Code....they could be brothers...and in fact, maybe they are....but right now, our hero Robert Langhorn (Tom Hanks, as we now know him from the film of Davinci...) is being run through a new gauntlet of secrets, symbolic scribblings and life-or-death tasks to perform before people will be safe again....

.........it's clear that TIME is of utmost importance to Dan Brown's formula of writing, because he never gives his protagonists enough of it, and all the action in his books takes place within terribly brief brackets of clock-ticking....you can almost hear the minutes pass, every one is in such a rush to rescue something or someone or other....it's amusing all by itself, and thoroughly exhausting. But, obviously, right in tune with the tempo of American readers because Dan Brown is what you call a publishing cash cow.  People buy his books. And by tapping into the American speed gestalt, I think he has found a (dare I say it) secret code of success.   I am breathless and my legs hurt just from trying to keep up with his folks, as they scurry from one crisis to another, all seemingly in the space of 24-hours!  You feel you've gone thousands of miles across vast spaces of dangerous landscape...but it's usually all in one building and within one day...or night...truly a feat of writerly skill, I'd say.

So - off to the printers to put together a small book of my poems for the final meeting of our workshop tomorrow night....glad to have an occasion to show some of them to some people....we each must take our 15 minutes of fame, as Adair calls it, tomorrow...and we can fill it with anything we want to fill it with...I'd like to share some of my poetry, get away from the essay form for a night....and take some good food for them to nibble....we all must bring some food...

Today I also must get my cardio workout in, and will go to the Bay location of my gym, so I can breath in some nice fresh air on the terrace they have for stretching....I collapsed over the weekend and could not seem to stop sleeping deeply whenever I go tnear a surface that would let me lay down...i slept and slept....must have needed it.   COme to think of it, maybe I still do!

More soon, comrades....be well.

Labels: SF Domestic Life

After the move to Abingdon, Virginia, and now the move across this entire country, our dear old and still fabulous grand piano is due a good, long, caring check-up by a piano doctor!  And this day, David Gordon, a recommended piano tuner, is at her side, paying close attention!  David was suggested to us by a friend who has a gorgeous home in Noe Valley, Doug C.

It is pretty awful that we have not had her tuned or looked at in over 4 years, but by the time we let her settle into the Virginia living room, we had gotten so busy at our jobs that we totally forgot to look after her properly, barely having even the time to sit down and play her. But now, with already more actual playing going on, I will go no further until she is tuned and happy again. Peter is ecstatic. And I can almost hear the shiny ebony beauty purring!

I wrote a very long piece for my Writing Workshop about this piano, and am in the middle of deciding what to do with it...whether to send it out (not sure to where) or to post it here....but it is a bit of an homage, a rhapsody, if you'd like, about this traveling companion of mine, through all the years and the miles.  It talks about all she has been witness to in my life, all she has gone through with me.   All the drama, the fun, the music, the students she has helped....and now, she is in the piano "spa" being taken care of, and she deserves it.  Looks like David Gordon is being very nice to her and doing all the important things to check her out....i've not heard any tuning going on yet...too much other stuff to check first, I imagine.

Peter's at the gym....it is another rainy SF day and I am sitting at my long writing table by my bedroom window......Lombard Street, ever the tourist mecca, seems  deserted today, probably due to rain, yet, every now and then I see a determined tourist or two, heads covered in plastic rain hats, umbrellas aloft, trudging up our part of the hill, aiming for the summit, where the "crookedest street in the world" begins going down....at about where our wonderful apartment building is you can turn left onto Polk and descend down to Fisherman's Wharf, and the marvelous Ghirardelli Square, where such gorgeous chocolates live!  All in all, our location is a perfect one.  Interesting places all around us to walk to ....stunning scenery to see everywhere we look...and the view from the rood of this building is "killer" ...nearly 360 degrees of Bay, Bridge and sky...fabulous!

Later this evening we go to The Razz Room to hear jazz singer Amanda McBroom, and dinner before hand with pals at our favorite vegetarian Chinese place: The Golden Era on O'Farrell....another fine San Francisco evening!   Even when we've had time to have some fun evenings, in the past few years, we were always too tired from work to go out ....and now we take as full advantage as we can of our schedules and our resources here....with gratitude.

So - the world goes 'round and Japan is beleaguered by its earthquake/tsunami/nuclear reactor problems that sadden us all....war looms between the USA and Libya and evil world leaders continue in their inexplicable ways toward more evil, and why that is ...well....the world goes 'round....i just live in it. Wish I had more answers, but for now, I don't, and so I'll have to get the joy where I can get it....

One place I definitely do get it is from writing, so...now that I am back on these pages....expect more from this little corner of the spinning globe.

xxev

Labels: SF Domestic Life

Sitting at my worktable, my large windows looking out onto a rainy, grey and deeply atmospheric Friday morning Lombard Street, and I feel like I should start a mystery novel today, but first I need to acquire a slouchy felt hat, well worn and stained with coffee and nicotine, an elegantly shabby trench coat, also well worn and stained with coffee and nicotine  (mystery writers drink coffee and smoke a lot don't they?), and be appropriately starved for both real food and romantic adventure.

There are no fog horns this morning - or at least I don't hear them because my windows are closed against the rain - but in my mind the Fine Ladies of the Bay are mournfully tooting their dire warnings, and mischief is afoot in the harbors...how could it not be on a day like this?  Longshoremen (whatever they are - I never have known...) lurking against damp , lichen-covered walls, their knitted hats pulled down to cover their eyebrows, and cigarettes , somehow miraculously alight in this rainy weather, supply the only touch of bright orange color midst all the grey of the day....they mumble something about "waiting for Lefty" and there is a sense of menace in the air.

Or maybe, they're just hungry and want an early lunch.

I took the pups out to do their morning toilette and they looked up at me like I was truly insane to expect anything out of them but the most token of pee's, and who could blame them. It's raining so hard. In one minute of exposure, their little soft coats were drenched  and sopping, and yet they bravely lifted their legs and squatted their delicate little squats and let their bladders add to the already too-wet morning.  I loved them for their expedition. And hurried them back inside to do their other stuff....I can always whisk that away before it sits for too long....it's the pee inside that is the real villain, so we avoid that at all costs.

Now, here we are, safely ensconced once more inside, but I have to brave the rainy storm to get to my trainer appointment soon: my date with Brice!  He nearly kills me each session....but why do I love it so much? Because I feel so damned good when it's done!  I now understand sado-masochism a bit better...but all kidding aside, the workouts he gives me are just right and attuned to my old-lady heart rate just so i don't get discouraged, and I always look forward to more. It's a gift Brice has: he gages me well. And i feel so much better now that my body is back in a gym routine once again.  It's been a while since I've even had the or energies to devote to such important activity, and I am grateful for it.

But back to the mystery I should be writing today.

Murder, mayhem and mellifluous music of the foghorns , the backdrop for an international scheme:  the rare and vital elements that could cure Japan's nuclear reactor problems are on their way to that troubled country - necessities to save the population and the world from nuclear holocaust - but the secret couriers are brutally murdered at the Port of San Francisco and their bodies scarred with a bloody message asking for ransom of the stolen vital goods!

 How were they detected , first of all? Who knew the couriers  to be what they were and what they carried with them?  Obviously an inside job, who are the villainous , hard-hearted terrorists behind this inhumane plot ?

And where did the vital life-saving equipment/elements go? Who has them? THey have a short shelf-life, so time is important: they MUST be found.  THe Japan situation grows worse daily, and people - millions of people will soon die if the kidnapped items are not found and utilized correctly.

I see the movie of course starring Harrison Ford and Clyde Kusatsu as the Japanese Prime Minister...and the first day of shooting takes place on a day just like today, when all the important Port shots are accomplished...then the unit moves to Seattle, where it's like this more of the time!

Hmmmmm......what shall we call it?   Murder on the Richter Scale ?.....  or  Glowing into the Abyss   ?.....or  Murder a' Tremble  ? .......or   maybe The Hot Potato Murders.....?

Oh well - gotta go to the gym now...being a writer is fun!   I can think up entire worlds and what happens in them...then I get to get up from the desk and go to the gym!  Feels sort of god-like....

Hmmm... i wonder if there's a murder mystery plot in that idea?

love,
ev

Labels: SF Writing

              After Peter leaves for work at a mid-town San Francisco office, and I've walked the doggies to their private little place behind our building so they can do their morning thing, I pour my 2nd cup of strong Peet's coffee and sit down to my future.  The future that I have begun to carve out for myself by moving to San Francisco.

               When I was younger, and new to my first chosen hometown, New York CIty, my mornings were clear and open to another future, and, though the morning ritual was often the same - husband off to work, (but then it was to help struggling NYC theatrical non-profits survive) - doggies emptied - (but on the hard pavements of NYC ) - my energies were just as devoted, just as focused, and I felt the same anticipation and  joy at being able to pursue my genuine dreams, in order to make them a reality.  Then, my dream was to be a New York actress, to keep working in the theater - any theater that would have me - and to grow a career I could be proud to claim.  I spent more than three decades on that dream, and, without bragging, I can say that I achieved what I set out to do.  I earned a substantial  living, and I lived a full life doing it: auditioning, getting cast in projects I wanted to be cast in, schlepping nightly to work in long-running Broadway shows, earning good money in TV and radio commercials, doing "interesting" work in various theaters in NYC and around the country, and even getting nominated for awards that recognized my particular talents, and finally teaching and directing shows I felt great pride in helping to develop. I did indeed fulfill that earlier-part-of-my-life dream, never imagining that I'd spend my life doing anything else or doing it anywhere else,for that matter.

            Now I am in San Francisco, a city that , for years, my husband and I have wanted to live in, and I have set all things theatrical aside in order to dive into an entirely new dream: writing.  But, as i look back through my 4 decades of journal keeping, I see it's not such a new dream after all, because phrases like "Gee, I wish I had more time to write about that!" , " If I didn't have to run off to rehearsal, I'd write more pages about this." , "One day, I 'm gonna sit down and really write all about this." and " I WISH I had more time to WRITE!" keep turning up month after month, year after year!  So, I guess I am finally doing what I have wanted to do for a very long time.

           I'm also beginning to see how the process of living is very much like the process of writing: when you start out, it may be with some idea or other that drives you forward, but you never really do know what's coming next, even if you think you do. The story as you planned it suddenly goes off in a totally other direction, as the true needs and desires of your main character (you) rise to the surface and make you decide otherwise....unexpected events shift the gears for  you ....wants and needs and , yes, dreams, that may have been long buried suddenly assert themselves, and paths become open and clear that never seemed to even exist before....it's all an adventure and the best we can do is stay as open as possible to the possibilities that could bring us limitless joy.  It's when we have done our pre-judging, our DECIDING that it should all be a certain prescribed way that we encounter disappointment and terror, because finally the control we think we have over Life is no control at all, but rather a sad illusion. And for those set in their ways, the yanking away of this illusion is a scary thing.  All of a sudden, what do they do with their hands?

             I say let the hands sculpt something.  Let your voice , used to telling others how things should be - let that voice sing instead.  Let your mind open. Sweep it clean.  Ready it for new things to find their home there.  Life is a metaphor anyway, nothing we think of as real actually is, but rather only our idea of what it is, and our opinions shape our lives, so...change them. Change your point of view on something you think is absolutely written in stone, and see what happens. If you listen to conservative news, try listening to the liberal side for a change. And, just for a lark, agree with it for a day...or at least try to....if you are a dyed-in-the-wool liberal, think like a Tea Party person for a day and see what they see...if you are homophobic, go kiss a person of the same sex!  If you think you can't, then do it anyway!
Let yourself discover what might have been below your surface for as long as you can remember.  And give it a chance to live in the sun.  New dreams may emerge. New ways of living may result.

          Truly, you just never know until you try.  And it's not so easy to do this, since you are bound to go into the experiment already thinking it's wrong, and that you're right....but try...really try. It's only for a day. What harm can it do.....except to change your life forever?

           And who knows: maybe your life has been asking for a change. And like a parent turning a deaf ear to a whining child, you've just not been listening.






              

            

Labels: SF Writing

Hi All!

 The dear,  I- miss-him-so-much-Todd P. wrote me to "Please blog!" ...and those two little words woke me up from this San Francisco dream I have been delighting in, where each day i spend hours at my writing table overlooking Lombard Street, then going to the gym, spending free hours with Peter going to all the artistically nourishing events we can squeeze into our schedules......and I again apologize! So let's see how I can catch you all up on what it's like here:

TO begin with, the 1st writing workshop I've been taking with the gifted and delightful Adair Lara is soon over - the 12 weeks have flown by - and I will take her Memoir Workshop next, which starts in mid-May.

Adair is a gifted, funny, wry, observant humorist, a popular SF literary figure, with a fan base devoted to her column in the Chronicle, which she no longer writes, but many of which are gathered in several published collections I highly recommend...she is a wonderful, entertaining and honest writer. .and a very very good teacher. Gentle, supportive, but specific in her critical observations, and very very helpful. I have learned so much from her , so far , and intend to learn more.  Within this 12 -week period of time, I have written more than I have ever written in my life, on the widest possible variety of subjects, each one a learning tool for a new part of the technique I've wanted to learn for so long.

The month of April, many of us from this current workshop will continue to meet here at my place on Lombard until the Memoir Workshop starts, and continue we'll continue writing, giving each other critiques, encouragement, partnering, writing prompts (ideas to inspire more writing),etc...and we will meet weekly, consume a bottle of wine or two (there is not a bad wine in this city , and if there is I've yet to taste it)...and well...we'll keep on writing and begin to send our stuff out to various magazines and newspapers...that is the next step for the current workshop: getting the 1st person essays and articles in good enough shape to start sending them to publications that may want them.

Over these past weeks, I've written essays on these topics:

- moving to San Francisco (Reclaiming My Heart),
-getting the grand piano up the Stairs (My Bargain With Buddha),
-noticing young mothers using the city as a gym (The Women of Russian Hill),
-my experience of the World Trade Center 9/11 event (The Day Broadway Stopped Dancing),
-audition advice to young actors (Claim It and Re-Name It),
-a prologue and Chapter One to the book I want to write (title still undetermined), 
-Martha Stewart (My Martha Thing or Making Water With an Ex-Con), 
-the Star Spangled Banner (The National Anthem and Me),
-clutter (Mother Nature Abhors My Vacuum),
-my grand piano (Travels With a Diva),
and several more topics....


Enough of these are in a sort of shape that I am able to begin to send them out without wincing too much, though I am sure my collection of rejection slips will soon grow large, making me feel more like a true writer than anything else possibly can, I will complete this particular workshop mission and send as much out as I can !!  I've become fond of this first-person essay form, and since it's sort of like a structured blogging, with more of a point and an epiphany in each one, I'll probably continue to write them...and continue to send them out as well, until someone wants one!  Or maybe I'll print them here in this blog...we'll see.

I've also used this time to work on several short stories for a theatrical collection I want to put together called  Ghost Light Stories - I've got about 4 of the stories in the works with titles like "Magic Time", "Lamp In The Window", "The Casting Call", "Oceans", "The Mystery Mime Troupe",etc...

I've written a character sketch or two for a San Francisco collection, or I may evolve one or two of them into an essay about street people I am becoming familiar with here....and on and on the possibilities grow, every day, which thrills me more than I can say!  WHY? Because I realize that I've wanted the time and space to do this - to write - for as long as I can remember ! And now I am doing it.

I am writing! One day , I will call myself a writer.

By the end of the Memoir Workshop, I hope to have at least an arc and rough first draft of the book  done....it will be much tougher than I ever thought it could be, as I begin to understand how difficult it is to craft an entire BOOK! Pages and pages of a story I feel passionate about sharing with others, but how to make it readable for all those others?  Ah! There 's the rub, and therein lies the craft and technique I'm talking about!

 But I am determined...and I will do it or die trying...so stay tuned for the struggle....it's worth every moment of it, at least for me, and I'll try to supply you with the agonies and the ecstasies of it all! I've begun to understand that writing is never easy for any writer, and that struggle, insecurity and outright dis-belief in one's own worth are a well-known pat of every process..oh goody! Thank God, I really want to do it.  I truly do.

Now onto Peter:  the best and dearest husband ever in the entire world!  We luxuriated in the first three months being here by taking the time we wanted to get our home in order, sort things out to get our financial and business lives in shape here, scope out al the museums and theaters we wanted to further explore, go every day to run our pups on the beaches, drive over to the Marin Headlands, have picnics wherever the spirit moved us to sit and enjoy the stunning beauty of this coastline,etc...it was idyllic...and yes, we caught up on sleep too!  Neither of us realized how thoroughly exhausted our years had been, and how the journey, the move, the packing,etc had worn us thin....we needed the time to recover, and we took it.

But when he decided he felt like getting to work, he went into an office a friend sent him to - an agency that places support people in all these different industries and companies,etc - aced every test they gave him, impressed them with the Yonka charm and abilities, and the next week he was placed in an office, earning well, and now they are making noises about hiring him permanently....the pay would be swell. And the job is okay. But he still believes in  non-profit theater, so  when a dear pal asked him to help out at The Magic Theatre with a few things  (this is the 44 year old theater where Sam Shepherd's plays were first produced) - and since  we are both thoroughly enrolled in Loretta Greco's vision for this marvelous theater - Peter said yes and he is now volunteering some time to assist them in various areas. I know  this will be helpful for all concerned...but for now, it's a bit of a balancing act, as he feels his way through two entirely different worlds....i know where his heart is though.

Our home gets more and more comfortable by the week, as we hang a few more pictures, sort out a few more piles, and allow the gorgeous light that pours in through the many windows to heal us every day. The fog horns at night have the same effect, and we love this city more and more.

We've both joined the 24-Hour Fitness gyms and are on a regular schedule of workouts, with (yes, we are now pure Californian in this way) with our trainers, we work hard and feel so good!

My days start with good coffee (like the wine, there seems to be no bad coffee here), and I sit down and do not get up from the computer for three hours at least....this will continue for many days to come and  that makes me so very happy.

Tomorrow night we meet a dear friend for  dinner (we've chosen a few regulars places we love, including the best vegetarian Chinese place I've ever experienced called The Golden Era, down on O'Farrell, and Friday once more we attend the SF Symphony , this time to hear the Bach BMinor Mass....Saturday, we hear Amanda McBroom at the Razz Room....and Sunday we meditate with our friends at SF Insight Meditation ....we have such a good time here, such a fortunate life. Aside from missing you all, we are thoroughly content.

More soon...truly.

Labels: SF 2011