the chiding autumn ~ a midsummer night's dream

I know now that I have been hiding from myself – okay, that’s not entirely true. It’s not that I’ve been hiding per se, but I think I’ve been attempting to sometimes allow my heart to be dictated by what I supposed I should be. I didn’t really realize that I been held captive within the confines of my own restraints. I’ve built walls, I’ve put up fortresses around pieces of myself I didn’t know I was trying to hide from others. I pride myself on loving people completely, always being myself. Despite my complete idiosyncrasies of not being able to handle silly things like weird noises that people make with their mouths, or the irritation I feel when I hear “I love you” carelessly tossed about one’s lips, almost in the same tone as “Hey, what’s up?” – cause then I don’t feel it necessary to reciprocate the phrase, which can come across as heartless. And pondering all of these little things, I have, somewhat unknowingly, kept friends apace with my non-compliance of the heart.

I have often said things as removed from emotion as: “I love you as much as my inability to love allows me to.” – which isn’t quite truthful in concept. I have a lot of love to give. I love everyone. In fact, sometimes I think I love too much, but when it comes down to the pressures of love, the expectations of love, I fall apart. Sometimes I can be so affectionate, and sometimes receiving affection is like hearing someone relentlessly fumbling with a candy wrapper during a production of Swan Lake, when the music is lilting and mesmerizing, as the ballerina is fluttering to her death amongst a pile of feathers on stage, and all you can focus on is that damn candy wrapper being tormented between the weathered hands of the idiot behind you. Yeah, sometimes love is like that.

I know I don’t have to hide anymore though. It’s okay to feel love differently toward different people, and it’s okay to express it glowingly on some days, and cinch it closed beneath pursed lips on others.

The leaves are falling outside my window right now, and as each branch becomes less clothed with it’s summertime companions, the tree seems a bit lighter, a bit more free; yet all the leaves seem to chase the others as they glide through the wind, gathering in sepia piles at the tree’s roots. No matter how hard they try to cling to his limbs, they can’t help but let go eventually and fly away with their seasonal pals. After all the leaves are gone, the tree is still there, still watching the world go by, still welcoming the birds to his branches, and the squirrels to his nuts (sorry, I couldn’t resist) - warming his soul in the sun, and sleeping in the moonlight, keeping post in the neighborhood under the street lamps. I wonder if he’s happy. For so much of the year, he has no choice in the matter of friendships. The leaves stay with him whether he welcomes them or not. But when winter teases their loyalty, they find humor in providing piles of fun for children’s games, as their little hands and feet scamper through the crispy outlines of the parched foliage. As the tree stands through the seasons, he meets so many. And knows that next spring, a whole new gathering of leaves will join him, and remain steadily loyal throughout the fall.

I feel as though, perhaps it’s always a bit like fall within my heart, never wanting to have anyone cling to me too tightly, so that as they fall away, I can smile and watch them from afar, admiring the qualities I’ve loved of them, and knowing that a piece of them will always remain with me. But it’s nice to love and let go, to have friends who come and go. It’s nice to endure the seasons with different picturesque views, each one different from the one before it, and yet equally as beautiful. And sometimes, there are leaves so spectacular that you can’t help but want to keep it pressed tightly within the confines of your scrapbook; but that’s when you examine it carefully, place it amongst the others, and know that one day, when you’re walking down the street, and you stub your toe, and mumble curses about how awful your day has been, the wind will blow just right, and that leaf will be at your fingertips, reminding you that even when you let go for a while, the most beautiful things will return to you -- if you hope, love, and allow your heart to believe that the fates do exist.

after a guilded butterfly ~ coriolanus i.iii

For Denice Hicks, my mentor, my muse, my friend.


January eyes swimming in a dark roast
beneath cerulean skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts dance between her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Cobblestones and weary bricks
measure a lonely street,
counting patterns,
counting feet.
Awaiting that forgotten man
who comes to sit awhile,
burbon tears slipping through his broken smile,
forget-me-nots reaching for his sole
breezes pushing past his shadow-
fireflies on patrol.

January eyes, an unmasked Muse,
in disguise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts woven through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Concrete steps and paper bags,
a simple home this lonely street,
quieting his whimpers,
quieting his feet.
He's forgotten life,
no more to dream,
newspaper headlines cushion his sleep,
burbon tears fall silently
down his wrinkled face,
no one to care for him;
his soldiered friends turned to epitaphs,
left alone-
battlefields haunt his shadows,
no more to love,
not even a trace.

January eyes drowning in blackened waters
beneath the ashen skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts mending through her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

Stepping stones bound with leather and spines,
covered in dust;
words within,
words to trust.
A fairy queen and lovers' quarrels-
stately kings, crowned with laurels.
A ghostly father,
a son's murmured speech,
a tempest whirling 'neath a nectarine sky,
breezes sifting through the pages-
this Muse awakening moments
within reach.

January eyes, uplifting yesterdays
in humbled reprise,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts beating with the rhythm of her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

A pebbled past and wearied soul,
overcome by poetic measures.
He's counting sunsets,
counting treasures.
He longs to remember tomorrow,
pushing past his sorrow.
Sunny tears encircle his crooked smile.
She reaches for his soul,
whispering music past his lighted shadow;
she has played her role.

January eyes peering through a locked door,
beneath the Poet's skies,
sing to me Shakespeare's lullabyes.
Hearts unlocked with her fingertips,
her gestures wise;
brushstrokes of antique cinnamon
soar through butterfly goodbyes.

and proofs as clear as founts in july ~ king henry viii

5.July.2010

It’s a Rufus Wainwright kind of day. Before I continue, perhaps I should credit Mr. Wainwright for the soundtrack of my afternoon journaling. Here’s to you, Rufus.

I finally - stopped. By that, I mean, I’m through with bustling throughout the house. I’ve been away all weekend, living the good life at Casa del Sol Resort & Swim Spa. I had the most wonderfully relaxing weekend. Okay, so it wasn’t really a resort, but I did spend the weekend at Tim Larson’s - dear friend, confidant, and theatrical consort. He and his brother have a beautiful home in Bellevue, and they invited me over for the weekend.

Surprisingly, after the night I previously mentioned in my other entry, I somehow still managed to wake up and head over to Tim’s house by 11:00am. We were in the pool by noon, margaritas by two o‘clock, wine by six o‘clock, dinner by eight o’clock, night swimming to commence shortly thereafter, followed by a poolside nightcap, preceded by late night television comedies and deep discussions of sordid lives; then off to bed by two o’clock in the morning.

Fourth of July brunch was served at eleven o’clock, and by eleven forty-five, me, Laura, Morgan, Tim, Kenny, and Ted were all floating in the pool, laughing, talking, playing games, and simply relaxing hopelessly on this gorgeous, July afternoon.

After yet another incredible dinner, Laura, Morgan, Tim and I traipsed off to the front yard to enjoy the panoramic view of the neighborhood, fireworks display, making a marvelous game out of guessing the color of the firework-yet-to-come. Of course, five year old Morgan seemed to truly delight in this game, which made the three of us adults enjoy it’s silliness even more.

The shooting stars of light soared elegantly through the shadows of the skies, arching gracefully above the treetops, lighting up the heavens as they couldn’t soar any higher without bursting into unexpected colors through the starlit evening. A cerulean hibiscus, fuchsia starfish; illuminated baby’s breath, and more fairy dust than I’d ever seen, poured down upon our eyes of blue and deep brown.

Even sillier than the color guessing came was the shadow creature game that we played on the lawn, creating stories to match our elongated, moonlit silhouettes. Sometimes my quiet silhouette was overtaken by Tim’s monstrous one, as he chased it about the lawn, and sometimes Morgan’s five-year-old, diminutive outline seemed to pounce on mine even more-so than the six and a half foot Tim’s!

I went to bed that night, completely content and full of magical stories. All that previously seemed to cause me anxiety, and all of those disparaging thoughts that had previously overtaken my consciousness throughout the earlier days of the prior weeks before me, somehow found a different residence for the weekend, leaving me freed of my previously heavy mind.

I’m home now. The kitchen’s tidied. The living room is picked up. I’m unpacked from my weekend away - my room is as pristine as if Mary Poppins herself had been here, snapping her fingers and singing about spoons and sugar, while chirping birds sat perched on her outstretched fingers - my clothes put away and pillows fluffed. My bronzed skin seems so foreign against these ecru cushions of my writing chair, my hair highlighted by the sun’s tickling right arm. (In order to understand that slight inside joke, you’d have to ask my mother about the story I dictated to her, that she wrote on a napkin when I was merely four years old and too young to write for myself. Simply mention “Sun‘s tickling arm“ to my mother, and she‘ll gladly tell you all about how I started writing stories, once I figured out I could translate my imagination into scripted words. She LOVES to talk about that.) All the creatures of the house are curled up in my room, apparently also fans of Rufus, as they are quietly snoozing - one at my feet, two on the bed, one on the window sill, and one beneath the chair - as Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk plays on in the background.

It’s been a wonderful weekend. I know I only have four more days until the week is over and I can perhaps try again and have just as exciting Saturday and Sunday at this week‘s closing, but I just don’t want this magical weekend to end…

to our gayness and our gilt ~ king henry V

Friday night I had a Gayte (gay date) with one of my best gays, Christian. We met up for Appletinis at his gorgeous West End town home, and then took a cab to Bound’ry for dinner, sharing a crisply refreshing bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and devouring a scrumptious dinner of Cajun trout and sautéed vegetables. Then onward to TRIBE (my most favorite gay bar in town), for an evening of dancing, martini-ing and gaiety. (no pun intended)

One White Gummy Bear Martini later, and the muted colors of the overhead lighting poured through the room as the gay heavens opened and all of my dearest friends emerged from the neon-lit Church street,. John-Todd and Eric were there, perched at the corner of the bar beneath the magenta lights; five minutes after we connected, I could almost hear a chorus of Lady Gaga, Ke$ha and Shakira, uniting as one untouchable trinity, as yet another group of friends came into the mix, making me as giddy as a twelve-year-old getting to meet Justin Bieber. We all ventured into the side bar area, only to discover Joe-The-Opera-Singer, and Lee Druce, one of my most favorite people of all time.

My phone started to “teleport” (that’s the text tone I have set to go off when I receive messages) - “Hey gorgeous! I‘m outside TRIBE. Where are you? - Shawn. He had been at the movie theater with friends, seeing that god-awful “Eclipse” movie - or whatever the latest “Twilight” film had been released in theaters, and knew that I was going to TRIBE, and decided to come too! Christian was having a difficult time keeping everyone’s names straight, not that there is anything straight about being in a gay bar. His eyes widened as our Gayte turned from a quiet night out, to a small group of people conversing at the bar, to thirty-five people taking over the entire establishment.

I was too busy playing “catch-up” with everyone to realize that Eric bought me a shot. If I could just shut up long enough to drink it, that probably would have been nice, I presume. Several taps on the shoulder, and I came around, but I don’t really enjoy “shots” as they are intended - well, no, it’s not that I don’t enjoy them, it’s that it’s just too much for me to swallow all in one gulp (that’s what she said), not to mention, shots like “Lemon Drops” are so delicious, it seems a sin to waste the tastiness of it by swallowing it too quickly (this is the last time I swear - that’s what she said). I wouldn’t drink it all in one swig, so I casually sipped it throughout the next two conversations.

By this point of the night, with what to my wondering eyes did appear, Holy Bejeezes, Judson. It’s been at least a year since we’d seen each other, and here we were, on a random Friday night, at TRIBE, finding the smiles and chatty reflections of ourselves in the corner of our favorite meeting place.

Christian, by this time of the evening, turned to me in disbelief, and with no abandon proclaimed: “We OBVIOUSLY need to hang out more often. How is it that you know EVERY gay man in NASHVILLE!!?!?” I laughed. Then, I pondered this quandary of a notion. You know, I have absolutely no idea how I have so many gay male friends in Nashville, but it’s true. I knew nearly thirty gay men at the bar, all whom are astonishingly handsome, and always know how to make me feel like the queen of queens. Ha. That was COMPLETELY an unintentional pun.

I didn’t get home until nearly a quarter till four in the morning. I hardly ever stay out that late, but I was having so much fun, that taxiing up in a Checker Cab and heading home seemed so dull, and thus, we kept the night rolling. When I finally got home though, after deciding my night had gone on long enough, I put in one of my favorite Judy Garland movies of all time (I suppose that’s a little cliché after spending the evening at a gay bar), “The Clock”, and fell asleep to my dearest Ms. Garland. How is it, that no matter what time of day, the sound of her voice is always so comforting?

in his moan, the ship splits on the rock ~ king henry vi

I don't even know where to begin. Life has taken so many twists and turns and so many beautiful moments have occurred in the past several weeks that I feel like I could write a novel and still not capture the experiences that have put such detailed footnotes in the chapters of my oh-so-intricately woven life.

Let me start with the beginning, and hopefully, this entry won't be too terribly lengthy by the time I come to a conclusion.

On February 24, 2010, I was doing some research on the character whom I'll be portraying in Titanic: The Musical and I stumbled upon a website for the Titanic Museum in Branson, Missouri. I thought, "wow!, this is so amazing!" I didn't know there was a museum there, and I was contemplating the idea of a small road trip with several of the cast members. I thought perhaps it would make for a neat bonding experience, it's an 8 hour drive, we could stay the night, go through the museum - and so I perused the website looking for information on group rates. When I got to the section with the rates, there was an error in the website's functionality, and so I picked up the phone and called them.

"Thank you for calling Titanic, this is Carol, how may I help you?"

"I was calling to get information on group rates - I tried looking online, but I think there's something wrong with the website."

"Oh, well, I can surely help you with that!! Are you looking for information on Titanic Branson, or Titanic Pigeon Forge?"

My eyes widened. Titanic Pigeon Forge? That's much closer than Missouri...

"Well, I didn't know there WAS a Titanic Pigeon Forge!! I'm in Nashville, so that's MUCH closer!!"

"It sure is!" she replied, "That location isn't actually open yet, but the grand opening is April 8th, 2010."

Carol then proceeded to give me information on the museum and told me all about how Regis Philbin was going to be christening the ship, and that there were going to be all sorts of artifacts, and dignitaries, as well as descendants from some of the ship's passengers!! I was getting so excited, especially since our show, Titanic: the Musical opens on April 15th, 2010 at the Nashville Dinner Theater. I was hoping that perhaps we could take a group "field trip" and tour the museum - I knew it would be such a great experience for everyone and bring us all closer together. Then something clicked inside my brain. Wait a minute. We're about to perform this big musical, we already have a cast and costumes for this show -- the only thing this Museum Grand Opening is missing, is us...

"Carol, I know this is a complete shot in the dark, and you probably aren't even the person I would need to talk to about this, but, have you ever heard of Titanic: The Musical?"

"Yes, I have, actually, though I've never seen it myself."

After explaining it to her and elaborating on fine tuned details about the Broadway show, I continued to paint a picture for her of how magical it truly is to see in person. I then said:

"Carol, I want you to go on a journey with me. Picture the cast of Titanic: The Musical performing right there, in front of the replica of the Titanic, at your grand opening of the museum. I mean, imagine all of the actors, performing the opening number from the musical, recreating the actual boarding of the ship, and setting up this magical event in front of the hundreds of people watching! They would feel as though they were actually there at the dock of the ship, watching the real people who once boarded the Titanic all those years ago."

"Wow, you seem so passionate about this, and it does sound like a lovely idea. Let me get you in contact with our Events Coordinator."

As I waited for her to get back with me and give me the phone number of Gayle, the Events Coordinator, I hear: "Hi, this is Gayle, how may I assist you?"

Wait a minute. I thought I was going to simply get a phone number or contact email, or a voicemail - but no, I was actually on the phone with the Events Coordinator herself. Oh dear Lord, Lauren, what have you gotten yourself into...

I go into the same spiel that I verbalized with Carol, only I embellished it a little more, and did my best to paint a very convincing picture. I was even getting misty-eyed at my own dance of poetic words during this description, and at the conclusion of my speech, she said: "Well, this really and truly is intriguing and you seem so connected with this idea: I need to get you in contact with the owner of the museum, Mary Kellogg." (yes, that is correct, Kellogg as in the cereal company - this woman was also the vice president of Disney for 14 years as well as the producer of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and Regis & Kelly)

After getting through to the right people, I was asked to put together a first proposal, including what our cast would be providing for the opening of the museum, and she wanted to see different examples of media for our production, including our promo reels, publicity shots, and sample tracks of our vocals...it was 11:00am, and she wanted all of this by 4:00pm Central time. Holy ship. Tim Larson, director of Titanic: The Musical, was out of town and I was doing my best to track him down. I first needed his approval to move forward with this, not to mention I needed the approval of not only the theater company, but the rights to perform the show at a public event. Somehow, I managed to get through to Tim, get the email put together with the photos and reels, and emailed it on time. Within an hour and 40 minutes, I had a return email from Mary Kellogg, requesting a conference call set up for two days later.

Needless to say, after a great deal of back and forth, proposing, getting together transportation with the help of Jane Schnelle, lodging with the assistance of Laura Amond, lots of manpower from Brad Kamer, the dedication from our costumers, Cat Eberwine and Jennifer Kleine, not to mention all the time and energy spent with the rehearsals lead by Tim Larson and John Kennerly, we were given a large budget from the museum, and the cast was asked to be the highlighted feature at the Grand Opening of a $25 million dollar museum!!

We left for Pigeon Forge at noon on April 7th, arriving in time for mic checks, tech runs, and a rehearsal on stage. Exhausted yet excited, we made our way to the 16,000 sqft mansion on the mountainside, in which we were staying, and had a wonderful time bonding with one another through our Pigeon Forge adventure.

The day of the grand opening, we boarded our bus at 8:30am and made our way to the Titanic Museum, and despite the rain, had a beautiful time experiencing this journey together.

Above all, we were the first to tour the museum, in costume of course, and we were also fortunate enough to meet several of the descendants from those brave souls who were lost at sea 98 years ago. The famous "Ida and Isidor Strauss" - the founders and owners of Macy's Department Store were brought back to life as I shook the hand of their great-great granddaughter, and heard her story, and the beloved story of her great-great grandmother. And as I watched her embrace the two cast members who take on the two Strauss characters aboard our own Titanic (Mary Corby and Steve Luboniecki), I saw haunted memories pour from the tears that rolled down Mary's cheeks as the feeling of human connection was brought to her character, and to her heart. She was embracing the great-great granddaughter of a woman who chose to stay with her husband as the ship sank far to the depths below, instead of taking a seat in the lifeboat with all the other first class women. At that moment, I didn't see Mary Corby, I saw Ida Strauss, caressing someone who, until then, had only been embraced by memories of her great-great grandmother, and yet, was now being embraced by one who seemed to capture the heart of a woman she never had the pleasure of knowing.

I will never forget going through the museum, seeing the artifacts, the original newspapers that went to press after the tragedy hit the public, standing in the third class corridor, stuck between the stairwell and the gate, watching as the water flooded through, feeling what it would have been like if I truly had been trapped on board, reading the poetry from a survivor who found it easier to account for his experience through prose, walking down the grand staircase, strolling through the captain's cabin and onto the promenade deck, where the temperature of the room dropped to a chilling 32 degrees, and the water on the other side of the ship was at the same temperature as it was when the passengers froze to death as they tried to swim to safety, and seeing the memorial wall with the names of everyone who was lost at sea.

It was emotional, breathtaking, and horrifying, all at the same time. Our cast was brought closer together than we hoped to be, and a more human connection surfaced through the discovery of the life of these passengers, as we saw through story and historical memorabilia the hearts and souls of the lives of those who boarded the infamous Titanic on that unassuming morning of April 10, 1912.

To all those who lost their lives, and to all those who continue to share their legend, godspeed.

white, cold, virgin snow upon my heart ~ the tempest

Snow, snow, SNOW!!

Alas, the gathered snow is melting from the world of alabaster, leading it's inhabitants to a greener life; leaving behind it's glistening treasures in puddles of stolen memories of a once frozen world...

Okay, so that would be the poetic way to say it, or I could be a bit more realistic and say:
"Well, there's a little snow left on the ground here and there, but mostly everything has turned to cold mud."

Yep. That's probably more like it.

You see, this was my first REAL snow experience. Little 'Ole Nashville received about 10 inches of snowfall, and for a Florida-girl-gone-San-Diego-then-on-to-Nashville transplant, this was a pretty amazing experience of a weekend. The snow started falling on Friday morning, and literally didn't stop until Sunday.

Friday night, about four inches had fallen and I was in awe. Melissa and I didn't have rehearsal and decided to brave the winter chills and blustery snowfall for a night at the theater. Nashville Shakespeare Festival was performing The Tempest (one of my favorites) and I was determined to make it to the show.

When we arrived, covered in snowdust, the girl behind the ticket counter told us that their ticket machine wasn't working right, and that we would have to use sticky notes as our stubs (she wrote our seat numbers on them and that we had paid). So, with our programs in hand, and our sticky notes attached, we went up the staircase and into the upper lobby. The ticket-taker, looked at our sticky notes, and then politely asked us if we needed help finding our seats. Now, normally, this would seem to be a noteworthy question, however, there were not even 15 other audience members in the theater, as it wasn't exactly a night for travelling outside the home. (Nashville pretty much shuts down at the mention of snow.) Melissa and I looked at each other, then turned to her and said: "Well, can't we just sit anywhere?" To which she sweetly replied: "No, you have assigned seats, but feel free to move when the overture starts, if the seat you wish to occupy still isn't taken." Melissa and I proceeded into the theater, looking at our sticky-notes, when we realized that each of us had been assigned a seat in different rows! We weren't even sitting together! So, as we laughed and stumbled through the theater giggling, we started scouring the rows for our respective letters and numbers, pausing at row "K" accidentally. A lady sitting in the seat at the end of row "K" looked at us and quickly said: "Oh, am I sitting in your seats? I just took a seat on a whim, and didn't look to see where I was supposed to be assigned, so I'll be happy to move if--" We cut her off, with a smile, and said, "No really, we don't know where we're supposed to sit, and according to our sticky-notes, we aren't even sitting together!" So, I looked up toward the front of the theater, and seeing that the ENTIRE front row was empty and the time was 7:29pm and the show was to go up at 7:30pm, I grabbed Melissa's arm and we sat down front and center.

Amidst the magic of the scenery, and the flight of the mischievous spirit Ariel, played by Denice Hicks, and the eloquent and wonderfully talented Brian Russell who played Prospero, and the humorous Trinculo and Stephano, it was a play to watch again and again. My only complaint was that I got to see it only once. I should give the cast their due honor by writing an audience member's review, which perhaps I shall, and send it to them for their own personal gain. For too many times, we tend to watch a show with a critical eye and dote upon the mistakes, yet this cast proved to take a well-beloved Shakespearean play, and bring it to life with a new light and much needed rekindling to a show that can be performed with a mundane routine about it.

After the show, we stood outside the theater on the street corner, throwing snowballs at the passing cars. It was, after all, my first real snowfall, so throwing snowballs at oncoming traffic was a must! Luckily the drivers waved and smiled at our revelry, instead of stopping the car and chasing after us! We grabbed a bite of sushi and a small carafe of sake at PM, right across from the Troutt Theater, and then headed home for a midnight stroll through the snowy streets, taking pictures, making snow angels, and running after late-night passersby with our snowball ammunition.

In bed by 2am, no doubt to be awake and at rehearsal the next day, I dreamed of dreams I hadn't yet lived in my sleep, for now my head was filled with wintry thoughts and icy memories of a tempestuous, winter's night.

the web of our life is of a mingled yarn ~ all's well that ends well

Have you ever had a connection with someone you've never even met?

I've been following a blog of someone who somehow, manages to inspire me, causes me to think about things that I might otherwise cluster in the dusty and shadowed corners of my thoughts, provokes me to face things that typically I might turn away from, and yet, we've never even spoken.

Something within me was stirred this morning.

I was reading his blog, and he was telling his story of finally being able to "take the next step", to move on, or, rather, cycle on, I suppose. (he's a multi-talented athlete who views cycling as an escape, as well as a tool for bettering his mental and physical journeys though life.)

Like me, his relationship of many years ended in 2009, and he's been transitioning into a new life. I've always thought of myself as strong: strong of heart, strong of will, strong with determination, strong with character, and I have never really let my guard down long enough to see that it's not always about strength. Sometimes, it's about your ability to put your faith within the strength of others, who are right there, by your side, waiting for you to reach out to them, so that they may share the weight of your burdens.

A quote from his blog: But this has been a year of growth as well as pain. In tearing down my facade of strength and contentment, emotions were released that I had previously pushed down, and I found real strength in letting them see the light of day. It was overwhelming at first, but in dealing with emotional baggage I have been carrying around for far too long, I feel like I have grown beyond simple recovery, and may be coming out the other side a stronger person.

My marriage of 9 years was ended after a battle of love and life was defeated by the darkened shadows of smoke and mirrors. I thought I was so strong because I didn't even shed a tear over the loss of my relationship, when in fact, I think, perhaps, I didn't allow my friends to help me through it. I just pushed everything as far back in my brain as I could, so as not to have to deal with it. And now, I can't cry. My life has changed so much, and there are so many things I've seen again, for the first time. Not everyone gets that chance. The chance to start over, the chance for a new life. I suppose I'm trying to see the brightness through the murky chasms of failure. I felt like I had failed at something that I always knew I'd be able to succeed. And yet, I feel as though, slowly, that failure has turned into an unexpected opportunity to thrive; an opportunity to rekindle life that had become stilted within myself.

It feels so wonderful to be starting fresh. I'm finding my solace within the place that always seems like a second home: in the arms of the theatrical world, fulfilling my heart's desire with my perpetual life on stage. I've always used performing as a way to escape - a way to become someone else and get away for a while - find a new walk, a new way to talk, a new personality, new mannerisms for a person that I would never truly become, yet now, I'm using these characters as a way to discover new things about myself and as a release for my well-being. It's no longer an escape. It feels so strange. When I look back at my tumultuous marriage, I see a beautiful life, a hard life, a wonderfully happy marriage, a marriage of stone lives, a home filled with laughter, a home filled with silence, truthful hearts, a heart of lies and deception, two people bound with love, two people broken by mistrust. For ten years, I was with someone, and we had proclaimed that our together would last forever. Neither of us knew that forever would arrive so soon. Sometimes I regret my decision from 9 years ago to commit my life to him, to join our lives as one. Sometimes I wish that I would be able to say that I had married the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. But wishing only wounds the heart and my wounds have healed. I have a new love for so many things I felt I wasn't allowed to fully love before. I know what makes me happy, and I can now reach for that happiness without being stopped by the boundaries of my previous life. I have found new love within a heart of someone who has shown me a kind of love that I thought only existed in Jane Austen novels or within the Iambic Pentameter of Shakespeare's sonnets. If I had stayed in the life I once had, I never would have discovered that love could be this good.

I have moved across a world of disillusionment into a land of understanding, and you know what, it feels pretty damn good.

clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ~ titus andronicus

After a daunting four days, I can finally see the silver lining and it is resplendent.

It was brought to my attention that it seems as if I am the every-always-optimist and that it's alright to have worldly days of disappointment; days when life just sucks and your brows stay furrowed.

How much brighter life seems with arched brows and rosy cheeks though!

Friday.

• mood starting lifting around 7:12pm.
• Candance, Brooke and I went wedding dress shopping with Jess. Fourth dress was THE ONE. Gorgeous.
• smuggled champagne into the bridal shop.
• then realized all we had to conceal the liquid contraband were red, plastic, SOLO cups. could we be any more obvious?
• drinks, dinner & a little bit of girl time afterwards.

Saturday.

• didn't sleep well Friday night, went to bed at 2am.
• woke up at 8am due to a restless night of sleep.
• dragged myself to the noon o'clock auditions for Fat Pig with Groundworks Theatre.
• 12:33pm - have to leave auditions early because of 1:00 rehearsal for SWING! (the auditions went till 5:00pm) I only got to read twice for the role of Jeannie because I had to leave early.
• frustration sets in.
• outlook not so great for getting the role, due to lack of audition time and the fact that by 12:33pm, there were 10 other amazingly beautiful and talented girls waiting with scripts in hand for their audition slot and a shot at the same role.
• 1:00pm - rehearsal, and my quads about to give out on me.
• 7:08pm - completely exhausted and passed out after a 5 and a half hour rehearsal, draped across Billy's lap after two sips of chardonnay.
• 9:44pm - muster up enough energy to go to Drifters for drinks and dinner with Billy and Dave, which turned into a party for 12.

Sunday.

• 10:36am - I awoke well rested and smiling.
• lazy morning in bed, snuggling and chatting with a simple pattern of stream of consciousness banter.
• 11:49am - scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast. (according to Billy, the best cinnamon toast ever)
• 1:33pm - off to rehearsal.
• quads = still hurting, but allowing me to mark through the numbers without too much pain
• rehearsal = extremely taxing as we were all exhausted after a long week of work and evening rehearsals. the heat was on so that we wouldn't encourage pulled muscles and other injuries upon our tired bodies.
• all of our brains felt like the 80's commercial with the eggs and the frying pan. "This is your brain; this is your brain on drugs" - yes indeed. Our brains were the burnt eggs that didn't look appetizing.
• 5:29pm - missed a call from the director of Fat Pig.
• 6:39pm -return missed call.
• 6:43pm - screaming in the car due to the excitement of being offered the role of Jeannie"!
• 8:04 -Margarita's at Rosepepper with Mel & Dave.
• 12:44 - turn out the light and attempt to drift off with promises of the start of a new week.

I guess sometimes those crappy days, that leave lingering pessimism on not-so-dreary days yet to come, taking away the brightness of sunshine, allow you to enjoy the freshened color palate of a brand new day, when you've been staring at a world of white for days on end.

to seek new friends and stranger companies ~ a midsummer night's dream

I had rehearsals both Saturday and Sunday which kicked my a**. Toward the end of rehearsal, I pulled a muscle in my quad. I've been trying to nurse my leg back to health with no avail. I should be staying off of it, and keeping the heating pad on it in 20 minute rotations, but instead, I'm chasing kids during the day and dancing on it all night. I have no clue when my leg will get better. Hopefully by tomorrow night, as I have an entire evening of Lindy Hopping.

I have a new and amazing friend who seems to really fulfill me in a different way from the way I feel with most of my other friends. I just love being around her and I can't wait to get to know her even better. Our personalities click in a way that I haven't had in a while, and I genuinely like being around her. (We snuck away and had secret martinis at the bar when we were supposed to be in rehearsal on Sunday)

Sunday night, a few of us went to Dave & Busters and acted like big kids, playing games, running around showing off how many tickets we won, trying to outsmart each other with trivia, shooting whores and gangsters from the wild west saloons. It was a damn good time.

Quote of the evening:
Billy: (after wandering off and discovering a new game that we had yet to play, and then gleefully returning to tell us of this new and interesting game)
"So, I think I found my new favorite game! You see, I was a polar bear and I had this club and I had to beat the fish over the head with the club! It's the best game EVER."

Yes, that's my boyfriend.

And then later on that night, after feeling a little tipsy from our earlier cocktails and beer swilling, we snuggled in with glasses of wine and watched an episode of The Secret Lives of Women: I'm a Husband Beater. Simply romantic, isn't it? There is something so absolutely intriguing about that show. Sometimes you learn that these secret lives of women encompass weird fetishes like wearing diapers and sleeping in adult sized cribs, and drinking from baby bottles, and sometimes you learn that your next door neighbor soccer mom, is really a glorified prostitute who works at a brothel, and sometimes, you learn that there are women who are so controlling that they actually abuse their spouses. It makes my life seem so completely normal.

Since neither of us had to work yesterday, Billy and I went to the Adventure Science Center and were once again, big kids. We walked through the solar system, took pictures in front of dinosaurs and journeyed through the human brain.

I ended the night with a four hour dance rehearsal, and a comical ride home with one of my best friends. We talked of personality match-ups, relationships, how we think the rehearsal went and our sex lives.

I'd say, overall, I had a very eventful weekend.

better foot before ~ (merchant of venice)

After another ten hour work day yesterday ~ this time with Annaliese (the 5 month old I take care of Tuesday through Friday) ~ I was downing my third cup of coffee in an attempt to rejuvenate my soul and to drum up an excitement for a "date night" with my best friend. Now, usually, "date nights" are fun and I look forward to them. However, Jess was eager to start out our date night with a Hip-Hop class at the Y, which is exactly the question I kept asking myself the entire car ride to the class: "WHY am I putting myself through this?"

Being that I have had two intense days of rehearsal for the musical "SWING!", and thus spending hours of dance rehearsals mastering the art of Lindy Hop and Jive, and knowing that I have rehearsals 6 days a week for the next 5 weeks, I was looking forward to a night off from dancing. Jess insisted that we take this class, and I, knowing that she was due to pick me up at 6:00pm, was still keeping my fingers crossed that she would somehow change her mind and retract her decision to drag me to class.

My quads are still sore; my inner thighs pulsating with the rhythm of the "G.I. Jive" and my a** was begging for a night off. Eight hours of non-stop dancing within a 24 hour time period after being out of the studio for over a year, seemed exhausting enough.

At 5:59pm, I saw the headlights shining through the frosted air, lingering over our driveway, as Jess pulled in to steal me away to our 6:15pm Hip-Hop class.

Here's the thing. I'm a good dancer. I can groove, I can jive, and I am still a ballerina at heart; but when it comes to "gettin' down and dirty" with styles such as Krumping and Pop-and-Lock, my white girl genes tend to send me back to the land of tutus and ballet shoes, leaving the beat droppin' and booty shakin' behind.

By 7:30pm, I was drenched in sweat and my choreography filled thoughts were racing from move to move, trying to remember all the "hits" and "isolations" and "body rolls". I have merely only admired this style of dance from the comfort of my own living room while watching "So You Think You Can Dance", and never had I really attempted this style before. My eyes were bulging as I tried to imitate the dance teacher's instruction, attempting to take the moves from her body and make my body recreate them. Ha. I kept hearing the teacher say: "Don't make it pretty, just thrust your body and hit the moves hard!"

Yeah...

After leaving the gym, we decided to conclude our "date night" at our favorite wine bar -Rumours- in which I indulged my taste buds with a delightfully oakey, yet somewhat pear infused Savignon Blanc, a bowl of steamed mussels and a hummus plate. The bartender seemed less than thrilled to be catering to our vino requisitions, and I could swear I caught him rolling his eyes as we passed friendly conversation his way, or when we requested a second glass of wine. Even after attempting to converse with him on a common ground of shared interests such as stage and film, he simply tossed the congruences aside and flippantly whisked away our empty wine glasses.

The wine, food, and atmosphere of Rumours? positively delightful.
The not-so-sommelier behind the bar in the tacky plaid shirt? positively dreadful.

Our night concluded with an array of antique hats, mink stoles, and old newspaper clippings. Jess' future-mother-in-law had given her a box filled with her fiance's grandmother's things, and we stood in front of the mirror taking turns modeling them for our reflections.

It's always a much needed rejuvenation to take a few moments out of your busy life and spend it with someone who makes all those other moments matter the most.

And the beat goes on...

*the picture at the top reflects the shirt worn by my dance instructor. it makes me happy.