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.

dreams indeed are ambition ~ hamlet

This was an email I sent to the owner of the Titanic Museum for which our theater company recently performed the opening number of our production in conjunction with the Grand Opening of the Titanic Museum in Pigeon Forge. You never know the outcome until you ask the question. Ambition leads you down very winding roads of inspirational and exciting journeys...

Mary -

We can not express to you how powerful and meaningful it was for our cast to be a part of your Grand Opening. Getting to tour the museum and perform during your program was just so magical, and seeing the history of the Titanic unfold before us in a way we hadn't imagined possible, was truly awe-inspiring. Getting to meet the descendants of the Strauss' was almost too emotional for me to handle. I had a very difficult time with that, as it brought a different sense of reality to our show, which I already take very seriously. So thank you so much for bringing us into your Titanic world, even if only for a day, for it has made a lasting impression on us all.

Also, I know Tim has extended an invitation for you to come to see our production, and of course, I know we would all love to have you there. I can only imagine how busy you are right now with the opening just recently behind you, but if you can find a time to make it out, just let us know so that we can make sure you have a great seat!

One last thing. I know this is, yet again, another shot in the dark, but after the success of the last random chance that I took in asking if you would like our theater company to be a part of your Grand Opening (which was completely off the cuff when simply calling to get information on group rates), I am going to jump feet first and set out on another venture. I found out that James Cameron is going to be in Nashville on April 23rd for a fashion show, and I would love to extend an invitation to him to come see our production. I know he's probably on a tight schedule, and may not even be slightly interested in seeing Titanic: The Musical, but I thought that perhaps he might take some stock in the idea since he knows you, and if you believed in us enough to invite us to perform at the museum, that he may be curious enough to want to see the show. If you have any information on how I may be able to get in contact with his manager and shoot him/her an email without bothering him, please let me know. Or, you and John could just get together with him and make it a big evening out on the Nashville town and all come together! ;) It was just a thought. But one rule I live by is that "you never know until you ask, and the worst thing anyone can throw back at you is 'no'". :) Anyway, thanks again for everything - It truly was an amazing experience.

Lauren

Needless to say, not 20 minutes after I sent this email, she replied informing me that she forwarded all the information about the show to Jim Cameron himself and that even though he's on a tight schedule while in Nashville, he didn't blow off the idea completely, and is going to call me directly if he can make it.

There is no such thing as an impossible dream...

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.

here is a silly, stately style indeed! ~ king henry vi

I was sitting on the floor of the playroom with Clara this morning and I had taken my shoes off downstairs. She and Ben decided to make a game out of putting stickers on my sweatshirt and were completely engulfed in this game as I sang silly songs to them or periodically attempted to grab them and snarffle their bellies. They were running back and forth from the sticker sheet to me, when Clara stopped in her tracks, halfway across the room. Her eyes widened and she pointed to my feet. "Yaren!" she says, in her high-pitched, three years old voice, "Your socks are matching today!! Your socks don't ever match!" It's true, I typically pull out the first two socks from my sock drawer, without a care in the world if one matches the other, and she always thinks it's the funniest thing that my socks don't match. What she doesn't know, is that I think it's the funniest thing that a three year old child noticed that I was actually wearing matching socks.

I gobbled her up and squeezed her as she squealed with laughter, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and said "I yuv yew Yaren and yer silly socks!" - she's a smart little girl and too adorable for words.

These are the moments that make up for all the other exasperating ones of nannyhood.

that we adjourn this court till further day ~ king henry viii

Yesterday I went to court to sort out the issue with my driver's license.

It took 4 hours. It should have only taken 4 minutes, but the lady on the end of the judge's bench didn't like me. She gave me the LAST number to be called to talk to the DA, after I had been told I would be the 5th person to see the judge. I ended up being the FORTY-SIXTH person to see the judge. When I finally got before him, the judge looked at my paperwork, smiled at me, probably wondering why I was STILL there, and said, well, now that you have the paperwork from your lawyer, just take it to the DMV, get your license, come back in three months and we'll drop the case!! Really? Four hours for THAT?

Needless to say, I got a really good laugh out of the day. Beyond the people who were in and out, looking absolutely cliche to every movie I've ever watched involving red-necked criminals, I also encountered a tasteless individual who, decidedly bored out of his mind, and who was tired of conversing with his friends about baby-mamas, how many credit card frauds he had committed, how many chicks he'd banged and hadn't used a condom, and about the delicious meals one could receive from Taco Bell, he fell asleep in the row behind me, and proceeded to snore...loudly.

I, of course, was attempting to present my best foot forward, dressing up in nice clothes, hair perfectly coiffured, and polished pumps finishing off the outfit, sitting poised in my really uncomfortable seat, when something caught my eye and I guffawed, blatantly out loud, somewhat disrupting the courtroom. All eyes turned to me. I couldn't help it. This gentleman (of sorts), walked into the courtroom and took a seat in the row next to me. In his hands, he was carrying a book titled - (now, this isn't a lie, and I'm not trying to be funny with this one) - How to Rob an Armored Car. As soon as I saw this book, I sputtered and laughed, almost choking on my Orbit : Sweet Mint gum. With wondering eyes upon me, I stifled my laughter to mere shoulder shaking as I cupped my hand over my mouth, keeping the sounds of laughter from escaping.

I mean, wow, really?

And what was his charge you ask? Trespassing of property, and attempted theft.

I'm just sayin'.

but that one half which is unsatisfied ~ love's labour's lost

My purple fingernails look shiny and confident as I tap out these words.
I can't help but stare at them.
Can one actually be vain about something as trivial as fingernails?
Mine are actually looking quite lovely - though this purple seems to be somewhat of a storm cloud purple. A bit of a gloomy shade I suppose, confident, but gloomy. A bit like I'm feeling today.

Weird day today.

The weather, too, is gloomy. I typically fall in love with gloomy days. Not so much love for this one.

I want this day to be over. I want something new to come my way. I want to act for a living. I don't want to be a nanny anymore. I want to put away the bottles, the bouncy seats and the baby books, and sip on a glass of pinot noir, lay in a hammock beneath the afternoon breezes and read scripts. It's just so difficult to be a professional actor in Nashville, and to be one full time. In fact, I don't think I can count on two hands how many actors in Nashville don't have to have a second income. I'm well rounded. And not in the sense of scenes and scripts, but in the area of marketing, PR, working with customers, working with children, speaking in front of people, choreographing - I would love to get with a company that would let me act when the show was right for me, and let me work administratively or creatively when the stage was dark and the patrons have left the theater to the ghost lights and church mice.

I feel like I belong here right now, but I still feel, well, a little out of place, like I haven't quite found my niche yet. I'm working on it. For the time being, I'm focusing on creating a dance, an interpretation of a flamingo's courtship ritual. Well, actually, for the time being, I'm waiting for Annaliese to awaken from her afternoon nap, and then I'm going to entertain her by practicing my audition monologue and showing her my dance. I'm sure she'll love it. Most 7 month's old children love just about anything.

I want to finish my degree and get a job in advertising. I love school. I LOVE to learn. Absolutely love it. I suppose that's why I have educational, daily devotionals*, and have my Droid loaded with learning applications, I simply can't get enough.

I'm a nerd. I get it. I embrace it. I fulfill it. And then I act nonsensical in public places and make my friends laugh and the people around me look at me sideways with their lips puffed out in confusion and the hoods of their eyelids arching forward as if to protect their vision from the oddity at hand. But, it's me.

I made an entire pot of coffee this morning and I'm more than halfway through it. But I somehow forgot that one should eat meals along with the consumption of coffee. Well, I didn't really forget, I just can't find anything worth eating. Nothing sounds appetizing. Not a damn thing. I didn't want my morning eggs, I haven't craved my usual peanut butter toast topped with dried cranberries, no spicy pasta, no pickles, no hummus - not one thing sounds delicious. So, I'm picketing outside the pantry until my taste buds decide they've gone off strike, and then I shall delight in some tasty morsel. Until then, the coffee will just have to do.

*The daily devotional I'm reading is titled: The Intellectual Devotional, Modern Culture

I'll prove a busy actor in their play ~ as you like it

It has been far too long since I visited my thoughts, engraving them to everlasting life with art of the written word.

I haven't journaled. I haven't blogged. I haven't written a poem. I've signed my name on the dotted lines of the "Merchant Copies" of wine shoppes and fine dining establishments, but that's about it.

In the past month, I have not had one day off from work, dancing, acting - performing, rehearsing - nothing. It's my own fault, but I've traded in one passion for the other, leaving the pen to rest and my keyboard dusty, as my body has grown weary and my brain is on autopilot; learning lines, remembering choreography, trying to remember blocking and vocal inflection. Trying not to have a mental breakdown backstage during tech rehearsal as I continued to drop my lines on stage. It's been a really long year already, and yet, it somehow has flown by all too quickly.

SWING! opened and closed after a three week run and packed houses, great reviews and the like. I even got mentioned in a review being noted as: "If an award were given to the cast member who perfectly captures the look and vitality of the swing era, I'd have to give it to Lauren Atkins*, who looks as if she just stepped off a bandstand of the era, right after sending her beau off to do battle with Hitler himself."

I found this flattering, albeit a tad funny, as from thenceforward on, before we performed the USO numbers during the show, I made it a point to exclaim to everyone that I was sending my beau off to fight the fuhrer... Ah! The life of an actress!

Of course, once SWING! was up and running, I started full time rehearsals on my off days for Fat Pig, leaving practically no time for myself, let alone anyone else. I've been tired, and well, run-down to say the least. The week before SWING! opened, I found myself really sick with walking pneumonia, and it lasted throughout the entire run of the show, and I didn't find myself pneumonia free until three days before the opening of Fat Pig. Thank goodness. Three weeks of pneumonia was more than enough.

We have four more performances of Fat Pig left, and then I'm setting sail for America on board the ship of dreams, as Titanic the Musical opens in April. We've been in rehearsal for a couple weeks, though I've missed most of them due to performances.

I even had to create a calendar of the next three months with my schedule, just to combine all my separate lives that I somehow lead, and I sent it to Billy with a note saying, in a nutshell, "Honey, I love you, I know my life is crazy, but if you see empty spaces on my calendar, please pencil yourself in." Pathetic. I think I have 2 days off until the first of May.

My ventures lead me astray and I feel like I'm constantly waving to him from a distance. I'm lucky that he keeps his horse saddled and ready at a moment's notice, galloping at full speed toward my rescue if my life takes an unexpected pause. Perhaps I should slide up there next to him and let him ride me off into the sunset -- but that would just be too perfect wouldn't it? I'm never going to be able to jump on that horse when I love to feel the earth beneath my feet. I feel so grounded and steady, so strong and ready for anything that comes my way. I don't know that I could trust a horse to lead me down the path I have already decided to follow on my own.

I digress.

I don't suppose there was a rhyme or reason to this entry, but I've been feeling disconnected from my heart and needed a little space from my other life. It's nice to slip away into the world of thoughts and wade through the sea of word puddles for a little while. But now I have to brush up on my lines for the show, as I have a performance later, despite the fact that Annaliese should be waking from her afternoon nap at any moment, and I will have to sit cross-legged on the floor with an adorable eight month old and play peek-a-boo until her parents get home from work.

Peek-a-boo...I see you...you know, we unknowingly play this game with ourselves and others and forget that even when we put our hands over our eyes and can't see past the darkness, the light is all around us and eyes are always watching, smiling, peering into our world. You may close your eyes and shut out the world, but when you open them and smile, the world breathes you right back in...

*Atkins was my married last name and I still use it for the stage as of now.

that may be, must be, love, on thursday ~ romeo and juliet

How many times is too many to tell someone you love them?

Does it start losing its meaning if it's said too often, or does it deepen each time you say it because you've grown to love someone so much that you can't imagine not telling them you love them when you get the chance?

George Sand once said:
"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved."

Is that true? What if the amount of love you have to give causes pain to another, because they can't return the love equally? Then is that the paved road to unhappiness for both parties? Or is it an obstacle to be overcome?

"Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
~Henry Louis Mencken

Indeed. To love creatively and to find joy in the shadows of pain and sorrows, to seek peace when everything else is at war, is to have put your left brain to sleep for a while and to caress the imagination from within. You can win a battle of right and wrong with facts and proven theories, but to win a battle of wits, you must lead with the proclamations of your heart. To win a battle of the heart, you have to be able to hear the rythm of the heartbeats from the one you love and decipher the code into a lanuage you understand. I believe it's a battle that's won and lost many times over throughout every relationship.

"They do not love that do not show their love.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil.
There is no evil angel but Love."
~William Shakespeare

Tis true.
The perception of love comes through the language of love, and as it's been said, there are many love languages. But to not show love at all, proves to be believed that one has no love to give.

Love brings us together, and tears us apart.

There is nothing that makes me grieve more than love, and nothing that makes me happier than being loved.

I sometimes wish I was the Tin Man. Wouldn't life be easier if we were hollow?

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.

but now to task the tasker ~ love's labour's lost

Updates on my 1-9.

1. finish writing my children's book. ~ So far I have been making small changes, but nothing huge. Hopefully my inspiration will magically appear in my brain and translate to paper.

2. hire an agent for commercials and film. ~ I need to get new headshots first. Since I'm really getting into even better shape with SWING!, I'm gonna wait until that's over and then get headshots and hire an agent.

3. voice lessons. ~ Nope.

4. find a way to appear on "Ellen". ~ No clue yet how I'm going to accomplish this one.

5. watch every Cate Blanchett movie ever made. ~ There are 29 movies available to watch at the moment, and 2 more are being released in theaters this year. I watched "Paradise Road" this morning which makes a total of 20 films of hers that I have watched.

6. pour myself into 2 of The Bard's plays. ~ I need to pick 2. I haven't done that yet.

7. start a new and interesting reading project. ~ As I have decided to read a biography on each of the U.S. Presidents, this is the new project I have started. Mr. Washington arrived last night, so it looks like we'll be spending the next 401 pages of his life together.

8. discover new wines. ~ This is something I should do tonight.

9. read 1 play by Christopher Marlowe. ~ I have chosen to read "Edward II".

she dances featly ~ the winter's tale

After two days of intense rehearsals this weekend, my mind wasn't synchronizing with my body in the slightest.

In the middle of rehearsal, after learning an extremely fast swing number without the addition of music, I felt confident in my abilities and felt as though I had grasped the steps in their entirety.
Then the choreographer said: "Alright, from the top, with music."

I stood in the middle of the dance floor with my hands in the air, knowing that at some point, I was supposed to end up in that position, my eyes wide with the confusion of realizing I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. So I just stood there in what I knew was supposed to be the ending pose.

When the music stopped I blurted out:

"You think you get the choreography, and then you realize...there's music..."

Life lesson #4,298:
"Just when you seem to learn that 2+2 = 4, you realize that 1 + 3 = 4 and that 20 - 16 = 4 and then you realize that there are so many more numbers you have to understand before you can get the simplest of equations."

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.

as merry as the day is long ~ (much ado about nothing)

Yesterday I learned a great many things.

1) A light flurry of snowflakes, drifting through the algid breezes of ten degree weather at 6:30am can be a demitasse smile on an otherwise weary and unawakened world.

2) A familiar food can push tears to the farthest corner of a stubbed toe or misplaced toy.

3) An unknown place can provide laughter though the shadows seem daunting.

4) Rubber bracelets never go out of style.

5) Cleaning out drawers and bagging things up for Goodwill actually provide a common ground for adolescents and the adolescents at heart.

6) No matter what, a 3 year old girl will always find a way to relate everything back to her Barbies.

All of this knowledge came to fruition through the adventures of toddlers, conversations with an 11 year old, and a ten and a half hour day with children who only belong to me on Mondays.

When I arrived at the Romero house yesterday morning at 7:15am, everything was quite indistinguishable from every other Monday for the past three years. Clara (3) and Benjamin (18 months) were both still running amuck in their pajamas, Aaron (11) was already on his way to school, and Raul and Phoebe were stumbling through the kitchen attempting to down their first cup of coffee before showering and heading off to work.

Half eaten bowls of Life drowning helplessly in a sea of soy milk, and a table dolloped with pineapple yogurt set the stage for yet another Monday with the little ones. Little did I know, Ben had received an Imaginarium Train Set COMPLETE with a train table for Christmas, and that I was going to be taking the Imagination Express through tunnels and train stations for the next two hours...

Something you don't know about me, or rather, one of many things you don't know about me, is that I am indeed, beyond comprehension, obsessed with trains. I have been performing Murder Mystery Comedies on trains for the past 5 years. I squeal with delight every time I hear a train in the distance. One of the reasons I moved to my house in East Nashville is that it was near a train track and the sounds of the trains resonate beautifully within the 1930's stone walls. My eyes bulge with pure joy when I am stopped in traffic due to the flashing red lights, and clamoring of the train passing through a railroad crossing. I fall asleep to a Cd of of train sounds every night. I have taken a nap in the master bedroom of the train car that used to belong to Jackie Gleason, and gotten naked in his train car living room. (okay, so maybe my nakedness was due to a costume change "back stage" during a performance on the train ride, and maybe that old train car is the one designated for the actors during the Murder Mysteries, but still.) I love trains. This particular morning, I was more entertained by this new train set than the children were.

By about 9:15am, the babies had grown tired of the wooden tracks and metal cars and turned to my extremities for a Jungle Gym. Clara kept asking for "tatoes" and Ben wanted "eggs", so as per routine throughout the past year, with a toddler on each hip, blue and pink blankets in tow, we made a game of trotting downstairs, and I made a second breakfast for the hungry little monsters.

Clara's Breakfast (as well as lunch and dinner for every Monday during the past year and half): One potato, coated with olive oil, skin seasoned with paprika, garlic salt, ground black pepper -- inside, butter, garlic and cheese.
(she refuses to east potatoes unless they are "Yah-yern's" tatoes) - (side note: Clara has a difficult time pronouncing L words, so Lauren has become "Yah-yern")
Ben's Breakfast: An "egg pizza". 2-4 eggs mixed in a bowl, poured into a small round pan, seasoned with paprika, salt & pepper, topped with cheese.
(basically a round omelet that isn't folded but that can be cut into wedges so that an 18 month old can easily pick up the pieces and eat them)

For some reason, this is always their requested food. Clara tells her mom she doesn't like potatoes, and Ben won't touch his father's omelets, but when I'm there, I get smothered with smiles and slobber when I make them their secret Turkish Delight.

By 1:00pm, Clara had locked herself in the bathroom after insisting she could go potty by herself. I scooped up Benjamin and fled to the cries of his frightened sister and sat helplessly outside the bathroom door. I tried explaining that there was a little "button" in the middle of the door knob that she needed to turn in order to unlock the door and open it. I explained this to no avail. I could feel the anxiety seeping underneath the bathroom door from this mini Alice in Wonderland; Clara was attempting to thrive in a world she wasn't yet ready for, tears streaming down her apricot cheeks, eyes brimming with fear, not understanding how to escape this unexpected rabbit hole.

After calming her down, I retrieved a stray bobby pin from my back pocket and attempted to pick the lock. I made jokes about the silly bobby pin and how it wasn't minding me, and how it was trying to dance inside the door knob instead. The sniffles turned to quieted giggles. I then asked her if she was just tired of playing with Ben and me, and if she locked us OUT of the bathroom. She squealed with laughter and told me "nooooooo Yah-yern!" I distracted her with questions about a bathroom tea party, inquiring whether or not she was drinking the shampoo and eating the toothpaste for lunch, and she could hardly respond for the silliness of the question. The bobby pin wasn't working, so I told her I was going to the garage to get a screwdriver since the bobby pin wasn't minding me. I slid the pin under the door for her to discipline and ran downstairs to retrieve my hero: Mr. Phillips H. Screwdriver.

Thirty minutes after the initial lockdown, the door was unlocked and my little Alice, smiles and all, was safely back in my arms. She then proceeded to tell me about her bathroom adventure, asked for more "tatoes" and all was good in her world.

By 3:10pm, Aaron was off the bus and bursting through the front door. I hadn't been there in three weeks due to the holidays and he was anxious to tell me all about Christmas, his trip to Disneyland, and the new craze: Silly Bandz. Now, the last bracelet craze I remember consisted of jelly bracelets, pop-beads, slap bracelets. Silly Bandz are the "jelly bracelets" of the new millennium, apparently. Each pack of these bracelets has a theme with twenty different shapes varying from "Sea Creatures" to "Automobiles". Aaron started pulling out pack after pack of the bracelets he got for Christmas and wanted me to pick out my favorites. I may be 28 years of age, but I am not ashamed to say that I am now sporting a kangaroo, sea horse, and penguin Silly Bandz. Are you really ever too old to wear rubber bracelets or too old for the satisfaction it brings to an eleven years old face when you embrace a fad that they think is cool? You know, I hope I never outgrow the latest fad...

Since Aaron had orders from his dad that he wasn't allowed to play until his room was clean and his old clothes were bagged up for Goodwill, I decided to round up the little ones and make a game of helping their older brother. Ben was in charge of bringing the clothes from Aaron to me, Clara's job was to help fold the items that were being bagged for Goodwill, and I provided the nonchalant refolding of the clothes after Clara's first meager attempts. As Aaron started making piles of what-to-keep and what-not-to-keep, I decided to pilfer through his shirts and old football jerseys to see if I could find anything I might be able to fit into. The three of them thought this was funny, and demanded a fashion show (which was well received with belly laughs and several rounds of applause).

Several abercrombie kids shirts, Aeropostale tees and miscellaneous boy's football jerseys later, I had a separate bag filled with loot to take home, and Aaron couldn't wait to tell his friends that his nanny was wearing his clothes. It was then that I made sure he bundled up, sent him out to play, and finished cleaning his room and making his bed for him. A kid is only a kid for so long, and he made my day. The least I could do was make his bed.

By 5:04pm, the little ones were splashing about their evening bubble bath, taking turns with the rubber duckies, zoo animals, and Malibu Barbies. After the treacherous event of toddler-hair-washing, I was leaning over the bathtub to scrub their little bodies, when Clara looked at me with a sort of unexpected awe and bewilderment, as though she was noticing something for the first time.

"What's wrong, Clara?" I asked, expecting there to be a spider dangling above my head, instead she exclaimed: "Oh Yah-yern, yer hair is sooo long, like my Barbie!", her pruny hands reaching for the locks dipping carelessly above the water's surface. And as I thought my day couldn't get any better, I said smiling, "OoooOOoohhh, so Miss Lauren has hair like your Barbie?" Her eyebrows furrowed, she splashed her hands deliberately at her waist, through the soapy water, and said "My Yah-yern Barbie has bootiful hair. She's under my pink bwanket in my bed. I don't let her get wet!"

When I went to their room to retrieve their pajamas before drying them off and putting the two of them in their PJ's, I curiously peeked under the pink blanket in her bed, and sure enough, there was a Barbie dressed in a pink and purple ballerina dress, with blue eyes and dark hair -- different from the blonde haired Barbies with soapy, matted tresses that accompanied her during her evening baths. It seems silly, but there was some sort of validation in the fact that this beautiful little girl had chosen to keep me by her side through the night, in the comfort of her bed.

What grown girl, attempting to be a role model for little ones, wouldn't want to have a Barbie doll named after her, with a little girl clutching that doll closely as she drifts off to sleep as the early evening turns into a darkened midnight? To be remembered in an afternoon afterthought, or evening prayer by the little ones you love so much, becomes an overwhelming sensation.

And so it continues...