A Three Story Life: The Play

In a recent writing workshop, a woman suggested that A Three Story Life is a play. She saw it as a play immediately. It was an exciting concept. I'd like to write a play, have begun a couple over the years, or maybe I've recreated an existing one floating around in my semiconscious serially. When she said play, I saw the scenery for the song "Did You Hear About Kim?" from an Osborne High School production of Bye Bye Birdie, circa 1969. The darkened stage was set in cubicles, like a window box, spotlight bouncing from one singer to another. It was genius set design. I'm intimidated by the idea of formatting a play document. Being intimidated by minutiae is a lifelong stopper for me. But a play! I started one for my 50th birthday. I started one during April's Script Frenzy a few years ago. My brain is churning with ideas. And my brain is churning with stoppers. Which me will triumph this time? And who do I blame when the wrong one succeeds? 

Bianca's Baby Shower

Lawson James Williams has not made his debut in the world yet, and many people already love him. His mother, so young, so tender and compassionate, with her beautiful laugh and shining soul. His father. Grandmas and Grandpas in waiting. Great-grandparents. Great-aunts, great-uncles, uncles and aunts, cousins, second cousins. Lots of arms are longing to hold this little boy, dreaming of his life, hoping for his life. When his mother was a baby, I made her a dinosaur. When my friend Beckie's first-born wore a cast with dinosaurs on it, I made him a dinosaur wearing a tshirt that had a picture of Jacob on it. Jake wore dinosaurs; the dinosaur wore Jake. Today I finished making a dinosaur for Lawson. It was made with great and mighty intention - love, tears, dreams, worry and more love. The body is a sweatshirt someone I love and who loves me gave me. The tshirt is made from a shirt of my mother's that had a handpainted Betty Boop in a heart on the front. Right behind the heart on Lawson's dinosaur is the picture; my mother's gift to the great-grandson she will not meet, but loves, I know. The scales on the back are from my favorite tshirts that do not fit me anymore, but fit just fine where each is now. He's stuffed with favorite shirts to teach him that love will always cover him, that warmth and comfort are his to have. Socks so that he will know that whatever life may bring, he can stand on his own two feet. His initial is there so that he will learn his name, and that who he is, and will be, matters most of all. Every stitch in this dinosaur is sewn with love, with hope, and with joy. We can barely wait to meet you, Lawson James, and hug you welcome to the world.

It's My Job to Speak Against Hatred

We were raised to believe all people are equal. My mother spoke out to relatives who used words that were not allowed in our house. I did not find out until much later that she denied my father on this subject. It has taken years of caring talk to change Dad's false assumptions. He was raised with the easy, ignorant usage of epithets and superiority too common to simple working people. Some of my cousins have carried on this lazy prejudice, despite being more educated, despite presenting an inclusive face in their churches and communities. White people assume other white people are included in the hatred; a secret exclusive club. Although they whisper. Oh, yes, they whisper; courageous enough to hate, but not to be overheard. And they teach their children to look down on people not like them. Long ago, walking Beaner home from kindergarten, little Rachel running in circles, and Bianca in her stroller, another student's mother whispered something to me. The school was in a white neighborhood, so she felt an automatic kinship. She whispered in the presence of her two sons. And the next week she said another stupid thing. I struggled with what to say to her that did not include punching her, because punching is not a teaching tool, as my wiser sister has to remind me. So I said to her, "Shirley, not all people feel the way you do." I use that phrase now. It's soft and gives the speaker a chance to think clearly. It also serves to evaporate my rage at people who hate at leisure. It took decades to help my Dad understand that what his family taught him is not really how he feels, because I love him. George Zimmerman is a whisperer with no one who cared enough for him to turn him away from hatred. And Trayvon Martin is dead because no one spoke against hatred to George Zimmerman. It's my job to speak against hatred. And it is your job, too. If not for yourself, than for your children and grandchildren, and all children who, because we chose to be complicit with silence, risk their lives walking a neighborhood street.

Other People vs Me

We are raised, hopefully, to be considerate. Maybe some miss out on this character building chance, but there is opportunity in a lifetime to improve. Some people get the idea via behavior modification experience that other people matter more than self, and it's tough to overcome. I've heard several times in the last month the other people trope used to pacify me. I pulled hard to get a book out of my post office box that had been bent in the middle to shove it in. It was clearly a book. I took the now delta-winged package to the desk. I didn't yet know what I could do about it, or what I wanted done. I showed it to the man. He shrugged his shoulders. The woman next to him said, other people do not want to wait in line to get a package too big for the box. At that point I knew what I wanted to accomplish. No more folded books. I said I want my box tagged as a no stuffing box. Today I was describing a life situation, and the person I was talking with said, "many people have these phases." This is behavior modification dialectics. I am verbally coached to give up my goal, rethink priorities, pull back and be quiet because other people do something or don't do something? It's interesting. Think of a lifetime with this messaging. How do we stand out, feel good about our successes, and get what we want? We learn to ignore the other people dialogue, and focus on what it is we need to have solved at that moment in time, and use our personal power to solve it.

It's All About the Cake

Beautiful friend Geri says birthdays are all about the cake. When I was 5, I wanted to make my own cake. I've discovered that delicious cake is cake you get from a bakery you've searched for, found and pray will stay in business. I love Buttercream Bakeshop in Wixom, MI and the last cake I got for myself was from there. It had blue sky, puffy white clouds, and sunflowers all around the sides. It was scrumptious as well as lovely. This year I had no cake or pie either, and I missed that treat a week later. 61 years old, and I still want to make my own cake. Last night I warmed the oven, made not one cake, but three. One for my dollhouse, and 2 to sell on etsy for other people who know that birthdays are all about the cake. This cake is hazelnut with mango and blueberry cream filling, cream cheese frosting with sprinkles on top. Hmm. Happy birthday this week to Michelle, Jane, Carol and Paul! Wishing you all a wonderful year. And cake.

Out of Patience. Ditto Girlish Laughter.

If I see that ad with a 57/53 year old mom who looks 27/25 again today, I'm going to hit something. And the belly shrinking ads. Ugh. And where are the women in the streets, protesting the deluge of anti-women federal and state legislation? I'd write my congressman, but that just gets me back on his mailing list. And my father has given up using plates and utensils to eat. If I see one more piece of buttered toast on the arm of the couch... And I have lost my drawing skills as well as my writing chops. And who knew a baby car seat costs $189? And what is a Sprinter Go-Lightly Travel System? And who do I have to stomp on to get a shower that doesn't switch to boiling hot or freezing cold for no good reason? And why isn't there a decent sushi place in this town? Okay. Whew. I feel better. Maybe I need a walk or a nap. Maybe a walk and a nap.

Martha Graham Inspiration

Martha Graham quote from Hayden's Ferry Review today.

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. No artist is pleased. There is only the queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others. ~ Martha Graham, dancer and choreographer