Earlier, Interlude, Later.

Earlier:

My husband and I finally got in the car and drove to San Diego. I needed to pick up the boxes I'd left behind in anticipation of the job that didn't happen. I needed to cut the ties and say "good-bye."

It was a long day, a long drive back and forth, but he and I spent it together so the day was filled with great conversation, singing, remembrances, and a couple of very controlled "fare thee wells."

Success, I guess. A chapter finally closed. (The boxes are still in the trunk of the car.)

Interlude:

When traveling from L.A. to San Diego and back again one finds two matching rest-stops. Off the 5 heading south, the fauna includes screeching black birds with bright red wings. Heading north, one finds the same screeching black birds, but with bright green wings. Why? The birds are just a freeway apart. What would Darwin say? Weird.

Later:

I have the Chinese take-out number in my phone, so, 15 minutes out we called and ordered dinner. Easy. Nice dinner, a little Olympics and some NetFlix Dr. Who. Home again...jiggity jog.

We all have interludes as we move forward. Puzzling sometimes, but those strange intriguing interludes help us on the great journey, make us wonder and marvel as we travel through time and live out our lives.

Why We Are Fat.

Three things I witnessed today:

1. People holding a bag of donuts are always smiling.

2. People actually wait in line for a table at Coco's. (Not Spago's, ... Coco's!)

3. An nicely dressed elderly man passed me near Rite-Aid and said to the air, "Don't fuck with the Colonel."

All true. I was there.

And then it started to rain...

The Job Hunt Part 5.

... I got nothing.

And now for something completely different.

(flowers, blue skies and green fields)

Sunflowers.

My husband surprised me with these enormously beautiful sunflowers on Valentine's Day. We had agreed to spend no money... (not much coming in) and just revel with each other. He can't resist. What a guy. I LOVE those happy flowers. I love him.

Sometimes one forgets that our lives are connected. Sometimes one thinks it is all about the job or the yard or the groceries. Sometimes one thinks it is all about the solitary search. And sometimes... one remembers! Life is really about "us," just the two of us, one and another, living and loving and getting through each day.

xxoo to my thoughtful and wonderful husband. How lucky am I?

Waiting.

Waiting can be an activity in and of itself. I can be an active waiter. Wait! That is not what I mean. I am an active wait-er. Hmm. I am waiting and doing.

This picture is a long view of the street where I live. It was taken one day after some fierce rainstorms. You can see the intense blue sky but you can't see the blossoming green on the hills; it is there.

The same day looked like this:

and this:

Clearly, I was taking a picture of a telephone pole artistically placed.

I got my hair cut today and my nails done. (My friends will laugh. They think that is all I ever do.) And yes, my toes can be seen from space.

I see my dad once a week or more. I cook and hang with my husband. I talk to my (local) niece and nephew often. I meet with one sister or another and have plans to go shopping with my 81 year old aunt. I am making plans to see 2 local pieces of theatre, both to support actors I know and love. I am investing time in a theatre company I think will become important. I haven't cleaned my house or gone through all those boxes in the garage. I'm just too busy! (But, there they are. More to do!)

Waiting can be active.

Sucking It Up.

The most interesting thing I've discovered in the last few weeks, looking for work, is that I know someone at every single theatre I've contacted. The lesson here is, burn no bridges. I have reconnected with long lost friends and stand in hope that the last argument I had with someone else weighs less in his/her mind than it does in mine.

We are a very small community. We can't afford to burn bridges. This is the politics of theatre.

I don't want to play politics. I just want to work. I just want my reputation to speak for me. What I've discovered is that if people don't know you are looking, they can't speak for you or offer you a job.

I've conceded. I've let everyone know I need work. I didn't want to ask. I've not had to ask in 25 years or more. I felt shy. I was wrong. The support and the relationships I've built over the years are paying off. Offers are coming in. All because I sucked it up and asked.

We are a community. We do, in fact, look out for each other. I am supported. I am heartened.

I love us.

The Job Hunt Part 4.

I have no pictures today. It is again pouring rain... el nino. I had a lovely day and then I said to my husband, "I need to find a job." He said, "I know."

Something's coming. I know in my mind. My heart is a little broken.

My husband tells me, "This is just a blip." Maybe. Maybe that is all it is and I just have to live through it.

I am thinking I will take the good will jobs. I need to work. I need to contribute. Is it really about money anymore? I need my name "out there" again.

I need to rehearse a show. I need to call a show. I need to help a show. I need to do my art.

Open Eyes.

Home and I still need the t.v. for late night company. Its flickering lights remind me how easy it is to stay in touch with the world. And yet.

We write to each other on facebook, and through the occasional email. We (well, I don't) text, and leave messages, saying, "Tag, you're it!" like children in a game. We connect and wander away again. We are tentative and safe. We don't really connect. We never touch.

I miss the touch. This may be why I've been spending so much time with my family lately. My friends and colleagues coalesce and disperse like so many jellyfish, or better yet, krill. (Think of those Nature programs... or "Finding Nemo".) I understand. We all have our troubles, our joys, and our attention has to be limited and focused, but...

My family is there, all the time. Lucky for me, I actually like my family.

I saw these yellow flowers today. They were a little parasitic, climbing on two different trees. They were beautiful and weird; otherworldly and odd. I struggled to find sense in them. I liked these bizarre yellow flowers.

Life is a bit like my yellow flowers. Each day presents something new, odd, maybe parasitic, and a bit challenging. I open my eyes in wonder.

Smart Children Playing.

Some days we are reminded that the world is full of more important things than lack of income or security in some unknown future. Some days are important because one's husband's hand has freed up a bit and he can play his guitar again, better than most people on the planet. Some days are important because an absent friend has reached out and asked some very concerned questions. Some days the walk we take alone provides clarity, beauty and a bit of humor.

This is Big Tujunga Wash after our last big rains.

The Mountains in the background have a whisper of snow.

All the people had to come see.

Inspiring and calming.

Sometimes I think my neighborhood looks like a painting.

Then, I come upon this sign. I see this sign once or twice a week. I always think, "Alas the poor children, do my neighbors have to tell everyone?"

How about "Smart Children Playing"?

I Need A Punctuation Mark That Denotes Sorrow.

The Pasadena Playhouse is closing, in a week. (I need a punctuation mark that denotes sorrow.) We (in the theatre community) have talked about the closing to each other, called our friends who have lost jobs, discussed it in the classroom, emailed each other and posted it on facebook. The announcement was a shock and a wonder. When any theatre in any part of the country closes its doors it affects all of us in and out of the theatre world. A closed theatre is symbolic of our nationally closed minds.

The promotional strategies used by regional theatres today are not working. Most regional theatres are not-for-profit. They depend in large part on donations. Ticket sales are not enough and our government has not found theatre (or the arts in general) important enough to the national psyche to give the NEA more than a few piddling dollars, forgetting that those of us who work in this world also pay taxes and are consumers. Working Theatres support other small businesses in the neighborhood. Restaurants and bars do better and stay open later. Parking lots see increased revenue. Theatres buy wood and other building materials to create sets. Theatres purchase advertising in newspapers and magazines and run ads on radio and television. Theatres buy cloth and thread and dye to build costumes. Theatres pay gas, electric and water bills along with the accompanying tax. All that is lost, when a theatre closes.

The news reported that 37 people will lose their jobs when the Playhouse closes. That is inaccurate. The actors, stage managers, directors, assistant directors, designers, production assistants, carpenters and electricians who are hired show to show have also lost work they were looking forward to and depending on. Was there a new playwright in there too? Not "37" people. A community of people. All taxpayers. All consumers. (Some friends, and all colleagues.)

Perhaps fund-raising in theatre needs to market with new strategies. Perhaps big donors and corporations should be encouraged to give money to support one actor's salary, or the cost of a set, or pay for photocopying, or something practical that actually helps the art instead of insisting on donating money for buildings and plazas that will carry their name. Nice buildings...nice plazas.

So what.

If there is no product, there is no reason to see the names on the buildings, or in the plazas.

Okay, so, economics is one thing, but the real tragedy exists in the loss of the art. We need theatre. We need new theatre. We need regional theatre that speaks to the local community. Theatre teaches and explains. Theatre examines and explores. Theatre opens our minds and can change minds. Theatre entertains and can bring joy. Theatre is our boyfriend . Theatre is our heart.

Our heart is breaking.