Until we meet again.

See ya! I'm going home. Love and happy trails to one and all. I will sit in my backyard and eat cheese and drink wine. I will remember. I will look forward. New challenges await for us all. Let us then be full of joy to have been part of something so magical and perfect. Let us all seek for that again. Life is, after all, about the journey. We will travel part of it again together some day. I know it. We are part of the smallest community and we are all one and the same. No tears, just a "until we meet again."

xo

The Last Long Look.

Hot tonight. Another closing party going on upstairs. I attended briefly, but they have a cat, and I'm just too allergic.

I say goodbye only to people I don't expect to see again. I don't say goodbye to theatre people. I know I will see them again. We are just too small a community. We like each other (mostly) too much. Some of us actually live fairly close to each other... elsewhere.

One last show. One final Cyrano... then mad packing (and by definition) unpacking, later. One last closing party. One kiss to the wind. One last long look backward.

And now the future. Looking forward. Wondering and full of hope and looking forward.

The Most Boring Blog Ever.

My cast is wandering around looking for a party. Not at my apartment thank-you. We do still have 2 more shows. It ain't over yet!

I'm trying to eat up the food in my apartment rather than buy more food, and the food I have has all become so unappealing. I keep thinking about vacuuming, then I think, why bother? The cleaning crew will be in to shampoo the carpets on Monday, after I leave. I will do laundry tomorrow, so I can have clean clothes to take home. I will clean the bathroom, because I don't want the cleaning crew thinking evil things about me. Oh, hell, I'll vacuum too.

Oh Gosh! This is the most boring blog ever! Next I'm going to be talking about the oven, and maybe how I should stick my head in it! "Jeez-Oh-Man! Who Really Cares?" she asks herself, and then laughs a secret laugh.

I must retrieve my shattered eloquence.

{Time Passes}

My director just dropped by, looking for a party. Sure hope there is one!

{Time Passes}

Am I mute? Do I really have nothing to share? I have a million thoughts running around naked, but I can't put them into any semblance of a sentence.

It just took me 10 minutes to figure out how to spell "semblance."

Do I get stupid as shows end? Or just lazy? It is true that all I really want to do (is talk to you) no, all I really want to do is lie on the couch and watch mindless television.

Boring, see! I warned you!

{Time Passes!}

I have a dummy in my apartment. Really... a life sized child puppet thing. Too complicated to explain. (Though, that might be a more interesting story...) It is going to freak me out in the middle of the night, I just know it.

{Time Passes}

I'm gonna go wander around and look for a party.

{Time Passes and I'm still here.}

Yikes. It is a really good thing I am going home. CLEARLY, it is time.

(The dummy, just now, completely turned me around and scared me, oh! and where did I put down the vodka?)

Endings.

My performance report tonight (edited only to exclude actor/designer names):

"We had a wild and wonderful performance this evening. Sir Andrew made me laugh, out loud, throughout the show, on headset, calling cues. It felt a little like a Marx Brothers Film. (In a good way.) Orsino's Guy #4 got a gasp and a little applause for his flip off the bridge.

We started off with a music rehearsal when it was warm with a chance of bugs.

By the end of the evening we had major fog rolling in from the ocean clouding Act 5. (The lighting designer) would have loved this, his light shafts were all clearly visible. The fog also meant the planes took off over our stage instead of over the ocean, so a lot of air traffic noise this evening.

Standing Ovation."

Did I mention we perform on an outdoor stage? See what fun this is? See why I am torn about leaving? One of each show left. 3 total and we are done. Endings. I know there is something new already beginning, but right now, sitting in an apartment that will belong to someone else in 4.5 days, I can see only endings.

I'm Off!

I can't find my glasses, I've lost my jump drive, I need to take a shower and clean this apartment, so of course, instead, I'm wasting time, writing my blog.

My feelings have been so ambivalent lately, I have not felt much like writing. I am longing to be home. I am loathe to say goodbye. I am tired, and I have boundless energy. I look at the books I didn't read this summer, the gift certificate to a massage I probably won't use, the sorting and packing I've left to the last minute and wonder where the time went.

The dichotomy is 6 months is a really long time. 6 months is no time at all, and flew by. However, I'm more ready to go than I don't feel like leaving. Convoluted and flawed sentence construction, but indicative of my inner thoughts and feelings.

I know what to do, right now. I am getting up, getting into the shower. I will take out the garbage. I will make the bed and meet my boss for lunch. I will go have coffee later this afternoon with my director. I will nap and I will call a show. A full day.

I'm off.

Talk Like A Pirate!

Poetry, Art, and Silliness all have clear and stable places in my consciousness. Today is "International Talk Like a Pirate Day." Really! Argh, and avast ye maties. (That is the extent of my pirate talk. I'm sure I'll hear more tomorrow. The little kids know about it. Keith Olbermann knows about it. Many of my company members do too.) Weird little "holiday" made possible by the internet, no doubt. Love it. Love the complete randomness of it and how utterly silly it is.

These communal efforts to play bring joy to our lives. I just joined "Mafia Wars" on facebook. Never thought I would, but my beautiful nephew invited me and I just don't know how to say "no" to him. Apparently I'm still playing "Vampires" because someone attacked me and I lost. There exists a whole other universe, a virtual place, I know very little about. I stand at the edge of a galaxy in this new, utterly strange arena and wonder at the inventive nature of our species. We PLAY. We want to PLAY. One of my sisters and I, when very young, used to spell it out so the younger sister wouldn't know where we were disappearing to. We'd say "wanna P. L. A. Y.?" then we'd hold up our hands and make the "OK" symbol. A little mean, but she was two and didn't really care to be away from Mom and the new baby.

We grow up and we still want to play. We play golf. (Well, not me.) We play tennis. We play badminton or volleyball. I don't really need to go through all the sports... we play scrabble and other board games. (My other nephew would say "bored" games. He plays video games.) We play cards and word games and horseshoes. We play in the pool. We play with our pets and our children. We play piano and guitar. We play with ourselves and each other. (Sorry, had to say it.) We go to plays. We do plays. We are players, all.

Playing is part and parcel of who we are. We are frantic to play.

I think this is good. I think playing keeps us on the road to happiness. We take pleasure in a group game or activity. We relax, or compete, or watch and enjoy. We grow and learn through playing, just like children or lion cubs.

Playtime. Okay, sometimes I prefer "nap time" but only because I have such interesting and entertaining dreams. I wake up refreshed, ready to go do my play. Tonight is Cyrano. What a gift. My work is a Play!

(I do appreciate the fact that much of this blog is a play on words. See how many ways we can play? Astounding.)

Okay. So today. PLAY! Talk like a Pirate. (Lights 204 Go, Argh!)

When We Are Lucky.

My Cast is a little melancholy. The end is near. 10 days left. 9 shows. Some of us were chatting after Coriolanus tonight about what a great company, and what great company we've been. No drama, except on the stage. We all like each other. We work and play well together. We'll miss this.

And this too shall pass. All things do. Even the good things. So, we'll say goodbye and look to the next challenge. In the meantime, we will enjoy what we've created together and hope to work together again one day. Bittersweet. (I still miss people from my first Rep, four years ago.)

I am hoping I will find the time and interest to continue my blog when I return home. This blog has been a great outlet for me, exploring the random nature of my thoughts, recording them and rereading what those days held for me. It is all so ephemeral. Like Time. Like a dream I once had.

It is like a dream. In this case, a really really good dream. I will feel that way when I've unloaded my car of 6 months worth of memories and clothes. It will feel like I am returning from a long sleep. I am ready. I am ready to return to my life, my love, my home.

When I did Angels on Broadway, I remember thinking "I am so glad I am doing this. I am so very happy on Broadway. The community is fantastic, the experience truly awesome." But... I hated living in that city. I felt trapped. I couldn't see enough sky, or enough forest. The streets smelled funny and funky. (Central Park is not a forest. It is a park, albeit a very large park. The East River is not the Pacific, hell, it is not even an ocean!) I am very much a California Girl. I wished the year away, wanting to remember living it, instead of actually living it. (I mean, I did live it, I just was unhappy and alone.)

I am alone a lot here too. But somehow it is okay. The sun, my quest for the sea, the proximity to home make San Diego a better fit for me. I know every theatre professional wants to do Broadway. I've done it. Okay? I've done Broadway 3 times. And I've done Radio City too. I've done NY. I just want to visit now. Or get paid a lot of money to come work on a great project for a couple of months. About the length of my tolerance for NYC.

London was a bit better. It felt like a cleaner New York. Honestly, LA does not feel like a city. (We live in a suburb. LA is a collection of suburbs.) San Francisco is my favorite city. Beautiful and small. Clean and perfect. San Diego is a bigger city than one might expect. It feels larger than San Francisco, I don't actually know... it just feels bigger. San Diego would be perfect, except for the politics of the place. Maybe I just prefer the space I'm afforded in Los Angeles. City folk have no concept of space. I have room in LA. I have a room in San Diego. And, my San Diego apartment is about 3 times the size of my NY apartment, which was larger than my flat in London. (If I opened the bed I couldn't open the front door. I had to leave the bathroom door open at night because of the same problem. I had to back in to the bathroom because it was so narrow. Okay, I was heavier, then. Leave me alone!) The point? Different concepts of space.

So, what am I really talking about here? Space and Time. I knew it! I should have been a theoretical physicist or a mathematician. (I was once a Math Major. hmm.)

I will live in Los Angeles because it is what makes me happy, and, like most people in my profession, I will travel for work. We are all peripatetic, we are all gypsies. It is the nature of the business. It has to be okay. I will return and live at home when I can, and work where work calls to me or needs me.

Life is and has to be good; it is what we make it so. And (for my best friend), "Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life."

We travel; we travel through time and space. When we are lucky, we travel through time and space together.

The Story of the Cyst.

I had a very minor surgery today. But still... surgery! I had a cyst removed. 8 stitches. It had become infected last week and I didn't want to run the risk of infection again. CUT IT OUT! GET THAT THING OUT OF ME!

Gross, the things that grow willy-nilly on one's body. Nobody knows why. The pressure bandage itches but otherwise all seems well. The hand-out post-operative instructions said to avoid smoking and drinking while recovering. Yeah, that's gonna happen. Hey, I know how to keep it clean. I know how to change the dressing and I know how to assess the site's general appearance and speed of recovery. I won't take aspirin for a couple of days. Worry not.

I have to say the medicality (made up word) all interests me. I made the nurse show me the excised cyst. I had to see it. She said, "We're not supposed to show it to you, but..." She must of seen my face. Like I was gonna take "no" for an answer. It used to be a part of my body, for gosh's sake. Show me!

Interesting. Far bigger than the doctor or I'd been lead to believe by its surface appearance. It looked like a marble-sized ball of fat. The doctor sent it off to a pathologist. Good. Means the insurance company will pay for the excision.

I've seen my gall bladder, my dad was the pathologist when I'd had it removed, took a picture and gave me the stones ...I had the stones for a while, until I decided that perhaps it was just a little grotesque and morbid to keep them. (Interesting growing up with Pathologist Dad. Like living with Quincy... or if you are too young.. like living near/in the morgue in CSI.)

There exists a certain curiosity about all things the body creates and produces. Well, at least with me. I want to keep my eyes open. I want to learn. I don't want to be "grossed out" by.. what really is just nature. I think knowing helps to accept and calm, not only me, but anyone else who may end up with a similar issue. I can then be more empathetic, knowledgeable and ultimately helpful.

We can't shirk from our own when they encounter a condition that is unappealing. We need to disengage from the "gag" reflex and help. See the problem and help to fix it. (Especially if that assistance means saying..."Oh, my gosh! See a doctor!") I did and now I will be fine. This was a little adventure. Very personal, but there you are. Really, just a part of life, and maybe just a symptom of growing older. It has to be okay, because, there it is.

Soon. My stitches will be taken out by my doctor in LA. That is how soon. I will be home soon. It is time.

R E S P E C T

Dispensing with the last bit of business, the counter is clearly inaccurate, or maybe accurate due to my title "Labor Day 2009". I could see how that could give me a lot of hits, but since only one dear soul commented I am encouraged to seek out the other nine I'd like to view the blog. And, I feel safe again.

That said, let us talk about respect. How about a little respect "for the office?" Isn't that what we heard all through the "Bush" years? And Now? Really? Yelling out at a presidential speech? How incredibly rude. How not American. How rude and British.

I have found that respect is a thing we all look for, but may not earn. One has to EARN respect. One earns respect by doing the work better than anyone else. Treating people better than anyone else. Caring. And then, one has to OWN it. It is hard. It is about taking full responsibility. The lesser will always criticize and argue. The lesser will make excuses. The lesser will blame someone else. The lesser will yell in frustration. The lesser will not get the job next time. (We did it in this last election... though we may need to rethink, at the midterms.)

In Theatre there is something to be said about being a "company member." Working with the whole to create the art. We do this together. We have the same goal. We want it to be right. We have a hierarchy that works most of the time. Maybe government could take a lesson from theatre. Look at what we do. We finally make decisions - on a time table. We care and we perform. We give our constituents, the audience, a complete and well thought-out product. We put our hearts and souls into this. We (mostly) like each other. Learn from us. We do this nightly.

The Counter Redux

Okay. I lied when I said I'd deleted my counter. I keep it so I can see how many people are reading my blog. I just delete it from the bottom of the article. Well, tonight I looked, stunned and reloaded the page but the same number appeared. Really? No, this has to be a glitch. NO fucking way. I've been struggling to get 10 people to read my blog, and I'm not sure I want nearly 12,000. Kinda scary. Feel like I need to be more careful. Kinda intimidated. (I have acute stage fright.)

My last number was in the high 200's. What happened? Please comment if you read me. I gotta know if this number is real. It has emptied my head of anything I wanted to say tonight.

And, tonight, was very interesting.

Free Counter

Labor Day, 2009.

Labor Day is crazy. One would think it was the last chance for the country to party. Ever. Okay, I get it. The end of summer. (Well, not in California, and not really anywhere for a couple of weeks at least.) We decided to go for a drive. We found ourselves at the bridge that crosses the San Diego Bay and leads to Coronado Island. I haven't been there in oh, 25 years or more. First, let me say, the bridge is scary to drive. It is really high! Yikes! Can't imagine how they built that! Then... on this beautiful island, traffic. Traffic everywhere. Don't know what I expected, since it was Labor Day. I just don't register Monday holidays. I don't think about holiday traffic. Since my day off is Monday anyway, I think of it like just another day. Fool, I.

We drove around the Coronado Hotel. The very famous hotel. We caught glimpses of the Pacific, we found zero parking. Had to get out of there! We drove to the opposite side of the island. Still a lot of people, but relatively far fewer. Finally, a parking space walking distance to the bay. Finally a place to stop and walk on a little grass at a park commemorating the location of the now defunct ferry. (They closed it when the bridge opened in 1969)

Clearly, the Pacific Ocean is the attraction on Coronado Island, not the reverse look at Downtown San Diego. I was glad. We had the cool breeze. We watched a father and his kids fly a kite shaped like a Spanish Galleon. (How did that thing get up in the air?) We saw the water and a couple of small beaches. We saw at least 30 sailboats, and 2 jet skis. Very entertaining. We sat under a gazebo. (My mom used to call them "gaze - bos." She said, "Well, that's how it's spelled!") We looked at Downtown San Diego from the other side. It was pretty and pleasant. Just enough people. We wondered why everybody else had to be on the Pacific. It will still be there tomorrow. And next Tuesday. And, I suspect it will still be there when the everybodies have their next day off. Ah, but this day was LABOR DAY. The last day of summer. The last chance to party ever.

Do people know why we celebrate Labor Day? It was originally a day to celebrate the contributions made to this country by Labor Unions and Organizations and the American Worker. (The AFL: American Federation of Labor.) Begs the question. Why do Republicans get to celebrate Labor Day? Seems a little anathema to that party's policies.

Labor Day is not the end of summer. It is not the last chance to party ever. It isn't even the last excuse to party this year. (Like Americans need a reason to party.) We have Halloween coming up pretty quickly. On it's tail is Veteran's Day. Have you forgotten the holiday clearly designed so you can over-eat all day, and watch football? Do you remember Thanksgiving is more than drinking too much because you are annoyed with your family? Oh, then the rush to Christmas and a week later, New Year's Eve. Not necessarily in order is President's Day, (Saint) Valentine's Day, MLK Day, My friend Jimmie's Birthday, The Ides of March, Saint Patrick's Day, Mardi Gras, Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day... oh, then Summer.... AGAIN.

America! You can party tomorrow. You've invented countless reasons to. How about stopping for a sec. and appreciating the why behind the holiday. Or even the why behind the party? No one thanked me on Labor Day for working so hard, (for free, mind you) for my union. I don't really care if you thank me or not, but Labor Day is set aside exactly for people like me. Union workers. That is the point. Do you remember to thank veterans on Veteran's Day? Do you remember to remember our war dead on Memorial Day? Do you even know who St. Patrick was? (He chased the snakes out of Ireland - even though the scientific record shows there were never any snakes in Ireland. But a good reason to drink green beer, huh?)

It just all gets so silly.

So, we left Coronado Island about an hour after we arrived. We came home to my little apartment near Balboa Park and I put out hummus and celery and spinach pizza from Trader Joe's. A little cheese. We elected to stay in for the rest of the day. We chatted. We watched t.v. We had take-out. We went to bed early. It was kinda perfect.

Labor Day. I had a very nice day.

Thoughts and a Paul Simon Quote.

Poker game tonight next door. No, I don't play, but I do appreciate the actors again spending time together. Three more weeks and we are done. We have 8 Twelfth Nights, 6 Cyranos and 5 Coriolanuses (that looks weird, what is the plural of Coriolanus?), left to perform. Not very many. Kinda sad.

This has been my most favorite company ever. The cast and crew are generous supportive people. They all honestly like each other. I like them. I would work with them all forever if I could. A true REP company. We did it. It took 6 years (I've been here the last 4 years) but we figured out the right mix of people and product. So, of course, next year we will fuck with it. Oh, it will be a new adventure with lovely new people, no doubt, but it will never be this wondrous thing again. It will never be this mix. This perfection. As I've said before, I'm a little sad it is nearly over.

I will return to my Sunland life September 28. It will take a bit of adjusting and a lot of sleep. I will get lost on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I'll try to get out of bed on the wrong side. I won't remember my way around the local grocery store. 5 months 3 weeks is a long time to be away from home. (I make the opposite adjustment when I move to San Diego.)

I'll be with my husband. I'll see my dad. I'll see more of my family. I'll be back in my own kitchen, far larger than this apartment's. I'll cook for my friends and family. I'll water the lawn and read the hard copy of the paper.

My husband will do the dishes.

I'll have my crispy mountains. I'll have my long hilly walks. I'll chat with my neighbors who have nothing to do with theatre. I'll be more immediately involved with my union. I'll be better prepared to teach my class. I'll casually look for other work and not really worry about it. I'll drink a margarita in the middle of the week, outside, in my own backyard.

I'll be home.

"Homeward bound.

Home, where my thoughts escaping

Home, where my musics playing

Home, where my love lies waiting

Silently for me."

The Story of the Bell.

I received an opening night gift from my colleagues. It is a school bell. A small bronze bell with a wooden handle. I love it. I'd been complaining that I couldn't find the Old Globe rehearsal bell anywhere. My first year, I actually stole the rehearsal bell. I'm not sure why. I remember I pretended it was an accident. Oops, took the bell, so sorry. When I came back I knew exactly where it was! (In my tool kit.) My second year, I felt too guilty to steal it so I left the bell back in the stage manager's prop closet. My third year, after much searching, one of my assistants found it and I again had it for rehearsal. I'd become very fond of that little bell. This year the bell was nowhere to be found. I was disappointed. You may not realize this, my gentle reader, but a bell comes in very handy. It circumvents the need for me to call out, "Ring Ring" or "Bong Bong Bong Bong" or "Brrring." A bell serves the rehearsal by suggesting a telephone, a door bell, a church bell, a boxing bell, a chime, a bell in the distance. (I've used a rehearsal bell for all of the aforementioned.) If you know how to use it (there is a technique) it can be a very useful tool.

I took my new bell with me on my walk today. I put it in my backpack. I'd seen an engraving place down the street and I'd had a thought. I wanted to get it engraved with the following: "Mary's Klinger". This made me laugh. But, alas, the engraving place didn't have the proper equipment to engrave a bell. Hmm. Don't really understand that, but I'll try elsewhere. I went on with my walk. I didn't want to take the time to return the bell to my apartment. So, I "rang" all through my walk, up and down the streets of San Diego, into my nail salon, in and out of Trader Joe's and Rite-Aid, up and down the alleys and the off-road paths. All I could think of was the story of belling the cat. Ding, ding, here I come! I wondered what passers-by thought. I did get a lot of smiles today. Unexpected fairly pleasant noises seem to induce pleasure. A bell. How simple and fun.

A note on the name "Klinger." One would think it means "bell ringer." In my family legend, it means "sword-maker." Not a blacksmith who makes swords, but a specialist in sword-making. My Dad was extremely clear about that. I like it. It has a certain "panache." But it means my joke is purely linguistic, a pun, and not strictly accurate. Alas. And oh, well. Don't really care. I will in fact get the bell engraved, somewhere.

The Pursuit of Happiness.

I am sick of talking about the fires.

For the record. The fires came very close to our house. The fire men and women protected all of us in the neighborhood. We are going to do something nice for them. Yes, it is really smoky.. still.. and will be for a couple of weeks. Yes, my husband ..still.. has things packed and sitting by the door. If you want to see his video of it all go to jukeboxtahini.blogspot.com (You will also hear some really fine music.)

But, we are good. Our house will not burn down this time. Oh, and besides, it is just a house. We have insurance. We have each other. We don't collectively have our health, but that is another issue entirely, and a more problematic issue than a fire (even one as big as this) will ever be.

Home is with the people you love. Home is a state of being, not a place. Home is not a house. Home is where you want to be, all the time. My home is the entire state of California. My family lives in California. I'd be happy just about anywhere here... with the people I love.

Other things are happening. Is Obama going to abandon us to the Republican far right? Has he forgotten who elected him? We need health care reform. I speak from long long years of experience. Long long telephone calls. Ridiculous requirements and expensive premiums. We, personally, spend so much on health care our net income is ridiculously and embarrassingly small. I get excited when Ralph's (a local grocery store) sends me my "Ralph's Rewards." Coupons for things we buy and $9.oo in groceries. Yay! However will I spend that nine bucks? Maybe some nice fruit. Maybe a ham. mmm, ham. Our very personal world becomes smaller every day, and the politicians haggle and kowtow to the insurance companies. Obscene. I'm sick to death of this topic too. I don't understand why our elected reps are such pussies. Do what is right! Do it now! Stop bringing religion or race or immigrants into the discussion. WE are all people of one planet. Do what is right! Do these people need an ethics lesson? Do they need a slap in the face? Do they collectively need to come down with multiple sclerosis to understand or to care?

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. Hmm. Life. Seems like health care would fall under that heading. Liberty has been rapidly disappearing and devolving since Bush came into office. It may have started with Reagan. The Pursuit of Happiness, well, we have the right to pursue our dreams, things that make us happy. I like that that responsibility falls to the individual. Although. Seems like we need to create an environment where one can pursue happiness. Much like I need to create an environment where actors and directors can pursue the truth in a piece of theatre. If we promise the opportunity to pursue our dreams, we must create a path where that option is possible. (Education comes to mind.)

The incompetence of Congress is discouraging. The evil self-serving nature of the health care discussion is disgusting. The stupidity is beyond belief. It all makes me a little nauseous. I find I do lose hope. So, I turn it around and put faith and hope, all, back into my little world.

We look to ourselves because there is no help out there. We work longer and harder. We take the joy that we can find. We share pictures of flowers and disaster. We drive to the redwoods. We move forward. We reach out. We find hope again in our friends, neighbors and family. We pursue our dreams. We pursue happiness.

Thoughts and a Beatles' Quote.

Settling in again for a few more shows. This Monday is Labor Day, so no class to teach. I will stay in San Diego and reorient myself to this life. If the fires keep at bay, my husband may come down and stay for a bit. We'll wait and watch and see.

I walked again today. It was hot. Not as hot as Sunland, but hot enough to stop in a little store and buy some iced tea. (I'd run out of water.) I tried to find the cooling breeze. I walked to the end of cul-de-sacs over-looking cliffs, hoping for the whisper of a wind from the ocean. Not much luck there and, surprisingly little shade. Bummer. I ended up at a small park where I stood under a large tree. I watched the children for a while and strolled on. I ran into one of my cast members. We walked together on our way back to our housing. He was worried about turning 30. He plans to marry his girlfriend one day and was feeling the pressure that comes when one feels it is time to "grow up." I don't remember feeling that way at 30. I remember I was very busy, struggling to find my career. Did I want to teach? Did I want to stage manage? Hmm. Maybe I really wanted to go into research. I didn't think about marriage then. (I'd been with my boyfriend, now my husband, 9 years by the time I was 30.) There was no urgency. Waiters still asked me for my I.D.

I spent my 30th birthday in Tahoe. It was cool and private. My boyfriend and me and two friends. We walked in the woods, we went to the casinos, we ate cake and drank cheap wine. It was kinda perfect.

I didn't worry about age. I don't worry about it now. As I walked with my friend, colleague and cast-member, I thought, "gee, I'll be 55 in a month." 55! I am 25 years older than my 30 year old friend. I really could be his mother. But, this is a fleeting thought. I don't dwell on it. I certainly don't feel 25 years older. I do feel I have more experience, and that is comforting. My friends in this business range in age from around 14 to 80. We "get it" and we "get" each other. Age seems less important than common purpose and drive. We struggle and succeed or not, together. That communion means everything.

As my friend and colleague and I walked on we ran into another cast member and my prop man having a meal together at a little cafe. Nice. As I wander, going to meet my director or some member of my company, I often run into the other members out and about with each other. We become a family over the long summer. We are mostly alone here, and only have each other. It is unique and extremely moving and special.

My friend and I waved to our fellow company members, they waved, but my friend and I were deep in conversation so this was a brief encounter. I like the private time with each individual whether we meet by happenstance or design. It is good. It helps me do my job, but more importantly I enjoy the company. I love these people. I love them all in different ways, but each and every one of them will remain with me, forever.

"..and you know I'll never ever lose affection, in my life, I loved them all..."

Small Wishes, Small Dreams.

Whoa. What a weird weekend. K, I should first explain that my "weekend" is Monday. Period. Monday. That is it. Oh, and I teach on my day off. That would be... Monday.

I drove to LA very late Sunday night, only to be hit with the mountains around my house BURNING. I first caught sight of it near Long Beach. That is REALLY far away. I could see flames. I drove into the conflagration, and as I got closer I could see from one end to the other the mountains were on fire. I know I opened my mouth and put my hand to one side of my face. It was truly an unbelievable sight. And, I drove right into it. I got home, got out of the car, and, friends, I couldn't breathe. Sharp and acrid and clearly poisonous, I made may way quickly into the house my husband had prepared to keep all smoke out! Spent a day and a half, driving to USC, teaching, and then, watching the fires. At this particular moment in time... we are good. For the first time in a week we can't see flames from the house. The worst may be over. (The very nice policeman I spoke to said.." never say never.") I am back in San Diego. I have my job down here. This is my fourth year doing the Rep. I've never wanted to be back home more in all those years than I do right now.

It is always hard, these last few weeks when I have to come up to LA to teach. I always wish I could stay "home." This was different. My home is in danger. My husband is in danger. I want, I need to be home. Disconcerting. Disorienting. WEIRD.

Well, he is fine. He is stronger than he knows he is. I am proud of him, taking care of our home and property. He is. Thank goodness! I trust him.

So, I am back in Eden. I am back in San Diego, worried about Nod. Worried about the wider world out there. Worried about my little backyard.

But we are Okay. We are Okay. We seemed to have been blessed. (The house is NOTHING.

Our lives and memories are all. We care, but we don't care about things. He and I, we will always be O.K. )

We have each other. A house is not a home. Home is where you hang your hat.

My mom taught me that.

Small favors. Small wishes. Small dreams. Not unimportant. Just unique and specific. Our lives are built on that.

Oh, and it was REALLY hot too.