Disconnected Thoughts.

I don't know who is looking here. I'm never sure I really care. I've always intermittently kept a diary, and I've always wanted someone to read it.

The Journal of My Life.

Or this part of it.

I have this reputation. Yet, months go by and no work. My reputation precedes me and without a current show, I am still asked to talk about theatre, asked to be interviewed, asked to teach.

I do it. But it is hard, without a show.

Like actors, stage managers are only as good as their last show. Well, my last shows were fantastic! They were perfection! We achieved it, all that we wished for. We spent the summer trying not to look forward, but reveling in the moment of creation. "Be here now." Our motto.

We didn't know what the future would bring.

I am so proud of the work that we've done. I will miss every member of my company. I got fired in part, because I was too proprietary. In part because I used the words..." my company." I don't know how else to think of my dear actors and crew.

There is too much ego in the world and not enough collaboration. We are wrong when one individual has complete control. We are better off when we w0rk together.

My mistake. I played the politics wrong. I tried to present myself as a strong woman and I lost the gig.

Oops. Pardon me for being a thinking person. Pardon me for exceeding your expectations and therefore threatening you.

I'm better, so I can't work? What? I can help you!

Let me help the show. I am here.

Life Is The Gift.

I found my husband curled up on the floor of his bedroom earlier today. He'd been mopping the floor in his room and the hallway while I was reading the newspaper. 10 minutes or so went by and I noticed all had become mysteriously quiet. I wandered the short distance to the hallway, looked in the bathroom and looked in his room. I didn't immediately see him. I glanced at the bed and then back down the hall and I heard him stir. He was on the floor, waking up. He'd become so fatigued he'd just lain down and fallen asleep where he was. My heart broke.

He told me not to worry. This often happened to him while I was out of town. No. What? I don't want to ever leave him again. Although we both accept that I may have to travel for work, I certainly can't continue the practice of leaving him for 6 months at a time. It is too long and too hard to be away.

Sometimes he lays on the sofa for what seems like hours just looking and puzzling over his fingers. Why don't they work like they used to? Sometimes he picks up the guitar and fiddles, and puts it down again in frustration. Sometimes his skill comes back and he is again the Adept Guitar Player.

He pushes himself to do bits and pieces of renovation to our home. He does chores and goes out on errands. He comes home exhausted and spent walking in and out of the hardware store. Walking is hard. Getting in and out of the car is hard. Finding an empty handicapped parking space is near impossible (another blog...) Target is a big deal. The mall is unthinkable. His world has become very small.

And yet. He greets each day with hope and joy and cheer and courage. Music is always playing in our house. Sometimes it is the strings of his guitar, but more often now, it is the radio or downloaded music.

He chats with me while I'm cooking dinner. I love that. In the morning he has so much energy (and I am still a bit asleep) he has a world of things to tell me. We so enjoy spending time together, we still laugh and are silly and revel in the new discoveries we find on Netflix or in the New Yorker or LA Times. We discuss and argue politics. He is intrinsic to my job hunt. Interested and integral, really. But... I would rather stay home with him than travel the world. His company, in the end, is everything.

I want you to know what a hero he is. He is alone in his suffering and very few people ever see it. Our friends don't seem to "want to go there." They are satisfied with the dismissive words he and I both use to make them more comfortable. Few people explore further. No one asks him what has happened to his art. No one asks about his music, and how hard the loss of that must be for him. No one talks about his achievements in that art. I don't understand people.

My husband and I had a 30 something friend, Kerry who was dying. We visited him every Monday we could, during his last year. (He died at 40.) Kerry told us the best thing about our visits was that we would talk about his health, or lack of it. We were willing to talk about his death and we did. His closest friends couldn't face it and this troubled him. He needed to talk about what he was going through. He needed us to jump into his bed and feel his tumors. "See, here is a new one." He needed witnesses.

Illness is a part of life. It is fucked up and ugly, but there it is.

I'm sorry to say, you will all face something like this sooner or later. I hope you are never abandoned. I hope you all have the grace my dear husband has and find joy in each living moment. Life is the gift.

The Job Hunt, Part Who Gives a F***.

My aunt asked me today, "What is your dream job?" Without a thought, I said, "The job I just lost." It was then I realized I needed to rethink my ambitions. As I tried to explain to my Dad why increasing my presence at the university was not on my list of exciting job prospects and that I'd already turned down two minor promotions, (for reasons best discussed elsewhere) I started thinking..."What do I want?"

My priorities have changed dramatically from the priorities I'd set when I first started stage managing. I was very ambitious and wanted to work on new plays. I wanted to be a part of theatre history. I wanted to work on Broadway, or, at least do one show on Broadway, just for the cache. I wanted my name in published versions of the plays I'd done. I wanted a solid reputation for protecting my shows. I wanted to share my knowledge.

I've done it. I've done all that. I've stage managed a lot of new plays. I made my reputation that way. It took me to Broadway. I've done 3 shows on Broadway and a show at Radio City Music Hall. Quite enough, thank-you. My name is in dozens of books, published plays, newspapers and a magazine. I've done a pod-cast for USC on stage management. I've just been asked for an interview by a grad student. I'm listed in "Who's Who." I've done it.

I knew this 5 years ago, when I accepted the job at The Old Globe in San Diego stage managing The Shakespeare Festival. I was very aware that I'd accepted a job that would take me out of circulation and out of the consciousness of the larger world of theatre in America. I wanted a respite. I liked the idea of doing Shakespeare (a dead playwright) and calling 3 different shows a week. I loved the idea of forming a company that would return with me. I have to say, the whole experience was marvelous! I loved doing those shows. Although I'd never done Shakespeare before and had an incredibly complicated schedule and a huge company, in a lot of ways the job was easier than what I'd been doing for years and far more satisfying. Comforting, really. The experience was so good I went back year after year, getting further and further away from my roots. (I now have 11 Shakespeare plays under my belt. Not bad. I'm an expert!)

Forced to move on, (or back?) I'm greeted warmly and with outrage at the betrayal I've endured. I'm told, "Don't worry, don't panic. You are too good. You will get work." But no one is offering a comparative job. Not even close. I've been gone too long and the larger world of theatre has had to move on without me. (My past students are getting a lot of work. This is a good thing. I'm proud of them.)

So. Re-thinking. What do I need? Well. I need to make a living. I need health insurance for my husband and myself. I need to use my talents. What do I want? I want to work with like-minded people. I want to be part of a family. I want a little security. I want to work and see that the result of my work has an impact.

I'm thinking.... corporate. Yes. I've applied to Disney. They need a Project Manager. I'm over-qualified, but old friends want me to interview. They are happy at Disney. They want me to join them. I'm holding my breath.

I'm going in.

Que Sera Sera.

Recently, I read a NY Times headline for an article about the recent earthquakes:

"Is Nature Out of Control?"

Hmm. "Out of whose control?" I wondered. Have we become so arrogant that we think we have control over nature? Nature, by its very nature is out of control. There are real reasons why the Andes are so magnificent and Yosemite so beautiful. Beauty is dangerous. The physical world will out, and oft times we will share the traumas every other living creature endures. Our control over the really big events is limited to the point that we can only respond. We observe nature. We respond to nature. We do affect nature at times, and change eco-systems, but it is we who are out of control. In every important way, we can't control nature. We can only control ourselves.

I am surprised at the NY Times. And disappointed.

The truth is sometimes as simple as "que sera, sera."

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)