Live in the Present

 

Last summer, I was in a fabulous production of "Hair" at Alpine Theatre Project in Whitefish, MT (aka Heaven on Earth). For an opening night gift, Husband and Peanut gave me a bracelet that read "Live in the  present".  I loved it.  So appropriate for that show.  Somehow this cherished gift got misplaced in our last move, perhaps along with its message.  While Husband and I were going through our taxes, we found the receipt and reminded me of it.  This is why I kind of enjoy doing taxes, because it is a walk down memory lane for me.  This also why it takes me forever, as I sit and reminisce over fond moments.  Back to the story.

I loved last summer.  I faced fears and things I thought I'd never do. Hiking mountains, kayaking and public nudity, to name a few.  Not at the same time.  But it was "Hair" and as a woman who had given birth and was knocking on 40's door,  being in my birthday suit  became no big deal.  People asked if it was freeing.  Kinda.  But I realized it's just a body and it has been good to me and it was not a sexual thing in any way.  It was celebrating all parts of me, from my legs, which I love thanks to years of dancing, to my gut and back fat. It was done so tastefully and so briefly that even a theater critic missed it as she looked down at her program for a moment. I spent most of last summer either outdoors in the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen, or on a stage, my home, my love.  I was challenged by my cast mates by hiking and getting reacquainted with my quads again, and by encouraging  myself to not filter and judge my instincts as an actor. Husband even directed me in the final production of the summer. He's brilliant. All were equally exhilarating.

I know it sounds like I am living in the past. Actually, thinking about last summer and looking down at those simple but powerful words on my bracelet, remind me of so much.  My future is less certain this summer.  I will not be acting on a stage as I had hoped.  However,  I will be back in Montana to play with Peanut while Husband directs and choreographs "She Loves Me."  I will be sure to hike and kayak, but will probably abstain from public nudity.  So as I cherish my past and look forward to future adventures, I live in the present and love the present.  For it is a gift.  Each breath, each thought, each laugh, each tear, each hug, each moment.  The present is what makes my past wonderful and my future exciting.

Ssssssselebrating My Uniquenessssssssssssssss

This may seem hard to believe, but I was almost 30 before I really realized I had a lisp, a sibilant S, any sort of speech issue.  Apparently, when I was a child it had been suggested to my parents to send me to a speech therapist, but they didn't want it to become something I was self-conscious about.  As a parent now, I completely understand and appreciate their decision to just let me be me.  I am sure back then, they had no idea I'd want to be an actress.  Fast forward to college, where my voice teacher mentioned it to me, but almost in passing, so I didn't think much of it and therefore didn't seek any assistance.   I was only reminded of it when stupid college boys would mimic me, like they were funny and clever.  But still, I guess I was dense or in complete denial, it never occurred to me that I REALLY had a lisp.

Moving on to 2001, I had message on my answering machine (Remember those?) from a former co-worker who was studying to be a speech therapist and wanted to know about my speech therapy history, ya know, backstory.  Y'all ( say that with the heaviest Southern accent possible), this threw me for a loop.  You mean, people can tell I have a lisp?  Seriously, this went through my mind.  By this time, I had been working steadily in NYC, on Broadway and National Tours and in classes and no one had ever referred to any speech issue.  I began to walk down a very dark tunnel of doubt, after this.  I did seek out a speech therapist, who was somewhat helpful. However, by now I am 30 and it's tough to to teach an old dog a new way to speak.  I was also on the hunt for a new agent at this time and I met with a particularly horrible man, with bad plugs I might add, who compared me to Winthrop, the lisping boy, in Music Man.  To my face. This sent me reeling even further.  I continued to study with the therapist for a while longer, but it wasn't cheap.  My money would've been better spent on a psychotherapist, which came a few years later. (Best gift I EVER gave myself!!!!)
Here I am today.  I am a grown woman turning 40 this year and fully aware and embracing this part of me.  How I speak truly is a part of who I am.  If I changed to sound like everyone else, I feel like I might be the Jennifer Grey of lispers. So I share this clever lisper with you(beware, it is slightly off color), because I love it and it reminds me to be proud of all partsssss of me.

Love and Generosity

11 years ago today, I married the love of my life.  Insert collective  "Awwww" or  pantomime gagging.  Either way you react, I love this day of the year.  Our anniversary reminds me of what a lucky lady I am.  I married a man who is kind, funny, handsome, uber-talented, helpful, supportive, encouraging, a great dad and he calls me on my sh*t.  Yet, this day reminds me of why I am lucky beyond just my great taste in a spouse.  You see, 11 years ago, Husband  and I were both in Broadway shows. I was in "Beauty and the Beast" and he was in "Saturday Night Fever."  We were busy planning a wedding back in Texas while living in NYC and like any wedding planning, I felt  a bit stressed.  One night a few weeks before the wedding, I got a phone call from Husband's cast mate and friend telling me that a few guys from the show want to surprise him and could I try to get him to show up at a particular restaurant after the show one night.  Sure.  Easy enough. I can't even remember what my excuse was, but I was also suppose to show up with him for a second to say hello. After my show, I meet him at the stage door and we walk a few blocks with my cast mate who says she's meeting her friends for a drink. Fast forward, Husband and I walk into John's Pizza and go upstairs to be greeted by both of our entire casts who cheered us on and hollered "Surprise!"  My cast mate and dear friend arrived right after.  She had thrown us off any suspicious scent. We felt so celebrated.  They showered us with gifts and a small box that we opened to find $500 worth of $5 bills taped together in a long roll.  If you have never been a part of the community of actors, stagehands, dressers, stage managers, any theater people, then you probably don't know that they are the most generous selfless group around.
So, March 4th always, always brings a smile to my face.  I remember how 2 days before my wedding I had a horrible stomach virus, but woke up feeling fantastic on the big day. I remember being surrounded by my family and close friends who flew and drove many miles and endured a hail storm to witness our day.  I remember my bridesmaids who rescheduled a spa day surprise around my inopportune sickness.  I remember how special our vows were, including both tears and laughter. But a huge memory that I hold very dear to me, is the ridiculous amount of love and generosity that our co-workers, who were also  our friends, bestowed upon us.  Each year,  we celebrate our love, but we also celebrate the love that has been continually given to us over the years.  That's how we have made it this far.

The Power of Good Hair

I am a bit hair obsessed.  You wouldn't know it if you just met me in the past 4 years, as my hair has spent most of it's time in a pony tail or under a ball cap, or both.  However, pre-Peanut, I treated myself to follicle pampering quite often.  And I was a risk taker.  In the past 15 years, my hair has been a bright red Caesar cut, strawberry blonde layered bob, strawberry blonde perm, long rocker blonde (which someone actually called a mullet to my face), blonde layers with pink highlights (Hugh Jackman's wife complemented me on that look), long straight auburn/brunette, short asymmetrical brunette (looked too much like my mom, nothing personal mom : / ), and finally long straight blonde with obvious natural blonde roots. I took risks because I trusted the people who's hands were transforming me.  For the past four years or so, I have received maybe 6 haircuts and many box colors. It's because I have become afraid to trust anyone again.  My hair/heart had been broken by a burly heterosexual hairstylist in NYC. When I would get out of his chair, I felt gorgeous, powerful and strong.  He left me, and the rest of his NYC clientele, to be with his kids in Omaha.  OMAHA?  Seriously.  This happened back in 2004, maybe even earlier.  I haven't been in love, with my hair, since. I have not felt the same way about my hairstylists since.  Not that they weren't talented people who did great work.  But just like the ex-boyfriend that you can't get over, I kept comparing everyone to him and couldn't move on.

I recently realized this had to change.  I finally made an appointment to cut and color my hair last week.  I had at least 5 inches of ashy, mousey blonde roots that were hideous.  The rest of my hair  was an almost platinum color that I received from a hair-color disaster this summer.  While playing Crissy in "Hair", I gladly colored my hair red at the director's request.  The next show, the director wanted me to be blonde again.  By the way, the second director was Husband.  Gentlemen do prefer blondes, in his case. The kind and hard working stylist did her best to strip all red without stripping hair from my scalp and the result, 12 hours later, was brassy platinum blonde.  So, here I am ready for a good hair experience.  I come home from my appointment and Husband says, "Whaddya think?"  I vacillate with my semi-positive response. He accuses  illuminates me that I never like my hair cuts and colors anymore.  WHAT?  I am that hard to please?  I thought about it for a minute.  Husband is right.  I haven't LOVED my hair since my burly Edward Scissorhands left to be a Nebraskan.  Time for a change in attitude. I called my recent stylist, who said I could come back in if I did not like it.  She was great!!! She made my color a little less brassy, even calling someone for advice.  Resourceful. I like that. Then she let me tell her what I really wanted with my cut, understood and did it. You see, when one only cuts their hair twice a year, once can lose touch with the proper vocabulary to even convey what they want.   She had done exactly what I asked the first visit, like all of the others before her.  It was me who couldn't get over my Cornhusker Stylist.  I finally let him and go and embraced a new possibility.  I walked out of that salon feeling like a million bucks.  That's the power of good hair.  It can change us.  I was long overdue. "Because I'm worth it!!!"