Friday, December 11, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
A Bag Full of Meat Pies
I must say I have always been a fan of Stephen Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd. I have never seen it live but I have seen the terrible quality taped video of it’s original run in the 70’s. Quality or not, nothing, absolutely NOTHNG beats Angela Landsbury! Really. Anyone else playing Mrs. Lovitt is in for a sorry time of being compared to the theatrical legend…In cleaning out my closet yesterday- I found the backpack that I got in the army surplus store in Chicago on Belmont. I loved/love it. It’s my comfort bag. It’s very Bohemian. It’s military green and it holds my books, my journals, my cds- and my IPod touch. I carried this bag everywhere I went in the windy city. To work, to rehearsals, to performances, out all over Lakeview, the Loop, and yes- even the dreaded west side- where after one night’s rehearsal at the top of a bar for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. In this bag that had seen many people and many places so far since 1998- I had a bit of a downfall last Christmas time with a bleeding ulcer (another souvenir from Chi town and three jobs at one point back here in Nebraska) then the onset of Encephalopathy-which I am slowly recovering from slowly, very slowly thank you very much.Well I had, of course forgotten about it since my memory of that era is kinda blurred because of that neurological infection- and found the movie soundtrack to Sweeney Todd way in the bottom of my bag- the Tim Burton fiasco. It was still a pleasant surprise. Don’t ask me were or when I got it. I think I remembering buying it at the Barnes N. Noble at the mall of the theatres that day- but who’s to know except my higher self at this point. I shrugged it off to another fortunate find and will listen to it later thinking I may like it this time without the visuals.Merry Christmas to me!The month of the ‘ulcer event’ I went WALKING into the Oakview Theatres to see the movie of the musical I LOVED and as it was made by a director I LOVE so- do the math- I was sure to be bound for a great time. Little did I know I was never really feeling well and my mind was slowly going downhill anyway, then- I found the movie while at times visually beautiful- sucked hard. Very hard. I was livid. It was so vulgar and disgusting and ghastly- which is what the play is all about- BUT Sondheim achieved that in his brilliance & musical genius without the gratuitous gore! Keep in mind I passed out at Pulp Fiction- I know… I so despise Tarantino!!Well, I walked out of Sweeney- my eight bucks be damned. I also almost got into a fender bender with some bitch who wasn’t looking where she was going, and looked at ME like I was the fool. Grrrrr, I HATE that.So… It wasn’t a “good” day really.Flash forward to that afternoon; I thought, “well, I’ll pop that CD in. I got nothing new to listen to- why not. I was just in a bad place then- it might be different now that I’m getting better and I may even add it in my queue on Netflix to give it another chance.” So I played it. AW geeeez it was just as bad as I remember. THEN I missed the old richness of the story and put the ORIGINAL CD, and aaaaaaaaaaah- sweet familiarity! Hearing Landsbury’s Mrs. Lovitt was comfort food for the artistic heart. Bonham Carter, while lovely and I am a fan, didn’t have a chance. Plus all the parts they left out was a travesty- much like Rent’s movie- I didn’t like how they spoke some of the originally written singing lines!! That’s just wrong! Merry freakin Christmas.So… I went in to this computer to burn my original soundtrack for later importing that to my future ipod- the movie soundtrack can sit and rot in my cd case while my bag of many experiences can carry my future ipod and forget all about the hell that is Johnny Depp’s interpretation. He needs to keep his job of playing Keith Richards playing a pirate. No doubt they’ll make about ten more of those silly pointless nonsensical pirate movies. Which brings me to the merits of the Pirates of Penzance!!!!! Is it just me or is it just sick and wrong that Willy Wonka is indeed really a throat cutting barber? Okay- I’ll shut it now.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Abe Lincoln: Not just an icon
“We cannot escape history. We… will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation.”
-Abraham Lincoln
From his annual message to Congress,
December 1, 1862
This quote is from the greatest man this country has ever seen. Sojourner Truth says of him (located in the FASCINATING book “Lincoln, As I Knew Him”), “I am proud to say, that I never was treated by any one with more kindness and cordiality that was shown me by the great and good man, Abraham Lincoln, by the grace of God President of the United States for four years more. He took my little book, and with the same hand that signed the death warrant of slavery, he wrote as follows: For Aunty Sojourner Truth Oct.29. 1864. A Lincoln.”
Aunty Sojourner also told him earlier that when he took his seat she feared he’d be torn to pieces and likened him to Daniel thrown into the lion’s den.
I think he was and before he was shot, he paid the price everyday. He was torn and tired and still steadfast in his wisdom & kindness while grieving the loss of two sons and a, let’s face it, a crazy very bi-polar wife.
When I was a little kid any picture of him terrified me. Little did I know as an adult I would make him one of my main heroes and have pictures of his care worn face every where. Yeah. I love that dead guy and think about him often. Is it weird that I do actually mourn him? If that is wrong in whatever way- I don’t wanna be right!
I wish I could share that whole book (“Lincoln As I Knew Him”) with you but here, I can only give you example of the literary glimpse of the real man- not the icon. Through friends and family they talk about him and his greatness and yes, his flaws- which I love.
Foreign leaders were always shocked at his bony appearance and commented on his strangely penetrating eyes- which I know is what terrified me from his photos- as they seemed to reach me from beyond the grave and do that thing to my stomach you feel when peering down a hug steep staircase. He was a great fan of Shakespeare (a man after my own heart). And often read aloud excerpts. Macbeth was his favorite. In one instance he recited from memory one that struck him significantly- “Duncan in his grave; After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst; nor steel , nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him farther.” Those present recollected he said the “Treason has done his worst” more slowly and twice. As if he felt a foreboding of the future? As he had a dream of seeing himself dead the week of his assassination, I think that’s a given. He was also our most psychic president and visits those who resonate with him to this day. Okay, now I know you think I’m crazy. I don’t care- on with my man-crush article. Some people / scholars- tell that he was a depressive. I disagree. You can’t run a country tearing itself apart and imploding while depressed. I merely think my kindred spirit was merely grandly passionate about things. He adored animals and his children meant the world to him. The more one loves, the greater their pain. I swear by that and that is the reason I understand this man that lived over two hundred years ago. I feel like he was the grandfather I don’t remember. The big brother I never had. I love him for spanning the centuries to touch me so….
He just fascinates me- and I learned not too long ago Spielberg is making a film due out in ’09!! I still can’t believe that is happening. I won’t believe it till I’m sitting my nervous shaking butt in the theatre on that date. My hero is making a film about my hero!! Well, that’s just nuts. It’s a perfect storm of my interests, and loves and admiration all in a couple hours moving picture.
This last month I saw that Barack is carrying around a book about him and modeling his choices for his cabinet to reflect the way Abe did it. That warmed my heart. I didn’t vote for Obama, as I’m an independent and out of purpose for my displeasure of the two party system (I think it’s actually one party making everything all the more difficult for this country to move forward) I went for neither- not saying who as that’s as unimportant as much as the independent candidates themselves. Think about it- a black man from Lincoln country- who would have been a slave in Abe’s time- now holds the office of the great emancipator himself. Oh, what is Aunty Sojourner saying now? She and Abe had a gala ol’ time over on the other side the night of the election. Them and Oprah.
I was watching the John Adams miniseries that was originally on HBO- on DVD a couple months ago (I highly suggest it- I learned more about our American history through this film that I did in High School)- and there is this scene on the last part- where he and his wife, Abigail (brilliantly played by Laura Linney) peruse the white house under dusty construction. They were depressed at their surroundings. Abigail muttering sadly under her handkerchief shielding herself from all the dust and chalk, “imagine, the home of the leader of our country built by the colords” – while the slaves were ongoing- working tirelessly and I do say in a very devoting manner. Right on the weekend of the election that one ongoing scene watching them work around these leaders who were getting in their way, literally gave me chills. Now one of them / their descendents is the leader. In the end they were building this big house for one of their own, and Abraham was the one to let this happen or ultimately cause this chain of events to set forth Sojourner’s dream, Frederick Douglass’s dream, Booker T. Washington’s dream, Martin Luther King’s dream, Rosa Park’s dream, now our current president’s reality. Let’s hope that’s not lost on him; thanks to the Great Emancipator with a most melancholy disposition.
-Abraham Lincoln
From his annual message to Congress,
December 1, 1862
This quote is from the greatest man this country has ever seen. Sojourner Truth says of him (located in the FASCINATING book “Lincoln, As I Knew Him”), “I am proud to say, that I never was treated by any one with more kindness and cordiality that was shown me by the great and good man, Abraham Lincoln, by the grace of God President of the United States for four years more. He took my little book, and with the same hand that signed the death warrant of slavery, he wrote as follows: For Aunty Sojourner Truth Oct.29. 1864. A Lincoln.”
Aunty Sojourner also told him earlier that when he took his seat she feared he’d be torn to pieces and likened him to Daniel thrown into the lion’s den.
I think he was and before he was shot, he paid the price everyday. He was torn and tired and still steadfast in his wisdom & kindness while grieving the loss of two sons and a, let’s face it, a crazy very bi-polar wife.
When I was a little kid any picture of him terrified me. Little did I know as an adult I would make him one of my main heroes and have pictures of his care worn face every where. Yeah. I love that dead guy and think about him often. Is it weird that I do actually mourn him? If that is wrong in whatever way- I don’t wanna be right!
I wish I could share that whole book (“Lincoln As I Knew Him”) with you but here, I can only give you example of the literary glimpse of the real man- not the icon. Through friends and family they talk about him and his greatness and yes, his flaws- which I love.
Foreign leaders were always shocked at his bony appearance and commented on his strangely penetrating eyes- which I know is what terrified me from his photos- as they seemed to reach me from beyond the grave and do that thing to my stomach you feel when peering down a hug steep staircase. He was a great fan of Shakespeare (a man after my own heart). And often read aloud excerpts. Macbeth was his favorite. In one instance he recited from memory one that struck him significantly- “Duncan in his grave; After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst; nor steel , nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him farther.” Those present recollected he said the “Treason has done his worst” more slowly and twice. As if he felt a foreboding of the future? As he had a dream of seeing himself dead the week of his assassination, I think that’s a given. He was also our most psychic president and visits those who resonate with him to this day. Okay, now I know you think I’m crazy. I don’t care- on with my man-crush article. Some people / scholars- tell that he was a depressive. I disagree. You can’t run a country tearing itself apart and imploding while depressed. I merely think my kindred spirit was merely grandly passionate about things. He adored animals and his children meant the world to him. The more one loves, the greater their pain. I swear by that and that is the reason I understand this man that lived over two hundred years ago. I feel like he was the grandfather I don’t remember. The big brother I never had. I love him for spanning the centuries to touch me so….
He just fascinates me- and I learned not too long ago Spielberg is making a film due out in ’09!! I still can’t believe that is happening. I won’t believe it till I’m sitting my nervous shaking butt in the theatre on that date. My hero is making a film about my hero!! Well, that’s just nuts. It’s a perfect storm of my interests, and loves and admiration all in a couple hours moving picture.
This last month I saw that Barack is carrying around a book about him and modeling his choices for his cabinet to reflect the way Abe did it. That warmed my heart. I didn’t vote for Obama, as I’m an independent and out of purpose for my displeasure of the two party system (I think it’s actually one party making everything all the more difficult for this country to move forward) I went for neither- not saying who as that’s as unimportant as much as the independent candidates themselves. Think about it- a black man from Lincoln country- who would have been a slave in Abe’s time- now holds the office of the great emancipator himself. Oh, what is Aunty Sojourner saying now? She and Abe had a gala ol’ time over on the other side the night of the election. Them and Oprah.
I was watching the John Adams miniseries that was originally on HBO- on DVD a couple months ago (I highly suggest it- I learned more about our American history through this film that I did in High School)- and there is this scene on the last part- where he and his wife, Abigail (brilliantly played by Laura Linney) peruse the white house under dusty construction. They were depressed at their surroundings. Abigail muttering sadly under her handkerchief shielding herself from all the dust and chalk, “imagine, the home of the leader of our country built by the colords” – while the slaves were ongoing- working tirelessly and I do say in a very devoting manner. Right on the weekend of the election that one ongoing scene watching them work around these leaders who were getting in their way, literally gave me chills. Now one of them / their descendents is the leader. In the end they were building this big house for one of their own, and Abraham was the one to let this happen or ultimately cause this chain of events to set forth Sojourner’s dream, Frederick Douglass’s dream, Booker T. Washington’s dream, Martin Luther King’s dream, Rosa Park’s dream, now our current president’s reality. Let’s hope that’s not lost on him; thanks to the Great Emancipator with a most melancholy disposition.
My Own Shakespeare In a Nutshell
Shakespeare In A Nut Shell
A “Shakespeare Meme” from a posting from the fabulous Alexandra Billings website (alexandrabillings.com- her Live Journal section- I highly recommend a look at her website for entertainment, current events, entertainment and more entertainment. It’s more fun than a barrel of cabaret singing monkeys and the Lucille Ball show!). I hope she doesn’t mind but I’m using this as a posting of mine for an article submission- I had to write my own two cents worth on this one because Shakespeare at this point in my life carries and has carried a lot of weight… as I don’t have the patience OR stamina for keeping up a current blog. This is the next best thing for me and my writing fool neurotic self….What was your first introduction to William Shakespeare? Was it love or hate?
“Much like Ms. Billings, it was both. In lil ol’ Arlington High, I cringed at the statement my English teacher made one day at the beginning of the school year. Mr. Overfield proudly stated that we were going to study Hamlet!!! No, not just READ it, yes, he said, “STUDY it”.
“WTF?! I thought… “whoa, whoa, whoa! Dude! I DO NOT DO Shakespeare… that’s for the collegiate elite, not me. Ya know, the smarties. Not me.” Great, I was going to flunk English- a nice healthy side platter of failure right beside Algebra II. GAH.
The first thing he did the first day of our foray into the seemingly inaccessible old world bard was pop in a Betamax video of a BBC production with Patrick Stuart- yes Cpt. Picard as Claudius. Well I was STUNNED. And riveted. While my classmates slept I stared wide eyed and wistful at the large box t.v. my surprise waned and turned to genuine fervent interest in the sets, production, and most of all- acting talent with the fabulously romantic Dane and high drama played by these foreign people who spoke so beautifully. Right then and there my first thoughts before they revisited me in college in little Temple theatre at UNL campus- “I want to do that! Hell, I CAN do that!” While I was in love, I was horrified. This CAN’T BE!” I got over it and continued to be determined to ‘run with it’ anyway. Which Shakespeare plays have you been required to read? Well, that, the afore mentioned- Hamlet. Then, the other one is, I’m afraid to tell you is a long story- or involves a long story… in later years when I had first moved to Chicago- I had transferred from the sports bar, Old Chicago in Lincoln to the sister chain, Rock Bottom on the corner of State & Grand. There were two of my best Chicago friends there, one- was Michael the very OUT gay guy that was instantly taken by me- He set out to make me feel comfortable in that new environment- don’t understand that one but I wasn’t about to complain for someone SO cool connecting with me right away- and The VERY first day I was talking to another instant friend Amy over a fine cold dark beer after a LONG tiring lunch shift in the hot Chicago summer. Amy was a very tall girl who cajoled and laughed along with me in our sci-fi movie and literary quips during the many long double shifts and hash slinging, beer pushing days and nights amid the age worn wood floors. The whole establishment smelled like old Chicago history mixed with a hops scented environment; all within that large two floored humid restaurant. One afternoon at the downstairs bar, Amy asked with interest, “oh, Doug, you mean you ACT?!” I answered in the affirmative very proudly. These moments often made me proud as I remembered back in Overfield’s class when I was a frightened lil teenager not even prepared for the highs and low disappointments of college and terrified of the thought of performing in front of PEOPLE but WANTING to perform still; now I had done it and I had an actual history of doing it! I was ready to take on the acting thing in the big time.
Amy went on to say she was in a new theatre troupe, called the Boxer Rebellion Ensemble. Well, I was THRILLED- She continued, “Well, we’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream- it’s done in a 1960’s era style television show and we’re auditioning for some more members…” I almost peed. My stomach did one of those top of the staircase flips. Could I have stumbled on something so wonderful so INSANTLY upon my move from corn country? I wasn’t even completely settled into my little walk in closet of a studio apartment dump right across from Wrigley Field. I haven’t even completely familiarized myself with the Lakeview neighborhood yet!
So I said I would DEFINITELY try out- and my audition, which I don’t even clearly remember except I DO remember Daniel (the director) laughing uproariously at my shtick (it was some kinda gym environment I think)… well- I was ‘IN’ on the spot. I was slightly disappointed playing what amounted to be an extra as all the leads were cast long ago before I even arrived in Chicago- but I was an understudy for Peter Quince and Philostrate- “great”, I thought. “The butler”, fine- I go from George Gibbs in Lincoln NE, to not even being guaranteed to quip a few lines as a Shakespearean servant in a company that has to perform in a basement of a real theatre which we haven’t even seen yet. Well, no matter- I ran with it as I loved my cast-mates and the times we had and also- was promised by Kern, the president of the Rebellion, lead roles in future productions. So you can bet I was determined to be in it for the long haul.
Do you think Shakespeare is important? Do you feel you are a “better” person for having read the bard? I think Miss Alex Billings said it best in her answer- maybe not ‘better’ but rather “more awake”. Fir sure! My artistic life is sure one hell of a lot richer for it. Without Shakespeare, I sure wouldn’t have gone through what I have without him.
For instance, during the rehearsal run of Midsummer, after a long shift at Rock Bottom, I went out with friends and had a wonderful time, living it up in my new city. I was sporting a full 400 hundred dollars AFTER spending money like a rock star with friends at the bar- feeling quite smug and secure in the fact that I had made a full month’s rent from one hard night at work! My friend and I went our separate ways to go home. I made my way to the 7-11 to get an after party non alcoholic beverage and strolling down the walk on a fairly busy street I lamented at the beginning rain- “aw, shit”- I was a good several blocks and an el stop away from my little hole in the wall and turned back right away. Suddenly and little hooded figure (yeah- he was little) stepped out from a cubby- no, not an alley, a cubby with his hood on. All I saw were the whites of his eyes and a glint of metal from the street lights in his hoody covered hands- well, it WAS cold. All I heard was, “gimmee yer wallet man, gimme yer wallet.” In my mind a rush of memories flashed in that insant. One was my mother starting to cry when I told her over a lunch at Old Chicago that I wanted to move to Chicago- my room mate and best friend Ann standing on the steps of our rental house saying, “CHICAGO?! But you can’t move to Chicago- you’ll DIE!” Then desiring to prove them all wrong and that I’d be “juuust fiiiine”. I handed him my wallet not wanting to take a potential bullet and future “I told ya sos!. Any freak who had the guts to come up to some random Joe wouldn’t be afraid to use a gun- I’m from Omaha- please. Then I also ran through all the Nebraska jokes from my new Chicago friends. You know- like, Jeanne, my close friend from Brooklyn (and veteran Shakespearean actress who I KNOW I’ll write more about later) busting my chops at being naïve and ignorant on how I conducted certain affairs… along with my whole ongoing need to prove to my cast mates and co-workers what I could do with my skills. Yes, all that in 1.5 seconds. While little African American Jawa Man rifled through my wallet, yes, taking my 400 dollars, I actually, oh you’ll get a kick out of this, I actually urged and talked him in to giving my wallet back! Yah, it went like this- “C’mon man, take the money nothing else is worth anything to you, I’ll just cancel my credit card and I need my liscence. Just take the money and give me back my wallet.” Well the kind young considerate little Jawa threw my wallet at my feet and rand back to whatever Tattooine dumpster awaited him in the night beyond.
I picked up my little bundle of security and walked on – stunned and yeah- ashamed that I allowed this to happen. I vowed INSTANTLY that NO ONE would know about this.
Then it hit me. All my rent money was gone. All of it.
Walking on in the now totally barren street in the full downpour, not a soul in sight- came my good friend Michael- just bouncing down the sidewalk. I was never more glad to see another human in all my life! He’d just been returning from our workplace on State Street via a cab and was going to the Addison El stop. That’s when it hit me… a familiar friendly face and I clutched him the instant I heard his words, “HEY DOUGIE!!!” His face fell the instant he saw me and grabbed me in response to my despair. I just collapsed as the Doogie levy’s broke- Michael just held me in his arms while I literally wept like a baby. I was now doubly ashamed and embarrassed. Little dumb Nebraska boy had no right to be here and try to make a go at this life! I was ashamed that I felt five years old and wanted his Mommy! I was PISSED that I wanted my Mommy! I was crazy pissed that that little Jawa man TOOK my hard earned cash! I hope he OD’d- on whatever he used it for. Sincerely I did. I don’t anymore though- I actually hope that money did him some good and I’m happy I could help- heheheheh. In this emotional peak, Michael just asked quietly while I was weeping, “where were you going, Doug?” I told him sniffly- “home!”
“oh no, you’re not going anywhere alone right now… you’re coming home with me. C’mon.” I loved him forevermore after that. So of course the next morning he went to work and, well, it a restaurant and nothing gets by your server/kitchen family if something happens to you. I didn’t have choice. I didn’t have to work til after my next rehearsal and I knew what awaited me without saying boo to anyone- and the day I walked into our makeshift rehearsal space above a little food market out in some west neighborhood- upon opening the door upstairs I was met by first Daniel then a hoard of “oooooh Doooooogies-“ and “OH IM SOOO SORRYS” They all put their arms up and out toward me in a gesture of love and empathy- giving comfort to the scared little farm boy from Oatmeal Nebraska who had his first taste of big bad city life. All thanks to dear ol’ Bill Shakespeare. I would LOVE to hollah out to any and all of my old theatre friends from back in the day- the Boxer Rebellion is no longer around- seems their lack of funds only got worse and they officially went under which I only discovered the year I moved back here to Oatmeal, NE. It was soon after Midsummer- that I was given a role as the Mayor in Inherit the Wind but had to leave being still unhappy about their artistic direction and just general planning- as my own personal funds were no longer allowing me to live a life worth living in the big bad city. I was far from being scared away. But my checking account wasn’t. I will return one day. Oh yes. Oh yes I will.
Do you have a favorite Shakespeare play?
By far it has to be Hamlet!!! I adore that guy. I know. One thing I don’t understand and never have is WHY-do people call him insane!??? The guy’s uncle KILLS his father and EW, marries his widowed sister in law??! Whaaaa? WTF indeed. He goes on a well deserved rampage and people deem that insane. ? Well, I think he took it pretty well, if you ask me! All jokes aside, one person that really made me think twice about my gut reaction to the bratty prince is my good great grand friend Jeanne Desmond, whom I spoke earlier of, from Brooklyn. Ah the first hand Brooklyn stories I was given by her! Long late nights with her talking your ear off, while tutoring me on Shakespeare plays and theory in many levels- “busting my chops well deservedly, I might add- are memories I’ll always treasure and put in a little special box in my heart forever. I miss her dearly – so much I get a catch in my throat as I write this.
She always said of Hamlet, that he should have respected his mother- and she deserved a life after the death of the King murdered or not- That Hamlet didn’t once give a thought for her and his narcissistic little mind only thought of himself and sacrificed not only his mother’s love but the love of Ophelia who he drove insane because of it. She waxed on this tirade, (often being very theatrical about it) actually raising her voice as if she KNEW them all!! While she mystified me when she did this (she it often- you learned to never mention Hamlet in her presence- much like the Macbeth legend within a theatre- you never mentioned Hamlet in Jeanne Desmond’s apartment). I was stunned. How could I have been so simplistic all these years! I never thought of that and was ashamed that I never saw it that way… Hamlet has never been the same to me since Jeanne. Now I’m faced with the impossible desire to someday have the role of Hamlet- He’s Danish, I’m of Danish descent- he hated the King- my great grandfather Henry left Denmark positvevely LIVID at the Kind for the things he’d done to him and his family- he vowed NEVER to speak Dane again in all his life and scorned those who did. Not that that gives me any leverage but I feel I know Hamlet- and ya know something? I was very put out the first time Jeanne went on her anti-Hamlet tirades. It was personal. I felt a protective way toward the fictional prince. I still do- like the misbehaving little brother. I pity him. I moved on but it gnawed at me for days til’ I just came to terms with just accepting that as part of the role and well, hell, I can use it some day. Oh if only that day could come! One thing that DOES drive me mad though- all my young life I spent in fear of the theatre… growing up I vowed I would never be in a play. Then as I grew older into adulthood, gained my confidence- my one main fantasy fascination was to BE an actor- and to push my skill in the craft, learn more and more about it- I actually rent the Inside the Actor’s Studio DVDs and watch every minute like a hawk, sucking it all in like a sponge. I can’t get enough of it. Now within my deep love of the theatre- now that I WANT that thing that terrified me so long ago, after I got a taste of hearing the audience laugh & guffaw at my antics playing Philostrate and Peter Quince during the respective actor’s scheduled absence those nights of performances, hearing that cumulative reaction while your fellow cast has to turn away from you to keep from laughing like being in a Carol Burnett sketch- After experiencing all that- you can’t go long without needing it again like good cuisine. Now that I want and desire that to come back to me- now that I want to return to it like a prodigal son- now that I live back in my original theatre-less original home- I want it! I take back my previous fear- I take back my fear of any of it and embrace it. I pray for it to return every night of my life. How do you feel about contemporary takes on Shakespeare? Adaptations of Shakespeare’s works with a more modern feel? (For example, the new line of Manga Shakespeare graphic novels, or novels like Something Rotten, Something Wicked, Enter Three Witches, Ophelia, etc.) Do you have a favorite you’d recommend?
I love most of them. Jeanne was a purist. I am not. Like Alex said I think that being a purist is stifling and suffocating. Shakespeare wrote his work to be experimented with and twisted upon. That’s what all theatre is; variation on a theme. Movies are a director’s medium while the theatre is the actor’s medium. During rehearsal it belongs to the director but somewhere along the way the director is obligated to turn it over to the cast- it is their baby from Tech on. Shakespeare as an actor knew this and penned all the histories, the comedies, and the tragedies accordingly; for the actor. I would say my fave so far has been Mel Gibson’s Hamlet- more on that in my next ME ME question… but until then I ask you (whoever) to look at Much Ado About Nothing- which coincidentally enough I have just watched for about the twenty fifth time a couple weeks ago. I also love a movie Jeanne introduced me to with Dame Judy Dench’s BRAVE portrayal of Lady Macbeth- nuff said, right?
What’s your favorite movie version of a Shakespeare play?
Oh wow , Easily- Mel Gibson’s Hamlet. I KNOW I KNOW- I KNOW they left a lot out. But really people, this was made for todays ADD audience- I thought the concise rendition was well done and tastefull along with being respectful of the original. Though not necessary for me- (I’ve seen a full stage production at the Lamplight Theatre in Chicago that was complete and knocked my socks off!) Plus it was the only memorable performance from Helena Bonham Carter. Her Ophelia broke my heart as did Gibson’s Danish Prince. Glenn Close’s Gertrude freaked me out. She often does that. But I am sorry to say I think recently my own anger towards a very personal situation has ‘almost’ driven someone close to me ‘nearly’ insane in a sense- or rather more like my well deserved anger has done this to this person- I can’t believe I’m mentioning that here. Along with the fact that this person is tragically a closet bi-polar nut case and an alcoholic. I won’t ever comment on that relationship here- but it’ll work out as I know it won’t end in a self drowning. This person is my Ophelia like Michael was my Horatio- I love them both. And that- my friends, is how Shakespeare has affected my life.
A “Shakespeare Meme” from a posting from the fabulous Alexandra Billings website (alexandrabillings.com- her Live Journal section- I highly recommend a look at her website for entertainment, current events, entertainment and more entertainment. It’s more fun than a barrel of cabaret singing monkeys and the Lucille Ball show!). I hope she doesn’t mind but I’m using this as a posting of mine for an article submission- I had to write my own two cents worth on this one because Shakespeare at this point in my life carries and has carried a lot of weight… as I don’t have the patience OR stamina for keeping up a current blog. This is the next best thing for me and my writing fool neurotic self….What was your first introduction to William Shakespeare? Was it love or hate?
“Much like Ms. Billings, it was both. In lil ol’ Arlington High, I cringed at the statement my English teacher made one day at the beginning of the school year. Mr. Overfield proudly stated that we were going to study Hamlet!!! No, not just READ it, yes, he said, “STUDY it”.
“WTF?! I thought… “whoa, whoa, whoa! Dude! I DO NOT DO Shakespeare… that’s for the collegiate elite, not me. Ya know, the smarties. Not me.” Great, I was going to flunk English- a nice healthy side platter of failure right beside Algebra II. GAH.
The first thing he did the first day of our foray into the seemingly inaccessible old world bard was pop in a Betamax video of a BBC production with Patrick Stuart- yes Cpt. Picard as Claudius. Well I was STUNNED. And riveted. While my classmates slept I stared wide eyed and wistful at the large box t.v. my surprise waned and turned to genuine fervent interest in the sets, production, and most of all- acting talent with the fabulously romantic Dane and high drama played by these foreign people who spoke so beautifully. Right then and there my first thoughts before they revisited me in college in little Temple theatre at UNL campus- “I want to do that! Hell, I CAN do that!” While I was in love, I was horrified. This CAN’T BE!” I got over it and continued to be determined to ‘run with it’ anyway. Which Shakespeare plays have you been required to read? Well, that, the afore mentioned- Hamlet. Then, the other one is, I’m afraid to tell you is a long story- or involves a long story… in later years when I had first moved to Chicago- I had transferred from the sports bar, Old Chicago in Lincoln to the sister chain, Rock Bottom on the corner of State & Grand. There were two of my best Chicago friends there, one- was Michael the very OUT gay guy that was instantly taken by me- He set out to make me feel comfortable in that new environment- don’t understand that one but I wasn’t about to complain for someone SO cool connecting with me right away- and The VERY first day I was talking to another instant friend Amy over a fine cold dark beer after a LONG tiring lunch shift in the hot Chicago summer. Amy was a very tall girl who cajoled and laughed along with me in our sci-fi movie and literary quips during the many long double shifts and hash slinging, beer pushing days and nights amid the age worn wood floors. The whole establishment smelled like old Chicago history mixed with a hops scented environment; all within that large two floored humid restaurant. One afternoon at the downstairs bar, Amy asked with interest, “oh, Doug, you mean you ACT?!” I answered in the affirmative very proudly. These moments often made me proud as I remembered back in Overfield’s class when I was a frightened lil teenager not even prepared for the highs and low disappointments of college and terrified of the thought of performing in front of PEOPLE but WANTING to perform still; now I had done it and I had an actual history of doing it! I was ready to take on the acting thing in the big time.
Amy went on to say she was in a new theatre troupe, called the Boxer Rebellion Ensemble. Well, I was THRILLED- She continued, “Well, we’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream- it’s done in a 1960’s era style television show and we’re auditioning for some more members…” I almost peed. My stomach did one of those top of the staircase flips. Could I have stumbled on something so wonderful so INSANTLY upon my move from corn country? I wasn’t even completely settled into my little walk in closet of a studio apartment dump right across from Wrigley Field. I haven’t even completely familiarized myself with the Lakeview neighborhood yet!
So I said I would DEFINITELY try out- and my audition, which I don’t even clearly remember except I DO remember Daniel (the director) laughing uproariously at my shtick (it was some kinda gym environment I think)… well- I was ‘IN’ on the spot. I was slightly disappointed playing what amounted to be an extra as all the leads were cast long ago before I even arrived in Chicago- but I was an understudy for Peter Quince and Philostrate- “great”, I thought. “The butler”, fine- I go from George Gibbs in Lincoln NE, to not even being guaranteed to quip a few lines as a Shakespearean servant in a company that has to perform in a basement of a real theatre which we haven’t even seen yet. Well, no matter- I ran with it as I loved my cast-mates and the times we had and also- was promised by Kern, the president of the Rebellion, lead roles in future productions. So you can bet I was determined to be in it for the long haul.
Do you think Shakespeare is important? Do you feel you are a “better” person for having read the bard? I think Miss Alex Billings said it best in her answer- maybe not ‘better’ but rather “more awake”. Fir sure! My artistic life is sure one hell of a lot richer for it. Without Shakespeare, I sure wouldn’t have gone through what I have without him.
For instance, during the rehearsal run of Midsummer, after a long shift at Rock Bottom, I went out with friends and had a wonderful time, living it up in my new city. I was sporting a full 400 hundred dollars AFTER spending money like a rock star with friends at the bar- feeling quite smug and secure in the fact that I had made a full month’s rent from one hard night at work! My friend and I went our separate ways to go home. I made my way to the 7-11 to get an after party non alcoholic beverage and strolling down the walk on a fairly busy street I lamented at the beginning rain- “aw, shit”- I was a good several blocks and an el stop away from my little hole in the wall and turned back right away. Suddenly and little hooded figure (yeah- he was little) stepped out from a cubby- no, not an alley, a cubby with his hood on. All I saw were the whites of his eyes and a glint of metal from the street lights in his hoody covered hands- well, it WAS cold. All I heard was, “gimmee yer wallet man, gimme yer wallet.” In my mind a rush of memories flashed in that insant. One was my mother starting to cry when I told her over a lunch at Old Chicago that I wanted to move to Chicago- my room mate and best friend Ann standing on the steps of our rental house saying, “CHICAGO?! But you can’t move to Chicago- you’ll DIE!” Then desiring to prove them all wrong and that I’d be “juuust fiiiine”. I handed him my wallet not wanting to take a potential bullet and future “I told ya sos!. Any freak who had the guts to come up to some random Joe wouldn’t be afraid to use a gun- I’m from Omaha- please. Then I also ran through all the Nebraska jokes from my new Chicago friends. You know- like, Jeanne, my close friend from Brooklyn (and veteran Shakespearean actress who I KNOW I’ll write more about later) busting my chops at being naïve and ignorant on how I conducted certain affairs… along with my whole ongoing need to prove to my cast mates and co-workers what I could do with my skills. Yes, all that in 1.5 seconds. While little African American Jawa Man rifled through my wallet, yes, taking my 400 dollars, I actually, oh you’ll get a kick out of this, I actually urged and talked him in to giving my wallet back! Yah, it went like this- “C’mon man, take the money nothing else is worth anything to you, I’ll just cancel my credit card and I need my liscence. Just take the money and give me back my wallet.” Well the kind young considerate little Jawa threw my wallet at my feet and rand back to whatever Tattooine dumpster awaited him in the night beyond.
I picked up my little bundle of security and walked on – stunned and yeah- ashamed that I allowed this to happen. I vowed INSTANTLY that NO ONE would know about this.
Then it hit me. All my rent money was gone. All of it.
Walking on in the now totally barren street in the full downpour, not a soul in sight- came my good friend Michael- just bouncing down the sidewalk. I was never more glad to see another human in all my life! He’d just been returning from our workplace on State Street via a cab and was going to the Addison El stop. That’s when it hit me… a familiar friendly face and I clutched him the instant I heard his words, “HEY DOUGIE!!!” His face fell the instant he saw me and grabbed me in response to my despair. I just collapsed as the Doogie levy’s broke- Michael just held me in his arms while I literally wept like a baby. I was now doubly ashamed and embarrassed. Little dumb Nebraska boy had no right to be here and try to make a go at this life! I was ashamed that I felt five years old and wanted his Mommy! I was PISSED that I wanted my Mommy! I was crazy pissed that that little Jawa man TOOK my hard earned cash! I hope he OD’d- on whatever he used it for. Sincerely I did. I don’t anymore though- I actually hope that money did him some good and I’m happy I could help- heheheheh. In this emotional peak, Michael just asked quietly while I was weeping, “where were you going, Doug?” I told him sniffly- “home!”
“oh no, you’re not going anywhere alone right now… you’re coming home with me. C’mon.” I loved him forevermore after that. So of course the next morning he went to work and, well, it a restaurant and nothing gets by your server/kitchen family if something happens to you. I didn’t have choice. I didn’t have to work til after my next rehearsal and I knew what awaited me without saying boo to anyone- and the day I walked into our makeshift rehearsal space above a little food market out in some west neighborhood- upon opening the door upstairs I was met by first Daniel then a hoard of “oooooh Doooooogies-“ and “OH IM SOOO SORRYS” They all put their arms up and out toward me in a gesture of love and empathy- giving comfort to the scared little farm boy from Oatmeal Nebraska who had his first taste of big bad city life. All thanks to dear ol’ Bill Shakespeare. I would LOVE to hollah out to any and all of my old theatre friends from back in the day- the Boxer Rebellion is no longer around- seems their lack of funds only got worse and they officially went under which I only discovered the year I moved back here to Oatmeal, NE. It was soon after Midsummer- that I was given a role as the Mayor in Inherit the Wind but had to leave being still unhappy about their artistic direction and just general planning- as my own personal funds were no longer allowing me to live a life worth living in the big bad city. I was far from being scared away. But my checking account wasn’t. I will return one day. Oh yes. Oh yes I will.
Do you have a favorite Shakespeare play?
By far it has to be Hamlet!!! I adore that guy. I know. One thing I don’t understand and never have is WHY-do people call him insane!??? The guy’s uncle KILLS his father and EW, marries his widowed sister in law??! Whaaaa? WTF indeed. He goes on a well deserved rampage and people deem that insane. ? Well, I think he took it pretty well, if you ask me! All jokes aside, one person that really made me think twice about my gut reaction to the bratty prince is my good great grand friend Jeanne Desmond, whom I spoke earlier of, from Brooklyn. Ah the first hand Brooklyn stories I was given by her! Long late nights with her talking your ear off, while tutoring me on Shakespeare plays and theory in many levels- “busting my chops well deservedly, I might add- are memories I’ll always treasure and put in a little special box in my heart forever. I miss her dearly – so much I get a catch in my throat as I write this.
She always said of Hamlet, that he should have respected his mother- and she deserved a life after the death of the King murdered or not- That Hamlet didn’t once give a thought for her and his narcissistic little mind only thought of himself and sacrificed not only his mother’s love but the love of Ophelia who he drove insane because of it. She waxed on this tirade, (often being very theatrical about it) actually raising her voice as if she KNEW them all!! While she mystified me when she did this (she it often- you learned to never mention Hamlet in her presence- much like the Macbeth legend within a theatre- you never mentioned Hamlet in Jeanne Desmond’s apartment). I was stunned. How could I have been so simplistic all these years! I never thought of that and was ashamed that I never saw it that way… Hamlet has never been the same to me since Jeanne. Now I’m faced with the impossible desire to someday have the role of Hamlet- He’s Danish, I’m of Danish descent- he hated the King- my great grandfather Henry left Denmark positvevely LIVID at the Kind for the things he’d done to him and his family- he vowed NEVER to speak Dane again in all his life and scorned those who did. Not that that gives me any leverage but I feel I know Hamlet- and ya know something? I was very put out the first time Jeanne went on her anti-Hamlet tirades. It was personal. I felt a protective way toward the fictional prince. I still do- like the misbehaving little brother. I pity him. I moved on but it gnawed at me for days til’ I just came to terms with just accepting that as part of the role and well, hell, I can use it some day. Oh if only that day could come! One thing that DOES drive me mad though- all my young life I spent in fear of the theatre… growing up I vowed I would never be in a play. Then as I grew older into adulthood, gained my confidence- my one main fantasy fascination was to BE an actor- and to push my skill in the craft, learn more and more about it- I actually rent the Inside the Actor’s Studio DVDs and watch every minute like a hawk, sucking it all in like a sponge. I can’t get enough of it. Now within my deep love of the theatre- now that I WANT that thing that terrified me so long ago, after I got a taste of hearing the audience laugh & guffaw at my antics playing Philostrate and Peter Quince during the respective actor’s scheduled absence those nights of performances, hearing that cumulative reaction while your fellow cast has to turn away from you to keep from laughing like being in a Carol Burnett sketch- After experiencing all that- you can’t go long without needing it again like good cuisine. Now that I want and desire that to come back to me- now that I want to return to it like a prodigal son- now that I live back in my original theatre-less original home- I want it! I take back my previous fear- I take back my fear of any of it and embrace it. I pray for it to return every night of my life. How do you feel about contemporary takes on Shakespeare? Adaptations of Shakespeare’s works with a more modern feel? (For example, the new line of Manga Shakespeare graphic novels, or novels like Something Rotten, Something Wicked, Enter Three Witches, Ophelia, etc.) Do you have a favorite you’d recommend?
I love most of them. Jeanne was a purist. I am not. Like Alex said I think that being a purist is stifling and suffocating. Shakespeare wrote his work to be experimented with and twisted upon. That’s what all theatre is; variation on a theme. Movies are a director’s medium while the theatre is the actor’s medium. During rehearsal it belongs to the director but somewhere along the way the director is obligated to turn it over to the cast- it is their baby from Tech on. Shakespeare as an actor knew this and penned all the histories, the comedies, and the tragedies accordingly; for the actor. I would say my fave so far has been Mel Gibson’s Hamlet- more on that in my next ME ME question… but until then I ask you (whoever) to look at Much Ado About Nothing- which coincidentally enough I have just watched for about the twenty fifth time a couple weeks ago. I also love a movie Jeanne introduced me to with Dame Judy Dench’s BRAVE portrayal of Lady Macbeth- nuff said, right?
What’s your favorite movie version of a Shakespeare play?
Oh wow , Easily- Mel Gibson’s Hamlet. I KNOW I KNOW- I KNOW they left a lot out. But really people, this was made for todays ADD audience- I thought the concise rendition was well done and tastefull along with being respectful of the original. Though not necessary for me- (I’ve seen a full stage production at the Lamplight Theatre in Chicago that was complete and knocked my socks off!) Plus it was the only memorable performance from Helena Bonham Carter. Her Ophelia broke my heart as did Gibson’s Danish Prince. Glenn Close’s Gertrude freaked me out. She often does that. But I am sorry to say I think recently my own anger towards a very personal situation has ‘almost’ driven someone close to me ‘nearly’ insane in a sense- or rather more like my well deserved anger has done this to this person- I can’t believe I’m mentioning that here. Along with the fact that this person is tragically a closet bi-polar nut case and an alcoholic. I won’t ever comment on that relationship here- but it’ll work out as I know it won’t end in a self drowning. This person is my Ophelia like Michael was my Horatio- I love them both. And that- my friends, is how Shakespeare has affected my life.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sometimes A White Stage Is Just A White Stag
When Sometimes A White Stag Is Just A White Stag…
I am a big fan of the white stag. It has a sort of magic about it. I have long since and ever thought with every fiber of my being that the white stag was strictly a mythical creature verging on the plausible blending from fantasy to reality like most myths tend to do. Just like King Arthur and the reality of his whereabouts- we love to muse on the various possibility of his story and various versions thereof. Along with all the other mythical beasts and different accoutrements of the dreams of our collective consciousness, we have the stories that hold them in their own backdrops. These stories have these creatures within their tales that hold sway with us by themselves alone, adding further speculation and assumptions of their false existence (however erroneous that may be).
This elusive animal however real has lived within our legends, hunted in vain by King Arthur and the Kings and Queens of Narnia alike. Granted King Arthur was born in legend by our own Anglo culture and the Narnia royalty was born of the mind of a rather brilliant author but this lends no help to the credit of the white stag’s authenticity.
I’m the greatest skeptic on this beautiful beast- at least I was until today, ridiculously and undeservedly so as I found out today. Yes just today, I learned much to my joy, that they are actually real beasts that reside on our very own planet and roam and frolic in the fields of Essex and Gloucestershire England. I was shocked, yet again still confused as I was on the sometimes seemingly invisible thin borderline between the two worlds of fantasy and reality as it was from an article on the making of the new Narnia chronicles movie, ‘The Voyage of the Dawn Treader’. I suppose this confusion is rooted in the sadly “sheltered” life of some of us Americans. We only have deer where I live- no white stags to hunt here. Coupled with this I can’t forget that it was young Harry Potter himself who had the ability to muster up from deep within his soul a mightily bright petronus to shoo away the very negative and ugly, bad bad baddie Dementors on the banks of Hogwarts Castle’s lake. The very visage of the animal is what made his patronus one of the strongest charms of his wizarding community.
Now I guess I’ll just take heart that some things on our very real and often times ugly world are just as wonderfully fantastical and surreal as the worlds our most gifted authors can bring us out of their minds and into our own. Maybe this could mean we could summon a patronus of our own and manifest something greater than the sum of ourselves from a place that can hold such a power.
I believe that to be true, along with all the other mythical beasts and different accoutrements of the dreams of our collective consciousness we may find ourselves one day to stumble out of a wardrobe of our own and see a fantastical land we have created for ourselves by that very power from within.
I am a big fan of the white stag. It has a sort of magic about it. I have long since and ever thought with every fiber of my being that the white stag was strictly a mythical creature verging on the plausible blending from fantasy to reality like most myths tend to do. Just like King Arthur and the reality of his whereabouts- we love to muse on the various possibility of his story and various versions thereof. Along with all the other mythical beasts and different accoutrements of the dreams of our collective consciousness, we have the stories that hold them in their own backdrops. These stories have these creatures within their tales that hold sway with us by themselves alone, adding further speculation and assumptions of their false existence (however erroneous that may be).
This elusive animal however real has lived within our legends, hunted in vain by King Arthur and the Kings and Queens of Narnia alike. Granted King Arthur was born in legend by our own Anglo culture and the Narnia royalty was born of the mind of a rather brilliant author but this lends no help to the credit of the white stag’s authenticity.
I’m the greatest skeptic on this beautiful beast- at least I was until today, ridiculously and undeservedly so as I found out today. Yes just today, I learned much to my joy, that they are actually real beasts that reside on our very own planet and roam and frolic in the fields of Essex and Gloucestershire England. I was shocked, yet again still confused as I was on the sometimes seemingly invisible thin borderline between the two worlds of fantasy and reality as it was from an article on the making of the new Narnia chronicles movie, ‘The Voyage of the Dawn Treader’. I suppose this confusion is rooted in the sadly “sheltered” life of some of us Americans. We only have deer where I live- no white stags to hunt here. Coupled with this I can’t forget that it was young Harry Potter himself who had the ability to muster up from deep within his soul a mightily bright petronus to shoo away the very negative and ugly, bad bad baddie Dementors on the banks of Hogwarts Castle’s lake. The very visage of the animal is what made his patronus one of the strongest charms of his wizarding community.
Now I guess I’ll just take heart that some things on our very real and often times ugly world are just as wonderfully fantastical and surreal as the worlds our most gifted authors can bring us out of their minds and into our own. Maybe this could mean we could summon a patronus of our own and manifest something greater than the sum of ourselves from a place that can hold such a power.
I believe that to be true, along with all the other mythical beasts and different accoutrements of the dreams of our collective consciousness we may find ourselves one day to stumble out of a wardrobe of our own and see a fantastical land we have created for ourselves by that very power from within.
Paths of a coin
Today, while I was eating my broccoli soup watching Kathy Griffin on the Bonnie Hunt show, my dad came in placing in front of me on the table a whole dollar coin- a 1972 coin. He said he kept it because of the date (my birth). I was taken aback. First of all no one uses whole dollar coins anymore and a silver dollar of any year is sure something. But instantly, my mind flashed to the ethereal, of course.
Today, while I was eating my broccoli soup watching Kathy Griffin on the Bonnie Hunt show, my dad came in placing in front of me on the table a whole dollar coin- a 1972 coin. He said he kept it because of the date (my birth). I was taken aback. First of all no one uses whole dollar coins anymore and a silver dollar of any year is sure something. But instantly, my mind flashed to the ethereal, of course.
I mused that which was my birth year but also this was three years before the sudden shocking death of my grandfather Morgan; the same man who refused to wipe my three year old hand print smudges from the large livng room windows- the same windows which would see me grow up and see eleven Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters, countless sleep overs with friends, hundreds of movie nights, my high school graduation, and the traumatic last day of my closing the door before I was to leave for my summer job at Walt Disney World changing my life permanently forcing me onto the journey that would make me the man I am today. Those were the same windows I looked out through to the vast green yard and hailed our legendary Ponderosa pine that my great, great grandfather Peter planted as a lil’ sapling. Through the next hundred years, that tree grew far above our house and partially sprawls over the entire roof and is now the most visible tree from where I live now. Little did I know it was planted on a home now forbidden to me through the cruel reality of money, timing and apathetic people. I read once somewhere that trees have souls. That ponderosa proves that fact to me. I knew him well and he did indeed love me in return.
Those were the same windows I would gaze out of in the summer and on one occasion saw my dog Sarge sauntering across from the other house on his path which he had wore down over the years venturing back and forth between homes, bearing my new little petite-cat buddy Charcoal on his back. She was a stray I found in the bushes by the orchard one day getting the mail. I was so happy when I would see her ride that loveable gangly bony mutt. They were my two best friends during those years. They still are; present company excluded of course. I mused that all of this was stemming from what 1972 means to me.
It’s much like “Life On Mars”, the series where Sam the cop gets hit by a car and seemingly transports back to a very real 1973. He’s in our reality in a coma but can’t escape the reality he lives in on the television show. It is an amazing show. It shows how strange the brain can be. Like Eli Stone. A simple wad of clotted tissue in his brain makes him see prophetic visions and tell the future. I understand this strange tour the brain can take you on. This last year I was and am still having a bout with something called Encephalopathy. My right leg gradually lost it’s strength and I was rendered unable to walk without aid. Before all this hell happened- my mind was doing some weird things. The biggest example is one time, driving home at night from Lincoln; a trip I’ve made many times over the last ten to fifteen years, suddenly without warning, I had no idea where I was going! I knew where I came from, where I wanted to get to- but I had no idea what road I was on. Nothing looked familiar. I was scared. I kept driving to see any familiar landmark. I found nothing but a strange small town bar with some people hanging outside it. Now I was terrified. I now know what an elderly person feels when suffering from dimensia! In a panic, thank GOD for cel phones, I called home to my folks who kindly and lovingly laughed at me (though later they admitted they were frightened by my sudden confusion) explaining how to navigate me back after I told them what the nearest highway sign had said. Soon as if I clicked the heels of my ruby slippers together three times, good ol’ highway 77 was visible in front of me leading into Fremont then home once more. Wow, I was way off. I seriously wondered thereafter if I had been abducted by aliens; the first time I’ve ever seriously – really- seriously considered that as a real possibility. Once I got my diagnoses during that terrifying time when we all had no idea what was wrong with me and I just was not me- looking through some kind of filter where nothing made as much sense as it used to, I’m thankful I was too out of it to really remember that time era with clarity. From the fall of 2007 thru 2008 was not my year. But during this time, some of the most miraculous things happened, all of which are too personal for me to express here- but it was a ride; a ride that rivals that of the haunted mansion at Disney World and all the repeated rides on Space Mountain or the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. So many times did I visualize me lying under that ponderosa with the pine cones digging into my back with Sarge and Charcoal by my side smelling the cedar falling asleep feeling the safest and most peaceful I would ever feel.
Glancing at my hemi-walker at my side, I thought how grateful I am for my ongoing recovery and the home that I presently have now even if it isn’t the old house my grandfather grew up in anymore. The land I live on is still the same land seeded by my great, great grandfather Peter Morgenson who planted that beautiful tree I love so much that I am no longer able to see everyday. I’m amazed that this one silver dollar could spark such a reverie over my soup and moisten my eyes and make my throat clench in suppressed weeping for joy. Like the feather in Forest Gump- floating around to finally land in on a predestined spot out of any place in the world. This one simple underused & forgotten coin came to me. So, next time you get some change, think about where it’s been and its journey it has endured; the souls it touched, the people and relationships it has played into and been a part of. Lastly, remember we are all basically coins dancing around in a sense being played out by our spirits and affecting each other in countless combinations in transactions of love.
Glancing at my hemi-walker at my side, I thought how grateful I am for my ongoing recovery and the home that I presently have now even if it isn’t the old house my grandfather grew up in anymore. The land I live on is still the same land seeded by my great, great grandfather Peter Morgenson who planted that beautiful tree I love so much that I am no longer able to see everyday. I’m amazed that this one silver dollar could spark such a reverie over my soup and moisten my eyes and make my throat clench in suppressed weeping for joy. Like the feather in Forest Gump- floating around to finally land in on a predestined spot out of any place in the world. This one simple underused & forgotten coin came to me. So, next time you get some change, think about where it’s been and its journey it has endured; the souls it touched, the people and relationships it has played into and been a part of. Lastly, remember we are all basically coins dancing around in a sense being played out by our spirits and affecting each other in countless combinations in transactions of love.
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