Musings of one Lady Jane

aspirations

2011-12-04T13:01:00.000-08:00

speak more seldom, and to the purpose.

make a list of necessary adventures for the spring.

figure out what i truly want to do on my birthday.

[not what I need right now]

2011-11-29T19:23:00.000-08:00

busy schedule.
important life decisions to ponder.
unpredictably splenetic roommate.

awesome.

2011-09-19T10:46:00.001-07:00

sometimes I am confronted with how weird I am, after I've totally forgotten. It makes me lonely.

love?

2011-08-08T13:05:00.000-07:00

“I love you.”

I can’t figure out why that is such an earth-shattering phrase for romantic couples in this culture. Or maybe it’s just in the movies, I don’t know. Or maybe I just lead a very different life and my point of view is askew from the norm. Or maybe the phrase “I love you” just means something different to me than the thousands of couples who utter it gravely, tearfully, at the end of feature films.

See, I’ve got this faith and this religion which teaches me to love all people, and to love all people sincerely. That’s one thing. Additionally, I live a life of frankness and few secrets. I prefer to say what I am thinking if at all possible, because I like other people to do that, and I believe that doing so eliminates a lot of confusion and general human problems.

Love is a verb, to me, as well as just a swelling of human connection and fondness. In some ways perhaps I abuse or overuse the word; for example, C.S. Lewis would disdain my use of “love” in connection with honey mustard dressing. I don’t actually love it, I just find it very tasty. But with people, even people I don’t know too well, I feel OK about using the word “love” liberally. Because a) I am commanded and meant to love them, and b) I just love so many qualities, traits, and things that I get excited when I find them inside of people.

I suppose what I am getting at is more specific: I will not be one of those people who says “I love you” to her fiancé only after they get engaged, or to her boyfriend only after they have been dating for some time. Because I would never get into that sort of relationship with anyone I did not already consider a good, dear, beloved friend. And I tell my good dear beloved friends that I love them, as any of my good, dear, beloved friends can tell you. When they are sweet, or when they do something which makes me laugh, or when I just am thinking of how much I appreciate their friendship, I tell my friends: “I just love you.” Because that’s what life is about, isn’t it?! LOVE.

And so I think the whole thing of the “three little words” can mean different things in different situations. When I say “I love you” to a platonic friend, it might mean the same thing when I, in future, say it to a boyfriend. It doesn’t necessarily have to embody deep, romantic, sexual connotations. In fact, I’m sure most of the time it won’t.

But much later, if I ever get married, instead of saying “I love you” for the first time, I will get to say:

“I love you so much that I want you to be in my life forever. I can handle your quirks, your hang-ups, and your imperfections. I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you, and you are the person who makes me better, makes me love the world more, and makes me want God more.”

Maybe that’s not as brief and epic as saving “I love you” for some vague, romantic moment, accompanied by intense pressure not to say the phrase at the wrong moment. But that is how I work, and how my heart works. One of my chief love languages is Words of Affirmation. And I love so many things and so many people, to me it would be a shame to not say it because my society has a weird hang-up about what those three little words can and should mean.

6/20/11

2011-06-21T19:36:00.001-07:00

What does it mean to be grown-up?

How do you know when you're there? Is it directing a play? Directing two plays? How about two at once? Is it learning to grocery shop? Enjoying a salad in the evening along with a gently spiked glass of lemonade? Is it falling in love?

Perhaps it is when you stop identifying with the young people. (Or start identifying with the old people) Perhaps it is recognising how terribly sad and gorgeous is the tale of Peter Pan. Is it learning to say 'yes' or learning to say 'no?'

Or does being grown-up lie in not being one? In looking outward and letting the inward work itself out? Does it hinge on appearances or necessitate the unimportance of appearances? Does it mean not needing - or admitting how much you need?

uncharted territory

2011-06-14T14:36:00.000-07:00

this has been such an interesting summer.
i have been getting into so many things i've never done before.
and i think i have no idea what i'm doing.
but i'm ok with that.

"Yet, He that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail..."

song of the day

2011-06-02T08:32:00.001-07:00

It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

[pleasant musings of a rainy day]

2011-05-17T17:10:00.000-07:00

Then there was rain
The sky wore a veil of gold and green
Night was the bride of a lonely day
Time just floated

Then there was rain
The sound foundations are crumbling
To the ground comes a pyramid tumbling
Time just floated away
We can watch it and stay
And we can listen

Oh rainy day come round
Sometimes I just want it to slow down
And we're separated now (I'm down)
But I love when you come over to the house
I love it when you come over to my house

Then there was rain
I spent the night with the queen of Spain
My lonely little heart well it broke again
Time so vicious

The deeper that the knife goes in
The more you win
You end up with less than where you begin
The deeper that the knife goes in

Oh rainy day come round
Sometimes I just want it to slow down
We're separated now
And oh but I love it when you come over to the house
I love it when you come over to my house

And I love it when you come over to the house
I love it when you come over to my house

[lyrics by Berryman, Buckland, Champion, Martin]

[]

2010-10-18T10:06:00.000-07:00

"...but Jo felt quite in her element, and found it very difficult to refrain from imitating the gentlemanly attitudes, phrases, and feats, which seemed more natural to her than the decorums prescribed for young ladies. They all liked Jo immensely, but never fell in love with her, though very few escaped without paying the tribute of a sentimental sigh or two at Amy's shrine."

--LW, p. 236.

[love]

2010-10-09T09:24:00.000-07:00

whhhheeeeeew.

all of these people are getting *married.* my friends and peers. It would be almost too much if I weren't so terribly excited about it all.

3 days

2010-08-14T19:30:00.000-07:00

Guild time = (check. "Gamma Rays." <3)
Girl time = (check. Tony Hale / roadtrip.)
Boy time = (check. "AD" and conversations. so badly needed)
Baby time = (there will never be enough.)
Brother time = (band practice with Ross and a 20 minute phone call from Major McFadden today!)
Could use some seester time and bestfriend time, and a waltz....but I think I'm ok. I have all this stuff, and my bills are paid, and I'm kind of looking forward to moving into my apartment. Meeting my roomie. Putting my name on the audition sign-up sheet in the Hub. Venturing out into unknown waters.

But first I gotta go sing like Gwen Stefani and look for boots.

2010-07-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

[I just don't understand people. This is probably good]

-

My best friend and I sometimes swap phrases and their meanings in different languages. I in French, he in Spanish, one of us will remark on how similar it is, and he will explain this by showing how they both come from Latin.

I always ask him if he is excited about something, which he never is.

And I ask him ridiculous rhetorical questions to which, when he deigns to answer, the response is always very calm and practical.

I suppose that's all part of our charm?

*shrug*
^_^

Some day I plan to get him to be very excited, very hardworking, very motivated, and able to make decisions quickly. Among other things. We'll see.

--

2010-05-31T21:04:00.000-07:00

nothing brings out the isolation like
common sense,
character,
and nonobsessions with technology and being in love.

oh, and summer school doesn't help.

2010-04-23T13:41:00.000-07:00

I never loved nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting my heart truly
I got lost in the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind all this music

And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart

And suppose I never ever met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall
Just to break my fall
Just to break my fall
Break my fall
Break my fall

All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better
Better better better better
Better better better

I never love nobody fully
Always one foot on the ground
And by protecting by heart truly
I got lost
In the sounds
I hear in my mind
All these voices
I hear in my mind all these words
I hear in my mind
All this music
And it breaks my heart
It breaks my heart

I hear in my mind all of these voices
I hear in my mind all of these words
I hear in my mind all of this music

Breaks my
Heart
Breaks my heart

(--R.S.)

2010-03-29T16:42:00.000-07:00

~*~
I want to live life, and never be cruel
I wanna live life, and be good to you
And I wanna fly
I'll never come down
And live my life
And have friends around
We never change do we no, no
We never learn do we
So I wanna live, in a wooden house
I wanna live life, and always be true
I wanna live life, and be good to you
And I wanna fly
But never come down
And live my life
And have friends around
We never change do we
We never learn do we
So I wanna live in a wooden house
And making more friends would be easy
Oh, and I don't have a soul to save
Yes and I sin every single day
We never change do we
We never learn do we
So I want to live in a wooden house
Where making more friends would be easy
I wanna live where the sun comes out
~*~

I've learned some interesting things (of course by accident) the past couple of years. How to tell the difference between different baby cries, for example. Hungry, sleepy, pain, or just plain whining. It's funny how young they are when they start whining...

I don't always want to talk. I don't always have things to say. But I do enjoy just being in the company of a good friend, sometimes. Especially in the evenings.

March Musings

2010-03-15T09:52:00.001-07:00

"Good things come to those who wait."
I think that's true. I also think it's true that knowledge comes to those to wait. That understanding comes. That patience develops, that strength grows, that love swells in the breast that doesn't become bitter with the waiting.

I have learned so much from //watching// and ..waiting..
(and it has been very, very worth it)

-

At some point or other Jo March, full to bursting with pride and awe of Margaret, says to either Marmee or Teddy, I don't remember which, "I'm a little bit in love with her sometimes."

Words and phrases and just our language in general means so many things to each individual person...but I think I must have something of the same understanding of Louisa May and her characters. I know exactly what Jo means! Leaving any modern slant of romance out of the picture, I fall a little bit in love with people all of the time. I think it's just part of my personality, and how I relate to beauty and art and love.

I'm in love with Manda when I walk in and she's cooking dinner and taking care of two babies at the same time. I'm in love with Kevin when his fingers dance over the keys in a favoured showtune, and I'm in love with Hannah when I see how much she's in love with Kevin. I'm a little in love with Rebekah when she sits at her piano and sings Regina Spektor or plays Paul Simon on guitar, and I'm very much in love with Rachel when I watch her dance. I'm in love with Abigail when she stands naturally pigeon-toed, and with my mother when she puts the wants and needs of her family before herself. I'm in love with Jason Call when he pours his soul into a song on the Atlee stage, and I'm in love with Teddy when I stand in the back of a room watching him be easy, graceful, funny, and winsome in front of a large group of people who adore him. Every time Steponine walks into a room I fall in love with her, and every time Naomi opens her mouth I'm a little bit more in love with her. I'm in love with Danny Elfman after I see "Alice in Wonderland" or listen to "Jack's Lament." I'm in love with Chris Martin when he dances like a dweeb or sings "Fix You" and with Kyle Rodgers when he sings //anything.//

And I think I shall continue to fall in love with people, whether I know them or not. I'm glad I've been blessed with ability to do so. It makes my life happy.

[Let us just hope I don't stumble across a very sinister musical genius who croons and plays piano. I am constantly falling in love with crooning musicians, and if one of them were to form wicked designs against me while simultaneously wooing, I don't know if I'd make it out alive.

~_^]

[to the children]

2010-02-15T18:22:00.000-08:00

ten years, twenty years, gone
[i've learned a little- not too much]
enough
don't listen to them, child, when the voices tell you
that loving isn't worth it
that the tears aren't worth it
< < the heartbreak isn't worth it
you can do so much better > >
the tears are real. no escaping.
your heart is going to break because you love so bad.
keep loving when you don't want to, when it hurts
because they lied- love isn't what you feel
what you see, or how fast your heart beats
love is making lunch
playing chauffeur
[or playing pretend]
love is telling the truth when you don't want to
and being ok with making them mad at you
it's crying with
laughing with
and being there.
it's always giving, and waiting out the storms
sometimes it's more patience than you thought you had. [but The Giver always
gives you more if you ask]

oh, child, the sun is worth the storms.

weather the rain
and lightening
and howling winds. love repays itself.
the sacrifice is worth it. the giving is worth it.
relationships are worth it.
love is worth love; it is its own reward.

2010-02-01T18:28:00.001-08:00

I am ok with not being very beautiful, with not having a boyfriend, and with my slight boyish figure. Because life is about love.
[the one that remains. the greatest]

Because I have a little sister. She is probably the most gorgeous person I've ever seen in the whole world, and she writes songs and plays them for me on her piano. She listens to people, even people she doesn't like, and has more patience with friends who treat her badly than I do.

And I have a brother. He is a Major in the airforce, graduated from undergraduate college and flight school, got married to a beautiful girl, and is now going after his Master's. He fixes cars, flies planes, and thoroughly investigates the properties of excellent diamonds before proposing. He is one of the hardest workers I have ever known.

And I have a big sister. The most beautiful sister would probably actually result in a tie. She has red hair and muddy eyes and tattoos. She is strong, and used to be drowning in things I've never experienced. And she is a mother.

And I have a little brother. He has blue eyes, darker than mine. He used to be little, awkward, generally suspected of even greater awkwardness, and maybe a little lonely. Now he is tall and beautiful and one of the best dancers I know. Being the sibling closest to my age, he is my best friend. He is a good listener.

And I have a big brother, my most affectionate sibling, who plays & talks video games, music, films, and grand schemes with me. He and I don't fight even when we disagree.

---

My life is blessed and beautiful.
(=snow, good professors, loving parents, platonic kisses, long, comfortable talks by the fire)

/project/

2010-01-12T22:18:00.000-08:00

"It's like the waltz, except you start to the side."

Garishi tentatively held Hikaru in closed position. She had already convinced Garishi to waltz, so the next logical step was rumba, they figured.

"To the left side?" he asked, reasonably self-conscious. Hikaru and Kaede were trying to get him to take ballroom dancing classes like they were. He was something of their project, of late.

Kaede sat on the bed with a bowl of moose tracks. "You'll always start to the left," She took a bite, smiling into her spoon. "Or, at least, with your left foot."

Garishi kind of nodded absently and readjusted his hold on Hikaru.

"Try it for a while without music," Kaede proffered.

"Quick-quick-slow," reminded Hikaru, her eyes roughly level with Garishi's.

And they danced. While Kaede talked from the bed. (with her ice cream)

2009-11-19T05:21:00.000-08:00

First, my older brothers and older friends starting pairing off, getting married. And that was weird, because...you know, we're all the same generation and whatnot. Then it became the norm for my peers to date, find a significant other, etc. Weirder. The methods of some I respect more than others, surely, and I must say all in all I have never envied their position. It's a lot of work and a lot of drama.

Oh, but now...now it's the little kids. Now it's the kids who, in all reality are very close to my own age, but feel like the "next batch down" - if you will. Coupling, dating, planning their weddings....whatever. It's weird.

But the thing is- I could have a boyfriend if I really wanted to. I've had guys interested in me. But that's not what it's about, that's not enough. (and trust me, most of them have been people who have barely known me as a person) I want to enter into a relationship when I can give as much as I take, when it's at a time in my life I can devote to working at it...when it's for more than "well isn't that cute."

I'm pretty sure I'm a real person (though always growing, always learning, of course). So I'm ready. But I keep forgetting about having a boyfriend. This is a good sign, I think.

2009-11-10T21:13:00.000-08:00

I Dislike:
Being relegated to the frontseat.
Feeling helpless in a science class.
Laptops and earphones on roadtrips.
Pride (especially in myself).
Trying, and trying, and nothing ever happening.
When life isn't fair to people I admire.
When children are expected to behave as adults after being treated like infants.
Not fitting comfortably in places where I used to fit.
Uncertainty.

[I am]

2009-09-14T20:09:00.000-07:00

I am pensive, and a talker. I am a Handmaid. I am student of dance. I am a teacher of dance. I am a student of theatre. I am a director. I am a student of French. I am a teacher of French. I am one of the boys. I am the big sister. I am the motherly influence. I am the one with the mischievous plot. I watch animes, cartoons, war films, romances, epics, zombie movies. I read "Lord of the Rings" "Eragon" "Twilight" and "Shakespeare". I know the basics of knitting a scarf and playing the bass guitar. I listen to NPR, U2, Mozart, Muse, Coldplay, Mutemath. I like rap music and Celtic Woman. I forget about shoes, but then become excited over a good pair of boots. I am everyone's friend and no one's lover. I am everything.

[and, consequently, nothing.]

...

.....at least I know that I am His.

[are you my mother?]

2009-08-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in the little glass room where the boys prep for callbacks. They're singing along with a cd player and prompting me to listen to them sing "Now I Have Everything" - since it's unfamiliar. Unfortunately, I am also unfamiliar with it, so I can't sing Hodel's bit along with them. It is a short and comfortable snippet out of the day.

I am sitting at a round table surrounded by Nazis and poker chips. It is nice to have the free time. It is nice to play Texas Hold-em after a long personal poker lull. It is nice to drink from my huge water bottle and make shifty eyes at the boys. I'm the Revered Mother, and my bluffs are very subtle. Not the kind of mother, though, who fusses at her boys for playing cards.

I am at the host stand in the restaurant, snatching up a few menus before leading a small party to their table. Before I start walking off, I catch the eye of the tallest in a group of boys in the far end of the foyer. I grin and wave at them, then remember to seat the first customers. After seating my personal boys, I happily go about busing and cleaning with a new spring in my step. I smile at Ben when I go into the kitchen, because he's straight in my line of vision. I come up and share Patrick's seat when I get bored and no customers come in. And they, like angels, let my starving self sample their steak and shrimp.

I am a Wendy; I am a Jo. I start to wither away when I don't get enough time with my fellows. I think I would even learn to darn socks someday...if I had a dozen boys to get holes in them.

simplicity

2009-06-24T12:21:00.000-07:00

This afternoon one of my friends proclaimed:

"Dr. Phil is a crock! He doesn't even have a degree in psychology. He just sits there telling people common sense."

And I thought...wow...and how is that a bad thing?

It's amazing to me, that mindset. Common sense isn't exactly what we go for nowadays. It's Freud's theories- didn't you know? How dare anyone excel at something without a degree to back it up.

It's like attained education versus achieved education. The one is the number of years under your belt. The degrees you have. The other is what you actually know. Your knowledge and wisdom. Of course, it makes sense for the two to go hand in hand. So often I find that they don't.

crucify him...

2009-05-19T09:58:00.000-07:00

The first few times I watched Godspell, before I really got it, the crucifixion bothered me a little bit. Not a lot...just, like the tag of a shirt. Because, yes, there was some "electric fence" theme going on. But not really. There were no soldiers, no nails, no spears. Jesus just had his wrists tied down with ribbons and then proceeded to experience agony and death. It didn't really click. WHY was he dying? HOW was he dying?

And then I was ok with it. The whole thing is metaphorical anyway, right? But just a few days ago I thought of that scene in a way I've never thought before.

Being crucified didn't kill Jesus. Nails didn't drain his life. Soldiers didn't murder him. We did. I did. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, crushing his life. He was drowning in sin, not blood. And then Godspell made his death seem more real than it ever had, to me. Because our sin was enough to make him cry out in agony. And his love was great enough to keep him there; he was only held by scraps of fabric.

His life was not taken from him- he gave it.

[lightbulb]

2009-04-23T22:02:00.000-07:00

I've had it with grown-ups, I think. God, what is it about ourselves that we lose the older we get? I pray to never become as ridiculous as the grown-ups I know.

tumbling thoughts

2009-04-15T12:25:00.000-07:00

I have concluded -through a series of unrelated thoughts stemming over several years- many things about friendships. This is, of course, from how it related to my own experiences. May I never be so presumptuous as to speak for more than myself or my surroundings in absolutes.

I have found that two people cannot be "best friends" (perhaps we'll say "closest friends") when one is in a romantic relationship with somebody else- a third party. I'd venture to say it's the same when both are romantically involved with someone other than the friend in question. Because I think one's mate/spouse/romantic-whatever sort of automatically gets the top slot. If not in all ways (which I think they ought to, if it's the right sort of relationship) at least in many.

Because you tell your best friend everything, right? Or you could. But when there is an awkward thought of third party looming in the back of the mind, that doesn't work. There's a reservation. The other best friend (without the romantic partner) knows that they're in the second slot.

It works. It can still be the closest friendship of its kind. But it doesn't trump.

Ah, and then the matter of boys and girl. How blissful it is when they are young enough to be best friends. Of course, there's the adage "a guy and a girl can't be best friends unless one is actually interested in the other" (I've heard this advocated by men and refuted by men. surprise). Which is actually rubbish in my personal experience. I've seen many examples of best friendships popping up between members of the opposite sex without romantic interest. Of course, these don't last. They can't last. Generally it only works while the parties are young. Children, teenagers, unattached to a romantic partner.

But then...that's how all best friendships are, gender aside. I think one's spouse is the eventual best friend. All other "closest" friendships leading up to that are temporary. But oh...so sweet. Like the whiff of a flower in springtime.

I do love a good best friend, in theory. I've had vague friendships that might fit the category. I've had some, but then they added the romantic variable to their lives. I've had some, but people squinted at the boys and told me it's not proper. But nothing proclaimed. None of the "my best friend is (fill in the blank)." I'm NOT starry eyed and a'waitin' on a husband. But best friendship is an enticing thought. I should like to try it someday.

[]

2009-04-03T20:40:00.000-07:00

I am commencing an undertaking, hitherto
without precedent and which will never find
an imitator. I desire to set before my fellows
the likeness of a man in all the truth of nature,
and that man myself. Myself alone! I know
the feelings of my heart, and I know men. I
am not made like any of those I have seen. I
venture to believe that I am not made like any
of those who are in existence. If I am not
better, at least I am different.

"The Confessions"
J. J. R.

it's so simple

2009-03-22T19:28:00.000-07:00

The debate.

Man is basically good.
vs.
Man is basically evil.

It's so simple. Just watch a toddler. They KNOW what "no" means. Everyone has shown them and told them the proper way to behave. But they still choose to disobey. They still choose to lick the shoe, to knock over the trash can, to hit their little brother.

No one has to teach a toddler how to be bad. We have to teach them how to be good.

Therein lies the rub. We are not basically good. But we KNOW goodness.

I wonder if that provokes in all the image it provokes in me. Somehow, though we are evil, we instinctively know goodness....and choose to disregard it.
(not to blatantly rip off a man named Clive, but...)
Sounds like we have something of our Creator in us. And we ignore it. And are in need of saving...
.....good thing He took care of that.

Self-esteem?

2009-03-03T13:32:00.000-08:00

(with slight revisions, originally posted to myspace 1/17/07)

self-esteem.
1.to regard highly or favorably; regard with respect or admiration:

~

So....what's the deal with "self-esteem"? Frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing that phrase. I'm sure, as this is a personal belief, most of you will disagree with this....but I don't esteem myself. I don't admire myself that much, or regard myself very highly. As a human being, (though I usually steer clear of this terminology) I kind of suck.

I think we need to drop the self-esteem and pick up the God-esteem again. You see all the time where people get depressed, or hurt themselves, or their social life goes to the dogs, "because of low self-esteem." I think it's because we don't realize how precious we are. You say, well, that's the same thing!

Not quite. Each and every one of our bodies, minds, and souls was made amazingly by God. We possess them (ourselves, in effect) because he loves us. Why would you disrespect something like that? I don't think we need to be telling our children "You raise that self-esteem. You're beautiful, you're talented, and don't you forget it. you, you, you, you."

Here's my alternative.

"Remember that your body is God's temple. He loves you, and chose you to be His child. Isn't that amazing? God made you a beautiful creation, He gave you unique gifts. He made you special to glorify Him in everything that you do. Remember to respect that- for that's an awesome responsibility."

God-esteem.

when i cried

2009-02-05T09:34:00.000-08:00

I have been a part of Reflections for the better part of my seven years living in Richmond, and I have never truly cried in drama. But there have been tears. Once was during “The Secret Garden” term (’04 edition), during one of our all-day workshops which occurred, annually, close to show-time. We, an intimate group of twenty or so, sat in the dark as Aunt Jean had us listen to “You Raise Me Up” - sung by Josh Groban. First she said, “Listen to this as a song you would sing to each other.” Then we listened to it again, prefaced by: “Now, this is us, singing to God.” By the time the lights were back on, I think tears had welled in nearly every eye. It remains one of my favourite drama memories.

Also occurring within “The Secret Garden” bubble of time, I actually became teary-eyed during one or two of the performances, during the finale “You Can Do It.” True, my character would most certainly have been tearing up, but it’s never been easy for me to cry on command unless my heart is in it. And yes, though those songs are, I suppose, corny… and some can get…old…that song is so powerful and emotional in my memory. It is as applicable to students as it is to Colin and Archie.

“Fiddler on the Roof” was an emotionally charged camp in a lot of ways- even besides the heart-wrenching emotion that went into the show itself. The culmination of it for me, as I remember it very precisely, was just before the final curtain call, tearing up slightly and kissing my dear Tzeitel. Some always cry during and right after curtain call- but that’s about as close as I ever got.
Until this year. Until we finally did the story of care-free childhood, with the most grown-up sentiments being homesickness, affection, and loyalty. Ironic, isn’t it?

This camp, though bringing all the pleasures of being involved in my beloved “Peter Pan” was not without its stressful moments. I was suspended between the children and the leaders- more than once asked, “Are you a camper?” In fact, I was the oldest camper. Something I (thankfully) only realized after the production. A first, for me. And though I struggled in balancing Pan with my looming directorial commitment, The Glass Menagerie, it was a marvelous and fun experience.

Unbelievably enough, the cast performed perhaps closest to perfection as we ever have. Nearly all of our glitches during shows came from music cues or lighting which was a bit off. Nobody forgot crucial cues or dances (although Peter never could quite get the “I Gotta Crow” lyrics perfect. *wink*) - even though we all agreed that certain ensemble numbers could have used an extra week of rehearsing! After thirty-six hours of personal distraction and stress (mostly due to then-unresolved situations which affected me, but were out of my hands)… come show-time, I was pretty perfectly at peace.

The shows felt very relaxed, because we had our parts down so well. Just before the last show I must have had a wonderful kick of something- for I was literally bouncing and dancing with my pre-set children just before the musicians started up (Wendy laughed at me). Everyone had marvelous energy during that final performance, and lights and music went oh, so smooth. As we lined up in the green room for bows, I glanced once at my Wendy and tears almost came. I was so proud of her. She had come so naturally into this part, she who had not yet even had a speaking role in previous plays. She simply beamed with joy and post-show excitement; I felt the way she looked. I think instead of crying I ran up, hugged, and kissed her. Then the moment passed. And I thought, there’s my “Peter Pan” emotion, come and gone.

And then the oddest thing happened. I glowed and bounced during curtain call, applause, and post-show hugs. I bear-hugged every cast mate I could get my hands on. Then I was in the back, having had more laid back conversations with a few different audience members, and I saw Rachel. I imprisoned her presently in my hug, and thought (and, I think, told her something of) how I never expected her to meet my Pan standard. And she had met it. And, oh, I’ve watched her grow and mature, and face disappointment after disappointment when it comes to plays- and all in good season. I remember jumping up and down when I read on my email that she had been cast as Anne Shirley. I remembered her captivating Pan audition that totally took me by surprise. I thought of how, by the last show especially, her movements, face and tone were so like a little boy. And I was so relieved we had pulled it off, that I cried. I hugged her, and I laughed, and I inexplicably cried, (all at the same time) burying my face in her shoulder. And I looked up, and she was crying and laughing with me. And we both laughed some more, because we never cry after shows.

I suppose it was fitting, although humorous for me, still, in retrospect. My happiness was overflowing. My heart was as full as it could have been with pleasure and pride in seeing the growth and accomplishments of the people I love most in the world. I suppose that was it. I just didn’t have room for anything else- so I had to let something out.

(Well, the run on the lawn we had afterward helped with that, too.)

egypt

2009-01-26T20:38:00.000-08:00

[a resurrected story from the dinosaur computer w/a few minor edits]

An original story based on Exodus chapters 7-11 of the Holy Bible

The hot summer sun beat down on the stone jar that sat atop Menena's head, warming her russet hair. Her light brown skin tingled with sunburn as she walked back to her little house of white stone. Her sandaled feet shuffled in the dirt, creating tiny clouds of dust which rose up to her ankles. Humming softly to herself, she looked ahead to see if she could spot her mother washing clothes in front of their home. Sure enough, the young woman who was Menena's mother was bending over a washtub scrubbing garments in the cool spring water, though most of it had spilled onto the dry, sandy grass. She could see their small donkey penned up in the fence beside the house, being tended to by a little servant girl.

"Ah, Menena," her mother said, smiling as she saw her daughter approaching. She stood up and arched her back, wincing slightly. "You've got the water?" she asked.

Menena nodded, slowly and carefully emptying the jar's contents into the washing bucket. "Yes Mama, I've brought it."

"Good girl," the woman replied, kissing the top of Menena's head. "I'll be done in a little while, then; go inside and see your brother."

Menena nodded and ran to pass through the river-reed door of their house. "Aren!" she cried, running across the floor and flinging off her sandals. The cool stone felt good compared the hot sand of outdoors. "Aren, where are you?" she repeated.

"Right here, stop your shouting," a boy replied, walking into the room. He came over to Menena and ruffled her already tousled hair. Menena only came up to her brother's chest, for Aren was already three when she was born, and now she was ten years of age. He smiled playfully at her as she wrapped her arms around his coarse grey shirt. "How have you been today? Helping Mama?" Aren asked her, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

"Yes, and now you're to watch over me while she finishes washing clothes," Menena said, her eyes twinkling.

"You can take care of yourself perfectly well."

"Won't you play with me?" she asked pitifully.

"All right, fine," he said, kissing her forehead and taking her small hand.

*

Menena rolled Aren over, with considerable trouble, until he lay flat on his back. Then, with a grin, she stood on the chair and jumped onto his stomach. With a groan Aren clutched his stomach then grabbed her and began to tickle her. Upon hearing shrieks of laughter from Menena, their mother rushed into the room.

"What is going on?" she asked, exasperated, and looked around to verify that all the furniture was still intact.

"Let me go- Aren!" Menena cried breathlessly, still unable to quiet her laughing. Aren gave a wry smile and released her, and their mother shook her head with a soft laugh. Her mother turned to leave, but stopped abruptly as she faced the window.

"What...?" she said suddenly, turning around. Menena followed her mother's gaze to the window, its only adornment two pale curtains blowing about in the cool evening air. The bucket of water was still on the ground outside the house, visible through the window. But the water was different, the color was red and thick, so you could not see the bottom of the bucket. It looked like blood.

*

The sky was utterly black, so black that Menena felt as if she were going to be swallowed by it. In the dead of night it was always black, but this was much more. It had been dark all that day, and the day before it. For so long had it been so wholly dark and black that days seemed to run together throughout all Egypt. The little stone house was quiet; Aren, Menena and their mother were all huddled together in one bed. Menena's mother and brother were asleep, but she could not rest. Her open eyes darted this way and that, dreading the sound of humming flies, croak of frogs, or horrid click of a locust wing. The light of the wall-mounted torch cast weak, flickering orange shadows across the small room, but outside of the window all was black.

Even if there had been light outside, Menena would not have wanted to look. Their small donkey had died of a strange plague, its carcass later to be beaten down by hail and rain. Menena whimpered, still able to feel the hideous boils on her skin. But the servant girl they kept had not been affected by the boils; she only seemed very troubled and sorrowful about what had happened to them. There were rumors of a strange man in Egypt, stirring up trouble for no good reason. But the serving girl was always silent, though she prayed often, always silently to her unseen god.

Menena crept out of bed slowly, hearing the servant girl shutting the door. Every day, after the sun set, the little Jewess would walk to her home. Now Menena could see she was going about this evening routine, bearing a small torch. She silently followed the serving girl until she was out of the house and could see the light of the torch. She followed her for a long while, the silence eerie and terrifying. The girl looked around once she reached the street where she lived, amidst several other houses belonging to Hebrew slaves. Menena looked around in wonder as she saw that all of the houses, including that of the servant girl, had been smeared with blood around the doorposts. The door of the girl's house opened and a voice speaking in Hebrew said something urgent. The girl said nothing, but ran inside quickly.

Menena started as a single noise was heard, like a muffled crack of thunder. Looking up to the black sky, she could see neither stars nor moon. Then, slowly from the inky heavens came a slender, sneaky trail of fog. It was pale, almost white, but there were subtle glistens running through it, like sunlight on a babbling brook. It coiled slowly down, weaving in between far away slave houses. Crying out, her voice breaking the thick silence, Menena swerved around in terror and ran as fast as she could back to her house, her bare feet thumping the ground. By the time she reached her home, the smoke was nearly upon her. She raced in the door and through the house until she finally collapsed onto the bed where her family was sleeping. Darting under the covers, she snuggled up against Aren, fixing her thoughts on the slow heaving of his chest to keep her distracted from frightening thoughts. Just as she had finally stilled her own frantic breathing, a chill ran through her body. A freezing wind rushed throughout the house, nearly stopping her breath, filling her very bones with cold. Then the next instant it was gone. Aren stirred briefly, and a frightened tear ran down her face.

"Aren, what was that?" she whispered, putting her hand on his shoulder. The rhythmic heaving of his chest abruptly stopped. She shook his shoulder frantically, gasping. Placing her head against his chest, something inside her wondered if he, perhaps, was no longer sleeping. "Aren!" she whispered again, not even noticing the twinkle of a star that came from the sky. His pale and deathly face was still, and her eyes opened wider, filling with tears.

"Aren?"

"if I had a million dollars"

2009-01-14T13:52:00.000-08:00

I think if I had wealth beyond imagination, I know what I would do.

Aside from practical concerns which would be taken care of, and the beautiful task of feeding the poor and dressing the naked and furthering God's work. [so, I'm talking, REALLY unimaginable wealth]

I would love to patron the arts. Films, specifically. Because films are no longer [if they ever were] made for the sake of art and beauty. It's all money, money, money. Filmmakers make films because they think people will spend their money to see the films. And film producers only back films if they think it will acrue monetary gain. That is, mostly. There are always exceptions.

But doesn't that seem like a shame to anyone else? Doesn't it seem like a shame that only mindless or erotic films get made- because people will most certainly watch them? Or perhaps the excellent film that gets an unrelated, explicit love scene spliced into it, because sex sells.

Art is broad. But films are very rarely art. I know there are filmmakers who would love to be patronized- if anyone wanted to spend money on art instead of chick flicks.

That's what I would do. Get good films made.

[[who are you following?]]

2009-01-13T11:01:00.000-08:00

Then some Pharisees and teachers of the law came to Jesus from Jerusalem and asked, "Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? They don't wash their hands before they eat."

Jesus replied, "And why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?"

church

2009-01-05T16:26:00.000-08:00

from the things I have learned from scripture...and in my own life...church is many things. church is also not many things, which I think I realize more every day. church, to me, is not hearing a wise sermon once a week. church, to me, is not singing along with a praise band to our Lord. those are good, and I believe necessary things. in fact, worshiping my saviour through song is often the only activity which gives me true peace, because God is allowing me to praise Him in the way He best designed me to.

but it's not church. not really. church is looking around me and seeing my family. is looking around me and seeing Christ in the faces. church is who I am sitting next to, and across from, and that our hearts desire to bring glory and honor to Christ.

perhaps this clears my confusion a little bit. I am not attending my church, I am simply attending what IS church to many people. I am compelled to wait for a season before I can seek out church for myself, but I think this time of waiting is bringing more clarity to me every day.

this definition of church explains why church to me has not often been found in a church-building. I have found church in a half dozen church-buildings, but in a back room, praying, with paint on my face and funny clothes on. I have found church on a website with a handful of girls. I have found church in a chat room, or in letters passed between sisters in Christ. I have found church in my own living room, and in the living rooms of friends. I don't think an evening of watching "A Muppet Christmas Carol" and a time of church have to be mutually exclusive.

and so, I am alone. I pass from church to church, never knowing when the next opportunity will arise. I long to find a real church in a real building where I can go once a week. I know that others have found it. I have seen it, most often in a gathering of young people in a big building on the south side of the river. tears coursed down my face and I felt the freedom and closeness to lift my hands and my voice. I found church in that place. but it cannot be every week, for me. I have found church in a family room, after giving thanks for the Lord's supper, with friends who need no church building.
[I am inclined to think that they have it most right of all.]

and I sigh, and I sing songs and listen to a sermon every week. and I get a real church fix every now and then, but not hardly often enough.
and I wait

Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.
[psalm 27:14]

Truth [the first blog]

2008-12-31T13:22:00.000-08:00

(Stolen from my own facebook. Published 9/19/08)

-

This particular paragraph of this note has nothing to do with political figures I do or do not support, or a war I do or do not support. But I would like to tell you a bit about what I think. I prefer a smaller government- a government which enables people to care for themselves. I believe it is the responsibility of the government to protect its citizens from outside threats. I believe that, because an unborn baby is a living individual, it ought to have the same rights as any other citizen of this country: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I believe that, if you wish to live in this country, you must follow our laws for becoming a citizen. I believe that people living here who have broken these laws should not be recognized as citizens, or given the benefits of citizens. There are a lot of things that confuse me, or that I don't have a strong stance on- such as particulars regarding health care.

And the reason I tend to like or dislike the policies of a political figure results from if they believe the same things I believe. It's very simple, really.

-[-QUESTION: If Barack Obama and John McCain were to switch bodies--- would all of their supporters stick with the policies....or stick with their bodies?-]-

-

I just wish people would t h i n k. I just wish politicians would explain to laymen. I just wish the reporters would report.

How simple is truth? Sometimes it's not. Sometimes it really is. I'm inclined to think that MOST of the time is really is.

PROBLEM: Abortion. Murder? Woman's choice?

ANSWER: Yes- currently it is both.

TRUTH: Everyone who is not a blind fool knows that an unborn baby is a real baby. Yes, it feeds off its mother, but it is a separate entity. You can easily find out when brainwaves begin, when the heart starts beating, when fingernails grow. People have no excuse to be uneducated about it. People KNOW. Several of my friends were significantly premature when they were born. Chances are, you know someone who was, also. The ISSUE really is not "is it a baby?" anymore- which is desperately sad. The issue is now,

"Should women have reproductive freedom?"

How sad that we use such nice-sounding terms. How sad that we reduce a growing, dependent life to a matter of convenience.

You know what's reproductive freedom?

Girls- keep your pants on. THAT's reproductive freedom. THAT is choice. Abortion is simply cowardice and an abandonment of responsibility.

But we teach this irresponsibility as an inalienable right. We treat this delicate matter as a matter of personal privacy. Privacy! Ironically enough, if a woman intentionally smashes in the skull of her newly born baby, she's going to be behind bars- and face the outrage of millions.

A late term abortion, taking place at, say 24 weeks, aborts a baby which has a fully developed inner ear, and listens to its surroundings. Skin translucency is fading away, and it looks like a "mini" version of what it will look like at birth. It has developed fingers- it sucks its thumb. It has hair, tastebuds. If the baby is a girl- HER uterus is already fully formed.

That's what 1.4 percent of abortions destroy in the US.

(stolen from Wikipedia)

"In support of the Partial-Birth Abortion Ban Act, a nurse who witnessed three IDX[Intact dilation and extraction] procedures found them deeply disturbing, and described one performed on a 26½-week fetus with Down Syndrome in testimony before a Judiciary subcommittee of the US House of Representatives, where she states "[t]he baby’s little fingers were clasping and unclasping, and his little feet were kicking," right before the procedure.[37]"

26 weeks means the baby has fully developed eyes, and can recognize its mother's voice.

-[-QUESTION: How can any politician say that they believe abortion is wrong, but they support a woman's right to choose?-]-

The last bit for today is taxes.
I
am
so
tired
of listening to "Bush's tax cuts for the rich."

GIVE ME A BREAK. Let's go back to basics, shall we? I'll try to type slowly, so you all can understand. If someone earns more money, they are going to pay more taxes. If someone pays more taxes, they are going to get more tax cuts. Simple, right? Easy to understand, right? What? No?

Let's try a second example. There is a certain presidential candidate who wants to increase taxes "only" for companies and individuals who make over $250,000 I believe (I could have the numbers off, forgive me). Now, for wealthy individual HERMITS - that's a great idea. What do they need with the money anyway? Let's look at a realistic example. Say, a business (oh no, not the Big-Bad-Business). A business sells things to good ol, middle-to-lower class folk, right? And if that business gets taxed even more, its prices will go UP even more. Causing consumers to PAY MORE MONEY.

It trickles. You can't charge businesses without charging everyone. Sorry to bust that bubble.

The problem is, I don't know who I'm more fed up with.
-The politicians who believe or pretend to believe that their logic is great- and preach it to the people
-The politicians who KNOW that the logic is bad, but can't seem to talk straight policy that's understandable to the common man
-All the people who aren't smart enough to figure out the bad logic.

That last one might be the worst.

But maybe that comes from living every day in school trying to match up to every other school, standard, and student in the country- instead of thinking individually and questioning popular, fluffy ideas.