What a roller coaster of a career I have chosen? Honestly, would I have it any other way? I have a feeling I'm not really a monorail kind of chick but there are times when one does like to take a break from the ups and downs and enjoy some personal time with the cotton candy vendor.
My last post reflected the process i was working through on my last production. I'm here to gladly report that I am in fact.....Large..hell, X X Large( two 'Xs)...not the small I was so worried I would be. The production of The Medium/Carmina Burana was very well received and it was a true pleasure to create such a magical and frightening world with my colleagues. Everyone was on the same page, from the first day of rehearsal and finding such a safe place to explore some very dark themes is cathartic and welcomed. My Father traveled to see the production and saw it THREE times! We had such a wonderful week together. Think..CASINO! Dad and I supported the economic growth of the Motor City with lots of slot machine pulls and even managed to walk away with a few pennies in our pocket. I loved it! After having him in the audience for 3 performances it was very difficult knowing he wasn't out there for the remaining three. I could feel his energy from the crowd and his unwaivering support of me ranks up there with the great wall of China as one of the mighty wonders of the world.
My current project is Marriage of Figaro. Marcellina is role I've played many times...9 to be precise. I know this opera inside and out. The Act 2 finale never fails to engender a musical stirring in me. Not really from MY music, but from the collection of perfect tones Mozart scattered on that parchment. It is a miracle every time I hear it. It grounds me and gives me succor when my mind is racing to balancing issues in the sextet or what precisely WAS that cut in Act 4. Living in the now, Mozart style.
I've been in Detroit for about 7 thousand weeks now. My hotel room is lived in, my luggage is dusty and I'm overdosed on lean cuisines and string cheese. (That is about all my tiny bar fridge will hold). I've enjoyed this time of reflection. There have been a few dark nights of the soul but that's life I suppose. The oddest thing is my lack of sleep. I simply cannot sleep in this hotel...at night. I have resorted to Tylenol Pm and luckily most rehearsals start in the afternoon so I manage to fill ye olde sleep docket. It's been strange. My thoughts are always with Mom. After 8 months I finally had a dream about her that wasn't a nightmare. She was restored to full health and it was a normal spring day. Nothing special occurred other than her being there. It was wonderful and heartbreaking at the same time. I feel her around me at this time. I haven't before, not like this. When she died I had this ridiculous notion that she would just appear to me and assure me everything was wonderful. That we would have this mortal coil bending relationship. I was actually angry that she hasn't appeared. It's irrational. After all, she is busy! I can only imagine the activities she is organizing. Not to mention the heavy duty guardian angel duties she is shouldering these days. Still, I really appreciate that she made the time to spend with me in dreamland. I look forward to our next foray.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Working on The Medium and feeling small....
As some of you may I know I'm currently in Detroit working on a wonderful production of The Medium. This is a role that I have performed before but not for many years. It seems it's a role for people in their 20's and those at the other end of the spectrum. I hope I'm somewhere in the middle of that wide timeline. Kind of like being a Medium in the midst of a small and a large. The role is much different at this stage of the game and I admit to having some trepidation that a 23 year old just doesn't have. That being said the range of colors and dramatic choices at my fingertips are astounding. Truly it seems as if I've just blinked and am now here working on a piece that gave me my start in this business. It's shocking to me that I've come to this point so quickly. I remember bringing my 23 year old experience to the role and now maturity and life experience has shaped my choices in such a different way. It's such a joy to get to do a role multiple times. I'm a lucky woman.
This process is not without its bruises. The subject matter of the show is harsh and the idea of contacting someone who has passed is a little too close to home these days. I'm also concerned that I won't be able to portray her to the fierceness that I want for the character. I need grandness, subtlety, strength, weakness, vulnerability and ferocity all wrapped up into 60 minutes of range breaking singing. It's a lot to ask of a person that quite frankly I don't know. I'm different. I work differently, I sleep differently and I view this process BEYOND differently. I feel weak. My core is crumbly and I can't seem to get enough air in my lungs at times. The hours outside of rehearsal seem to be filled with study and angst and the strange feeling that I'm not good enough. This is new territory for me. If I've ever been anything in my life it's confident. But this year pulled the rug out from under me and suddenly I look in the mirror and see someone who I simply do not know.
Ah such is the life. All actors have these moments of self doubt and distraction. I know this is a process and that I bring as much as I can to every rehearsal. I know that in the end it will be a journey and a successful one. But as much as we talk about the fortunate life I lead it is important to realize that I am only human and that the weight of this lifestyle can be stifling. It's funny to think of a creative job being so confining. When the soundtrack runs constantly and the worries of job security and reviews and image and God forbid art harkens at your hotel room door, the world can get very small. I've sacrificed huge portions of my life to sit and rock in this hotel room. Paths aren't always smooth or straight. It's time for me to get my 4x4 out and traverse this rocky terrain. Perhaps a dip in the pool will shock the system.
At the end of the day, life goes on, in a mostly joyous fashion. I look forward to reaching a little oasis, sometime soon.
~M
This process is not without its bruises. The subject matter of the show is harsh and the idea of contacting someone who has passed is a little too close to home these days. I'm also concerned that I won't be able to portray her to the fierceness that I want for the character. I need grandness, subtlety, strength, weakness, vulnerability and ferocity all wrapped up into 60 minutes of range breaking singing. It's a lot to ask of a person that quite frankly I don't know. I'm different. I work differently, I sleep differently and I view this process BEYOND differently. I feel weak. My core is crumbly and I can't seem to get enough air in my lungs at times. The hours outside of rehearsal seem to be filled with study and angst and the strange feeling that I'm not good enough. This is new territory for me. If I've ever been anything in my life it's confident. But this year pulled the rug out from under me and suddenly I look in the mirror and see someone who I simply do not know.
Ah such is the life. All actors have these moments of self doubt and distraction. I know this is a process and that I bring as much as I can to every rehearsal. I know that in the end it will be a journey and a successful one. But as much as we talk about the fortunate life I lead it is important to realize that I am only human and that the weight of this lifestyle can be stifling. It's funny to think of a creative job being so confining. When the soundtrack runs constantly and the worries of job security and reviews and image and God forbid art harkens at your hotel room door, the world can get very small. I've sacrificed huge portions of my life to sit and rock in this hotel room. Paths aren't always smooth or straight. It's time for me to get my 4x4 out and traverse this rocky terrain. Perhaps a dip in the pool will shock the system.
At the end of the day, life goes on, in a mostly joyous fashion. I look forward to reaching a little oasis, sometime soon.
~M
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Wake UP!
Political rants can be a bore. No one is lulled into a coma of indifference and apathy faster than I am at the sound of talking heads wagging their jaws endlessly. If political meanderings were colored in the air not one of us would be able to see past their own noses in the morass. That being said, I'm greatly saddened by the turn our system is taking. Not in the obvious way, such as the inane debates recently littering our airwaves. Seriously, Jersey Shore boasts a higher intellectual slant than a few of the slams and whimpers from those behind the podium in recent times. I'm not speaking in party terms. Truly there is idiocy on both sides of the political zoo. The donkeys are stubborn and the elephants always seem to forget come promise time.
My current outrage isn't about such trivial matters. I just read a story about a woman who was handcuffed to her bed during childbirth. She begged for release of just one hand, to no avail. This woman's crime? She was driving without a license oh, and she was also an undocumented immigrant. Needless to say she wasn't from Sweden or Switzerland. Somehow I don't see Arizona police chaining an expectant Elsa or Brigitta to their prison beds. My ire isn't simply for obvious reasons. We should all be furious over how things like this can happen. It's that the men and women involved in this have become so desensitized to this behavior that they see nothing wrong with it.
Atrocities happen every day. For an eternity they have happened. From potato famines to inquisitions to witch trials, our history is laden with black dark days. YEARS and YEARS of dark days. WHY haven't we learned from these days? In the before times people died from a cold. It took weeks to cross the ocean. Childbirth was a game of russian roulette. The multitudes could not read not write. We have overcome such hurtles. I can talk with someone around the world face to face on my computer. I have a device thinner than a school boys notebook that can give me every drip and drabble of information on any subject imaginable. Yet we insist of fighting our evolution.
I'm calling for a halt to technology, at least until we spend some time on our internal wiring. Stop the presses and the processors. Start the long journey of finding out what it is so deeply buried in us that has deadened compassion and reason. Let's start an art factory, a music note monopoly and a written word whirlwind. Surely with all of our gadgets and luxuries something can be built to add gentility into our flat screened, DVR-d and googled hearts. I know the idea is revolutionary but so was the telephone, or the airplane or BOOKS!
Wake up people. I'm tired of sleeping. I'm tired of wading through the mire of an existence dictated to me by 24 hour news stations and production valued entertainment. I'm going rogue and am going to find the source of my apathy and malaise when it comes to matters of my humanity. I would suggest you join me. The ride will be endlessly entertaining and enlightening and in my case with lots of Tristan and Isolde playing in the background. Come on, that music stirs my soul. Sad that a prick like Wagner understood the beauty in this world better than I do at this moment. What stirs yours? I want to know. Baby steps revolutionaries...baby steps. We don't want to alert the media....or do we?
~M
My current outrage isn't about such trivial matters. I just read a story about a woman who was handcuffed to her bed during childbirth. She begged for release of just one hand, to no avail. This woman's crime? She was driving without a license oh, and she was also an undocumented immigrant. Needless to say she wasn't from Sweden or Switzerland. Somehow I don't see Arizona police chaining an expectant Elsa or Brigitta to their prison beds. My ire isn't simply for obvious reasons. We should all be furious over how things like this can happen. It's that the men and women involved in this have become so desensitized to this behavior that they see nothing wrong with it.
Atrocities happen every day. For an eternity they have happened. From potato famines to inquisitions to witch trials, our history is laden with black dark days. YEARS and YEARS of dark days. WHY haven't we learned from these days? In the before times people died from a cold. It took weeks to cross the ocean. Childbirth was a game of russian roulette. The multitudes could not read not write. We have overcome such hurtles. I can talk with someone around the world face to face on my computer. I have a device thinner than a school boys notebook that can give me every drip and drabble of information on any subject imaginable. Yet we insist of fighting our evolution.
I'm calling for a halt to technology, at least until we spend some time on our internal wiring. Stop the presses and the processors. Start the long journey of finding out what it is so deeply buried in us that has deadened compassion and reason. Let's start an art factory, a music note monopoly and a written word whirlwind. Surely with all of our gadgets and luxuries something can be built to add gentility into our flat screened, DVR-d and googled hearts. I know the idea is revolutionary but so was the telephone, or the airplane or BOOKS!
Wake up people. I'm tired of sleeping. I'm tired of wading through the mire of an existence dictated to me by 24 hour news stations and production valued entertainment. I'm going rogue and am going to find the source of my apathy and malaise when it comes to matters of my humanity. I would suggest you join me. The ride will be endlessly entertaining and enlightening and in my case with lots of Tristan and Isolde playing in the background. Come on, that music stirs my soul. Sad that a prick like Wagner understood the beauty in this world better than I do at this moment. What stirs yours? I want to know. Baby steps revolutionaries...baby steps. We don't want to alert the media....or do we?
~M
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Remembrance
We all know what day this is. It's a solemn reminder of the lives and freedoms lost in an instant that beautiful September morning. We all have our "where were you when the towers fell remembrance." Mine is one I am truly grateful for. I had just returned from a gig and got a wild hair to visit El Paso for a few weeks until it was time to gig again. I was awoken the morning of September 11th by my Father, telling me a plane had just hit the world trade center. It was very early in the morning. El Paso is 2 hours behind New York. I sat on the edge of my parents bed in fear and horror as the drama played out. I don't believe I've ever felt so helpless. Ron was singing in Albuquerque at the time and was safely out of the city. But I had many close friends that were in and around the WTC when the attack happened. Of course there was no way to reach anyone as all phone service was jammed for what seemed like 100 years that morning. My Father went to work and Mom and I sat all day watching the coverage. The phone rang off the hook as family members and friends were calling to make sure I was ok. My Grandmother didn't recognize my voice when I answered the phone and was in a panic to know if I lived anywhere near the site.
I was grounded in El Paso for more than a week before the flights were back up and running. El Paso has a huge army base and is considered a target so as soon as the airport would open it would immediately close. Mom and I watched 10 thousand hours of coverage and I remember at one point forcing us to leave the house so that we could just get away from it for a while. Mom drove me to the airport when the flights were finally open. She had tears in her eyes and told me that I didn't have to go back, ever, if I didn't want too. She advised me to keep my important papers together and to always have some cash on hand. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do leaving her there at the airport. My flight to Dallas was quite full but my flight to NYC only had 6 people on it and one of them was an air marshall. They moved all of us to first class and we rode in silence all the way to the city. La Guardia was a ghost town. A long line of idling taxis snaked its way down the terminal. I walked to the head of the line and was greeted by a man who, before I could utter one word, assured me he wasn't a terrorist. I got home in 13 minutes. The smoke and the fire from the towers was billowing across the island and I could smell it all the way up in my neighborhood. I still can recall that stench.
Ron had made it home the day before and the following morning we headed to Broadway to support the arts. There were many people in time square but it was eerily quiet, save for the resonant sound of " WANTED OSAMA DEAD or alive" t-shirt salesmen. We saw a show and headed home to start the journey of healing. It's been a long road. One strewn with way to many lives, lost and damaged.
I am a proud American. I believe in this country. I support our government and pray for our troops daily. But as I look at these ten years lost I know that my civil liberties and day to day freedoms have been limited by the act of those few hate filled men. I've been openly groped by a machine carrying armed guard, October 2001 before any guidelines for such things had been established. I've been at the mercy of the MTA when threats and fear set in. I refused to open a fed ex package that I was unaware of during the anthrax scare. I bought shower curtains and duct tape to ward off the chemical attack that was reported by our New York City governors. I supported shows when people were scared and bought useless earring when I knew my local businesses were suffering. I wept at the seemingly thousands of flyers put up by hopeful family members and friends.
In many ways, they won. We are recorded and prodded and corralled in a way that has given rise to paranoia, hate and baseline fear. We have pointed fingers and argued and hidden behind the terror that was that day. We should have grown as a nation from this tragedy. Great things are forged in the fire of hardship and strife. I feel we have emerged from that fire singed and jaded without a clear vision of who we are as a nation. How can we even begin to have a conversation about who should marry whom when we have come through this ordeal? Who has any right to tell me what I can or cannot do with my body when thousands of people were attacked simply because we enjoy these freedoms. In this time of political turmoil it seems insensitive and frivolous to discuss such inane issues with any sort of seriousness. How many soldiers have died protecting us? I think we could have the common courtesy to dismiss such non issues in favor of seeking a way to make life in this great country better. We aren't here to suffer through hours of debates and pages of bills that, in the end, achieve nothing. Most of us just want to be happy and spend time with those we love. We want to worship and dance and grow our families in a society that has it's eye on the prize. Peace. I challenge our great nation to simply put down the blind ambition and think for one damn second about the people that sign their checks. Don't tell me what to eat, who to worship, who to sleep with or what to do with my body. Protect me, help me provide for myself and my family and let me enjoy the sounds of freedom that sing from a land that is truly evolving into a new way of doing things.
I am raw from this day. But I am a optimist. We are the hope and future of this land. It is up to us to let those that would harm us know that this is unacceptable. Even if those slings and arrows are deemed friendly fire.
I was grounded in El Paso for more than a week before the flights were back up and running. El Paso has a huge army base and is considered a target so as soon as the airport would open it would immediately close. Mom and I watched 10 thousand hours of coverage and I remember at one point forcing us to leave the house so that we could just get away from it for a while. Mom drove me to the airport when the flights were finally open. She had tears in her eyes and told me that I didn't have to go back, ever, if I didn't want too. She advised me to keep my important papers together and to always have some cash on hand. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do leaving her there at the airport. My flight to Dallas was quite full but my flight to NYC only had 6 people on it and one of them was an air marshall. They moved all of us to first class and we rode in silence all the way to the city. La Guardia was a ghost town. A long line of idling taxis snaked its way down the terminal. I walked to the head of the line and was greeted by a man who, before I could utter one word, assured me he wasn't a terrorist. I got home in 13 minutes. The smoke and the fire from the towers was billowing across the island and I could smell it all the way up in my neighborhood. I still can recall that stench.
Ron had made it home the day before and the following morning we headed to Broadway to support the arts. There were many people in time square but it was eerily quiet, save for the resonant sound of " WANTED OSAMA DEAD or alive" t-shirt salesmen. We saw a show and headed home to start the journey of healing. It's been a long road. One strewn with way to many lives, lost and damaged.
I am a proud American. I believe in this country. I support our government and pray for our troops daily. But as I look at these ten years lost I know that my civil liberties and day to day freedoms have been limited by the act of those few hate filled men. I've been openly groped by a machine carrying armed guard, October 2001 before any guidelines for such things had been established. I've been at the mercy of the MTA when threats and fear set in. I refused to open a fed ex package that I was unaware of during the anthrax scare. I bought shower curtains and duct tape to ward off the chemical attack that was reported by our New York City governors. I supported shows when people were scared and bought useless earring when I knew my local businesses were suffering. I wept at the seemingly thousands of flyers put up by hopeful family members and friends.
In many ways, they won. We are recorded and prodded and corralled in a way that has given rise to paranoia, hate and baseline fear. We have pointed fingers and argued and hidden behind the terror that was that day. We should have grown as a nation from this tragedy. Great things are forged in the fire of hardship and strife. I feel we have emerged from that fire singed and jaded without a clear vision of who we are as a nation. How can we even begin to have a conversation about who should marry whom when we have come through this ordeal? Who has any right to tell me what I can or cannot do with my body when thousands of people were attacked simply because we enjoy these freedoms. In this time of political turmoil it seems insensitive and frivolous to discuss such inane issues with any sort of seriousness. How many soldiers have died protecting us? I think we could have the common courtesy to dismiss such non issues in favor of seeking a way to make life in this great country better. We aren't here to suffer through hours of debates and pages of bills that, in the end, achieve nothing. Most of us just want to be happy and spend time with those we love. We want to worship and dance and grow our families in a society that has it's eye on the prize. Peace. I challenge our great nation to simply put down the blind ambition and think for one damn second about the people that sign their checks. Don't tell me what to eat, who to worship, who to sleep with or what to do with my body. Protect me, help me provide for myself and my family and let me enjoy the sounds of freedom that sing from a land that is truly evolving into a new way of doing things.
I am raw from this day. But I am a optimist. We are the hope and future of this land. It is up to us to let those that would harm us know that this is unacceptable. Even if those slings and arrows are deemed friendly fire.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tale of two teeth...(well, actually three)
Summer just seems to be flying by. I know most of us are under the "ring of fire" heat that the weathermen keep preaching about. I grew up in El Paso, Tx and 100 plus temps are not new to me. I can complain about the heat with the best of them but secretly I adore shorts and flip flop weather. I know when to stay out of the sun and when to venture into the magical wonder that is a warm summer twighlight. I've had the great joy to be spending the past few weeks with my Father and Sister in El Paso. The weather has been amazing and we've even had some bombastic boomers to keep up cool in the evening. Lightning in West Texas is not to be missed. One of the purposes of this visit was to help Dad with a few chores around the casa. There are approximately 317 closets in this beast and every single one of them is chock full of priceless treasures. My Mother liked pretty things, so did her Mother and her Mother and her Mother all the way back to Mother Eve creating her first table scape. I am no different. I adore having things around me that engender a warm memory or two. That being said, I live in a Manhattan apartment and space just isn't what it is here on the Parks closet ranch. So, purging must occur. We have already done quite a bit but it seems those little bugger multiply every time you turn your back. Anyone need a copper silent butler? How about an egg stand? What exactly do you DO with 4 sets of toast tongs? It's a quandary, my lovelies, and Pam and I were up to the challenge this week. We also had the help of our dear friend Jan Morris to keep us on the track to purgeville.
In our wanderings we came across a mysterious find indeed. 3 gold teeth. Yes, the teeth were attached and no, we have no idea whose teeth these were. Maybe Mom ran a side business and someone didn't pay up? After all, someone had to pay for those toast tongs. At any rate, Pam and I decided we would try to sell them to one of those cash for gold places. We thought it would be a kick and diligently researched where to go. We couldn't very well walk into our family jeweler and say..oh by the way we found these teeth! Quite a dilemma indeed. So we found a place on our side of town and set off to make our fortune. We entered this lovely shop and were greeted by an affable fellow. He smiled when we showed him the teeth but admitted that he had no idea what to do with them. We we told him we had gold teeth I think he was thinking along the P Diddy grill line. Little did he know that we were bringing him our ancestral teeth to sell. Then from the very back of the shop i hear: "Melissa Parks??!!!!". I'd be lying if I didn't look behind me hoping that another Melissa Parks was strutting through the door but alas, no, she was calling to me. Turns out one of my high school friends works at this shop and recognized me. We are face book friends and I must say the years have been very kind to her. She looks amazing! We caught up and she informed me that her brother would take a crack at the teeth on Tuesday when he is in. She could NOT have been nicer.
So dear friends, beware. When trying to sell your ancestral teeth on the down low know that someone from your past will recognize you and call you by name! Melissa Parks...famous opera singer...blogger extraordinaire and procurer of gold teeth. That's going on the special skills portion of my resume, STAT!!!
By the way, if anyone wants to buy some toast tongs, votive candle holders from every holiday imaginable and some gold teeth......"Have I got a deal for you..."
Love and light,
~Mel aka gold teeth dealer
In our wanderings we came across a mysterious find indeed. 3 gold teeth. Yes, the teeth were attached and no, we have no idea whose teeth these were. Maybe Mom ran a side business and someone didn't pay up? After all, someone had to pay for those toast tongs. At any rate, Pam and I decided we would try to sell them to one of those cash for gold places. We thought it would be a kick and diligently researched where to go. We couldn't very well walk into our family jeweler and say..oh by the way we found these teeth! Quite a dilemma indeed. So we found a place on our side of town and set off to make our fortune. We entered this lovely shop and were greeted by an affable fellow. He smiled when we showed him the teeth but admitted that he had no idea what to do with them. We we told him we had gold teeth I think he was thinking along the P Diddy grill line. Little did he know that we were bringing him our ancestral teeth to sell. Then from the very back of the shop i hear: "Melissa Parks??!!!!". I'd be lying if I didn't look behind me hoping that another Melissa Parks was strutting through the door but alas, no, she was calling to me. Turns out one of my high school friends works at this shop and recognized me. We are face book friends and I must say the years have been very kind to her. She looks amazing! We caught up and she informed me that her brother would take a crack at the teeth on Tuesday when he is in. She could NOT have been nicer.
So dear friends, beware. When trying to sell your ancestral teeth on the down low know that someone from your past will recognize you and call you by name! Melissa Parks...famous opera singer...blogger extraordinaire and procurer of gold teeth. That's going on the special skills portion of my resume, STAT!!!
By the way, if anyone wants to buy some toast tongs, votive candle holders from every holiday imaginable and some gold teeth......"Have I got a deal for you..."
Love and light,
~Mel aka gold teeth dealer
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Birthday Bashing!
Well, today is my natal day and in some ways it is my first. The obvious, of course, is the first without my Mother and the less obvious is the first without the self judging that comes with celebratory times. I'm from the south, specifically Texas. As a proud Texan I can indeed say that everything does indeed come bigger in Texas. My people like to eat and celebrate with food and I'm all for it 100 percent. This year, I will eat that cake with a side of cake and then wash it down with some sort of cake type adult beverage without blinking an eye. It's my birthday and I will CAKE OD if I want too!!!
Now, let me tell you about my birthday present to myself. Besides that whole self actualized, I'm in tune with the universe and am trying to love every inch of my body gift, I decided on a special treat for me. I ventured to the mysterious land to the east known as Queens. It was a safari rife with stop lights, minivan hijinx and street sign disasters. Why can't the people of Queens name their streets something original? I mean really do I need to make a left onto 9th avenue only to make a right on 9th street and then double back to 9th road to end up at 9th court? It is a wild and wooly place this Queens but we navigated quite beautifully. My destination was a true oasis in this navigational nightmare, a Korean Spa. I have been to this spa before several times. It is a bit pricey so attending every day would break the bank but when the Korean sirens call I head their sweet song and wind my way down the pot hole ridden path that is the grand central parkway.
For those that haven't attended a Korean spa before let me set the scene. It is a HUGE 5 story building replete with out door roof top pools and swim up ice cream bar. When you check in you are given a wristlet with a number on it. The magic bracelet also includes a computer chip that opens your lockers and allows you to purchase extra services and food and drinks throughout the kingdom. The first floor is separated into male and female locker rooms and private tub rooms. The first tiny locker you encounter is for your shoes. They are locked away until the end of your journey. I meandered the corridors of this spa for about 10 hours yesterday and had not one speck of dirt on my feet. The next locker is for your belongings. You are also issued a uniform upon entry, shorts and a tee shirt with the spa logo on them, and a new toothbrush. The women's spa is filled with showers, cleaning stations, steam room, hot sauna and about 7 different pools with varying jets, temperatures, and mineral content. The pools are for nude bathing only and the entire first floor is a clothing optional situation. Needless to say I saw a lot of naked people yesterday. I'm fascinated by the different body types and postures of the people. Some are so care free and others wear the cloak of self doubt. I have been through this process before and could care less about my nude self. I got over that hurtle a long time ago. I know it is a foreign thing for most Americans to get nude and soak in a tub with strangers but it really is a graceful and peaceful experience that is so enjoyable. The remaining levels are chock full of dry saunas, massage rooms, sleeping rooms, mani pedi stations, food court and comfy places to lounge.
My birthday present to myself was to purchase a body scrub with massage. I have had this process done before and it will blow your mind! You are put on a long table and this little woman with scrub gloves and soap scrapes every last inch of your body. Your skin simply glows from the treatment and it is invigorating and relaxing at the same time. My special treat to myself was to pay the extra for the private room. The usual scrubs take place in a corner of the tub room and while not in the center of the room you are hanging all our there for everyones perusal. I've done it before this way and after the initial shock of feeling like a corpse on a Quincy M.E. medical table I was able to enjoy it. But yesterday I longed for a little peace and quiet and booked a private room. I entered the space and was greeted by my scrubber. A lovely lady who probably weighed about 80 pounds soaking wet. I know the ferocity of these scrubber women so I didn't doubt her acumen. Just to jolt you from your modesty bubble they start you face up. She pour copious amounts of delightfully warm water over you to start and then the process begins. Its a wonderful feeling. It sounds a bit brutal but it's not. It's like a loofa for the body and it wakes up tired nerve endings and refreshes the mind. After about an hour a scrub down 2011 she rinsed me and began the massage portion of the treatment. First she grated an entire chilled cucumber and placed it on my face for a cleansing mask. Delightful. Then came the lavender jojoba warm oil. When I arose from the table I felt like a prize fighter, loose and oiled up, ready for action.
This process for important for a few reasons. Firstly, the obvious. NEW SKIN! Glowing, soft, supple new skin to start my new year. Secondly, new skin. A ritual cleansing of the negative, gut wrenching, painful year that was 2010. I'm of the mind that the negative seethes on the top layers of your being blocking good energy and reminding you of the hardships you endured. While positive, loving experiences melt into your bones, strengthening you at every turn. I exfoliated a layer of grief in Queens yesterday and simply emboldened myself to start my wellness journey of this next year.
After my scrub and massage of LIFE, I ventured back into the locker room to prepare for my next spa adventure when I over heard a young girl confiding in her friend her trepidation about going commando for the womens tubs. She bemoaned the fact that she hated her body and that she didn't want the other women judging her. I made a side ways glance to see this woman expecting to find a woman of size that perhaps I could help in some way. She was a little slip of a thing with a model perfect form. It broke my heart. All I could do was walk passed her and let her know that people of all shapes and sizes are beautiful and to only care about what YOU think. I hope my presence did just that but she has set up for herself a life time carnival ride of body image issues if she doesn't nip it in the bud. I know! I had buckets of tickets for that sad carnival and have only recently told those carnies to pack up and move on out!!!
So, on this birthday of mine I am literally a new person, skin and all. I look forward to my next adventure and know I've got a secret 80 pound weapon in far off Queens to help me reinvent myself when need be. Have a blessed day my dear friends. You are the best birthday present this glowing girl could ever wish for.
Love,
~Mel
Now, let me tell you about my birthday present to myself. Besides that whole self actualized, I'm in tune with the universe and am trying to love every inch of my body gift, I decided on a special treat for me. I ventured to the mysterious land to the east known as Queens. It was a safari rife with stop lights, minivan hijinx and street sign disasters. Why can't the people of Queens name their streets something original? I mean really do I need to make a left onto 9th avenue only to make a right on 9th street and then double back to 9th road to end up at 9th court? It is a wild and wooly place this Queens but we navigated quite beautifully. My destination was a true oasis in this navigational nightmare, a Korean Spa. I have been to this spa before several times. It is a bit pricey so attending every day would break the bank but when the Korean sirens call I head their sweet song and wind my way down the pot hole ridden path that is the grand central parkway.
For those that haven't attended a Korean spa before let me set the scene. It is a HUGE 5 story building replete with out door roof top pools and swim up ice cream bar. When you check in you are given a wristlet with a number on it. The magic bracelet also includes a computer chip that opens your lockers and allows you to purchase extra services and food and drinks throughout the kingdom. The first floor is separated into male and female locker rooms and private tub rooms. The first tiny locker you encounter is for your shoes. They are locked away until the end of your journey. I meandered the corridors of this spa for about 10 hours yesterday and had not one speck of dirt on my feet. The next locker is for your belongings. You are also issued a uniform upon entry, shorts and a tee shirt with the spa logo on them, and a new toothbrush. The women's spa is filled with showers, cleaning stations, steam room, hot sauna and about 7 different pools with varying jets, temperatures, and mineral content. The pools are for nude bathing only and the entire first floor is a clothing optional situation. Needless to say I saw a lot of naked people yesterday. I'm fascinated by the different body types and postures of the people. Some are so care free and others wear the cloak of self doubt. I have been through this process before and could care less about my nude self. I got over that hurtle a long time ago. I know it is a foreign thing for most Americans to get nude and soak in a tub with strangers but it really is a graceful and peaceful experience that is so enjoyable. The remaining levels are chock full of dry saunas, massage rooms, sleeping rooms, mani pedi stations, food court and comfy places to lounge.
My birthday present to myself was to purchase a body scrub with massage. I have had this process done before and it will blow your mind! You are put on a long table and this little woman with scrub gloves and soap scrapes every last inch of your body. Your skin simply glows from the treatment and it is invigorating and relaxing at the same time. My special treat to myself was to pay the extra for the private room. The usual scrubs take place in a corner of the tub room and while not in the center of the room you are hanging all our there for everyones perusal. I've done it before this way and after the initial shock of feeling like a corpse on a Quincy M.E. medical table I was able to enjoy it. But yesterday I longed for a little peace and quiet and booked a private room. I entered the space and was greeted by my scrubber. A lovely lady who probably weighed about 80 pounds soaking wet. I know the ferocity of these scrubber women so I didn't doubt her acumen. Just to jolt you from your modesty bubble they start you face up. She pour copious amounts of delightfully warm water over you to start and then the process begins. Its a wonderful feeling. It sounds a bit brutal but it's not. It's like a loofa for the body and it wakes up tired nerve endings and refreshes the mind. After about an hour a scrub down 2011 she rinsed me and began the massage portion of the treatment. First she grated an entire chilled cucumber and placed it on my face for a cleansing mask. Delightful. Then came the lavender jojoba warm oil. When I arose from the table I felt like a prize fighter, loose and oiled up, ready for action.
This process for important for a few reasons. Firstly, the obvious. NEW SKIN! Glowing, soft, supple new skin to start my new year. Secondly, new skin. A ritual cleansing of the negative, gut wrenching, painful year that was 2010. I'm of the mind that the negative seethes on the top layers of your being blocking good energy and reminding you of the hardships you endured. While positive, loving experiences melt into your bones, strengthening you at every turn. I exfoliated a layer of grief in Queens yesterday and simply emboldened myself to start my wellness journey of this next year.
After my scrub and massage of LIFE, I ventured back into the locker room to prepare for my next spa adventure when I over heard a young girl confiding in her friend her trepidation about going commando for the womens tubs. She bemoaned the fact that she hated her body and that she didn't want the other women judging her. I made a side ways glance to see this woman expecting to find a woman of size that perhaps I could help in some way. She was a little slip of a thing with a model perfect form. It broke my heart. All I could do was walk passed her and let her know that people of all shapes and sizes are beautiful and to only care about what YOU think. I hope my presence did just that but she has set up for herself a life time carnival ride of body image issues if she doesn't nip it in the bud. I know! I had buckets of tickets for that sad carnival and have only recently told those carnies to pack up and move on out!!!
So, on this birthday of mine I am literally a new person, skin and all. I look forward to my next adventure and know I've got a secret 80 pound weapon in far off Queens to help me reinvent myself when need be. Have a blessed day my dear friends. You are the best birthday present this glowing girl could ever wish for.
Love,
~Mel
Friday, July 8, 2011
The world is too small for me
Hello blogoshere!
Sorry it has been a while since my last missive. I've been one busy camper these past few weeks. I had a wonderful time performing with the New York Philharmonic a few weeks ago. The best part was that my Father got to hear me sing at Lincoln Center. And not just sing...DANCE. Yes, I made my NY dance debut. It was a tricky little concoction I like to call simply: The Owl Dance. Yes, it was magical and the Bolshoi has been trying to contract me for a few weeks now. I told them they needed to sweeten the deal with money and borscht endorsement deals so we'll see how that works out. I don't dance for just anyone.
The piece I performed was A Cunning Little Vixen. A magical fairy tale of a story that features the Phil in such a special and awe inspiring way. I found myself teary eyed as I watched Alan Gilbert conduct them to perfection right before my first entrance. Moments like these are so few and far between and when the genuine joy of music invades the air miracles can happen. It sounds like an overstatement but every musical turn served as a little salve to my tied up heart. I really enjoyed this gig. I was allowed to be funny and interact with my fellow characters in a fun and frivolous way. Unlike last year where I prayed at every entrance, died twice and beat up my husband with a hot poker. Not to say I didn't enjoy every minute of that but it was just a different vibe. A much needed change of pace.
I'm off now for a couple of months. My next big project is The Medium with Michigan Opera Theatre. I love that company and know it will be a safe haven to recreate a role I performed when I was much younger. I look forward to having the vocal acumen to give the piece it's due course. I have colors and capacity now that I didn't have at 23. It will be a treat to work on it. I start work, in earnest, on it next week. This week has been for R and R and reconnection.
I do find myself feeling Mom around me at this time. I'm lonely for her and am dumfounded that it has been only 5 months since her passing. It actually hurts worse now for some reason. Fresh wounds have an urgency to them stays on the surface while deep hurt pulsates with a nagging consistency. It's all part of the journey I suppose. I'm so tired of this trip I need a vacation from it. My musical forays serve as a kind respite but I carry with me the scars of the past year. They have informed my artistic choices though and the results are a grounded artistry that I have strived for. I'm not quite there yet but I know more about myself now than I ever did. I find my energy level for non essential activities is waning this week. I have friends to see, dates to go on and laughter to seek and yet all I want is to be with my Mom. And for now that means sitting quietly and recalling every little detail of her. It seems I have her arms. Hers were much more toned but the shape is the same. Why didn't I notice this years ago? Someone once told me that one day she put her hand through the sleeve of her shirt and her Mother's hand came out of the cuff. It seemed to happen over night. I am my Mother's daughter and am dealing with this loss with the skills she gave to me.
Operation Flashy Jacket is still on but at a bit of a standstill. I've been dieting for 5 thousand years and I am tired of it. I'm tired of being made to feel the villain. The O word is pervasive and it is used to shame and belittle people of size into buying products to keep them on the roller coaster. I cannot watch or support one more extreme loser makeover swan TLC half hour cry fest. So, I've made the decision to stop. I'm not going to buy diet food or watch any such program. I won't be buying motivational DVD's that tell me that I'm unhappy and the only way I will ever be happy is to listen to their rational. I'm not going participate in the hate mongering that is the diet industry. Let me tell you what I AM going to do. I'm gong to eat healthfully and joyfully. I'm going to move and groove to my own rhythm. I'm going to stretch and smile and laugh and sweat. I'm going to get off this crazy capitalistic treadmill. I'm not going to buy into the fashion industry that tells me what I can and cannot wear. I'm going sleeveless and short skirted. Finally, I'm just going to stop. Stop hating my body. Stop equating my success in this society with number on a scale or a dress tag.
Strange...I feel lighter already. Nothing like losing three thousand pounds of self hatred in one fell swoop.
~Mel
Sorry it has been a while since my last missive. I've been one busy camper these past few weeks. I had a wonderful time performing with the New York Philharmonic a few weeks ago. The best part was that my Father got to hear me sing at Lincoln Center. And not just sing...DANCE. Yes, I made my NY dance debut. It was a tricky little concoction I like to call simply: The Owl Dance. Yes, it was magical and the Bolshoi has been trying to contract me for a few weeks now. I told them they needed to sweeten the deal with money and borscht endorsement deals so we'll see how that works out. I don't dance for just anyone.
The piece I performed was A Cunning Little Vixen. A magical fairy tale of a story that features the Phil in such a special and awe inspiring way. I found myself teary eyed as I watched Alan Gilbert conduct them to perfection right before my first entrance. Moments like these are so few and far between and when the genuine joy of music invades the air miracles can happen. It sounds like an overstatement but every musical turn served as a little salve to my tied up heart. I really enjoyed this gig. I was allowed to be funny and interact with my fellow characters in a fun and frivolous way. Unlike last year where I prayed at every entrance, died twice and beat up my husband with a hot poker. Not to say I didn't enjoy every minute of that but it was just a different vibe. A much needed change of pace.
I'm off now for a couple of months. My next big project is The Medium with Michigan Opera Theatre. I love that company and know it will be a safe haven to recreate a role I performed when I was much younger. I look forward to having the vocal acumen to give the piece it's due course. I have colors and capacity now that I didn't have at 23. It will be a treat to work on it. I start work, in earnest, on it next week. This week has been for R and R and reconnection.
I do find myself feeling Mom around me at this time. I'm lonely for her and am dumfounded that it has been only 5 months since her passing. It actually hurts worse now for some reason. Fresh wounds have an urgency to them stays on the surface while deep hurt pulsates with a nagging consistency. It's all part of the journey I suppose. I'm so tired of this trip I need a vacation from it. My musical forays serve as a kind respite but I carry with me the scars of the past year. They have informed my artistic choices though and the results are a grounded artistry that I have strived for. I'm not quite there yet but I know more about myself now than I ever did. I find my energy level for non essential activities is waning this week. I have friends to see, dates to go on and laughter to seek and yet all I want is to be with my Mom. And for now that means sitting quietly and recalling every little detail of her. It seems I have her arms. Hers were much more toned but the shape is the same. Why didn't I notice this years ago? Someone once told me that one day she put her hand through the sleeve of her shirt and her Mother's hand came out of the cuff. It seemed to happen over night. I am my Mother's daughter and am dealing with this loss with the skills she gave to me.
Operation Flashy Jacket is still on but at a bit of a standstill. I've been dieting for 5 thousand years and I am tired of it. I'm tired of being made to feel the villain. The O word is pervasive and it is used to shame and belittle people of size into buying products to keep them on the roller coaster. I cannot watch or support one more extreme loser makeover swan TLC half hour cry fest. So, I've made the decision to stop. I'm not going to buy diet food or watch any such program. I won't be buying motivational DVD's that tell me that I'm unhappy and the only way I will ever be happy is to listen to their rational. I'm not going participate in the hate mongering that is the diet industry. Let me tell you what I AM going to do. I'm gong to eat healthfully and joyfully. I'm going to move and groove to my own rhythm. I'm going to stretch and smile and laugh and sweat. I'm going to get off this crazy capitalistic treadmill. I'm not going to buy into the fashion industry that tells me what I can and cannot wear. I'm going sleeveless and short skirted. Finally, I'm just going to stop. Stop hating my body. Stop equating my success in this society with number on a scale or a dress tag.
Strange...I feel lighter already. Nothing like losing three thousand pounds of self hatred in one fell swoop.
~Mel
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Rapture, Ronnie and Revelations....
I am hear to announce that I am firmly ensconced back into my New York apartment. Well, maybe not firmly as my room kind of looks like world war three hit it and the mountain that is my suitcase is set at a jaunty angle right in the middle of the floor, of course. Ahhh it's good to be home. I had a wonderful time in Salt Lake City. It was a journey of many different emotions and revelations, but I'll come to that in a minute.
Firstly, let's just touch on the Rapture. Yes, I am still here. I know there were a few rumors circulating about my "poofing" into the ether but they are false claims dear friends. I was in SLC on doomsday. Saturday was a glorious day, one of the few in my last few weeks there. 70 degrees and sun shining down on the snow covered mountains. The show Friday night was well received and recorded for a future broadcast, I'll be sure to let you know when it's streaming. After the show I had the oddest need to just return to my hotel and spend some time alone. This cast was very social and I really loved and needed that interaction. But on this night, the eve of the beginning of the end I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I'm a spiritual person. I was raised in the Methodist church and happily have continue my relationship with God. In every dark corner and bright spot light that is my journey I know I'm not without his good company. By church standards I'm every bit a heathen and I know my mezzo self would not have been evaporated at 6pm on Saturday. But, I don't live by the rules of man, I'm governed by my God who lives in my heart and guides me from day to day. I know this end of the world hullabaloo was a huge marketing campaign and obviously has backfired a bit for those that proclaimed it. I will admit that this event did make me think. I took the time to sit on my rainy balcony and pray and commune with my spiritual father. These 4 weeks have been filled with more than one tear and fall in your bed at night exhaustive episodes. I had a bout of insomnia and dealt with my out of shape legs as I forced myself to walk the park everyday so I could march up and down those stairs in a 25 pound costume. Friday night allowed me the time to say a quiet thank you to the forces at work that made it possible for me to be successful on this job. In the end I suppose the rapture rampage did do it's job, It made me think and be still and quiet with my God.
Let's move on to my second "R" or as I will loving call it: Why it's so important that my Dad came to see me on this gig. Dad arrived on the Monday of our 2nd performance. I had the great joy of having him in the audience for not one but TWO performances. With Mom's illness in the past few years they had not been able to travel as much as they would have wanted. They were able to make it to Seattle a few years ago and I will count that among one of my most favorite trips with them. When I was in college I was cast in a production of Tartuffe. My Father was so excited about me returning to a straight play he made the special effort to fly in for the weekend to see me perform. He came alone and left Pam and Mom in El Paso. I remember hearing him laugh during my entrances and clap the loudest when I took my bow. I also remember him making scrambled eggs and bacon at my apartment for a few members of the cast after the show. It was one of many bonding experiences I've had with my Dad surrounding the theatre and his undying devotion and love of it. We also shared the bond of caring for my Mom during some of her most trying times. Dad spent the week with me in Salt Lake and it was so wonderful to have him there. The time was easy and relaxing and a great touchstone for both of us. I haven't seen him in a couple of months and this trip served as a good temperature gage to our progress on this foreign grief journey. it was a relaxed and easy time filled with laughs and a few tears. I love my Dad and friday night during the performance I felt a hole in the theatre where he should have been.
Lastly, every gig brings one or two revelations. This one was no different. I was quite shocked at how much energy it took me somedays to just make it to rehearsal. I've done this role many times and it truly is my favorite opera. It is a privilege to undertake Verdi's masterpiece day after day. My head knows all these things but my heart sometimes ached for the Melissa that was pre Mom illness. I suffered through Easter and Mother's day on this gig. Not only Mother's day but Mother's day on steroids in Utah where Mothers are so revered. I chose to spend this day alone and not speak to anyone. I had many messages and even a beautiful rose plant from my sister friend Sherry to cheer me. All of these made for an easier time of it. One the day though, as I hunkered down in bed with my Marriot breakfast , drapes drawn and movies streaming I heard the cry of the Mother's day parade happening RIGHT OUTSIDE MY HOTEL ROOM. It was a true, "why me" moment until I had to laugh. I executed this day down to the comfort food I had stockpiled for later in the day and here is the universe sending me the signal that life does go on and hiding behind heavy hotel black out curtains is not always the answer. So, I threw the curtains open and ambled out to the balcony in my pj's and biscuits and gravy and allowed the joy of the Mother's day to wash over me. I celebrated my Mother in the only way I was able that day. I laughed, I cried and I was as authentic a person I could possibly be. Pj's and smiles, just like Mom would have wanted.
~Mel
PS. It seems as if we have until October to get our spiritual house in order. Whew, I better get to cleaning!!!!
Firstly, let's just touch on the Rapture. Yes, I am still here. I know there were a few rumors circulating about my "poofing" into the ether but they are false claims dear friends. I was in SLC on doomsday. Saturday was a glorious day, one of the few in my last few weeks there. 70 degrees and sun shining down on the snow covered mountains. The show Friday night was well received and recorded for a future broadcast, I'll be sure to let you know when it's streaming. After the show I had the oddest need to just return to my hotel and spend some time alone. This cast was very social and I really loved and needed that interaction. But on this night, the eve of the beginning of the end I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I'm a spiritual person. I was raised in the Methodist church and happily have continue my relationship with God. In every dark corner and bright spot light that is my journey I know I'm not without his good company. By church standards I'm every bit a heathen and I know my mezzo self would not have been evaporated at 6pm on Saturday. But, I don't live by the rules of man, I'm governed by my God who lives in my heart and guides me from day to day. I know this end of the world hullabaloo was a huge marketing campaign and obviously has backfired a bit for those that proclaimed it. I will admit that this event did make me think. I took the time to sit on my rainy balcony and pray and commune with my spiritual father. These 4 weeks have been filled with more than one tear and fall in your bed at night exhaustive episodes. I had a bout of insomnia and dealt with my out of shape legs as I forced myself to walk the park everyday so I could march up and down those stairs in a 25 pound costume. Friday night allowed me the time to say a quiet thank you to the forces at work that made it possible for me to be successful on this job. In the end I suppose the rapture rampage did do it's job, It made me think and be still and quiet with my God.
Let's move on to my second "R" or as I will loving call it: Why it's so important that my Dad came to see me on this gig. Dad arrived on the Monday of our 2nd performance. I had the great joy of having him in the audience for not one but TWO performances. With Mom's illness in the past few years they had not been able to travel as much as they would have wanted. They were able to make it to Seattle a few years ago and I will count that among one of my most favorite trips with them. When I was in college I was cast in a production of Tartuffe. My Father was so excited about me returning to a straight play he made the special effort to fly in for the weekend to see me perform. He came alone and left Pam and Mom in El Paso. I remember hearing him laugh during my entrances and clap the loudest when I took my bow. I also remember him making scrambled eggs and bacon at my apartment for a few members of the cast after the show. It was one of many bonding experiences I've had with my Dad surrounding the theatre and his undying devotion and love of it. We also shared the bond of caring for my Mom during some of her most trying times. Dad spent the week with me in Salt Lake and it was so wonderful to have him there. The time was easy and relaxing and a great touchstone for both of us. I haven't seen him in a couple of months and this trip served as a good temperature gage to our progress on this foreign grief journey. it was a relaxed and easy time filled with laughs and a few tears. I love my Dad and friday night during the performance I felt a hole in the theatre where he should have been.
Lastly, every gig brings one or two revelations. This one was no different. I was quite shocked at how much energy it took me somedays to just make it to rehearsal. I've done this role many times and it truly is my favorite opera. It is a privilege to undertake Verdi's masterpiece day after day. My head knows all these things but my heart sometimes ached for the Melissa that was pre Mom illness. I suffered through Easter and Mother's day on this gig. Not only Mother's day but Mother's day on steroids in Utah where Mothers are so revered. I chose to spend this day alone and not speak to anyone. I had many messages and even a beautiful rose plant from my sister friend Sherry to cheer me. All of these made for an easier time of it. One the day though, as I hunkered down in bed with my Marriot breakfast , drapes drawn and movies streaming I heard the cry of the Mother's day parade happening RIGHT OUTSIDE MY HOTEL ROOM. It was a true, "why me" moment until I had to laugh. I executed this day down to the comfort food I had stockpiled for later in the day and here is the universe sending me the signal that life does go on and hiding behind heavy hotel black out curtains is not always the answer. So, I threw the curtains open and ambled out to the balcony in my pj's and biscuits and gravy and allowed the joy of the Mother's day to wash over me. I celebrated my Mother in the only way I was able that day. I laughed, I cried and I was as authentic a person I could possibly be. Pj's and smiles, just like Mom would have wanted.
~Mel
PS. It seems as if we have until October to get our spiritual house in order. Whew, I better get to cleaning!!!!
Friday, May 6, 2011
Packing up my old kit bag....
Well, I'm taking this change thing on the road. I'm on my first official gig after losing Mom. It's been just over 3 months since she left this mortal coil and I am still adapting to my new self. Operation Flashy Jacket has finally started in earnest. 12 pounds down and counting! When I returned to New York I tried to start about one thousand new projects all on the same day. Losing weight, organizing my life, finding the perfect life mate and becoming the woman my Mother always wanted me to be. Of course, all of this project piling left me feeling depleted, defeated and down right destroyed. I'm hear to tell you folks, it's impossible to lose 100 pounds, start a relationship and restructure your life in ONE DAY. Shocking I know!
So, I took a little time to make a few little changes at a time. Firstly, leaving the house. Not as easy as one would imagine. Secondly, packing for a gig. Truly daunting this time. All of my clothes seemed to have turned against me and my well oiled packing machine apparently was in the shop. Thirdly, getting on the damn plane. As I walked through the airport I just knew someone was going to stop and ask me what was wrong. Strangely, I was shocked when they didn't. Can't you people see that I'm different? Yes, my fellow TSA friends, it's not the same Melissa Parks that you usually torment with your inefficient and intrusive ways. I'm not the same. I feel like my grief is tattooed on my skin for all to see. But it isn't. No one knows. In one way I'm grateful for that, in another I want to shout it from the rooftops. There is no rhyme or reason to this strange little dance we call grief.
Salt Lake City greeted me with snow showers. Now it's almost 80. I love this ever changing weather. It's much like my mood...snowy one day and sunny the next. Such is life. The production looks wonderful and the cast is witty and very talented. It's good to be back in the swing of things. My voice still sounds like an alien to me. I swear it's changed in timbre. I think for the better. After all, swords forged by fire are always the sharpest.
~Mel
So, I took a little time to make a few little changes at a time. Firstly, leaving the house. Not as easy as one would imagine. Secondly, packing for a gig. Truly daunting this time. All of my clothes seemed to have turned against me and my well oiled packing machine apparently was in the shop. Thirdly, getting on the damn plane. As I walked through the airport I just knew someone was going to stop and ask me what was wrong. Strangely, I was shocked when they didn't. Can't you people see that I'm different? Yes, my fellow TSA friends, it's not the same Melissa Parks that you usually torment with your inefficient and intrusive ways. I'm not the same. I feel like my grief is tattooed on my skin for all to see. But it isn't. No one knows. In one way I'm grateful for that, in another I want to shout it from the rooftops. There is no rhyme or reason to this strange little dance we call grief.
Salt Lake City greeted me with snow showers. Now it's almost 80. I love this ever changing weather. It's much like my mood...snowy one day and sunny the next. Such is life. The production looks wonderful and the cast is witty and very talented. It's good to be back in the swing of things. My voice still sounds like an alien to me. I swear it's changed in timbre. I think for the better. After all, swords forged by fire are always the sharpest.
~Mel
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Wishful Flip-Flopping....
It is well and truly April here in the Big Apple. Rainy one day, snowy the next and then just a little spring tease thrown in for good measure. Why I have chosen to live in this ever fluctuating clime is beyond me at this point. Every East coaster is on the same page as I am in regards to this bizarre weather. The winter has been a long one for us literally and for me emotionally. The fact is that I missed all the BEEEEG snow here in good ole NYC. I was in Texas basking in the southwestern glow. Of course it's hard to get a tan in a hospital waiting room but dammit I tried!
Things are picking up in ye olde emotional roller coaster these days. I am truly shocked by my ability to heal from this ridiculously difficult situation. There are still tears now and again but for the most part I'm doing just fine. I know that I'm not at the end of my grieving period, I don't know if I ever will be. What I do know is that I sequestered my little ole self in my apartment this past weekend and did 578 loads of laundry and I can report that every thing I own is clean. This may sounds like a small victory but for you other travelers out there you can attest to my situation. I am a "gig laundry" kind of girl. Although I have a war horse of a closet I have whittled and crafted a selection of gig clothing that can easily fit into one carry on rolly suitcase and a sizable tote. Yes, I am that good. Of course, that means that when I return from a gig I simply do that laundry and keep it at a maintenance level. When a season changes etc the old gig stash gets pushed to the bottom. With all the suitcase shenanigans of this past year I left a mighty pile of dirty laundry lying about my closet. One of my dear friends called me Cinderella because every time she called me last week I was doing some horrible chore. Spring cleaning has arrived and I'm doing my darnedest to clean out the cobwebs everywhere in my life.
And what was I wearing whilst toiling away the hours in the cinders? My absolutely fabulous zebra striped bedazzled to the hilt flip flops that my precious sister gave me last year for my Birthday! I flipped up and down 3 flights of stairs alllll week! Rain, snow or sun shinning brightly I flipped away the hours and I am single handedly forcing spring to arrive with my flip flop mojo! They will make their debut soon, I just know it!!!
As to today I'm taking myself out for a day of fun, even though I will be wearing wellies and not my flippers I'm going to celebrate my new clean status. Of course, I don't really want to wear anything for fear of the laundry grind again but I'll get over it and flip my way into the soggy city with my spring determination firmly in place!
Flip...flip...flip....
xo
~Mel
Things are picking up in ye olde emotional roller coaster these days. I am truly shocked by my ability to heal from this ridiculously difficult situation. There are still tears now and again but for the most part I'm doing just fine. I know that I'm not at the end of my grieving period, I don't know if I ever will be. What I do know is that I sequestered my little ole self in my apartment this past weekend and did 578 loads of laundry and I can report that every thing I own is clean. This may sounds like a small victory but for you other travelers out there you can attest to my situation. I am a "gig laundry" kind of girl. Although I have a war horse of a closet I have whittled and crafted a selection of gig clothing that can easily fit into one carry on rolly suitcase and a sizable tote. Yes, I am that good. Of course, that means that when I return from a gig I simply do that laundry and keep it at a maintenance level. When a season changes etc the old gig stash gets pushed to the bottom. With all the suitcase shenanigans of this past year I left a mighty pile of dirty laundry lying about my closet. One of my dear friends called me Cinderella because every time she called me last week I was doing some horrible chore. Spring cleaning has arrived and I'm doing my darnedest to clean out the cobwebs everywhere in my life.
And what was I wearing whilst toiling away the hours in the cinders? My absolutely fabulous zebra striped bedazzled to the hilt flip flops that my precious sister gave me last year for my Birthday! I flipped up and down 3 flights of stairs alllll week! Rain, snow or sun shinning brightly I flipped away the hours and I am single handedly forcing spring to arrive with my flip flop mojo! They will make their debut soon, I just know it!!!
As to today I'm taking myself out for a day of fun, even though I will be wearing wellies and not my flippers I'm going to celebrate my new clean status. Of course, I don't really want to wear anything for fear of the laundry grind again but I'll get over it and flip my way into the soggy city with my spring determination firmly in place!
Flip...flip...flip....
xo
~Mel
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Piques and valleys.....
It seems not much "piques" my interests these days. I've settled into a decidedly deep rut and the normal creature comforts that soothe my savage beast are without merit. I am singing again, which is great. I need to sing, it's like air to me. Sounds corny but it has been such a part of me for so long that when it left me I felt like I was drowning. My dear coach spoke to me about finding my fire and I know where that fire is but am having a hard time finding the kindling to keep it going. But I do it, even if it's not the most inspired of musical adventures I do it. It's like going to the gym on a cold morning or eating that spinach you know you need. It is a part of my routine and I'm trying to honor it.
I had an amazing weekend with some of my framily in Philadelphia. One of them lost their Mother this past fall and we had some time to speak about our journeys. She said that since her Mother has passed she has found this new urgency in the way she interacts with her children. She understands how short life is and wants them to seize absolutely every moment, quickly, for there simply isn't enough time for all the beauty of this world. I haven't quite had the same reaction. For me it seems time is too long on this earth and all I crave is to be with my Mother again. My friend is further along this grisly path than I am and I hope for that spark of recognition that reveals to me the magical wonder of this sphere. But for now I slog to the practice room and try to appear like the cracks in my facade aren't obvious. I have no children to pass this knowledge too. I'm just myself, swimming in this sea of molasses.
My coach told me that grief has a rhythm. I couldn't agree more. Today it is that slow, insistent, pounding that won't let me heal or move on. It engenders regret and immobilizing sadness.
As they say, dear friends, the beat goes on. Tomorrow I'm praying for an upbeat.
I had an amazing weekend with some of my framily in Philadelphia. One of them lost their Mother this past fall and we had some time to speak about our journeys. She said that since her Mother has passed she has found this new urgency in the way she interacts with her children. She understands how short life is and wants them to seize absolutely every moment, quickly, for there simply isn't enough time for all the beauty of this world. I haven't quite had the same reaction. For me it seems time is too long on this earth and all I crave is to be with my Mother again. My friend is further along this grisly path than I am and I hope for that spark of recognition that reveals to me the magical wonder of this sphere. But for now I slog to the practice room and try to appear like the cracks in my facade aren't obvious. I have no children to pass this knowledge too. I'm just myself, swimming in this sea of molasses.
My coach told me that grief has a rhythm. I couldn't agree more. Today it is that slow, insistent, pounding that won't let me heal or move on. It engenders regret and immobilizing sadness.
As they say, dear friends, the beat goes on. Tomorrow I'm praying for an upbeat.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wearing O' the Green...
Happy St. Patrick's Day to you all dear friends!
I've always enjoyed this holiday. Being an Irish lass I believe it's never a bad thing to enjoy your heritage and lets face it...who doesn't adore green beer? Growing up I considered St Paddy's day a "button" holiday. My Mother was a whiz at making every holiday seem special. From her spectacular decor to making sure we all had cute little green buttons to wear to school on the 17th. Mom adored themes. Seems she wasn't the only one because of the plethora of products out there to adorn each holiday. In recent years the amount of said items seem to have quadrupled in size. One can hardly walk into a shop without seeing some festive display here and there. Well, I embrace it! We should celebrate every day and if that paper mache leprechaun hat garners some good will, I'm all for it.
Finding the joyous spirit in these little milestone days isn't as easy as it was a few months ago. My family had a bionic Christmas this year. We MADE it happen amidst the sea of doctors and hospital visits. Mom rallied on Christmas and I count this last one among one of my favorites. We were all together and every gift was so thoughtfully given it made the moments seem to last. Maybe we all knew it would be our last together, I don't know. I can honestly say that I didn't expect Mom to pass as quickly as she did. In many ways, I'm still in shock. I actually picked up the phone to call her today. I've heard of this happening but I never understood it until this morning. It was a stupid cooking question, one of the many I always had for her. At any rate, reality sunk into my bones and I stared lost out the window for a few minutes until I realized it was the 17th and I must wear my claddaugh ring and don my favorite color...green.
So what if my green is tainted by a little blue this year. I'm a woman from a long line of Irish souls whose grit and determination was always seasoned with an easy laugh and an open door. I'm off to finish my cabbage and to celebrate with a green beer or two. My Irish eyes are smiling even if my heart is a little empty this year.
Erin go bra-less dear friends! Oh wait...that's a spring break "button" :)
~Mel
I've always enjoyed this holiday. Being an Irish lass I believe it's never a bad thing to enjoy your heritage and lets face it...who doesn't adore green beer? Growing up I considered St Paddy's day a "button" holiday. My Mother was a whiz at making every holiday seem special. From her spectacular decor to making sure we all had cute little green buttons to wear to school on the 17th. Mom adored themes. Seems she wasn't the only one because of the plethora of products out there to adorn each holiday. In recent years the amount of said items seem to have quadrupled in size. One can hardly walk into a shop without seeing some festive display here and there. Well, I embrace it! We should celebrate every day and if that paper mache leprechaun hat garners some good will, I'm all for it.
Finding the joyous spirit in these little milestone days isn't as easy as it was a few months ago. My family had a bionic Christmas this year. We MADE it happen amidst the sea of doctors and hospital visits. Mom rallied on Christmas and I count this last one among one of my favorites. We were all together and every gift was so thoughtfully given it made the moments seem to last. Maybe we all knew it would be our last together, I don't know. I can honestly say that I didn't expect Mom to pass as quickly as she did. In many ways, I'm still in shock. I actually picked up the phone to call her today. I've heard of this happening but I never understood it until this morning. It was a stupid cooking question, one of the many I always had for her. At any rate, reality sunk into my bones and I stared lost out the window for a few minutes until I realized it was the 17th and I must wear my claddaugh ring and don my favorite color...green.
So what if my green is tainted by a little blue this year. I'm a woman from a long line of Irish souls whose grit and determination was always seasoned with an easy laugh and an open door. I'm off to finish my cabbage and to celebrate with a green beer or two. My Irish eyes are smiling even if my heart is a little empty this year.
Erin go bra-less dear friends! Oh wait...that's a spring break "button" :)
~Mel
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Make a joyful noise...
Well, dear readers I'm off to my first coaching since my return to New York. I'm so grateful that I will be able to see my coach before he heads off to a gig for many weeks. He and I have been through the fire together and he always gives me a new perspective to chew on. I look forward to the inspiration. One little problem though, I'm not inspired at all. I have not sung since a memorial service I did in El Paso before I returned home. I have no issue singing at funerals. I've done it since I was 15. In college I was on the funeral list at the local funeral home. Many people want music at a service and don't have have musicians in their lives so they rely on the home to find someone. Therein comes the list. Often times I would sing from the back of the room and not even meet the family at hand. I knew the impact the music had on them and it was my great pleasure to contribute, even just a bit, to easing their pain on one of the most bone breakingly difficult days of their lives.
I cannot seem to find my voice in all of the hullabaloo of recent days. It seems like an alien has taken up residence in my throat and someone else's tones are coming out of my mouth. My body feels tight and over inflated with air that I just can't seem to access. It's a frustrating feeling and yet I can't seem to DO anything about it. It is what it is. I'm looking for that warm blanket of a friend to emit it's familiar stream of melody and it seems she has left me high and dry. What comes out is a passionless product of years of study and discipline. Utterly under passioned and flat in intent.
As quickly as the ennui has settled in is how quickly it can change to a little spark. Sometimes we have to trog through things to find that spark. Sometimes the spark is simply made by the friction of DOING that very thing we just cannot seem to find the inspiration to do. Dusting off the cobwebs and embracing the task, no matter how lackluster the first result, the hope of finding ones voice again is too precious to let drop. Whether your voice is in your writing, or calling a friend you haven't spoken too in a while, asking for that promotion or just trying not to hate your job. Slugging it out with the blue meanies is a an important part of existence. It adds those little notches to our heavenly crowns giving us the opportunity to truly be inspired and most noble of all....to inspire others.
I once had someone tell me to "sing the color of the sky". Well, today it is a clarion blue and I will do my best to try to infuse that majestic color into my meager squeaks today. After all it says to "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord"....not make a beautiful well produced, perfectly placed and supported, mind blowing sound unto the Lord. So today I'll start with a few noises. Tomorrow I'll try to make a few more. My muse hasn't left me, she's just taking a vacation. I hope she arrives back fully rested with new energy and inspiration.
May your day be inspired dear friends!
Love,
~Mel
I cannot seem to find my voice in all of the hullabaloo of recent days. It seems like an alien has taken up residence in my throat and someone else's tones are coming out of my mouth. My body feels tight and over inflated with air that I just can't seem to access. It's a frustrating feeling and yet I can't seem to DO anything about it. It is what it is. I'm looking for that warm blanket of a friend to emit it's familiar stream of melody and it seems she has left me high and dry. What comes out is a passionless product of years of study and discipline. Utterly under passioned and flat in intent.
As quickly as the ennui has settled in is how quickly it can change to a little spark. Sometimes we have to trog through things to find that spark. Sometimes the spark is simply made by the friction of DOING that very thing we just cannot seem to find the inspiration to do. Dusting off the cobwebs and embracing the task, no matter how lackluster the first result, the hope of finding ones voice again is too precious to let drop. Whether your voice is in your writing, or calling a friend you haven't spoken too in a while, asking for that promotion or just trying not to hate your job. Slugging it out with the blue meanies is a an important part of existence. It adds those little notches to our heavenly crowns giving us the opportunity to truly be inspired and most noble of all....to inspire others.
I once had someone tell me to "sing the color of the sky". Well, today it is a clarion blue and I will do my best to try to infuse that majestic color into my meager squeaks today. After all it says to "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord"....not make a beautiful well produced, perfectly placed and supported, mind blowing sound unto the Lord. So today I'll start with a few noises. Tomorrow I'll try to make a few more. My muse hasn't left me, she's just taking a vacation. I hope she arrives back fully rested with new energy and inspiration.
May your day be inspired dear friends!
Love,
~Mel
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Home-ish
The concept of home is a flexible one with me. Because of the amount of travel that I do and my transient lifestyle my idea of home as a place is not necessarily the norm. When I started my professional career I thought carrying many items with me would make me feel more at home. Candles, pictures, a ridiculous amount of wardrobe changes and kitchen utensils were standards in my kit. Ironically these things just weighed me down and the introduction of weight limits and luggage fees truly limited my material baggage. But in all seriousness I've carried tailored suits across the country that I've never worn, many candles were left behind unburned and more than one kitchen knife has found it's way into a hotel trash bin. I've been a roadie for almost 30 years. Between choir tours, speech tourneys, vocal competitions and the like I've logged in hundreds of hours of suitcase time. When I was in high school the only extras I travelled with were my pillow and a bag of cheetos...thats it. Maybe a book or two and my walkman if I was feeling luxurious. I learned early on that if you bring it, you have to carry it!
Now that I'm home from Texas and my life has been altered I'm having a hard time finding my home. I adore my apartment. I've lived here 10 years and Ron and I have painstakingly painted, molded, furnished and positioned ever little detail. It is a haven, a safe calm place in a very frenetic city. We can easily host an elegant cocktail party or a superbowl beer blowout without much effort. I have a closet filled with beautiful clothes, a desk stocked with fresh supplies, and a down comforter to entice me. There are family pictures around the room and relics from my travels and that of my family to remind me of the amazing times I've experienced. I'm surrounded by the things and people that I love.
Yet, I feel like I've left something unpacked. I'm not quite settled in. It's true that I have been in and out of my apartment with very little turn around time and one of the tell tale signs of this are the many ziploc bags filled with toiletries that I have stashed in every little corner of my room! Damn that TSA with their 3 oz restrictions! So, I've spent the past few days consolidating 3 oz moisturizers and trying to find my way in my new life. It sounds a bit dramatic but with the events of the past year I'm left depleted and a bit lost. On the other hand, I've never felt stronger. Anyone who survives any difficult hurtles understands that strength can be gleaned from said struggle. But I'm out of sorts. It's as if little elves ventured into my closet and altered everything by just a few centimeters here and there. Just enough to create an unease without any perceptible differences. Are these jeans really this short? Were these heels always this high? I'm sure I put this pair of tights on before without the run in them. The day to day adjustments are draining and my new view of the world is a bit at odds with the Melissa of one year ago.
Maybe it is a sign that it's time to change. To embrace the concept of the fluidity of life and relish it. Making lifestyle changes that will only benefit me in my future. Savoring that cup of coffee or the sound of the one million birds that have seemed to take up residence in the tree right outside my bedroom window. There are very few certainties in life and change is one of them. I know that I have the choice to embrace said variances with the grace and ease that I learned from my Mother or to go kicking and screaming into the abyss. Well, when you put it that way I suppose I don't have much of a choice at all, do I?
~Mel
Now that I'm home from Texas and my life has been altered I'm having a hard time finding my home. I adore my apartment. I've lived here 10 years and Ron and I have painstakingly painted, molded, furnished and positioned ever little detail. It is a haven, a safe calm place in a very frenetic city. We can easily host an elegant cocktail party or a superbowl beer blowout without much effort. I have a closet filled with beautiful clothes, a desk stocked with fresh supplies, and a down comforter to entice me. There are family pictures around the room and relics from my travels and that of my family to remind me of the amazing times I've experienced. I'm surrounded by the things and people that I love.
Yet, I feel like I've left something unpacked. I'm not quite settled in. It's true that I have been in and out of my apartment with very little turn around time and one of the tell tale signs of this are the many ziploc bags filled with toiletries that I have stashed in every little corner of my room! Damn that TSA with their 3 oz restrictions! So, I've spent the past few days consolidating 3 oz moisturizers and trying to find my way in my new life. It sounds a bit dramatic but with the events of the past year I'm left depleted and a bit lost. On the other hand, I've never felt stronger. Anyone who survives any difficult hurtles understands that strength can be gleaned from said struggle. But I'm out of sorts. It's as if little elves ventured into my closet and altered everything by just a few centimeters here and there. Just enough to create an unease without any perceptible differences. Are these jeans really this short? Were these heels always this high? I'm sure I put this pair of tights on before without the run in them. The day to day adjustments are draining and my new view of the world is a bit at odds with the Melissa of one year ago.
Maybe it is a sign that it's time to change. To embrace the concept of the fluidity of life and relish it. Making lifestyle changes that will only benefit me in my future. Savoring that cup of coffee or the sound of the one million birds that have seemed to take up residence in the tree right outside my bedroom window. There are very few certainties in life and change is one of them. I know that I have the choice to embrace said variances with the grace and ease that I learned from my Mother or to go kicking and screaming into the abyss. Well, when you put it that way I suppose I don't have much of a choice at all, do I?
~Mel
Monday, February 28, 2011
Matricidio
I had the opportunity Saturday night to have dinner with some old and very dear friends. It was a wonderful uplifting time with some of the best posole I've ever had the pleasure of eating. Beyond that we had the chance to play catch up and to share with each other. Our hosts were sharing the story about how they met. It was a very sweet tale that included a real true blue love at first sight moment. Both of these people shared with me that before they met they had "set" their lives. Never did they believe that marriage was in their future. In fact, the wife in the relationship had even coined the term "matricidio". It is a combination of Matrimonio and Suicidio......the spanish words for marriage and suicide! I like the image of her being a bonzai bride, diving into her white dress with a mortal fervor.
I suppose being a woman of a "certain age" I have truly become set in my ways. My career demands that I travel a great deal and also requests a kind of selfish hyper focus that can sometimes build barriers in any relationship. I'm also not the societal norm of beauty. I know how to present myself and take pride in my appearance but I will never grace the cover of any fashion magazine. Also the fact that at my age my chances of being hit by a bus far outweigh the likelihood of me donning the bridal veil, at least according to Cosmo. These are little hurtles that sometimes make finding love difficult. Of course, who am I to complain? I've have some amazing relationships filled with passion and hilarity. I've shared company with brilliant minds and witty rakes. I've also suffered through about one million coffee dates. Ron and I have a litmus test for coffee dates. The success of the date is in direct proportion to the size of the coffee ordered. Sadly, I've had my share of single shot espresso dates but once in a great while a venti will come along. I haven't been on a coffee date since the introduction of the famed Trenti at Starbucks....now that would be a red letter day!
The question resonates in me as to whether or not I truly want to get married. After all if I really did wouldn't I have done it already? I've never been one to take no for an answer and if I had attacked the marriage challenge with the same ferocity I tackled my singing career chances are I would have the opportunity to celebrate a 50 year anniversary down the line. I guess I'm just waiting for the little spark of love at first sight. That breath taking moment when your heart skips a beat and your mind reels with the whirring sounds of cupids arrows. I know "Mr Trenti" is out there. When I find him you'll all be the first to know. I'll be the one strapping on my Vera Wang and screaming "MATRICIDIO" all the way down the rose petal covered aisle!
~Mel
I suppose being a woman of a "certain age" I have truly become set in my ways. My career demands that I travel a great deal and also requests a kind of selfish hyper focus that can sometimes build barriers in any relationship. I'm also not the societal norm of beauty. I know how to present myself and take pride in my appearance but I will never grace the cover of any fashion magazine. Also the fact that at my age my chances of being hit by a bus far outweigh the likelihood of me donning the bridal veil, at least according to Cosmo. These are little hurtles that sometimes make finding love difficult. Of course, who am I to complain? I've have some amazing relationships filled with passion and hilarity. I've shared company with brilliant minds and witty rakes. I've also suffered through about one million coffee dates. Ron and I have a litmus test for coffee dates. The success of the date is in direct proportion to the size of the coffee ordered. Sadly, I've had my share of single shot espresso dates but once in a great while a venti will come along. I haven't been on a coffee date since the introduction of the famed Trenti at Starbucks....now that would be a red letter day!
The question resonates in me as to whether or not I truly want to get married. After all if I really did wouldn't I have done it already? I've never been one to take no for an answer and if I had attacked the marriage challenge with the same ferocity I tackled my singing career chances are I would have the opportunity to celebrate a 50 year anniversary down the line. I guess I'm just waiting for the little spark of love at first sight. That breath taking moment when your heart skips a beat and your mind reels with the whirring sounds of cupids arrows. I know "Mr Trenti" is out there. When I find him you'll all be the first to know. I'll be the one strapping on my Vera Wang and screaming "MATRICIDIO" all the way down the rose petal covered aisle!
~Mel
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Roller Coaster
Grief is a funny thing. It's a ride that one can't seem to get off. I still feel wrapped in the outpouring of support and love from my friends and family. They are on this ride with me but it seems I'm in a car all by myself. Frankly, I miss my Mother. The exhaustion of the past year has come crashing down around my family. I'm getting enough sleep and enjoying some down time in El Paso but the reality of the situation just seems to be looming in the shadows. My life has changed.. dramatically.
The strangest things will set off little "moments" of sadness. Today it was a stupid little grocery list that I found in a coat pocket of hers. Seeing her handwriting just sent me spiraling. My Mother had amazing handwriting. I did not acquire this penmanship from her. Mine looks pretty but is basically illegible. Mom took great pride in writing notes and even signing her name on a check. She would very carefully sign her beautiful name and it looked like a computer generated signature. Gorgeous!
The roller coaster has fewer ups and downs these days. There are more straight passages filled with great memories and new experiences. But there are still deep valleys and I know that eventually I will rise out of them.
I'm sorry to the downbeat post today. I'm using the blog as a tool to help me through this time. It helps to keep a record of what I'm experiencing. Maybe it will help someone who is facing a similar situation. I can only hope that it does.
Love,
~Mel
The strangest things will set off little "moments" of sadness. Today it was a stupid little grocery list that I found in a coat pocket of hers. Seeing her handwriting just sent me spiraling. My Mother had amazing handwriting. I did not acquire this penmanship from her. Mine looks pretty but is basically illegible. Mom took great pride in writing notes and even signing her name on a check. She would very carefully sign her beautiful name and it looked like a computer generated signature. Gorgeous!
The roller coaster has fewer ups and downs these days. There are more straight passages filled with great memories and new experiences. But there are still deep valleys and I know that eventually I will rise out of them.
I'm sorry to the downbeat post today. I'm using the blog as a tool to help me through this time. It helps to keep a record of what I'm experiencing. Maybe it will help someone who is facing a similar situation. I can only hope that it does.
Love,
~Mel
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
For Mom
I had the great honor of speaking at my Mother's service. I've been asked by a few to send them a copy of it. I thought you might enjoy reading it.
For Mom:
When i think about my Mother so many words come into my mind. Strength, courage, grace and compassion, just to name a few. My Mother started me on many a journey and had the wherewithal to see me through some of those paths with the kind of super human support one can hardly express. The first obvious path was that of music. I remember very distinctly attending church choir for the very first time. Mom explained it to me like it was a new exciting group of children i would get to play with. I remember Mr. Wilson teaching me about the lines and spaces of the staff an I honestly don’t remember a time when I couldn’t read music. That is because of my Mother. Mom was my first accompanist. This is a very special relationship that requires patience, strength, trust and a good sense of humor. Mom played for every solo and ensemble competition I attended...we always got 1’s by the way. She was there on that fateful day with Dr Margaret Forrest from West Texas A & M was my judge and inquired about my college plans. Mom just smiled a wry grin and told me it was my decision as to where I attended school. I chose WT of course, who am I to intervene with fate?
Mom helped me move to Philadelphia when I was accepted into the Academy of Vocal Arts there. We walked that city for days trying to outfit my new apartment. I mean really, where do you buy a broom in center city Philadelphia? She stayed with me a week and helped me transition into a new phase of my life. One that brought me not only a fine education but my closest and dearest friends in the world.
She journeyed with me as i began my career. She once told me that all anyone needed to prove that there were angels in heaven was to listen to me sing. She cheered every new engagement, triumphal audition or milestone. Listening and comforting me when the realities of a life in show business just seemed insurmountable. At one particularly difficult juncture, after years of knocking down doors and many nights spent in corporate apartments throughout the land I found myself pretty burnt out. I didn’t particularly share the details with Mom but she knew I was growing weary. She simply said: Well, Melissa, all you have to do is have a little faith. This was after years of putting them through the rigors of the uncertainty of my profession. She boiled it down so succinctly and whenever any darkness creeps into my spotlight i always call up her words as a talisman against negative and bleak thoughts.
My Mother was a fierce supporter of Pam and I. She truly was the queen of the Momma grizzly club. She fought for us in a most elegant and graceful way. She was never overbearing or obvious with her fight. She stood by us with a quiet strength that bespeaks of the true southern lady she was. Often times her target wouldn’t know what hit them until days later. She was that good.
Mom took great pride in her appearance and ours. She taught Pam and I the ins and outs of presenting ourselves in the best possible light. She also gave us the power to develop our own personal style and wear it with the same pride that she had. It is a gift that has benefited me time and time again. I am comfortable in any social situation because of the tools my Mother gave me. It may seem like an odd thing to cherish but giving a child the ability to be comfortable in their own skin is a gift that defies explanation.
Mom was also a social butterfly, in her way. She loved people and events. The chance to gather with her dear friends and family always brought such light to her life. She cared so deeply for the ones she loved that many times I would catch her sitting and watching in delight as someone regaled them with a wild tale of adventure or funny story. I loved watching my Mom go from table to table at a big event. She seemed to float on air as she greeted everyone and caught up on the days comings and goings. I watched her in awe at my sisters wedding doing this very thing while the rest of us were so tired we could hardly keep our eyes open. She loved her friends, family and sweet sisters of Chi Omega with a reserved ferocity. Words haven’t even been invented yet to describe the deep and unending love she shared with my Father. Their life together is a testament to all that is right with the institution of marriage. They set a perfect example of love and delight for my sister and I.
Mom’s generosity knew no bounds. She often bought items for people in the grocery store when they didn’t have enough money for the extras...like ice cream for a family that couldn’t afford it. Our house is still flooded with calls from the charitable organizations that she gave too. I remember as a teenager stopping to give a man a 5 dollar bill who was hungry. Her heart knew no bounds. She tried to impart that lesson to my sister and I. Mom demanded very little of us but an open compassionate heart was at the top of the list.
Of all of Mom’s many gifts and talents my favorite was her sense of humor. I’d like to think I have a little of that in me. Of course, her timing was always better than mine and I could always count on her for a quick come back or an easy laugh. I loved laughing with my Mom and I did it often. For that I will be eternally grateful.
Wilfred A Peterson wisely wrote about the Art of Living Forever:
...As you help people grow, as you work for peace, understanding and good will, your influence will merge, with the good influences of people of every age, and the eternal golden stream of God’s goodness..
As you throw the weight of your influence on the side of the good, the true and the beautiful, your life will achieve an endless splendor. It will go on in others, bigger, finer, nobler than you ever dared it to be.
These words speak to the art that was my Mother.
Please know that she loved you all so much. She’s here now going from row to row thanking you for coming and asking that you look after us.
I love you Mom
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day!
As an adult I've always had an uneasy relationship with Valentine's day. Cupid and I don't see eye to eye very often and our feud always seems to escalate around the 14th of February. There was a time that I would send out black valentine cards. I filled them with pithy poems fraught with sardonic rants about my romantic woes. I eventually ended this tradition and embraced the holiday, choosing instead to send cards, cookies or a kind word to the many in my life that I do love.
Most of you know my ridiculous streak of dating European men and their sometime ignorance of the American traditions of Valentine's day. It's something about the accent, I don't know. Anyway, one man gave me a virus protection program...still wrapped in the original packaging and presented in the Best Buy bag it was placed in at the store. sigh. Again, most of you know my love of wrapping and you can put just about anything in a beautiful box with gorgeous paper and I will swoon. I just smiled and thanked him for this most thoughtful gift. To him, he was caring for me and showing me love....in a VERY practical way. lol. Our relationship was never one of roses, stuffed animals or heart shaped boxes of chocolate. I've had my share of romantic evenings and really cannot complain too loudly about my Valentine's days of late.
I realized that once I embraced all the love in my life,love of family, friends (FRAMILY), music, and my amazing city, that I would sign that peace treaty with cupid. There has been peace for a few years now but I'm sure we'll get into it again at some juncture. He's a fickle imp who sometimes just needs to be put in his place.
Happy Valentine's Day all my loves!
~Mel
Most of you know my ridiculous streak of dating European men and their sometime ignorance of the American traditions of Valentine's day. It's something about the accent, I don't know. Anyway, one man gave me a virus protection program...still wrapped in the original packaging and presented in the Best Buy bag it was placed in at the store. sigh. Again, most of you know my love of wrapping and you can put just about anything in a beautiful box with gorgeous paper and I will swoon. I just smiled and thanked him for this most thoughtful gift. To him, he was caring for me and showing me love....in a VERY practical way. lol. Our relationship was never one of roses, stuffed animals or heart shaped boxes of chocolate. I've had my share of romantic evenings and really cannot complain too loudly about my Valentine's days of late.
I realized that once I embraced all the love in my life,love of family, friends (FRAMILY), music, and my amazing city, that I would sign that peace treaty with cupid. There has been peace for a few years now but I'm sure we'll get into it again at some juncture. He's a fickle imp who sometimes just needs to be put in his place.
Happy Valentine's Day all my loves!
~Mel
Saturday, February 12, 2011
In My Mother's Closet
Hello Blogosphere!
Welcome to my little corner of the net. I've created this blog to share with you all a journey that I'm undertaking as well as keep you up to date about the comings and goings of my travel and career. The main focus of this blog, however, will be to share my feelings and thoughts on the past year of my life and how I'm a changed person because of this tremendous year. As many of you know, my sweet Mother passed away on January 27th, 2011. It was the culmination of a year of illness and surgeries that left my family feeling depleted and my frequent flyers miles plentiful. Although it was the biggest challenge I've ever encountered I count this year among the most precious of my existence. This doesn't mean I wasn't frustrated or angry some of the time, but rather that the moments I had with my family solidified the knowledge that I already had: My family is amazing. Never have I been so blessed as with the outpouring of love and support from our friends, colleagues and family members. It still astounds me and you should expect quite a few blogs about you all!! Get ready!
The title of this blog relates to the hours I spent this year in my Mother's closet. After my Mother had a below the knee amputation this summer the decision was made that a renovation was in order to the back of the house. This would entail removing everything from the back walk in closet and bathroom. I truly believe my Mother's closet was the 10th wonder of the world. I have absolutely no idea how she had everything she had in there...IN THERE! Years and YEARS of beautiful treasures were carried from the back of the house down the long hallway to the living room. Our living room is perhaps the largest room in the house and her closet the smallest. The living room was busting with items by the time we emptied all of the contents of that clown car of a closet. It is one of the great mysteries of the world. How on earth did she made everything fit? At any rate, when she came home from the rehab center it was the height of El Paso summer, beyond hot. All of her clothes were on racks or laying on the many sofa's in the living room or in big rubbermaid bins. We set her up in my room during the renovation and everyday it was my duty to "find" something for her to wear. Bless her heart, her choices were limited at first because I simply couldn't locate anything! Eventually I found a cache of summer items that seemed to suite her. This went on for weeks. I would walk down the hall, trudge through the fashion and emerge with something that may or may not work. Once she realized I could move around in there she would make requests. Well, I did my best but I must admit to being frustrated trying to find that special pair of white pants in a pile of perhaps 10 pairs. During this process I also spent hours with Mom in the living room going through every single item from the closet. I think I knew her wardrobe better than she did by the end of the process. We bagged up about 25 bags to go to a local charity. BIG BAGS. When the closet was done it was a thing a beauty. My Father and I spent a long summer day, 110 in the shade, moving all of those clothes back to their new home. My biceps have never looked better. I helped to organize the best I could but I know that a few weeks after I left my dear Aunt Katy came and helped Mom put everything in it's proper place. It looked amazing.
When Mom passed I had a hard time going into the closet. I had to go in there for items that were needed in the house; sheets, towels and the like. It still smelled like her perfume and I wondered how I would ever be able to go through all those beautiful clothes. Mom was an avid shopper, I come by it naturally you see. She was quite fond of elaborate and colorful jackets. She had probably 100 of them. As my sister and I tackled the shirts and pants etc...we left the jackets alone. We just couldn't give them to our local charity. By the way, 28 bags were picked up yesterday morning. I asked my great friend Katie to come and pick what she would like from Mom's stash. She picked some great items. Mom and Katie shared a similar style and Mom has sent things to Katie in the past. It helped that Katie was taking these precious clothes. I know she will wear them with pride and think of Mom as she does. It seems like a trivial thing but I know Mom would adore that Katie has those things. She loved my friends as she did her own children.
My sister and I went through Mom's beloved jackets and picked out a few for ourselves. My Mother was a tall and slender woman. She would never have described herself that way but she took great care of herself and was a healthy size. I am a tall and...well, not so slender woman. lol. Those jackets don't fit me at all! But they will. That is one of the journeys I want you to come on with me. I'm not calling it a diet or a weight loss plan but simply operation flashy jacket! Pam and I made the decision to take this road together. Don't fret, not every blog will be about OFJ. I promise not to whine about celery or low cal dressing. I simply want to document this part of my travels. i hope you will enjoy the ride!
~Mel
Welcome to my little corner of the net. I've created this blog to share with you all a journey that I'm undertaking as well as keep you up to date about the comings and goings of my travel and career. The main focus of this blog, however, will be to share my feelings and thoughts on the past year of my life and how I'm a changed person because of this tremendous year. As many of you know, my sweet Mother passed away on January 27th, 2011. It was the culmination of a year of illness and surgeries that left my family feeling depleted and my frequent flyers miles plentiful. Although it was the biggest challenge I've ever encountered I count this year among the most precious of my existence. This doesn't mean I wasn't frustrated or angry some of the time, but rather that the moments I had with my family solidified the knowledge that I already had: My family is amazing. Never have I been so blessed as with the outpouring of love and support from our friends, colleagues and family members. It still astounds me and you should expect quite a few blogs about you all!! Get ready!
The title of this blog relates to the hours I spent this year in my Mother's closet. After my Mother had a below the knee amputation this summer the decision was made that a renovation was in order to the back of the house. This would entail removing everything from the back walk in closet and bathroom. I truly believe my Mother's closet was the 10th wonder of the world. I have absolutely no idea how she had everything she had in there...IN THERE! Years and YEARS of beautiful treasures were carried from the back of the house down the long hallway to the living room. Our living room is perhaps the largest room in the house and her closet the smallest. The living room was busting with items by the time we emptied all of the contents of that clown car of a closet. It is one of the great mysteries of the world. How on earth did she made everything fit? At any rate, when she came home from the rehab center it was the height of El Paso summer, beyond hot. All of her clothes were on racks or laying on the many sofa's in the living room or in big rubbermaid bins. We set her up in my room during the renovation and everyday it was my duty to "find" something for her to wear. Bless her heart, her choices were limited at first because I simply couldn't locate anything! Eventually I found a cache of summer items that seemed to suite her. This went on for weeks. I would walk down the hall, trudge through the fashion and emerge with something that may or may not work. Once she realized I could move around in there she would make requests. Well, I did my best but I must admit to being frustrated trying to find that special pair of white pants in a pile of perhaps 10 pairs. During this process I also spent hours with Mom in the living room going through every single item from the closet. I think I knew her wardrobe better than she did by the end of the process. We bagged up about 25 bags to go to a local charity. BIG BAGS. When the closet was done it was a thing a beauty. My Father and I spent a long summer day, 110 in the shade, moving all of those clothes back to their new home. My biceps have never looked better. I helped to organize the best I could but I know that a few weeks after I left my dear Aunt Katy came and helped Mom put everything in it's proper place. It looked amazing.
When Mom passed I had a hard time going into the closet. I had to go in there for items that were needed in the house; sheets, towels and the like. It still smelled like her perfume and I wondered how I would ever be able to go through all those beautiful clothes. Mom was an avid shopper, I come by it naturally you see. She was quite fond of elaborate and colorful jackets. She had probably 100 of them. As my sister and I tackled the shirts and pants etc...we left the jackets alone. We just couldn't give them to our local charity. By the way, 28 bags were picked up yesterday morning. I asked my great friend Katie to come and pick what she would like from Mom's stash. She picked some great items. Mom and Katie shared a similar style and Mom has sent things to Katie in the past. It helped that Katie was taking these precious clothes. I know she will wear them with pride and think of Mom as she does. It seems like a trivial thing but I know Mom would adore that Katie has those things. She loved my friends as she did her own children.
My sister and I went through Mom's beloved jackets and picked out a few for ourselves. My Mother was a tall and slender woman. She would never have described herself that way but she took great care of herself and was a healthy size. I am a tall and...well, not so slender woman. lol. Those jackets don't fit me at all! But they will. That is one of the journeys I want you to come on with me. I'm not calling it a diet or a weight loss plan but simply operation flashy jacket! Pam and I made the decision to take this road together. Don't fret, not every blog will be about OFJ. I promise not to whine about celery or low cal dressing. I simply want to document this part of my travels. i hope you will enjoy the ride!
~Mel
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)