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
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
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
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