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!!!!

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

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

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.

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

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

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