Hello from Tulsa Blogosphere!!! I'm writing you on the very eve of my opening of Gypsy. It has been a rollicking and active last few months and I apologize for letting my blog lapse. The title of this blog entry refers to a song from one of my favorite bands of all times. Honestly I could start a new blog based entirely on my teenage like frenzy I have for them. Those that know me well know this band is the magnificent Depeche Mode. Yes, I know, still.....I hear some groans from old classmates, but yes, they are my favorite and I'm stand behind every synthesized pop, squeak and wail they grace me with.
I'm here in Tulsa to sing Momma Rose for the first, and hopefully not last time. It has been a journey filled with angsty late night chats, sweaty rehearsals, sore feet and vocal gymnastics of the baritone variety. Who did he write this for anyway? Sherrril Milnes???? But I digress, this process has helped me on my grief journey is a really unexpected way. Let me tell you folks, being called "Momma" five thousand times a day kind of takes the sting out of cringing every time the word is spoken. It's like sensory overload. Momma this Momma that....it is endless. Even I call myself Momma about ten thousand times during the show. So I'm hear to tell ya, if you ever need to get over something just do it a million times and the pain will fade away.
I've spoken before about wanting to talk to Mom, wanting to dream about her and even see her again. There have been points in this process that I've picked up the phone to call her. I do that on just about every show. There is always that precarious day when I know that I can't do this. That I'm not getting it. That I'm simply not the right person for the job. Mom and Dad both have listened to me rant and rave about these little doubts my entire life. They both always listen and let me talk my way back to knowing that I can do anything I set my mind too. I've started talking to Mom more. I know she is listening. There was a wonderful movie with Robin Williams called What Dreams May Come. It dealt with the issue of loss in a unique and beautiful way. In one scene Williams, who had passed away, comes back to find his widow despondent. Every time he tried to be near her or talk to her the pain of his presence was so great she would crumble. The pain was too fresh and present. I think about this often as I can now talk about Mom without always tearing up, I can smell her perfume and think of the happy times and I can now openly and proudly speak to her about my joys and sorrows. The pain of losing her is still with me but I'm growing used to it. Time has allowed me to feel her near me again. That is a wonderful gift that I am so grateful for.
Well, on to trod the boards in Tulsa. I've heard every thing's coming up roses.....we shall just have to wait and see.
xo
~Mel
Friday, June 15, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
The magic of rainbows
Hello dear readers,
I know it's been quite a while since I have put finger to keypad but life rollicks along at an unrelenting pace at times. The pace has been a good one. Lots of work and family time have filled my coffers and I am so grateful for the opportunities afforded me. Honestly, I purposely stayed away from the blog at the holidays because I just couldn't handle writing about the first Thanksgiving...the first Christmas....first this first that...since my Mom left our world. It seemed morbid and quite frankly I wasn't strong enough to share my feelings and experiences.
Now it comes down to the biggest "first of all". A Herculean hurtle of a day that has me at one moment staring off into the distance and at another frantically tackling a long laundry list of to do's. It has been raining for two days here in New York. Persistent gentle rain accompanied by fog and an opaque gray sky. I awoke this morning to a gentle breeze and a dense haze rising off of the Hudson River. It is almost 60 degrees here and the warm rain hitting the icy waters has created a giant halloween cauldron out of the river. It was quite the site. I watched with disbelief as wave upon wave of fog rose and billowed away. It felt as if the fog would never lift and the clouds were a permanent fixture in my little upstate manhattan world. Grey feeling joined Mother nature and I retreated to my bed where I have been nursing an out back for the last few days. I had planned a long day of activites for myself. Manicure/ Pedicure, movie and shopping, a museum stop and a trip to the Chelsea flower market all to celebrate my Mother's love of beautiful things. And yet, I sit here rooted to my leather club chair, sporting my uniform of yoga pants and tank top, scouring the on demand channels for distraction. My energy level is beyond low and although I've had coffee and sustenance I am lethargic and wanting. Then the tiniest little spring breeze broke through my apartment. Yes, i said spring. The low lying cement clouds seemed to shuffle off and a little peak of blue sky shone through the mire. I glanced up to see the small forming of a rainbow on the horizon.
Such is life I suppose. At times so fogged in that even the possibility of a glimmer is beyond comprehension. But the light always breaks through and signs are sent from Heaven to help us continue on and even relish and enjoy every moment of this precious life. My Mother was such a light and she graced me today with a sign I will carry in my heart for the rest of my days.
I love you precious Momma. I miss you every day but know that I carry you in the rainbow that is my life.
I know it's been quite a while since I have put finger to keypad but life rollicks along at an unrelenting pace at times. The pace has been a good one. Lots of work and family time have filled my coffers and I am so grateful for the opportunities afforded me. Honestly, I purposely stayed away from the blog at the holidays because I just couldn't handle writing about the first Thanksgiving...the first Christmas....first this first that...since my Mom left our world. It seemed morbid and quite frankly I wasn't strong enough to share my feelings and experiences.
Now it comes down to the biggest "first of all". A Herculean hurtle of a day that has me at one moment staring off into the distance and at another frantically tackling a long laundry list of to do's. It has been raining for two days here in New York. Persistent gentle rain accompanied by fog and an opaque gray sky. I awoke this morning to a gentle breeze and a dense haze rising off of the Hudson River. It is almost 60 degrees here and the warm rain hitting the icy waters has created a giant halloween cauldron out of the river. It was quite the site. I watched with disbelief as wave upon wave of fog rose and billowed away. It felt as if the fog would never lift and the clouds were a permanent fixture in my little upstate manhattan world. Grey feeling joined Mother nature and I retreated to my bed where I have been nursing an out back for the last few days. I had planned a long day of activites for myself. Manicure/ Pedicure, movie and shopping, a museum stop and a trip to the Chelsea flower market all to celebrate my Mother's love of beautiful things. And yet, I sit here rooted to my leather club chair, sporting my uniform of yoga pants and tank top, scouring the on demand channels for distraction. My energy level is beyond low and although I've had coffee and sustenance I am lethargic and wanting. Then the tiniest little spring breeze broke through my apartment. Yes, i said spring. The low lying cement clouds seemed to shuffle off and a little peak of blue sky shone through the mire. I glanced up to see the small forming of a rainbow on the horizon.
Such is life I suppose. At times so fogged in that even the possibility of a glimmer is beyond comprehension. But the light always breaks through and signs are sent from Heaven to help us continue on and even relish and enjoy every moment of this precious life. My Mother was such a light and she graced me today with a sign I will carry in my heart for the rest of my days.
I love you precious Momma. I miss you every day but know that I carry you in the rainbow that is my life.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Dos Equis
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.
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.
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
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