Can You Feel the Love Tonight- Part 2

First, let me apologize for being somewhat MIA. I have been focusing on Momentum Rep's blog this month. Lily is dressing as a different musical every day. It's adorable. You can check it out at www.momentumrep.blogspot.com

But I had a rather extraordinary experience the other day, and it needed to be shared.

I saw "The Lion King." I know, I know, didn't we already do this a few months ago? Sitting in the audience, holding my breath, watching someone I care about and have helped nurture?

Yes, we did that. And you can read about the time we took Lily to see "The Lion King" on Broadway in my November post, "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?"

But this time it wasn't my daughter I was watching, it was a student. And that student wasn't in the audience. She was onstage.

I met Syndee in the Fall of 2007 when I started teaching at Five Towns College. She was introduced to me by the head of the department. It was clear he was very proud of her- he told me all about how she had been a Knick's dancer. She presented herself with confidence. She knew what she wanted. And one of the things she wanted was for me to teach her voice lessons. Even though my studio was full, some phone calls were made, and soon we were all set. I was a little intimidated by the whole situation, truth be told.

We met a few days later in my obscenely small studio where I taught lessons. (and by "my" studio, I only mean that I was assigned there when I taught. It wasn't actually "mine.") I had to push my chair back into a corner so we could get far enough away from each other to have a conversation. And that's when Syndee told me that she was going to be Nala in "The Lion King." She told me she had cut out pictures from the show and tacked them to a bulletin board so she could see it every day. And I believed that she would do it. Someday, anyway.

Over the next few years, we worked on some subtleties of Syndee's voice. She was already fabulous, of course. And as someone close to her, I was privileged enough to watch her perform many times- including seeing her sing the National Anthem at a Knicks game. But she didn't want to be told she was fabulous. She wanted to be told what needed work. And I told her. And she worked. And she just kept getting better.

In the summer of 2008, my best friend and I started Momentum Repertory Company, producing our first full musical- "Godspell." I cast Syndee to sing the rip-roaring "Oh Bless the Lord, My Soul." This part was not a surprise to anyone. But what was a little surprising to many was the fact that I dressed her as a homeless woman. Because I knew the last thing she wanted to do was play another glamorous character. She wanted to work on her acting skills. And her portrayal of that homeless woman brought the audience to tears.

Back at Five Towns that fall, Syndee and I continued to work. And then one day, she was called in for Nala. We had work to do. Major work. Not just vocally- her skills there had improved incredibly over the past year. But real acting work. What could she bring to "Shadowland" that others hadn't brought? How could she make it about the story and character, and not just about her incredible voice? We grabbed Jenn Spears (now a Board member for MRC) and set to work picking the song apart. Making intense, difficult acting choices. And by the end of our lesson, when she sang it for the final time, I don't know how the walls of that flimsy little practice room were still standing.

I left Five Towns College to adopt. And adopt I did. And when Lily was just a few months old, I got a phone call. It was Syndee.

"Hey," she said casually. "Are you holding the baby?" I told her I wasn't. That I had put her down for a nap. "OK good. I didn't want you to drop her when I told you I was just cast as Nala in the National Tour."

Of course she was. I was thrilled for her. But I wasn't surprised.

Syndee came in for one more coaching before heading out. Lily was fussing a little, so Syndee held her while she sang "Shadowland" so I could play the piano. (Lily now thinks this is normal. Don't most toddlers hang out on Broadway and have Nala personally serenade them in their living rooms?) I gave her a few tips here and there, but honestly, there was little I could say. She was ready.

I looked at the tour schedule as soon as it was available, saw that the show would be in Providence on my Dad's birthday, and knew that's when we could go. It was difficult for us to afford the tickets, but nothing would keep me from seeing her in this show. So, this past Sunday, we all headed out to the Providence Performing Arts Center. (and by "all," I mean, Ryan and I, my Dad, and his friend Mary. Lily stayed with my Dad's neighbor. I made the decision that this day needed to be about Syndee, and if Lily was there, well, any event in which Lily is involved is about Lily.) I could hardly sit still as we ate our pizza before the show, I was even antsier as Ryan and I had a drink at the bar, and by the time we were in our seats I was ready to burst. I couldn't take it anymore.

"I know you don't care," I said to the total stranger sitting next to me, "but the woman playing Nala is my voice student." She understood what a very big deal this was, and we chatted until the show began.

I enjoyed the first act, but also just wanted it to hurry up, as the adult Nala doesn't appear until Act 2. And when she appeared, the entire audience was captivated. It had nothing to do with knowing her or nurturing her or being proud of her. This girl is brilliant. And after she sang "Shadowland," there was a brief hush, and then wild applause. Someone behind me even said "Oh my God!"

Watching her sing that song and seeing the choices she was making was completely surreal for me. We worked on it in a practice room so small she was singing directly to the wall. And here was that work, being shown for thousands.

I wanted to save my standing ovation for Syndee's bow, but everyone else jumped to their feet right away. It's a great show, I wasn't about to be that jerk who just sits there during a standing O. (although I've been known to be that jerk. I don't stand just because everyone else does.) So I stood, and I yelled and clapped my hands above my head when she came out. And so did everyone else. She looked out into the crowd and mouthed the words "stage door" while pointing to an exit. Hooray! That message was for me!

Backstage, I told Syndee how she was fabulous and brilliant. And I hugged her. And we got the tour. And I was so, so proud of her.

But as we left, it wasn't just the fact that I was proud of her that was staying with me. Syndee is an example of knowing what you want, saying it out loud, and going after it. You need the talent, of course. And a lot of luck. But sometimes, that drive. That clarity. THAT is what makes all the difference.

I Can't Think of a Music Theatre Song about Goodbye? Really? Oh well.

My daughter is extremely loving. My daughter is extremely happy. My daughter will decide right away if she loves you- she probably will- and insist that you accept her hugs. She is extremely charismatic. Even as an infant, people couldn’t help but look at her and interact with her, and this is a trait that has only further developed with age. Her mission in life seems to be spreading joy, and even as a toddler, she wants to teach. If she is experiencing something she thinks you should experience she will take your hand so you, too, can feel. I would like to think that some of these characteristics come from me. I have been told that I am loving, and nurturing. That I am a natural leader and teacher.

But my daughter and I share another trait that I hope she will eventually outgrow. Neither one of us can handle goodbyes. I’m hoping this is not something she has learned from me. I don’t think it’s something I’ve demonstrated to her. But really. She. Cannot. Handle. Goodbyes.

Now let me be clear. It is absolutely typical for a toddler to have separation anxiety when a parent leaves. It’s also typical for a toddler to be afraid of strangers. But my daughter is special. She has anxiety separation from strangers. If we ride on the elevator with neighbors for two floors, and the new best friends get out at the first floor, but we’re taking the elevator to the basement, she screams and cries hysterically. Literal hysterics. And great big crocodile tears. It is heartbreaking. If a package comes for us, I sign, and it turns out the UPS man isn’t going to be her new brother, she pounds on the door and until she collapses in exhaustion. Dropping off our babysitter at the train station means at least twenty minutes of crying.

And it’s even worse when it’s Mommy or Daddy.

Ryan left for work today, and after a half-hour of banging on the ground, she looked at me and said “night night.” It wasn’t even close to naptime, but it was all more than she could handle, and she slept for nearly four hours.

For strangers or people who don’t know Lily as well, this whole thing is cute and endearing. “Oh, look how much she loves me!” Sure. If you want to feel special, go for it. But she has the same reaction to the pizza man.

To those of us who spend more time with her, it is sad, and a little funny sometimes, and I have to say, a little confusing. For the most part, she’s a tough chick. This is the only part of her life that seems to be difficult for her. She sleeps well, she eats well, she plays well- alone or with others. She just doesn’t like to say goodbye.

Interestingly enough, Lily only has trouble when other people are leaving her. If she’s the one leaving, it’s “bye-bye!” with a smile and a wave. She loves bye-bye. But if Daddy puts his coat on to go to the grocery store, you can bet she’s going to try to put her coat on too. It’s easy to be the one leaving. It’s hard to be the one left behind. And it makes me wonder. Is she that afraid people will never come back? Does she really connect to people that instantly?

But maybe she is. And maybe she does.

I am, unfortunately, in a world where people come and go. I don’t work in an office where people retire with a gold watch after forty years. I don’t live in a town where people are born and raised. Where they stay to raise their families. Where they’re buried next to their parents. (Well, OK. Technically I totally live in a town like that. But I am not yet fully-acclimated, and I don’t know that I’ll ever feel like I’m not a New Yorker in some sense.) I work in a field in which people do one show together. They spend all of their time together for six weeks. They share everything and feel like best friends. And then they go away. Maybe they’ll stay in touch, maybe they won’t. And that part of it just kills me. It’s part of why we started our theatre company- to provide a greater sense of community in a field that can be so cold. In a city where people live for months, or years, or a lifetime, but never know how long they‘ll be there, really. Not for sure.

So maybe it’s not that Lily is too young to understand people are probably coming back. Maybe she’s really got it all figured out, and she’s just too young to know she shouldn’t be so honest.

"I'm so busy making art that there's no time to live the life the art is imitating." -JB

I am an artist. That much is clear. And, I have always been an artist. Since birth. That much is also clear. 

Less clear is -why? And since scientists have been trying to figure this out for ages, I have no plans to attempt it here. But what I do wonder is this: what does it mean to me- exactly- to be an artist? 

This is guaranteed to be rambly. But what can I say? I'm an artist. Sometimes, in a quest to find life's answers, we ramble. 

I was curling my hair about an hour ago. I might- *might*- go to the children's room at the library today. And later, I hope to make it to Target. And the grocery store. Even in a place with the social pressures of Greenwich, those are not hair curling places. But it's important to me. Weird things are important to me. I dunno. Guess that's one of the many things that makes me an artist.

Over the past few years, I have had several opportunities to spend time with friends and just be fully immersed in our artsy-ness. We've created shows. And written books. And spent whole weekends talking about theatre and film and life and the state of things. And a very VERY big part of me wants to stay there- right there- forever. Just stay with my friends and talk and create and forget the rest of the world. It's where things make the most sense. And throughout history, many artists have tried to do exactly that. (I mean, have you seen "Moulin Rouge"?) And many of them end up dead from drug overdose. Because it's too much. Our brains just can't live there. We need a break sometimes. We need sitcoms and beer and big Hollywood movies (like "Moulin Rouge." Artsy friends, you know I was kidding about that. Right? Well, I was sort of kidding.) and regular life. We need a break, even when we don't particularly want to take one.

And these breaks from the artistic world provide other life necessities. Like food. And sleep. And clean clothes. We artists would like to pretend we don't need those things. And we often choose to indulge in our mental and emotional needs before seeing that our physical needs are met. Take now, for example. My stomach is growling. And we totally have food. And there is a lot of cleaning I could be doing. Not to mention part two of that blog that is now officially over a month late. But I "needed" to get this out of my head. No, not "needed." Needed. Our needs are different, us artists. But we still share that food water and shelter thing with the rest of the world. And sometimes we forget. And that's why so many artists die of exhaustion. (I mean, have you seen "Moulin Rouge"?)

So I guess that's the answer. Our brains are different. But our bodies are not. If you're an artist and you're looking for a way to find that balance, I recommend getting one of those little people who have bigger needs than yours. That's what I did, and she keeps me in line pretty well.

I should probably do some cleaning in preparation for the holidays. But I suddenly have the urge to watch "Moulin Rouge."

Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

I had heard that the first few minutes of Disney's "The Lion King" on Broadway are some of the most breathtaking moments people have seen on stage. Last Saturday, I sat in our secluded little area, (it's not where our seats were, but since we were with a Lion King employee and the area was empty, we got to sit in the middle of the six empty rows in the back. The best place to enjoy a show with a 17-month-old) and I felt the house lights go down, and I wondered. I am not easily impressed. Would I feel what others have felt?

Less than a minute later I was holding my breath and crying as I watched the beautiful events unfold. But I could not tell you what was happening onstage. Or what the elephants looked like. I could barely tell you what song they were singing. (OK, it was "Circle of Life," but come on. We've all seen the movie.) Because the sight that had me so swept up was not the show itself, but rather, my daughter watching the show.

She sat on a booster seat between Mommy and Daddy for the first minute. She laughed when the baboon came out. But when she saw the elephant pass by in the aisle, just inches away, she crawled onto Ryan's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, facing the back of the house. She held on, but she never stopped watching. Once they had passed, she turned around to see the parade of animals make their way up to the stage. "Wassat?" she asked. (This version of the word highly preferable and much more developed than the former "What is it?" scrunched into one syllable. "Shi-iht?") And before we could answer her- "Oooooooh! Wow!" And she sat. And she watched. And she clapped. And she laughed. (including when Mufasa died. But we'll forgive her for not understanding the context.) And she saw nearly the entire full-length show at seventeen months old.

Our friend Lindsay, who got us the tickets, did take Lily out into the lobby for a few minutes during Act 1, and again for a few minutes in Act 2. But not for long, and only for the slower parts. She sat mesmerized through the rest, and by the time Scar was brought down, she was standing on my lap and clapping her hands and yelling "Yaaaayyyy!!!" (But again, she laughed when Mufasa died, so...)

Who knows how much she understood of the story. Very little, I'm sure. But she could feel it. She could feel the orchestra. And she could feel the energy in the room. She could see and hear the instruments ("Doot doot dooooooo!" and then looking for my reaction. Is that right, Mommy? Yes, baby girl. Those horns say "doot doot doo.") and the voices, and she could see the costumes and the sets. And she could go backstage after the show. And she got to meet the actors and even go trick-or-treating in their dressing rooms and have hot dogs with their families.

Being a Mommy is exhausting. And sometimes thankless. And being in theatre is exhausting. And often thankless. But last Saturday, Lily reminded me that things aren't so bad.

Crazy Straws, Nerf Balls, and Coffee Filters (Oh, My!)

I don't know why we can't just buy a costume. There are many lovely costumes available for purchase, and they are probably less expensive than what we end up spending on the parts needed to assemble something homemade. But we both feel the same way. We will make Lily's costumes. So there we were last night at Toys R Us, trying to find all the right pieces. Did it matter that there was a big silver heart on the front of the sweatshirt? How would we get the Nerf ball to stay on the crazy straw? And more importantly, how would the crazy straw stay upright on the headband? And did it matter that it would show? Should we cut holes in the hood so it could go underneath? No, she could wear this again.

We put Lily right to bed when we got home and got to work. Step one had Ryan over the stove melting plastic. Sewing the headband to the hood proved difficult and ineffective. Good thing we had nice strong tape. Then I realized the curling ribbon was in the spare closet in Lily's room. That's OK, we had twine. And in under and hour, voila! The costume was complete.

I had to wait until this morning to try it on her. (although I really wanted to wake her up. But I remained patient.) She tipped her head backwards in order to see what was on top of her head, and continued to try to see for long enough that I laughed so hard I snorted. I carried her into the bathroom, not sure that would work- did she even understand mirrors? Not really. But she took one look at her reflection with that silly hood and smiled, then giggled, and accepted the hood as appropriate attire. I changed her out of the costume immediately, of course. We need to keep it clean for the party at "The Lion King" tomorrow, (yes, the Broadway musical. We know people.) and trick-or-treat on Sunday.

But I know that it works, and it fits, and she likes it. And someday, she'll be the girl who just wants her parents to buy her a damn costume from the store. But until she's old enough to know better, she's the girl with a designer and a music theatre teacher for parents. And we don't buy costumes.

"At the End of the Day..." Part Two: My Already-Did List

I write a lot about tools I have to deal with depression, and how the Flylady system has helped me. And it's great to  have a list of routines to follow. When I start to get really anxious, I can look at my list and know what to do next. Unfortunately, there are two aspects of my life which get in the way of my routines:

- I am a freelancer
- I have an eleven-month-old

Since Lily keeps getting bigger (they'll do that I suppose...) and Momentum Rep keeps getting busier, I have had my routines interrupted more and more over the past week or so. They're generally great interruptions. Art-making, and opportunity-seizing, and family-conmecting. But I've felt like I'm constantly putting out fires, and it's starting to make me really anxious. Then a few minutes ago I remembered my sociology experiment from March. While I don't think it's necessary to write another day-in-the-life entry, I do think it would be helpful to make an "Already Did" list, to supplement my "Not Yet Done" list. 

So here it is. My Didn't-Know-I'd-Hafta-Do-But-Already Did List for today:

- Taught the Balladeer all three of his ballads. (one of which changes meters every measure or so...)

- Submitted a proposal to be Artists in Residence. A long-shot, but the turn-around time for this submission- between finding out it was a possibility, writing it, and submitting it- was about two hours.

- Answered three emails from my Mom about her visit for Lily's birthday.

- Answered two emails, four texts, and a facebook message, all work-related.

- Got Lily down from the shelf four times. Loves climbing up, doesn't know how to get down.

Whew. I feel a little better.

Or, in other words...

"I simply remember my already-did things, and then I don't feeeeeeeeeel so bad."

Now, if I only had a big yellow notepad and a red magic marker, I'd mark those suckers right off.

What have you already done today?

The Ides of March Part 3: The April Fog

People are often shocked when they find out I have depression. I am a generally happy person. I look on the bright side. I was a college cheerleader for goodness sake. And it's true. People with depression tend to have periods of time when they're, well, sad. And it's also true that I have those times. But when my depression is strictly chemically based, the way it is in the spring, it doesn't feel much like sad. It feels more like what I like to call The April Fog. 

In my absolute laymen's perspective, we live in three states of mind:

1- Actively and purposefully thinking about something.

2- Actively engaging with the outside world.

3- Somewhere in between.

While we spend most of our time in the "somewhere in between" state, a healthy person can move between the three states at will. However, when experiencing The April Fog, I am stuck. Stuck right between. It takes such incredible effort to move into actively engaging in anything that I often give up, choosing instead to live underwater- looking at the thoughts and ideas and people that live above the surface, unable to push through to see them clearly.

One of the most frustrating parts of The April Fog is the way it directly opposes my personality. People who know me well describe me as being outgoing, and as being a thinker. Being stuck, then, as neither an extrovert nor introvert, unable to have a truly connected conversation with a friend, unable to gather my thoughts for a blog, unable to follow through on my to-do list, often leads to the sadness that is so often associated with depression. I end up depressed about my depression.

In the past week, several things have happened which have helped me shake off The April Fog.

1- April is almost over, my body is nearly adjusted to the extra sunlight.

2- I have lots of people who are in seriously hard times right now and need my help. It's just not my turn.

3- Momentum Rep is in full swing with our next season. I am doing character study for Squeaky Fromme, learning a score, and planning a fundraising event. Earlier this week I accompanied a cabaret. Since I have so much experience doing these things, I am able to do them on autopilot. But once I have started the task, my consciousness eventually follows, which I am then able to carry into other tasks. Anyone who doesn't think art saves lives probably doesn't know any artistis very well.

So. The April Fog is lifting. Hopefully you'll be hearing from me more often now.

We've Come A Long Way, Baby...

(a shameless plug)

December of 2007. Jackie called me and told me to "make her a show." She had had enough of the haphazard, unprofessional ways of NYC community theatre. She had also had enough of the cold, hard atmosphere that is professional theatre in NYC. There had to be something better. Talented artists with strong work ethics who were *gasp* nice people.

Momentum Repertory Company was born.

Our first full production was "Godspell." The cast was made-up of Jackie's friends and my friends and my students and one random dude who I met at a wedding. It was funded entirely by my husband and Jackie's then-boyfriend-now-fiancé. The actor who was cast as Jesus had to drop out of the show two days before our two-week-and-only-two-week-rehearsal-period started. We cast a new Jesus, who had to learn more lines faster than I had ever seen. We practiced on my front porch in Forest Hills in 90 degree weather. Some of the neighbors loved it- they brought out their cups of coffee every day and watched and clapped. A few neighborhood boys rode their bikes every day and watched from the sidewalk. My next-door neighbor liked it less, yelling "musica, musica, musica! Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday!" before throwing a sandwich at me and hitting me with it. For the record, we weren't even out there on Monday. But despite our *cough* interesting beginnings, Godspell was a smash hit, artistically and personally. 

Our next full production was Barefoot in the Park. Did you know there are a lot of lines in Neil Simon? And that props, costumes, and sets are very specific and important? We were just starting to get the hang of the show when I learned I was becoming a Mommy. My Lily arrived six days before we opened, and Lily was not allowed to leave the state of New Jersey. Jackie and the actor who was playing Paul drove to our hotel so we could run lines. The production came together and was a lot of fun. But man. 

Since then, we've done two more full shows ("The Unlikely Adventure of Race McCloud, Private Eye," and "Urinetown") and today we have auditions for a few roles in "Assassins." the show will be rehearsed entirely in a rehearsal studio. It will be an Equity Showcase. We will invite industry. We are getting to be kind of a big deal.

Which brings me to my shameless plug. We have entered the Space on White contest by posting a very silly video on YouTube. We can win a whole lotta rehearsal space. And it could make a huge difference to us.

Please. Watch the video. Share the video. Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell strangers on the street.

Here's the link:
http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?client=mv-google&v=2druYJ-1fRM

Six word stories

Some facts:

1- I seem to have gotten really busy lately.

2- I feel strongly about my commitment to blog every M-F.

3- Sometimes I have trouble thinking of blog topics.

4- I am working on editing the book (and then dialogue) of a new musical for MRC. The general idea is- use fewer words.

5- There are a few people who just started reading my blog who want to catch up.

6- I am entertained by writing exercises like the six word story.

Therefore. I present to you, all of my blogs so far, summarized in six words each. Enjoy.

About me: An Autobiography in Decades
Almost 35, starting a blog today

Get A Job (Sha-na-na-na)
Need more money but can't work

At the End of the Day You're Another Day Older
Mommy Days: always long, usually rewarding

Why I Write:
I write for aesthetics, education, therapy

Beware the Ides of March
Daylight Savings Time Makes Depression Worse

On Baby Sock Bunnies and Other Very Important Tasks:
Sometimes crafting makes me feel better

Wearing O' the Green
Go Bobcats, go bobcats, go bobcats.

Wearing O' the Green Part 2
We just beat Georgetown? Really? Wohooo!

Sticks and Stones
Dear Republicans: please be nice. Thanks.

Adoption Stories Part 1
People say ridiculous things to me.

Here's to the Super Heroes
Woman are gorgeous, intelligent, brave, flawed

(no title)
Sometimes depression sneaks up on me

Freelancing and Calendars and To-Do Lists (Oh My!)
Time management will kick depression's butt.

Why I Write

I've been thinking a lot about writing lately. The reasons are obvious enough- I recently started a blog, our theatre company hosted a literary reading on Saturday, and "Freedom Writers" was just on tv. While my interest in  writing has been renewed over the past week or so, I've always written. I used to make up stories and keep journals. I even won the Young Authors Competition in my town twice. (Interestingly enough, it was in historical fiction both times- a genre that could not interest me less now.) And until high school, "a writer" was always my answer to the "what do you want to be when you grow up" question. 

But even given my lifelong relationship with writing, I have difficulty calling myself a writer. I am a musician. I am a teacher. I am a wife, and a Mommy. And I have facts to back up my use of these titles. Degrees, and resumes and legal documents. I don't have this kind evidence stating I'm a writer, so I struggle with the title.

Two years ago I was sitting in a Starbuck with a red pen and a hundred or so pages of my memoir. A man sitting near me asked me, "Are you a writer?"

"No," I answered. "I'm a music teacher."

"Did you write that?" he asked, pointing to the stack of pages on the table.

"Well, yes-"

"Then you're a writer," he said plainly.

I'm not sure why this stranger felt it was his responsibility to help me define my identity. I'm also not sure why strangers have personal conversations with me everywhere I go, but that's another blog for another day. And further, I'm not sure why his argument- that I'm a writer because I write- is enough for me. 

But the fact remains. I write. And sometimes people read. And now I write a blog every weekday. So today, as an exercise inspired by the essay "Why I write" (Jackie, who wrote this essay?) I present to you my "Why I write" exercise. 

I write because sometimes I have words for things that other people don't have.

I write because I can't afford therapy anymore.

I write because my daughter doesn't happen to need her diaper changed right now.

I write in hopes that people might understand me and the silly things I do sometimes.

I write because I know I can't be the only one who's been through this.

I write because the more I do it, the more I need to do it.

I write because it's something I can control, with a result I can understand.

I write because it sometimes comes easily to me, and other times it is the most difficult thing I could possibly do.

I write to laugh at myself, and to allow others to laugh with me.

I write because I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to.