Winging It in Pictures

It was great fun and I am exhausted. Winging It, my wedding-gone-awry story was brought to life by an outstanding cast. Despite being packed in elbow-to-elbow, our audiences laughed long and hard and loved the story, the players, and the beauty of seeing a show in a wonderfully restored historic home. Today I share the pictures; stay tuned for the insiders look at the effort and heart that everyone puts into pulling together an original show and making it a success. Part II to follow!

Two Too Awesome

We packed 'em in at Winging It last night. Tonight we close the show and we are still turning people away at the door. That's a good thing, both if you are a playwright hoping for an audience for your work and if you are raising money for a good cause, which in this case is our local historical society here in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.

We seem to have a following of sorts. Last night's audience was full of old friends, neighbors, work associates, and people we only see every two years because they wouldn't miss one of the Hysterical Society Player's biennial shows.

Last night was special because my sons came to watch Katz do his shtick as only Katz can do. And they came to see what I do, too, what I have been doing invisibly pretty much since they were born. Writing plays is a lot different than writing a book or writing for a newspaper or magazine. A play only exists when it is performed. Of course, you can read a play, but that is an experience that falls far short of its intention. Unless a play is performed, it dies.

I've been writing plays since Ben, my oldest, was two and I was pregnant with Josh. Despite the twice yearly royalty checks that arrived in the mail, they had a hard time seeing any pay off in the work I do. For years, plays I wrote were produced infrequently in our area, or if they were produced in town, they were not age appropriate for my children.

Now they're grown with lives and careers of their own. When they came last night, they got to see me a little differently. As the children of Katz, a man many people consider the funniest person they know, I have a sense of humor that is completely below their radar; translated that means Dad is hilarious and Mom is not. Watching my play, they got to see that I am funny in my own right. On top of that, I also was proud that they got to see my bawdy side! I can do blue humor and I can do it well, and I love to see their surprise at the very idea.

But last night was a two way street. As they watched their father and me at our creative best, I watched them as the outstanding young men they have become. They've established careers and broadened their thinking; they even spent time protesting in Madison this week over Governor Walker's attempts to end collective bargaining, an issue that directly impacts Ben. Always they are firm in their beliefs yet civil in sharing their opinions with those who might not agree. Several people who have known my kids since they were little shared their observations with me: How like their father Josh is, how poised and articulate he can be. They also tell me how easily Ben shows his kind heart, charm and earnestness, and how both boys have turned in to such fine young men.

The boys spent a good part of the night hugging and talking with the parents of their high school friends and the neighbors whose kids they played with and whose houses they visited on Halloween. Ben was so happy to see them and to have the opportunity to introduce them to Kim, the lovely young lady who has touched his heart and filled his life of late. I said to Ben how fortunate it was that he came the same night so many people he knew were there, and I could tell he was moved.

"Mom," he said, "these are the people who shaped my life!"

I know it was my work, my words, my casting that packed the house last night. But having Ben and Josh there, having them laugh at the right time, seeing their pleasure in my work, and then seeing them reconnect with the history of their lives was so rewarding it made the spotlight just that much brighter.

Lots of hard work and good fun, our share of mistakes, and a ton of love went into raising our children, but just like with a play, you make your adjustments, you tweak your directions, you enter stage right instead of stage left, and in the end it all comes together. At the final curtain call, Katz and I are left with a successful production and two awesome kids. Lucky us!

Pain

I'm in a bit of pain these days.

I'm going on a year of blogging--a project I started for the purpose of keeping me honest when it came to writing my mystery novel--and I've got no novel to show for my efforts.

I seem to be dealing with some aging issues that include carpal tunnel syndrome, arthritis in my neck, back, and hands, a pinched nerve, and muscular pain in my upper arms that is a result of trying to use my computer too much for work and writing.

I've got some psychological pain from worrying about 1) keeping my job status when I can't work because of the pain, 2) the state of the State of Wisconsin (state union members in the family include a sister, a brother, and my son--and if you don't know what's going on with Wisconsin unions and our governor you are obviously not keeping up with the news!), and 3) a husband who is working too hard and coming home too stressed from an employer that is in no hurry to hire someone to take over one of the two jobs he is doing.

Oh, and did I mention that I tripped over my own two feet, launched myself into the side of my friend Linda's car head first, blackened my eye, and gave myself a dandy case of whiplash and a bum elbow all one week before my play opened for a two week run?

So, I'm existing on pain pills, going through testing procedures to assess the damage of injury and age, not writing or reading because I can't work through the pain sufficiently to concentrate, missing out on my daily workout at the Y and my beloved Yoga classes, not sleeping well because laying down is painful, and generally leading a pretty diminished and boring life.

The upside is that the play is going well (I'll share photos and reviews for my next post), everybody is being super supportive, my job doesn't appear to be in jeopardy, I'm not dying, and I like to think maybe my body is healing a little bit everyday.

The photo at the top was taken opening night of the show--8 days post the pedestrian hits car episode, while the one below was 24 hours post collision. Let me take this moment to thank my dearly departed mother for giving me the genes of good skin and fast healing. I got through opening night on adrenaline and Vicodan, and having just enough of a black eye to make people feel a little sorry for me while not ruining my opening night "glamour" look was a blessing. Face it (pun intended!): When you've been through a week like I had, you take all the blessings you can get.

Amen!

Super Bowl Party-less

I don't need to tell you the Green Bay Packers are going to the big dance this weekend. That's because everybody in the world already knows.

It's going to be wild. As we speak, fans are tinting Dallas green and gold, the local paper is talking nothing but football, football, football, and bar owners statewide are seeing dollar signs as they get ready for the beer to flow. Everybody in Wisconsin and beyond is party-planning for a day of eating, drinking, and game watching. Our sons will be with their friends, cheering on their beloved team and having a festive time. Even my sister Kathy, who lives in New York and has broken bread with the likes of famous writer E.L.Doctorow more times than she's watched a Green Bay Packer game (she even had dinner with Arthur Miller once . . . OMG!), is going to a Super Bowl Party (for the first time in her life) and dragging her poor Spanish born non-football watching husband with her.

Katz and I? We'll be home alone.

To Katz, the game is sacrosanct. It is to be watched with laser vision. Katz is one of those guys who has been a Packer fan, win or lose, for his entire life. He came from a family that didn't watch football, yet for as long as he can remember, even when they stunk (and they did!) he was in front of the TV watching every down.Going to the Super Bowl is the icing on the cake for all Packer backers, but for Katz, it's a religious experience. He's as devoted and knowledgeable as they come. He married me, I like to think, because he loved me, but having a father with season tickets to the Packer games didn't hurt.

I'd like to invite my sister Mary, whom Katz is very fond of, to watch the game with us. Despite a long-lived resentment towards the team (which got more undivided attention on Sundays from our beloved, over-worked physician father then any of his nine children could get in a week), she's come to feel at least a bit of that sense of ownership towards the team that comes along with being a Wisconsinite. But even having Mary over presents an insurmountable problem for Katz.

It's not like he wouldn't tell her to be quiet if she talked at the wrong time (which during a Packer game is just about anytime, and during a Super Bowl includes the commercials, so we're talking a non-conversational three to four hours)--he would definitely stop her from talking. It's not that he wouldn't yell at her if she--God forbid--got up and walked in front of the TV, because heaven knows he'd find the appropriate words to make her scamper faster than a frightened rabbit on amphetamines.

Katz has phenomenal language skills, an instinctive sense of humor, and enough good will built up to handle all of these hypothetical situations. Alas, what he can't control, what he has no ability to turn off or tone down, is his profanity. It is irreverent, x-rated, constant, loud, and heartfelt. Being in the room with Katz during a Super Bowl when the Packers are playing would be like being in a room with a shaken bottle of champagne and a loose cork; sooner or later, all hell is going to break loose and no one within 30 feet will be safe.

So, our Packer gear is laid out waiting to be donned, we've got a few tasty treats on the menu, and the good beer is on tap. I'm going to be watching the Packers play with nothing but some Johnsonville dippers and a couch cushion between me and a ranting, raving, leaping, swearing football maniac. No Margaritas or tables laden with goodies for me; no womanly chit-chat or male bonding to entertain me. Today, it's me, the guy who still makes my world spin, and the home team at the Super Bowl.

Curses!

Writing Funny

My job takes up about 20 hours of my week, so I'm home during the day not infrequently. That being said, I don't watch daytime television. I find daytime programming to be pretty pedestrian, and I figure I watch too much prime time TV as it is, so not watching from morning to evening is not much of a hardship.

Lately, however, I've stumbled upon a late afternoon showing of "All in the Family", that classic 1970s show that deftly dealt with a man, Archie Bunker, facing a changing world--and doing it kicking, screaming, and always political incorrect.

While Archie was the engine of the show, the soul was his wife, Edith. She was an optimistic, loving, simple woman, happy with her lot in life, which was not very much. Archie was the Alpha dog and king of his castle; Edith was the little woman who seemed to know her place. Lucky for the show's fans, Edith had an innate wisdom and kindness that gave us all hope for Archie; when mixed with her uncomplicated view of life and utter honesty, her words always made us think . . . and laugh.

I watch the show while I cook dinner, and I'm always surprised at how much I remember 30 years later. Last week the episode where Archie's insensitivity goes so far as to make Edith ask for an apology came up, and I knew there was a delicious ending coming my way . . . I just couldn't remember what it was.

The apology when it came was in the form of a gift. The small wrapped box Archie gave Edith could have held any treasure, and the prospect was as exciting as it was rare and unexpected.

"Go ahead, Edith; open it."

Edith opens the box, and her eyes grow wide.

"Oh, Archie! A Lady Gillette!"

Archie beams. "Do you like it?"

Thrilled to her very marrow, Edith exclaims,"Who wouldn't!"

I hadn't remembered what the gift was, but once Edith revealed her prize, it all came back, especially those last two lines. Brilliantly written, heartfelt while being funny, it was a bulls eye. Aah, to write like that!

I've got a show in rehearsal now, and it's going well and is pretty funny. Watching shows like "All in the Family" inspire me to keep writing. Thanks, Norman Lear! You done good.

Appreciation

I interviewed a man recently who told me he'd been working for the same company for 32 years.

"Wow," I said. "I don't talk to many people anymore who have such a long history with one company. Congratulations."

There was silence on the other end of the phone before he responded. I thought we'd been disconnected before I finally heard him speak.

"Do you know: You're the first person who's ever said that to me."

"Really?"

"In 32 years, no one's ever said anything about it. Not my family. Certainly not anyone I work for."

32 years is a long career, and I found his words shocking.

"Don't get me wrong," he quickly added. "I like my job. This is a good company to work for. But even on my 25th anniversary, no one said a thing."

This gentleman was in a supervisory role in a hard scrabble, blue collar business. He'd come up through the ranks from a Laborer position and earned his manager role because he worked hard, had good people skills, and was smart. Much of his work had been outdoors, which when you work in Wisconsin can be half Heaven and half Hell. He went on to tell me that in advocating for the people who worked for him, he'd often told his bosses that they had the power to create strong company loyalty.

"Say something nice to them, I told them. Tell them they do a good job or they make you proud. They will fight for you, die for you, if you do that, and it won't cost you a penny."

"And did it make a difference. Did they listen?"

Without any rancor, he admitted, "Not so I noticed."

I don't know if it was thoughtless, careless, or company policy to not recognize a man with such longevity in a job, but I did know it was wrong. The bigger lesson for me, though, was the man's resolution. After 32 years, he's probably not too far away from retirement, and his calm acceptance of his lot in life will serve him well. Hopefully all the time he put in will bear some rewards and he'll see a decent pension check in the monthly mail. But even more importantly, he seemed unlikely to leave his career behind with anything less than serenity.

To me, that ability to accept one's lot in life without bitterness, to ignore or diminish the slights we all encounter from day to day, that is a gift. The grudges we bear, the anger we feel, these are the norms of most people's lives. How freeing it would be to not go to the dark side when we are injured, to not carry around that baggage.

It was one of my lucky days when I had the good fortune to interview that man. He was one of those "bigger persons" you come across from time to time in life, the one's who teach you a lesson without even trying, and for that I am grateful.

Catching Up With Technology

I've fought the idea of getting a Kindle for a long time now. Even when my sister got one and raved about it; even when I had to eighty-six a pair of comfortable shoes to make room for my reading material as we set out for the Pacific Northwest, (the hell with blisterless feet . . . who cares about how heavy my carry-on is . . .); even when Ben, my oldest, came home with his Kindle and showed me the ways it made reading easier and more fun for him.

You see, I'm not unlike many others of my generation who have declined to go there . . . to the technical side, with its seductions of brighter, faster, lighter, easier, cooler. Books have their seductions, too, I argued: Their feel, their heft, so substantial, so familiar; the way we tend to hold them, referentially and close to the heart; the fact that I can buy them for a quarter at rummage sales or take them out for free from the library.

A Kindle, I maintained, would place certain demands on me--like learning how to use it; like learning not to lose it; like having to use PayPal or my debit card to make it work. The last one, that paying business, seems to be something technology is really good at. There's the cable TV, the cell phones, the Internet--all things that show no respect for my frugal ways, which cuts me deeply!

So, imagine my surprise when I opened up a Kindle on Christmas Day. No, I take that back: Imagine my surprise at my delight when I opened up a Kindle on Christmas Day.

It was a thing of beauty . . .

Okay, so I've only downloaded a copy of Anne of Green Gables, which was free (of course). . . and, the first time I sat down to read I couldn't figure out how to turn the page . . . and, I've been afraid to take it out of the house. . .

Still, I love the possibilities. No more adding my name to long waiting lists at the library. No more sighs of anticipation for a new book some reviewer has dangled in front of me. No more fears of being without a book when I travel. And the feature I love best: No more stopping to look up an unfamiliar word in the dictionary. (You see, I love words and the Kindle will give you a definition instantly! No more delayed gratification for this gal, no sirree!)

All I gotta do now is figure out what button to push or arrow to press to make that happen. As soon as I find my way to page two of Anne of Green Gables, I'll do just that. Just watch me!

Medical Records

"The breasts are symmetrical in size, shape and architecture."

Well, who knew? I shared this little tidbit with Katz this morning over breakfast, quoting information my doctor had noted in my medical records during an annual breast exam 10 years back.

The notes from a routine physical were also interesting: "The patient denies skin rashes or itching. Denies slurred speech, double vision, imbalance or headache. Denies feeling blue, depressive symptoms, sleep loss or psychiatric hospitalization." There are also denials about my GI tract, joints, eyes, mouth and heart. After reading this summation, I felt more like I'd been through a criminal investigation than through a check up. Oh, I know questions were asked and answered, it all just felt more conversational and less like a cross examination than the records indicate.

I also found records of a pelvic ultrasound I never had revealing cysts I never had. My records indicate the procedure was conducted on the same day I had a mammogram. My name is on the results of both procedures, but the date of birth is wrong for the ultrasound.

All in all, between interesting word choices and the inclusion of someone else's information, it was an interesting read. It was made all the more interesting because my medical records were almost lost forever.

With the advent of electronic records, more and more paper records are being destroyed daily. A trip to a new ENT who wanted more information on my thyroid cancer from 10 years ago revealed that my old records were missing. With no pathology report or surgeon's notes and recommendations to support my assertion that surgery removed the cancer and resulted in a complete cure, this new doctor suggested I have a MRI.

I balked. I've decided recently it's important in these times of rampant medical tests and out of control costs to challenge physicians on why a test is being ordered, how necessary it is, and what are the physical and financial ramifications of having the test done. Turns out, she told me, if she had my records, she wouldn't need the MRI.

So, four weeks and multiple phone calls later and after some interference from Katz (who happens to work for my health care provider), my records were found. After insisting that pertinent information regarding my cancer history be entered into my electronic record, Katz and I both got our own copies of our records.

So, moral of the story: Don't let flattery distract you (Symmetrical shape and architecture? You sweet talker, you!). Call your doctor and find out how far back your medical history goes and if it doesn't go back far enough, make some noise.

Green or Gross?

I like to think I have a pretty decent environmental bent. When my now grown kids were little, long before communities picked up recycling, I organized neighborhood teams to collect recyclables and deliver them to the local recycling center. Every 6 weeks, it was our turn to go around to half-a-dozen houses and pick up their weekly recycling. BJ and Josh helped, which made me think I was raising little environmental ambassadors for the future. Today, they're pretty good . . . but not as good as their mother.

These days, some people might say I take things a little far, so I'll let you decide. Besides recycling everything I possibly can--including digging in our trash to retrieve items my less environmentally pure husband tosses out--here are some of my green practices. Weigh in and tell me 1) Way to go! or, 2) Way too far!

1) Composting in a blender - I bought an extra blender at a rummage sale years ago, and my vegetable scraps, fruit rinds and such go in there to be blended with water and added to the compost heap. This compost soup doesn't take long to turn into rich, black dirt once it hits my compost bin, and when it is eventually incorporated into my garden, my plants bow their little flower heads in appreciation. The container goes back under the sink, rinsed occasionally but rarely washed, ready to blend more green debris another day.

2) Paper towels (1) - I use rags or dishcloths a lot where others would use paper towels--that's a no-brainer in my opinion--but I can't swear off paper towels altogether. Still, throwing them away after one use when they haven't been used on a dirty floor or a puddle of grease seems extravagant to me. So, the towels I use to soak up the water from my washed fruit get draped on the clean dishes in the drainer, to be used to pat dry that next washed raspberry or green bean. I'm guessing my reuse factor for draining clean fruit is 1 x 6. Even when I've decided to move on to a new square of toweling, the old one will get one final use to spot clean a drip on the floor before finding it's way into the trash.

3) Paper towels (2) - Despite being chairperson of the environmental impact team at work for two years, we still have bathrooms with paper towels instead of the environmentally preferable air dryers. I need two pieces of toweling to dry my hands sufficiently after a thorough scrubbing, and I have been known to take those towels (dampened only with water from my clean hands, mind you!) back to my desk. They do end up in the trash soon thereafter, but only after they've helped remove a layer of dust from my computer and desk.

4) Paper towels (3) - I've pulled a hunk of toweling from the roll in the produce department of my local grocer, patted dry a cabbage head or too-wet bunch of green onions, then found another use for it. Usually, it travels home with me, gets tossed under the kitchen sink to be used for a future cleaning assignment.

5) Sanitizing wipes - The whole flu thing last year kicked the use of sanitizers way up, and I always grab one of the wipes from the dispenser at the Y when I arrive for my daily workout. I use it to wipe the screen and handles of my favorite treadmill, then I store it behind my water bottle so that it doesn't dry out while I go through my 40 minute routine. When I'm done, I wipe down the machine again with my still moist towelette. Some days I even take the now twice used wipe with me to the car, where I use it to dust my dash.

Quirky? Yes, of course. Frugal? No doubt. Environmentally sound thinking? That's an affirmative. But for the germ-phobic out there, the pristine, the highly sanitized, there might just be a "yuck" factor to consider. So, what do you think? "Way to go" or "Way too far"? Go ahead an "way" in!

Getting Back on the Horse

Obviously, I am still battling a too full schedule . . . at least it's obvious if you are a regular follower of this blog and can do basic math (November 23 - November 2 = 3 damn weeks). So, quickly, I have several subject ideas percolating in my head, and here are the reasons you should understand why I haven't been blogging and feel sorry for me because my life is so full:

1) A writing deadline (not my book, not my blog) was hanging over my head. As of 2 days ago, I am in pretty good shape with a rewrite of my play "Winging It", which will start rehearsals in January.
2) The basement (see earlier postings). I am two weeks away from my last Tilex application to kill any lingering mold spores, then the painter comes, and then I can put the place back together before a) the neighborhood holiday party, and b) 30+ people arrive for Christmas dinner.
3) The garden. Yee-gods, will this garden never let go of me? It's 20 degrees outside, for heavens sake! Have I finally put away the last garden gnome and added the requisite two inches of compost over the asparagus bed? I hope so.
4) Tomatoes. Tons of green tomatoes were picked before the first frost and have been ripening in the basement. I don't know how to can and don't have the time to learn, so I've been making tomato soup and pasta sauce and delivering ripe tomatoes to friends in need.
5) Sick friends. Dear, funny, good Aggie gets to go home today after suffering a brain bleed due to a fall and spending weeks in ICU and rehab. Generous, no-nonsense, frightened Lynne started chemo yesterday for breast cancer. Sick friends are scary, which proves very distracting.
6) Friends on my mind. These are the ones I haven't been caring for like I should. My friend Jane, on the long road to recovery after losing dear Joe so suddenly early last summer. And there's the old high school friend feeling a little lost after retiring who I promised to get back to and get together with, but haven't. Sharon who is going through a divorce has been on my mental radar but, except for an occasional e-mail, I haven't done my part to be there for her.
7) Work. I work less than 25 hours a week, so I shouldn't complain, but I've taken on a role that means I work two to eight hours 6 days a week, and many of those days the work arrives without much warning and needs immediate attention. It's hard to get a writing rhythm going when you can be and are interrupted frequently.

So, all that being said, I know I shouldn't be complaining. So many people have it worse (see Jane, Lynne and Aggie, above). At least I don't have young children to care for or an unemployed husband. At least I have a sister who lets me bitch to her and a date every Saturday night with the man of my dreams (Yes, Katz, that's you!) At least I have fresh tomatoes to eat and friends who understand when I don't call, a basement of my own to fix and children who seem happy. And, believe it or not, I have people who tell me they like my blog and are waiting for my next posting; people who encourage me to write. What a gift!

Truth be told, Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time. Life may be a bit out of control, but it is good nonetheless, and I have tons . . . tons . . . to be thankful for. So, Happy Thanksgiving to you all. And thanks for being there for me on this journey.