Clearing Out and Pondering Stuff

We have this really cute curio cabinet that I mistakenly thought was a bookshelf, so I put books on it and... well, a picture is worth a bunch of words, apparently, so:

In addition to the wavy shelving, it was leaning forward. Way forward. And the shelf is on top of another cabinet unit, so you're basically looking at a death trap waiting to be sprung.

So, I did what any responsible parent would do: I gave the shelf to someone else. And as I was clearing it out this week, I came across a few things that made me stop and think. Dang, I hate it when that happens.

The first thing I found was this.

I bought this magazine in early 1998, about the same time I was buying tickets to go to the 20th anniversary sing-along showing of Grease at a theater in Las Vegas. I know, I know. Here in Austin with the Alamo Drafthouse, there are sing-alongs all of the time. But this wasn't the case nearly 20 years ago.

I loved Grease, and I thought this would be a neat magazine to have for posterity's sake. I was living in a condo near the airport at the time, and this magazine traveled with me to the house we bought in northwest Las Vegas, then to Boys Town, then to Washington state for a few months, back to Las Vegas, to our move to north Texas... For some reason, I remember that I kept this in the broken drawer of my built-in vanity at the house in Sherman. Anyway, when I went through the divorce and moved into the RV, it was there, and then to the Nuthaus and now to Vogelfutter.

So I look at this magazine now, and I wonder, "Why?!" I have zero emotional attachment to this thing, and why do I still have it?! I should just throw it away, but I can't help but feel that someone else might want it. But probably not. This thing has traveled with me for nearly twenty years! It's time for it to go bye-bye. Because I just can't remember why, or come up with a new one that justifies keeping it.

Another thing that I came across was James' 4th grade journal, and I set it aside to read last night. It was entertaining and insightful from beginning to end.

Three weeks in, James announced that he'd developed a couple of opinions about the school year: "1) I'm going to like the 4th grade. 2) I am not going to have to study harder." Have I mentioned that my husband is very very smart? Because he is and always has been. No joke.

Anyway, the thing that struck me most (yes, even more than the introduction of the "new" game of Frogger that he happily discovered delivered to his Safeway) was this thing.

Yes, he's a proud little guy. That shows up several times in his writings. But I love the enthusiasm of his "greatest idea." AND the "Why not?" attitude.

For a day or two, at least, because then this happened:

Do you hear a balloon deflating? The "wah-wah" trombone of Debbie Downer? "We don't get to do, nobody will supervise us."

It makes me so so sad. For fourth grade James, and for every kid who ever had an amazing idea that got shot down by a grown-up because it wasn't important to the grown up to try to find a way to make it happen.

Listen, I understand. There are probably liability issues with allowing a group of unsupervised kids use the gym or the front lawn or whatever outside of school hours. I get that teachers have families and lives and already give more than they have to to the school.

But, dang it, if just one person could have been there to say, "We can't do this officially as a school thing, but let's try to figure out how to make it happen, anyway..."

Sigh.

This. This is one reason I unschool. I want to see what the kids are going to do of their own volition. Maybe it's sit around and watch videos all day. And maybe it's writing a play comparable to Shakespeare or Miller. Or maybe it's just using the oven for the first time, even though you've always been scared of it, because *you* wanted to bake brownies, not because someone told you to make something.

Adults often complain that kids are not motivated or lazy, but the truth is that a lot of times, they just don't want to do the stuff we want them to do, things that seem important to us, but for which they have no context and don't find important in the least. What if we set them free to pursue what they find important? What could they accomplish? What would Mrs. White's 1981-1982 4th grade class have accomplished?

Finally, I've been seeing (and reseeing) a bunch of memes lately about the things that "drive me crazy": things like not replacing the toilet paper roll, but just putting a new roll of TP on the counter; a kid folding laundry but not doing the "right" folds on the towels; that kind of thing. In fact, I was doing a search for the toilet paper meme, and, good grief... You can actually get a sign to put in your bathroom that says, "Replacing the toilet paper will not give you brain damage." Someone PAYS to have a sign like that in their house.

I guess if you're using it as a humorous reminder, okay, whatever. But there is an anecdote that I believe was in 30 Days of Purpose, and if not, it was in something Rick Warren wrote... and it's literally the only thing I remember about him except that when he and his wife went to visit some small African village, their helicopter blew the corrugated steel roof off of the school building.

Anyway, he said that he used to get really bothered by the fact that his wife didn't refill the ice trays when she used ice. He said that every time he had to refill them himself, knowing he hadn't used the last ice, he would grumble in his head, if not out loud. One time, he was so bothered, his self-talk went like this: "Seriously, this only takes six seconds. It's not like--" Then he realized "it only takes six seconds" applied to him as well as to her. He allowed himself to consider whether his wife was worth serving, with kindness and no ill will, for six tiny seconds, as he did something that was very important to him, and apparently not important to her.

I've remembered this for probably 15+ years. I don't always practice it, but I really try to.

Do you know what I do when I got into either of our bathrooms and the toilet paper is out? I replace it. Do I get mad at the person who let it run out and didn't replace it? No. I sincerely don't. I'm sure I do and don't do things that the other people in this house wish I did differently, too. It's nothing for me to fix the toilet paper. I hope it's nothing for them to extend grace to me.

There are lots of things that could and used to get on my nerves that I realized don't bother me when I don't let them. Most of that annerved reaction is because of pride. Because I feel like I'm not being respected or that my time is too valuable to waste doing whatever it is that didn't get done.

An example: The other day, the trash was put out for the complex valet service, which means the container we use for recycling was outside. We just put a recycling bag in the pantry to use until we pull the empty can back in. My older child had brought some trash up and had basically just sat it on the floor, on top of the bag, but not in it. Me from several years ago would have gone into the bedroom, marched the child back into the kitchen, shown the child the offending trash, and insisted that it be put away correctly. This time? I just put it in the bag and mentioned later, "If you don't feel like putting the trash into the bag, just leave it on the counter and I'll throw it away." And the reaction made me think that it wasn't intentional. It hasn't happened again, either.

There is enough to be genuinely bothered about for me to waste negative energy at the people in my house. We're all on the same team. And now I'll get off of that soap box.

By the way, if Mal ever folds the towels, I'll put them away however he manages to stack them. I don't care. You can't see them when the cabinet is closed. Done and done.

Finally, somethnig... uh, interesting. James' co-worker brought these and thought I might appreciate them. Because I'm a moo-cow, you see? *sigh*

If you think that looks dirty, you're not alone. From this page: "Thought it was a certain action of the boys, and later learned that only 'milking'." Oh, those boys.

And speaking of boys, the same co-worker who brought this in for me is the one who drew a "cool/weird" scale about me and put me way higher on the "weird" side than the "cool" side.

Anyway, I'm going to have these for breakfast in the morning, so wish me luck.

Writing again! What I learned (again) about discipline...

In what Dr. Horrible would categorize as a "crazy random happenstance," (which it actually wasn't at all; my husband was a very important conduit) I had the opportunity to write a script potentially for use in a live show in the style of an old-fashioned radio drama. After working on it for a week, I finally submitted it and found out a couple of days ago that it's going to be used. I was also asked whether I could do at least one more: There are to be four shows in all, and my first submission was a Thanksgiving-themed sketch.

During the writing process, I learned (or relearned) a couple of important things.

The thing that I relearned was something about perseverance. I haven't written a script in about two and a half years. This was to be a 10-20 minute-long episode, so it felt luxuriously long compared to the 7-minute shorts to which I had been accustomed. Thing is, I was used to having a brainstorm session with at least two other people first. When I walked into writing with a framework, it was usually easy for me to fill in the gaps with dialogue or jokes or whatever was appropriate.

Building an idea from the ground up was more difficult. I mean, I can get an idea and write. That's largely what hobby writing *is*. It's another thing entirely to say, "You have a deadline. Now think of something clever. Go!"

Uh.

Crickets.

I came up with two basic scenarios: One for Christmas (at a bus stop) and one for Thanksgiving (in the hall of an old house, family members waiting for the bathroom). I ended up going for the Thanksgiving script first, even though I set up files for both, because I figured that I could introduce several characters and maybe by the time I'd done that, I'd have some momentum and could complete an actual story arc.

I was wrong.

Although I had nothing about which to write, I made myself sit down and do something whenever I had the chance. I managed about four pages this way, then ran out of steam. I had in the back of my mind that somehow the door was going to end up locked with no one inside, and they'd have to problem-solve how to get it open. There is some room for comedy there, but the whole thing was so domestic and familiar, I felt like I needed something a little out of the ordinary to happen to shake it up.

One of the elements I'd included, thanks to a suggestion from my mother-in-law, was two cousins sitting on the roof throwing Halloween candy at trick-or-treaters. I ended up having to switch that out with another tradition in order to make my eventual story work, but I think that idea of a past connection in childhood finally sparked the idea that came to me in the shower last Sunday morning.

I'd gone to bed, planning to mull it over while I dozed off, but had crashed instead. The idea came after a good night's sleep, and I laughed at it. It was so not at all where I'd planned the story to go. It had become a fantasy, which wasn't my intent in the least. But it was going to work, and almost on the heels of the idea came the ending that made the whole thing even better.

I smiled all through church and itched to get home and write.

Even then, though, when I got home, it took James setting a timer to force me to sit down and just go. Once I started, the thing wrote itself. It bulged at 16 pages, when I'd only wanted it to be 15, but I kept it as short as I could and still have it tell the story that had come to me out of somewhere to which I don't have conscious access.

So the lesson here, which I've known and of which I need to be reminded constantly, is that, in order to be a writer, you have to write. If I'd waited for my story to come to me before I'd been willing to sit down at all, I don't know that I would have had this idea. But because I forced myself to just pound out some words, I had a beginning into which the middle and end happened to fit perfectly. I had a cast in place, and they already knew their parts.

What I ended up with was still a domestic comedy, with a little impossible thing thrown in that makes it pop. I was happy with it, and would have been even if they'd elected not to use it. The act of writing again... It's what I'm supposed to do. It's just confirmation.

The other thing that I learned will be in a second post, after I've read a little and napped a little. So stay tuned!

An Open Letter to Ms. Amy Herzberg

Dear Amy:

It was either 1992 or 1993... either way, it was at least 20 years ago. I can barely believe it. Can you? I took your Musical Theater class every single semester that I was at the University of Arkansas. It was my favorite, and certainly most humbling, class. I love musical theater. I love acting through song more than anything else in the world, even though I'm not naturally a gifted singer.

You helped me learn things about the way music is written for performance, and how to enrich every word, even the repeated ones, with meaning. I remember very little about college. But I remember you. And I remember that theater. And I remember our class. Thank you.

I just thought of you because I heard a song that I tried to perform when I was newly-20. It's a song from the Broadway musical "City of Angels," (no, not the movie, which I've never seen) one of my favorite musicals ever. The lyrics are hugely clever, the subject is one that is close to my heart, and the 40s "feel" is so much fun. Actually, I performed another of the songs from the show, "You Can Always Count on Me" for one of our fund-raiser reviews, and everyone was a little surprised that I could "belt" like that.

This song, however, was different.

This song is ironically named "Funny."

Funny, 

How'd I fail to see this little bed time tale was funny?

I could cry to think of all the irony I've missed!

What an unusual twist 

Right at the end of it. 

Funny,

Who could see that this pathetic scene would be

So funny?

Once you strain to find the grain of humor

Underneath 

Life double crosses with style

Forcing you into a smile

So it can kick you in the teeth.

Just desserts 

We can all laugh till it hurts

At my expense. 

I'm accustomed to working on "spec."

I always pick up the check.

I think it's funny. 

Who could top or make this comic op'ra more

Compelling? 

You could weave in some deceit to even up the

Score.

You'd have us all on the floor.

That would be roaringly

Funny

Sad enough my life's a joke that suffers in the telling.

Just another hoary chestnut from the bottom drawer

I've heard so often before

That I can't laugh anymore.

When I was finished with my performance, you and everyone else critiqued it, we talked about it, but in the end you said that no matter how much I polished the delivery, you would never buy it. You told me that I had not experienced enough life to pull off this song. I wasn't mad, but I didn't really understand.

I understand now.

And you were right.

Hearing the song now, I start to shake a little with rage, thinking through it as an actor. I get where the character is. Much of it is his own fault. He's made stupid decisions. And he wants to do the right thing, but he just can't catch a break... So he's ready to give up.

There is never a situation in which I would need to perform this song... unless someone decided to do a cross-dressing performance of "City of Angels" somewhere other than Austin (because I'd never be cast in a part versus all of the talented actual musicians around here), but if the opportunity arose, I could do it this time. It stinks, but I could. And I thank God every day that I don't relate to it in the present tense.

Just wanted you to know that you hit the nail on the head. That wasn't the only time, but it is one that stands out in my memory. Thanks for being good at what you do. And thanks for helping me realize that life experience makes for better performing all the way around. I find that to be true in my writing, and that's something at which I happen to be a bit more gifted than the whole singing thing, anyway.

Fondly,
Laura