A MEMORY A DAY
What was I thinking, that I’d actually get to write one thing a day? I shoulda known better! But here goes a little bit for this – week - - -
May 31. I remember when Memorial Day was on May 31, no matter when Monday was on the calendar. Sometimes I think we’ve lost for making things more convenient, but whatever.
I remember walking and riding in parades. One parade, when I was very young, and it might not even have been Memorial Day, but anyway – it was in Stuyvesant Falls, I’m thinking probably it was the Sunday School classes from the Catholic Church, that’s where we went, and one of my aunt’s was a teacher, she’d have gotten us all into the parade. Anyway, there’s a creek running through the middle of the town, with a fairly high bridge over the little gorge that it goes through after the falls. It was then (might still be) an open grate deck bridge. I was marching along just fine (and I can’t march in step to save my soul, but it didn’t matter then, at least not to me) until I got to that bridge. Got partway across and realized I could look down through the deck and see the rocks and water and falls below me. Well, if I could see them, I could fall through and be there. I froze. No amount of talking got me going and I think someone finally carried me off the bridge. The part I still remember is just standing there looking down at the terrifying sight underneath me, I can still see the rushing water. Still not real fond of that kind of bridge.
When I had horses and we had the 4-H Horse Club, we rode in parades. Our ’uniform’ was blue jeans, white shirts, green bandana and cowboy hat, things everybody had. It was great fun, we would carry the American Flag and a 4-H flag, and always get cheers, of course. Once I had to borrow a hat for some reason, and it was too big – someone took pictures that showed a hat sitting on a set of shoulders.
We must have had picnics, quite possibly at one of the aunt and uncle’s, with lots of cousins there, I remember big picnics, but don’t specifically know if they were for a holiday or the family reunion, we had both.
Spring’s a good time to look ahead, but every day’s a good time to look back, too.
That’s my memory for today, now I gotta get ready for work.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Remember
Wherever you are, whatever you do, wherever you go
Remember
Those who returned and those who did not,
Remember
What they did for us, what they gave us
Remember
Today and every day you enjoy your life
Remember
Especially today, pause and
Remember
And say "Thank You"
Memorial Day 2009
PS, I have never seen it said better than this man does:
http://ambulancedriverfiles.blogspot.com/
Remember
Those who returned and those who did not,
Remember
What they did for us, what they gave us
Remember
Today and every day you enjoy your life
Remember
Especially today, pause and
Remember
And say "Thank You"
Memorial Day 2009
PS, I have never seen it said better than this man does:
http://ambulancedriverfiles.blogspot.com/
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Give me my stuff back!
When I was a kid, whenever anything couldn’t be found in our house, it was because “Clarence took it”. I have no idea who started it, or how this ‘spirit’ got named Clarence, but if there was something missing or eventually it expanded to whenever something went wrong, it was because of Clarence. Frequently the lost things were found, and it was because Clarence was done with them and brought them back.
Well, I’d like the family to know that Clarence lives. He’s moved into my house. I freely admit that the house is a mess, with a lot of clutter for things to hide in. But there are some things missing that there is no explanation for except Clarence.
My small digital camera. Last I remember having it, was when I was seeing what photos were left on the memory cards, because for reasons known only to the digital world, the whole Kodak photo folder did not transfer over when I got my new computer, and I was asking Laurie (she and husband Carl do my computer work) about retrieving them from the old hard drive. Thought I put it back in the little case in my bag. Went to use it a couple of months later and nope, not there – or anyplace else that I can find.
And, in the past couple of weeks the camera has been joined by several other things. My gold ‘inheritance’ring, for example. Last I remember I took it to NYC to wear during auditions. Went to the box it usually lives in a week or so ago and the box is empty. My last clear recollection is that I took it off one afternoon and put it in my wallet, or maybe I took it off in the hotel shower and put it in my shower bag. Haven’t looked either place because I don’t want to not find it and then try to figure out where it might have gone.
Then there’s my travel drive, had that in my bag, used it either home or at the theatre to transfer some files. Yep, that’s missing, too.
And a nice silver chain that I just bought a week ago for the lovely little mother-grandmother pendant Sara got me several years ago for Mother’s Day. I know I put the chain and the pendant in the little wicker basket on my nightstand where my pocket stuff goes at night. Found the pendant, not the chain.
The latest is a pair of jeans. Now mind you I have a whole lot of jeans, because when I was driving I had a bunch for the truck, but I also had some nicer ones to wear for non-truck times. (OK, it’s weird, what can I say, everybody has their ‘thing’.) These are a sort of brown color and I went to get them to wear today and they are nowhere to be found.
So, Clarence is clearly living in my house. It couldn’t be that I am just not looking hard enough for these things, and somehow am managing to overlook them, or just plain forgot where I put them. I will blame the silver chain on the cats, because Streetcar was trying to play with it just before I put it in the basket; one of them may have snagged it out of the basket and it’s now buried under a rug or under the bed or some such place. The rest – it’s gotta be Clarence.
So, c’mon, Clarence – what do you want with a worn old pair of size 14 brownish jeans? Here’s what I think – you’re trying to push me over the edge. Give me my stuff back!
Well, I’d like the family to know that Clarence lives. He’s moved into my house. I freely admit that the house is a mess, with a lot of clutter for things to hide in. But there are some things missing that there is no explanation for except Clarence.
My small digital camera. Last I remember having it, was when I was seeing what photos were left on the memory cards, because for reasons known only to the digital world, the whole Kodak photo folder did not transfer over when I got my new computer, and I was asking Laurie (she and husband Carl do my computer work) about retrieving them from the old hard drive. Thought I put it back in the little case in my bag. Went to use it a couple of months later and nope, not there – or anyplace else that I can find.
And, in the past couple of weeks the camera has been joined by several other things. My gold ‘inheritance’ring, for example. Last I remember I took it to NYC to wear during auditions. Went to the box it usually lives in a week or so ago and the box is empty. My last clear recollection is that I took it off one afternoon and put it in my wallet, or maybe I took it off in the hotel shower and put it in my shower bag. Haven’t looked either place because I don’t want to not find it and then try to figure out where it might have gone.
Then there’s my travel drive, had that in my bag, used it either home or at the theatre to transfer some files. Yep, that’s missing, too.
And a nice silver chain that I just bought a week ago for the lovely little mother-grandmother pendant Sara got me several years ago for Mother’s Day. I know I put the chain and the pendant in the little wicker basket on my nightstand where my pocket stuff goes at night. Found the pendant, not the chain.
The latest is a pair of jeans. Now mind you I have a whole lot of jeans, because when I was driving I had a bunch for the truck, but I also had some nicer ones to wear for non-truck times. (OK, it’s weird, what can I say, everybody has their ‘thing’.) These are a sort of brown color and I went to get them to wear today and they are nowhere to be found.
So, Clarence is clearly living in my house. It couldn’t be that I am just not looking hard enough for these things, and somehow am managing to overlook them, or just plain forgot where I put them. I will blame the silver chain on the cats, because Streetcar was trying to play with it just before I put it in the basket; one of them may have snagged it out of the basket and it’s now buried under a rug or under the bed or some such place. The rest – it’s gotta be Clarence.
So, c’mon, Clarence – what do you want with a worn old pair of size 14 brownish jeans? Here’s what I think – you’re trying to push me over the edge. Give me my stuff back!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
A MEMORY A DAY
Okay, okay, so it’s been a week – make that a week and a half +, but here’s a timely one:
People ask how long I’ve been with the theatre.
Since it started in 1969.
They go ‘ooh’ or ‘aah’ or some such and then ask how I got into it.
I got into it the same way I’ve gotten into a lot of things in my life – ass-backwards.
I was not a ‘theatre-geek’ in school, no thoughts of working in theatre, no aspirations except for helping with costumes for the senior play and being in another one in school where I played, as I recall, an old maid who ended up kissing the crusty old batchelor –who was played by someone I would normally not have considered kissing. Oh, la.
So how’d I end up here?
I was 25, separated, with Sara 3 years old, it was summer, I had nothing going on, no hobbies, no place to go, etc., etc. A girl I worked with, and one of my cousins, were very ‘into’ theatre and had been talking about their experiences and it sounded fun. I was working at the newspaper at the time, and Lynne and Linda were coming in with ads and stories, so when one went in about the auditions in Chatham I said ‘what the heck, it’ll take up a little spare time and might be fun’. Little did I know!
I went to the audition, went into the room when it was my turn, and said ‘I can’t sing or dance, I don’t know anything about theatre but I’m a warm body and I can help out’.
A week or so later, Lynne called to see if I could come over and help paint the space that would be dressing rooms. This was where the theatre started, in the barn on the county fairgrounds where they show cows during the fair (Nope, I didn’t show cows in it, they had another tent and then a shed when I was doing that). They were fixing up the two rooms where the 4-H kids slept during the fair (Nope, we didn’t have any rooms to sleep in, we slept in the hay by the cows) and I helped paint them, and did some other odds and ends as directed.
I was there one evening, and happened to walk past Lynne, Linda and Pat, the director that first season, and overheard them talking about an antique birdcage, needed in the first show, “My Fair Lady’. I stopped and said ‘I think my mother has one of those in her antique shop’.
The three of them turned – in unison – and said – in unison – ‘Your mother has an antique shop?’
I said ‘yeah, it’s small, just in her house, but yeah’.
They said – again in unison – ‘How would you like to do props for us?’
I said ‘OK, sure. What are props?’
Seriously had no idea what they were talking about.
Needless to say I found out, and did do props for several summers, then ‘graduated’ to being TD (which I also had no idea what that was, nor did they think to enlighten me), and so on to what I am doing now.
Which includes still doing things for props, like ordering some yesterday – oh, and that’s right, I still have to order the unbreakable glasses today. Don’t forget.
And that’s how I came to be working in theatre.
Don’t try this at home, without guidance from a professional!
People ask how long I’ve been with the theatre.
Since it started in 1969.
They go ‘ooh’ or ‘aah’ or some such and then ask how I got into it.
I got into it the same way I’ve gotten into a lot of things in my life – ass-backwards.
I was not a ‘theatre-geek’ in school, no thoughts of working in theatre, no aspirations except for helping with costumes for the senior play and being in another one in school where I played, as I recall, an old maid who ended up kissing the crusty old batchelor –who was played by someone I would normally not have considered kissing. Oh, la.
So how’d I end up here?
I was 25, separated, with Sara 3 years old, it was summer, I had nothing going on, no hobbies, no place to go, etc., etc. A girl I worked with, and one of my cousins, were very ‘into’ theatre and had been talking about their experiences and it sounded fun. I was working at the newspaper at the time, and Lynne and Linda were coming in with ads and stories, so when one went in about the auditions in Chatham I said ‘what the heck, it’ll take up a little spare time and might be fun’. Little did I know!
I went to the audition, went into the room when it was my turn, and said ‘I can’t sing or dance, I don’t know anything about theatre but I’m a warm body and I can help out’.
A week or so later, Lynne called to see if I could come over and help paint the space that would be dressing rooms. This was where the theatre started, in the barn on the county fairgrounds where they show cows during the fair (Nope, I didn’t show cows in it, they had another tent and then a shed when I was doing that). They were fixing up the two rooms where the 4-H kids slept during the fair (Nope, we didn’t have any rooms to sleep in, we slept in the hay by the cows) and I helped paint them, and did some other odds and ends as directed.
I was there one evening, and happened to walk past Lynne, Linda and Pat, the director that first season, and overheard them talking about an antique birdcage, needed in the first show, “My Fair Lady’. I stopped and said ‘I think my mother has one of those in her antique shop’.
The three of them turned – in unison – and said – in unison – ‘Your mother has an antique shop?’
I said ‘yeah, it’s small, just in her house, but yeah’.
They said – again in unison – ‘How would you like to do props for us?’
I said ‘OK, sure. What are props?’
Seriously had no idea what they were talking about.
Needless to say I found out, and did do props for several summers, then ‘graduated’ to being TD (which I also had no idea what that was, nor did they think to enlighten me), and so on to what I am doing now.
Which includes still doing things for props, like ordering some yesterday – oh, and that’s right, I still have to order the unbreakable glasses today. Don’t forget.
And that’s how I came to be working in theatre.
Don’t try this at home, without guidance from a professional!
Monday, May 11, 2009
MOTHER’S DAY 2009
For quite a few years now, on Mother’s Day I have gotten my summer family; it has been the day the ‘kids’ arrive for the theatre summer. This year, because of the wonky calendar, they are not coming until this week. Which is just as well because of course there is still a ton of stuff to do before they get here, and that’s been compounded by a tree falling on one of the cast houses Saturday night during a thunderstorm. Our spring has been – well, let me just say that the F***Up Fairy can just go squat over someone else for a while and we won’t mind a bit.
So, my Mother’s Day was a lot of running back and forth to try to line up someone to fix the roof, cover the hole in it and the broken window, get stuff to cover the window myself and then take it back because one of the contractors contacted did show up (the man has my business, he showed up not only on Sunday but on Mother’s Day), as did someone from the tree service to discuss getting a 3-thick, 40 +- foot tall tree away from the house and out of the yard.
The nice early breakfast at the firehouse ended up being a hurried one at 11 a.m., the other plans went down the tubes, but I did get a couple of planned projects done, so it wasn’t a total waste. Then I went to the Dairy Queen for supper and a large Midnight Truffle Blizzard – I fully recommend them as an antidote to a bad day, btw – even though half of it is still in the freezer because I was stuffed!
Speaking of being stuffed, it was my weekend: Friday Jesse and I went over to Kinderhook to Pi Café, a highly recommended place, and ate ourselves into oblivion; Saturday night I went to my sisters for a birthday/Mother’s Day cookout with the nieces and their families – we laughed a lot and everyone took turns holding Mary’s new puppy, my mother would have approved; anyway came home from that with too much pork loin, grilled jerk chicken, grilled sausage and peppers, and the traditional angel food cake with strawberries and ice cream under my belt.
Never did see my daughter yesterday, but we talked on the phone quite a while – actually twice, because she called me by mistake at 1 a.m., about the whole tree falling on the house (since no one could remember that I was at my sister’s, she stood in with me on the scene with Lynne and Monica), and again in the afternoon, in between my running around and projects.
I just finished reading a very sweet tribute to his mother by a blogger I follow (A Day In The Life Of An Ambulance Driver). Apparently they were somewhat estranged, and this tribute chronicled his reversal of that as she spent her last days in an ICU. Well told.
Our last days with our mother were in the hospital, although not ICU. I took her there four days before, when the doctor told her she needed to get further checked out and that she should not drive herself, as she had to his office. We had known she was getting less able to be by herself, and even she had been talking about not being sure she could spend another winter alone in the house that was home for 50 years.
My sister and I, and my cousin who had spent part of his growing up with us were with her. The grandchildren had all been there, and we talked and laughed a lot. My niece Penny and I had to go out into the hall to laugh when the woman in the other bed asked ‘Are you all part of a religious group, come to pray over her?’ She’d have laughed at that too. Not that she wasn’t religious, in her own way. She did her share of saintly things, with the farm work, raising the family (my sister and I and several other ‘strays’ who came and went) and an assortment of outside, community things. She was honored by Eleanor Roosevelt, during an on the site radio broadcast, quite a deal for the early 1950’s, for her work in making an historic school house over into a community hall.
She is honored just about every day in my memory, and I repeat what I said at her funeral: ‘Some people say ‘Oh, no, I’m becoming my mother’ – I say ‘I should be so lucky’.”
Thanks, Mommy.
So, my Mother’s Day was a lot of running back and forth to try to line up someone to fix the roof, cover the hole in it and the broken window, get stuff to cover the window myself and then take it back because one of the contractors contacted did show up (the man has my business, he showed up not only on Sunday but on Mother’s Day), as did someone from the tree service to discuss getting a 3-thick, 40 +- foot tall tree away from the house and out of the yard.
The nice early breakfast at the firehouse ended up being a hurried one at 11 a.m., the other plans went down the tubes, but I did get a couple of planned projects done, so it wasn’t a total waste. Then I went to the Dairy Queen for supper and a large Midnight Truffle Blizzard – I fully recommend them as an antidote to a bad day, btw – even though half of it is still in the freezer because I was stuffed!
Speaking of being stuffed, it was my weekend: Friday Jesse and I went over to Kinderhook to Pi Café, a highly recommended place, and ate ourselves into oblivion; Saturday night I went to my sisters for a birthday/Mother’s Day cookout with the nieces and their families – we laughed a lot and everyone took turns holding Mary’s new puppy, my mother would have approved; anyway came home from that with too much pork loin, grilled jerk chicken, grilled sausage and peppers, and the traditional angel food cake with strawberries and ice cream under my belt.
Never did see my daughter yesterday, but we talked on the phone quite a while – actually twice, because she called me by mistake at 1 a.m., about the whole tree falling on the house (since no one could remember that I was at my sister’s, she stood in with me on the scene with Lynne and Monica), and again in the afternoon, in between my running around and projects.
I just finished reading a very sweet tribute to his mother by a blogger I follow (A Day In The Life Of An Ambulance Driver). Apparently they were somewhat estranged, and this tribute chronicled his reversal of that as she spent her last days in an ICU. Well told.
Our last days with our mother were in the hospital, although not ICU. I took her there four days before, when the doctor told her she needed to get further checked out and that she should not drive herself, as she had to his office. We had known she was getting less able to be by herself, and even she had been talking about not being sure she could spend another winter alone in the house that was home for 50 years.
My sister and I, and my cousin who had spent part of his growing up with us were with her. The grandchildren had all been there, and we talked and laughed a lot. My niece Penny and I had to go out into the hall to laugh when the woman in the other bed asked ‘Are you all part of a religious group, come to pray over her?’ She’d have laughed at that too. Not that she wasn’t religious, in her own way. She did her share of saintly things, with the farm work, raising the family (my sister and I and several other ‘strays’ who came and went) and an assortment of outside, community things. She was honored by Eleanor Roosevelt, during an on the site radio broadcast, quite a deal for the early 1950’s, for her work in making an historic school house over into a community hall.
She is honored just about every day in my memory, and I repeat what I said at her funeral: ‘Some people say ‘Oh, no, I’m becoming my mother’ – I say ‘I should be so lucky’.”
Thanks, Mommy.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Cow knows*
I have been remiss on the ‘Memory A Day’ – now there’s a surprise, me being remiss on something – anyway, this deserves an explanation, and it’s a fun memory.
The company I drove truck for mostly ran a partner operation. That’s two people per truck and one is sleeping while the other is driving so the truck rarely stops for more than enough time to fuel, eat and take a shower, at least in between pick up and delivery points. Time allowed to make that distance, that’s a whole ‘nother story, not this one.
Since I did not have a ready-made partner (friend or ‘significant other’), I got who the company decided might work. Some did and some – not so much. Have I got stories about some of them!
This story, however, involves Winston McTeague. He had been a truck driver since ‘the old days’, and was entrenched in the thinking of another era of the business. He’d had his own truck at one time, but didn’t when I met him, which was in the mid 1990’s. Bill Clinton was the reason he didn’t have his own truck any more, but I never did find out why, except I’m pretty sure Clinton didn’t come into his yard in Maine and drive it away. He was not as obnoxious as some they had paired me with, and we did about four trips together.
He would come out of the blue with some comments, questions and ideas that made me go ‘Huh?’ a fair amount of the time. The truck broke down and we had to lay over in Cheyenne, Wyoming one trip to get it repaired, and Winston decided to do his laundry. The dryer didn’t work well, and when I woke up in the morning the hotel room was draped end to end with his drying clothes, outer and under wear. Hey, living with someone for a couple of weeks at a time in a space smaller than some people’s clothes closets will drop a lot of barriers in a hurry.
Anyway, *Cow knows. We were stopped for breakfast at the Flying J that’s a bit west of Rawlins, Wyoming. In truck stops, you get talking to people around you, to break the boredom of only talking to one person for so many miles, to see what’s going on in someone else’s world and just to be friendly. The guys at the next table were in a discussion about God, and how some people don’t believe in God. Winston joined in with much spirit. As we finished and got up to leave, he said: “These people who don’t believe in God, you just ask them ‘what about cows’”. I think one of the other guys said what I was thinking: ‘Cows? What about cows?’ Winston said, “Cows. Cows were put on earth to serve man and that proves there’s a God.” And having finished the discussion he just walked off, never said another word about it. So there you are. Cows prove there’s a God.
With no intention of being irreverent, I have used the phrases ‘Hand to Cow’ and ‘Cow knows’ since then. After all, we do get a lot from cows.
The company I drove truck for mostly ran a partner operation. That’s two people per truck and one is sleeping while the other is driving so the truck rarely stops for more than enough time to fuel, eat and take a shower, at least in between pick up and delivery points. Time allowed to make that distance, that’s a whole ‘nother story, not this one.
Since I did not have a ready-made partner (friend or ‘significant other’), I got who the company decided might work. Some did and some – not so much. Have I got stories about some of them!
This story, however, involves Winston McTeague. He had been a truck driver since ‘the old days’, and was entrenched in the thinking of another era of the business. He’d had his own truck at one time, but didn’t when I met him, which was in the mid 1990’s. Bill Clinton was the reason he didn’t have his own truck any more, but I never did find out why, except I’m pretty sure Clinton didn’t come into his yard in Maine and drive it away. He was not as obnoxious as some they had paired me with, and we did about four trips together.
He would come out of the blue with some comments, questions and ideas that made me go ‘Huh?’ a fair amount of the time. The truck broke down and we had to lay over in Cheyenne, Wyoming one trip to get it repaired, and Winston decided to do his laundry. The dryer didn’t work well, and when I woke up in the morning the hotel room was draped end to end with his drying clothes, outer and under wear. Hey, living with someone for a couple of weeks at a time in a space smaller than some people’s clothes closets will drop a lot of barriers in a hurry.
Anyway, *Cow knows. We were stopped for breakfast at the Flying J that’s a bit west of Rawlins, Wyoming. In truck stops, you get talking to people around you, to break the boredom of only talking to one person for so many miles, to see what’s going on in someone else’s world and just to be friendly. The guys at the next table were in a discussion about God, and how some people don’t believe in God. Winston joined in with much spirit. As we finished and got up to leave, he said: “These people who don’t believe in God, you just ask them ‘what about cows’”. I think one of the other guys said what I was thinking: ‘Cows? What about cows?’ Winston said, “Cows. Cows were put on earth to serve man and that proves there’s a God.” And having finished the discussion he just walked off, never said another word about it. So there you are. Cows prove there’s a God.
With no intention of being irreverent, I have used the phrases ‘Hand to Cow’ and ‘Cow knows’ since then. After all, we do get a lot from cows.
A Good man
I went to the memorial service for the father of a friend yesterday. I had briefly met the man once or twice; the friend is Andrew Gmoser (the ‘G’ is silent, and that made for some of the comments at the service) who has been the lighting designer at the theatre for I think this will be 14 years now, and his family has come to visit and see shows a few times.
At the end of the service I was sorry I didn’t know him better. And I’m thinking that’s not a bad way to leave this world, after being in it for 86 years, to have had a life that the comments about it make people wish they’d known you better.
There was much singing, several readings, most of which brought many laughs, a program included stories from friends and family, and towards the end they played ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever, because he enjoyed Sousa’s marches.
He seemed a very Good man (and the G is pronounced in that). Condolences to his family and may his memories support you in the times ahead.
Of course any such event makes one think about one’s own mortality – makes this one think about it anyway. Also makes this one wonder what might be said at such an event for one. I think I’m gonna leave instructions on some music to play and/or sing, and to only tell funny stories – there ought to be enough of those, Cow knows*.
At the end of the service I was sorry I didn’t know him better. And I’m thinking that’s not a bad way to leave this world, after being in it for 86 years, to have had a life that the comments about it make people wish they’d known you better.
There was much singing, several readings, most of which brought many laughs, a program included stories from friends and family, and towards the end they played ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever, because he enjoyed Sousa’s marches.
He seemed a very Good man (and the G is pronounced in that). Condolences to his family and may his memories support you in the times ahead.
Of course any such event makes one think about one’s own mortality – makes this one think about it anyway. Also makes this one wonder what might be said at such an event for one. I think I’m gonna leave instructions on some music to play and/or sing, and to only tell funny stories – there ought to be enough of those, Cow knows*.
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