Flip-It Friday: Dreams

I had a dream last night that I broke up an ex-boyfriend's marriage so that I could marry... her. His wife. I stole my ex-boyfriend's wife. WhatDaFoog?

In middle school I fancied myself an amateur dream interpreter. I would make up silly reasons for my friends dreams and sometimes I could hit the subconscious nail on it's subliminal head.

If I were to perform a self analysis on this one, I'd say that I was battling an identity crisis - a deep one - within my career. So deep that I'm deflecting it on my relationships and overall sexuality so that I don't have to look at how unhappy I am in my current job and how that reflects on my self esteem. I want to take parallels (traditional, current relationships and the present time) and make them perpendicular (countersexual, past relationships and past time).

I'm also introducing competition as a way of "winning" at something despite my "losing" career. See, this ex-boyfriend was/is in intellectual and I once beat him to the punch at taking our high school physics teacher to a school sponsored dinner in honor of high achieving students. I asked this teacher to attend as my honored guest before my ex could, just to spite him. I was not a physics wiz and this teacher and I had an unremarkable relationship. But the ex was a wiz and did have that relationship. I was just being competitive. And a spiteful ex. Even though I broke up with him. What's my problem?

[pause]

Or I have low iron and want a cheeseburger.

Analyze that slice of crazy, wontcha?

Have you had any weird dreams lately?

Swearing in Front of Mother Teresa and Pants-ing the Pope

What a RICH weekend. It was so full of wonderful things!

I've told you before that I grew up in a small town in Indiana and lost someone special to me as a teenager. My parents moved from my childhood home to Southern Indiana when I graduated college. My younger brother went with them. I had rarely returned to my hometown, but now my brother is back living there. This past weekend we returned just in time for a real, Midwestern fall.

My brother invited the Mr. and me to come to an outdoor party/concert/camp-out. We are choc-full-a activities from here until November, but this was the first invitation my brother extended so we didn't want to miss the opportunity. We first had lunch with my Grammy a few towns over, laughed at the stupidest things and then headed to Small Town, Indiana.

Does anyone else ever return to their hometown and it almost feels dreamlike? I feel that way. I recognize things and it seems real, but it's all totally different. Like I'm trying to remember my childhood after a head trauma.

My amnesia faded in and out as we drove through the heart of town. "The post office hasn't changed." "There used to be a coffee shop there." I'd remembered turns right as we were upon them. Thankfully, the Mr. had a good reaction time and was patient with my sporadic, "turn left NOW" commands.

We turned into my brother's drive knowing that the house he lives in was once inhabited by my high school boyfriend's parents. After the accident. My boyfriend never lived there, but I did stay the night there once to house sit and watch their dogs. It was surreal to walk back into the house with different furniture, different dogs.

My brother then took us to the shop where he works as a landscaper. I'd never seen where he works and the building was pretty new. It was so well put together and clean - especially for a group of guys who get dirty for a living! I'm so proud of him!

As we were leaving I noticed two crosses in the ditch and sputtered out half of a question before stopping myself. I hadn't recognized the intersection because the landscaping office was new to the corner. I also hadn't been back to the site of the accident in probably 8 years. One cross was original and the other was new and decorated with a pen and ever increasing signatures, but both to the same end.

We talked about the striking coincidence of it all without lumps in our throats. My brother is living and working where tough memories were stale and visceral, like fish fry garbage. He said he had unsettling dreams about it, but that they have stopped now. I hope he's been able to rewrite those areas with his own happy life. That the wood and paint in both places are just architecture.

The Mr. and I had so much fun this past weekend. It was our first time camping together in a tent. We listened to music by a high school friend. We had pulled pork around a campfire, breakfast links in a bay window, and pizza in a pub (Maddy, it was my first time at the Barbie hotel!). We hugged our host and hostess, thanking them for the 10th time. We hugged my brother a little tighter and longer than our welcome hug.

A while ago, the Mr. and I helped a coworker of my brother's who was given a raw deal. That coworker is doing a lot better now. We got to meet his whole family at this camp-out - in-laws, children, the works! They were all so kind and appreciative. Everyone was. Most of them are self-proclaimed red-necks who would swear in front of Mother Teresa and pants the Pope, but my brother has a good group of people around him and I'm thankful he's got "family" close.

Tipsy Tuesday: Become an Engineer

Or a nurse. Or an computer programmer. Or an accountant.

I'll stick with engineer because: needles, binary and boring.

In High School I took advanced Science and Math courses, but not English. So, why then, did I choose to go into English (Creative Writing) in college? And tack on Psychology as a minor? Because I wanted to be an advice columnist.

And advice columnist. I'll give you a second to look where you are and realize that this is what's become of my degree.

I gave up my established track in the coveted STEM fields for the Liberal Arts.

Liberal - not bound by authoritarianism
Arts - the conscious use of skill and creative imagination especially in the production of aesthetic objects
Liberal Arts - college or university studies intended to provide chiefly general knowledge and to develop general intellectual capacities as opposed to professional or vocational skills

By definition I shouldn't expect to get a job from the Liberal Arts.
Alternate Title: Social Media is the New Homemaking
AKA. Shit People With Little Education Can Do At Home For No/Low Income*
AKA Twitter = Cross stitch

Did I love taking Pre-Calculus a year early? No. It was hard.

And you bet I got nervous around upperclassmen in Biology II. So much that I stuttered nervously over simple things like genetics diagrams. ("It would have a 25% chance of being a ppppurple ppppeony.")

So what if you got a C in Physics? You know what they call C-grade doctors? Doctors.**

I chose writing and the arts. I stuck to my dreams and now I'm living them. I play Facebook for a day job and consult a thesaurus more than I do my own reasoning. Hopefully I'll get a few years in before my salary caps out or Social Media gives out and I'll have to get to cocoon and rebirth myself as a Creative Director.

Or an Engineer.

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*Not that you are stupid. Just saying you don't have a to be a genius to do either. And both can trend toward degradation quickly. (LinkedIn is to me what toilets are to June Cleaver.)
**Not endorsing doing substandard work. Just endorsing some practical motivation to do something concrete and maybe hard in your life -  even if you aren't the best at it.

10 years

Ten years ago today my hometown community and I lost someone significant.

Googling his name produces either dry articles from local papers about the specifics of the accident or sloppy-wet pleas from local pontificates about "healing" and "in a better place".

In honor of this milestone anniversary of his passing (and a week after his birthday - he would have been 26), I'd like to rewrite history and give him an online presence that is neither scientific nor somber. To show him we've thrived. And because he was funny and would have disliked such a monotone, sad legacy.

Here goes:

JP was a badass. He said yes to life while he had it. He didn't need authority or rules or grades - just ask his teachers! He died in an appropriately silly way: on what he called "scoot-ride", riding into the sun, and hearsay says, eating! He was one of few kids to have a full drum set in his room and probably the only one I know to have created a logo for himself and the set. He was handsome but would sacrifice a cool flick of his hair for a twisted-up face and goofy voice if it would get a laugh. He was cool but risked his popularity by working for a hot-dog joint. Alas! He made working the fryers cool! 

via

JP, we really had quite a thing going and I was devastated as anyone would have been to say goodbye. I'm sorry I lost touch with your family, but I somehow think that was for the best. But in good news, I got out of town. I graduated from a prestigious university. I moved to a big city and have had a few professional jobs. I am married, own a house, have a new car, a cute dog and a wonderful husband that I think you'd really like. He plays guitar, so I think you'd probably bond over a jam session.
Neither of you can sing though.
I'll handle that :)

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Leave hate-mail comments if you like, but I think he'd applaud some irreverence.

Theatre Saved My Life

Theatre/Theater. What-have-you.

I got a FB message from a former teacher of mine about the arts in my high school.

She writes:

"I am currently scheduled to meet with the principals of WHS about
suggestions I gave them concerning the importance of the arts in
school. WHS no longer has a full time band director and the arts are
not what they once were. There is currently very little support of
any of the performing arts. I don't think they mean to do it, I just
don't think they realize the importance it has on many students. I'm
hoping to take with me a pile of letters from people who have spent
time on the WHS stage and feel their life is better for doing so. I
know most of you are not Broadway stars...but you all are productive
members of society. If you have any time in the next two weeks I
would LOVE it if you could email me a short note that I could share
with the principals. I know some of you are having babies, moving,
and are busy...but if you could take a couple of minutes (I know you
have lots of opinions!) and could just send me something about how a
booming theater program helped you become who you are I would greatly
appreciate it. WHS has had a hard year with several suicides. Kids
feel alone. Did being in the theater make you feel like you belonged?"

 Hell yes.

Wawasee is a polarizing community. With million-dollar lake houses across the street from mobile homes, the serving and the served live side by side. Not unlike Downton Abbey*.

I grew up socially awkward, poor, flat-chested, wearin' hand-me-downs, oblivious to the flat-iron, singing made-up songs, wearing clogs, had the glasses/braces combo, riding the bus and not tweezing my eyebrows until I was teased for it.

By the time I hit 6th grade, the fission of friendships with those kids who had the right lip gloss, got highlights and wore brand names was apparent.

My dad was in theatre in his high school years and took me to see Brigadoon at WHS in the late '90s. Dad played the affable foil to the main character when he was a teenager and wanted to see the show as much as I did. From the overture, I was hooked.

I never try anything unless I know I can be the best at it. I am that insecure. But when I was one of four freshman to try out for the play in 2000, I had a hunch that I wouldn't get a part. So I did stage makeup.

Then, when the musical came around and I was cast as a chorus member, I felt like my world had opened up.

I participated in every show - onstage, backstage, in the green room, on a headset. It was my world. I made the best of friends there and never felt alone. When you strip down what money can buy and put all of the girls in homemade dresses and cake make-up, it levels the playing field.

WHS theatre beckoned football players, stoners, swimmers, cheerleaders, gamers, members of the band, honor students, failing students, the tone deaf and the stage frightened! Athletes would do two-a-days to participate and the top 10% in academics would pull all-nighters to get their work done AND stay on stage. It was cool to sing on stage, to put make-up on a guy, to wear a hoop skirt and character shoes.

And in 2003 when my fellow student, dance partner, theatre comrade and boyfriend died in a car accident, it was the theatre crowd who was there for me.

Theatre kids came to meet me at his house when I couldn't make sense of it.
Theatre kids took me home with them so I had 'round-the-clock support. That first night, I woke up in a bed I'd never seen, in a house I'd never been, befriended by people I'd only known through theatre.
Theatre kids loved me through a period of time when I was angry, mean and confused - a pall took years to lift.
Theatre directors, producers, conductors and parents took me to movies to keep me busy, constantly checked in with me, corrected me when my emotions got away from me and taught me how to channel my hurt into my art.

I was a smart kid, with loving parents and a good home. I would have been fine without it, but my high school years would have been worthless without theatre.

So when I graduated in 2004, it meant everything that freshmen I'd never met knew my name.

They knew my name.

I wasn't a celebrity, but I was somebody. I mattered. I hope many more students at Wawasee can get the opportunity for community, belonging and life lessons like I did.

I got to play Anna in the King and I. When I'm home this weekend I should get the photos and post them.

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Leave a comment or email me if you want the contact information for submitting your own letter in support of the arts at WHS.


*What I wouldn't GIVE to be in the stage version of THAT!