Monday, August 4, 2014
NEVER SAY GOODBYE
There is a word that I never liked saying. And now I really don't want to say it, especially to those I love and have known for a lifetime. I remember when my husband died I wrote an essay called "The Long Goodbye". I said it gave the word a whole new meaning, and indeed it does.
I cannot begin to express my gratitude to all the wonderful friends I've met in my lifetime. Some I've had for a lifetime, some have been short time, but all have meant the world to me. I do not know how I could have gotten through some of the rough patches without their support and love. I hope that I have reciprocated in some small way to them.
So to all my friends and family, if I haven't told you lately how very much you've touched my life and nourished my soul, I'm telling you now. I love you. This is not good-bye. It's on to the next chapter, let's remember the good times, not dwell on the sad. Let's be happy we've had each other in our lives and remember the words to the song, "I'll Be Seeing You in all the old familiar places...." Till we meet again.
Monday, July 14, 2014
THE CRYING GAME
Most people who know me know the two things I hate most are throwing up and crying. Fortunately I have not done the former for years and hope to keep it that way. Unfortunately, the waterworks have been turned on since Saturday and have not stopped.
People are coming out of the woodwork. A friend wrote me an beautiful letter and poem about our relationship. Another friend also wrote me a love poem and wants to fly in to see me from California. I can't take too much more of this emo.
As much as I want to see everyone on one hand, on the other hand it's very hard to know that it will probably be the last time I'll see them. Saying goodbye has never been easy for me. Even when I know I'll see them again. This goodbye thing is killing me.
Tom says, "don't say goodbye, say see you later." Yes, I will see you later, but you won't see me. I believe when you die you do float around up there somewhere over the rainbow and keep an eye on all those you love. So....fair warning, be careful what you do and say after I'm physically gone from this earth.
I know it's horrible when someone dies unexpectedly for the ones left behind. But it sure is easier than knowing your days are numbered, you just don't know how many you're going to have. Valerie Harper said "don't go to the funeral before the funeral." Well, that's what I feel like is happening to me. I can't stop thinking about it and would love to take a pill and just disappear.
I think I'd better stop this now. It's getting too maudlin even for me. Just remember if you know someone is terminal (actually aren't we all?) don't keep telling them not to go, first of all they really don't have a lot of choice in the matter and secondly, if they are miserable and have no quality of life, wouldn't it be kinder to just pray that they have a peaceful end instead of encouraging them to "hang on"? For what? For them? Or for you? Just think about it.
Better days are coming for us all.
Most people who know me know the two things I hate most are throwing up and crying. Fortunately I have not done the former for years and hope to keep it that way. Unfortunately, the waterworks have been turned on since Saturday and have not stopped.
People are coming out of the woodwork. A friend wrote me an beautiful letter and poem about our relationship. Another friend also wrote me a love poem and wants to fly in to see me from California. I can't take too much more of this emo.
As much as I want to see everyone on one hand, on the other hand it's very hard to know that it will probably be the last time I'll see them. Saying goodbye has never been easy for me. Even when I know I'll see them again. This goodbye thing is killing me.
Tom says, "don't say goodbye, say see you later." Yes, I will see you later, but you won't see me. I believe when you die you do float around up there somewhere over the rainbow and keep an eye on all those you love. So....fair warning, be careful what you do and say after I'm physically gone from this earth.
I know it's horrible when someone dies unexpectedly for the ones left behind. But it sure is easier than knowing your days are numbered, you just don't know how many you're going to have. Valerie Harper said "don't go to the funeral before the funeral." Well, that's what I feel like is happening to me. I can't stop thinking about it and would love to take a pill and just disappear.
I think I'd better stop this now. It's getting too maudlin even for me. Just remember if you know someone is terminal (actually aren't we all?) don't keep telling them not to go, first of all they really don't have a lot of choice in the matter and secondly, if they are miserable and have no quality of life, wouldn't it be kinder to just pray that they have a peaceful end instead of encouraging them to "hang on"? For what? For them? Or for you? Just think about it.
Better days are coming for us all.
Friday, July 11, 2014
THEY SHOOT HORSES DON'T THEY?
I told the hospice nurse today that maybe the reason I can't sleep is not because I'm afraid I won't wake up, but that I'm afraid I will.
I know that probably sounds horrible, but it's true. The reason I opted not to have chemo or radiation was because I wanted quality over quantity of life. I am now 76-1/2 years old. I've had quantity. I do not have quality at this point. Life consists of trying to sleep, trying to eat, trying not to complain too much and once in awhile feeling well enough to at least go out for lunch or to Giant. (I'm sure the people at the pharmacy must wonder what happened to me). Hospice is supplying me with all my drugs now, none of which seem to be doing what we want them to do. When I tell people I'm not sleeping and they ask what I'm taking, they can't believe I'm not knocked into next week. For some reason, most of the drugs they have tried for me, have just the opposite effect.
Lovely. So now I not only spend all day obsessing about dying, I get to think about it all night too while I'm wandering around in my little house, going from chair, to couch, to love seat, to computer, to bed and back again. Well, at least I'm getting some exercise. With all this nocturnal moving about you'd think I could at least accomplish something, like maybe waving a dust rag around. Are you kidding me? I really am like the walking dead and do zombies really care about dust anyway?
And while I'm on the subject of dust, I found out about a place in Spain that sells ecological urns. You get a planter with the seed of a tree in it and you (well not you, but somebody) puts your ashes in the planter, plants it at a designated spot and the tree grows and you become part of the tree. I think that's a wonderful idea and I am going to order one and instruct my brother to use it for my ashes when the time comes. It is certainly more appealing to me to think that part of me will continue to nourish and grow a living thing rather than be put in a overpriced casket, buried in the ground and have an overpriced stone or marker at the site. Yes, for me a tree is what I'll be. Too bad, Barbara Walters won't be around to ask me "what kind of a tree will you be?" Well, I'd like to be a blue spruce but I don't know if that's one of the options.
Yesterday I called about the cost of cremation. It's too expensive, but I guess you have pay the going rate. Actually it only costs $400.00 for the cremation, the rest is for "other services", all of which sound necessary. I don't know. Never trust a funeral director.
I also have decided that I will consent to having a Mass said. This is for Tom and any family and friends who feel the need to say goodbye in a church setting. What I originally wanted was just a good old fashioned beer party, with lots of beer, pretzels and balloons. I told my brother I've had lots of all, except balloons - but I like them and I think they lend an air of festivity and color to the occasion.
I hope I've not offended anyone with this light hearted essay of a rather somber subject. But hey, always leave 'em laughing I say. And anyway you're all welcome to come to my party and gaze at my tree.
.
I told the hospice nurse today that maybe the reason I can't sleep is not because I'm afraid I won't wake up, but that I'm afraid I will.
I know that probably sounds horrible, but it's true. The reason I opted not to have chemo or radiation was because I wanted quality over quantity of life. I am now 76-1/2 years old. I've had quantity. I do not have quality at this point. Life consists of trying to sleep, trying to eat, trying not to complain too much and once in awhile feeling well enough to at least go out for lunch or to Giant. (I'm sure the people at the pharmacy must wonder what happened to me). Hospice is supplying me with all my drugs now, none of which seem to be doing what we want them to do. When I tell people I'm not sleeping and they ask what I'm taking, they can't believe I'm not knocked into next week. For some reason, most of the drugs they have tried for me, have just the opposite effect.
Lovely. So now I not only spend all day obsessing about dying, I get to think about it all night too while I'm wandering around in my little house, going from chair, to couch, to love seat, to computer, to bed and back again. Well, at least I'm getting some exercise. With all this nocturnal moving about you'd think I could at least accomplish something, like maybe waving a dust rag around. Are you kidding me? I really am like the walking dead and do zombies really care about dust anyway?
And while I'm on the subject of dust, I found out about a place in Spain that sells ecological urns. You get a planter with the seed of a tree in it and you (well not you, but somebody) puts your ashes in the planter, plants it at a designated spot and the tree grows and you become part of the tree. I think that's a wonderful idea and I am going to order one and instruct my brother to use it for my ashes when the time comes. It is certainly more appealing to me to think that part of me will continue to nourish and grow a living thing rather than be put in a overpriced casket, buried in the ground and have an overpriced stone or marker at the site. Yes, for me a tree is what I'll be. Too bad, Barbara Walters won't be around to ask me "what kind of a tree will you be?" Well, I'd like to be a blue spruce but I don't know if that's one of the options.
Yesterday I called about the cost of cremation. It's too expensive, but I guess you have pay the going rate. Actually it only costs $400.00 for the cremation, the rest is for "other services", all of which sound necessary. I don't know. Never trust a funeral director.
I also have decided that I will consent to having a Mass said. This is for Tom and any family and friends who feel the need to say goodbye in a church setting. What I originally wanted was just a good old fashioned beer party, with lots of beer, pretzels and balloons. I told my brother I've had lots of all, except balloons - but I like them and I think they lend an air of festivity and color to the occasion.
I hope I've not offended anyone with this light hearted essay of a rather somber subject. But hey, always leave 'em laughing I say. And anyway you're all welcome to come to my party and gaze at my tree.
.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
JULY 4TH
When I was a kid, for some reason we always had ham and fresh green beans , new potatoes and pepper slaw for lunch on the fourth of July. I guess that was the meal du jour because the beans were picked from the garden that morning and we probably had fresh sweet corn too that my daddy got from the field and threw right into the pot of boiling water that my mother had on the stove. I remember that meal like it was yesterday. No matter how many times I've tried to duplicate it, it never tasted the same as it did back then.
After lunch, my brother, sister and I used to get rolls of caps for cap guns and take them along with hammers up to the railroad arch at the end of our street and pound away at the caps. They always made more noise if you hit them under the arch. I can still remember the acrid smell the caps made as the hammer hit them.
In the evening we had what we called a "doggie roast". There was a fireplace in our back yard with a metal grill on it and we cooked hamburgers on it and roasted the hot dogs on sticks. And of course we had smores for dessert and probably had a freshly baked blueberry pie and ice cream too. I'd say those were the good old days but you'd probably think that was cheesy. But, what the heck, they were the good old days. Life seemed so much simpler then.
Kids went out to play from sun up to sun down. And we really played. Baseball, hide and go seek, jacks, roller skated on the side walks. Sometimes for a special treat we would go to Hershey park where you didn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get in. You could walk around all day and go on a ride for a dime or a quarter. Sometimes we would go to the swimming pool and the sunken gardens.
There were no cell phones, iphones, ipads or other gadgets. People actually talked to each other - face to face. No texting, no Face Booking. Good old fashioned conversation. What has happened? Is this really progress? I went to a family reunion a few weeks ago and the kids all had their own games - no one talked to each other. Why bother going anywhere. Might as well stay home in your room. Further more, what in the world do people have to text about constantly? Am I so out of touch that I have to even ask that question?
I think I grew up in the right time. I've seen a lot of changes, not as many as my 97 year old aunt has, but I'm not too far behind her. The fifties were great and as far as I'm concerned they really were "The Happy Days". I'm glad I was a part of them and I'm glad I grew up in small town, PA. They were the best of times. I feel so lucky.
Happy Fourth of July!
When I was a kid, for some reason we always had ham and fresh green beans , new potatoes and pepper slaw for lunch on the fourth of July. I guess that was the meal du jour because the beans were picked from the garden that morning and we probably had fresh sweet corn too that my daddy got from the field and threw right into the pot of boiling water that my mother had on the stove. I remember that meal like it was yesterday. No matter how many times I've tried to duplicate it, it never tasted the same as it did back then.
After lunch, my brother, sister and I used to get rolls of caps for cap guns and take them along with hammers up to the railroad arch at the end of our street and pound away at the caps. They always made more noise if you hit them under the arch. I can still remember the acrid smell the caps made as the hammer hit them.
In the evening we had what we called a "doggie roast". There was a fireplace in our back yard with a metal grill on it and we cooked hamburgers on it and roasted the hot dogs on sticks. And of course we had smores for dessert and probably had a freshly baked blueberry pie and ice cream too. I'd say those were the good old days but you'd probably think that was cheesy. But, what the heck, they were the good old days. Life seemed so much simpler then.
Kids went out to play from sun up to sun down. And we really played. Baseball, hide and go seek, jacks, roller skated on the side walks. Sometimes for a special treat we would go to Hershey park where you didn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get in. You could walk around all day and go on a ride for a dime or a quarter. Sometimes we would go to the swimming pool and the sunken gardens.
There were no cell phones, iphones, ipads or other gadgets. People actually talked to each other - face to face. No texting, no Face Booking. Good old fashioned conversation. What has happened? Is this really progress? I went to a family reunion a few weeks ago and the kids all had their own games - no one talked to each other. Why bother going anywhere. Might as well stay home in your room. Further more, what in the world do people have to text about constantly? Am I so out of touch that I have to even ask that question?
I think I grew up in the right time. I've seen a lot of changes, not as many as my 97 year old aunt has, but I'm not too far behind her. The fifties were great and as far as I'm concerned they really were "The Happy Days". I'm glad I was a part of them and I'm glad I grew up in small town, PA. They were the best of times. I feel so lucky.
Happy Fourth of July!
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
HAPPINESS
The song says "Happiness is just a thing called Joe..." Now I don't know if they mean Joe, (well I do have a brother, Joe who makes me happy) or Joe a cuppa coffee or what, but I think happiness is a state of mind and right now, for whatever reason that I really don't want to explore too deeply, I am HAPPY. Maybe I have a fever. I know I'm not smoking anything, I'm not taking any uppers - well, unless Tylenol and oxycodone are uppers. And I'm not even taking them unless the pain gets really pretty bad. I'm sure not drinking anything stronger than ginger ale and I'm pretty sure that doesn't have any liquor in it. I mean it doesn't even contain caffeine for heaven sake. So why am I happy?
Well let me count the ways. I live in a house that's all mine. All paid for and in a lovely quiet neighborhood. I have no outstanding debts. I have wonderful friends and a family who love me. I have a live in boyfriend who keeps me entertained. I've lived a pretty good life, with some exceptions... up until now.
It's the now that is the not so happy part, but believe it or not, I'm okay with it. That could change tomorrow, but for today I'm okay. Having cancer is a real eye opener. It teaches you things about yourself that you think by this time you would know, but there's always something new to learn. It teaches you the value of life, of friendship, of your value to others. It brings out the best in everything and everybody. It teaches you to appreciate the little pleasures, like a perfect June day, and a juicy ripe strawberry, a good nap. The kindness of strangers who hold the door open for you when they see you walking with a cane. A smile.
I got a beautiful bouquet of flowers from a friend today - just because. And I got an e-mail and a phone call from another friend - just to say hello. It not only makes me happy, but humble to know that people care - like Sally Field in her unforgettable Oscar speech " you really like me, you really, really like me." Well, who wouldn't feel happy after all this attention. If I had known having cancer would bring me all this attention, I would have done it sooner. Oh scratch that, I really don't mean it. But the point is, it is truly wonderful to know that people care about you and will miss you when you are no longer around.
So let's hope this happiness bug that I've got sticks around and that it's contagious. Like the song says "don't worry, be happy." It makes you feel good and it sure beats being miserable.
The song says "Happiness is just a thing called Joe..." Now I don't know if they mean Joe, (well I do have a brother, Joe who makes me happy) or Joe a cuppa coffee or what, but I think happiness is a state of mind and right now, for whatever reason that I really don't want to explore too deeply, I am HAPPY. Maybe I have a fever. I know I'm not smoking anything, I'm not taking any uppers - well, unless Tylenol and oxycodone are uppers. And I'm not even taking them unless the pain gets really pretty bad. I'm sure not drinking anything stronger than ginger ale and I'm pretty sure that doesn't have any liquor in it. I mean it doesn't even contain caffeine for heaven sake. So why am I happy?
Well let me count the ways. I live in a house that's all mine. All paid for and in a lovely quiet neighborhood. I have no outstanding debts. I have wonderful friends and a family who love me. I have a live in boyfriend who keeps me entertained. I've lived a pretty good life, with some exceptions... up until now.
It's the now that is the not so happy part, but believe it or not, I'm okay with it. That could change tomorrow, but for today I'm okay. Having cancer is a real eye opener. It teaches you things about yourself that you think by this time you would know, but there's always something new to learn. It teaches you the value of life, of friendship, of your value to others. It brings out the best in everything and everybody. It teaches you to appreciate the little pleasures, like a perfect June day, and a juicy ripe strawberry, a good nap. The kindness of strangers who hold the door open for you when they see you walking with a cane. A smile.
I got a beautiful bouquet of flowers from a friend today - just because. And I got an e-mail and a phone call from another friend - just to say hello. It not only makes me happy, but humble to know that people care - like Sally Field in her unforgettable Oscar speech " you really like me, you really, really like me." Well, who wouldn't feel happy after all this attention. If I had known having cancer would bring me all this attention, I would have done it sooner. Oh scratch that, I really don't mean it. But the point is, it is truly wonderful to know that people care about you and will miss you when you are no longer around.
So let's hope this happiness bug that I've got sticks around and that it's contagious. Like the song says "don't worry, be happy." It makes you feel good and it sure beats being miserable.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
INVALID
Did you ever stop to think about what a word really means? Take the word invalid. In valid. Does it mean not valid? Like if you're totally dependent on others for your care you are no longer valid as a person? I am not an invalid (yet) and hope that I never am viewed as such. I am fully functional and intend to stay that way for as long as possible. Yes, I am slower than I used to be. It takes longer for me to do almost anything that requires much effort, but I can still cook, (well not as well as I used to). I can still move around, take a walk, get dressed, etc. etc. I am still a functioning human being.
Another word that I dislike is non-professional. When I worked at the Georgetown University Library, there were two classes of employees - three if you counted the student assistants; professionals, meaning you had a MS in library science and non professionals, meaning you didn't. It didn't matter if you had a BS or a BA, you had to have a masters. That didn't make sense to me and I argued once in a staff meeting that I felt it was demeaning to personnel to be called non anything. I argued that a garbage collector, custodian, guard or any other employee that did his job well could be considered a professional in his field. To be a called a non anything is like being told you are "less than". Was I being too sensitive? I don't think so, and actually several "professionals" agreed with me.
The old argument that "sticks and stones may hurt your bones, but words will never harm you", is blatantly false. I remember things that were said to me years and years ago that still sting and cause me pain after all this time. I don't know who makes up this stuff.
I think words are fascinating. I love to play word games on my Kindle, I used to play Scrabble a lot when I had someone around to play with, like my friend Quince. I like to think about words to use when I decide I'm in the writing mode, like now.
Do you have favorite words? Or words that you dislike? Carol Burnett, when she was on the Actor's Studio was asked what her favorite words were and astoundingly they were mine too, BABY and WINDOW. Both beautiful words. They sound beautiful, almost melodic and mean beautiful things, both full of possibilties. Think about it. Say them slowly. See how pretty?
Okay, I must be tired. How about giving me your thoughts about words. I'd love to hear them.
Oh, one last thing. A word that I'm beginning to fear; Good bye. And we all know the reason why.
Did you ever stop to think about what a word really means? Take the word invalid. In valid. Does it mean not valid? Like if you're totally dependent on others for your care you are no longer valid as a person? I am not an invalid (yet) and hope that I never am viewed as such. I am fully functional and intend to stay that way for as long as possible. Yes, I am slower than I used to be. It takes longer for me to do almost anything that requires much effort, but I can still cook, (well not as well as I used to). I can still move around, take a walk, get dressed, etc. etc. I am still a functioning human being.
Another word that I dislike is non-professional. When I worked at the Georgetown University Library, there were two classes of employees - three if you counted the student assistants; professionals, meaning you had a MS in library science and non professionals, meaning you didn't. It didn't matter if you had a BS or a BA, you had to have a masters. That didn't make sense to me and I argued once in a staff meeting that I felt it was demeaning to personnel to be called non anything. I argued that a garbage collector, custodian, guard or any other employee that did his job well could be considered a professional in his field. To be a called a non anything is like being told you are "less than". Was I being too sensitive? I don't think so, and actually several "professionals" agreed with me.
The old argument that "sticks and stones may hurt your bones, but words will never harm you", is blatantly false. I remember things that were said to me years and years ago that still sting and cause me pain after all this time. I don't know who makes up this stuff.
I think words are fascinating. I love to play word games on my Kindle, I used to play Scrabble a lot when I had someone around to play with, like my friend Quince. I like to think about words to use when I decide I'm in the writing mode, like now.
Do you have favorite words? Or words that you dislike? Carol Burnett, when she was on the Actor's Studio was asked what her favorite words were and astoundingly they were mine too, BABY and WINDOW. Both beautiful words. They sound beautiful, almost melodic and mean beautiful things, both full of possibilties. Think about it. Say them slowly. See how pretty?
Okay, I must be tired. How about giving me your thoughts about words. I'd love to hear them.
Oh, one last thing. A word that I'm beginning to fear; Good bye. And we all know the reason why.
Friday, June 27, 2014
SHAKE RATTLE AND ROLL
For the past three days I've felt like I've been in a bottle of soda and someone has shaken me to the point of nearly exploding. Like every nerve is twitching and the essential tremor I've had for a number years is over taking me. Soon people will think I have Parkinsons Disease. (I don't). We (my hospice nurse) and I think it's one of the meds that I'm on. I just really hope we can get this stablized soon.
Today is a gorgeous day outside (June 27). Twenty seven years ago I did something that Time Magazine said was nearly impossible for someone my age to do. In fact they wrote that if you were a single woman over a certain age, you had a better chance of being struck by lightening or captured by a terrorist. Well I fooled them. I got married at the ripe old age of 49, on a day just like this - outside at a gorgeous county estate. It truly was beautiful - the wedding and the day. The marriage? Well, let's just say the wedding was the best part. But it wasn't all bad. My husband, Michael has been gone for thirteen years and after picking up the pieces of our life together I've moved on to a lovely house in the town where I grew up and couldn't wait to get away from when I got out of high school. Don't believe that you can't go home again. I did and I love being here.
I do miss some of the things about living in the D.C. area and I miss my friends, most of whom have also moved away. D.C is a place for the young movers and shakers. When I lived there I was in my late 20's and 30's. I worked at Georgetown University and lived in Georgetown, which was a great place to be in the 70's. That was also the time of Watergate and the Viet Nam protests and I was in the middle of it all! In fact, at one point it got so wild I couldn't drive from my apartment to the university because all the streets were blocked, manhole covers were being thrown around like frisbees and there were armed policemen on every corner. After realizing I'd never get there I managed to get back to my apartment building, ran into the lobby to use the payphone (no cells back then) to call the library and got back outside to my car, it had been moved across Q Street facing the wrong direction and all four tires had been flattened. I honestly don't remember how I managed to get the car fixed, but I did and I fled to a friend's home in Bethesda to get away from the madness. I remember feeling like a refugee (not that I have any idea what that feels like).
Just another one of the chapters in this rather illustrious life I've had. I should write a book. Oh wait, I started one didn't I? See with me it's not the getting started, it's the finishing that's the problem. And when I really think about it, that pretty much sums up how I lived my life. Start things, get all excited, get everyone I know pumped up about it and then sort of just let it fizzle out. Why? The only things I ever finished were the plays I was in. I loved every thing about the theater; the auditions, the rehearsals, the performances, the reviews, the after parties. I loved it all, never even occurred to me to drop out once I was cast - even if I wasn't wild about the part. I did melodramas, Shakespeare, Neil Simon, children's theater, restoration comedy and did a couple improvisational workshops. Oh the glory days! The last thing I did was a workshop at the Orange County Playhouse in CA. We did a showcase in Hollywood. Unfortunately, no one bought my act. Oh well, it was fun.
And I can say I went to Hollywood!
Now that my final act has begun, I have lots of time to look back and reflect on the things I've done, places I've lived and friends I have. I'd say it's been a pretty good ride and one that hopefully has a few more miles on it. Let's roll!
Stay tuned.
For the past three days I've felt like I've been in a bottle of soda and someone has shaken me to the point of nearly exploding. Like every nerve is twitching and the essential tremor I've had for a number years is over taking me. Soon people will think I have Parkinsons Disease. (I don't). We (my hospice nurse) and I think it's one of the meds that I'm on. I just really hope we can get this stablized soon.
Today is a gorgeous day outside (June 27). Twenty seven years ago I did something that Time Magazine said was nearly impossible for someone my age to do. In fact they wrote that if you were a single woman over a certain age, you had a better chance of being struck by lightening or captured by a terrorist. Well I fooled them. I got married at the ripe old age of 49, on a day just like this - outside at a gorgeous county estate. It truly was beautiful - the wedding and the day. The marriage? Well, let's just say the wedding was the best part. But it wasn't all bad. My husband, Michael has been gone for thirteen years and after picking up the pieces of our life together I've moved on to a lovely house in the town where I grew up and couldn't wait to get away from when I got out of high school. Don't believe that you can't go home again. I did and I love being here.
I do miss some of the things about living in the D.C. area and I miss my friends, most of whom have also moved away. D.C is a place for the young movers and shakers. When I lived there I was in my late 20's and 30's. I worked at Georgetown University and lived in Georgetown, which was a great place to be in the 70's. That was also the time of Watergate and the Viet Nam protests and I was in the middle of it all! In fact, at one point it got so wild I couldn't drive from my apartment to the university because all the streets were blocked, manhole covers were being thrown around like frisbees and there were armed policemen on every corner. After realizing I'd never get there I managed to get back to my apartment building, ran into the lobby to use the payphone (no cells back then) to call the library and got back outside to my car, it had been moved across Q Street facing the wrong direction and all four tires had been flattened. I honestly don't remember how I managed to get the car fixed, but I did and I fled to a friend's home in Bethesda to get away from the madness. I remember feeling like a refugee (not that I have any idea what that feels like).
Just another one of the chapters in this rather illustrious life I've had. I should write a book. Oh wait, I started one didn't I? See with me it's not the getting started, it's the finishing that's the problem. And when I really think about it, that pretty much sums up how I lived my life. Start things, get all excited, get everyone I know pumped up about it and then sort of just let it fizzle out. Why? The only things I ever finished were the plays I was in. I loved every thing about the theater; the auditions, the rehearsals, the performances, the reviews, the after parties. I loved it all, never even occurred to me to drop out once I was cast - even if I wasn't wild about the part. I did melodramas, Shakespeare, Neil Simon, children's theater, restoration comedy and did a couple improvisational workshops. Oh the glory days! The last thing I did was a workshop at the Orange County Playhouse in CA. We did a showcase in Hollywood. Unfortunately, no one bought my act. Oh well, it was fun.
And I can say I went to Hollywood!
Now that my final act has begun, I have lots of time to look back and reflect on the things I've done, places I've lived and friends I have. I'd say it's been a pretty good ride and one that hopefully has a few more miles on it. Let's roll!
Stay tuned.
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