No Longer Dead

There was a running skit on Saturday Night Live several years ago that poked fun at industrious immigrants to the USA and the number of jobs they managed to piece together to earn what might amount to a living. The characters in question were Korean and they would boast, “I have seven job.” “I have twelve job”. Well, just a few more “job” and I will officially be Korean. I work the Meadowlands, supervising a pantry so that people who could afford to see Jets and Giants games in the most expensive way imaginable get their food on time, at the right temperature and attractively presented. I don’t mind the job, demanding as it is; the time flies and I find myself back in the car after a mere 13 hours with feet throbbing a mantra as insistent as the buzz of a neon sign about to blow. I work for two theatre companies in addition to the one I am trying to start. This is at one time challenging and educational. The problem is that, being a fairly ethical person, I feel guilty if I keep any of what I learn for my own company while I am researching on their time. I try to stay present, concentrating only on what is before me and turning it off as soon as I finish a task. It is an interesting process that leaves me exhausted but unable to sleep. Right now I am waiting for my half of an Ambien to kick in and give me at least six uninterrupted hours. My dreams have been wild, filled with odd travel arrangements and strange bedfellows. I have moved into several variations of my childhood home, been on ships, planes, flown without a plane, and mingled with people who are long gone. My mother, who believes that dreams have meaning, would ask me if they gave me anything. I’m not sure. But I do know if has felt very good to see them all- my Bubby, my Dad… In a few weeks I will get even busier and will need to focus more than ever. I can do this. I may have to tune out a thing or two… a person or two… but that’s another story. The Lexapro is helping. I am not overwhelmed. I think I am no longer dead.

Ah Levai

I’m not quite sure what the literal translation of “Ah levai” is but my grandmother used to say it a lot. I understand the context. I think it means something like “Thanks to God”. “Ah levai, we should all be healthy.” “Ah levai, I hope this works out.” It is used interchangeably in my vocabulary with “From your mouth to God’s ears.” That is to say, “I sure hope this happens.”

It’s been a good summer, and I don’t mean to speak of it as if it already over, being that it is barely the middle of August, but it seems like it has been summer for a long while now and, yes, it has been good. I wanted to run two three-week sessions of my summer workshop for kids but I am pleased with the success of the single program I was able to fill with 25 students. As a result of the shortened work schedule, I was able to spend a few days visiting my Mom in Florida and basking in the warm salt waters of the southern Atlantic, an absolutely delicious experience. I returned to audition for Long Wharf Theatre which went well and was followed by a call from dear friends to spend a long weekend in the Hamptons. We tossed some things in a bag and ferried over Long Island Sound, a much better idea than bucking the traffic on the Long Island Expressway on a Friday. With waters about 20 degrees cooler than I had been used to, I still basked in the waters of the Atlantic, although it did take a full minute before I could catch my breath in the chill. Upon returning home, I got word that my unemployment insurance has finally, completely expired. I am now fully dependent on the string of part-time jobs I have pieced together. Ah levai it will be enough. We always seem to be one step ahead of the wolf at the door. Ah levai that will continue. I auditioned at Hartford Stage today and ah levai that will be productive. My son has had interviews at Danbury and Hartford Hospitals for his final year of grad school and ah levai will graduate in May with a Master’s Degree in something he enjoys doing that will bring him a security we have never known. In the meantime, he is moving back home to save money. Ah levai we can all live together after all these years without wanting to kill each other and/or ourselves. He’s on his way with a carload of clothes and books and I am sort of excited about the year ahead. Ah levai it will be a good one. Ah levai.

The Bracelet

My husband recently presented me with a bracelet he received when he bought a shirt at Modell’s. They tossed it in the bag with his purchase as a cross-promotion for the Make-A-Wish Foundation and the Jorge Posada Foundation for children affected by Craniosynostosis. It is a simple orange string with a silver wishbone on it and the card said that, if you made a wish, when the bracelet fell off, your wish would come true. I liked it. I put it around my ankle where I thought it looked unconventional and sexy. I always wanted an ankle bracelet and never got one. So I made my wish for financial abundance and the success of the new venture I was undertaking and went about my life. I continually examined the bracelet for signs of wear and saw none. “How long is this supposed to last”, I wondered. I showered with it, wore it to gym class and on my walks, took it to Florida to visit my Mom, went on the ocean with it; it looked like it was going to be around for a long time. Yesterday, I began to notice the elaborate knots that kept the bracelet together yet allowed you to adjust the size with ease beginning to unravel. I tried to retie the knot but the ends were too short. The unraveling continued until the neat little bracelet looked less neat and more like a tangled mess of thread where its ends once hung dainty and elegantly. At about three-thirty yesterday afternoon, as I lounged in the slightly-less-than-refreshing water that distinguishes pools in southern Florida in July, I felt the bracelet widen around my ankle. I reached for it and found, not a bracelet, but a long orange string with a wishbone on it. It had completely unraveled. Had I been walking, it might have slipped from my leg unnoticed and disappeared into the earth where the magical work of making my wish come true would have begun. Instead, here it was in my hand. I swam to the side of the pool with the rescued bracelet. Back on my lounge chair, I tried to retie the string so the bracelet would have another chance to slip away surreptitiously because, I now knew, I would not be able to part with it otherwise. I liked it! I liked the delicate wishbone hanging at the side of my ankle and the orange string, so simple and sexy against my tanned skin. Did I also like the delay of fulfillment? Was there something keeping me from wanting my wishes to come true? I have had a lifelong problem with “asking for what I want” which has been accompanied by the issue of “not getting what I want”. Is this bracelet merely symbolic of the real problem: I like it this way?

Taking Stock

Tomorrow night is the showcase for the summer theatre program I have been running in my hometown. It's 11:14 p.m. and I'm ready. The programs were printed last night. The props are done; the costumes; the snacks have been purchased. I'm not fussing with videos and pictures. Let the parents have their fun. This is not how I normally do things and I'm happy! Normally at this juncture, I am an exhausted, stressed out mess with a list of things left to do: cameras to rent, pictures to print and post. But tonight, I went out! I went to see a ten-minute play that I wrote being performed by a small company nearby. It was good! I liked my play! I liked the actors! I had a good time. I even laughed at a few jokes I forgot I had written. I'm going to get some sleep now and awaken energized for the long day. I'm not even going to color my roots! Hah! Tonight, life is good.When you finally start to do things for yourself, life is f**kin' good!

It Follows

When I was younger I entertained the notion that I wasn’t successful because I had nothing to overcome. It seemed that every time you heard of a successful person, the commentary dwelled on all the obstacles they had to overcome: blindness, cancer, loss of limbs, poverty, etc. I was far too normal for success. Of course there were those at the other end of the spectrum, the entitled, who had no obstacles at all. They had a parent who made a fortune and handed it to them. I hate them. I get physically ill when I hear that Ivanka Trump is going to tell people how to make it in business. “Rule 1: Have a father who is filthy rich.” It helps even more if he was handed the basis for his empire by his father before him. So, as I neared my third year of unemployment with no one to hand me a fortune, I came to the conclusion that I needed to do something. Perhaps chronic unemployment was enough of an obstacle to overcome. Hence, the Stray Kats Theatre Company was born. Now here’s the weird part: no sooner did I take this step than the phone rang with a part-time job. Keeping to my new philosophy of always saying “Yes”, I said “Yes” and joined the ranks at the New Meadowlands Stadium as a Suites Supervisor. No sooner did I complete the training when a director I auditioned for last September offered me a role in a short film. No sooner did I accept the role when a friend asked me to do a staged reading of his play in New York. I’ve had the busiest few weeks of the last several years and I love it. And when you love what you’re doing, I’m told the money will follow.

The New Stadium

It is 11:30 on a Sunday morning and I am contemplating the new meaning of “Things to Do When You’re Dead”; dead tired, that is. I started a job at the New Meadowlands Stadium where I am a Suites Supervisor in the luxury suites. My husband has been doing this sort of work for about 20 years now so, with unemployment insurance about to expire and all my part time jobs coming to an end for the season at the same time, when his former boss called me late one night to offer me the job, I seized it. I had no idea what it entailed; only that it was a job. My husband thought I was nuts. I realize now that he was just trying to shield me. But it’s okay. I completed my training, such as it was, and was literally thrown into the chaos of managing the needs of guests who had spent a shitload of money, chefs and assistant chefs who had been preparing for weeks, cooking for days, and on their feet for 14 hours per shift, managers who had no clear idea of how this massive ship of commerce was actually going to sail, suite attendants who were running around looking for missing this and that, cashiers who’d had enough training to open but needed someone else to close their registers…there’s more, but my brain is only able to track the number of dinner napkins, beverage napkins, plates, forks, knives, spoons, cups, condiments, etc. that I need in my pantry for the next event… assuming I’m sent to the same pantry, which is a serious question! Some pantries have kitchens and liquor; some have kitchens but no liquor; some have liquor but no kitchens, some have nothing but share space with those other people who crank out hot dogs, pretzels and sodas for the masses, waiting sometimes very impatiently for all their food to be delivered by runners who sometimes get lost negotiating the twists and turns of the massive stadium to bring them their carts of cold food, hot food, rolls, chips, pretzels, etc. etc.

All this is probably far more than you expected or need to know, but in the dawn of my waking this morning, I still found myself cataloguing and organizing in my mind as another portion of my brain kept silently screaming, “Stop it!”
Oh, and all this is capped off by a massive exodus of employees from a single parking lot with just two lanes out, adding at least an hour of unpaid work to the 12 hour day. I got home at three a.m.

Still, I don’t mind it! In fact, if I am to be honest, it was kind of fun. In my life, I have had occasion to work at a wide variety of “bread and butter” jobs, and I am always okay while I am learning how to do them. My mind always seeks to find new and streamlined ways to accomplish tasks and make things run more smoothly. It’s only when something becomes routine that I get bored and irritable and then it’s usually time to go. So right now, with my legs throbbing and my head stuffed full of unnecessary information, I’m okay. Jets and Giants start in August. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Letting go

Antidepressants are good. If you have to take a pill, taking an antidepressant seems to be the pill to take at a time when getting out of bed is the highlight of your day. And those warnings that antidepressants might lead to thoughts of suicide…? Hogwash. That feeling isn’t a suicidal tendency; it is the clear formulation of the idea that in sleep there is respite. Quite often these days, my husband and I look at each other around dinner time with the understanding that it really is too early to go to sleep. This morning we said it at around 11, after the plumber left, having installed our new water tank. The old tank died, leaving in its wake several inches of water in the basement. The new one is quite spectacular, in a shade of blue that makes it seem like a giant Easter egg nestled in the corner and cozying up to the metallic grey hot water heater which was our old ‘new’ thing. The old water tank was also blue but, covered as it was with dust and rust, you didn’t notice it very much. The new water tank is big and shiny and very, very blue, like the sky on a clear day seen through your sun glasses and the tint at the top of the windshield; an impossible, vibrant blue. Your eye goes to it as you walk down the basement steps like “Boinnngggg, look at the new water tank”! And it should! For what this cost, it should have artistic value!

We are off now to look at a new car, the old one having died a few weeks ago but we were in too much shock to do anything about it so my husband and I have been doing EVERYTHING together. Although my stomach is tied in a knot, there is hope in the act we are about to perform: the act of letting go. I have been holding on to whatever we have so tightly I haven’t been able to breathe in weeks. It felt good to buy the water tank; to let our sinks and toilets, washers of dishes and clothes once again function as God and Maytag intended. Perhaps I’ll feel even better when we say “yes” to a new or used car and get on with the business of getting on.