"Thank you very much...next," a voice boomed from the back of the almost empty theater; and, just like that, hours of intense physical and mental preparation came to a crashing end as I left the stage. I felt broken into fragments.
That depressingly dark scenario was, of course, only one possible outcome. Most times I was cast, though sometimes not. Regardless of the end result, the process was brutal. With only minutes to make a positive impression, I knew this was IT; and my heart rate soared as I approached the stage.
What a forbidding sight: the line-up of unsmiling judges, all looking like they had just smelled a giant fart, balancing clip boards on laps while uncomfortably parked in folding chairs. Their eyes followed me, judging every step, as my rubbery legs carried me to stage right and I bravely handed my sheet music to the pianist. With a no guts/no glory attitude, I positioned myself front and center wondering what they'd think of me.
Soon enough I would get my answer. The potential good news?... my name would wind up being posted on a casting list. Hopefully a strong resume would've helped me, but in the end it would come down to a quick-fire impression. It doesn't take long for those in the know to decide if they have found the perfect talent for the up-for-grabs part.
If unfortunately, as has happened, the audition wasn't positively received, I would slowly trudge out the back door, tap shoes and music in hand, feeling discouraged. The audition, over.
Well...until the next time.
And that's the way the game is played, and those of us who love performing are willing to subject ourselves to this agony: the audition. It's all worth it to get a foot in that momentous stage door.
I always love a party and yesterday had the pleasure of celebrating two milestone-type birthdays: Bea turning one and Jodie turning thirty. As always there were presents galore and a delicious dinner of Spaghetti Alfredo with salmon chunks, salad and garlic bread. Yum. I could've had seconds, but I didn't.
Of course there was cake, chocolate-my favorite; and Bea seemed to like the taste while wearing much of the sweet treat. As if that wasn't
enough, there was peppermint ice cream on the side.
After a change of clothes, Bea-with her mom's help-enjoyed the gift opening while the rest of us stood around snapping photos of this momentous occasion. One of my gifts to her was a green wool beanie that I made over the course of a few
weeks. Oops! I guess she'll have to grow into it. I picked the "child" size but should have selected the "baby" size. Still, she looks pretty cute in it. It'll be good for cold LA mornings, though there aren't too many of those.
The party was lots of fun, and I was happy to be a part of the celebration.
I had to ponder this theme for a bit. I considered writing about the actual bread that I love to stuff in my mouth. I also thought about money, which has often been referred to as bread. Neither really lit my fire, so I decided to go with the old 70s soft rock band I have enjoyed over the years. While Bread has had several hits, they weren't huge and never made it into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. In fact, I suspect it was decidedly uncool to like Bread's music, but I was never particularly cool; I just liked their mellow sound. And I still do. Does anyone else remember them?
I just love movies and television, so tonight I will be glued to the set, checking out all the hair-dos and gowns on the Red Carpet as the Golden Globes hit the flat screen. I have some favorites: HBO's Grey Gardens (and both Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore), Entourage, Meryl Streep for her fabulous portrayal of Julia Child, Mad Men, and...
Glee, my new #1 tv show.
I have not missed an episode and have watched many of them twice. The music and dancing are a treat to behold, particularly the cleverly choreographed wheel chair number and a signed version of John Lennon's Imagine, which brought tears to my eyes. Oh, and the episode where Kurt teaches the football team to dance? Amazing and hysterical, while being touching, all at the same time.
The closed book of my life opens often to people I enjoy and trust. I will readily share a thought, feeling or important event...but no one has the whole picture; no one knows everything about me, everything that makes me tick. Only I know that.
I was raised in the "what will people think" parenting mode and, therefore, I am a fairly reserved person and cautious about the image I present to the world. I care, too much perhaps, about how the cover of my life book, my surface, looks to others. And I know I am not alone.
I do sometimes admire those who are more "out there", and I have always joked that when I go to a party, I will be drawn to the loudmouth dancing on the coffee table, wearing a lampshade on his head; but here's the odd truth about that guy: he's probably even harder to get to really know than I am because he has a much more flamboyant act and more layers. That's his chosen surface, not so different from the kid in the classroom who is painfully shy and morphs into the class clown in order to cope. In fact, he probably WAS that kid!
We all have the surface that we choose to present to the world and each other. Like me, many elect to not reveal every element of themselves. Maybe there are marriages or best friend relationships where the two people involved deeply know the all of each other. I would like to think such relationships exist,and I believe they do. But not for me, given my childhood lessons.
And that's OK because I know the real me, the ever changing pages that go between the front and back cover. No one has yet to read the whole book; I suspect no one ever will.
I am still trying for a decent photo of myself with all three grandsons, but it just doesn't seem to be in the cards for a variety of reasons, the main one being that getting all three energetic grandsons to sit still and pose seems to be this grandma's version of Mission Impossible. Having all three present in the same frame is challenge enough, but achieving a finished product where everyone looks good is apparently just asking too much. Even Dexter Dog is having none of it! I could have a memory card filled with pictures like the laughable one shown above. Only John and I have a clue what is going on...just gotta laugh. So, this snapshot will join the ranks of previously deleted photos; and I will keep my camera handy for that perfect moment I someday hope to capture. Maybe another year will make this a more reachable goal. Or maybe when they are teenagers...
What is it about polka dots and why does thinking about them make me feel happy?
Is it because they remind me of Dots, the brightly colored gumdrops that stick like tar to molars, which are so much fun to eat and a boon to dentists everywhere?
It might be because they are round and uncomplicated. No corners or angles to muddy the waters.
Yet maybe it's simply because of the word polka, a very peppy, filled with fun, whirling dervish kind of dance.
Is it because they make dalmations so darn cute?
Could it be because they just seem to effervesce, like excited champagne bubbles escaping from a bottle?
Perhaps it has to do with the polka dot's circle shape, which represents continuity for many people. I mean, did you ever hear of the square of life? Really.
It might be because they give leopards a very regal presence.
I think it could be all of the above. And more. Whatever the reason, I have always liked polka dots and have worn them on many occasions, though they aren't so easy to find. They just make me feel good.