West Side Story - You're on in ONE HOUR

With the release of the 2021 West Side Story reimagined, and watching my four year old granddaughter fall in love with the music, I can't help but recall my experience performing in the show.

It was 1984. I had just gone through one of the biggest heartaches I would ever experience and knew that I needed to get out of the house and involved in "something". I didn't know what exactly, but I did know I had to be very busy to help me through the hurt.

I picked up a copy of either Drama Logue or Variety, not sure which, and started the search. My guess is, it had been a year, possibly two, since I'd done a show. One thing I was sure of, doing a show always opens the door to new experiences and new friends. I didn't want to sit and stew, and I certainly didn't want to hang out with friends and go through the when's and why's of my recent breakup. So, as I looked through the audition posts, I knew I would be best in a musical.  

I found an audition for West Side Story, in Monrovia. Not sure where Monrovia was, I pulled out my trusty old Thomas Brothers Map and looked it up. I lived in Pico Rivera and The Old Towne Theater in Monrovia was a little over 16 miles from home. Not bad. I'd done shows further than that, so, okay, without any preparation, I made up my mind then and there I would go get the part of Anita.

I must preface this by saying that a few years prior to this, I had auditioned for the part of Anita at Downey Civic Light Opera. I read for the part but without even a blink of the eye, the casting people said 'thank you' and sent me on my merry way. Uh, well...not so merry. I felt I had read well and didn't understand why they wouldn't see me dance or sing. Either way, I walked out the way I went in, and there saw about 3 people I'd previously done shows with. They asked why I was leaving and I explained. They stood there with their mouths open and said that they couldn't believe I wouldn't even be considered, as I was so perfect for the part. Of course, I agreed but, there was nothing to be done. I knew as so many do, that sometimes parts are precast and they're just going through the motion of making it look as if it weren't the case.

Come the night of auditions at Old Towne, I run home from work, change my clothes and, as I mentioned before, without preparation, head into the theater ready to be cast as Anita. I read and danced; so far, so good. I sing... things are still looking good. It felt like the director spent a little extra time with me, so I was feeling especially confident. A few days later I get the phone call asking me to be in the chorus. WHAT! There is no way I expected to hear that. The truth of the matter is, I really wanted to tell them to shove it....well, you know where. But I really didn't want to sit and stew about yet another thing so, I accepted the part.

Up until this point, I had only done chorus once before in any show, and that was because the director and choreographer lovingly begged me to stay with the show because "we'll have so much fun". I had been blessed to have leading parts and quite frankly knew I could perform at that level. But as I accepted that part of chorus, even though I felt I deserved the part of Anita, I still had the desire to be out of the house and involved in something I loved. 

Fast forward a month, or whatever it took to get the show up, we open, run for a few weekends and there I am, in the chorus, just happy to be involved in something and out of the house and my head.

One night, I'm up on stage all by myself, stretching and warming up for dancing when the director comes running down the center aisle, from the lobby area. She runs directly to me and tells me to stop what I'm doing, get backstage, read lines, run through songs and prepare because tonight, I'm Anita. Of course I'm shocked. I wasn't understudying. I knew the show inside and out because when I was young, the first time I saw West Side it became my favorite musical. I could relate to the culture, even though my siblings and I weren't nearly as tied to our Hispanic roots as I would have liked and were 2nd generation Americans, I could relate. Nonetheless, I was familiar with the music, my grandmother having had a live orchestra, playing Spanish standards and my parents, aunts and uncles dancing Cha Cha, merengue and salsa at every family party. 

Still, when I'm told I have an hour to prepare for a part that until that moment I could only have dreamt of doing, I'm doing it! 

No time to search for costumes or run lines. Talk about flying by the seat of your pants! There's not a whole lot of context to recall, just flashes of moments, people guiding me to the correct entrance, setting me up for my next line by indirectly feeding me information, eyes shifting toward the direction I should move, Bernardo mistakenly slipping me the tongue during a stage kiss (because he, as he later explained, got caught up in the intensity of the moment) and my back, after a series of turns and dips, feeling like I might never walk again. The scene in Doc's pharmacy was so real to me, I honestly felt fear that I would be physically attacked. And yet, with all the action, all the wondering if I would know what to do or say next, not one ounce of fear or nervousness. There was no time. I've had mishaps on stage, but never this. This was an experience that gave me a new appreciation, not only for what I found I was capable of but for what a cast working for the goal of a successful show could do. 

Backstage after each exit, I received nothing but smiles, congratulations and praise by everyone as I was being pushed, pulled and dressed for the next entrance. 

And when the show was over, the audience poured their love into me. The cast poured their love into me. I felt like I had just climbed Everest. 

 

I can recall walking out of the theater, into the lobby area having strangers come up to me with "thanks for such a wonderful performance", "I've never seen a more believable Anita", "You were sooo good". I will never forget the feeling...ever!

 

I was later told that the person originally cast and playing Anita, had planned to take that night off to attend her High School reunion. She just didn't tell anyone in advance.

 

What happened next:

After that night, and I don't remember if we had a show on Saturday or Sunday or not, or if we did, if I played Anita the next day or next weekend. What I do recall is the person who was originally cast as Anita, coming back. She wanted to know what was going to happen. Somehow the decision was made that she and I would switch off and on until the end of the run. There was talk and a lot of it. Not by me, but by others. Apparently, she heard from a lot of the cast and others at the theater that my performance was very well received. After a few days, she called me. When I received her call, I wasn't sure what to expect; was she mad, did she want me to drop the show...I had no idea.  Turns out, she felt unworthy of continuing. People were talking and telling her that I really shined that night and she didn't feel she could own the part as I had and that she was a disappointment. I waited to respond. What a predicament. But after much thought, I told her, and I'm going to paraphrase because I don't remember my exact words, but I do remember the sentiment, D..., do not walk away from this part. You fought to get it and yes, you made a mistake by deciding to take a night off without any plan, but, if you love the theater as you say you do, take this as a lesson and push yourself to be the best Anita you can be. We talked for a while and she came back to do the show for a few more performances. In the end she walked away. She said, she could see how I understood Anita in a way she could not and that even though she had tried her best, she could feel the difference in the casts performance with her. I was torn. I was definitely thrilled to be taking over the part but sad for her. Sad that she had given up and not fought to prove, if not only to herself, that she could learn and grow. Every character an actor takes on brings with it the opportunity to grow, in character and as a person.

 

Anyway, before I get too deep into acting 101, I just wanted to share one of my top 10 experiences on stage. As a person. As an actress. As the character.

 

I’m old now, I’ll never live the life of Anita again, but that won’t stop me from living through the memories Anita gave me. She was bold, and courageous, daring and even sexy, without shame. I fear I might have left most of her on stage.

Slimy Picnic

I don't know about you, but when I was a kid I can remember reading about bobbing for apples.  Norman Rockwell drew pictures with children Bobbing for apples, childrens books featured children bobbing for apples and apparently every halloween party bobbed for apples...so I find it odd, I never, ever attended one of those events.

    

How is it bobbing for apples was the thing to do, yet I never experienced it. Was I just not invited to those parties?  Was my jaw line weak?  Was my bite off?  Why was I never included in an event where bobbing would take place? 

Everyone got into the act...

For many years I tried to push the idea down.  You know, kinda put my past behind me, but the truth is, we all know what happens when you don't deal with the tragedies of life.  I began to look for apples in all the wrong places. I mean, come on...even Eve was involved in the apple game.

Fast forward many years later and I'm planning a church picnic.  Now that I think back, it was no coincidence that I would be the picnic planner (God has a way of putting things in our life to allow us to work out the pains, doesn't He?). So I start making a list of games the kids can play at this picnic and there it is...Bobbing for Apples!  Why should my kids experience the pain, lonliness and heartbreak that comes from exclusion...I'm doing this game!

The day of the picnic arrives and I announce the next game...'Bobbing for Apples', I yell out.  Kids come scrambling from every corner of the park, even a dog is in line, there is so much excitement. The line is longer than you can imagine. 

My my daughter Jenifer is first in line. Jenifer is a competitor, she will win no matter the cost.  She steps up to bat...uhhh, rather to bob and I can see the excitement in her eyes, she's gonna do this!  Ten apples later and with time to spare, she's pulled every apple out of that tub; she's the one to beat.

Well, kid after kid steps up, gives it a try and comes up short...Jeni is standing on the sidelines waiting to see who might come even close.  As the line shortens the enthusiasm does not diminish.  Every kid steps up with the same excitment and suredness as the previous.  It's looking good for Jenifer until a kid with a neck longer than Jenifer's entire body steps up.  I'm thinking 'this kid should be disqualified here and now, he's got no right to....to...to what?'.  I can't find any reason to punk him right out of there. Instead, I step back, fake a smile and begin the count.  I want Jenifer to win.  I want this kid to go down and never, ever, ever come back up...ever.  He starts pulling apples out...one, two, three....it's not looking good...Jenifer is starting to sweat, I wipe her brow, we lock eyes and ...four, five...this monster! Who brought this kid? Someone please accuse him of something before it's too late!  Can't we get the city involved...I need the park handbook, it's very possible this game has been banned in public places...then I notice that his face is not dripping of water, it's more like....SLIME...goobery, thick, saliva water.  We haven't changed the water this entire time.  Oh yuck!!

While my mouth is attempting to say something gross, my brain is hoping that if I can just hold the disgust back for a few moments longer, maybe, just maybe the kid with the body length neck may come up with a quick case of diptheria and after the paramedics wisk the kid off to the hospital Jenifer can be crowned winner...

Just when it starts looking like Mr. Longneck may not be coming back up, one of the kids cheering giraff child on also notices the thickness of the water and starts a riot...well, not a riot, but...he strongly suggests we change the water.  The trouble maker!  Kill joy!  Personally, I think he was a plant.  He wants Jenifer to lose. The world has been plotting against her! How could I not have seen it???

Well...As much as I hate to admit it, giraffe neck won. It's over. Jenifer has come in second and life is just not fair. This day is proof. As much as I know this, I will never give up trying to find fault in how this kid, with the neck deformity, took Jenifers title. 

Bear

During a visit from my cousins from Minnesota this past Christmas we sat down to watch a couple of DVD's my brother had put together using family photos and video taken when we were kids; the kind of thing that warms your heart, especially during a holiday reminiscent of those past.

At some point during our DVD frenzy and having viewed some footage of myself at about 4 or 5 years of age climbing into a T-bird and onto the lap of a kind looking gentleman who I can only recall as Fred, a friend of Auntie Camille, I retold my story of how I remember Fred as being such a nice guy and how he had given me my Bear.  How I remember that, I do not know.  In fact, I now doubt whether I actually do know.

Bear has been with me for such a long time.  Of all the toys my father slipped past me and into the arms of other children or more likely the trash bin, Bear managed to stay.  He's had the honor of sitting on many a new bedspread or off to the side on a chair or nightstand. I'll admit there were times he quietly sat in the closet just waiting for me to take him out, brush him off and find him that special place in my room again.

He's been subject to the drool of many a baby whose mother arrived at our home without a toy in hand.  And when I was much younger, I assure you Bear found himself battered and thrown against the wall for the sick pleasure of my brothers who never considered the effect on Bear whatsoever.  In fact, I can tell you that about 5 years ago, one of my brothers upon visiting me, came across Bear and felt it necessary to re-enact the crimes of his youth by throwing bear to the wall full force in an unforgiving display of immaturity!

My poor Bear.  I fear I have, in my confusion, lied about your story for so many years, it's time to come clean.  You see, I have been sorting through photos for some time now and today came across a photo that I have seen many times but never really studied at length.  

If you take just a moment to analyse this photo, you will see for yourself how one brother emotionless holds me down while the other is red handily pulling bear from my grip; his tongue hanging out of his mouth is proof of how difficult a task it was for brother. I have no doubt this was the beginning of the many abuses Bear would be submitted to but also explains how he never complained when I stuffed him in my closet, sometimes months, maybe even years at a time.

I apologize Bear and admit, the story I fabricated about Fred giving you to me was never meant to strip those years of faithfulness away from you.  This photo was taken in 1956, probably years before Fred ever arrived on the scene.  I suppose I was trying desperately to forget the years you were silently subjected to the two hoodlums who are probably at fault for the eyelashes you are missing and the bite someone took to remove the end of your tongue not to mention how often they threw me to the ground, tickled me until I begged to be freed lest I pee on them, jumped from behind doors to scare the living daylights out of me and found pleasure in tackling me to the ground in the backyard treating me as if I were one of the guys. Poor us, Bear, poor us.  

As I look at you today, you seem to be at peace with the fact that much of your fur is missing.  I hope you forgive me for leaving you with such ugly scars from an inexperienced hand at 

unstitching you, throwing you in the washing machine and putting you back together without the least bit of concern of whether you wanted your tail refilled or not.  

Ohhh, that you could talk to me Bear.  But then, who knows what you'd say...what you'd tell...WHO you'd tell!  For now Bear, enjoy your spot of honor resting in the comfort of my pillows.  And just remember, silence is golden...One bad word and it's back to the closet!

Love the color Purple

Many, many, moons ago I worked at a reception hall on Pine Avenue in Long Beach.  This wasn't any ordinary reception hall.  This place had gone through major restoration as have many of the old buildings in Downtown Long Beach.

The owner had gone through great pains to keep it's original decor and color.  The expense, I'm sure, was huge but the new owner in his determination to keep the building as original as possible worked long hard hours working with the city and all their demands.  Indeed, it was beautiful inside and out but required constant maintenance.

How I landed a job there, I don't recall but my duties were to see that the place was kept clean, deposits were paid in advance, the caterers followed strict rules, wedding parties were set up and cleaned up within the proper time limits and of course, anyone renting any of the rooms were to be kept under control.  The latter could prove to be one of the most difficult tasks by the owners standards of control which, in my opinion, was too controlling.  I did my best without completely ruining the parties fun.

Some days, with the constant running around, I'd be near the point of taking my heels off to get myself up and down those two flights of stairs.  But the only time the shoes actually came off was when I was seated directly behind my desk with no one in sight.

One day I decided to wear a heel a little lower than normal as I knew I had a lot of tearing down/setting up to do and thought they might prove to be more comfortable.  On days when the schedule was as heavy as this, I worked very closely with our head maintenance guy, both of us running up and down the stairs together, apart, crossing paths and sometimes bumping into each other.  So this day it was no surprise that he and I met at the top of the first landing had a quick chat and decided to head down to the office together.  Being the gentleman he was, he allowed me to take the lead.

To this day, I still don't recall what our purpose was in heading down those 2 flights of stairs but I can tell you, the 'trip' was one of the fastest I'd ever made in reaching the bottom.  As I took the lead in my usual chatty manner something in those shorter than normal heeled shoes caught hold of the top stair. What followed next?  Let's just say I could probably teach Slinky a thing or two about how to take the stairs.  I literally rolled and rolled and rolled, came to a small landing, attempted to get up...but quickly discovered I hadn't yet recovered my balance and began the second set of rolls. Barnum and Bailey, here I come!  I could hear the fellow behind me screaming 'Marie! Marie! Marie!' and trying desperately to stop me by grabbing my clothes, hair, arm...well, anything he could.

I'm sure you have great concern for me at this point in my story so let me assure you, there is no need.  I was in hysterics.  Not from fear, or desperation.  More that of someone who had just witnessed the funniest stand-up routine ever.  I just could not get my own image out of my head. My thoughts ran to the Tasmanian devil and Bugs Bunny.  Those crazy cartoons where someone is rolling down stairs and appears as a ball of string.

I get to the middle of the second flight and start to slow down.  The thought quickly comes 'at last, I've stopped' but oh, how wrong I was.  My encore performance is a repeat of the earlier; 'Marie! Marie! Marie!', grab, grab, grab (we've now got this down without the boring rehearsal period except we failed to run through the final bow).  I finally stop sitting straight up, ala Raggedy Ann, with legs wide open.  After a few seconds of uncontrolled laughter I hear the sigh of relief of the poor gent who made every attempt to rescue me, look up and realize I'm facing straight out to Pine Avenue at the biggest window known by man, showing the world my purple panties and tousled hair. 

I get up, check myself for blood and find none.  I think, my nylons must be torn to shreds; nothing. I move around expecting something to hurt, not a pain.
My would be rescuer asks 'why on earth were you laughing so much?' to which I respond 'haven't you ever seen Bugs Bunny?'.

Later that day and through the days that follow, I'm asked by many people who work in the building if I'm ok and how I survived such a crazy fall.  To this day, I don't know how I made it without any sign of injury.  I have nothing to show for my spontaneous, never to be repeated, performance.  My only response then and now is that laughter can get you through just about anything.

Now, I wonder what ever happened to those purple panties??

I Love Christmastime

Christmas has always been one of my favorite times of year.  As a child I can remember the excitement leading up to Christmas.  The television announcements of the upcoming Christmas Specials always added to the excitement.  If I got my hands on a tv guide I'd mark all the specials to be sure not to miss them.  Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer were a must as were the thrilling musical specials with Judy Garland, Carol Burnett and Andy Williams.

Christmas Eve our entire family would gather at our house early afternoon. We'd sit around the kitchen table making tamales, talking, laughing, the adults drinking and us kids drooling at the prospect of getting the first bite of a tamale.  It was a joyous time to be sure.  

I cannot imagine what Christmas would have been without family and the love we shared each year.  The older I get, the more those memories warm my heart.  Not a year goes by when one of us doesn't take us back there for just a few minutes with a rememberance of how lovely those days were; the cooking, the smells, the music, the laughter, the love.

I pray you too have fond memories of days gone by, but more, I pray that this season you find yourself in the midst of family and friends.  That you share love and joy with someone who may not have and that next year you will add this Christmas to your book of memories not soon to be forgotten.

TIME FLYS

The saying goes "Time flys when you're having fun".  But we all know it's just a saying and time flys whether fun is involved or not.  Everyone knows that if you're in a bed fighting the flu, or in the first hour of an 8 hour work day, time does not fly.

I can tell you, first hand, that when you're in a hospital bed with indiscribable pain, being given morphine to try to control the pain and after 15 minutes, with enough morphine to last at the very least 45 minutes, the morphine stops being effective, time doesn't fly and take my word, it IS NOT fun.  Not even a little bit.

And just so's you'll see where I'm coming from, I'm gonna tell you in detail what happened to me.  So put your jamies on, get a nice cup of tea, pull up a chair and get comfy. 

Ahh-hummmmm...Okay, so in 2000 I had a hysterectomy.  The doc left some parts in but basically he made sure I would never be with child again.  Considering I had a fibroid as big as a 6 month fetus in there, I'd have to say it was a good thing.  The day after the surgery, and assurance to the doctor that I had indeed passed gas, I was released and went home to recover.  Yippie, time off from work, ain't it swell, ain't it great, gonna have the whole world on a plate, blow a kiss, take a bow, honey everything's coming up rose............................Eeeeek, NO! What The.....Pain!  EMENSE PAIN!! UNbearable Pain.  Gonna rip your head off if you try to be nice to me once more, pain!

I'm laying in bed with terrible, terrible pain all day thinking "I can beat this".  Beat what?  I don't know.  It's just a pain that, well, child birth was a laugh; both when I was born and when I gave birth to my daughter...I grab my husband by the colar and I say "you know that perscription the doctor gave me after surgery?  The one I never used?  GO HAVE IT FILLED NOW!".  He was probably gone for about 1/2 an hour but I was quite sure he'd flown to the East Coast to fill it.  By the time he gets back, I nearly swallow his hand trying to get the pill in my mouth.  I wait and wait and...wait... Nothing.  These pills should have sent me flying to another planet, that's how strong they are but they do N O T H I N G.  I'm at the end of my rope so I say, you need to get me to ER right now!!!

Now understand, this is a man who has difficulty dealing with other peoples discomfort, especially if that person just tried to swallow his hand...I can tell he's afraid that something is going to happen to me but he's more afraid that once he gets me in the car, something will happen and he won't know what to do.  So in trying to cope, he say's let me just get a coke and a book and maybe my ipod...I'm just at the point where I'm feeling extremely Lorena Bobbit-ish when my sister in-law steps in to save the day.  If she's afraid of anything, you'd never know.  She's like Sylvester Stalone in Rambo, she's determined to get the job done and shirt or no shirt, she's gonna do whatever it takes standing up, no less.

She gets me in the car and puts the pedal to the metal.  We're going so fast I'm sure I heard a sonic boom.  We are flying!  We're moving so fast NASA is on the phone to the white house calling in a national emergency (or maybe those pills were finally working). 

Well, long story short, it turns out I had a gangrened gall bladder and the closer they looked they realized a nasty stone had torn through the gall bladder but could not be retrieved as it was no where to be found. The entire episode was NOT fun, which brings me back to "Time Flys".  In this case, it DID NOT.

Why am I so wordy???

Well it worked the first time...

The other day while my daughter was at a vocal rehearsal I remembered many, many years ago when I was singing with a small group.  The leader had been part of a recording group that had a couple of hits on the radio and then just seemed to disappear into thin air.  This guy had such an incredible sense of self worth (perhaps too much) that when he asked me to join his group, I jumped on it.

One day while rehearsing a ballad, Mr. Important counted the song off and from the first note the whole thing seemed to go in the wrong direction.  The drummer was doing his thang, Mr. Important was on key board going south and the bass player seemed to be into a groove totally unrelated to the song we were playing.  The oddest thing was, no one stopped or even acted as if anything was wrong.  Everything screamed for me to stop but the guys who were showing signs of having gone temporarily tone deaf with absolutely no sense of musicality just kept going.  They looked so pleased with themselves...what was a girl to do but sing.

"What song was that anyway?"  

We finished the song, looked at each other and burst out laughing.  After nearly peeing our pants, we decided to play back the recording just for kicks.  To our surprise it sounded really cool.  We couldn't have charted it that way had we tried.  We found ourselves completely in love with us.  We didn't know how we did it but we loved it.  Well, someone had someplace to be so we ended the rehearsal; probably not a good idea as a few days later we had a gig at a local park and would not be able to fit a rehearsal in before then.  Mr. Important still radiant from our beautiful disaster added the song to the list without so much as consulting the rest of us.

At the time I was dating a guy who had his own band.  I'd gone to see them play on several occasion's and found them...well...amusing.  He could sing but wasn't the best.  Their sound was a bit old style to me but you know, he was cute and passionate about his music so I told him I liked the band.  It was the right thing to do.  He knew I was a vocalist/dancer/actress and had never seen me perform in any way except on a crowded dance floor having fun.  I felt really strongly that it was time for him to see me shine and persuaded him to come see my band.

The day of the gig was a little hectic.  As usual I had far too much on my plate; an early morning dance rehearsal and then a run home to shower and change before making it to the park an hour before our performance.  As soon as I saw the stage I was beside myself.  The stage was small...really small.  They had overbooked performers in case there were no shows but as it turned out EVERYONE and their mothers showed up.  Musicians were expected to use whatever drums were there and only a few minutes were allowed in between the switch of groups.

After waiting entirely too long in the hot sun for our shot to play we were told we would have less time than thought.  We jumped up on that stage and within five minutes were ready to go.  The first number could have been better but we wrote it off to having to wait so long in the heat, wiped the sweat from our brow and counted out the next tune after which we felt perty good.  Time only allowed for four numbers so after the third Mr. Important thought it was time we shared our beautiful mistake, called out the song and before anyone could suggest otherwise, boom....we were into the first couple of bars.  Difference was, we sucked this time through!  SU..UH..KED!!  The weird rhythms that sounded so cool the first time were just not working.  It was pure pandemonium.  Nothing we could have done would have made it good, or worse for that matter.  It was so bad I thought I would throw up.  I sang, I'm sure of it because I remember the sound of panic in my voice.  I considered fainting onto the grassy area just to get me off that stage and provide the perfect excuse for why we sounded so bad but because the space was so tight I would have just landed on the instrument in front of me leaving me with my panties out there for everyone to see.

Needless to say, compliments from my crush were few and forced and though we dated for a while, it didn't work out.  I was actually less crushed about having to break it off with my 'crush' than I was for the fact that he never really got to see me perform under 'normal' circumstances.  Ahhhh, his loss.  This story is my side, I've often wondered how his side would sound.  My guess is, better I never find out.    

The View from my Window

Today as I write, I am sitting on the second floor looking out the window.  Immediately outside I see a pine tree and across the street...well, I'm not a tree expert so I have absolutely no idea what type of tree it is but it has beautiful little white flowers all over it that blow through the air with the light wind of the day.  It's magical.  It looks so lovely as those little flowers glide on the breeze and fall to the ground. Of course when you get out of the car you step on them and they stick to your shoes and you track them in the house and you realize what a royal pain in the butt those stupid little flowers can be.

Wow!  I started out nice.

"THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES"

Last Summer my daughter and I visited my lovely cousin in Minneapolis, Minnesota.  The days leading up to our visit were filled with anticipation.  I'm sure we all have fond memories of early days spent with cousins.

Some of my favorites:

• Visits and week long stays at my cousins house.  Sometimes just for the fun, other times because my parents were travelling to Mexico. It was exciting to be in a different neighborhood.
• We were both shy and took a while to warm up to each other.
• I still recall the backyard that was as normal as any other, if you can call having a display of cars moving through a city of buildings,over a bridge, and through a tunnel on a treadmill generated by running water, normal.
• In my minds eye I can still see Auntie in the kitchen, donning an apron.  In the morning we were served and expected to drink our ponche.
• The image of my uncle sitting at the organ, playing his favorite songs and the sound of the keys clicking as his fingers seemed to jump from one to the next effortlessly.  I grew up on these songs, most times with Mom, Dad and sometimes Auntie singing along.
• How could I ever forget Auntie sitting at the sewing machine in her own world as she made us girls Barbie clothes; stockings, hats, rings, earrings, necklaces, bras, panties, elbow length gloves, evening gowns, boas and bathing suits...we were the envy of any girl who'd ever even heard of Barbie.
• And those afternoons laying on my cousins bedroom floor as I begged her to draw one figure after another.  I was so amazed by her talent, even then.
• I shall never forget the playhouse my uncle constructed for my cousin.  It was the envy of the neighborhood girls, with several rooms in it.  It was tough getting in under the low laying ceiling yet the perfect escape from any adult who even considered entering.
• And the memory of climbing on top of the flat roofed garage with my cousins niece and nephew will never be lost.  For all we knew, we on top of Mt. Whitney, we were conquerors, that is until we got caught.
• I have a clear recollection of my cousin visiting our house.  We walked to Ed's Liquor Store; I nearly had to pry words from her until she warmed up and we discussed with anticipation what we would purchase from our trade; soda bottles for candy.
• The hours spent in my backyard playhouse.
• Fond memories of Easter baskets and Christmas gifts, patented leather shoes and fancy dresses.
• Watching as Dad and my uncle worked to enlarge yet another room to our house and Grand Openings to celebrate each.
• The smells of sitting in our family kitchen.  Everyone working the assembly line to make the biggest olla of tamales and menudo known to man.  Sometimes just for the heck of it but more often than not, to feed the crowd that would gather for a party planned for no particular reason except to party.
• The hours spent sitting around the kitchen table listening and learning as the adult talk went on and on until we fell asleep no longer able to keep our eyes open.
• The joy and excitement of my aunt, uncle and cousin moving to our city; the fun was just beginning.
• Playing cards in the backyard patio with beans for the winning.
• The proud moment when we heard my beautiful, cousin had been named 'Homecoming Queen'.
• The crazy episodes Anita and I experienced as young adults; taking dance classes together, driving! Stepping onto a theater stage as actresses, crazy musical theater workshops, trips to Dillions in Westwood, walks on Hollywood and Vine, buying Capezio dance shoes in Hollywood, daring to take dance classes in Los Angeles and of course my cousin waving hello to people she knew as we drove down the freeway (who could be that popular?)
• I will never forget our USO auditions and announcement that we had made the company to tour the Orient and entertain the troops together.  And little surprise that as we toured Cousin would come upon people she knew from home.  Who else besides a movie star would have such popularity?
• And then the announcement of Anita's wedding to Ruben; a schoolmate of mine from Middle and High School.

So many memories not mentioned, or forgotten.

As my daughter and I made plans to meet in Houston after her trip to Costa Rica to stay with dad for a few weeks, I wondered if I could live through the wait.  It had been 3 years since our last visit and 14 before that.  Silly of me to be so childish and think a few days of waiting could be so difficult.  But they were!

I met Karina in Houston as planned.  We were travelling stand-by but got on the flight as scheduled.  I will never forget the first sight of my cousin when we spotted each other near the baggage claim carousel.  The excitement was so high I stood waiting near the carousel for quite some time before noticing that our luggage had been taken off and left for pick up at the far end.  We were talking away as if we had to get it all in in a few minutes or it would be gone.  Meanwhile, Ruben sat waiting in the car.....

Karina and I spent three full days with Anita and Ruben.  We talked, walked, laughed and cried.  Then we laughed until we cried.  We sang, we danced and we ate.

We went sight seeing and took photos.

  We even did a photo shoot of Karina dressed as Audrey Hepburn.  

  

We had such a wonderful time of reminiscing, catching up on the current events of our lives and enjoying the beauty of their home, oh how I dreaded leaving.   I wanted to say 'I'll be back next week', and wish it were that easy.

And now, I find myself in anticipation of a new visit...just for a few days, but I can hardly wait!

It's happened...

She's driving!

The fact that my daughter now drives is so exhilarating.  I know most parents fall into habitual worry when their teens begin driving....Not.Me!  My daughter driving simply means I get to watch an entire television show, or wash and dry a full load of clothes, or even take a nap without the interruption of that dreaded phone call "can you pick me up now?".  Oh, how I dreaded those words.  Just the thought of them make my nostrils begin to twitch.

I should have been grateful to hear my daughters voice when she was calling asking for a ride home but really, some days I'd have to make four to 6 trips dropping her off, picking her up, taking her here, taking her there.....  Believe me, you cannot have a normal life when you have an active teen.  And the simple fact that she was doing nice, clean, fun activities didn't make it any easier.

Do I sound ungrateful or naggish?  (that's my word and you can't have it)  Do I?  I don't mean to, but I went through this driving the kid around thingy for 2 girls, almost back to back.  Do couples these days having 4 children separated by only 2 years have any idea what they're in for when those little buggers get into their early teens?  Any idea?  NO.  Of course not.  Having four children that close in age means one thing and one thing only, at least a decade of chauffeuring your teen and their friends.  A DECADE people!  May as well just sell the house and buy a motor home!

Just minutes ago I get a call "Mom, are you hungry?".  I love it.  I don't have to go anywhere, don't have to drive to the store or make myself lunch.  How stinkin' much better can it get??

She's driving, she's driving, she's driving........Now on to new worries.......

Life really isn't fair.

How long is a 10 minute drive home? Long Enough!

Last night as I drove home from dropping my daughter off at school I began mentally recapping my day.  After thinking through all I was able to accomplish (and still not accomplish anything of importance) I actually asked myself out loud if maybe I wasn't exaggerating just a little to justify feeling like I deserved to go home and just plop myself onto the living room sofa and stay there until the next day, if I so desired.  Of course that thought led me thinking that I should also be hand fed grapes while being dowsed with exotic perfumes from around the world….and just let me stop here before I tell you more and you discover what a truly crazed individual I really am.

Back to the drive home, I made it through a red light by the skin of my teeth and popped out of Egypt and into reality just in time to discover that I was still here in Garden Grove; no grapes. 

Anyway…I’m am here (in Garden Grove) and I've come to terms with my current sitchiation.  That is to say, I’m living in a highly populated Asian community; approximately 31%.  Of that 31%, I’ll exaggerate once again and say that at least 29% of them live at my apartment complex.  And I exaggerate when telling you this to prove that I am aware I’m doing it, and I don’t exaggerate solely while talking to myself.

Still chit chatting with myself, I wonder how many people live in my complex?’   And there’s just no point in wondering on a 10 minute drive home without searching out answers, so I do a mental body count.  I know the brain is a very strange thing but about now I’m realizing mine is particularly strange.  How did I go from ‘bye honey, see you later’, to counting bodies?  But, that’s where I am; I count 85 to 88 people (infants included).

As a manager you wear many hats; a counselor, a friend, a mean old broad, the grounds keeper, the parking police, the trash woman, enforcer of rules, the key keeper, a grouch, a translator, a peace keeper, a babysitter, a package delivery holder and a mom.   

And if that weren't enough, I also work part-time for United Airlines, and to keep myself in this crazed mental state, I sell AVON...Ding, Dong!

Okay, now you know the percentage of Asians in my community, how many bodies live at my apartment complex and what I do with my time.  You’d think that having thought all this, I’d be home, but I’m not.  How my mind hasn't just shut down to put an end to this nonsensical thinking or better yet, how I haven’t crashed into another car due to my lack of focus, I don’t know but I’m not done yet. 

Having realized that only 29% of the Asian community reside at my complex, curiosity begins to nudge at me asking who the heck the other 61% are.  I argue with myself that it’s not important but the thought just won’t rest, so…there are Hispanics, Thai, Syrians, Egyptians, Italians, Vietnamese, Koreans and THANK YOU JESUS, Americans.  This means that within the walls of 37 apartments, there are approximately 7 countries, besides the United States represented, with a good 7 languages being spoken here daily.    

And that is how I stay awake while driving home after dropping my daughter off for her night class.  And don’t think I didn't eat those grapes.  I did.  They were red, seedless, frozen grapes and I’m not sure, but I could have sworn I could hear Arabic music playing somewhere off in the distance…..now, just where are those perfumes...  

In need of Living Room Furniture

This is a fact, not an posting for the classifieds.  My Living Room sofas suck.

I bought them about....hmmm, maybe, Yikes! Ten years ago....which explains why when you sit down, you need a good set of climbers tools to get out.  I know you're probably thinking I'm exaggerating. Take my word, I'm not.

I think it's probably easier to drop to your knees and roll to the closest, stablest piece of furniture, grab on and pull yourself up.  I've done it, don't laugh!  There is the option of grabbing on to someone standing nearby but keep in mind, if that someone isn't firmly planted with heels dug in, the two of you could end up in the abyss, lost for all eternity.

There certainly isn't the same traffic (meaning people) going through my house as there once was, but my house is lived in.  The thing is, if you're not careful you could end up living in my sofa surviving off popcorn and chips for the rest of your life.  If that sounds bleak, not to worry, there is the periodic rubber band or TV control that go missing and to feed your daily mineral needs dimes seem to get sucked in by the dozen.

I tried pulling the cushions out the other day to see if my daughters ring had fallen in (along with everything else);  I nearly had to disassemble the entire sofa to remove them.  The wires from the box spring (if that's what it's called) were sticking out through the material and were holding the cushions captive.  It was similar to when you get your hair tangled up in a round brush while blowing drying; a rat's nest is easier to decipher.  After a good long wrestle a Rock Star, cup of coffee and overdose of vitamins I was able to pull those suckers out.  I still have the bruises on my forearms, if you don't believe me.

Just in case.

The other night after everyone had gone home I decided to sit down and watch one of those "I Survived" episodes where there are several people telling their stories of having been victimized in some terrible way and through shear determination make it out alive.  Suddenly I realized I too had a story to tell, I just wasn't sure if I'd live long enough to get through to the network that does the filming.  See, I got just a little to comfortable in the sofa and before I knew it, one thing led to another and I found myself up to the neck in cushion and box spring.  The popcorn had already been vacuumed out for the month so my chances of survival were looking slim.  If it weren't for the fact that I didn't want my daughter to be humiliated when reporters came around to get the facts, I may have never found the strength to climb, hack and crawl my way out.  Sure there was a bloody mess afterward, but the exhilaration of knowing I'd done it was beyond any other feat I've ever achieved.

I'd show you a picture of my war wounds from that night but there is just no way to prepare you for the shock so I think it be best to leave it to your imagination.  Let's just say that old box of Flintstones band-aids came in handy..Bam Bam!  

I considered taking a picture of the sofas to show you but soon realized the camera was missing.....not worth looking. 

Weeding in more ways than one

Yes, I finally did the weeding in my little patio.  I've been saying I was going to do it for at least 2 weeks now.  I wish I had taken a picture to show you the "before", but, I forgot...

I put off pulling the "weeds" because they were really pretty.  I don't know what it is but it grows out long and tall and looks really lush.  I kinda felt like I was in the middle of a meadow every time I walked out my back door.  But alas, I was not.

So it took an hour to clean up; an hour for thought.  It was 3:00 when I started and about 4:15 when I finished filling two big 'ol black plastic trash bags.  I was terribly busy today so that hour stooped over was back breakingly healthy, because everything else I did required me to sit in front of the computer.

So I'm pulling weeds and I think that maybe pulling the weeds is symbolic of what and where I am at this moment of my life. After almost 20 years I'm very close to being divorced.  Just months away.  After five years of too much tolerance, divorce was the only solution.

There's a whole lot I won't say but I will say this, you can plant a really beautiful garden that flourishes with proper watering and care but sometimes there are things, under the top soil, things that look really good from the top.  Those uncovered things slowly destroy whats beautiful.  You can pull the undergrowth out but if you don't get past the top soil and to the roots, the problem never goes away and before you know it you're pulling weeds again.  It can go on for years, if you let it.

I never meant those weeds to grow out so much that they covered all my other plants but I was fooled by how nice they looked; it made me feel good.  I never wanted my relationship to end either...but the root went so deep.  I tried to end it but it wasn't until I realized only a court could help that I was finally able to make it happen.  Sad but true.

Morsels of Joy

How many times have you read a blog of a friend recalling an event from their childhood?  I'd be willing to guess, more than once.  Me, I've written about plenty of escapades from childhood.  Those days when we first learned how to make friends, how to take turns in a game of jacks, how to fight over a doll and act the next day as if it never happened.

Our childhood friends played a huge part in how we interact as adults.  I can tell you that some of the tolerance I have now as an adult is hugely due to dealing with a neighbor girl who was sick and spoiled.  Everyone, out of  sympathy for her poor health, allowed her to dominate play time; I learned to follow.

A very close childhood friend was left home alone a lot; I learned to care.

I remember a boy around the corner who played with the girls and was somewhat sissified, I learned to accept those who didn't fit the mold.

And then there was the family next door. This family moved into the neighborhood shortly after ours.  It was a new track of homes built in what once was an orange grove. When my parents first purchased the house only my two older brothers were born, my sister and I hadn't been released from the confinement of mom's ovaries yet (but I'm sure we were cute even then).  The family next door had two sons and a daughter.  By the time I came around, they had already had their second daughter leaving us one short.  No one saw it coming but my parents competitive edge came out seven years later when my sister (referred to as the Consolation Prize by my dad) was added. It was a proud day for my parents knowing the Jones' had nothing on us; Score 4-4.  And what did I learn from this you might be wondering; competitiveness,  because a few years later I learned that just when you think your on top someone comes along and steals the gold; the neighbors added one more for a final score: 5-4, Neighbors. Humility. We tried.

Both families stayed in the neighborhood but as with most, us kids began to take off in different directions. All the years of playing and fighting, falling off bikes, church picnics, birthday parties, sleep overs, skating, swimming, board games, patio discussions, Easter egg hunts, Christmas and New Years Eve parties and making tamales seemed to fade away.

My dad passed away.  Their dad passed away.  My mom; then theirs.  By this time we'd completely lost touch.

Thank God for memories.  They help us hold on to the past that made us who we are.  They keep us from forgetting where we came from and if we remember the positive stuff, they help us to direct our own children in how to grow, tolerate, support, love and appreciate.

And oh right, here's where one of those little morsels of joy come in.  Yesterday I had lunch with Karen; The "Tie Breaker".  We found each other on Facebook, and I know you're not surprised.  I think we can all say thank you to FB for someone.

A while back I went a huntin' on FB looking for any sign of the Ezree's and Bingo!  Found one. Totally excited, we talked about getting together; a reunion but, time went by and nothing happened.  This Christmas my brother, Rusty, who is the family gynecologist...Oops!, I meant genealogist, put some CD's together with family pictures.  Seeing as how the Ezree's were at our house almost as much as we were, they were in quite a few still shots and some of the film.

The Consolation Prize and the Tie Breaker don't make much of an appearance in either the photos or the film because they were really young when most of my dads horrific photography and movie making was in full swing.  I guess the excitement wore off at some point and all equipment got shoved into the closet, never to emerge again...Until, I got married and had a family.  At that point I threaded the movie projector found a white wall and showed the kids how stinkin' cute I was as a kid.  Unfortunately my bedroom walls were really textured so we all looked a bit frankensteinish.  

Yesterday's lunch felt way too short but it was fun.  Besides the fact that Google Maps is not to be trusted and we ended up being 15 minutes late when after exiting the freeway we thought we would be 10 minutes early, it was a joy to sit with Karen and catch up on some of the goings on's over the last 15 years.  We ate like...well, like Pigs, and promised to get together again soon to do more catching up.  I can't wait.


Life is full of little morsels of joy, sometimes you just got to search for them because they might not come looking for you.