- Published on
from http://www.wfsb.com/
I love storms.
The smell,
The fizzle crackle in the air,
And the sound of rain.
But tonight I was nervous.
Warnings of flash floods and tornadoes across the state,
And being a grown-up in a place of children,
I felt a responsibility.
A couple of the campers I work with
Are afraid of storms,
And I came across one of my theatre babies
In the theatre,
Huddled over
Tense and barely breathing.
I sat with her,
Offered my hand
And she clasped it tight.
And every time the thunder roared
She held her breath and shivered.
We sat together,
And chatted through the storm.
I joked about singing My Favorite Things
It seemed appropriate.
And we giggled at the thought of becoming the cliche.
And to help her breathe
I told her breathing deeply would be like practicing diaphragm exercises.
If she wanted to play Elphaba, she’d better get practicing.
It made her laugh. She breathed, and trembled a little less with every thunder clap.
The storm passed.
I ended up sitting in the Music Shed with a couple of campers
And my friend with a beautiful wooden flute.
Occasional patters of rain danced across the roof.
My friend played his flute.
And I felt calm.
And I felt that this is what being a grown-up must be like.
To be put your own fears aside
And help the smaller ones around you.
The end.
The smell,
The fizzle crackle in the air,
And the sound of rain.
But tonight I was nervous.
Warnings of flash floods and tornadoes across the state,
And being a grown-up in a place of children,
I felt a responsibility.
A couple of the campers I work with
Are afraid of storms,
And I came across one of my theatre babies
In the theatre,
Huddled over
Tense and barely breathing.
I sat with her,
Offered my hand
And she clasped it tight.
And every time the thunder roared
She held her breath and shivered.
We sat together,
And chatted through the storm.
I joked about singing My Favorite Things
It seemed appropriate.
And we giggled at the thought of becoming the cliche.
And to help her breathe
I told her breathing deeply would be like practicing diaphragm exercises.
If she wanted to play Elphaba, she’d better get practicing.
It made her laugh. She breathed, and trembled a little less with every thunder clap.
The storm passed.
I ended up sitting in the Music Shed with a couple of campers
And my friend with a beautiful wooden flute.
Occasional patters of rain danced across the roof.
My friend played his flute.
And I felt calm.
And I felt that this is what being a grown-up must be like.
To be put your own fears aside
And help the smaller ones around you.
The end.
- Published on
I’m so proud of my kids tonight
For the past three weeks:
“Project! Articulate! Every word is important!”
Daily drills.
Feel your feet. Activate the breathe. Let go.
I’ve felt a bit like Mama Rose
“Sing out, Louise!”
Hoping I’m not nearly as crazy as she was.
But I get why she does it.
You can see the potential.
Hear the voice that’s dying to come out
And it’s just hidden by inhibition
Or from lack of ever trying.
And you sit in on the rehearsals.
And you work through the score.
And you stay up late
And you wake up early
And you hope that all the hard work will be worth it
And you get to show night
And suddenly there’s that extra element
That is simply not available in rehearsal,
The audience.
And your children lift their game,
And you sit watching their show
(It’s theirs now, they own it.)
And you feel like you’re in one of those TV shows
And you’re watching the show like a montage
Except you know every word
Every bit of blocking
And the director is sitting to your left
And every now and then you look to each other and laugh
Or worry about a delayed cue
Or a missed line
And you hear the audience go wild at the end
Cheering your kids
And you feel an immense sense of pride
In your work.
And you thank each and every actor
For all the lessons they have taught you.
The end.
For the past three weeks:
“Project! Articulate! Every word is important!”
Daily drills.
Feel your feet. Activate the breathe. Let go.
I’ve felt a bit like Mama Rose
“Sing out, Louise!”
Hoping I’m not nearly as crazy as she was.
But I get why she does it.
You can see the potential.
Hear the voice that’s dying to come out
And it’s just hidden by inhibition
Or from lack of ever trying.
And you sit in on the rehearsals.
And you work through the score.
And you stay up late
And you wake up early
And you hope that all the hard work will be worth it
And you get to show night
And suddenly there’s that extra element
That is simply not available in rehearsal,
The audience.
And your children lift their game,
And you sit watching their show
(It’s theirs now, they own it.)
And you feel like you’re in one of those TV shows
And you’re watching the show like a montage
Except you know every word
Every bit of blocking
And the director is sitting to your left
And every now and then you look to each other and laugh
Or worry about a delayed cue
Or a missed line
And you hear the audience go wild at the end
Cheering your kids
And you feel an immense sense of pride
In your work.
And you thank each and every actor
For all the lessons they have taught you.
The end.
- Published on
A little while ago
Gandhi said
Be the change
More recently
Annie Leonard said
We are living in an economy
That is toxic at every level
And she actively worked to make change
And made a movie called
The Story of Stuff
And uploaded it to YouTube
And it was very inspiring
And immensely popular
But she, and her team, didn't stop there
They kept investigating
"How do we make this place better?"
And now, in her new movie
The Story of Change
Annie Leonard talks about how to make the world less toxic
It's not just about changing our shopping habits
That's a start, yes. But action needs to be bigger.
It's about
An Idea + We + Action =
Change
It's about
We Can Make a Difference
We Can Make the World
More Livable
At the end of the film there is a quiz
What kind of
Change-maker are you?
And I took the quiz
And it said,
I am a
Resister
Which ironically, I resisted.
I'm not a resister...
I do want the world to be a better place
I want to live in a world that is not toxic
I want to be part of an economy that is not destructive
But aside from my own personal habits
Recycling, eating organic produce where possible, using natural products where possible,
I haven't spoken to any corporations
I haven't protested out loud
I haven't named names
I haven't stood in front of a CEO and said
Please stop what you're doing.
But perhaps now is the time for me to change
So that I may be the change
I want to see
The end. Or not.
Gandhi said
Be the change
More recently
Annie Leonard said
We are living in an economy
That is toxic at every level
And she actively worked to make change
And made a movie called
The Story of Stuff
And uploaded it to YouTube
And it was very inspiring
And immensely popular
But she, and her team, didn't stop there
They kept investigating
"How do we make this place better?"
And now, in her new movie
The Story of Change
Annie Leonard talks about how to make the world less toxic
It's not just about changing our shopping habits
That's a start, yes. But action needs to be bigger.
It's about
An Idea + We + Action =
Change
It's about
We Can Make a Difference
We Can Make the World
More Livable
At the end of the film there is a quiz
What kind of
Change-maker are you?
And I took the quiz
And it said,
I am a
Resister
Which ironically, I resisted.
I'm not a resister...
I do want the world to be a better place
I want to live in a world that is not toxic
I want to be part of an economy that is not destructive
But aside from my own personal habits
Recycling, eating organic produce where possible, using natural products where possible,
I haven't spoken to any corporations
I haven't protested out loud
I haven't named names
I haven't stood in front of a CEO and said
Please stop what you're doing.
But perhaps now is the time for me to change
So that I may be the change
I want to see
The end. Or not.
- Published on
Helene and I performing the Swedish frog song. Photo by Rene Macione
The camp where I work was founded by pacifists, people who had endured the horrors of Nazi Germany. Today our place of work is staffed by people from all over the world Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, Canada, Poland, Czech Republic, Sweden... As a
result, we don't celebrate Independence Day, we celebrate Diversity Day. In the evening the international staff and international campers share their cultures, their music and stories and tidbits of information that make their cultures different to the American one. But even Diversity Day makes me uncomfortable. I feel anxious around displays of nationalism. And so, I wrote and shared the following.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. Allow me to explain. I am Australian. I am Spanish. I am descendent from Filipinos, Dutch, and Polish. I have blood relatives in Spain, Switzerland, England, America, Canada, the Philippines, and Australia. I speak un pocito Español. I grew up in Sydney, approximately 10,000 miles from this place. Where I come from we wear thongs instead of flip flops, the forest is called the bush. We eat lollies and not candy, and wear singlets instead of tank tops. We say it is hot outside, and not it is hot out. I call my friends on a mobile not a cell, We don’t walk upside down. Nor do our toilet bowls flush in the opposite direction... I don’t think. I never rode a kangaroo to school. I never owned a pet koala. I never met Steve Irwin.
I’m rather uncomfortable with declarations of nationalistic pride. I grew up in a country whose national day of pride is Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of Australian and New Zealander troops on the shores of Galipoli, Turkey, and were subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. Now we’re friends with the Turkish, and we eat their delicious foods and every year thousands more Australians congregate at Galipoli to remember the fallen from nearly a hundred years before.
I’m a raging pacifist. I don’t get war. I really don’t. Once upon a time the British fought the Americans. Then they decided to stop. Now they are allies. Now they laugh at each other from across the pond. Seventy years ago my country was shooting Turks, and Germans, and Italians. Seventy years later I grew up eating pita bread, pretzels, and pizza. When my grandparents were teenagers they were sheltering from Japanese bombs and fearing death. My grandmother now drives a Japanese car, we all eat sushi, and my class at school almost had more Japanese students than Australian.
I don’t get displays of nationalistic pride. They make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent the
last five years traveling the world. I’ve been to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Wales, and the US of A. Now I may have only begun to scrape the surface of the metaphorical travel iceberg but here’s what I’ve discovered in my travels. No one place is better or worse than any other. America is no more the land of the free than Australia is the land of sunshine. In all those places I’ve seen people going about their daily lives. They wake up, they eat food, they go to the toilet, they spend the day making ends meet, if they’re lucky they’ll have time to play. At the end of the day they gather with their families and then they go to sleep. There are variations on this theme. Yes, many people have less other people. Yes, you have the occasional people that spend their days plotting the demise of other people who aren’t their people. But you know what? Most people just happened upon this here crazy planet, and they’re doing the best that they can.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. I care that you treat me decently just because. I care that I can be open to cultures and traditions and foods and that aren’t my own. It may be naive. It may be simplistic. But we’ve got to start somewhere. I hope you’ll care less where I come from. At the end of the day, let’s just exist on this planet together. Let’s draw on several thousand years of human history and share the foods that our ancestors ate. Let’s find a way to share life, liberty, and the pursuit of happyness in all its rich diversity.
The end.
result, we don't celebrate Independence Day, we celebrate Diversity Day. In the evening the international staff and international campers share their cultures, their music and stories and tidbits of information that make their cultures different to the American one. But even Diversity Day makes me uncomfortable. I feel anxious around displays of nationalism. And so, I wrote and shared the following.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. Allow me to explain. I am Australian. I am Spanish. I am descendent from Filipinos, Dutch, and Polish. I have blood relatives in Spain, Switzerland, England, America, Canada, the Philippines, and Australia. I speak un pocito Español. I grew up in Sydney, approximately 10,000 miles from this place. Where I come from we wear thongs instead of flip flops, the forest is called the bush. We eat lollies and not candy, and wear singlets instead of tank tops. We say it is hot outside, and not it is hot out. I call my friends on a mobile not a cell, We don’t walk upside down. Nor do our toilet bowls flush in the opposite direction... I don’t think. I never rode a kangaroo to school. I never owned a pet koala. I never met Steve Irwin.
I’m rather uncomfortable with declarations of nationalistic pride. I grew up in a country whose national day of pride is Anzac Day, which commemorates the landing of Australian and New Zealander troops on the shores of Galipoli, Turkey, and were subsequently slaughtered in their thousands. Now we’re friends with the Turkish, and we eat their delicious foods and every year thousands more Australians congregate at Galipoli to remember the fallen from nearly a hundred years before.
I’m a raging pacifist. I don’t get war. I really don’t. Once upon a time the British fought the Americans. Then they decided to stop. Now they are allies. Now they laugh at each other from across the pond. Seventy years ago my country was shooting Turks, and Germans, and Italians. Seventy years later I grew up eating pita bread, pretzels, and pizza. When my grandparents were teenagers they were sheltering from Japanese bombs and fearing death. My grandmother now drives a Japanese car, we all eat sushi, and my class at school almost had more Japanese students than Australian.
I don’t get displays of nationalistic pride. They make me uncomfortable. I’ve spent the
last five years traveling the world. I’ve been to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Germany, France, Switzerland, England, Wales, and the US of A. Now I may have only begun to scrape the surface of the metaphorical travel iceberg but here’s what I’ve discovered in my travels. No one place is better or worse than any other. America is no more the land of the free than Australia is the land of sunshine. In all those places I’ve seen people going about their daily lives. They wake up, they eat food, they go to the toilet, they spend the day making ends meet, if they’re lucky they’ll have time to play. At the end of the day they gather with their families and then they go to sleep. There are variations on this theme. Yes, many people have less other people. Yes, you have the occasional people that spend their days plotting the demise of other people who aren’t their people. But you know what? Most people just happened upon this here crazy planet, and they’re doing the best that they can.
Diversity Day. I don’t care where you come from. I care that you treat me decently just because. I care that I can be open to cultures and traditions and foods and that aren’t my own. It may be naive. It may be simplistic. But we’ve got to start somewhere. I hope you’ll care less where I come from. At the end of the day, let’s just exist on this planet together. Let’s draw on several thousand years of human history and share the foods that our ancestors ate. Let’s find a way to share life, liberty, and the pursuit of happyness in all its rich diversity.
The end.
- Published on
It's a very ancient saying
But a true and honest thought
That if you become a teacher
By your pupils you'll be taught
I've learnt that in spades these past few weeks
Every moment of jaw tension
Every freak out at "not being able to"
Every moment of self-imposed fear
I see myself in my students
Understand what they're going through
It's exciting to watch them make progress
It's frustrating when they repeat the same mistakes over and over
It's wonderful when they have their own "ah ha!" moments
They lead me to my own
Getting to know you
I'm learning
Me
Realizing everything my own teachers were drilling into me over the past year
The only thing holding me back is myself
How many times do I have to discover that?!
Again, and again, and again it seems
The strange relief of it.
It's not something I'm not getting
It's not something impossible and out of my reach
It's the voice in my own head that keeps saying
You can't, you can't, you can't because.
Because of X.
Because of Y. Because of Z.
It's all the same.
Tell the voice it's not serving you right now.
Focus on the work.
Do the exercises.
And trust, trust, trust that you'll get there
Eventually.
The end.
But a true and honest thought
That if you become a teacher
By your pupils you'll be taught
I've learnt that in spades these past few weeks
Every moment of jaw tension
Every freak out at "not being able to"
Every moment of self-imposed fear
I see myself in my students
Understand what they're going through
It's exciting to watch them make progress
It's frustrating when they repeat the same mistakes over and over
It's wonderful when they have their own "ah ha!" moments
They lead me to my own
Getting to know you
I'm learning
Me
Realizing everything my own teachers were drilling into me over the past year
The only thing holding me back is myself
How many times do I have to discover that?!
Again, and again, and again it seems
The strange relief of it.
It's not something I'm not getting
It's not something impossible and out of my reach
It's the voice in my own head that keeps saying
You can't, you can't, you can't because.
Because of X.
Because of Y. Because of Z.
It's all the same.
Tell the voice it's not serving you right now.
Focus on the work.
Do the exercises.
And trust, trust, trust that you'll get there
Eventually.
The end.
- Published on
From Boston to Hyannis and
Across then across the water
To the island of Nantucket.
I’ve been here in the summer, late spring, and winter,
I’ve seen soft pink roses climbing up the trellises and walls
I’ve seen icicles dripping off the picket fences
I’ve been here before it’s warm enough to swim
And hot enough to brave the chilly water.
I’ve cycled down to the beach
And sat on the warm sand
And fed myself hot chips,
I’ve sat on the deck at the brewery
When the sky was bright blue
And the sun was warm
And the local wines were flowing.
I’ve sat in the Bean when the weather outside was biting cold and played Scrabble and drunk hot chocolate,
I’ve sung in the church choir at Christmas
And stood in my tita’s impossibly tiny kitchen and
Learnt to bake American style Christmas treats,
Sugar cookies, lemon love notes and chocolate truffles
I’ve built gingerbread houses covered in candy
And danced the chicken dance on New Year’s Eve.
I’ve walked down Main Street countless times
To the beautiful home of my Titos de Nantucket.
I’m not just a mainland tourist
I’m family,
And the familiar (haha!) lovely welcoming warmth of it
Is comforting.
The island may seem idyllic,
It is indeed beautiful,
But being here over several visits over the past few years
I know it is a place where people live their lives.
There is joy and heartache and work and life
Just like any other place,
But today I sat on the wharf
With my book
And I watched the boat ferrying my prima back to Boston
Head out of the bay
And I sent her a message to remind her to throw two pennies overboard
To ensure she will return
And the sun was warm
And the water was shimmering
And I smiled my thank you to the beach
That I can be here
And feel like I’m ever welcome
To share in the magic of the island
The end.
Across then across the water
To the island of Nantucket.
I’ve been here in the summer, late spring, and winter,
I’ve seen soft pink roses climbing up the trellises and walls
I’ve seen icicles dripping off the picket fences
I’ve been here before it’s warm enough to swim
And hot enough to brave the chilly water.
I’ve cycled down to the beach
And sat on the warm sand
And fed myself hot chips,
I’ve sat on the deck at the brewery
When the sky was bright blue
And the sun was warm
And the local wines were flowing.
I’ve sat in the Bean when the weather outside was biting cold and played Scrabble and drunk hot chocolate,
I’ve sung in the church choir at Christmas
And stood in my tita’s impossibly tiny kitchen and
Learnt to bake American style Christmas treats,
Sugar cookies, lemon love notes and chocolate truffles
I’ve built gingerbread houses covered in candy
And danced the chicken dance on New Year’s Eve.
I’ve walked down Main Street countless times
To the beautiful home of my Titos de Nantucket.
I’m not just a mainland tourist
I’m family,
And the familiar (haha!) lovely welcoming warmth of it
Is comforting.
The island may seem idyllic,
It is indeed beautiful,
But being here over several visits over the past few years
I know it is a place where people live their lives.
There is joy and heartache and work and life
Just like any other place,
But today I sat on the wharf
With my book
And I watched the boat ferrying my prima back to Boston
Head out of the bay
And I sent her a message to remind her to throw two pennies overboard
To ensure she will return
And the sun was warm
And the water was shimmering
And I smiled my thank you to the beach
That I can be here
And feel like I’m ever welcome
To share in the magic of the island
The end.
- Published on
Sometimes no matter how hard you work
And how hard you try
You just seem to fall short
Financially or spiritually or emotionally or physically
And you need some help
And sometimes you’re too afraid to ask
Because asking means conceding defeat
But people,
Out of kindness or love or simple pure awesome
Just reach out and say
I’m going to help you
Like the time(s) when my mum gave up everything
so I could have what I needed
Like the time I didn’t have enough money to go to drama school and my dear friend said
Here is what you need
And the time I was in drama school and wondered how I was going to pay the rest of my fees and live in London and a stranger said
Let me help you and gave me a scholarship
And the time I was in NYC and my phone didn’t
work and people who I’d met literally the day before gave me their phone
And the time when my boyfriend was tired and needed him time and still waited in line with me and gave me an extra kiss and held my hand and told me
It’s all going to be ok
And you have to keep going
You have to keep trying
And then you have to let go
And sometimes ask for a hand
And it helps
When the kindness of strangers of friends of family
Of people whose paths cross over yours
Extends outward and
Takes a weight off your shoulders and helps you along the way
And reminds you that there is love and light and kindness in this world
Even if it sounds cliched
And all you can do is say thank you
And hope it sounds as sincere as you want it to
And hold in your heart that one day you’ll repay it all back ten thousand fold
The end.
And how hard you try
You just seem to fall short
Financially or spiritually or emotionally or physically
And you need some help
And sometimes you’re too afraid to ask
Because asking means conceding defeat
But people,
Out of kindness or love or simple pure awesome
Just reach out and say
I’m going to help you
Like the time(s) when my mum gave up everything
so I could have what I needed
Like the time I didn’t have enough money to go to drama school and my dear friend said
Here is what you need
And the time I was in drama school and wondered how I was going to pay the rest of my fees and live in London and a stranger said
Let me help you and gave me a scholarship
And the time I was in NYC and my phone didn’t
work and people who I’d met literally the day before gave me their phone
And the time when my boyfriend was tired and needed him time and still waited in line with me and gave me an extra kiss and held my hand and told me
It’s all going to be ok
And you have to keep going
You have to keep trying
And then you have to let go
And sometimes ask for a hand
And it helps
When the kindness of strangers of friends of family
Of people whose paths cross over yours
Extends outward and
Takes a weight off your shoulders and helps you along the way
And reminds you that there is love and light and kindness in this world
Even if it sounds cliched
And all you can do is say thank you
And hope it sounds as sincere as you want it to
And hold in your heart that one day you’ll repay it all back ten thousand fold
The end.
- Published on
Far out, I love traveling!
I love packing my bags
I love the heartache of saying goodbye to somewhere that’s become familiar
I love getting to the airport and the thrill of all the possibilities
I love checking in
I love watching my bright blue backpack being tagged and sent off to the bowels of the airport where people unseen will make sure it goes to where I’m going
The logistics of it all boggle my mind
I even love going through security
The quiet patience of people waiting in line
To be checked by other people
To make sure that the waiting people
Don’t hurt countless other people
The strange routine of it
Imagine if someone were looking in from outer space
What would they say?!
I love getting through security and seeing the departures board
And all those destinations
And the way you have to search for the flight that is yours
I love living in Europe
I love that last weekend I was in
Geneva
Eating local organic fish
Because the restaurant didn’t have a single vegetarian option
Because in many parts of Europe, being vegetarian just doesn’t exist
You’re vegetarian? Ah! I make you lamb.
It’s actually true!
And the thrill of looking out across Lake Leman
(not Lake Geneva, the French get cranky)
And seeing Mont Blanc
Rising impossibly like some kind of cloud
Perpetually white
Perpetually beautiful and tall and majestic and all the cliches a mountain should be
And the weekend before that I was in Bath, England!
And walking around the ancient streets with a
man dressed in 18th century garb
Showing us where Captain Philip resided (and fell out of a window and died)
And standing at the said Captain’s front door and thinking
Because this man once sailed far away
Because god and country
Because colonies and history
I am an Australian/Spaniard whose ancestors traveled from Poland and the Philippines and Spain and China standing outside an Englishman’s front door in Bath.
It is ridiculous. It is wonderful. It is life.
And there are friends and family
Scattered all over this globe
And you think no matter how often you travel
How many places you tick off the destination list
You will never quite manage to see them all even just once
And the excitement of going someplace new
To see things you’ve never seen before
And try foods you didn’t even know existed
(Until last week I had never heard of raclette, and now it’s a firm favorite! The Swiss and their delicious amazing cheeses!
Until the week before I had never been to Stonehenge or seen the Roman Baths in
Bath! The overwhelming delicious ancient history of it)
To breathe air that is new and different
To be a person whose life occupation is discovering the world
To look out at it in wonder
And sometimes be frightened by it
And sometimes be in love with it
And sometimes just be amazed that you’re here
And that you get to see it
The thrill rush joy of it.
The end.
I love packing my bags
I love the heartache of saying goodbye to somewhere that’s become familiar
I love getting to the airport and the thrill of all the possibilities
I love checking in
I love watching my bright blue backpack being tagged and sent off to the bowels of the airport where people unseen will make sure it goes to where I’m going
The logistics of it all boggle my mind
I even love going through security
The quiet patience of people waiting in line
To be checked by other people
To make sure that the waiting people
Don’t hurt countless other people
The strange routine of it
Imagine if someone were looking in from outer space
What would they say?!
I love getting through security and seeing the departures board
And all those destinations
And the way you have to search for the flight that is yours
I love living in Europe
I love that last weekend I was in
Geneva
Eating local organic fish
Because the restaurant didn’t have a single vegetarian option
Because in many parts of Europe, being vegetarian just doesn’t exist
You’re vegetarian? Ah! I make you lamb.
It’s actually true!
And the thrill of looking out across Lake Leman
(not Lake Geneva, the French get cranky)
And seeing Mont Blanc
Rising impossibly like some kind of cloud
Perpetually white
Perpetually beautiful and tall and majestic and all the cliches a mountain should be
And the weekend before that I was in Bath, England!
And walking around the ancient streets with a
man dressed in 18th century garb
Showing us where Captain Philip resided (and fell out of a window and died)
And standing at the said Captain’s front door and thinking
Because this man once sailed far away
Because god and country
Because colonies and history
I am an Australian/Spaniard whose ancestors traveled from Poland and the Philippines and Spain and China standing outside an Englishman’s front door in Bath.
It is ridiculous. It is wonderful. It is life.
And there are friends and family
Scattered all over this globe
And you think no matter how often you travel
How many places you tick off the destination list
You will never quite manage to see them all even just once
And the excitement of going someplace new
To see things you’ve never seen before
And try foods you didn’t even know existed
(Until last week I had never heard of raclette, and now it’s a firm favorite! The Swiss and their delicious amazing cheeses!
Until the week before I had never been to Stonehenge or seen the Roman Baths in
Bath! The overwhelming delicious ancient history of it)
To breathe air that is new and different
To be a person whose life occupation is discovering the world
To look out at it in wonder
And sometimes be frightened by it
And sometimes be in love with it
And sometimes just be amazed that you’re here
And that you get to see it
The thrill rush joy of it.
The end.
- Published on
Your love sends you a link to a film
Directed by Emilio Estevez
And it's about the Camino
And how a man goes to recover the body of his son
Who dies along the way
And the father decides to walk it himself
And it stirs a memory
Of all the markers along the way
Of people who have died
Whilst making their pilgrimage
And it makes you wonder
In all your memories of the
Camino
You hadn't thought about those markers
But you remember that journey
That walk across the top of Spain
That you did yourself, four years ago
Walking 780km in 6 weeks
It seems like a life time ago
A whole other self that took that journey
That made you so much of who you are today
The night before the Cruz de Ferro
The highest point on the Camino
You tossed and turned and agonized
About what to leave behind
What to ask the Camino to relieve from your shoulders
Traditionally you bring a stone from home
And leave it at the highest point
And with it you leave all your troubles
And you had this realization
That no matter what thing of significance you left behind
There would always be something
In life, there would always be something troubling you
And you would have to make this pilgrimage literally annually to be absolved of pain
And in the early hours of the morning
You had an epiphany
You didn’t want to leave pain and suffering
You wanted to leave something positive
Something that you could carry with you forever
And you decided to leave gratitude
Dear Universe. For being. My soul. For love.
For energy. For strength. For knowledge. Thank you.
And you posted that message, written on the
back of a peppermint tea bag wrapper
Into a cairn built into the highest point
Posted a message to the universe
To your higher self
To a future self
And from then on, the Camino became more beautiful
The scenery more picturesque
The grass actually greener
Whether or not you had passed into the lush province of Galicia
Doesn’t matter
Something was lifted and changed
And four years later
Sitting in London
You remember that self
That tortured self who wanted to sing and dance and act and be in love and be happy
And you whisper in her ear
It all comes true.
The end.
Directed by Emilio Estevez
And it's about the Camino
And how a man goes to recover the body of his son
Who dies along the way
And the father decides to walk it himself
And it stirs a memory
Of all the markers along the way
Of people who have died
Whilst making their pilgrimage
And it makes you wonder
In all your memories of the
Camino
You hadn't thought about those markers
But you remember that journey
That walk across the top of Spain
That you did yourself, four years ago
Walking 780km in 6 weeks
It seems like a life time ago
A whole other self that took that journey
That made you so much of who you are today
The night before the Cruz de Ferro
The highest point on the Camino
You tossed and turned and agonized
About what to leave behind
What to ask the Camino to relieve from your shoulders
Traditionally you bring a stone from home
And leave it at the highest point
And with it you leave all your troubles
And you had this realization
That no matter what thing of significance you left behind
There would always be something
In life, there would always be something troubling you
And you would have to make this pilgrimage literally annually to be absolved of pain
And in the early hours of the morning
You had an epiphany
You didn’t want to leave pain and suffering
You wanted to leave something positive
Something that you could carry with you forever
And you decided to leave gratitude
Dear Universe. For being. My soul. For love.
For energy. For strength. For knowledge. Thank you.
And you posted that message, written on the
back of a peppermint tea bag wrapper
Into a cairn built into the highest point
Posted a message to the universe
To your higher self
To a future self
And from then on, the Camino became more beautiful
The scenery more picturesque
The grass actually greener
Whether or not you had passed into the lush province of Galicia
Doesn’t matter
Something was lifted and changed
And four years later
Sitting in London
You remember that self
That tortured self who wanted to sing and dance and act and be in love and be happy
And you whisper in her ear
It all comes true.
The end.
- Published on
It’s when you get inside the theatre
And you can smell the hazer
And see the depth of the stage
That you remember what all these hours have been for
You walk through the wings
And stand under the glow of the lights
And feel a sense of relief
Feel like you’re home
The delicious adrenalin sheer hard gut busting work of it
Because sometimes you do wonder why you’re here
Standing in line with hundreds of others
Belting as high as they can
Articulating gesticulating and explicating
But it’s the relief of being there
On the stage
Working with the director and the lighting designer and the costume designer and the stage manager and the musical director and the musicians and the ensemble and
All the myriads of people who work unseen to make the magic happen
Not really magic
Just sheer hard work and determination
Hour upon hour of rehearsal
Sometimes you wonder where a whole afternoon went
Because when you look at the script, you’ve only covered a page!
But the continual repetition and drilling and finding meaning in the text
Is where you find the magic
Meters of fabric
A team of dedicated souls
And a room
Become transformed into countless other worlds
Where people sing and dance and act
Often at the same time!
And it makes you so happy
Makes your blood pulse through your very being
And reminds you why it is you chose to be here
The end.
And you can smell the hazer
And see the depth of the stage
That you remember what all these hours have been for
You walk through the wings
And stand under the glow of the lights
And feel a sense of relief
Feel like you’re home
The delicious adrenalin sheer hard gut busting work of it
Because sometimes you do wonder why you’re here
Standing in line with hundreds of others
Belting as high as they can
Articulating gesticulating and explicating
But it’s the relief of being there
On the stage
Working with the director and the lighting designer and the costume designer and the stage manager and the musical director and the musicians and the ensemble and
All the myriads of people who work unseen to make the magic happen
Not really magic
Just sheer hard work and determination
Hour upon hour of rehearsal
Sometimes you wonder where a whole afternoon went
Because when you look at the script, you’ve only covered a page!
But the continual repetition and drilling and finding meaning in the text
Is where you find the magic
Meters of fabric
A team of dedicated souls
And a room
Become transformed into countless other worlds
Where people sing and dance and act
Often at the same time!
And it makes you so happy
Makes your blood pulse through your very being
And reminds you why it is you chose to be here
The end.