Singing musical theatre 
Is hard work
You are required to 
Sing, act, and sometimes dance
All at the same time! 

Belting 
Sometimes referred to as 
Controlled screaming 
Requires technique. 
Training. Breath. 
Control of vocal chords
The diaphragm.
Being able to access
Every single body muscle 
Whilst singing about
Love, loss, and dreams. 

Movie musicals 
Along with the Patti’s and Kristen’s and Bernadette’s 
Have made it look effortless 
And that’s the performer’s job 
Right? 
To make it look easy. 
But the ease 
Belies the effort it takes
To be. That. Good. 

There is a theory
That belting changed
For women
With Lloyd-Webber’s 
Evita
Before Evita, women were usually belting up to B’s and C’s 
Think Don’t Rain on My Parade or Rose’s Turn or On My Own 
Yes, the women could/can sing higher 
But the money note sat right in a woman’s chest voice 
Noboooody is gonna raaaaaaaain.... 
Etc. 

Then Evita
And Patti. With a belt range from here to eternity 
And the game changed.
Belts were written and sung up to E’s 
Which sit higher in the voice 
And now we have our Defying Gravity’s and Surabaya Santa’s and 
Let It Go’s 
And in the words of Jason Robert Brown, 
Girls
Belting as hiiiiigh as they can. 

Bette, Pink, and Idina 
All performed iconic songs
At the Oscars last night
And in varying degrees, 
Nailed it, hit it out of the ball park,
Or weren’t quite there. 

Pink’s performance
Somewhere Over the Rainbow 
The slightly husky voice
Capable of deliciously pleasing
Vocal gymnastics
The end of the first section
“Somewhere beyond the raaaain” 
Rain, hitting the traditional money note 
Bb
Satisfying to the ear 
(And mighty satisfying to sing)

The chorus, one of the most well-known refrains, 
Somewhere over the rainbow
Needs to be seamless
Smooth
The octave jump between 
Some and where
One of those phrases that sounds easy
But try singing it
Without sliding
Keeping the where light 
Remembering you’re singing about 
Rainbows and dreams and lullabies... 

Pop singing is less precise 
Allows for riffing 
And sliding between notes
And showing off. 
Pop is about sound. 
Musical theatre is about story-telling. 

Pink sang
Someday I’ll wish upon a star 
And wake up (breath) where the clouds are far 
Be (breath) hiiiind me. 
Twitter was ablaze
PHRASING!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!
MUSICAL THEATRE 101!
DON’T BREATHE IN THE MIDDLE OF A WORD! 
And I’m certain no self-respecting music director
Conducting one of the most iconic songs of the 
Twentieth century 
Would have gone through rehearsal and said
“Those breaths in the middle are totally cool. 
Good job”. 

The song ended on a satisfying
Ab 
Rich, resonant 
The chords underneath creating movement
Resolve. 
A lovely performance, but too breathy
For musical theatre. Even a pop rendition of musical theatre.  
Perhaps it was nerves
Perhaps it was the 
“Oh-god-I’m-singing-THE-song-at-the-OSCARS-in-front-of-LIZA-FREAKING-MINELLI” adrenalin
Sometimes nerves just grab you by the throat
And no amount of rehearsal
Meditation
“I’ve got this” vibes
Will be controlled
Once you’re on that stage 
There is no going back
The show must go on. 

Then the In Memoriam
Wind Beneath My Wings and 
Bette. Oh Bette. 
How to sing musical theatre 101. 
She walks out, cool as a cucumber
Takes her place
And starts singing. 
Her face radiates calm
She is in control
She is telling a story -
Dear friends who have departed
I am singing this for you.

A quick sneaky little mid-phrase breath - 
You always walked a step (breath) behind - 
But her face remains calm
It’s about the song. Not about her singing the song. 
She connects with the audience 
She connects with the words, the text, 
Thank god for you

Vocally
She sang the song in a lower key
From the original
Riffed down rather than up
Never belted higher than a B
Came straight off the top notes 
But it was all about connection
Control, calm and 
Breath 

Finally, THE. BIG. NUMBER.
The most written about
Played, covered, and parodied 
Record-breaking Disney tune
Since Part of Your World,
Let It Go
Sung by Adela Mazim. Oh Revolta.
The musical theatre community may never forgive you... 
(I’ve done it myself. Fraught with nerves
In a presentation
I kept referring to my co-presenter, and good friend,
As Ethey, instead of Ethel
I didn’t even realize what I’d been saying until afterwards
When everyone asked
WTF?!
It’s mortifying) 

So Idina. 
The beltress who is
Maureen. Elphaba. Queen Elsa
Emerged amidst 
Sparkling Swarovski crystals 
She looked tense
You could almost read her inner monologue
Stay connected. BREATHE. I. Got. This. 
And it made us nervous to watch
Oh god, she’s gonna crack...

But the notes kept coming
Clear and strong
And while it’s a song she has sung
Many times over
Unlike Bette, it’s not standard repertoire, yet.
She’s not had years to perfect the performance of it 
It wasn’t about story-telling
Or being an ice queen liberated from the strictures of a patriarchal society. 
It was about BIG NOTES.
AND BELTING. 

You could see the relief in her eyes
Every time she nailed a big note
It’s an awesome song
It speaks to us
It’s empowering
It’s gutsy, 
It builds and swells, 
And right to the last phrase, 
I held my breath...
She might actually nail it?! 
Let the storm rage....
That last money note, 
A bitch of an Eb
OOOOOON... 
Her voice cracked. 
Dammit! 
Too forcefully hit 
Too much tension. 

I pity the woman
Who’ll play Elsa on Broadway.
Eight times a week of 
Let It Go is going to wreak some sort of damage. 

In one night
Pink, Idina, and Bette, showed us that 
Belting is hard work. 
Even for highly regarded 
Pop stars and Broadway veterans known
For their belting prowess
(Except for Patti. Nothing seems hard for Patti. Watch this and you’ll understand what I mean). 

Somewhere beyond the excitement 
Of the big belt 
Perhaps we need to return 
To story-telling 
Where the music serves the story
Rather than “controlled screams”
Of terrifying heights
Dominating our minds and vocal chords 
And for the belt
Learn to 
Let it go

Read about Idina Menzel's completely different performance the next day! 

"Stitch 'n bitch"
When a group of people,
Usually women,
Get together
Eat and drink 
And knit and sew and 
Work on crafty projects

It was lovely to watch
Women working on 
Patchwork quilts
And curtains
And bags
Made from pretty fabrics

How delightful to participate
For one afternoon 
In this world
Of feeding and project making 

The whir and rattle of 
Sewing machines 
The chatter of women
And new mothers
Their three tiny babies
Hanging out in basinets 
Or on blankets on the floor  
The eldest of the three
Six months old
Reveling in her newly acquired skill of 
Rolling Over
You can almost see joy in her face
When gravity, and a little effort,
Changes her view of the world 

Yet understanding with complete clarity 
This is not my world 
I have no desire to be a mother
To cradle
And rock a little one to sleep 
To discuss feeding habits 
Or diaper changes
Or what foods to eat to produce more breast milk  
Or where to seek useful information 
On all of the above 

Colouring a mandala 
And knowing
All of our stories, choices, and worlds
Are different
And that we all contribute to the vast 
Patchwork of life
With our own forms of creation

The end. 

A book on the shelf
The name, Jill Ker Conway,
Stirs a memory
A historian and writer
Born in Australia
Now living in America 

The Road from Coorain
An autobiography
A story of growing up in rural NSW
Barely surviving the drought 
Living in Sydney 
Post the second world war
The familiar names of 
Mosman, Waitara, and Pennant Hills 

The relief of reading stories
Of someone 
Who never felt at home in Australia
In Sydney 
Despite the beaches and bush 
The smell of eucalyptus and earth 

What it feels to board the plane
To leave 
Knowing that Australia will always
Be a part of who you are
But knowing that your life
Exists somewhere over the ocean

Relief and tears 
Connection with a woman 
Whom, despite an age gap
Of half a century,
Loves history and reading and learning
And discovery 
And finds a place
Beyond the continent 
Of her birth. 

The end. 

There is an episode of Friends
The one with the football
Phoebe has no idea
Rachel just can’t play -
“Go long, sweetie” 
And Monica is overly competitive 
(And neurotic 
And crazy
And the macho one next to her brother 
Who is an academic and therefore kind of wussy 
So they balance each other out)

Tomorrow, in real life,
Is The Big Game.
The most watched 
Sporting event 
In America,
The Super Bowl.
The focus of the game,
Apart from the advertising,
Will be the men. 

In the world of American football
Women  
Are the cheerleaders, metaphorical or real
Playing the feminine, on-looking, 
Supportive roles

In 2011
The American NFL did open up the game
To women players 
In March 2013
The first woman, Lauren Silberman, went to regional try outs. 
As of Super Bowl 2014, no woman has been selected for an NFL team. 

But there are women football players 
Who play 
Full contact American football
(And don’t wear bikinis to play) 
The Women’s Football Alliance 
The Independent Women’s Football League
And Spring Football League 
Represent over forty teams 
Across America 

When the New York Sharks 
Professional Women’s Football Team
Appeared on Good Day New York 
The male host, in his introduction, quipped
“A women’s football team? Well, I’m skeptical!”

At the first Modern Olympic Games in 1896 
Women were not permitted to compete 
As it was felt their presence would be
Impractical
Uninteresting
Unaesthetic and 
Incorrect
(Though a few women did compete, in 
Tennis, golf, croquet, and sailing) 
It was not until the 2012 Olympics 
In London
That every participating country
Had a female athlete present 

Today, in 2014
The Tour de France 
Olympic Ski jumping
The Mavericks International Surfing Competition 
And 5 set tennis matches at top tournament level 
Are closed to women competitors 

While major sporting events
Super Bowl, FIFA World Cup, State of Origin, The Ashes
Have women’s teams at amateur, or even professional levels
In their respective sports 
The BIG GAME
The highlight of the sporting calendar 
Is always the men’s competition.

The press barely reports 
Matches, games, and results 
Of women’s sporting events 
In the USA 
In 2009 
A twenty year study 
Found that 96% of
Sports media coverage
Was devoted to men’s sports
Similar statistics can be found 
In Australia
Where in 2010 
9% of sports coverage in the news
Was about women’s sport 
Or in the UK
Where in 2013
The Guardian newspaper featured just
2.5% of articles about women in sport 

So tomorrow is the Big Game 
And my (now) home state is playing
But I won’t be watching 
I’ll be channeling my
Inner Rachel
Going long 
And seeking out the women’s games. 

I want to live in a world
Where women matter 
Take centre stage 
As competitors 
Athletes and 
Sporting heroes 
And are recognised 
For their efforts and prowess 
And are represented as more than 
Unknowing, incompetent, and neurotic. 

Women play sport. 
Let's support them 
As much as we 
Cheer on the men. 

The end. 

We want 
A solution
An answer
A pill
A medicine
A magical being
To make suffering end

In order 
To be 
Skinnier 
Healthier
More wealthy
Successful
Lovable 
Make life easier

If only we could wave a magic wand
Or stick to the diet
Or do the affirmations
Or follow the right guru 
Or read the right books 
Or do the exercises
Or make the bad people go away

We desire 
Quick fixes
Instant solutions 
We wanted to be better yesterday
Last year 
Ten years ago
And still we’re waiting.

Meditation 
Doesn’t make you better
It doesn’t provide 
The silver bullet
To curing life’s ills
It is not the be all and end all 
To achieving happiness

But it does take the edge off 
Allows for moments of clarity
Moments of peace 
Moments of stillness 

It is free
You don’t need any special skills
You don’t need to be any kind of person
You don’t need to believe in anything or anyone

Just pay attention
Without judgement 
And repeat.



This post originally appeared at my Vivalu Meditation site. 

If someone had told me
Just two years ago
That I would be living in 
Fort Collins, Colorado
I would have said,
Where?! 
They say home is where the heart is
And yes, my love is here,
But this pretty little town
An hour north of Denver
Population approx 150,000,
Has, in less than two months,
Become home 

I love Old Town
With its multitude of fairy lights
And hipster stores
Selling Tibetan and locally-made crafts
And burgers and pizzas and 
Yoga mats 
I love the Bean Cycle and 
Wolverine Bookstore 
With its shelves of second-hand books
And coffee aroma 

I love City Park
With its rolling green hills
And large sparkling lake
Its waters now frozen and home to 
Impromptu ice hockey games
And ice fishing
And ice skating ducks 
In the summer 
When the water is liquid 
It is filled with paddle boats 
And swimmers 
And cries of joy from the adjacent water slide 

I love cycling to rehearsal 
Down wide streets with designated cycle lanes
And along the Poudre Trail 
Following the bends and turns of the river
Through parkland and forests 
Within a ten to fifteen minutes you are out of suburbia
And into the open expanse of 
Colorado with 
Mountains on the horizon
And nothing but sweeping brown vistas
All around you 
And everywhere you go
Ducks and geese fly in V’s up above
Black dots against heart-breakingly blue sky

The sky is always blue
With an average of 
300 days of sunshine a year 
Every time I catch the silhouette 
Of dark leafless trees against that blue
I gasp

I love the extremes in temperature
One day will see you shivering at -26C/-14F
And the next day will be 12C/53F and you wondered what it was like to feel cold. 
The way the air smells fresh and crisp after snow
And when it’s warm, the scent is tinged with manure from the surrounding farms. 
The way the wind whips down the streets
The way the snow falls
The way the sun shines. 

I love that Craigslist works
We have a lovely handmade coffee table 
And a keyboard
And babysitting gigs 
I love that people interact and connect 
I’ve built more of a community in two months
Than I ever did in two years in London
Every other person brews beer
Keeps bees 
Knits
Fort Collins is full of artists and students and hipsters 
I fit right in. 

I love our farmer’s market
And driving fifteen minutes out of town
To Jodar Farms to buy eggs
And pork and chicken for Aaron
I love the taste of local kale and spinach
And those eggs
With their bright yellow yolks 
And multi-coloured shells. 

I love being here
This unexpected place 
That once, didn’t even know existed
Colorado
From the Spanish, meaning, coloured red,
For now,
My home 

The end.

The year started twirling a “glow sword”
Because in the land of the free and the brave
It’s easier to buy a gun than a sparkler 
We applied for a fiance visa. 
I flew back to London.

In February, I started house hunting,
Visited Brighton
And saw A Chorus Line at the Palladium
I watched women in black t-shirts and bright red lipstick
Rise and dance outside Parliament House. 
We had a bake sale at the theatre.
I wandered the streets of London 
Trying to feel at home. 

In March, I saw Liza Minnelli at Royal Festival Hall.
In the midst of a snow storm
I moved to Ruislip. 
Saw my friend’s play 
Nights of Enchantment,
And over noodles, had a long and delightful conversation
With an old friend. 
One bright chilly morning
I walked from Covent Garden to the Thames to Islington. 

In April, I did quite the unthinkable
And quit my job ushering
At a west end theatre
And prepared to walk 780km across 
Northern rural Spain 
I saw the Lichtenstein retrospective at the Tate Modern
On the 30th April I caught the Eurostar
From London to Paris
And spent the day on trains heading 
South across France to the Pyrenees

On the first day of May
I walked up and down the Pyrenees 
Crossed into Navarra 
And spent the next 31 days
Walking the width of Spain 
Until I reached Santiago de Compostela 

In June, I saw War Horse at the New London.
I flew over the Atlantic
To spend the summer with my love
We went to a wedding
And a Wesslmann pop art exhibit in Richmond 
Drove through Washington DC, Jersey, New York, and Connecticut
And arrived 
Home 
At summer camp 

We staged 2 full-scale musicals 
In 8 weeks 
I taught singing and voice
And melted in the heat
Watched Yo Yo Ma and the Boston Symphony Orchestra
At Tanglewood 
And walked a rainbow chalk labyrinth
Smudged and glowing from rain 

In August
I saw Matilda, Once, and Peter and the Starcatcher in NYC
And wandered the streets of Manhattan praying for a miracle. 
I unwillingly flew back to London
And moved to the south east. 
I worked as a temp
At an international commercial property research company
Two finance firms
Two publishing houses
And spent my days behind reception desks around London
Writing and researching my play.
I saw Blue Stockings at The Globe.  

In September, I quietly turned 29
In one of the offices of London
And in the evening saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at the 
Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, with my big brother
I saw Grounded at The Gate Theatre
And did a workshop on writing solo material 
I traveled to Bath to audition for a play 
I saw Once with my Australian singing teacher 
And remembered why I was doing what I was doing. 
I saw A Doll’s House at The Duke of York
And had to talk myself into staying for the second act. 
I went blackberry picking in Southminster 
And made a blackberry pie. 

In October, I had my interview with the US Consulate 
And was rejected
I waited for a piece of paper
Declaring my lack of criminal record
To be sent from Australia to the UK
Via snail mail
I waited for my file to be lifted from the hundreds of other files
In someone’s office
I saw Trevor Ashley perform
Liza on an E 
And Malala Yousafzai speak at Queen Elizabeth Hall
I went to the London Dungeon and SeaLife Aquarium with my first London friend 
I saw The Light Princess at the National Theatre
And a debate between the founder of No More Page 3 
And three playboy bunnies 
In Carnaby St. 
I went to Brighton with Mum and
Rode the carousel on the pier.
The next day I was the sickest I have been since moving to London
Ten months of waiting catching up with my stomach. 

In November, I saw Matilda at the Cambridge
One last time 
Walked along the Thames  
Saw the Christmas lights in Oxford St and 
Bid farewell to London.  
I flew across the Atlantic 
To be with my love
And, finally, 
We were married. 

In December 
I worked on my play
Went to my first American audition
And was cast in my first Shakespeare  
I discovered I could run in below freezing temperatures
Volunteered in a second-hand bookshop
Learnt to play the ukulele
Went to a Warhol exhibit
And wandered through Old Town admiring the fairy lights.

We started our happily ever after

The end. 

The Bean Cycle Coffee Shop,
And Wolverine Farm bookstore 
Fort Collins, CO. 
Is the most perfect of coffee/book shops

Comfy couches
Walls lined with second-hand books 
And poems 
And artworks of local artists
The smell of coffee and old books 
Handmade signs
Everything a little dusty
The old bicycle on the wall
Music plays
Audible enough to create a vibe
Chill enough to allow conversation
And reading

People sit 
Sipping coffee 
Absorbing in other worlds
Through words and print on paper 
Type away on laptops 
Face each other 
Over round tables
Conversation 
A background hum 

The kids’ corner 
Tucked away
The rocking chair and teddy bear and doll 
Mom reading to her daughter
You are welcome to sit
And read
And browse 
And drink coffee 

Small children clamber up the stairs to the loft
They turn their heads
Grin the through the railing with cheeky smiles
The clanky old register 
Books to be priced, stacked, and shelved 

I can’t even begin to describe the satisfaction of
Rows of dusty books
Sorted by category and author’s surname
Every shelf
Contains treasure, 
My “to read” list
Ever growing.
Even if I sat down and read books
Cover to cover
All day long
For the rest of my life
I would never reach 

The end.

Forty dollars,
And another form where I fill out
Every address that I have lived at
Since I was 16,
And twenty-four hours later
I receive an email to say my police background check
Is clear
And the certificate is on its way.

A week later it arrives
I book the courier
To collect my passport
Police certificate
And prayers for a speedy return

The courier collects the parcel
See you in 4-5 weeks
He says.
No.
I say.
I want to see you walking in that door with my passport and visa by the end of the week. Got it? 
He laughs. 
He doesn't get it. 

It takes the Embassy three days to process receipt of my passport.
Then nothing changes for almost three weeks.
My status reads "Ready"
It has been "Ready" since before the interview.
I lose my voice
Develop a horrible cough
I want to stay in bed and never get out.
I must be miserable to be around
I don't care.
Get me out of this limbo. I'm done. I've been waiting for 10 months.
I feel pathetic. Ten months is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

I take my first sick day since arriving in London.
I cannot face work or people or getting out of my pajamas.
Every time I've skyped Aaron in the last few days I cry. Sob uncontrollably.
I'm sick of my love being trapped behind a screen.
At 5pm the status changes.
"Administrative processing"
The stories on visa journey* are frightening.
Some people have gotten to this part of the process
And waited another year.
I feel utterly hopeless.

Another week rolls by.
Everyone is being optimistic and supportive
The system doesn't care. I am nothing. I am not human.
I am six numbers and an alien.
"Approved".
Wait, what?!
We check the website repetitively to make sure it hasn't changed.

Two days later I receive a tracking number from the courier.
My passport is on its way.
I'm headed to my love.

And after 10 months, and three weeks...
I'm on the plane! I'm on the plane! I'M ON THE PLANE! 
In ten hours I'll be with my love! 
The head of the cabin crew announces that we'll soon be landing in Denver
It is minus 10 degrees celcius outside
Every passenger does a double take

We are the only plane landing at this time
The customs queue is short
I have read that I may be taken to a separate room for my customs interview
I am called
The officer doesn't make eye contact
I hand over my passport
And a thick sealed envelope from the embassy
Containing all my documents
X-rays, police certificates, birth certificates
And every address I have lived at since I was 16. 

Right thumb on the screen please Miss Lyons. 
(Right thumb on the screen). 
When did you last leave the United States Miss Lyons? 
I left at the end of August...
Silence. 
I was here on a J1. For camp.
I know. 
I laugh a little. He has still not made eye contact. 
Four fingers of your right hand please Miss Lyons. 
(Four fingers of my right hand on the screen). 
You know you have 90 days to marry.
Yep! 
He doesn't look up. He stamps my passport, places the envelope in a pile. 
Congratulations. Thank you Miss Lyons. NEXT. 

The world is covered in snow
And I'm with my love
Everything is going to be WONDERFUL! 
Now we just have to get married! 

I love a good wedding
All my friends will tell you
I’m the first to cry at them
Be there to sing and dance and by merry
And celebrate the legal uniting of 
Two souls

I’ve been to weddings in gardens
On farms 
In churches
I’ve had the privilege of speaking at weddings
And singing in the ceremony
I love watching friends and family
Declare love
To their loved ones 

And for my own wedding
I wanted exactly no part of the circus
I’ve been engaged once before
We started preparing a wedding
Picked a date, went dress shopping, drafted lists, looked at venues
Learnt that the minute you mentioned
“Wedding” instead of “party”
The prices instantly doubled 

I discovered that 
Every. Person. In. The. World.
Has. An. Opinion.
And if you don’t listen to, and follow through, with their 
Sage advice
You will be DOOMED
Or offend, insult, or have yourself struck from the family tree. 

Instead of perusing wedding magazines
And blogs
Or attending fairs and conventions
Or sitting with girlfriends and sisters over coffee
Discussing details
I read about the history of weddings
Trying to understand 
What bought us to this level of crazy

I discovered that, in its earliest days,
The Christian church abhorred marriage
And declared celibacy was the only way to spiritual truth 
That marriages throughout history
Have been about the economic empowerment of men
And a means of controlling women
Their bodies
And reproduction
Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert
Was the most readable 

The traditions didn’t speak to me 
The white dress, the rings, the vows,
Bows on chairs. 
I hate, with a strange passion, chairs covered with white fabric and bows. 

I just wanted to marry my love
And live happily ever after the end. 
I begged my first fiance to elope 
Save the trouble and expense and drama
Instead we broke up. 

Nearly three years later
I nervously told Aaron
I didn’t actually want a wedding
He was thrilled. 

And so after a very long wait
And most of the year apart
We finally became husband and wife.
We got married on a Monday 
Because it was the first day we could
After applying for the marriage license. 
I wore a dress 
I’ve worn a hundred times 
And will hopefully wear a hundred times more 
Aaron wore a collared shirt 
We both wore smiles. 

We drove to the town hall in Aaron’s car
We walked inside the building
And because we live in Colorado
We did not require witnesses
We did not require a ceremony
Just the intention to be legally bound
We signed our names
Sealed it with a kiss, and, 
We were married.

We called our families
Wrote to our friends
And shared a dinner that we cooked together
It was quiet and lovely
And outside, the snow was glistening. 

The end.