Toni Rae's Version of Life

A New Love in My Life

2013-07-02T15:12:00.000-04:00

Here she is:

Ain't she pretty? I call her Edina. Edina the Accordion.

I got cast in The Hub Theatre’s Act A Lady last fall. My character is (among many other wonderful things) an accordion teacher. In spite of agreeing to do the show many months ago, I went through Winter and Spring without so much as LOOKING at an accordion. I picked up my new love at the end of the first week of rehearsal. I put it on upside down. No one else in the room knew enough to correct me. Thank you, Internetz.

And now I have to play one. In front of people. Did I mention I first picked up an accordion about three weeks ago?

Anyone who has worked with me on music before knows that I have this issue when it comes to learning music. I get a little intimidated when I am unsure of what I’m doing. I psych myself out. Perhaps I am a perfectionist, but two words: accordion teacher. And while I've been working VERY HARD to learn how to play, how to coax something out of the squeezebox that sounds something akin to music, I still have clumsy fingers, wrong notes in my head, etc. And yesterday's rehearsal--ah, well: let's just say, I was trying too hard and as a result just plain sucked. And no, no one else told me that. Some things you just know.

As I was driving to work this morning, feeling fairly glum, fairly dog-with-tail-between-the-legs, I realized that the only person that would enable me to get better was, well: me. That I could be all scaredy-cat and intimidated by playing an instrument, because who the hell learns to be proficient on an instrument in a month? Or I could just enjoy the fact that I get to play an accordion. All the fabulous folks involved in this production are rooting for me to play well. It’s not like I’m whipping out the accordion for no darn reason and inflicting my squonks and off-key ditties on reluctant ears—I have people who are counting on me. So I could feel that phrase “counting on me” as a heavy weight on my shoulders (i.e., my usual routine, which leads to stress and rashes on my hands), or I could change it up a bit and feel pretty darn grateful that I got cast in a show where I get to play a new instrument.

And while all of this is not rocket science, it is a lesson in getting yourself out of a rut, out of routine reactions to situations, be it self-conscious or not. Have you ever sighed to yourself, "here we go again!" Well, it doesn't have to be that way, does it? Can't it be, "I need to look at this situation differently, or I'll end up feeling like poop again." Life is too short to feel like poop, particularly when it's good things that are challenging you.

Okay: that’s off my chest. I gotta go warm up my fingers.

Who I Am This Very Minute

2012-04-27T21:17:00.000-04:00

I am a guest of the Rio All-Suite Hotel & Convention Center in Las Vegas, Nevada. I am surrounded by gamblers, gamblers who smoke, non-gamblers who smoke, girls enjoying a bachelorette party, tattooed, big bellied, beer-in-a-plastic-cup drinking men staring at the girls enjoying a bachelorette party. I sit in the sun and worry about getting tan lines before my wedding.

...more on that later...

I am a daughter who has been without a father for about a month now. I weep inside and sometimes outside--last time it was on an airplane, as I turned in my cramped seat and looked out the window at the mountains of Arizona, reminded that airplanes were my father's passion, that he could name a plane flying overhead like most of the men I know name cars flying by them on the freeway. I am a person who witnessed someone I love dying and was both incredibly saddened and fascinated by the process. I now possess a greater respect for the lives we humans lead because I witnessed one amazing human exit with what looked to be grace and dignity and a sense of peace. Of course, I'll never know that's what it was until it happens to me.

In my grief stages, I am the silent one who watches as my loved ones cry out in frustration or explode in happiness. In my heart, I hug and send strength to them every single day.

I am a woman who knows she is loved by a man who deserves the world and I intend to make sure he gets it. I shall marry this man and like every event that life has thrown at me lately, I know that it is supposed to happen, that it's the right thing to do.

I am an old soul whose heart is as big as the world. Probably bigger.

Tomorrow I will no longer be a guest at the Rio. Tomorrow I sit in a cramped seat and fly home. But that's tomorrow, and everything I am this very minute may or may not be different.

Not Another Blog Post about My Not-Yet Produced Cabaret (but you may wish it was...)

2011-10-09T21:54:00.000-04:00

So many good things in my life right now. So. Many.

Love tops the list, thank goodness. I love and I am loved. Probably like I've never been loved before. Probably because I never let myself. I am awash in unadulterated sap, all aflutter like I'm seventeen, and those who follow me on Twitter and Facebook already know this. I'm betting I made you throw up a little whilst scrolling your newsfeeds in the last few months, so I'll spare you that here.

For now.

But you have to admit, we are kinda cute together...

Sorry, SORRY! I'll stop...

Tomorrow I start rehearsals for CAROL'S CHRISTMAS. I'm directing, but not performing this time (thank goodness--CABARET XXX was tough!). It's written by my dear, dear friend Marni Penning Coleman, and I hope that Pinky Swear Productions gives it the life it deserves!

Marni & I, on the set of a film during which she killed me.

AND I just got back from Spa World today so I am totally relaxed.

My current version of life = Good.

Oh, I know the cynical, the road weary, those who live on the Dark Side, are smirking, saying to yourself, "Self, the other shoe is going to drop (whatever the hell that REALLY means), and she will fall HARD. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Image from here

To which I say, "Well, DUH!"

I know it ain't all gonna be roses from here on out. Frankly, it isn't that and a bag of chips right now. My love lives about 600 miles from me, and given how busy I am during the day, directing this production is going to do its very best to send me to the loony bin.

But I want all that too! So I bypass my savings account and buy some plane tickets. So I have a few sleepless nights, reworking Act I, Scene III in my head. It's the diving into life that gives me good stuff, and it's the living my life that knows with good stuff comes bad stuff and that I need to embrace all of it.

So BRING IT, bad stuff! I've been knocked down before, and I got up again, then you knocked me down again, and still I got up, and you tried again and won, and guess what? I. GOT. UP.

But for now, like being under a blanket on a cold winter weekend morning, I just want to stay in my cocoon of warmth and happiness and NEVER forget what my life has given me thus far.

For example...

Okay, NOW I'll stop.

Friday Foolishness: My Unreasonable Pet Peeve of People Backing into Parking Spaces

2011-03-18T14:03:00.000-04:00

This morning as I was making my usual run to Starbuck’s (because there are no decent coffee shops in Tyson’s Corner), I had to brake rather suddenly because the little red foreign car in front of me decided to back into its parking space.

"ARGH!" I yelled. Well, not really “argh.” It was a word that started with the letter “F,” if you must know…

Aside from the exit ramp from I Street SE to I-295 South (the one where the lane just STOPS, thereby making it next to impossible to merge into traffic), nothing gets my goat whilst in the driver’s seat more than folks backing into parking spaces. Numerous times I’ve had to sit in the parking lot waiting for some schmo to slowly and carefully back in to their chosen spot. I remain in a bad mood for a good ten minutes after that. Why can’t they just pull in? Don’t they see I’m right behind them? Rudy Rudertons! It just chafes me in all the wrong places.

Even so, you can hear me sing “Hallelujah!” when I get the chance to pull into one parking space and cross over to the other side, thus enabling me to pull out of the space when I'm ready to leave--LOVE pull-throughs! I do understand the advantages of pulling quickly and easily out of a parking space. I just don’t like be waiting tappity tappity tap behind people who back in.

I wish not so nice things would happen to them.

I wrote a blog post very early on about my shameful driving habits. I’m still hard at work on improving them. So today I did what every gal does who wants to take the high road and start behaving civily: I Googled “drivers backing into parking spaces.” And found the following:

Lots of different views!The following observations were taken from three of the links above. On the con side:

If you're in a relatively quiet parking lot and you're particularly adept at reversing your Armada or Land Cruiser or some such behemoth into a space equipped for a particularly large clown car, go ahead. Have at it. But during busier times, saving yourself a few seconds at the end of your shopping spree won't make up for the havoc you can cause by backing in.

On the other hand, a forum of traffic engineers seriously applaud backing into parking space. As one put it:

I'd say backing (blindly if you are parked next to a larger vehicle) into moving traffic is more likely to result in injury than backing into a space between two stationary vehicles. Given a choice between scrapes and dents on one hand or rear-end crashes on the other, I'd choose the scrapes and dents.

So I get it. On the whole, it’s safer. And really, I’m only waiting for a few extra seconds, right? But to the point of Ms. Hyman, what if you’re in a very crowded parking lot and you decide to back in, thereby increasing the number of unmentionable chafed parts? Sounds like a no-win situation.

In the end, I like this theory:

I believe it’s rooted in theatrics. I think backwards-parkers are putting on a show of some sort, just showing off. They believe it makes them seem nonconformist, jaunty, and to be marching to a different drummer. You know, like people who are defined by their hatred of a popular TV show, or who tell everyone about their love of fast food pickles.

Happy Friday, ya’ll. Be safe in those parking lots…you never know what you might encounter…

My First Job with Pinkyswear Produtions

2011-03-14T10:12:00.000-04:00

I don't remember if I've shared that I am now Resident Director at Pinkyswear Productions, a company comprised of six women who will together change the world of theatre.

Or something like that...

Our first contribution to DC theatre in 2011 takes place on Saturday, March 26. We have been invited to participate in DC SWAN (Support Women Artists Now) Day, an event hosted by the Georgetown Theatre Company. They are holding a Staged Reading Marathon: "16 short plays by women playwrights from all over the USA, staged by DC's woman (sic) directors," according to their website. We chose "People Like Us," by Chris Shaw Johnson from Westerville, Ohio. It's sweet, 10-page piece about two women who work together in an office. Not gonna say much more--come see it! I'm directing it, Rachel Lee Poole and Tori Miller are the actors, Karen Lange is reading the stage directions. You can find out more about DC SWAN Day here, and, if you can spare a few bucks, donate to support DC SWAN Day via Kickstarter here.

Upcoming Pinkyswear projects include a "we just wanna be rock stars" cabaret in June, and another version of the same--Cabaret XXX: Les Femme Fatales, for the Capital Fringe Festival in July. We're also gonna try to mount a show in the fall. I think I'm directing all of those projects and singing in the cabarets.

Looks like I'll have a bit more to write about...

More later.

A Personal Kick in the Ass

2011-01-31T20:33:00.000-05:00

The last thing I do before I leave work, no matter how much I want to beat the awful commute I will no doubt endure, is to clean up my desk. The pens go in their holder, papers get filed, recycled or go into my inbox to be reviewed the next morning; even my post-it notes go back on their little shelf.

My kitchen at home is usually the same way: I don't like to leave with dishes in the sink, food on the counter, etc. It's such a tiny place that any semblance of mess makes the apartment look like chaos.

At least in my head it does...

Folks are indeed impressed by my neatness, including my boss (who mentioned my desk in my review), my dear friend who watches my cat, her mom that she brought in one time when I was out of town, causing me to be slightly apoplectic when I found out--my house is not clean enough for MOMS!

I like order. Sue me.

Or do I?

My outside in no way resembles the mess living inside of me. Inside I feel like a pinball machine--thoughts whirling around, my brain not sticking to any one idea long enough to bring it to fruition. I reach for something, remain interested in it for about two seconds and then I'm off thinking about something else.

Wait: let me further define all of this. Thinking = worrying.

I worry whether I'm good enough for my day job; I worry that I'm not being seen enough as a performing artist. I worry that I'm not a good daughter, sister, friend, aunt, pet owner. I worry that I'm not contributing enough to the world, because after all, as a childfree woman in her 40s, what the hell use am I to anyone? I'm useless, useless USELESS.

Pause.

And then I think about everyone who is raising children or out of a job or debilitated in any way and I realize I'm SELFISH SELFISH SELFISH.

You get the downward spiral idea.

The half a dozen or so follows of this blog know that I keep lamenting that I have not yet produced a cabaret yet. Judging from my anticipated 2011 schedule, I don't envision it happening anytime soon. In my defense, it's because I have other balls in the air and some of those balls include performing. So it's not like I'm curled up at home, cat next to me, paging through Lucky magazine and watching the world go by.

I don't want to rehash all of the reasons why I do or I don't do things. I acknowledge that I haven't been doing them. I let the whoosh! of life pinball me along---the buying of cat food, the visiting of relatives, the out of town meetings--and give that as an excuse to Not. Create.

I just stopped doing it.

So when my new friend David Loehr (he of the stupendous 2amt fame) told me whilst drinking Marshmallow Shakes at Good Stuff Eatery that he was going to "stop stopping" (long story--had to be there, or let him tell you), that hit home with me. It still does. Stop stopping.

I'm gonna be sorta passive-aggressive here and say that I'm not the sort to dwell on the "useless" and the "selfish" thoughts I penned above. I'm a fairly positive person. I get by, but oh; the possibilities...I know I've been coasting along on my hiney for a few years now.

So I'm gonna stop it.

Stay tuned...

So, What Are You?

2010-12-04T11:48:00.001-05:00

I often joke, somewhat half-seriously, that I'm going to produce a one-woman show called "Who Would Play Your Parents?" When I expressed my desire oh, so long ago to play Juliet, a dear friend of mine gave a hoot of laughter and asked me, "Well, who would play your parents?" I guess since I had the darkest skin color in our theatre company, he thought it wouldn't be very plausible.

That's only one story.

The one that actually hurt was being told that, even though I gave the best audition, I couldn't play Maria in The Sound of Music because I was "too ethnic." Cried all the way home as a result of that remark.

But that's so 20th century. Today with plays like Oklahoma! and others being produced with color blind and racially diverse casts (and inciting conversation), I'm sure one day I'll be cast as a family member even though I might be darker (or lighter) than my fellow actors.

In the meantime, I spent my Saturday morning creating this little video via xtranormal. Some of the movies from this site have been so hilarious, and when I found out it was a program that allows anyone to create a video for free, I had to try it. 90% of the conversation is from my life. And that's what this blog is all about!

Somebody Please Tell Me Why I'm Still Doing This

2010-10-08T17:29:00.008-04:00

Why do I perform? Somebody else answer that question for me, because these days, I'm not so sure.

Lately I've been feeling like a hamster on a wheel when it comes to acting. I recognize the peaks and valleys of a rehearsal period. I brace myself for the 2nd evening performance slump. I don't get particularly nervous prior to opening night. I get jazzed when I have a cool costume (and you have to admit Mushu had a cool costume). I am thrilled when I connect on stage with a fellow cast mate. So I'm not entirely a deadbeat. My heart is still there.

Ever have the "if I won the lottery" dream? My dream used to include moving to New York, taking singing lessons, dancing classes, and all the other fun things I could do to prepare myself to be a working actor sans the horrible day job. I'd work my body and mind during the day and rehearse or perform at night. And I would have great shoes.

But that dream has been changing for me. Now, if I had all the money in the world, I'd take care of my family (which was in my previous dream--I'm not a total narcissist), then take care of the theatre community. I'd buy up spaces and turn them into rehearsal and performance spaces. I'd support theatre groups that a) have supported me and b) could use a little financial boost in order to move forward. I'd build a space where the entire theater community could gather and know was their own. Before all that, I'd study theater management and business and tour other cities who have successful art spaces...

...okay, the dream's getting in the weeds. I'm putting myself to sleep.

Back to performing and why I still do it: is it for the applause and adulation? Is it this burning need hold the attention of a bunch of people in a dark room for a few hours at a time? Is it the ultra cool idea of being a chick given the opportunity to perform in a show in which I wouldn't normally be cast? Is it all of that?

And is that enough?

My Dad (Still) Reads the Comics

2010-09-13T18:28:00.007-04:00

You know how they say you tune something out when you get used to hearing it? Like my neighbors walking above me in my apartment in Reston. It was DEAFENING when I first moved in. But after a while, I was sleeping normally.

When I was little, I would tune out my dad reading the Sunday comics. We lived in a fairly small house, so it was quite easy for me to hear, "BWAHHAHAHAHA! The Born Loser!" A few years back (longer than I'd like to admit), while driving home after a visit to my parents, my then future ex-husband remarked how cool it was that my dad laughed uproariously at the comics. For once the guy wasn't being all judge-y about my family, so I was surprised on a few fronts. My dad cracking up at the comics was like the B-52s that flew overhead every night, landing at K.I. Sawyer AFB six miles away--just a natural part of the music of my life.

That's when it finally hit me: who REALLY laughs at the Sunday comics?

I don't. I don't even read them. It's straight to the Arts and Style for me. The comics get recycled along with the coupon books and the Sports section.

There, I said it: I am not a diehard sports fan. Sue me. Unfriend me. Unfollow me.

My dad laughed at the comics every Sunday, reading the paper right after church. If it was fall, like it is now, next on the agenda was sitting in his chair in the living room and yelling at the Packers on TV. He'd yell so loud, we could hear him as we played outside the house.

Born into a half-Spanish, half-Puerto Rican family, Dad's about as Latin as they come. I like to think that the zest for living comes from his roots. He was a large presence--both literally and figuratively--in our community. As his child, that was a blessing, as I always felt safe and protected, and a curse--it took me a while to realize that not everyone yelled at their loved ones.

Dad is gonna be 80 in November. He's about half the size he used to be, doesn't get around like he did, and fairly soon, should probably quit driving--a horrible thought for someone who used to do it for a living. I visited him last Sunday afternoon. Not to be one to shirk routine on my account, I watched as he took about five minutes to sit in his chair and pull out the Sunday paper. After reading Parade magazine, here's the next section he pulled out:

I sat across from him, watching as he silently turned each page. This ritual is part of the momentum that keeps him going, along with all of the other books he reads and TV programs he watches. (My dad was into science fiction before MST3000 was even a thought. I knew about the Bene Geserits before I got into high school). He still loves learning about the world around him, he still loves his airplanes.

I like to think that my life is not yet half over. I am writing this on my 43rd birthday, so that possibility exists. Watching someone I love so much struggle to maintain the dignity of living independently is heart breaking, but it also makes me realize that I, too, if lucky enough to reach my eighties, will have trouble seeing, driving, remembering to turn off the stove.

I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them.-- Annie Dillard

I tell myself he's laughing on the inside at the comics. His weak body doesn't lend itself to the belly laughs that permeated our household on Sunday mornings. But that laughter and his amazing, formidable, father presence will stay in my heart forever.

And Now the Conclusion to "Thank You?"

2010-08-29T08:54:00.003-04:00

Dear Future Rich & Successful Husband,

You're going to need to be enchanting, amazing, witty and a great conversationalist. Because if you're not, and we're out to dinner, I'm going to check my work e-mail.

Well even if you are all that and a bag of chips, I still might sneak a peek. If you're in the bathroom, for instance...

Just sayin'...

That's not exactly how I happened to check my work e-mail last night. I was dining at Againn (if you live in the DMV, and enjoy a good gastropub, I highly recommend it), and my friend and favorite redhead Allyson left the table, so I, natch, whipped out my Droid to see if the world had changed in the last 30 minutes.

"Your Blog Post" from Anne Blouin. Anne Blouin....how do I know that name? Wait a minute--holy crap! The person who heads ASAE's Education Department is responding to my last blog post; in short the person whose team is to whom the blog post was directed. Yikes!

Well, I was brave enough to write that darn blog post--might as well be brave enough to read the response...

Dear Toni Rae,

I'm responding to your blog post and want you to know that I think you are absolutely right. And I apologize. We should have graciously thanked you for the time and expense you incurred to participate in the sitcom. While not an excuse, this was a case where everybody thought somebody else was stepping up. And we unfortunately missed a chance to tell you how much your efforts meant to us and your association colleagues too. And while we did recognize the participants from the stage (note: I am assuming they did this during the Tuesday General Session, but I was not there), it is also appropriate to receive a more personal thank you. I'm just sorry you had to post something for us to notice.

I hope that even under these circumstances, you accept my apology and our sincere thanks for your efforts. We received a lot of good feedback from folks saying they enjoyed the sitcom while we also received some constructive criticism as well. However, regardless of the reactions, it does not diminish our thanks and appreciation to you and all of the other actors for the dedication and time commitment you demonstrated.

Regards,
Anne Blouin, CAE
Chief Learning Officer
ASAE

Can you say "holy crap!" more than once in a single setting?

Anne went on to give me permission to use her response in any way I saw fit. And it's fitting for me to publish one of the best apologies I have ever read, to show everyone that ASAE is listening to what their members have to say. It makes me realize that if they're responding to my personal concerns, they're probably heeding Maddie's, Matt's, Robert's and all of the other constructive responses (and kudos) to their Annual Meeting.

Faith restored, world brighter. Now to move on, apply what I learned from this entire experience and stay in touch the wonderful folks I met in the process.

So one more time and hold the sarcasm: Thanks, ASAE. Apology accepted. And you're welcome.

Thank You?

2010-08-26T19:01:00.005-04:00

I was so excited to attend my first ASAE conference. First, it was in Los Angeles, and I have good friends who live in Los Angeles. Second, I'm starting on a great professional development path and felt I could learn from subject matter experts as well as contribute to discussions. Third, I was involved in a video shoot that I was told would be presented during the three General Sessions. Also, I knew some of my Twitter friends were going to be there and I would get to see them in person for the first time.

I arrived wide-eyed and anticipatory. I left feeling QUITE unsettled. And then I was unsettled because I was unsettled. I was UBER unsettled.

But I had been presented with so many great opportunities: I got some amazing takeaways from my sessions (Kathleen Edwards: I wish you were my mentor); I hugged Deirdre Reid. I spent three days in humidity-free weather. Seriously--so much good in my world.

In hindsight, I should have become more involved with ASAE prior to the meeting, created some deeper connections instead of wandering aimlessly around the Exhibit Hall, and left that Pixar session when I knew I wasn't getting anything out of it (shoulda went to the mobile messaging session). Also, I gotta be honest: I suck mightily at networking. Why can't people see that I'm interested in them and come to ME? It would make life so much easier. So I need to jump of that cliff sooner rather than later. Too bad I didn't realize that last week, because frankly, I felt like the kid standing outside a candy shop, nose pressed to the glass.

I got the image here

So, yeah: I've got some stuff to work on before I attend my next conference. But there's one issue remaining for which I can do nothing:

As Director of Education, I work a lot with volunteers. In fact, today I participated in a committee meeting comprised of 11 of our members from all over the country. The first thing that happened at dinner last night and at the meeting this morning was senior staff got up and thanked the group for taking time out of their busy schedules for being there.

I almost cried when my CEO thanked the committee this morning. Dramatic, I realize. And now I know exactly why.

No one on the ASAE staff who was involved with the planning and execution of the Annual Meeting ever thanked me for my work on the Guilt by Association video.

Now I don't give a rat's patootie what folks think about the video. That's a whole other blog post and there's lots more folks who can write much better on that topic. The results of the video shoot is not the point. I. Was. Never. Thanked. Even when the ASAE senior staff was on the set, none of them said a word to me.

I'm sure most folks realize that shooting what was originally a 30-minute video is not a walk in the park. I took a week out of my work schedule, supplied my own wardrobe, got up at o'dark thirty in the morning, drove from Capitol Hill to the bowels of Alexandria, VA and left at o'dark thirty in the evening. I pulled a muscle from sitting on the floor for eight hours a day four days in a row. Some of my fellow actors used their vacation time to do the shoot--most of them didn't even get to come to the meeting. ASAE seemed to forget that they were utilizing their members, not just using talent hired by their production company. We were volunteers.

I am the first one to admit that my contributions as an actor in a silly video are not going to move the association forward. And yes, getting to say the words "fennel danish" and "kimchi hummus" are a heck of a lot more fun than strategic planning. So maybe those reasons are why ASAE thought putting energy into the words "thank you" was not worth their time. But I know how appreciative my committee members are when the CEO (or even little me) shakes their hand and says, "We really appreciate what you're doing for us." Given that, I don't think that it's too much to ask.

The wonderful folks at PCI Communications (who did a great job at producing the video and the General Sessions) are going to host a party for the cast and show us the "director's cut" in a few weeks. Perhaps ASAE will be there and maybe then a muchas gracias will fill the air. But I won't be waiting for it, or expecting it.

So instead of them thanking me, I'd like to thank ASAE. Thank you for bringing home the fact that a small gesture of appreciation goes a long way with a hard-working volunteer. And you're welcome.

A Short Glimpse into the Wise Soul of Roseanne Cash

2010-08-08T08:21:00.004-04:00

Sunday mornings are sacred to me. I must listen to good music on the radio (WPFW usually does the trick) and I must read the Washington Post. Inevitably I find something in the Post that I share via Facebook or Twitter, but what I read today deserves a blog post.

I can't imagine what it's like to live Roseanne Cash. Just the teeny glimpse from this article and this book review tells me it hasn't been easy, yet it's been very fulfilling. It also turns out that another one of Ms. Cash's talents is writing: her memoir Composed comes to a bookstore near you in a few days, and Post reporter Joe Heim kindly shares a piece from it about death and loss. It moved me so that I want to share it with you.

You begin to realize that everyone has a tragedy, and that if he doesn't, he will. You recognize how much is hidden beneath the small courtesies and civilities of everyday existence. Deep sorrow and traces of great loss run through everyone's lives, and yet they let others step into the elevator first, wave them ahead in a line of traffic, smile and greet their children and inquire about their lives, and never let on for a second that they, too, have lain awake at night in longing and regret, that they, too, have cried until it seemed impossible that one person could hold so many tears, that they too, keep a picture of someone locked in their heart and bring it out in quiet, solitary moments to caress and remember.

Beautiful...Truth...

Image from here

Consider the book bought and me seated in the front row when she reads excerpts from it here in DC.

Hope you enjoy your Sunday mornings too!

In Which I Seek Inspiration and Find An Interesting Poem

2010-07-05T20:36:00.002-04:00

Just wanted to share...

Toad dreams, by Marge Piercy

That afternoon the dream of the toads rang through the elms by Little River and affected the thoughts of men, though they were not conscious that they heard it.

--Henry Thoreau

The dream of toads: we rarely

credit what we consider lesser

life with emotions big as ours,

but we are easily distracted,

abstracted. People sit nibbling

before television's flicker watching

ghosts chase balls and each other

while the skunk is out risking grisly

death to cross the highway to mate;

while the fox scales the wire fence

where it knows the shotgun lurks

to taste the sweet blood of a hen.

Birds are greedy little bombs

bursting to give voice to appetite.

I had a cat who died of love.

Dogs trail their masters across con-

tinents. We are far too busy

to be starkly simple in passion.

We will never dream the intense

wet spring lust of the toads.

Trying Not to be Morbid, But...

2010-06-27T09:10:00.010-04:00

I think about the passing of time these days. Birth, aging, death. I think about it a lot, actually.

I'm not focused on one particular aspect, like my own mortality, for instance, but the entire kaboodle. Birth to death. And what it means to be in between the two. I've had lots of inspiration to direct my thinking, some instances that affected me more deeply than others. For instance, my sweet kitty Brandy, died in my arms in April. I watched a suffering cat's face become peaceful and I swear I could see the life leaving her body. Amid my grief, it was an amazing experience.

Brandy's death was a spiritual kick in the pants to appreciate what I have. The day after she was put to sleep, I remember sitting on my back patio, with my other cat, Phebe, lying on a blanket in the sun, a little grief-stricken herself. The sun hit my face and a cardinal landed in a nearby tree. And I thought, "I'm alive. This is what matters most."

So what happens in between this realization and death? Do I create a bucket list (or conversely a f*ck it list like I wrote about last year)? Do I skydive, bungee jump and orgify myself towards death?

...yes, I just made up a word, but I think you get the idea...

The answer is none of the above. Really.

CBS Sunday morning did a story a while back that featured people who surpassed the 100-year mark. Did they bungee jump or dance naked in the rain with a bajillion people? Did they travel the world or meet with foreign heads of state? Were they even on their city council?

Nope.

But they didn't stop living. One gentleman was a scientist and still went to work. One lady showed the reporter all of her paintings. It's proof positive that you shouldn't "retire" when you hit retirement age. Here's one extreme example: whatever you think about her, Joan Rivers at 77 may look like a Barbie version of herself, but she's still working and making people laugh.

I got the image here

There's loads of other examples to prove that in order to live a fulfilling life, you have to LIVE it--don't step back and judge it, thinking that there's a legacy you must leave to the masses, just wade into the mire and happiness and dive in. And while you're living your life, you won't notice so much that perhaps your hair gets a little thinner or your stomach ain't as flat as it used to be.

Not that I would know ANYTHING about that.

Thanks, Tonya!

As you go through the everyday routine, brushing your teeth, feeding your kids, taking out the garbage; as you hear disappointing news, lose the race, get your heart broken, keep in the back of your head that You. Are. Alive. I know there's going to be times when that will not be sufficient--that's also part of life. But if you've got a grey cloud floating above your head on a sunny day, know that it sure as heck could be a lot worse. If you don't believe me, take it from someone who knows, someone not with us anymore, but who expressed it far better than I just did. (Thanks to Patti Digh and friends, who pointed me the way to this awhile back.)

Those reading this on Facebook go here

New Look! And Ketchup--Oops! Catch Up...

2010-06-26T09:34:00.006-04:00

I suppose I could write the obligatory "OMG! I haven't written on my blog in soooo long. I'm so sorry, faithful readers."

So there it is.

Writing is certainly a muscle--you have to use it in order to strengthen and grow. I would say that if writing were like push ups, I could probably do one or two right now, but at this time last year, I was up to at least ten. Ten boy push ups, not the girly wuss push ups on your knees.

I got this image here.

SIDEBAR: Girly push ups are just as effective as boy push ups.

If you're one of my Facebook friends, follow me on Twitter, or if you've (what a thought!) actually seen me in person in the last few months, you'll know I've been keeping myself busy. I've got some fun things happening this summer, so I plan on writing about them.

Here's some of the stuff I want to do and if I write them down they are truth, so I HAVE to do them. Pardon the bulleted list, all you anti-bulleted-lists-in-blogs people.

Work my way to running a 10 K. Right now I'm doing the Couch to 5K running plan from Cool Running. About 5 years ago Robert Ullreys created a podcast that set the plan to music and it's a very effective way to train.
Complete with flying colors the ASAE Professional Development Management Series online course. It's the first online course I've ever taken, and since I'm in the middle of planning the education two conferences, trying to take a little vacation, and act in a video, we'll see how that goes!
Work on memorizing and getting to performance mode a few monologues, including one I've written.
Decide whether I want to buy a home and then get savvy on all that home-buying, home owner stuff I've been putting off for so long. It's extremely difficult to go jogging in Lincoln Park and not want to buy something. So I've got the gumption--now all I need is dinero and I'll be all set!
Try not to kill any of the plants that grace my nifty patio. Also try to invite friends to grace my nifty patio. Enough of this "staying in with the cat" stuff.

Off to do one of those things I listed! Or maybe I'll just go shopping...

An Attempt to Kure Kabin Fever

2010-02-10T17:22:00.017-05:00

I'm fairly certain that my fellow DC Metro residents would agree when I say that we're snowed in.

Aside from one trip to NW Washington to rehearse for Friday's cabaret, I have pretty much stayed in my neighborhood. Eastern Market is an area of Capitol Hill that has many business to which I can walk--or rather, carefully step through snowdrifts and slush--for anything I may need.

But we've been snowed in since FRIDAY. It's WEDNESDAY. And the blizzard just got extended until 10 pm tonight, which probably means that I get to spend tomorrow in the same place I am in now.

Which is the same thing I said yesterday...

So what can a gal do with, well, nothing to do? Blog about making cookies from a mix she won at a baby shower in September, natch...

First, I'd like to thank my dear friend Jessica's aunts and mother for supplying the prize I won at Jessica's baby shower. I don't get to Maine much, so Suzipoo's "Moose Kookies from Maine," were never on my radar screen, sorta like U.P. Pasties aren't on the minds of most everyone else I hang out with these days, or most of the world for that matter.

Too bad, most of the world, too bad...

Please note that these are Moose Kookies, not Cookies. Kute, huh?

The recipe is very easy: add 1/4 of water to the pre-mixed cookie mix, beat with an electric mixer until it forms a dough, hand mix the blue and white sprinkles they supply into the dough. Once that's done, roll out the dough on a floured surface, dip the moose-shaped cookie cutter they supply into flour and then into the dough.

The really cool cooking blogs a/k/a "the real cooking blogs" take you step by step through the process with pics, but I only thought about turning my adventure into a blog as I was mixing the sprinkles into the dough.

Here's the dough, just after I plunged the cookie cutter into it a couple of times:

Please note that these moose have spindly legs, which makes picking them up out of the dough and putting them on the cookie sheet a challenge. After a few tries where one moose was missing his back leg, another with half an ear, I finally got six decently-shaped moose cookies. Here they are pre-and post-oven:

While I waited the twelve minutes it took for the cookies to bake, I took a picture of myself.

Shirt by Target, Headband by Goody, Makeup by Mother Nature--really, people, what snowbound gal with two cats is going to put on makeup before she makes kookies? And yes, I realize that I am brave and stupid for publishing a pic of me sans makeup. But this is how I look, future rich-and-successful husband--deal with it.

I also pondered where all the snow on my patio was going to go when it finally melted. See the hill on the right side of the picture? There's steps under there, somewhere. Thanks, dude who shoveled snow off of the roof of my building--thanks a lot!

Back to the cookies: I have to say that for a mix, they're quite tasty!

The first one I ate was the one whose head had come off when I slid it off the cookie sheet, which, by the way, I just bought at Hill's Kitchen. If you live around here, support your local businesses and shop there!

The severed head moose kookie went great with a glass of milk. The wine in the background? That's for later...

Okay! Moose Kookies! If you want some, get your own.

Yep...

Hmm....

What to do, what to do....

The Grrl Version of Bromance

2010-02-01T18:45:00.005-05:00

I'm taking a break a/k/a stalling before I rehearse my Equity Liaison Audition (which sounds important, but actually means three minutes of ~~hell~~ me performing a song and a monologue) by reading the latest issue of BUST magazine. Page 29 features this beauty, Meli Burgueño, who has a super-cool blog about biking in San Francisco and drinking coffee, all the while looking feminine and unsweaty, traits I covet but don't necessarily possess.

Pretty clothes (check out the belt!)...

Biking...

Biking in San Francisco...

Coffee...

Sigh, sigh, sigh...

I know what you're thinking: a chick riding fearlessly on her bike in heels does not the ideal woman make. But she's got a brain too! This is what makes me wish, just for a hot minute, that I was a boy, or wired just a little bit to fall in love with girls:

What makes me happy is the exposure of the bike, the cities we live in and that being dressed 'normal' and a woman is no longer that rare. We don't need crazy get-ups (cute shoes are not consider crazy! he hee), fancy gadgets or man-lead long distance groups, to be part of the bicycle culture. We are here, and we are ready to ride, with our normal clothes and our happy faces. We move forward, sometimes make friends along the way I have met amazing women that are now best of friends, discover new places in town, enjoy the great smells from the bike lane (ok in SF, often not-so-great at all), climb hills, fall, bleed, sweat, learn to dodge doors and learn everyday that really it is not hard, to move around with your bicycle.

And dress up? sure why not! give it a try :D

She's the bees knees! I am so buying a bike this spring. I will ride it with my little flowery skirt and wedgie ankle strap sandals, with a purse designed to go over my handlebars. I'll meet my bike friends for coffee at Peregrine Espresso, and I will smile, smile, smile.

Hey, it's enough to keep me going to the spring and through this darn audition tomorrow. And yeah, I think I don't want to marry her--I want to BE her. I'm okay with that.

I hope my dream girlfriend is as cool in person as she is online. I hope she has a happy life.
Cheers, Meli!

Photograph by Lucy Goodhart for Bust Magazine, issue 61, Feb/March 2010.

The Online Ecosystem

2010-01-21T09:28:00.007-05:00

I heart Chris Brogan, and I know others feel the same way. Now that Mulan is closed and I gave up my shiny red dragon-scale pants, I have the time to catch up on some blog reading, and Chris writes one of my favorites.

Yesterday, Chris wrote a post titled Living in Google Wave, including what he liked and didn't like about Google's online collaboration tool that's still in limited preview. I'm sure Google is taking note!

I think it might be a very useful tool for both my personal and professional life, but researching that possibility needs to be at the bottom of the list right now. I wanted to share an excerpt from Chris's post, where he talks about his "online ecosystem:"

Facebook: connect with friends and family.
LinkedIn: share professional networks.
Twitter: communicate in real time, and find the new good stuff.
Google Wave: work on the future.
Blog: think and muse and share and publish.

I never thought about my time spent on the internet as an "ecosystem," but in a way--some days more than others--it seems to be an entirely separate world from my time spent not looking at a computer screen or at my nifty new Droid. While it serves to connect me with people and topics I care about, it does seem a little strange when I, for instance, encounter one of my Facebook friends in person and we talk about a post, or a status update.

{{doing her best Chris Farley}} "Hey, remember that time on Facebook, when you wrote...?"

For my ecosystem, I would replace Google Wave with Flickr, where I visualize, imagine, and get inspired. If we stay with the ecosystem theme, I'd say that LinkedIn needs a little watering and sunlight, but it's still hanging in there :)

What's in your ecosystem?

Let's See What Happens or WRITE DAMMIT!!

2010-01-20T19:10:00.008-05:00

I'm sitting in Le Pain Quotidian in Eastern Market because I'm way too lazy to cook tonight. I got the scallop pie, which, according to the menu comes with a Sancerre sauce and arugula. I wonder if the arugula is in the pie or an accompaniment.

Either is fine with me.

A glass of prosecco is sitting next to me. I've been on a prosecco kick lately, actually ever since this summer when I had a fabulous drink at Cinghiale that had gin and cucumber in it. Some of my five readers may wince at this combination, but I assure you, it was quite refreshing.

So it looks like this post has a food theme...

Have you ever had prosecco and cranberry juice? I think it may be called a Poinsettia. Pretty tasty too. I had it this weekend when I was at the service for Marilyn, one of the subjects of my last post. She's in heaven now, a place that's a damn sight finer for her being there. I hope she and my mom have met, congratulating each other on the awesome match that is my brother Jason and Lilly, Marilyn's daughter. I hope she tells Mom about Norah and Paul and what it was like to be a grandmother to my brother's children.

Dinner's here. The arugula must be in the pie. Yup: definitely in the tasty pie.

A Christmas Dinner Moment: Marilyn, Alan, and Some Espresso

2009-12-26T21:27:00.001-05:00

Marilyn, Alan, and Some Espresso
Originally uploaded by ToeKneeBroh

I took this photo at Christmas dinner at my brother' Jasons house. I wouldn't even consider photography a hobby; my expertise ranks just above water color painting but a litle bit below coloring between the lines.

....well...maybe not. Stupid lines.

I tend not to ask people to pose for photos, but would rather try to capture them in a moment. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Many times, I'll photograph a "moment," and even go so far as to shout, "AHA!" I'll proudly show my newly created masterpiece to the subject, who will usually get a small fake smile on their face and say, "Oh!" giggle a bit and hand the camera back to me.

Well at least I had fun taking it.

I tend to be a bit invisible at my brother's house when there's company over. I don't have kids to yell at, or a significant other to make fun of, so I sit quietly near my niece and nephew, cut up their meat and listen. During Christmas dinner, I had my camera at the table and was looking through the digital screen without picking it up while the others discussed Tiger Woods and how people go on about him too much. I liked the look on Alan's face and took the photo. I didn't notice Marilyn's face through the water pitcher until I pulled the image up on my computer--that was a bonus, in my book.

I think I like playing around with my photos on Picasa more than taking the photos. I'm using my favorite tool in this one, the one where you can control where the color is. I guess you're also controlling the photo's story when you fool around with it like I do.

To be honest, I wasn't thinking "story" when I chose to save the image like this. I just thought it looked cool. It's like the cup and saucer get their own special moment. I'm sure there's lots of discourse on black and white versus color images in photography and what psychological reactions they generate, but I wasn't trying to make any other statement than an aesthetically pleasing one--well, to me, at least...

If I ever get Photoshop, watch out!

Climbing the Frickin' Mountain

2009-12-10T17:11:00.002-05:00

Climbing the mountain

So it looks like you’re going to have to climb the frickin’ mountain. Deal with it.
-Hugh MacLeod

I was reading an excerpt from Hugh MacLeod’s new book, Ignore Everybody and 39 Other Keys to Creativity, when I came across the above quote. It was contained in a point titled, “Everybody has their own private Mount Everest they were put on this earth to climb.” I started thinking about my Mount Everest. At first, I wondered exactly what comprised my Mount Everest, and then realized that one word defined it:

Cabaret.

It’s been over three years since I attended the Perry Mansfield Art of Cabaret Workshop, a week-long intensive featuring some very prominent cabaret artists as teachers. I made some wonderful friends, got inspired in a beautiful setting and left determined to do my own show and to learn how to play the piano.

I’ve done neither yet.

What gives? Fellow DC Cabaret Network members see me and say, “Toni Rae, when are you going to do your own show?” And I don’t have an answer for them.

I’m probably scared that I’ll fail.

Argh! I feel brave at so many other things—encountering bugs, smelling the milk to see if it’s soured, driving 85 miles an hour on the Capital Beltway—but a performance opportunity is my Everest? Normally I’d give up red wine for a good performance opportunity.

And I do try: I start to think about my set list and then I start to feel insecure, so I end up…well, NOT thinking about my set list.

As we end 2009, I’m going to make once again a resolution to create my very own cabaret in 2010. It’d be great if my seven readers could support me. It will probably take a village to get me on stage.

What's Worth Keeping

2009-11-09T19:15:00.004-05:00

I rid myself of a lot of stuff last weekend--clothes, books, a couch, a TV, etc, etc, etc, because I'm moving this Saturday. I don't get too sentimental about stuff and am on a constant mission to simplify my life and its belongings.

My mother was on the complete opposite side of the spectrum--a certifiable pack rat. She kept EVERYTHING. Not to the point where the family considered it a psychological disorder, but growing up, there was a lot of stuff crammed into our relatively tiny house. I remember asking her after we moved to Michigan, "Are we settled in yet?" I wasn't sure, since there were so many boxes everywhere. As I got older, it grated on my psyche, the piles of clothes in the living room, the books and papers stuffed in book cases. I'd try to tidy up and my mother would get mad at me--she knew that everything was right where she put it.

As I was rifling through my things, sorting them into "pack," "donate," and "trash" piles, I came across a plastic bag filled with papers and photos my brother gave me a while back. It came from my father. He had the enormous task of sorting through my mother's possessions after she died, and the plastic bag represented important papers and photos he thought I might want to keep. When Jason gave the bag to me, I took it home and put it in my storage closet, not bothering to look.

This weekend, I finally looked in the bag. I smiled at the elementary school report cards and the letters from the agency through which my parents had adopted me. There was a lock of my hair and footprints in a baby record book--too cute...

Then I found the list.

Written on paper from one of those small, spiral notebooks you might carry around in your purse, the list is written in black ink, front and back and is clearly in my mother's handwriting. It says things like, "diapers," "playpen," "pacifiers." You get the idea. It's a list of everything a new parent might need for the arrival of their baby. And at the bottom of the page was the heading "Things Still Needed," with "Still" underlined and with about ten items on it. There were things misspelled, hastily written in the margins--evidence of a new mother trying to make sure she had everything just right.

The list probably isn't out of the ordinary. I'm sure all expectant mothers make some sort of list to get ready for a baby to enter their world. But imagine you're a thirty-five year old woman who has been waiting about a decade to have a child. You've gone through emotional and psychological hell and questioned whether motherhood was really part of your life's plan. After years of waiting, an adoption agency calls you and tells you that a six-month old baby girl is available--do you want to meet her? And you say yes. And then she's yours. Good gravy: what do you do next?

You write a list. And because this is a very precious time for you, you keep that list.

Sitting in the middle of boxes, papers, and cleaning supplies, tears rolling down my cheeks, I carefully folded up the items in the plastic bag and put them in the "pack" pile.

In Chinese it looks like this: 龙

2009-11-04T21:50:00.004-05:00

I promise you that I will not look like this in my next show.

Mushu
Originally uploaded by problemgirl_jen

I'm red and black, not orange and yellow.

I love the messages I'm finding this production sends, for as you probably know, besides trying to meet today's challenge of not being a TV show or a video game, all children's theatre should convey important messages:

*you must create your own path, even if it's risky;
*you can't put people (or dragons) in boxes;
*change is necessary for the evolution of humankind;
*many different ethnicities can represent one culture on stage--sorta like life, no?

...and once again, I am involved in a show with folks who bring PILES of talent to the table--cast, production team, and design team. Gracious! I'm overwhelmed and awed and I've only had three days of rehearsal.

Previews start November 25 and closes January 10. Come see, bring friends and curtain climbers.

Yeah, I'm Making a List, and I'm Not Ashamed to Admit It

2009-10-17T12:51:00.003-04:00

WTJ A Place for your Grocery and Wish Lists
Originally uploaded by eklektick

I'm delaying getting ready to go to my company's annual conference. I leave this afternoon and don't return until Wednesday. I like the event; in fact, I usually feel exhausted but relatively happy at conferences, as it give me a chance to connect with folks with whom I spend countless hours e-mailing and teleconferencing all year long. After I get back, things die down a bit, and then I go right into rehearsals for my next show. I predict a new door opens upon my return, giving me the chance to bring even more enjoyment and happiness into my life.

Former "want to do" lists have included learning French and trying to understand quantum physics. I'm feeling a bit more practical these days:

*Purging myself of needless belongs (this is in preparation of my move to my next place--wherever that may be. Anyone need a large oscillating fan, a bosu, or a space heater?). I've decided to donate clothes I don't wear to Dress for Success.

*Keeping track of my budget. Not doing well in this department lately...

*Buying myself a guitar and taking lessons. I think I might have an aptitude for it...

*Creating an exercise routine that does not require me to attend group classes all the time. I'll admit it--I love going to class because I'm extremely social and slightly competitive, so I work hard when I'm there; however, I need to get my butt in gear when I can't make it to the gym. So maybe it's not creating a routine as opposed to self-motivation. Thoughts on this?

*Cook more. Eat out less. I LOVE to cook and don't make time for it. I eat better when I do, and it's clearly more cost effective.

*Find another volunteer opportunity. The need to give back feels stronger than ever.

*Finally, as my friend Heather said to me: take life one day at a time. Living the moment is harder than it sounds in this world of the Crackberry and Google. But it's really something I need to heed. This reminds me of my favorite Ben Franklin quote:

Do not anticipate trouble or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight.

Onward!

Turning the Switch to "Off"

2009-10-13T21:40:00.003-04:00

I can't meditate. I've tried. I've put soothing Enya-sounding music on, sat crosslegged on the floor, shut my eyes, took deep, calming breaths...and still a traffic jam of thoughts remained in my head.

I'm sure there's some guru out there who can set me on the right path, who'll help me find the peace and quiet I crave every once in a while. I used to scoff at the idea of thinking about nothing, and frankly, I still think it near impossible.

Even so, as I close one show, ready myself for an annual conference (where I run around in heels with a walkie talkie in one hand and my Crackberry in the other), get my brain wrapped around a new show, and prepare to move, all I crave is stillness. Or at least the opportunity to sit outside on a warm, sunny day, lean back on the surprisingly comfy rock I found in the clearing of a forest, shut my eyes, and just be grateful of my existence.

Photo credit: Otter Meditation!
Originally uploaded by Snapperz