September ? ! ? !

 Do you remember

The 21st night of September?

Love was changing the minds of pretenders

While chasing the clouds away*

My son mentioned in conversation the other day, "we're coming up on my favorite months...the 'ber months; September, October, November, December!" He went on to say why, though I already knew.   I love how my son speaks to me as though I didn't give birth to him and lived with him for at least half of his life.  Admittedly, he's formed some insights and outlooks since being out on his own for many years now, but, still, . . I know he's a lover of autumn and (early) winter. 

Otherwise in the intervening weeks since last I visited here, a paternal aunt died, a maternal aunt became seriously ill (recovering), I snipped a bit of my hair--not a lot, just a couple of inches--amazing what a difference it makes. It's a mindset.  I also told a fib. A (casual and equally remote) co-worker asked oh so matter-of-factly, if I had a FB account. I replied, in kind, 'No'. (a fib) I wasn't up for the back-and-forth about how I don't invite any co-workers to any social media space, how I need a bit of separation, how I have very few FB friends that I haven't met F2F or haven't known virtually for many years now (or both).  

Fact is, my social media (FB anyway) days are feeling quite numbered.  I quit the last art group a few days ago. The mission of the group shifted and with that, two of the three admins opted out. Several other members quit and after a bit of navigation, I just wasn't feeling the vibe of the new scene.  I dropped out.  

I did put in an application with another sketching group with a mission more aligned (per their introduction) with my own.  I'm waiting to hear. 

But, I think I have, just this very moment decided that, while I won't likely leave the platform altogether, my engagement will be much, much less, likely toward an eventual departure.  Granted a some friends are still there are are engaging in some way. We'll see.  Still, if the art group chooses me, I may pass.  

Whether I'm in a FB group or no, I will keep sketching. I will keep sharing somewhere, here or IG. (or both). 

Oh, and I lost 100 lbs.  Well, I lost and found the same 10 pounds ten times.  Same thing.  ::smile:: 

Enjoy what is left of your summer.  

I hope you're welcoming fall with open arms and warm hearts.  

*September songwriters: Allee Willis, Al Mckay, and Maurice White  recorded by Earth, Wind, and Fire, released 11/18/1978

 

 

.  

Three (now Two) From One Thousand

The actor at a table read. 

Last year, I shared this  The year before that, this  And many years before, this .  All that has been said before remains true and even more. In addition to acting and the music noted in previous posts, the man who will turn the page on his 35th birthday on Wednesday, will add a directing credit to his resume.

He has spoken at length of the challenges, the joys, and the pains of the process. And how he is enjoying every minute of it. He said, "If I can cultivate an environment where a bunch of strangers want to work together to create, then much of my work is done.

Casting (an arduous process) is now complete. Rehearsals will begin soon. And then, opening day!

Not sure I can adequately convey just how hard this guy works, how "matter-of-factly" he takes the knocks that come his way, how focused and committed he is to craft, to art, to creativity, to life and how art plays into that.

I wish my son a happy birthday (in two days). I wish his spirit and verve for life and art continues to grow.


                                                                               

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Dancing With The Universe

"However, Michael P’s delivery of the monologue in response to Lula’s indictment of him as an African-American man is nothing short of theatrical surgery. He is skillful and precise. And the ending stitches you up so well, you’ll never know you were under the knife."  NEW CITY STAGE

"The universe is a stage on which your mind dances with your body, guided by your heart." 

My heart, mind, and body dances with glee whenever I see my son on stage. Even in a difficult (where his character becomes angry and more . . ) role. The run of this play has ended. The next play is cast, research work will begin soon. 

Queue the universe. Queue the music. 

MORE !! Go. Read. 

Too Sharp to B Flat

Photo by Amol Art 

My son ("The Actor") is, through a variety of means (youtube tutorials, books picked up in thrifts, and one-on-ones with working musicians) learning to play the blues harp as well as acoustic guitar.

He's played on the streets to the delight of passers-by, he's participated in open mic type jam sessions at one of the few spaces featuring live music, he has held guest appearances with some featured acts.

The actor has been having a grand time learning, jamming, building his repertoire. Though he isn't striving to become a working musician he does anticipate having music in the mix will further enhance his résumé.

Today is the anniversary of the actor's birth. He continues his slice through time with his usual grace and aplomb; staying in tune and razor sharp to the bone.

 Happy 34th birthday to Bluesman slash Actor.

#MicroBlogMonday Check out Mel and others!

Amity is a Summer Town

 . ..and so, summer has begun. 

Summer in Chicago for many, if not most residents equals being outdoors at one festival or another. The weekends are chock full of options from one end of the city to the other.It is a grand opportunity to visit a neighborhood that is not one's normal stomping ground, to sample foods that may be outside one's comfort zone. 

A random art fair aside, outdoor festivals are not typically my cup of tea. My sensibilities are turned off by three elements inherent in these fetes: 1. crowds 2. outdoor eating 3. too many people, wearing too few articles of clothing, imbibing too many fruity spectacles delivered in a culled out pineapples.

On the positive tip though, attending festivals is an excellent way to get in s-t-e-p-s.

While not your typical festival dweller I will,  depending on the weather, other commitments, and the neighborhood, check the calendar, pencil in the possible events, and try not to talk myself out of attending at least 3 over the next 3 months. 

Summer has just begun and I've already missed more than a dozen. Don't fret there are dozens more. 

The actor embraces the festivals and would attend more if he wasn't more often than not, working. He will, though almost always make time for the Printer's Row Lit Fest (I would have gone there had it not been the same weekend as the 57th Street Art Fair) and the Blues Festival.  

A Tribune photographer captured the actor at the blues festival last weekend. Check out the gallery. And yes, he pretty much dresses this way for everything, winter or summer, rain or shine. 

I do look forward to summer in Chicago, more for the opportunities to get out on my bicycle over attending festivals. But it is grand to know that weekend IN and weekend OUT there is something I could do, somewhere I could go--have a fruity spectacle delivered in a culled out pineapple--if I truly wanted to go that route. 

Roll on Summertime. ♥ ♥ ♥

Pass the Rum Gravy, Cabbage, and Rolls

Truth be told, I haven't had rum in several years. In fact, the last taste of rum was gifted to me by a very dear friend. I don't there will be any rolls either. It has just occurred to me that I forgot to buy them and unless there is something vital that seems to have been forgotten as well, dinner will go on without them.

No biggie.



Yes, there will be a dinner. Poultry, dressing (not stuffing in my corner of the universe) macaroni and cheese, cabbage (two ways--with meat and without) and . . . I know I'm forgetting something, can't put my finger on it...oh well, point is, food.

And drink. And . . well, and . . . just . .

Truth be told I'm not feeling particularly festive. I'm trying for daughter's sake but my heart really isn't in it. But, there will be food and if the cabbage (both ways) and the macaroni and cheese are any indication it will be good. Maybe not great, maybe not amazing, but good. Okay, very good.

Damn, the gooey, cheesy . . good. Must stop tasting.

Truth be told, while not feeling particularly festive I do recognize there is much for which thanks should be given. And so I do give thanks for my decent health, the good health of the actor and his sister, the comfort of loving pets, shelter, food (damn, the gooey, cheesy . .) drink, other family, friends particularly those who have experienced a recent turn of (woot woot) events allowing for a sense of safety, security, inching toward home,  warming me all over.

Yes, there will be a dinner, the menu changed (slightly) to minimize the onslaught of memories.And while not feeling particularly festive, I am thankful to be here to be able to share a meal with my son and my daughter and to have connections with people who bring me great comfort and joy.

Peace to you.

Plan Be(e)

This should have posted very (very) early Sunday morning, but for some reason it didn't. So, here it is now .--I'm dating it for Sunday, 10/6  even though I discovered the weirdness today. 

On this, the beginning of the week of my daughter's twenty-eighth birthday, I'm writing about my son. She will get her time to shine as the date draws nearer, the "birthday princess" shall not be denied her due. Still, for all her presence, he has been very much on my mind. 

The actor has gone through some changes, most good and some, even better. His passion for his craft is stronger than ever and his hard work and tenaciousness is inspiring. He is closer to his Equity (stage actor's union) card and thanks to some screen work he's eligible to join the Screen Actor's Guild. If things progress as planned he'll be able to buy in by year's end. 

He also anticipates moving out (again) by year's end or early in 2014. That is to say (again) if things progress as planned. He's researched some interesting housing arrangements, his budget being what it is.  If a gig he's in line for pans out the budget will adjust UP. In either case, he'll be fine. He's given all of this a tremendous amount of thought and effort. 

It need not be said that I'm rooting for him in every way possible. He has an extremely level head on his shoulders and I anxiously await the show as his immediate and not so immediate future begins to play out in real life as it has in his expertly coiffed head. 

While I will miss our near daily exchanges, I know as well (if not better) than he, that he must move on. He is beyond excited about the prospect and that . . . exuberance is positively intoxicating. 

 . . . and away we go.  

Snack Packing

A few weeks ago I tried my very first friend Twinkie. It wasn't horrible but it also wasn't a taste sensation I had any desire to re-visit.

And now with the news that Hostess is asking the bankruptcy court to liquidate, Twinkies (and other Hostess brands) being snapped off store shelves, it isn't likely I'll get my hands on the little spongy cake.

And while I'd rather not have the fried Twinkie exploration be my last Twinkie memory, I am not about to get into a bidding war for a box of cakes. Seriously? Hundreds of dollars for a box of mass produced snack cakes?

People are weird.

Prior to a few weeks ago (and the fried Twinkie exploration) I hadn't had a Twinkie in . . . I can't even remember when. I remember having them in my lunch bag on occasion, I remember packing them in my kids lunch boxes every now and then.

Truth be told, Twinkies weren't even in the top 5 of Hostess brand snack packing.

ME:                                THE ACTOR:                THE DAUGHTER:
Suzy-Q                            Apple Pie                       Honeybuns*
Ding Dongs                     Honeybuns*                    Cupcakes
Ho Hos                            Nutty Bars*                    Apple Pie
Cupcakes                      
Sno Ball Cakes              

*Little Debbie Brands

I feel awful that so many workers will lose their jobs due to (by most accounts I've read) bad management. I feel awful that while some of the brands may indeed live on (someday--as the food conglomerates scramble to snap up the more popular snacks) the Hostess bakers likely won't get their jobs back--or at least not anytime soon.

A cursory look-see was executed during Saturday's grocery trip and as I suspected not a Twinkie, Ho Ho, Ding Dong, or Suzy-Q to be found. A similar act will be conducted on my "last minute" shopping excursion sometime over the next couple of days.  I'm not holding on to any hope of finding any of the more popular cakes, especially Twinkies which seem to have grabbed the nation, if not the world, as some sort of beacon to all snack cakes everywhere.

If the fried Twinkie is my last Twinkie experience, then so be it. I'm sure the pumpkin cheesecake on tap for one of Thursday's desserts will serve as a more than adequate Twinkie memory dasher.

The Kids, 1986

Each, in recent weeks have faced life-changing events and are in the midst of making life shaping decisions, with my guidance (as needed and/or requested) but always with my love and support.

My head is much too full of all that has transpired in recent weeks, days to fully elucidate but suffice to say, their journeys continue and I'm grateful to bear witness to the marvelous metamorphosis taking place within and beyond.

Deborah Dear

Dear Deborah, 


Finally, you are officially fifty-two. The daughter has been teasing, calling you, "52" since the day after you celebrated number fifty-one. The taunting, good in nature coming after you did something particularly 52-ish, like forget where you were going mid-step or a word mid-sentence, or something like put your shirt on backwards and inside out, has served as a constant reminder that, well, fudge, you're gettin' UP there.  

But that's okay. Gettin' UP there ain't so bad  especially if you have your health and some semblance of your mind. Or so I've been told. 


That said, dear Deborah, the birthday was several days ago and I'm writing today to tell you that the partying must be over. Enough with the Irish whiskey, French vodka (two martinis at Melting Pot! Really? two?)  Belgian Beer, and the rich desserts. Enough! Truth be known you've been in celebratory mode for the entire month prior to your birthday weekend. 


Well, that's what we'll call it, celebrating.


But I know the truth, and deep down, so do you. And I'm here to tell you here and now, 


Enough! 


No more blaming the heat, heartache, knee pain, crappy dye jobs, or crappier days at work. No more drowning in the dumps because your mom is...well, who she is and your dad, not a dad at all. I won't mention your brothers because well, what is the point of that?  


Enough!  


Your calendar notation for Tuesday reads, 'early AM ride' and did you? NO! It wasn't raining, wasn't unbearably hot. Sure, you were out late Monday (and again, two martinis?okay enough about that, it WAS your birthday, but still . . ) true enough, but if the skipping days doesn't stop doesn't stop you won't get back on track. And you must, you know, get BACK at It and YOU KNOW IT!!  It is so much more than a body thing, it is a mind thing. 


So, have some Hil....  

AND get your head out of your ass and get said ass in gear. I don't give, to steal a phrase from daughter, "two shits and a fuck" about  your looking sexy for the beach (or whatever) but I do want you to feel good. Bump that, I want you to feel GREAT, inside and out. I want you to think, I want you to write, I want you to create. I love what the actor said the other day, "crazy for creatives!"   I want the two of you to collaborate. I want. I want. I want...YOU BACK!! Now, dammit. I want to see you, feel you, hear you fucking Laugh Out LOUD once a day, every day right up to birthday number fifty-three. 


And then some. 


Happy, happy, joy, joy...for realz. 


♥, 


 ME  


  

Third Sunday In June

Another picture perfect Sunday, on the outside, the aftermath of much needed rain, barely visible.

Pictures are not always what the seem.

On this third Sunday in June, designated "Father's Day" I've spent barely a moment thinking about my dad and even less about their dad. My son, daughter, and I were all here together for a good part of this day and that, in and of, itself, is cause for celebration. We had a handful of meaningful conversations that led to a handful of revelations.


Catharsis, or catharses comes to mind. Each has spent part of this day ruminating over focus and dedication toward the next stages of their respective days, weeks, months, and quite possibly, years.

I've spent a considerable amount of time today in my own state of rumination as my own life has taken some turns and is about to turn again. For better or worse, time will tell. For this day, however, and the couple leading to it? far from the bike ride in the park of the most carefree of summer days.

My present may very well become my past but it could also become my future. I was shown a picture of myself today and though I disagreed with the accompanying hypothesis, I can relate to and respect the sentiment presented.  

I read this quote somewhere, don't recall where and didn't take note of the author, so forgive the lack of credit, "Let your past make you better, not bitter." I feel like that quote has been the cornerstone of my entire existence.

This third Sunday in June, this Father's Day, turned out to be grand mother of days, existentially speaking.

One To Thirty

This week (Wednesday) the first born celebrates birthday number thirty. Gone by in an instant? No. Still, hard to fathom the trading of blocks for Transformers, Transformers for Ninja Turtles, Ninja Turtles for all the childhood things in between and then those for ties and cuff-links and all things gentlemanly.   

The boy became a man right before my eyes, thrilling, frightening, challenging, humoring, and inspiring me every day along the way. Love him? Of course, to pieces and more. He is a man of honor and courage, passion and conviction, discipline and fortitude, talent and humility, power and grace. And so much more. 

On stage or off the actor, the man is tailored to every moment. He approaches life with the wide-eyed wonderment of childhood augmenting that sense of joy with searing sensibility and methodical, insightful planning. As much as he has achieved he has so much more to encounter, conquer. For he may be about to turn thirty, but in some ways, he has only just begun.

Happy Birthday, Son. "Break Legs"    

Random. Fathom

Sleep not coming easily these days. The mind is muddled and is in need of some clearing. Perhaps the randoms will help, certainly a near perfect day like today does:

♥ It was 50 (plus) degrees today. Sunny. Clear. My daughter snapped this picture as she was leaving school today. Lovely, lovely sky.In fact, it was a lovely day. I read tomorrow is to be even better. I know some folks are missing the traditional winter, but I'm way okay with the turns we've had. Hey, it's the Midwest, we could be singing snow blues in April.

♥ Diamond's feeling better. However, her eyesight is failing. We're making things as easy as possible and keeping her in as much comfort as possible.
My younger brother got married a couple weeks ago. I met the new Mrs. briefly last week. I don't know if they were pen pals / romancers or he met her sometime after his release. In either case. I wish the new couple well. 

♥ I haven't given any thought to getting married (again). And given that I'm a lady loving lady A LOT of thought would be required (as it should be anyway), but, even more so since don't have the rights or luxury as does my brother and his new bride, for instance.

♥ What I have given a lot of thought to is death. Not my own, per se, but in general. Mostly due to Thought Question number 686 . It is a topic that doesn't come easy to most, we don't want to think about it, let alone discuss it. It' morbid. It is . . . eventual. My mother talks about death, not in any constructive way, just by way of offering up Obits and escalating every illness to fatalistic ends.
So, this text enhanced shit, anyone know how to turn it off? How to avoid having one's text enhanced with some broken down ad for some broken down service?

♥ I'll probably watch most of the Superbowl game out of pure habit. I don't have any vested interest in either team. But, I do like football. I was the only one of my group yesterday who knew when the game was and the teams competing. But, I'm thinking too it would be the perfect day to take in a movie, get in an extra six thousand (or so) steps or clean out that closet one thing or another has kept me from.

♥ Speaking of thee Though Questions Number 697 has had my mind spinning as well. I did respond to his religious literature, told him I wasn't a Christian. He pities me. The conversation didn't end there but didn't go too far downhill. He will continue trying to convert me inasmuch as his health (and his communication disciplines) allow, I suppose.

♥ My good friend has (had) a birthday today. She probably won't see this (her computer has been on the fritz)  but it doesn't matter for I've extended my well wishes to her already and soon her gift will be in the mail. Never-the-less, Happy Birthday  Good Friend!! Many happy returns of this day and more. You know you are on my mind and in my heart, always. ♥

♥ My son (& my younger brother and several cousins) have milestone birth days within the coming days. More about the actor will be spoken on his special day.

♥ My Aunt Betty (mom's oldest sibling) will celebrate birthday number 92 in a few days.
On that note, I'll bid you goodnight. Five AM will be here before I know it.

Peace. 

Babysit Mom

Opening email from the home unit means doing so in full view of whomever may be sitting in the living room. Depending on the day and time of day, that means in full view of the actor as the living room his room since he is temporarily in residence.

A few nights ago I opened a  message with the subject line: friends?

The body of the message was a photo of a voluptuous woman, dressed rather provocatively, sporting a tat on her right tit of a trio of roses. Beneath her photo was the query, "do you want to be friends?" I must have made some kind of noise for the actor looked up from his reading. His response was to merely shake his head and return to his reading.

The daughter chose the next few moments to come out of her room. The noise making must have still been going on for she decided to come see what was UP. After taking in the scene she shrieked, "what are you doing?" turning then to the actor, "Aren't you watching her? You're supposed to be watching her! You can't let her just . .    She doesn't know . . .  Why aren't you watching her?"

All I could do was shake my head. 

Do You Know the Story of the Hottentot Venus?

The play in which my son currently appears is quite a story. A story, I must admit, I hadn't heard until he was doing his preparation research. And while I always enjoy seeing my son on stage, this time no exception. And while this production is very superbly directed and deftly acted by all cast members, it was a difficult play to watch.

That being said, I was happy the director staged the play the way she did. According to the actor, this production is much different than others in that it deconstructed the side-show aspect, humanizing all the characters, which made the audience (me, at least) care about them, which contributed to making this a difficult play to watch.

Still, it is a fascinating story which the play only scratches the surface of based on the stacks of research material scattered about the living room at one time. The play has a very short run. That, plus it being a difficult play to watch, will keep me from seeing more than the one performance witnessed yesterday.

Maybe.

But even if I don't see him again in "Venus" I'll have ample opportunity to see him perform in the coming months as he has been offered roles (though contracts are still being negotiated) in not one, but two major productions.

The actor has worked very hard and has much hard work ahead. He is more than ready for the challenges and the opportunities.

And as a playwright wrote long, long ago, " . . . the play's the thing."

End Scene.

*actor in rehearsal. photo credit Joel Moorman. 

Never Say Never

. . . or another week of random stuff. It's like needing to clean the closet, you can't move on until the underused, no longer fitting, the "what the heck was I thinking?" are purged from your cramped space.

My head feels like a cramped closet. Thus . . .

The actor's current show is entering the final weekend. I was saw the show this past Thursday and again on Sunday. Sunday made three. The Irving Berlin penned, "Blue Skies" is woven into the story line and as a result the song (and overall theme) has been looping.

Blue skies, smiling at me, nothing but blue skies, do I see Not surprising to have learned of the many, many recorded versions of this song. And even less surprising, that in spite of the happy, tappy message of the song and the looping I'm feeling the other blue that is to say, blah and bummed.

A cousin lost his battle with cancer last week. His "home going celebration" was today. And while he was ill for quite some time and his death expected, the reality and witness to the finality, was (again) daunting and yes, sad. Still, there are happy memories embedded in our history and I will recall and recount those, down the road a bit. But, what I take away from the services is his beautiful smile and how he touched so many people in a very positive way.

In other news my daughter started her extern-ship today. She's training to become a Pharmacy Technician and while she was all knotted up with nerves this morning, she donned her professional clothing and lab coat and set off to conquer the world! The first day was a winner and she returned home with a brush of confidence that she can, "do this!" One day, one step but YaY for starting on an UP note.

And finally, pickles. An email alerting me to a comment posted to an old blog post had me thinking about pickles in all the incarnations. I read the comments and among them, my 'not on a bet' comment re: fried pickles. That was March 2007. And while rooting around the archives, I spied another post where I talk about (among other things) fried pickles at Toots. I don't think there was a bet involved, but certainly some influence was asserted to get me to try them. And as it happens, I couldn't get enough of them.

A friend and I talked about about things we might or might not do and while we were reluctant to say, "I'd never" we were pretty clear about certain likelihoods and the phrase, being in love . . . bracketed a few statements on how that state may change what we may or may not ordinarily do. Of course there are factors other than love, but at that (and this) moment in time, I'm looping (among other songs) N. Cole's "Nothing Stronger Than Love".

Number One Son

He came into the world in the usual way. Well, usual in that for centuries women were giving birth to babies. Baby boys, even. And in that way, usual as there was nothing extraordinary about his birth, except of course, that it was happening to me for the first time. Not a usual day for me. He arrived sooner than expected. The end of February was circled on the calendar. But, given that he began to make his move a couple of weeks early, he did have the patience to wait inside the womb until I reached the hospital. See, having gone into labor very late the night before, or rather very early that morning, I stalled until daybreak before calling the ambulance. Risky yes, but I didn't want to ride alone, in the dark. It worked out, he waited (another 4 hours in fact.)

I don't remember a birthday since his middle-school days where he didn't have a game, wasn't in rehearsals, or in performance. This year is no exception. He is in rehearsals for a play that opens on the twenty-seventh which was the 1982 circled "due date." Weird, that.

It doesn't, "seem like only yesterday" nor does it feel like twenty-nine years. Some days he's telling me a tale of one his many adventures, donning voices, making the telling an adventure onto itself. And somewhere in there, he'll make a gesture, fix an expression on his face, or affect a particular dialect and I'm transported back to that little boy with light in his eyes and chocolate on his face, fingers, and of course his shirt.

The light is still there as is the love of chocolate, though he is neater.

To my number one son, may twenty-nine be the best one yet and a gateway to bigger roles, paydays, whatever your heart desires and many more adventures.

Peace

Six Hundred and Ninety Eighty-One (Sheesh)

'Tis the post where I admit, I sat on the cat. He wasn't wearing a hat, which is perhaps how I missed he was in the chair upon which I sat.

That, and it is still frickin cold, but that isn't worthy of poetry or prose. 'Tis December. Chicago. 'Nuff said.

In other news, some reviews were released for M's most recent play. He doesn't read them but can't totally escape them. I might not have sought them out except I was very curious given all he'd relayed during pre-production. It's been UP now for over a week (when you factor in previews) and I saw the third of three "preview" performances. And of the few reviews I've found and read, I agree to some degree. And all bias aside, I agree that M's performance is "intense"*, "wound tight perfection"* and "expertly volatile"*.

The run is just through the end of the year (well, actually January 2nd) and I'm hoping for another opportunity to see it. It really is a good play.

*Didn't link to the reviews as I think they give too much of the plot away and I wouldn't want to spoil it for anyone who might be in the position to see if--presuming, of course, you're not already familiar with the play, "Lobby Hero".

Watch The Road

My son is the first-born and as such he had a bit over three years to himself . Even after his sister came along he still had another couple of years before he was be bugged by engage her his in play.

As a result, during his lone years he learned to play, quite contentedly, alone. As a youngster he enjoyed animals and action. His toys consisted of the various favorite action figure collections (vehicles included) and animals. From a very early age he created plays with his toys. He constructed elaborate sets, staged the scenes, and blocked the action. He also did voices for each character, human as well as animal.

When he was nine, ten, or so he scoffed at my suggestion, prediction? that he would develop into a writer and / or some kind of performer. He resisted the calling until his sophomore year in high school. I believe it was his during the poetry module where he met one of his early mentors, a teacher, who introduced him to spoken word poetry and performing that genre. That teacher / mentor encouraged him to meet his friend, the drama teacher, who in turn asked him to try out for the next play. He did, got the role, and started registered for the acting class the next year.

Michael all but poured himself into the lessons and disciplines. He won several parts over the next couple of years in high school riding that wave of energy and euphoria right into college, where he continued winning roles in a number of productions.

The high school drama teacher, another of my son's mentors, has often referred to Michael as his favorite student. Focused. Driven.

The teacher and the student did a turn recently in a short film. Though my son has been acting (really all his life) but officially since high school, he has, in some respects, only just begun. Where being on stage is like breathing for him, being on film is a new discipline requiring different skill sets.

With a commercial and now this (soon? to be released) screen debut to his credit his profile continues to grow. And while he adores being on stage (and is currently booked through the end of the year) he welcomes the opportunity for screen work as well.

As his biggest fan I applaud every performance, each success. As his mom I never miss the opportunity to reminisce about his childhood play and my spoken words.

Someday is today, and beyond.

Honest Scrap: Thanksgiving Edition

This is an award. An award posing as a meme with all the meme attachments. As is my usual custom, I will pass on the some of the special conditions. Though I do consider all the blogs I read award worthy. I will comply with the special condition of listing 10 facts . My twist as the title indicates, these facts as are related to Thanksgiving 2009 at Deborah's Place.
1. "This place is a zoo!" When son moved out three years ago there weren't any pets. He spent Thursday and Friday nights (the first sleep-over since his move) and while he wasn't surprised by the presence of the fur-babies, he was surprised by their (primarily Buttah's)attachment to him. My son, we've discovered, is not a cat person. He was relatively good-natured about it though. Still, the second night Buttah had to have his nocturnal roaming curtailed, just a bit.

2. Maneuvering about the (small) kitchen with a grey dog and orange cat constantly under-foot hoping for accidental drops added a layer of challenge to the day.

3. Speaking of challenge: My Mother vs. My Daughter. ::sigh::

4. However, 2 glasses of wine, 2 vodka martinis, and a tequila/rum margarita did not hamper my peacekeeper/maker capabilities. In fact, may have even helped.

5. A "Happy Thanksgiving" call from a new acquaintance was a rather nice surprise.

6. And "Happy Thanksgiving" (and more) text messages from a dear, dear friend resulted in warm fuzzy feelings.

7. I forgot the mashed taters and gravy. Hi-ever, no one seemed to notice (or care).

8. Though not quite my kryptonite, homemade mac n cheese is most def, da bomb!

9. 'Tis a fact, mom mis-remembers events from my childhood. It was older brother not younger who crashed into a parked car with his bike, suffering an injury that required stitches to his left ear.

10. In addition "remember when . . ." talk, dinner convo included my revelation. I answered the question she hasn't (or refused) to ask. Due to the emotions of the day (see mom vs daughter note above) she was not up to discussing it much then and because of a visit from that Aunt (& the cramps she rode in on) a surprise after many, many (ok, maybe just one many, but still, a while) months, I have not up to discussing it much since. But, more talk will ensue, of this I am sure.

Still, the news (good, all good) is out and so (step-by-step) am I.