IT'S TERRIBLE... and I'M CRANKY!

Okay, so it's not all that terrible. And I am not really all that cranky... but there are those days when nothing I do seems to come out quite the way I had envisioned it when I started...

The forgetfulness is a source of unrivaled embarrassment and that is terrible. I don't like being embarrassed, never have...

For years, I have been teasing and picking on my friend Barb who is notoriously late for anything and everything. Her typical arrival time is about 15 minutes late but she has been known to make me wait more than an hour. Now we have been friends for a long time and I am used to it. I am relatively easy going and never ever go anywhere without a good book so waiting is moot. Frankly, I usually relish the reading time.

But something unacceptable has begun to happen. I have begun to be late. Now this does not sit well with me. I am notoriously on time. It's who I am and how my friends count on me to be.

Lately, for some unknown reason, I have begun to have trouble organizing my time.

And by the way, where do all the words go? Since this whole menopause business started, I have lost my abliity to speak a full sentence without forgetting a key word. It's like my vocabulary chip is, uh... chipped.

I think I will section this blog into uh... sections (??? See what I mean?):



WONDERFUL DAY
GOOD DAY
BAD DAY
REALLY SHITTY Wondering-why-was-I-born DAY
TOTALLY ZONED DAY


Today is a good day and I would like to address some of the wonderful things about entering a certain age...

Like...

It's wonderful that I no longer feel I have something to prove.

It's wonderful that I no longer worry about how to please all of the people all of the time.

It's wonderful that I can write to my heart's content... or not.

It's wonderful that my clothes all fit.

It's wonderful that I have the most wonderful husband in the world.

It's wonderful that I am getting to see my children grow up and am experiencing great pride pride at having been a part of who they are. I like them. They are nice people. Good hearts - all different, all the same. I see their father in them... and me, yes... sometimes I see a bit of me.

*The cancer is making itself known today, but it's not bad. I can certainly handle it. The chemo - ugh. That's a different story. More on that another day. Not today. Today is good!


Except for the facial hair. THAT'S DEFINITELY GOTTA GO!

Wax on, Wax off!
CM

BROADWAY BOUNDS...

A few weeks ago, I had an urgent phone call from my friend, Barb, who was completely beside herself. I was able to decipher that what she was trying to convey was the
news that Christopher Plummer and Brian Dennehey were appearing at the Lyceum Theater in previews of INHERIT THE WIND. Without hesitating, I immediately began to stammer and stutter along with her. Somewhere in that unintelligible conversation we decided that we would not be able to go on living (not happily anyway) if we missed this.

Next day, I went online and made the purchase. In order to get the perfect seat for a show of this caliber, one must sometimes wait… I booked us second row, dead center… but we would have to wait eleven days. And I am not even going to write what I paid for those tickets. I’ll simply quote Bing Crosby from WHITE CHRISTMAS and say it was “somewhere between ouch and boing”!

Two days before the show, we spoke again deciding to make our way into the City on our own and meet at Penn Station outside of a certain shop.

One day before the show, I phoned Barb to let her know this was frightening to me. I don’t mind traveling into the City in daylight hours but the idea of traveling home in the dark, alone, after midnight was daunting. I feared it would have affected my psyche enough to interfere with my enjoyment of the show. Barb understood and we agreed that rather than walk two blocks from my house and catch the train, I would make the forty minute drive up to her office and make use of one of her computers to do some writing while she closed up for the day. Sounds easy enough, yes?

I left my home at three-thirty for what should have been, as I have said, about a forty minute drive to her office. Barb works for Pierre Deux, the decorating house, and her office is in Secaucus. About ten minutes by train from Manhattan. We’d leave my car at her office and take hers to the train station. Within minutes we’d be in the City and could take a nice leisurely walk to the Lyceum. (What’s that they say about the best laid plans?)

I phoned Barb at about four-thirty to say I was not even out of town yet. Traffic was at a complete standstill and no one seemed to know why or how long it would be this way. She wasted no time logging on to her computer to check it out. In a minute she let me know there was a several alarm fire in one of the towns I needed to pass through. Traffic there was being diverted and onlookers were also contributing to the tie-up. We had no way to know how long this would take but I felt that it would work out since I had left so early, uh, to avoid traffic.

By five-thirty, we’d moved two miles. Now the tickets were at the box office… in my name. Barb would not have been able to get them because she wouldn't have had the proper credentials. Telling her to go on ahead without me and I would catch up was not an option. I phoned her again just to fret. (Walking into a theater late is a horrible thing to do in any circumstance, but when your seat is down front, dead center, it’s simply unacceptable. Combine that with my concern over these two princes of the theater seeing two empty seats directly in front of them and you can sense my anxiety. What could I do? I put my convertible top down, cranked up the music and sang with Stevie Wonder… Baby everything’s all right. Up tight…Well, you get the picture.)

By six-thirty I’d established myself on a first name basis with my traffic clique. Yes, we’d begun to form cliques. I phoned to give Barb my hourly update and introduce her to my new friends… Just then, a man in a red car accidentally cut me off and as we waved our we’re-all-in-this-together understanding to one another, the traffic vanished. (I will never understand how it does that.)

“The traffic’s gone.” I announced I’d be there in a few minutes and indeed, I was at her office in less than fifteen. She closed the place while I used the facilities. As we exited the building and were triumphantly approaching her car, one of her coworkers stopped us to say she’d heard that there was no parking at the train station. The lots were jam-packed. Secaucus is not a place to park your car just anywhere unless you want it to disappear – or parts of it to disapp… nevermind.

We decided to try it anyway. Coworker had been correct. There was no parking at all. What to do. Holland Tunnel was backed up for miles; it would have taken way past Curtain just to get through the tunnel let alone navigate the City and then park... It was already past seven. (Am I glad I left my house at three-thirty!) Barb suggested we head over to catch the Ferry. Sounded good to me. Parking was a dream. As we walked from the car to the terminal we could see that the Ferry was heading for New Jersey and there was no line. We looked at one another in disbelief. Could our luck be changing for the better? We stepped up to the counter, purchased our tickets, walked outside, stepped onto the boat, sailed across the Hudson, disembarked, caught a bus to the theater, walked in, picked up our tickets, sat down. CURTAIN. (Definitely worth a good solid HIGH FIVE and tension relieving giggle!! Talk about the nick of time!)


The Lyceum is a beautifully appointed, smallish theater with a cozy, intimate feel to it. One of those theaters where there are no bad seats, but, as in all theaters, there are wonderful seats. We had wonderful.

When Brian Dennehey walked onto the stage, not eight feet away from us, the audience burst forth with such a rousing applause, I wondered how he would manage to continue. He did stand still for just a moment while the mirth quieted. He then went on to give a performance that was so stellar, I say with all sincerity it was bested only by Christopher Plummer’s. I finally understood the coinage of the word "star" when referring to an actor of a certain quality and magnitude. These two great actors lifted each other up to such amazing theatrical heights that they took us right along with them as though we were in some gravitational pull. Willingly. The woman to my left said in astonishment as the curtain closed after the final bows, “I knew I was going to see Christopher Plummer tonight, but I did not know I was going to experience this.” All I could do was nod my agreement; I was completely speechless. I turned to Barb who, also speechless, merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged. We smiled at one another, shook our heads in disbelief and exited with the throng.

I could overhear remarks made by others as we walked along. They validated my heart song. “I don’t want it to be over.” “That was wonderful” “One of the best things I have ever seen” “Isn’t he wonderful” “I love him more than ever”

Everyone with whom we made eye contact as we all poured out into the busy theater district seemed to want to say something and all seemed to feel the same. There was no denying it. We had all shared in experiencing a true once-in-a-lifetime event, and we all knew it! For the first time in my life, I contemplated the pros and cons of waiting at the Stage Door to meet the actors. Thought better of it knowing I was incapable of saying anything worthwhile or sensible and moved on down the road. Remembering that we had not eaten before the play because time had not seemed to have been on our side, we decided to catch the Ferry and go back to “the Jersey side” for dinner.

The ride back across the Hudson was every bit as magical as the earlier ride to the City had been. Earlier, the City had been transformed into shades of pinks and golds as the windows on the magnificent skyscrapers reflected the sunset. Now it was bedecked and bedazzled with the flickering lights of man set against the velvety night sky. There is simply no other city like it. And indeed that view was the crown jewel topping off the evening.

By ten-thirty, we were seated in one of those wonderful diners for which New Jersey is famous enjoying being served by a waitress with a personality that was rivaled only by the rest of our evening! She added a whole new dimension to our experience earning her place as part of the memory. At some point, Barb and I found our tongues and our thoughts. I don’t know who started it but we sat there in that diner talking about the play. The perfect matching of costumes and set to the material. Plummer and Dennehey, the perfect matching of these two actors in the lead roles. And the cast, every bit up to the task of acting alongside and with these two astonishing men. We left the diner at after one in the morning. (Have I mentioned that it was perfect?)

I turned on the music as I headed south on the Parkway but turned it off again, wanting to relive the play. I remembered the endearing face of the woman who’d so sweetly said she hadn’t wanted it to be over yet… In the confines of my car, I finally answered her... Audibly. Me neither!


So, what does all this have to do with writing? Simply this: Performances like that, material like that, theaters, conversations, and audience reactions like that inspire me limitlessly. Someone wrote that wonderful, timeless play and these two brilliant men found it worthwhile enough to want to perform it. For a writer, there is no better validation.

Go see it!
Then email me…

Hurry!
CM

THE PERFECT MUSE (or... What to do with a Hill a' Beans!)

I'll share two more happenings that revolve (sort of) around British Actor Sean Bean's being an integral muse in my latest project. Two incidents that have indeed contributed to the huge amount of fun I am having with it, and then the topic of Bean really has to close. (He's taking over! Gotta nip that in the bud. I am a grown woman, not a silly schoolgirl. I will not obsess over some actor... even if he does have a voice that could melt the polar ice cap... I will not obsess. I will not. I will not. I will... not.)

Okay, I am teasing. I am not obsessing over an actor, although given some of the things I have read online lately, that does appear to make me somewhat of an oddball.

Anyway, my first tale is of something that happened between Steve and I. As you know, I'd downloaded some photos of Bean, three to be exact, to place on my storyboard and because I had decided to write longhand for a while, I decided to put one of them on the computer as my desktop wallpaper so it would be, uh, well, in my face. The shot was a very tight close up in which he is masterfully exhibiting a thoughtful sadness, a loneliness. His expression is perfectly in tune with the passage with which I am currently struggling. I am at a point where I must write a particularly heart-wrenching experience for Logan and I tend to rely upon outside stimuli for that type of thing rather than force myself to use my own life experiences to draw on emotionally. I still cry when I am writing it, but my tears are for the character, as I am avoiding the need to call upon painful memories of my own. This photograph was the last one I found. The one that brought about the EUREKA! reaction I wrote of in DISMUSED. (See: 3/07 entry, DISMUSED)

Now, my eight year old wandered in to my office looking for a book to read and to hang with mom. (I love when they do that...) As she curled up on the sofa and pulled the throw over herself, she glanced over to my computer, noticed the photo of Bean, and with an impish grin announced she was going to tell her father.

She didn't come back in, but Steve did.

Now, this is as good a time as any to point out that my Steve is the ultimate muse. He is and always has been my own personal Mac Dreamy. Standing at six foot, two with broad, muscular shoulders and a thirty-three inch waist, he is the epitome of "handsome and rugged". With piercing green eyes that can be so dark they sometimes look black, unusually smooth olive complected skin, thick wavy black hair with a touch of salt and pepper at the temples, and a deep raspy voice, Steve is truly the kind of man people write about.

And there is a lot to write.

Once you get past the titillating exterior there is so much more. Well-read, talented, artistic and creative, he is also a man of great integrity and character. His devotion to this family knows no bounds. First of all, he puts up with me and... that makes him admirable on so many levels! A world-class husband and dad, he is generous, affectionate, loving and ever available to the kids and me; a good example twenty-four, seven.

If you'll kindly excuse the expression, "a good citizen of the world", I'll throw that in the mix, too. I know it sounds cliché, but he really is. He cares, with all his heart, that what we leave for our children, by way of environment, politics, and religion is all that it can be and he unwaveringly leads our family in that pursuit. In addition to that, he is the kind of man to whom people naturally gravitate; everyone likes to be around him. He's extremely warm and approachable, lighthearted and easygoing. A quick wit, he's always at the ready with a handy quip or a full-fledged anecdote that could rival any stand-up comic out there. And while his humor and practical jokes are legendary amongst our family and friends, he can turn on a dime when someone needs help. Whenever there is trouble or need, Steve is always the first one on the scene and the last one to leave, selflessly lifting spirits, moving mountains, and offering support.

He consistently raises the bar for me and our kids in every arena, be it work, school, music, sports, volunteering... From simple every-day tasks like picking up after himself or partnering with me in tending to our gardens - to contributing to a positive outcome in the grand scheme of things by volunteering our family for Habitat of Humanity or stopping everything and packing us all up to help clean up New Orleans, he puts forth his best effort, and readily exposes his deepest feelings. The rest of us just naturally follow suit. I admire him, I look up to him, and I aspire to be like him -- even after all these years... And I know our kids feel the same way.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Now, as I said, our eight year old had gone to tattle that mommy had a picture of a man on her computer and it wasn't daddy.

The idea that Steve could have more than a little fun with this was not lost on him, not for a second. So in he comes all cute and nosy, looking to see who, what, where and why. He sashayed over to me at the desk and leaned in to share a sweet kiss while glancing sideways at the computer. "What goes on here?" he asked, hovering over me authoritatively.

Embarrassed, I leaned forward, crossed my arms over the screen to shield it from his glare, and feigned innocence, "Uh, Nothing... Nothing. It's nothing, just a picture of that actor... uh, what's-his-name."

"Whatshisname." Steve echoed sternly.

"Yeah, you know, that one I am using for my muse. Whatshisname. The British actor." My attempt at nonchalance was a miserable failure.

"Sean Bean." His tone was unreadable.

"Yes, yes; that's it. Bean." I didn't look at him because I knew he wasn't buying this act for a second.

He went on to say he did not know if he liked this Bean business, and it became apparent as he glanced around my office noting the three photos of the dashing actor on my story board, that my Stevie suddenly felt he had something to, uh, prove. ...So, he locked the door and we had ourselves a TIME. (Not that we aren't always having ourselves a Time, but this one was unexpected and particularly Fun.)

It's official: I must send our Mr. Bean a Thank you! Maybe I'll send one to his parents too...

- - - - - - - - - - - -

When Steve and I were fin... uh, afterward, I cooed something about removing the photo of Bean from my desktop and replacing it with the one of the two of us that had been there before. He stretched, wrapped his arms around me and laughed, saying there was no need; he knew Bean was no threat to him. I liked that.

He was right...

___________________

The Second Story is much shorter. Although it is no less fun for the eleven of us, here in the land of Awwwwwwww's.

My online searches for photographs of Bean had led me to several sites built in his honor. And I have indeed communicated with some of the frequent visitors there who have been more than gracious in offering information that assisted me in ultimately locating the shots I chose.

Last week I received an email from one of these women asking me if I owned any of Bean's movies and if I would like the ones I did not already have. I responded that I did not have any at all, adding that I might be interested in borrowing a SHARPE or two - given that I had, once upon a time, enjoyed the books. Wasn't that nice of her...

Saturday, my UPS guy delivered a huge box.

With the exception of SHARPE'S CHALLENGE, which has apparently been released on DVD ONLY, I think this young woman has sent me everything he has ever done. From the entire SHARPE series to SILENT HILL, including TV appearances, interview/talk shows, guest shots and commercials - even commercials where he does a voice-over, there must be forty tapes... It seems she has recently, making partial use of a hefty tax refund, replaced all her VHS Bean with DVD Bean and I am the beneficiary of her efforts. How cool is THAT!

I asked Steve to build me a new shelf unit for my newly acquired Hill 'a Beans, but he hasn't answered me yet...

If I play my cards right, shelves or no, maybe he'll feel he has something to prove.

God bless you, Sean Bean, wherever you are!!

CM

Read some excerpts from BEHIND THE WALL