Measure in Love.

Musical Theatre has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember;

I started acting out the Wizard of Oz word for word from age 2;

I was acting in school plays by age 6;

I went to drama camp as a pre-teen and then became a drama counselor, then improv teacher than show director with the same program.

I am now their director of performing arts.

I have taught theatre to students from 3-18 and I am reminded, constantly, of what a gift it is to my life and to all people.

Being able to get up on stage, to speak proudly, to articulate, to project and to feel confidence in one’s voice is invaluable, and is something that I try to instill at a very young age.

Teaching drama affords me with the ability to teach life lessons almost every day.

For instance, last week while teaching Wicked a young girl asked why a man could possibly fall in love with a girl who is green.

This was like my dream come true; She handed me the bait and I took it and ran. I was able to teach to a class of young girls a lesson about tolerance, equality, self-love, and looking at people for who they are on the inside, and not judging by one’s looks.

But my students also teach me, as well.

They teach me every single day.

Today, as we rehearsed for a showcase performance that I will be directing on Friday, we go to talking about silly things like baby names and crazy costumes and the future.

I asked, “What do you guys want to be when you grow up?”

Without hesitation, one girl raised her hand and said, “A good person.”

***

This past year has been trying to say the least. We have had surgeries and sickness, break-ups and breakdowns, floods, fire engines and a lot of fear.

I think about this a lot–how hard this year has been–and sometimes I ask the universe “Why?”

It seems like so much for one family to handle. And the hard things keep piling on.

But yesterday something hit me. Something profound.

For our showcase on Friday, I am teaching my students Seasons of Love from my beloved Rent.

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Moments So Dear

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

Measure in love.

And I got to thinking that despite all of the sadness and pain of the past 12 months, if I were to measure the time in love, then this year was my very best. I was carried, literally and figuratively, by friends who became family. I saw just how lucky I am to have been born into the tribe that I call mine. I have not just one, but a whole list of people whom I could call at any time, day or night, who would come running to me. That’s love. That’s a lot of love.

Almost immeasurable love, I would say.

***

Drama class isn’t always filled with deep moments. It is silly and quirky and zany and fun. We play improvisation games where we flail ourselves around the stage and say things like “Zip, Zap, Zop”. We guess each others’ histories with “Two Truths and a Lie”. We overcome stage fright and self doubt. We bond. And, like today, we sometimes do really weird stuff…

as in there was a moment this afternoon during my teaching that I brought up that my feet a) do not smell at all and b) are not ticklish. My students did not believe me. I happened to have been wearing sneakers with no socks. I took off my shoe and offered it to their little noses. One brave student took a whiff. Nothing. She couldn’t believe it. She handed it to the next girl. Their jaws dropped.

“See!” I said. “My feet don’t smell at all!”

And then I let them tickle my feet for further proof.

And this stuff is weird stuff! But it’s part of being in theatre.

Theatre is family.

***

Yesterday, I had my students write their own monologues. They have had extensive experience performing real monologues by this point, so I thought it would be a great exercise to have them write their own. I told them it could be about anything that they wanted.

One of my students, a returning camper, wrote her monologue about how two weeks ago she would never have had the confidence to step up on stage, but because of our class she now feels like she can do anything. If that isn’t success, than I don’t know what is.

That is love. If I were to measure it, I would say that’s a whole darn lot.

***

I think about the question I asked today to my kids, about what they would like to be when they grew up. And I realize now that I am doing exactly what I always dreamed of. I am writing and directing shows, I am teaching kids about musical theatre and I am giving them confidence and life lessons.

And I am being a good person, just like that little girl said.

And I am being surrounded by the best people.

How do you measure, measure a year?

Measure in love.

And I feel that love. I feel it every day.

You might even say that this summer is a Season of it.

And there is no acting about it. None at all.

Kindness

I’ve written before on acts of loving kindness . I believe that we should all try to be nice and do good when possible.
Today, while on our breather , I found someone who shares in my sentiment in a most beautiful way.

A woman who lives in Newtown, CT, the sight of the horrific Sandy Hook elementary shootings, started a project in which she makes bracelets that remind you to be kind. They are beaded, and every time you do a kind act during the day, you move a bead over.
I love this idea. I also love anything that is beaded and rainbow/stands for compassion and equality.
Kindness. You should try it.

On Peace.

This afternoon, on a walk down our street, my daughter held her two fingers in the air

(as she has been known to do)

and said, “Peace, man.”

To whom, I don’t know. I like to think it was to every man. But that’s just me.

And her gesture got me thinking about words

and concepts

like peace

and equality

and how I will teach these things to my little member of the future.

And what a coincidence it is that this very month last year

I attempted my very first lesson to her.

Remember this?

She may not,

but I always will.

As my daughter’s baby steps have turned into confident strides,

I hope that our country-

our world-

will follow her lead.

For if she can hold up her hands and wish for peace,

why the heck can’t everyone else?

 

 

By the way, in case I forgot to mention it,

It is my hope that when my daughter is in high school, she looks back on this photo and groans;

not because she is embarrassed that she lived with a mother who dressed her up for rainbow colored photo opps,

but because she is embarrassed to have lived in a country where equality was, at one time, not a right, but a privilege,

and where love was not, in fact, all that one needed.

I hope that someday soon we all look back on this picture and groan,

at this victory, both enormous and minute,

as we remember a time when this country still had a lot of growing up to do.

So here’s to love, marriage, babies and equality for all,

and may peace be with you.

 

four eyes

Last week, we found out that our sweet girl needs glasses.

She is quite farsighted, in fact.

She was having trouble reading her T.S. Elliot Poems at bedtime, so I decided to have her eyes checked.

Oh. You know I’m kidding. She can read Preludes just fine. It’s her daddy’s car magazines that she’s having trouble wading through. I don’t blame her, actually.

In any case, we started to notice her eye turning in,

which happens to be exactly what happened to my mom at 3 years old

and my sister at 2 years old,

so we took her to a wonderful eye doctor and low and behold my baby needs glasses.

This news rocked me.

The rational, sensible, adult part of me accepted it with a smile,

while every other part of me was screaming “No! I don’t want them!”

They’re just glasses. Many people (including many people I love) have them.

But, to me, they’re a (n albeit small) challenge for her. They will, as my best friend said, make life only 1% more difficult for her, but that’s 1% more than I’m comfortable with.

And so, I’m looking inward, mustering up all of my strength, and trying to cope with this situation with a sound mind

and clear eyes.

All four of them.

There’s my one eye,

my scared eye,

that worries for her. Will this make life hard for her? Will she be sad that she can’t just jump in the pool without worrying about being able to see in the water? Will her eyes get worse? Will she feel bad about being the only kid in preschool with glasses on her face? Will she resent her glasses? Will they make her cry? Worse, will other kids make her cry?

And then, there’s my shallow eye.

My eye that sees my daughter, my beautiful, precious little girl, with the most perfect angel face, and the most soulful “Atlantic Ocean eyes” and thick, long black lashes, that will now be covered in a pair of little wire frames. Will the lenses distort her eyes? When people look at her, will they see only glasses? Will she only be known as the girl with the glasses? Will she be “cute, despite” them? Why do I care? Why can’t I get past this?

And then there’s my ashamed eye.

I’m the one who celebrates differences. I am the one who stands up for equality and tolerance. I am the one who preaches about acceptance and beauty that comes from the inside out. And yet, I am the one who is worried about the way my daughter will feel and look and think. I’m the one, who when I am being really, deeply candid, cares what other people will think. I am ashamed to say this, but it is the truth.

And then there’s my grateful eye. The eye that sees, so vividly, how lucky we are. We have a problem that has a solution (as my dear colleague reminded me yesterday). So what. They’re glasses. They will help her to see. We have a great doctor, and wonderful friends, and the resources to buy her whatever glasses she chooses. She has a tiny problem. Her problem has a cure. For that, I feel so very blessed.

Four eyes, all in conflict inside of me, sitting together like a lead weight in my gut as I stare at my little girl, and want only the easiest, most perfect, happy life for her. When I ask my sister, who has been wearing glasses for over 20 years, if she ever felt bad about herself because of her glasses she laughs, and reminds me of how cute she was.

She was known as the girl with the big, red Mickey Mouse glasses,

but also as the girl who woke up whistling because she was so happy,

and who always was surrounded by friends

and boyfriends

and was showered with more love than she knew what to do with.

And so, I’m going to try my very best to quiet my worries,

to assuage my anxieties,

and to keep on showering my baby with all of the love that I can muster.

I am going to look into her eyes,

now magnified by her tiny lenses,

and tell her how beautiful she is,

how smart she is,

how everyone who meets her loves her,

and how she makes my heart sing.

How proud of her I am.

How I cherish every part of her,

including all four of her cute, little eyes.

And, I am going to continue to give her as many bites of my Key Lime Pie gelato as she likes.

Yes, from here on out it’s eyes bright, heart light and glass(es) half full.