Seasons Change

It took a lot for me to say what I did. I am not certain it's all the god's honest truth, but in that moment it was what I was feeling, thinking and foreseeing in our possible futures. I guess the reason I blurted it out could be blamed on the hour of the night, or the amount of alcohol I consumed. But, the burning desire to tell you came from a longing to hear you, see you, touch you and a fear of losing you. I couldn't watch someone come in and sweep you away from me. Not only as a jealous "possible" love interest but as your friend. A good friend. I know you so well. He will come in a sweep you away from this life. From this life of shared sodas and music critiques. From this life of twisted arms to venture to the next watering hole or stay even though we are drenched. Do you or anyone else for that matter realize that we abandon so many people for one other person. I know friends til the end, and friendships prevail. But, how can you move forward or on with this new person if I am not a part of it too...at least in some way?

I wished I could sweep all my control issues under the rug and let it all unfold in fate's hands. But, this is who I am. Control. Direction. Constantly in tune. You must know this by now. I wished I didn't care about your choices in life and your future. I wished I did not always think I was right about them. I don't know what's right for you, but for some reason I often think I do. I see things in you that I am not certain you see in yourself. Hence the contrived and manipulative demeanor your sometimes choose to wear. Or, the innocent, confused traditionalist you convince yourself to be.

It's harder now for me to be brushed by your arm. To pretend I never let the words escape. I don't take any of it back. I don't know if any of it is real. I must say, for those tearful, impassioned hours I had some odd sense of hopefulness and self pride. But, now it's harder to look you in the eye. Now, I wonder what it will be like, look like, feel like a year from now.

We will all still be here when this is over. But, don't forget we are here now. We are here to share a soda and have our arms twisted.

Announcement

The show is over. And all future performances will be cancelled.

It all doesn't seem to matter anymore.

All the things I wished I had said or done.

I have so many ideas, thoughts, proposals, adventures planned in my mind that will never come to fruition.

That's because my external world is a reflection of my internal world. Which I won't elaborate on at this juncture.

That's because if I actually do anything I say I will do, I will be alone. I would leave the comfort of all of us who have so much to say about everything but little to do with anything. I don't want to be alone especially in my thoughts. I don't want to be different. I certainly don't want to feel segregated from other's. But, most of all, I don't want other's to feel that segregation from me.

So we continue to pedal beside each other. Sometimes going up hill just a bit faster than one. Sometimes one is sliding downhill ahead of me.

I drench myself in the camaraderie of others.

Please agree with me. Please believe with me. Please stay here with me. Please be with me.

So, I cancel my shows. I keep them locked inside my dreams. Dreams that can often feel like nightmares. Shows that will only make me a more difficult person. Shows that require too much from me and my audience.

The show is cancelled with no rain date decided.

Blossoming

This is a Monologue I wrote a few months ago...

(She kisses him on the cheek. And she turns sharply to walk down the entry gate to board the aircraft. Steve stands still at profile holding the soft pink teddy bear in his downstage hand. After a pregnant pause the lights fade and adjust back to single spot and Steve turns to speak to the audience.)

"And just like that, she was moving on. This little girl I had such a difficult time accepting as a young woman stepped onto the plane and, instantly, my life changed. My best friend, my buddy, my baby. Gone.

And, in her sentimental way, she hands me Calliope. This being her favorite stuffed bear as a child and a young girl. She hands me Calliope and what you didn’t hear when she leaned in to kiss her father good-bye was ‘you keep Calliope and remember you love me because I am the color of cherry blossoms.’

This was a phrase that I caught Callie saying one day when we visited the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. That must have been 1996, or 97. She was 6 going on 7. That’s right. We packed a lunch and some toys and some treats and I told her we were going to go tree climbing and flower picking. We get there with Calliope in tote and Callie is mesmerized by the pinkness of the trees. And, if you have ever been you understand what I am talking about. The pink hue from the trees gives every person who walks through the cherry tree lined path a rose complexion. I find a shady spot to lie down and let Callie and Calliope plan out their adventures. I propped myself up against the trunk of a tree and admired my little girl and her imagination.

I remember having one of many true realizations of just how lucky and grateful I was to have this beautiful child in my life. After a 6 year relationship that fell apart when I signed us up as a foster couple, I started to think I was never going to find a man who would want to have a child.

So, I dove in alone. Alone. And afraid. And then there was Callie. Callie is the result of my impulsive, passionate, dedicated nature. So, I sat there under those Cherry Trees in full bloom and watched Callie and Calliope exchange words about treasures and trails. Callie gave Calliope a very soft, high pitched voice to speak through. And, somewhere between burying the treasure and waiting for the prince to come Calliope (he picks up the bear and holds it to face him) looks at Callie and says in her given voice…’You love me because I am the color of Cherry Blossoms.'

And I cried. I cried with laughter and with overwhelming joy. And Callie walked over to me with her 6 going on 30 heart and mind and asked if I was sad that I wasn’t the color of Calliope. And I picked her up and squeezed her so tight and told her yes. Yes, I was sad that Calliope was a cherry blossom color and I wasn’t. But, I was also happy that Calliope loved Callie and Callie loved Calliope. For years, the cherry blossom color would be Callie’s favorite and I would continually tell her that I love her because she is the color of Cherry Blossoms. Almost every night when tucking in time came, in fact. There was a period where it wasn’t cute and she was too old for it, but eventually, it came around again.

Like today, when my daughter Callie, who I raised to be sentimental and sensitive and loving, hands Calliope over to my care and says (he turns his back on the audience and faces where the boarding gate was. He picks up the bear and has it wave good-bye.) I love you because you are the color of cherry blossoms. I love you because you are mine.