Posts
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Basic Routine Brings Order During Quarantine
I find that having a basic routine helps to shape my day. The routine, however simple it may be, has brought a modicum of stability and control to my life during this open-ended COVID-19 Pandemic.
MORNING ROUTINE:
1. Wake 6:30 a.m. I set an alarm each night so I don't sleep too late. When I sleep too late, I languish and can spend hours in bed, reading the LA Times, The New York Times, The Washington Post, CNN alerts, Twitter and LinkedIn. The more news I read, the more my addiction to news takes over. The more my addiction takes over, the more my anxiety level increases. It's a vicious cycle!
2. Get out of bed.
3. Go to kitchen. Turn on the coffee.
4. Feed the cats while the coffee drips through. Yes, we still drink drip coffee. No pods in this household. I love the smell of fresh coffee!
5. Open the shades to greet the day.
6. Select a coffee mug. I have a large assortment. The ritual of choosing my coffee mug makes me happy because each one reminds me of some place I've been or of the person who gave it to me.
7. Pour coffee.
8. Journal. My daily practice is to write something every day. These days, I begin every entry with the date, followed by Pandemic day # sheltering in place.
9. Write for 20 minutes.
10. Read NY Times morning briefing.
11. Gentle Yoga. Three times a week.
12. Shower.
13. Personal Care: This may include washing my hair, blow drying my hair, plucking my eyebrows if needed and applying face cream and sunblock. I do this most days so I don't descend into feeling like a slug.
14. Make the bed. This helps me start and end each day with some order.
15. Eat breakfast. Yogurt with granola.
16. Go to work. This means remote teaching while school is in session, Zoom rehearsals or finding a personal creative outlet like writing, watching a webinar, reading or improving my technical skills.
17. Eat lunch.
18. Go back to work. (See # 16)
19. Take a walk. Wear mask.
EVENING ROUTINE:
20. Prep dinner. In my household, cooking for four people has been a blessing. I love to cook so meal preparation brings me joy. I've experimented with a lot of new recipes and have fixed more versions of chili than I care to admit.
21. Glass of wine. Yes. This has become a routine. We have separated our wine into weekday and weekend selections to reserve the good stuff for weekends only. It's a thing now.
22. Eat dinner together. This has become a nightly ritual. We come from our various corners, out from behind our doors, computer screens and devices to have real "face time."
23. Play Mexican Train dominoes. This game has become a favorite. It's great because you can pick it back up in subsequent rounds.
24. Clean and sanitize kitchen.
25. Get ready for bed.
26. Sit in my chair. This may seem silly but I love my chair. It makes me happy.
27. Watch Netflix, Amazon or something on television. I've now finished Ozark and UnOrthodox. We are currently watching Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Season 2 of Mozart in the Jungle and SGN when there's a new episode.
28. Watch Chris Cuomo on CNN. Need to check in on him each night to see how he's doing.
29. Switch to Frasier.
30. Go to sleep by 11:00
Other Rules:
Do not compare myself with others.
Stay in touch with friends and family.
Pray.
Do not judge my productivity level.
Be kind.
Walk away when the tension gets too much.
Be grateful.
Look for the positives.
Embrace technology don't resist it.
Maintain Beginner's mind.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Thoughts on Passover, Easter, Postponements and a Pandemic
It is Passover. It is Holy Week. We are quarantined in our homes. Life as we knew it has come to a screeching halt. Everything has changed and no one can reliably predict the future. We have come to a collective pause in our daily lives. There is fear, uncertainty, anxiety, grief, disappointment, disbelief. What we first described as surreal has shifted to a new reality. There is suffering. There is loss. There is tension. We are stuck. Sheltered in houses, apartments, rooms, ships, hotels, camps. We are with family, friends, neighbors, strangers. Or we are alone. We are changing our behavior. Socially distanced we are FaceTiming and Zooming. Between virtual happy hours we are sanitizing, washing, wiping, scrubbing, singing the alphabet. We are wearing masks and gloves. Our cars sit idol. Our bills are piling up. We are unsure how the mortgage or the rent will be paid. We are furloughed, laid off, unemployed. We watch CNN, the Cuomo brothers, Netflix. We order groceries online that are dropped at our door by complete strangers - shoppers who text us from the store with reports of empty shelves and no toilet paper. Instacart. Ship't. Amazon. We try to contain our panic. We wipe down our plastic containers and cans. Reusable grocery bags sit unused in our trunks. We mix our Clorox water and spray it on our kitchen counters allowing it to sit for ten minutes to kill the virus. A new way of counting...dwell time. We are baking bread and creating menus with what we have in the pantry or freezer.
We read the New York Times, The Washington Post, The LA Times and watch the numbers of COVID-19 cases and deaths climb - hoping that we will see a graph that tells us that we are "flattening the curve" - a phrase that entered our vernacular only weeks ago. We bang pots and pans out windows to celebrate the brave warriors on the front line of this pandemic - doctors, nurses, healthcare workers, grocery store clerks, delivery people. Schools are closed. Teachers are scrambling to instantly convert to online learning platforms. Technology is providing connection and consternation.
High school musicals, sports seasons and the olympics are postponed or canceled. Weddings, funerals, and graduations are on hold. Broadway is dark. Restaurants and bars are closed. Parks, paths, beaches are shut down and guarded. The class of 2020 is watching their senior year evaporate.
It's Passover.
I think about the Frank family. The annex. Anne. Her diary. Living day in and day out shut away from the world hoping that things would eventually get back to normal...dependent on the courage and kindness of Miep and others who risked their lives to protect them.
I think about the Warsaw Ghetto, Dachau, Bergen- Belsen, Auschwitz and Terezin where art, music and the human spirit thrived in the midst of unimaginable horror. I listen to the story of Exodus from the Old Testament. The seven plagues. The poignancy of the re-telling in the midst of a modern plague reminds me that throughout history there has always been suffering, sacrifice and hope for deliverance.
It is Holy week. The holiest season in the liturgical calendar for Catholics. I am reminded that the story does not end in the tomb. There is hope for resurrection, transformation and "new" life.
The ancient rituals and festivals of spring contain the same message of renewal.
This pandemic will pass.
How this will shape us is left to be seen. My mother's father died in the 1918 flu. She grew up during the depression, lived through WWII and nursed her son during the AIDS epidemic. She hoarded canned goods, kept her gas tank full and hammered into my head to always take a sweater. Through her dementia at ninety, she still asked me, "do you need anything?"
Tragedy and suffering need not crush us but as the saying goes, "it's not what happens to you it's how you respond to what happens to you that matters."
Anne hoped for freedom and liberation. I would argue that she had it in the annex despite her circumstances because she created it. Her diary contains no passages of self-pity for what she was missing out on.
Teenagers today could draw great strength from re-reading The Diary of Anne Frank.
Look to the ancestors. Remember the stories. Draw strength from their fortitude.
How will this shape us? Let me rephrase.
Decide to shape this into a story from which our great, great, great grandchildren will draw strength.
It is our turn.
Next year in Jerusalem.
Hope.
We read the New York Times, The Washington Post, The LA Times and watch the numbers of COVID-19 cases and deaths climb - hoping that we will see a graph that tells us that we are "flattening the curve" - a phrase that entered our vernacular only weeks ago. We bang pots and pans out windows to celebrate the brave warriors on the front line of this pandemic - doctors, nurses, healthcare workers, grocery store clerks, delivery people. Schools are closed. Teachers are scrambling to instantly convert to online learning platforms. Technology is providing connection and consternation.
High school musicals, sports seasons and the olympics are postponed or canceled. Weddings, funerals, and graduations are on hold. Broadway is dark. Restaurants and bars are closed. Parks, paths, beaches are shut down and guarded. The class of 2020 is watching their senior year evaporate.
It's Passover.
I think about the Frank family. The annex. Anne. Her diary. Living day in and day out shut away from the world hoping that things would eventually get back to normal...dependent on the courage and kindness of Miep and others who risked their lives to protect them.
I think about the Warsaw Ghetto, Dachau, Bergen- Belsen, Auschwitz and Terezin where art, music and the human spirit thrived in the midst of unimaginable horror. I listen to the story of Exodus from the Old Testament. The seven plagues. The poignancy of the re-telling in the midst of a modern plague reminds me that throughout history there has always been suffering, sacrifice and hope for deliverance.
It is Holy week. The holiest season in the liturgical calendar for Catholics. I am reminded that the story does not end in the tomb. There is hope for resurrection, transformation and "new" life.
The ancient rituals and festivals of spring contain the same message of renewal.
This pandemic will pass.
How this will shape us is left to be seen. My mother's father died in the 1918 flu. She grew up during the depression, lived through WWII and nursed her son during the AIDS epidemic. She hoarded canned goods, kept her gas tank full and hammered into my head to always take a sweater. Through her dementia at ninety, she still asked me, "do you need anything?"
Tragedy and suffering need not crush us but as the saying goes, "it's not what happens to you it's how you respond to what happens to you that matters."
Anne hoped for freedom and liberation. I would argue that she had it in the annex despite her circumstances because she created it. Her diary contains no passages of self-pity for what she was missing out on.
Teenagers today could draw great strength from re-reading The Diary of Anne Frank.
Look to the ancestors. Remember the stories. Draw strength from their fortitude.
How will this shape us? Let me rephrase.
Decide to shape this into a story from which our great, great, great grandchildren will draw strength.
It is our turn.
Next year in Jerusalem.
Hope.
Friday, October 12, 2018
Kidney Stones and Sepsis A Rocky Road to Healthy Living
"You could die from this."
The only response I could think of was, "Okay."
What else could I say?
After the third time a doctor said, "You could die from this," I finally came up with another response. "But I won't die because I'm here."
Here was in the ER. The doctor rolled his low stool up closer to me and with great earnestness as if trying to impress upon me the seriousness of the situation, he said, "You have a blood infection. What this means is you are sicker than the average bear."
"Okay," I again responded.
"You have an infection from the top of your head to the tip of your toes running through your body. It's really ugly bacteria."
"Okay," I said.
"We're going to admit you."
"Well I expect so!" I responded.
Was I in denial?
Yes.
Did I fully grasp the danger?
No.
I'd had kidney stones at least twenty times in my life. Only one had led to a kidney infection in the past. But this time, that little ball of calcium oxalate had done a number on me. Kidney infection. Violent chills. Fever. Body ache. It was bad. I'd called my urologist who told me to go immediately to ER.
"Any time you have a fever with kidney stone that indicates an infection" he said.
My husband drove me immediately to the ER.
After the normal protocol, pain meds, fluids and a CT Scan, they told me I'd passed the stone but that my kidney was very inflamed and infected. They sent me home with a prescription for antibiotics, 600 mg of ibuprofen and instructions to drink lots of water.
I had no idea until the hospital called me the next morning to tell me that my blood culture showed that the kidney infection had led to Sepsis.
I wasn't scared.
Five days in the hospital. Round the clock antibiotics. Lots of attention from the staff.
A bout with bi-lateral atelectasis - collapsed lungs and pleurisy - concerned me more than the infection. I couldn't take a deep breath. "I could die from this," I thought. Not being able to breathe was scary.
I was released with doctor's orders to stay home for two weeks. No strenuous activity. No driving. Oral antibiotics. A breathing mechanism for my lungs.
My legs stopped working right. They felt like lead. My gait was odd. My joints stiffened. My fatigue level was off the charts. I had absolutely no energy. I suffered from insomnia. I was teary and depressed. The post-Sepsis recovery did scare me. The possibility of relapse was real. That scared me.
As I began to research Sepsis recovery, I began to realize how serious my illness was. People have since told me all kinds of stories about people they knew who had died from Sepsis.
It has taken me over a month to start feeling somewhat normal. My energy level and stamina are not at full throttle. I don't feel like the same person. There is a distinct sense of the before Sepsis me and the after Sepsis me. It is a demarkation. A re-set. A wake up call.
I've never been in denial about mortality or so I'd thought. But the truth is, I don't think I had ever seriously thought about dying. My body had done something surprising to me and I still can't quite grasp that. I've had so many kidney stones that I'd come to accept it as just a chronic condition. But never had I thought that a kidney stone could kill me.
This was a wake up call. But it was not about appreciating life more or living each day to the fullest. No bucket lists. This wake up call was about my health.
I began researching kidney stone prevention. I found that my condition is considered kidney stone disease. After taking a twenty-four hour urine test, I found that I have high levels of calcium oxalate and uric acid and low levels of citrate.
Diet and life style changes are required. It's never easy to restrict one's diet - but this time, it feels like life or death. I never want to get another stone and I never, ever want to risk a kidney infection or Sepsis.
I didn't fully grasp while I was in the hospital what was happening to my body. But I do now. I'm taking kidney stone prevention seriously. Low oxalate diet. 2 liters of water a day. Lower sodium. Lemon in my water. 24 hour urine test every few months.
I found an online course called the kidney stone prevention course https://jillharriscoaching.com
When I went in to my doctor for a follow up, I took a list of questions I'd gleaned from this course and everything panned out. He took my questions seriously and responded to each one. I feel like I am both well informed and in control of health care.
So to anyone reading this who may have a similar condition, take it seriously. Do your homework. Listen to your body. If you have a fever with kidney stone pain, go to the ER immediately because you could die from this.
Okay? Okay.
The only response I could think of was, "Okay."
What else could I say?
After the third time a doctor said, "You could die from this," I finally came up with another response. "But I won't die because I'm here."
Here was in the ER. The doctor rolled his low stool up closer to me and with great earnestness as if trying to impress upon me the seriousness of the situation, he said, "You have a blood infection. What this means is you are sicker than the average bear."
"Okay," I again responded.
"You have an infection from the top of your head to the tip of your toes running through your body. It's really ugly bacteria."
"Okay," I said.
"We're going to admit you."
"Well I expect so!" I responded.
Was I in denial?
Yes.
Did I fully grasp the danger?
No.
I'd had kidney stones at least twenty times in my life. Only one had led to a kidney infection in the past. But this time, that little ball of calcium oxalate had done a number on me. Kidney infection. Violent chills. Fever. Body ache. It was bad. I'd called my urologist who told me to go immediately to ER.
"Any time you have a fever with kidney stone that indicates an infection" he said.
My husband drove me immediately to the ER.
After the normal protocol, pain meds, fluids and a CT Scan, they told me I'd passed the stone but that my kidney was very inflamed and infected. They sent me home with a prescription for antibiotics, 600 mg of ibuprofen and instructions to drink lots of water.
I had no idea until the hospital called me the next morning to tell me that my blood culture showed that the kidney infection had led to Sepsis.
I wasn't scared.
Five days in the hospital. Round the clock antibiotics. Lots of attention from the staff.
A bout with bi-lateral atelectasis - collapsed lungs and pleurisy - concerned me more than the infection. I couldn't take a deep breath. "I could die from this," I thought. Not being able to breathe was scary.
I was released with doctor's orders to stay home for two weeks. No strenuous activity. No driving. Oral antibiotics. A breathing mechanism for my lungs.
My legs stopped working right. They felt like lead. My gait was odd. My joints stiffened. My fatigue level was off the charts. I had absolutely no energy. I suffered from insomnia. I was teary and depressed. The post-Sepsis recovery did scare me. The possibility of relapse was real. That scared me.
As I began to research Sepsis recovery, I began to realize how serious my illness was. People have since told me all kinds of stories about people they knew who had died from Sepsis.
It has taken me over a month to start feeling somewhat normal. My energy level and stamina are not at full throttle. I don't feel like the same person. There is a distinct sense of the before Sepsis me and the after Sepsis me. It is a demarkation. A re-set. A wake up call.
I've never been in denial about mortality or so I'd thought. But the truth is, I don't think I had ever seriously thought about dying. My body had done something surprising to me and I still can't quite grasp that. I've had so many kidney stones that I'd come to accept it as just a chronic condition. But never had I thought that a kidney stone could kill me.
This was a wake up call. But it was not about appreciating life more or living each day to the fullest. No bucket lists. This wake up call was about my health.
I began researching kidney stone prevention. I found that my condition is considered kidney stone disease. After taking a twenty-four hour urine test, I found that I have high levels of calcium oxalate and uric acid and low levels of citrate.
Diet and life style changes are required. It's never easy to restrict one's diet - but this time, it feels like life or death. I never want to get another stone and I never, ever want to risk a kidney infection or Sepsis.
I didn't fully grasp while I was in the hospital what was happening to my body. But I do now. I'm taking kidney stone prevention seriously. Low oxalate diet. 2 liters of water a day. Lower sodium. Lemon in my water. 24 hour urine test every few months.
I found an online course called the kidney stone prevention course https://jillharriscoaching.com
When I went in to my doctor for a follow up, I took a list of questions I'd gleaned from this course and everything panned out. He took my questions seriously and responded to each one. I feel like I am both well informed and in control of health care.
So to anyone reading this who may have a similar condition, take it seriously. Do your homework. Listen to your body. If you have a fever with kidney stone pain, go to the ER immediately because you could die from this.
Okay? Okay.
Friday, September 21, 2018
One Hundred and Two
You were born 102 years ago.
Elsie Vera Reid.
September 21, 1916
The Last Rose of Summer.
Panama Canal Zone.
Ga Ga
Big Stuff
Tomato Face
Els
The Little White Haired Lady
You had a lot of nick names...
but to me you were
Mom
Mama
Mother
in that order.
Mama, I've spent a lot of time thinking about you today.
How is it possible that I could miss you so much when you've been gone for eleven years?
Maybe because I had you for forty-eight.
That's a long time in our family.
I only had Daddy for twenty-two years.
My brother for thirty-five.
You outlived them both.
I see you.
In your station wagon.
At the bank.
At your desk at 608.
On the couch at 509.
On the lounge chair by the pool.
At the bar in the den.
On the floor when you heard Daddy had died.
By Bob's hospital bed as he lay dying.
Next to me when I was a little girl, stroking my arm.
Holding my children in the kitchen at 408.
Sitting in your car waiting to pick them up from school.
With each passing year I realize your strength.
I admire your courage.
I respect your honesty.
I see your point.
I'm sorry I never told you that, Mama.
Sure you were tough.
Fierce.
Protective.
Exacting.
Difficult.
True.
You were a survivor because you had to be.
And that DNA, thankfully, you passed on to me.
Do we ever really know our mothers?
I don't think so.
Mothers are unknowable.
They always fall short in our eyes.
They don't understand us.
They don't know how to listen.
They don't know what to say .
They fail us.
Inevitably in some way
they fail us.
And we are too selfish to understand that it doesn't matter.
So in turn
we hurt our mothers.
We reject
avoid
ignore
punish
blame.
We waist precious time being angry with our mothers and forget we won't always have them.
But mothers are
Resilient
Patient
Forgiving
Unconditional.
That is their true strength.
On this, your 102nd birthday,
Mom
Mama
Mother
I honor you.
I salute you.
I thank you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I remember you.
A bouquet of gratitude -
one hundred and two roses for Elsie Vera.
Mama.
Elsie Vera Reid.
September 21, 1916
The Last Rose of Summer.
Panama Canal Zone.
Ga Ga
Big Stuff
Tomato Face
Els
The Little White Haired Lady
You had a lot of nick names...
but to me you were
Mom
Mama
Mother
in that order.
Mama, I've spent a lot of time thinking about you today.
How is it possible that I could miss you so much when you've been gone for eleven years?
Maybe because I had you for forty-eight.
That's a long time in our family.
I only had Daddy for twenty-two years.
My brother for thirty-five.
You outlived them both.
I see you.
In your station wagon.
At the bank.
At your desk at 608.
On the couch at 509.
On the lounge chair by the pool.
At the bar in the den.
On the floor when you heard Daddy had died.
By Bob's hospital bed as he lay dying.
Next to me when I was a little girl, stroking my arm.
Holding my children in the kitchen at 408.
Sitting in your car waiting to pick them up from school.
With each passing year I realize your strength.
I admire your courage.
I respect your honesty.
I see your point.
I'm sorry I never told you that, Mama.
Sure you were tough.
Fierce.
Protective.
Exacting.
Difficult.
True.
You were a survivor because you had to be.
And that DNA, thankfully, you passed on to me.
Do we ever really know our mothers?
I don't think so.
Mothers are unknowable.
They always fall short in our eyes.
They don't understand us.
They don't know how to listen.
They don't know what to say .
They fail us.
Inevitably in some way
they fail us.
And we are too selfish to understand that it doesn't matter.
So in turn
we hurt our mothers.
We reject
avoid
ignore
punish
blame.
We waist precious time being angry with our mothers and forget we won't always have them.
But mothers are
Resilient
Patient
Forgiving
Unconditional.
That is their true strength.
On this, your 102nd birthday,
Mom
Mama
Mother
I honor you.
I salute you.
I thank you.
I love you.
I miss you.
I remember you.
A bouquet of gratitude -
one hundred and two roses for Elsie Vera.
Mama.
Thursday, December 21, 2017
The Art of Remembering Memoir Workshop
Join me on March 3rd for a one day "Art of Remembering" Workshop at Cuesta College. The central coast is an inspiring location for writers. Isn't it time to tell your story? Let's get started! Go to this link to enroll. Your life is your journey. Your journey is your story. Your story is your legacy.
http://cuesta.edu/communityprograms/community-education/writing_publishing/art-of-remembering.html
http://cuesta.edu/communityprograms/community-education/writing_publishing/art-of-remembering.html
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Directorial Musings....Fun Home
"And yet...."
Two words that say there is something else. Something unsaid. Something unknown. I marvel at the power of a well conceived lyric.
In listening to the musical FUN HOME I am even more impressed with the writing and the score by Lisa Kron and Jeanine Tesori. Fragments of memory are effectively woven and expressed through a musical motif that evokes yearning and remembering. Phrasing, unfinished sentences, thoughts only partially spoken out loud. A void, a space, a pause, an emptiness as deep as a cavern. But we know what is unsayable and we wait and watch until the characters can finally say it.
This show continues to resonate with me. In listening to it I hear a stress, a tension, a self-consciousness that is palpable in the character of Bruce. He sounds like someone always on the brink of exploding. It is wrenching. This is material that the author Alison Bechdel knows so well. That may seem obvious, but plenty of families choose to pretend, ignore, and deny. It takes guts to look at the truth of one's family and Bechdel does it with honesty and humor.
Each character in FUN HOME is well developed and achingly restrained. A perfect blend of book, score, direction and writing. I haven't been this captivated by a musical since I saw NEXT TO NORMAL. I am drawn to complex texts with layers of subtext and characters with complicated relationships. Denial, secrecy, choice, discovery, and revelation are powerful storylines. The skill with which the creators of FUN HOME tell the story is truly admirable. The narrative structure is clever without being contrived. Clearly, this is a musical that will stand the test of time. It instantly imprinted on my psyche the way Sondheim's INTO THE WOODS did. Audience members will focus on different aspects of the storyline and be moved by each in their own way based on their own context. There is plenty to mine in this story. The fact that I'm still thinking about it days after seeing it and am analyzing its structure, relationships, and characters, I know it has made a significant impact on me. For that, I am grateful and inspired.
Two words that say there is something else. Something unsaid. Something unknown. I marvel at the power of a well conceived lyric.
In listening to the musical FUN HOME I am even more impressed with the writing and the score by Lisa Kron and Jeanine Tesori. Fragments of memory are effectively woven and expressed through a musical motif that evokes yearning and remembering. Phrasing, unfinished sentences, thoughts only partially spoken out loud. A void, a space, a pause, an emptiness as deep as a cavern. But we know what is unsayable and we wait and watch until the characters can finally say it.
This show continues to resonate with me. In listening to it I hear a stress, a tension, a self-consciousness that is palpable in the character of Bruce. He sounds like someone always on the brink of exploding. It is wrenching. This is material that the author Alison Bechdel knows so well. That may seem obvious, but plenty of families choose to pretend, ignore, and deny. It takes guts to look at the truth of one's family and Bechdel does it with honesty and humor.
Each character in FUN HOME is well developed and achingly restrained. A perfect blend of book, score, direction and writing. I haven't been this captivated by a musical since I saw NEXT TO NORMAL. I am drawn to complex texts with layers of subtext and characters with complicated relationships. Denial, secrecy, choice, discovery, and revelation are powerful storylines. The skill with which the creators of FUN HOME tell the story is truly admirable. The narrative structure is clever without being contrived. Clearly, this is a musical that will stand the test of time. It instantly imprinted on my psyche the way Sondheim's INTO THE WOODS did. Audience members will focus on different aspects of the storyline and be moved by each in their own way based on their own context. There is plenty to mine in this story. The fact that I'm still thinking about it days after seeing it and am analyzing its structure, relationships, and characters, I know it has made a significant impact on me. For that, I am grateful and inspired.
Monday, March 6, 2017
The Witness
The musical Fun Home is not my story. But fragments of it are so familiar, so recognizable and so achingly painful that I sat in the theatre alone, spellbound and speechless. People next to me, in front of me, sighing, subtly, audibly reacting to the utterly precise lines and lyrics - I felt conspicuous in my otherness, perhaps even a bit resentful that my story is hidden between the lines as is so often the case with bystanders. I am glad I went by myself because it gave me a chance to sit with my own memories, questions, grief, anger, revelation without needing to talk to anyone. Fun Home helped me see how our lives are revealed to us over time by piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of experiences that fit in to place only with time and truth. It also reminded me that it is impossible for children to know who their parents are and even when they think they do, they don't. No one can know without understanding the context of the times and the circumstances that motivated their choices, behaviors, and mistakes.
Weaving my way through the complexity of my family's story has left me story-less. It is as if my story is the story of piecing together their story like a reporter or a witness. Watching Fun Home made me ask myself, "What is my story?"
I am tired of being the narrator. I want to be the protagonist. But I've been overshadowed by the drama of stories much weightier than my own. I've spent years unpacking my family's mythology. I've seen first hand the ravages of repression and the tragedy of denial, silence, secrets, lies, loyalty and love. There is very little I've not thought about, journaled about, analyzed, and processed. Since I was twenty-two, I've been sifting through the rubble, looking for meaning and seeking understanding. My story is not my mother's. It is not my father's. It is not my brother's. My story is not about sexual identity. It is not about AIDS. It is not about running away at fifty. My story so far has been a reaction to those stories. As the author, Deena Metzger says, "We must come to know our own story." For years, I've been telling everyone else's. Fun Home made me see that I must find my own story, and tell it unflinchingly.
Weaving my way through the complexity of my family's story has left me story-less. It is as if my story is the story of piecing together their story like a reporter or a witness. Watching Fun Home made me ask myself, "What is my story?"
I am tired of being the narrator. I want to be the protagonist. But I've been overshadowed by the drama of stories much weightier than my own. I've spent years unpacking my family's mythology. I've seen first hand the ravages of repression and the tragedy of denial, silence, secrets, lies, loyalty and love. There is very little I've not thought about, journaled about, analyzed, and processed. Since I was twenty-two, I've been sifting through the rubble, looking for meaning and seeking understanding. My story is not my mother's. It is not my father's. It is not my brother's. My story is not about sexual identity. It is not about AIDS. It is not about running away at fifty. My story so far has been a reaction to those stories. As the author, Deena Metzger says, "We must come to know our own story." For years, I've been telling everyone else's. Fun Home made me see that I must find my own story, and tell it unflinchingly.
"I want to know what's true
Dig deep into who
And what and why and when
Until now gives way to then."
(From Fun Home)
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