Happy May Day from 1985 to 2013

1985 Ann listed "May Day" as one of the top four best holidays... right behind Valentine's Day (or is it Ann's Day - hard to tell).  Valentine's Day?  Seriously?  Obviously 1985 Ann never met 1999 Ann or 2005 Ann or 2011 Ann or... I mean, really, where were my priorities?  Also what, pray tell, is a "Bathday Party?"... Cause I totally wanna have one this weekend.

Memorializing My Other Mother

"Beware the Ides of March," my mother wrote in a text message. Every year, I receive these words from my Mother in some form or another... a text, an email, a phone call. My mother was a Latin teacher for 33 years. Old habits die hard.

Turns out people die too.

"Jane's gone," I wrote back.

It's almost fitting that March 15th was the day of her departing. Also a Latin teacher for many years, and the wife of a Classics professor, Jane, "My Other Mother," would have appreciated the irony.

"If I had to go, that's as good a day as any!" I can hear her saying to God.

Truth be told, it is us, those she left behind, who feel the stab of the knife, the pang of death. We remove our hands from the bleeding wound of our broken hearts and gasp, Et tu, Jane? You die too?

I've lost a lot of people in my 34 years. I once dated a man who, at 38 years old, had never been to a funeral. I, on the other hand, have been to so many funerals in my brief time here on earth that I'm not sure I could count them all. But even in that truth - living as a minister of the cloth always with the reminder that from dust we have come and to dust we shall return - I still feel the shock of death.

And Jane Nethercut? She was mortal too?

It seems wrong.

"We love you and all our other Pittmans so much!!" was the last text I received from Jane five days prior to her passing.

We love you too, Jane.

"This is my daughter by choice," Jane told the social worker in the hospital room several weeks ago. The woman misunderstood and began a lecture on how detrimental favoritism of children is among family members. "No, no, I explained to the nurse, it's not that Jane has only so much love to give her children that she has to play favorites. Rather, her and Bill's love is so abundant that it spills over from their own children and onto the rest of us. Thus Jane & Bill take on extra "kids"... She chooses to add me into her family."

The first time I saw Jane, she was giving the devotion at a deacon's meeting as the Deacon Chair Elect. She told a beautiful story of how geese fly taking turns in the lead and then moving to the back of the line. She spoke of their fluidity and wisdom.  And then she prayer, "Dear God, help us be smarter than a goose," and sat down. :) I knew then that Jane Nethercut was a woman I would look up to.  I found out later that to fulfill an obligation for my pastoral residency with CBF, Roger had chosen Jane and Bill to be my adopted parents. But that title and our relationship lasted much longer than that two year program. And now I stand before you mourning the loss of my Other Mother.

Jane, me and Gloria (the Nethercut kids' Other Mother), Mother's Day 2012

I read excerpts of what is written above at Jane's funeral celebration on Tuesday.  I also sang "Heavenly Day" by Patty Griffin which was truly a spiritual experience as I tried to memorialize my friend with peace and thanksgiving, rather than anger and sadness in my heart.  In addition, I chose the following scripture to be read at Jane's ceremony.  Roger spoke and Grant and the choir sang, and Jane would have loved the service, I believe.  And so, from Ecclesiastes Three…

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time
to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

What gain have the workers from their toil? I have seen the business that God has given to
everyone to be busy with. He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a
sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the
beginning to the end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy
themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take
pleasure in all their toil. I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added
to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him.
That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has
gone by.

Thanks be to God for the life of Jane Nethercut.

Intimate Apparel: Apparently I'm In It

I saw an acquaintance in the lobby after my performance in Intimate Apparel on opening night.  We made small talk and then he asked, so what are you working on right now?  Um... Intimate Apparel, I replied... I play Mrs. VanBuren.

He was shocked and obviously hadn't recognized me.  But neither did the director's boyfriend when we were introduced.  I had to explain that the reason I was wearing so much makeup isn't because I live in Dallas, but rather in the theatre, and yes, I was in Intimate Apparel.

So if you venture onto UT's campus and wander into the Winship Building and find your way to the Oscar Brockett Theatre, open your program, read the cast of characters, and look for the white lady onstage: that's me.

Intimate Apparel by Lynn Nottage is a contemporary piece written about an African American seamstress in 1905 who sews intimate apparel for both the wealthy women of New York and the ladies of the night.

"What are you?" my work colleague asked when I told her about the show, "The token white lady?"

A Pittman Family Christmas

I set out to write a Christmas card like the super-organized perfect arm of Americans who have theirs in my mailbox before the twenty-fifth every year. 

I am not that talented.

Then I aimed for a new year’s card, or at least a new year’s blog.  So many funny things happened over Christmas that in rightful anticipation of it, my father bought all the participants “A Pittman Family Christmas” tee shirts.  It was like the Griswolds… with a little more sophistication.

There were no moose-eared-mugs or dickey-wearing-uncles or plastic-Santas-with -reindeer at our house.  I mean, before we arrived, my father stole out in the night to cut off pieces of garland growing around mausoleums in order to decorate his meticulously wrapped gifts with the freshest, most beautiful, and most aromatic accouterments.  “That one’s from the cemetery on Ashland, and that one’s from the neighbor’s back yard.” 

But this is nothing new.  When my sister married, my mom wandered the neighborhoods of St. Joseph with her scissors and garden gloves cutting blooms off hydrangea bushes.  “They’ll never notice one missing flower…”

No one was missing from Christmas this year, except Grandpa.  But at every meal that I was asked to pray over (will I ever stop being the token Christian in my family?) I reminded God to please tell Grandpa hello for us.  And truthfully, I bet Grandpa got a real kick out of all the laughing we did over Christmas; he would have loved it.  All his girls were home.

Family is a relative term in our household.  Of the six to ten stockings that are filled whilst we “children” sleep, not all of them go to “Pittmans.”  There’s Andee who spends every holiday with us, sleeping with Amy in her bed, just like they did when we were kids and neighbors.  However, this year we added Andee’s boyfriend to the mix, so with Andee and I both bringing boys home, and only two double beds in the house, both of my sisters had to give up their bedrooms this year.  “I have to sleep on the couch,” Emily complained, grabbing some blankets from the closet.  “Well I have to sleep with the ghost!” Amy shot back. 

After my youngest sister, Emily, arrived, sometime in the late 80s, I lost my bedroom and moved into my father’s study.  Unfortunately, the “study ghost” already lived there, so I went from sharing a bedroom with an infant to sharing a bedroom with an ethereal being.  Fortunately, I only had a twin bed.  But, he never bothered me, though several others had sightings of the study ghost including my sister Amy (now a surgeon) and another “sister,” Mary, from up the street.

Ah… memories.

But where was I?... Mausoleum theft… grandpa… stockings, ah yes.   So Andee gets her own stocking and there’s the BFOTY stocking (affectionately designated by my loving family members to go to the person whom they call my “Boyfriend of the Year” – whatever guy I can con into dating me in November so that he’ll drive me home for Christmas in December.)  Nice, right?  I know.  And usually the pets get their stockings too, although Santa forgot to fill them this year, so when the dogs got annoying on Christmas morning, sticking their wet noses into all our half-opened paraphernalia, Mother traipsed upstairs and grabbed the unwrapped dog treats and handed them out accordingly.  That quieted things down for a while. 

Gloria was in town this year too.  That made my Grandma happy.  My Aunt lives in Hawaii, but not just in Hawaii, on a tiny privately owned island called Lanai.  So getting over to visit her is not an inexpensive task.  And grandma hasn’t made that trip yet.  So Gloria and I, both bundled to the max in scarves and hoodies and gloves and coats having left behind 70 and 80 degree climates to journey to Missouri, were both home for Christmas this year. 

And as such, all ten of us had tee-shirts… turquoise-colored cotton with white block lettering and a snowflake to remember 2012, which proved to end with, indeed, a classic Pittman Family Christmas.

Taken while BFOTY was adjusting the camera settings :)  Merry Christmas!

The Eve of the Election

It's been ugly, really ugly.  And now I have a stomach ache.  I hope that after tomorrow, we will know the results of this election and it will be over for a least another four years.  And I hope that the election is successful... that voter fraud, while I know it won't be eliminated, will be kept in check.  Just this afternoon, Clarence, my next door neighbor, asked me if I had voted yet.  I told him the line at Randall's near where I work was too long on Friday and I had decided to wait til Tuesday.  He said he was voting tomorrow too.  He had tried to vote last week, but they said they couldn't find him in the system and he wouldn't be able to vote.

WHAT?

He's over 70 years old.  He's lived in Austin probably longer than I've been alive.  He's lived in the same neighborhood, in the same house.  He has the same Texas drivers' license that the rest of us do.

Oh, but he's black.

And smart too.  So he came home and did his research and found his voter ID card and tomorrow when he shows up at the pools, he'll have a pad and paper with him to record the names and details of any situation that arises when he makes a second attempt to vote.

One of my girlfriends from Ragtime (shameless plug: 10 performances left!) applied for her absentee ballot, she never got it.  She called and bugged them again and again.  A neighbor finally brought it to her door, it had been delivered to the wrong house just last week.  She wouldn't have gotten it at all had her neighbor returned it to sender.

She's black too.

Happy Halloween 2012!

From my family to yours!!

Potter napping on a spooky spider blanket

Zorba roaring (or yawning) on same said blanket)

Janie trepidatiosly sporting the too-small Catwoman costume I bought her.

October 30, Seven Years Later

I opened up my blog tonight to post something cheeky about Halloween: a meme I had encountered on Facebook… snarky and lovely. 

After entering my old email username (hotmail lives!) and my over utilized password, a list of blogs I had subscribed to in another life began to pop up at the bottom of the screen.  I forgot they were there.

There were posts about ballroom dancing and where the latest swing band would be playing.  Posts from preachers and lady reverends the U.S. over offering Christ and compassion to the blog world.  And at the top of the list sat a blurb of a blog of a friend who hasn’t posted in seventeen months. 

“love, embrance, and live” 

Love god, embrace beauty, and live life to the fullest.

I knew what the post would be about.

sTuff yOur MaMa shouldA tAUght yA

This will be a new blog series titled, Stuff Your Mama Shoulda Taught Ya.... (or the Sh*t You Shoulda Listened To).

I've discovered in my six years as a landlord, in the sixteen years of living with roommates, and from the six hundred men I've dated, that there are just things... basic things... that some people are missing in life.  Pertinent information.  And quite frankly, I feel, their lives (and my own) could perhaps (okay definitely) be improved had they just listened to their mother.

Now, for those of you without mothers, or with negligent mothers, don't despair.  This is a semantics issue.  Feel free to substitute father, nanny, grandparent, step-mom, guardian, security warden... whatever into the title.  The point being, of course, that at some point we should have all learned some very basic things about life.

And I recognize that we, as learners, have to hear something like seven times to store it to memory, so I get it... we missed a few things here and there.

The Relevance of Ragtime: Racism

Opening tonight at the brand new Topfer Theatre on South Lamar is Ragtime... a musical with book by Terrence McNally, lyrics by Lynn Ahrens and music by Stephen Flaherty.

And I'm in it.

So buy your tickets now.

However, if, on the off chance, I'm not impetus enough to see the show, let me offer you some insight on why I think this musical was worth spending 29 hours in rehearsal last weekend... wait, I mean... why I think this musical is culturally important.

Rewind to two weeks ago.

On the Wheels of a Dream - One Week!

Opening in one week, I'll be performing in the Ensemble of Ragtime at ZACH Theatre's brand new Topfer Theatre! This is an exciting time for me, and for local Austin theatre.  Running Wednesdays thru Sundays from Oct. 17th - November 18th, you've got four weeks to catch this breathtaking show starring Kyle Scatliffe, Kia Fulton, Andrew Foote, and Jill Blackwood.

He Must Write

He must write

He runs in through the back door

Having been at the beach

“Good morning!”

And heads to the bedroom

Then is gone

Having circled back around to the door again

Laptop under arm

“Good-bye.”

I call

 “Where are you going?”

“To write.”

Many of the manuscripts

Are still in his head

Hovering like palm branches in the sky

Clustered at the end

Of a tall, thin trunk

Their only connection to the earth

There, the plays and poems

Suspend until a young man

Can shimmy up

To the fronds

And tend them, or collect the coconuts

But if there is no one to procure the fruit

To write

The palms may fall

Forgotten to the ground

Where we will walk on them

They will crunch beneath our feet

And we won’t realize

We stomp on sacred ground

It is important that he write.

The stories must be organized

Documented

Told

And until the poems and the plays

Arrive on the page

I sit near the back door

At the kitchen table

And watch out the window

The palm trees

Move gently, slowly, in the breeze

We share a secret

He must write

By Ann Pittman, August 27, 2012, in Aina Haina on Oahu.

Checking In With the Chicken

Here’s the thing about the Chick fil-A argument… 

If you don’t read the news and you aren’t on Facebook, perhaps you haven’t heard about what’s going down with the Chick-fil-A controversy.  Let me give you a re-cap.

Chick-Fil-A is a “Christian” fast food chain that sells chicken.  And they have lots of  advertising signs along most major highways sporting cows advocating the consumption of chicken.  Cute.  Everyone loves cows.

However, they’ve more than once garnered national attention with their openly anti-gay agenda.  And yes, I use the word agenda because it’s not just that the president, Mr. Cathy, openly says he and his family and his company support a biblical view of marriage - that would certainly be his prerogative to believe and even share his beliefs in this lovely free country that we live in.  However, he and his company’s charitable arm, Winshape, have donated almost two million dollars to “Christian” organizations whose mission is, in part, to “heal” people from being gay.  Not $2million to Christian organizations like Compassion International, World Vision, Bread for the World, etc.  $2million to organizations that utilize “anti-Gay therapy.”  That’s an agenda.

So there’s been a host of meme, some of it funny, some of it sad, flooding social media sites and there have been several articulate responses from people (probably “Christians”) about why it’s ridiculous to communally or personal boycott Chick-fil-A.  And truthfully, it is not to Chick-fil-A or Mr. Cathy that I respond today, it’s to these other people weighing in on whether or not to buy that crispy fried white meat on a white bun with crunchy waffle fries (as if the healthiness factor weren’t enough to enlighten you).

The tagline for one article I read stated: Do we really want a country where people won't do commerce with those who have beliefs different than their own? To which I respond…

• One: Yes. 
• Two: This isn’t about beliefs. 
• Three: Welcome to living out your Christian faith. 

Stick with me on this one.

Checkmating Chess

I admit it, I was one of the nerdier ones.  I grew up playing chess and checkers and cards and word games.  I ate tuna sandwiches in my school lunch even though the other kids thought they smelled bad.  I wore glasses (big blue ones) and read books several grade levels ahead of my own.  I dissected worms in my backyard with a toy microscope I got for Christmas.

This summer, I'm combining the nerdiness of youth with my theatrical adventures... because sometimes nerds grow up.  And some of them compete in World Chess Championships. 

Chess: The Musical is not what it sounds like, however.  It's actually a commentary on the cold war and is loosely based on the true story of Bobby Fisher (whispered).  Written by Tim Rice and the guys in ABBA, Chess opened in London to mixed reviews and so underwent reconstruction to the point that when it opened on Broadway, even the ending had changed (in one version the Russians win, in the other, the Americans win - talk about your fixer-upers). 

Chess is what I would label as an opperetta in that it is almost entirely sung with minimal dialogue speckled throughout.  Produced by Austin Playhouse (running through the 22nd at Mueller) and Summer Stock Austin (August 2nd-11th at the Rollins), Chess has two runs and the latter will include fifteen teenagers.  Awesome. 

I'm just in the chorus, but since our first run (with Austin Playhouse) is in their temporary facility (a tent) whilst they wait to break ground on their new theater, I'm one of six chorus members in a cast of 12.  And for AP, twelve is pushing the limits of bodies permissible backstage.  I have been smooshed up against more people and curtains and costume racks than I care to admit trying to squeeze my way onstage.  But it's worth it.  The set is gorgous.  The woman who plays Florence (the female in our Russian/American love triangle) can sing.  And by sing, I mean si-ing.  Wowza.  Our costumes reflect the set (and the chess board) and are black and white too.  And generally short.  What is it with Austin Playhouse and me ending up in short (occasionally plastic) dresses?  I digress.  But seriously, check us out.  Super hot, right?

Photo courtesy of Christopher Loveless

Blood Brothers, Then And Now.

Trinity Street Players presents the Austin premier of Blood Brothers June 2-24th!  Reserve your free tickets now!

That's the now.  Here's the then.

Back in High School, my friend Moxi (yep, you've heard of her before) went on vacation and returned to St. Jo Mo having seen Blood Brothers.  Her addiction soon became my addiction and we added it to the list of musicals we routinely performed at the upright piano in her small bedroom behind the Budget Inn.  

This is Mox's and my senior pic.  Oh snap!

Zach's Hard Hat Tour: ALT Article

Last month I received an email from Michael Meigs, local theater critic and primary author of Austin Live Theatre asking me if I would like to attend one of Zachary Scott Theater's Hard-Hat Tours.  The tour would be of the new theater being built to the east of Zach Scott's current two stages, at the corner of Riverside and Lamar.  The construction site will eventually give way to Austin's new Topfer Theater. 

Occasionally I write for other blogs, and Michael wanted a written tour of the new space as told by an  actor (as opposed to a critic, patron, fanatic, or occasional theater-goer).  Of course, I oblidged!  If you'd like to read the article at Austin Live Theater, you can find it here: Zach's Hard-Hat Tour: An Actor's Perspective. Enjoy!

Wake Up Missouri

Okay Missouri, I love ya.  You're my home state.  You have the most caves out of any state in the U.S.  You even elected a dead man as your Governor because you knew John Ashcroft would be a horrible choice (unfortunately, George W. promptly appointed him Attorney General - you win some, you lose some).

But you are kinda embarrassing me on the political front.

First off, one of your candidates running for the United States Senate "isn't sure" what the Violence Against Women Act is.  And the candidate is a WOMAN.  Sigh.  You guys, seriously?  Don't elect this person.  Granted, I no longer live there, but if you want my two cents, you should keep Claire McCaskill representing your state.  She's conservative (in my opinion) but at least she probably knows what the Violence Against Women Act is... Sheesh.

And speaking of violence against women what is this I'm reading about legislation you passed nicknamed the "don't say gay" bill?

Ugh.

This is seriously awful, you guys.  How can kids learn about sexuality, their own or their peers, if you make it illegal to talk about it?

Here's the bill if you want to read it yourself, but here's a nice excerpt... 170.370. Notwithstanding any other law to the contrary, no instruction, material, or extracurricular activity sponsored by a public school that discusses sexual orientation other than in scientific instruction concerning human reproduction shall be provided in any public school.

This is bad, y'all.  How can kids learn about sexuality, their own or their peers', if you make it illegal to talk about it?  

TEACH them about reproduction, TEACH them about menstruation, TEACH them about childbirth, TEACH them about sexually transmitted diseases, TEACH them about birth control, TEACH them about masturbation, TEACH them about homosexuality and gender issues, TEACH them about hygene, TEACH them about their bodies!  

You don't have impregnate them so they understand giving birth, you don't have to turn them gay to bring awareness to sexual orientation, you don't have to infect them with the human papillomavirus to make them understand STDs.  But you do need to teach these kids what these words mean, what happens to their bodies and how to make healthy choices now that they have this information!

Make school a safe place to talk about sexuality.  The teenage years are confusing enough without y'all making it illegal to talk about it.

Locate your district.  Find your senator.  And then write him or her.  

Then, to find your representative in the house, look him or her up here.

Or just send the senate a general email: sweb@senate.mo.gov.

Okay, that was easy.  Speak up.  It's your state.  It's your kids.  Speak out against violence and speak on behalf of education.  Go Missouri.  Show me what you're made of.

Six Months of Madness

So, I've been pretty silent for the past six months or so when it comes to politics. This is probably due to the fact that I got a lot of hate mail on FB about my politically charged posts that I posted on my very own facebook wall (yes, that's a soapbox). People de-friended me (were they really friends at all?), sent me emails admonishing me in my Christian faith and witness (perhaps I should stop calling myself a "Christian" so people will stop judging me by their Christianity), or people just wrote dumb blurbs in my comments section.

On the other hand, it would seriously take me a week to comment on all the ridiculous crap being spewed by conservatives, not to mention the junk I'm-not-actually-liberal back bending non-conservatives have been doing lately. A week. I work full time and do full-time theater. I don't have time to solve America's problems in my spare time. But I do have time to vote, and read facebook. And what I discovered was that much of what I want to say has been succinctly and humorously summed up in graphic art and quotes. So... here is my latest political blog. And it's in pictures. Because sometimes creativity is a more effective communicator than we are.

Here we go...

Regarding the Republican platform...

Lance Hutchins 
4 hours ago

These days, they call everything a "war" except our actual wars.
.

P.S. If your presidential candidate can be compared to a character on The Simpsons, there is something wrong with your political party. And no, I didn't get all the answers correct on that quiz. How absurd is that?

Regarding women's rights...

Regarding homosexuals (and other sub-humans)...

Regarding separation of church and state (or the inability of people to stop calling their sexism, racism, homophobia and greed "Christianity") ...

Regarding Rush Limbaugh...

Enough said.