tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67684752024-03-14T08:24:50.257-05:00aNN pITTMANstrange bird. . .Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.comBlogger844125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-78287737092726773162016-06-27T00:46:00.001-05:002016-06-27T00:50:15.410-05:00Orlando Vigil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As a clergywoman, I was honored to help with the Vigil for Orlando victims organized by <a href="http://www.creederep.org/" target="_blank">Creede Rep</a> which finished out Creede's Gay Pride Day (although word on the street is that they're at Tommyknocker's now finishing the evening). My brief words were accompanied a testimony by Chris (an Orlando native), a poem read by Mehry Eslaminia, songs by Ryan Prince, and impromptu words by others in attendance.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">After much celebration (and inevitable libations), we gather as a community to honor the victims of Orlando’s hate crime two weeks ago, and also to celebrate those 49 lives.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As we begin the vigil, here is a poem that appeared in my inbox today titled "For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid" by William Stafford. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>There is a country to cross you will</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>find in the corner of your eye, in</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>the quick slip of your foot—air far</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>down, a snap that might have caught.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>And maybe for you, for me, a high, passing</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>voice that finds its way by being</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>afraid. That country is there, for us,</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>carried as it is crossed. What you fear</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>will not go away: it will take you into</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>yourself and bless you and keep you.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>That’s the world, and we all live there.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">Please pray with me.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1">God, it’s a really scary world out there. I would like to use a lot of words to describe how I feel about the exclusivity and bigotry that seems to infiltrate every dark corner in America right now. But those words will have to be set aside, scribbled only in my journal, or cried only to my husband before brushing my teeth or while I’m slicing tomato. Those words are not for public consumption. But neither is the hatred that permeates our culture. And so tonight God, we gather in love. We gather in peace. We gather in hope. Tonight come to honor the souls who danced until their last moment. We gaze at the stars - at the great cloud of witnesses above us, and we call out the names of those who have gone before us. And we say thanks be to God.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Stanley Almodovar III<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span> <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>23 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Amanda Alvear <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Oscar A Aracena-Montero <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>26 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>33 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Antonio Davon Brown <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>29 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Darryl Roman Burt II <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>29 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Angel L. Candelario-Padro <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>28 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Juan Chevez-Martinez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Luis Daniel Conde <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>39 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">James Connell <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>21 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Tevin Eugene Crosby <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Deonka Deidra Drayton <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>32 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>31 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Leroy Valentin Fernandez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Mercedez Marisol Flores <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>26 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>22 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Juan Ramon Guerrero <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>22 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Paul Terrell Henry <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>41 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Frank Hernandez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>27 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Miguel Angel Honorato <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>30 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Javier Jorge-Reyes <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>40 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Jason Benjamin Josaphat <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>19 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Eddie Jamoldroy Justice <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>30 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Anthony Luis Laureanodisla <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Christopher Andrew Leinonen <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>32 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Alejandro Barrios Martinez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>21 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Brenda Lee Marquez McCool <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>49 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Kimberly Morris <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>37 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Akyra Monet Murray<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>18 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>20 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>36 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Joel Rayon Paniagua <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>32 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jean Carlos Mendez Perez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>35 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Enrique L. Rios, Jr. <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>25 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jean C. Nives Rodriguez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>27 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>35 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>24 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>24 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Edward Sotomayor Jr. <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>34 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Shane Evan Tomlinson <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>33 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Martin Benitez Torres <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>33 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>24 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Juan P. Rivera Velazquez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>37 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Luis S. Vielma <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>22 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>50 years old</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>37 years old</span></div>
<div class="p3">
</div>
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<span class="s1">Jerald Arthur Wright <span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>31 years old</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p4">
In closing… a poem by Mary Oliver…<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p4">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Who made the world?</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Who made the swan, and the black bear?</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Who made the grasshopper?</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>This grasshopper, I mean-</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>the one who has flung herself out of the grass,</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>I don't know exactly what a prayer is.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>which is what I have been doing all day.</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Tell me, what else should I have done?</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i>Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?</i></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Tell me, what is it you plan to do</span></i></span></div>
<div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">with your one wild and precious life? </span></i></div>
</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-75113868959829235862016-02-19T22:27:00.000-06:002016-02-19T22:27:07.280-06:00While Listening to Hamilton: my questions for today's politicians<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” Hamilton, the musical.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Dear Politicians, </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I get it, your hideous hair makes for excellent meme and any media exposure is still exposure. Fighting over who speaks better Spanish to get the Latino vote makes for good sound bites. And no one’s going to hold you accountable for lying when the masses don’t do the hard work of fact checking. And for those of us who do, it’s a matter of discerning whose pants are up in flames and whose are just sort of smoldering.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But I’m tired of all that. Here’s what I want to hear from the presidential wanna-be’s. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I want to understand why, as a first world country, as the leader of the global world, we don’t have clean drinking water in Michigan. I want laws and accountability put in place to remedy this. I want the best healthcare for townsfolk (and children) dying of lead poisoning and legionnaires disease at the expense of their local government. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” But we discriminate. All Americans deserve clean water.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I want to know the game plan for pro-actively (too late for pre-emptively) eliminating our global carbon footprint, I want to know what geniuses you’ll put on an innovation committee who will work to restore the earth to a healthy balance before our drills, car emissions, and plastic kills it. We need NASA-like brilliance and speed applied to counteract climate change. Before we lose all the polar bears and New York City.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” And it’s all our fault. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I want to hear about the program you will implement into our judicial system so that police men and women learn about equality vs racism/sexism/homophobia. I want their job descriptions to include exhibited compassion through community service - we need to trust our cops again, and we need to believe they value human life. I want to know how you will stop them from targeting black boys.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” The good guys are killing us.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I want to hear that you love women. Not on a sexual, subjective level, but on a respectful, level playing field. I want laws requiring equal pay for women. I want healthcare (including birth control) to be required for all companies employing women regardless of religious beliefs (churches don’t pay taxes, people do). I want safe sex taught in schools alongside abstinence. I want required classes for pre-teen and teenage boys teaching them to value women, exhibit healthy control their sexuality, and counteract America’s disgusting rape culture.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” Our sons are raping our daughters and it’s going up on youtube. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I want to know what your game plan is for dealing with international health threats. The Zika Virus is terrifying. And if we can’t even be nice to blacks, women and gays, can you imagine how our culture will treat people who look like they stepped out of the Beetlejuice movie? What scientists (who haven’t been assigned to climate control per my earlier question) are being assigned to deal with health crises and how will you fund their research? My god, if the Pope okayed contraceptive for Catholics to protect them from the virus, we need to take action!</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” And it’s taking place in our wombs.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Speaking of health threats: guns. Dear America, Obama is not coming to your house with a gun. You’re good. Dear politicians, let Americans keep their guns for hunting (even though I personally don’t like hunting), but machine guns? Really? Again, why does a global super power who has so many guns related deaths per year do so little to stop them? How will you be different? Nice words and prayer won’t fix this tragedy. Policy will. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” Guns (in the hands of toddlers, kids, teens, adults, even monkeys) kill people. Period.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">One more thing that kills people: cancer. I fucking hate it. Everyone does. What doctors, researchers and scientists will you put on the Destroy Cancer Committee? America want answers. We want peace. We want freedom from this horrible disease.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” And it takes. Jane Nethercut. And it takes. Jeanie Spencer. And it takes. Evelyn Broadway. And it tries to take. Bethany Chance. And it tries to take. Rob Matney. And it tries to take. Frank Drew. And it tries to take. Janet Keesee. And it tries to take…</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">These are just a few of the questions I have. And I’m sure a lot of Americans have the same. And some have other concerns I haven’t even mentioned.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But the truth is, as Aaron Burr concludes by singing in the musical, Hamilton, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>“I should have known</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me.”</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And Hilary and Cruz and Bernie and Rubio…</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The world is wide enough for our diversity. Is each of these candidates a great choice? Probably not. But what I (and I hope America) wants is to hear from our politicians is how you will make us better. Not how much you hate each other.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">America, we can face these terrifying issues, diseases and “isms”, together. Holding hands, brainstorming, and using innovation and creativity, we can make our world better. We can make our stories better. Because “death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints; it takes and it takes and it takes.” But we’re a strong people. And we will take America back.</span></div>
</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-9112156591425217732015-12-16T23:05:00.000-06:002015-12-16T23:06:37.526-06:00POC Christmas in Austin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
People of Color Christmas: the White Elephant In the Room.<br />
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The title alone is amazing.<br />
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And it's amazing that this was accomplished through the vision of what I can only imagine is one woman (Christine Hoang) inspired by a lot of other people (of color).<br />
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So this Christmas if you're just a little tired of the same old trail of lights, carol singers at the Domain, and Christmas shows performing on repeat at theatres this time of year... buy a (cheap) ticket to POC Christmas at Ground Floor theatre.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7DwkLFjY2gg7WR6HqzmeVR7tpqDSKYCeIjG9MYjx9sX3aZNKlJDFolZeRe4J7Je1aICcRjll-IsyZrViDAFEl7Z-QhOA0IAKywFn5R4VjppzMHFRTBjDxow-QfBTEESpHbykXCQ/s1600/POC+Xmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7DwkLFjY2gg7WR6HqzmeVR7tpqDSKYCeIjG9MYjx9sX3aZNKlJDFolZeRe4J7Je1aICcRjll-IsyZrViDAFEl7Z-QhOA0IAKywFn5R4VjppzMHFRTBjDxow-QfBTEESpHbykXCQ/s400/POC+Xmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is local theatre at its purest.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Script-writing is hard. And for a team of people (of color) telling their stories (of color in Austin), this is a refreshing start to an important conversation. Are there some hard hits in this play? Yes. Is Austin as liberal as we're all happy to claim? No. Are there times when the audience held its collective breath? Yes (although I admit, it may have been more about sexual promiscuity than about racial implication). But for an admitted first-time producer, writer, and director, this was a brave undertaking... financially, socially, and professionally.<br />
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I rather enjoyed it. if memory serves, there were two "blacks" (they didn't like the term African American), one Vietnamese, one Chinese, one Latino (but with white parents), and a Latina (who couldn't speak Spanish) and someone Asian-AmericanIndian-Eurpean a blend that so quickly came off the tongue that I can't remember.<br />
<br />
Or perhaps it was the construction happening in the next room over that caused the cotton in my ears. Good God, people. It's after hours. Go home. (But kudos to the cast for maintaining focus and plowing - pun intended... what the hell were they doing over there?! - on through the distractions).<br />
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Although I've admittedly never had a party that diverse in my home at one time, it felt kind of familiar. Not because of their shared experiences as racial "minority" (they prefer people of color) but because of their quirkiness. Because of the bond of the women. Because of the obnoxiousness of the men. Because of the nerdiness of the whole cast. Because of the awkward geekiness of being an intellectual, professional, thirty-something who still busts out a rap tune in the living room in the middle of a Christmas party at 1am.<br />
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We've all done it. Don't deny it.<br />
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While the addition of the microphones and beat box through the sound system took the audience out of the party happening onstage (I can't decide if I liked it or not), it enhanced it simultaneously. Because, as I said before, who hasn't sung into a champagne glass, capers bottle, or best friend's high heel at a Christmas Party? You don't even want to know what happens at the Pittmans in good ol' St. Jo Mo when the Latinos, gays, and white girls show up. It's not for public consumption.<br />
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My point is: this is an enjoyable show. You'll laugh. Even as you listen to the stories of the people of color and reflect on your own experiences. As you wonder how to make the world a less PC, less offensive, just more real (colorful?) world.<br />
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<a href="http://www.groundfloortheatre.org/#!whats-playing/cb3i" target="_blank">Just do it</a>. Do something a little off the beaten path this Christmas. Pass the Christmas lights and the spiked cider, and go find the white elephant in the room down at Ground Floor. Now playing through Sunday, December 20. <br />
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-55660319704270836762015-12-05T00:07:00.002-06:002015-12-05T00:14:37.722-06:00Parading the Party Line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's a <i>Parade</i> at Ground Floor Theatre and you need to buy your ticket before it passes you by.<br />
<br />
Sarah Danko is a gorgeous actor and paired well with Scott Ferguson who we found annoying as Frank the Jew, creepy as Frank THE JEW (emphasis Mrs. Phagan) and eventually lovable as Frank, Lucille's Jewish husband. Travis Gaudin's voice is like a glass of whiskey you hold in your hand swishing and sniffing over and over. We hung on his every word and saw every scene he sang. Vincent Hooper is an all around dream performer from his mannerisms to his vocal belt on the chain gang. Lovely, dedicated voices rang out from the ensemble - especially Chelsea Manasseri and Kristin Hall's solo performances. Kyle Coughlin was delightful (can one use that word when describing <i>Parade</i>?) to watch as Craig. And who are Matrex Kilgore and Dale Sandish?!... um welcome to Austin and bravo.<br />
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When Lisa Schepps wants to make a point. She does it with an exclamation. And mazel tov to her. She directed a great show despite the apparent challenges with sound in the space. (Why couldn't we hear the voices in this brand new venue?)<br />
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Before Lisa's curtain speech, a video from the 100th anniversary of the anti-defamation league was played. It took our collective breath away and was a brilliant way to start the show and remind the audience that it was this real life event that brought the league into existance. </div>
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Because this is important. I want to stand up and scream and say all the bad curse words and pull my hair out and even lay naked in the street for a year (the Jews and maybe a few Christians will get that reference), but my fiancee won't let me. </div>
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If you think we live in a world or a county that isn't racist, sexist, and classist, you're wrong. And <i>Parade</i> is a beautiful, if sad, reminder of that truth. Let me put it in perspecive for you.</div>
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Look at the difference in the way this Euro-American (caucasian) mother is treated in the comments versus how the African-American mother is treated. </div>
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SICK.</div>
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And if you're about to throw that "meme's are hard to fact check," crap at me, here's a strain that I personally responded to when a "Facebook Friend" of mine posted "Comply, don't die!" after Michael Brown's death.</div>
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Or how about this? </div>
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Here's a gun store that won't allow Muslims to purchase their merchandise. Even though WHITE PEOPLE are the numbers one terrorists against Americans a poll released in June reported.</div>
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White, right wing Americans have killed way more people than Muslim radicals here in America since 9/11. But you know, white people have mental health issues and black people are thugs. It's true because our culture tells us its true.</div>
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And that's the party line <i>Parade</i> exposes. Vilifying a person because you hate a people group (in <i>Parade</i> it's the Jews) makes you a racist bigot. Not a hero. Not ever a hero. Not for hating a race or people group. </div>
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<div>
Or hating women...</div>
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Or gay people...</div>
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Or anyone who isn't like you. Or who you don't understand.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
AMERICA, wake up. The beautiful search for diversity which gave birth to you is dwindling away as we allow the right wing fundamentalists spew their white supremacy and male chauvinism on us. We're drowning in it. America has lost her melting pot and is drowning in witch's brew.</div>
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So to organizations like the Anti-Defamation League and Ground Floor, I say thanks. This little white girl says thanks. And hopes more people will go catch the <i>Parade</i> playing two more times on Nov 5 at <a href="http://www.groundfloortheatre.org/" target="_blank">Ground Floor Theatre</a> in East Austin. </div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-15544907936863720772015-11-21T01:12:00.002-06:002015-11-21T01:13:08.630-06:00My Favorite Line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Laying on a twin mattress covered in black theatre drapes behind the stage left risers after my death, I figured it out.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"What's your favorite line from the play?" my dad had asked me when he was here three weeks prior to see Into the Woods produced cooperatively with the <a href="https://shalomaustin.org/theater" target="_blank">Jewish Repertory Theatre </a>and <a href="http://www.trinitystreetplayers.com/" target="_blank">Trinity Street Players</a>. I didn't have an answer. There's so many good ones:</span></div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Slotted spoons don't hold much soup.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I'll see you soon again, I hope that when I do it won't be on a plate.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">That's another story, never mind.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And whichever you pick, do it quick cause you're starting to stick to the steps of the palace.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I was raised to be charming, not sincere.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I'm in the wrong story.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Princes wait there in the world, it's true. Princes, yes, but wolves and humans too.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">You can talk to birds?</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Careful the tale you tell, that is the spell.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">It was a full day of eating for both.</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">No one cared when there was a dead giant in my back yard!</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">But none satisfied the question.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Additionally, at a bar one evening after the show, several actors and I were talking about, well, crap actors talk about: favorite musicals, upcoming auditions, the genius of Sondheim, our top fives, etc.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And one colleague made the comment that he isn't a huge fan of <i>Into the Woods. </i>I was aghast, shocked, defensive, and would have fired him on the spot, but we still had a week of performances left. Not to mention that in the wake of our Cinderella losing her voice voice (which gave rise to #Cinderunzel as Rapunzel has taken over singing the Cinderella role as the real Cinderella plays it physicality)... well, in the words of Cinderella, I couldn't fire the actor in my beer-buzzed state because "I could not bear to lose another."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">We bantered half-heartedly: he prefers slapstick and bawdy, and I prefer genius and genuine (my words, not his). But when he asked me why I liked Into the Woods so much... again, I didn't have an answer.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Fast forward to about 9:35pm in the middle of Act Two on Thursday night, and I begin my final ascent up the stairs to the stage left platform to finish The Last Midnight. "All right, mother, when? Lost the beans again! Punish me the way you did then - give me claws and a hunch, just away from this bunch and the gloom and the doom and the boom..." And then I project "Crunch!" as a high G, sustained, until the lights go to blackout and I can jump from the platform onto the mattress offstage and "die."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsaT0nS0yD-eLbJIlBx-mA-jHKSK-KoURCt6KcTH2I4ymm0Nksb2t79WfwNvNePy2_G9sKxMeI_st_kbHmHA8eEt5-j2lgIQlICxICzweXPYgjj-jX-oN3vIjQOPQMSsz3MqWwpQ/s1600/Last+Midnight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsaT0nS0yD-eLbJIlBx-mA-jHKSK-KoURCt6KcTH2I4ymm0Nksb2t79WfwNvNePy2_G9sKxMeI_st_kbHmHA8eEt5-j2lgIQlICxICzweXPYgjj-jX-oN3vIjQOPQMSsz3MqWwpQ/s320/Last+Midnight.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rod Machen</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">I laid there calming my breathing and listening as the next scene began. I always stay there through the next song, and once the audience has forgotten about me over there, I exit.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">That evening had been particularly powerful for me. I'm not sure why. Maybe I was tired from a week of broken computers, ailing actors, funerals, job changes, horrible terrorist attacks, racism cloaked in religion, or the bullshit Republican political agenda... so it felt normal to confess (admonish?) "the world is dark and wild."</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">But as I lay there, breathing quietly, and listening to the next scene, I heard it.</span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">My favorite line, the point of why I love the show, all of it became clear.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"I thought you were dead," the Baker says to the Mysterious Man, his father.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"Not entirely. Are we ever?" he replies.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And I realized that was it.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">This usually humorous line that plays at the redundancy of the Mysterious Man's character "When first I appear I seem deleterious... delirious... mysterious" many times the Man responds to inquiries of his appearance. He's always showing up at just the right time in the woods, guiding the characters, trying to lead but still hide, trying to right his wrongs. He's the father who "died in a baking accident" and left his son alone and then died again after ending the curse on his son's house.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And of course in Act Two the son learns again that his father's not dead... again.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"Are we ever?"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">What I hated about Disney's movie Into the Woods released last Christmas was that they missed the point... of the whole musical. For me, Into the Woods has always been about storytelling. More than once I've sung, "Careful the things you say, children will listen," in a sermon. The curtain opens to a man narrating the show and closes on a man passing that story along to his son.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">The brilliance of the piece is of course that there are so many more layers to that. With our director in this performance we explored Freudian themes and all the parent/child relationships. We played with the idea of a wintertime woods and what we learn about ourselves when we can't hide. We talked about what makes us who we are (what a prince would envision?) - ball gowns, beans, bread, babies? And what narratives do we attribute to one another? "I'm the hitch, I'm what no one believes - I'm the Witch." So, if "a wolf's not the same" is that because of him or because of me?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">But breathlessly laying there listening to the scene begin and the beautiful "No More" song follow, I felt the tears slide down my face.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"Are we ever dead?"</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">No. Not with storytelling. Not with the memories of the moment. We never die. Not with the names called on All Saints Day and tea lights lit and the great cloud of witnesses. Images poured from my heart into my mind of Kyle as October marked the ten year anniversary of his death, and of Jane who I never stop remembering. The many "people" I've been myself in 37 years some played like a reel across my mind. Me's I've had to lay to rest or surprisingly discovered were still alive.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Even this play has resurrected itself for me. (I'll try and find a photo from the first time I played the Witch thirteen years ago).</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">And the story goes on. Whether we like the way it's being told or not. Between the moments and the mysteries and "all the wolves, all the lies, the false hopes, the goodbyes, the reverses," it keeps going.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">"To mind, to heed, to find, to think, to teach, to join, to go to the festival"... the story goes on. And so do we.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Curtain. Blackout. House lights up.</span></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-16138679632541511202015-05-05T22:52:00.002-05:002015-05-05T22:52:45.291-05:00Our Town Letters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="s1">“I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when she was sick. He wrote Jane a letter and on the envelope the address was like this: It said: Jane Crofut; The Crofut Farm; Grover's Corners; Sutton County; New Hampshire; United States of America. Continent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God...that's what it said on the envelope. And the postman brought it just the same.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Our Town</i>, produced by <a href="http://www.trinitystreetplayers.com/" target="_blank">Trinity Street Players</a> running May 13-24 upstairs in <a href="http://trinitystreetplayers.com/trinitystreetplayers/the-players/the-black-box.aspx" target="_blank">First Austin’s Black Box Theatre</a> is an American classic written by Thornton Wilder. But it’s more than that. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s a story about people in Grover’s Corners. And it’s a story that could easily be about people in Austin, Texas. But it’s more than that too.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Our Town</i> is a a prayer.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It begins with observation and thanksgiving…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“there isn't much culture; but maybe this is the place to tell you that we've got a lot of pleasures of a kind here. We like the sun comin' up over the mountain in the morning and we all notice a good deal about the birds. We pay a lot of attention to them. And we watch the change of the seasons; yes, everybody knows about them.”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WhL-eSSKkreQ9wDdbr-IL0tQi9AWv7kodKQTUVXTV6hGL78H5vPw9VFk70ugxG7LD4hwlAJBgd1LVqq2UMpjMvUBCATW0-KBfe11dPEjaBfIHdlnbPWRsyOJp6R5iAM0PijFvQ/s1600/IMG_9647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WhL-eSSKkreQ9wDdbr-IL0tQi9AWv7kodKQTUVXTV6hGL78H5vPw9VFk70ugxG7LD4hwlAJBgd1LVqq2UMpjMvUBCATW0-KBfe11dPEjaBfIHdlnbPWRsyOJp6R5iAM0PijFvQ/s1600/IMG_9647.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Our Town</i> is a recognition of our temporal life that from ashes we have come and to ashes we will return…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Some babies that weren't even born before have begun talking regular sentences already; and a number of people who thought they were right young and spry have noticed that they can't bound up a flight of stairs like they used to, without their heart fluttering a little. All that can happen in a thousand days.” </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwm8Sx_LVNZx0FjFcvddjLCTIIobRDezTfEbOG65OCfZM268I_Qf46iNLxOPE8VGZgndhU7ZdcjHpE16GfSPuKa101LyTH-NPTbFd9wI1QTqTaOTlgSkA-8fRiOrTQVdlq9dHmoA/s1600/IMG_9657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwm8Sx_LVNZx0FjFcvddjLCTIIobRDezTfEbOG65OCfZM268I_Qf46iNLxOPE8VGZgndhU7ZdcjHpE16GfSPuKa101LyTH-NPTbFd9wI1QTqTaOTlgSkA-8fRiOrTQVdlq9dHmoA/s1600/IMG_9657.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Our Town</i> asks us to remember and reflect…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“You know how it is; you're twenty-one or twenty-two and you make some decisions; then whisssh! you're seventy... you've been a lawyer for fifty years and that white-haired lady at your side has eaten over fifty thousand meals with you. How do such things begin? And particularly the days when you were first in love; when you were like a person sleep-walking. You're just a little bit crazy. Will you remember that, please?” </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfdVNpxE_ACwPrUf4rAS4sDTdmMgi4xRfV7SWz3tlO3kgOStgy_HpnxAxD0bAnC4RfKGIJksA75vJfO0FAmDOQjgUztEbauOyDv3dHw_G_4PS_h2LUxXQbEekKfnX1fd-OxAo9Q/s1600/IMG_9684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfdVNpxE_ACwPrUf4rAS4sDTdmMgi4xRfV7SWz3tlO3kgOStgy_HpnxAxD0bAnC4RfKGIJksA75vJfO0FAmDOQjgUztEbauOyDv3dHw_G_4PS_h2LUxXQbEekKfnX1fd-OxAo9Q/s1600/IMG_9684.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><i>Our Town</i> is an anguished lamentation…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Yes, now you know. That's what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those...of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another. Good- by to clocks ticking...and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new- ironed dresses and hot baths...and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it...every, every minute?” </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPjCutEarIvYEo6kKVVfxxFxpPfj9WrizIeKVnSV_j_UaNvdlz4hFePVN9VUo_kSqdGCKFEywbTYZPwOd_NCN7-_FxuLOeRt3dpUIPtHZ_np3rHdbAKMQya6EKvq_zFB1pC_atQ/s1600/IMG_9867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPjCutEarIvYEo6kKVVfxxFxpPfj9WrizIeKVnSV_j_UaNvdlz4hFePVN9VUo_kSqdGCKFEywbTYZPwOd_NCN7-_FxuLOeRt3dpUIPtHZ_np3rHdbAKMQya6EKvq_zFB1pC_atQ/s1600/IMG_9867.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">And <i>Our Town</i> is a confession…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'm out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal...everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being.” </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMvooFlv6F0QTP_hr7xJb6c9ySG_TjJLOdFXXCGbTcapRhvzt5uxk8DD7jHSwem66mkZ68d1h_X6-aQMxNf9nKP3y4755Ew54u4mQpQM4pQq6vLEoGEyBVwgLQGl3-Bw8aXT34A/s1600/IMG_9813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMvooFlv6F0QTP_hr7xJb6c9ySG_TjJLOdFXXCGbTcapRhvzt5uxk8DD7jHSwem66mkZ68d1h_X6-aQMxNf9nKP3y4755Ew54u4mQpQM4pQq6vLEoGEyBVwgLQGl3-Bw8aXT34A/s1600/IMG_9813.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">“I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her minister when she was sick.” Rebecca says to her older brother as they sit at his bedroom window and look at the moon, “on the envelope the address was like this: It said: Jane Crofut; The Crofut Farm; Grover's Corners; Sutton County; New Hampshire; United States of America. Continent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God...that's what it said on the envelope. And the postman brought it just the same.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Thanks be to God.</span></div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-52592410223380499552015-04-01T22:11:00.001-05:002015-04-01T22:17:00.656-05:00Cried the Children of the Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Now my soul is troubled: "Save me, save me..."<br />
Before the lungs with water fill<br />
The barrel, temple points<br />
Chests heave, breaks squeal<br />
Droughts deaden<br />
And war our neighbor kills<br />
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Save me before<br />
The lightning flashes,<br />
The thunder roars,<br />
And a cliche is written for the very worst offenses.<br />
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You who remains forever, do you remember me?<br />
I heard the voice<br />
The thunder<br />
And the angel;<br />
I heard them all<br />
Calling your people<br />
All your people<br />
All the ashes and stars and grains of sand<br />
Calling them higher<br />
Away<br />
To a location of light<br />
Where we can see, be healed, and not live in the night.<br />
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What shall I say,<br />
"Oh great voice, thunder, angel - save me from this hour"<br />
This darkness?<br />
This is where I live!<br />
Amidst war crazed people<br />
A racist, sexist, classist clan<br />
Selfish, wicked worlds<br />
Where offerings of niceties and honor burn for freedom's entitlement<br />
This is my incarnation!<br />
My flesh, my blood<br />
My fears, my guilt<br />
My trauma, my joy<br />
My friends, my species<br />
There is nowhere else to go.<br />
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I listened to them tell us beyond death lies only night<br />
More darkness, more sleeping<br />
But I tire of sleeping<br />
I want to be awake<br />
Alive<br />
Ashes no more<br />
To live<br />
"Free me from this hour!"<br />
Or at least, dear One, send me light.<br />
<br />
We could use a little light.<br />
Something.<br />
Save us from this hour,<br />
Will you not?<br />
<br />
We need to believe in the light.<br />
Oh great Light,<br />
We need to see the light.<br />
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Based on John 12:27-36 (NRSV) “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.” The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.” Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people[a] to myself.” He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. The crowd answered him, “We have heard from the law that the Messiah[b] remains forever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?” Jesus said to them, “The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.”<br />
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Wednesday of Holy Week... First Austin #JourneyLent post.<br />
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Rev. Ann Catherine Pittman is a freelance writer, actor and itinerant preacher. She spends her time oscillating between Colorado and Texas working in the arts. She is also the interim Artistic Director for First Austin’s Trinity Street Players. Learn more at her website annpittman.com or follow her author page on Facebook.</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-55444518443330084802015-03-31T22:50:00.001-05:002015-04-01T22:14:10.090-05:00Suggestive, Sassy, and the Silent Observer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
First Austin's #JourneyLent<br />
Week One: February 21, 2015<br />
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<i>43 The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, ‘Follow me.’ 44Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. 45Philip found Nathanael and said to him, ‘We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.’ 46Nathanael said to him, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’ Philip said to him, ‘Come and see.’ 47When Jesus saw Nathanael coming towards him, he said of him, ‘Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!’ 48Nathanael asked him, ‘Where did you come to know me?’ Jesus answered, ‘I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.’ 49Nathanael replied, ‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!’ 50Jesus answered, ‘Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.’ 51And he said to him, ‘Very truly, I tell you,* you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.’ John 1:43-51</i><br />
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Philip is great. I see some of myself in Philip. From this text we ascertain that he's read his history books and knows his faith story. I like it when people have read their testaments. Both of them. All of them. Not just the parts that suit an obscure political agenda (#homosexualityisonlyin6bibleverses #abortionisn'tinany). Philip's belief in his faith story is so integrated into his personal narrative that when Jesus calls him, not only does Philip follow him, but he recruits his friends. Philip knows a good thing when he sees it, and invites others to check it out. He is the best kind of friend. "I found this great new restaurant on East 7th - you gotta try it." Or, "I found the Messiah we've been waiting for, you have to meet him!"<br />
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I like Nathanael too, whom I see a little of myself in as well. He's kind of like your sassy gay friend who's perfect at calling things like they are: a spade's a spade, and an unfortunate haircut is an unfortunate haircut. Most sentences tend to start with "please" as a subtle reminder that the hearer needs to check in with reality. "Please, you think anything decent ever came from Nazareth?" or "Please, you don't know me!" That's Nathanael. Kind of a skeptic, but when an encounter with Christ shuts him up, he's quick to open his mouth back up again to sing the truth. "You guys, he's not just the King of Israel, he's the Son of God!" Superlatives are never beyond a sassy gay friend.<br />
<br />
And I kinda feel like Jesus responds back to Nathanael with a little bit of that aforementioned attitude except smothered in excitement: "Please, you think you know who I am just cause I can see the past? Listen to this. I can see the future too. And there are angels there."<br />
<br />
What?<br />
<br />
And then there's the real me. The silent observer. The person reading this story almost two millennia later and with a post-enlightenment worldview thinking, "What the...?" Angels are gonna go up and down from earth into heaven? I thought angels weren't real? These men are gonna follow Jesus when messiahs were a dime a dozen in those days? And why were these men always waiting for someone to save them? Take some initiative, boys. "Save yourself!" I want to holler at the text. Honestly, someone go give them the "American dream, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, you can change the world" pep talk. The Israelites were always waiting for God to send someone. Waiting for someone to rescue them from political mayhem. Waiting for someone to annihilate their enemies with some form of war or genocide.<br />
<br />
The Bible is difficult.<br />
<br />
But so is Jesus.<br />
<br />
Because Jesus didn't come to get rid of Rome. Instead, he said "Render to Caesar what is Caesar's."<br />
<br />
Jesus didn't come for war. Instead, when he was being arrested and Peter whipped out his sword for battle taking a swing at the guard (missing his neck, but catching the ear!), Jesus healed the guard (just stuck that ear right back on there).<br />
<br />
Jesus didn't come to make a nation of the Jewish population. Instead, he took his message to all the "unclean" Jews that the "clean" Jews had kicked out (the lepers, prostitutes, mentally ill, etc.) and also preached to the "non-Jews" (the Gentile people). Jesus talked about Jewish trees and grafting in new trees, and all of a sudden, the remnant of Israel, the root of Jesse is growing all kinds of fruit it never had on it before.<br />
<br />
Because Jesus turns everything around, and then he turns to fix his gaze on the cross. But instead of slaughtering the oppressive Romans with some heinous plague or pushing down columns to crumble the Colosseum, Jesus slaughters himself.<br />
<br />
His body crumbles under the weight of suffocation.<br />
<br />
And it is Jesus who is carried to the grave.<br />
<br />
Rev. Ann Pittman for First Austin's @JourneyLent series<br />
www.annpittman.com<br />
@anncatherinepittman on Facebook<br />
@annpittman on Twitter<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Rev. Ann Catherine Pittman is a freelance writer, actor and itinerant preacher. She currently lives in Colorado with her fiancee where they host retreats for American playwrights. She is also the interim Artistic Director for First Austin’s Trinity Street Players. Learn more at her website </span><a class="yiv3638652533" href="http://annpittman.com/" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.4s ease-in-out; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.4s ease-in-out;" target="_blank">annpittman.com</a><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"> </span><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">or follow her author page on Facebook. </span></span></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-13920079509551069952015-02-08T23:16:00.001-06:002015-02-08T23:28:49.163-06:00Grasshoppers, Gravity, and a Really Great Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Listen <a href="http://fbcaustin.org/content.cfm?page_content=downloads_include.cfm&download_id=511">here</a>!<br />
<br />
Isaiah <a href="http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=289904334" target="_blank">40:21-31</a> (NRSV)<br />
Mark <a href="http://bible.oremus.org/?passage=Mark+1:29-39" target="_blank">1:29-39</a> (NRSV)<br />
<br />
Welcome to the fifth Sunday of Epiphany, the second to last Sunday before Lent. In the tradition of epiphany, we have read yet another story from Mark about the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.<br />
<br />
It’s a whopper of a text. Chock full of demon possession and deadly diseases and even a Christ who goes AWOL. The Old Testament text from Isaiah is a little easier to swallow except that the God who once called us the cream of the crop, humanity: the pinnacle of creation (in Genesis 1) is now reminding us that it is God who takes down the rulers of the earth and we, God’s creation, are like little grasshoppers in comparison. :)<br />
<br />
Literature is the best. So many ways of communicating how we feel or how we feel God feels, or whatever.<br />
<br />
I wonder if it was this passage from Isaiah that inspired Mary Oliver to pen “The Summer Day.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Who made the world?<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Who made the swan, and the black bear?<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Who made the grasshopper?<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This grasshopper, I mean-<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>the one who has flung herself out of the grass,<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I don't know exactly what a prayer is.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>which is what I have been doing all day.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tell me, what else should I have done?<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Tell me, what is it you plan to do<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>with your one wild and precious life?<br />
<br />
Hard to make much of your life when you’re lying in bed dying from a fever though. This, of course, was the predicament of Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in the Mark passage.<br />
<br />
Aside from the dying part, this is a great story. We learn that Simon Peter has a family - he’s one of the few disciples who was married. And he brings his new friends and new messiah to his house, to stay with his family. As such, it is in Simon Peter’s home that Jesus performs his first healing miracle. It’s the second miracle and the first healing the disciples witness after having left everything - jobs, girls, family, their favorite spot to watch the sun set - to follow Jesus on this crazy vagabond adventure.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Of course, this healing story is notable for several reasons. One, it’s Jesus’ first in Mark. And two, well, you’ve read your history books, the ones that haven’t been usurped by the Texas legislature at least. Two, it’s a woman who is healed. Now, as you know, this healing of an older woman may have turned a few heads back in those days. Ancient middle eastern culture didn’t exactly value women in the way our advanced American society does today (hashtag: likeagirl). Unlike our culture which demotes women to be a product of what we wear, worth about 77 cents to our male colleagues $1, and always ask the question whether or not women were asking for it, in Jesus’ culture, women were identified by their relation to men. A female was either a daughter, a wife or a mother. And her worth? Well, how healthy are your cows and camels? I had a seminary professor once who said, “If a women is mentioned in the text, take note. The author wants you to know something.” <br />
<br />
Okay, so what happens here when the family tell Jesus about the mother in law with the fever? Jesus goes to her bedside, and raises her up. Seems simple enough (well, I mean, not scientifically, but rhetorically). Just like that, Jesus “raises her up” but that translation is a little weak in my book. The Greek work, “egeiro” which means “to raise up” is a verb which Mark uses to describe healings throughout his gospel. It is even used to describe Jesus himself in chapter 16 verse 6. The word doesn’t just mean, “to get up.” It suggests a newly imparted strength, so that the victim of illness, demons or even death may rise up to take her place in the world, to live out her one wild and precious life.<br />
<br />
<i>Come awake, from sleep arise</i><br />
<i>You were dead, become alive</i><br />
<i>Wake up, wake up, open your eyes</i><br />
<i>Climb from your grave into the light</i><br />
<br />
Once Jesus raises Simon Peter’s mother-in-law up, that lucky lady, she gets to swing into servant mode. Host these guests! Prepare the beds! Cook the dinner! It would be easy to read the text in this sarcastic manner, but again, we must drop our Western culture and limited translations by returning to the Greek. Simon Peter’s mother-in-law “serves” in a very unique way. The verb “diakenos” is the same one Jesus uses to describe his role in ministry in Mark 10:45. To serve, as denoted in diakenos, is to take on the servant characteristics of Christ. In other words, this woman is the first disciple of Christ who exemplifies true discipleship.<br />
<br />
And as a side note, 14 chapters later in Mark, it is the women, the ones following Jesus, who are described as having served him with “diakenos.” This verb, while used to describe Jesus’ ministry in chapter 10 and and the women’s ministry in chapter 15, is never used to describe the disciples actions. Hashtag: yesallwomen. Now, I’m not trying to be a hater, but remember when the Bible mentions a woman, take note. The gospels are often quick to point out that the religious leaders of the day and in this case even Jesus’ own disciples never really get it - never serve with diakenos. Steeped in their culture and tradition, it is not until after Jesus’ death and even his, dare they believe it, resurrection that the light turns on. Diakenos… service, discipleship. Except the disciples, and certainly the religious leaders, don’t always get it.<br />
<br />
Which leads me back to the Isaiah text. God is a God of creation and light and life and creativity, and doesn’t take kindly to kings and queens or the haughty, hoity toity know-it-alls, the religious elite or even the dingbat disciples. Neither does God fancy the sneaky scoundrels who think they can put on a good face by day and do whatever they want by night. “You think God doesn’t see you?” Isaiah asks. You you who are stingy, you who cheat your clients, you who spread rumors you know aren’t true, you who harbor resentment behind plastic smiles, who eyeball women who are not your wife, who step on colleagues to get ahead, you who refuse to hear God’s truth that there is neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, slave nor free (democrat nor republican, gay nor straight, old nor young, American nor Mexican, rich nor poor, fat nor skinny, bi nor tranny, Israeli nor Palestinian, Yankee nor Southerner, libertarian nor green party, black nor white, popular nor geeky, liberal nor conservative, police nor thief) because you are ALL one in Christ Jesus.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, those of you who feel burdened by these distinctions, these labels, these fallings short, these goals, these tiresome standards and ridiculous distinctions...<br />
<br />
Those of you who are exhausted by all that crap...<br />
<br />
God is ready for you, Isaiah writes. God is…<br />
<br />
calling them all by name;<br />
not one is missing.<br />
God gives power to the faint,<br />
and strengthens the powerless.<br />
those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,<br />
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,<br />
they shall run and not be weary,<br />
they shall walk and not faint.<br />
<br />
But if that’s the case, why then didn’t Jesus stay in Capernaum? The text says that the whole city was knocking at Simon Peter's door to get to Jesus. Mark says Jesus healed many, but not the whole town. And in the wee hours of the morning when the disciples have to grab their flashlights to find their miracle worker to finish the task, Jesus says, “Actually, it’s time to go.” He walks away. From those who weren’t healed the day before. From the father with leprosy, from the little girl with the rash, from the demon possessed man, from the ailing mother of 5, he walked away.<br />
<br />
And the social justice fanatic in me protests! Heal them all, Jesus! Can’t you heal them all!? Look how many are left! And the meme start popping up in my Facebook feed.“Jesus: he can feed 500, but not 501” and “Jesus bashes Obamacare - God doesn’t want his people healthy.”<br />
<br />
How could Jesus turn people away? He’s God! How could he just sneak out with the morning dew still wet in his footprints?<br />
<br />
That's what the advocate in me says, But the artist in me recognizes that healing was not Jesus’ only job to do with his one wild and precious life.<br />
<br />
Jesus had a story to tell. <br />
<br />
Which is why this is an epiphany text, and not a text for Lent. This is not a text for disciple bashing to remind us of how stupid we all really do behave. It’s not a demons-in-our-world text about the plight of humanity amidst our diseases and illness and spirits. Sure, I could tell you that this text means that what you need to do is visit the sick in the hospital, the elderly in the nursing homes - sit next to them, hold their hands, touch a life, touch one another. Touch is healing, presence is healing, being community with one another changes lives.<br />
<br />
That’s true. It does. It absolutely does. Children actually die from lack of touch. In Russia… in America… they fall over dead because we can’t love the people around us.<br />
<br />
But that’s not today’s sermon. Today's sermon is about storytellying.<br />
<br />
Lent is already right around the corner to remind you that the world is a vicious place, that you are a terrible person, that we as a people are seriously screwing things up. Lent will remind us (like the first half of this Isaiah text) that from ashes we have come and to ashes we will return. We are nothing compared to God, but we had the audacity to kill him anyway. <br />
<br />
But to those who already know about the darkness and the light...<br />
<br />
To those who see the blood and tissue and bones and water that make up our bodies, and know that even this compilation is a gift and a miracle from God...<br />
<br />
To those who see a little baby in a manger, a little boy playing in Egypt, a teenager helping out in his dad’s shop, a young adult seeking wisdom from elders at a temple, and a full grown prophet set to lead the people not into freedom from the Roman government, but into freedom from themselves.<br />
<br />
To those who hear the story and seek to tell it, they will fly.<br />
<br />
This is an epiphany text. It is the story of a God, a supernatural being, thrown into this world, and it is his story (and God’s story), that this Christ takes outside of his Jewish faith and into the world.<br />
<br />
Jesus has to leave Capernaum. He has to keep telling his story. A story of a God who can heal hearts and heal bodies and mend souls, and calm minds and take his children, his little grasshoppers, and put them on eagles wings so that they can really know what it means to fly.<br />
<br />
To those who hear this story and integrate it into their own, they will fly.<br />
<br />
They will, as one green witch once put it, dare to try defying gravity.<br />
<br />
In his final book, The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis writes of the children he's chronicled through seven books, “All their life in this world and all their adventures had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”<br />
<br />
What chapter are you on now? What story is your life telling? How are you healing? How are you learning? How are you becoming less even as you become more? How are you rising up like Simon Peter's mother-in-law day after day, resurrected from the ills of disease, and wickedness, and an all consuming greed? How are you serving (diakenos) as a disciple of one who calls you to love God and one another? What is the story you're telling, and can your voice be heard from the great wings of the God you're flying on?<br />
<br />
<i>I think I'll try defying gravity</i><br />
<i>I'm flying high, defying gravity</i><br />
<i>And you can't hold me down!</i><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6768475" name="more"></a></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-75275309873979308322014-12-29T21:28:00.001-06:002014-12-30T11:12:32.036-06:00The. Gift.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I had it all planned. Weeks prior, I had written Brownie & Christy (friends from <a href="http://www.creederep.org/" target="_blank">CRT</a>) explaining that during our seven months living in Creede, Colorado, it was Brownie's paintings that Person* was most enchanted by. Did they have a small one I could purchase to surprise him with at Christmas? For the person (indeed, my Person) who has everything, this was one thing I reckoned I could get him that would really surprise and delight him.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So Brownie took off to get one of his paintings from a gallery in a neighboring town to store at his house in Lawrence until I arrived on the 20th - en route to St. Jo Mo. Meanwhile, I started saving. Not having had steady employment since August, I knew Person wouldn't expect a gift from me, which made this extra special - sacrifice and beauty. Nothing beats it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We arrived in Lawrence to hugs and a lovely fish dinner in an historic home. Christy and Brownie are lovers of history and their house is filled with it. Built in the 1800s it's gorgeous - tall ceilings, wood everything. It's amazing. And every inch is filled with something from an antique or thrift store. Wanna see what a POW built out of toothpicks while stuck in a cell during WWII? They've got it. Ever fancied a Celtic cross? - They've got a drawer full. It's like staying the night in a museum. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But Brown, Christy, and I had a game plan. So I slipped out to the barn-turn-gallery to "see Brownie's studio." He hurried to a brown box and pulled out the painting. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I love it. He'll love it." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"It's based on a memory I have during my time in France," he explained. Even more perfect. It was The. Gift. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a>Person followed us in. Brownie hung my small painting next to a large one on the wall. Person began to peruse. "That one's wonderful," he said, pointing at the gift.<br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Oh god. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Let's buy it."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Oh, honey. Surely we should leave it here for Brown to use in his next showing. It's in Texas, you know. I'm sure he'll want to add it to the collection." </span></span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Times;">I tried. I really did. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"We'll take it," Person said.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Brown looked at me. I rolled my eyes behind Person's back. Figures. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It absolutely figures.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I think you <i>really</i> screwed up," Brownie whispered to Person as they boxed the painting and put it in our car. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Did I ruin a surprise, Ann?" Person carefully asked me later, a hint of remorse in his voice. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Yep, you just bought your Christmas Present," I spouted. And then a few tears slipped out.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Four hours later, and we were in Kansas City helping my sister decorate a room in a restaurant in preparations for my parents 45th Wedding Anniversary. Person and I had gone round and round about a gift for this special day, and finally determined that we would each contribute money towards 2 tickets, and ask them to join us for a week in France, lodging provided. It was a difficult decision because I know my dad doesn't really fancy traveling, but going to France with him is something my mom has always wanted.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Decision made, we planned the gift giving process. OMG. My parents are gonna flip. This is the gift. The. Gift. </span></span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times;"><br /></span>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Times;">In Austin, I'd purchased a guide book on France. Inside the book, we would include our financial gifts. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Times;">In Lawrence Brown and Christy had taken us to the most famous bakery in America, so we bought them a bagette. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="" /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At my sister's apartment in KCMO, I asked for wrapping paper and began winding it around the baguette. Then I started making the "vouchers" for the tickets and hotel room. "Ugh, I screwed up. Can you cut me another piece of paper?" I asked Emily. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Are you doing this to supplement Amy's gift?" she asked.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Huh?" I said. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Amy's present - she bought them tickets to France to attend a cooking seminar."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I blinked. Probably twice. "What?" I asked. "I don't understand."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Her present, for mom and dad. For their anniversary. She's taking them to France." Emily responded. "Are you piggy backing on her gift?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Huh?" I asked. It was like I couldn't hear her or the words didn't make sense. I looked at Person. And then the tears started. And didn't stop. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna take a shower." I retreated to the bathroom, where, covered by water, I cried and cried and cried and cried and cried. I was done. Two ruined presents in one day. It was more than I could handle.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Emily came in the bathroom. "Ann, it will be okay."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Yeah," I sniffled. "I know. It's fine. I'm fine."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Resume sobbing. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When I got out of the shower, I ran dripping but toweled to my purse. I took a Xanax. Don't judge. I made it three hours at least!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span></span>
That night, at my parents celebratory dinner, I handed them the baguette, the guide book, and the vouchers. And said, "well, I didn't know Amy had already gotten you this... so, sorry?" and sat back down in my chair.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX8jfjlDSfUDwIjeN1diKyHIarSS1Lch9De4oi4gM2T9aQvs7QxbAYfWdNV3WSy3VDRKKWoSjinV6kjWtSr0-5d6_aGpGAJ03dJOkHjKwxK3q7T1uvn5H0aUSIg6nakc89Gaj-g/s1600/IMG_0101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX8jfjlDSfUDwIjeN1diKyHIarSS1Lch9De4oi4gM2T9aQvs7QxbAYfWdNV3WSy3VDRKKWoSjinV6kjWtSr0-5d6_aGpGAJ03dJOkHjKwxK3q7T1uvn5H0aUSIg6nakc89Gaj-g/s1600/IMG_0101.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Four days later, and we were finally settled in for Christmas in St. Jo Mo. Person and I had to hurry out on Christmas Day in order to make back to Austin for Christmas with his family on the 26th. Emily was in a fuss - Christmas before Christmas - who's ever heard of that (um, any family who has to compromise?). So, on Christmas Eve, Person & I began distributing our gifts. Our family had gone with "elfster," this year but Person LOVES Christmas, so everyone had a gift under the tree from us despite the Elfster rules. And he'd been working on a "special" gift for my whole family. I knew what it was - a story based on Little Women, titled "Little Pittmens."<br />
<br />
Each of us had a copy of the book he'd printed, and Person read it out loud as we followed along. "But when you reach page 17, you can't turn the page," he explained. Each daughter had a page dedicated to them in the book "interpreting" their story through Person's eyes. Stann (me), Amy (Haamy), Emily (Jemily), and even Andee (Candee). And my grandpa narrated it. My grandpa who passed away three years ago.<br />
<br />
It was gorgeous. And touching. And sad. And happy. And we cried. We ugly cried. Especially on the page when Grandpa/Narrator talked about Grandma.<br />
<br />
It was rough.<br />
<br />
And then we got to page 17, and weren't allowed to turn the page.<br />
<br />
Person kept reading. And stopped. And started crying. I tried to focus, but got confused. I looked at my mom, who looked back at me with eyes wide. I looked at my sisters, and Emily stared right back at me, nodding. Then I looked back at Person and tried to listen. I couldn't help but look at his pockets, and sure enough, there on the right side of his pajama pants was a bulge.<br />
<br />
Oh my god. Is this happening?<br />
<br />
"Stann, will you marry me?" Person said... dropped the book... and dropped to a knee. He pulled the box out of his pocket. <br />
<br />
You guys, there was a ring in that box. Honest to God.<br />
<br />
I hugged him and whispered quiet things in his ear. I said, "Oh my God" more times that I can count. And I said, "Oh Lord, what will Clarence say?!"<br />
<br />
My grandma cried, and begged for someone to please ask her what is the best Christmas she ever had. Amy was completely shocked which interprets to "Oh my." Emily, it turns out, knew beforehand because while I was sobbing in her shower about my parents' anniversary gift, Person whipped out the ring, showed her, and told her everything would be fine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjel-k9SYtHn0ROe5YUWaJzKWJQYQoVAWR8_XJVzviMNNb-eChwl3YQVtYX91VvHP9r8RxRqjvFgSdNAma5sHtb9JStwBctmjmnl5unFWraXK0UK-GyIcXpzOcw_YPF7Y5Ts1bLLQ/s1600/IMG_8996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjel-k9SYtHn0ROe5YUWaJzKWJQYQoVAWR8_XJVzviMNNb-eChwl3YQVtYX91VvHP9r8RxRqjvFgSdNAma5sHtb9JStwBctmjmnl5unFWraXK0UK-GyIcXpzOcw_YPF7Y5Ts1bLLQ/s1600/IMG_8996.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
And suddenly, everything was fine.<br />
<br />
I had been disappointed because I thought I had The. Gift. for Person. And I was disappointed because Amy had already bought my parents The. Gift. that Person and I were going to give them. And then...<br />
<br />
And then...<br />
<br />
It didn't matter. Because as it turned out. Someone gave me The. Gift. Not someone, but my Person. And since The. Gift. kind of changes everything, perhaps I can call my Person - scratch that - my Fiancee, by his real name. No more pseudonyms. No more labels. No more silly blogs about boys.<br />
<br />
This is my boy. My Person. My fiancee.<br />
<br />
Manuel.<br />
<br />
After all that work, it turned out someone gave me The. Gift. And there was nothing I could do in response. Except say yes.<br />
<br />
Which I finally remembered to do.<br />
<br />
After my sisters reminded me.<br />
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"Did you even say yes?!" Emily asked.<br />
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"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Yes, mi amor, yes."<br />
<br />
Thank you for the gift.<br />
<br />
The. Gift.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Explanation of the designation "Person" can be found <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-reverse-oregon-trail.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Basically, we blame Grandma.</span></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-55228703254681255632014-12-02T20:19:00.000-06:002014-12-02T20:21:59.294-06:00#GivingTuesday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's #GivingTuesday and this is a not so subtle attempt to market some of my favorite non-profits and tell you where to put your money (spoiler alert, it's not necessarily where your mouth is).<br />
<br />
So, here they are, Ann's Top Nine (I don't know why I chose nine) Places to Give this Giving Tuesday...<br />
<br />
THE ARTS:<br />
<br />
Because, to be frank, art changes people. It may be our best ally.<br />
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1. <a href="https://www.eservicepayments.com/cgi-bin/Vanco_ver3.vps?appver3=tYgT1GfNxRUldiimjHMvOSRd3naJKQoEZJmMt8HI5b21q4qJDDuf89STNCYkcYRM2evTpo0mld6BrVzd2nG0p6_pc5_1MGlO-3qF5PKXdjs=&ver=3" target="_blank">Trinity Street Players</a>. I admit it. I may be biased because I founded this theatre and now I'm helping them out again. But still. It's a theatre. In a church. Where thespians are allowed to be themselves, and make art, and not feel proselytized. It's a nice change from the unfortunate norm. (Note: go to the Trinity Street Players line item to donate).<br />
<br />
2. <a href="https://app.etapestry.com/hosted/CreedeRepertoryTheater/OnlineDonation.html" target="_blank">Creede Repertory Theatre</a>. Also a biased choice. This is where I worked over the summer and it's a dream. And an anomaly... considering there's only 400 people living in Creede, Colorado right now.<br />
<br />
3. The Rude Mechs. I love this internationally acclaimed theatre company whose home is ATX. However, they're trying to make the hard decision about staying or going. So, get your money and <a href="http://us7.campaign-archive1.com/?u=4083a131b9c1a498db13c429a&id=cd64f76518&e=%5BUNIQID" target="_blank">go vote.</a> (Their marketing team is brilliant).<br />
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THE ENVIRONMENT:<br />
<br />
What do you care about the most? They alway ask this on those dang surveys that I get in the mail. Check one of the following.... Healthcare, Corruption on Walstreet, Gun Control. Well, needless to say, my X goes next to the environment box, cuz, y'all. Facts are facts. And it's going fast.<br />
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4. <a href="https://support.worldwildlife.org/site/SPageServer?pagename=main_onetime_2014&s_src=AWG1506SS912" target="_blank">World Wildlife Fund</a> - "WWF’s work has evolved from saving species and landscapes to addressing the larger global threats and forces that impact them." And, pandas.<br />
<br />
5. <a href="https://community.conservationfund.org/sslpage.aspx?pid=321" target="_blank">The Conservation Fund</a> - "From Alaska’s North Slope to Maryland’s Eastern shore, we’re working with groups to protect lands that that will allow vulnerable species to move and adapt." This is smart work.<br />
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6. <a href="https://secure.peta.org/site/Donation2?df_id=12528&12528.donation=form1&set.custom.Campaign_Code=I13JWAXXXXG&autologin=true" target="_blank">PETA</a> - Because people who are cruel to animals suck. And don't get me started on what it says about our culture that we have puppy farms and factory farms.<br />
<br />
HEALTH:<br />
<br />
Because, cancer.<br />
<br />
7. <a href="https://shop.stjude.org/GiftCatalog/donation.do?cID=13805&pID=24591" target="_blank">St. Jude Children's Research Hospital</a>. Enough said.<br />
<br />
Oh and ALS. Because our healthcare system is pretty corrupt, and trying to get resources to survive is pretty difficult.<br />
<br />
8. <a href="https://secure2.convio.net/alsa/site/Donation2;jsessionid=A4B416F81179ED2549102B8BFBD2A7A2.app296b?df_id=27420&27420.donation=form1" target="_blank">The ALS Association</a>.<br />
<br />
OTHER:<br />
<br />
9. <a href="http://www.npr.org/stations/donate/index.php" target="_blank">NPR</a>. Because, news and art. It's a lifesaver on those long drives. And its refreshing to know that thoughtful people still exist and are telling theirs and other's stories. </div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-6477846191101901322014-09-17T20:17:00.003-05:002014-09-17T20:18:37.547-05:00Big Burn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One of the interesting tidbits about the tiny town of Creede, CO is the plethora of artists who reside here. Whether its a TV throwing <a href="http://www.dallasnews.com/news/community-news/park-cities/kirk-dooley/20140822-bowling-ball-cannoneer-gets-tough-news-of-short-fuse.ece" target="_blank">Cannon Ball Man</a> or the distinct paintings of <a href="http://www.quillergallery.com/" target="_blank">Mr. Quiller</a>, or <a href="http://www.mandypatinkin.org/" target="_blank">Mandy Patinkin</a> himself, there are a lot of creative folks in these mountains.<br />
<br />
One such person is Bev Chapman. Some of you Missouri and Kansas folk may remember her from <a href="http://www.kmbc.com/Bev-Chapman/12275766" target="_blank">KMBC</a>. Now, however, she's specializing in film, and I saw Bev's work earlier this summer at the premier for her short film, <i>Big Burn</i>.<br />
<br />
This documentary tells the story of what I have come to know as "the fire." Frequently referenced around town, whether discussing finances or tourism or residual injuries, the topic at hand often turns to "the fire."<br />
<br />
What is "the fire?" Well, that's what I wanted to know. So I went to the completely packed movie premier where I met the sunny and lovely Bev Chapman, who shared the San Luis Valley's Fire story with me.<br />
<br />
Check out the trailer.<br />
<br />
<object height="315" width="560"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/KsdusBWSaUI?version=3&hl=en_US"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
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<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/KsdusBWSaUI?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<br />
From boy scouts to business owners, few went untouched. And the ones who did, tell the story here. If you'd like to check out the full movie, it will be available after it's premiered in a few film festivals. Until then, stay tuned, and maybe drop a few coins in the <a href="http://creederelief.org/" target="_blank">Creede Community Relief Fund</a> which was started to help those who lost so much in "the fire."<br />
<br />
And kudos to Bev and all the other artists who continue to tell the story of this amazing little town. <br />
<br />
P.S. Quiller has an amazing <a href="http://www.quillergallery.com/beauty-in-the-burn/beauty-in-the-burn-the-papoose-fire-paintings.html" target="_blank">Beauty in the Burn</a> painting series. Check it out too!<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-89650925921249748712014-08-05T21:31:00.000-05:002014-08-07T13:45:45.065-05:00The Story of the Three Thousand Dollar Pendant<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">At <a href="http://www.creederep.org/" target="_blank">Creede Repertory Theatre's</a> Illuminated Gala on Sunday, July 27, Manuel and I entered the South Fork Country Club in anticipation of a great evening. I was wearing an amazing dress, and would be singing. </span></div>
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<div class="p1">
In addition, trapeze, dancing, testimonials, and an auction were scheduled to be scattered throughout the night. Dinner would be served, and there was to be an open bar which Manuel would typically not take advantage of. </div>
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<span class="s1">Manuel and I began the evening at <a href="http://us2.campaign-archive1.com/?u=a586a4e3b067b8f76d2c3a207&id=83e8150030" target="_blank">the Gala</a> having earlier made an agreement. With so many fun things to do this summer, and with big plans for the fall, I had made a pitch for fiscal conservatism (please don’t tell my fellow democrats), and asked him to limit his generosity to the $250 admission price. He complied, and agreed not to bid on any of the auction items. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Truth be told, I didn’t trust him. The man grew up poor, and now that he has money, he loves to give it away. Frequently, I peered over the balcony of the club and observed the tables below. Had his been one of the hands that raised during the live auction? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">As is always the case with relationships, money, and really good stories, my fears were indeed warranted. While I was upstairs chatting with fellow actors in the greenroom or singing 70s love ballads from the balcony, Manuel found a heart pendant from <a href="http://www.rarethingsgallery.com/" target="_blank">Rare Things Gallery</a> in the silent auction that he began to bid on. The following weekend would mark our three year anniversary, and since he had to return to Austin for work the next day, he decided the pendant would be a nice way to say, I’m with you in spirit (I heart Creede was etched into the back of the pendant), if not in person. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">So the bidding war began, and by the time I was allowed downstairs to fraternize with the patrons at the end of the evening (and discover that Manuel had broken the agreement), the price had escalated to $1300. “Good lord, honey!” I exclaimed, “Let’s just take that money and pick out something we both like together - a painting or something. Or head to Cancun for a weekend.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Nope. I’m in the lead. I’ll buy you this pendant if I want to buy you this pendent.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Relationships are sometimes about give and take. In this case, Manuel was determined to give and I would be obliged to take.</span><br />
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But alas, there were more than one pair of eyes on that little heart with serpentine inlay and silver etching. Manuel’s competitors added their name and seven hundred dollars to the piece of paper casually hosting the numbers crusade. <span class="s1"></span><br />
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<span class="s1">Now at $2000, that was more than Manuel was willing to spend (thank God! - the pendant price tag had already escalated 10 times its original markup). I breathed a sigh of relief. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The auction closed, the bids were collected, and the goods began to be distributed as patrons paid for their purchases. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">A couple approached Manuel. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We’re the ones who outbid you on the pendant, sir,” they said to him. “And we’re feeling rather guilty about it. We were told that you were planning on giving it to Ann for your anniversary.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Oh that’s fine!” he replied assuming they knew me since they’d used my first name. “Don’t worry about it.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Well, we’d like for Ann to have it,” the couple offered.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“Absolutely not,” Manuel replied.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“All we really wanted was for the money to go to the Theatre,” they explained, “We’re feeling guilty about outbidding you, so we really would like for Ann to have the pendant. What if <i>you</i> give $500 for it in addition to<i> our </i>$2000?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Inspired by their faithfulness to CRT, Manuel made a counter-offer. “Well, since we’d all like the theatre to succeed, how about if I give an $1000 donation to the theatre in honor of your generosity? And then the pendant can be from all three of us.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“It’s a deal,” they said. “But only if we get to meet Ann.” </span></div>
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<span class="s1">So, under no compulsion of my own, I am now the owner of a Creede, Colorado, <a href="http://www.rarethingsgallery.com/inge-horsehair-jewelry_a/144.htm" target="_blank">Jennifer Inge</a> pendant. It hangs from a soft, fake leather necklace against my chest because when I went to Rare Things to tell them the story, I explained that (unlike the bidders) <i>I</i> couldn’t actually afford to buy a silver chain to wear the pendent on, and “in the spirit of generosity,” couldn’t they just “<i>give</i> me a necklace to put it on since 3 people had collaborated to pay $3000 for the pendant?” The saleswoman smiled, handed me the leather string, and rang me up for $7.56. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">And that, my friends, is the story of the Three Thousand Dollar Pendant and how it came to hang around my neck.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Every single day.</span></div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-68341096455521272742014-06-10T01:27:00.002-05:002014-06-10T01:28:47.886-05:00And Then I Moved to Colorado<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I spent my birthday with strangers this year and it was one of the most exciting days of my life.<br />
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Not because anyone knew it was my birthday (or because anyone even knew me). Not because I moved into the triangle shaped upstairs of a house chock full of Harry Potter holes (small doors that monsters and bad guys could easily crawl out of - terrifying!). Not because I ate a delicious, gluten-filled brownie my roommate made because she likes to bake. Not because my other roommate had a long haired chiguagua with whom I knew I would become best friends. Not because I watched my first full Game of Thrones (which I hate) episode in an attempt to make human friends. </div>
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Not even because of all those reasons.</div>
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Rather, it was one of the more momentous days of my life because I moved to Creede, Colorado to take a new job with a repertory theatre. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>On my thirty-sixth birthday. </div>
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Life never ceases to surprise me, and sometime I wonder if every day doesn't offer its own little opportunity for rebirth. There are baby birds hidden away by their mother in a nest in a crevice in our roof right now; they chirp away every morning, and I too feel like a wet little winged friend blinking at the world.</div>
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Whoever tells you its too late to start a second career, or too risky to move to a new place, (or that you're too old to play an ingenue), tell them I say to shut it.</div>
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Or just tell them I think every day is an opportunity for rebirth.</div>
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The church may say it happens after gruesome capital punishment (sorry Jesus!). Alanis Morissette may think it comes after a horrible breakup. But I believe it arrives every day with the rise of the sun.</div>
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On May 18th, when the sun rose, I left Lubbock (only a car-bound layover, thank God), and eight and a half hours later, I pulled into Creede, Colorado. </div>
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<i>Reborn and shivering... spat out on new terrain.</i></div>
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You guys, it's gorgeous here. GORGEOUS. And remote (my cell phone doesn't always work), and I drive past running water every day, and wake up to snow-capped mountains and green hills and jagged cliffs and wild animals. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOb1v8Ih5Csto3-_0hqM6CwtJ4PFmBSjOyn8hLr6czjvrK48jjVDCZMhqjsp1H5Npl6x-GzCxgdU4Ru_vLvdjFmNr4yJmrHpOL9dqkWtf6JK4RsIyTtUtm1q_itKaqav7qXBHOnQ/s1600/IMG_7796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOb1v8Ih5Csto3-_0hqM6CwtJ4PFmBSjOyn8hLr6czjvrK48jjVDCZMhqjsp1H5Npl6x-GzCxgdU4Ru_vLvdjFmNr4yJmrHpOL9dqkWtf6JK4RsIyTtUtm1q_itKaqav7qXBHOnQ/s1600/IMG_7796.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I see on my drive to work every day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Oh the animals! On my first evening in Creede, I saw 5 deer, a bunch of jackrabbits (they're big!), 2 beavers (badgers?!), and of course my roommate's chiguagua. And in the weeks since then, I've had a mountain goat mama and her baby jump down a mountain (in front of my car - brakes slammed, goats saved), and elk, and magpies, and oh golly... so many fuzzy, feathery wonders.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Speaking of wonders - the stars. When I left the Game-of-Thrones-brownie-distrubution-event that first evening (the night I spent my birthday with strangers), I stepped outside to drive back to my allocated housing and gasped. The stars. You can see them all. And when the moon shines, you can see your shadow. It's that dark here. And also that well-lit. But naturally. It's just nature, and it'll make you gasp.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And while I live a ten minute drive outside of it, the town of Creede proper is adorable. Super small, but very friendly. My Person and I hosted a BBQ at our house tonight for the theatre company. The grocery store owner not only gave us a huge discount last week on the meat, but when he saw us in town a few days later, he asked if we'd located a grill yet, and offered us the grocery store's giant grill in case we needed it. And when a local restaurant owner heard us talk about the BBQ while at dinner, he offered us his grill as well. "That's just Creede," everyone says when I tell them the story. Plus the town has two great coffee shops, a hardware store (Person is happy), five restaurants, one bar, a ranger station, two places you can get your haircut, and a theatre... which is the town's main attraction.</div>
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It certainly was to me.</div>
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Eight months ago, Person and I started looking for places to spend the 2014 summer. We had two criteria: it had to be somewhere beautiful (his stipulation), and it had to have a reputable theatre (my requirement). After driving all around Colorado last September, my friends the Joneses suggested Creede. They bought us tickets to see some Shakespeare zombie apocalypse play, and the four of us made the (beautiful) drive through the sometimes icy snow from their cabin near Pagosa Springs to <a href="http://www.creederep.org/" target="_blank">Creede Repertory Theatre</a>.</div>
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New scripts can be sketchy. Zombie plays can be disastrous. But this one was ridiculously delightful, even poignant at times, and contained blood cannons. </div>
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"This is somewhere I can work," I thought.</div>
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And that's how I chose Creede. </div>
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How did it choose me? Well, it was a montage of audition videos, email exchanges, a great conversation at Kips, and... well... their ingenue dropped out. I signed the papers. No complaints on my end.</div>
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And I've got no complaints since I moved here either. The first day I called Person to report in on the experience. "These people are all really nice - like genuinely nice. There's not a pretentious person in the bunch." </div>
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This is unusual. We are thespians. We are in theatre. We are occasionally divas and full of ourselves. We can admit this. The egos are why my father got out of professional theatre forty years ago. </div>
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But these people are awesomepants. And healthy too. Orientation was great, and I actually thought to myself, "My therapist would approve." I can't decide if this is because the theatre is run mostly by women, or because it's run entirely by people under 40. Either way, I like 'em. They want to make good art as a community who works together. The second dresser is just as recognizable and well-loved as the star performer in the musical. It's a great model.</div>
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Plus, I pass a river every day on the way to work. And I'm not talking about the muddy Missouri river. I'm talking about a curvy, rapids filled river with beaver/badgers and a mountainous backdrop.</div>
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Did I mention the jackrabbits and stars? </div>
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You guys, I'm in love.</div>
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And no one even had to wish me Happy Birthday to make it happen.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJrodgido83y1MWUM8BV2grn9UAfV_Hpw2fuF3NehaZX0xVTIaKfv4RA2qku08PrykQ3P3jt9ZWDxjzxmlJWsjf7oicRTI99fsMoYuFodvNVI4M1cPgW7CKWQPhd90tCqrgTfzQ/s1600/IMG_1355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJrodgido83y1MWUM8BV2grn9UAfV_Hpw2fuF3NehaZX0xVTIaKfv4RA2qku08PrykQ3P3jt9ZWDxjzxmlJWsjf7oicRTI99fsMoYuFodvNVI4M1cPgW7CKWQPhd90tCqrgTfzQ/s1600/IMG_1355.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course, they did... once they found out.</td></tr>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-2129471847287347342014-05-11T23:18:00.001-05:002014-05-11T23:36:53.590-05:00Mother's Day Turns 100... and a blind eye.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't want to come across as a hater. And Lord knows I love my mother (and am the spittin' image of her). But I do not like Mother's Day.<br />
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And I'm not the only one.<br />
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In 1923, nine years after <a href="http://http//www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/05/08/anna-jarvis-mothers-day_n_5282952.html?utm_hp_ref=mothers-day">Anna Jarvis</a> talked President Woodrow Wilson into establishing a national "Mother's Day," Ms. Jarvis turned around and began protesting it.<br />
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On facebook today, fourteen months after the death of his mother, Jason Nethercut describes Mother's Day as "prominent, glaring and threatening."<br />
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And for five years when I served at First Baptist Church in Austin, TX, I could be counted on to cry (hopefully non-conspicuously) at one service every year: Mother's Day.<br />
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Why don't we like it?<br />
<br />
Well, Anna Jarvis hated how commercial it became in just nine years (oh Lord, she'd <a href="http://http//www.newsnet5.com/news/mothers-day-spending-expected-to-reach-199b">HATE</a> it now). You see, she didn't start the movement to create a national holiday for "we the people" to give our moms flowers, and candy and cheesy greeting cards. She petitioned for this national holiday because her own mother organized "Mother's Work Days" to improve sanitary conditions and try to lower infant mortality, to tend to soldiers who had been injured in the Civil War. Anna's mother's contemporary, Julia Ward Howe (who composed "The Battle Hymn of the Republic"), issued a widely read "Mother's Day Proclamation" in 1870, calling for women to take an active political role in promoting peace.<br />
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Mother's Day, for Anna, was to recognize extraordinary women, and specifically the one she was the closest to: her mother. <br />
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In <a href="http://Ann dKJdklsf jkdlf skfldkl fsd;dfklatjioewajkl dsjfkla jklw; rfjekwl jklfas djkla;" target="_blank">other words</a>, "Mother's Day was born in the aftermath of the Civil War, as a rallying cry for women worldwide to oppose war and fight for social justice." It wasn't actually about mothers being good moms, it was about women being good people.<br />
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Mother's Day was a cry to action. It was a call from the feminist and Christian communities for women to live to their fullest potential as God's children... and to protect God's other children.<br />
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Happy 100th Birthday, Mother's Day. You have forgotten who you are.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
Which is perhaps why I used to cry at church on the second Sunday of May every year. Hyper commercialization of a day saluting mothers seemed really wrong to me. It made me sick at my stomach to think of the women (or couples) who would stay home from church that day or have to muster all their strength to attend, suffering through the sympathetic smiles they'd inevitably receive because... they can't have children. It made me sick to look at my darling students - some just barely out of college, who, in the words of Ruth Margalit, were now "<a href="http://http//www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2014/05/the-unmothered.html?mobify=0">unmothered</a>" having lost their moms to disease & tragedy. It made me sick that some of my friends, coworkers, and parishioners agonized about what to do this day for their really shitty mothers... the ones whose criticism drove them to anorexia, the ones who ran off with their boyfriends and left them to be raised by an aunt, the ones who were absent, hateful, abusive, and all those other awful things that mothers aren't supposed to be. It made me sick that my own mother was a $400 plane ride away in Missouri, and that despite the 600 people sitting in the congregation, I felt very lonely here in Texas.<br />
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And it made me sick that because I was single (and at just seven days shy of my 36th birthday, I still am), I didn't feel like having kids was an option for me. Even in the 21st century, society doesn't look favorably on this. It tells me I'm incomplete. I'm unfinished. I don't know my true calling. The list of strikes against me and all other non-mothers goes on and on.<br />
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Ultimately, I felt it was a holiday that excluded people. And that made me feel sad.<br />
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Unfortunately, those feelings didn't end after I left my job at the church. In 2013, my adopted mother died of cancer. More tears.<br />
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In fact, this might be the first Mother's Day in years that I didn't cry. And I think that's because on this 100th anniversary of Mother's Day, I spent the afternoon browsing the Internet and getting angry.<br />
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What if we put that 20 billion Mamma's day dollars into our education system? Into our foster care system? Into rehabilitation and incarceration programming? <br />
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What if we spent just one day being peace-makers who strive not just to end war, but to return children to their parents, and allow mothers and daughters the world over to not live in fear of planes, bombs, mines, and kidnappings?<br />
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What if we worked for sanitation and health by eradicating Dollar Stores, soda pop, and Monsanto? What if we spent time and money on helping our Iraq war veterans cope with their war injuries (namely PTSD)?<br />
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What if, what if, what if.<br />
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Listen, I love my mother. I love a lot of your mothers too. There are a lot of great moms out there. So go spend time on them. Tell them you love them. Make them feel special.<br />
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But challenge them to make a difference in the world. Challenge yourself. Challenge your daughters and your husbands and your sons and your neighbors and your pastors and your barbers.<br />
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My mother thinks the may have "pushed the women thing a little too hard" with me.<br />
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Nah, I don't agree with that either.<br />
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I think she taught me what should really matter on Mother's Day... honoring great women who have done great things.<br />
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So for social justic minded moms and non-moms alike... you go girls. Today is your day.<br />
<br /></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-89759097716215180282014-04-16T20:50:00.001-05:002014-04-16T20:55:15.740-05:00Transition: Something Just Broke<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The movement into Holy Week starts off strong and exciting - like any good religious festival. From Sunday's palm branch waving and animal joyriding to tomorrow night's dinner with friends, things seem to be going well for Jesus and the Disciples.<br />
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But today, Holy Wednesday is traditionally the day that Judas is said to have gone to the High Priests... "What will you give me if I betray him?" Thirty pieces of silver later, and our story takes a swift turn for the worse. Way beyond foreshadowing, the climax builds as things fall apart.<br />
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At the passover dinner, Jesus hints that one will deny him, another betray him, and a party guest leaves in a huff.<br />
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Bread is broken and eaten, wine is poured and drunk, but the symbolism isn't traditional, and the disciples wonder what these mixed up metaphors might mean.<br />
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After dinner, Jesus excuses himself up to the garden to pray, taking with him his three closest friends. He asks them to wait and keep watch, while he begs God: let there be another way.<br />
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But God says no, and when Jesus returns, more disappointment awaits him. He finds his comrades snoozing, the passover hangover already upon them.<br />
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Heading back down the hill, things go from bad to worse as the one who ran away comes running back with guards in tow, a kiss of death upon his lips.<br />
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Peter draws his sword and the fight escalates when he cuts off a slave's ear. But Jesus, usually the peacemaker, knows that violence must wait a day and it certainly won't come from an army of angry revolutionaries.<br />
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But as Jesus returns the ear to the poor servant's head, his friends begin to panic. Everyone takes flight now, one fleeing so fast that when a guard grabs his cloak the disciple wriggles free and runs naked all the way home.<br />
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Jesus, on the other hand, is restrained, imprisoned, and left to await trial and potential capital punishment.<br />
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And we move from Holy Wednesday to Maundy Thursday.<br />
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Sleepy stewards, double-crossing kisses, and then... something just broke.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I'm currently performing in a Stephen Sondheim musical about the men and women who attempted, some of them successfully, to take the lives of United States Presidents. Titled, Assassins, this strange musical weaves through the infamous lives of nine "assassins" in every number with the exception of one. During one song - the next to last number - all the leads leave the stage and the ensemble walks out one at a time to take their place on the empty, quiet stage. And I too, come out, a nondescript housewife and in the dim light I sing, "<i>I was out in the yard, taking down the bedsheets when my neighbor yelled across, </i>The president's been shot<i>. I remember where I was just exactly where I was - in the yard out back. Folding sheets. And I thought... something just broke</i>."<br />
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Where were you when it happened? When something just broke? For my mother, it was JFK's assassination and she was sitting in 6th period, Mrs. Tomlinson's class. For my grandma, having lived through WWI and WWII, it was hearing on the car radio while on vacation in Wyoming that the US was going to war again... with Korea. For some people now living in Austin it may have been on a rooftop or in a convention center during hurricane Katrina. When was the moment for you that everything stopped - or nothing stopped - and something just broke?<br />
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<i>Something just left a little mark</i><br />
<i>Something just went a little dark</i><br />
<i>Something just went</i><br />
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This week people have been sharing about transitions in their lives... transitions often based in moments of brokenness... a son's suicide, a spouse's infertility, a cancer diagnosis - for the second time. Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima, 9/11, Newtown - international tragedies or personal tragedies, with eyes wide open, we realize things will never be the same.<br />
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When was that moment for Jesus who, keep in mind, was fully human? The transition from Monday's Hosannas to Thursday's arrest was perhaps not as overt as a bomb dropped or a shot rung out or a tsunami crashed upon the shore, but he had to have felt it...<br />
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Was it the coins jingling in Judas' pocket when he ran from the seder? Was it the snore of his friends' slumber singing in the trees? Was it the bloody ear he had to pick up and put back on a face? Was it the pride (and clothing) his best friend shed as Jesus watched the bare bottomed man run down the road?<br />
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Or was it the kiss?<br />
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When did you learn that people have the capacity for great wickedness, that life is not fair, that sometimes when we sow there there is nothing to be reaped?<br />
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When did you discover that something just broke? And what did you do next? <br />
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Did you cry?<br />
Or nervous laugh?<br />
Did you blame God?<br />
Blame yourself?<br />
Blame the government?<br />
Give up drinking?<br />
Take to drinking?<br />
Take out your anger on your kids?<br />
Take out your desperation on your spouse?<br />
Did you pray?<br />
Go to church?<br />
Read the Bible?<br />
Read Rumi?<br />
Read Harry Potter and cry?<br />
Turn a blind eye?<br />
Say yes to everything?<br />
Retreat in silence?<br />
Run away?<br />
Stay to fight?<br />
Throw yourself into your job?<br />
A hobby?<br />
Your kids?<br />
Exercise?<br />
Did you watch Fox News and buy all the canned goods at HEB?<br />
Did you listen to the Willie Nelson and take up smoking?<br />
Did you eat all the ice cream in your freezer?<br />
Did you stop eating everything?<br />
Did you shut down?<br />
Pretend nothing was wrong?<br />
Ask for help?<br />
Research therapists?<br />
Call a lawyer?<br />
Email a minister?<br />
Did you sleep?<br />
Did you lie awake?<br />
Did you enact revenge?<br />
Did you practice compassion?<br />
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I don't mean to sound cliche, but Jesus went to the cross. That was his next move. He went to the cross, he went to the tomb, and he came out on the other side. He woke up the disciples and reattached the ear and eventually forgave Peter for not just the sword incident but the rooster one too. He lived. He died. And he lived again.<br />
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And so can we.<br />
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But not yet.<br />
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It's only Wednesday.<br />
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As a cast, we shared about our "something just broke" moments in rehearsal. And while most of them are in their twenties and cited 9/11, I spoke of when the Challenger exploded. We had been following it at school and it was the first time a teacher (and a woman) was going into space, and I can testify that every kid in America was excited as could be. Afterwards, I remember processing the event with my parents at dinner. I remember cutting out the article about the Challenger from the newspaper that was delivered the next morning. I put that clipping in a china cabinet and revisited it from time to time just to wonder at the fragility of it all.<br />
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But truth be told, this wasn't my first something just broke moment. I would talk to you today about transition, about dying to self and rising to walk in the newness of life. I would tell you the story of how something really just broke in my life, but it would take too long, and you'd get bored, and then I'd have to take a Xanax. And my stories are certainly not as exciting as speculating about Jesus'.<br />
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Plus, this is Holy Week... Holy Wednesday, and we must take note: the transition is already upon us. The palm branches have been burned, the seder plates are empty, and tomorrow is Maundy Thursday... Tomorrow starts the trial, tomorrow brings the verdict, tomorrow we drape cloth over everything in the church, and we head to the cross. The time of transition is already upon us. And Jesus will be crucified. <br />
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Bread and body... <i>something just</i>...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rev. Ann Pittman</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Holy Week Sermon, First Austin </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Wednesday, April 16, 2014</span></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-90360403324228298192014-04-09T22:33:00.001-05:002014-04-10T11:56:11.035-05:00Assassins... the Musical<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"You know the FBI has a file on you now," a young man with a record informed me after I performed in <a href="http://www.soubretteproductions.com/" target="_blank">Soubrette Production's</a> <i>Assassins</i> last weekend.<br />
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"Oh honey, they've had a file on me for a long time," I replied. "You've read my blog, right?"<br />
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Seriously though, aside from the fact that I've actively and articulately criticized American politicians - conservatives <i>and</i> liberals (Though lets be honest, fundamentalists of the former persuasion are much more offensive and ridiculous than fundies of the latter - what would a fundamentalist liberal be anyway? a hippie? I digress.) - and aside from the fact that I am very opinionated about politics, race, sexism, issues of social justice and separation of church and state, I also dated someone who worked for the Department of Defense. Remember when I quit posting crazy boyfriend stories in the latter part of 2011? There was a reason for that. But it wasn't because I stopped dating men, it was because my man didn't have security clearance. Yep, that happened.<br />
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And now I've gone and performed in <i>Assassins,</i> the musical about successful and wanna-be assassins of American Presidents. So, add that to the file, Monsieur FBI.<br />
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Though to my credit, I don't play one of the nine assassins (only two of which are of the female persuasion: Sarah Jane Moore and Squeaky Fromme). Rather, I sing the poignant solo, "Something Just Broke," which critics say saved this Sondheim masterpiece from slaughter itself. The original Assassins produced in the early nineties was not well received, but with a new decade, a new cast, and a new song, the revival has had a profound affect on audiences.<br />
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And so has our <i>Assassins</i>. Austin icon, <a href="http://www.austin360.com/news/entertainment/music/finally-the-hall-of-fame-for-40-year-broadcaster-1/nRfwd/" target="_blank">David Jarrott</a>, wrote this about our show:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZoveH8V6WV5p4kdku_Rl4E0hPPygKOeELQWLiGG71lioWyOp77hs_tsKKAkRTlgS8YrggnVko_D8zZ5He539haUX9LYTVzqmyZSjSExyKfyQohvhI1rNF-TrFraxYz_6_dG43g/s1600/david.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZoveH8V6WV5p4kdku_Rl4E0hPPygKOeELQWLiGG71lioWyOp77hs_tsKKAkRTlgS8YrggnVko_D8zZ5He539haUX9LYTVzqmyZSjSExyKfyQohvhI1rNF-TrFraxYz_6_dG43g/s1600/david.tiff" height="185" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Facebook Post... borrowed. But I doubt he cares.</td></tr>
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And while Trinity Street Players Producer, Cathy Jones, describes "a weight pressing down upon" her, <a href="http://m.austin360.com/weblogs/austin-arts-seeing-things/2014/apr/07/review-soubrette-productions-assassins/" target="_blank">Austin 360 critic</a>, Cate Blouke, writes "Assassins is, oddly, really quite charming... until of course, we suddenly remember that we're humming along with the likes of John Wilkes Booth." </div>
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Point taken.</div>
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But Nathan Brockett is SO. GOOD. I mean, look at his face in these photos. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Wilkes Booth is obvs. conflicted.</td></tr>
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And he's not the only one. I love, LOVE watching Julia Lorenz-Olson play deranged housewife, Sarah Jane Moore. She's the best. And then, it would be remiss of me to leave out Robert Deike who plays the non-singing character in this Sondheim musical (what?), Sam Byck. "Have it your way, have it your way." He's neurotic. And we've got it on tape. Yeah, tape. Like circa 1985 tape. He's a perfect train wreck. </div>
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Add to that the flitting across the stage, "never heard the word no," Charles Guiteau (who in our day probably would have gotten off with "afluenza" as opposed to being escorted to the gallows, but whatev.), and this is a cast that just. doesn't. stop. Andrew Cannata, Steve Williams, Meg Steiner, Joseph Garlock, and Brian Lasoya are all super duper.</div>
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Even the ensemble! I mean, I get it, I'm biased. But we're so cute! I love watching Vanessa's quirky mannerisms during "How I saved Roosevelt," and Adrianna Jones' rubber face in "Bill Bill," and then there's the ever-diverse Robert Berry who does EVERY VOICEOVER IN THE WHOLE SHOW from Ronald Reagan to Sirhan Sirhan. He's a hoot.</div>
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Anyway, yeah, so the FBI has another file to add to my case. I'm okay with that. Just so long as my Something Just Broke picture gets included. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ann Pittman, Ben Roberts, and Adrianna Jones during "Something Just Broke." Photo by Will Hollis</td></tr>
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If they're going to document my rebelliously risqué and wildly dangerous lifestyle, I want to make sure they get the good stuff.</div>
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P.S. Wanna see an adorable slidshow of pictures made by President Garfiend? Check this out! </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="327" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/91587015" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <a href="http://vimeo.com/91587015">Assassins Promo</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/ericlee">Eric Lee</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</div>
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P.P.S. Assassins is playing Thursdays thru Sundays at 8pm from now until April 20th. Tickets may be purchased at the door or from <a href="http://assassins.brownpapertickets.com/" target="_blank">Brown Paper Tickets</a>. </div>
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P.P.P.S. For those of you who still aren't convinced to come see this show, here's some more articles & radio interviews to entice you...</div>
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<li><a href="http://www.austinchronicle.com/gyrobase/m/Issue?oid=1531190" target="_blank">Austin Chronicle</a> review by Stacy Alexander Evans</li>
<li><a href="http://mpathgroup.com/offstage/Act%20X,%20Scene%2020.mp3" target="_blank">Off Stage and On the Air</a> KOOP radio interview</li>
<li><a href="http://austinlifestylemag.com/assassins-sondheims-catchy-but-challenging-play-opens-april-3rd-at-george-washington-carver-center/" target="_blank">Austin Lifestyle Magazine</a> article by Ryan E. Johnson</li>
<li><a href="http://www.ctxlt.com/index.php/alt-reviews-in-2013/6134-ctxlt-review-assassins-by-sondheim-and-weidman-soubrette-productions-at-boyd-vance-theatre-april-3-20-2014" target="_blank">Central Texas Live Theatre</a> blog review by Dr. Dave Glen Robinson</li>
<li>Plus, I've writing fun blurbs on the cast & crew of Assassins on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SoubretteProductions" target="_blank">Soubrette's Facebook</a> page. Follow Soubrette to read about castmember's favorite presidents and "something just broke" moments!</li>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-14546457742389132812014-02-24T22:55:00.001-06:002014-02-24T23:08:40.153-06:00The Backhanded Sermon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><span style="font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 0px;">Yesterday at <a href="http://www.fbcaustin.org/" target="_blank">First Austin</a>, Rev. Dr. Roger Paynter preached on Leviticus 19 and Matthew 5... the turn the other cheek story. He said that while being told to turn the other </span><span style="font-size: 12px;">cheek is often used by Christians to "baptize our masochism," it can also be a chance for us to allow for a "courageous assertion of ourselves."</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">I preached on this very text eleven years ago. It's a sermon on one of the best things I learned in seminary (I think). And since apparently <a href="http://www.ubcwaco.org/" target="_blank">University Baptist Waco</a> has been on my mind lately (I threw on an old UBC shirt to run errands in on Saturday and then low and behold, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kyle_Lake" target="_blank">Kyle Lake</a>, visited me in a dream that night right before I headed to church to hear a text I once preached. So I got out the old scrapbooks, and I got out my old book of sermons (those files don't exist electronically anymore). And on my little iPad last night, I smiled and cringed and smiled some more and typed out that sermon to share with y'all. </span></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12px;">And of course I've included pictures. Because this text is tricky, and it required a full on demonstration from the stage that morning. Pre-blog apologies to Big Phil and Lance. And </span></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">Kyle, it was nice to see you the other night. Thanks for visiting...</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><b>And now, we welcome to the blog 25-year-old Ann Pittman </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><i><b>from UBC Waco 2003...</b></i></span><br />
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<a name='more'></a>My name is Ann Pittman, and I'm in my third year of seminary which means that I was one of those dorky Christians in the high school youth group who took notes on sermons while the other kids were making out in the balcony. I majored in religion in college. I worked one summer at Centrifuge. And now I've devoted three of the best years of my life to live in God-help-me-Waco, Texas to go to seminary and study the Bible some more.<br />
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Strange.<br />
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And I like Christianity, really I do. But there have always been some confusing parts of it - or rather of the Bible, I guess. You know, those strange verses and stories that talk about stuff that never settles right in your mind.<br />
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Now, I'm not talking about miracles like the one about some teenager who's never had sex, gets pregnant, and gives birth to baby god. That's strange, but that's not what Im talking about.<br />
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I'm talking about those hard passages like "blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the kingdom of God," which in my mind translates to "blessed are the wusses."<br />
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Strange.<br />
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Or how about "to love Jesus means to hate your father and mother" - that's confusing, and seems anti-golden-rule-ish, if you ask me.<br />
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Or what about "if you say to the mountain move in the name of Jesus it will be moved."<br />
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Now that ain't right.<br />
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I'll never forget when I was a kid and I was pondering prayer (I told you I was a dork - pondering prayer at age 10), and I was standing in my backyard when I decided to test the whole "pray and it shall happen" hypothesis (what I would now call my attempt to be Hermione Granger). Now, I was torn about it, cause I figured if a mountain was moved to the sea it would really disrupt a lot of things. I mean, what about the people who lived on the mountain? Would the amount of space the mountain took up in the sea cause the shoreline to rise and cause flooding in neighboring communities? (You have to realize I had a lot of anxiety as a child - I know this now). So I decided to forego the mountain and start with something smaller. So, I looked at my house, and with all the faith I could muster, I prayed that my house would be moved down the block.<br />
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Of course, it didn't move. I was a little disappointed, but a little relieved too, cause I wasn't sure what my parents' response would be to finding our house relocated. Anyway, you get the picture. The Bible makes some strange claims.<br />
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Here's another one that youth group debates love to tackle. "If your brother strikes you, turn the other cheek." <br />
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You've got the pacifist kid of the hippie parents who stands by the rule black eye or blue, and then you've got the practical kid's parents who say to sock the bully back so he'll leave you alone. And then the conversation gets more heated and kids start talking about husbands who beat their wives, and divorce, and if a man hits his wife, is she allowed to run and divorce him, or should she just take it meekly and turn the other cheek? And of course, I always responded with "Run lady!" but always felt bad cause the Bible seemed to oppose my opinion. And I have to admit that over the years, my response hasn't changed much. It has only become more adamant. Now I say, "Lady, you grab the kids. I'll grab the car, and drive you to the police station myself. Then I'll call Big Phil and Lance, and they'll go take care of your husband - so you don't have to worry anymore!" <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">These are my friends, Big Phil and Lance circa 2002. You don't mess with them.</span></td></tr>
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But I'm not really sure if the Bible backs me up on that response though either.<br />
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Fortunately, I have done some further reflection on this particular passage about "turning the other check" and its second story of "going the extra mile," but let's read this passage so we're all on the same page.<br />
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<i>Matthew 5:38-41: You have heard that it was said, "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth." But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.</i><br />
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Man, what a command. If someone strikes you, turn the other cheek. Shoot, if someone cuts off one leg, give him your other! What's that all about? Yes! Please, victimize me more? <br />
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Or how about this - if some one wants your coat, give him your cloak as well. Great idea - you want my diamond earrings? Here, take the Rolex too. You want my car? Here's the key to the house. Why not take it all? Or better yet, you want me to carry your briefcase to work for you? Shoot, I'll carry it there and back! And can I pick up your kids from school? I'm sure mine won't mind if I'm late getting them!<br />
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Okay, I know I'm exaggerating, but still! Do you agree about how odd these statements seem? <br />
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In rabbinic literature it states that if you slap someone in the face, you have to pay him two times over a normal fine in order to apologize monetarily for your actions.<br />
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Striking someone was huge.<br />
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And it was even worse for the Romans to force a Jew to carry their items one mile. This privilege of the Romans was considered one of the worst forms of oppression in the time of Jesus. The Romans were allowed to pull someone from their job, from their family, from whatever, and force them to walk one mile with them. Naturally, they would have to walk one mile back afterwards. This puts an obvious disruption in a workday (not to mention the degrading nature of the demand that denigrates the Jew to slave-like behavior).<br />
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So why would Jesus say this? Why would he say these things that seem to re-victimize the victims even more? Isn't Jesus normally on the side of the oppressed, the estranged, and the marginalized?<br />
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Well, grasp meaning in these verses, we as readers today need to be well versed in our rabbinic literature to understand the culture at that time, and what Jesus' assertions might have meant to their original hearers.<br />
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First of all, the slap. To help our understanding of this portion of the text, I am going to need a visual aid. Big Phil, please come up here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Big Phil & me (I'm in my Buzzard Billy's work attire) circa 2001.</span></td></tr>
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Now, to backhand someone across the face such as this verse denotes, indicates a sort of superiority of the "slapper" to the "slappee" - if you will.<br />
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If I backhand Phil across the face, it communicates to him (and to anyone watching) that I consider Phil under me, lesser than me, and thus deserving of a strike such that a master would give a slave. <br />
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However, if I were to slap Phil in the face with the palm of my hand, this is a different story. To slap Phil in this manner denotes a sense of shame (as any strike to the face would), but it carries with it the connotation of equality. I am shamed by you but you are my equal, and so I slap you on the face with the palm of my hand. <br />
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A subtle difference, but key to understanding what Jesus is saying in this passage. <br />
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Think this through with me. If I were to backhand Phil in a degrading fashion, insulting him and demoting him to a position inferior to my own, I do so like this. *backhand*<br />
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But for him to turn the other cheek, what does it force me to do? It forces me to slap him across the face with my palm. *slap*<br />
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In other words, for Phil to turn the other cheek is for him to non-verbally insist that if I want to strike him again, it will have to be with him as an equal. If I want to hit him again, it has to be on equal turf, from one equal to another.<br />
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Do you see how revolutionary this is? Who has the power in the situation now? For Jesus to say this is not for the victim of the backhand to be re-victimized by further beating, but it is for the victimized to say that "to continue as such, we must be equals." <br />
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Thank you, Phil.<br />
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Let's look at this further. What about the issue of suing for the coat?<br />
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The Jews had a law that you could not sue someone beyond what they could bear. So even if someone sued you for your coat, they had to ensure that you had something to keep you warm at night. <br />
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The Jews had a lot of nice compensational rules didn't they? You smack someone, you pay him twice over for their pain... you sue someone, you have to make sure they're provided for...<br />
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So let's play this out. Let's say your financier, Kyle Lake, sues me for my coat, and in response I begin taking off my shoes and my socks and my shirt and... how is Kyle going to respond?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfCxoHd_4o_6_sHrj8IE1Gr5Sf7L567CewXCR739-RANVSiVl4gRFFq_nMvXoD-eQctn8I4-iCdSLQlHrpfJKvvsfUM3mkRHdlO0rIL9jrCdCW-_zTjDXYWE12c9m-PthYRxbFQ/s1600/IMG_7003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNfCxoHd_4o_6_sHrj8IE1Gr5Sf7L567CewXCR739-RANVSiVl4gRFFq_nMvXoD-eQctn8I4-iCdSLQlHrpfJKvvsfUM3mkRHdlO0rIL9jrCdCW-_zTjDXYWE12c9m-PthYRxbFQ/s1600/IMG_7003.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's unfortunate that my only candid shot of Kyle was at a 2002 UBC pool party at his parents' ranch. <br />P.S. I have cropped everyone else's face out (Jen Lake, Ben Dudley, Jonathan Standefer, you're welcome).</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Hey now, hold up there!" If you're at the synagogue trying to sue someone, and all of the sudden they start giving you everything, it becomes a very embarrassing situation! "Now cut that out. Keep your clothes on for crying out loud."<br />
<div>
<br />
Do you see how the one being sued turned the tables? Who has the power now?</div>
<div>
And what about walking the extra mile? A Roman comes up to a Jew and humiliates him by demanding his services to carry his things for a mile. All of a sudden, the mile is up and as the Roman demands his coat back, the Jew insists on carrying it another mile.<br />
<br />
Now, what is going to be going through the head of the Roman?<br />
<br />
First off, confusion. Why does this Jew want to carry my things? I've already humiliated and oppressed him. What's he got a mile or so up the road there? An ambush? Am I going to be ambushed? Or what if the Roman had reached his destination and the Jew just keeps on walking? "This is my destination; give me back my things." <br />
<br />
"Oh no, sir. I'm going to go the extra mile. I'll go ahead and carry it one mile further."<br />
<br />
Do you see? Do you see the reversal of power? Jesus has turned the tables on the oppressors to give the victims power.<br />
<br />
Modern politicians and psychologists would call this active resistance. Not passive aggression. No violent resistance, but active resistance.<br />
<br />
Our tendency when someone hurts us is to seek revenge. He cheated one me?! Well, I'll show him! "So I went to Neiman Marcus on a shopping spree-uh, on the way I grabbed Sophie and Mia..." You know what I'm talking about. We have spiteful, seemingly harmless, ways of enacting revenge on people who hurt us. Other times, our hatred of pain and oppression becomes much more deeply rooted in our hearts. <br />
<br />
You know, sometimes it's hard being a woman trying to be active in ministry, especially in Baptist churches. I've had male friends tell me to my face that God won't use me as a preacher or a pastor because I'm a woman. Add to that a very long, painful breakup with a gentleman several years ago, and for a while after that I was very angry towards men. So much so that some of my friends here with us today called me "mangry."<br />
<br />
We joke about it now, but isn't it true? Haven't you been in an experience that caused you so much pain that it just grew and rotted out your heart? Your parents' divorce, the death of a friend, date rape, losing your job, not getting into the school you wanted, the list could go on and on. Even our nation has to deal with this. How do we choose to respond to events like 9-11?<br />
<br />
Now the Bible does not have a straight out answer to our questions. It does not say how a woman should respond in a manner of active resistance when she is being sexually harassed by a man. Nor does it say how a black person should respond when he is turned down for a job that is given to a less qualified white person. Or how a man from Yemen should respond when he misses a plane because he was held back for questioning because he looks middle-eastern. The Bible does not have all the answers or event the right formulas. But it is very clear that revenge is not a viable option for those who are oppressed, nor is Jesus in the habit of keeping victims locked in their victimization.<br />
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Now clearly, not all pain stems from oppression. Disease and cancer take our loved ones leaving us in pain. The "turn the other cheek," "go the extra mile," scenario doesn't speak well to that. But remember, this passage is about empowerment, and I think that can speak to our pain.<br />
<br />
Often life experiences can be so painful and leave us so empty that we feel victimized simply by anguish or anxiety. But we have hope, because God is in the business of restoration. God has the ability to empower us to stand even beneath the pain to tackle life again.<br />
<br />
Sinead O'Connor, in speaking of the process that Ireland must undergo to come to a forgiving and healthy political relationship with England, says that regarding pain, there must be "remembering, grieving, and then healing" which gives way to forgiveness or whatever else is needed for restoration. And I have to admit, this is pretty healthy advice. Our God is a god who heals and empowers victims - whether of oppression or of the depravity of this world.<br />
<br />
One of the most empowering words God ever spoke to me was through a counselor I met my senior year in college. I was speaking with her about the most painful (I thought) experience I had ever been through at that time in my life. She responded that I had two alternatives. I could either allow God to make good result from that situation, or I could let it destroy me. And then she told me her story about when she was in college; her mother died just a few months before her graduation. And though she grieved her mother's death for many years, she allowed God to take that situation and use her to minister to other people in pain. She has thus devoted her life to Christian counseling and helping people like me.<br />
<br />
Do you see how God empowers people? Do you see how God can reach through pain to remind you: God exists, God remembers you, God can recreate you to be surrounded by the Spirit of Love. Isn't that a good story? Is this a story you want to be apart of - of backhanded Jews who have to walk the extra mile?<br />
<br />
To the oppressed, God gives promotion to personhood; to the inferior, equality. And to the sadness that comes from living every day in a world full of pain and anxiety: empowerment - the power to exist again with the power of God's love and restoration at work in your life.<br />
<br />
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the Roman government... or of modern day oppression... racism... sexism... or classism, I will fear no evil for Thou art with me...though I don't know why.<br />
<br />
Strange.<br />
<br />
Amen.<br />
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>** Dedicated to the memory of friendship... Kyle Lake, Phil Shepherd, Lance Hutchins, Lynnette Ogle, Cat Weaver, Jeremy Bush, Chris Johnson, Jesse Jordan, Josie Yearwood, Jen Alexander, and everyone else. Love, Ann in Austin 2014.</i></span></span></div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-51562197391427696362014-01-20T00:07:00.001-06:002014-01-20T00:13:51.262-06:00I'm Working on MLK (and what it means to me)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's MLK Day.<br />
<br />
I've <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2011/01/happy-mlk-day.html#links" target="_blank">written</a> about this day before. And over the years, I've spent it in a variety of ways: playing in the snow since I didn't have to go to school in Missouri, raking leaves when I didn't have to go to work in Texas. And one year I even attended an MLK Day breakfast at Huston-Tillotson University with Austin icon, Volma Overton.<br />
<br />
This year though, I will go to work (ah, corporate America); and I admit MLK Jr. is on my mind.<br />
<br />
I can't pinpoint why. Maybe it's because I listened to this weird <a href="http://www.npr.org/2014/01/17/263376672/is-obamas-jobs-crusade-focused">"I'm over MLK" </a>discussion on NPR. I mean, I can't even...<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'm paranoid about the gentrification of my neighborhood. Though admittedly, on my block, its affected the poorer Latino families more than it's affected the African Americans.<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'm dreading all the MLK meme that will undoubtedly be posted on FB tomorrow - by conservatives trying to show they're not racist and by liberals trying to tell people to stop being racist. (None of it really matters as history suggests that few change their mind because of Facebook posts). (Furthermore, I will post some lovely meme on this blog to break up the text and appeal to visual readers).<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Or maybe its because I'm thoroughly disgusted by the very public trials last year that brutally showed how the justice system views black and white offenders. You remember them. George Zimmerman vs. Treyvon Martin... <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shooting_of_Trayvon_Martin" target="_blank">the white guy</a> who gets to "stand his ground against" (i.e. kill) the black teenager he tailed (of course, <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/news/fla-mom-gets-20-years-for-firing-warning-shots/" target="_blank">this black woman</a> wasn't allowed to stand her ground; she got 20 years for firing warning shots to scare off her abusive husband). And then there's <a href="http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4430807" target="_blank">the white (drunk) teenager</a> who killed four people with his truck but got probation because he suffers from "Affluenza"... otherwise know as "My parents have influence." You can't make this stuff up. <br />
<br />
And then there's <a href="http://youtu.be/7rWtDMPaRD8">this video</a> going viral (with the help of <a href="http://www.upworthy.com/" target="_blank">UpWorthy</a>) about a "f**king mutt" (a policeman's description of the teenager he stopped to frisk) and the NYC's police department's controversial policy that appears to blatantly condone racial profiling. <br />
<br />
And it's disgusting.<br />
<br />
So on MLK day, I understand when people say, "the dream is not realized." That resonates with me. I may not be black, but I'm a lot of things that often the justice system, the health care system, the church, and American culture in general don't go easy on. I'm a woman, I struggle with mental health issues, I've been sexually exploited... if I were gay and some color other than pasty white, I'd be the perfect target for Glenn Beck. (P.S. For the record, none of the aforementioned attributes or labels make me or anyone else a bad person; we're good people. P.P.S. Being a target for Glen Beck means you're definitely doing something right in this world).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CBUUNY69g0vBk1xfjmgkNt1oiUCaYzZMQPT4s6IJ4CKgbSM1AoZdUlg3cFk_Lil3jJ3Dc-wB1gWJPZ_0wf46A7uBYeBRVLs4FGQv01SeCKEgb_bQPpdZfJJvefEnxNrLHTVTRQ/" /></div>
<br />
However, <a href="http://www.dailykos.com/story/2011/08/29/1011562/-Most-of-you-have-no-idea-what-Martin-Luther-King-actually-did#">this article</a> has been circling the Internet and I feel it is provocative and important. <br />
<br />
But though the article illuminates the real, historical significance of MLK's influence, here's the thing about words, speeches, marches and legacies: they ripple through the web of culture. Their effect is far-reaching and few go untouched. So, as a little white girl, I'm a big fan of Martin Luther King Jr. and Ghandi and even Moses. Because guess what? Lots of people cry out "Let my people go" when they are oppressed, caught, even immobilized by the chains of disease, abuse, addiction, sexism, racism - not just slaves in Egypt. And that's a helpful narrative to hold on to for Jews and Gentiles alike.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, it's okay for us to use one another's narratives to help our culture move towards greater freedom, self-awareness, and grace. Not only that, but it's okay for us to speak out on behalf of other people. And it's okay for us to rely on the narratives of people who were different than us to do so.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3A3Whu4iHzTQORPNOYORlegXh-8qzqW_yeS0YrlVURZwytjIp2PGDQSdlFclUbh2oQZs50byms6g4qyNAykct2BSYXIgfUjMfxTUGreIT3FdOEC5eBpeZikpZ3S0IIGYJZ6M5uw/" style="height: 567px; width: 425px;" /></div>
<br />
I argued once with a professor in grad school about what it means to be a feminist. He said he couldn't be a feminist because he's not a woman. I said he should be a feminist precisely because he's not a woman. You see, women need men speaking out on their behalf. Gays need straight people petitioning on their behalf. People of color need caucasians voting on their behalf. The people without power cannot do all the work themselves (ourselves). If culture will not allow certain voices to be heard, then those of us who have the mic need to speak loudly. Otherwise, what becomes of the mentally ill? What happens to the illegal immigrant? <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRKKt2Jh2NwDgGMlvpx9USKybxuLu2bngnZKLHnr_8TSwidq-o_JoA6rrcx6eOreZPvl9J-XxYmp0jJAM59Swkxp01pgMZUNggVt_wcHr5HQ0fOK8h2i0Fo3tR5Tt6A_TLJRCwdg/" style="height: 382px; width: 382px;" /></div>
<br />
On July 13, 2013 after the Treyvan Martin verdict, Rev. Dr. Roger Paynter (yet another great Baptist minister) spoke this prayer over <a href="http://www.fbcaustin.org/" target="_blank">his congregation</a> in Austin...<br />
<br />
<blockquote style="border: currentColor; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;">
"Remind us O God, of all the things we receive that are gifts and not as we often think - rights. Forgive us for all the grievances we carry just below the surface, ready to be launched with anger at the slightest spark. Save us from self-pity, from self-seeking, from hard-heartedness which is true poverty. Guide us if we are willing, and drive us if we are not, into the ways of sacrifice which are just and redeeming. Make us wide-eyed about our neighbor’s truest needs. On this morning when so many feel that justice is only meant for one color and one gender, rededicate our lives to peace-making, not just peace-keeping. Grant us the courage and kindness to confront power with compassion and a willingness to listen and learn, and a resilient spirit that speaks for those who have no Voice. Make us not just pro-birth, but also pro-life in education and health care and nutrition for all people. Let us find ways as Your church not just to do and say the same old things, but be active in changing the course of people’s lives for the better. Let us be wide-hearted for the unloved who are the hardest to touch and who need it the most.</blockquote>
<blockquote style="border: currentColor; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;">
Forgive us for complaining life into a thousand ugly bits. Keep us honest and tender enough to heal and tough enough to face our hypocrisies and seek healing of them. Match our appetite for privilege with the stomach for commitment. Remind us that we are not only on Holy Ground in this place, but anytime we are with another person, for each person, brown, white, black, gay, straight, left, right, male, female, rich, poor is a child of Yours, and thus, able to radiate Your light if only given a chance. Breathe into us a new restlessness to make something new and true and saving that we may truly learn to rejoice. Hear our prayer..."</blockquote>
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So while it may be cliche for this little white lady to say, "I think Martin Luther King, Jr. was a great man," I'm gonna say it anyway. And I'm glad at least some of you get the day off in honor of his memory. And while it may not make a difference for this little white lady to get very angry at the injustice she sees her black neighbors and gay friends and fellow females experience, I'm going to get mad anyway.<br />
<br />
And maybe post a couple of MLK meme on Facebook.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7U8fqmIRQurQ66TlEBwJhpooTUWer-HLR3IyfDOmcz8BpdIEJZyIm3KnAgnDP4PfSmOkKwFk8xuxwsqbwLQ5_7_Y0i4O3yEpZldIQ7EtstVEdEYAfIXykocwG6d6u6rbW7MWc_w/" style="height: 431px; width: 431px;" /></div>
</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-11419256374431319562014-01-12T21:07:00.000-06:002014-01-12T21:55:31.590-06:00Top Ten Twenty-Thirteen Theatre <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Everyone
has their favorites. And everyone's weighing in (Chronicle critics: <a href="http://www.austinchronicle.com/arts/2014-01-03/top-10-dramatic-turns-of-2013" target="_blank">AdamRoberts</a>, <a href="http://www.austinchronicle.com/arts/2014-01-03/top-10-reasons-i-stayed-in-love-with-theatre-in-2013/" target="_blank">Robert Faires</a> ... <a href="http://www.austinchronicle.com/arts/2014-01-03/top-10-theatrical-sets-of-2013-to-a-cat/" target="_blank">a cat</a>). </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of
course, I have my own opinions :)</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">So here's
my credential-free pick for Austin's Top Ten 2013 Theatre Experiences (p.s. I
don't include national tours or shows I was in on this list... tours obvs.
aren't Austin, and despite my first <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/03/intimate-apparel-apparently-im-in-it.html#links" target="_blank">girl-on-girl kiss</a> this year, its probably
biased to nominate performances I was a part of). Of the over twenty shows I
saw this year, here's some moments, people and experiences that I loved (in no
particular order)...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Barbara Chisholm in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fixing King John</i>. This was a fun, smart
show by the <a href="http://www.rudemechs.com/" target="_blank">Rude Mechs</a>, and pulling her hair out in the middle of it was a
brilliant Barbara Chisholm.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The amazing set of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nursery Crimes</i> (the DAC has never been
better utilized) and the supporting characters trio of Travis Bedard, Bobby
DiPasquale, and Heath Thompson. Kudos to <a href="http://lastacttheater.com/Last_Act_Theatre_Company/Welcome.html" target="_blank">Last Act's</a> Will Snider for some great choices.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Ryan Crowder's big fat
crocodile tears (in addition to the rest of his performance) in <a href="http://www.penfoldtheatre.org/" target="_blank">Penfold Theatre's </a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Red.</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Martin Burke's final monologue
in <em>Harvey. </em>Lovely.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Kristi Brawner in general.
From Sally in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Reefer Madness</i> to Lucy in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Charlie Brown</i>, she is quickly becoming
Austin's most versatile 20 Something (sorry guys, she's taken).</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> <a href="http://www.hydeparktheatre.org/site/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;">HPT's</span></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Ken Webster as Thom Pain.
Again. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Mad
Beat Hip & Gone</span></i><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">.
I cannot understand why this didn't get more critical attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatev. You guys, it was great. And those
lightbulbs...</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The Drawbridge/Gangplank
lowering and raising set piece thing in <a href="http://www.austinplayhouse.com/" target="_blank">Austin Playhouse's </a><em>Man of La Mancha</em>. Awesome and
daunting. Broke up the play and the mood perfectly appropriately. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Little
Shop of Horrors</span></i><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">'
colorful costumes at <a href="http://zilker.org/" target="_blank">Zilker Park</a>. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"><a href="http://zachtheatre.org/" target="_blank"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ZACH's</a> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A
Christmas Story</i> set. You'll shoot your eye out.</span></span></div>
<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">AND what
I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really, really wanted </i>to see (which might
have influenced the above list), but, alas, life had other exciting adventures...</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Mical Trejo in <a href="http://www.teatrovivo.org/Teatro_Vivo/Welcome.html" target="_blank">Teatro Vivo's </a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Confessions of a Mexpatriot</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">And
Then There Were None </span></i><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">by
Austin Playhouse</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Tongues
(</span></i><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">in the
swimming pool!) by <a href="http://shalomaustin.org/theateratthej/" target="_blank">Theatre at the J</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
<div class="Body1" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo6; tab-stops: list .25in; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Fat
Pig</span></i><span style="mso-hansi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"> by
<a href="http://www.theatreenbloc.org/" target="_blank">Theatre En Bloc</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So there you have it! Of the Austin theatre events I saw, these were the most super-duper. Maybe next year I'll be brave enough to give you The Worst Of... who knows! In the meantime, here's looking forward to more great, funny, meaningful, important, silly theatre in the heart of Texas in 2014! </span></div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-8704897367783810262013-12-31T11:29:00.001-06:002013-12-31T11:39:19.818-06:002013 What A Year<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! <br />
<br />
2013 proved most eventful. After a fun-filled 2012, 2013 started off... on the couch. New Year's Eve last year, I had dinner with Person and the Joneses and then promptly fell asleep on the couch missing all ringing in and other celebretory festivities. But perhaps I needed the sleep to prepare for the year ahead...<br />
<br />
From a trip to Portland to visit my sister... to a <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/search?q=Reverse+Oregon+Trail&max-results=20&by-date=false" target="_blank">Reverse Oregon Trail</a> (Let's-Move-Amy-Back-To-Chicago-Trip)... to a brief nanny job in New York... to a relaxing fall leaves Colorado tour... to an <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/search?q=Adriatic" target="_blank">Adriatric Cruise</a> in the Adriatric (I realize this is redundant, but you guys - seriously!!)... this year I travelled much, and felt extremely grateful. I saw some gorgeous sites (mostly in the US!) and some amazing artifacts (mostly in Italy). If I had to choose 2013's world's best sights, I really, really loved <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-most-beautiful-place-on-earth.html#links" target="_blank">Crater Lake</a> in southern Oregon,<br />
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</div>
The David in Florence, Italy, and the ancient Greek theatre (complete with coastal views) in Sicily, Italy.<br />
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Other totes awesome and random loveliness includes... experiencing Moltnoma Falls, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85wFy6mFPmX2DyKzcMKCpKmdqQkVkUZQAiz2efdraHKqdCT87jJyEd7pQdb_Uu1ObUmpHsgbgBbZIPYv0qw2PwQQ5DWTvrhfzBg8MGETjbnPHGD77HstnwthJozgTgmRxyDkn6Q/" style="height: 261px; width: 261px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
hearing Pope Francis speak, </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6u-lb4y1yUi5miYPAunzmkfjNN1N_k8ilVwh-ySoyn72e5tn8AK0VqnMt1wY4H8mMEyuNU5OqboEvcrRV9TEn7tOSvx0FA3iINBpeuwm_sUy1tttGchiO15VlfoAzJNrXzxFbWA/" style="height: 454px; width: 300px;" /></div>
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</div>
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being <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/12/part-three-adriatic-overview.html#more" target="_blank">groomed</a> by fish,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3lIkfiabbDvjOBhx-98iEbgYf3Rsn_00ZWrc4JCyMPCjWjv2edcv5N-vWFrfUQIDrGUhWwZI0U740vH3O4CahaNyDyO-fYfTLEty9FSABv0l7FyKkkd49dp0AouVr2iJRdQ6dQ/" style="height: 342px; width: 227px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
my gma turning 90, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZtZ2T6lEeS9toumz0lmCJtNyAFgbzYrQwFqLQt-hAm5tykLST3LeAKqY6da5uweC-JK9lUUXbWlaoydxV99m-CyYskphyXzFacBDdO-5Z6txU5IM2anv7TIfqvR7lcrnObO3AZQ/" style="height: 408px; width: 273px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
me turning 35, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAngA6O5dPxOMuYqXEkZCzeseCn7Ifcwzav5KQ_KYp5RJoIQ-Dbhi9qfxeJcmmMaunK3yBzSUeKFtKaFyj_pBCWnyt1WV4Z2jiTDWZYgj_PBsC-1cdUET3HuBeahDHdhQTtNfRw/" style="height: 294px; width: 273px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
riding horses in a national forrest in Colorado, </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwI6SMsmdj2CPcJJE98ehsSN6vR8SIPyXzYtdS3FqG5qQlVwaP_HCp8zLAY0Xm6SKrjQqNUGb0MBBmbI7Wp4WcVX0ULFSw3rvZJ3mciN1RsP9Ae35g5Wf8h_nS2bN_IOGk5zLTQ/" style="height: 271px; width: 271px;" /></div>
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taking Laurel to her first musical (You're A Good Man Charlie Brown - that's her with Snoopy),</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS_QOsTt8mTW3wUuZIZcxDRVj9fQzOH8ubrbSx_r-9mziEWjupsQGTODVp_29_MXJL069NA8RvdPk_S2l4xZrVfGuWDR7in9MuTgFkg38nLWPu7MS96YyCo8TuEYltuQ-IYTRMCg/" style="height: 366px; width: 275px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
doing a private home reading with <a href="http://www.eugeneleeonline.com/">Eugene Lee</a>, being gifted a hot tub, <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">officiating my first gay wedding,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BPq1cY5y2aHORRgr1X8mVUsjitVI4W7JP_RSdOrPVt6nCex5FoKrn1t2TepO6Nc1mm9Tk7MxWIh9jie7iNEvhMv9aLAAn7UZxS3pG7g7PdFJ6eYsZ5CXtuJO72M6VSp-nQpW_A/" style="height: 274px; width: 411px;" /><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and buying a real formally-alive tree for my living room for Christmas. </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15ssMYvW66La70vHGMdgssoppEC1Ww4lknIb1lYile2o7s0JjglEof_I-iMuzN7VeoAuJoB1vAhDK-q-ZMVtbmtknsLqnCC5NKp4PcnqKNgSqoGheQE7uCREBqpw4eEzW_Zmhgg/" style="height: 419px; width: 314px;" /></div>
<br />
With all the travel, it proved a difficult year to do theatre. But I managed to squeeze in two shows with the University of Texas's Department of Theatre and Dance (random, I know). The first, <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/03/intimate-apparel-apparently-im-in-it.html#more" target="_blank">Intimate Apparel</a>, was super exciting and I made some great friends out of it (shout out to <a href="http://www.melissamaxwell.com/">Melissa</a> in NY)!<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fbCmPsdBXem3ZB4fNbuL3d4bAjW5rlZTekIA_k7cu6VJEebN70TS37x8qeVV8fKWifEfpeitGkYqIw54z8ul_szkWDtwCw_WxhcnN3EKX0XVJ9Il0j8zDqWuhhR7aEtPQGFgCA/" style="height: 217px; width: 326px;" /></div>
And the second proved to be my third experience with <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/06/a-little-midsummer-night-dream.html#more" target="_blank">workshopping a new piece</a>, and I got a roommate out of it (the director's son). So, win win.<br />
<br />
In addition, 2013 brought a return to churchwork. My grandfather would be so pleased. This fall there were four weddings, (the funerals were earlier in the year) and three <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-whirlwind-of-change-3-years-later.html#more" target="_blank">preaching</a> gigs. And I created my own website...wait for it... wait for it... <a href="http://www.annpittman.com/">annpittman.com</a>. Anticlimactic, I'm sure, but hopefully efficient in explaining who I am and what I can offer the world (outside of a sometimes snarky, self-indulgent blog). So feel free to hire me to speak at your conference, preach at your church, design your website (I designed mine as part of my day job!), sing at your funeral, act in your play, or officiate your wedding.<br />
<br />
This year confirmed for me that I am indeed a strange bird, but I fly everywhere I can. I've found t's true: green witches defy gravity and caged birds sing, and neither seems the worse for it. And I've met a Person who loves me for all and despite all these things. Life is ying and yang. And for this, I am also grateful.<br />
<br />
Lest you think 2013 was all fun and foreign lands, I can assure you, it came with its fair share of challenges and heartbreak. I lost my "Other Mother," the AISD giant and underdog championing Jane Nethercut.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2IEpUsa2-LaLAA4SrnFt5D9yMXH2h1NTmZXN6I5dfZLNj1pPF31v-sBExiuRT5EsJFot9ICH_hOMVzgFpAIsbMn-mw_aYJOwNGoWMFL7tWOQhxq-pQkCcKnk0SMxJhAJ_u2eog/" style="height: 349px; width: 450px;" /></div>
I fucking hate cancer. You may quote me on that. But despite this and other eulogies delivered (both literal and metaphorical), 2013 proved to be my great awakening, if you will. But all you voyeurs will not be getting much detail on that until it comes in <i>real </i>written form. Yep, I wrote a book (we'll see if it gets published), I have another one in the works, and I find this wakeful, post-knowing life pretty fantastic.<br />
<br />
So, ladies and gentlemen, madams and monsieur, raise your glasses and "lets do cheers" (to quote my favorite four-year-old friend) to a great 2013 and to an even better 2014. To 2014!<br />
<br />
To 2014.</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-54977018205459429812013-12-26T23:40:00.001-06:002013-12-31T11:40:48.527-06:00The Twelve Days of Christmas (2013)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On the first day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVwWuHPaq8n2x20T68NJ0LJcurEg2enmQnF039HcuEQoAKpH3sjSfH_KCxEfW3Zq_MaGDEVxBgtiB05Buefq8Xao8UxTx6WdeG1yGNiTedxxsgPctpUPH8mDwLCglguRYZHg-Eg/" style="height: 493px; width: 330px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The annual picture 'round the Pittman Tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the second day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQb5fgbrbPBpbexd00-hnzMpravSHf8_uxKp3GNlhExLIKiglBEsK2T_0IAPL_wHzONRYP4zeRImO5YOAhaRf565GtuX1n2kiM5ZEOKNTLAoW9yde5rwcGQrUoGRc5c4JxEmCACw/" style="height: 274px; width: 409px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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</div>
<a name='more'></a>On the third day of Christmas, the season gave to me...<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm1D6FDHVyJ7bL6XLk_UOgD-jkfV4Cv7hpANHwWBBWy8ud-t9_cwysNZjmNY7w7dQJQf0ZS_XPcgraceuZyOt0pSE8ow9t_03fNx0p6638scxCFk58PZFJGs5xnGvbtERoqsPy_Q/" style="height: 303px; width: 452px;" /></div>
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Three days of snow, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the fourth day of Christmas the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBt0ARyAKM8oLDkZt_3d0gqnSh6RCKr6AOePLdKXQ5llyi5VMyHEQbZjlU8NRJeIL83b0oEi7g-kGBDhI_8auZBcGIMfiuQxah8FGJAPFIl2SKQMlVgpx4c9OV5rgevSwUY5j4mQ/" style="height: 292px; width: 436px;" /></div>
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Four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the fifth day of Christmas, the season gave to me... a FIVE... AM... FLIGHT (good grief!). Four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the sixth day of Christmas, the season gave to me...six iPhones buzzing (ugh!), a five... am... flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the seventh day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggM-M3U5i5eEie2dd_wPVn7dgboWvAV0dpr7lUr7ykdAgpnZhVtH3KcFVXfFWmsTG1tb1rIvp1C7Bc2axigcdy0yViky1ipULNlQYxLf_UjRtuhtTc2yiA2ND50p4I0yLGF-XiLw/" style="height: 411px; width: 307px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Seven Instragram pics, six iPhones buzzing, a five... am... flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the eighth day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrhDivNrT5rNfPETGEL1m1W-3q4ux6UR5M94KubEpMRoJRLVS7EKYoCRlnLQ0B0hDwyublffrRAQwpmDbuTmA4Y3BFTph_c1YZbiZ0m8mn10qxl69yJdOomWVqAYd-Q7FKmjO8w/" style="height: 350px; width: 467px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Eight Ticket to Ride games, seven Instagram pics, six iPhones buzzing, a five...am...flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the CHristmas tree.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
On the ninth day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVEF16JhM7CIS0nyBL8Q1_UW9G-z2iS4862MnV_jzNdIoxwD7Kk_l4d8darNi7x2eod7Yn1HyqzPaelps6T_BskHryFSh5ziBDqKW0D-h3N_7cSSU6hXWxsCDteA6rXcypdsdcQ/" style="height: 318px; width: 475px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nine-pounds-of-food-stolen-and-promptly-scarfed-down-by-Sophie (that's her alright - stomach distended and sick)... eight Ticket to Ride games, seven Instagram pics, 6 iPhones buzzing, a five... am... flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the tenth day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LfeOwu3jZ9pIeHHPUNFaoYyDrkV8234ktGZ3YFPN4-_mhVSy8Thp1U123C1APRwifYdMRBQ2vrfXdd1uag5csKHu3R9CjFp9UQ4NgYoymlK9ByCcXIB5zT8iz_uNVrHNLHjnXw/" style="height: 282px; width: 421px;" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ten homemade tee-shirts, nine pounds of food, eight Ticket to Ride games, seven Instagram pics, 6 iPhones buzzing, a five... am... flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree. </div>
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<br /></div>
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On the eleventh day of Christmas, the season gave to me... eleven people visiting the Pittmans (Andee, Mary, Zachary, Tom, Kelsey +1, Lindsey + baby, Brooke, Blair +1), ten homemade tee-shirts, nine pounds of food, eight Ticket to Ride games, seven Instagram pics, 6 iPhones buzzing, a five... am... flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On the twelfth day of Christmas, the season gave to me... </div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2j-ToD-RYd04cEDLToAm11bduZx2KvP1tGcEQC_Si-UAlWjrrJUIAX4LpHy9Sq7SZgKvGgh9wWhyphenhyphenUdIkrJVH17706TCmxTD-rgEoLi-2ZnWLy2q8AHKmYw7XXwk80mVM1uUgJWw/" style="height: 293px; width: 437px;" /></div>
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Twelve Christmas trees (plus four - sorry, I'm cheating on this one) eleven people at the Pittmans, ten homemade tee-shirts, nine pounds of food, eight Ticket to Ride games, seven Instagram pics, 6 iPhones buzzing, a five... am... flight, four stockings stuffed, three snow days, two dreamy friends, and a picture 'round the Christmas tree.</div>
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JDObqktY2jQGTnwsotoTZ7dXmBDmlj41MM7qHiVaAaVNMedqY0gb1QDIdIVKdortG8HTbP0oXhtJPm01fDRJNb4FZlBGIP3zVTSaQEb1bzvwNiSbTGN95WeQT5lec7ITW2YdjQ/" style="height: 369px; width: 551px;" /></div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-64178883993238184282013-12-25T20:14:00.001-06:002013-12-26T10:09:23.392-06:00Part Four: Adriatic, the Overview<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Okay, so this is totes delayed, but as it's Christmas and I'm snuggled under a red blanket by a blazing fire and as the question of the day was "what was the best part of 2013," I felt a twinge of guilt (too many gluten-filled cookies?) about not finishing my Adriatic Cruise spectacularousness blogs.<br />
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That was a long sentence, but my brain is tired (too much wine and eggnog?).<br />
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So here goes. There are a few things about Italy, Croatia, Montenegro and Greece you MUST know.<br />
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First of all, and you won't believe this, but... fish ate my feet. I swear to God. My Person didn't believe it either, which is why he shelled out our last 10 Euros to pay to see it happen. And it did. I went all Kim Kardashian and let fish eat the dead skin off my feet. Check this out.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnO67mXfN9h5tuZhkE-aEoFbgm0QjJiPiscG3YlPY4PFreOvHMgamXB7JMCkLLdTfMwpbR__qGsMb1zc0PZplP0xOgjDQawFlKQyp_1Yn4yTQiYvWimmmLCKIvlIgg3ea9brrg2g/" style="height: 597px; width: 395px;" /></div>
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<a name='more'></a>Greece was a little boring, I'm not gonna lie. We'd shared a car with another couple to cut cab costs which was a little stressful cause then we were all discerning who wanted to do what and making decisions for people you don't know and gotten lost and were out of money and blah blah blah. Too much wonderfulness can get old. So, I was kinda like, Corfu, I'm over you, and then we saw it... a fish boutique.<br />
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So ten Euros later, and a lovely Grecian woman was washing my feet and telling me to hold very still as I slipped my peds into a fish tank.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGD4FLDiYUe5Pd4T3JlapHkjOwqGU9IPvw_FqoVZhqY55n-oSgFDT1fe4-Z1FoQTQa1TBqhTFdn3QLgGnIaqqIWNugT6CLNCgYnY4WlBDGTAF6b5nqMxzJc6dQaimxtnmQqeLnZA/" style="height: 457px; width: 303px;" /></div>
It. Was. Awesomepants.<br />
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It feels like little kisses all over your feet and legs. Except when the fish squeeze themselves between your toes, and then it tickles. And I laughed and laughed. I could not stop laughing. And neither could Person, because I'm so scared of fishy water that I won't even get in a lake, and it took me like six months to get up the guts to feed his freshwater fish because sometimes the fish jump up to get the food and it freaks me out.<br />
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But there I was in Greece, getting my feet eaten. And truthfully, it was so relaxing, and my feet were so soft afterwards, I could have taken a nap in a bathtub with all those fish (in appropriate delicate-parts-covering-swimwear). Amazeballs. Made. My Day.<br />
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Okay, next update... the Sistine Chapel is amazing, but depressing as hell. If you just look up, you'll probably be okay. Probably. Michelangelo was obsessed with the plight of humankind. So you get creation... The heavens and earth - super. Great job Mickey. But then you get the creation of Adam & Eve, which contains... the casting out of the garden. Then you get Noah which includes the nakedness episode. So with each its like good, good, sin... good, good, sin... Alright, we get it. Humankind effs everything up. But then you see the far wall, The Last Judgment, and then you start crying because Dante might have been the worst thing to ever happen to Christianity. (Yes, admittedly, Michaelangelo's The Last Judgment - and most conservative hell-bent right wingers as well - is based more in the narrative and interpretation of Dante's writings than on the biblical narrative).<br />
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Not only does it include people being dragged down by demony beings, but it includes the saints up above by Christ carrying symbols of their martyrdom. The most disturbing to me however, was Bartholomew who was "fileted" as my interpreter described it. So he holds the skin of a human sagging from its bodiless form. Supposedly the face on the lifeless skins is a self-portrait of Michelangelo himself. It was dark, lost, and reflected the self-doubt the artist must have felt. I wept and wept.</div>
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Truth be told, for all the a-mazing things we saw in these four wonderful countries, there were many parts of our trip that were very dark, reflecting the downright wicked parts of humanity, reminding me how far we really haven't come. For example... The Colosseum.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEEmXIyh6WtpsunVigq_aC73Mp6MDfTRd1FQh_xJGii51xs4jYcIpG3tBQCcECb5wbqMibouAt1Osb8V4WHLOEmPuMVvcZcoc1cI53L8dwub5yBhSwO2mQFgcia9wYpLmV6eVlQ/" style="height: 302px; width: 456px;" /></div>
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Not just an action packed movie with Russell Crow, but a stadium with holding pens, cages, for men and animals alike. So many animals that the Romans likely rendered extinct more than one species from Africa. THOUSANDS of dead animals every WEEK. Insane. Not to mention the "sub-human" men who fought them and died to the entertainment of the masses. </div>
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Or Pompeii, amazingly preserved by the layers of molten ash burying it, but stil'l, so sad. The slaves who were left to watch over their masters houses (we can tell by the belts they're wearing) or went sent back too soon when they thought the strange weather was over, or the animals who were abusively left behind, tied in place, who could have warned the people of the unsettling signs if they had the words to speak. The bodies of men, women, pregnant women, dogs, perfectly preserved in their terrified positions underneath the ash.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxPzu0NneG28rCfFy6LZbfwlgIM72xYDj8c7M8dQm3qp8JrTLMeJO1W7jKf_5XZ2vISfq5nnhlhYB5bY8zzkM-AZaoqvQ4lmgW5nWtzvwllNdveQfiK1jmAw1w8pJairAoT5J3cw/" style="height: 326px; width: 487px;" /></div>
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Or the island in Croatia to which the Venetians shipped the Jews to await the arrival of the Germans. And well, you know the rest of that story. <br />
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Or the papal palace, where even the most wicked, money-spending, mistress-bedding, war-waging, outsider-oppressing, god-complex Popes had huge statues and tombs erected in their honor. OMG, so many of those guys were such jerks. It was hard to juxtapose that with the honest-to-god amazing beauty of St. Peter's. How do we resolve the disconnect?<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRuBaVJ5Zg798E7WfnfoDrWIiNEVO9VpxirzQxd9yl12bSGjdiX3XcoEz_23hYqhFoXM9H-PvUV0Sk56cItWvbiMc6lgTUAW5JjmlIEii4tFPEYJZbR6Qfpih0X8qeKUG-IFqbw/" style="height: 626px; width: 418px;" /></div>
On the other hand, Pope Francis is doing a great job... not talking about positions on abortion and homosexuality as the be-all definitions of a Christian, sneaking out to feed the homeless while dressed as a regular priest, holding the Cardinals finally accountable for their superfluous spending, selling his personal property for charity, etc. AND I WAS BLESSED BY HIM. Well, me and several thousand others. Thanks to my handy guidebook, I knew that if the Pope was in town on Sunday, he would speak to the people. So sure enough, there he appeared on Nov. 17th from a window, and in Italian he spoke to us, over us, and then gave each of us a rosary. Wow. So. Cool.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-URZEry2rjIR2b7D3J19J6waVe8ts0V2tMlGlyAp3f-Z0JofcGsvKlJzxjro-5SXDzdF0Zrm8m2i7cIcYRdsP8GAFHq6BlASWcyOsqIaJKLCSbOwZSZYJzCAZS2-Zdh7fboaDog/" style="height: 351px; width: 523px;" /></div>
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And then there was the day <a href="http://anncpittman.blogspot.com/2013/12/part-three-disembarkation-day_1.html" target="_blank">I didn't have any pants to wear</a>... but you already heard about that.<br />
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These are brief, slight overviews of the most beautiful and the disturbing parts of the Adriatic. But for the experience, I am grateful. And may the light of this Christmas season somehow outweigh the darkness of our history and our present as a nation, a race, and a planet. Veni, Vidi, Vici... but in the future, may love win. Amor omni vincit.<br />
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Ciao. </div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-26429259760134824502013-12-01T10:47:00.001-06:002013-12-01T10:56:49.643-06:00Part Three: Disembarkation Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>"What I can't stop thinking about is what you were wearing while you were packing!"</div>
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A perfect stranger said this to me today.</div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Well, technically he was a retired Canadian with health issues who sat next to me in a taxi in Florence and upon falling asleep (confirmation made by snore factor) allowed his hand to fall on my leg which was not proper even for squished taxi etiquette but I let it slide. So, not a perfect stranger but, we weren't really that close.</div>
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So why was this decisively dirty old man picturing me packing? Well, do you want the context, or would you rather use your imagination? </div>
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Let me just say, reality will be just as impressive.<br />
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My lack of modesty has nothing to do with my sense of sexuality, but more with laziness and body temperature, textured with some mild hippy influence upon receiving "Austinite" status.</div>
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Let me back up.<br />
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I lived in a dorm all four years of college. It was an all girls dorm, and I adored all the ladies I lived with. I felt perfectly at home with them and since my sister lived there too, I practically was home. </div>
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Dorms in the nineties were regulated with what felt like ancient heating systems and in Missouri, it can move from eight inches of snow to eighty degrees in what feels like a matter of minutes. So when I would be sitting in the dorm with my girlfriends and I'd get hot, instead of messing with the radiator, I just took off my shirt. </div>
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Seemed like an easy fix. Add or subtract clothes as necessary.</div>
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When I roomed by myself second semester of my senior year (my Heidi-Dot roomie was studying abroad in England), it was not unusual to find me sitting in the dark with just the glow of a 1993 Apple computer furiously working on a 30 page paper (I was both an English Literature and a Religion major, so I wrote a lot of papers). My friend Brooke would burst into my room on a Saturday morning, Monday night or Thursday afternoon with news of an upcoming trip to the KA house, or an invitation to see Titanic for the 4rd time, and I'd hear, "Fifi," (a pet name for us Pittman girls adopted by most of Semple Dorm), "for the love of God, will you please put on some clothes?" <br />
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So I'd hit Control S on the keyboard, and wrap up my naked body in my favorite fuzzy blanket and, grab a seat for the latest gossip. </div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
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I was a Christian who'd never had sex, and a Feminist who'd never been fond of clothing.</div>
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Fast forward thirteen or fourteen years and I'm on a cruise with My Person in the Adriatic, and I'm meticulously planning for disembarkation the following morning. Never a procrastinator (my college grades attest to this feat), I'd begun packing two days before, and now, our last night, we had to properly label our bags, set them in the hall by 11pm (we were late by 40 minutes, but nobody's perfect), and of course get up in the morning, pack toiletries in the backpack, eat breakfast, gather in our meeting location and wait for our departing time to be called.</div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>I had brought an extra bag for gifts and souvenirs which I'd carefully packed while we were in Sicily. (Yes, all of Christmas is done, hey-oh!). In Naples, I packed all our dirty clothes around our remaining souvenirs (mostly Person's hideous mugs he insists on buying at every port). Our final suitcase was for remaining clean clothes (laundry on the ship was stupid expensive, so we've adopted the European policy of re-wearing outfits) and non-essential toiletry items. I laid out my plethora of pills and vitamins for the next morning, organized all our receipts for customs (you get $$ back at the airport for shopping in Italy since they don't want non-residents to have to pay sales tax), carefully stored all pamphlets, maps, and ticket stubs (for scrapbooking purposes), and even laid out all undergarments (hand washed in the sink - remember that laundry issue), Chapstick (never leave home without it), kleenexes (did I mention I and 1000 other guests have a cold) and feminine items (switching birth control before an important vacation is never a brilliant idea, but that is a blog for another time, or maybe no time, TMI, sorry). I had our shirts & coats for our last day hanging in the closet, the shoes I was wearing next to the shoes I'm throwing away (remember that first day in Rome when it POURED and I was never able to wear those shoes again because the water was up to my ankles and the boots never dried and are now probably growing mushrooms inside?).</div>
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"Take off your shirt," I said to Person.</div>
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"Why?"</div>
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"It goes in the suitcase with clean clothes that has to go in the hall."</div>
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"Okay."</div>
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"Where's my pajamas then?"</div>
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"There're already packed. Deal with it."</div>
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And so the rest of the evening progressed.</div>
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I admit, I was in task mode. The people at our table for dinner from 8:30-10:30pm hadn't even started packing. That sounded like a nightmare to me. But I was wrong, the nightmare began the next morning when I got out of the shower.</div>
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"OMG. Person, we have a problem."</div>
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"What's that?" he called from the bathroom having been granted access after I emerged.</div>
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"I don't have pants."</div>
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No need to imagine the remaining events. I'll disclose them because they're just that good. </div>
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"Call the concierge, Ann. Guest Relations."</div>
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So I did.</div>
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"Hi, is there any way I can get my luggage back? I forgot to leave myself pants for today, so..."</div>
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"You don't have clothes?"</div>
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"Well, I have a shirt and shoes..."</div>
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"No pants?"</div>
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"That's correct." I was getting irritated. "I need my luggage to get my pants."</div>
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"That's not possible, Miss. The luggage is already off the ship.</div>
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S.H.I.T.</div>
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I hung up the phone and briefed Person. "Well call him back! Ask him if any of the shops are open so we can go buy you some pants."</div>
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"Hi sir, it's me, and since I'm missing my pants, I was wondering if you could open one of the shops on the ship so I can get my pants."</div>
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"None of the shops are open. It's disembarkation day." </div>
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"Okay, yeah, I know that. But can you open one of them? I don't have any pants to get off the ship." I started giggling because Person had emerged from the shower and was staring at me wide-eyed as I stood there on the phone in my grey sweater, yellow flowered underwear, and orange running shoes. "I'm not wearing pants."</div>
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The concierge started giggling. "No, we cannot open the shops." </div>
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"Fine," I slammed down the receiver. "Go talk to John," I told Person. </div>
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John is our Indian Stateroom Attendant. He's responsible for all the rooms on our floor and is wonderful. He knows our names and what time we leave the room for dinner and forgives our messy floors and always calls Manuel, sir and wouldn't even look at me on formal night (even though I looked awesome) so that there wasn't even an appearance of impropriety that could be communicated by him seeing me in a strapless formal walking down a hallway. "Good evening, sir," he said, looking at person, "Have a good dinner."</div>
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So Manuel went to tell our little Hindu who was, of course, horrified. </div>
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"What about her clothes from yesterday?" he asked, eyes wide open. </div>
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"She packed them," Person said (I'm very efficient).</div>
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John was incredulous. "This is disembarkation day," (Gah! We get it people!) "Call Guest Relations again."</div>
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Person came back in the room to a slightly terrified me, and picked up the phone for the third time.</div>
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"Bernard, we get it," he said. "But I need you to help me solve this disembarkation problem. She can't get off this ship unless she gets some pants." </div>
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Bernard's brilliant idea was for Manuel to disembark, get our bags and return with my pants. </div>
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However, upon further evaluation, I found this to be a terrible idea. What would I do, sit in my room for a half an hour, an hour, waiting for pants? We were already past check out time by now. And what if security disagreed with Bernard and didn't let Person back on the ship?</div>
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"Screw it. I've got an airplane blanket in the gifts/souvenirs bag protecting all those damn mugs. I'll just wear that."</div>
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"Ann, you can't wear a blanket."</div>
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"Watch me."</div>
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So I was digging through our Christmas gifts when I discovered (spoiler alert!) that Manuel had bought his daughters scarves for Christmas. I had an idea. I took one out, spread it as far apart as the threads would allow, and wrapped it around my bubble butt. </div>
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"Person, I can make this work."</div>
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"NO. That is too short."</div>
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"It'll do. It's better than a blanket."</div>
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So I carefully wrapped a Croation Christmas present around myself, tucking both ends into my floral cotton underwear. And then I wrapped my fanny pack around myself for further cinching. I fingered the coins in the front pocket of my fanny pack rolling around as I turned and posed in the mirror. "Here, will you hold these coins?" I passed them to Person.</div>
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"Seriously? You're sporting a scarf for a skirt and you're worried about fashion?" He totally called me out. I may be a closet nudist whose clothes are generally too big and who rarely brushes her hair, but </div>
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I'm still just the slightest bit vain. I even considered putting on the mildew boots. </div>
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"They would keep my legs warmer... and make the skirt look like it's supposed to be a skirt..."</div>
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"No. Let's go."</div>
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So we headed to breakfast, and ran into John in the hallway. For the first time in two weeks he gave me the once-over. "No one will notice," he assured me in a calm panic. And then without stopping for a breath, "but leave the ship immediately."</div>
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I was fine until we got in the elevator. And then embarrassment set it. O.M.G. You could see the people looking me up and down like, "WTF is she wearing." And after breakfast we headed to deck two where we would finally do the almighty disembarking. And it was there that we ran into our Canadian taxi friends from Florence who got a good laugh out of my story. "Well, when you return to the states maybe you can rekindle the romance and put the scarf on again!" The wife suggested to me in a half whisper. Then a huge gust of wind blew through the gangway. "Sorry people, we're having technically difficulties due to the wind." Oh God. I groaned and begged Person to go ask security if he could just get off the ship, get my jeans, and bring them back. He rolled his eyes, clearly becoming exasperated with my fragile state and nudged his way to the front to explain our situation to the guard while the Canadians giggled behind my behind. (Did I mention one of them's in a wheel chair?). Security was stalwart. "You cannot get back on." So we waiting, and finally, we disembarked. And when the wind hit my 30 inches of bare legs and one foot of barely bottom-covering scarf, I cried out and Person grabbed my carry-ons and just said, "Run."</div>
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So I did.</div>
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Caution (and any remaining dignity) to the wind, I ran into the terminal, past all the fur coats and ski hats and straight to lane 74 where my precious lunggage was waiting. I dragged it to a corner of the room, ripped it open, and put on my pants.</div>
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Right. There. In. The. Terminal.</div>
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Clothed, and with luggage in hand, we boarded the bus where our Canadian friend took the handicap seat just a few rows in front of us and groaned and moaned his way up the steps. I could hear him complaining to the bus driver. </div>
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"At least you're wearing pants!" I hollered up, all abandon lost. </div>
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A jovial guffaw answered back. "I know who that came from," he said. "What I can't stop thinking about is what you were wearing while you were packing!"</div>
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And that my friends, is the story of how I lost my sanity onboard the Silhouette and probably promptly became the galley talk of Bernard, John, and Security Personnel for, at the very least, a good five minutes. </div>
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"That's right...pants! The stupid American packed all her pants!" <br />
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768475.post-72725932339107030692013-11-27T11:23:00.001-06:002013-12-01T10:31:29.391-06:00Part Two: The Ship<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My Person and I have embarked on an Adriatic cruise.<br />
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I was wary. I get motion sick just riding on swing sets and elevators. I excused myself from the theater and threw up in the bathroom during that Captain-I-Got-Attacked-By-Somalie-Pirates movie. Plus the only other ship movie I've ever seen is Titanic, so this added to my anxiety. But my sister is a doctor, so, loaded with drugs and patches, I boarded on Nov. 18th. This is my view every morning. Cue jealousy.<br />
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There are a lot of people on board this ship... and most of them are old. By "old" I mean my parents would be in the younger crowd here. I've thoroughly scoped it out. I can tell you how many sets of parents with young kids (4), how many families with teenagers (3), how many gay couples (4), and how many random youngish couples in their 20s or 30s (eh, maybe 8). And according the the lady couple we met who travels together on these cruises all the time, there is officially one (1) single man on board who boarded the ship by himself (there is apparently an art to cruising - more details on this later).<br />
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These numbers aren't exact of course (except the single guy one - the ladies actually go to the photo station and scope out all the pics that the photographers take of couples, families and parties when we embark. So they know - one single man who got on by himself. I told you, for cruise professionals, its a fine art). There are 2000 people on board and I only see these people during meal times (and there are like 7 restaurants on board, and two different dinner times (we're at the 8:30 slot), and 15 levels on this ship. So... I might be off by a handful in one category or another.<br />
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As for walkers and terrible coifs... innumerable. But, we are having fun. We met a great gay couple that I had stalked for a few days. And there's the girl duo who make cruising a lifestyle. And a non-religious couple from Scotland (I say non-religious only because we talked about religion and faith for hours in a small Montenegrin restaurant one day). Our table-mates (everyone is assigned a dinnertime and table for the entirety of the cruise - you can eat at other restaurants, but its everyone's default) are interesting too. One lady is a scriptwriter and a New York Italian. She's a hoot.<br />
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Then there's the staff. Now they're young. And they like to party. According to the girl from Zimbabwe who did my nails, there's lots of ship romances during the 9 months at sea (marriages not withstanding), and everyone is in everyone's business. People are always shacking up, and while interaction between staff and guests is forbidden, according to our lady duo friends, it happens... like last night... in the pool cubby. Yowza. When Person and I were returning from Venice (I WAS IN VENICE!), we ran into this kid by the elevators at midnight (I say kid, he's 23 - we met on the train from Rome with his parents). We had just created our own adventure trying to return to the ship after our visit to the opera (I SAW AN OPERA IN A PALACE!), and at midnight we finally climbed aboard. As I mentioned, he was by the elevators waiting for the dancers (many staff members are entertainers which includes the orchestra, jazz band, girls' trio, cover band, Broadway singers, dancers, specialty performers like pianists, vocalists, aerialists, magicians, comedians, etc.) to go out. I.e. leave the ship at midnight to head into Venice. This would be perfect if we were in America where, with the 9 hour time difference, it would be 3pm, but we're halfway across the world and it was midnight and they were just heading out to party in Venice. Ugh. That sounded horrible. Not to mention that it was super cold & windy outside, and water taxis (WE HAD TO TAKE THE WATER METRO TO GET TO OUR SHIP!) are very expensive. Maybe I'm getting old, and I do fit in on this ship more than I would like to think.<br />
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Plus I have a cold so everywhere we go I'm stocking up on kleenexes and popping pills and drinking juice. It was bound to happen. But after our 14 hour adventure in Venice (YOU GUYS, I RODE A GONDOLA!), I was sick and exhausted, so no heading to the clubs for me.<br />
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I am right now writing this from The Hideout, an area onboard the ship wherein there are tiny cubbies, carved out nooks and cleverly designed hiding spaces.<br />
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I lurve it here. I want to re-do my house so that it resembles cubby corner. Generally though, Person and I stick to the pool deck. It's cold here though, so we claim pool chairs by the inside pool where the music is relaxing, the air is warm, and I can get in and out of the hot tub as I please. Plus the health bar is by the inside pool. We spend most of our time here trying to read and write and eat healthy, but let's be honest, we mostly just sleep and munch french fries from the upstairs bar.<br />
I'm sure most of my readers know what its like to be on a cruise, but as vacations with my family growing up rarely consisted of anything that a three-hour car ride couldn't give us, this cruise thing is news to me.<br />
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Fortunately, our friendly, dead-pan, Greek Captain is here to make my stay more enjoyable. Actually, that's the job of our "Cruise Director Patti," but since she makes me feel like I'm living in an infomercial, I prefer our Captain's welcome.<br />
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This morning his short, quirky announcement included news that because of high winds, the Ravenna port was closed, and we were unable to dock, let alone get off the ship. So we forged on, headed to Sicily. This is not our first bout with nasty weather. One day while reclining by the outdoor pool, albeit wrapped in wool blankets, it hailed.<br />
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Yep, that white stuff is hail. And it rains all the time, but you know what that means? Rainbows. Which are out of control on the open sea. There aren't words.<br />
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So from somewhere over the rainbow, this is Ann from the Hideaway, out.</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03654177740882379889noreply@blogger.com0