Change

All posts tagged Change

It’s a process. (Maybe I should take it out of the box)

Published November 5, 2018 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

In the so-long-ago-it-seems-like-it-happened-to-someone-else, I made a stand and withdrew from the MA program at Texas Women’s University. I was young and had hope and a purpose so I picked a side, Process based evaluation vs. Product based evaluation.

It seems such a senseless argument, particularly for Theater program, but I firmly believe that there are some prices too high to pay for a performance and that, to some performers, the process is the goal.  If only I remembered that a scant nine years later when my brain exploded because I was trying to have the perfect body while being the perfect performer, but I digress.

Still and all, I’m where I have chosen to be career-wise, such as it is and overall, I think I made the right choice, as when push comes to shove, I want to go out knowing that I fought the good fight and did the best that I could.

That being said, I’m tired of waking up scared.

Not scared in that there are zombies trying to munch on my tenderized brain as I flee, a flurry of post-it notes in my wake.

No, I’m talking real fear.  The fear that comes from knowing you are doing your best and still watching yourself drown.

The house has sold. (Whee!) Now I have about 30 days to get everything out/sold/trashed and find somewhere new to live.  I’ve started sifting through the detritus of a dissoled marriage and stuff Steve left behind. There are  a few things that Actor Boy left when he went to college. There’s not a few things of BatBeard’s that I need to relocate.

And then there’s my stuff. I know it’s just stuff.  But it’s not just stuff.

It’s the piano, that I fondly refer to as August Wilson. My grandfather bought it for my mother when she was learning to play the piano. It was convereted from a player piano so it can’t be retuned; it needs to be restrung.

It’s books.  My favorites and a few that were gifts. It’s the book that is a compilation of Bob Dylan’s lyrics; the songs that got me through the days of madness as my parent’s marriage dissolved and I tried to finish college

It’s the drafting table. The last vestige of Fort Worth Theater. Steve Garrett rescued it from the rubble and it’s mine.

It’s the pictures. The oil painting that Steve had in his living room and the framed Georgia O’Keeve print that my mother had framed for my ex-husband.  It’s the pictures that have to be gone through, all of the wedding pictures that need to be stored or discarded because the frames might mean something to someone else.

Yes, it is all stuff, and I do have to process all of it. Very soon.

Because in all of the stuff, there’s the memories. There’s the TEN, 10, ten mason jars of pickled corn that my Esther Hembree put up for my ex, back in the days when there was a Homefort in Tracy City.

I have the jars and I am more than a little resentful that I have custody of the corn and the jars and I have to move and find a place for a piano because someone else screwed up. (Or down, you remember, girl with the little rat face and teeth that make an x in front.)

And then there’s the fear that it’s all ending anyway, so who cares?

Because, as you know, in the litany of choices I made, the biggest one involved me promising to keep my students safe.

We are in a world where that is becoming exponentially harder as hate spews from the mouths of those who have more guns, more money and more voice than the rest of us.

I know I have plenty to do without worrying about this, too, but I do.

It’s part of the process.

It is, but I’m not

Published May 18, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I have been actively trying NOT to beat myself up about things I can’t control. You wouldn’t think this would be a difficult task for someone is a reasonably sound, mostly functional adult.  (While I am an adult, I’m not going to commit to being a grown-up til the last possible moment. )  However, in addition to my tendency towards parenthetical hyperbole (Newest Hipster Bar) I also have the unerring ability to blame myself for just about everything.   (There is that recurring dream I have where my teeth inexplicably fall out. I have had this dream so many times, I have actually added the solution to this problem to my subconscious. You put the teeth in a glass of milk until you can get to a dentist. Also, the tooth loss dream means you’ve either said or eaten something you shouldn’t have. This should tell you what kind of shape my subconscious is in.)

There has been a lot going on in my world. The school year is ending and with it are coming a lot of changes that I didn’t see coming. I have a lot of stress in my life that is new but and not one bit improved. Into the usual blame spiral, I can now toss in a major family crisis.

Because I come from a large family, there is always something going on. My cousin Cindy said the reason every event in my family is usually accompanied by another event of equal or larger proportion of angst, food and anxiety is because there are so many of us and and there is a finite number of days in a year.  Her husband died and her sister got married within a few weeks of each other. (During that time, I also had a brain thing, so there’s that)

My Amanda Friend and AOG celebrated their wedding today. One of my aunts is in a coma. And my grandmother died today.

All of this has happened within the last two hours.  People are offering me condolences and I have been knee jerk responding “It’s ok.”  I talked to my principal and told him of my plans to come in until I have a specific family task. He told me to not worry about it and be with my family. A few minutes later I picked up my phone to call my friend Steve.

Steve Garrett, my good friend who died five years ago last Thursday.

So it’s ok.

But clearly, I am not.

But what’s the ratio?

Published May 12, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

The following quote is brought to you by the good people of Wikipedia, so I guess you folk in the intraweb

There’s a sucker born every minute” is a phrase most likely spoken by David Hannum, in criticism of both P. T. Barnum, an American showman of the mid 1800s, and his customers. The phrase is often credited to Barnum himself. It means “Many people are gullible, and we can expect this to continue.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/There%27s_a_sucker_born_every_minute

As is this quote

 Andy Warhol, who included the words “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes” in the program for a 1968 exhibition of his work at the Moderna Museet in StockholmSweden.[1]Photographer Nat Finkelstein claims credit for the expression, stating that he was photographing Warhol in 1966 for a proposed book. A crowd gathered trying to get into the pictures and Warhol supposedly remarked that everyone wants to be famous, to which Finkelstein replied, “Yeah, for about fifteen minutes, Andy.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifteen_minutes_of_fame

I have also heard that everyone has a story to tell.

I know who I am. I know I am terrible at math, so I can’t really figure out an equation of how many stories need to be told, but I do know that for every person who has fifteen minutes of fame, there will be at least fifteen suckers to fantasize about them.

I have of late, but wherefore know not lost all of my ability to give the teeny tiny furry crack of a rat’s behind about things that are happening around me or to me. I think it’s the painkillers, either that or my dosage needs to be adjusted. I think my not giving a crapesque attitude kept me from freaking out when the Big Boss told me I didn’t get the job but that I will still be employed for at least another month. I did droop a bit, but actually surprised myself by not making the whimper that I know was swirling around in my psyche.  As I have said, It’s beyond me. I know better than to make plans. One of the things that has fallen by the wayside is my focus.  I have to get it back. I have had a number of people (Ok, five, what? five is a number) ask me if I have ever considered writing a memoir. Does my story need to be told? I know at least fifteen people will read it.  Stephen King (All hail the master) says that there are watershed moments in history. Such as the Kennedy Assassination. Webster defines watershed as a moment when important changed happened. I have searched for the origins of this phrase and that perhaps it’s related to the story of Noah or of the great flood that has been recorded in the ancient histories of many areas of the world.

But isn’t every moment in someone’s life a watershed moment. Think about it. Whatever you’re doing right now is changing what you are about to do. Is it going to be a story moment? That’s up to you and the fifteen people to decide.

I was going to write about whatever I recorded, but I left the recorder at home. Blarg.

Did I have less interesting conversations because I knew I wasn’t being recorded? Maybe.  Did it change anything?

So maybe I have something to write about.

But I need fifteen people to tell me.