Departure

 Departure
15-June, 2023

I'm so pleased this blog still lives out here all on its own with no tending. I'm reviving it because it’s handy for travel. I can post pictures and stories without getting sucked into social media which seems like a vast waste of time once one has flown all over the planet to get away from the usual shit. I’m on a plane. This is my first trip to Europe in almost 25 years. 

Other people prioritize visiting distant countries much more than I have so far. I’ve favored roadtrips so much I’ve visited every state in the country, many of them several times. I like roadtrips because they require much less planning, and I don’t worry that I’ll offend anyone with my ignorance of language and custom, or that I’ll get lost or hospitalized. Maybe you think it’s weird I included “hospitalized” in the list of things I worry about, but the number of times that’s happened when I’ve left the country or continent is a little exceptional. (See my Jan 29, 2007 post for reference.)

I also favor inner trips - changing what I’m thinking about by changing how my mind works for a while. One of my best trips was to Joshua Tree for a silent 10 day meditation course. After the course, I rented a convertible at the Palm Springs airport and drove it to Pahrump, Nevada to see my Great Aunt Betty not long after my Great Uncle Rod - my #1 favorite relative - had died. The drive through dramatic desert landscape, blissed out on 10 days of alpha waves and altered states was otherworldly in nearly every way I can think of that matters to me. Upon arrival in Pahrump, lunch at a casino buffet while my Aunt Betty chain-smoked Eve Lights and told me about my uncle’s death was an almost equally surreal shift in perspective. 

I loved it. I haven’t prioritized any kind of travel as much since switching careers from being a software engineer to being a theater artists. I switched careers to be happier. I love my life. I don’t need to leave to be surprised, or find joy and fulfillment. 

So why go at all? I could say that Robert is really, super, duper excited to go. 

Look, he's even smiling sitting here at JFK
while he talks to Air France about how our
suddenly delayed flight to Charles de Gaulle
means we have to switch our flight from
there to Hannover.

He has prioritized travel in his life. His teaching job wipes him out hard enough to need a vacation, and conveniently comes with summers off. But I’m not going just for his sake. I’m going because once I leave, I always love travel too. Vacation bends time, but travel bends space, like the zoom function in a GPS app. 

I remind myself often - almost daily - that the world is big and I am small. I do it when I’m overwhelmed by perfectionism and when I am infuriated by Minnesotan drivers. I do it to keep my ego and entitlement in check. It’s a coping mechanism though, not a real experience.

To travel, especially to a place where everything works differently, where people care about entirely different things, where everyone moves about differently, where different plants grow from the cracks of different infrastructure with entirely different history is to remember how much variation there is out there from what feels fixed and forever where I live. 

To fly in an airplane, to watch the horizon tilt, to get above clouds and weather systems, is to truly see and feel in the center of my little human gyroscope just how big this planet is. I always try to get the window seat and I spend a lot of the flight craning to see out, my temple pressed hard against the dirty glass like a dog on a car ride. 

I’m embarrassed how my world shrinks to something the size of a suitcase as I prepare to go on a trip like this. I obsess over what I”ll need, try to anticipate every possible unplanned circumstance including lost luggage, illness, injury, plane crash, terrorist act, war, and apocalyptic disaster. Simultaneously, I try to pack as little as humanly possible, irrationally equating compactness with righteous nobility and wisdom. I pace my apartment at least a hundred times, packing and unpacking things, asking myself alternately “What will I need if it all goes to hell?” and “Would the Dalai Lama pack that?”

Once the luggage is stowed, and the plane lifts off, I always laugh at myself as I realize all I need is my passport, wallet, phone, and good shoes. On this flight, the first leg of three from Minneapolis to NY to Paris to Hanover, I also grab my partner’s hand and realize I need him too. 

And then I look around at my fellow passengers and imagine myself stuck on an island with all of them after the plane crashes (I’ve been finally watching Lost, 15 years after everyone else), and I try to imagine caring about all of them. I notice they’re all plugged into music, TV, their favorite digital escapes, doing their own world shrinking and expanding. I decide that a lot of them probably got weird and anxious while they were packing for their trip too. 

Humans are funny and I love them. I’m looking forward to meeting a bunch of them whose daily world is very different than mine. Fewer guns, more cobblestones. Whee, here we go!

Resuscitating the old into something new

OK, this post is going to be the short, summary version because I've already put so much damn time into explaining why I'm resuscitating the blog (as if that was necessary, was that necessary?)

In general, life is pretty good right now. I’m getting to do work I deeply love, that is extremely challenging, with people who inspire me like crazy. I’m pretty comfortable in terms of economic stability, home, health, relationships, spirituality, and general physical well-being. I have some really great friends who I don’t see often enough (hey, call me!) I’m in love with a romantic partner. I’ve got an old house with an endless list of possible projects it wants me to do.

I let my sourdough starter go dormant. Ages ago. But I've trucked the poor dormant lump of dough around to many fridges, through many housing situations, the last couple years. Finally, on new year's eve, I pulled it out, poured off the weird liquid on top, and mixed a lump in with some fresh new flour and water. Now it's sitting there on the counter, hopefully waking back up, into something new. 


The last two years involved losing some big things, including a marriage, a lot of illusions, and the lid that was sitting tightly on top of a deep deep and untapped well of grief and vulnerability. It also involved gaining some things – insight, deeper capacity, firsthand empathy around fragile mental health, patience, humility, good friends.


So I’ve got some stuff to share I think. I’ll try to come back here more often. Maybe I’ll see you here. I think there’s this nifty old-school “subscribe” function if you want to stay in touch with this weird experiment I’m trying. Or you could invite me out for coffee or a walk, you know, like we used to do, by calling or emailing.

Happy new year!

where did August go?

Wow, just noticed my last blog entry was about a moth. Exciting. And now all of August has flown by. And I've been a rehearsal room at the G since the Fringe. Assistant Directing doesn't involve much besides sitting next to the director waiting for a command. Lucky the G's rehearsal rooms have a view. So now I can follow my post about a moth with posts about geese. Interesting exercise in meditation, this sitting and just watching thing. I don't think I'll be signing up to AD again soon.

perspectives on aging

Wikipedia

The life expectancy at age x, denoted , is then calculated by adding up the probabilities to survive to every age. This is the expected number of complete years lived (one may think of it as the number of birthdays they celebrate).

Because age is rounded down to the last birthday, on average people live half a year beyond their final birthday, so half a year is added to the life expectancy to calculate the full life expectancy.

Life expectancy is by definition an arithmetic mean. It can be calculated also by integrating the survival curve from ages 0 to positive infinity (the maximum lifespan, sometimes called 'omega'). For an extinct cohort (all people born in year 1850, for example), of course, it can simply be calculated by averaging the ages at death. For cohorts with some survivors it is estimated by using mortality experience in recent years.

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Washington Times
... 2003 was the first time the average life expectancy of all U.S. women, regardless of race, exceeded 80 years ...
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seniorjournal.com
Headline: Rich White Men Doing the Best in Fight to Extend Longevity in U.S.
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very local stats

berkeley

Went to Berkeley to see Jeune Lune's Figaro. Hiked up the mountain to the University's botanical gardens. Was rewarded with this 20-foot high freaky plant. Awesome what grows on this planet.

Berkeley is pretty weird about smoking in public. And they really don't know how to make a pastrami sandwich. And they are politically correct pretty far past the point of annoying smugness.

But otherwise it's a beautiful place. And the show was great.

what's a blog for if not publicity?

Who's got time to blog? I'm too busy directing a show, this one by the fabulous Alan Berks. Very very excited I am.

Everywhere Signs Fall
Starring Paul Cram, Tracey Maloney & John Middleton
Written by Alan Berks, Directed by Leah Cooper
A world premiere presented by Gremlin Theatre

A thrilling rollercoaster ride through mystery, tragedy and romance
in a steamy motel room in hot, seedy Phoenix, Arizona.

April 18 - May 11
Thursday-Saturday at 7:30 p.m. / Sundays at 4:30 p.m.
No performance on Sunday, April 20
Industry Night on Monday, April 28
Preview Thursday, April 17

Tickets $18
$15 seniors and Fringe button holders
Under 30? Pay half your age any night.
For tickets call (651) 228-7008

Loading Dock Theatre
409 Sibley St., Saint Paul, MN

Tracey Maloney appears courtesy of Actors' Equity Association
Postcard Photograph: Travis Anderson
Postcard Graphic Design: Matthew Foster, Chez Pixel

sigh

Foster went to L.A. for his birthday. I didn't ask for stories about the trip because it's embarrassing to cry in front of a large group of people at the Leaning Tower. But a casual visit to his blog put me face to suddenly teary face with this photo. Eucalyptus, palm, sun, how you taunt me.

ohmigod, the sun, the sun, the sun

Now that my nighttime breathing is back to choking-free, I slept soundly all the way through to 8:30, hours later than I've made it all the mornings of the last week. And I guess we're far enough into the season that the sun is coming earlier and at a steadily new angle. Today it came bursting through the window by the bed, and that's what woke me up.

There isn't enough hyperbole or exclamation marks to express how good it is to be wakened by the sun. Watch out for me today, I'll be knocking people over in single bounds with my tall-building leaps.

back among the living

After nearly a week of lying around moaning, celebrated a return to health by seeing Black Label Movement's Wreck at the Southern Theater on Friday. A dance piece "set inside the last watertight compartment of a recently sunk ore boat resting at the bottom of Lake Superior," it was an amazing ride. Human bodies conveying mechanical objects and forces of nature while still always being human bodies, fragile human spirits. Reminded both me and Alan of that time we nearly drowned in that riptide in CA. Reminded me how much I miss the ocean. Every time I dare think I've seen enough on stage, I'm again amazed at the breadth and depth of what these bodies we have can convey.

points for whining

I haven't been sick in ages. Pretty much since that long visit to the Honduran hospital. And that's a really really long time for me to go without being sick. Indulged deeply in some World Wide Whining about a haircut. Now I'm sick. Tell me that isn't karma. Going to the doctor today to see if this is strep throat or whine fever.

minnesotans are so polite!

See, really, really short. Like a boy. My Minnesotan friends are so nice. My Californian friends will say, "Girl, that's just bad. Here, wear my hat honey."

bad hair month

Note to well-meaning girl at the Aveda Institute who cut my hair yesterday:

This is a Halle Berry haircut.











This is a pixie haircut.











Please note how irrevocable the pixie choice is when your customer asked for a Halle Berry.
Now the money I saved by going to a student needs to be spent on a cute hat.

rockstar on the bus

I usually buy coats that are cheap and warm. Really warm. And really cheap. Thrift-shop fuzzy things. The only people who see me in my coat are my fellow passengers on the bus and I don't think they care. But, you know, it being a long-ass winter here, I guess I see my damn coat a lot. So I finally laid out a little extra for a seriously awesome coat. It was consignment and on sale, so it was still pretty cheap.

I was a vegetarian for 15 years, so leather, like bacon, was always a secretly filthy little fantasy of mine. A fantasy I've never indulged. And based on some of my thrift-shop purchases, I've learned that evolution makes warmer coats than anything humans can invent. Fur. It's warm and it feels good ... good in a way that you just know is sinful.

So I got me a funky brown leather coat with a racoon-fur collar. The way I see it, who's going to miss one racoon? And it was consignment, so I didn't directly fund the people who skinned the cow. And anyway, I eat meat now.

I can't wait to ride the bus tomorrow.

barks and grunts

Our dog is mostly a quiet dog. Pensive, philosophical, we like to think. He only barks for three reasons.

1. Please love me - A very polite little grunt to indicate he'd like to come back inside with us.
2. Please play with me - Big happy yelps to demand that another dog or friendly-looking human come on over and play with him.
3. Hey, what are you? - Territorial growls and ranting barks filled with bravado to ward off humans with skateboards, bicycles, large hoods, children on their shoulders, big coats or any other extensions that make them just not look the right shape to his limited dog eyes.

Seems like the reasons most of us make noise too.

wild turkey

Driving back from Chicago after bloatfest day, Alan and Eben were both asleep, something caught my eye. Perched atop a boulder, hiding behind a billboard, a wild turkey. Just sitting there the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Giving thanks himself I suppose.

Cold enough to call it winter now, and enough changes in our midst to settle down my autumn restlessness. For the two or three of you that read regularly, here's what's new:

I directed a show, which got great reviews from all the major publications in town.
Alan and I are consulting for these guys, doing marketing and PR.
And I'm working for these guys - they're calling me "interim producing director."
And we're starting a small business ... more on that later (we'll have awesome job titles for sure).
Next, I'm directing this, and then this, and then next year, one of Alan's plays (yay!)

My friend Rodney seems to be living a very charmed life what with a great marriage and job offers that involve moving part-time to a chateau in France. Foster has stunned us all by quitting smoking - seriously I'm thinking of shooting him because he must be an impostor. My very dear old friend Michael is recently and blissfully married. Alan's friend Kate too. Our dog is the cutest and happiest creature alive. All is going pretty darn well.

Humbly thankful. Sitting here on this little rock for the moment.