A couple of days ago at a Sisterhood Gala, I was sitting with a couple of my favorite women, all of whom had been involved in the production of Bye Bye Birdie I did earlier this year. We’re getting ready for auditions for the next show, The Music Man. As we’re chattering on about how excited we all are to be doing this together. I admit to be being a little nervous. Last time I had no interest in auditioning. I hated the show, I hadn’t acted in 20 years, and even after I was coerced into it, I knew which part I wanted and if I didn’t get it, Thanks, but No Thanks. This year, I know how sad I would be not to be involved, how much I would miss working with this group. So when they ask on the audition form if I would take an ensemble part, my first reaction is, “Are you mad?!?! I am a professional! I am an actor! I don’t do ensemble! Wait, are you implying there is someone better at the role I want than I?!?!?” Then I stop for a second.  I’m so busy worrying about what part I get, that I’ve lost sight of the complete and utter joy the experience was. Not just because I rediscovered my acting chops. Because I became a part of a family.  I got to play with some of the best people I’ve ever met. and truthfully, nobody cared what part I played. It’s too easy to define ourselves by our successes, how good we look to others. Guess what. Everyone is too busy living their own lives to care about what I do for a living, how much weight I gained, what part I get in The Music Man. Every piece of the universe has its worth. Its success. It’s reason to applaud. And the real success is becoming part of something completely unexpected. So, yes, I would take a part in the ensemble. But I can’t promise I won’t be a bit of a diva about it.

Broken Glass Series, “Starburst”

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I, like so many of my friends and family have spent the last 4 days with a giant stone in my stomach, on the verge of constant tears, numb, disbelieving. I have scoured social media, cried along with, raged along with, signed petitions, open letters, shows of support for those more vulnerable than I. And said nothing. I have been left virtually speechless. I had no shortage of things to say in the months leading up to the election, but now. I could not speak. I could not share. I could not rage. I could only sit and try to figure out what I was supposed to do now. I was in mourning, yes. Denial? Most certainly. But, here’s the truth, barring an electoral college miracle, this person is our next president. And while many of his supporters are not racist, bigoted, hideous people, many of them are. So here’s what I am going to do. I am going to take really good care of myself, because I will need my strength to fight whatever crap comes my way. I will give my time and whatever limited resources I have to fighting for and standing with those whose rights are in jeopardy. I will hug my family and friends a little bit tighter. I cannot change the outcome of this election, but I will create, because as Toni Morrison said, that is how we heal. I am only one person. But there are many more out there just like me and together, like the dust, we rise. 

*But Still I Rise-Maya Angelou

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Woman Praying Jewelry

10% of the proceeds go to the organization or charity of your choice in your name. 

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I have become a maniac. One of those crazy people screaming about politics and candidates and ranting at opposing views because they are wrong! Wrong!!! I have never been remotely interested in politics, and I kept what I believed, for the most part, to myself. This election has made me a lunatic. Aside from the anxiety, the irritability, the sleeplessness, I find myself arguing with total strangers on Facebook. I’m so completely certain of the right and wrong of this particular battle that I refuse to allow others their own opinions, their own certainties. Which, if you think about it makes me a part of the problem, not the solution. I know I’m not alone in this rage and fear. I see the arguments, the unfriending, the prickly confrontations all over social media. Some are respectful when they ask others to keep their confrontational responses to their own timelines. Me, I’m cussing and swearing and making sure anyone who isn’t on my side knows that they are full of @*#%! I admit, I’m finding it a little difficult not to be completely pissed when people don’t see things the way I do. People I know. People I like. People who have their reasons and their beliefs and the right to vote however they please, and I will just have to respect that. 

Nope. Can’t do it. Dudes. You’re wrong. I’m right. 

The Debate

carynjune 

I am a whistler. A hummer. A mumbler. A grumbler. A natterer. A chatterer. A twitterer.  A chitterer. A babbler. A gabbler. A warbler. A gabber. A jabber-jaw. A gabbler. A gibberer. A jabberer. A twaddler. A twiddler. A gasbag. A windbag. A yakker. A wise-cracker. A bigmouth. I am never silent.  If you looked over at me right now, all you’d see is someone quietly tapping on her phone. Inside my head? Blah blah blah-ing at breakneck speed. I cannot stop. At work? Humming. Commenting. Complaining. Blabbing. Mind you, I’m usually the only one listening. I can’t be certain, but I think anyone who has known me for more than 5 minutes tends to tune me out. Cause I’m not talking to them. I’m muttering. Mumbling. Holding the same conversations with myself until I get them just the way I like them. Yipping and yapping and telling off any one who’s ever hurt me in verbal rampages looping endlessly in my head. Holding imaginary conversations during which all my dreams come true. What is waiting beneath the constant noise? What would happen if I was completely still. If I just was, for a little while. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

We are never silent. We are sad and hurt and scared and angry. We are bitter and regretful and sorry. We are helpless and hopeful and hilarious. We are curious and  creative. We are planning and scheming, constant day-dreaming. We are lucky and unlucky. We are loving and loved. We speak volumes without saying a word.  And I don’t know about anyone else, but it’s LOUD up in here. 

My Cup Runneth Off at the Mouth
carynjune

So you all know I went to my 40th High School reunion two weeks ago. And as my 6 loyal followers also know I was a little ambiguous. And ya know what?  I had a great time. There were a lot of people I knew, and although we either grew apart by high school, or weren’t that close, we enjoyed the hell out of seeing each other and catching up. A woman I went all the way from kindergarten through high school was among the first to greet me. She told me that she always thought my name was Crayon. See, her name is Karen and her little 5 year old self couldn’t understand how we could have the same name but spell it differently. And she felt bad for me. Being named Crayon and all. We all spent a lot of time staring at each other’s chests where our name tags and yearbook pictures lived. I was stunned at how many times I heard, “You look exactly the same!!” People who I thought didn’t even know I existed. I realized how many people knew who I was even if we never said a word to each other in high school. And how enjoyable it was getting to know them a little better now. Don’t get me wrong. There was still the Uber-cool kids, now the uber-cool adults who didn’t really mingle. They stayed in their tight little group and let the tier 2 cool but slightly less cool kids come to them.  Although I’m still awed and intimidated, and they were either still gorgeous, or had so much plastic surgery they could’ve been anyone of a certain age, I really didn’t care that much. I spent time with a lot of people that I wouldn’t have in high school. We were all older, chubbier, balder. We didn’t really give a #%^* how cool or uncool we were back then. We were happy to be alive and well for this milestone. So many of our classmates aren’t. Age is the great leveler. It’s one thing to lose a parent, to see how close mortality is. It’s another thing all together when contemporaries start dropping. Classmates. Ex-husbands. Friends. Having borne no children of my own, I never felt quite like a grown up. Still don’t. And being as self-absorbed as I am, I cannot wrap my head around a world that I am no longer in. It just doesn’t make sense. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. I feel young. Inside. Maybe that will keep the outside young for just a little longer. Maybe I’ll still dance and laugh and cause eye-rolling mortification in my neices. Maybe at my 50th high school reunion, I will still hear, “OMG, you look exactly the same!” One can only hopeWoman Praying

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10% of sales go to benefit the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.   #bcrf

I’ve always admired people who are genuinely happy. I know that everyone has bad days but there are people like my dear friend, Brigette, who are just happy. I’ve met many people who just know in their hearts that every day is a blessing and all of what life hands you is a gift. I am in awe of this phenomenon! I just don’t get it! No, really. WTF?!? I have spent so much of my life cranky that even when I smile, my mom is like , “Stop frowning!” There isn’t enough Botox in the world to get rid of the lines between my eyes and if I don’t have something to worry, whine or complain about, my day is ruined. I started to think about the people whose lives I envy the most and guess what?! It’s the same f#^*ing people!!!! Stay with me, now. The common thread in those lives I wish I had is that they appreciate every day, every person who touches their lives. They are the ones every one wants to be around, not because of what they have, what they do, or what they give you, but because they possess a faith in the rightness and the joy of life. And when they smile, and they smile a lot, they mean it. And the universe cannot help but smile back. So the trick to living our best life is not to amass the most money, the most impressive career, the prettiest hair, or the best toys. It is to believe that the best life is the one we are living right now. 

Behind the Curtain

carynjune