NYC #15 - Wrap up

I'd been blogging my NYC stay every sunday, but I never got around to the final post.  My Grandpa suddenly passed away & sent my world into a tailspin again.  I came home a day early.  I really wanted to conclude my posts and I hope I kept track of what I did the final week.  Let me open up my calendar I was keeping and see what I've got.  This last one probably wont be as detailed, but at least I'll have documented it all.

Sunday November 4
Mexican Food date with the roomies at Ariba Ariba.

Monday November 5
A dinner and a drink with Scotty & Tyrel at Lillies in Union Square.

Tuesday November 6
Figaro at The Pearl.  I've never seen a cast of more beautiful women before.  Each one, so striking.  Every time a new one came out it took me aback.

Wednesday November 7
Met my scene partner David to work on our Measure for Measure scene for my final Shakespeare course on monday.  We sat working and just talking for hours.  It started snowing like crazy! I could barely keep my feet on the ground, and the wind blowing was painful.  Snow and ice kept getting in my eyes and it hurt.  I stopped for pad tai around the corner when I left Davids and hopped on the subway to Times Square where I saw "Dead Accounts" with Katie Holmes.

Thursday November 8
Went to visit Joyce Cohen! One of the people in my life who truly inspires me.  She talked about having a "big life".  And completely understood the importance of having that big life to bring back to your partner.

Friday November 9
An audition for "The Winter's Tale".  I'll remember this as one of the best auditions I've had.  Started day one of our Neutral Mask Workshop at the Movement Theater Studio NYC taught by Adrienne Kapstein.

Saturday November 10
Day two of Mask, followed by seeing a production of Golden Boy".  This was a special show for me to see for two reasons.  One, when I was a student at Atlantic a scene I was working on from Golden Boy was chosen to perform for David Mamets master class.  I'd never seen the play done before.  And two, Tony Shallhoub was in it.  There's a running joke now with two plays I've been in where I have spread the word Tony was in the audience. Someone falls for it every time.  This was my chance to get a picture with him after to conclude the ultimate joke.

I was having a great day and night, then I went home and got the word my grandpa suddenly died.

Sunday November 11
I got no sleep.  I cried all night.  I wanted to get home as fast as possible.  I couldn't believe this was real.  The rug had been pulled out from under me.  What should I do? What could I do? I was so far.  I went to my third and final Mask class.  With my bloodshot eyes.  I talked with my roomie on the subway the entire way there.  I was determined to get through.

Monday November 12
Last Shakespeare class.  It was wonderful.  David & I took a picture and said goodbye before I hopped on the subway to pack up and leave.  John helped me get a car, we said our goodbyes, and there I went.

As quickly as it had begun, my journey was over.

I've purposely left out details on classes.  What I did, what I learned, what was said, what the instructors were like.  That was for me.  If you want to know more, maybe in person I'll tell you sometime.

I needed this.  I needed to prove things to myself.  I needed to get away.  I needed to come back.  I needed to learn, grow, make peace, move forward.  It was absolutely invaluable.

New York, I love you.


The shows  (in order.)
1.) Folsom Prison Shots presented by aMios – under St. Marks

2.) Harper Reagan – Atlantic Theater Company 

3.) Prelude, The Return of the Singspeil – CUNY

4.) Cyrano – Roundabout

5.) Sleep No More - McKittrick Hotel 

6.) Once - Broadway 

7.) Pericles – Animus Theatre Company 

8.) Love Poems for Dead Bodies (reading) – Your Name Here

9.) Chicago - Broadway 

10.) Taming of the Shrew – Frog and Peach

11.) Ivanov – Classic Stage

12.) Peter & the Starcatcher - Broadway 

13.) The Heiress - Broadway 

14.) Hamlet - Wooster Group 

15.) Giant – The Public

16.) King Lear – American Bard Theater Co.

17.) Company – The Gallery Players

18.) Who’s afraid of Virgina Wolf - Broadway 

19.) Figaro - The Pearl 

20.) Dead Accounts - Broadway 

21.) Golden Boy - Broadway


My favorite? #11 (not only of this trip but my favorite straight play I've ever seen).
Close behind are #4, #18, #13.

The classes

Shakespeare with Seth Barrish of The Barrow Group 

Red Bull Classical Theater Workshop
with Liz Smith, Matt Rauch & artistic director Jesse Berger 

Neutral Mask Workshop at the Movement Theater Studio NYC
taught by Adrienne Kapstein 

Actors Movement Studio with Janice Orlandi 

The story
NYC 14
NYC 13
NYC 12
NYC 11
NYC 10
NYC 9
NYC 8
NYC 7  
NYC 6
NYC 5
NYC 4 
NYC 3 
NYC 2
NYC 1
NYC Bound once again

Speak a new language

Speak a new language 
so that the world 
will be 
a new world 

-Rumi 

April, June, December
Metamorphosis, Shed a skin

Just a little over six months in between
Grow, Rebirth

...2012 fades away, the evolution of a contained 365 days complete,
and a new year is being born...

Join me: Instagram 

Deena Marie 


★ 

What's in a name?

This blog has grown and evolved over the years and a new name was needed.
BeanerLarue is no longer the title for this place...

Everything that has come before remains.
Thank you for being here for the ride so far!
Let's see where the future takes these words.

New mediums are planned for my words in the new year...
each moment has been a stepping stone for me to realize
that at my core I've always been and always will be...


a Shapeshifting Poet.


I will sing my words, dance them, act them, write them, speak them.
I will continue to give them to you, in all my forms.


I was once called a Walking Poem.  
Needless to say, no compliment or description of me ever has 
or ever could match that.



Deena Marie

Sweetwater by Javen Tanner

Sweetwater

It has taken me a long time to get here. The circumstances are less than ideal: a believer in the age of reason.
I have driven from New York. Filthy and bloodshot,

I begin to cry before I even reach the bank. A bluebird dips in front of me and laughs, and I scold myself
for immediately turning him into my heart.

When I was a child I heard the story of a man who walked a thousand miles. He crossed the Mississippi, the Missouri, and others.

But when he came to this river––this small river–– exhausted and starving, the thought of crossing broke his will, and he sat on the bank and wept.

The Sweetwater got its name because of its potability in contrast with the many alkaline water sources along the Oregon Trail in Wyoming.

There are stories of travelers beating their animals away from poisonous waters, trying to keep them alive until they reached the Sweetwater.

It has taken me a long time to get here.
Beaten from other waters, I want to drink;
I want to cross. Instead, I kneel and throw my sobs up

where they mix with the bluebird’s song,
where my weeping joins the weeping of generations, saying: we follow the heart no matter how unreasonable

the journey. And for each of us there comes a time when we cannot cross the water, no matter how sweet the destination. But the heart flies over.

––Javen Tanner 

Sting & Honey  

Take these with you...

Winter Solstice.

The world did not end.  The days will now get longer.  The light will start to come.

Into the new beginning I take the following:


1.) Dwell lightly in the body

2.) Respond to every call that excites your spirit

3.) I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet.



Tweet: @DeenaMarie

Children by Khalil Gibran

Children

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. 

Khalil Gibran 

Make Room

I planned to do some kind of year in review blog, but I'm not sure how to approach that one this time.  I was a word alchemist this year more than ever.  At least publicly.  I translated my guts to the page time and time again.  Many of those times I felt as though something else was speaking through me.  How do I fit eternity into one post by a certain date? What I can best say about my journey of 2012 has already been said.  By Rumi, of course.

“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.”
~Rumi 

That says it all, but here's my attempt at a bit more:

This was the year.
This was the year I saw death.
It racked my bones and broke them to dust.

I said goodbye.  Loss ran rampant over me more times than you'd believe,
even if I told you about each and every one of them, The Losses.
At times so big, so shatteringly big, I am in awe of my survival.

My heart broke.
Again.  And again.  And again.  Ba boom! 
I got a new tattoo.
I am.  I am.  I am.  Ba boom! 
It was the worst summer of my life.
It was the summer of animals.
It was the summer of running.  Anything to keep moving.

This was the year my limits were lifted.
I saw my confinements clearly.  The invisible labels and restraints only I had placed.
I saw them lift.  Like a shutter, up they snapped and dissipated.
The one great gift death and death alone can bring.
There he laid, there I sat.  There they went. 
This was the year I saw with my own eyes we are not our physical bodies.
I am not my weight, my height, my hair, my age.
I am all, and all is me, and always has been, and always will be.  
I am enough, and you are, too.  You are another me, I am another you.

This was the year of the soul.
The only thing I'm now sure of.
My eyes deceive me, my body betrays me, but my soul...
My soul has never led me astray.
I was let out, I transcended.  I saw heaven.

Psychosomatic as it may be,
I experienced my Uncle's sickness for months when he left.
My heart hurt and my hands went numb for my Grandpa when he was gone.
My imagined fear let out, I went on a six week artistic sabbatical.
I gathered up all I could to add to my Big Life.
To expand myself and bring it back to keep.

This was the year of The Winter's Tale.  A sad tale was best for winter.
Hermione found me and gave me the ultimate healing,
and Shakespeares words patched me back together.

Death came a second time.  Nobody told me how greedy Death is. 
The rug pulled out from under me and all my comfort shattered once again.
I spiraled in when it should have been out (but deep down this time I knew better),
and so I saved myself one sunday night.
Promising myself that even though people always leave me on the weekend,
Monday I can chose to come back to life and throw myself even deeper into the opposite of fear.

I will chose.
I will chose to give my moments Meaningful Shape.
I choose the better story.

I will respond to you, soul.  To the call from the stars.
To the Athena's before me, and Comsic Alchemists who follow,
I will pave your way with a golden story in which you'll remember you're not alone.
You've been here before, and will be again.

There is only hope.
There is only forward.
And I am free.


Tweet me: @DeenaMarie

Music of the Spheres

I'm a word collector.

Snippets that resonate with me stick to me.  They may be from a book, a song, a movie, a play, or someone I talk to.  They add up to what I've called before, The Library of Me.  They shape me.  They guide me.  I draw on them for inspiration, and many times they bubble up and announce themselves.  They reread themselves to me in a loud internal voice.  They come to me to tell me things.

I've been home from New York for nearly a month now.  One of the plays I saw early on was a production of Pericles.  I'd never read or seen it.  It just so happened I was considering a scene from it for my Shakespeare course at the same time.  I remember something catching my eye, "Music of the Spheres" and seeing the definition.  The music of the Universe.  Music we can't actually hear.  I wanted to know more.

I forgot about it.

Until the last few days it came knocking.

I couldn't remember exactly what it was I read or what character said it.  A few nights ago I finally found it.  It was Pericles himself.

In reading about The Music of the Spheres, or Musica Universalis, I came across a beautiful blog:
Tango Therapist: Tango and the Music of the Spheres 

I don't know why it's on my mind or what it's trying to tell me.  I'll keep reading.  I'll let you know.

Today I stumbled upon this TED talk.  It left me wiping away tears and getting the chills like crazy:

Reassembled: The Sum of my Parts

Dismembered, I ached.  
The year had left me weary.  
Smashed down to my atoms, I managed to hang on.
I hung tight and sat still.  Even when the wind blew.  
At times I was injured, damaged inside out. 
But when the ground froze and all was nearly lost, 
I decided now was the time for going again.  
A new sum of my havoc wrecked parts.  
Reassembled, I have a head start for when the earth thaws out once more.  

tweet: @DeenaMarie
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The Russian Cosmonaut

I've been thinking of the story of the Russian Cosmonaut a lot lately.

I'm working on changing my thoughts.
On moving forward.
On the never ending journey of "accept & allow".
Embrace.

The Russian Cosmonaut Story from one of my favorite movies, "Another Earth" here


I'm working on letting things I want to fight against fuel me instead.
Change me, transform me.

Aura

Want to know what color your Aura is?

Take the quiz on Pamala Oslie's Life Colors City website!
I love stuff like this.  I definitely see aspects that are right on in each of the three I am.
Violet, Crystal, Green.

Glad I happened to catch her on Ricki Lake today!

---

Violet

Violets are the inspirational visionaries, leaders and teachers who are here to help save the planet. Most Violets feel drawn to educate the masses, to inspire higher ideals, to improve the quality of life on the planet, or to help save people, animals and the environment.

All Violets have an inner sense that they are here to do something important, that their destiny is greater than that of the average person. Most Violets have felt this way since childhood. As children, many Violets imagined becoming famous, or traveling the planet, possibly joining humanitarian causes such the Peace Corp. Many of these charismatic personalities take on roles as leaders and teachers, while other Violets prefer to reach people through music, film or other art form.

Because this era is currently the "Violet Age," any Violets who are not accomplishing what they came here to do are experiencing an inner “push” — even an inner “earthquake.” Inner forces seem to be shaking them up and pushing them to move into action, to fulfill their life purpose. Violets know they are here to do something significant. However, they aren't always sure what that something is or how to accomplish it.

Many Violets were taught as children that their dreams and aspirations were unrealistic, so they have lost touch with their original visions. It's important for Violets to reconnect with their life purpose and vision, and to take action. Otherwise they will always feel unfulfilled. They will always sense something is missing from their lives. Violets need to learn to slow down long enough to listen to their inner voice and to connect with their higher vision.

---

Crystal

Crystal is a rare Life Color. Crystals have clear auras and are known as the "aura chameleons." Like chameleons, their auras will change colors to match those of the people they are connecting with at the time. They then take on the characteristics, behavior patterns, emotions and thoughts of that color.

Consequently, in power Crystals can get along quite well with almost anyone. Yellows , for example, feels they can relate to Crystals who, when they are with them, act and think like Yellows . Later, when the same Crystals spend time with Sensitive Tans, the Tans can feel as if they have found kindred spirits.

However, the Crystals' inconsistencies can also confuse people. One minute Crystals think and behave like Greens . A short while later, they can act like Blues . The more they connect and bond with others, the more their personalities change.

Because Crystals tend to absorb the colors of other people's auras, people can, at times, feel an energy drain when they are in the presence of Crystals. In power, Crystals can be a clear conduit or channel for healing energy. Being natural healers, the Crystals' gift is to help their clients clear blockages, thereby enabling the clients' own natural healing processes to take place.

While healing, balanced Crystals are able to keep their thoughts and emotions out of the way, making the healing more pure. Crystals do not always understand their healing abilities. It can often frighten and confuse them or cause them to feel overwhelmed. These rare souls are often physically fragile and delicate.

Because of their unusual sensitivity, they can only heal one person at a time. They then need to go to a peaceful place to cleanse their aura. Working with too many people can short-circuit their system.

---

Green

Greens are some of the most powerful and intelligent people in the aura spectrum. Greens are extremely bright. They process information and ideas quickly; jumping from steps one to ten. They do not like dealing with all the steps and details in between.

A project that is too detailed is tedious and boring for Greens . They prefer to develop an idea, organize a plan, and then delegate someone else to take care of the details.

Greens are very drawn to money, power, and business. These quick-thinkers are very organized and efficient. They write lists and efficiently check off the items on the list as they are completed. Greens recognize patterns and discover solutions very quickly.

When Greens are in their power, they can accomplish anything. They love to set goals and are determined to achieve them. Greens are “movers and shakers” when it comes to taking action. They are also typically the workaholics on the planet.

Greens are highly competitive and enjoy challenges. They thrive on taking risks. Gambling is common for Greens , especially if there is a potential for large winnings.

Being strong-willed, these powerful personalities are determined to have their own way, which they usually feel is the right way. A person is rarely able to win an argument with Greens.

Begin again.

In 33 days 2012 will no longer exist.

I am DONE with 2012.  In fact, I'm so done that I'm not going to wait even a single day or minute longer.  I made the decision for myself on sunday night that monday when I woke up, I would come "back to life."  I would not look back.

I would change my mind.  I would change my thoughts.

You see, I spent most of this year dying.  Really.  When I say most of this year, I mean most of it.  And when I say dying, I mean dying.

This was the year of loss.  The year of impossible goodbyes.  I will always remember that about 2012.  The year that changed my entire life, down to my very insides.  Literally, figuratively.  All senses shifted this year.

Some of it I've poured out to you here.  Sometimes I wore it, and many people saw it.  There was public knowledge loss.  There was other loss, too.  Some of it a small number of people knew, I could count the number on two hands.  And some of it nobody knows.  Nobody but a soul or two.  Some loss I was able to release, and some I had to sew secretly into myself.  And secretly process and secretly live with.  Every day.  All day.  If you're reading this, you know a lot.  But there's also a lot you'll never know.  Just know that there are times when I was, and am, amazed I'm still standing.

I went to very dark places.  I didn't know I had them in me.
I almost lost myself to grief.  I survived.

Survival is nothing short of miraculous.

At times I experienced great joy and healing.  I had some of my favorite and most important adventures, and life experiences.

Yesterday was six months since my Chuck left.  Who knew that the half year mark would also be 17 days since my Grandfather left.

From here on out I march on with the intent of living, of forward, of creation.  It is time for addition.  For filling up life, seeing, doing, feeling, experiencing.

That's my promise to you.  To me.

"You are responsible for your own happiness."

I choose to end differently than where I started.

A million lifetimes can happen in 365 days.  It can change everything about the person you are, and what you thought was true.  I have seen opposite ends of the spectrum, and every possibility in between.  There is nothing that can scare me ever again.

I came out on the other end triumphant.  I refused defeat.  

Shed a skin. Reconnect. Grow.

Time.  Life.  Evolve.  Live.  Transform.  Shed a skin.  Transition.  Rebirth.  Reconnect.  Reflect.  Find yourself in every moment.  Embrace change.  Each stage.  Life keeps marching on.  Forward is the only choice.  No fear.  Free.  Grow.  One year.

Tweet: @DeenaMarie 

FB: TheDeenaShow

My moms words

November 17, 2012 was my Grandpas funeral.  My moms speech blew me away.  
Absolutely, totally and completely blew me away.  Here it is:


Once up on a time, a baby boy was born.

He cried, he slept, he cut his teeth.  One day he had his second birthday.  He learned to talk and walk.  He ran with bare feet on grass and felt warm sunshine on his face.  He played and fell down, he got hurt and cried.  His parents hugged him and loved him.  Sometimes he got sick and argued with his siblings.  He started school where he learned to read and color with crayons.  One day he was in junior high noticing girls.  He sang and danced and graduated from high school.

The boy became a man and joined the Navy.  He went to a new adventure.  He felt the cold air against his face while on the Icebreaker USS Edisto.  He held penguins in his arms and was amazed.  He heard the sound of ice cracking as his ship broke through the massive chunks.  He was seasick and threw up. He held spider monkeys, ate new foods, and expanded his world.  He made life long friends.

He fell in love and married the girl with the long black hair who he met in the seventh grade while she was on crutches.  He became a dad, my dad.  And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.  To me, he was larger than life.

Five months ago I was speaking at a funeral for my brother, Chuck, and there are no words to describe how I feel right now.  Maybe just to say, it's a very lonely place.  Your mind knows the reality, but your heart can't bear it! We are absolutely alone with internal grief.

My dad was my first love, when I was about four or five I told my mom when I grow up I'm going to marry dad, Chuck, Larry, Richard Widmark and Gregory Peck.  How did I know in my young pure mind that was a NO?! I just felt love.

I was the only daughter for seven years and spoiled.  I would sit on dads lap and hug and kiss him.  On payday he always took me to cash his check and go grocery shopping.  We had a large yard with big cotton trees.  In the fall when it was time to rake leaves, Chuck and Larry worked up a sweat.  All I had to do was pick up five sticks and I got a quarter or two.  My brothers hated that part!

Once, instead of going home after kindergarten, I went to a friends house.  The police were called out to look for me.  I knew I had been a naughty girl when I started walking home.  Suddenly a policeman on a motorcycle pulls up alongside me with my dads green truck right behind.  I was happy I wouldn't have to walk home until dad got out of the truck and spanked me a good one! I had given my family quite a scare!

In fifth grade I was crazy for horses! Dad took me for riding lessons every wednesday.  In seventh grade there were the orthodontist visits.  That lasted two and a half years.  But he never complained.  My friends liked dad, he had a great sense of humor and teased them.  He knew a lot of silly rhyming songs, I couldn't repeat most of them here! Not quite appropriate!

One time when my sister Farah was working and living in New York, dad mailed her a letter, he had taken the time to cut out and glue letters on paper which read, "Let it be known that my daughter, Farah, when she was fifteen, stole her fathers car and wrecked it while he was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack and blamed it on her oldest brother.  Let it also be known she kept this from her poor father for eight years.  She was pretty clever!" Now that was his sense of humor.

Dad loved oysters, and when he opened a can we avoided our house like the plague! We loved our Bowden holidays, especially at Christmas when mom made her enchiladas and dad made his sour cream dip.  A time of love and joy for our family! Dad always brought me Indian dolls when he had to go to Winnemucca, Nevada for work training and trips.  He bought me Charlie Brown books and stuffed animal, mostly mammoths because they interested me.

We all loved the smell of his coffee in the mornings, he was usually the first one up.

We shared a love of photography.  Dad gave me my first camera on my tenth birthday.  Because of this, sometimes we are missing from photographs, we are the ones behind the camera.  Mom and dad were a team.  When we were little kids, we'd get all giggly when they hugged and kissed! It made us happy and secure.

We all have so many different memories of our time with dad.  I've shared many of mine, there are many more.  He loved giving surprises, usually stuffed animals for the grandkids and always little sports cars for the boys.

Dad wasn't perfection, but then we weren't perfect children.  Chucks passing took a spark out of dad.  His anxiety made life a struggle, it would calm down with car rides.  And he loved his McDonald milkshakes.  We took little walks around the house, but even that became a struggle.

Now that dad has left us, I look to the sky a lot.  I did that when Chuck left, too.  What do I expect to see? I wonder.  Right now, I see life through a cloudy lens, the earths colors aren't as bright.  Where did all the bright colors go? Why are they so dull?

When I was little dad used to ask me, "how much do you love me?" And I would answer, "'til the end of the numbers."

Love is infinite.

All that is not.

In 2012 the world ended just as they said it would.  At least it did for me.
And several times.

I kept dying.  I would go on living.

What I want you to know, you, yes you, is that there was a time when the people who are not, were still in the world.  Made of earth.  And they were vibrant and alive.  Life was localized and it was musical and smelled of cinnamon and spice.  It was loud.  A vibration of generations connected by our invisible dewdrop spiderweb.  I was so conscious of it then.  It was tangible.  I could almost see it.  I can hear it still.  It echos in me.

Right before my Grandpa died, I had a memory of him on repeat in my head.  It is one of my earliest and most vivid memories.  I had a stuffed bunny I carried everywhere.  Her name was Melissa.  I got sick.  I eventually got misdiagnosed and put through too many tests and treatments to get into right now.  To cover all bases, Melissa was taken to the dry cleaners across the street.

It was the longest night of my life, up to that point.  It was the first time I was aware of experiencing time and the tricks it can play.  I didn't know how I'd get through.  How could I survive this endless night? I walked with my grandpa up through the neighborhood to get a view of the dry cleaner across the street.  She was in there.  My Melissa.  A separation from a love of my life.  It was still light outside.

It was also the first time I was aware, (and can remember all of this like it was yesterday) truly aware of my size, place, and physicality in the world.  I felt so small in a space so vast.  I was so low to the ground.  I felt heavy.  I felt rooted to earth.  I was so incredibly human.  It was such a strange sensation to realize how tiny I was.  How I was bound by gravity in the most permanent of ways, and how much bigger I felt, than what I was realizing I was restricted to.

How if I were to stand in a corner of my room, how small that space would be.  Nobody would know there was a special little girl in a minuscule corner of a room in a city in a state of the world of the earth.

How could I be so much, feel so much, and nobody who didn't already know me would never know? How could I be so aware of my mortality and so stuck in time?

I walked, experiencing all of this for the first time, my first philosophizing, with my Grandpa by my side.  Did he see it? Did he know these things about life and the universe? Could he see me feeling this? Was he feeling this muddy in both time and body, too?

The first time that time froze for me, was with him.



Obituary: 

1928 ~ 2012
On November 10, 2012, Blaine Bowden left this earth in a blink of an eye, and was in heaven! We will miss our special husband, padaddy, grandpa, pa, uncle, brother, and friend. What rejoicing there must have been when dad reunited with his son Chuck!
Blaine was born September 26, 1928, to Charles Alfred and Lora Orchard Bowden. He lived most of his life in Salt Lake City.
After graduating from Granite High School, he joined the Navy in September of 1946. He participated in three expeditions of the Arctic regions and completed Aerial Photographic School in Pensacola, Florida. He was a part of numerous aerial photo mapping surveys. Dad traveled to Alaska, Central and South America, and other locations around the U.S.
Dad married our mom, Angela Paez on August 24, 1950 in Elko, Nevada. Together they raised two sons and three daughters. They traveled to Europe, Hawaii, and Alaska with smaller trips in between. They were married 62 years.
Blaine retired from the U.S. Government in 1975, where he worked as an Air Traffic Controller. He graduated from Westminster College in 1978, with a BA in Psychology.
Dad coached his sons baseball teams and led them to the championship game two years in a row. They were major highlights in his life.
Dad loved his family, speaking Spanish, golfing, coffee, McDonald milk shakes, and watching the Utes!
He leaves behind his precious wife, our mom, Angie. He also leaves behind children, Larry Bowden (Margo), Lauren Manzanares (Claude), Farah Benevento (Bryon), Dyana Bassett (Jay); grandchildren, Deena Manzanares Evanoff (Dave), Lacey Bowden, Shannon Bowden, Griffin Murray, Ondrea Benevento, Lili Benevento and Jude Benevento; and brother, Garth Bowden. He is preceded in death by his parents; brother, Wally Bowden; sister, Pauline Cowling; and eldest son, Charles Bowden.
A special thank you to the Leeds Area Special Services District, and also to Pastor Tim Miles for his love and prayers.
We Love You PA, till the end of the numbers!
Funeral services will be held Saturday, November 17, 2012, at 11:00 a.m. at the Spilsbury Hurricane Valley Mortuary, 25 N. 2000 W., Hurricane, UT. There will be a viewing one hour prior to services. Interment will take place in the Leeds City Cemetery.
Arrangements are made under the direction of Spilsbury Hurricane Valley Mortuary, (435) 635-2212. Friends may sign his guestbook at www.spilsbury mortuary.com.

Published in Salt Lake Tribune on November 14, 2012

Happy Birthday, Uncle.

Oh Chuckie,

Happy Birthday.  61.

We are all spread out right now.  We are far and scattered.  It is thanks to you.  A big life.  I have pursued a big life more than ever because of you.  We are across the country, spreading our invisible web.  Learning, living, doing, to bring it back to each other.

I don't really have the room to write today.  Being so far away.  I am holding onto it for later.

Just feel all I can't sort through to say today.

So Far. NYC #14

1.) You can never ever assume.

2.) It will always be different than you think it will be in your head.

3.) You can't control what happens.  

I know you can control your reaction, but that is easier said than done.

4.) Perspective is so important.  It is such a great teacher.
You'll learn things you never knew.  

5.) New appreciation.  

6.) Gratitude.  

Week 5 NYC #13

Sunday Oct. 28
Today was the first of a few days of being trapped inside waiting for Hurricane Sandy to arrive.  We weren't in danger, but we still didn't know what we were in for.  Strong and scary winds? No subways? Trapped for a week? Who knows.  Myself, roommates and a friend of theirs decided to make a few hurricanes while waiting for the hurricane.  I wasn't sure if I'd still have class the next day.  In the evening I got the email that it would be cancelled.  I was sad to miss a class, since I'm taking them on borrowed time.

Monday Oct. 29 
Still no sign of Sandy.  Started of the day with brunch.  Glued to the news again.  The first few days of waiting for the hurricane blur to me.  At some point the subways are shut down, and airports are closed.  I knew I was prone to feel a little claustrophobic at times, but this took it to a whole new level.  Four people in a small space was too much for me.  Knowing airports were closed so I couldn't leave if I suddenly needed to made it even worse.  It was hard not having my own things.  Trapped in my own home, and with more space it would have been a different experience.  I went back and forth between needing a break from being trapped with the same people to disappearing in my room for some alone time, then feeling too lonely, and back to being trapped with the same people.  I wanted to be productive, but couldn't concentrate.  Plus, there really wasn't much I could do.  Just wait.  Wait to see what the damage would be and where.  Wait to see when transportation would open.  What would be cancelled and what would go on.  The ticket I'd bought before I left for NYC to see Dita Von Teese the next night was now cancelled.

Tuesday Oct. 30
Watching everything on hulu humanely possible is about all I remember on this point.  The entire first season of "Bunheads" and who knows what else.  We walk down the street that morning.  A breath of fresh air feels good, but it's rainy and still too windy to even keep our umbrellas open.  Back inside it is.

Wednesday Oct. 31
Today I need to get outside and walk! And I do.  I leave the apartment at 139th and just go.  I walk to central park, just to see it closed with my own eyes.  Like a ghost town.  I walk alongside of it while I talk on the phone.  I get to the 80's and turn back.  My Halloween plans with some girl friends have been foiled.  The show we were going to see before hitting the town is now cancelled, and there's really no hope of even meeting up since we're trapped in different locations.  At the apartment, we decide to have an impromptu Halloween party.  My roommates invite friends who live close and are able to get here.  There's only a handful, but it's great.  I had brought my skeleton costume I'd work the year before.  Most of the night is spent with the karaoke machine.  We also find out that subway service will be partially restored tomorrow.

Thursday Nov. 1
I get to spend the afternoon at a friends place, catching up.  It's been nearly a year since I've see Joyce.  Since we were in a show together in SLC.  She moved back permanently shortly after.  I adore her.  She inspires me.  This was a much needed afternoon.  We talked about "the price you pay for having a wide life."  I told her that's why I came here.  I always have and always will need to have a big life.

Friday Nov. 2
I decide to take the subway as far as I can, which is only to 34th street.  I want to see how far downtown I can get before I get too tired and need to turn back.  I wonder if I can see any damage.  Other than power being out everywhere and building being closed, I don't see anything.  I spend about three hours on foot.  I pass Alan Cumming as he's walking his dog.  I take some pretty cool pictures as I'm out and about though.  When I get home, I'm excited to import my photos from Halloween and from the walk.  They import just fine.  I start editing.  I export.  My computer freezes and iphoto quits.  When I reopen, my last import is gone, and I'd already deleted from my camera.

You've got to be kidding me.

That night I go to "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf" on Broadway.  I've loved that play for years, and I've never seen the movie or a production.  This one was fantastic.  Particularly Tracy Letts as George.  At the end I'm trying my best not to let the tears start rolling down my face.

It's suddenly gotten very cold.

Saturday Nov. 3 
I get up and get to a movement class.  More on that here.  I didn't anticipate it staying so cold.  I came to the city with no coat.  I buy a cheap one at H&M.  I leave the tag on so I can return it.  I pass by and pop into the hotel I've stayed at the last two times I came here.  It's familiar and cozy and I am reminded of the drastic difference of being here as a resident and as a vacationer.  Right now I really prefer the latter.  I have my weekly trip to my favorite mexican restaurant.  I head home.

A diary of today. NYC #12

This is the second joint post for myself and JayC Stoddard.  The idea is to blog on the same topic, purely for fun and for two points of view.

We chose to track a random day and write about it.  Pretty simple.  I think this will be a particularly interesting entry to look back on down the road.  When it feels like a lifetime ago.  But like a gem.  Like when you read an old diary and you can suddenly transport...and remember.

Here is nothing more than a few hours recorded in time, from opposite ends of the country.


Here is his link: My Beautiful Day 

And here is my entry.

Saturday November 3, 2012

8:45 My alarm goes off.  I was in the middle of strange, deep dreams about a movement class.  The class I’m supposed to be going to for the first time today.

I am in the bathroom just about to start my makeup when my roommate knocks on the door.  He needs to get in there before he leaves for work.  Believe it or not this is the only time it’s happened to the three of us.  I always build in plenty of time so I'm never late, so it’s fine.  I go start coffee. 

9:20 I have my mug of coffee and I’m almost done with my makeup.  I come back to my room to sit and finish in a small mirror and get my things together.  I turn on hulu.  During Hurricane Sandy I watched many more tv shows than I ever would have normally.  I put on the rest of Emily Owens, M.D. episode three.  Do I like it? No, I say to myself as I can't wait to see how the episode ends.  

10:00 I leave for the subway, a five minute walk.  I need to buy a new metro card.  I had just run out of my month long card, and the past two days were free due to Sandy.  The lines are longer than normal to get a card, but not bad.  I take out an earbud to hear an announcment.  Looks like train service will be restored to Brooklyn soon.  This is good, since I’ve got an upcoming workshop there over the next weekend. 

10:45 I arrive at the studio.  I had tried to go to this class once before.  I know the address is correct.  I see only one possible entrance.  Nobody is around.  I wait.  Nothing.  No students, no teacher.  I keep buzzing.  No answer.  When this happened last time, I was given a cell phone to call.  I call.  No answer.  The mailbox is full, so I can’t leave a message.  I almost want to laugh that this is about to happen twice.  I am determined to take this class, but I don’t know why.  I wait and call again in a few minutes.  The instructor answers, she is on her way from Penn Station.  The conversation is not what I expected and when I find out the class has changed locations and that it was supposed to have been emailed to me, I tell her I’m on my way.  It’s only six streets down.  For a split second I think about not showing up.  Why has there been such miscommunication? But I want to take advantage of everything I can in my time here, plus I need fodder for this blog!

11:03 There are only three women in this class.  One older, the other two around my age, maybe a little younger.  This is it? I think.  This is the class? “Who are you?” One asks a little rudely.  I tell them.  I also tell them it’s my first time there and ask what to expect.  “Ohhhhhh, it’s fun.  You’ll love it…I think.”  That’s the only answer I get.  I had been looking for someone to tell me about the technique, or what previous classes had entailed. But instead I get, "you'll love it...I think"? Oh dear.

I go to the bathroom and when I come back the instructor is there.  She isn’t at all what I pictured.  I’m trying to remember why I have an image of her in my head, maybe from the website? Yes from the website.  She looks completely different.  I have to admit, I am thinking I might need to tell her right off the bat that I’ll only be able to stay for one of the three hours.  But then she walks over to me, takes my hand and gives me one of the warmest and most genuine smiles.  An instructor and a person that really sees you.  You’re not just a generic group.  And I like her immediately. 

I have a wave of “oh dear”, once more when the class starts out with tossing an imaginary ball.  But I tell myself to be open.  When will you ever be doing this again? I think about acting class horror stories, or parodies.  There was only one other time I was asked to do something that I thought, what? Seriously? And that was when I had to pretend to be a tiger at Juilliard.  You heard me. 

I let it go and dive in.  And I’m so glad I do.  It’s fun.  It goes from fun to interesting.  From interesting to great.  And then a whole new world starts to open.  Michael Chekhov technique is nothing like anything I’ve ever studied.  What have I stumbled into?

The heat isn’t on.  When we stop for awhile to discuss what’s happening as we work, we start to freeze to the point of no return.  We almost call the class early.  We end up huddled around a small heater watching a documentary that is, well, kind of blowing my mind.  I need to know more.  But soon the three hours are up.  We all walk out together, I am telling our instructor my story and figuring out the next class I’ll be able to come to, and there is one more before I go home.  It’s a completely different vibe than any acting class I’ve ever been in.  Very much it’s own thing, and it’s great. 

I think about how listening to your instincts and following what compels you even when you don't understand it is the magic of the universe.  You can't be led astray.  

2:01 My mom texts me asking if I can talk.  Perfect timing, I say.  I walk into Dunken Donuts and order a hazelnut latte.  Just as I’m sitting she calls.  I talk to her and then to my sweetheart for awhile and I’m pretty sure my latte doesn’t have any hazelnut flavoring in it.  I pull out a piece of paper to write some thoughts about my class.  What I’ll say in this blog, and what I’ll keep private for me.  A man sits down next to me, and I see he has laid out his lunch.  It’s basically one of everything from the dessert menu.

I’m freezing.  The day before it was warm.  I’m in the same sweater I wore but today I can barely handle the weather and the wind hurts.  I’m not ready to leave the city but I can’t make it without another layer.  I hurry over to the closest H&M and get a cheap jacket.  I leave the tag on so I can return it in a couple of days.

3:39 Now that I’m bundled up, I can start my walk down to Chelsea.  I’m on my way to my favorite Mexican restaurant.  I have tried to go there once a week.  I'm lost in thought.  I think about how I miss my family.  How each person has their our own concept of what's too much, or too little.  One could say I miss them too much or too little.  I think about how I've gone back and forth in the last few weeks between wanting to cry I miss them so much, and having to shut my feelings down to get through what I need to do.  I suddenly remember being in second grade at Halloween.  My mom appears in the doorway dressed as the Phantom of The Opera.  It's a surprise.  I don't recognize her.  "Hi, Deena."  She says.  When I realize it's my mom, I run to her and hug her.  Later my teacher tells my mom that a girl my age shouldn't be running to her mother and hugging her like that.  Excuse me? I'm only in second grade.  And guess what? I'd do the same thing now, and any time.  

4:30 I can’t decide if I want to see “Cloud Atlas” today or head home and get out of this cold.  I decide to head for home. 

On the subway I am wondering why it seems so difficult sometimes to feel like "me" when I'm out of town.  How I don't feel like "I" translate outside of "home".  Sink into myself.  That's what pops into my head.  Why is it sometimes so hard to sink into myself?

I stop at the grocery store.  I’m prepared for the cashier to either be rude, or not say a word, like customer service usually is here.  She drops one of my items and apologizes, like she truly is sorry.  I don’t care, I tell her it’s okay.  She asks for my ID with my card and compliments my picture.  She tells me to have a nice day.  Well that was surprising.  

Today has definitely been a day about letting go of assumptions. 

The rest of the night is spent inside and out of the cold.  Sleepy.  On Face Time with my sweet heart.  Responding to emails.  Watching a couple other things on hulu.  Then my roommate and I decide to catch up on Dexter, 666, and SNL with a bottle of champagne leftover from our Hurricane Sandy Brunch.  

At 1:23 I shut my eyes…

Week 4 NYC #11

Sunday Oct. 21
I had planned to see a reading in the afternoon in Brooklyn and another at The Barrow Group in the evening, but it turned out to be the last day I was going to be able to hang out with my family and see "Peter & the Starcatcher" instead.  After we went to Toys R Us again where I rode the ferris wheel with my cousins (not the first time in my life.  Not that you're surprised.) then out to eat at an italian restaurant right by my old apartment on 44th street that I'd been to in my past life.

Monday Oct. 22
Up early to Actors Equity to get an audition appointment for the afternoon.  Off to class then back to audition.  Once again, I see how small the world is when I find out I have already recently been talking with one of the three men behind the audition desk! I go across the country only to wind up both in class and auditioning for familiar faces!

Tuesday Oct. 23
Tuesday is my weekly trip to Target for groceries, followed by laundry.  That night, I saw "The Heiress".  In my top three of what I've seen here so far, along with "Ivanov" & "Cyrano".  

Wednesday Oct. 24 
Two auditions followed by lunch at my favorite mexican restaurant MaryAnns (I told you I'm trying to go there at least once a week).  That night John, Jared and I went to "Hamlet" with The Wooster group.

Thursday Oct. 25
A run in Central Park, then got together with David Spencer, my scene parter for Shakespeare class, to do some text work.  I was planning to see "Machinal" performed by the conservatory students at Atlantic, when David was offered two tickets from a friend to see the final dress of "Giant" at the Public Theater.  I was thrilled to see a show at the public for the first time.  How crazy is it to have so much theatre at your disposal you have to pick and choose - and the decisions are not easy!

Friday Oct. 26
Another run in the park and "King Lear" by the American Bard Theater Company.

Saturday Oct. 27
Met up with Lauren in Brooklyn to shop for her Halloween costume.  Discovered some great secondhand shops and a delicious vegan restaurant along the way.  Went to see her roommate perform in "Company" put on by The Gallery Players.

In Brooklyn we found this:

and this:

And did this on the subway: 

City Ghosts NYC #10

I walked down a street of the city and remembered being there before.
What I wore, who I was with, and what we'd done.
A denim skirt with studs down the sides.  Black boots with heels.  An old boyfriend.  
A scary movie.  The liquor store. 

Another day, an encounter in that very starbucks.
How I reacted.  What I was reading.
Flashing a phony engagement ring to the man trying to talk to me while reading the play, "Prelude to a Kiss".  It's summer.  I live in Brooklyn.  I'm not sure if I'm happy.  I'm in my final weeks of my relationship, but I don't know it yet.

But it's now the time I walked to meet a friend at The Public.
My pink coat.  My short hair.  My brown boots.
Back to the starbucks.
Stopping in a vintage store to look at that jacket for my husband.

Ghosts of myself all over the city.

A few days later, a run in the park.  I ran past an old man.  He smelled familiar.
His familiarity hit me that myself and everyone I know has limited time this lifetime.
I will be eighty.
I'll be moving slow through the park and a previous version of me will run by.

My old ghosts exist with my future ghosts and me, presently.

Two. NYC #9

I titled this post Two, and then remembered bits of a poem I wrote nearly ten years ago.  I went to look for it on my poetry blog, not fully remembering what it was I was searching for.  Then I came across the one called, what else? Two.

I just re-read it and several lines jumped out.  The one that fits best for this blog is,

"there are two eyes and two feel who tailor specifically to their two surroundings.  There are two people in one body (who will never be at peace)".

Then I started to wonder if I was instead thinking of my poem from exactly ten years ago, Shh...can you hear it? The one that says,

"I move around the planet to find her home and I still can't get it right."

Today my dear Kara and I were texting and she said this in regards to having lived in NYC and now living back home in CA,

"I think I've settled in my heart that part of me will always feel I belong there, even when I also belong here...these two things can be true at the same time because they ARE both true."

Exactly.  Exactly how I feel.  I've felt this for ten plus years.  I'm living it, actually living it once more, right now.  I can't ever decide.  I flip and flop, and love two places, and two ways of life, and I want it all, and I want everything, and I want to do everything on earth.  I am not able to decide.  I am not able to tell you one is better for me than the other.  Truly.  I am not able to pick.  So I won't.  I will just say that two things usually exist in me at any given time.  That I am constantly living with internal contradictions and parallels.  And that it just is.  It is just so.  There are always opposites. 

I am afflicted by my wanderlust.  I am constantly pulled.  And to think that my life has been made up of two homes on opposite ends of the country, only two, blows my mind.  All the mystery in between the two that I've never seen.  All that lies outside that I've never known.  

What makes a sense of home? I asked that a few posts back.  I wondered if it is the people or the place? And I don't know.  I don't know because I don't like having to pick a home.  I have places where I feel comfortable.  I have places where I thrive.  In turn these places can suffocate me in very different ways.  I can be too limited or too busy.  I could try it anywhere.  

The problem is, there's not enough of me to go around.  There's not enough time, or enough means.  There are too many things I want.  The reality is I can't do everything on earth.  I can't be everywhere at once.  And I want to.  

I have the hardest time in a human body.  I feel so much more expansive than what I visibly am.  I am constantly constrained.  Always looking for a way to go beyond.  When I'm not aware of my physical body, my mortality, my human ego, I feel best.  I am connected to something else.  Something bigger, something far more real.  

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say or where I intended for this blog to go.  I am supposed to be in two places, too.  Maybe more.  I am supposed to be bigger than I am.  I am supposed to search, to question, to long for all things.  Everything.  

This also reminds me why I connected so deeply to Sylvia Plath, that I tattooed her words of a heartbeat on the pulse of my wrist.

I definitely came to this life with bits of her recycled stardust in me...

“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.” 
― Sylvia Plath

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” 
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.
"Oh, sure you know," the photographer said.
"She wants," said Jay Cee wittily, "to be everything.” 
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar