Facebook and Unrest and Blogging...OH MY!

I am currently doing something I've been contemplating doing for months now. I am taking a break from Facebook. It was motivated by all of the Boston bombing "coverage". Or should I say 5% reporting of facts and 95% speculation. (Way to go, 24 hour news channels--I am DONE with you). Because of Facebook, I couldn't just choose to go to sources I trust for facts on my own time, I had to see everyone's constant thoughts about it.  I couldn't escape it. It was like a play by play from people who are watching a game from underwater. And all of this madness, frankly, disgusted me. So, I disconnected. I didn't have a plan or specific length of time I thought would be right to be away, I just...stepped away. It was casual. My "be back in <blank>" sign on the shop door.

In the not quite 48 hours of this fb break (yes, I'm counting), some questions and emotions have already come to the surface. Quandaries too. Like, how do I advertise to friends who read my blog that I have written another blog post??? Do I go on facebook for 30 seconds and post it or just email the link to my handful of people I know are regular readers? And how strict is this facebook fast to be?

I am a self proclaimed facebook addict. It has been a pretty regular part of my life since I started to prefer it over the dying MySpace in 2007. I liked the socialistic nature of Facebook. Everyone had the same page! It was more about the creativity of the person and less about trying to one up someone else on "style". I use this term loosely. One of my biggest pet peeves with MySpace was that you could decorate your page with this disgusting "wallpaper" that was 99% uglyasfuck and made scrolling extremely difficult. My boyfriend at the time had one of these hideous wallpaper things and it was horrible. There are reasons we didn't last.

Another thing I like about fb other than its ease of use is that it makes it really easy to stay in touch with friends who aren't in your community. That friend in high school you always wanted to know more about? Bam! Reconnecting with an ex who was a great person and recently got married? Yay! And as an actor, you meet people from all over the country, especially working at a summer rep company. Want to keep in touch with these awesome folks on a regular basis? KaBLAM Facebook!

Facebook is so integrated into our culture that it has become its own social "place". This was all in Zuck's master plan I'm sure. And I mean really--how do you make a billion dollars off a product? Make something people cannot live without.

Realizations since living without fb: I realize how much I use fb to seek approval. Even though I love sharing photos and thoughts instantly--it makes your friends feel as though they are right there with you--I can't help but feel like I'm also asking those friends to "approve" of what I'm doing. To like it. To take the time to comment on something. I start to obsess over silly questions I thought I'd worked out years ago: Am I interesting? Am I funny? Am I unique? Is this too many cat pictures? How do I stand out in all this sameness, which is one of the things I LIKED about fb in the first place?! Perhaps it's because I appreciate clever words and artfulness, that if you CAN rise above telling me that you did laundry today, you are worthy enough to be my friend. Or one I pay attention to. But WAIT, that means it's like junior high all over again but without the titty twisters and kicks in the pants. Gross!

And Jesus, seriously?!?! Am I honestly putting this much thought into stupid Facebook? If I'm going to be over-thinking a social networking site I might as well just resume the addiction, right? Well...there are some benefits. I'm NOT, constantly asking for approval.  (Yes, yes, yes, you could argue that's why I write my blog. Though I honestly believe even if no one ever read it, I'd still feel good. So there.) I have read more, started to work on some audition pieces and the shows for this summer. I've spent more face to face time with my husband instead of running off to fb land every time the conversation lulls at home or in the car. I feel less like I'm multitasking my life and that my attention span is slowly (or quickly) dying. There is a sort of peace to this facebookless life.

I recently took a trip back to Chicago and met up with my best friend, Rebecca, to reconnect with family and friends. It was an insane week of face to face contact but also SO GREAT to actually see these people I'd only been following on the world wide web. One of these friends I had not seen in FIVE years. Though I'd witnessed how her life had changed online, her marriage and the birth of her 16 month old son, it was brilliant to just SEE her for 45 minutes and catch up one on one without a keyboard in between us.

On the trip, Rebecca and I talked some about the age of smartphones and social networks. She says that no one is bored anymore and that's not a good thing. It's actually not good for your brain to not experience boredom. You don't get to process anything because you are constantly distracting yourself with something. And though I detailed the Chicago trip on my page to some extent, I wasn't on all the time. Like...well, like normal.

Now, I'm not convinced to let go of it all together. I still like Facebook. I really do. Maybe this is an unexpected lesson about not using the site to lift up my self-esteem. That what I choose to post is what I choose to post and who cares who "approves".  Pretty basic adult stuff. That said, I really do appreciate why people delete their accounts or still don't have one. It really can be a time suck and a way to (godhelpus) not be bored. But overall, I think fb and I get along really well.

I'm not sure when I'll be back, probably pretty soon and probably briefly to post this blog link--I mean, seriously, who am I to assume anyone reads my ramblings. But perhaps I'll feel better about taking more breaks in the future. Maybe I'll even call it a vacation. Or maybe even finding my boredom again.

See you soon, gentle readers.

Cleaning House: The Spring Cleaning Cleaning Edition. Cleaning

I ventured to Creede for a couple of days this past Monday. It was my first time back since the end of December. And I have now given in to the fact that whenever I come home after time away, I have to clean. Like, HAVE TO. RJ does his best, but his best isn't MY best. Godblesshim he tries and he usually gets the kitchen and the bathroom in a decent state and starts some laundry. But he is a dusty man with a dusty profession, living in a dusty mountain town. So, he gets used to there being a certain level of dingy, dustiness everywhere. When I come home, there is a layer of said dusty dinginess everywhere--floor, tables, chairs, on the dog, on the cat. Thus begins, what I am just now realizing, is an obsessive ritual of coming home and immediately cleaning.

On this most recent trip home, I discovered that this process reconnects me with my living space. And my deep seated control freak. I like to touch things, to make them mine again. Perhaps it's like dogs or cats peeing to mark their territory, but it smells much better. Until this is done, I have a hard time relaxing. Now, I am not a neat freak--past roommates can attest to this. But there is a level of clean and organization that I prefer and thrive on. If I clutter things, it is MY clutter and I will take care of it. Eventually. But before I start, it is RJ's clutter. His bachelorhood back in full, glorious form.

This process of cleaning starts right after I kiss and hug him hello. He often says things like, "hey, come hang out with me," "Let's go eat," or, "you can do that later." And I can, but I'd really rather not. Until it's clean. CLEAN.

But this leads me to what I'm presently good for on the House-in-Progress--known from this point on as the HIP. Ha. See what I did there? Full circle, Bitches. My actual hip will just be known as my hip. Anyway.

The weather has been decent in Creede recently and with the extra hour of daylight, RJ has begun to work on the HIP for 2-3 hours after he's done at his Jobby job just outside of town. A day or so before I came home, he texted me this photo:

Room with a view.

AH! No wall! On the second floor! Woah! One of the salvageable details of this house was the roof. It is only a few years old and in great condition. The other walls...not so much...as we have seen from previous work on the first floor. In working upstairs recently, RJ discovered that the wall was in pretty bad shape, so he tore it out and put it back together. 

Other current progress: 

Wall that will separate the kitchen area (on the left) from the dining area (on the right).

This was halfway built back up on Monday and he has since built the rest up. Yay!

In the almost five years I have been in a relationship with a construction guy, I have seen how messy construction sites get. And I mean, MESSY. Like, Holyshitareyouserious messy. And this is pretty universal. Most smaller time contracting folks just don't have the employees or time to keep things clean all the time, so who gets to do this kind of work? Unskilled laborers like me. Oh these guys can do it, but why waste their skilled hands on picking up crap in the yard when I can do it with some enthusiasm and purpose. 

Here is a view from out the upstairs window of what I took on Tuesday morning: 

Total annihilation! 

I should have gotten another photo to show the actual size of the pile from the ground. This was the remnants of an entire wall of a house. And with the little construction skill I have--most of it consisting of theatrical strikes and changeovers--this is how I contribute. By cleaning this up. So I did. And I liked it. I can put my headphones on, get a workout and satisfy my need to clean. And I actually noticed a big difference from doing this months ago when I was still in hip recovery-mode. It didn't tire me out like it did last winter. It actually invigorated me. I could have kept going on the inside but there was no more room on the dump trailer. And hey, it WAS my day off for Pete's sake.

Additional progress you can't see here: RJ put insulation in the walls downstairs and built inner walls all around the downstairs. It's pretty much prepped for our electrical friend to come in and wire it for us, while RJ helps him. Woot! And while giving me a tour of the upstairs, which is to be the master bedroom, I started to actually VISUALIZE where things would be--really see it and not just in a vague, blurry picture in my mind. And it's going to be so cool and unique! We will have a bathroom attached with a claw foot tub! Storage space and a built in office area for me with built-in bookshelves. The power of home ownership and hell, home CREATION is a very real thing now. 

But truly, one of the greatest perks to building a house in Creede, CO is that the community is on your side. RJ and other small time builders like him truly help each other out. The man-hours that would cost someone $80-$120 an hour in a city don't exist here. They are traded for help on the other person's house. And these guys know where to scavenge to find cool wood to use, or appliances, insulation and most importantly, TIME. It is like we are able to briefly witness life without the capitalist umbrella controlling everything.

It is hard for me to not want to jump head first into using every idea I ever had on Pinterest for this house and as RJ has to constantly remind me...we're not there yet. Some things will have to wait simply because we can't afford it or it is an embellishment that will happen after we get moved in. Because that really is the goal right now--to make the house liveable and functional. And as I've said before, the journey is a long one. Especially on the income we have and the time available to work on it. But we'll get there. As Patience has said to me more than once, "Suck on it, Berrymin." And in response, I will joyfully clean. Until I get to paint gradated stairs. Someday...

Photo by Jonny Valiant via Real Simple

Veering Off The Path. Vagina.

Hey. Hi. Hello. I've been off the blog ship lollipop for a while and for all five of my readers, I'm sure the time has been spent chewing fingernails and drinking too much. I'm sorry. Bad News: Not much progress on the house to report. Though RJ just left Denver with a huge amount of insulation for the downstairs, so that's happening. Hopefully much more news to come as the days get longer and it gets up higher than 28 degrees during the day in Creede. Good News: I've been away from home because I've been working in my chosen artistic profession. And I'm still working in it presently, which is really great. Especially since, apart from philosophy, theatre is one of the most laughed at majors in North America.

That said, I started getting the urge to blog again not because of the lack of house progress or a deep need to share what I auditioned for last week, but because I have become a fierce lover of that show everyone is tired of talking about...Girls. And it's my blog, so I can write whatever I want. YES.

Girls is the new(ish) show on HBO written and created by twenty-something writer, Lena Dunham. She has been supported and criticized at both ends of the spectrum and everywhere in between. Google her and you will find more information than you could ever want. I have now seen every episode of the show to date. Some I like, some I like a lot, and some I've forgotten about. The show has made me laugh out loud on numerous occasions--and that is rare. But what has interested me most in all of this is the surrounding talk itself. And I'm just going to come out and say that I think Lena Dunham's show and voice--as she has said is somewhat an extension of her life--has brought to light that we are still a staggeringly misogynistic first world country. Now stay with me here...

This post is not meant to be a further discussion of the criticism of her being privileged. Her parents are visual artists in NYC. I don't know how much money they make and I really don't care. I'd never heard of them and I doubt most of the queefknockers who reamed her for it had either. As for her getting a show because she may or may not be privileged in a business where 80%??? or more of the success is about who you know or being connected to the right people...SO WHAT?!

I am soon entering my late 30s. Though it was not so long ago that I was in my 20s. And that decade was extremely influential in my life. This show still interests someone like me because it is, I believe, a huge step forward in the voices of women. Yes, yes, blah, blah, we've heard it all before. BUT, I think this whole Girls thing is so divisive because Lena Dunham is just honestly a normal young woman in America. Normal in every sense of the word. She is college educated, she is a little weird, she is awkward, she is not 100lbs nor is she 250lbs, she is tattooed, she is a pleasant looking person who looks like a lot of women we all know. She likes to take her clothes off and I fucking love it. She is self involved, yes--another frequent criticism of the show. But, anyone who says they weren't self involved at 24 is LYING. And, you know, the fact that there has been so much fat shaming talk. Talk that so and so actor is out of her league (for her to be fucking on the show). Talk that she should literally just shut the fuck up, shows me that this country is still super frightened of vaginas that want anything. And that is AWESOME.

I would like to point out that I, personally, have not experienced what I thought was rampant sexism in my life. I never grew up thinking I couldn't do something, or that I had to be married to be important. I am pro-women, for equality for both sexes and all sexualities. I am pro-choice and proud of it. I played sports and studied what I wanted to study. (Good job, Mom!) I have also felt confident in my career. Though I haven't reached 50, when roles for women go bye bye. I embrace androgyny. I have felt mostly like a person for most of my life, not a sex. And I really enjoy being a woman sometimes.

But what really got my panties in a bunch about this whole thing was the most recent episode I'd caught this past Saturday. It was a departure from the normal show format, which tends to follow four women in and out of happenings in their lives. In this case, there were only three speaking characters in the entire episode. One of them was guest star, Patrick Wilson, her lover for the episode which chronicled a short-lived fling. It basically summed up most of the relationships I had in my twenties in one, half hour show. Is that sad? Maybe, but it's true. And I AM a normal woman, so this must have touched more than just me.

Essentially, the episode was about being sexually empowered and open until you're not. It was also about playing house. A phrase regarding faux intimacy that I have heard for years and always makes me want to break something. (I just think it's bullshit. If you want to stay at home with your new lover, make breakfast, read the paper and drink from your french press, then fucking go forth.) I thought the episode was fantastic. I related to it and it was hard to watch at times. It was all the things I like in a good show. Afterwards I went to my favorite recap sites to dive a little deeper into the episode. There, I noticed the slew of comments that Patrick Wilson--who is honestly talented, but just your average attractive actor working in tv and film today--was "out of her league" etc. and something just snapped. Fuuuuuck, people, really?! Even though we've been pairing fat assholes with beautiful wives on sitcoms for decades?!

And in my anger, I realized that I LOVE this show because of shit like this. That women who want sex still frighten people. And I'm not just talking about the "Samantha" stereotype. Sex and the City broke ground over a decade ago in its own way and it is interesting how out of date it feels now. It had its time and place like everything else. We did, for once, have a character who had sex because she liked it and mostly didn't want long term relationships. Great! True and real and thank you. BUT, Samantha was rich, attractive and also having so much sex I don't know how she had time for anything else (right, Wilt Chamberlain?). Dunham is different because she is normal. She is pushing the bounds because there seems to STILL be an unspoken rule that, as a woman, you must be hot, stick thin, and rich to want to fuck and have a story written about it.

I lived in Chicago for the first decade of the 21st century. I was in my twenties and single through most of it. And by single I mean that I had relationships that lasted a few weeks to a few months at the most. I hooked up with a fair number of people. Sometimes I cried over them, sometimes I didn't. I liked almost all of them or at least I did at the time. I felt I was progressive, a feminist, somewhat damaged and prone to make a lot of mistakes that I mostly learned from! That could probably sum up most middle class, 25 year-old chicks living in cities. But once about seven years ago, I propositioned a guy I was in a show with, who I was attracted to, and who was a self proclaimed ladies man. I propositioned him thinking that my forwardness would be a turn on. That I would be that kick ass lady who asks for what she wants. Yee haw! He told me no thank you because it made me seem desperate. He liked the chase. That's what was attractive to him...........???!!!!!!! Then I found out later he was fucking the stage manager.

ANYWAY, that still sticks with me because, after pondering the existence of Girls, what it means right now, and all the back and forth over it--THAT is what it makes me think of. THAT DUDE'S REACTION TO ME! Asking for what you want is a risk, true, and he had every right to turn me down. But it was so shocking to me because the rejection was for such a traditional, overly romanticized reason. And though I'm sure he didn't intend to, he made me feel not even like a slut (I barely put any stock in that word anyway) but an alien. It also made me think that I was doing something wrong. That who I was wasn't what men wanted. And then I thought, fuck! Why do I care?! But I did.

And THAT is what is fucked up to me. And why I think what Dunham is doing is important. Because views of female sexuality are still evolving in a wonderful way. Dunham has been asked repeatedly about her choice to be nude a lot on her show and she's admitted that she has body issues and that it's a bit of a compulsion to put herself out in the world like that. But I think it's great. We're living in the same world that still plasters airbrushed, underweight women on billboards. And even though we all know about airbrushing, we still allow these images to tell us who we should be. We still let advertisers sell cleaning products and Easy Bake Ovens to us. (Though I hear some advertiser finally put a boy in an EBO print ad).

I don't want to go over and over what many of us have been talking about for years. I attempt to put a fresh perspective out there in my view of the world. And I realize, and hope, that I'm not the only one. Hell, I'm not that smart. But Dunham is telling a story that so many of us experience everyday. And the fact that all this ruckus is being made about it makes me think that she is doing something right.

Use Me and Abuse Me, Just Don't Confuse Me

November was all about gratitude. But thankfully that month is over and we can begin to think about all the useless things we want, go out and spend more money than we have to continue to make this country great. Screw being thankful, I want a gingerbread latte!

But seriously, folks. As we move into the last month of the year, progress on the house is palpable. And this is pretty awesome.

Something that is starting to resemble a yard. 

Don't get me wrong, it's got a looooooooong way to go. But RJ has been balancing nicely the paying work with our house work. And with the clever installation of some florescent lights, he can work an hour or so past dark until it gets too cold to work comfortably.

Lighting without real lights! Or something...

Now Kate, you may ask, what are YOU doing to contribute to this home project of the century? Well, gentle readers, at first not very much. I'm not sure if I mentioned that back when we were just sniffing around the notion of purchasing this "house", RJ wouldn't even let me go inside. I walked around it and peered in through some cracked windows, but the house was pretty hideous. As I know I've mentioned, the previous tenant was a major hoarder and had let the house go into complete disrepair, except for a new roof--a project he must have undertaken during a period of self-motivation and sobriety.

Anyone need any styro insulation? Just kidding we need it all. (PS. I moved it all upstairs. Superstar!)

Also, when most of the clear out was happening, I was up in Boulder for the summer. RJ would send occasional photos of the filled up roll offs, and I briefly saw the work in progress when I came into town to close on the house. But honestly, I had just hit a deer with my car and was slightly distracted. I still went through the process of "smudging" the house--the hippie side of me was thrilled--to get all the sick, alcoholic, bitter, hoardingness out of the place. But this feat was achieved mostly by RJ's gutting the house of pretty much all of its former identity. I heard RJ tell someone recently that he only left six original studs--whatever that means--obviously coming from the phrase, "stripped down to the studs." But you may be surprised to hear, I don't actually know everything about everything! (Crazy, I know.)

When I returned to Creede in early August, RJ would ask me to help with certain things and I would instantly turn into a 6 year old, stomp my feet, pout and say butIdonwanna! This was mainly because I was so burnt out from the last year of almost constant out-of-town work (which in November I would have said I was grateful for but it's December now, so fuck that noise!) that I wanted to sit on my couch and do absolutely nothing before I was forced to sit on the couch and do absolutely nothing because of the hip surgery. I wanted to choose to do nothing, dammit! So, I reluctantly did a few things, like take nails out of boards and promptly step on one. USEFUL!

I also think part of the problem was coming home and seeing the huge mountain we would have to climb in order to get this house liveable. It really did seem out of reach. I know RJ was working on it when he could, but the house still looked like total ass. It looked like it might fall down if the wind hit it wrong. There were years worth of dust, old wallpaper, mouse shit, decaying carpet and wood just...out there. And it was gross. I don't claim to not be a city girl because that I surely am. But I also won't admit to being a girly-girl either. But this grossness was just sad. It made me sad. And I didn't want to have anything to do with it.

But that's changing:

This is peaking upstairs from the stairwell.

Blocking off the back of the house for eventual addition replacement.

There's a floor upstairs!

After a couple months of no work on the house, RJ has been spending at least a few hours a day on it. There's a second floor that's sturdy, a bottom floor that's sturdy. There is something resembling a front yard, clear of all the old broken down crap and wood storage, new windows, and yesterday, a wall that will eventually become the downstairs bathroom. Holy Fucking Awesome! And I too have been motivated. Even though I am unskilled labor, my primary tasks have been to clean up and organize. Play to your skills, right? This has actually been extreeeeeeemely satisfying. Because with every pile of old crap I throw in the dump trailer, new things can start happening. It doesn't take too long, gives me a little workout and RJ doesn't have to deal with it, so he can spend that hour creating a wall out of nothing.

Wall to future downstairs bathroom. Magic!

Why this change of heart? Part of it is because I've been out of work for almost four months. And living in Creede with nothing to do in the winter is quite difficult. I get the itch to go up to Denver every couple of weeks and, luckily, I have been able to escape either for auditions or hip doc appointments. But a feeling of uselessness has begun to take over and it's been great to channel this into our house. I needed to channel something into it because I think RJ was starting to think there was something wrong with me and my attitude. And he was right.

I just thought this looked awesome. Whoa, whoa, WHOA! Let this photo represent my attitude adjustment. (Though, you may need a Knox liberal arts degree to figure it out.)

Next year, it's looking like several months of acting work will be had and this excites me to no end. I still feel like the career I have chosen is my path in life. It still excites me and fulfills me in ways I can't explain. But as this four month recovery comes to an end, I am also reminded of the challenges this career presents to one's life and my slightly odd situation. It really is all about balance. If you spend too much time at home, you feel useless and unfulfilled. Yet, if you work too much, you can become disconnected from the things that balanced you in the first place. So, in the coming year(s), I look forward to finding a better mix of work and Colorado mountain home life. There IS a way to do it. I know it. Right...?

Now...Everyone DANCE!

Oh My God, NOW WHAT?!

Whew! This danged hip surgery has taken up so much of my time, whatever shall I write about?

OH YEAH THE HOUSE! So...after several months of zip, zilch, nada, nothing on the progress front, RJ's father came to town to lend a hand for a couple days. I've already posted some photos on facebook which I will post again here with more detail.

The next step in the process of Mann House was to reinforce it. The house is about 100 years old and in its stripped down state, you could clearly see what was old construction and what was new(er). The windows on the main level were also in piss poor shape and needed to be replaced. In the spring, RJ and I had gone hunting for some deals on windows, finding a huge one at a window/door/etc. surplus shop. It was $300, about a quarter of what it would cost new. It was in great shape.

Here it is in all its huge glory. The view is not great but who cares. It's a windoooooow!

Next, we ventured to a Habitat for Humanity ReStore. There are many locations around the country. People donate new or used housewares and all the proceeds go to HFH. Great idea! We found two, smaller, like-new windows for about $70 each. Again, a major deal.

RJ had also worked out a deal with Jane, one of the folks he works for to order several extra windows when she ordered some for her house. So...we pretty much have all the windows for the bottom floor. The upstairs was redone fairly recently and while an upcoming step in the process is to redo the floor of the upstairs, the roof and windows are all pretty new and in good shape. So there's that. But that's it. The rest? Shit, as I've said before.

So, RJ and his father set out to basically go wall by wall, supporting, then removing the entire wall and rebuilding each completely. This way, everything gets stronger and you can dictate exactly where you want all the windows and doors to go. Like-a-this:

Bye Bye Wall

Into this:

Holy Shit, It's a WALL! I was a bit bummed to find out that the door was just resting in there for show. It's yet to be hung, but that won't take long. We'll eventually replace it with a cool door, but having an enclosed space first is very important.

Siding will eventually go over this and will be painted in a similar color palette as the second story. They did this with three of the four walls. The back wall will eventually be removed to allow for an addition with a mud/laundry room and another bedroom. We're hoping to do this after we move in,  sealing off the back from the rest of the house so RJ can work on it while we live there. They also removed the shitty little landing in front as well as a terrible little fence that made it look like Kurt Russell's house in Overboard. And at one time there actually WAS a junky old truck in front of it. Fucking Classy. I have to give major props to Brian Brittain (owner of the lone bar in Creede, The Tommyknocker Tavern) for coming by to help the guys all three days AND doing the stupid shit that I would have had to do--like cleaning and nail removal--were I not out of town. THANK YOU. Also, Jeff Johnson, who stopped by and lent his expertise as well. And our neighbor dude, Chris, who collects all the old Mercedes next door (one of which you can see out the large window above) for letting us have some power. They have all received lemon meringue pies for their sacrifice.

I make pies too. I am a domestic goddess.

Next Step: To secure/build the actual ceiling/upstairs floor. It is also old and falling apart as you can see. It's pretty much just crappy boards.

Tiny little window from the ReStore. And if you look up, floor that needs love. 

Wood for Floor, Wood for FLOOR!!!

So...Yippeeeee! It is really very nice to see some progress on this thing. I know, duh. But it IS! Each step that we take makes it closer to being a reality. Our hopeful goal? To be able to move into the place by mid-summer. Everything would have to fall into place just so and it's a pretty optimistic goal, but at LEAST it's a goal. That's more than many can say. Just look at the last election. (Bahdahbing--too soon?)

Brand spankin' new windows.

Tri-Flex makes things look like they're happening!

But seriously. If I may climb a soap box for two minutes. And feel free to skip this paragraph. I almost hate to write stuff like this, but I feel oddly compelled after something really disturbing I read on the fb the other day. Those who know me will know that I'm happy about the election results. I don't think Obama hates America. I think he is America. And whether you agree with me or not, one thing I believe in is motherf-ing progress. This country, hell this LIFE, is in a constant state of change. And that is good! Who are we if we don't progress? A lot of folks seem still stuck waiting for a return to an American Dream that doesn't exist anymore. Sure, the middle class of America in the 1950s was great. You could stay in the same job for most of your life, provide a comfortable existence and retire well. If you were white. Because we also didn't have much in the way of equal rights for every citizen. Women, non-white or gay (it's not just the slang word for happy). So in closing, I, Kate Berry Mann, am for progress. This country is no longer shiny and white. Thank Jeebus!!!! (Falls off soapbox).

And lil ole me? It's been 10 weeks since my hip was probed in a big way. I'm walking normally, with no pain, and after seeing Ron the Super PT yesterday am now able to work in some running progressions and weight bearing plyometrics. A lot of this has to be done very carefully and not for very long, but things are clearly making p.r.o.g.r.e.s.s. Not to hit you all over the head with a THEME or anything.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to making some risotto and fantasizing about things I cannot afford on Pinterest.

This is the shit I look at. WANTS IT!

A Good Ole North Cackalacky Hitchin'! (And Other Musings)

My best girlfriend, Rebecca, got married this past Sunday to a wonderful man named Patrick McHugh. Here they are below in all their shining love and goodness:

The Lovely Couple--photo by Kelsey LaPoint

I was the Matron of Honor. We actually referred to me as Madame since who the hell wants to ever be called “matron”. I mean really. This is the first time in my life I had been asked to be/do this for someone. I will say now that it is one of the most fulfilling, amazing and exhausting things I have ever done in my life. I also realized that outside of my own wedding last year, when Rebecca served as my MOH, I didn’t really know what the job entailed. I’ve never asked anyone else I knew who had done it what to do. I never thought to. Since our wedding was fairly unconventional, I just assumed that what Rebecca did was unconventional. She was basically my personal assistant. We didn’t have to do that much running around because the wedding was in Creede—a town of 400 people. Every event was in the same general area so wrangling people wasn’t difficult. But the main thing was that I felt like everything was taken care of and so I didn’t worry. Little did I know how much effort it actually takes in making your bride feel secure.

In hippy dippy terms, you are essentially absorbing all the worry and stress for everyone, especially your bride. If she starts to get stressed—which knowing my dearest Rebecca, was bound to happen because she’s a pleaser, sometimes to the detriment of her own happiness—you must find a way to alleviate this in the best way possible. You can’t be part of the problem. You must disarm the stress immediately. And to do this successfully you must KNOW your bride. You must anticipate any conclusion she might come to, understand why and how this will cause her anxiety and eat it like a big juicy sandwich before she even smells it. That is the ideal outcome. Sometimes you will have to do damage control. You have to mediate between family members, be the voice of reason and make sure everyone is comfortable. Phew! Tired yet? Now. What does one do with all this borrowed, stolen and reconstituted anxiety you ask? Well if you are Kate Berry Mann, normally you take a run.

I can has anxiety sammich?

For those of you who don’t run either because you tried it and hated it or because you just can’t imagine ever running unless you are being chased, I can only describe it as this: CRACK. Okay, I’ve never tried crack, but I assume it’s like a lot of drugs. There is something about a rhythmic moving of one’s body--sweating, heart beating, feeling your feet hit the ground--that puts it right up there for me with eating and doin’ it. I get all my worry out. It’s like Andy DuFresne in Shawshank Redemption emptying his pockets of the debris from his escape hole. (And if you don’t know what I’m talking about watch that damn movie and learn something.) I think about shit. I work stuff out. I sometimes listen to music. I create a soundtrack to my run. I sometimes run in silence especially if something is particularly bugging me. I FUCKING LOVE IT, PEOPLE!!!

See how I love it?! (Well, see this person who is expressing my feelings for me)

Ahem. Excuse me.

Except that I can’t run. I have reached the point in my current non-running life where I am antsy as f***. Especially since my hip is feeling pretty normal except for a few bits of muscle weirdness that shows itself now and then. This is the part when the docs tell you not to overdo it, or jump back in too soon and re-injure yourself. I understand this in theory, but when you’ve been your best friend’s right hand lady for a week, eating at restaurants for most meals, snacking on chocolate (cause we’re those kinda ladies) and out of your regular PT routine for almost two week and feel like a big bag of mushy bones and flesh, you reeeeeally want to get out and do something. Like run. Please? Doc? No? Fuck YOU!!!

But back to the wedding! After almost a week of being Rebecca’s personal assistant, confidant and eater of anxiety sandwiches, Sunday was upon us. After a stressful rehearsal dinner (behind the scenes stressful—from what I understand everyone in attendance had a lovely time), the bride was a bit shaken. Remember she IS a pleaser. And to quote my step-father, Gerry, she wants everyone to be happy all of the time. So Sunday morning, all I could hope for was for the enjoyment of the wedding day to overcome the worry and anxiety that everything will happen in its correct order. 

It did. Rebecca's parents Roxana and Edward are some of the loveliest, most generous people I know. The wedding was on an amazing location in North Carolina called the Angus Barn. Despite the honkytonk name, the “barn” was elegant and classy. The team there was highly organized and the hitching went off without a hitch. (Has that joke been used before? I hope so). It was a splendid day—sunny and 70. Everyone got to the site on time and looked beautiful. Rebecca was stunning and Patrick fell in love with her all over again. Another bonus was that the planets aligned for my MOH speech and it was neither too rambling nor too drunken. Like a rare piece of theatre it had its time and disappeared into the ether. I remember little about it except that it involved a spoon and this little tidbit: I spoke of observing Patrick see Rebecca come down the walkway, with both her parents at her side, from the barn to the wedding site a few hundred feet away. It was one of the loveliest things I have ever seen. And it was lovely because what he saw was what all of us there to honor them see when we look at her. 

 Crying yet? You should be because it was fucking beautiful. 

This is my favorite. (photo by Kelsey LaPoint)

So that, gentle five readers, is what all the mental and physical exhaustion is for. I would eat an anxiety sandwich everyday if that is the kind of beauty it produces. And isn’t that why so many of us are artists? For that stuff of dreams that is rare and fleeting. 

My Darling Rebecca--photo by Kelsey LaPoint

The Age of Enthusiastic Restraint

Yes it's true, People! Praise Jeebus! I am HEALED!

My buddy.

Well, not totally, but I'm feeling a hell of a lot better than I did the first three weeks post-surgery. It's interesting when you look at how much the mind and body are connected and that my piss poor mood wasn't so much due to readjusting to Creede life (though I'm sure that was at least a small part of it) but was directly related to the surgery. I realize that this may seem obvious but when you're trying to live in the moment during recovery, the struggle to stay positive about life (And I did! I really, really did TRY) is often eclipsed by woe-is-me-aren't-I-pitiful-life-is-hard b.s.

A lot of this shift into magical thinking has to do with Ron, my physical therapist. Simply put, he is fucking awesome. He clearly knows his shit and makes you feel good about your progress while pushing you to do more than you think you can do. This type of quality individual is hard to find in the Valley. To the under-informed, the Valley is the flat part of this area southeast of Creede and includes the small towns of Del Norte, Monte Vista and Alamosa. All of which are kind of depressed and shitty. And I say this because there is a nasty, down-trodden, angry-at-life energy that permeates these places. You can see the mountains, but you're not IN the mountains. It's like you paid for the deluxe $10 treatment at the automatic carwash but found out you had to do it all yourself. On my very first trip to Creede--not knowing exactly how long it took to get there and before the age of GPS or Google Maps--when I came through Alamosa I thought I'd been duped. This couldn't be Creede?!!! It's...horrible and ugly. Thankfully it wasn't Creede and I still had over an hour to go to get there. But the point being, the Valley doesn't exactly attract the attention of super talented folks because it's hard to get people to enthusiastically live there. So, when I knew that I'd have to get physical therapy outside of Denver, I was a little worried. But I'd heard great things about Ron from several people whose advice I trusted and sought him out.

This past Wednesday, Ron said I'd made the greatest strides he'd seen since I'd started coming in four weeks ago. In addition to totally losing the crutches, I was getting stronger and more confident. Both of which are extremely important in the healing process. I'd felt this change mentally too. My mood in general had started to lift. I was feeling less and less like a useless pile of poo and started (gasp!) looking forward to things again--like travel and auditions. RJ even started annoying me less. Poor guy. He's a peach.

I knew when this whole thing started that it would be hard and if you've read earlier posts, I'm sure you're well aware of this notion of mine. The physical hardship being the most obvious. And that it would be extra hard for someone with my particularly spastic personality to stand still for longer than five minutes. I was even slightly prepared for the depression. But what I wasn't prepared for was the anger. I have spent the last 3 1/2 weeks feeling pretty damn pissed off. Pissed at my body and its weaknesses, pissed at my husband even though he was trying to do what was best for me, and pissed at my shitty life for being slow and boring and shitty. I fancy myself to be a mostly upbeat person who has occasional bouts with melancholy. But this was a shitty mental space to be in for so long. Long for me anyway. I really do pity people who live in this space constantly and without hope of recovery because it SUCKS looking at the world like that--with so much anger and frustration. You begin to feel...hopeless. Like everything in your life is wrong.

This is not to say everything about life at present is hunky dory. I still don't know when or where my next theatre job will be and money is really tight. The Mann house still sits empty and gutted, waiting for some love. Plus, winters in Creede can be maddening, so I look forward to a job that takes me away for at least part of it. But the days of despair are becoming more rare and I feel much like my old self again.

 

Ow, my hip!

So, as I prepare next week to do some much needed travel--to Denver for some post-op, then Chicago to see family and friends, then North Carolina to stand up in my best girlfriend's wedding...

Photo by Susannah McLeod. (And Rebecca and I really do love each other, I swear.)

I must remember enthusiastic restraint. I'm on my way to my former glory, but I'm not there yet. Running is most likely several (if not more) months away and there is still some weakness, stiffness, aches and pains. But my faith in the ability of the human body to rebound has been restored--that it is a thing to wonder at and be amazed by. But also, that whatever you feed, grows. And I had been feeding my soul with a heap of angry crap and self-pity. So, I'll keep feeding it with good things that are nurturing and positive. And...much gratitude to friends and family who have gone overboard to make me feel better mentally and physically. You know who you are. And...oh jesus, who am I? A fucking new-age hippie?! I must stop before I make myself puke from all this love and light. (Keepin' it real, keepin' it real.)

Caption included.

Till next time, all five readers.