Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Mockingbird Hill Cottage

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A Love Letter to the Theater

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A love letter to the Theater:

On Sunday, after a day of shock and despair and grief, we watched the Tony Awards. I’ve watched them since I was very young.

I’m in the theater.

If we needed anything life-affirming on Sunday, and we did, the Tony Awards did that. The pitch-perfect opening where James Corden stood on an empty stage, facing the back wall of the stage with the audience behind him, and spoke about the events in Orlando:

All we can say is you are not on your own right now. Your tragedy is our tragedy. Theater is a place where every race, creed, sexuality and gender is equal, is embraced and loved. Hate will never win. Together, we have to make sure of that. Tonight’s show stands as a symbol and a celebration of that principle.

I’m in the theater.

I have been blessed since I first started acting and working in the theater to work in an environment that is inclusive, that is multi-cultural, that celebrates diversity in every form. For me, because of my upbringing and because I was embraced by the theater at a young age, none of these – race, creed, sexuality, or gender – has ever been an issue. Ever.

Oh, how lucky I am, how lucky we are, to work in the theater. And I have never been prouder to be part of that community than I was on Sunday night, when the love, compassion, acceptance and tolerance I see everywhere in the theater, wherever I work, be it in a big city or a small town, filled the Beacon Theater, reverberated throughout the room.

From Frank Langella’s acceptance speech for Best Performance by a Lead Actor in a Play:

…I urge you, Orlando, to be strong. Because I’m standing in a room of the most generous human beings on Earth, and we will be with you every step of the way.

From Lin-Manuel Miranda, the brilliant, brilliant creator of Hamilton, who wrote a sonnet as his acceptance speech:

…We chase the melodies that seem to find us
Until they’re finished songs and start to play
When senseless acts of tragedy remind us
That nothing here is promised, not one day.
This show is proof that history remembers
We lived through times when hate and fear seemed stronger;
We rise and fall and light from dying embers, remembrances that hope and love last longer
And love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside.
I sing Vanessa’s symphony, Eliza tells her story
Now fill the world with music, love, and pride.

(Vanessa is Miranda’s wife.)

“And love is love is love is love is love is love is love.”

I’m in the theater.

I’ve been in the theater for over forty years. So has Don. Those who work in the theater are my ‘tribe.’ I read something yesterday from one of my friends who is an actress. She used the word ‘tribe.’ And she’s right. This community, this everyone-is-welcome-and-equal, loving, and caring group of artists has sustained me throughout my adult life.

I’m so proud to be ‘in the theater.’ I’m so blessed. Thank you for teaching me that everyone is equal, no matter their sexuality, creed, ethnicity or gender. Thank you for allowing me to work in an environment that speaks tolerance, that speaks inclusivity, that speaks love and not hate.

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Your pretty picture for the day. The first New Dawn Rose to open.

Happy Tuesday.

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Heartsick

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I have to be honest with you. I’m so heartsick over the mass shooting in Orlando that I can’t think of much else. It’s consumed me since I first heard the news yesterday morning. And to be even more frank, I’m tired of hearing politicians who have done their best to thwart any kind of gun control say they are praying for those who suffered loss.

Here’s an idea: How about doing  something? An amendment to the Constitution that had to do with muskets and a militia has been enshrined in such an extreme manner that you’d think it was our most important right. That it trumped any other rights, including the right to live. I don’t think the framers of the Constitution were envisioning an AR-15 assault weapon or a gun culture that is out of control when they drafted that amendment.

Have you ever lost someone to gun violence? I have. When it becomes something other than a story in the newspaper, when it enters your immediate world, when it happens to someone you love – everything changes.

I could go on and on, but I’m too tired to do it.  Do me a favor. If you plan on leaving a comment defending the NRA or repeating one of the NRA’s talking points – don’t. I’ll just delete it. There is no defense. After mass murder after mass murder, we are still having to have this discussion. And that is indefensible.

Love. Or as Lin-Manuel Miranda said in his Tony acceptance speech last night, “Remembrances that hope and love last longer. And love [is love is love is love is love is love is love is love] cannot be killed or swept aside.”

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Some pretty pictures to take the edge off. This is a catalpa blossom. They are quite beautiful and have a heavenly scent. Thank goodness yesterday’s relentless wind didn’t take them all down to the ground.

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Pretty pink spirea.

Vicki tells me she hasn’t been receiving my comment replies lately. You know, I don’t know what to do about this. I get your comments emailed to me and for the last 2 or 3 weeks, I’ve only had about a quarter of them arrive in my mailbox. I don’t know why. I’ll get some. I won’t get others. I called Bluehost (this blog’s host) and had them check into it. They show the comments being emailed to me and ‘accepted’ on my end. But I’m not getting them. And they aren’t going in my spam folder. So go figure.

If you’re not getting my replies, please let me know. I can try another plugin (that’s what enables me to reply to you directly.) But in the meantime, please check back. You know that I always reply.

Sorry about all of this, but I’ve done about all I can do.

Happy Monday.

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Final Touch (I Think) on the Top Secret Project

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Windy. Oh good! More pollen in my eyes.

The catalpa tree has just full-out bloomed and the flowers are already falling to the ground because of the darned wind. Grrrr!

After I wrote the post about Shanna’s gift, Debra suggested I miniaturize that sketch of Scout for the TSP. (Apologies to Debra, who I misidentified on Instagram! Sometimes I think I’ve got a name right…and it turns out I don’t.)

Since it was sort of a rainy day yesterday, I did a little work in the office.

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Reduced and backed by some mat board.

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Framed. I didn’t have any smallish, narrow pieces of wood on hand, so I made the frame from matchsticks, which I painted black.

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I moved the Beatles poster over to the other side of the shelf unit. Scout should be above the desk, don’t you think? That way, mini Don can see her when he’s working.

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A little closer.

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Closest. I have to use my iPhone to get these close-ups. The big girl camera is too big to get inside the TSP.

I made two copies of this reduction. One is going to go in Hummingbird Cottage. I love seeing our girl in this mini space. Don will, too.

Thanks so much, Debra, for the idea.

While I was digging through storage bins looking for some wood, I came across the original box for one of my Petite Princess chests. I thought you’d get a kick out of seeing it.

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Oh, excuse me. It was for the palace  chest.

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57¢. At S.S. Kresge, which used to be my favorite store when I was a kid. A true five and dime. There was one near our house and I loved to roam the aisles.

Really, Mom? You couldn’t fork out 57¢ to buy this for me? Here I was, thinking in the vast recesses of my memory, that Mom wouldn’t buy this stuff for me because it was too expensive.

Ahem. I think not. We’ll be discussing this someday, Mom, along with the question: What the heck did you do with my Barbie doll, Barbie case, Barbie car and my Tiny Tears doll? I need some answers.

Happy Sunday.

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Lambs Like to Party

Lambs Like to Party

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