Here We Come A-Caroling

"I think you should take your job seriously, but not yourself - that is the best combination."

--Dame Judi Dench

Who doesn't love Dame Judi Dench? I'm still ticked that she was killed off in the Bond movie Skyfall. First, they came for my boyfriend Pierce Brosnan and replaced him with some blond guy, and then they burn the infamous M? Even though she isn't a Bond girl anymore, Dame Judi has always been smart, determined, and talented; she also does it all without having to look like a walking X-ray that's been Botoxed into something resembling a goalie mask without the air holes.

While I am not a professional actor, I was lucky enough recently to be cast in the local production of the Dickens classic, "A Christmas Carol" and let me tell you, acting is hard. It's not just memorizing lines and reading them with some emotion. If it were just that, we'd all be walking around with sacks of Emmys and Oscars. The lines are only the first part of it. Memorization is vital, but it's more than that. It's not simple recitation; it's becoming the character who is speaking the line, walking into their world and taking an audience with you. Sure, no pressure, right?

In the case of Dickens, his characters all have British accents. I struggled with this. In the first few reads, my accent was somewhere between Masshole, the Mason Dixon line and a Manchester United fan. I was convinced seventeen dead Irish relatives would leap out of the graveyard to haunt me for pretending to be a subject of Queen Victoria. Hey, it's a ghost story, it could happen.  

My roles were that of Bob Cratchit's daughter, Belinda, Fan Scrooge, the doomed younger sister of Ebenezer, and the kid at the end who buys the turkey. They call him, oddly enough, Turkey Boy. The show was produced by local director Peyton Pugmire of Creative Spirit, and it wasn't a full-on play, but rather a staged reading. Characters are costumed but have scripts, so it's dramatic, but there's no colossal set with dozens of props. The production was performed in the Jeremiah Lee Mansion, so really, what else is there to add?

My acting talents so far have been limited to some improv, high school, and college plays, and lying to my children about certain holiday icons which will go unnamed here. I found it difficult to believe that in less than two weeks, and only seven short rehearsals, that I could accomplish anything without tripping over something or setting something on fire. Thankfully, the candles were battery operated, and I did not land in a heap at the bottom of the impressive mahogany staircase. That is a massive win for me; often just getting across the room whilst remaining upright is a struggle for me.

After the first rehearsal, which was just a read through by the actors, I drove home and my face hurt from smiling so much. The experience of meeting new people, doing something I'd always dreamed of, and learning more about acting put me over the moon. The cast was amazing; on the first night, everyone there was already in character, with perfect accents and expressions. I was furiously highlighting all 10 of my lines and scribbling notes like "Get a notebook" and "look solemnly at Ebenezer." Oh, and there was singing too. Holy Wassail, Batman, bring out the figgy pudding and don't forget the cup of good cheer. What could be more fun than that?

 (photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire)

Costuming, that's what. The costumer was nothing short of a miracle worker. It's not easy making a big, loud, Irish redhead look like a male Victorian child, but she had it under control. Finally, we got to use the Jeremiah Lee space for two dress rehearsals before the performances. It's very authentic in there, right down to the balmy 40-degree temperature on a windy December night. Jeremiah Lee died of pneumonia after spending hours in a cornfield evading British troops, and I was definitely channeling his shivering, despite some very modern Cuddle Duds under my Victorian garb.

This is a weekly paper, so allow me to step into the role of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and report that all performances were top-notch, got rave reviews, and played to a sold-out house. I'm sure that will happen, but I'm writing this ahead of opening night. Dame Judi is right when she says to take the work seriously, not yourself. I had moments of sheer terror during this process, as well flubbed lines, missed cues and one wardrobe malfunction, but all there is to do at those times is to keep going and not let it get at you. Stuff like that happens to me every day, at least in the play there were actors around me who had the same experiences. Is all the world a stage? Thankfully no, most of us do not dress up like one of those strange Christmas dolls, frozen in song, but if you get the chance to try it? Do it. It's transformational, at least for a few days. You can go back to your real life anytime, spend some time in another world, you'll be glad you did. Cast photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire.

These are days....You'll Remember

"These are days you'll remember

Never before and never since

I promise

Will the whole world be warm as this

And as you feel it

You'll know it's true

That you are blessed and lucky."

---Natalie Merchant

What is it about the "good old days" that makes us long for them? I'm not a time lord, so no phone box will allow me to pop off to another era that some say was so much better. Recently, a discussion among some friends (OK, it was Facebook, but all those who commented were real-life people, most from here in town) awoke a bit of a controversy over the good old days, how it was, what is different now, and who's to blame for it all. Sometimes I use a social media post as a kind of journal entry. Then I can go back in a year or so and see what was happening at a particular time. This post wasn't meant to be one of those; it was intended to be funny. 

I had taken the very unusual step of pulling my couch out from the wall and cleaning under it. The exact details of everything that was under there should remain unexplained, but it was a treasure trove of spare change, Legos, hair ties and silverware. It was like the mythical graveyard of cutlery. There may have been some bowls too. That is when the wheels came off the Electrolux, and the debate began.

While a few of my friends could relate, in just a few comments it became clear that my habits as a housekeeper and a mother were the cause of all the evils of our modern society. My children and their milk-slopping, Cheerio-chomping, snack-snogging little faces were devoid of manners, and I had let it happen, right under my nose. Sad! Apparently, some of my friends have traveled further along the road of life than I have, and they remembered when mothers stayed at home, served the family meals around a table, and nary a speck of food had ever been near their couches. Well, I remember those days too. I was a little kid in the late 60s, the Mad Men era of little boxes, on the hillside. It wasn't all Dick Van Dyke, tripping over the ottoman while Laura made a roast and Richie was conveniently in his room. There were workaholic fathers who drank too much, and mothers who often smoked like chimneys or nipped at the cooking sherry in the pantry. There was a war on, and it played on the television every night. Citizens were sprayed with fire hoses or pelted with rocks for the vicious crime of trying to vote or go to school. Good times, right?

Maybe it's just a Kelley thing, and I come by lackadaisical food rules the same way I got my red hair and my attitude? Our house did not look like a Ladies' Home Journal spread. My mother was much more Peg Bundy than Laura Petrie, which was probably difficult for her at the time, but she was always a rebel; it was likely deliberate on her part. The one fact most of my friends agreed on though, was that the family has changed. That's because time has marched on and change is necessary. There are blended families, single-parent families, families with two moms, or two dads. Parents work more; social research has shown that. Children are busier, not playing kick the can or tag, but club soccer and lacrosse. There is, sadly, still a war on, and there isn't a day that goes by that the news doesn't show a bombing, a shooting or a violent protest. We all know there are still parents who drink too much or suffer in silence but put on a good face.

What does any of that have to do with my nonexistent vacuuming skills? Nothing. That's the point. While some contended that the previous generation of stay at home mommies and societal expectations was the better way to live, I'm not buying that, not entirely. Rather than looking at a specific decade, we should turn our attention instead to who we are now, rather than who someone else was back in the day. The truth is, our recollections of the past are not always infallible. The brain processes memories every day. There are thousands of minutes and hours of experience, and not everything is retained. We forget because the mind needs to do that to make room for new minutes and hours of what is to come. We can't be fully present in our lives today if we are still looking back at what used to be.

I read somewhere that there is a reason the windshield of a car is usually larger than the rear window. And my father, a member of "The Greatest Generation," always told me "Don't look backward, you're not going that way. Also, you'll fall on your arse." Was this discussion a come to Jesus moment? Am I going to suddenly turn into a hybrid of Martha Stewart and June Cleaver and keep a home worthy of a magazine layout after witnessing my living room landfill? No. Not even close. Are the kids banned from morning cereal on the couch and late-night snacks in the recliner? No. The days gone by hold a lot of sweet memories for me, but they are over. These are the days, and despite it all, we are blessed and lucky.

  

GETTING TO 'NO' YOU

"It's only by saying no that you can concentrate on the things that are really important.''

----Steve Jobs

Just say no. Wasn't that a campaign to keep kids off drugs, back in the 1980s? Given the opioid epidemic, it doesn't seem to have worked, because, well, drug use is complicated and if just saying no was the way to fix it, we wouldn't have the overdose and addiction issues we see every day in the paper, would we?

 

Saying no is powerful, however. A colleague reminded me of this recently and suggested I write about it, and until he mentioned it, it had never occurred to me. So, I asked around, and a lot of my friends have a hard time saying no. When it comes to my friends and family, my rule is that if someone asks me to do something, my default answer is always, "Sure, if I can, no problem." I don't need a reason to say yes; if you are part of my family or a close friend, and you need something, I am there. A ride to the airport, a school pick up, a notary stamp, I am your girl. Because helping people I care about is easy.

 

Naturally, there are times when the answer has to be no, but again, I need a reason to refuse. Obviously, if someone asks me to do something and there is no way I can, then I have to say no, but then the Irish guilt kicks in. I start thinking about rearranging my schedule, shifting appointments and making time to do whatever has been asked of me. There are, however, some occasions when "No" is the right answer, I simply hate having to be the one to give it. I worry that I'm not a good friend or a good employee if I don't accommodate every request.

Still, there have to be some boundaries, right? We can't do everything we'd like, we can't be everywhere we want to be, and sometimes, no is the correct answer. My mother had a great way to get around this debacle. If someone asked her to do something and she didn't want to, or couldn't, she would say "Oh, I can't help you, I have plans." I heard her say this to a friend once and I knew she didn't have anything planned. I screeched, "MA! Jeez, that's a lie, you don't have any plans!" Her reply? "I most certainly do. I have plans not to drive her arse around. I did not lie. My plans are sitting home and not listening to her tell me to slow down when I'm only going 25 MPH." There was more, it was a whole rant, but basically, my mother felt that it was OK to say no. Sometimes the reason was, "I don't want to do that" but she would soften the blow by saying she had "plans." It was almost always followed by her saying, sotto voce, "Plans not to do that." She was never one to lie.

There is a career/business related book that's called "Getting to Yes" about negotiating what you want. I think there should be a similar book about getting to "No." It's hard to turn someone down; I believe we all want to help out when we can. It's the guilt though; it gets in the way. I think it starts when you become a parent. All of a sudden there is a tiny baby that needs everything, and it's your job to provide it. No is something children have to learn though, and it can be a battle. Some parents are explainers, and they give long diatribes about why their kids can't have or do something. Not me. "Because I said so" is a perfectly appropriate response in my world and I've said it more than a few times. At one point, I stole the alphabet blocks that had the "N" and the "O" on them out of the toy bin and would hold them up as soon as I heard the whining begin.

A very wise friend said to me "No doesn't need a reason. You can just say the word." This is true, but then another friend said, "There is a movement out there called ‘refusing the no,' and it involves saying yes to everything." Honestly, my head would explode. We are all busy, and there's no question that if someone I care about really needed me, I would be there, no matter what. No isn't something I say very often, but it's good to be able to. We just cannot do everything that is asked of us. Nor should we.