(deep amplified echo rising up from the empty amphitheater)
I don't even know where to begin after a full year of silence.
(throat clearing... more awkward silence)
I have heard that the personal blog is dead. That no one reads these things anymore, that it's now ALL about facebook and twitter and social media modes that trip off my son's tongue, but I can't even...
(closes eyes... opens them)
I just want to tell some stories again.
<whispers> Can I do that?
(listening... no one says "no")
Ok, then...
It's not like I haven't written in a year.
I just haven't finished anything. Bits and fragments of posts sit in the "notes" section of my iPad, sandwiched between "to do" lists and homework schedules, insurance information and Bar Mitzvah plans.
My well is not run dry, but, rather, my bucket full of holes.
The winter has been bleak and March, that asshole month, did not fail to deliver its requisite punches (my late parents' anniversary, father's birthday, father's death date). Spring's blossoming flowers always invoke my mother, mixing the bitter with the sweet, and always now with the missing.
And, once again, the school-year's end looms. How did this year pass?
(With a crawl and a shamble and a speedy blur. With two boys growing through three shoe sizes and nearly my height. With homework done and screen-minutes counted. With small victories and midnight pints of Ben & Jerrys.)
I think I may be back.
I'll let you know tomorrow.
(drops mike, goes to run Jacob's bath)
Also? Linking to Just Write because I love and have missed Heather.
I don't even know where I've been. Writing in my head only again, for months, it's now so full of words I feared the explosion would take out a city block.
I feel fake and false sharing the days' small trials and triumphs, the trivia that pile up to assemble my life right now -- meals and homework and mountains of laundry and paperwork, attending to my children's mental and physical health -- when throughout flows this raging undercurrent of grief, still; ten months in.
Ten months.
More than enough time to gestate. And yet what do I have to show for it? This egg-like orb of nothingness that is the palpable absence of my mother, lodged under my chest; barely dissipated, still.
But I feel I cannot yet either wear my mourning on my writer's sleeve. Even though it suffuses everything subtly, the constant filter on my lens, as a topic it is gray wisps, ghostly vague, deadly dull.
I am well aware that to go on and on about missing my mother now will likely incite impassioned and compassionate admonitions to "look forward" and "move on" which will make me want to shank my well-meaning readers. Never a good place to be.
And Thanksgiving coming up.
Last year with my mother and uncle. This year without.
I almost can't look at the photos, the longing they engender so great, I fear the molecules of the screens upon which the images burn will burst apart from my desire to hold those people again against my actual body and not just in my metaphoric heart.
Mom and Uncle Walter, Thanksgiving 2012
So here I am.
Once again with all these little stories I want to tell, yet they remain untold.
I know it's okay to smile and laugh in the middle of grief, and I do, every day. I know that my mother, of all people in the world, would want me to enjoy each and every moment with my children with all my soul. And I do. Every day.
I hope the floodgates open soon (yet can make no promises).
Until then, here, now, is my one toe back in the water.
If you know me, you know I tend to be "long form."
What I usually call a post, most sane bloggers without perfectionism / obsessiveness and time management issues would call three posts.
But it has also been true that the same forces that lead me to such excessive verbosity are, at the moment, shutting me down. I have barely posted in the last six months. And while I am not happy about that, I also know I don't have the wherewithal to devote the same energy to my blog at this moment as I have in the past.
And, truth be told, I'm still struggling with the emotional aftermath of my Mother's death. Ironic that this blog began as my father was dying, of my need to speak from all the jumbled pain therein. That opened the floodgates that fed my writing.
And now the fallout from my mother's death has dammed up my words again. But not completely. A trickle is still flowing through.
So I am considering this: trying to let myself write really short posts for this month.
At our LTYM BlogHer breakfast in Chicago last Sunday, I was sitting across from Lisa Rosenberg (of the blog Smacksy) and when it became clear that another woman at our table didn't know her work, Alexandra and I fell over ourselves gushing about how much we love Lisa's blog -- how adorable her son is, how lovely the writing. Alexandra mentioned how refreshing it was that the posts were so short, just a perfect little slice of life.
And it got the wheels turning... maybe I can do this... write short posts with just one thought, one story, while waiting for the longer ones to come.
I have so, so many bits of writing sitting in my "unpublished" queue that I have been thinking of as "half-written posts." What if I just call them posts (with a little polishing of course) - hit the "publish" button and move on?
Would the world stop spinning on its axis? Unlikely. (But don't blame me if it coincidentally does.)
There is so much that has gone on this spring and summer that I haven't talked about yet here... graduations... rites of passage... summer camp... visiting cousins... Bat Mitzvahs... new babies... Jake's evolving development... even a recipe I wanted to share.
Also there is one very important, very PARTICULAR half-finished post that I have pushed myself to complete, even if it is less complete than I think it should be. I have actually put it up on my blog just before this post - backdated, of course, to July 29th, the only proper day for my boys 11th birthday post, since it was, of course, their 11th birthday.
I have a new friend and I'm not telling her name but she is delightful and I am happy. This is a detail from her door.
<*> <*> <*>
My walk through the city tonight feels like a stroll through a movie set. Here, a cafe where every single person seated at the outdoor tables is wearing a blue shirt, hues ranging from sky to azure to midnight. There, a blonde family of five - impossibly attractive and dressed to the nines for a festive occasion - pose for a photo as a man who can best be described as an African-American Gabby Hayes crosses the frame, fur lumberjack hat squashed down onto his head, pushing his squeaky wheeled shopping cart filled with dingy stuffed animals and dented soda cans.
Yes, this is my city. We all come out of central casting.
<*> <*> <*>
Sunday, for the first time in ages, I stopped at Zabar's to pick up some lox, and had forgotten the artistry of the slicers there. While the stuff we usually get from our local bagel place is serviceable, this was a revelation: fresh, delicious and so thin you could nearly, as the saying goes, read the newspaper through it.
While I was watching the counter man slice, before I could stop it, the thought popped into my head that I should bring Walter some Zabar's lox next time I go see him, as it always delighted him so when I would arrive bearing real New York City appetizing. And then the sadness rushed in, a now constant tide.
<*> <*> <*>
Jacob has now woken up at 5:30 AM for more than a week.
This usually means that he is about to undergo a big leap in growth and understanding, his brain too excited to slumber past dawn.
It could however, just be an attempt to get uninterrupted screen time on his own terms, no brother to share and negotiate with.
Only time will tell.
<*> <*> <*>
Today I sat in the "big yard" with Ethan after school, eating our ice creams in a shady spot and watching the kids swirl around us, playing their hearts out. We are both still easily tired, the legacy of the stomach bug that swept through our household earlier this week, taking us down like bowling pins, Ethan the first to go on Monday afternoon.
So instead of jumping up to join the fracas, he sits beside me, in the quiet watching, rests his head on my shoulder, waves back at his friend's younger siblings when they spot us and yell hello.
I look at the Kindergarteners among them, and then down at my nearly eleven year-old son, sifting through the years that brought him from that to this. I can't quite believe that he was ever that little. Or that his time here is soon to come to a close.
Six years spent in these red brick walls. Now less than two weeks until goodbye.
Tonight is the 5th grade dance. The girls will dress in taffeta and heels. The boys will need to be persuaded to wash their faces and put on clean t-shirts. They'll arrive in groups, still separate; the boys here, the girls there.
Growing up. But not quite grown. Ethan's heart is mine for yet a little bit longer.
<*> <*> <*>
I need to change the name of my blog. My sandwich is open faced now. Open to the heavens.
Although, needless to say, most days I am still quite squashed.
<*> <*> <*>
I thought we were finally done with Thomas forever... until Jake stared obsessing over him again about three months ago. Only now we have to discuss which season and which episode number and who the narrator is and what year it came out and is it a "classic" episode or a new one and does the narrator talk "Americanish" or "Englanish" and... (I say bomb Sodor back to the stone ages & be done with it!)
Well, we did get a break from it for a while. Over the years, we have cycled through obsessions with Teletubbies, Batman, Bakugan, Blues Clues, Ben 10, Power Rangers, Sponge Bob, Dragonball Z Kai, Pingu, and - do NOT ask me why - old basketball games/teams. Specifically the 1974 Celtics for some reason - and we're New Yorkers! Some of these were a relief, while others made me long for the fat controller.
<*> <*> <*>
It has been a month since my last post.
A month.
I never thought I would lose my voice for so long.
But the other losses have been adding up, cumulative, weighing me down. The words swirl in my head, coalesce into nothing more than little jagged fragments. A sentence here, a thought there, an amusing facebook update at most.
I write them down, thinking I will flesh them out into posts soon, but there they remain, dry bones waiting for life.
I am tired of waiting. Of silence.
So I scoop my shards up, spread open my hands just a bit, so that they may waft out between my fingers, sprinkle down onto this page, and leave them there, where they fall, willy-nilly.
I was hoping I'd get to write a happy "Happy 3rd Blogaversary to me" post this year, but that is clearly not to be, my mother passed just these three weeks on.
I did, at least, get to write a reflective first blogaversary post in 2011 - A Full Year of Bologna. Read again, it seems like so much more than two years ago I wrote all that, three years ago I entered this, the blogging life.
For in these three years I have found an amazing, supportive community, of which I had not even a glimmer of a hint of its existence before I fell headlong into it. Within this, of course, many sub-groups make up my community... the special-needs-parent-bloggers, my fellow LTYM-ers, my former SV Mom's Blog group, my "3rd wave" blogging cohort who began around the same time I did - Alexandra, I'm talking YOU here, baby! - to name just a few.
And this "village" (as well as my incredible circle of "real life" friends & family) has buoyed and sustained me through so much that I have gone through in these three years since.
Right now I'm in the middle of the muddle of my grief, and having a hard time pulling anything from it. In the first few days the words tumbled out of me. I was writing my way through the sorrow, as rough and as raw as ground meat.
I even wrote that "This is the only way I know how to do it."
But then I stopped knowing that, caught up in the paperwork of it all and the thousand stinging nettles of the minutia of my daily life that continued on apace, in spite of the beast howling in my chest, mother-lost.
I am struggling to find my voice again.
Also?
I am bewildered.
Who am I now that I am no longer sandwiched? I have lost a full generation.
I suppose... I suppose I will need to change the name of my blog soon, "Sandwich Generation" no longer properly defining me. (Putting that on the back-burner, not ready to think about it yet.)
But for now here I am, an open-faced sandwich (though still rather squashed), entering my fourth year of doing this, living my life out loud in the inter-web-verse.
Writing my way through the grief, through the sorrow, through the pain and the healing.
I know, I know, I know! I'm supposed to be looking strictly forward, not backwards any more by now, nearly one full week into the new year.
But still... the other day, at the end of 2012, while putting up my annual "Best of Blog" post, I realized that while it may showcase my best writing of the year, it didn't really tell the story of how my LIFE went in 2012. I then had promised that post - this post - "tomorrow." But then life got... lifey, you know (kids home on school vacation! autism! ADD! my mother! blah, blah, blah...) and it didn't get finished.
So today I will remedy that, sharing with you the high- (and low-) lights of my 2012. In other words...
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
The year started off busy.
I was co-producing the first annual New York City Listen to Your Mother Show (working with a wonderful team of women), and we announced auditions in January, held them in February, finalized the cast in early March. I wrote a bit about the process here: LTYM-NYC has made a busy bee out of me.
There were also production logistics and sponsorship details. And oh, I was also the webmistress of the very active LTYM-NYC website. Busy, busy, busy.
Which was a good thing, as these last few years winter has been a very tough season for me, dragging me into the abyss, as it is now so psychically interwoven with my father's long drawn out death three years ago. That, however, was the impetus to begin my blog, and thus in February I had my 2 year blogaversary...
Which I completely failed to blog about as I was so busy with LTYM-NYC.
Dad & Me, Riverside Park, 1998
I did, however, blog about those other anniversaries: my father's passing on March 13th: Two Years and what would have been his 95th birthday on March 25th: Not my Father's 95th Birthday post
LTYM-NYC 2012 1st read-through
Also in March, however, LTYM came to the rescue and lifted me up out of my mourning with a wonderful rehearsal (so much talent!): Tales from the LTYM Rehearsal
Throughout this time, there were still, of course, the children.
Ethan was... being Ethan. His usual combination of bright, delightful and exasperating. Also often sleepless, as documented here: Go (the F) to sleep, Ethan. (until we discovered the magic of melatonin, later in the year).
Ethan + melatonin = falls asleep before midnight - yay!
April was, as always, Autism Awareness month. So I wrote a lot about autism, and my wonderful autistic son Jacob, including: My 1 in 88 and Still Aware and Still Accepting
My life became about taking care of her and figuring out how and where she was going to live out the rest of her life, and since then supporting her in the Long Island nursing home she became a permanent resident of in August.
Oh, and continuing to be a mother to my own kids throughout this all, too, of course.
Well, summer wasn't all doom & gloom. In the middle of all this I had a funny guest post published: I am Aiming Low today!
Also in July? My sons, they turned... TEN!!!!!!
E & J at 10 - & impossible to get them in one photo together!
The rest of the fall was more Sandwich Generation juggle...
Getting a call while I was with my family at The Harlem Globetrotters that my mother was being shipped off for observation at a mental hospital for threatening to kill herself with a butter knife. (You just can't make this stuff up, people!)
And I was able to spring my mother from the home & bring her out to my Aunt & Uncle's house for (day after) Thanksgiving, which was wonderful: Second Thanksgiving
Ethan chanting the candle-lighting blessing (Hebrew School paying off)
And then Newtown happened, and I came a bit undone. But then the amazing Autism Shines movement sprang up to counteract the media distortions depicting autism as "dangerous" and autistics as potential violent killers.
Oh, one final thing I am happy and proud of... throughout this year I have done a regular monthly feature - a Round-Up of What I Loved on OTHER People's Blogs. I love curating and helping to create community.
And now? Now? It's a New Year! Looking forward at last. (Whew!)
Well, it's become an end of the year tradition now - third year in a row - ye olde Recap Post... wherein I reflect on the past year here at The Squashed Bologna and bring you my favorite posts from each month.
2012 has been a fairly intense, challenging year for me. My mother's fall in late May, and the radical change in her circumstances that rolled out from that being at the center of most of it.
It was hard to choose again this year...
The popular posts or the sleepers? The "big thoughts" or the quiet moments? Heavy posts about my mother or sweet ones about my kids? The challenges or the gifts of Jacob's autism? My best writing or the most interesting events?
Some months I couldn't pick just one, so there's a few doubles. And that's ok, because, well, my blog, my rules, right? Who says it HAS to be only one post per month? (Not me.)
So, without further ado...
Here are some of my favorite Squashed Mom posts from 2012:
February: A Full Moon for Susan {My goodbye to the wonderful Susan Niebur - aka WhyMommy - who died of metastatic inflammatory breast cancer, celebrating her life and work}
and 10 years ago today...{Looking back at my then pregnant self, realizing I had NO CLUE how much and in what ways my life was going to change}
March: Planets {Taking a walk with Ethan and reflecting on my children's distant, fratious relationship.}
April: Words {Reflecting on the power of words in our lives. Especially destructive ones - like "Retard"}
May: The Dress {Cleaning out my closet, coming upon a dress I wore at a significant point in my life, and telling a tale from the beginning of my IVF pregnancy}
and Perspective {Sitting by my mother's side in the ICU puts everything else in my life into perspective.}
June: My Heart, Her Heart {Caring for my mother through her recovery, and adjusting - or not - to her new diminished circumstances}
July: The living and the dying {Reflections on my mother and my aunt: old women near the end of life.)
August: Full Circles {Dropping Jacob off for a week of SN Summer camp - at the same camp I attended as a 14 year old. Looking backwards and forwards in wonder.}
September: Picures and Stories{A smiling picture of Jake on a boat, and then the story of his horrific autistic meltdown five minutes later. The difference between pictures and stories.}
and Hunger {A funny memory of my last trip to LA while pregnant with the twins, when my access to food got compromised - my Yom Kippur post.}
October: Her way home {A poignant post about my fading mother and her struggles.}
November: Survivor Guilt {NYC got socked by a hurricane and my family suffered not one bit. And therefore I felt terrible.}
December: This is Jacob. This is autism. {My contribution to the wonderful "Autism Shines" campaign / Facebook page to counter the autism negativity fallout from Newtown.}
And that's the year that was!
Well... not entirely. Looking over these posts, I realized there is much missing from this recap. Because I have chosen to go pretty much with the "best writing" side of things, there are quite a few key events in my life not covered in here, as my posts regarding them were more reportage than literary, and thus didn't make it onto this list.
So I think I need yet another re-cap post about my LIFE in 2012 -- including things like my producing the first annual New York City Listen to Your Mother Show, my reading as a Voice of the Year at BlogHer this past summer, the boys turning 10, etc., etc.
Tomorrow, peeps...
And until then?
Sending my wishes out to you all for the happiest of all possible New Years, and a 2013 that is wonderful and either wild or peaceful (depending on your preference), exceeding your wildest dreams.
Me reading "Holding Hands" as a VOTY at BlogHer12*
It is now two days since I've come back from the overwhelming, awesome, non-stop whirlwind that was the BlogHer12 conference (and yes, I know it was in NYC, my home town and I didn't officially "go away" as I slept in my own bed every night, yet still I was away from my regular life) and I have yet to have a moment to organize my thoughts on the matter, craft a carefully thought out response.
But this year, damn it, I am determined to not go down my usual rabbit hole of over-rumination, of having to have everything thoroughly digested before I wax forth on the subject. In other words, I'm going to get a post up about BlogHer before the week is out!
Even though I haven't uploaded all my photos yet! Even though I don't know exactly what I want to say about it yet! Even though my brain hasn't settled down one iota yet! Squirrel! Shiny! Where was I? Oh, yeah...
So herein find... not a deep thinking piece of any sort, but rather, what pops out as I whirl through thoughts of the last few days, kind of like the wispy pink threads that are spit out of the core of a cotton candy machine, once it heats up and spins up to speed.
So I now offer up here a few spun sugar thought tendrils that I have caught on the white paper cone I am desperately trying to properly twirl through the bowl of my mind; picking up the feathery wisps and gathering together into something of mass.
(And have I mentioned I am abysmally bad at the actual cotton candy making in real life, having signed Ethan's 4th grade class up for this particular booth at his school's spring fair this year? I thought it would be easy - ha! It requires a certain sort of coordinated dexterity and speed that are currently beyond me. I kept making a mess of things. A sweet, sticky mess. I wish someone had taken a picture of me as I finished my turn at the booth covered in cotton candy bits; looking like I'd gone punk with pink and lavender strands strewn throughout my hair.)
But back to BlogHer (see, my mind, it wanders) here's some nibbles, full meal to come later...
It start and ends with the people, because that's why I'm really there: seeing my Twitter stream and Facebook feeds come to life, getting to engage in face to face conversations with people I already felt intimate with online was, once again, both extraordinary and joyful.
Thursday's Health Minder Day was especially important to me because I was doing the special needs parenting track, and these, THESE were my people. The ones I NEEDED to see, to embrace, to laugh with.
This year, other than Thursday, I went to less panels than any other year, and certainly less than I'd initially planned. Why?
And that kind of took up a looooooooot of brainspace until it was over. And then I was a bit of a limp noodle for the rest of the conference, afterward.
I had snagged a fortuitous invite (thanks Holly) to a fabulous offsite event organized by Beth and hosted by Liz, where I ran into a host of friends I'd wanted to meet up with and got my picture taken with Kristin Davis:
I'm sure Kristin Davis so wishes she had curly hair like the rest of us!
I also learned all about Zarbee’s all natural honey based cough products. And? It was the perfect thing to keep me busy and distract me from what was coming up next...
Me, reading.**
I did it!
I took the stage and read my post "Holding Hands" as a "Voice of the Year" keynote speaker. I was number fourteen of fifteen readers, and as I listened to the others read before me, sharing their words with the most supportive and accepting audience possible, I actually grew calmer instead of more nervous, as I'd feared.
Standing at the podium I did indeed feel all those who had been there before, standing beside me in spirit. And not just this year's speakers but all five years of Voices, none more so than Susan Niebur, the amazing "Why Mommy" who passed away this past winter after a fierce battle with metastatic inflammatory breast cancer.
Hearing HER read on this selfsame stage two years ago at BlogHer 10 was the absolute highlight of that year, and to me this will always be Susan's stage.
It gave me strength as I read my post about my very elderly mother, who is currently in a much more frail, vulnerable and sad place than when I had written my essay the previous spring. I had been afraid I was going to break down and cry. But i got through it by staying in the moment, feeling the audience, so full of friends and well wishers, right there with me.
And then Shari, the last Voice of this Year, read a completely hysterical essay that had me, and everyone in the room, nearly peeing ourselves with laughter.
My lovely friend Shari, reading
And then there were parties, hotel bar conversations, then Saturday, right, Saturday I... I don't even remember what I did on Saturday (limp noodle, remember). Oh, I did time in the Serenity Suite being and helping others be serene. So serene in fact that I fell asleep a bit, sitting upright too. (And Heather and Ellie, being with you there, one of the heartlights of my weekend.)
Truly time for bed now, I'm getting sloppy, happy-lovey here, and I'm stone cold sober. In fact I had all of ONE drink at BlogHer, some ghastly (but effective) concoction at the Aiming Low party.
So... Everyone was beautiful, I loved you all (even those of you who stepped on my feet whilst dancing to the overloud shitty music) and if I didn't drop your name in this post tonight, that's just because I'm saving you up for my NEXT BlogHer '12 post-mortem post, wherein I will tell all.
Ok, not quite all.
Because what happens at BlogHer stays at BlogHer... well, except for the 4,000 posts being written about it. Oops! Bad place to misbehave (so glad I didn't).
*photo: Jean Stimey Winegardner **photo: Holly Rosen Fink
A victim of insomnia; though I am also sleep's bully, keeping it from its proper place in my life quite willfully.
For, you see, it's not so much that I can't fall asleep, it's that I won't let myself go to bed. Night-owl Ethan often does not go down until 10 or 10:30. That's when my "me time" begins. And there is so very, very much to be done.
When I do manage to put myself to bed at a decent hour? A nighttime's rise up to consciousness - whether to relieve a bladder or turn from an aching hip - will no longer be a brief blip in my slumbers; will now result in extended wakefulness. If you have gotten an email from me at 3 am? Yes. This.
And then there is unfortunate circumstance: a child's middle-of-the-night projectile vomit; my mother's ER visits, always an all-night affair, occasionally even 36 hours when hospital beds are scarce.
All conspiring to rob me of my rightful slumber.
I used to be a good sleeper, once.
The sandman and I enjoyed an easy, cozy relationship.
Before kids.
Before autism.
Before ADD.
Before peri-menopause.
Before elderly parents.
Before death.
Before blogging.
Aye, there's the rub: I confess I write best at about two am. It's not just the quiet in my household, kids tucked away in their beds. Even though I live in the city that never does, in this mostly residential, very family neighborhood, even though it is, yes, Manhattan, most of the people all around me are fast asleep.
Not all, certainly not that. Somewhere in my building there is surely a teenager chatting away on Facebook, an old man raiding the refrigerator, a new mother pacing the floorboards with her restless babe.
Yet still, it is enough. There is a psychic calm all about. Cars along Riverside swoosh by sporadically. The doormen are ensconced in lobby chairs, struggling to remain alert to the rare late arrivals, no longer jauntily calling out to each other from beneath sidewalk awnings. The brainwave patterns surrounding me are buzzing in the deep deltas of sleep.
And my words, which serve such pragmatic purposes during the day, find themselves bubbling up from deeper pools in the dark; flowing into channels that delight and surprise me, swirling eddies carrying me along to places I have only glimpsed before, maybe in dreams.
And so, when I awaken at three am, having fallen asleep bolt upright on the couch while attempting to watch a movie on TV with my husband, I don't just pop myself into bed. I sit down at the computer: prime writing time has begun.
There's a reason I'm sleepwalking through my days sometimes, and its name is blog.
And I like this writing life so much, yes I do, that I'm willing to sacrifice a standard good night's sleep to it; catch my z's when and where I can.
And, please note:
Z is also for something really important to me... Zygotes.
Those are the earliest bits of us, what happens when a pair of compatible gametes meet cute, get happy together; existing for four days only before they become blastocysts, then embryos, then fetuses. (And then, eventually, if all goes according to plan: babies.)
I have zygotes on the brain right now because, having just realized that I've never truly told the tale here, I'm busy writing out the story of my twin boys' conception. Not a terribly sexy story I'm afraid, as it was a highly technical affair involving petri dishes, not mood lighting. Yes, IVF. Stay tuned...
This post has been inspired by and linked up to Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday writing meme, the letter of the week most obviously "Z." And yes, after this she's going to start back at the beginning with "A" again. Join in!
There's something new and different here today: I'm doing a review post, really my first. And, shockingly, it's NOT for The Hunger Games, which it seems everyone else is writing about today. It's about theater. I am never one to go along with the gang.
Last Thursday my friend Holly, along with her MamaDrama partner, Erin, brought some magic into my life in the form of an invitation to The Public Theater to see their latest offering, playing in their cabaret, Joe's Pub - the one man (plus band of 3) show: NO PLACE TO GO.
To call it brilliant and entertaining would be just to repeat the wonderful reviews it's been garnering in the press, including both a feature article and glowing review in the New York Times. Ethan Lipton, the playwright-singer-actor whose creation this show is (along with his collaborator, director Leigh Silverman) roundly deserves every accolade that is currently being heaped upon him.
If you live on a desert island, or anyplace other than NYC (= basically the same thing, right?) and haven't heard anything about this play, it's a semi-autobiographical work.
Based on Ethan Lipton's own experience, the show is about facing unemployment when the company he has worked at for ten years (on a part-time, perma-lancer basis) is relocating. We get to be inside Ethan's head as he revisits his history and feelings about this company and work in general, and as he contemplates his options and choices, and those of his co-workers, as the relocation proceeds.
And because Ethan is a musician, as well as a writer and actor, the story is told in a mix of prose and song. So while it's a play with music, it's not a musical in the traditional sense of the word.
For me the show struck home in so many ways, most especially as a blogger, because this play has so much in common with the best of blog writing: confessional, seeming raw truth, but in reality so carefully shaped, refined; and written by someone clearly in love with language.
It does what good blogs do: takes reality and makes it more real; in this case, making the truth even truthier by adding a bit of fiction - because in this story, the company is relocating not just to another part of the country, but to Mars.
This absurdist twist somehow makes Ethan's story more compelling. While keeping all the details, the ironies and petty indignities of his situation no less specific, real and relatable, it simultaneously elevates it to a plane of universality.
Thus it is no longer the story of his one man's job loss, but rather a tale invoking the tectonic shift of displacement we are all experiencing as the economic freefall in our current time requires us all to reconsider our lives and careers, to contemplate moves we might not have otherwise, ones that seem like, well, moving to Mars.
I would love to give you many more specific details from this show, share some of the many gems found therein, but I really can't.
I knew I was writing a review, knew I was supposed to be furiously scribbling notes during the show in order to jog my memory and write this review. But I just couldn't. I was transfixed, in the moment. I didn't want to take my eyes off his face, didn't want to remove myself from the experience, to take that step back you need to, to write notes for a measured review. I just wanted to go along with him on the ride. To be transported.
So I jotted down just three measly phrases - 8 words, of the many astonishingly fresh, biting, funny, brilliant things Ethan said: Gooey malaise - a turn of phrase he used to describe reactive depression, that struck me as perfect. Shitstorm coming - the refrain from a darkly funny song. Words first, then meaning - what could easily be the mantra of all those of us who are in love with language.
These will have to do.
An old theater professor of mine, Richard Trousdell, one whose wisdom well I find myself going back to again and again, used to talk about how we go to the theater to recognize ourselves, to see ourselves in others' stories and be transformed by the experience somehow. Or at least that's what happens when theater works, when it gets it right and the magic happens. (This aspect of theater that is sometimes called catharsis, but to him was even more than that, deeper.)
And this play? Yes. It gets it right. Very, very right. This is what storytelling does, when it does it best.
And while this is possible, can and does occur in the best of movies, it is fundamentally different in theater because there is the added factor of actual presence, of live human beings in front of you, not distanced by the intermediary of cameras, screens, editing; not displaced in time and space. Someone may record this, turn this into a film, and it may well be brilliant. But it will never be the same as being in that room with Ethan Lipton, the man, feeling his emotions as they pour off of him, in the presence of his presence.
And Ethan's presence is powerful, is tremendous, precisely because he is merely life-size, not larger than life. He is an appealing everyman while remaining very, very specifically himself.
And what he is, mostly, is a wonderful storyteller.
So if you live in or near New York City, run, don't walk to see this show. Magic like this doesn't come along very often, and it's only up for a limited run.
And, for my readers, a little discount to the show:
Use code NOPLACE for $25 tickets! By Phone: 212-967-7555 ONLINE: click here IN PERSON: The Public Theater Box Office, 425 Lafayette St.
And if you can't come see it, here's a little glimpse at one song from the show, 3-Tier Plan, not live but a lovely little animation, nonetheless:
Thank you, Holly and Erin of MamaDrama for this wonderful opportunity. Disclosure: I was provided complimentary tickets by MamaDrama, but all opinions are my own.
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How do you people with full time jobs AND kids do it?
How do you have the time and energy to blog?
Because for the past 2 weeks my producing work for the Listen to Your Mother Show has been at about the level of a full time job.
And my kids are still, well, my kids, and they want their mom's attention and clean clothes and food when they're hungry and their homework (oh, god, the homework!) checked. Well actually, no, they want to be allowed to NOT do the homework, but that's not going to happen.
But still, you know what I'm saying. I am busier than ever, and with all sorts of stuff I have to take care of for my ACTUAL mother, too. (Banking! Doctor Appointments! HER Laundry! Social Security Office - AGAIN!)
And then there's always the Autism factor. (How could I forget the Autism time tax? Just estimate however long you think something is going to take, and then double or triple it. And do that again. Now you're close.)
So my blog, my writing? Suffering dearly.
Half written posts in my queue? Yup, dozens.
Anything close to being able to be actually sent out into the world with the touch of a "publish" button? Hardly.
I have written wonderful, beautiful posts... entirely in my head in the shower. And then never gotten them to screen or paper. (Yes, I actually do sometimes write on physical paper and then transfer into digital words. Fancy that!)
One advantage of being out in the world interacting with adults: I shower daily once again (they can no longer smell me from Jersey).
Another advantage? Not only do I have no time and mental space to write, I also have no time to obsessively check my blog stats. I simply could not tell you how many people have visited my blog in the last day, or even week. And that? Is frankly a relief.
That said, however, as much as I feel expanded by all this exciting producing stuff, I also feel diminished in that my writing is clogging up inside me once again, an expressive and creative logjam.
I've had struggles with blogging before, had fallow times. But this time around, it's not so much about losing my writing mojo, as getting filled up by the words tumbling around inside me, the pressure building up with no release in sight. (And don't go where that image takes you, okay? Just. don't.)
I am suddenly understanding my friends who regularly write compact, sweet, 300 word posts. It takes less time!
So, as I can see no relief coming in the near future, and I hate how s-l-o-w-l-y my archive is filling up (it's the 6th of the month and this is only my 3rd post - and it's not much of a post), I am just going to have to try harder to get something - anything- up here. And maybe write those short, pithy posts that have eluded me in the past.
And since this has all been so much something about pretty much nothing; a self-referential rumination; a curved, tail-biting snake, circling itself round and round - I will leave you with a little actual something... the song that's been playing in my head these days, my personal soundtrack.
And yes, I HAVE been feeling like a Muppet of a (wo)Man lately.
See you back here tomorrow folks, hopefully with a little something something.
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Well, anticipating belonging to my children completely, lock-stock-and-barrel style, for this next week of school break, with very little time for my own pursuits (such as reading and writing and thinking) I was sneaking a bit of blog surfing early this morning, as I had trouble getting back to sleep after being awakened by a child with a scary dream.
He's now happily snoozing again, and I have possession of the computer. Score.
So when I landed on the lovely Australian Eden's blog and found this week's theme to be something I could easily connect to, I figured: why not just join in, write a quick, fun post and link up?
That way I might actually get something completed and OUT into the world, as opposed to creating another lovely, important, but perpetually half-written post clogging up my draft queue. OK, then...
This week Eden freaked out a bit about blogging, then reminded herself of how much she loved the other "weirdo bloggers" out there, like herself. (Her words, not mine, but I'll own it.)
And then she asked us: "Who's your favourites?" (Like I said, she's Australian. They go for those British spellings. They also drive on the wrong side of the road, and call garbage "rubbish", too.)
And, thankfully, when she did her post, Eden only picked and wrote about three. Because, really, my list is so long and it is my immediate instinct to try to include everybody and write the "100 wonderful bloggers" post, so nobody gets left out.
But EDEN herself has set the precedent: I have to pick just three. (Because I always follow directions, and do as I'm told, you know. Snort!)
Eden, of course is right up there, but she didn't come on my radar until I met her at BlogHer11 this summer, reading her wonderful Voice of the Year keynote post, and I want to go back further to my (increasingly graying) roots.
So here are three of my long-time "always, must" reads. The women who have gotten me through, on the days when I felt like I was a tribe of one, a singular weirdo, spinning alone in my crazy brain. Reading them made me glow, made me feel part of a shining troop: the order of delighted madwomen, using words to tether ourselves together...
Alexandra of Good Day, Regular People probably needs no introduction, but I'm giving her one anyway. She is one of the most beloved women in the blogosphere and it is easy to see why. Her writing is lovely and truthful, her spirit generous. And she is hysterically funny (but never mean spirited). Best of all, she was my roommate at BlogHer11 and it was the most magical match-up, ever. Also, she also gets the "best commenter" award. A comment from her on any post is a gift. I read it and my heart goes "ping" every. single. time.
Deborah of MaNNaHaTTaMaMMa is someone maybe you haven't read yet? Start now. She is smart, funny, deliciously irreverent, a "two boy" mom like me, and a GREAT writer. I actually got to meet Deborah in person fairly early on, as we were both members of a wonderful New York City Moms Group blog together. We just really clicked. Instant friendship. That she now lives thousands of miles away, in Abu Dhabi, no less? Pains me. But the sting is lessened by being able to read her daily, even if I only get to see her briefly on visits home.
Jean / Stimey of Stimeyland was one of the first Autism-Mom bloggers I connected with on the internet. She was a member of the D.C. sister site to the NYC Moms Group Blog I mentioned above. I loved the way she wrote about her family (3 boys!) and about autism, with love, humor and her super-smart brains. That Jean is also really quirky and has funny & strange obsessions she writes about, too (like her love of mice and all things rodent, for example) makes me love her all the more. She has a tremendous sense of humor about herself and her own imperfections; which makes her perfect in my eyes, of course.
So, to quote Eden again, "I'll stop at three... but there's a gazillion more."
To read more about how I feel about this beautiful tribe of bloggers, read this guest post I wrote for the lovely Katie at Sluiter Nation. (See, I knew I'd find a way to sneak another wonderful weirdo blogger in here somehow.)
(And Kris and Adrienne, I have linked to you so many times and referred
to you as my bloggy mentors so often in the past, I thought I'd give
others a moment in the spotlight today. You know how important you are
to me.)
There you have it, quick and easy, a new post is up - and before the kids have awakened.
Hey, maybe I can even sneak in a shower, too. Here's to hoping that regular showering is among the few "me" pursuits I still get to indulge in this week. (And if you're a local friend here in NYC, I know YOU are, too.)
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It's the end of the year, and, as I said in last year's "Squashed Best" post "a traditional time to both reflect back and look forward." I stand by that.
Although I will say that looking backward is so much easier than looking forward. Especially when you're old, like me. (Now is when you're supposed to protest that I'm not that old, or at least that I don't LOOK it.)
As I'm now approaching my 2nd blogaversary, it is fun to be revisiting things I've done from last year, creating bloggy "traditions," as it were. So obviously I had to do this, the SECOND annual Year in Blog wrap-up for The Squashed Bologna, 2011 edition.
This year there seem to be a gazillion people doing wrap-up linkys on their blogs, and I'm probably going to link this up with about half of them. So if you've come over from one and you're new here: Hello, nice to meet you! Pull up a chair and stay a while, have a nice meander through my blog. I'd love to offer you a cup of tea, but that would fry your motherboard.
And if you're an old blog-friend (I mean long-time, I'm not calling you old, really) maybe you missed one of these. If not, go visit an old favorite, or just say "Hi and Happy New Year." Whatever!
So, without further ado, some posts I'm fond of from 2011:
January:O is for Oxygen {All about my sons' early language development, or lack thereof.}
February: In my Grandmother's House {My first memoir post - and it's a doozy - about some strange goings-on at Grandma Dunia's.}
March: The Last Room {Standing in the room my father spent the very end of his life in, remembering.}
April: B is for Best Friend {About Jacob's lack of, and desire for a real friend, and one day in the playground when a kind boy played with him.}
June: H is for Holding Hands {A small, quiet, tender moment with my elderly, widowed mother.}
July: Breakers {At the beach with my sons, remembering summers past, reveling in the ocean.}
August: Missing my Father {His absence as a presence in my life that comes and goes, sometimes more acutely than others.}
September: Choosing kindness {Choosing kindness when it would be so easy to be harsh; both with my children and with myself.}
October: Blink {Watching a baby while sitting with my sons, remembering, and observing how quickly the time goes, trying to be mindful and appreciative.}
November: What remains possible {Another dispatch from the trenches of a hard day of special needs parenting.}
December: Skipping Maybe not my objective "best" but a fun and funny little post, because I am getting tired of the heavy, and I reveal my sci-fi geek self therein. Enjoy!}
and on to 2012 we go....
So, as to the "looking forward" part? I really have no idea what 2012 will bring. More challenges, for sure. But also, hopefully, opportunities. Growth and bounding forward for my sons. Maybe even a bit of maturity (for me, I mean; my sons will certainly be doing some maturing).
I know one thing I am certain of in 2012 is that it will bring new connections and strengthen old. What I never imagined when I began this little blog nearly two years ago was how it would expand my life. I never foresaw the amazing community of (mostly women, mostly mom) bloggers that I would become a part of, and who would become such a vital part of my life in such a short expanse of time.
If 2011 has taught me anything it's how vital community is, both local IRL, and virtual on the interwebs. And I am grateful, grateful, grateful for the overflowing support and friendship therein.
And so I wish you all the happiest of New Years, and a 2012 that is wonderful and bountiful, exceeding your wildest dreams.
Linking this post up at:
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And if you're here for the first time, coming to visit from over there...
Welcome! Nice to meet you. Please make yourself at home, poke around, stay awhile.
Don't know where to start? Want a little Squashed Mom road map? Click the links below for a nice assortment of my posts; a Bologna smorgasbord, if you will...
Also? Ethan and Jacob do not get along well, so I started a guest post series to talk about sibling relationships in families with special needs kids, called Special Needs Sibling Saturdays.
I hope you like what you've seen, and that you'll come back to visit soon.
Finally, thanks so much to Shell for inviting me to her place today. It's an honor.
And for those of you celebrating Hanukkah, like we are: Happy Fourth Night (we're halfway there)!
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