Rain and Thunder

We have gotten three times the usual amount of rain this year in Los Angeles, according to the papers. It has transformed the place. I am smitten with my home-town at the moment, and that’s saying something. It reminds me of Ireland or Kauai – wafts of fog and droopy gray clouds waft by spilling rain on me. And most wondrous of all, just beyond them is blue sky. Everything is green. My usual hike, in Runyon Canyon with the dog, Arden, is like traipsing along in the hills of Connemara: a thousand shades of green, verdant bushes dripping wet, light gray clouds making themselves into reflectors for a shining downtown. From the top of the hill you can see Santa Monica too, and beyond it, all the way to Catalina. I have never been so happy here. I just did the hike three times around, (Mulan is having breakfast with her Chinese babysitter and her family) and it took over two hours and I am achy and wet and have never felt so shivery and giddy.

Last week, I drove down my street and looked up at the Hollywood sign, shining and bright, framed by palm trees with little rivers of water running off them in an arc and then behind that the greenest hills. If I saw this in a movie, I would laugh at how unreal and gorgeous it looked. Oh, I love this rain. People are beginning to complain, but I wish this would go on forever. Maybe it will, maybe this is what global warming has brought us here in Los Angeles, and I am back in Seattle without having to move at all. Mulan takes her raincoat to school now as a matter of course; like this is something she does all the time. Coffee suddenly tastes a thousand times better, shops are warm and inviting and offer refuge. People are chattering more with strangers, we see each other as comrades in this sudden change of scene, jumping under doorways and letting our hair get wet and who cares about our shoes. It’s mad and wonderful.

Last night, during my show, rain pelted the blackened windows on the back of the theater so hard, I nearly stopped the show to remark on it. It was like people had hoses aimed at the windows outside and were pelting them with water. I have a moment in my show when I talk about rain, and we have a sound effect and it was ludicrous when this came on, it was so dribbley and unnecessary with the downpour happening outside. I felt very cozy in the theater and people were huddled and happy to be warm. I have to say, last night was one of my favorite nights performing ever. I appreciated my audience so much, we all seemed to be floating out of space and time or something. And to think, this was the weekend I was sort of deciding not to go to New York after all with the show.

Oh dear, oh dear. What to do. What to want. Yes, that’s the problem, deciding what to want. I always think that the hardest thing in life is just knowing what you want. Trying to get it seems to have it’s own pitfalls and successes, but the hardest thing for me is just knowing where to point and staying convinced that this is what is right for me.

So, I was planning on going to New York with this show, but suddenly this week, I decided to just think, just imagine, NOT going. Why? Because it’s all so romantic and exciting in the imagination and in reality it might be hellish. Even if I can do only six shows a week, it means not putting Mulan to bed myself for five nights a week at least. And it’s suddenly dawned on me with a ferocious intensity that I am completely on my own in regards to my family. And when I say family, I mean Mulan and myself. Mulan doesn’t regard the two of us as a family, which made me very sad when she started to say it, but now I actually sort of agree with her and I don’t argue it anymore. She says we are a mother and daughter and a “family” is, well, like my family of my mother and brothers and sister, or a “family” is like what everyone else has at her school but her. And I can already see that she will be spending some time on the therapist’s couch over this and I’m not sure what I can do about it. I don’t mean to bemoan this here, this reality is the result of lots of things, some of which I have no control over and some of which I sort of do, but none of this is really here or there. In the meantime, it has rushed into my consciousness that I would have to go to New York and do a huge, enormous, big, big job and then hire someone to be with Mulan for a gigantic amount of her waking hours. And people who are hired to look after your child have a much smaller chance of being fantastic and devoted than if it were someone who expected to have a lifetime of relationship with this child. Or someone like her current weekend babysitter who has known her since she was a baby and has a whole developed relationship with her already and expects to have for years to come. This doesn’t mean that there aren’t lovely people out there who I could hire. It’s just…what are the chances? Plus, I don’t want to be away from Mulan that much. I like her. I like being around her. I am sad when I am not with her.

Because Mulan is a person now. That’s the bottom line. When I went to New York before to do a show, she was basically a baby – three and a half, on my most recent multi-month sojourn, and her sense of time was still in baby-land and she often had no idea if I’d been gone for two hours or twelve. But now she’s a person with her own thoughts and a more real sense of time and we have conversations and she has friends and classes and a neighborhood and all that. I have a big support system here in Los Angeles and this would all be gone. And if Mulan went to school in New York, I would be doing two terrible things: seeing her for about an hour after school before I whipped off to the theater and also, getting up much earlier than I would want to be doing to get her to school, all the while feeling guilty at how little time I had spent with her. And she would be in a totally foreign environment with all new people and I just…oh, things are already so great here.

Plus, if I film the show in June, I could edit it in July and August, maybe while I’m up in the Seattle area with “family” and then perhaps take it to a film festival or sell it and so many more people would see it than if I ever went to New York. I was thinking, “How many people would have not seen ‘God Said Ha!’ if I hadn’t gone to New York?” I think it’s a small percentage. I don’t think Miramax would have bought the film for any more or less, it didn’t really have that much impact. So…given the child situation, given how depressed I would be to not be spending time with Mulan, given all that – why not skip New York and just film the damn show?

But then, this morning, I had another thought. What if I home schooled Mulan in New York next year? And then I had a babysitter come at four o’clock in the afternoon and be with her until midnight when I was home from the show? Mulan would go to bed at midnight or after and we would both sleep in and maybe I would just take her to a violin class every day and forget school for a year. I mean, she’d be missing kindergarten! I can cover that, I think. I think, I think.

Oh dear.

Now I have to rush off to the theater for another show. And then I’m taking next weekend off to go to a conference in Monterey – TED, it’s called. It cost a lot of money and I totally wouldn’t be going if I hadn’t paid for it a year ago. Plus, it’s time for a break. We haven’t had a whole weekend off in…well, we haven’t. We have been on every weekend since the show opened in September, so everyone needs a break. And then, with the exception of one weekend in the beginning of April, we will be going until Memorial Day. Yippee! I love doing this show. I am so happy we are selling enough tickets to make it work.

Johnny Carson is dead and Elvis Costello is on the radio

It's Sunday night. Almost eight. I'm listening to Elvis give an interview on KCRW while I type this and wait for Lisa, Mulan's weekend-babysitter, to bring Mulan home.

I did a matinee today. It was sold out, and the audience was a little quiet. But it's hard to tell if it went over well or not-so-well. I have found that an audience takes on a certain collective personality most of the time -- they seem to collude from 100 individuals into one strong personality -- or at least a few strong personalities. And this audience, today, their personality was rather reserved and on the quiet side. Which isn't bad -- after ten or more years doing this, I have come to realize that you can't completely tell how any individual will experience the show, even if they have a vocal response like the collected average. It's odd, and this is completely based on my anecdotal personal experience -- but I've done so many shows - some of them very quiet, some of them very boisterous, and I swear, you just can't tell what any given individual's response is. In a way, this knowledge is very comforting -- it means that after a very loudly appreciative show, you don't really know how many people silently disapproved, and then you also realize that after a quiet show, many people could have approved of it, in fact really liked the show. The interesting thing is, from my perspective, people tend to coalesce into a single response-mass, at least most of the time.

Which is why I often feel like I imagine a prostitute must feel when I'm on stage. Each audience is it's own personality, and I figure out in the first fifteen minutes what the deal is. "Oh you're an audience that likes this...and this...and not so much of this...but this, and then...oh yeah...THIS!"

In any case, if I am a prostitute, my audience today was like a Victorian widow, all full of propriety but willing to give themselves over...eventually. And when they do, it's powerful. My voice is really rough. I don't know what the deal is, but as soon as I started this show, my voice got really raggedy and rough, and I have had colds on and off and once I even lost my voice completely. And I'm not sure why this is. I don't know if it's because I don't have the time to recuperate from shows like I used to be able to, or what. I do have all kinds of mothering duties. For example, after Friday night's show, I couldn't sleep until 1:30 a.m., because I'm just so filled up with adrenaline from doing the show. And then at 7:00 a.m. Mulan was jumping on my head saying, "Mommy get up! Mommy get up!" And you know, I WANT to get up. I want to be with her, do things, start the day. But I felt so wiped out, and that deep phlemmy feel, like I could be getting sick., that feeling of -- if you sleep two more hours you can overcome it -- but you can't sleep two more hours. Anyway, here I am, probably sick again. And tired. And exhausted. AGH.

But still, I have to say, I am thrilled to perform each and every show. And I'm not just saying this because potential audience members might read this. I really honestly feel excited to perform each and every show. But let me tell you, I am wiped out afterwards. And now I'm considering going to New York where I would have to do eight shows a week. Wow. Wow. That's all I gotta say: wow.

I will probably know if we're taking the show to New York in the next month. I am basically pointing my ship towards this goal. It's just crazy how much a New York run will cost -- our budget is around $600k at the moment. And to give you perspective, this show here in L.A. cost about $60k for me to mount. And I just paid for it myself. And now, after five months and the show getting very good reviews and sold out houses, just now...I am earning my money back. I mean, it's been totally worth it, completely worth it in every possible way. But still, it's a risk and money and it's nothing compared to what the risk and money would be to take the show to New York. So, now we are starting the process of looking for investors and figuring out how long it will take to earn the money back and so forth. I would commit to a run in New York for about nine months. This is how long I would need to be there in order to make it lucrative enough, potentially, to attract investors. And this is all very exciting. I already have Mulan jazzed about going to school in New York, and I've found schools that look promising and all that. It's just...I could actually be earning more money in the short term by staying in Los Angeles, and working on other projects that might be less important for me, but more widely seen. So, it's a toss up. A constant internal battle. But at the end of the day, and here I am at the end of a day, I feel it's important and exciting and right -- just plain right, that I take the show to New York. And I actually think that it will be successful, even though I have only my own hunch to base this on. And I think the people who invest will be happy with their bet. But still, it means asking people to make bets on you, and that comes with all the obvious worry and thrill and concern.

AGH.

Okay, now Mulan is home. Oh dear universe, how I love this little girl. How I worry for her, and care for her. I know, not any more than any parent does, I'm not trying to be especially precious about her, but jeez, she is truly the light of my life. I said to her, "I am a little sick, my voice is kind of gone right now and I'm sneezing a lot." And she actually said, "Was it hard to do your show today?" OHMYGAWD. Like an adult. She's like...empathic. Oh me oh my. It made me want to cry. First of all, just because she was thinking about me and my show in any way. And then, because I wish she wasn't so concerned because that seems wrong, that a five year old would even be aware that their parent worked in a way that might tax their voice -- it seems wrongly mature for her to ask me that. And then thirdly, I want to cry because she is the only person on the planet who could even ask me that question.

Okay. I'm being dramatic. My assistant, Pam, might ask me that question. But still. Mulan is five. That's pretty concerned and emotionally aware. And also, I have to remind myself that she is not always so compassionate. Yesterday, we took our dog, Arden, for a walk to Larchmont, and on the way home we ran into a neighbor. Someone I don't really know, but know of... and she said she had come to my Christmas show and seen Mulan sing "You better watch out..." and my neighbor said to Mulan, "You did a really good job!!" Mulan shrugged her shoulders non-appreciatively and said with a bored sigh, "Yeah..."

Her delivery of "yeah" was like "so..." Like, "So...what?"

It wasn't good. Not polite. Embarrassing to me, arrogant of her. We came home and had a talk about "tone." How when someone compliments you, you look them squarely in the eye and say, sincerely, "Thank you." You DO NOT SHRUG YOUR SHOULDERS AND SAY. "UH-HUH."

So, I guess I relate that to you so as to not make Mulan into a saint. Which makes me think about two weeks ago. A not-a-saint Mulan anecdote. I have a person who comes and cleans my house once a week. Her name is Margarita. She has come and cleaned my house once a week for about ten years. So...a long, long time. She is the most reliable person on the planet. I recently learned we were the same age, which threw me a little. I thought she was much older than me, and I felt embarrassed that we were the same age. Her working for me. Me employing her. It seemed wrong.

I have often thought that I could just clean my house myself. And believe me, do clean my house myself. I do tons, just keeping it in order. But once a week, I have Margarita come. And now she's become so much a part of my life, she's just a foundation to be honest. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, while it was raining, just pouring rain -- raining like no tomorrow, I offered her a ride home after she worked. She normally takes the bus, but I could see that it was going to be horrible to wait for the bus on a rainy day like this was. So, I went to get Mulan from school and then we came home and took Margarita to her house, or rather, her apartment, which is about three or four miles away. And it was raining so hard, so desperately hard, that the traffic was slow and there were pot holes, and cars stalled, and it felt like we were at the car wash every single block. And Mulan got impatient she she started to say, from her perch in the back seat -- sitting on her car seat -- she started to say, "Why are we taking Margarita home?" And I said, "Because it's raining so hard, darling, and Margarita would have to wait for the bus if we didn't drive her." And Mulan began to kick the seat, the back of the front seats with her shoes and she said, "I think we should have just let Margarita take the bus or walk home. This is taking too long! We could be at home right now if we weren't taking Margarita home!"

Oh! It was so embarrassing and so horrible and so wrong!!!

I said very little and then, after we dropped Margarita off, I was so angry with Mulan. I drove to the nearest gas station and pulled in and made Mulan get out of the car and stand, in her rain coat, in the actual...rain. Yes, I made my kid stand in the rain. And I got in the car. Yes, that's right. I got in my car and she stood outside the car in the rain. And she yelled, "Let me back in the car.'" I made her wait. It seemed like ten minutes, but it was probably only a few minutes. And then I let her back in and said, "How does it feel to wait in the pouring rain? How does that feel? Would you like to wait for the bus in the rain?"

As we drove home. I felt a little guilty about making Mulan wait outside the car in the rain. But then, I have to say, in the couple of weeks since this incident, she has really been much more observant of the plight of others. She's said, repeatedly, "if Margarita comes when it rains again, we will drive her home!" And then, tonight, she asked me if it was hard to do the show. I suppose compassion must be taught. Or at least I think it might have to be for most of us. So, here Mulan is -- a pretty, sort-of, at least for today, compassionate kid. Hmmmm....

Okay, here I have gone on and on about basically nothing at all. And not mentioned all the important stuff. Like how last weekend, I went to the James Randi conference, called The Amazing Meeting, which is held in Las Vegas, and I had the most wonderful time. And how I got to hang out with Richard Dawkins again (he came to my show a few weeks back) and Christopher Hitchens too! And it was all so mind blowing and fun and informative.

A real highlight of the conference was getting to see people who've become good friends, Hal Bidlack, James Hammond, Phil Plait, Jamy Ian Swiss and Penn Jilette. There was one mind-bogglingly fantastic moment when Jamy did some magic for Dawkins and the look on Dawkins face -- it was all so incomprehensible and, well, magic, and seemingly unexplainable by natural real-world methods, and it was just priceless. What a great moment that was. Jamy is positively supernatural. I always say he could rule the world with his super powers.

Ahhh...

So here I am, in my kitchen, listening to Elvis Costello on the radio and thinking about Johnny Carson being dead. I always thought my dad was like Johnny Carson, which is something I imagine a lot of people might think about their dads. And him being dead, well, it 's another death, another blow, another erasure of someone I think of as familiar and lovable and not-quite knowable. Sometimes I am stunned as it's clear that characters from my life, big characters in my psyche, people who are stalwarts, are starting to die off. It's disconcerting.

Carson was a supporter of the work of James Randi -- I guess Carson gave Randi's education foundation $100,000 because he was so angry about John Edwards, the psychic spirit medium, bilking people of money based on obvious fraud. That made me like Carson even more than I already did. I also knew that he was an amateur astronomer, and that made me like him even more. And it was kind of cool how he just dropped out of Hollywood completely. I mean, it made me wonder if he just couldn't handle being a celebrity without a duty, a specific duty, like when he was a talk show host. But it also seemed so dignified and clean somehow. And since I knew he was interested in looking at the stars -- the real stars up in the sky, I felt comforted that he was doing what I hope I can do someday. Just sit and look up for a long, long time. Jeez, I wish I could have met Carson. I mean, just like everyone does.

I am reading Martin Rees' "Our Final Hour." I have had the book for a while, but a woman I met at a dinner party this week reminded me of it. And I started it and it's so alarming. I mean, I know much of this stuff already, but still, it's very alarming to have a person with the stature of Martin Rees say these things. The book is about our potentially certain dive into oblivion and societal collapse based on all kinds of terrible brewing developments, like terrorism, bio-terrorism, nuclear capabilities, over population. He gives us to 2040 or 2060 for a major, major wipe-out. Eeek. Anyway, when I read this book, I just want to move to Kauai and look at the stars. Oh, I just realized that I think I've said that a whole bunch of times in my blog already. And it's probably what everyone thinks about -- I'm sure everyone has their "kauai" they imagine themselves in. But still, I can tell that my next big enthusiasm is going to be astronomy. Sometimes I lament that I live in Los Angeles and I hardly ever get to see the night sky with any stars in it at all. When I do see stars, it's such a rare treat I cannot stop looking up. And then, I'm such an early-to-bed person that I'm usually falling asleep at the same time. Oh, I hope Johnny Carson got to look at the stars a good long while.

Elvis Costello is talking on the radio about the death of the big record companies and how people can just release their own stuff now and how the internet is going to redefine everything in music and how albums are almost obsolete -- no one listens to a whole album anymore. That's probably true. although I have to say, I listen to albums, whole albums all the time. In fact, this morning I listened to Rufus Wainwright's "Poses" all the way through beginning to end on my hike with Arden. (That's a great album by the way) But also, what Elvis is talking about excites me because I'm about to release, on my own, recordings of my last two shows. They will probably be ready in the next month, maybe even sooner. And I hope I can get them on audible and people can just download them. How cool is that? Ohmygoodness, sometimes I really love technology.

Okay, time to make Mulan practice violin. Boy, let me tell you, the violin is a hard instrument to make sound nice when you don't know what you're doing. But it's so beautiful, her little violin. And it's excruciating, making her play "Ten Little Indians" (are we supposed to be saying that? Ten little Native Americans doesn't fit the rhyme... Ten Little Sioux. Ten Little Spokane. Ten Little Shoshone. Maybe we shouldn't say "little" either. The song is about kids, so maybe "young" is better. One young, two young, three young Cherokees... Hmmm...) All right, forget it. We just have to get through the song twice before bedtime.

New Year's Eve 2004

It's seven o'clock. I have no plans to go out tonight. I am watching Mulan, who is wearing her tap shoes, pitter and patter across the kitchen floor to the music playing inside her head. Oh my god, I love her so much.

This has been a very unusual Christmas/Winter holidays/New Year's for us. I am mostly, most often, in Spokane. Being with my father who I'm sure will die during the next year. But this year, he's already dead, so I am released from this bondage. Even though, I would give everything to have an evening with him.

In any case. Here we are. Family-less (well, dear beloved family member on the edge of death-less in any case) and we are not travelling for Christmas or New Years and I am not planning anything tonight except to write this. And have a fire with Mulan, and perhaps watch some Pee Wee's Playhouses tonight.

I have been on an organizing binge. I remember a time, a long time ago, when I lived on Sierra Bonita -- in a little garage apartment, four spaces big, when I was completely organized. I knew where everything was and everything was filed or in it's place and well...I have to say, it was a major psychological boost. Yes, a boost! Just being that organized. It's like it was a reflection of my mind. And I have to say, I think the organized nature of my apartment reflected the boom in creativity at that point. I was, of course, totally broke. And working as a bartender at a big hotel. But in many ways, I look back on this time as such a creatively fertile time. I thought up many of the characters I would eventually play, I constructed screenplays, made up scenarios, my mind was so free from the clutter of daily existence that it ran, unfettered for a long, long time. But since then, I have basically been just one step in front of disaster in terms of organization. I always have big boxes of I-don't-know-what and manila envelopes full of oh-my-I'm-about-to-have-a-dinner-party-and-let's-get-this-out-of-the-way kinds of stuff. And things have gotten lost and I've rebought things I already have and it's just been. well. bad. Yes, I would give me a C- or a D+. Not a good grade.

So this year, I sorta decided that I would take the two weeks of Christmas, where Mulan was out of school and I had no babysitter and there was no point in even trying to WRITE anything and I would really, truly, deeply get organized. And I have to say, I can barely stop myself from continuing on after the weekend. The last two days have been all about Mulan's bedroom and everything in it has a place of it's own. These two days have included two trips to IKEA to get organizing equipment. Clear plastic boxes for: 1.) barbies, 2.) brio train tacks 3.) Madeline and her outfits 4.) odd small toys. Oh, I am on a high of organization. The cds, finally organized. All Christmas music, downloaded! I bought new silverware, and new dishes -- in white and stark, plain stainless steele. I am clean and I know where things go! And things have a place! The newspaper, yes! It has a place! The mail, yes, it has a place! I have cards ready to address for thank-you's, I have stamps ready for bills, I have a spot for museum announcements. OHMYGOD, this is so the way to spend Christmas, just getting reorganized.

Okay. So, here I am on New Year's Eve and contemplating the year. It has been a very good year. Mulan is older and, actually, in many ways, easier and more enjoyable to be around. Parenting a kid at this age is less physically demanding, it's more of a psychological game now and I'm better at that. Or at least on most days.

Also, I finished my play this year. I remember after going to The Amazing Meeting last year in January -- James Randi's annual conference where I did a skeletal version of Letting Go Of God -- making a peronal promise to myself that I would get this show finished within the year --- really, really done, up in a theater and all that. And I did it. This gives me a lot of confidence about completing other things.

My New Year's resolutions for 2005 are:

1.) Lose 25 pounds (this is always on my list...but I feel this is the year!)

2,) Finish the book.

3.) Do more social type things. I feel I am always on task, always squeezing in a moment and then dramatically collapsing at the end of the day. And I want to do more fun, leisurely things this year -- go to more nice restaurants, see more people, actually....LINGER. Yes. I want to linger this year.

4. Read more books. I need to reinstate my earlier policy of having two books going at all times, one fiction, one non-fiction. I've reverted to my earlier habit of having five or six books going at once and then I don't end up finishing any of them. I need to really be more diciplined in the book arena.

5. Spend less money, and spend the money that I do spend more wisely. Man, this is a big one. I want to write down everything I spend in a book so I can look at it at the end of the day and just...think about it. Otherwise, money gets to be like food, you have no idea how it's surging out (or in, in the case of nourishment) and then, before you know it, bam! Not good.

6. Cook more. And cook less. You see, what I've been doing is buying a lot groceries for several vague recipies I have floating in my head. Then I never take the time to cook that food and it rots in the fridge while I exasperatingly run to a restaurant with Mulan for various meals. So, I'm going to take a more New York approach, which is to just figure that restaurants are going to be feeding your bulk of meals, and then have a lot of left-over take out and then really cooking something special a couple of times a week that is planned in advance, well planned and is special. Like get Mulan in on it. So you see, cook more and cook less. This leads me to...

7. More smaller dinner parties. My dear beloved friend Bob Blumer Surrealgourmet.com makes these wonderful meals for me (and sometimes Mulan) a couple of times a month when he's in town. And it's so great! And I"m used to having these big huge dinner parties with twenty people and I want to have a few smaller ones with just six to eight people and food I can fuss over a bit.

7. Visit Meg in Japan. I want to figure out how to get to Japan to see my sister and her husband. Maybe the end of March, on Mulan's school vacation. I want to travel farther south in Japan than I have before.

Okay, I am looking over my resolutions and they are so mundane and personal, but not personal in an intriguing way -- more of a BORING way, and honestly I feel I could just be anybody.

But maybe that's good. Why must I feel I need to be so...individual? I am typical in my new year's resolutions. And probably in my tendency to fail at my resolutions.

Ah well, into 2005. Here we come.

Christmas survived and enjoyed

Mulan is sleeping. It's early morning on Dec. 26th. She got to come to the show last night. We sold out the show, actually oversold it, accidentally. It was really a special night. Mulan got to sing "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" for the audience and they gave her a big applause. I watched her face as she got the applause. I know that's powerful stuff, and I almost feel guilty that I allowed her to get that kind of hit, that kind of drug, at such an early age. I remember when I was a kid, all I wanted to do was be a lawyer like my dad. It all seemed so glamorous. So, when I think about it like that, I think it's okay. It's natural for kids to have their first exposure to the world be through their parent's profession. On the other hand, I would hate to be setting her up for some kind of expectation about Hollywood. Ach -- she'll grow older.

Okay. Here's my situation. I am incapable of writing a short holiday letter and I always end up either not sending anything at the holidays or I write a long, three page letter and this, THIS is what always happens: I send it out to about half my list of friends. Then, I take a break and I start to look at the letter critically and think that I should not be sending this out to people. It should be funnier, more interesting, shorter, and I end up not sending the letter to a random half the people on my list.

And in the case of this year, what caused the delay, was me thinking of people who might be upset by my letter. Because, in my last paragraph I talk about my show, "Letting Go Of God." And I make some comments about how it's been surprising that I've had such a broad level of support for the show and how even some Rabbi's and Episcopal priests have come to the show. Which is all true. It's just that -- we'll here's what I don't like about it. I feel like I'm apologizing to the people who might be shocked that I have written a show about this topic and have the views I have -- I feel like I'm trying to make it a less-bitter pill -- like I'm saying: see!! Even religious people like it!

Okay, then what's now happening is what always happens. I start getting calls from people saying that they heard that so-n-so got a holiday letter from me, but they didn't and they want their letter! And now I'm feeling guilty and strange and sending out the second half of the letters reluctantly. I want to rewrite the whole thing, but I can't at this point. Oh! AND, then this morning I opened several letters from my most Catholic of friends and their holiday letters are full of their Catholic activism "This year we started a web-site for pro-life!" "This year we got into the jails to teach them about the St. Ignatious teachings!" And I don't know if I should send them my letter. Even though I feel angry that their holiday letter is filled with political activism diametrically opposed to what I feel should be happening. And my letter just mentions that I have a play in Los Angeles that deals with faith where I let go of...God.

So, I feel two opposite ways. I feel I shouldn't be pussy-footing around about my show to these Catholic friends. I feel I am justifying my show to them so it's not so shocking by adding the stuff about religious people liking the show. And I also feel a little confronted by my friend's relgio-political comments in their Christmas letters.

And the truth is, the people who are religious who like my show are of a very, very rare variety. They are those who are very open-minded or/and who come from a religion that is also an ethnic-culture, like Jews. The great thing that Jews have going for them, as far as I can tell from talking to people after the show, is that there is so much room for skepticism in their religion. And, even if they come to the conclusions that they don't believe in God, then they have their wonderful culture to still be part of. Where as with Catholics, it's not exactly that way. If you don't believe, you are basically out. You could never publicly acknowledge that and still be considered a Catholic. So, anyway, what I'm saying is -- there are some extenuating circumstances as to why the people who are religious still like my show, and I feel as if I'm using them and their attitudes to show people who are not so open minded that people like them would enjoy the show -- when that is not really the case at all. These people I am worried about sending my holiday letter to would not like this show at all.

Okay, I can hear what you're thinking: I'm overthinking this.Yes, you are right. I apologize. But I gotta say: wow. There's a lot of very relgiious people out there and they are organized and activated. I probably got 30 holiday cards from people, friends who I grew up with, who mentioned their political activism in their letter. Their conservative, right wing political activism. It all just makes me want to move to Washington D.C. and work for Americans United For The Separation Of Church And State.

All right. I'm going to send the letter to everyone today.

I am so impressed that the right, the conservative right, has been so good at exploiting the internet and media. You would think it would be the other way. The problem with those who believe as I do, who are skeptics or secular people, we don't have a God to motivate us. And God is a powerful motivator. If you really believe that there is a God out there who wants you to start a website for pro-life, for example -- that is potent. My political motivations come from reason and awareness, and that includes an awareness of the futility of fighting such an uphill battle against people who believe that they have a supernatural power behind them! But I can't let myself feel complacent or like it's not worth the frustration or work. I think I must galvanize myself to continuing to be active politically and find ways to reach people.

But, wait. How am I politically active? Well, I...I...give some money to the Democratic party and I to Move On and to various skeptic organizations. And...I guess...I'm doing this show, which I suppose is sort of political. But, jeez, I could do so much more.

I'm going to send out my holiday letters with pride! That's what I'm going to do! Yes!!!

Okay, I have another comment before I close up this blog post. I have had some comments after the show -- one in particular actually that really stuck in my mind -- and it was "Well, this is what's true for you." For me. True, for me. Like, truth is relative and if I don't believe in God, that's true FOR ME. But not true for others. Well, on the one hand, yes. Yes, that's true. If you believe in God, that belief is a true belief. And it probably affects the person who believes quite profoundly, I know it did for me. On the other hand, there either is a God or their isn't a God. Many people in the religious right complain that morality for non-religious people is relative. And just the idea that morality can be relative is upsetting to them (even though morality is clearly relative for them. At least those who support this war, for example, and also say they think the Ten Commandments should be posted in school rooms and in court houses which clearly forbids killing people.)

But what I'm getting at is that, for me, what is really offensive, is the idea that truth is relative. Truth, in large part, is not relative. Either something is true or it isn't. Instead of people saying, "This is true, for you," I wish they would say, "I think you are wrong." I freely and happily admit that I may be wrong. I may be very wrong. But it isn't true that we can all believe such diametrically opposing things and both be right. Yes, we can figure out how to live together in society, and we can not force our views on others, but we cannot both be right. I feel that when people say, "And that's what's true for you." They are trying to make it okay that we disagree. I already feel okay that we disagree. I think in order to live in community with others, we must tolerate direct disagreement. And that's why we live in such a great country where we tolerate all religous views. Or at least we theoretically do.

Okay, the other thing I want to say is that...I went to Church on Christmas. YES! I admit it! I wanted to hear some carols and I wanted Mulan to hear some carols and you know, I love churches -- well -- particular kinds of churches. So I took Mulan to a 10:30 p.m. service at St. James, this little Episcopal Church near my house. It was just lovely. The songs were mostly in latin, so we weren't needlessly upset by the meaning of the words in the songs. It was all very high Anglican. And as I sat there, I thought, wow, the churches, they really do it up right. I mean, this church was so lovely. The music was sublime - the choir's voices in perfect pitch. There were candles and people huddled together. Man, I really get it. It's really powerful, that place. That idea of hallowed ground and holy nights. And I think that's what we all yearn for. And those things are not intrisically tied up in belief, I don't think. I think it's about people, coming together in a tradition, wtih rituals and song and a common purpose. And I wish there were places where I could go where I didn't have to get the God stuff too. In the meantime, this little Episcopal church did the trick.

What I see, from my little perch, looking out at the culture, is a deep spiritual hunger that I find completly misdirected by religion. I am outraged too, just like the religious right. I am appalled by the deep consumerism in our society. I am as appalled by this as much as people are appalled that it's legal to have an abortion. I am outraged that people don't acknowledge what science and the scientific method has contributed to their lives -- that they pray for people who are sick instead of appreciate the long arduous history of experimentation and research in science that has allowed us to have the medicines to live. This appalls me at the deepest level. And I have a sense of armageddan too -- I feel that people who believe in the End Times will cause the End Times for all of us. And I feel that people who yearn for connection and history and community, mistakenly turn to religion to feed their spiritual needs. When seeing the world without the cloudy glasses of faith is a path to a deep awe and spiritual wonder at life. People want to feel connected and they want to feel that they are contributing to their society and they want to feel they are deeply good and moral. I think these are all human qualities that we all share. I feel this way. And I see others who feel this way -- most people feel this way. And the church has provided this for people for a long time. But I think they are also horribly wrong. And that keeping the truth from others, about our real state as animals on this planet who are supremely vulnerable and spectacularly lucky, keeping this truth from people is wrong in the deepest way possible.

Now, here I have gone on and on about religion again. I have had some people write to me and say, "Is this all you think about?" And of course I do not. But since I am doing this show now, I do think about it a lot.

On a more personal note: this is my first Christmas without my father. And I think about him so much. I really miss him terribly. On the other hand, I had a really nice Christmas. Not travelling anywhere just rocks! It was lesiurely around here. We got to have days of just organizing together (me and Mulan) and we went to some lovely Christmas parties with some dear old friends. I love my neighborhood so much. And Mulan is at the peak Christmas age -- being five. She got a violin and was so thrilled, she was just overwhelmed with joy. She's so into Santa Claus, it's just nuts. And I finally organized all my cds into these books and loaded many onto my computer. It's really thrilling, getting that project under control. I have about 2000 cds, culled down from about twice that many last year, and I am slowly putting them on my computer on a separate hard drive. It's really fun and I'm revisiting all these long lost cds that I love. Dave Edmonds! I forgot about Dave Edmonds! Today I have a matinee, but I'm still going to keep organizing in the dining room.

There are some fun possibilities in the future for the show, and decisions will have to be made during January. Maybe we will relocate to New York in the Fall and then we could go to Seattle for the summer, or maybe San Francisco. It's all very exciting.

Late night after the show

I am in my kitchen with a planned splurge of food: two glasses of red wine and a lean cuisine. Oh! My life is so exciting. Actually, it makes me a little scared how excited I am for this and how I planned it so carefully.

I have been so high (I guess of adrenaline, as I gather from my reading) after the shows -- not because it went so well or something, even though, I have to say the show did go pretty well -- but because after any show, good or bad, I am just jacked up so high I cannot sleep for hours afterwards and I have been spending this excited time EATING. Which is not good because, because that is not healthy and not good. So I am trying to plan for how I'm going to feel after a show and what I will do and what I will eat. So, here I am with a very expensive bottle of pinot noir and a Lean Cuisine and frankly, I couldn't be happier.

It's weird to be an actress like the kind that I am, doing these monologues. I now have been through this three times and now I kind of know the drill. How spectacularly thrilling and exciting it is, and how completely lonely it is. I kept thinking I might go out with people after the show, but I am so wound up from the show I can't really concentrate on all that much except the show. And that means I am glazed over on any subjects that are not about MY SHOW. And that is a spectacularly ego-filled maniacal state to be in, one I'm sure that is not condusive to regular conversation. So to be polite, I make sure I am alone. But being alone means being with myself with all this energy! When I did God Said Ha! I thought I never knew such depths of aloneness and high off performing-ness. But then, back then, oh those eight years ago -- before all the travels and the big break up and the adopting of Mulan and all that changed, back then it was kind of romantic, this whole life I led -- so alone and so connected. But now, it's begining to feel routine. And that feels good, and not-so-good at the same time. I'm older. It's not so starkly beautiful now, and I don't have a God in my life to make me feel good or bad or anything about it. It's just what...is.

So here I am. Eating a Lean Cuisine and having a glass of pinot noir. And this is what I'm thinking about: I am reading this amazing book: "Don't Think Of An Elephant." by George Lakoff. It's a lot about how progressives need to deal with conservatives in our country. And to accomplish this, he describes the world view of many conservatives and I feel so enlightened. And I understand so much better now! And I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all this information, what I can do, but it's very fertile stuff. In any case, he talks a lot about how conservatives view the world in a frame of family (as do progressives, by the way) and the frame that conservatives use is the strict father frame of viewing the world. Their brand of Christianity is the strict father type and the progressive view is of the nurturing parent brand.

Well, first of all, if you haven't read this book, it means that you must read it immediately. Conservative or progressive, you must read it. It's really amazing.

But it has caused an explosion in my mind of re-examining who this God was in my life that I have now let go of. And I realize that the God I believed in was a compassionate god, a friendly god, a loving god -- not at all the strict father God that so many people believe in or have rejected. I began to notice this a few years ago as I workshopped my show -- that many people's Gods (that they rejected) were punative and judgemental. And I would say, "Wow, the God I believed in didn't do all that much but just love me." And still, I rejected him!

Then I thought about my own dad. My dad was never a strict diciplinarian in any way. In so many ways, he was like a friendly uncle who lived with us. My mom was the one in charge and my dad just went to work and tried to be friends with us. I know now how untraditional this type of family system is, and I can see what is not good about this -- it made my mother have to be the heavy and my dad clearly abdicated so much of parenting to her and I think she was not prepared for this in any way. But besides all that, the fact is that the God I had constructed in my imagination was very much like my father. Like a super-human version of my father. A confidant, a friend, an all-knowing daddy. Which, in some ways, made it harder to let him go. Because what is the downside? For me, it became the facts, the psychological and scientific facts that were so at odds with this imaginary friend. But I can see that people who have a "strict father" frame of the world may not at all be able to understand what I'm talking about when I talk about God. I mean, it doesn't mean God is any more or less real because of our fantasy about him, but it does mean that the people who would never be able to relate in any way to the experience I have had will probably never be albe to. Not that I thought they would. It's just all so...interesting. That's all.

When you can imagine whoever you want to be God, then God can be anything. So to talk about "God" is almost impossible. Everyone has such a different set of needs they bring to the table when it comes to talking about God.

In the end, it's just reality that is happening and not our ideas of abstract notions. People are dying in Fallujah tonight. Or barely not dying. Or thinking they might be dying.

There's so much pain in the world, so much excrutiating pain, sometimes I cannot bear it.

Stepping forward, finally

I feel I'm gaining my perspective back on the world. Although it all still looks very bleak. But from some letters I've read and some articles I've read as well, it looks like the moral superiority that so many people claimed the Bush had over Kerry -- it seems like it could be overplayed. And that a bigger reason may have been fear and a misunderstanding of what is happening in the middle east. It's so disheartening that the statistics show that those who are least informed about world affairs dominate the bulk of the Republican Party. But then, when you look back at the history of the Democratic party, it is also filled with preachers and priests taking bus-loads of people to the polls, people who also probably had only a tenuous grasp of the issues. It all comes down to good information and accurate reporting and an educated public.

I have to say, one of the unexpected outcomes of the election, for me personally, is an increased interest in sending Mulan to a public school. I don't want to stay away from the secular public. I don't want her or me to be living in such a rarified environment. I am more skeptical of sending Mulan, even to an Episcopal school -- which I am still considering. I feel a bit angrier at religion now, and more interested in participating in our still-secular school system.

I don't know. Another part of me wants to move away. I am feeling the need to make a big change. I'm not sure what. The show is doing very well here, and it appears I could take the show on the road -- we have an intriquing offer to go to Toronto for two months. And I would love to do this show in New York. And then last night I let myself have a spit-second fantasy of going to London with the show. And like a bomb, it exploded into a full blown elaborate dream. Mulan would be in kindergarten next year. And she's practically reading already. I feel if I were going to take off for a year, next year is the year to do it. Maybe we could go to San Francisco, Seattle, and then on. Who knows. Would it be awful? I think it would be hard for Mulan, she likes stability and routine, in some ways more than I think the average kid likes it. It's hard to know, being a person who is happy to take off with a back pack for six months at a go. I don't know if I expect her to be more flexible than I should be expecting. But hmmm... Hmmm... The time seems right. In some ways. My ability to make money is probably greater here in L.A. Theatre is hard to make money at, and I like to keep ticket prices low, and the subject matter isn't exactly broad and it may not work well outside of certain urban centers. And it takes a while to get the word out. Like we've had this show up for about two months now, and just now the word seems to be getting out. I think it takes about three months to do a proper run.

Why am I musing about all this on my blog? I guess I just wanted to get some entry on the site that wasn't about me about to end it all over the election. I have to say, Joe Conanson's article in Salon last week was a big help.

Here's a section: "In the dark post-election mood that lingers, the defeated should find history both restorative and instructive. Restorative because the past reminds us that both victors and vanquished tend to mistake the dimensions of the immediate event, whose true significance cannot be known until years or even decades later. Instructive because the past tells us so much about how the conditions of our present distress came to exist -- and, most important, how we can change them.

So for the moment set aside the triumphal proclamations from the Republican leadership and their echoes in the media, along with the petty recriminations against John Kerry, who has devoted his life to public service and deserves admiration for the honorable campaign he waged against unscrupulous opponents. As a presidential candidate he had his virtues and flaws, which obviously differed from those of George W. Bush -- and will surely differ from those of the next Democratic nominee.

A longer perspective is more pertinent and more relevant to the future than listening to televised imbeciles maundering about the "death of liberalism." (Had the Democrat won by three points and a couple dozen electoral votes, nobody would be touting the "death of conservatism.") Progressives and reactionaries in America have both survived much sharper electoral rejections than this one. Both sides tend to overreact to such rejection in an election's emotional aftermath."

Oh Joe Conason! And I got a lot of letters from people along the same lines. See what a little perspective does! I feel better. Much better.

It's not getting better

I am not getting a perspective on this election. I am not getting back my knee-jerk hope for America. I'm just stunned. I listened to Bush this morning outline his plans for this presidency. He was cocky and arrogant. He told a reporter that now that he had political capital and he was going to spend it, that was his "style." And that’s what he had after the 2000 election. Then he snickered. It's so cruel and indecent. Can you imagine Kerry saying something remotely like that? Really, I feel I am living in a nightmare - like I'm going to wake up and this will not have happened.

The topic of the day on the news was how morals and family values swayed the election. I just don't understand how people can think that preventing two consenting adults from making a legal agreement to each other, how that offends someone’s morality? No one is forcing them to join in a homosexual union. Do they think that if gay marriage is not allowed that homosexuality will not be practiced? How is it moral to prevent a marriage between two people who want to commit to each other? How is it moral to force a woman to have a baby when she cannot provide for it and when the world is already vastly overpopulated? How is that moral?

I can't bridge the divide in America by coming closer to their point of view on these values issues. It’s frankly immoral to me that they hold such picayune, small minded issues to be ones of morality. When they mask a deep immorality. Bush said the top things on his agenda were reforming Social Security and the Tax code, both things that have deeply dividing, immoral consequences if done the way he wants them to be. Democrats have to take back the corner on "morality" and "values." What a convoluted distortion of truth. What a misunderstanding of what morality is. It's like our populace is ethically bankrupt. They cannot distinquish between ethics and religion. They think being religious is being good. It's so desperately sad that this is what so many people think.

For the first time I am glad my father is dead. On the whole run up to the election, I wished every single day I could call him and discuss something. The debates, we would have talked and talked about the debates. But my father would have been so deeply disturbed by this election. I am glad he is spared of it.

The reports keep saying that ministers in church's helped tremendously in getting out the moral values vote. I am filled with anger at these people. They have been so badly used and they think it's in the name of God! They have cheapened spirituality and led their congregants down a dark tunnel where they can concentrate on small issues that do not effect them, and while they are feeling "good" about being so "moral" their preachers are allowing them to be robbed and their children to be robbed of their future. I wonder if this can be rectified.

I just want to move to Hawaii. I want to live on Kauai and just look at the sky every night and have a garden. And I want to move to D.C. and do something about this horrible mess. I am so disappointed in the Floridians. And the people of Ohio – my goodness. This is just very, very sad. Things can change dramatically from small wrong turns.

I keep thinking I'll get some grounding, some perspective. But I just can't. And obviously I keep saying the same things over and over here. But I just can't get far enough away from the dissapointment and hurt and anger to get some clear grounding yet. And I want to.

Frozen

I am so sad. And angry. And surprised. And embarrassed. And worried, so worried. My eyes sting from crying. My back aches from constantly watching TV and reading the internet and I want to be around others and I want to be alone and I want to talk to those who are as outraged as I am about the election results and I am also tired of talking to people who agree with me and I want to rush to a red state and just force them to see the world clearly! Yes, yes, how arrogant of me, right?

Also, I have a writing assignment and I have to write and I just want to turn the clock backwards and have it all happen the way it was supposed to happen! The way it should have happened!

These are the things I'm thinking about:

1.) People like me should not have moved away from the small towns we grew up in to big cities where our ideas are ghettoized. Washington State overall is liberal and democratic, but in Spokane, it's like Idaho. Very conservative. And yet, of course, I moved away. To be around other people who thought like I did. And so did millions of us. That's what people mostly do. And yet, it would probably be better for our country if we stayed in our small conservative hometowns and kept talking, talking talking. Teaching, reading, writing letters to the editor, etc. I mean, I know plenty of democrats in Spokane, outspoken democrats, but there's a lot of misinformation too. I just was in Spokane the weekend before last and I kept hearing over and over how Spokane was such a great place for kids to grow up. But is it a good place for a kid to grow up where morality is measured in religiosity? Which brings me to...

2.) morality vs. religiosity. It makes me so deeply sad and frightened that people in America think that being moral is being religious. My friend Jim Emerson said to me that he didn't think morality was even possible if you were religious. At first I scoffed at him, but now I think he's right. Religion requires submission to a higher authority and an abandonment of reason for faith. And that act in itself is immoral. Because morality is not about obedience but about looking clearly at the real hard facts and making choices that take those facts into acoount. To me, that is what morality is. And yet, most people who voted for Bush voted for him because of what they consider to be his higher values and morality. It's so simple minded, and it's such a blatant disregard for true deep morality. Morality isn't doing what you are told to do, being obedient and well behaved. Morality is acting in ways that benefit the common good after taking into consideration the facts. Morality is not allowing yourself to succumb to the wishes of big business or the government that supports it unless it can be demonstrated that it effects the good of everyone. That's what government is supposed to do. In a way, it's genius the way big business got the average american to believe that the moral choice was to go with them!

And I can't stop thinking about the Supreme Court. This may not be undone in my lifetime. I looked at Mulan sleeping this morning and wondered what kind of world she was going to live in. What kind of world we would both be living in.

I just want to look at the stars. I want to lay outside in the dark and look up at the stars and remember how small we are. How little and unimportant we are. Even though I know we are amazingly precious. And we may be squandering this accident of us, the wonderfulness of us to our deep irrational fears and excesses.

Today I drove behind a large black SUV with a Bush-Cheney bumper sticker. It was like driving behind a wall of black steel. How cocky. How arrogant. And now they have the American people behind them. The Republicans have a blank check -- the House, the Senate. My word, they can do anything they want to. It can all change so quickly, our long fought democracy, our freedom of speech, our freedom of privacy, our freedom of worship. There's a tipping point where it could all be squandered very quickly.

This is the darkest day in American politics that I have ever known. As I walked on my hike this morning, I passed by people who were laughing and talking and I wondered how anyone could be laughing about anything? At least before the election the world didn't hate the American people because they knew that most of us didn't agree with George Bush or even like him or even vote for him. But now, all that is changed.

Oh dear, I think I'm going to cry again. DAMNIT. This is so bad. This is the worst possible scenario.

Taking a breath

Okay. The show is open. It's going well. Tickets are selling. Reviews are good. Whew.... Whew.... Ahh.... For a second I can breathe.

O my house. My poor house. It's like a hurricane hit it. Every drawer, almost, is stuffed with odds and ends that have no connection to each other and are only randomly assembled. The dining room table is covered with things. And I am so tired. I just want to sleep.

So, the show opened on Oct. 10th. I had three friends staying with me for the opening. It's only now that I can look back on the month and feel somewhat relaxed. I think opening shows is a bit like having a baby. I can't be sure, since I've never had a baby. But it's like...everything gets put off -- everything is secondary to this big event.

I am so happy and proud of my show. Ha! I realize how self-important that might sound. But I really think of it as such a collaberative effort, so many people came together to make it work. It's soooo not just me, but a collection, a history of effort. Oh, the L.A. Times review made me so happy. There are so many awful moments in show business, so many people who don't get it, or so many failed efforts, so many flawed projects. And this show is not free of all those things either. But it's so nice when, for the most part, definately for the most part, it all comes together. I love my crew who works on the show, I love the designers, my producer, Pam did such a fantastic job.

I have found that most of show business is about dissapointment, or about things not turning out like you wished they would. So, when it does turn out good, I think it's important to take a moment to just feel... just feel...good. And so, here I am feeling good.

Wow. Maybe I shouldn't be saying all these things. I'm just realizing, maybe this will seem arrogant. And not every critic loved the show, so it isn't a success in everyone's eyes. But I guess I just feel as if the baby was born, it's healthy and it's going to live and...hurray! Hurray! Hurray!

Now I have to concentrate on other things. The book. What else I want to do. All the details that go into keeping a show going, people coming, etc. But for now I am going to take a few naps.

Last weekend, I didn't do the Saturday show because I had promised a long time ago to host this Catholic Children's Cancer and Emergency center for Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane. So, I did the show on Friday night and headed up to Spokane at six a.m. on Saturday. I had to just pick up Mulan in her pajamas and carry her through the airport fast asleep. She woke up as we were getting on the plane. Let me tell you, carrying a sleeping 35 pound kid and luggage is basically, impossible. I was feeling pretty alone at that moment. Or rather, not alone at all. It felt actually, heavy.

The event was really fun. Several of my high school girl friends were there and I sat with them after I hosted the event. There was a pumpkin carving contest and all kinds of things like that. I think they raised a lot of money. Mulan spent time with her cousins and my mother and brother while I was there. Then, I got home at midnight and turned around and flew back to L.A. with Mulan and then went straight to the theatre for the matinee. I was so tired after this weekend, I couldn't believe it. Then, on Monday night I did "In The Family Way" for the Groundlings 30th anniversary celebration. So, I was really looking at this weekend as the end of this big push this month of getting the show up and then doing all this extra stuff. And it's over! It's over!

I have never come so close to knee-jerk praying as I feel now as the election draws near. Oh Kerry just HAS to win. He just HAS to.
Mulan's fifth birthday is on election day. I have sold her on the idea that her birthday party this year will be having cupcakes at her pre-school with her classmates during lunch. I went so all-out for her birthday last year, and I am so exhausted and out of time and I don't really feel like spending the $. So, I told Mulan that birthdays weren't always a big deal, sometimes you have a small celebration and sometimes it's a big one. She seemed totally okay with it. So, on election day, I'll take her to the polls with me, and then to school and then bring cupcakes to school during lunch. Then, I will be glued to the TV set for the rest of the day. Oh! Oh! Oh! Kerry just has to win, he just HAS to win. Okay, now I am repeating myself.

My Fantastically Inefficient Life

Today I withdrew my daughter from a school which is about 25 minutes away. It's a good school. We worked hard to get into it. I went to interviews, paid lots of money, wrote essays about how much we wanted to be there. She's in pre-Kindergarten. So, it's already sort of funny to me that it would take that much to be in any school at that age. It's so different than when I was a kid. But then, blahddety blah -- everyone says that.

Anyway, I withdrew her from this school because it takes me one hour to take her there in the morning and one hour to pick her up and bring her home. And her school is not on the way to anywhere for me, I work at home and even where I work-out, it's another fifteen minutes in the opposite direction of my house. In the last month she's attended this school, it's cut into my ability to work by ten to fifteen hours a week. Ten to fifteen hours a week! And it's just too much.

And I feel so bad.

I realized a couple of weeks ago that if I did nothing but be a mother to my one child, who is in school, it would be a full time job. So, I'm trying to squeeze my career on top of my mothering. And it's a career that I really love and want. If only I had a wife! Oh, how I would love a wife! Oh, how my appreciation of wives has escalated! I honestly used to wonder what wives and full time mothers did. Now I know, no matter what their husbands do, their wives work harder and longer. So, I wish I had a wife. If only I were attracted to women. If only I were attracted to men who were interested in being a stay at home dad. Actually, I am much more open to that than I used to be. BUT WAIT A MINUTE. The thing is, I want to be the mom. I want to take Mulan to school, I like to pack the lunches, I want to pick her up -- talk to the teachers, know the other kids. I want to read to her at night and iron her clothes and spend lots of time, the not rushed time, but the serendipitous time that is the pleasure of mothering. The whole reason I became a mother to begin with! I want to floss my teeth with her in the mornings and not skip the flossing because we are already late and it's taken too long to brush. I want to make my bed, or her bed, or even get her to make her own bed, just once during the week!

So, today is her last day at this school. This lovely little school, 25 minutes away. Actually that's the optimistic estimate, last Friday, it took me an hour to get from her school to the theatre that "Letting Go Of God" is at, which is less than a mile from my house -- and a mile closer to her school. Tomorrow she starts again at her old school, three blocks away. The one we used to walk to. The one we will be walking to again.

Okay, I know this: she must go to school very close to where we live. It's just...got to be that way.

When I was growing up, my dad used to drop all us kids off at school which was a mile and a half away. On his way to work. Or my mother would drop us off and then take him to work. Because they had only one car. I know that wasn't an easy thing. They had five kids. It must have been brutal. Now the hysteria and drinking all make so much sense. Now I don't know how parents don't scream and drink every minute! Now I see my parents as heroes for even managing to keep us alive at all. My parents were so upset when I stopped believing in God, but they didn't realize that my non-belief was so good for them. Because I completely changed the way I viewed them.

I used to wonder why God gave me these parents. Not that they were terrible. No! They were not terrible by a long shot. But I wondered, why would God give me these particular parents? It must have been for some reason. I was to learn compassion, I was to learn humor, I was to learn tolerance. I was born to overcome certain obstacles. This was God's test for me. The cards He dealt me, knowingly, specifically. And I always felt I was failing that test, or I was resentful that my parents were not better parents.

But when I gave up all that magical, egotistical, religous thinking, I unexpectedly felt only thankful to my parents. I was amazed I was alive at all. I was overjoyed that my parents even fed me and kept me safe enough to live. Just the mere fact of my conciousness became so thrilling. I let go of all the resentment. I saw my parents as people, with wonderful attributes and flaws, just like everyone else. Just like me, too.

Anyway, I know so much more now about family. I know what it takes to have kids: what kind of time, what kind of devotion, what kind of unrelenting demands. Dr. Phil said on a recent show (I watched the show he did with the George and Laura Bush -- oh, I could go on about that show for a long time!!!) and he said he did a survey for his upcoming book and that 40% of the people he asked said if they had to do it over again, they would not have had kids at all. Wow. 40%. I believe it.

If I knew then what kind of work it was going to be, I probably would not have done it either. But then, I wouldn't have also known about the rewards. So, it's really an unfair test. The truth is, it's more work than I ever dreamed, and it's more rewarding than I dreamed too.

I live each day behind a gun of what I need to do, NEED to do, versus what is possible for me to do. I have ten things that have to be done every minute. I wake up running, doing, serving, organizing, and end each day almost the same way. Well -- I hit a wall around seven or eight o'clock. Then I just watch The Daily Show and feel bad about how messy my house is. It's almost comical how I get out of bed and start working immediately, as fast as I can, as cheerfully as I can be. Oh my god, how did my mother do it?

So here, I am, musing on the reconcilliation between knowing I wouldn't have become a mother if I had known how hard it was going to be with the very true fact that becoming a mother is the best move I ever made. It's given my life more meaning than anything else, by an enormous margin. (I used to joke, "Meaning is over-rated.") But motherhood is now how I define myself, it's the prism through which I view and relate to the world.

Last night I couldn't sleep after watching the Vice Presidential debate and I was surfing the web at two a.m. and read this article about this mother who's son died in Iraq and how she died within the same week. Her grief was so enormous, so huge, she simply died of a broken heart. And I was thinking, as I'm sure most parents think as well, that I would be the same. I wouldn't be able to live if anything happened to Mulan. I think of it, what would I do? I wouldn't be able to breathe. I wouldn't be able to talk. I would just feeze, my whole body would resist life with every fiber and cell. I would be just like this mother.

And yet, there are moments in every day when I think, "This is too much!" Man, I so get it now, now important family is. This is one way in which I have become so much more conservative as I've gotten older, and particularly since I've become a parent. Of course, I don't base this on the blind authority of religion. But I get the importance of family. I get it, you need two parents. Two people commited to a kid. Family should be close, on hand, invested, willing to help out, building those relationships. How did I think I could do this on my own? I used to think: if people you are married to or are related to drive you nuts, why don't you just leave? If your husband is a bad influence, why not hire someone who is a better influence? If your family sucks, why not move to another city and start over?

And now I know why. Because family makes it easier, better. Even when the family isn't all that wonderful. They still are better than hiring someone or making it all up later as you go along. Most of the time.

Last night when I told my mother about my school change (which she was thrilled about) she said, "All those guys you dated, even the worst ones, at least they could have shared the driving a few days a week." Oh, it was like a shot in the gut. To be honest, she didn't say the "even the worst ones" part. I added that. But that's what she meant. And I can see from my mother's perspective that it would make sense. It made me feel like such a collossal failure. But then I thought, "So, being with someone who is not a good partner for me, someone who would make me miserable, would be worth the driving being shared?" Maybe this is a bargain my mother made. Maybe she didn't think about it so much, but just dealt with her situation in the way she could. Staying with the husband, sharing the driving, just feeling resentful and angry almost all of the time. I don't know. I certainly have not made the best choices. I cannot throw stones. I can't even throw pebbles.

I read an article in Salon this week all about how girlfriends are the new husbands. The author was writing about how, since we've delayed parenting by about ten years over the last generation or so, we've developed our friendships during that time and not our marriages. It's the friends we rely on, it's our friends who we weave the intricate web of familiarity and solidarity with, not our spouses -- at least not for those ten years when we are being single and dating with abandon. But the truth is, once you are a parent, you really should have been investing that time in becoming intimate with someone who is invested in your future children. Because your girlfriends are not necessarily the ones who are going to be there to help out, seriously involved, taking the child to school, being there for the child's school plays.

Even though I have actually found a friend, who is also a mother, who is doing that a lot for me. And her name is Julia, and we are the two Julia's. And I am jealous of her smart and funny and talented and hard working husband and her mother who lives with them and who is a doctor (!!!) and her big crazy house of kids.

So, now, after today, Mulan will be at the school three blocks away. I will get ten hours back in my work week. We will be able to walk to school. Then, I just have to figure out what to do next year. The school that makes the most sense is 2.1 miles away (Oh yes, I have map-quested it) but it is a religious school: Episcopal. Could I? Would I? This is how I justify it: since I am outspokenly non-religious, she would get to see what being part of a religion is like, from the inside. She would still get me telling her that I don't believe in that mumbo jumbo, but that the ethics and compassion that are learned at some church's are important. And the hymns are nice to sing. And that the community is great.

Oh dear. What to do.

My life is inefficient because I do not have a husband to share the load, Mulan has no father to share the risk of me. And what I get back is a life without any resentment. And instead I feel like a victim on days like today. Even though it's me who victimized me. It's great not to feel resentment, but it's also feels pretty isolated.

My brother is moving his family from Long Beach to Seattle where he has just gotten a great job. It makes me want to move to Seattle. I would have long, long term friendships there and lots of family who cares very much and who I adore. But Seattle is expensive. Almost as expensive as Los Angeles. And I would have much less opportunity to make money. Plus, I have to say, I have sort of fallen for Los Angeles: this big, gangly, smoggy, overgrown, ugly town. I feel my arranged marriage in life has been with Los Angeles. It's made me grow up and given me my whole identity and feeling of accomplishment. I love having the studios nearby. When I walk on the Paramount lot, I get a thrill, each and every time. I still have ambitions in TV and movies. I couldn't let go, I don't think.

So, here I am.

It's funny. I always thought I would not want my child to grow up around other show business people. I automatically concluded that this would make them spoiled and snobby and not exposed to the real world. But now I have to say I feel the opposite. I have come around entirely on this one. Now I think I do want Mulan to go to a school with other kids who's parents are in show business. It makes them live in a company town. It makes show business a business. When their mothers or fathers go off to shoot something or to do a play somehwere, it's just what parents do. Like if the coal mine started night shifts or something. It makes it all understandable. I want to be the least famous person at my kid's school.
Oh dear. My kitchen is a mess (I managed to make broccoli and egg omeletes this morning) and I haven't looked at my mail for a week. And wait a minute, I think I'm opening a show this week. Yes, yes I am.

My new opening date: Oct. 9th. Oct. 10th special performance with reception after 3:00 p.m. matinee!!

All right. So, I am moving my opening date from Sept. 17th to Oct. 9th. After tech rehearsals this weekend, I realized that I had had my writer's hat on for months, years! And my actress hat on for a few weeks. And I had never really had on my director's hat for as much time as I needed to. It's very labor intensive for me, I have to video tape the show and then rewatch it. I guess I never figured that part out in advance, how it was going to take me so long, so much longer than if I'd just had a director there. The bad news is that I should have known that and I have to reschedule everything, which is a hassle. The good news is that I recognize this and I can make the change and give myself more time. It's funny, it wasn't until 3:00 a.m., early Saturday morning that I suddenly became aware that I could single handedly change the opening date. There are only a few times in show business where that is possible, and I'm going to take advantage of it.

Also, the actress in me realized that while I could have a good chance of memorizing my lines before the show opened, performing them well --- finding all that I expect and plan to find in them, well, that was something that was simply going to take more time. But I have to say, other than not being as ready as I want to be for critics and the like, I am so damn excited about this show. I mean, even if no one comes, I am so thrilled to finally have it up and running. That I get to get all this off my chest, I get the pleasure of performing it, it's just so exciting.

My technical crew, my lighting person -- Steve Young, and Drew -- oh Drew Dalzell, they are so amazing. And the set looks so much like my living room -- well that's because it's all furniture right from my living room, rug, piano bench (my grandmother's piano bench), Stickly chair, end tables, books, the whole thing is transferred into the theatre. It's sort of amazing to see it all there. We constructed this big tall book case in the middle that looks great, like a Christmas tree of books. And I keep thinking of little things I want there: a globe, for example. My friend Jim Emerson (cinepad.com) came down from Seattle this weekend and took notes and gave tips and it's just all coming together and it's just...I have to pinch myself that it's all finally happening.

So, I just went to Moab to do a small (very, very, very small) part in this Wim Wenders movie. It was just wonderful. It's so mind blowing to be in that part of Utah -- it's just like a lunar landscape, so otherworldly. I was there for three days. We worked way out in the...I was going to say "countryside" but that isn't the right word, I guess the right word is "landscape." George Kennedy is also in the movie and had scenes in which I was present and talking. I don't even want to say I was in scenes with him, my part is that small. Also Tim Matheson plays another producer (it's a film within a film kinda story) and I got to be with him (he's hilarious) and it was really one of those jobs where you feel so lucky to be in show business.

Also, I got a trilobite fossil, a rare one, 550 million years old, from Utah. I'm so happy to have it on my mantle. It may even make it's way into the show, well onto the table next to the chair in my show. We'll see. I feel like my trilobite is auditioning for me right now... Seeing if he can really stand the pressure. Well, I figure if he's withstood 550 million years of pressure in the earth -- oh jeez. See, I couldn't help myself from writing that. AGH.

Dreams. I'm sorry, yes...a dream.

Monday 5:30 a.m.

I had a dream. Forgive me for writing about my dream. Don't read this if you, like me, glaze over and gird yourself when anyone else says they have a dream to share. But actually, when I think about it, I don't mind reading about dreams other people have had. In fact, I like it. I just don't like hearing them. I guess the fact that I'm reading it makes me always feel I have the freedom to stop. But if someone just tells me a dream, I feel I am trapped and there's no way to gage how long the dream will go on.

So, I just had this dream: I was in West L.A., or closer to West L.A. and I happened to visit a woman, a woman I had known a long, long time. I had met her originally in Seattle at college, through my friend Greg. Or maybe it was when I first moved to L.A. She was so young then, she had jet black hair and made art -- big pieces and little pieces, a lot of day-of-the-dead pieces. She had silver jewelry and was funny. But I had forgotten all about her. I couldn't remember her name.

I don’t know why I went to her apartment in West L.A. She was packing up to move. She had lived in this apartment for 20 years. This apartment was my dream apartment. It had four small bedrooms and a living room along a narrow layout and a galley kitchen. I loved how it was decorated, lots of colors, lots of Mexican art. She said she felt like she had to buy a house. Her landlord was George, my old landlord on Sierra Bonita. I suddenly remembered that my whole family had been in this apartment many times. She had been a good friend of my brother Mike, and my parents had attended many parties here. My father had said he enjoyed being at this apartment, it made him feel comfortable. He had said that when he was in there he always knew someone interesting would show up: someone who spent all their time doing something or thinking about something he hadn't realized someone could spend all their time thinking and doing.

The woman had a boyfriend. Someone who was with me in the dream -- maybe it was Greg -- told me that recently, after years of resisting a committed legal relationship, the boyfriend had asked the woman to marry him. The woman had said no. But they continued to hang out together all the time. But the boyfriend did not live with her.

Suddenly the boyfriend was there, he was thin, he had black hair too. He had a bracelet of rope, a thin, woven rope. He was rolling a cigarette. He had a sweet boyish face that was now older. He looked depressed, but friendly. Mild. In fact, he looked a little like my college boyfriend, the one who was a projectionist. But I felt really glad he wasn't my boyfriend. Yet, I was jealous of how comfortable they seemed together, like old familiar blankets -- some holes and frayed edges -- but trusty and sure.

I asked the woman if she knew if George had rented her place out to someone new yet. She said she didn't know, but she didn't think he had. I wanted to move here. I wanted to live here. I began to look at the apartment with covetous eyes, like I could possibly move in. The woman got excited about it. She said, this would be perfect! It made so much sense that I would live here. I wondered if I could stand it to have George be my landlord again. I knew he was so cheap, that he would never fix anything, but that the rent would be inexpensive.

Mulan was with me. I took her to the bathroom and found that there were another two bedrooms in the way back. One of them had a fireplace, it was cozy. The other bedroom was this little kids room that was right off the bigger bedroom, not in a hallway or anything. It was almost like a big closet off the bedroom. It was perfect for Mulan. Then when she was older she could move to one of the other bedrooms. I realized I would have a guest room! My dream come true! I was so excited.

The woman called George to see if he had rented it. I imagined that I was going to have to sell my house and move. I felt a little sad, I love my house. And this apartment was farther away than I had planned, it was farther from Mulan's school.

But then we went out the backdoor, and there was the ocean. It was beautiful, this gorgeous lagoon, just off the whole ocean. And to the side of it were all these beautiful apartment buildings and houses, small little houses, up a hill. It did not look at all like Los Angeles, it looked Italy, like pictures I have seen of Uffizi. Or maybe Florence. But it was so beautiful. I thought, I had no idea that West L.A. was so gorgeous. And it's not even far away.

Other people, other friends came over. They were all old friends, people I've known for years but now that I think about it, I didn't recognize any of them. But I was so glad to see them. It was like my old life. Like when I first moved to L.A.

I was suddenly so relieved to sell my house. Not to have a yard and a pool to upkeep and deal with and pay for. I wondered if it was a good idea to sell a house and just rent. But I knew it was a good idea. I just had to convince some people, like my business manager. But I knew he would give his blessing.

This apartment felt like I was coming home. That something had finally fallen into place. That it was going to be much simpler, just renting, not owning. That this would give me so much time to think and write and maybe become an artist myself.

I remembered that Mike and my Dad had spent a lot of time over the years in this apartment. They had been to so many parties, I could suddenly see them, sitting in the big living room, with drinks in their hands, in a spirited happy conversation with other people they clearly liked being around. And I caught their eyes as I walked through the room, because now I was the hostess of this party and now I lived in this wonderful apartment. And in their eyes I could see how happy and appreciative they were that I lived here and had all these wonderful friends.

Then I woke up. But I was woozy.

I realized I had this dream all the time. Not exactly in the details, but in finding the dream apartment that was bigger than I thought and seemed like it was waiting for me. And it was always right next to water.

Then I just lay there in my bed, and tried to figure out if I could find the right words for this sentence I want to put in my show, near the end. It’s when I'm looking at Lourdes Cathedral (in Spokane) and I say, "I wish there were a beautiful building where I could mark the transitions in my life and my daughter's life, with ancient rituals and great art. Where we could feel like part of a long continuum of people for generations. Where we would know that our grandparents and their grandparents and their grandparents had participated in the very same rituals. But not have to pretend that myths are literally true. And not have to lie to myself and others about God. And not have pay the price of being lulled into complacency about our acute, visceral, realness of being awake and alive."

No that doesn't sound right. Too many words. That sentence is too preachy, and overloaded and has too many adjectives, but maybe I could make it work later.

Oh...Mulan is up.
Monday 5:30 a.m.

I had a dream. Forgive me for writing about my dream. Don't read this if you, like me, glaze over and gird yourself when anyone else says they have a dream to share. But actually, when I think about it, I don't mind reading about dreams other people have had. In fact, I like it. I just don't like hearing them. I guess the fact that I'm reading it makes me always feel I have the freedom to stop. But if someone just tells me a dream, I feel I am trapped and there's no way to gage how long the dream will go on.

So, I just had this dream: I was in West L.A., or closer to West L.A. and I happened to visit a woman, a woman I had known a long, long time. I had met her originally in Seattle at college, through my friend Greg. Or maybe it was when I first moved to L.A. She was so young then, she had jet black hair and made art -- big pieces and little pieces, a lot of day-of-the-dead pieces. She had silver jewelry and was funny. But I had forgotten all about her. I couldn't remember her name.

I don’t know why I went to her apartment in West L.A. She was packing up to move. She had lived in this apartment for 20 years. This apartment was my dream apartment. It had four small bedrooms and a living room along a narrow layout and a galley kitchen. I loved how it was decorated, lots of colors, lots of Mexican art. She said she felt like she had to buy a house. Her landlord was George, my old landlord on Sierra Bonita. I suddenly remembered that my whole family had been in this apartment many times. She had been a good friend of my brother Mike, and my parents had attended many parties here. My father had said he enjoyed being at this apartment, it made him feel comfortable. He had said that when he was in there he always knew someone interesting would show up: someone who spent all their time doing something or thinking about something he hadn't realized someone could spend all their time thinking and doing.

The woman had a boyfriend. Someone who was with me in the dream -- maybe it was Greg -- told me that recently, after years of resisting a committed legal relationship, the boyfriend had asked the woman to marry him. The woman had said no. But they continued to hang out together all the time. But the boyfriend did not live with her.

Suddenly the boyfriend was there, he was thin, he had black hair too. He had a bracelet of rope, a thin, woven rope. He was rolling a cigarette. He had a sweet boyish face that was now older. He looked depressed, but friendly. Mild. In fact, he looked a little like my college boyfriend, the one who was a projectionist. But I felt really glad he wasn't my boyfriend. Yet, I was jealous of how comfortable they seemed together, like old familiar blankets -- some holes and frayed edges -- but trusty and sure.

I asked the woman if she knew if George had rented her place out to someone new yet. She said she didn't know, but she didn't think he had. I wanted to move here. I wanted to live here. I began to look at the apartment with covetous eyes, like I could possibly move in. The woman got excited about it. She said, this would be perfect! It made so much sense that I would live here. I wondered if I could stand it to have George be my landlord again. I knew he was so cheap, that he would never fix anything, but that the rent would be inexpensive.

Mulan was with me. I took her to the bathroom and found that there were another two bedrooms in the way back. One of them had a fireplace, it was cozy. The other bedroom was this little kids room that was right off the bigger bedroom, not in a hallway or anything. It was almost like a big closet off the bedroom. It was perfect for Mulan. Then when she was older she could move to one of the other bedrooms. I realized I would have a guest room! My dream come true! I was so excited.

The woman called George to see if he had rented it. I imagined that I was going to have to sell my house and move. I felt a little sad, I love my house. And this apartment was farther away than I had planned, it was farther from Mulan's school.

But then we went out the backdoor, and there was the ocean. It was beautiful, this gorgeous lagoon, just off the whole ocean. And to the side of it were all these beautiful apartment buildings and houses, small little houses, up a hill. It did not look at all like Los Angeles, it looked Italy, like pictures I have seen of Uffizi. Or maybe Florence. But it was so beautiful. I thought, I had no idea that West L.A. was so gorgeous. And it's not even far away.

Other people, other friends came over. They were all old friends, people I've known for years but now that I think about it, I didn't recognize any of them. But I was so glad to see them. It was like my old life. Like when I first moved to L.A.

I was suddenly so relieved to sell my house. Not to have a yard and a pool to upkeep and deal with and pay for. I wondered if it was a good idea to sell a house and just rent. But I knew it was a good idea. I just had to convince some people, like my business manager. But I knew he would give his blessing.

This apartment felt like I was coming home. That something had finally fallen into place. That it was going to be much simpler, just renting, not owning. That this would give me so much time to think and write and maybe become an artist myself.

I remembered that Mike and my Dad had spent a lot of time over the years in this apartment. They had been to so many parties, I could suddenly see them, sitting in the big living room, with drinks in their hands, in a spirited happy conversation with other people they clearly liked being around. And I caught their eyes as I walked through the room, because now I was the hostess of this party and now I lived in this wonderful apartment. And in their eyes I could see how happy and appreciative they were that I lived here and had all these wonderful friends.

Then I woke up. But I was woozy.

I realized I had this dream all the time. Not exactly in the details, but in finding the dream apartment that was bigger than I thought and seemed like it was waiting for me. And it was always right next to water.

Then I just lay there in my bed, and tried to figure out if I could find the right words for this sentence I want to put in my show, near the end. It’s when I'm looking at Lourdes Cathedral (in Spokane) and I say, "I wish there were a beautiful building where I could mark the transitions in my life and my daughter's life, with ancient rituals and great art. Where we could feel like part of a long continuum of people for generations. Where we would know that our grandparents and their grandparents and their grandparents had participated in the very same rituals. But not have to pretend that myths are literally true. And not have to lie to myself and others about God. And not have pay the price of being lulled into complacency about our acute, visceral, realness of being awake and alive."

No that doesn't sound right. Too many words. That sentence is too preachy, and overloaded and has too many adjectives, but maybe I could make it work later.

Oh...Mulan is up.

August morning

It's early morning on Friday. This is surely the most sacred time of day. I have been up since 5:30 and got enough sleep. When the world converges to allow me to get to sleep early and up early, before Mulan gets up, I can almost hear the monastery's Gregorian chant in my mind as I walk through the house. It's simply perfect. I have been off coffee for five days and I believe the headaches are gone. I am drinking tea. Oh! How civilized life can be!!!

So, I am in the throws of the hysteria of getting this show up and going. This is my third time to do this, my third monologue, so I sorta know the drill. It's frightening. And it's so exciting. This show is two hours long, an hour first act and an hour second act. I don't even know if I'm capable of memorizing two hours worth of show. I mean, I guess I will figure it out. "In The Family Way" is like, about 60 to an 65 minutes. "God Said Ha!" vacillated between 90 minutes to 95 minutes. Everywhere I go, I am memorizing. In the car, on my hike, walking around the house. I have a new approach to memorizing this one, I'm going backwards. I am memorizing it bit by bit from the end. It's like I keep adding to it. I don't know, it makes me feel safer, like...if I get to opening night and I'm scared I might go up on my lines, I will feel most confident about the end.

I feel so vulnerable. The show is costing a lot more than I thought it would. In fact, it needs to run for 14 weeks and sell most of the tickets in order to just break even. I am constantly justifying to myself how this risk is okay, even if the show goes bust. I think my business manager thinks I'm a little nuts. I mean, I've chosen a very unpopular topic. Or maybe it's a popular topic, but I come to a very unpopular conclusion. So, jeez. This all puts my mother in a very awkward position. She doesn't like what I'm saying, but she doesn't want me to lose money, so I think she vacillates between how she wishes it would turn out.

I have really great designers. A wonderful sound, media designer and a great lighting designer. It's so exciting! I mean, this is about as fun as it gets. Yesterday I spent the whole day picking out music for the first act. I am going to use mostly Vivaldi's Mass in D Major. I got a great recording from the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and I have been playing it on my ipod while I hike and it's just perfect, conveys all the feeling in all the right places. It's sort of an obvious familiar choice, but I think it works. Today I go through the second act, which I have less pre-determined ideas for.

Things are hectic but going better than they were. I finally figured out how to control my dog, and mostly, my kid. All with the same concept. It all started when I went on the Runyon Canyon hike with my neighbor, Marc, and his two dogs who are playmates and friends with my dog. And when Arden would start to misbehave, or even seem like he was going to misbehave (like smell some other dogs butt too long -- Arden, like all dogs, says "Hello" by smelling the behind of another dog, but honestly, Arden takes it a step further. It's like he tries to stick his nose in and then Arden goes into this reverie, and the other dogs are like, "Okay, buddy, jeez." Sometimes it can get heated as some other dogs feel justifiably violated.) Marc would say, "Arden!" in a deep authoritative voice. And Arden would immediately back off and run to us! And when he seemed like he was in a group of dogs who were on the verge of either playing or scuffling, Marc would do it again and Arden would look almost thankful and come immediately to us. WELL.

So, I figured I had to try that. I figured my previous way of calling Arden, saying in a sing songy voice with no malice whatsoever: "Arden, what are you doing? Don't do that to the other dog...don't you think that the other dog doesn't want to have your nose up their ass? Ha, ha, ha." wasn't the best approach.

We started hiking together and I would try the lowering the voice thing. AND oh my god! It worked immediately! It was amazing. I can't believe it. I mean, I guess I knew about the tone thing, but it was so dramatic. And most surprising was the feeling that Arden wanted me to control him. I mean, that's probably projecting, but still! Then I started this with Mulan. It didn't work as well, but it did work. I think the thing with Mulan is to make eye contact. But again, I realized how much she also seemed to secretly want me to discipline her, like she herself could be afraid by her own misbehaving. Oh, I am learning, slowly but surely.

I went to a parenting class and it was really helpful. But at one point the teacher was telling us how we shouldn't laugh "at" our child. That feeling humiliated or shamed was very bad. And even if our kids did something like fall down or walk into a wall or inadvertently say something funny, we shouldn't laugh. We should only laugh when they were trying to be funny.

I can't stop thinking about this. Because I don't know if I agree. The fact is, when a four year old is trying to be funny, it isn't all that funny. Like it's not funny at all. When Mulan tries to be funny, she is often obnoxious or just goofy. And I feel it's my responsibility to not laugh. I don't want her to grow up thinking that stuff is funny. I think it's my job to laugh when it's genuinely funny. She often says things that I laugh at and she says, "Why did you laugh?" and I try to explain how it's the way she said it, or how it's the context of what she said given the situation, etc. I try to explain that I laugh just to show appreciation and not always just because something silly happened. In fact, I don't laugh at things that are silly, most of the time. (Unless it's in a Preston Sturges movie...) If I encouraged her to be "funny" by being goofy, I fear she would turn into Carrot Top.

Mulan is attending a summer school, this ballet/tap/hip hop school. She hated it at first. She sobbed for half an hour on the first day. And then when she finally went into the group, it was like she was walking to her execution. The next day she cried for fifteen minutes, and then next day five. Yesterday , she just walked in with no problem. There is one other Asian girl in the class, a couple of white girls and then about 25 African American girls. Yesterday, when I picked Mulan up, about four or five of the African American girls surrounded Mulan and said to me, "We all think she looks just like that girl, we can't tell them apart!" They pointed to the other Asian girl, who then came up to us. They said, "We think they look like twins!" Of course Mulan and this other Asian girl, to me, look nothing at all alike. All the kids, naturally, being just beautiful. But I laughed all the way home that they were so blatant about not being able to tell them apart.

Sometimes I am full of fear that my show will be a bomb and I will have to sell my house and move back to Spokane. Then I think about how much I love Spokane and how I could go work at Auntie's Bookstore and how happy I would be. And then I calm down and just settle in for the ride.