Shannon Writes...

Jacques the Fairy is coming!

Just five days until my new full-length play, Jacques the Fairy is read at Dixon Place! The cast is incredible: Ben Hauck, Andy Grotelueschen, Molly Pope, Mathew Suber, Mimi Strum, Caitlin Brodnick, Victoria Libertore, Andrew Hansen and Lauren Novak. Wait'll you see them! Tickets are $12, and available at www.dixonplace.org ... please join us!

Back to School.

Back to School, originally uploaded by briankosena.

I went back to school Tuesday. It was a tricky re-entry, as I still felt (feel) roughed up by my grandmother's death a week before. I'm still in shock, and probably will be for sometime. Death is always so unexpectedly final, and in this particular case, I knew the person who died for my entire life. She was 93. It seemed like she was in the habit of living, and might continue doing so for some time. The shock that she's not - as truly joyful as I am that she is no longer in pain or fear - is going to stay with me for awhile.

We had two days of workshops on using theatre and drama techniques in the classroom to begin our year. This was a really great opportunity to consider the creative before the practical (Thursday and Friday, with a union meeting, throwing out a dead mouse I found in my desk, learning other peoples' names, and sorting through 8 million paperbacks, were plenty practical), and, for me, to reconnect with some of the stuff I learned through my M.A. program. I have an M.A. in Educational Theatre from NYU. I've definitely used some of what I learned there, but, since I was teaching in a traditional model high school (and liking it), I didn't make use of long-term DIE (Drama in Education) or TIE (Theatre in Education) work. My new school is ALL ABOUT using DIE and TIE. It's crazy, and it's great, and thank God I reviewed.

I feel excited about returning to school for the first time in about three years. The last few years at Stella, for me, were really focused on the girls. I liked and respected my colleagues, and I like and respect English. But my prinicpal point of connection was with my students' lives -- their hopes, fears, dreams, jokes, worries. I actually began to wonder, without mentioning this to anyone, if I might not find more fulfillment in becoming a therapist with a specialization in adolescents. (This is a total daydream... there are all kinds of reasons why I wouldn't actually like doing this). But this year, I feel excited again about the process of learning -- how we learn, why we learn, what we learn, and how I can facilitate all of that.

I think it's going to be an extremely challenging year for me. But I gotta say, I'm looking forward to it.

Kathryn Isobel Downin Zeger

April 17, 1915 - August 18, 2008 This is the eulogy I delivered (through many tears) at her memorial service on Thursday. When I think about my grandmother, of course, all kinds of memories come to mind. I remember that she could be a little bit crazy, in all honesty. She was crazy in the best way, though, which is to be driven crazy with love for her family. She loved us so much that she was in constant fear of our well-being. Justin and I had so many rules drilled into our heads. We weren’t supposed to lean against a car door when riding in the passanger seat... even if we had our seatbelts on and the door locked, we might fall out! We had to put pillows on the edges of our beds so we couldn’t roll off the bed in the middle of the night. If you look in the memory book on the table, you’ll se a photo of me with a pillow on the edge of my bed... and I am at least 16 in the photo. We had to hold the railing tightly coming down the stairs in her house, even though, eventually, Justin was almost taller than the stairs highest point. If a snake - of any variety at all, even a 2 inch long green snake, was spotted on her property, the cry would go out “Run for the house! Run for the house!” and we would run into the house, out of breath with fear, while my 5 foot, 70 year old grandmother would hack the snake to death with a hoe. If there was a thunderstorm, we had to go and sit in “the good room.” And when I say sit, I mean, sit. We couldn’t turn on a light, because the lightening might come through the wires and get us. We couldn’t sit by the window and watch the rain, because the lightening might come through the window and get us. We couldn’t watch TV, or even turn on the lights, because the lightening might come through the wires and get us. I couldn’t even sew, because - yes! - the lightening might come through the needle and get me. So Mum-mum could be a little intense in her concern for her security. But she also could be intense in her love for us. There’s a song by Paul Simon, “Love Me Like A Rock,” which he wrote about his mother. And in it, he sings, “She loved me loved me loved me loved me.” I think of Mum-mum’s love for us that way too. She loved us, loved us, loved us, loved us. If I wanted to have chocolate pudding every day for breakfast, by God, I was going to have chocolate pudding - homemade! - every day for breakfast. If Justin wanted an entire bowl of her famous stuffing for all for himself at Thankgiving, then, by God, he would have it. Clothes, toys, homemade cookies, long visits to her magical house, whatever we needed, she provided. I know she helped my parents out in the same way, with the same love. What is amazing to me in thinking about that is how generous and loving she was in spite of her own difficult life. She lived through two World Wars, the Great Depression, the Vietnam War, and Watergate, all in a farm community that was quick to judge and economically unstable. She put herself through teachers’ college by picking berries and babysitting the children of wealthier neighbors. She taught eight grades at once in a one-room schoolhouse. I am a teacher now too, and I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been. She went back to school and got her BA while also working full-time and being a single mother to my mom. She lived by herself, right by the wild woods of Pennsylvania, for much of 87 years. I think her fears are so much easier to understand when one realizes how hard she worked to eke out an existence, and how, once she finally achieved a family and a life that was full of love, she must have feared it would be taken away. But it never was. Even at the end of her life, when Alzheimer’s had taken away so much, she remembered who we were. She decorated her room with pretty little things. She still loved birds and flowers. And she was safe at Laurel View Village. I have so much to be grateful to my grandmother for. She taught me to read, and, as everyone who knows me, knows, reading is who I am, and what I most love to do. She taught me to sew and do other crafts, which still bring me great enjoyment. She taught me to love learning, by letting me see learning as fun – I used to do her old classroom worksheets for a good time. And yes, she would grade them. And yes, I got a treat if I did them slowly and correctly, not rushing. She taught me how to bake and cook. And she taught me to appreciate the fine stylings of the Statler Brothers and Tennessee Ernie Ford, when we and Justin would sit on her porch and swing, while listening to the country music station that only came in at night. While keeping an eye out for renegade snakes, of course. For most of my life, when I would say goodbye to her, Mum-mum would remind me to be a good girl. As I got older, and sassier, I’d say, “You be a good girl, too.” And she’d always laugh at me, when she was 65, and 75, and 85, and even 93. She said it to me just a few visits ago. But I know that if I am a good girl, it’s at least partially because she taught me to be, and wanted me to so much to be one. If I am, I am proud I am, because that reflects her. In his Pulitzer prize winning novel, The Bridge Over San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder examined the meaning and purpose of life through the random deaths of five strangers. Towards the end of the book, he wrote, “There is a land of the living, and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love.” I want to finish up my remarks by saying that I believe in the bridge of love, and I know that my grandmother did too. And I see that bridge here today. I see it in my mom, who has her mother’s courage and love of learning. I see it in my dad, who has her love of Pennsylvania’s backroads and of a good hymn. I see it in my brother, who has her care for her family’s well-being and terrible sense of direction. I see it in my sister-in-law who reflects her love for animals. I see it any one who has reached out to us in our grief. And it shows me that she may be in Heaven now, but she is also in our hearts, forever.

Crabby.

I hear tell that there are people who basically approach life with the same attitude all the time. I am not one of those people. As I've gotten older, I have definitely been able to hide my moods more. If you have ever sat across from me at a theatrical production that I did not enjoy, or during a sermon I found dull, or at a school assembly of any nature, you may not think that I hide my moods well. But, truly, I am better than I used to be.

As a child and teenager, I would say that my moods were the principal source of conflict between me and my mom (my dad is moody himself, and so our conflicts were usually when -- my poor mom and brother! -- we were both in a bad mood, which wasn't very frequent). I was told innumerable times to cheer up, stop my attitude or "let it go." I am sure it's not at all surprising that, in the tradition of teenagers since time began, I did not consider this to be very good advice. I think I felt to be cajoled out of my bad mood would somehow discredit whatever caused the bad mood... that if I could cheer up, it would be a punishment to me. This is just one example of how stupid teenagers can be about emotions. And I was particulary un-adept.

Now, as an adult, I see the point in moving on, letting go, "accept and move on" as Christine and I would say in college. I wouldn't want to say it's Zen, as I don't really understand anything about the practice of Zen, but it's true that I can hear Liam Neeson in my head saying "Flow like water" sometimes when I'm annoyed by something (or as Andrew and I decided last night, in Africa, it would be "Dodge like elephant.") For one thing, it's healthier. For another, it doesn't mean that I'm accepting whatever crappy thing has happened. It's kinder to people around me. And I'd just rather be happy than cranky. Life is short.

This weekend has been a cranky weekend for me. The good news that my grandmother is stable (in serious condition, but with no real decline and stable) seems to have released me a little bit to be grumpy and crabby (a word my mother always applied to me. I have never heard it from anyone else but seems particularly apt this weekend) and generally disenchanted with the world. If this was March - my traditional month of horrors - this attitude would be acceptable, even a step up from my usual utter despair during that month. But it's not March, it's the last week of my summer vacation. I've spend too long already, grinding my teeth and finding fault with people for living their lives not at my instruction and wishing it was less humid or that I was on Cape Cod.

So I've made a resolution. Barring the need to make a trip back to PA (hopeful that I will not have to, accepting that I may, flow like water), I'm taking this week off from the punishing business of being a playwright. I maybe will write. Maybe not. I will work on my upcoming reading and draft an owed article or two. I will bask in the fact that I've queried or submitted to 20 theatres in the last 3 weeks. But for the most part, I'm going to take day trips (I wrote gay trips first -- maybe those too!) and visit a museum and stay up late watching the Olympics and read lots of books and generally reconnect with me before I reconnect with the teenagers of Canarsie.

Crabby I am now, but hopefully, at this time tomorrow, I'll be flowing like water.

Fawn

Baby Fawn P1010211, originally uploaded by TOMT 454.

I'm sorry for the lengthy delay in posting. I was in Pennsylvania, with my folks, and their dial-up internet connection is a strong deterrent to posting anything. I don't know how many times I had just about finished a post when the connection was lost and I had to start all over again.

There's another reason I haven't posted, and that's because my grandmother is very ill. She is 93, and has Alzheimer's, and fell at her care facility on Friday morning. The care facility she's in, Laurel View Village, is a lovely and caring place (one of the nurses we encountered referred to it as "The Cadillac of nursing homes") and we're sure there was no neglect. It just seems that either her hip broke and she fell, or she fell and broke her hip. She was taken to the hospital and operated on the next day.

Providentially, I was already on my way back to PA for a visit, so I was able to be at the hospital with her and my mom, who is her only child and only living relative.

The surgery was successful, but the situation is not good. Basically, she won't eat. Maybe my verb is wrong. Perhaps she can't eat, because she's too scared and out of touch with reality. Perhaps she doesn't eat because she doesn't feel hungry. I don't know. I just know she can't feed herself, will take a few bites of food and then lapses back into asking to be helped to get up so she can get out.

It is an awful thing, to have to tell her over and over again that you cannot help her get up, that she needs to rest, that she broke her hip and that she's in the hospital. Over and over and over again. I found myself thinking about literature a lot, about Shakespeare's Jacques' speech in "As You Like It", which begins, cheerfully enough, "All the world's a stage" but ends "Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." And about Beckett's plays. And about Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem that ends "This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper."

When you're there, in the moment with her, it isn't difficult to stay calm and focused. My mom defines brave love to me at this point, with her calm care, her focus on what's best and her steadfast insistence that we'll not go to a feeding tube or anything else that might spare us the pain of a good-bye for a few days, but will not spare my grandmother pain. It's now that I am back in New York, for at least a few days, to pay bills, and see friends' shows, and try to behave normally for as long as I can, that I feel ripped up by sadness, sorrow, anger and even joy (for I believe that my grandmother's beautiful soul may soon be set free from the hell she's trapped in on earth).

I chose a baby deer for the photo on this post because my grandmother lived beside the woods for 87 years, and she'd put scraps out for the deer every night. I remember watching, at dusk - which is still to me the most magical time - out of her parlor window, for the deer to come out of the forest and nibble on our food scraps. She knew each of them, and loved them. She'd talk about the little ones, especially. I am sure that she lived there for so long that she saw some of the fawns grow into adults and bring their own babies.

She loved birds, too, and her big sheep dog, and her garden, and her home. It was a simple, tiny home (my 6' 4" brother couldn't stand up straight in some of the rooms) and when we took her out of it, which we had to do, I know some part of her just died. I think a little part of me did too, because I had such wonderful times there. That's where I learned to bake, and sew, and appreciate the fine stylings of the Lawrence Welk Show.

I miss it, and her, so much.

Fairy alert!

Fairly Fairy, originally uploaded by spleenboy.

Ok, so the fairy in Jacques the Fairy doesn't look much like this fairy... for one thing, he's a he, and for another, his wings are on the downlow. But I still really like this shot and this woman's facial expression.

And it's the perfect prelude into announcing that Jacques the Fairy will be read at Dixon Place, on Weds., September 10th, at 8 pm! I am so excited to have found a venue to share a reading of this play so quickly after finishing my third draft. I'm thrilled to share it with actors and an audience... this will help me grow the play so, so much. And a good time will be had by all, truly.

I'll post a link for tickets when it's available. But, please, if you're in NYC, and you're into fairies, bookworms or research librarians, plan to attend.

Plug.

I got assigned to read Simon Rich's Free Range Chickens for my reviewing gig. It is so, so, so, so funny. I've really not been in a huge laughing mood as of late, as you can no doubt tell from the below, but this cracked me up, several times, out loud, on the subway. It's basically a series of little playlets. My favorite is "A conversation between the people who hid in my closet every night when I was seven" featuring Freddy Krueger, the Murderer from the 6 O'Clock News, his Dead Uncle Whose Body I Saw At An Open Casket Funeral, Chucky and his doctor, Dr. Murphy. Best line? After Chucky and Murderer get into a small squabble: "Dr. Murphy: Hey, guys, relax, all right? We're all here for the same reason: to kill and possibly eat Simon." ha HA HA!

I  must also note that Rich is very adept with the colon as a tool for humor. I like to think of myself the same way, so I applaud his superb punctuation.

He apparently writes for SNL, but I haven't watched SNL, nor, really, seen 1 am on a Sunday morning, for years, so if his brilliance is well documented already, just consider me a new fan.

Difficult Week

What can I post after a week like this one? It's been a taxing, difficult week. One of my closest, oldest friends, a true blue spirit who deserves only the best, suffered a heartbreaking loss. Sickness lurks at the edges of several friends' or family members' lives, waiting to pounce. Dreams have been dashed, random violence and terror has entered lives, and I mourn my friend Sally, who died 7 years ago this week, and who is still missed deeply. People who've I hoped would rally to me to help me through this have not. I have, several times, burst into tears. I have gone to bed without my supper, and I have wailed.

What can I post after a week like this one? This has been a week that has sincerely tested my faith in a loving God, and left me to wonder if I am on some kind of cosmic trial, playing the role of Job. It has made me wonder if my friends are caught in this midst of evil, wherein the devil is using them, cruelly, to test my faith. To save them, to save myself, I have thought about giving it up. And I do not even know if I believe in the devil, honestly. I certainly do not believe in a manipulative God, who seeks proof of my devotion, although I do believe that understanding life as humans is beyond me and any other human. And I know that I do not want to endure any of the above - my friend's loss, illness, death, moral corruption, fairweather friends - without a God I can pray to and love.

What can I post after a week like this one? I can post the following news. A friend made me dinner last night. Two more cancelled their plans to welcome me and my heartbroken self into their evening. I took the students outside today and they actually read under a clear blue, beautiful sky. I saw some amazing dancing on TV. I read The Killer Angels, one of the best things I've read in a long, long time. I saw the hyacinth above and took that photo with a cell phone. People called me. People emailed me. I called and emailed people. I'm beloved enough to be let into the most intimate moments of peoples lives. Today, on the bus home, a former student I hadn't seen in a year came over to me and gave me a big hug.

Do these things make up for the earlier things? No. Of course not. But they help me endure. Amen.

 

 

Giving you the best that I got.

When I went to Amazon.com today, at the bottom of my page, it said, "Do you know that Amazon.com sells NCAA Garden Gnomes?"

I didn't, but now I do, and it's kind of awesome.

Monsters.

I'm going to try to tie together a bunch of different topics under the general topic of monsters. Let's see if I can do it.

First, more dream stuff. Last night, I had a dream that was intense and upsetting. It was no doubt inspired by seeing The Dark Knight with Ryan and Vic yesterday afternoon, not to mention a terrible flurry of bad things happening to people around me. I enjoyed the movie although one aspect of it really bothered me. (See under the SPOILER ALERT below if you want to know what that was). I always enjoy hanging out with Ryan and Vic, but especially this time because Ryan found my phone for me (which I knew had been dropped) as well as my sunglasses (which I did not even know I had dropped) while also finding one specific incident in the film funny at the same time as me. We were the only two people in the theatre who laughed. And it was a special time with Vic because she laughed out (really) loud at a completely inappropriate moment in the movie causing all kinds of evil looks from the parents around us (since Ryan and I laughed at her laughter). I feel no shame about that. There was no way that film was appropriate for children. No way.

Anyway, last night I dreamt that I was in New York, but it seemed more like Gotham. There was a great deal of evil lurking around me. And the subway stations were all messed up. (For example, just before I woke up, I saw a Times Square 4/5/6 sign -- doesn't exist!). There was also a person who really is from my life who was evil and doing bad things, not unlike the Joker (Heath Ledger's performance is pretty unnerving, by the by). It was particularly upsetting because I have always thought this person was trapped within his or her constructed realm of existence. But lately I've been wondering if they actually intend to do evil. The dream was a big manifestation of this. Is this person misguided? or a monster?

Monster 2: At the gym today, I once again caught 1/2 hour of a mediocre Jennifer Aniston film. This time it was The Breakup.  I think I came in about 15 minutes in. I have to say, that was a very hostile film. I remember it getting decent reviews, but I don't recall any of the reviews saying, "This film is the most hostile film since Woody Allen made that film with Dianne Weist after they broke up." With the Picture Perfect incident of a few weeks ago, I seem to be on a roll with Jennifer Aniston films at the gym. Here's hoping for that Paul Rudd-is-gay film of some years back, which I think I would actually enjoy seeing. Anyway, I was just thinking about how Jennifer Aniston is really great on "Friends" but not so awesome in these films, and that the best film work I've seen her do (outside of The Good Girl  which I still have mixed feelings about) has been in supporting roles like Bruce Almighty. She seems to do better in supporting roles, or with a more extreme characterization (e.g. Rachel Green) or at least when having someone to be funny with. (There may be those who find Vince Vaughn very funny. I am not one of those). Yet she's such a big star that it would be hard for her to take a supporting role. So, is Jennifer Aniston's celebrity her own personal monster?

Ok, I stretched to make that work. 2 out of 3! I can do this!

Finally, the novel by Lauren Groff The Monsters of Templeton. It's on my Amazon.com list over there, so if you buy it by clicking through, I'll get, like, 5 cents, so Lauren Groff and I will both make money off of it! Yay!

This is a really good first novel. I'm qualifying it by pointing out that it's a first novel, but that's not meant to be criticism. I think that there is a purity of vision - not to mention a sheen of really hard work and good editing - that happens with first novels more frequently than with second, third or so on novels. Here are some things I like about this novel. 1) The cover. It's amazing. As you read the book, you'll see that the illustrator really read and understood the novel in order to make it. I have in on authority from Ms. Groff herself that she cried when she saw it. Tears of joy, that is.  2) The creation of a place. The setting is based on Cooperstown, NY, where the author grew up, but she's transformed it into a town called Templeton. I love the idea of creating a new place. It is something I've always wanted to do and I hope to succeed as fully in intermingling both exisistent sites and completely made-up places. To me, this is the best, because it's like the subway sign of the above. I know I'm in New York, I know that there is a subway below... but that's a made-up subway stop. Anyway, she does this so well. It's completely believable. 3) Goff writes in a variety of voices and makes them all work. The conceit of the book is that the main character, the last in a long line of an illustrious historical family, is researching her ancestors for a specific reason (which I will not spoil). So, chapters in the book are written in the voices of these ancestors. It's really cool that she was able to write in so many different styles (I'm really loving the 18th century style) so seamlessly. And it's not boring. Sometimes, historical documents (which, granted, these are made-up, not true, but still) are so dull, but these all move the plot along and reveal character. They're not showing off. 4) The main character's delimma is absolutely intriguing and compelling. 5) There is a monster. Yes, a real one.

Read this book!

Whew, I'm worn out now. I hope I kind of made the monsters thing happen!

Until next time, remember, stay away from vicars!

SPOILER ALERT:

1) Aaron Eckhart has an extremely distinctive chin. It's a cleft chin. 2) Christian Bale does not have a cleft chin. 3) Christian Bale plays Batman. 3) The only part of Batman's actual anatomy one can see is his chin. 4) At one point Aaron Eckhart claims to be Batman. 5) Everyone believes him immediately. 6) Why didn't anyone say, "Um, but your chin isn't right." 6) The end.