Tommy, can you hear me?

I closed a run of "The Who's TOMMY" last weekend. While I was sad to say goodbye, it was such a joy to be a part of this show! There were a lot of people involved, from the cast and the crew to the band and the production staff, and somehow, everyone was a pleasure to work with. I didn't know much about the show when I was cast (other than a vague sense of who was who in the movie, and a familiarity with "Pinball Wizard" and "See Me, Feel Me") but as soon as I started listening to the music, I was in love. I played Tommy's mother, Mrs Walker, who spends much of the show trying to fix her deaf, mute & blind son. Lots of tears, let me tell you. I got to sing some beautiful songs with some beautiful voices, and it just made it that much clearer to me that I WANT TO DO MUSICAL THEATRE! Who woulda thunk? Anyway, since most of you weren't able to make it to the show, here's some pics (mostly focusing on me, me, me, since I'm the one who's writing this blog, a-hem)... My mother always wanted to see me as a bride (preferably with Alex as my groom, but...)

"It's a boy, Missus Walker, it's a boy..."

"You didn't hear it, you didn't see it, you won't say nothing to no one, ever in your life..."

"How can he be saved from the eternal grave?"

The Acid Queen and her minions:

"That deaf, dumb and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball..."

"When we look at each other, we believe our own eyes..."

"Do you hear or fear, or do I smash the mirror?"

"I'm free!!"

"Come to this house, be one of this families' people..."

Wish you all could have come to my house for this show, 'twas a good one!

Kitten-horses

I'm not sure what marks the official transition from Kitten to Cat, whether it's measured by months or years or stages of growth. In my mind, a Kitten becomes a Cat after a year of living on Planet Earth. (I'm talking a people-year, not a cat-year, which I expect is similar to the length of a dog-year, 7 dog-years for every 1 people-year, though I'm thinking the cat-year:human-year ratio is a little narrower, like 5 cat-years for every 1 people-year, since cats tend to live longer than dogs, but since I'm talking people-years...) And so, in my mind, the pair of four-footed beasts that gallop noisily through my home are kittens. Fuzzy wuzzy kittens. Little baby kittens. See photo of little baby kittens taken on September 3rd, when they were 2 months old, 2 pounds each:

And now, see photo of little baby kittens taken in February, when they were 8 months old:

At 8 months old, Smokey & The Bandit weighed in at 9 and 11 pounds. At her heaviest, She-ra weighed 8 pounds. Ay yay yay. See photo of Smokey taken this week:

As you can see, the cat-bed that once sufficed for 2 brothers is no longer big enough for one. And these boys are still growing! I don't know how much they weigh now, but I wouldn't be surprised if The Bandit's carrying 15 pounds on his frame. And his feet are HUGE!! As are his whiskers and his tail. Oh, let's not forget the ears:

And, Bandit Got Back (to be appreciated by those familiar with the Sir Mix-A-Lot hit):

We've got about 6 weeks left til these Kittens become Cats. I can only imagine how large they will be once they've fully grown (they'll always be kittens to me). And I can tell you for certain, they will only grow more adorable in their mama's eyes!

Tu-lovely

Try as I may, I do not seem able to keep plants alive. When Alex and I moved into our current rental, the landlord/owner offered to leave behind some potted plants on the balcony, if we were interested in keeping them. I gladly accepted. A year+ later, our balcony is a plant cemetery. In addition to the 3 potted plants that have turned a golden-brown, I've added a rosemary tree, another herb garden, and a cactus. All dead. I should not be allowed to take on the responsibility of plant care. It's a losing proposition for all parties. The thing is, I really like plants. I love flowers and flowering trees and shrubbery. I am not afflicted by seasonal allergies, so to me, spring is a perfect season of growth and color. Rarely a day goes by when I am not wowed by some house-dweller's perfect gardens and blooms. And since my birthday happens in the spring (in fact, it happens to be happening on this very day), and since I grew up in a house with a beautiful cherry tree which would burst into cotton-candy color each year in celebration of my birthday, I cannot help but connect a love of spring blooms with the day of my birth. And since I happen to live in a part of the world that has the perfect climate for certain kinds of blooms, that is how I chose to celebrate myself this year. The Skagit Valley Tulip Festival occurs each April, about an hour's drive north of Seattle. Each year, people flock from all over the country, all over the world, to come check out the fields. Alex and I went up last week, and this is what we saw:

Seriously, endless fields of color!

Acres and acres of color!

There are dozens of fields scattered about, but two bulb producers are the main attractions. You can walk through the fields or take a tractor ride alongside them. We were there on a weekday, and the crowds were pretty manageable, though weekend traffic is said to be a nightmare. I can imagine! Even mid-week, there was still a need for traffic control in the parking lots, and they had us squeezed in tight to make room for all the cars and tour busses. (In fact, they had us squeezed in a little too tightly--we returned from one tulip tour to find our Sexy Beast Camaro had been scratched up by the vehicle exiting along our passenger side. Grumble grumble.) In addition to the fields, there were incredible gardens, combining hundreds of varieties of tulips, daffodils, irises, and more:

It was a lovely day of tulip-ing. A lovely way to celebrate spring and to honor the parents who brought me into this world. Thanks Mom, thanks Dad! Happy birthday to all of us!

Remember me?

I have been meaning to write something on this blog for months now, and for whatever reason, it hasn't happened. And I've actually had things to write about: wonderful visits from friends & family; some good times that I've had on Seattle stages; kittens, kittens, kittens (who are now the size of small horses). Yet here it is, April 20th, and I am posting for the first time since November. Sigh.

And truth be told, I'm not even posting something new. Rather, I am sharing with you a piece I wrote for another blog about why I love teaching acting to non-actors. (I teach a class called Step 1: Intro to Acting at Freehold Theatre in Seattle.) I am posting this here, in the hopes that it will help ease me back into a slightly more regular blogging routine. Hope you enjoy it!


A FEW THINGS I’VE LEARNED FROM MY STEP 1 STUDENTS by Meg McLynn
Teaching Step 1 has been an absolute joy, not just because I love acting and I love helping people understand why I love it, but mostly because the students are AWESOME! Students come to Step 1 for all different reasons, at all different stages in their lives. Some are simply curious about the process of acting; some are considering pursuing careers as actors; some are returning to an old love, having enjoyed performing in plays in high school or college but stepping away from it until their careers were established and their kids were raised. Whatever brings them to class, one thing is true of all of them: they teach me something every day.
Lesson #1: It’s scary to show up, but that’s no excuse not to show up. It’s a lesson I’ve learned many times before, but it seems to need constant re-learning. I mean, Life is full of scary stuff! On a day-to-day basis, I find myself veering away from the less-traveled paths and traipsing along well-worn roads, roads whose twists and turns have become familiar to me, roads that help keep me “safe”. But then, on Day 1 of Step 1, I find myself in a room full of students who may find it incredibly intimidating (if not totally terrifying) to be there, but there they are! There’s the retiree who is taking the class because “I try to think of things I’d be really bad at, and then I set out to prove myself wrong”. Or the cyclist who shows up because “after I almost died in that accident last year, I decided it was time to start doing the things I’d always wanted to do but kept finding reasons not to”. It is scary to show up, but if you take that first step forward, it all gets easier from there. (Note to Self: Blow the dust off of that rough draft and get someone to read it!)
Lesson #2: The work we do in Step 1 is as much about Life as it is about Acting. This lesson comes in a variety of ways. There was the day I was guiding students through some breathing exercises, emphasizing that “breath is the foundation of everything we do,” and one student, a personal trainer, told us how he uses the breath to help his clients connect their thoughts to their physical actions, which leads to better overall results. Or the day we were focusing on articulation, exploring the ways we produce sounds, and it turned into a discussion on interpersonal communication led by a student who works with children with speech disorders. Or the evening I had students exploring physicality, being led through the room by different parts of their bodies, which led to a mini training session on “closing the deal” from a student who works in sales (I never knew there was a “dominant” handshake, nor had I considered the power of stillness in a negotiation). Each week, I find more truth behind the idea that “theatre should inspire people to embrace the full range of human experience”, simply by listening to my students translate our work into their daily lives. An Acting Exercise, at its best, is a Life Lesson.
Lesson #3: It’s called “a play” for a reason. This work should be fun! Yes, it should be challenging and engaging and inspiring and, sure, a little scary. But above all else, it should be fun. In my career as an actor, there’s been much serious work. And at times, it has felt like just that: serious work. After all, it’s a J-O-B. But then I see my Step 1 students, all of whom have busy lives beyond our classroom, many of whom are dedicated to challenging careers that require massive amounts of time and energy, many of whom have kids to raise and households to run, and yet they will find the time over the course of their weeks to rehearse the given assignments, coming to class with detailed floor plans and duffel bags full of props. And the cool thing about it: they LIKED doing the work, they were HAPPY to stay up a little later to spend time on the assignments, because they were having FUN. Now, I love what I do, I love being an actor and I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. But it helps to be reminded, particularly during those tough tech weeks or after a string of unsatisfying auditions, that every day I show up to work, I get to have fun! How awesome is that?
There are many other lessons I’ve learned from my students (and yes, I teach them a few things along the way). But these are the big 3 for me, and they can be combined into this one idea: If I show up, I’m going to have fun. And that applies to Acting, as much as it does to Life. So, thank you to all of my students, Past Present and Future, for showing up on Day 1. You are an inspiration.

'Tis the Season, Part 2

After spending the better part of a year in Seattle with WAY too much time on my hands and a hope that someday I would be so busy that I would dream of a day off...I'm dreaming of a day off. And it's great! But isn't life funny: a year of next-to-nothing, and then I start teaching an acting class, I have an opening night, and I start a dog walking job, all in one weekend. Phew! That was back in September, and I haven't slowed down, so forgive the belated story I'm about to share:

The Friday before Halloween, I was walking my Irish Weiner Dog, Riley, and his little spaniel girlfriend, Ceri, when I saw The Man at The Christmas House hard at work. Being armed with two adorable pups, I decided to be brave and walk up the sidewalk where The Man was working, in the hopes of sharing a smile or even a verbal greeting. I've found that if anything can crack a smile in a hardened face, it's a puppy. But as I got closer, my resolve weakened, because The Man was hard at work topping his chain-link fence with 2 feet of chicken wire. This is seemingly not the act of a person looking to make new friends. Seeing those snowmen and Santas and little baby Jesus' through the grey mesh of chicken wire only added to my sense of sadness, and also made me a bit fearful of getting scolded for walking too close. But, cute puppies! I marched forth, with Riley and Ceri acting as my Angry-Man buffers. When the dogs were only about 6 feet from him, he took notice of them. I won't say he smiled. But he did stop his activity for a moment and looked down at the two of them. He is a tall man, probably 6 feet once upon a time, but now his shoulders are hunched forward, his head hanging down in such a way that I imagine him having to take great care should he ever choose to look skyward. He had only to shift his gaze from fence to ground in order to see my furry friends, and from there, his eyes came to meet mine. There was no smile in his weathered face, and for a moment, I admit to being a little afraid. I could see this face on Scrooge, and yet, here was a man who began decking his halls with all things Christmas before the leaves had begun to change colors. So, I smiled at him. I said hello. And he said, "The kids have been in my yard." His voice was soft, weathered like his skin. "They took one of my candy canes and knocked down some of the lights." I had noticed this earlier in the week, and I told him so. "I hope this keeps them from doing it again," he continued. He had a few front teeth missing, and he took care with his speech. "Kids," was all I could think to say. "Kids." His eyes went back down to my canine wards, and while I didn't see much of a shift in his face, I'm pretty sure he smiled at them, in his own way. "I like to walk by your house," I said. "It makes me happy." He brought his focus back to the chicken wire and carried on with his work. I walked away, feeling sad and happy, all at the same time. More than anything, I felt nervous, because it was only 2 days before Mischief Night, that night before Halloween when toilet paper and eggs are bought in bulk by kids for the sole purpose of wreaking a little havoc in their neighborhoods. What better target than the house decorated for the wrong holiday?

I breathed a sigh of relief on Halloween morning, to see the Christmas House tucked neatly behind it's new fortifications, nary a TP'd tree in sight. (I kind of like to imagine The Man spending the night on his porch with a shotgun on his lap, glaring deep into the eyes of any would-be hooligans with that Dirty Harry "Come on punk, make my day" gaze that turns tough-guys into sissies.) I haven't seen The Man since I spoke with him, but I am happy to report that all of his snowmen and Wise Men and giant candy canes are just where they should be. Guess the chicken wire is doing the trick. Or maybe those kids are secretly a little happy to have some Christmas in their 'hood.

'Tis the season...?

It's 6:42pm, and the sky is almost dark. Sigh.

There's a house I've just noticed out in West Seattle. It was a house that blended into the scenery only a month ago, a house that I barely looked at as I walked a long-haired Dachshund named Riley past its chain-link fence. A nice house, to be sure, but nothing about it caught my attention. Until last week. During the first week of October, this house was transformed from an unassuming ranch to a razzle dazzle Christmas cabin. I'm talking multiple manger scenes in the yard, lights strung across the fences and walkways and front and back porches, gingerbread houses on the inside windowsills. The display grows each day, staple-gunned into place by an elderly man who wears a red jacket and red-brimmed cap. That's not to say he resembles Santa. On the contrary, he's thin and from what I can tell, he's not very jolly. Each morning I see him at work, and I keep hoping he'll look up and we can share a smile or something, so I can let him know that someone notices and, well, enjoys the fruits of his labors. Because I do, I totally dig on this October Christmas display, especially as I pass the houses nearby with Halloween decor scattered about their yards. It's almost like this man is saying SCREW YOU to their holiday of haunts and shouting out loud that Christmas is the best holiday EVER! In truth, I don't think that's in any way what he's up to, but I like to play out the possible internal monologue in his head as I walk by:

"These kids with all their hobgoblins and witchery, don't know a thing about what real holiday spirit feels like, they just want candy candy candy and like to throw toilet paper in people's trees, weeeeeeeeellllll I'll teach them a thing or two about holiday spirit, the GOOD kind of spirit, not these ghosty things they like to dress up like, crazy kids with their crazy candy habits, next thing you know they'll be dressing up any crazy way they feel like any darned day of the year, but don't they already, don't they already dress up like it's Hall-o-ween every day, with their long hair and earrings in every place you can think of and shoes that make no good sense to walk in, crazy kids with their crazy holidays, we'll just see what they think when they see this little baby Jesus swaddled in his manger, he doesn't need any crazy costume because he is perfect just as he is and his birthday is the perfect holiday, who wouldn't think so, who wouldn't choose gingerbread over tricks and treats and maybe this year when they come ringing my doorbell asking for candy I'll give them all candy canes or better yet I'll give them some toothpaste to ward off the tooth rot and tell them to come back in 2 months for a gingerbread man, that's what I'll do..."

Honestly, I feel sad when I walk by and see him working. I feel sad because I've never seen anyone else near the house, and so I imagine that he's alone. I imagine that he and his wife shared this house for many happy years, and they always loved Christmas, always loved the decorations and the festive spirit and the music and all things Christmas. I imagine that she passed away some time ago, leaving him alone with the decorations, and now he can't wait until it's time to put them up again, because it gives him something to do, a purpose of sorts, while he tries not to miss her so desperately. The first week of October, and he's already covered the house in lights, he's already covered the yard in plastic snowmen and candy canes. Who does this? I get annoyed when stores have Christmas displays up before Thanksgiving, but even retail doesn't start this soon. Who does this? Maybe he's just kooky for Christmas, I don't know. I hope so. I hope he's the happiest man in his neighborhood. But until the day he decides to look up from his labors and share a smile with me, I can't help but have my heart break a little as I walk on by.

The rainy season is upon us.

Just so this post doesn't end on a note of heartbreak, here's a picture of Riley the Dachshund:

Is that a face you'd be happy to see each morning or what?

Meet the Newest Member of the Family!

His name is Petey, and he's adorable.

How did we come to welcome a purple PT Cruiser into our lives? It happened like this: I decided I wanted to spend more time with animals, so I looked into volunteering at some local animal shelters, which seems to be a pretty popular thing to do because the shelters I contacted were full up on volunteers. That same day, I got a call from my BFF asking if I'd be interested in walking some dogs (she and her hubby have a dog-walking business and were losing one of their walkers). Seemed like it was meant to be! Only hitch, the business is in West Seattle, which means I'd be putting about 35 miles a day on the Camaro. About the same time, I got cast in a show 30 miles south of Seattle, which meant an additional 60 miles a day for the better part of 3 months. The Sexy Beast Camaro gets 15 miles to the gallon and only takes hi-test, which was looking to be a pricey commuting vehicle. Also, it has rear-wheel drive and a mighty powerful engine, the combination of which means it refuses to drive when there's even a hint of snow or ice on the road. Not so good for the winter driving I'll be doing. AND, we got a super-good deal on the Camaro, and have taken really good care of it and haven't added many miles, which means we can eventually sell it for a good price, though adding hundreds of miles every week would cause it to devalue rather rapidly. So, add it all up, and it seemed that getting a second car was in our best interest, and eventually it would pay for itself in saved mileage and gas money.

But a purple PT Cruiser?

This is how Alex operates: we decided to go to some used car lots to see what was out there, with no need to actually buy anything that day. We stopped at a couple of small lots, saw nothing worthwhile, then went to a larger lot and had a man show us around. We let him know we were looking for "cheap and reliable", no bells and whistles, just a road-worthy vehicle that would safely get me where I need to go without requiring hi-test or snow chains. We were shown some Kia's, a couple of Chevey Aveo's, some cars with non-functioning door handles. Then the salesman asked if we'd be interested in a PT Cruiser. He pointed to a shiny, chrome-detailed, plum PT, and I immediately thought, "Cute, but way out of our price range." What the hell, I took it for a spin. Of the cars I drove, it was definitely the nicest ride, and the previous owner (there was only 1) clearly loved this vehicle and took very good care of it. Still, it was too pretty for our money. By this time, I was tired of car shopping, which meant it was time for Alex's favorite activity: haggling. There are few things that make me more uncomfortable than watching Alex drive a hard bargain, though I must admit, he is extremely good at it. So, I told him that he could have his fun while I went across the street to the pet store to get some cat food. I'm pretty sure I left him by saying, "Have fun, but remember that we have time, so you don't need to buy anything today." And I'm pretty sure he said, "I know, I'm just having fun." Jump cut 20 minutes: I walk back into the dealership to see Alex with a pen in his hand. He looks up from whatever he's writing, sees me, and drops the pen like he's a schoolboy caught cheating on his math test. I said, "Did you just buy a car?" And he said, "You really liked the PT Cruiser, right?" Sigh.

But here's what you need to understand about Alex: he made an offer on the car that was about 1/2 the asking price. They said no way. He said fine. (He understood that we really didn't need a car that day, so he felt no pressure whatsoever to strike a deal.) They went back and forth a few times until finally the owner of the dealership got involved and said, "What do I need to do for you to buy a car today?" And this was Alex's response: "This is the first dealership I've really looked at, which means I don't know what deals are out there, so in order for me to buy a car from you today, I need to feel like I'm ripping you off." I don't think this line gets used very often, because the owner laughed and then said, okay. He showed Alex the invoice for his own purchase of the car, and sure enough, the dealership lost money on the deal they made with Alex.

And that is how Petey joined the family.

But don't assume that we are calling him Petey simply because he's a PT cruiser. He is actually named after a very dear friend of ours whom we traveled to Maine with a few years ago. Our friend Petey Vigs was very excited for us to see the car he rented for the trip, and we had to laugh when he rolled up in a PT Cruiser and said, "Look, I got a Petey Cruiser!" It was a wonderful weekend with a wonderful group of friends, and I will always think of dear Petey Vigs when I'm rolling down the street in my purple PT Cruiser. Welcome to the family, Petey!

Look at how cute he is next to his brother:

Almost as cute at their other brothers: