dakotakim

An the Oscar Goes to.....

2012-01-27T06:21:00.000-08:00

Monkey Business

2012-01-27T06:08:00.000-08:00

The following is a true facebook chat with my sister (with a little scrubbing to make it PG rated :)

Me: I have to tell you about my adventure to Lamani yesterday. Lamani is the largest of the Mayan ruins. The boat picked me up on the dock at 7. There was a party of 25 booked on this boat trip – twelve couples and me. Yup. And no one wanted to be my friend.

When we got to the river at the mainland, we switched guides and boat to take us into the country up this river. He said, "if a money jumps in the boat, you can feed it peanuts or granola if you have it." Well, I happen to have granola along.

Sure enough, a monkey jumps in. Everyone is delighted. I have granola in my hand, so it came right to me. The next thing I know, the monkey starts to choke. Seriously choking. It places its hands around its neck for the Heimlich Maneuver.

The guide yells, "Don’t feed it Cracker Jacks!"

I said, "I didn't...really...it was just a nut and some oats...no honey or anything."

In the meantime, the monkey curls up in the fetal position, wraps its arms around its head and begins to cry.

Jennie: So you’re killing the wildlife of Belize?

Me: A woman on the other side of the boat yells, “You did too give it Cracker Jacks; I saw it!" I am pleading with everyone that I really didn't. Pretty soon, the monkey just gets up and jumps out of the boat.

I swear to God that monkey was TOTALLY over dramatic about the whole thing. Everyone hated me.

Jennie: Unbelievable. Thrown under the “boat” by a complete stranger!

Me: On the way back, - much to my surprise and dismay - it was a booze cruise. The company supplied endless rum punch and Belekin. Of course, I can't drink, because of my antibiotics. I am the only one not partaking. So, they think I am “little miss priss.” The only saving grace was out boat driver from Ambergris Caye to the Mainland was an absolutely adorable Belizian kid named Aaron - a smile to die for. He liked me and I helped serve drinks. Of course, there was no gratuity for me.

Jennie: So, was it cracker jack? Truth.

Me: NO...why would I have cracker jack? They are just lucky I didn't correct them as they kept saying “Cracker Jacks “ It is “Cracker Jack” no “s.”

Seriously...the monkey had issues

Jennie: I would have dumped out my purse to show them that I didn't have cracker jack. What a bunch of jerks.

Me: Also, I lowered the age on the trip (other than the guides) by 15 years. Lesson learned. Next time poll the roster

Before setting sail…I should have learned this from years of watching Gillian’s Island.

Teaching "Thriller" as part of the "Wild Rumpus"

2012-01-27T05:34:00.000-08:00

Amoeba, Movies and Music...Oh My!

2012-01-24T10:01:00.001-08:00

I haven’t posted a lot this trip. I guess some of it is that I have settled in a bit. I don’t feel as if I am on vacation; I am just living. My days are similar as I wake around 8, eat breakfast, read, prepare for school and then head off to Holy Cross. We are working on 2 plays in Standard 4. One class is performing Where the Wild Things Are and the other is performing A Melody Off Key. So, I have been gathering props and working on choreography.

Today, I also went into Infant 2 and did theatre songs: Bingo, The Shark Song, Head – Shoulders – Knees and Toes, The Hokey Pokey, The Moose Song and Jesus Loves Me. My dear, sweet Garielle is in that class and wanted me to come. They are adorable.

The big news has been my “amoeba.” Over a week ago, I came down with a parasite. I will admit, it scared me a bit. I have never passed so much blood or been in that much pain – not even in labor. Monday morning, I went straight to the clinic. Want a true 3^rd world experience? Head to the one of two doctors on the island on a Monday – all that was missing was a goat and chicken. Babies were lined up for nebulizers; I guess this is common practice for colds etc. One woman walked in dilated at 10. Less than 15 minutes, the baby was crying and 2 hours later, the whole family was leaving. I was still waiting to see the doctor.

Once called, you sat opposite of the doctor in his office (the door never shuts, so you can watch each consult). I told him my symptoms; he never looked directly at any of the patients. Then – in the same room - he did an ultra-sound of my stomach. I then had to produce a sample of the alien output. He said, “You have an amoeba. Do you know amoeba?” Me: “Like a parasite?” He responded, “Amoeba.” The nurse told me she had seen worse as I had to leave the sample with her. I can’t imagine.

I am on my 9^th day of antibiotics and feeling pretty crappy. There is nothing like a parasite in your intestines to slow a girl down on Fantasy Island. It has been a lot of Ramen noodles, crackers, diet ginger ale and cereal. It is a lot like college but without the beer. Also, I figure that I am only about 2 more bouts of dysentery away from my goal weight.

At night, I read a lot and watch movies on my computer. There is a Chinese place on Front Street that sells movies for $2.50. They are new release pirates. I am sure it is illegal as the day is long, but the store seems to do well. When I return to the states, feel free to borrow from my new collection: Moneyball; Eat, Pray, Love; The Runaways; For Colored Girls; Like Water for Elephants; Bridesmaids; Burlesque; Like Crazy; and Friends with Benefits. Also, if you have anything you really want me to bring home, just ask.

This was what I woke up to this morning - a drawing of my house and me. The artist is Ivo!

2012-01-24T09:50:00.000-08:00

Playing Offense - dedicated to my dear friend Susie Garry Weber

2012-01-22T21:19:00.000-08:00

Years ago, when I was an English teacher, I was introduced to the phrase “bean counter.” I had absolutely no idea what it meant. I had gone into the principal’s office to voice a concern. He responded with the phrase, “Well, Kim, there are a lot of bean counters in the world, and you just have to acknowledge and accept that.” I had absolutely no idea what that meant. I called my dad.

Back up 15 years from that moment. It is junior high basketball. I am tall, so it allows me a ticket to the court. I played the center position from the first time I walked on the court until the last. Let’s just say, at some point I realized that 5’ 9” is not an advantage of a center. In the meantime, I am burning up hormones on the court.

So, we are at the end of the Jr. High season. I am home, making dinner and setting the table. Dad says, “How’s basketball Tootse.” I offer the general middle school banality. However, at our dinner table, I decided to poll the audience about my latest lack of denotative skills.

Me: Do any of you know what defense or offense means?

Dad: What do you mean?

Me: Well, the coach uses those words a lot.

Dad: Yeah?

Me: I don’t know what he means?

Dad: What do you mean, you don’t know what he means?

Me: Well, he yells, “Play defense,” and everyone else seems to know what it means, but I don’t.

My dad (and brother but that was kind of normal) just looked at me – speechless. I knew what I suppose to do when I had the ball, and I knew what I was suppose to do when I didn’t. Who knew it had names? Obviously, everyone but me.

About 2 months ago, I was sitting with my father at chemo. I rarely missed a chemo appointment as it was time with dad where I got to watch him do what he did best - make others feel better. As I perused my email on my laptop, I got white. An ongoing issue that has been causing me undo stress had risen its ugly head again that morning.

I never talked to dad about issues that dealt with conflict. Some of it was because as a kid, any conflict I had usually was at school. If the conflict was with a teacher, the response from dad was, “You fix it, or I will. You are not going to like how I fix it.” That meant that the teacher was always right, and I needed to suck it up and make it right. If the conflict was with another student dad would say, “First, you are not nearly as important as you think you are. There is no way they are giving this as much thought and energy as you are.” If he actually saw evidence of unfair treatment he would point out, “Well, if they pick on you, they are leaving someone else alone. Toughen up.”

So, here I am with mean kids again. That is a lesson that I have learned over the years. No matter if you are 9, 19 or 49, there will always be mean kids. I look over at dad and decide to have him read the email. I brace for the advice.

“Quit playing defense. Grab the ball, control the game and play smart offense” was all he said. This time I understood the terms clearly.

You Can Take the Girls Out of South Dakota but You Can't the South Dakota Out of the Girl!

2012-01-15T13:53:00.000-08:00

South Dakota in the House!

2012-01-15T13:43:00.000-08:00

The Theory of Dakotativity is alive and well on the island. When coming back to the hotel to change for my Friday swim, I heard, “Kim Bartling?” Lou Ann (Dystra) Jensen a longtime friend – we were both in Bennewies Hall together at SDSU – was standing in the main office. Unbelieveable. After a chorus of “holy shit” from both of us, we made plans to meet for a walk into town after my swim and run.
Lou has two beautiful daughters that are along on the trip – Kristi and Anne. They hav been gracious enough to let me tag along. I do love my quiet time, but adventures such as snorkeling are so much more fun when sharing the awe. Oh and let’s not forget our Friday night at the Lion’s Den playing bingo with the locals – priceless!

It has been lovely meeting Lou in such a different environment. She still directs high school one-acts and oral interp, so we see each periodically. However, to talk as two women – two teachers from small town South Dakota on the quiet white beach of Ambergris Cay, is an intimate offering. She is a woman to be admired, and I do.

Garielle (on right) and his Cousin Christian

2012-01-15T13:39:00.001-08:00

Island Love

2012-01-15T13:34:00.000-08:00

On Friday afternoon, my boyfriend and I had arranged to go swimming after school in the lagoon. I met my boyfriend last March, and I hate to brag, but he followed me around until I gave in to his shy, but subtle ways. Garielle is the stereotypically tropical, dark and handsome man of which dreams are made. He is not – however – tall. He holds hope that his 8^th birthday will arrive bearing inches, but his Mayan heritage is working against him. Garielle is the sweetest boy. He is extremely quiet and even when he does speak, which become more each day, he struggles with articulation. This is not uncommon as Creole barely requires their mouths to open.

Garielle is the youngest child by quite a bit. His 18 year sister works in a tourist shop and his 15 year old brother dropped out of school to drive a boat. His parent own a bar on back street, and they live about it. His mother is dying of throat cancer. I was telling him about the HUGE land crab that greeted me in my house the other day and that I screamed extremely loud because I thought it was a rat. He laughed and said, “Rats won’t hurt you either miss. They are many in our house.” If I could sweep him away I would, but his life is his. He is a little boy with a family.

Two Tangibles Closer to Being Belizean!

2012-01-15T13:32:00.000-08:00

I bought a bike and my own snorkeling gear. Another favorite child’s – Junior – dad deals in bikes of all sorts: 4 to 2 wheels, motors to pedals. He constructed this bike for me at a cost of $75. It was a bargain! Also, when I went to pick it up, Terry and Westside invited me in for dinner – conch stew!

Three Island Staples: Your Own Bike and Snorkeling Gear and Jr.

2012-01-15T13:31:00.000-08:00

Our Dock By Night

2012-01-15T12:52:00.000-08:00

Festival of the Arts

2012-01-15T12:33:00.000-08:00

A week has passed and life here lies somewhere between lazy and busy. The only complaint I have are the sand flies. I have never experienced them before on previous trips, but they are making up for it now. I realize I have put on some weight, but I had no idea I would be the juiciest thing on the island.

Theatre has begun at Holy Cross! Each May, Ambergris Caye sponsor a “Festival of the Arts.” Each school is encouraged to participate. This year HC Standard 4 will be presenting two short one act musicals: Where the Wild Things are and A Melody Off-Key! I will get the basic structure in place and then the teachers will continue to work with them until the actual festival in May. This week revolved around basic theatre skills. On Monday we start the serious rehearsals! Pray for me.

All the student I have been working with are really open to theatre – which is completely new to most of them. The biggest obstacle are 2 fold: 1. The girls all just want to dance like Shakira all the time 2.When they get up front to perform, they forgo the “formal English” and Creole sets in. So, for the most part, it looks great to me, but I have no idea what they are saying J

Girls Rule at Building Roads!

2012-01-07T13:18:00.000-08:00

And we complain about potholes.....

2012-01-07T13:09:00.000-08:00

The Road Ahead

2012-01-07T12:49:00.000-08:00

As the great Western philosopher Dolly Pardon once said, “If you don't like the road you're walking, start paving another one." It’s not like I don’t like the road I have been walking on, it is that it has just come to a fork in the road.

Don’t worry; I am not going to quote Frost or Yogi Berra at this point. Instead, I hoped on a plane, flew 2,000 miles and this morning worked 4 hours throwing rock and shoveling sand as I helped build roads in San Mateo.

There is nothing like physically working side by side with children to adults - including locals, a group from Ole Miss, a guy who walked out of his life in Calgary Canada, and me – to make you appreciate the global beauty and efficiency of collaboration.

It was fun to see familiar faces as many of the children attend Holy Cross. Also, my family will be proud to know that my throwing rock skills have made me a bit of a celebrity. One woman actually yelled, “She can throw like a man.” They men like me, but unlike the Rasta guys on the island, they are shy and respectful.

I have promised myself that during this time on the island I am working to make my heart bigger and my body smaller – this morning was a perfect exercise regimen

My Backyard

2012-01-07T12:46:00.001-08:00

My Front Yard

2012-01-07T12:07:00.001-08:00

Belize 2012

2012-01-05T13:39:00.000-08:00

Well, I arrived in Belize City at approximately 5 pm on Wed., December 4th. I came with 3 more USF athletic equipment bags full of Tennis Shoes - @ 80 pairs. Also, there were school supplies and toys. I also had 2 suitcases packed with my clothes and more shoes, supplies and toys. Altogether it was 250 # of guarantee smiles.

I knew the biggest obstacle of the day was going to get the luggage off the conveyer, through customs, and to the water taxi across town. Also, I was a bit concerned about getting it all from the San Pedro taxi stop to my home for the month. However, all your Facebook and Family prayers worked as it was a breeze!! The only problem was customs who decided I wasn’t as cute as I was in March, so I had to pay @ $100 in duty. Dang!

Mason, the taxi driver, was more than willing to help me with my bags and even offered me his home free of charge if I wanted to hang out in Belize City for a while….see I told you all the people here were friendly! Don’t worry mom and Thad, not even I am that naïve.

We made it in time for the last water taxi of the day, and @ 2 hours later, the lovely boys San Pedro carried everything from the beach right to a waiting beat-up van on Front Street! Yes. A whole $5 later, my bags were in my amazing house, and I was off to get a $2 burrito in Central Park.

I was in bed by 9:30 – those that know me, acknowledge that means that I was exhausted. I slept until 1 pm this afternoon – that doesn’t surprise anyone who knows me.

Unpacking, learning the names of those I will spend a lot of time around – housekeepers and groundskeeper for this hotel, shopkeepers within 5 minutes, etc have consumed most of the afternoon. I have my own house behind, so I plan on doing my own housekeeping.

I have to say, that I am beyond surprised by my dwelling. Ms. Lydia from Holy Cross set it up, and I got the feeling that it was going to be “kind of” a shack. Ummm….no. It is a 2 story home anything I could want. I will post pic here and on Facebook.

I love this house because it epitomizes all that I admire on the island. Out the front – from the veranda, is the view of the Caribbean. Looking out the back windows are the locals doing the best they can. I love living somewhere in between.

A couple of disclaimers – 1. I will not be giving a complete “diary” of my days, but please know if I do, it is purely self-indulgent so I can go back and relive. I hope to have more entries of discoveries, insights and ramblings 2.I include prices just so those of you back home reading along get an idea of the cost of living; there is nothing we Americans understand better than price tags J

School is still not in session for Christmas break, so I will not be going to Holy Cross tile next week. In the meantime, many of the children are on the beach playing….guess where I am off to next?

The Legacy of Sylvin Schetnan - Dad's Eulogy

2011-12-28T22:15:00.000-08:00

Thank you all for being here on Christmas Eve. With last minute shopping, preparation and traveling, please know that the Schetnan Family does not take it lightly that each of you are here. Here on the eve of our Savior’s Birth. There have been many people who have been so kind in their condolences and some had added, “I am sorry it is now. It is so difficult to have him pass this time of year.” Please don’t be sorry

I can’t think of a better time to celebrate dad’s life. It brought our entire extended family to the farm to laugh and share stories. I think our dad knew exactly what he was doing. We can’t feel bad for him, he showed up in Heaven just in time for the biggest party of the year. Dad loved a paaaaarty. He was always the last to leave a gathering - he has children and grandchildren that resemble that statement.

This last semester, I decided to throw my typical Introduction to Theatre syllabus out the window. After 25 years of teaching, I decided to change it up. Instead I built the class around the world “legacy.” We read plays looking for it, we watched plays and dissected the nature of it. In truth, it was totally self-indulgent. Watching my father fight the good fight these past 4 ½ years, I had become intrigued by the word. So, for 18 weeks, I along with 45 young collegiate minds chewed on this word, and I observed our reactions to it.

Legacy. That is a great word for those of us who grew up in the “Greater Brandon – Garretson Area.” When I was little, I remember being taken to the land of Blue Dragons to behold Legacy of the Brandon vs. Garretson Football Game. Then, we moved here and lived the Legacy of the Jesse James legend. Certainly as I look around the room, I see a “old school” legacy of family names (Davis, Engebretson, Bly, Hillested, Howe, Hoven, Koch, Nelson, Kringen, Pierrets, Koens, Stoterau, Edmundson and Garry…if I didn’t mention you it is just because I have a time limit here people). My nieces just got a new dog the day dad died and named it Vinnie for Syl”vin” – certainly a legacy that dad would have cracked a smile and an inappropriate smart aleck remark.

Legacy. As stated in the obituary, I asked dad what he thought his legacy was. What wasn’t included in the Argus is what he said next. I asked, “But Dad, what about your family? What do you think or want your legacy to be within our family?” He just shrugged and said, “That’s for you to decide.”

So, here we are - making that decision. What was Sylvin Schetnan’s legacy? My children would tell you it would be his ability to fix anything – machines to hearts. Teake loved it when he and Grandpa would fix an engine or some other machine to which Grandpa’s response would be, “That’s slick.” Tyler, my oldest, would tell you that grandpa’s legacy is that he never missed a thing. From traveling the countryside in a Winnebago to watch track meets and football games, to witnessing Tyler’s commitment to join the Catholic Church this past year, grandpa lived to watch his family run toward their passions. Even in his last moments of speech, he pointed at Tyler’s wife Katie with love and admiration and said, “She is the rock. She is rock of faith.”

Our father and mother did not only raise Jen, Thad and I, they had a pretty heavy hand in my children. Not only did dad teach them to drive, shoot and fish; he modeled personal integrity, work ethic, family accountability and unconditional love. Oh, and he also taught them a dictionary of inappropriate phrases that we cannot share here today. When I asked my nieces Sydni and Jadyn what they will always remember about Grandpa, they said, “Holding his big hands.” Those two sweet little girls never missed a chance to hold our dad’s chipped, calloused and bruised hands. He is now holding us all in the palm of his hands every day.

Legacy. Thad said, “He always told us we could do or be anything, but he demanded we do it to a greatest level of excellence.” Now, this is where most of our friends are now nodding going, “Yep, Syl Schetnan demanded excellence.” I remember Darcy or Ona once telling me that they did not like to stay over at my house cuz’ my dad “kinda” scared them. He was scary. Demanding. Loud. This is all true. Dad liked to say, “Some people call it respect; I call it fear.” The truth is, we did fear him. Both our parents – like most of you – worked themselves to the bone to make all opportunities available. We feared not delivering - not being the best we could be because they just loved and believed in us, and worked so hard for us. Dad ran a tight ship, and the crew was rarely out of line. However, the destination for all three of us (and even mom and dad when they dared to tag along) has been international travel, more education than most people need, great jobs, better friends and a love of family that people in other places just dream about. My siblings and I have acknowledged that his legacy may be, that he and my mother raised three kids who really like each other and love each other even more.

Yesterday, after listening to my dad’s brothers and their families, I was affirmed that one of the true legacies of my father is his ability to tell a story. He loved a good story. Most of our dad’s stories revolved around something stupid that one of us did. And as I listened last night to the Schetnan Clan, it was clear that the ability to weave a tale is injected deep into our DNA. Each of us have a story bigger and better than the next.

Ok…I need to digress. I teach Greek Theatre and the one thing - that is, the one common theme – the one done deal, is that in every Greek play there is a tragic hero who dies of a tragic flaw….stay with me. A tragic flaw is a quality that is “seemingly” good but ends up being the death of the central character. The most common tragic flaw is hubris – or, wait for it Schetnan's…pride. Yep, pride. I wish I had a dollar for every time my father said, “Pride will kill ya kid.” I had no idea what the heck he was talking about. When I was a senior in high school, I decided to speak up...take a stand…dare I say it – talk back.

He had just delivered a “Pride will kill ya” to which I replied, “Ya know dad, I am a pretty good kid. I have good grades, I behave myself, I work hard in sports…I was a Blue Dragon cheerleader for goodness sake.” He just shook his head, walked away, repeating, “Pride will kill ya.” I didn’t know what he really meant by this, until after I had Tyler. One weekend, I was whining that I was embarrassed to use my state aid to live and attend college. He just repeated the same head shake as he said the phrase again, “Pride will kill ya. Suck it up, take the help, get through school, pay your taxes and help the next girl.” I did and since that day, I have taught every student that I have ever had, the evils of self pride…hubris. Who knew dad was a scholar of Greek philosophy?

Speaking of pride, my siblings and I would like to take this time to apologize to every person in this room for our father’s obnoxious pride in his children. See how he spun that? He was not a proud man, but he was immensely proud of his family. However, the only reason we know this, is that others told us or we heard him from across the room while he was telling you. Most of the time, we had to wait for mom to tell us how embarrassed she was by his continual bragging. He always complained that he raised children who have wheels on their feet and wings on their derrieres. He didn’t want to hear about Denver, France, Baltimore, New York or Belize. However, I am sure some of you have been bored to death by our lives. I believe that dad never acknowledged these places because if he did, we may move away. He and mom always wanted us within a phone call or 20 minute car ride.

Legacy – jitterbugging with our mom…having time to have a cup of coffee and conversation with anyone…creating a rural Disneyland for our cousins and their families with donkeys, lawn mowers, 4-wheelers, golf carts and hayloft swings…phrases such as “Oh yeah” “I have no quarrel with that but..” “What do you think is going on over there?” “What did she say?” “How much corn do you think the Vatican can hold?” “Really?” and “You Gotta Be Tough”

Legacy is humble his appreciation to AA for saving his life and consequently helping create Brandon’s 12 & 12.

Also, since I am the oldest, wisest and favorite child, AND the one who dared to get up here, I am owning a quick moment. I will miss looking for my dad in a crowded room at an auction, at a basketball game or at someone else’s funeral. I will miss buying him V8, Tobasco sauce and pistachios. I will miss rubbing his eyebrows and his swollen feet with their gross toenails; I will miss him poking his head in my classes while I am teaching; I will miss being called Tootse (there were times that I thought my dad had forgotten my real name).

His greatest legacy is that he loved our mother with every inch of his being. He knew he snagged the prettiest girl in Minnehaha County. Mom, we talk about how he fought the big fight and even at the end wanted each and every breath. We would like to think it was because he wanted to see what became Syndi, Jadyn, Tyler and Teake's lives, but it truth it was because he loved living his life with you. We loved the way he looked at you. He was your partner, your husband, your best friend, and your boyfriend.

So, what is Sylvin Schetnan’s legacy? It is simple. It is the love of family wrapped in the gift of gab, tied up with the secure ribbon of AA and placed under a tree of faith. On this package, the label reads, “To: Janet, Tootse, Butch, Punk and Families Love you: Syl, Dad and Grandpa.

Green Acres is the Place for Me

2011-08-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

“To sell the farm” is a euphemism for death. There was a time in my life when I thought my life had come to an end because I had to live on one. In 1973, my parents decided to move from our huge house, located directly across the street from my school and between all my friends’ homes, to a small farm house surrounded by acres of corn and beans. The city mice were moving to the country.

It would be admirable, if not romantic, to paint this decision like a scene from my favorite teen movie, Endless Love. The parents of Brooke Shields were ethereal, democratic friends to their children. If this was a scene in that movie, there would have been a family meeting in the living room where discussions of raising our own organic food and creating an inspiring artist commune for our friends were defenses for this radical act. Instead, we picked up mid-school year with the hope that putting 20 miles between my dad and his favorite watering hole would bring the same serenity to our days and nights that this rural backdrop provided each morning.

Besides our family home (my grandparents owned it before selling it to their oldest son in 1963), we left behind a colorful history. Nights so threatening with emotional fireworks, that I once called our family doctor for assistance. All important numbers were written on the phone for easy access – doctor, grandmas, grocery store, mom’s beauty shop, and the VFW. I told the doctor that my dad was sick again and needed a shot. I don’t remember how he reassured me that my dad would sleep it off, but tomorrow came and so did the routine. My mom, with her high frosted hair and cigarette in hand, became a midnight travel agent, taking us to my aunt’s apartment in Sioux Falls or my uncle's home in Minnesota until things settled down. One escapade had us in a garage with only a light bulb for heat as the real fire burned in my father.

Our move to the farm had nothing to do with the raising of crops, animals or children. It was about the survival of a man and his family.

Dad's continual need to “celebrate” did not stop once immediate neighbors and establishments were removed. The trip home just became more dangerous. Car wrecks and absences became passé. Also, there were bars in another town only 5 miles away. Here my father would find the drama he sought.

There is a snobbiness about South Dakotans. I see it in the workplace and with acquaintances. Hell, I am the queen of this code of conduct. We want people to “pay their dues.” One cannot enter a job or relationship assuming equality of those that have been their longer, even if you in a superior position. “Keep your head low, do not tell anyone you know anything and over deliver.” This was my father’s advice to his children, and it is still applies in almost every working and personal relationship. Forced personal intimacy is an ugly thing.

One bloody episode happened because of my father’s excess of drink and lack of adherence to his own rhetoric. Drunk, loud, and “new to these parts,” my dad got into a brawl. I remember my mother on the other guy’s back followed by a desperate need for a doctor. My brother and I drove the car home. I did the foot feet and he sat on my lap and steered. If you add 9 and 7 together, you get 16 - an age that most children learn to drive.

The first time I ever saw my father cry was the day he sobered up. It seemed like the FBI had arrived. Instead they were men my father had known for years. Men he may have even once shared a drink. Now they represented a shot of AA. My mother in a fog of her chain smoke, exhaustion and love, looked grey. It was as if someone had “sold the farm.”

My father has been sober for 38 years, and the color came back to our family. I have never understood those that continually use the excuse, “I am from an alcoholic family” to explain away their own frailties. I am a textbook chapter for the oldest daughter of an alcoholic. I have and continue to make decisions that are injected so deep into my DNA because of certain losses and experiences, but they are mine. They are not the sins of my parents. My father really believed that if he quit drinking, he would die and, yet, he still chose the prospect of death in order to save his family. Instead, I take away his ability to risk it all for the good of the others. From both of my parents I learned to unconditionally love, forgive and reinvent.

We have never resembled that family in Endless Love. Instead we were a bit more like Green Acres. Not only is our farm distinguishable because of it beautiful green barn and out building, but we are a family who celebrate a worldly education along with our rural roots. My parents raised children who all graduated from college, crave domestic and international travel and have sophisticated taste in shoes and coffee (ok, that is just me).

However, like the roots of the corn and beans that surround B Bar B (the actual name of the farm), our roots are here too. My brother is convinced that it is all too much for my parent now. Dad with his cancer and bad heart, mom with her anxiety, and both are approaching 70. My brother’s children are young, and he works like a dog, I can understand his desire to lighten the heaviness he feels in his obligation to keep the farm’s upkeep. He has encouraged my parents to sell the farm.

I can’t do that. The oldest daughter, the city kid, the one who resented the initial move the most, I can’t imagine our lives without this farm. It has become the hub of extended family gathering. Just last week, B Bar B hosted almost the entire Schetnan clan – close to 40. A true family rebellion. My cousins, now parents themselves, watched their children ride lawn mowers, ATVs, mules and golf carts. The hayloft is still the favorite place to swing – and fall. This is where my children learned how to drive, shoot and fish, and this is where they continue to learn personal integrity, work ethic, family accountability and unconditional love.

“To sell the farm” would be the literal end to my father. It is the breath of these moments and memories that keep him alive.

Christpleasehelpmemas

2010-12-27T19:05:00.000-08:00

The following post is dedicated to Ms. Christen Babb. Thank you for continuing to kick my butt to share my voice.

I missed Christmas. Well, I don't mean to hyperbolize...I knew it was happening, I just didn't get to join the parade. In fact, I didn't really even get to stand on the sideline, wave and catch candy. My role this year was more like paroled float maker. Bah Humbug.

My Christmas routine has been set in place for 25 years - it began the year I entered the world of teaching. December guarantees blizzards. In the the "old days" this meant stacks of final exams, theatrical critiques, and last-minute-I-am-begging-you-to-accept-it assignments. Today the blizzard still hits specifically at the end of the second week in December, but now it means digging through the electronic windows heavy with emails, texts and -God help me - tweets.

When I taught high school, my classroom seemed to be the last of my worries. December was a time of speech tournaments, advent performances and Christmas party entertainment. Donning a tree was not even in my top 5 things to decorate. Is my Reader's Theatre styled with a sense of relativity to the material and one another without looking uniformed and costumed? Should the traveling Advent actors wear variations on a white, green, purple or red or should they sport various jewel tones? Do the students need to dress up for their party gig or are their school uniformed khakis acceptable? From the state oral interpretation festival to the St Lambert's sanctuary, the wrapping was important. I was not immune from wearing the appropriate " Catholic costume." I discovered years later that the Bishop of the Eastern South Dakota Diocese once - at a meeting of priests - asked for suggestions as to what successful ideas were working in each of their parishes. One priest said that a highlight of their parish was inviting the O'Gorman Advent Liturgical to perform each season. Other priests verbalized affirmation to their experiences to which the Bishop asked, "Who writes and directs these liturgies?"

"Kim Bartling'" they responded.

"Of what parish is she a member?"

According to the story, there was a long uncomfortable pause. Finally, Holy Spirit's Father Andrasko whispered, "She is one of mine." I will always be one of his. My dear friend took it upon himself to shelter this poor Lutheran from the threat of theatrical excommunication and wrap her in his parish's swaddling clothes. I may be a Catholic-lite (darn those two sacraments), but my heart will forever be full of love for the Catholic Church, the Sioux Falls Catholic School System, and all those darn mackerel snappers. The lessons I learned about the grace and the power of a faith community shaped my faith walk and my teaching philosophy.

After rereading my initial thoughts, it has occurred to me that I miss some of the Christmas routine that came with those days. It was always quite difficult to juggle the classroom, advent script writing and directing, coaching an oral interp. team of over 100, preparing for state interp., casting one acts etc. However, for some reason, it seemed like life was a more simple time than the one I live now. My kids were young, so I dragged them along. I didn't just teach at Arlington, Brookings, Brandon and O'Gorman, I raised my family there. There was not a school event we missed. My kids were raised by "my kids." I don't know if my students will ever understand the impressions they have made on my own children. There are too many families to mention, but Teake Bartling will forever wait in the wings for the love of Amanda Garry and aspire to be the huge personality of Ronnie Heitzler. Tyler will always strive to be the man he saw grow up to be Mitch Maguire, and even though he was a mentor - not a student of mine- Tyler was inspired to be a man of God by the example of Fr. Chuck Cimple. These are just four of the literally thousands that shaped my children. I digress.

When I made the reluctant move to higher education, I was asked - a lot - what was the biggest difference between teaching high school and college kids? My response was, "If I told my O'G students I needed the theatre moved closer to Kiawanis Ave, they would ask no questions, start immediately, and work until done. If I asked my college students to move Jeschke closer to 26th Street, it would get done, but they would ask for me to email my request with specific deadlines and objectives and respond to me via text or email as to what worked best for their schedule. To use the phrase, "I do not wear the pants in this relationship" would be as archaic as using secondary teaching techniques in a university classroom; but, in truth, both are still true blue. I digress.

Preparing for Christmas as a professor comes with more scheduling freedom and internal pressure. College students only see me in a class 150 minutes a week, so they assume that during the other 9,930 minutes that week, I work on their submissions. Last year, I actually had a student text me on Christmas eve asking me why his grades were not posted. I text back that grades were not due until the 27th. His next text was, "im concerned cuz all other grades r in." My subsequent question was, "How many of your other profs are women?" The answer was none. Exactly. The other professors did not have to buy every present under the tree, let alone decorate it. They did not do grocery shopping nor cook a 25 lb. turkey and all the fixings for both sides of the family and any stray student who needed a home and family for the day. They did not make sure their special friends (they don't have them), the newspaper girl, the mailman, the neighbors, the ministers, and their family's charities received tokens of appreciation and love. Men - and I know this is a huge generalization; but, sue me, it is true - are not wired this way. Of course some of the male profs grades were submitted before they walked home for Christmas break. Did they expedite their submissions so they could move on to cookie decorating and caroling? No, they just had the time. I once had a colleague tell me that when it came to semester grades he found himself submitting "the lowest possible grade that he would not have to argue over." Despite the awkward phrasing and ending the thought in a preposition, the approach is tempting. I digress.

Three years ago, I thought I had discovered the secret to total Christmas enjoyment. I spent the fall of 2007 in NYC on academic sabbatical. My flight home was on the 24th. It was the perfect plan. I did not have to decorate, plan, cook, or purchase. It was a test to see of what my men were made. I was pleased. The tree was up, the stockings hung and there were even a few gifts purchased (albeit, they were provided a list). I was not made accountable to any meals. It was like we were that young family again. My mom took care of everything. Unfortunately, my entire family has also become accustomed to a Christmas routine, so the following year the festivities were back on the McKennan Park track, and I took my place as the drum majorette on the Poinsettia Parade. I tried this year to pull this stunt on a somewhat smaller scale. I took off to watch the USF football team play in the national championship game in Rome, Georgia on December 17th. Spending an entire weekend out of Christmas commission, I naively hoped would jump start my men into the same type of call to duty I witnessed in 2007. Let's just say that in my house, holiday tradition might as well be called repetition and reliance. I digress.

I did do something different this year. I bought throughout the year (even though my nieces usually got things as I bought them - blasted their cuteness). Also, the internet was my friend. However, most of what I bought on CyberMonday I forgot about, so I am just starting to find some of the items as I sort through the Holiday shrapnel. Today - December 27th - Dick received a really cool ipod converter for his van; I think I probably paid more for it than his van is worth. I also bought him a new set of drum cases, clothes, a funky leather Diesel watch and cozy socks. He gave me a bottle of perfume. I have been wearing the same perfume for 15 years; it is not this perfume. Don't tell him, he was so proud that he actually found the mall. Also, two years ago, I asked him to stop buying me gift cards to Kaladi's. I explained that since the only gift he was in charge of was something for me, I would appreciate something a bit more personal. Evidently, he still thinks Sex and the City is on the air, and I still aspire to be Carrie Bradshaw. I can now smell like Sarah Jessica Parker everyday if I chose to wear her scent. This all comes under the heading of "Be Careful What You Wish For." In reality, it all makes me laugh. It adds to my rich, well-meaning holiday tradition. I digress.

Like all other years, I got it all done. Was I still shopping on the 24th? Yes. Did I still make the 20+ lb. turkey with all the trimmings? Heck, yeah. Was our home full of both Bartlings and Schetnans and others who needed a home on Christmas? Always. Did I gorge on my culinary talents, clean up on the traditional game of dominoes and cuddle with my boys while watching the holiday classic District 9 (ok, so that was the Christmas of 2009 where we were socked in by a blizzard alone and it was heaven on a stick)? I digress. The answer is - nada. There was no overeating, playing or cuddling for me. Once the bird was carved and the meal served, I caved into the f#@*ing flu. I viewed Christmas somewhere between the bathroom and the couch. I found myself wanting to reach into the referee's pocket on my HD TV and throw down the bullshit flag. This is not the snow globe version I envisioned. I waited all year. I was a good girl...ok, well, I tried really hard to be a good girl...ok, I had good intentions. I want it my way. I digress.

I would like to tell you, that like the Grinch, I looked around at my amazon version of Who-ville, and my heart melted. I would like to report that as everyone left full and happy, my stomach ache was settled by knowing my family had a lovely day. I would even settle for a small Christmas carol reference:

Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Don we now our gay apparel,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,
Fa la la la la, la la la la

because I decked the those halls. I strove to be jolly. I donned, dammit, I donned. And even though I had to look up what "troll" means on wikipedia, I am willing to still troll any yuletide carol thrown at me. I just want my one day back! Instead, I sunk into a "poor me" hangover that has lasted about 24 hours longer than it should.

Time has expired on the "free sorry for myself kiddy ride." It is time to put on my Type A, oldest child, kick ass and get things done panties and clean up this mess. Geez, what does my family think this is, a vacation? This is not the time to digress. What was I talking about?

Standing of the Shoulders of Giants

2010-01-29T22:48:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday evening I received incredibly sad news. My teacher, my mentor and my dear friend Nancy Wheeler lost her battle with cancer. I cannot - at this time - respond to the depths of sadness that I have been experiencing, but Wednesday was particularly hard. I was convinced that the funeral was going to be over the weekend, and I would not be able to get home in time for it. I have already missed the funeral of Dave Dedrick who I idolized as a child and loved and respected as an adult, not being able to say goodbye to Nancy was just too heavy.

So on Wednesday morning I got up and thought, “If Nancy was in New York, what show would she want to see?” Easy – South Pacific at Lincoln Center. This musical has been playing for about two years now, and frankly, I have had little interest in seeing it. However, I believe that my love for musicals comes from the influence of Nancy Wheeler and Raymond Peterson in my life. This classic American musical was the perfect choice for me and Nancy to attend.

I have to admit that I cried through most of the first act. Yes, it was beautiful, but more than that, I was overwhelmed with I – Kim Schetnan Bartling, who grew up on a farm in rural SD – was sitting in Lincoln Center in New York City. How did this happen? Who told me I could spend a quarter of my year in this city? What do I know about theatre? Where did I get this appetite to always know more?

Nancy Wheeler. Karen Foster. Bette Gerberding. Sylvia Henkin. Sharon Kringen. Joyce Evans. Mary Alice Haug. Roberta Rude. Julia Bennett. Michele Pawk. Rosie Blunk. Jennie Sievers. Florence Schetnan. Lillian Leithesier. Janet Schetnan.

I have had amazing teachers. Women who have showed me how to love, learn and live. Nancy Wheeler taught me all that plus she showed me how to be a woman passionate about education, theatre, students, family and faith by example.

I have never enjoyed a musical more as I did on Tuesday. It was an honor to watch it with Nancy who as of Tuesday evening will be traveling with me on all my adventures .

Tony Awards Here I Come?

2010-01-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

I attended Arthur Miller’s A View From the Bridge. I have never seen a production of this play before. It was glorious. Scarlett Johansson was quite good, but Leiv Scribner left me breathless. Eye twitches, fighting back a eruption of everything from vomit to tears, and a death scene, this man is the real deal. It was an honor to watch him work. He just….goes there.

I had a standing room ticket, so at intermission, I moved into an empty seat in the 5^th row of orchestra. I struck up a conversation with the man to my right. I asked him if sees a lot of shows. He said, “All of them. I write the script for the Tony Awards.” I responded, “Well, then I am sure you have heard of me as I write the Mayor’s Awards for the Arts in Sioux Falls, SD.” I said it deadpan and after a well played paused laughed. He enjoyed the joke. I wish I had asked him for a job as a Tony seat filler…that has always been a bit of a dream for me.

After the show, stopped by DaddyO for my ginger ale. Luce had a spot waiting for me right next to Rachel Maddow. This is the way this went down, “Rach, I have been waiting to introduce you to someone as special to me as you are.” We hit it off. Rachel rocks. I have ofter thought when watching her show, “I want to be her friend.” Now I am.

Mario Fratti

2010-01-28T06:38:00.000-08:00

Tuesday was one of the best days – ever. I met Mario Fratti, the legendary playwright who took Fillini’s film 8 ½ and rewrote it into the 5 time Tony Award Winning Nine. Currently, the musical is getting new breath as it has just been released as a feature film starring Kate Hudson, Penelope Cruz, Daniel Day-Lewis, Sophia Loren, and Judy Dench.

My friend Joe arranged a lunch with all of us. We arrived at Mario’s AMAZING apartment that he has lived in since 1963 around noon. I wish I would have been bold enough to take pictures of this place. It is two stories with original art on every inch of the walls, books stacked like a maze in every corner, and theatrical history that permeates the air.

It was an immediate lovefest. This man managed to learn more about me in the first 30 minutes than most of my colleagues will ever discover. For the next three hours, we managed to cover all facets of politics – religion – education – theatre. I cannot believe how much I learned. It was a master class with…the master.

The first thing he asked me was what I was reading. I told him that I had to buy a new suitcase yesterday because of the amount of books I have purchased since arriving. At the same time, I confessed that I am addicted to used book stores, and that my bounty search includes looking for books that have writing in them. I love nothing more than reading something that has inspired someone before me to script comments on the text. (this is why I don’t think a Kindle is not in my future). Mario got really excited and said, “I need to show you my latest purchase.” It was a book about Freud that dripped with oodles of comments and glowed with underlining. He then said, “Look at the title page.” It said, “The notations were not by M. Fratti. He wanted to make sure that upon his death, his authorship was clear.

After ohing and ahing over the text, I said, “Have you ever heard of the Housing Works?’ He got the strangest expression on his face and said, “Yes…very much so.” “Good,” I said, “because they have the best used bookstore in the city on..” ” Crosby and Houston, ” we said in unison. He had – in fact – bought the Freud book there yesterday at the same time I was there. We delighted each immensely.

One of the pictures included here is of the window directly across from his desk. He told me that early in his career, he would get up early, sit at his desk, and look across at the window at his neighbor Tennesse Williams. They would wave at each other and start writing.

Other William’s stories…I never knew that he died from a bottle cap as he used his teeth to open his medicine. In addition, he told me something that will forever change the way I teach. He said that Williams told him that the key to writing was to include a)the reality – the story b)the author’s biography c)one’s imagination. This is to become a continual assignment in everything from my acting to directing classes.

I also need to mention that on the second level of his apartment is his music studio which includes a baby grand that Katherine Hepburn once owned and gave to him. Yep. Also, he has an amazing rooftop terrace and said that the next time I come to the city with students, we should have a party there!

They asked me if I wanted Chinese or Italian food. I said that if I was going to spend the day with Italians, I wanted to break bread with the Italians over Italian. So, they treated me to a 4 course Italian lunch. At one point, Mario said, “I would like to toast to January 26, 2010 the day I met Kim.”

Joe had been gracious enough to buy me a collection of Mario’s plays, so I had him sign them.. However, Mario also surprised me by giving me a complete packed of his scripts. He also said that if I want to direct one of his plays, he would consider coming to see it. Ummmm….yeah!!

I wish I could list all the fascinating nuggets that he dropped, but in truth it was all so overwhelming that I just listened in awe. We talked about the new movie of his musical, what he likes on Broadway now, his opinions about today’s playwrights, and his life (daughter, Italy, social activism etc).

The two Italians fought over who was buying lunch – it was all wrapped up in some cavalier rules that we just do not abide by in SoDak. We all then hoped in a cab to take Mario to his dictation appointment. He only writes in long hand, so he goes daily to dictate to a woman who types his work. Again, they fought over who was paying for what. Mario finally put the money in my hand, but quickly took it back and shoved it at Joe and said, “Here, take it. A woman should not have money in her hand.” Hmmmm….he is an 82 year old Italian, what can I say?

Stupid Crazy for NYC

2010-01-25T20:41:00.000-08:00

Today, the students and I took a tour of The Fountain House. From their website:

Membership

At Fountain House, our members – men and women recovering from mental illness – volunteer their time to help operate the organization in exchange for the chance to gain skills, access opportunities, and make friends. Working collaboratively with a professional staff, members take part in every function of Fountain House: a unique approach that fosters mutually respectful relationships among our entire community, ensures that our services are responsive to our members’ changing needs, and engenders a feeling of investment in the programs that members create for themselves and their peers.

Services

We offer innovative support services in the areas of employment, education, housing, and wellness, as well as an initiative targeted at young adults. By combining life-long community support and diverse opportunities for advancement, we empower our members not only to recover but to pursue their goals and dreams. Fountain House’s programs are redefining what our members believe is possible for their lives and changing the way society views the capabilities of people with mental illness.

Fountain House produces results:

· 77% of participants in Fountain House’s Education Program complete their studies. The average education completion rate for students with mental illness is 32%.

· 65% of Fountain House members have achieved employment through our employment program. The average employment rate for people with mental illness is 15%.

· Members receiving psychiatric services at The Storefront, our partner clinic which integrates psychiatric and primary healthcare, have a relapse rate of 7%. The current average relapse rate is 50%.

It is a remarkable model that has “clubhouses” all over the nation except in South Dakota. Seriously, I really need to win the lottery so I can just volunteer my time to start all these incredible services. It was impressive and moving. I just want Sioux Falls to have all of this to serve those that need it the most.

Cuban food is on the student’s “to do list,” so I took them to the East Village to Café Havana. From grilled Cuban corn, to sautéed spinach, to mozzarella and avocado quesada, the students agreed that this was the best meal they have experienced since getting into the city.

Since it was 60 degrees (although sporadically rainy), it was a day to stay outside until the last possible moment. Anne and I scavenged through the housing works on Crosby and then enjoyed their bookstore next door. This is one of those places that you are thrilled to discover – a cooler, inexpensive Barnes and Nobel where all the proceeds go to fighting HIV and AIDS – but then you realize, that it may result in empty, empty, pocketbooks.

I met Luce at Sweet Revenge for coffee, cupcakes and conversation. Have I mentioned how much I love this man?

It was still too beautiful to go inside, so Haley met me to continue window shopping around the neighborhood. Fortunately or unfortunately, it became real shopping. It is a great time to buy boots in the city! At least that’s my story, and I am sticking to it.

Teake caught up with us, so we ended the evening with pizza from Karavas. I love the fact that most evenings I get to wind down with my son and students. As I finish up this entry, it is midnight and my window is wide open. I understand they are having another blizzard in SD this evening….this is the best interim ever!

Serving Smiles

2010-01-25T20:28:00.000-08:00

Teake and I arrived at St. John of the Divine to assist in serving the needy. The church is the largest in North America…who knew? As archaic and gorgeous a structure it is physically, the real beauty was happening in its basement.

Along with about 15 others, we served over 200 individuals a warm meal of spaghetti and meatballs, broccoli, tossed salad, applesauce, fruit salad, cornbread and homemade bread. My job was to greet each person and give them a plate and silverware. I loved my job! I got to look into the face of every person and greet them. My face hurt from smiling J

The response I received ranged from full engaged dialogue to nods. My goal was to get each to respond to me. I was pretty successful. In fact, by the end of the meal, I had even some of the most stoic smiling – yay!

It was a gift to serve. To see people take the time to pray, share communally with others in need, and appreciate the small gesture of serving them filled my heart with God’s grace. I was struck by the following:

-the proportion of men to women. My guess is that in the 200 plus guests, there were only about 10 women.

-the conversations. From a friendly debate about the success of Obama’s first year to the – of course – the possibility of the NY Jets in the Super Bowl, these people are connected to current events.

-the importance of looking right into someone’s eyes. I did all day and saw sadness and hope, joy and despair. I saw people doing the best they can.

The rest of the day included watching football over a turkey burger…dang Vikings and Jets! I am ready for baseball.

Saturday Theatre Crawl

2010-01-25T20:21:00.000-08:00

Saturday was all about theatre. West Side Story gave me chills, and for the record, I really had no deep interest in seeing it. A couple of things were worthy of note. The amount of Spanish included was refreshing and made sense. Where has this been since the original hit the boards in 1957? The transition in Act I from the tailor shop to the dance at the gym was truly magical. Finally, the choreography and physical transitions were some of the best that I have seen.

Next, I attended Circle Mirror Transformation at Playwright’s Horizons. This production was as funny as it was touching. I highly recommend it to anyone with a background in theatre as you will see yourself in all of these characters. This script goes on my “to do list.”

The night cap included Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind by the New York NeoFuturists. Thirty original plays and sixty minutes was on the menu. The entrees were wrong, poignantly sincere and funny! Jordan, Teake Jon, Eric and I had a great time. Hanging with the guys, was a great end to my Saturday theatre crawl.

How do you get to Carnegie Hall? practice, practice practice.

2010-01-25T20:17:00.000-08:00

I woke up to a text and picture message from Anne Wentworth; she had an allergic response to – we think – a mango. The poor thing looked more like a losing prize fighter than the beauty she is. Unfortunately, she had to stay home from our Carnegie Hall tour to sleep.

Joe Schmaderer is an O’Gorman grad and head of operations for Carnegie Hall. He took the students on a thorough and fascinating tour of the entire building. Learning about this historical landmark and being able to view the spaces from the boxes to the stages was a great beginning to our weekend.

After checking on Anne, I was joined by Teake and Jordan for one of one of favorite lunches at the White Horse Tavern. Their hot tuna sandwich is as classic as the history of this NYC landmark.

Friday evening was one that I have been looking forward to since December when I made a date with former student Tony Kutayli. Tony was one of my “big dog” actors/interpers at O’Gorman. I am so proud of what he has gone on to do with his life. Along with his law degree, he is using all of his communicative and personable talents to make a living and a difference.

Recently moved to NYC, Tony attended his first Broadway show with his “ole’” drama director. How lucky am I? We hit David Mamet’s new play Race. It was a racial version of Oleanna, but the script was still engaging. However, Mamet needs to walk away from directing his own scripts. The staging and acting was not just uninspired it was like listening to Morse Code. Example:

He: Why did you ask him for the financial retainer?

She: (pause)Why did I ask for the financial retainer?

He: (pause) Yes.

She(pause) You are asking me why I asked for a financial retainer?

He: (pause) Yes, I am asking you.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Thankfully, Tony and I had no problem with interesting conversation or lull in timing as we went for a late night dinner at Angus McIndoe. Tony is an absolute joy to be around. I am inspired by his bold enthusiasm to “change it up.” He and I share a love and respect of the city.

In one week, I spent time with three former O’G students. Each of them has molded me as a teacher, director and woman. It has been a long way from riding a bus to Clear Lake for an oral interp tourney or the stage in Sioux Falls. However all three continue to make me proud in the roles they have chosen.

Taking a Little Time to Enjoy the View

2010-01-25T20:10:00.000-08:00

Thursday, Anne, Mariah, Jordan and I got up at the crack of dawn - okay 7 am - to get in line for tickets for The View. We took a cab and were still behind 3 Aussie college students who had been there since 5. God bless them. Well, long story short, only 1 of the 4 of us getting in. The kids decided that I would probably die before them, so the dears let me go.

I made the most of it on behalf of my students. When the “warm up” comedian asked for dancers, there I was. Along with the other selectee – Sylvia – I was on camera on the set of The View “getting down with my bad self” to “Shake Your Groove Thing.” Also, I got a shout out as I was only 1 of 4 people (the others being the Aussies) that was not from the Tri-State area.

The main guest was Julia Andrews. How lucky can I be? Two theatre icons is less than 24 hours – first Landsbury and now Andrews. She oozed grace and sophistication.

On the other hand, it was fun to see Joy Behar in action with the second guest, Linda McMahon. Behar was not a fan. Of course Elizabeth Hasselbeck gushed about former WWE’s executive director McMahon’s decry to not use PAC or special interest money to finance her campaign. Joy finally said, “Why would you take anyone’s money when you have millions. I don’t think that’s honorable, it is the right thing to do.” At the commercial break, Joy could not get away from the table fast enough. When the segment was over, McMahon shook everyone’s hand except Joy’s. So when they asked at commercial break if anyone had any questions for the panel, I shot my hand in the air. “Since there are so many personalities and sometimes obvious conflicts, what do each of you do to make sure that every day at work is a great day?” After Barbara told me to slow down because I was talking too fast, Joy responded, “money.” Barbara said that this is the best job in the world, and they do not have bad days. Easy for her to say, she comes and goes when she pleases, and as the Queen Bee so she makes all the decisions. Elizabeth said, “No matter how much we disagree, we all respect each other.” Sheri was the most talkative. She actually came off the set to address me and tell me that it is all about preparation. “I come every day with a positive attitude that I am going to learn something today. “ I appreciated al their candor. The taping went really quick. With all the commercials and clips, we were on the air about 25 minutes.

I was supposed to have lunch with Sarah Torretta, a former O’G student, but she had a sick child, so I headed home and took a long and luxurious nap.

Anne Wentworth and I had a Reading Circle at a Nursing Home for NYCares. I loved it! There was a nice turnout of residents and volunteers. One of the residents read some poetry that he loved; then the rest of us jumped in. Anne read The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein and I read an essay/story that I wrote about my mother. Everyone was so receptive. In fact, as I was leaving, they were still making parallels between my story and their own mothers.

This is one of the absolutes that is coming out of this trip to nyc. I will be starting a reading circle as a local nursing home or – maybe – Trail Ridge.

A late night Mexican meal with my son ended the day. Perfect.

Ann to Anne to Angela to Angus

2010-01-25T19:48:00.000-08:00

Got up early Wednesday to get in line for tickets for A Little Night Music with Anne. From there, she and I did a little boot shopping before I grabbed the L Train for Brooklyn to have lunch with former student and lovely from the inside out Ann Weisbecker. It is always so good to see her. She and her boyfriend (and former student) Matt – Guy – Fiorita are happy and successful in the city. The two of them ran the NYC Marathon this part fall, so it was fun to hear about their adventures and their plans which includes more marathons.

Wednesday evening was another landmark production. Angela Landsbury as and Cathrine Zeta Jones in A Little Night Music was glorious. Anne and I had standing room seats, but at intermission I “eye-spied “ some empty seat in the 5^th row…so we crept in. Most of the time, I prefer to watch theatre from the back of the house or from the balcony/mezzanine because I can observe directing patterns. However, with this script/production, it is all about the acting. There is very little movement. To watch Landsbury that close was surreal. Also, Zeta-Jones was wonderful. “Send in Clowns” was in very capable hands. I had forgotten how funny and – somewhat risqué – the script was.

After the show, I passed by Lilly Tomlin, so I told her that it was an honor to be in the audience with her and introduced Anne to her. She was very gracious. Outside, I saw Daphne Rubin-Vega (the original Mimi from Rent). I approached her, introduced myself and invited her to the University of Sioux Falls at any time to teach a master class. She asked immediately if I knew Jarrod Emick and said that coming to Oral, South Dakota (Jarrod’s hometown) would be a hoot. I had to break it to her that we were not even remotely close to oral SD, but that we would love to host her.

Because it was a great night, it seemed logical to top it off with bread pudding and coffee at Angus McIndoe. This is my favorite place in Times Square. It is a small restaurant owned by Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. Over the years, I have met and/or seen numerous actors, playwrights, choreographers and directors at Angus. Their bread pudding is just the cherry on the culinary and cultural cupcake.

In addition to the pics of Catherine Zeta-Jones, are some random pics from the city.

NYC Public Transportation - Roosevelt Island to Rest

2010-01-21T21:23:00.000-08:00

"Muy Bien" Is a Necessary Communication Tool

2010-01-21T21:08:00.000-08:00

The Roosevelt Island Tram was a first for me. It was a beautiful day on Monday, so some of the kids took advantage of it. We also tried to walk around the Chelsea Galleries, but they are closed on Monday. It is amazing how fast this city gobbles up days.

I was to meet my friend Luce at a coffee shop at 5:00 so I had to abandon the student ship to get to Sweet Revenge on time. I have written about Luce numerous times. I met him when I was here the fall of 2007. He works at DaddyO where over the last two years, I have sat on the end of the bar writing numerous articles and drinking my ginger ale’s with 2 limes thank you very much. Over the years, we have shared stories of personal heartbreak, family loss and love, and individual plans for what we want to be when we grow up. Today was a treat to have a couple of hours in a quiet coffee house -no interruptions of taking orders and not having to talk over the music and patrons.

“The USF Boys” and I decided to check out The Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB). They have sketch comedy or stand-up comedy sessions every hour and a half beginning at 6:30. UCB, which originated in Chicago, is where names such as Amy Poehler and Horatio Sanz got their start. At $5 a set (we watched 2), it was a cheap night of original – as some very smart - entertainment. We all agreed that the most successful teams were those that didn’t fall to the lowest common dominator in language and subject. My favorite sketch was two play by play baseball announcers for a Boston Red Socks – Dinosaur/Extra Terrestrial/Magical Begins Team. Brilliantly written and performed. We laughed a lot, groaned once in awhile and even found a yawn here and there.

On Tuesday, I invited the “kids” to join me on a brisk walk to Chelsea Pier. I warned them that I walk fast. They should have believed me. Eric, Anne and Jordan chased after me; we must have looked pretty silly based on city park people reaction as we whizzed by.

I couldn’t wait to see Mitch Maguire and his over the top cute daughter Sadie. I love these two people so very much. I was treated to a warm greeting, familiar friendship and delicious food. I really love the area of New York that they live in – predominately Dominican Republic. The neighborhood bombards ones’ senses. The combination of Spanish and Latin music underscores the colorful scenery…and the food! Mitch treated me to a cod stew from a DR restaurant. It was as rich and smooth and delicious as the culture of the neighborhood.

At six, Mitch and Sadie walked me down to the Inwood Public Library where I was going to read to children as part of NYCares Bedtime Stories.

I don’t know who learned more – the kids or adults. Here is something that I never thought of until Tuesday. All of those children books that I cherish and collect are published in other languages too; in this case, Spanish. So, I headed to the bookshelves and pulled out some of my favorites: Buenas Noches de Luna (Good Night Moon), Olivia Forma Una Banda (Olivia Forms a Band), No Dejes Que la Paloma de Conducir el Autobus (Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus), Crisantemo (Chrysanthemum). It is amazing how quickly languages come back to you when immersed. My New Year’s Resolution was to learn Spanish (I only had one year in college). I am now more committed than ever. The students that attended were all ESL and most of them spoke very little English. This did make me wonder if it would have been better if she read them books in English. The compromise we reached was that we pointed and asked basic words (animals, colors, numbers) first in Spanish and then in English. I had worked with two children. Rositta (5) and Nacho (4). Rositta was liquid as she sat on my lap. She could not be close enough to me and would jabber to me in Spanish like we were old pals. Nacho was a tougher crowd. He spent the first hour with his head on the table. Then we had treats, and that was all he needed – a little fuel. He became interested in the books, but it wasn’t until we moved to crafts that I hooked him with my amazing drawing abilities. Okay…he is four and is easy impressed. Then, I taught him how to cut paper, and we were off! Cutting, pasting, markers – it was an universal language. This sweet, sweet boy did not speak all night until I got him all bundled up in his coat and his parents came to pick him up. “Buenos noches senorita. Gracious.” I wanted to hug him. Instead, I got a high five on street as I walked by the family a few minutes later.

What an amazing program. We need to have this in Sioux Falls for all children. Maybe it is something we could start at the St. Francis House or at Our Lady of Guadalupe? I think I need to talk to Diane VanDenOver in the Spanish Department and Rachel Loven in the Education Department at USF, this would be a wonderful across the curriculum opportunity to serve.

Anne Sporting the Newest Fashion in NYC 2010 Millinery

2010-01-21T21:00:00.000-08:00

The Best Lesson A Student Ever Taught Me

2010-01-17T22:23:00.000-08:00

Kennedy Center American College Theatre (KCACTF) Regional Five Festival is an extraordinary opportunity for college students. Throughout the week, they participate in acting competitions in which they have been nominated. They attend workshops with experts in the theatrical field ranging from professors to Broadway actors, designers, directors and playwrights. They also attend productions that have been invited to perform. Just to clarify, our region includes: North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas and Colorado. That is a plethora of universities and collegiate productions of which to chose; to say the least, it is a huge honor to be selected to perform. Since my first year at USF, I have been a strong advocate for KCACTF. We participate throughout the year and attend the regional festival every January.

In 2002, I took a group of 20 plus students to the KCACTF Regional Festival . These theatre students were hungry and devored every master class, every panel Q and A and every performance. Amidst heavy hitters like the University of Nebraska – Lincoln, Drake and Kansas State, there was Bismark College’s Laramie Project. After the show, I walked out on UNL’s Lied’s Center with 800 other theatre students, professors and patrons. My ears were ringing with opinions, criticism and ranting. To say the show was not well received would be an understatement. I was unnerved by the assumed superiority of most of the audience. I may not have experienced any catharsis from the production itself, but the masses response to it, could be one of the most moving lessons I have ever learned.

Lando Anderson was a senior who came late to the USF stage. He, like many others, came to SuFu Coo to be a star on the football field. Lando was a successful actor because he led with his heart; he was rewarded with an acting award nod, which meant he could audition for ACTF scholarships. On one of the last days of the festival, Lando and I were walking back to the hotel after, yet, another workshop. That is when he said, “Kim, this has been the most important thing that has ever happen to me. I will never be the same. Thank you.” I am always taken aback by those that know how to verbalize appreciation. Lando’s sincerity melted my heart.

Then, it came to me. We have it all wrong. As an audience, it is not about us.

From that moment on, I have been acutely aware that I have been blessed to be involved in many individual’s “best moment ever.” It includes but is not limited to: the high school students performance at the SD State One Acts, the USF freshman’s first time on stage, the understudy’s first shot at the role, one’s first time of seeing a Broadway show, a theatre student meeting her theatrical hero…..the list goes on and on.

I have applauded in numerous houses on a Broadway opening night. I have stood in the back of the theatre as a student says Shakespeare’s words for the first time on a stage. I have told a high school thespian that I was moved to tears or succumbed by laughter by their 10 minute oral interpretation or their 30 minute in a one act. I have sat in a dark Sundance theater and served witness as a pedestrian becomes a star. I have watched student performers realize he or she is – in fact – an actor.

Did I think that Bismark College’s production of the Laramie Project was superior? In a sense of theatrical values – no. However, I was in the room, breathing the same air as the cast of 17 while they had their best day of their lives thus far. What an honor. What a gift. Thank you.

...and also with you.

2010-01-17T15:29:00.000-08:00

Today we went to Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Archbishop of New York, the Most Reverend Timothy M. Dolan was....fun? The church was packed and the processional huge; between the Knights of Columbus, the priests, the nuns, the seminarians and alter boys, there must have been an initial parade of over 200 people. Archbishop Dolan brought up the rear and waved and smiled at everyone, even saying to the students and I as he went by, "So, good to see you. How are you?" He was so jovial and approachable. Also, he gave a beautiful homily by making the parallel of Christ's first miracle of turning water into wine and our need to make things happen in the devastated country of Haiti. Also, I am always so taken with the reverence given to Mother Mary in the Catholic church. In a religious denomination still dominated by men, their respect of the wisdom and ability to nurture by women is applaudable.

The students and I shared a Sunday brunch at the Hudson Diner before going our own ways. It is a rainy New York Sunday, perfect for poking around thrift stores, watch football playoffs and blogging....so that is what I shall do.

Tuesday - Thursday Sandwich Distribution at Broadway United Church of Christ

2010-01-17T15:17:00.000-08:00

Hip Obscurity...I Like It!

2010-01-17T14:19:00.000-08:00

Dang cold. It is sucking time from me. I had to let the germs have their way with me, so I did not get moving from the apartment until the afternoon. I wanted to catch an Off-Off Broadway production of A Doll’s House, which is my favorite play of all time. Furthermore, it was my MFA thesis project. The company was called Hip Obscurity and it consists of a lot of young actors that have the mission of “producing theatre that explores issues of gender, sexuality and self-identity as a construct lived in the everyday.”

The production was okay. They used the Dover translation and the director also took a stab editing to his liking. I use stab because I was a bit horrified by the brutal carving of Ibsen’s words. For some reason, the director changes the word “miracle,” which is key to the time of Advent in which this Norse tale is set to the phrase, “something wonderful.” Also, he completed cut the last line of the first act which to many scholars is the cornerstone to Nora’s subsequent decisions.

The importance of recognizing the sexuality in this play cannot be stressed enough. Certainly, the sensibilities of the time in which it is set (last 1800’s) means establishing a conservative sense of proper decorum. This production had little balance sexually. Either Nora and Torvald were cold and disciplined (which I would contend are two words that are the antithesis of Nora) or they were so sexually aggressive that it almost appeared to be on the verge of rape. Neither of these choices worked for me.

A few things, as a director, that made me go hmmmm….

a.Do not underestimate the power of the sound design. We listened to everything from Frankie Valli to Cher, but the play was set in the 1950’s. Why does the sound design have birds chirping? I understand the stereotypical metaphor attached to this play, but birds in Norway in December? Also, they sounded a bit like mice in the walls.

b.Wear undergarments ladies – especially if you are setting it in the 1950’s. A slip is your friend.

c.Listen to the language. Just one of many, many, many examples: Nora to Torvald, “You have always been so kind to me.” The audience must at some point see Torvald as kind.

d. Why was Nora serving Christine Linde a drink? Huh? (too many weird exits and entrances to outline to even try to include). Understand why you are doing what you are doing. Phrases like “being in the moments” and “the moment before” are to performance what eggs and flour are to cake.

e.Casting is key. The strongest actor on stage was playing Christine. She should have been Nora. Also, the character of Krogstad should have been Torvald. By the way, they were most successful because they were listening and not acting.

With that ALL said, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the company; I certainly respect and celebrate their objective and enthusiasm. When I arrived at the small theatre, everyone from the director to the artistic director was there to welcome the audience. Because of their welcome, I so wanted this production to succeed, and even though the production values were lacking I think this company will find success. Why, because they cared about their audience and are passionate about their mission. Before I even sat down, I knew their names and they knew mine. Afterwards, the artistic director came to find me and talk about the show. I am hooked. I am invested in their art. If they continue in this vein, they cannot fail.

After, the show, I met Ms. Anne at the Drama Bookshop for a little reading time. They too had some young artist performing a new show in the basement once the store closed. Why not? I paid my $10 to see The Fallout. The premise of this short comedy is fun. “A family’s relationship is strained after the husband’s poor performance on the game show, Deal or No Deal. Scenes 1 and 3 were in a family therapy session. Scene 2 was their Deal or No Deal performance. It was obvious that the therapy sessions were being improved. Both were about double the length than they needed to be. Hopefully, they will figure that out. Some fresh performances and fun scene 2 made it worth my while.

I headed home to my Commerce Street apartment to try my friend Luce’s cold remedy of eating a lemon and drinking ginger tea.

The View From the Brooklyn Bridge

2010-01-15T23:10:00.000-08:00

My favorite student and my second favorite students walking the Brookly Bridge

2010-01-15T23:00:00.000-08:00

Some Favorite Shots From the Week

2010-01-15T22:46:00.000-08:00

NYPD keeping 42nd Street safe, Haley Ward, Anne Gridley and I after Romeo and Juliet and an applaudable marketing campaign on 7th and Commerce.

Steve + Kim = Lovefest

2010-01-15T22:38:00.000-08:00

He looks tough, but he is really just a teddy bear. He lives in Cali; I live in SD...we are still BFFs in NYC!

Where Did the Week Go?

2010-01-15T22:13:00.000-08:00

It has almost been a week since I posted…sister, students and sickness have swallowed my time. Here is the nyc “did that – done that” list of activities.

Sunday, January 10th: Football with sister Jennie. She is a walking party.

Monday, January11^th: I stayed in the apartment most of the day working on classwork. The students and I attended our NYCare orientations so that we can extend our volunteering beyond handing out sandwiches on Tues and Thurs.

That evening, Jen and I had a moment. She looked at me and said, “Did you think 30 years ago when we were living on a farm in rural Garretson, SD there would ever be a time where we would a) like each other enough to continually chose to spend time together? b) Manhattan would be our preferred place of rendezvous? c)we would have the capacity to just rent a “just released movie” on ITunes to cuddle up to? d)be able to call in a complete Mexican dinner that would be delivered right to my West Village studio apartment? Ummmm…..that would be a no, no, no and….no.

Tuesday, January 12^th: Jen left early morning, and I slept in as I knew I had a cold coming on. Anne and Jordan came over to write on their blogs. We shared amazing chocolate cookies from Cookies and Milk before we headed over to the Strand Book Store, which boasts 18 miles of books and rock bottom prices. Here I met Steve Hoffman, my dear friend. It has been such a gift to have him in the city at the same time. After applying an amazing amount of self-control and only purchasing 3 children’s books and 1 just for me, Steve and I headed to a coffee shop to solve world problems – or at least artistic one in our world. Did I mention that I love him. My favorite quote of the day came when we were “lovingly” voicing opposing opinions about In the Heights. I liked it a lot more than he. Steve, “I may just be me. I missed the ‘Musical Theatre’ and ‘Love to Shop’ Days in Gay School.”

Tuesday evening, I attended Donald Margulies’ Time Stands Still. It was star packed: Laura Linney, Brian D’arcy James, Alicia Silverstone and Eric Bogosian. In light of the Haiti Earthquake this week , that has stunned the world, it reminded us of the questions, “Are the cameras (photojournalist) there to record the stasis or change it?” A line delivered from one print journalist to a photojournalist was, “We are suppose to capture the truth, not stage it.” My favorite lines of the evening were “Desensitiving Art? Is that possible?” I may have caught them on a bad night, but interestingly, Silverstone was the star. Hmmm.

Wednesday, January 12^th: Spent the majority of the day preparing USF’s Page to Stage information in order to submit to the Sioux Falls Parks and Recreation Summer Theatre Program. That is a huge weight off my shoulders. Also, it is official. I have a mega head cold.

Wednesday evening, Haley Ward and I attended Romeo and Juliet at The Kitchen in Chelsae. The show received a glowing critique from The Times, and one of the three member cast was Anne Gridley a 1998 Sioux Falls Lincoln graduated. I judged Anne for four years as a master LHS interper under the tutelage of Rosie Blunk.

This production was not traditional Shakespeare. Instead, it was a collection of individuals’ recollection of the story of Romeo and Juliet – verbatim. Each story was performed by one of two individuals in haphazard Renaissance attire. It, truly was an interesting and funny exercise. I would like to try something like this with bible parables or children’s books. Funny stuff.

After the show, Anne admitted that she saw me about half way through the show. I saw when it happened as she continually kept looking at me like she just couldn’t believe I was there. Funny and lovely actor.

Thursday, January 14^th : I was invited over to one of the apartments that I have periodically sublet by the owner Judy. It was so sweet. For two hours we talked art, life and New York City. She is so dear and gave me some great ideas of more affordable restaurants and jazz in our neighborhood. She also made us French Toast and Expresso…mmmmm. After that, I headed to Midtown to meet one of my best friends Michele Pawk. My students stopped by to meet her too. Michele, Teake and I had lunch and caught up. I really wished I lived closer to her; she just brings out the best out of whoever is in her path.

That evening, I went to the Irish Rep’s Emperor Jones by Eugene O’Neil. I have never seen this amazing allegory. The combined work of actor John Douglas Thompson and interesting puppetry was captivating and frightening. The storyline is thus:

Eugene O'Neill's brilliant groundbreaking play, The Emperor Jones, is the story of Brutus Jones, an African-American man who sets himself up as monarch of a Caribbean island following a prison break in the Unites States.

When the Natives rebel after years of exploitation, Jones's mesmerizing journey into darkness becomes a terrifying psychological portrayal of power, fear, and madness. With his demons in heavy pursuit and tom-toms beating, the Emperor is forced to confront the mortal sins of his past in search of forgiveness and salvation.

After the show, I went to hang with the students at Bank Street. We discussed , debriefed and planned. Love them and the way they are living and learning the city.

Friday, January 15^th : Michele Pawk had invited me along for a Producer’s reading of Leap of Faith. She ended up having another obligation, so she gave me both tickets. I took my student Anne Wentworth with me. In short, it was inspired. Michele’s husband John Dossett was reading/singing the sheriff. The leads were none other than the male and female toasts of Broadway – Raul Esparza and Sutton Foster. The story worked, the music was exceptional and the performances dazzling. This show is destined to be a hit. I want it to open. I want it to win Tonys. I want to direct it.

Afterwards, I talked to Raul and made a verbal pact to get together in the next couple of weeks. After introducing Anne to Raul, I made her speak to one of her performance idols Sutton Foster. It was a great way to begin a day.

Afterwards, Anne and I grabbed a bite and met the rest of the clan to walk the Brooklyn Bridge. It was the perfect January day to do so. Anne and I headed back because it was our evening to usher at The Women’s Project.

Smudge has received mixed reviews by my “peeps.” Anne and I are the last of the group to see it. I would have liked it more had it not been advertised as a black comedy. Yes, it had a few chuckle moments, but as a whole it addressed sensitive issues that deserve respectful introspection and not flippant throw away lines.

To end the day, Anne and I ate (always free) pizza at Kavaras, walked down Christopher and Hudson and headed home. This may be the best January I have ever had. Thank you students for opening your hearts, heads and hands to all of the people, culture and experiences that make New York, NY.

Ragtime Royal Treatment

2010-01-09T16:43:00.000-08:00

Poses with MikeMcGowan, Ragtime lead Quentin Darrington, understudy forChristiane Noll, Mamie Parris (she was lovely) and group photo in front of the theatre.

USF on the Broadway Stage!

2010-01-09T16:13:00.000-08:00

Another stellar day in the Big Apple. The students and I - literally - ran to the Neil Simon Theater on 52nd Street to participate in the ticket lottery for Ragtime. Not one of our names were drawn, but we get in line in the "Lottery Losers" or "Post-Lottery Winners" and did get tickets in the last row of the mezzanine for a reduced rate.

I saw the original cast in 1999, but this production was much stronger to me. First of all, Michael McGowan was in it...SD boy done "good." Last year at this time, Mike was on campus offer master classes to USF students. It was an honor to watch him work. He played everything from an Irish Officer to Charles S. Whitman...17 costume changes in all. I was particularly moved by the debut performance of Quentin Earl Darrington who played the lead role of Coalhouse Walker Jr. He could hold a note for days.

After the show, Mike welcomed us at the stage door and led us onto the stage. The students were truly speechless. Mike graciously answered questions, offered narrative and introduced us to Mr. Darrington and the director Marcia Milgrom Dodge. I love that in the Playbill notes, Mike's included, "For Sylvia Wolff Henkin, Jewish Grandmother." Sylvia is like my second mother. No one deserves to be honored in such a way more than she.

It's official, my CST students have been on a Broadway stage!

2010-01-08T22:37:00.000-08:00

Recreacting the 50th Street Alice in Wonderland mural

Our Columbus Circle

Eric and I at Fela! Spike Lee took our picture (jk)

Igniting Humanity

2010-01-08T21:53:00.000-08:00

Today the students and I split up to deliver flyers all over the East and West Village for The Women's Project. I really love the moments I get to spend one on one time with them. Mariah, Eric and I walked up, down and around the West Village, which is really the only way can move about these crazy, mixed up, round-about streets. The grid of the city, doesn't really start until 14th Street. Before that, just when you think you are heading East your are West, etc. The streets are like the residents of the West Village - anything but straight.

Anne Wentworth finally joined us after arriving from Italy via Sioux Falls, a night's delay in Chicago, and still no luggage. She has been a real travel trouper, and it is always a plus to have her delightful laugh and energy added to the group.

Tonight, I experienced an everything art is suppose to be AND I got to do it with the one student who I knew would love it as much as I did. Eric Perry-Kolvek and I attended Fela!

"Fela! explores the extravagant, decadent and rebellious world of Afrobeat legend Fela Anikulapo Kuti. Using his pioneering music (a blend of jazz, funk and African rhythm and harmonies), the musical reveals Kuti's controversial life as an artist and political activist."

Conceptualized, directed and choreographed by Bill T. Jones, this production was just that...a production. In my lifetime, I am sure that I have seen more than 2,5oo plays. I have seen probably over 500 Broadway and Off Broadway shows. I have directed close to 80....and yet, praise God...every once in awhile, I get to experience a piece of art that ignites a fire under my humanity so fiercely that my catharsis explodes from my body. Between dancing along with Bill Jones in the standing room section and the cacophony of sound, story and movement, I was moved to tears. The choreography was visceral and poetic. The story compelling and inspiring. The performances were grueling and brilliant,

Oh, and Spike Lee was there :)

This whole experience has been a lot of work, but being able to share it with such young, eager and hungry students has been infectious and inspiring. I love exploring the liberal art aspect of my students college education with them. What a blessing.

Asphalt Orchestra

2010-01-07T23:11:00.000-08:00

Lincoln Center concert with Asphalt Orchestra. Here are the students (Mariah and Haley in front with Jordan, Teake and Jon behind) next to Bill Bragin, the individual in charge of all programing at L.C.

Whew!!

2010-01-07T22:38:00.000-08:00

Today, was a biggie. I sent the kids off on a nyc scavenger hunt. Washington Square Park, Union Square Park, Drama Bookshop, Central Park, and The Dakota were all destination points. At 4:00 we at the Broadway United Church of Christ to hand out sandwiches. Travis Winkler, a USF alum is an associate pastor there, so it was a rich experience to meet with him and share in his ministry.

Afterwards, the group along with Travis went to a local diner to catch up. I am continuous humbled by current and past USF students. The conversation about were we see faith at USF was - simply - a gift. I love to listen to my students as they figure out where they are in their faith walk. They are real. They are inspiring.

Today, I had an epiphany. I need to give a shout out to Adam Seiff. I realized tonight that it was a conversation that I had with Adam after an Introduction to Theatre class that encouraged me to make the mission of the Communication Studies and Theatre Program of Social Change. By focusing on difficult topics such as sexual harassment, domestic abuse, political injustice, racial and gender stereotype and religious hypocrisy we use the stage to ask the hard questions. Also, our focus on children's theatre introduces youth to the power of theatre at an early age...this, too, is theatre of social change.

As a group we headed up to Lincoln Center to check out Asphalt Orchestra. It is a modpodge marching band that plays music of such avant guard musicians as Bjork and Frank Zappa.

After a stroll to Rockefeller Center to watch the skaters, we headed back to The Village. We were all exhausted. Poor Anne Wentworth is trying to get to us, but was held up in Chicago tonight. I can't wait to have her here to join us as we discover the city and ourselves.

One other inclusion....I attended a joint venture by SITI Company (Anne Bogart) and the Martha Graham Company entitled, American Documents at the Public Theatre. Of course, as a Bogart disciple, the movement was inspiring. It is a product in process. I am totally stealing the lighting design for W@rn. I learned a lot and was inspired even more.

Favorite Quotes of the Day:

Artist Director of the Martha Graham Studio: "For the last couple of years, we have been polling our audiences as to what they want. The result: A deeper, richer experience in a shorter amount of time." Ah, yes....McTheatre!

Bogart, "The problem with American Theatre is that we feel like we have to produce a product. The process is where the real drama lies."

Check Us Out!

2010-01-07T20:46:00.000-08:00

Here are the blogs of the students participating in USF's CST409 Theatre of Social Change

In Sioux Falls:

Dominique Schuler - http://mischiefchild.blogspot.com/

Holly DeVos - http://www.livinalive.blogspot.com/

Liz Boden - http//cowgirl-up-life-rocks.blogspot.com/

In New York:

Mariah Ethington - http://mariahethington.blogspot.com/

Jon Hardcastle - http://jon-hardcastle.blogspot.com/

Teake Bartling - http://sufuteake.blogspot.com/

Erik Perry-Kolvak - http://Erperry-kolvek.blogspot.com

Jordan Nilson - http://scriptedimprovisation

Anne Wentworth - http://wentworthanne.blogspot.com

Haley Ward - http://haleyward.blogspot.com

New Worlds and Old Friends

2010-01-06T22:41:00.000-08:00

The students are here! The students are here!

Yesterday, I was joined by 6 amazing USF students who will be experiencing the city for the month of January. They left SF for Minneapolis at 5 am yesterday. My dear and supportive friend Bruce Eide drove them to the cities to catch their 11:30 flight. I am so blessed to have friends such as this...people who are truly invested in the arts and today's youth. Thank you Bruce for being in my life!

Hotel Toshi is amazing, and I recommend it to anyone coming to New York. Their spaces are clean, affordable and the personal service is exemplary. I will use them again as I continue to introduce students to nyc.

Once they were in The Village they grabbed a slice and walked around the neighborhood. Today, I took Haley to the Women's Project to start a month internship. The others spent the day familiarizing themselves with the subway, the theaters and Times Square.

I spent the day organizing...again. Because this class is taking place in Sioux Falls and New York City, I rarely get to leave my computer, which crashed temporarily. Joe Roland, the actor playwright from whom I am subletting, came around today and helped me get back online. Whew.

All of the students are blogging. I will post all their addresses tomorrow.

Tonight, I went to The Understudy, Theresa Rebeck's new play. I really love Theresa's work. Spiked Heels will always be a favorite of mine. Also, despite its milk toast reviews, I enjoyed Mauritius very much on Broadway on 2 years ago. This production's cast consisted on Julie White, Mark-Paul Gosselaar (yep, Zach from Saved By the Bell) and one of my favorite actors and Minneapolis native Justin Kirk. Favorite moments: Justin's character is lamenting the trend of movie box office names on the stage to bring in audiences which leaves trained staged actors unemployed, "Movie stars. Movie stars. Movie stars. It is an ongoing cultural disaster." Also, the thesis of the production was the line, "Silence is a defeat." The play is thick with slams toward Rebeck's own livelihood and contemporaries...Jeremy Piven's sushi exit excuse will continue to be ridiculed by those he could only be lucky enough with which to work.

After the show, I had a late dinner with one of my best friends in the whole world. Steve Hoffman, the former Executive Director of the Washington Pavilion of Arts and Sciences is in town for a conference. I had no idea how much I missed this dear, dear friend until we were together again. We just...get each other. I am thrilled that he is here for a week!

To my students Holly, Dom, Liz, Jordan, Jon, Eric, Mariah, Haley and Teake...thank you for making a difference in my life and in the world.

Blogs, Bathen and Blues

2010-01-06T22:29:00.001-08:00

I am back....on the blog and in The Village. I am not going to ramble about the loss of my luggage because it eventually showed up and I cannot give an interesting play to play on all the amazing things I have seen and done since arrival. In truth, I have slept a lot and spent most of my waking hours on the phone or computer setting up my interim class that is taking place with two different groups in two TOTALLY different cities. The NYC group arrives tonight and the Sioux Falls group started today.

I have been trying to keep my food budget to $10 a day and so far so good. It helps that Jose refuses to let me pay for a piece of pizza! I decided that buying a $13 coffee pot and - of course - Porto Rico Coffee on Bleecker than buying a cup every morning so that was my first major purchase. Bagels, yogurt, granola and pizza...yep, I can live on this with a weekly splurge on Indian Food, or pasta in Little Italy, and the occassional Cuban meal, and a Thai dumpling....ah, who am I kidding? I am in New York.

The only play I have seen so far was Sarah Ruhl's In the Next Room or The Vibrator Play an the couple behind me were politely quibbling about it. He liked it; she didn't.
She: The lead actress seems too ditzy for the time period it is set in. He: She is a woman ahead of her time.

The play was really interesting (I learned more about the origin of the vibrator that I ever thought I needed to know) and the writing was delightful.

The only other art I have experienced was free. Yesterday in the Herold's Square Subway a New Orlean's style jazz and blue group called Tin Pan was playing. They were fantastic. I listened with many, many, many other New Yorkers on their way home from work. I bought both their cd's and have been listening to them for the last 12 hours. They have a website. Check them out at http://tinpanbluesband.com/wordpress

I am attaching a photo of my apartment's bathen...it is a kitchen and bathroom all rolled into one! It is convenient for those times when you can't decide what would feel better after a long day...a long soak in the tub or a hearty meal? Why chose? Do both at once.

Mastering the head tilt.

2009-07-20T20:10:00.000-07:00

Jennie and I at Sardi's after God of Carnage and posing with Newark Bear's mascot Ruppert.

Centered

2009-07-20T19:47:00.000-07:00

Greenwich Village, NYC. I have been here 5 days and this is the first time that I have sat long enough to write. Just for my own sake of keeping a journal of sorts, I am just going to post some facts. I arrived Wed. evening and the studio on Cornelia is – as always – small but efficient. The Italian façade of the makes me feel as enter it looks as if I am walking through a street in Venice or one of the little towns in Cinque Terra. Also, I have a fire escape that I have managed to crawl in and out to. Like my apartment on Morton, I call it my balcony.

It is extremely hot in nyc – stand and drip weather. Also, the studio is on the 4th floor, so it is sultry. On Thursday evening, I sat out there and watched the world walk by. I felt like I was in a Spike Lee movie hanging out on the fire escape trying to find reprieve from the city’s heat.

Wednesday evening, I decided to just walk around the neighborhood. I feel so…what? Happy? Complete? Invigorated? Centered. As I walked up 7th Avenue I was spotted by Jose across the street at Kavaras where he serves Pizza. He came out on the street, waved and yelled my name. After declining his gracious offer of free pizza and beer, I continued on my stroll. The days have been sweltering, but the nights are gorgeous. As I walked down Carmine Street, Kevin came out of Daddy O’s and said, “Really Kim, you are in town and just going to walk by?” It is nice to be missed.

Thursday, I got up and took the train to Newark NJ to watch an Atlantic League game between the Newark Bears and the Somerset Patriots. It was an 11 am game, which means daycares galore. In fact, I could not locate the ticket office, so I stopped a gentleman for directions and he said, “Lady, if you can stand all the kids…here is a ticket, just go on in.” Sweet. I just walked over to first base, took a seat in the front row and settled in.

Long game short, The Bears lost 27-10. Yep. 27-10. Obviously not a great game, but there were some fun plays, a couple rhubarbs (Bears coach and former big leaguer Tim Raines got thrown out in the second inning), and it was a sun packed day filled with excited children.

Thursday evening, I took my sunburned body up to Midtown where I did standing room to watch Next to Normal starring Alice Ripley. Her performance was masterful. The show was brutally funny and the music was as if Tommy and Spring Awakening had a child.

Friday, I actually went to the gym. Chris at NYSC worked me a heck of a deal for two weeks. My trainer Nathan would have been proud as I worked out long and hard. It was me, three herculean gay men, actor Maura Tierney and her boyfriend, and one elderly black man in jeans and a button-up work shirt pumping iron.

Friday evening, I went and saw Mary Stuart with Janet McTeer and Harriet Walter Another treat. I was in the front row, which for musicals or comedies is frustrating for a director because I can’t watch patterns, but for a classic like this, it is perfect because it is all character work and I could see and feel each blink, tear, pause and flex.

My sister arrived around midnight. We sat on the fire escape and discussed world issues before heading to bed.

Saturday we shopped. I love shopping with her. Actually, I am blessed because truth be told, I would choose my sister first to do most anything. Together we call ourselves the “I’m in girls.” We both come a place of yes. We love adventure and laugh a lot – it is a wonderful combination.
We managed to score the last two standing room tickets for God of Carnage starring Jeff Daniels, Hope Davis, James Gandolfini and Marcia Gay Harden. It is official….I am having a great theatre trip. This performance was a delicious recipe of contrast: subtly and unbridled anger, sophistication and barbarism, cunning wit and empathic sincerity. Also, the vocal work was seductive. Each voice was unique and compelling, especially the female’s.

Sunday, Jen and I won the lottery for 9-5. I loved this movie when it came out my senior year of high school. I wore the album out. The musical was over the top fun. Allison Janney, Stephanie Block and Megan Hilty were infectious. I have a girl crush on Janney – so smart and unsuspecting beautiful and talented. I loved the face that the choreography respected each note of the music – even as it underscored dialogue. An entire ensemble flicking their wrist on a 4 count or heightening all knees on the 6 count made for a seamless 2 ½ hours. We were still singing the theme song at midnight last night.

Jen and I stopped to see Hercules and his wife at his gourmet grocery store. As always he asked about his buddy Teake. He even wrote him a note that I need to deliver.

After a beautiful dinner of lobster ravioli at the café down the street from my studio where we met a fun but slowly annoying Bostonian/English couple. Also, two of my former students from my O’Gorman days ran into me on the street on Saturday, so Jen and I met up with Molly Casey and Kalli Kirk at the White Horse. I am forever humbled by the intelligence, talent, sensitivity and beauty of my students. These two epitomize all of those nouns. It is gift to be able to watch and learn from them as they make their way through life, love and careers.

Jen and I went to visit Luce at Daddy-O’s on our way home. Great guy – fun to catch up with him too.

Jen took off at noon today, and I decided to grab a salad and Panini at Pepe Verde on Hudson and 11th. I am watching the film crew prepare for the shooting of “Game Dahy” starring Jennifer Lopez. No J-Lo sighting yet…but Daphne Rubin Vegas just walked by. Speaking of sighting, Billy Cudrup was at the White Horse with us last night.

Off the gym and maybe a run before the rain drifts in the evening.

2009-04-07T10:20:00.000-07:00

The following post is a combination,reworking and extension of a couple of entries that I published last summer. As it is up for consideration for publication in the 2009 Canaries Program, I would welcome all criticism.

Who is Teaching Who?

2009-03-09T00:19:00.000-07:00

Rules. Lessons. Advice. In January, while playing with other grown-ups at the Sundance Film Festival, I was reminded of my own rules, lessons and advice. This is what I get when those other grown-ups used to be my students. After 23 years of teaching, I am proud to call former student…friends.

So, three (Christen, Cassie and Angela) of my best and brightest joined me in Park City. After a less than stellar screening, Christen asked for my thoughts. I must have grimaced because she followed with, “Do we have to save it to the bus? “ I laughed, I cried, I had a catharsis.

Rules.

It is thirteen years after her graduation, and she is still adhering to rules I taught her when she was 14. “Save it for the bus” meant that my dear oral interpers or actors were not permitted to critique the competition until - you got it - they were safely in the van (or bus) after the event. Once in the vehicle, they were allowed to vent. …for ten minutes. Comments came quick. They were brutal, judgmental and petty. Then, they were to assess the learning curve, make personal and presentation adjustments, and let it go.

“Save it for the van” is still sound, applicable advice for most situations. One should always put some time and space between experiencing frustrations and expressing them. Furthermore, placing expiration dates on grumbling would alleviate a lot of wasted negative energy and ugly verbiage.

Lessons.

Before I left for Park City, I posed my air travel Q and A with Teake. I am not a fatalist nor does flying make me mortally anxious. However, I use my journeys to proctor a pop quiz to my children. It is the perfect time to make sure that they were – at some point – listening. The test consists of one easy, essay question, “What did your mother teach you?” I told you it was easy.

Without missing a beat, Teake rattled off the answers, “Number one – be kind even when it is inconvenient. Number two – screw savings; see the world. Number three – love people the most when they act like they want, deserve and need it the least (Teake calls this rule ‘The Tyler Years 16-24’).” I was a proud teacher and pleased parent. If Tyler was taking the exam, he would unquestionably substitute “Choose to be happy” for #3.

Advice.

Asking questions results in power. If there were ever three women who demonstrate mastery of this skill, it would be my Park City roommates. Everyone wants to think they know something and – typically – are eager to share. Sharing results in connection. Connection results in networking. Networking results in relationships. Relationships result in friendship and work. Friendship and work result in a richer life – metaphorically and literally. Everywhere these three went, they asked and asked and asked. Free screenings, access to A-list post-parties, potential professional collaborations, and job interviews were realized.

Rules. Lessons. Advice. I am only as good of a teacher as I am a student. I am eager to continue to live, love and learn…from the other side of the desk.

I will end this writing with a call for submissions.

If you would like to contribute to this article, please feel free to post. What did you hear? Learn? Teach me…I am listening

.

Shine On....

2008-12-03T23:12:00.000-08:00

This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

As a small child this was my favorite Sunday school song. Even today I find myself sneaking it into my shower repertoire between the Oscar Meyer song and the Tanya Tucker’s classic Delta Dawn.

This song is based on the Mathew 5:16 verse, "Let your light shine before men, that they may see your fine works and give glory to your Father who is in the heaven." I love this verse and as an oldest child who should be in Type A recovery, I live this verse. I have always worked hard – to be all things to all people.

I am still trying to scrub off the residue of a difficult year. This film – this coating – not only was confining, it was humiliating. It was heavy. It was dark. For the first time in my life, I struggled to keep my pilot light lit. It was being blown out by individuals who were not interested in my past fire…the life and work that sparked my daily existence. I was not in a place of warmth, and I could not find the energy to continue to stoke my own flame. Personally, professionally and spiritually I was burnt out.

It is officially advent – the season of hope and light. It is my favorite time of the year. As South Dakotans we have the corner market on viscerally living the season in our northern plains snow globe – a safe, small world of controlled blizzards; it takes very little outside motion to disturb our Currier and Ives aesthetics. However, I have noted that when you turn a snow globe upside down all the structures remain frozen in place…the buildings, the flora, even the light posts are fixed.

As we return home to gather around decorated Christmas trees and fireplaces, it is a good reminder that no matter where we have been shaken and tossed throughout the year, we eventually can settle again in the warmth of family and home – whatever and wherever that may be. However, once it has been shaken, it can never be the same as it had once been.

While wallowing around in the muck of my life, I have been advised to just get over it. Be happy. Smile. Forget about it. Move on. However it is all too heavy to just pick up my life where I left it last spring. So, I am choosing to work out so I just get stronger – call it an early New Year’s Resolution. I am going to bench press my bad press. I am going to squat out the external squawking. I am going to keep my chin up by doing chin lifts, I am going to free up the weight of regret with free weights. I am going to own it so that it all seems lighter and then – just then – maybe I too will lighten up.

My favorite advent scripture is from Isaiah 9:2,6

The people walking in darkness

have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness

a light has dawned.

For to us a child is born,

to us a son is given,

and the government will be on his shoulders.

And he will be called

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

I have been walking around in darkness long enough stumbling and uncovering potholes – about me, my friends, my family, my past and my future. However, I believe that I see a soft beam of light (his name just may Teake Bartling) willing to lead the way. God placed the boon of light in each of us, and it is my responsibility to “let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.” I am gaining strength and building my fire with the dense kindling of my past, and hope to soon illuminate love and reflect wisdom to those in my path.

“Hide it under a bush”….No more.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN from NYC!

2008-11-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

2008-11-01T08:56:00.000-07:00

2008-11-01T08:49:00.000-07:00

It is the biggest holiday in the city... Frankly, in the West Village every night is a little like Halloween; on any given night there is a drag show. Here are a few shots from in and around my neighborhood.

Doug Hughes and Kim Bartling

2008-11-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

Old Friends - New Friends

2008-10-31T22:05:00.000-07:00

I got up yesterday to do a bit of shopping at my favorite spots. Also, I was going to meet my former student and dear friend Mitch Maguire and his 4 month old daughter Sadie so I needed to stop by Barnes and Noble. I picked her up all my favorite titles: Horray for Wodney Wat, Where the Wild Things are, Chrysanthemum, Partly Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, Bedhead, Fancy Nancy. Mom had also china painted her a baby bootie with her birthday and vitals.

It was so fun to see Mitch and his new daughter. She is absolutely gorgeous with eyelashes that go on for miles and soft blue-grey eyes. I got to hold her the entire hour…loved it. It was good to catch up with Mitch; he will forever be one of the most important people in my life.

Next, I dashed off to the Atlantic Theatre Company to interview Doug Hughes for my book. Wow. He is not only a brilliant director, he is gracious, warm and refreshingly unguarded. He was the easiest interview yet; he just free associated the words with not only his approach to the stage but also just him as a man in the world. Considering how swamped he is with work (he had just finished rehearsal the then they had a preview performance at 8), I was thrilled that he gave me an hour and a half window.
On the way out, I grabbed a student ticket and who was working? Fran who I met numerous times through the Women’s Project and had already ran into at the performance of Speed the Plow. The theatre world is very, very small.
Farragut North was frighteningly time relevant. It was about the dog eats dog world of political spin. It starred Chris Noth and John Gallagher Jr. The young girl was particularly good. The space is very small; it seats around 200 and her choices were subtle and smart.

After the play, I waited to tell Doug Hughes how much I enjoyed the conversation. I did say hi to Chris Noth, but I did not remind him that we were in Alaska together in 2002. As I waited, I could not help but watch Olivia Thilby . I decided that I would ask him for an interview as he would certainly lower the age demographic, and – let’s face it – since his performance as Moritz in Spring Awakening, he is the hottest young actor on the scene.

He was wonderful to the all of young people waiting to speak with him. In fact, he was so good, that it took forever for me to speak with him. When I did, he acted like I was the first person to ever give him a compliment. He gave me his full attention and preceeded to tell me how lucky he is. I told him that there may be a bit of luck, but he is successful because it is obvious that he treats people with respect. He will always work because people want to work with him. It would be fun to interview him.

I went home happy again. I saw good friends, good theatre and good manners.

Variety is the Spice of Theatrical Life

2008-10-31T22:00:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, I went to A Man for All Seasons at the American Airline Theatre. It starred the great Frank Langella and it was the first time in a long time that I cried in the theatre. It was oozed class. Things found in my notebook after the show

Never underestimate the power of light as a metaphor. There was an point when Cromwell snuffed out the light of enlightenment.
Off stage sounds should never be forgotten
Hughes is the king of directing scene changes; they are deliberate and orchestrated
In the design there are lots of lines to cross – in the flooring, the beams, the doors, etc.
Excellen t playfulness of Henry VIII. He was depicted as a walking party…he even had musicians traveling him. He was an infectious personality.
Sir Thomas Moore: “God is too subtle.”
“It is not holy; it is just old. You can’t see it or touch it ….it is theory.
“I trust I make myself obscure?
Thought is the middle…Kirby Wilcoxson is a modern day Sir Thomas Moore
The law is not a light in which to see by.

The reason I found myself tearing up was first the relationship between Moore and his daughter Margaret and his wife…he respected them and protected them. The other reason was because it was a student matinee. When I bought my ticket, they basically apologized that the house would be full of students. I said, “I taught high school for 12 years. I am totally up for the challenge.” It was an honor to be in the audience. The show was close to 3 hours long and they were so engaged.

During the curtain call, Frank Langella stopped to address them. He told them that they were the best audience ever and that this play addresses the issue of conscience. He said, “It is of great importance to listen to one conscience and know the man or woman that your are voting to represent you in the affairs of the state. It was sincere and it made an impact.
After the show, I dropped some interview requests at Speed the Plow for Jeremy Piven and Raul Esparza. Then, I ran up to 54th to grab some soup from my favorite spot…yum. Seafood Chowder and Crab Bisque.

That night I attended Fifty-Words at the Lucille Lortel which is three blocks from my home. Ummmm…it was scary in a ohmygodIdonotwanttobethesepeople sort of way. Norbert Butz who is a huge Broadway name drives me nuts…he pulls the last vowel in the last word of each sentence. The pattern is irritating.

New plays – old plays. Young audiences – old audiences. Broadway - Off, Off Broadway, 1ooo in the house – 2oo in the house….I love the variety right outside of my door.

Bogartism

2008-10-29T22:34:00.000-07:00

My meeting with Anne Bogart went really, really well. I started the conversation by asking her a couple of random questions. “Do you think we will see a new ‘ism’ in our lifetime? Are we moving toward anything? ” I asked. She responded, “Well, I think we are moving to a rebirth of learning. The last ‘ism” was post-modernism. However, we need to see a deconstruction in order for there to be growth. It is approaching.”

I asked her if – before we started talking about the project – I could tape record it. I explained that my memory isn’t what it used to be and that the what I used to take to help that (estrogen) has been removed from my daily supplement by my doctor. She retorted, “I know what you can take. Take notes.” Touche.

I pitched the project by explaining the importance of her text in the USF CST program. Then, I told her about my artistic journey. I assured her that my continual quest for knowledge keeps me alive as a teacher, and that my goal as an instructor is prepare the students in their discipline but also to show them how to change the world with art – right where you live. I told her that Terrance McNalley once told me,”Do art where you are. If you make New York, Chicago, LA or even Minneapolis your barometer of success than you will be unhappy .” This is why I want to do the supplemental book. I want to bring the stories of the artists to them. Furthermore, I want to show my students that all people have stories and that it is our job to tell them.

She listened intensely and then simply said, “I love the idea. I am excited about its possibilities; you have my complete support. Now, I need to get back to rehearsal, and I will see you at the show.” It was quick and absolutely everything – and more – than I hoped it would be. I did attend her radio play of War of the Worlds afterwards. Jeffery France, one of the actors that I interviewed last year, was one of the actors so that was a lovely surprise. Julie Crosby, from the Women’s Project and her significant other, Bruce, joined me at my table. It struck me how small the theatre world is even in nyc.

The performance was chilling. I am so drawn to her direction…it is simple: listen to the text. It is powerful how large she can make a production when – in reality – the stage was absolutely tiny to house the seven actors.

After the show, I touched base with Jeffery and then headed back to the Village. I stopped in Daddy-O and caught up with Luce. It feels so good to be able to pick up with my nyc friends right where we left off last December….we both had a lot to share.

USF Superhero Comes to the Rescue

2008-10-29T22:15:00.000-07:00

After a lovely group meal at Spice, the students packed up and headed home. It was a good day to leave the city as it was pouring and cold. After they boarded the van, I actually prepped in one of their apartments for my meeting with Bogart. Then came the call – from Amanda. Their flight had been cancelled due to the weather and the closest they could get to home was Chicago.

It was de ja vu all over again. Two years ago we had the same problem traveling to nyc. At that time, I called President Benedetto as he is originally from Chicago and asked for advice. He not only found the students a hotel, he found one with a shuttle and free breakfast AND he picked up the bill. Two years later, I need my Benedetto superhero powers again. He came to the rescue again. I think it is amazing that our university is close enough that not only do I feel comfortable enough to ask, but that he feels such a connection and responsibility to these eight random students.

A View From the Bridge

2008-10-29T22:10:00.000-07:00

Bridges, Cherry Lane, Letterman and Cupcakes

2008-10-27T23:03:00.000-07:00

Another nyc first…together with Kimmy Norlin and Tracie Erdmann , I walked the Brooklyn Bridge. Since Tuesday’s forecast calls for rain, a couple of us made this a priority on– yet another – beautiful October day. As much as it was a leisurely and picturesque walk, I could not help seeing the images of 9-11 that are imprinted in my mind.

We met up with Leah Hofkamp who had been exploring MoMA all day for a early dinner at Lower East Side vegan-friendly restaurant. They eventually headed up to Central Park; I have not seen the guys all day. Actually, that is not true. I did see Keegan. He and Amanda were going to join us on the Brooklyn Bridge; however, he lost his cell phone on the subway. He finally did get a call and had to go meet the party who were gracious enough to return it.

Tonight, some of us met up to go to Fault Lines at Cherry Lane Theatre which is right around the corner from my apartment. It starred Josh Lucas but the entire ensemble was impressive on stage and on paper. Furthermore, Fault Lines was directed by David Schwimmer. It was a solid performance. It was full strong choices and – yet – it all looked so simple.

After the show, we waited to meet and greet the cast. They were so approachable; they asked the girls questions, signed Playbills and took pictures. Lucas even gave me his email so that I can contact him about collecting an artist interview. I am so glad they saw an Off-Broadway show so they could actually see actors work.

Up the five flights of stairs to my apartment we went for a little post-show discussion. They had been to the famous Magnolia’s Bakery earlier, so I brewed some Porto Rico coffee, and we had a lovely time. We solved some world problems and then….watched Keegan Warwick and Amanda Simon make their CBS debut. They got some really good air time on Letterman.

Kimmy, Tracie and Leah headed back to their apartment, but Amanda crashed on my couch. I really do love these students. They continually teach me every day, and it has been such a pleasure to get to spend time with them off campus and know them all a bit better.

Coming and Going from the Women's Project

2008-10-27T21:32:00.000-07:00

Extraordinary Day

2008-10-27T21:28:00.000-07:00

Amanda Simon and I attended the final production of the Women’s Project production of Alien with Extraordinary Skills. It was odd to walk back into the theatre where a year ago, I spent so much time. From the moment we got there, we were put to work. I rocked the membership table and Amanda sold concessions – it was a great way to see free theatre. It was also fun to see the old crew – Allison, Julie, Jack, Gian Murray and Megan. However the real treat was seeing Lucy Martin who was part of the Wapato cast from last year. She was one of my nyc surrogate mothers. The first question that she had was about the final chapter in the Velarie – the homeless woman – story. I was pleased to tell her that after a month at St. Vincent’s, I did move her to Watertown where she is living “happily ever after.”

Aliens with Extraordinary Skills was a beautiful show….funny and poignant. It was a sweet tale about following your dreams in a fresh, new way. We loved it.

Amanda and I spent the rest of the evening in and around Canal. Five pairs of shoes later, we were literally and figuratively spent. Following a group tour of the Lower East Side Toy Company, we called it a day.

What am I running to or from? No matter what, I always end up where I started.

2008-10-27T08:23:00.000-07:00

The following is the web description of the road race that I completed yesterday

Poland Spring™ Marathon Kickoff Race

On the Sunday prior to the ING New York City Marathon, this race travels the roads of Central Park covering part of the Marathon course including the same finish line. The 5-mile race is open to all runners, not just Marathoners. In addition to plenty of Poland Spring® Brand Natural Spring Water to keep runners hydrated, everyone who completes the race receives a Poland Spring Souvenir and t-shirt.

I met Ann Weisbecker and Matt "Guy" Fiorita at CP for the 8:30 run. Guy took off immediately and ran some ridiculous time like 30 minutes. Ann and I ran together for the first couple of miles, but since I had not ran since I fell and busted off my front tooth, I told her to continue on at that pace...I had to slow down. Also, I thought we were running a 5K. After the one mile marker and I asked her exactly how long 5K was in miles, Ann said, "Yeah, um...it is 5 miles. I didn't know when it would be a good time to tell you." Okay. 5 miles. No problem....and really it wasn't. I finished running under 10 minute miles. Not bad for someone officially closer to 50 than 40. I really wish I had brought my camera as it was really wonderful to be able to take part in an event with 10,000 others, but more than that to do it with 2 former O'Gorman (and Ann also graduated from USF) students who I directed and coached.

Little fyi about Ann and Guy. First of all, the name "Guy" came after high school, so I have a difficult time calling him that - he is Matt to me. Anyway, they are both O'G grads, both amazing actors and interpers for me, but did not know each other (he is older). They met in nyc and have been together for a couple of years now. Life is amazing

...anyway, back to Central Park. It was an absolutely perfect morning in the city. The sun was shining and it was perfect weather for running. It was so communal. People were lined up around the park to cheer us on; it really does give you marathon fever. Next Sunday, I am going to Guy's apt in Williamsburg to watch the NY City Marathon and return the "fan favor" to real runners!

Broadway Hit and Miss

2008-10-26T22:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I got up and hit the Housing Works....where else can you get a $200 designer jean jacket for $15?

I met some of the students for All My Sons. This was the show that turned me on to theatre. In the late 80's, I saw a production by the same name at SDSU starring names such as Jarrod Emick, Vicki Fuller, Trey Karlen and Michael Barnett. I could not leave the theatre because I could not quit sobbing....it forever has defined the word "catharsis" for me.

So, here I am listening to John Lithgow, Diane Wiest, Katie Holmes and Patrick Wilson speaking Miller's words....directed by a Brit - and it shows. Swear to God, the American born, Juliard trained actor playing George had a British accent. I found the staging contrite.; I knew where they were moving next. Also, the style was very John Doyle. Give them each an instrument and we have Sweeny Todd or Company. Stage vs Film chops showed...no matter how earnestly she projected, Ms. Holmes/Mrs. Cruise was out of her league.

Saturday night, I went to 13. Thank goodness it is only 90 minutes long. It was written and performed for a pre-pubescent audience; I am over 3o years too late.

I went to bed early to prepare for my Sunday am road race.

2008-10-25T21:21:00.000-07:00

Amanda, Keegan and I enjoying the Knicks - Nets Game
Dan hanging on to the Staten Island Ferry for dear life, along with Kimmy, Tracie, Leah, Nick, Corbin and Keegan.

Protesting on the Wall Street

Two First for the NYC Old Timer.

2008-10-25T20:27:00.000-07:00

It has been a pleasure to have the students in the city. This group is amazingly good at making decisions and playfully discovering the city on their own.

Yesterday, the the day was spent figuring out the theatre puzzle...where to get the cheapest tickets where and when. They are really good at it!

They did a lot of star spotting, ticket buying and a little shopping before meeting me @ 2. After scouring Loehmann's for shoes, we headed down to Ground Zero. It is always a powerful gift to visit this spot where so much life, love and potential was lost with students who are oozing with those very same qualities. I love and cherish the fact that I can grab hands and pray with my students....especially when we are sharing moments such as the reality of life's fleeting nature.

We continued down to Wall Street. What an interesting time to be in the Financial District. Since our economy is not just wavering but wallowing, there were protests all over. The kids and I talked about how amazing it is to live in a country where we can stand on the steps of the stock exchange and verbally rant about specific companies and people. How about that First Amendment? We take for granted the rights we have as citizens.

Our walk south down Manhattan landed us at the Staten Island Ferry. We took the free ferry ride - which goes right by the Statue of Liberty. Fun, fun, fun. I had never done that before - what a easy, fun and cheap treat.

Last night, I was the guest of Amanda Simon's as she spent the day shadowing the New York Knicks Cheerleaders. As the coach of the Skyforce Skyleaders, she got a sit down with their staff and a set of tickets for the Knicks and Nets. Keegan Warwich came too. We saw a great game...3 dunks by Patrick Ewing jr. and the final score was 110-111 Nets. That was my first trip to Madison Square Garden - another first in one day!

Having the enthusiasm of the students in the city has really been a gift to me. I am invigorated watching the learn to love the city.

"We will leave some traces, for we are people and not cities." - Ionesco, The Chairs

2008-10-24T09:45:00.000-07:00

Last year, I took over 50 pictures of gloves that had been lost and abandoned around the city. The photo collection entitled Hands Across New York is one of my favorite pieces of art in my home.

Because I am currently directing Steven Deitz' Lonely Planet, I am acutely aware of all the empty chairs randomly left on the streets of New York. Who sat in these chairs? What does it say about their personality? Where did the owner go? Why is the chair no longer needed?

Pinch Me

2008-10-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

Isn’t there an MTV program called “Best Day Ever?” I – totally – needed to be on that show today.

I actually arrived in nyc yesterday. However, since I really haven’t slept until sometime in August, I arrived exhausted, dragged my posterior up the five floor walk-up to my studio on Bedford, and went to bed.

This morning, I awoke to a gorgeous October day in Manhattan. The first thing on the agenda was to walk over to Porto Rico Importing Company to buy beans. This is the best coffee shop in the world; they also have an online store and if anyone reading this ever wants to buy me a Christmas or Birthday gift, just send me some coffee from PRIC and I will love you forever. Check them out at http://www.portorico.com/store/

I then savored a quiet breakfast of bagel, cream cheese and jam, pumpkin spice coffee, a banana and yogurt. Heaven.

I constructed a letter of which I have been procrastinating. Since I am trying to collect artist interviews to place in an anthology that suppliments Anne Bogart’s book A Director Prepares: Seven Essays of Art and Theatre, I should probably consult Anne Bogart. I have been dragging my feet, because in addition to being a theorist, director and teacher, she is also writer. I have been hesitant in contacting her because I have been afraid that she will put the “kabash” on the project – maybe she wants to do this herself or maybe she just doesn’t like the idea. Also, without crashing SITI Company, the theatre company and school that she originated, or Columbia, where she teaches, I had no idea how to get into contact her.

So, I wrote a letter, explained my interest and sent it to an address I found on the Columbia website. She responded – enthusiastically about my work – within the hour. I was over-the-moon! She has agreed to meet with me next Tuesday. Pinch me.

Then, I also received a response from an email request that I sent director Douglas Hughes. He too agreed to meet with me, send me his cell number and told me to call. Pinch me.

I finished breakfast and floated over to the Housing Works to do a little shopping. Then, the USF kids called, they had landed in Newark found their driver and were headed to one of the apartment I had rented for them in Chelsea. Happy Fall Break USF!

We dropped their bags and walked down to the West Village. I introduced them to my neighborhood by having lunch at the White Horse Tavern, meeting Miguel and Hercules, and showing them all the quant tree-lined streets.

Next we headed uptown. They wanted Spring Awakening tickets…and got them. Amazing. Student rush – front mezzanine. I walked them by Rockefeller Center and on to the shrine called H & M. I needed to get down to the other apartment to grab keys, so I left Kimmy and Keagan to grab a student rush ticket for me to the Opening Night performance of the revival of Mamet’s Speed the Plow with Raul Esparza, Jeremy Piven and Elizabeth Moss.

Fyi…the kids’ apartments in Chelsea are on 28th and 20th (cross street is 7th for both). Both apts are really cute; I hope they are pleased.

I really enjoyed the direction and acting of Speed the Plow. How can you go wrong? Amazing actors – seasoned director. I always love sitting in the mezzanine as one can see directing patterns so clearly.

Afterwards, I was lingering around the stage door, just to eye-spy. Since it was opening night, I saw a lot of who’s who going in – Robert Kline, Blythe Danner, John McEnroe and Patti Smyth, Marian Seldes, and Barbara Streisand. On the way out, I spoke to Fredrick Weller and exchanged hi’s with the “Can you hear me now” Verizon guy. However, the thrill came randomly. Patricia Clarkson walked by.

Every year in Intro to Theatre, I am asked who are my favorite actors. My standard answers are Edward Norton and Patricia Clarkson. Earlier today, I was lamenting a bit that I was incredibly lucky to have so many amazing men to agree to meet me for an interview, but I really need more women. I was just thinking earlier today – I would love to interview Patricia Clarkson….and there she was.

I approached her and – truthfully – was star struck. I had trouble formulating a sentence, but I did ask….and she agreed!!! She said that she was “intriqued” by me and insisted that I call her Patty. First I get to call Kathleen Chalfant “Kathy” and now “Patty.” Pinch me.

After the kids got a slice to fill their tummies and end their first day, got the girls settled in their apartment, I headed home.

It was the “Best Day Ever.”

Sliding in Head First

2008-08-29T12:51:00.000-07:00

It occurs each August
a true f
a
l
l
from fantasy
t
o
reality

I cling onto the
green and blue of summer

As I p
l
u
m
m
e
t
into the
black and grey of instructional technology

the white noise
of

Higher Learning Commission Accreditation Academic Standards Syllabus Criteria Assessment Critical Thinking Strategic Planning

has replaced
my sweet simplistic melody
of

wooden bats children’s foul ball footsteps the national anthem

Please Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Please Take Me Out
Please Take Me
Please

In a League of Our Own

2008-08-15T10:48:00.000-07:00

Women and baseball. Two weeks ago, on another one of my baseball park crawls, I stopped at the oldest minor league park in America in Evansville, Indiana. It was here that A League of Their Own was filmed. The Frontier League team – the Otters – that call Bosse Field home, employ some of the cutest local high school girls to don replica uniforms found in the film and host the on-field promotions and games.

The film is best known for the phrase, “There is no crying in baseball.” However, when these darling young women break into dance fillers between innings, it took everything in my power to not interject, “There is no dancing in baseball. Take off the costumes. Sit down and watch the game!”

Maybe I was just reminded that women understanding, appreciating and loving baseball is as rare as a triple play. In fact, just this evening, I was enjoying a gorgeous night of ball at Haymarket Park in Lincoln, Nebraska when I was approached by a man who wanted to know who I was here to watch. My response was, “All of them.” I am not their mother or the cheerleader in residence; I am a baseball fan. He could not grasp the fact that I loved the game so much that I would a) travel to watch it b) sit there by myself.

This past summer, I befriended another woman who is as loyal to the play at the Birdcage as I am. I have admired her from afar in past years. Furthermore, I have enjoyed watching her grow - literally - as a fan. This season, I moved back to my original season seat located in the front row on the first base line. This placed me next to this other die hard Canaries fan, and we immediately bonded. Jasper and I became true baseball buddies.

We discussed our favorite baseball players, food and songs and agreed on many of them. The one thing we most have in common is that we love to….color, cut and paste. Did I mention Jasper is four?

Jasper inspires creativity. Together we created an All-Star scrapbook, and with her new baseball friendly arts and crafts suitcase, she is drawing intricate pictures with corresponding stories that entertain all of section D inning after inning. Well, almost everyone is entertained.

Canaries pitcher Pat Mahomes is Jasper’s number one fan; she reciprocates the adoration. He gives her gum and has taught her the proper arm gestures for the YMCA; she gives him a lot of smiles. Pat Mahomes is no different from any ball player that I have ever met - he knows where every gorgeous brunette is in the stands, and Jasper is no exception!

Pat has reprimanded me on many occasions that when we are creating, we put ourselves in the path of danger. Even though I do not think he gives me enough credit as the Queen of Multitasking – I can watch the game, draw trees and color ghosts between pitches – his concern has warrant. Foul balls come quick. We need to pay attention.

So, Jasper and I rehearsed the drill. “Heads up!” is the signal for us to throw our heads down between our knees. I have never thought of the conflict of language until I actually had to practice and explain it to a four year old. Leave it to a child to point out the fact that “Heads down!” would just make more sense.

This was not enough for Pat. He knows that a little body like Jasper's is no match for a ball whether hit or overthrown. So, this week, when he strolled across the warning track, leaned over to me as Jasper was sitting on my lap, and whispered, “If anything happens to my baby girl, it will be you and me”….I listened. Jasper and I agreed to pick up our cuddling, conversation and creativity between innings so she could return to her father who was packing a glove for protection during actual play.

I – like Pat Mahomes – have fallen in love with a brunette season ticket holder in the front row. Together she and I have had serious discussions about issues such as hot dog vs. chicken strips (hot dog hands down), the importance of “K’s” to a solid defensive outing, and the truth in bubbles as a positive addition to any sporting ambiance.

Jasper is a true fan, and as long as we practice safe fan etiquette, I hope to continue sharing our love of the game for seasons to come. As long as Jasper is my baseball buddy, “There is no crying in baseball” – only lyrics to Take Me Out to the Ballgame, high fives and lots of laughter.

Super Fan Jasper

2008-08-15T10:35:00.000-07:00

Here are some of the many faces of Jasper....sitting with daddy, cheering Pat on as he pitches, blowing bubbles and doing the YMCA!

Standing Still

2008-08-11T09:58:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Three Weeks with my Brother by Nicholas Sparks. I have to admit that I've never been a big fan of his novels and subsequent movies as they are a bit too sentimental for my taste. However, after reading this memoir, I have a completely new perspective on how he writes and the impetus for his work.

In Three Weeks, Sparks travels around the world with brother Micah. He does a beautiful job of taking the readers - not only to destinations such as Mayan Ruins, Easter Island, Malta, etc - but he also lets the readers journey with him as he revisits his childhood and all the landmarks that shaped him as a brother, son, husband, father and novelist.

Simply, I was inspired. Nicholas Sparks reminded me of the importance of sibling bonds and owning one’s family’s dynamics. “Perseverance and “stillness” are two words that I think of when reflecting of the book.

This past week, a friend of mine confessed his brain never allows him to be satisfied. He is highly successful, has achieved awards and positions at a young age, and has a family that loves, support and celebrates him. However, he never is satisfied….or still.

Granted, he has an extremely high pressure job. However, he never enjoys any of the success that comes with it. He only obsesses about the nuances of how to make it better. As he was midstream in a verbal rant, I found myself reaching out and placing my hand on his chest. He immediately looked confused – almost shocked – but he was silent. I just wanted my energy to quiet his heart.

Sparks refers to I Corinthians 10:13 in his book. God keeps his promise, and he will not allow you to be tested beyond your power to remain firm; at the same time you are put to the test, he will give you the strength to endure it, and so provide you with a way out.

My past couple of years have been challenging. I have declared numerous times in my life that I am the strongest broad that I know and that I fear nothing…except God. In truth, as of late, I have never felt weaker or more afraid and yet….I have found a quietness that has saved my life.

I did not find this silence on my own. Ironically, it has taken a group of strangers to show me the path to reclaiming my own space and adjusting the volume in it. Right now, I am trudging through a personal path thick with mud and cockleburs. However, it will eventually wash off, and I can pick off the rest. More importantly, I have discovered that I can do it on my own time and in a quiet place. Once it is off, it may leave a film and a few scars, but ultimately I will feel lighter than ever before. I have been provided with a way out. But for right now… I am just standing still, breathing in and out and being quiet.

Eat, Pray, Love...always good advice

2008-07-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

I read Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love and was inspired and changed. Go, now and buy your own copy so that you can highlight and write in it as you travel with Gilbert through countries and her own self-discovery. Following are my favorite "soundbites" from the book. In the weeks to come, I will be addressing some of them in upcoming blogs. In the meantime, which ones do you like? Why? Hit comment...and do just that!

The Bhagavad Gita – that ancient Indian Yogic text – says that it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else’s life with perfection.

We were taught to be dependable, responsible, the top of our class at school, the most organized and efficient babysitters in town, the very miniature models of our hardworking farmer/nurse of a mother, a pair of junior Swiss army knives, born to multitask.

Ours is an entertainment seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure seeking one.

His is a sweet expression. Il Bel far niente means “the beauty of doing nothing.”

There’s another wonderful Italian expression: l’arte d’arrangiarsi –the art of making something out of nothing.

The great Sufi poet and philosopher Rumi once advised his students to write down the three things they most wanted in life. If any item on the list clashes with any other item, Rumi warned, you are destined for unhappiness. Better to live a life of single-pointed focus, he taught.

I wanted worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence – the dual glories of a human life. I wanted what the Greeks called kalos kai agathos, the singular balance of the good and the beautiful.

There’s a difference between meditation and prayer, though both practices seek communication with the divine. I’ve heard it said the prayer is the act of talking to God, while mediation is the act of listening.

My friend Bob, who is both a student of yoga and a neuroscientist, told me that he was always agitated by this idea of the chakras, that he wanted to actually see them in a dissected human body in order to believe they existed. But after a particularly transcendent meditative experience, he came away with a new understanding of it. He said, “Just as there exists in writing a literal truth and a poetic truth, there also exists in a human being a literally anatomy and a poetic anatomy. One, you can see; one, you cannot. One is made of bones and teeth and flesh; the other is made of energy and memory and faith. But they are both equally true.”

I met an old lady once, almost one hundred years old, and she told me, “There are only two questions that human beings have ever fought over, all through history. How much do you love me? And Who’s in charge? Everything else is somehow manageable. But these two questions of love and control undo us all, trip us up and cause war, grief and suffering.

… the Zen masters say that you cannot see your reflection in running water, only in still water.

Virginia Wolff wrote, “Across the broad continent of a woman’s life falls the shadow of a sword.” On one side of that sword, she said, there lies convention and tradition and order, where “all is correct.” But on the other side of that sword, if you’re crazy enough to cross it and choose a life the does not follow convention, “all is confusion. Nothing follows a regular course.” Her argument was that the crossing of the shadow of that sword may bring a far more interesting existence to a woman, but you can bet it will also be more perilous.

Prayer is a relationship; half of the job is mine. If I want transformation, but can’t even be bothered to articulate what, exactly, I’m aiming for, how will it ever occur? Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention. If you don’t have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift.

…I’m never going to be a wallflower, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a serious look at my talking habits and alter some aspects for the better – working within my personality. Yes, I like talking, but perhaps I don’t have to curse so much, and perhaps I don’t always have to go for the cheap laugh, and maybe I don’t need to talk about myself quite so constantly. Or here’s a radical concept – maybe I can stop interrupting others when they are speaking. Because no matter how creatively I try to look at my habit of interrupting, I can’t find another way to see it that this: “I believe that what I am saying is more important than what you are saying.” And I can’t find another way to see that that: “I believe that I am more important that you.” And that must end.

Your treasure – your perfection – is within you already. But to claim it, you must leave the busy commotion of the mind and abandon the desires of the ego and enter into the silence of the heart. The kundalini shakti – the supreme energy of the divine – will take you there.

Your job, then, should you choose to accept it, is to keep searching for the metaphors, rituals and teachers that will help you move ever closer to divinity.

“You want to stay near the core of the thing – right in the hub of the wheel – not out of the edges where all the wild whirling takes place, where you can get frayed and crazy. The hub of calmness – that’s your heart. That’s where God lives within you. So stop looking for answers in the world. Just keep coming back to the center and you’ll always find peace.”

The child is taught from the earliest consciousness that she has these four brothers with her in the world wherever she goes, and that they will always look after her. The brothers inhabit the four virtues a person needs in order to be safe and happy in life: intelligence, friendship, strength and (I love this one) poetry. The brothers can be called upon in any critical situation for rescue and assistance. When you die, your four spirit brothers collect your soul and bring you to heaven.

Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. Fight for it, strive for it, insist on it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about your maintaining it, you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.

Clearing out all your misery gets you out of the way. You cease being an obstacle, not only to yourself but to anyone else. Only then are you free to serve and enjoy other people.

Hindus see the universe in terms of karma, a process of constant circulation, which is to say that you don’t really “end up” anywhere at the end of your life – not in heaven or hell – but just get recycled back to the earth again in another form, in order to resolve whatever relationships or mistakes you left uncompleted last time. When you finally achieve perfection, you graduate out of the cycle of entirely and melt into The Void. The notion of karma implies that heaven and hell are only to be found here on earth, where we have the capacity to create them, manufacturing either goodness or evil depending n our destinies and our characters.

Karma is a notion I’ve always liked. Not so much literally. Not necessarily because I believe that I used to be Cleopatra’s bartender – but more metaphorically. The karma philosophy appeals to me on a metaphorical level because even in one lifetime it’s obvious how often we must repeat our same mistakes, banging our heads against the same old addictions and consequence, until we can finally stop and fix it. This is the supreme lesson of karma (and also of Western psychology, by the way) – take care of the problems now, or else you’ll just have to suffer again later when you screw everything up the next time. And that repetition of suffering – that’s hell. Moving out of that endless repetition to a new level of understanding – there’s where you’ll find heaven.
“To lose balance for love is part of living a balanced life.”

Wings and Wheels

2008-07-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

My father always said that his daughters were born with wings and wheels on their asses. It is true; I resemble that statement.

When I was little, my mother, my siblings and I would go on impromptu road trips. I so wanted to love the adventures of running away to my aunt and uncle’s in Minnesota in the middle of the night or to my other aunt’s apartment in the – always exciting – city of Sioux Falls. However, I knew that we were not running to an exotic destination but rather from the reality of our own home. Eventually my dad sobered up, my parents figured it out and we no longer took regular “time-out” trips. However, the need to change my scenery in order to fill my creative coffer or to straighten my spiritual path has remained a necessity.

I love to walk, run, drive and fly…alone. Life is so simple when I am driving on south on I29 to Haymarket Park in Lincoln or east on I90 to Chicago. Whether I am power walking around Ottertail Lake or on a run from Washington Heights to Chelsea Piers, I finish feeling refreshed and full.

I took this photo of a homeless man whose entire life is on four wheels . He is waiting to cross traffic on the corner of Bleeker and Bank in the West Village. What I love about the shot is the organization and patience that radiates from the shot. Here is a man who – seemingly – has nothing but it is All delicately afloat four small casters.

However, all I can see is the freedom of the wheels, the serenity of knowing where he came from, and the balance of his belongings.

The Lutheran Slap

2008-07-18T16:33:00.000-07:00

How can people not believe in God or is some type of higher power? I think this a lot. During the journey to relocate Valerie to South Dakota – the homeless woman I brought back from nyc – I thought this over and over. Just when I wanted to give up, to walk away, to tell her to “kiss my sd ass,” God always reached in and planted a Lutheran slap. You know the one…when you were little and turned to watch Bev Riedel play the organ in the balcony or to see if the “todiefor” McGee boys made it to the back pew…BAM, dad’s finger tips would find the back of my head, hard and sharp. God does that. When I quit paying attention, he reaches right down and….BAM, reminds me to focus on what is at front of me.

Right now, I am sitting on the deck of my friend Janell’s cabin on Lake Herman with God…he says “hi” by the way. I am writing outside at 10 pm with a cool breeze, acrobatic fireflies, and a view of the moon and its reflection off the lake that must have been the inspiration for VanGough, Whitman, and Lewis and Clark.

Earlier, I went out for a long walk and watched the sun go down. The deep merlot red and the burning gold colors of a SD sun are so intensely vibrant that they cannot be captured on my camera. It just looks like an extreme close up of the head of a burning match over a treeless, green linoleum.

Yesterday, someone told me that God grants blessings and forgiveness without us even asking for it. She said that randomly a person would reappear in her life or a name would resurface that would immediately conjure up feelings of resentment, but she could not remember why. She confessed, “I know they offended or betrayed me in some way; but, for the life of me, I could not remember the exact incident. Therefore, I must have forgiven them if I could not remember it. “
This has happened to me!

Do not get me wrong, I am not, by nature, a resentful person. I have been blessed with a chronic amnesia that allows me to love students and my own children the most when they act like they want and/or deserve it the least. Therefore, I do not seem to remember hurtful acts or comments. Resentment just leads to other ugly emotions like anger and jealousy for which I just do not have the energy.

However, I have a small handful of people (specifically five) that I just rather not be around, discuss or address. All five live in the same town as I. Three of the five were acquaintances in college the other two were colleagues at a former job over a decade ago. After hearing this woman describe “passive forgiveness” I immediately thought of these people. I even confessed that my feelings totaled almost 100 years of ill will…ohmygosh! I immediately forgave these people and myself wasting the space in my body with such frivolous negativity.

That was not enough for God…oh no, I got a huge Lutheran slap. This morning I randomly went into a coffee shop and there sat Tracy – one of the five. I rarely see her, and in 25 years I have never acknowledged her. BAM. I turned around in my pew and followed her out the door.

“Hi Tracy.”
“Ummm…hi Kim.”
“Gosh, it is nice to see you. Do you live around in this neighborhood?”
“Ummm…no.” (she looked around like she was expecting camera crews).

I continued small talk, she hesitantly, while inching toward her vehicle, answer my questions.

Finally, I said, “It was really nice to see you and a treat to catch up. Take care.”

God is a funny dude. He heard me thinking and praying about this; so, just for shits and giggles he decided to let me try out this new theory. Thank “God,” I have always been pretty good at pop quizzes. It felt good to let it go….and, frankly, her horrified expression in my head is a much more fun snapshot than the one I had of her from SDSU in 1984. Is that bad? God, please forgive me.

The Bronx were Burning with Bartlings

2008-07-15T21:39:00.000-07:00

I have a shameful secret in my house. I always thought I had been pro-active in keeping my home safe from the infection. However, I am as red with shame as the color of sickness itself. My son Tyler….this is so painful to ….my son Tyler….sorry, I just need to take a breath and choke back a sob….my son… Tyler… is a Boston Red Sox Fan. I am a Yankees girl, and I bleed blue.

Where did I go wrong? We have served as a host family to over 30 Canary players (a local, minor league team) in the past 12 years. Is one of the players who we graciously – and naively –welcomed into home to blame? Did one of them expose him to the deep, dark drug called “the Sox?” When did the Green Monster sneak into my home and steal my son’s innocent, baseball soul?

I may only have myself to blame. Yes, I may have overexposed my boys to my own addiction at too young of an age. We rarely missed a home game at the Birdcage, and when Tyler was old enough to apply for a part time job, I encouraged him to go to work where we had played for so many innings, hours and seasons. My children sat on the third baseline on countless summer evenings watching names like Steve Howe, Darryl Strawberry, Ozzie Conseco, Jack Morris, JD Drew, Pat Mahomes and George Sherrill work their way back, around and out of major league baseball. In our home, we celebrated the opening day of MLB as enthusiastically as Easter and Birthdays…with presents, cake and decorations. All of these are holidays are rich with hope, growth, and resurrection.

However, it was the purple cowboy outfit that was the beginning of my son’s blatant defiance to blue pinstripes. He blamed me. He wanted me to pay.

One of the items of Ty’s job description was to don a purple cowboy outfit, strum a stringless guitar and lipsynch “Happy Trails to You” when the opposing team pulled their starting pitcher. This “performance” took place on the opposing team’s dugout. The outfit itself was the issue. The chaps, the vest and the 10 gallon cowboy hat were all made out of purple bathroom mats…the hot, furry, 1970’s kind. Tyler continues to hold me accountable for insisting that one learns work ethic by sticking it out and sucking it up. If I had only known the severity of the long term effects…..

I take victories where I can find them. I celebrate my son’s love of baseball. Like me, he loves the sound of a wooden bat; he has an unbridled vocal and physical enthusiasm for a well turned double play or a key long ball; he respects the game and its players.

Two weeks ago, I threw a breaking ball. I told him that we needed to have a serious talk. He turned white. “What? What now? Just tell me?” I informed him that it was serious enough that he would need to take a day off of work….I threw him off, and I meant business. Then came the curve. “You and I are going to Yankee Stadium, in its last season, to watch the Yankees and the Sox.” I sat him on his ass.

On Sunday, July 6th, my son, Tyler, and I walked into Yankee Stadium. Me in my Bernie Williams #51 official Subway Series jersey and he in his Manny Rameriz #24 t-shirt. Together Ty and I have walked through Italy and shared the works of Michelangelo, the canals of Venice and the shores of Capri, but walking to our sweet seats between 3rd base and Monument Park may have been one of my favorite moments of all time.

The final score was 5-4 Yankees in 10 innings. Joba was the starting pitcher, Mario Rivera closed it out and Alex Rodriguez homered to deep left…I was thrilled. Tyler was verbally abused…but he, too , was pretty, darn happy. Together we shared a gorgeous night in the Bronx, a great game complete with extra innings, and a passion and love of the game of baseball.

July 6th, 2008

2008-07-15T21:32:00.000-07:00

This Week’s Summer Play List

2008-07-14T23:37:00.000-07:00

Hit Me With Your Best Shot – Pat Benetar
32 Flavors – Ani DiFranco
Back in Black – ACDC
Bitch – Meredith Brooks
Spring Awakening - the entire musical soundtrack
Send Me On My Way – Rusted Root

To Tat or Not to Tat

2008-07-14T23:00:00.000-07:00

I have pondered the “To Tat or Not to Tat” question throughout the last ten years of my life. I never had the temptation to go under the ink-filled needle until my mid-thirties. Why now? Peer pressure. From my best friend to my sister, the demographic for tattoos is certainly wider…and older.

When we were young and stupid – some people call this college – we pierced a lot of places and hung safety pins from the holes. I think at one point in 1982, I had a grand total of 4 holes in my left ear, 1 in my right, and proudly sported a nose ring. This combined with my two-tier blonde and fuchsia bob, fishnet hosiery and sequined eyelids, I had morphed myself into a Midwest Kim Wilde (those born before 1950 and after 1970 may want to Google her); Kim Wilde wasn’t just a pseudonym, it was a way of living.

But tattoo?….only Vietnam vets and convicts did that.

When my son turned 18, he practically ran to the nearest tattoo parlor. I didn’t just tag along; I drove the car. I was there for all the other celebrations of marking his body: his birth, butter-flying his thigh shut after a deep cut and the piercing of an ear in middle school. I was going to painfully participate in this too. I realize that one of the reasons that Tyler was so adamant about getting inked up was that - well -he could….and without my permission. So, I have to think it a small victory that I was even told the time and place of the permanent physical marking.

I offered three suggested thoughts – a tattoo parlor is no place one uses the word “rules.”

1. No cute little cartoon character. One may feel like the Tasmanian Devil as you tear through life, but when you are applying for a job that has a real salary with benefits attached, a small African rodent peeking from under a pant leg doesn’t tell your future employer that you are a person one can trust with adult tasks and grown-up decisions.

2. Speaking of pant legs…put the tattoo someplace which is easily masked by clothing or hair. Tyler chose an interesting Celtic symbol, but - at first - he had it way down on his bicep too close to his elbow; if he was to have to sport – God forbid – a company polo shirt, the design would draw the wrong type of attention.

3. Avoid phrases and names. As the world turns, so does the tide of events. So even though the Beastie Boys’ “Fight for your right to party” serves your current mantra, times change, and so will your theme songs. And names? Unless you are biding homage to someone named Hope, Faith, Grace, Justice or Christian…do not set yourself up for disappointment.

I have never been comfortable enough in my skin to want to draw attention to any specific part of it. Also, I had trouble deciding and committing to just one salad dressing at lunch today; the thought of picking a design to sport through my geriatric years is just too…permanent.

However, if I had to pick today, I would probably go for the Chinese symbol for serenity. I would put it on my neck so that serenity would coat my brain and ooze down my spine. Also, it would serve as a bookmark for my favorite prayer:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Gold Medal Beauty

2008-06-13T19:02:00.000-07:00

My first memories of my mother are…my first memories. My hair hurts. My head hurt. Curlers – not greed - are the root of all evil. In my first baby photo, I had a total of - maybe - 7 hairs….all curled. From then until I turned 13, every picture in our family album my hair was either piled on my head full of pins and spray or…in curlers wrapped with toilet paper. Like all writers, I am the author of my own history….however, mine are confirmed by photographs.

My mother’s only education is beauty school. I was her best student. Interestingly, my mother never had much to say about my wardrobe. This was not part of her curriculum. Also, it was obvious early, that we were not going to share the same form. Tall and lean, my mother lived on days of fad diets and evenings of popcorn. Built my like my father’s mother, I, too am tall, but a large ass and overflowing bust made me a target at a young age. The teasing was endless; the moniker of “Triple B” (big butt, boobs and baby)still is stamped on the inside of my brain. This was the beginning of my love/hate relationship with my body.

Mom brought me to Montgomery Wards to buy my first bra. My mother was always easy to find in stores. It was just a matter of looking up. Over the racks of clothing and the selves of cosmetics, her hair was like a beacon high above steep cliffs of merchandize. I was lost in the storm of bras. They intimidated me with their jagged rows of hooks and suffocating thick fabric. Why would I want to add depth and weight to an area already thicker than my peers? Nothing fit. Nothing was creating the illusion of a flat chest as I had hoped. Mom’s impatience added volume to her suggestion of “I am just going to buy an ace bandage and roll you up in it,” causing all eyes to assess the problem of this pubescent child. To this day, shopping for bras, along with jeans and bathing suits, requires extended mental preparation, a glass of wine and a friend who is an excellent liar.

Mom always had a new diet for me…chalky shakes, cabbage soup and caffeine-packed candy. When shuffling through the pictures of my youth, I cannot seem to find that image that rendered her fat fear. I was athletic; I was thin. She would probably say, “…and you are welcome.”

Boys dated me to be near my mother. It is true. She was a beauty…still is. Her youthfulness was two fold. She not only looked young, she acted it. She laughed, she hugged, and she played. Mom was so entertained her children. At 67, she continues played with us…waterskiing, fishing, cards, rollerblading, dominos and trampoline jumping. Not too many years ago, I came home from work to find a note from my 10 year old son saying that he and grandma had gone around the block to McKennan Park to ice skate. There she was in the middle of the rink, doing one of those Olympic spins where the individual blurs into a personified tornado. She had on her fringed buckskin coat. It was – she was – poetry in motion, and not a hair moved or was out of place.

Last week, I swung by a local restaurant to say hi to my mom as she was meeting friends from high school. The husbands of her former classmates must have been green with envy. While their wives had aged into visual pictures of Midwest grandmothers with grey helmet hair and the “I give up outfit” of jean cropped pants and camp shirts, my mother looked – well – sexy.

Long before “Stacy’s mom had it going on” and terms such a MILF and cougar, there was my mother - tall, elegant, tanned, stylish and perfectly coiffed. However, her real beauty is that she has no idea of her stunning physicality. She is too busy serving a community, spoiling her family, playing, laughing and praying in her world….and that is truly beautiful.

Royal Blood

2008-06-09T22:09:00.000-07:00

I took these shots of nieces Sydni and Jadyn on Sunday...I am so inspired that tomorrow I may go to work dressed like Wonder Woman!

Cancer Sucks

2008-06-09T21:26:00.000-07:00

Troubleshooting Cancer

My Dad is Trouble and Someday I Just Want to Shoot Him

I talk…a lot. Ask anyone to describe me and the visceral responses are usually, “she talks too much” or “she is too opinionated.” My father once told me that “I had diarrhea of the mouth.” It isn’t pretty, and I can’t deny those descriptions. However, my real strength is my ability to not speak. It’s true; I can also be quiet for hours on end.

As a theatre director, I spend half of my life quietly sitting in darkened houses – observing, assessing, feeling, and troubleshooting.

These skills - that I continue to hone in the dark - came to light during my dad’s time in the hospital following his colon and rectal surgery and during all the subsequent visits and stays thereafter. I can sit in a room and say nothing…for a long time. This is important when the one you are sitting with is in pain or is scared – language is not normally welcomed but having someone sharing the silence with you is.

I have heard people describe knowing that they are have found “the one” because they are so comfortable with that other person that they can take road trips or watch TV and just sit…just be. The need to speak is not necessary. Ohmygosh…I think that I may be “the one” for my father.

I troubleshoot for a living. I have to make sure schedules work – actors, advisees, technicians, faculty committees. I have to balance this along with making sure my men gets to family functions, school and church events, appointments, and work. This also takes a certain amount of vision. I see that when the third dancer from the right does that twirl during the first chorus, she will run into the upstage staircase. Therefore, I need to move her or adjust the design. If an actor has to go be at work at Tuesday at 6 pm in order to pay his tuition so that he can then be in the play; well then, I cannot work the scene or act that he is in on Tuesday at 6 pm and need to revisit the schedule. If I know that I am meeting with an advisee who is failing a required general class (for the second time), there may be tears. So, I make sure my phone is turned off and the Kleenex are available. If my son’s car insurance is due, and I know he can’t make the payment this month, I just make the transfer. Troubleshooting protects those I care about from getting hurt.

Listening and troubleshooting are inseparable. When my father is still in the hospital 10 days longer than he expected, I plant myself next to him. When he shifts more than three times in one minute, I remember to grab his robe and tell him I ready for a walk and ask if he would like to join me. When his tasteless food arrives, I remember that I need to run to the gas station and that V8 and granola bars are there anyway, so I will just pick some up. When he tries to control visitors (family included) with dialogue infected with sarcasm and abrasive opinions that seem hurtful, I remember that he has absolutely no control of physical condition and that he hurts. So when I bite my tongue and nod, I am helping him ease the pain. If I see something coming I do not hesitate to divert it or grab it. It is just troubleshooting.

And by the way, after spending 5 to 10 hours a day is a darkened theater just listening, it is no wonder I talk a lot when I finally get the chance….just ask me.

It's Not World Peace

2008-06-09T21:24:00.000-07:00

My 3 am Thoughts…

My friend Mary Garry’s, “It’s not world peace” is a kinder, gentler version of my father’s “You are not nearly as important as you think you are” that I grew up with. Both aphorisms have served me well.

Like every child I cringe to believe – let alone acknowledge – that I have grown up to be my parents. My mom is exempt from this trepidation as I could only hope to grow up to be the kind, selfless, and beautiful woman she is. If it takes a village, my mother is the mayor, the preacher, the teacher and hairdresser all rolled into one. My dad, on the other hand, is the terrifying authorities feared in such shows that I grew up with like The Rifleman, Gunsmoke, Hawaii 50 and Ironside.

When I was young, I remember my father – exasperated – spit, “You are either way up or way down; there it is no in between.” Then, I became a high school teacher. Much to my surprise, I discovered that I had been no different than every other teenager girl. Dad clearly needed to get out more.

Like my father, I enjoy a good story. Like my father, I talk with my hands. Like my father, I tend to hyperbolize. If I was 20 years younger, my overactive, creative brain would have probably gotten me a diagnosis of ADHD; but in the late 60’s and early 70’s it just got me in a lot of trouble. Episodes of being tied into a chair, locked in a storage closet, and having my mouth duct taped shut were all acceptable prescriptions for overzealous educational enthusiasm in my elementary schools.

If I am a drama queen; my father is the tyrant. Unlike my father, I have turned my ability to dramatize into a profit. And, unlike my father, I know when to shut the show down. My students know that it only takes a soft, “Kim, can I talk to you a minute?” for them to see that my time and ear is their’s. When lines are not memorized, the set is not dry (and it is opening night), tickets are not selling and the lead actor has been puking since 4 am, I typically just take a breath, say a prayer and repeat, “It’s not world peace, “and great wave of quiet priority floats me through the moment as I am reminded that this is not about me. “I am not nearly as important as I think I am.” Life is just easier when your self-serve line in life goes out of order, and you have to float to find the humor and honor.

Stoma, feces, and open incisions are grotesque props to the dramatic climax of a colostomy. There is nothing attractive about any of it. My father’s new aesthetic caused my mother to – literally – swoon….and not in a good way. The village nurse she will never be. I saw it coming in my periphery, so I simply walked over, held her elbow subtly and sat her down so she did not faint. In the meantime, I was light headed. I chocked back gags. I asked lots of questions….and I smiled the entire time. I gave a Tony Award winning performance because you see, “I am not nearly as important as I think I am.”

My dad is the protagonist in this drama, and like all great stage heroes, his first lines were to all of us was, “Faith and family are the most important things we have.” Okay, so he was still doped up or morphine, but it was pretty dramatic and delivered right on cue.

My village has been infected with cancer, but the show must go on. My dad continues to cast me in this supporting role of nursemaid, whipping girl and security guard. I was the 1st girl on the right at 3 am in his hospital room as he recovered from surgery, and I continue to be his antagonist during his chemo sessions. He has never offered me a kind word nor a rave review.

Only once did he offer the ultimate sacrifice –his hospital room’s remote control. When you are donning a wardrobe of hospital robes, eating only jello and waiting for time to heal, the possession of the remote control is like the key to the Rosetta Stone. It was as close as I am ever going to get to a “Thank you” or a “Please, don’t go,” and that is okay.

“I am not nearly as important as I think I am” and this is may not be “world peace.” However, my relationship with my father is important, and I am learning that a quiet peace shared between the normal dramatics the two of us usually share, mean the world to me.

Poet Laureate of Sherman, SD

2008-06-09T21:18:00.000-07:00

You know where sympathy is in the dictionary? Between shit and syphilis.

Ben Franklin and Winston Churchill have nothing on my dad. He is a blue collar wordsmith. My first memory of my father’s manipulation of the vernacular came early. When we would fall down and cry, as small children do, he would say, “Come over here, and I will pick you up.” This always seemed odd to me. If I could get up, I probably wouldn’t be crying. I have no memory of my dad ever picking me up.

My father did not show any of his children extended physical affection. That is not to say he that was not physical with us. My father liked to boast, “Some people call it fear; I call it respect.” In truth, he was probably more right than I wish. I did fear my father. He was quick to spank, and I was no stranger to the power of his hand wrapped around a razor strap. I was first introduced to the strap after an extended game of kick the can in the Brandon hood. The sun had gone down and so did the drama in my house. I received my last physical punishment at the age of 16. I got home past a curfew - that was never established - after being out with a boy he disliked. “You know when late is too late” he would say.

It was 2 am. There he stood, belt in hand. As I had to walk up gauntlet - up the three steps to the kitchen – instead of running downstairs to my room. I wish I would have hissed “Let them eat cake” as I peed the on my mother’s kitchen carpet. However, I was never as articulate as my father is those trying times. Our home was a landmine of unspoken, but punishable if infracted, laws.

A few years later, I visiting home from college on a Saturday. In truth, I probably came home to take advantage of my mom who would wash my clothes, pack me homemade food and slip me a twenty. I had plans for the evening which included dancing at the Revolution in downtown Sioux Falls, drinking 3.2 beer and crashing at my cousin Lori’s. Before heading out, my dad reminded me that church was at 9 am. This was not part of the plan. Since I was now in my second year of higher learning, it was official; I had more education than my parents. I knew things. I informed my father that I did not have to be in a building in order to pray and serve the Lord, and the tradition of Sunday church was archaic. My father sighed, “It is amazing that someone who is spending money to be smarter can become so dumb.” I may not have been the loudest voice singing “This is my Father’s World” the next morning, but my butt was in the pew.

My father had a mantra. From what I can tell, Dad’s “Pride will kill ya,” was his bumper sticker adaptation of his AA influenced “The Serenity Prayer.” We heard this phrase a lot. All through high school, this was his answer to everything….well, that followed close by “either you fix it or I will,” and “kill ‘em with kindness.” The later of these – in retrospect – seems odd advice from a man, who loves the fresh blood of landing a verbal kill.

I never talked back to my parents; I still don’t. However, I do have one moment of burning glory. My dad had just laid down a “pride will kill ya,” to which I responded, “I don’t think you are suppose to say that to your kids. I participate in every sport possible, serve in every club, have a part-time job all while getting mostly ‘A’s.’ Why aren’t you proud of me? Why shouldn’t I be proud of myself?” Frankly, I was could not have been more proud of myself at that moment….but as the Greeks can attest, pride can topple the biggest and best of us. Dad’s response was textbook Sylvin, “Pride will kill you” he muttered as he wickedly smiled, shook his head and walked to the other room.

Fast-forward to January 1984. I am a single parent of a 3 month old son, living in a low-income housing, receiving my monthly Aid to Dependent Children check, and reporting to WIC every other Saturday at the 4H Building for baby formula, KIX cereal and blocks of free cheese the size of my torso. Only once did I complain in front of my parents about my financial dependence on the State to which my father quickly retorted, “I have been working and paying taxes since I was 17, - your mother too – to help girls just like you. Suck it up, take the help, get an education, find a job, pay taxes, and help the next girl.”

Not long after that I was in the Brookings Hy-Vee using food stamps to buy groceries. The woman behind me had an opinion about my choices and had no problem sharing them with me. Evidently, she was acutely aware that her taxes were helping this girl. It was my father’s echo of “pride will kill ya” that allowed me to take my bags, smile (kill her with kindness) and just walk away.

If my sister was to contribute to this story, she would say that her favorite “dadism” is “how much corn do you think that would hold?” This question works whether visiting the Smithsonian, the Vatican or the neighbor’s silo. If you asked my children, they would instantaneously – complete with a Sylvin accent – harmonize a “Oh, Yeah.

Me? I may resemble his frequent assessment of someone who “is talking just to hear their head rattle,” but it was a calm morning in June when I witnessed my father at his most colorful and articulate. Evidently, dad found himself behind my son Tyler on a Sioux Falls street. Forever a motorhead, dad had been waiting 15 years to buy Tyler his first vehicle. He had also been waiting 15 years to teach Tyler the rules of the road. After tailing him around town and witnessing excess speed and other breeches of the driving handbook, my dad followed Tyler home. By the time I open the back door, dad was mid-rip. “Who do you think you are? Dale Earnhardt? Kid, if your head was any further up your ass, we are going to have to insert a plate glass window in your stomach just so we can have a conversation.”

Take that Eleanor Roosevelt. I could not have said it better. Copy. Print.