Oh, MONEY.

I have never been very good with handling it. There's a song by Twin Cities band, Greazy Meal (popular in the late 90's), that has the lyric, "I don't like money, but I sure like what it buys." Ain't that the truth.

I will also admit that over the years, I have racked up some hefty credit card debt, particularly when I did AmeriCorps*VISTA and my monthly income was $700. I'm still paying for those groceries on my Citibank MasterCard. My divorce also took a toll on my credit. Plastic is NOT my friend.

The pastor at my church is doing a three week series called "ATM" -- Attitude, Treasure, Mission. The underlying theme is that we need to re-think money, particularly its value and purpose in our lives.

I totally get that. I fully understand the benefits of living a life of generosity and selflessness. But how can I truly give AND live generously if I am still, quite literally, paying for past mistakes?

I can make budgets and expense lists till the cows come home. The majority of my income is spent on "necessity bills" and "debt bills." After that, if I have anything left, I give to charity, and (maybe) buy groceries and cat food.

When the economy tanked, Theatre IV was in the same boat as many other nonprofits, which forced some difficult decisions: layoffs, pay cuts and increased employee out-of-pocket health care. For many of us, that translates to salary levels at or below where they were five years ago.

I realize that having a lesser-paying job is still better than having no job and that all things considered, I am incredibly blessed and face better circumstances than many. But for someone like me, who has never been particularly savvy regarding money matters, I am finding myself constantly stressing about it. Usually, most of my money is gone the Monday after payday (which is every two weeks).

On the drive home yesterday, I was wishing I could figure out how to sell more drawings or stained glass to supplement my income. But then I realized that if I want to sell more art, I have to make time to create it. Another scarce resource these days.

I'm in rehearsals right now for "Keep on the Sunny Side" at Swift Creek Mill Theatre. When the show starts, the extra income starts. However, the four weeks of rehearsals are unpaid and it's a 20 mile drive to the Mill five or six times a week. When the show is running, it will still be three to four times a week. I haven't done the math, but I'm guessing it's pretty close to a wash in terms of extra income compared to money spent on gas... or "money out the tailpipe" as my grandfather put it.

Yes, I would like some cheese with my whine, thank you.

This is pretty much a vent session. I know many other people are in the same predicament. I just wish one of us had a universal solution.

Thankful

It is altogether too easy to forget how blessed I am.

I am sitting here now in my warm & cozy apartment in Richmond's beautiful Fan neighborhood, sipping freshly ground coffee, getting ready to hit the road to spend Thanksgiving in Maryland with my cousin's family......... and marveling at my fortune.

I have NOTHING to complain about.

I felt a little differently when I moved here five years ago. I didn't know a soul. I didn't have a job. I lived in an isolated part of town. I was terribly unhappy, and I sunk into a depression. Everyone back home in Minnesota kept assuring me that in time, I would find a job, friends, my place in the community... happiness. I was skeptical.

But they were right.

Over the last few years, I have come to love Richmond. I have a wonderful job with talented colleagues at two top-notch theatres, and two of the best bosses I've ever had the pleasure of working for. I've made some life-long friends and found a church whose mission I believe in. I met perhaps the biggest blessing of all, Robbie Jones, whose friendship and support helped me through some very difficult times and whose love I have come to cherish.

Of course I am grateful for a multitude of other things: a loving family, health, living in a free country, a roof over my head, clean water to drink, good food to eat, a car to drive, the list could go on for pages. And maybe it should. I am guilty of forgetting how wealthy I am, and when I stop to think about how good I've got it, I am humbled.

"Happy Thanksgiving" -- happily giving thanks for all the blessings in my life. And if you are reading this, be assured you are one of them!

A love letter to the Sanders Family

It's 8:00 p.m. No show tonight. *SIGH*

Smoke on the Mountain Homecoming closed last weekend at Barksdale - Hanover Tavern. It was the third in a trilogy of shows written by Connie Ray and conceived by Alan Bailey about the Sanders Family, a traveling North Carolina bluegrass gospel group in the late 1930s to mid-1940s. The first show, Smoke on the Mountain, was met with great success in the spring of 2007. I was fortunate to play "Denise" in that show, and in the following two productions, Sanders Family Christmas in 2008-09 and Homecoming in 2010.

Homecoming has closed, the trilogy is finished... but I just can't stop thinking about these amazing productions and even more about the amazing people that I have gotten to play with these three and a half years.

I'm sure Bruce knew it was a gamble asking me to be in this show. I hadn't acted since high school, so for me, it meant creaking open the archives and refamiliarizing myself with the jargon. It also meant dusting off my harp-playing skills (which, at that point, I hadn't put to use in 8 years), not to mention the piano and guitar.

Drew Perkins, our Musical Director and "Burl/Daddy" in all three shows, also took a gamble. Bruce at least had the advantage of knowing everyone in the cast -- Drew found himself in a room full of strangers, all with varying degrees of musical ability. He was charged with the task of making us sound like we knew what we were doing. If the first few rehearsals didn't drive him to drink, I don't know what would.

But somehow (perhaps divine intervention?), we pulled it off. We had a great run of Smoke and formed a fast and tight bond with each other that became closer-knit with each show. Even though the trilogy has concluded, I am confident the friendship will continue until we all meet in that big round-up in the sky.

So now, on this first non-show night in seven weeks (and even though I have already told them all how great I think they are), I am going to take advantage of the extreme self-indulgence that is blog-writing to publicly love on each of the members of this family. I hope my 10 followers will bear with me. 

Julie Fulcher: My first Mama. I never tired of watching you go head-to-head in the scripture quote-off with Rev. Oglethorpe or interact with the audience during your children's devotionals. It was all I could do to keep from bursting into a fit of laughter each time you scolded me. No one can smash a Junebug with more conviction or let a Christmas tree fall on her with more grace than you. As Vera, you demonstrated your deep devotion to your faith, to your family and to the music, all with a twinkle in your eye. I miss the dressing room conversations with beloved Aunt Judy, and with you. "God has given us two gifts, music and witness." 

David Janeski:  It was so fun to watch the transformation of Dennis from bashful minister-to-be to confident ex-military preacher extraordinaire. Playful yet serious, you captured the essence of Denise's polar opposite twin brother while simultaneously evoking emotion that not only made the audience teary-eyed, but routinely choked up the cast as well. Musically, you demonstrated your astounding talent by becoming a pro on the mandolin and bass during the course of these three shows. Truly amazing. I'm glad to have you as my brother and friend. "I'm the boy." 

Kelly Kennedy: My second Mama. You also approached Vera with a twinkle in your eye and fire in your heart. Your sweet smile and equally sweet voice were contrasted with Vera's fierce passion for scripture and getting right with Jesus. While you will probably disagree, you joined the family and moved into the character with the greatest of ease, just like the expert actor you are. Your portrayal of Vera/Mama was seamless and a joy to watch. It was an honor sharing the stage with you. "And sin sends us where? Everlasting hell!" 

Billy Christopher Maupin:  Few people possess the passion, energy, earnestness and musical talent that you combined to create the perfect preacher of Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church, Mervin Oglethorpe. How many times did we hear from audience members, "Mervin is just like the preacher at the church I grew up in!" Your genuine care for your flock couldn't have been more apparent. Yodeling might not be your cup o' tea, but I'd challenge anyone anywhere to find a better Mervin than our own BCM. Thanks for the traveling company -- just watch those spurs! "Amen." 

Drew Perkins: Our teacher, our leader, our fiddlin' friend. I think it's safe to say that your gamble paid off. Three sold-out productions later, we have you to thank for helping us get there. Your stories and jokes and records and doughnuts made being in the dressing room almost as fun as being on stage. Your generous heart and playful spirit shined through Burl and gave the audience a glimpse into the man behind the character that the rest of us had the pleasure of getting to know and love. Thank you for being a constant source of laughter and a musical inspiration to all of us. "We are the Sanders Family Singers, from up around Siler City." 

Aly Wepplo: Hey sis. June... the good daughter. "We know." I've seen you in many roles, and maybe I'm a bit biased, but I love your June. Smart, pretty, and wise beyond her years, just like you. June's sensibility is complemented by a very real vulnerability, which endeared her to my heart, as well as the audience's. You also flawlessly portrayed her unabashed honesty and tell-it-like-it-is attitude, all with a gesture and a smile. I'm grateful to have had the chance to be your sister, and even more to be your friend. "We like to talk a lot." 

Eric Williams: Your portrayal of Uncle Stanley is the epitome of consistency. In each of the three shows, despite his gruff demeanor, Stanley easily won over the hearts of the audience, and his family. I think out of all the characters in our show, people relate to and empathize with Stanley the most, and you get all the credit for that. When Stanley speaks, people listen... because when Eric speaks, people listen. You are more talented than you will ever give yourself credit for. "Pleased to be here." 

And finally, to our faithful audience, I say, THANK YOU. Thank you for being part of the congregation of Mt. Pleasant, for laughing with us, crying with us, and for just being part of the amazing experience that is live theatre. Without you, it's likely some of us would never have met, let alone become such good friends. It was an honor to perform for you and I hope our family will have the fortune of welcoming you back to Mt. Pleasant again soon.

Much love,

Emily/Denise/Densie/D'nie
"I'm the oldest by four minutes."

Send it up

Every actor's worst nightmare, second to being naked on stage (except if dreaming of roles in Hair, The Full Monty or Equus): forgetting lines.

I'm in Barksdale Theatre's production of Smoke on the Mountain Homecoming now running at Hanover Tavern. We opened last Friday.

I forgot my lines on opening night. 

NIGHTMARE!

Mid-monologue (which I had nailed in dress rehearsal), I got a nice laugh after a line. And then, my brain froze. Nothing. Silence. Pins and needles in my throat, all the way down to my stomach. Fumbling. Sweating. Blinding lights. Slow motion. An out-of-body experience. "This isn't happening. Yes, it is. Oh #%$@! Line, line, line, line.... Help! I need help! $#@%!"

An eternity.

(About four seconds.)

I skipped ahead and got back on track, finished the monologue and got some more laughs.

I was devastated. I cried at intermission.

I was certain Bruce (the director) and others would comment on it at the post-show reception. A couple of my castmates said, "don't say anything, no one will even remember" and reassured me it wasn't as bad as I felt it was. So once the celebratory opening night party commenced with the cast, crew, my coworkers, friends, critics and other theatre-goers, I downplayed it pretty well. Kind of. Ok, not really.

I felt like I had to own up to it, because I did forget. I worried that I brought the show down with my four seconds of silence and deer-in-headlights staring. I cringed at the thought of my stammering ending up in a review and casting a bad light on everyone else.

But then another cast member reminded me of three words:

SEND IT UP. 

Let it go. Don't worry about it. It's over, in the past, the rest of the show went (relatively) well so forget it, get over yourself and move on. Hallelujah for those three little words.

Now that I have had two successful recollections of my lines after the catastrophe, read a very positive review of the show (John Porter for WCVE-FM), and confessed this boo-boo to my vast blog readership (ha), I feel much better about it.

Amusingly, in theatre jargon, the phrase that actors use when they forget lines is, "I went up on my lines."

So, I went up. And now, I have sent it up.

And I'm looking forward to a very successful rest-of-the-run.

¿Qué pasó a abril?

What happened to April?

I just looked at the calendar and had a small panic attack. There are four days left in the month. What?! How is it possible that May starts this Saturday?

My mom told me about a NOVA special on PBS recently. In it, scientists explained their discovery that the expansion of the universe is speeding up. This means that time is quite literally going faster but we don't notice because it's all relative. (Right, Mr. Einstein?) Something like that. Anyway, add to that the fact that practically everything in our daily lives is designed to move at the fastest speed possible, and in the time you took to consider it all, it'll be time to flip the calendar again. Next thing we know, it'll be December 31 and we'll be reflecting on the blur that was 2010.

But before that, I'm forcing myself to take a look at April. It was a good ol' month, despite the fact that I have to refer to my planner to actually remember what I did, in addition to the usual 9-5...  

A Grand Night for Singing opened at Swift Creek Mill Theatre on April 1st. The callouses on my fingers reminded me that it was not a joke -- that I was, in fact, playing the harp in an 8-week show with some amazingly talented actors and musicians.

Robb & I went to church on Easter Sunday, and thoroughly enjoyed the STOMP-like worship service. (This is an old pic; I couldn't find one from Easter.)

 I saw my coworker Jeanie in a great show at Richmond Triangle Players, Last Summer at Bluefish Cove.

 

I participated in Chalk Up the Town in Carytown.


I helped Robbie clean out a bunch of stuff from his apartment and move it into storage, which included parallel parking Theatre IV's production van (I'm still quite proud of this accomplishment).

And finally, my last stretch of my 10-week Spanish class came to a close with a tasty meal at Chicken Fiesta in the west end.

I guess that's what happened to April! Bring it on, May.

A Grand Night for Star Trek XII

So I'm playing the harp in Rodgers & Hammerstein's A Grand Night for Singing at Swift Creek Mill Theatre in Colonial Heights. I got the music about ten days ago, got a harp to practice on last Tuesday, have participated in four rehearsals and the show opens the day after tomorrow. And just like that, I go from a nine-to-five nonprofit fundraiser to a sleep-deprived gigging musician.

COOL!

I have a tendency toward being a night owl so the late nights don't really bother me.... it's that pesky day job thingy that requires I leave my cozy bed by 8:00 if I'm gonna make it to the office by 9:00. To the parents who are reading this, yes, I know how sleep deprived you all are and I fully recognize that I have no idea what "tired" really, truly is. But, if anyone can appreciate functioning in a bleary-eyed semi-conscious state, it's actors and musicians. (And folks who work the night shift... had to give props to my Robbie.)

Most actors and musicians -- at least in Richmond -- have to hold daytime employment in order to pay the bills. But I've never really heard anyone complain about it... that's just how it is. By no stretch do I consider myself a professional the likes of Audra and Scottie and Sandy and Paul and countless other pals who secure a steady stream of work by putting their acting and musical talents to work on a regular basis. But I am fortunate to get called upon to fill the occasional niche (say, for a harp), and that makes me perfectly happy.

So while I am and will be "So Very Tired" the next eight weeks, I will be enjoying every minute that I get to pursue my true passion for creative expression during the twilight hours with amazingly talented people. If you get a chance to see A Grand Night for Singing, please do. It's two glorious hours of song, dance and witty repartee. The next morning might come a little bit too soon, but it'll be worth it, I promise!