rest your weary head, all is well

I was standing in the hallway, torn between two or three tasks.
Fresh in my mind were the events of the morning. A patient at serious risk for a second pulmonary embolism walked out against medical advice. As he stood with me, holding his bag of belongings he told me his cravings for drugs were too strong to resist. The nurse practitioner approached our stand off. She asked him to stay. She told him he could die. He looked at her and said he understood. I raised my eyebrows, pleading with him. He looked right into my eyes and shook his head. Then he left. And I sat at my desk for a long time, not speaking.

But- there was other work to be done, so I found myself in the hall, prioritizing the rest of my shift .

I only saw Mr. M's back as he walked down the hallway with the program director but I sighed inwardly, my thought process temporarily interrupted. Every time he leaves he's in great shape, and when I see him again he's a wreck.
But then I watched, intrigued as the program director led him past the nurses' station into the dying man's room and then left him there.

"He's come back to visit," she said to me as she turned from the door. "I told him we could make an exception."

I watched as he grasped the older man's hand, his face beaming with love. The older man forced his own eyes open and searched the young man's face, slowly recognizing a stranger that he once told us was "like a son to me."

"He's been sober for three months," the director told me, "that's a really long time for him."
I knew that, and I nodded.
"That's incredible," I said, and found myself speechless again.

Things like that can change the entire day.

what I did for love

My hands and feet are all cut up from Gorefest*, and the other day as I washed fake blood out of my real scrapes I realized I had absentmindedly started humming "What I Did For Love." I immediately thought of Keith.

Keith A. Grassette was working as the artistic director at Riverside Theater Works in Boston when we met. He loves to tell the story of how we met as much as I do. It goes like this: "Michelle was blindfolded when I met her and she bit me." I was auditioning for the role of Helen Keller at the time. Keith loves to explain that even as I was biting one of his hands he was pointing at me with the other and mouthing "this is her" to the producer. I love to explain that I had no idea who Keith was, and had been warned to "stay out of Keith's way," if I ever auditioned at RTW.

Under Keith's tutelage I learned the ins and outs of stage production. Keith taught me how to be professional, how to show up on time, how to take notes gracefully. Over the years I acted in as many plays as he could cast me. I became his intern, I taught some of his classes and eventually became his co worker, teaching my own classes at the theater. Then, most importantly I became his friend. Once I left high school Keith and I were able to share stories over drinks, gossip about mutual friends and trade advice on shows and classes. I went on to teach theater part time for the next six years (and counting!) at Thacher Montessori. Like a child mimicking a parent, sometimes I still hear Keith's words come out of my mouth when I address my students.

One of Keith's frequent speeches to wishy washy students was the "What I Did For Love" talk.
"I got news for ya'll**," he'd say making eye contact with the pre teens crowding the stage steps. "It's not a song about a relationship. It's a song about the theater. Sometimes you make sacrifices. When this is what you love, that's what you do. You miss other things. You give up some parts of your normal life. Because this is what you love."

In college I basically stopped doing scripted theater in favor of studying improv. Keith asks when he sees me (about twice a year now), "You still just doing that improv stuff?" Keith, as a rule, does not really enjoy "improv stuff."

So I called him last week.... and I invited him to Gorefest and didn't realize until I said it out loud how much his answer would mean to me.

He's coming tonight with our friend Maureen. I haven't seen either of them in almost a year. They haven't seen me perform in almost five years.*** I'm full of giddy energy just thinking about seeing them both again and making them proud. Both of them, but especially Keith. I've watched the whole show in my mind, trying to see it through his eyes. Will he think it's as funny as I do? Will he like the music? I think he will. I have a lot of faith in the show. But I recognize the part of me that's 15 years old working as hard as I can to show my director that I've got the "chops." Gorefest is for always for everybody. But tonight, this show is for Keith.

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* The stage is very rough and gritty to prevent slips. Unfortunately, that means that coming in contact with it, even intentionally, scrapes us up a bit.
** Keith is from Maine
*** With the exception of a Three Hole Punch show we did in Plymouth a few years ago.

Microphone

Know what makes me smile? BClops rocking a microphone and looping pedal.






http://www.youtube.com/user/StoopMasterB

Unbalanced

On October 12th I had the distinct pleasure of attending the first screening of UNBALANCED, which is an independent television pilot written and produced by the very talented Neil Reynolds. The pilot was directed by Jeremiah Jordon with Jason Haas as Director of Photography.

I'm going to post the trailer here, but you can also visit the UNBALANCED official site for more information.

Reynolds' writing is sharp and funny, brought to life by some familiar Boston and Cambridge actor-comedians. The character work alone was simply delightful to watch. The plot may revolve around a fantasy-world, but most of the humor is derived from truth in relationships and in real life situations. A great example of this involves the obligatory sexual harassment video that Ian (Ryan Petti) absently watches on his first day of work while he talks on the phone to his sister.

It's the very real relationship between Ian and his sister that is the driving force of the entire show. Ian's sister Wendy (Jane Lee), is plagued by hallucinations. Her fantasy world hallucinations are colorful, visually striking and fun to watch. Her monsters Mongor (Brian Church) and Carl (Taylor Newhall), constantly entertain the audience as they terrorize Wendy. The insanity of Wendy's mind makes a great contrast to Ian's bland new office job. But the UNBALANCED team never lets the jokes overshadow the love Ian has for Wendy and as he comes to her rescue again and again it's clear that their relationship is what will last no matter what stakes might be raised in their future.

UNBALANCED is currently being submitted to festivals around the country, and I will hopefully be updating as it gets accepted so you can go out and support it yourselves. For now, the trailer:

Unbalanced Trailer from Neil Reynolds on Vimeo.

I have a great paralipsis

A day off from both nursing and theater means a few different things. Sometimes it means clean laundry. Sometimes it means a pantry full of delicious food items. Today it means neither, but between some other, rather bizarre items on my to- do list, I found some time for writing. So I'm back. Kind of.

I hate making excuses for why I haven't been writing, so I won't even mention the cold I'm getting over, or how emotionally charged work has been this past week, or how many hours I've spent with Gorefest.

But don't read this the wrong way. I love being this busy. I'm some of the happiest I've ever been... I really just wanted to say "paralipsis."

Gorefest V. My Day Job

Typically heard at work:

"Make sure you glove up and wear a mask."
"Oh I will, last time I irrigated his ulcer stuff went everywhere."
"Do you know if he's...."
"No. Better safe than sorry."

Typically heard backstage at Gorefest:

"Did I get you? I couldn't see because there was vomit in my eyes..."
"Oh yeah, you got me. Feel free to aim the blood right in my face next time though."


You still have plenty of time left to catch the show at Improv Boston in Cambridge, MA.
We have two shows tonight (they've been sold out, but sometimes there are cancellations so call the box office).

Sunday Oct. 25 at 8pm (Tomorrow night)
Wednesday October 28th at 8pm
Thursday October 29th at 8pm
Friday the 30th at 8p and 10p
Saturday the 31st at 8p and 10p

The Worster Seed

There are a myriad of reasons I have not been posting.
One of them is Gorefest 7: The Worster Seed.

I am excited and proud to be a part of this Halloween tradition at Improv Boston and I really, really want to share it with you.

The first time I heard about Gorefest I was skeptical. Then, I saw it. And I was hooked. And I vowed to become a part of it.

Gorefest is a musical comedy that combines a spirit of goofiness with a love of the horror genre. It's reinvented every year with a new plot, witty script, and all original music. But it always involves gallons and gallons of fake bodily fluids.
It's messy, and funny and creepy and gross.

You can read about this year's plot line here. As you can see from the poster, I play a delightfully deranged (and possibly murderous) small child.

It's happening at Improv Boston in Central Square in Cambridge for the next two weeks.

Shows this week are Thursday through Saturday; and next week Wednesday through Saturday.

But the tickets are already selling out, so if you want to see it you absolutely need to buy them now. I think you'll be glad you did.... even if you're from Worcester.

Father Richard Cleary 1932-2009

This is Fr. Cleary dancing to "Baby Got Back," at the Newman Semi Formal my freshman year of college. He was not an ordinary priest. Then again... what Jesuit is?

Yesterday I found out that Fr. Cleary passed away. Ever since then I have felt anxious and heavy hearted.

The more I read about his life outside of the few years I got to know him, most notably the time he spent as University Chaplain at Boston College the more astounded I am, and the more awed by how many lives just like mine he touched.

My five years at UMass were formative in many ways, and I often overlook religion because I was a Catholic before I showed up and I was a Catholic when I left, but what took place in between can only be described as turbulent growth.

Father Cleary was the leader of many programs for students at Newman. Notably, he the championed the 48HOURS retreat, and ran the Know Your Faith program, designed to encourage young Catholics to ask why, and seek answers. Fr. Cleary was also the person responsible for bringing taize prayer to the Newman Center, a now weekly tradition for the community. My first year at Newman I took on co-directing The Passion Play for the Palm Sunday masses., with my roommate Jen. Fr. Cleary oversaw the production and was the one who gave us the confidence (and the go-ahead) to break from tradition, write a brand new script and even add music to the program.
Well, of course, music. Father Cleary could sing, and loved to sing. He often sang during his sermons, encouraging the entire congregation to sing along, a cappella. His favorite song to sing was "Lights of the City." And when he sang, his voice was so full of joy that you couldn't help but join in.

But perhaps my most important memories of Fr. Cleary are more private. We used to have long talks, sometimes within the structure of the sacrament of reconciliation, but often times not. A close friend of mine from college summed it up when I told him about Fr. Cleary's passing. "I did not meet him" he said, "but I do remember you being upset and going there, and talking to him and coming back a lot better."

I was always better after talking to Father Cleary. Sometimes he told me things that were hard to hear. Sometimes, I admit, I didn't take all of his advice. But he was always right on. I remember wondering, while we were on retreat one night, a retreat which included many silent components, if my loud personality was a test from God. If I was meant to overcome my tendencies to become a smaller, more humble lady. And Father Cleary told me no. That I was not meant to be anyone but myself.
His mentoring helped make me who I am. I hope I was able to express how grateful I was, but of course I wish now I could have said or done more to make it clear.

Father Cleary was an amazing energy force within the student faith community at UMass Amherst, and also at Boston College. Everyone who met him couldn't help but walk away feeling happier, and more at peace.

I lost touch with Father Cleary when he left the Newman Center, which I regret deeply. I do not know how much he suffered in the end but I do know that he is in a better place now. And I am comforted by the knowledge that his memory lives on in the hearts of all who knew him. Any time we reach out to spread the joy God's love, and the knowledge of God's acceptance and saving Grace we are continuing Fr. Cleary's work. And that, plus a little more singing, is exactly what he would want.


Brady Fallon Funeral Home and Cremation Service - Obituary

New Mainstage Show at Improv Asylum

Tonight is opening night of our latest mainstage revue, "Stop Googling My Tweets."

Stop by any of our normal mainstage show times* to be amongst the first audiences to see the new show!

Or come by any Thursday, Friday or Saturday night through the rest of 2009 to check it out.

Remember, if you ask me ahead of time, I have a limited number of employee comps to give out each month. Ticket prices and details are here.



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* Thursdays at 8pm, Fridays at 8pm and 10pm and Saturdays at 7pm and 9pm.

In the Kitchen with Brian

My family still laughs about the time I made a "from scratch" sponge cake that was more sponge than a cake. My brother can tell you all about how, after the ruined pastry was thrown into the sink, he was able to pick it up and wring water out of it while it mostly retained its shape. Since the purpose of the sponge cake was a science project*, I was hardly heart broken. Still, this early baking failure set the tone for an adolescence full of jabs about how terrible I am in the kitchen.

My brother, however, flourished in the very same kitchen. Whether it was related to my lack of talent, I'll never know for sure but I suspect it. I became a regular face on community theater stages and he refused to even do an act in the Talent Show at our annual block party. He quickly rose through the ranks of Little League and Parkway Hockey as an MVP while I realized I could cut gym class if I signed up for extra choir rehearsals. We never competed directly, but seemed to instinctively fill the negative spaces the other left. So it was while I was steering clear of stove tops and crock pots he was learning to cook.

I got a late start, really only beginning to cook in my first apartment in college. And even then meals were often limited to pasta, chicken and occasionally a home made pizza.

Now he works as a chef. I work as a nurse. He calls me when he's injured or sick and I call him when I want to know what to put in a cheese sauce. He comes to my shows. I promise not to bring him up on stage. It's a nice relationship.

And when I do cook, even when it comes out well Brian still reminds me of that sponge cake. You know, just to keep me humble. And I remind him of the time he thought a blood thirsty human head actually lived in his closet. You know, just to keep us even.

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* The Effects of Slow and Rapid Oxidation on Twinkies; the sponge cakes were my control.
And yes, "rapid oxidation," does refer to setting the Twinkies on fire. I got an A.

Flu Prevention Video

Last spring I was approached by some folks at Boston Healthcare for the Homeless for some creative assistance. They wanted to make an educational video clip, short enough to be looped, to use in clinic waiting rooms. So this is the video we came up with.
The clip features the music of Stroamata, and the acting talents of some of BHCHP staff and clients.

Meet Gwen

Gwen is an American Girl.

When I was growing up the American Girl series was a staple of my bookshelf.
My favorite book was Molly Saves the Day, which was about summer camp and an epic Capture the Flag game. I owned the entire Kirsten series as well as the Felicity series and a few Samantha books*. I remember the glossy catalogs that came to our house full of dolls and accessories; but I was never very interested. I just liked the stories.

Now, the American Girl company is much much bigger. I went to visit the American Girl Place in Chicago a few years ago, and ate in their restaurant. We were provided with dolls to sit with us at the table as we sipped pink lemonade. I was astounded as we toured the rest of the building to find out that you can now pay to have your doll's hair done, or get her ears pierced.

Perhaps it is because of the huge expanse of the corporation that a great deal of controversy surrounds Gwen, a pretty blond doll who is... homeless.

Apparently Gwen has been around since January, but a recent NY Post story has brought the doll new attention. My favorite back-and-forth debate has been taking place in the comments section of the article posted by ParentDish.com.

Parents are debating everything from whether or not the company should be donating money to homeless shelters for every sale of the doll, to the nature of what homelessness is.

Personally I don't care to comment on whether or not Gwen should be more "raggedy," or whether she's "truly" homeless according to the details of the book she appears in.
I think $95 is an outrageous amount of money to spend on a doll whether it's "homeless," or not which might be why I never owned a Molly. The irony that no homeless child could probably ever own such an expensive toy is just a bit of added insult.

However, The American Girl corporation isn't marketing Gwen as "homeless," they are just marketing her as a character from one of the books. They are not obligated to give money to a homeless shelter or healthcare program from "Gwen" sales any more than they are obligated to donate money to the African American History Museum every time they sell an Addy doll. It's just not logical.

As for the social implications of the very existence of the doll, I haven't made up my mind yet.
One one hand, the book "Chrissa Stands Strong," (and by extension, the Chrissa and Gwen dolls) teach young girls that they should reach out to everyone across gender, race and class lines. On the other hand, do they send the message, as one reader pointed out, that we should just accept that some people have and some have not? Do they dull the thirst for justice that we should be instilling in our youth by saying 'it's not so bad that Gwen is homeless'?

I don't have these answers, but I suspect that more good than harm comes from inspiring young girls to reach out and help others. And although the message is a tad moralizing and overly-simplistic, it's not a bad message, and it is certainly a great jumping off point for discussion in the home about bigger and more complex issues.

So if parents are really worried about the message is sends to pay $95 for a doll who represents a character who wouldn't be able to afford a school lunch, then they should be trying in other ways to instill a sense of social justice in their children. Talk with your children about their ideas and opinions. Have your kids come with you to buy a toy for a gift drive at church or temple or the Y. Or let them pick out the cans from your pantry for food donations. Bring them with you when you drop off gently used clothing at Salvation Army.

But don't blame a toy company for doing just what they set out to do.

This Blog is One Year Old

I began writing here one year ago today convinced for a myriad of reasons that "this [was] going to be my year."

I was right in all the ways I predicted, and in many that I did not.

I wanted to take this opportunity to get a little bit emotional. I am probably already one of the most emotional people you know. And .... I'm finally alright with that. (Mostly). I had a pretty emotionally charged weekend, and I don't want to get into details, I just want to cut to the chase.

I like to think everyone knows how I feel about them because I'd also like to think of myself as a pretty open book. I know firsthand, as many of you do, that some goodbyes come far too soon, far too fast and without fair warning. That knowledge has made me occasionally sappy to the point of irritating. But even I have things I haven't said when I should say them.

It seems like whenever someone we love leaves us for good, we are quickly moved to spell out our I-love-you-s to the people we have left. Because we know in those moments that time is precious, and life is short. But still, time slips away leaving us with a lot of things unspoken.
Today I'm celebrating my birthday which to me really means celebrating all the relationships that have made up my life as I know it. So here goes.

Mom, your love literally created me. I didn't know it was possible to get even closer to you, but somehow this year we did. Brian, we competed for many years but now we finally stand as equals, ready at each other's call for for help, or just to share a laugh or two. It's exactly how Dad would have wanted to see us turn out.

To all of my family and friends: I am who I am in part because of each of you and the mystery of that is something I can never wrap my mind around all the way. Growing up is so weird. I think of all of you and I say "this is my life, these are the people I keep" and I am so profoundly happy. I visualize axons in a nerve bundle. I could not untangle myself from you if I tried, and I wouldn't want to because it would hurt and things would stop working.

But it doesn't end there. Take this very seriously. My castmates and various directors. My patients, all of them. My students at Thacher. My coworkers and bosses. The friends of friends I've shared moments with at parties. Strangers on the buses and trains and planes that brought me here. Cab drivers with and without advice/cigars/cell phones/bad jokes. Bartenders. Everyone's new babies. The old man who sells ramen on that street corner in Tokyo. Your cat. Every person I met while apartment hunting. The guys I've gone on dates with. The guys I did not go out on dates with. People who have made me laugh. Or made me cry. That waitress that night. The authors of the blogs I follow. The reporters in Iran. Drunk people on the street. My new mechanic, Nick. People I met once, people I will never see again. The people who come and go every single day.

It's all connected. And we're all connected. And for the whole big picture I believe I have God to thank above all. Because God reveals Himself as Love. God is love, and I perceive that love constantly reflected by the people who surround me. And that's where I find my most honest, deepest, happiness.

... So when you have a blog you're allowed to pretty much say anything you want, huh?
This was NOT the year I reinvented myself as cool and aloof, that's for sure.

I started the blog to see where it would end up. I liked keeping it, and I think I'll keep keeping it. I will, however, be splitting off the entries about nursing and particularly homelessness into a blog of their own for professional purposes before this winter. It's something I've wanted for a while.

So I also want to take a separate minute to thank everyone who reads this. Whether you're a friend, or a curious enemy, or a stranger who accidentally found it while Google-ing "homeless" or "improv." Thanks for reading it, because without you the words are pretty meaningless.

I am looking forward to this next year. I have a few new goals. I feel less sure of how much I want some of my former goals. I don't have all the answers, but I have enough questions to keep myself and hopefully most of you sufficiently entertained for another 365 days.

This is going to be my year. And it's going to be your year too.