Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Quote Day Number One

Hello, folks! I have decided I am going to randomly have quote days on my blog. Sometimes I will post two pieces; one being a quote with an explanation of the origin and quote author accompanied by my posting for that day. Other times will just be quote days.

For my first quote I have chosen Claudia "Ladybird" Johnson, wife of President Lyndon Baines Johnson.

"Become so wrapped up in something that you forget to be afraid."

"Ladybird" was born in Texas in 1912. She married Lyndon seven weeks after meeting him, and kept his congressional office running after his heart attack. Ladybird stumped for Democratic candidates and visited thirty three countries as Lyndon's emissary. She was one of the original environmentalists. Ladybird founded the Wildflower Research Center and it was because of her that the Highway Beautification Act was passed. She resided in Texas until her death in 2007.
Ladybird was courageous and determined. Her belief that it was important to "feel the fear and do it anyway" kept her going through whatever she faced in life. She is a personal heroin of mine. Thank you, Ladybird, for bringing so much into this world, for making us think, for being strong and persevering...and lastly, thank you for being the inspiration you are, even now. It is my fervent hope that more young women will come to know this fascinating woman. For a brief time, she held the reigns. She deserved so much more credit, so much more thanks.

There are times when all of us face life situations with a bit of trepidation. Life can be a scary thing. At times we have to pull ourselves together and just belly up to the bar.

I have always found, in my life, after something I feared has come and gone, that it wasn't nearly as bad as I imagined it. Life changes at any age can be frightening. In middle age, they can be downright terrifying. It takes courage to make decisions that affect not only yourself, but your family and lifestyle as well. I have a deep and abiding faith that helps me to get over the humps. That doesn't mean I'm fearless by anyone's stretch of the imagination. I just don't get paralyzed by my fears anymore. I simply give myself twenty minutes of worry time and wash my hands of it. Worry is non productive and wastes valuable time. Worry also breeds negative thought, which in turn causes discouragement, more fear, even more worry, and a vicious cycle begins. What we put out in the universe is what comes back to us...in abundance. While this is not such a hard concept to grasp, it is a difficult one by which to live. It takes time and patience to get to a place whereby you can snatch yourself up by the scruff and mentally prod yourself into a place of lightness and being, a place of positive energy. It takes guts to stay there. Negative is easy. Positive takes a lot of work. Positive requires removing negative influences from one's life. This can be in the form of a spouse or significant other, a friend, in short, anyone or anything that brings with it negative energy. I could go on ad infinitum on this subject. Suffice it to say that reminding ourselves to be grateful for what we have because there are those that are the have nots, really trying to keep positive energy flowing, and doing so in a world that sometimes swims in negativity is worth practicing not only in theory, but in life.

Backsliding is a part of the game. When your faith waivers, renew it. When you feel negative, change it, even though it's like climbing out of a foxhole with two broken legs...just do it. When you're feeling old or tired or you're hurting, remember Mother Theresa, who pushed through it all. If she can do all that she did, can't we put just a modicum of that effort into staying positive? Let me know what you think. I've missed writing, and I've missed all of you.

Much Love,
Deborah

Thursday, December 31, 2009

Quick! Spit In Your Hands And Rub It Together!!!!!!!

I said I wanted to be sitting at my computer writing as I rang in the new year. But my significant other had different ideas. He wanted to be kissing and drinking champagne. What the hell? So if I'm going to spend the rest of the year doing what I was doing at midnight, does that mean I'll be a drunken kissing bandit? Geez, I don't even have any new year's resolutions. Guess I could start that diet. I could vow not to kill my significant other for making such lame suggestions as kissing and champagne. I could just have enjoyed the champagne instead of being so hung up on superstition. The superstition, I might add, that my mother always drummed into us kids. "Whatever you're doing at the stroke of midnight New Year's Eve, you will be doing the rest of the year." So I picked writing out of my veritable grab bag of possible New Year's midnight activities. Mind you, I could have chosen lying on my ass watching South Park reruns or sloughing foot callouses. No, I chose the thing that I NEED to be doing all year. I have books half written, a blog I've been ignoring (though it's always niggling me in the back of my mind, virtually screaming at me "WHEN THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE WITH THAT DAMNED BLOG, BLOCKHEAD?!")
God love my mother. I do too, rest her soul. This is the same woman who has had me spitting in both hands and rubbing them together every time a black cat crosses my path, NEVER having red in the bedroom, never letting anyone sweep around my feet, lest I become a spinster, let's see...oh, yes, never opening an umbrella inside the house, never killing a cricket...oh, also, birds in the house are bad luck, (wild ones, of course), one must always throw salt over their left shoulder if they drop it (do you have ANY idea how friggin difficult it is to pick salt up OFF THE FLOOR, people?) Forget about walking under a ladder, that's a given. We must always stop the clocks and cover all mirrors when someone passes away. Never claim a penny off the ground unless it is HEADS UP. There are so many superstitions that color and CONTROL my life. Why, you may ask? Because I let them. Because I am weak and feeble minded enough not to give the alternative a chance to screw me in the end. Because, hey, if it ain't broke, why fix it, right? I mean, in this economy the way things are going, and with life as delicate as it is, why gamble on shit, you know what I mean? So, on the outside, everyone thinks I'm this paragon of strength. What they don't know is how neurotic I am on the inside and how addled I can get if I don't spit in my hands when that infernal black cat crosses my path, or how I will GO OFF on some hapless waitress for sweeping around my table (only doing her job), or how I WILL NOT EVER, NO MATTER HOW MANY EXTRA STEPS I HAVE TO TAKE, EVEN IF OVER A CLIFF, EVER, EVER, EVER, STEP ON THE CRACK AND BREAK MY MOTHER'S BACK. Christ, I need a valium. The fact is, I'm proud to have a history steeped in southern superstition. It is part of my heritage. I am descendant from a full blood Cherokee Indian grandmother and Irish grandfather on my maternal side and my paternal grandfather (Opa) was full blooded German from Hamburg, while my paternal grandmother was full blooded Koasati Indian. I live by many superstitions, some southern, some Native American, some European, some just plain ol' garden variety bullshit. I love them all! HEY WATCH OUT FOR THAT DAMNED CAT WITH THE WILD BIRD IN IT'S MOUTH HOLDING A TAILS SIDE
PENNY AND AN OPEN UMBRELLA WALKIN' UNDER A LADDER SWEEPIN' AROUND YOUR FEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Much Love,
Deborah

Saturday, December 26, 2009

PFFFFFFFFFT!!!!!!!!!!!!

That sound is the air being let out of my tires, folks. This Christmas season found me baking around the clock, planning and decorating as usual, only with a few changes. First, Hammy Tammy and I found each other again after eleven years. That has been yet another blessing in my already blessed life. Second, my nineteen year old son, after being there for three years, has finally moved out from under the shabby roof of his worthless, non child support paying biological father to move in with his actual daddy, (the man who reared him, and who is "daddy", in every sense of the word-a wonderful father and human being, with whom he should have stayed from the start.) Nonetheless, he's there, and safe and happy, and that's all that matters. Third, I am discovering myself all over again. I am rethinking things about my life, what I want and how I intend to get it. Fourth, I have met and made some amazing friends through this blogging experience. Fifth, I am going to be returning to the theatre soon, onstage, which is in my blood and which I have dearly missed all these years, but had family and decided against. Sixth, I had a wonderful time this Christmas and Thanksgiving, though I'm tired and worn down. It was all worth it to see the looks on their faces when they saw the lights, tasted the homemade treasures, and bathed in the warm glow of Christmas candlelight. Christmas dinner was perfect, and enjoyed by all. I wish my parents could have been here in person. I know they were with us, but it isn't quite the same. I miss them dearly.
So though my body aches and I'm exhausted, there is a sweet sense of peace that surrounds me. Another Christmas, and I pulled it off again. Someone once told me that I make Christmas magic. I beg to differ. I don't actually make the magic...I just love spreading it around. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. May your new year bring prosperity, love, peace and serenity, and may all your dreams come true.

Much Love,
Deborah

Monday, December 21, 2009

Half Baked

I went to my daughter's Christmas party at school Friday past. I must say, I was supremely disappointed. Not in the party, mind you, rather, I was disappointed at the lack of participation on the part of most of the parents. I saw mothers and fathers, stepmothers and stepfathers bringing in bags of chips, candy, cheetohs, and sundry other "every day" items. These children see that 365 days of the year. It's Christmas, for crying out loud!! What happened to mothers (and in my family, fathers), toiling away in the kitchen producing those delectable, mouth watering delights of Christmases past? Where is the sense of tradition? Where is the joy of showing up with platters of homemade treats that only come but once a year? I mean to tell you, a lot of these parents are able to take off work for "girl's days out", or because they just feel like it. Some of them are not working, or working part time, and could easily step up to the plate. I'm not talking about the folks who are on fixed incomes and cannot afford it. I'm talking about the folks I SEE out and about all over town playing hookie from work but can't seem to make the time to come to their child's school Christmas party. One can do enough baking for eighteen third graders on a Saturday afternoon or Sunday after church. Even one batch of sugar cookies isn't that demanding a task for most. So before anyone sinks their fangs into my neck, read my words carefully. For SOME, and I mean FEW, this is not possible, either because of finances or the fact that they really cannot get off work. Understood. I'm broke. I'm struggling. I'm tired. I'm middle aged with an exceedingly active toddler and nine year old. Yet I baked Christmas treats for my daughter's party because I wanted to. I wanted to share that with her. We rolled out the cookies, cut them with cookie cutters, decorated them, or rolled them in powdered sugar, or twisted them up like pretzels. We made Old German gingerbread stars with clear icing, snowballs (a buttery, crushed pecan, powdered sugar covered cookie), Norwegian Kringla (a shortbread twisted into a pretzel shape), and homemade potato candy, all of which, as soon as I can, I will share the recipes for so you can all try them. Just eat half and rub the other half across your butt, since that's where they'll end up anyway.
I suppose I'm simply venting. I just know I'll always remember (and treasure), the look of pride on my precious baby's face as we passed out our homemade delights. It's a different world from the one in which I grew up. I miss that world, the world in which my mother brought me up. I will do my dead level best to make my daughter's world that world. I know there are others who feel the same way. Sadly, none of them were present at my child's school Christmas party. I've always been told I have high expectations. Perhaps I do. Or perhaps I just believe in making this season fun, creating Christmas memories, and sharing time with my daughter doing things we enjoy together. Hmmm...

Much Love,
Deborah

ps Mama, thank you for giving me that world. It was such a lovely place to grow up. You made everything so...magic. I love you, Mama, I miss you...and I know you'll meet me when I finally come home. Kiss Daddy for me. And Mama? Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

She thought of his words and the way he'd held her before he'd gone out. Unusual, yes, but she'd been in the middle of cooking his breakfast and planning for the children to come for dinner and it hadn't been enough to make her stop, to see that something was about to shift. Hank always came in, gave her a peck on the cheek, and said "Goin' to the garden." That morning, he'd come in and whisked her away from the stove, singing "Begin the Beguine" just like Sammy Davis, Jr. He'd danced her around the kitchen, dipping and swaying like they'd done so many times before. She'd laughed and told him to stop being so silly, she had breakfast to tend to. He'd stopped dancing, looked at her with so much light and love, he'd held her so tightly, and said "Hattie Mae, I love you, girl. You're my sweet, gentle mare." She'd hugged him to her, and whispered in his ear "I love you too, my darlin' monkey." Monkey had been a nickname she'd given him when they were younger. He'd always loved to climb things...trees, barns, and Hattie thought it fitting.

She stood a long time and gazed at her darling monkey, willing him to get up...to dance with her...to love her some more.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Docia's Shining Star--PART ONE

Docia's hands shook as she opened the box full of precious Christmas ornaments to trim the tree. She'd been back to the doctor twice in the last month, but they couldn't seem to find the right combination of medicines and frankly, she was just exasperated with the whole thing. Ever since she'd been diagnosed with the Parkinson's, she'd kept it under her hat so as not to worry the children, and also because she wouldn't stand for their pity. She was at the point now, though, where she was constantly having to dodge questions about her shaking hands and jerky head movements. She'd told them one thing after another to get them to hush up and leave her alone. She would NOT be treated like a frail old woman, damn it all. They seemed to buy whatever weak, waterless excuses she gave them, however, and for that temporary reprieve, Docia was grateful.

Now, though, as she struggled with the decades old glass balls and fragile Victorian paper ornaments, she wondered how things would go when they all came over for her annual holiday party. Maybe she wouldn't be so lucky. Maybe they'd pin her down at the dinner table or corner her in the kitchen and force her to tell them the truth. Clarence would be okay with whatever she told him, but Martha and Trudy would definitely push the issue. Alvin had passed away several years ago from an unexpected stroke, so at least she didn't have to explain things to him, God love him. All of her grandchildren were grown and only two would be there for the party, Deborah and Cheryl, Martha's daughters. Martha's husband, Jim, was a retired Army officer and would be making his famous potato candy, while Martha would bring her favored coconut balls.

Deborah and Cheryl; now that was a story in itself. Cheryl had been the self proclaimed victim all her life. Weak as water and just about as transparent, she was. She was a top honor student all through school and into college. She was a theatre major, and was quite popular in the community. She could cook like a gourmet, sew like a professional. In fact, anything Cheryl touched turned to gold. She was so talented in so many ways. Deborah had lived in that shadow for so long, yet Cheryl had always hated her sister. She couldn't see how much Deborah adored her, how wonderful she thought Cheryl was. She'd eaten herself into a state and was quite heavy. Because of this, she alienated people by keeping her nose in her books and refusing to take part in family activities. She always seemed to be looking down her nose at people, imagining anything anyone said to her to be a slight of some sort. Docia had watched her over the years, and felt no pity for her, as others did. She'd made the decision to push people away, and she'd eventually gotten what she wanted. She'd brought so much heartache on herself, yet blamed her family for her unhappiness. She'd always been insanely jealous of Deborah, both as a child and as they grew, though Deborah had no notion of it. Docia could remember times when Deborah had come home with lumps, bruises, and bloody noses because someone had called her sister a fat cow, or some other terrible name. While Deborah had a rich social life and plenty of suitors in her teens and early twenties, Cheryl created a world where everyone was out to get her, and had become bitter, self pitying, and vengeful, though not on the surface. She had them all fooled on the surface. Everybody but Docia thought Cheryl was the absolute epitome of what a daughter should be, generous, kind to a fault, and self sacrificing. Truth told, Docia saw her for what she was. Selfish, snobbish, and self serving. Cheryl was never going to do anything for anyone unless it served her in some way. Oddly enough, Deborah was the black sheep to everyone but her own parents, who adored her. Docia loved her like nobody's business, and always took her to the side when Cheryl had been mean to her and comforted her. She'd say, "Deborah, honey, one of these days, it won't matter what she says or does and you won't have to worry about her." Deborah always smiled and said, "But, Grandma, Cheryl really is a good person, and she loves me." Unfortunately, Docia knew this to be erroneous belief on Deborah's part, but never uttered a word in argument. Deborah had always been a forgiving child, and seemed to bear living in Cheryl's shadow with a silent strength Docia admired.

Docia was sure of one thing: Deborah would take her upstairs under some false pretense of showing her something she'd bought for mother for Christmas, and she'd hunker down in that headstrong way of hers and demand that her grandmother fess up about her shaking. Deborah would swear on all things holy never to tell a living soul, and she wouldn't, if that were grandma's wish. Docia just dreaded seeing the look on her grandbaby's face when she said the word Parkinson's. It would crush her spirit, for Docia knew Deborah better than anyone. She was a strong woman, but her family was her Achilles heel.

She'd grown up and become rebellious about half way through high school, and her parents hadn't known what to do with her at times. Docia always seemed to understand, and tried to reassure Martha and Jim that some day, their headstrong daughter would come into her own. She finally did, to their great relief. Docia had kept a journal about Deborah since the day she was born, and hoped to give it to her on her thirtieth birthday, if she still drew a breath.

There was so much to do. Last minute gifts, the baking, the carpet people were supposed to be coming at noon. Docia felt like she was in a windstorm with a handful of dry leaves. Everything seemed to be getting away from her. These hands were betraying her, mocking her at every turn. She had to get everything done or the party wouldn't be what the family had come to expect over the years. Everything had to be just so. If one thing were out of place, they'd fuss over her all night long, wanting to know what was wrong with her and being suspicious of her every move. The phone lines would be burning all the way down to Georgia and everywhere in between.

Well, she couldn't be bothered with those thoughts just now. She made her way into the kitchen to start on her cookie doughs. They were nearly ready to be rolled out for baking. What she needed to do was get outside and cut some greenery for the mantels and untangle those infernal Christmas lights in the living room. As she opened the drawer for the scissors, the phone rang and the sound nearly made her jump clean out of her skin. Amos, her husband, had bought one of those phones for the hearing impaired shortly before he died three years ago, and Docia hated it. It flashed bright red lights and sounded like a foghorn, for crying out loud. Late one night, when she'd gone to the kitchen for a midnight snack, Clarence had called to check on her. You'd have thought the Titanic crashed through the wall, with all those lights and that foghorn ringer. She'd nearly had heart failure. She answered, just a bit on the testy side. When she heard Deborah's voice on the other end, she got an excited little jolt in her belly. "Deborah, how are you, honey? Is everything allright?" "Yes, Grandma, everything's fine. I just called to see how you were doing and if I could come and help with all the baking and stuff for the party. I was allowed to take my finals early so I can come home right now. I'd love to spend just a few days with you, just the two of us, it that's okay." Docia said, "Okay, well it's better than okay, honey, you just come right on down and we'll have us a good old time, just you and me. How soon will you be here? Supper?" "Supper sounds great, Grandma, I miss your cooking so much, and I miss you, Grandma, I can't wait to see you!" Deborah said.

Docia hung up the phone with a renewed energy and immediately calmed down. She knew she could count on Deborah to help her with everything. She decided some lunch and her favorite "story" would be a nice hour to spend. She didn't watch much television, but All My Children was in her veins and had been since the very first episode. She loved to hate that nasty old Erica Cane, but boy she loved her, too.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

The Santaland Diaries at Chatt Shakes

My good friend Troy Heard has done it again. Troy is artistic director for Chattahoochee Shakespeare Company. Mind you, Chatt Shakes is no ordinary theatre company. It is, rather, a "gypsy" organization of talented, inspiring people who work damned hard to bring quality entertainment to this area. And I'd venture to say they are most successful in their endeavor. This lot of inimitible spirits travels from pillar to post, lighting where they can for long enough to take us away from it all for a couple of hours, to share their talents and the fruits of their labor with us.

I attended 'The Santaland Diaries' last night at City Market located at 1031 Broadway. I made my way through the long, hard wood floored dining area to the very back of the establishment, where the play was being performed. The set up is fantastic, with a small, simple, set and huge Christmas ornaments hung from the track lighting. The front row opposite stage left is a wrap around chesterfield (sofa), immediately behind that a couple of rows of seating and on the left, small tables winding around to the area in which I was seated. It is a small, intimate setting, which works well for this production, as it makes the experience more personal for audience member and actor alike. There is a simple red backdrop with snow capped mountains in front of which sits Santa's "throne", a bejeweled red velvet and gold creation with candy canes protruding from the top. The stage is a series of step up platforms, which the actors incorporate well into their blocking.

Stephen Sisson, whom, I must say, is near the very top of my uber all time fave bitchinest fab actors list, is wonderful, as usual. He never fails to keep me in stitches in his comedic roles. His timing is spot on, and his costume is layered with shirts, a vest type garment, and a shriner's fez. He speaks to us of fat children with pushy parents and retarded theatre goers, among other things, all the while taking breaks to go and hit up the flask containing his 'no doubt' favorite Christmas spirit of all. Stephen commands any stage he is on, let me tell you. He moves like a big cat in a jungle full of helpless creatures, his audience. We are defenseless against this stalwart, with his silent but ever present power to bring us to tears by way of seducing us into laughter, and then moving in for the 'kill' with great aplomb. Stephen's detailed description of various people he is discussing in his monologue makes us "see" them, and realize we have known these people, at church, at school, in life. The use of varied and sundry interesting hand gestures to enhance his words is such a strong point for Stephen. So many actors simply don't know what to do with their hands. Stephen USES his, and uses them well. It takes a very special kind of actor to command a stage alone for any length of time, and Stephen, with his perfectly timed gestures, keen vocal intonations, and sweet, cherubic face, without a doubt, falls into that category. Thank you, Stephen, I enjoyed your performance immensely.

Crumpet, the hired Christmas elf, is played by Ethan Everett, a quite talented young man whom I've had the pleasure of seeing in two previous productions. Ethan has so much potential, and I hope he taps into that. There's a lot to say here concerning young Ethan. First on the list is his presence. Presence is either something you have or something you don't. Ethan has it. In previous productions, I sometimes detected a bit of nervousness, uncertainty in Ethan. Sometimes when one has a gift, they are not sure what to do with it. It is a common thing in young actors. It's almost too powerful, rather like a vehicle one must learn to control. This is not a bad thing, however. It takes time and work to learn the acting vehicle's many idiosyncrasies, when to accelerate and when to slow down, when to turn and when to coast. In 'The Santaland Diaries', it is quite apparent that Ethan has been studying his vehicle. There seemed to be no uncertainty here, or if there was, I did not detect it.

Secondly, Ethan seemed very comfortable getting close to his audience, delivering lines right in the faces of some of us. Bear in mind our comfort zone in this country is about eighteen inches between ourself and a stranger. It takes a lot to be able to get in someone's grill. His movement from the set to the back of the audience and everywhere in between seemed comfortable, natural, and real. His gestures were not in any way stilted or over the top. They were right on time, meshing with the dialogue in a fluidity like that of a hot lava lamp. It takes guts to do roles like Stephen's and Ethan's. Stephen is older and quite perfectly seasoned, while Ethan is young and discovering all the brilliant colors inside him that make for an unforgettable performance. The thing that struck me was how conversational his performance was. His vocal intonations are interesting, with a strong range of highs and lows. He might just have been sitting at a table with a few of us telling the same stories, or in front of a massive audience. That in itself speaks volumes, as it is not an easy thing to pull off. Mission accomplished, Ethan. Ethan's minor bits of blocking and business were well thought out and executed. I adore when an actor can eat onstage comfortably. It's ironic that the things we do in everyday life, such as smoking or eating, become obstacles to overcome onstage. I remember the first time I smoked onstage. I'm a long time smoker, and here I was fumbling around with the damned thing like I was holding a grenade with the pin pulled out. Crumpet, Ethan's character, kept returning to a cookie tin and nibbling as he was delivering his monologue. It was as if he were just 'that guy', telling us all his stories while grabbing a bite or two in between. Also, the martini business was fabulous, down to eating the olives out of the bottom of the glass. Awesome job with that. Again, not as easy as he made it look. Crumpet's thoughts seemed to appear like lightbulbs behind his eyes. One thing that drives me nuts is not seeing the cogs turn in a character's brain through his eyes and facial expressions. Ethan never seemed to be standing there spitting out lines and thinking "Okay, this is where I make this face or that gesture or here is where I must change gears." If he was, he had me snowed, because I swear I could SEE the thoughts occurring to him in his eyes and movement.

Ethan has a wide range of vocal inflections he seems to be able to summon up fairly easily. He actually does several different voices, and does them well. I would like to see Ethan go 'bigger' with Santa breaking into song over the pretty girl, as this is such a great scene. Another thing I'd like to see is a softer impression of Billie Holiday. I'm a huge Billie fan, so I know her voice like I know how to find the refrigerator in the dark. Pull back, Ethan, and listen to Billie some more. Study someone using heroin, as well. It is a very slow, relaxed, process from injection to full blown high. This bit needs to be more fluid, I feel. Slow your roll.

I loved the 'I love Satan' thing, and the kid peeing in the artificial snow bank, following with the line "It looks like the great outdoors, but on careful inspection, you'll notice FOUR WALLS AND A CEILING!" The father calling Santa a faggot for not reciting 'The Night Before Christmas" to his kid was hysterical.

When Crumpet (Ethan), begins to talk about a particular Santa and his idea of Christmas, things take a bit of a turn. There is a line where Ethan is telling us "I'm not a good person." For a short time, I was saddened, watching this young person questioning himself in such a way. It's something we all do from time to time, and Ethan made the transition during this scene beautifully.

I want to mention the scene where Crumpet is changing into his elf costume behind the set wall. Ethan's projection was quite good, and I could hear him from my seat in the back of the audience. Well done, Ethan.

Jackie Kappes, who played the woman, plays many parts within the show, from frazzled mother to foreign, language challenged shopper to over zealous elf employee, turned in some interesting offerings. There were many different characters she had to jump into and out of very quickly, and this is a challenge for even the most seasoned actor. The most memorable were the woman explaining to the female elves that they must wear panties under their costumes and why, and the motivatioinal "Santa" employee, who shouts out the old, "Gimme and S....can I get an A"....and so forth until she spells out Santa's name, in an attempt to motivate the elves. Both of these characters were unbelievably obnoxious in different ways, the first aforementioned exuding a bitchiness that can only come from working too long in one place, and the second dripping saccharin sweetness, both with voices to match. Jackie has an interesting look, with tons of wild, unruly dark hair and a lovely complexion. She is a handsome woman, so watching her is a hard thing not to do. I'd like to see Jackie go bigger on some of her voices, and develop a stronger sense of individuality with each one. She has some ear pricking inflections, though I think this is an area in which she should be less afraid to burst through the doors versus merely speaking through an opening in the crack. The foreign lanuage bits were hard to understand, and it seemed as though she felt uncomfortable in these areas. She needn't be if she would push it out, rather than rush through it in order to get those scenes out of the way, as it appeared. I like her voices and her ability to change from one character to another so quickly, though the lines between them, I feel, should be sharper. I would say the same thing concerning time actually spent in these scenes to convey their character's meanings to both Ethan and Jackie. Don't be afraid. Push it up and out, and focus on some modicum of control without imposing so many limits on yourselves. Jackie, you have raw talent and I'd like to see you "shove it out there".

I really enjoyed the way Jackie matched her physical body to the characters, she was playing, ie, the old foreign woman, the frazzled mother of an overtired tot, and so on. I felt she rushed through some of her scenes, however, and I'd like to have seen more character development in those characters that just pop in and out of some scenes. Also, some more varied costume choices and perhaps wigs or different hats might help to achieve this as well. I enjoyed Jackie's performance overall and would love to see her in future productions.

Troy's direction and work with his actors shows through, and makes its mark. I can tell he took time with them, and a great show is his (and our) reward. Thank you, Troy, Stephen, Ethan and Jackie, for a lovely show. I will recommend it to everyone and I'm coming next week, in fact, with my good friend Cindy. I'll even bring a pan of my famous homemade cinnamon rolls and a log of potato candy. Enjoy the rest of the run, break a leg, and thank you for making this community a nicer place to be.



What: “The SantaLand Diaries,” written by David Sedaris about his adventures as a Santa’s Helper at Macy’s in New York City

When: 8 p.m. Friday-Saturday; also, 8 p.m. Dec. 11-12, Dec. 18-10 and 2:30 p.m. Dec. 13

Where: City Market and Bakery, 1031 Broadway

Tickets: $8-$10

Parental advisory: PG-13, with some adult language and situations

Information: Troy Heard, 702-423-6366


Much Love,

Deborah