When I found out last August that I could no longer have gluten, my main thoughts involved bread and pasta. Little did I know, I would feel amazing and much healthier, despite my lack of wheat-laden products. That being said, I'm very happy I'm gluten-free. I'm happy there are so many options, and I'm happy I have friends and family who are considerate of my needs.
But its not an easy life. Without careful and due diligence, you can screw up.
Screwing up is easy to do. You misread a box of Captain Crunch and rationalize that "oat flour" is probably safe. It's 730pm and its the only cereal in the house. You're starving. Look at that little Napoleon-wannabe, he's practically begging you to eat that crunchy goodness. The box doesn't say "contains wheat", and oats don't have gluten.
It's safe right?
You rationalize that it probably is. You'll be fine.
[What you don't know during this process, is that "oat flour" can actually contain up to 50% wheat flour without having to report it... and it does just that.]
Gluten tastes good.
Like daaaaamn gluten, can I has your numbah? Your momma must be a meter maid cause gluten, you've got fiiiiiine written all over you.
It takes a few minutes, but if you have no gluten in your system and you suddenly eat gluten {especially if you medically cannot have gluten}, you STRAIGHT UP FEEL LIKE DEATH. Monty Python better swing by with the "bring out your dead" skit, cause that's where you go. If you're like me, you get a massive headache, stomachache (and I'm freezing cold... in the middle of summer.) All you will want is your bed and to go to sleep. You might even cry a little for no reason.
Once you taste blood, you want more.
Here's what I don't get about "bandwagon-jumping" Gluten Free People. If you CAN eat gluten, WHY WOULDNT YOU? I'm here, sick and miserable because I ate gluten, and yet.... I want more. I would eat that whole damn box, with that sick little naval bastard smiling maniacally all the while, if I wouldn't die. And half of me irrationally wants to go do that right now. So, now, after months of not screwing up, and almost being able to pretend that "rice bread" and "corn pasta" are just as good as the real deal, its back to stage one of craving all that gluten.
So please, if you can eat gluten, do. Be my gluten proxy. I'll be over here, in a blanket in the corner, trying not think about Captain Crunch
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Find your inner Iggy!
As a freelance theater professional, I often fall into a time-wasting portion of life called "between gigs" or *coughcough* fun!employment... We are so used to rushing around, from gig to gig, fitting to fitting, shopping, pulling, buying, sewing - that when I have at least a few weeks before my next gig even begins to get underway, I have no idea what to do with myself.
After a day or so of playing catch-up with all the neglected-during-work-chores, I find myself utterly bored. So I schedule some plans with friends, I start a new workout routine, and I browse the internet looking for more gigs. But let's be real, it doesn't take all that time to daily see if there's any new job posted on the all of three sites that jobs for people like me might be listed. There's only so many times I can refresh my facebook newsfeed and only so much Netflix marathoning that can occur before I want to gouge my eyes out.
So I start little crafty, personal projects, and do what any good Catholic girl who seriously needs to get out of the house does... off to daily Mass! Today happens to be the feast day of St Ignatius of Loyola. Pretty much everyone knows St. Iggy as the founder of the Jesuits (which he is), and the author of The Spiritual Exercises.
St Iggy (all his friends call him that, okay??) was a soldier until about the age of 30, until he took a cannonball to the leg! He was pretty badass like that. While laid up at home, surely questioning this turn of events and what it meant for his career, he picked up a book about the saints!
After a day or so of playing catch-up with all the neglected-during-work-chores, I find myself utterly bored. So I schedule some plans with friends, I start a new workout routine, and I browse the internet looking for more gigs. But let's be real, it doesn't take all that time to daily see if there's any new job posted on the all of three sites that jobs for people like me might be listed. There's only so many times I can refresh my facebook newsfeed and only so much Netflix marathoning that can occur before I want to gouge my eyes out.
So I start little crafty, personal projects, and do what any good Catholic girl who seriously needs to get out of the house does... off to daily Mass! Today happens to be the feast day of St Ignatius of Loyola. Pretty much everyone knows St. Iggy as the founder of the Jesuits (which he is), and the author of The Spiritual Exercises.
St Iggy (all his friends call him that, okay??) was a soldier until about the age of 30, until he took a cannonball to the leg! He was pretty badass like that. While laid up at home, surely questioning this turn of events and what it meant for his career, he picked up a book about the saints!
So, unlike me, Iggy was productive with his time "between gigs" and decided that he was going to change his career focus and become a soldier... for Christ. (Spoiler alert! He does it!). In any case, despite not being educated (he went back to grade school!), and under fire from the Spanish Inquistion (which no one expected, right? No one ever expects that), Iggy gathered a bunch of his dudes, and founded the Jesuit Missionaries. His friends were a little reluctant at points (See: Frances Xavier), but this group of men founded a group that thrives on to this very day - there are over 22,000 Jesuits now!
So basically what I am saying, is that boredom can force the mind to get a little creative and dream big AND the bonus message is that a small group of friends, focused on a goal, have the power to achieve anything. Both are things that theater professionals and those involved in youth ministry alike need to remember.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Here Comes the Train Upon the Track
Tonight I saw the movie "Begin Again", which is directed by John Carney of "Once" fame.
I was first introduced to John Carney's musical world thanks to a trip to NYC. My friend and I had tried to get tickets to see Newsies, but when it was sold out, we jumped at the tix for the Tony-Award Winning Broadway adaptation of Once. Not going to lie - I was totally and completely enthralled for the entire two+ hours of the performance. I laughed, I cried - I had only agreed to going because Arthur Darvill was starring in it.
Boy, am I glad I did. I gobbled up the film shortly after that, and I'm wicked happy that I was able to see the new film in theaters. Something about Carney's films takes me away, transports me into the world that I want to see through my headphones. There's a bit about two characters spending an entire date, walking around the city, sharing music.
Beautiful new music is shared with us from these films, but this isn't an in your face "Chorus Line" - the music is from the character's souls, but is also very very real. Its a fantasy that speaks to me, and certainly I am not alone, in thinking that sometimes music can convey our feelings better than our words can.
It reminds me of a Frank Turner song (it always seems to, doesn't it?) The song is "I Still Believe", and the lyrics are:
And I still believe that everyone,
Can find a song for every time they've lost and every time they've won.
So just remember folks we not just saving lives, we're saving souls,
And we're having fun.
It makes me wish I had even an ounce of musical talent, if I could write a song for every life situation I come across, if I could help someone live a little more fully through it.
Because really, when you come down to it, these movies are simply about two souls saving each other with music.
How awesome is that?
I was first introduced to John Carney's musical world thanks to a trip to NYC. My friend and I had tried to get tickets to see Newsies, but when it was sold out, we jumped at the tix for the Tony-Award Winning Broadway adaptation of Once. Not going to lie - I was totally and completely enthralled for the entire two+ hours of the performance. I laughed, I cried - I had only agreed to going because Arthur Darvill was starring in it.
Boy, am I glad I did. I gobbled up the film shortly after that, and I'm wicked happy that I was able to see the new film in theaters. Something about Carney's films takes me away, transports me into the world that I want to see through my headphones. There's a bit about two characters spending an entire date, walking around the city, sharing music.
Beautiful new music is shared with us from these films, but this isn't an in your face "Chorus Line" - the music is from the character's souls, but is also very very real. Its a fantasy that speaks to me, and certainly I am not alone, in thinking that sometimes music can convey our feelings better than our words can.
It reminds me of a Frank Turner song (it always seems to, doesn't it?) The song is "I Still Believe", and the lyrics are:
And I still believe that everyone,
Can find a song for every time they've lost and every time they've won.
So just remember folks we not just saving lives, we're saving souls,
And we're having fun.
It makes me wish I had even an ounce of musical talent, if I could write a song for every life situation I come across, if I could help someone live a little more fully through it.
Because really, when you come down to it, these movies are simply about two souls saving each other with music.
How awesome is that?
Saturday, June 28, 2014
On Display
Far too often, we live life in a glass case. Like butterflies in a museum, we let our worth be determined by those who pass by. Our wings pinned to the wall, an undecipherable lengthy Latin word claims to identify us. Thousands of others lined up alongside us, overwhelmingly unique, overwhelmingly ignored.
Human beings are scientific creatures. We like to categorize - insects, arachnids, losers, creeps. We like to break things down, piece by piece - large wings, long legs, fat thighs, skinny knees.We use objective facts to discredit subjective emotions. Bugs are gross.
Glass cases are for protection. If you left a butterfly on display without one, people might touch it. They might feel its hairy body, break its delicate wings. If we have a barrier that no one can see, they can't reach through and make contact with the precious treasure that's inside.
A child in a field gently cups her hands around a flower. When she peers inside, there is a gentle fluttering against her skin, as the butterfly breaks free. Her heart beats fast as she watches the little creature spiral high, flying into the sky, displaying its strength and beauty for all to observe.
Which encounter do you remember for the rest of your days? The museum or the field?
In the end, the only people who belong in glass cases are mimes. Historically, they seem to embrace it. Historically, they also have no voices.
Human beings are scientific creatures. We like to categorize - insects, arachnids, losers, creeps. We like to break things down, piece by piece - large wings, long legs, fat thighs, skinny knees.We use objective facts to discredit subjective emotions. Bugs are gross.
Glass cases are for protection. If you left a butterfly on display without one, people might touch it. They might feel its hairy body, break its delicate wings. If we have a barrier that no one can see, they can't reach through and make contact with the precious treasure that's inside.
A child in a field gently cups her hands around a flower. When she peers inside, there is a gentle fluttering against her skin, as the butterfly breaks free. Her heart beats fast as she watches the little creature spiral high, flying into the sky, displaying its strength and beauty for all to observe.
Which encounter do you remember for the rest of your days? The museum or the field?
In the end, the only people who belong in glass cases are mimes. Historically, they seem to embrace it. Historically, they also have no voices.
Monday, May 5, 2014
So Many Feels!
I have a lot of feelings. If you've been following this blog at all, I think I've made that fairly clear. Over the past few days, in conversations with some of my best friends, I have realized that perhaps I have been gaslighting myself a bit. See, many times, the phrases I use to express my feelings are "I'm sorry, but..." or "I know I shouldn't but..."
It's kinda like asking for a favor by starting "you can say no, but..." however, this particular phrasing hurts no one but myself. It's a passive way of undermining my own statement. "I'm sorry, but I love ice cream." is far less intense than "I love ice cream."
Why do I apologize for having perfectly normal, human emotions? If my statement is merely an honest and actual representation of how I am currently feeling, why do I feel this impulsive need to add a codasil?
On Saturday, I was lent a book called "Odd Poems" by Mary Wrenn Morris. Privately published by a young woman in Maine in the 1930s, our author begins her tome with an introduction worth listening to. She is honest, but unapologetic:
"The following poems have no place in the world of literary jewels cut with the sharp chisel of ultra modern smartness or polished with the infinite care of the classical. They are the direct expression of an emotional development and therefore are preserved unchanged from the original manuscript and in the order of their creation.
Should either the order or wording be changed they would lose completely whatever significance they have. They were written over a period of years and each poem was written under the stress of an immediate emotional experience.
The experiences have been lived and have taken their place in the growth of an individual. Because the individual is, let us hope, still growing there must be a lack of completeness about the poems as a group and it is my earnest hope that this incompleteness may continue to exist for many years to come.
The poems were written because they had to be written. If even one reader can find in them the pleasure of a shared experience then I should consider it well worth while, for the sake of that one individual, to brave whatever scorn or adverse criticism they might call forth."
Damnnnnn. Girl is brave! Her poems cover a range of subjects that are clearly uncomfortable for an audience in the 1930s. The first poem is to a lover, about how she misses him - the second, is a poem to their lovechild, despairing at the man who has abandoned them. From there, the poems range from lonely and sad, to empowered and vengeful. To caring so much about her child, to wishing she had never created that life. As time goes on, we reminisce about old lovers, revel in the joys of new. We feel her pain as she loses a child, is abandoned over and over by friends, family, men. She confesses to being frightened, to being lonely, to being weak, and yet it only serves for me to realize how strong she must have been.
She knows people may judge her feelings. They can easily use her feelings against her. Yet she is courageous - true, authentic, honest expression of self is the only thing necessary. The fears of judgement and ridicule must take a backseat to her one defining need.
When we apologize for what we are feeling, we are kicking ourselves in the heads. We try to free those seeds of honesty from our heart with one hand, and the other hand is grabbing them and shoving them back inside - "don't look! don't look! Nobody saw the real me, right? Right??".
Robert Frost said "Poetry is what gets lost in translation". I think it may be my new job to focus a little less on expressing my feelings in a manner comfortable to others, and instead turn my attention to expressing myself in a way necessary to my own survival. So the next time I haven't hurt anyone and begin to blurt out "I'm sorr-" feel free to give me a sharp smack on the hand. And certainly don't apologize for it.
It's kinda like asking for a favor by starting "you can say no, but..." however, this particular phrasing hurts no one but myself. It's a passive way of undermining my own statement. "I'm sorry, but I love ice cream." is far less intense than "I love ice cream."
Why do I apologize for having perfectly normal, human emotions? If my statement is merely an honest and actual representation of how I am currently feeling, why do I feel this impulsive need to add a codasil?
On Saturday, I was lent a book called "Odd Poems" by Mary Wrenn Morris. Privately published by a young woman in Maine in the 1930s, our author begins her tome with an introduction worth listening to. She is honest, but unapologetic:
"The following poems have no place in the world of literary jewels cut with the sharp chisel of ultra modern smartness or polished with the infinite care of the classical. They are the direct expression of an emotional development and therefore are preserved unchanged from the original manuscript and in the order of their creation.
Should either the order or wording be changed they would lose completely whatever significance they have. They were written over a period of years and each poem was written under the stress of an immediate emotional experience.
The experiences have been lived and have taken their place in the growth of an individual. Because the individual is, let us hope, still growing there must be a lack of completeness about the poems as a group and it is my earnest hope that this incompleteness may continue to exist for many years to come.
The poems were written because they had to be written. If even one reader can find in them the pleasure of a shared experience then I should consider it well worth while, for the sake of that one individual, to brave whatever scorn or adverse criticism they might call forth."
Damnnnnn. Girl is brave! Her poems cover a range of subjects that are clearly uncomfortable for an audience in the 1930s. The first poem is to a lover, about how she misses him - the second, is a poem to their lovechild, despairing at the man who has abandoned them. From there, the poems range from lonely and sad, to empowered and vengeful. To caring so much about her child, to wishing she had never created that life. As time goes on, we reminisce about old lovers, revel in the joys of new. We feel her pain as she loses a child, is abandoned over and over by friends, family, men. She confesses to being frightened, to being lonely, to being weak, and yet it only serves for me to realize how strong she must have been.
She knows people may judge her feelings. They can easily use her feelings against her. Yet she is courageous - true, authentic, honest expression of self is the only thing necessary. The fears of judgement and ridicule must take a backseat to her one defining need.
When we apologize for what we are feeling, we are kicking ourselves in the heads. We try to free those seeds of honesty from our heart with one hand, and the other hand is grabbing them and shoving them back inside - "don't look! don't look! Nobody saw the real me, right? Right??".
Robert Frost said "Poetry is what gets lost in translation". I think it may be my new job to focus a little less on expressing my feelings in a manner comfortable to others, and instead turn my attention to expressing myself in a way necessary to my own survival. So the next time I haven't hurt anyone and begin to blurt out "I'm sorr-" feel free to give me a sharp smack on the hand. And certainly don't apologize for it.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
"It's like Jaws... but in space."
"Oh, what a nice hobby!"
"So, does your (husband/boyfriend/family/significant other) support your career?"
"Y'know, you can fall in love as easily with a rich man as you can with a poor man"
"Are you going to go back to school?"
Every so often, some well-meaning soul flatters me by saying that I seem to always say the right thing, that I just am soooo together. And every so often, my brain shouts "AS IF" while I blush and politely thank that person.
The four statements above seem rather harmless, if not a little insensitive. It may seem hard to believe, but I've actually had these things, and many variations thereof, said to my face numerous times over the past few years. They're said with good intentions, usually as some sort of conversation filler or perhaps as a bit of good advice from some self-proclaimed "experienced" soul.
They cut me to my soul every single time, like a roundhouse kick to the heart.
I am not a parasite. This isn't Alien - I don't latch on to other beings solely to use their resources and reproduce. I am a theater professional. Like many others, I work incredibly hard to try and sustain my own career. Like many, I often fall short. Like many, I sometimes need to rely on favors and a little help from friends and family.
BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO NEVER BE SELF-SUFFICIENT.
Yes, my career has a reputation for not paying well. This reputation is often unfortunately accurate. And when I need to, I will take whatever jobs I can get - whether it be taking in seamstressing and alteration projects, or getting another part time job to help pay the bills when the season is slow.
But I didn't go to college for a hobby. I don't intend to go back to school to learn something else, just so I can get my loans deferred. I appreciate the occasional help of my loved ones, and I intend to repay them a hundredfold when I can. And I absolutely will never ever marry with the intention of having a husband to support me financially.
If I were to fall in love today and get married tomorrow, even if that man was the richest man in the world, I would still get married in a church and have a reception in a park or in a backyard. I would still buy a hundred dollar dress, and be tempted to elope. Why would I want to start a new stage in life by going into debt for a wedding?
Many of my friends have elaborate Pinterest boards for their weddings. Some of these pins are brilliant money-saving tips, and that's pretty awesome. But looking at some of the price tags on cakes, dresses, locations, makes my heart start to race --- not in a good way. It's almost panic attack inducing. I don't understand any of it, to be honest. Maybe I'm just bad at being a girl, but my dream wedding doesn't include spending 2000$ on a dress I'll wear once, 500$ on a cake I'm just going to eat, and 400$ on tiny mason jars to put on string lights, though they may be cute as pie. If I make my own wedding dress, like everyone says I should, it's only because that would be the more economical decision. In reality, I'll probably just buy a cute, old-fashioned white dress off Modcloth. Even better if it's cotton based, so I can dye it another color afterwards and wear it regularly. A marriage doesn't last just for the wedding, so why should my dress?
I've digressed a bit, but the point remains the same. Yes, I could fall in love and marry a rich man, and he could support my "hobby" and we could live happily ever after.
But I would never be happy in that situation, no matter how in love I was, no matter how willing my man was to sacrifice money to let me do my own thing and pick up an occasional job here, a gig there, no matter how "perfect" our life would be. It's nice to be comfortable. It's nice to not worry about paying the rent.
It's not nice to sell out, to give up. And you may say that the above scenario isn't either of those things. Maybe it isn't. But I think I would feel resentment about not having tried, really tried, maybe tried and failed over and over again, to make an underpaying, overworked career work for me. Resentment would eat away me, and that's not a healthy situation for anyone involved.
So let me struggle to get by. Let me fall in love with a man and not think about his financial situation. Let me go back to school only if I truly feel like I want to learn. Let me not be a parasite, waiting to burst out of your chest screaming "Viva la arts!"
"So, does your (husband/boyfriend/family/significant other) support your career?"
"Y'know, you can fall in love as easily with a rich man as you can with a poor man"
"Are you going to go back to school?"
Every so often, some well-meaning soul flatters me by saying that I seem to always say the right thing, that I just am soooo together. And every so often, my brain shouts "AS IF" while I blush and politely thank that person.
The four statements above seem rather harmless, if not a little insensitive. It may seem hard to believe, but I've actually had these things, and many variations thereof, said to my face numerous times over the past few years. They're said with good intentions, usually as some sort of conversation filler or perhaps as a bit of good advice from some self-proclaimed "experienced" soul.
They cut me to my soul every single time, like a roundhouse kick to the heart.
I am not a parasite. This isn't Alien - I don't latch on to other beings solely to use their resources and reproduce. I am a theater professional. Like many others, I work incredibly hard to try and sustain my own career. Like many, I often fall short. Like many, I sometimes need to rely on favors and a little help from friends and family.
BUT I DO NOT INTEND TO NEVER BE SELF-SUFFICIENT.
Yes, my career has a reputation for not paying well. This reputation is often unfortunately accurate. And when I need to, I will take whatever jobs I can get - whether it be taking in seamstressing and alteration projects, or getting another part time job to help pay the bills when the season is slow.
But I didn't go to college for a hobby. I don't intend to go back to school to learn something else, just so I can get my loans deferred. I appreciate the occasional help of my loved ones, and I intend to repay them a hundredfold when I can. And I absolutely will never ever marry with the intention of having a husband to support me financially.
If I were to fall in love today and get married tomorrow, even if that man was the richest man in the world, I would still get married in a church and have a reception in a park or in a backyard. I would still buy a hundred dollar dress, and be tempted to elope. Why would I want to start a new stage in life by going into debt for a wedding?
Many of my friends have elaborate Pinterest boards for their weddings. Some of these pins are brilliant money-saving tips, and that's pretty awesome. But looking at some of the price tags on cakes, dresses, locations, makes my heart start to race --- not in a good way. It's almost panic attack inducing. I don't understand any of it, to be honest. Maybe I'm just bad at being a girl, but my dream wedding doesn't include spending 2000$ on a dress I'll wear once, 500$ on a cake I'm just going to eat, and 400$ on tiny mason jars to put on string lights, though they may be cute as pie. If I make my own wedding dress, like everyone says I should, it's only because that would be the more economical decision. In reality, I'll probably just buy a cute, old-fashioned white dress off Modcloth. Even better if it's cotton based, so I can dye it another color afterwards and wear it regularly. A marriage doesn't last just for the wedding, so why should my dress?
I've digressed a bit, but the point remains the same. Yes, I could fall in love and marry a rich man, and he could support my "hobby" and we could live happily ever after.
But I would never be happy in that situation, no matter how in love I was, no matter how willing my man was to sacrifice money to let me do my own thing and pick up an occasional job here, a gig there, no matter how "perfect" our life would be. It's nice to be comfortable. It's nice to not worry about paying the rent.
It's not nice to sell out, to give up. And you may say that the above scenario isn't either of those things. Maybe it isn't. But I think I would feel resentment about not having tried, really tried, maybe tried and failed over and over again, to make an underpaying, overworked career work for me. Resentment would eat away me, and that's not a healthy situation for anyone involved.
So let me struggle to get by. Let me fall in love with a man and not think about his financial situation. Let me go back to school only if I truly feel like I want to learn. Let me not be a parasite, waiting to burst out of your chest screaming "Viva la arts!"
Friday, April 11, 2014
Listen to the rythym of the falling rain...
The first night I can sleep with my window open is always a special one. I've got it open right now, a softly warm night - cool breeze wafting in. I'm all snuggled up, listening to the spring peepers. Nature is a stirring out there - all sorts of critters are out and about, starting their families.
My dog knocked me over when I got home, shortly before midnight. She may be 13 but she still greets me like a puppy. I put her on a leash and took her out for a perimeter check.
We paced around the yard: she sniffing up a storm, while I examined the prints from my LL Bean boots in the soft earth.
Over the past few years, I have lived in several cities. Cities are great for walkability, being close to my work (they don't generally put too many theaters in the 'burbs). It's all fine for that... But I miss the seasons.
Now I know the seasons still occur on the city, I'm not stupid. But I miss seeing Nature at her best. I never feel more comfortable then I do near the trees. The signals that nature gives our bodies are not to be sneezed at - I know it's a significant part of my spirit.
Tonight at Adoration, Father Matt was speaking about silence. I love silence. As a crazy busy theater artist who always takes on too much, I never get to make time for true silence. In fact, sometimes I think I can be afraid of the silence. My brain races a mile a minute, even at night.
When I'm in the city, as I am most nights, my window is shut. I can still hear the muffled sounds of cars whizzing by, couples shouting... I can't sleep. It's so very quiet. I think about everything from guy troubles to "if someone was to walk in with a machine gun, where would I hide for optimum safety?" to the scariest scenario of them all (my future! Ah!)
But here, near nature, I get the song of the peepers and the lilting odes of the owls to calm my brain and let me soak up the silence of the mind. Now if only I was camping outside.... Maybe it's not quite warm enough for that yet!
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