Computer time's been so hard to come by lately that I feel like you're all getting tardy dispatches from some far-off front. BUT, the best reason not to write is that you're involved in an amazing theatre project! Am I wrong?
The portable platform was only halfway built, and we had only three sort of . . . mini-playlets written, with sketches for a few more, when Perry told us there was a guaranteed audience waiting for us near the encampment. Apparently there was some kind of massive meeting--I'm embarrassed I don't know exactly what it was, but it got most of the folks in the same outdoor area late in the afternoon, and we showed up with our half-assed plan and totally did some theatre.
It was amazing. It took everyone a while to understand what we were doing, or maybe some never really did . . . I mean, if someone showed up in a public place and started monologuing about a group of drones that take over an office building, you'd probably think mental ward before you thought agitprop. But our friend Henry wrote this great piece about being the last office worker in a sea of drones (my favorite part was that still no one would make a new pot of coffee if they emptied the carafe). And Chris and I did a short piece we'd adapted from our experience with James and Michael--with Perry and Veronica's permission, of course. For the most part, the pieces were light hearted, and I think that was a good move. No fear, right now, that no one in the camps is taking the situation seriously. But I do think it'll be helpful, eventually, for us to use the performances as communication and organizing tools.
I'm a little concerned; this thing could take over our lives, and I still have a job and two kids. It already looks like Chris isn't going to be doing many odd jobs to add to our income. Which is okay; so long as he's doing this stuff, he can bring Evan and James along and we don't have to worry about childcare. But I can't lie: it's great to be excited about something creative, no matter how humble. After we finished last night, a small handful of people offered to help out--to jazz up the platform, help set up and take down . . . one guy offered to play guitar, and one had an idea for dynamo-powered lights. aMAZing.
The best part was watching James watch us. Evan doesn't quite get it yet, but James knows his family is doing something awesome. He gave the biggest hug when we got home, even though I was dirty and stinky. I love, love, love it.
Showing posts with label refugee theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label refugee theatre. Show all posts
Friday, October 24, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
aaaa.
Just when so much great stuff was happening, I got sick. Hence, no posts. And now, too much to catch up on.
(Mom, and everyone: stomach flu, not anything respiratory. Definitely not you-know-what.)
On the theatre front: We had a meeting! The best kind of meeting! The kind where people get excited. Chris brought up the living newspapers done by the Federal Theatre Project during the Depression, and everyone started throwing out ideas. We managed to agree that we'd meet once weekly for a potluck supper, and communicate via email the rest of the time. Three of us are investigating topics for scripts, Chris is brainstorming venues, and he and Perry are constructing the moveable stage/platform/thing. And yeah, we roped Veronica and Perry into the group. I think it was nice for them to meet some folks. Veronica was a little shy; she volunteered to watch the kids (five altogether, since everyone brought theirs, eep). I'm determined that that won't fall to her every time, though. We'll take turns.
Speaking of kids . . . I ran into this post of futuryst's, and caught myself thinking about it all day. About James and Evan and how we felt when they were born, and what it's like to watch the news these days, and contemplate the survival horizon. I try not to think about it, since it freezes my heart in terror. Small steps. Everything we can manage. I guess that's why we just went ahead and had a baby eight years ago. Of course, back then things weren't as dire, but there was already reason to worry. And we worried, for sure. But we had James anyway.
It's a selfish thing, in all honesty. I just couldn't imagine a life in which we didn't have a kid. We were just going to have the one--even though I was an only child and kind of thought it sucked. I figured so long as we only had one, we'd still be helping drop the population (2 adults, 1 kid . . .) But then Evan was a surprise, and once it happened I realized how happy I was for the accident. Sigh. We're trying to raise them to be innovators, in hopes that they'll make the world a better place.
Actually, Evan put a bean up his nose today, so far up there that I thought we were going to have to go to the ER. Innovator? Maybe. Maybe he'll be a birthday party clown. God knows.
(Mom, and everyone: stomach flu, not anything respiratory. Definitely not you-know-what.)
On the theatre front: We had a meeting! The best kind of meeting! The kind where people get excited. Chris brought up the living newspapers done by the Federal Theatre Project during the Depression, and everyone started throwing out ideas. We managed to agree that we'd meet once weekly for a potluck supper, and communicate via email the rest of the time. Three of us are investigating topics for scripts, Chris is brainstorming venues, and he and Perry are constructing the moveable stage/platform/thing. And yeah, we roped Veronica and Perry into the group. I think it was nice for them to meet some folks. Veronica was a little shy; she volunteered to watch the kids (five altogether, since everyone brought theirs, eep). I'm determined that that won't fall to her every time, though. We'll take turns.
Speaking of kids . . . I ran into this post of futuryst's, and caught myself thinking about it all day. About James and Evan and how we felt when they were born, and what it's like to watch the news these days, and contemplate the survival horizon. I try not to think about it, since it freezes my heart in terror. Small steps. Everything we can manage. I guess that's why we just went ahead and had a baby eight years ago. Of course, back then things weren't as dire, but there was already reason to worry. And we worried, for sure. But we had James anyway.
It's a selfish thing, in all honesty. I just couldn't imagine a life in which we didn't have a kid. We were just going to have the one--even though I was an only child and kind of thought it sucked. I figured so long as we only had one, we'd still be helping drop the population (2 adults, 1 kid . . .) But then Evan was a surprise, and once it happened I realized how happy I was for the accident. Sigh. We're trying to raise them to be innovators, in hopes that they'll make the world a better place.
Actually, Evan put a bean up his nose today, so far up there that I thought we were going to have to go to the ER. Innovator? Maybe. Maybe he'll be a birthday party clown. God knows.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
One is silver, the other gold.
I matched up with Veronica. I didn't have class yesterday, so I was watching Evan and correcting papers while Chris did some odd jobs for extra cash and James was at school. I invited her to come by, and to bring Michael so that he and James could hang out. Poor Michael's still not at school. "Poor," I guess, because he seems to miss it; he lit up when he saw James and Evan this afternoon. Educationally, I'm sure he'll figure out what he's missing; it's the social lack that must hurt. Long division and reports on war battles (is that what James is studying? Good Lord, I don't even know) he'll catch up on later.
Anyway, Veronica was in pretty good spirits. We talked about a lot of stuff--I'd forgotten that, how much there is to catch up on with someone you've just met. I told stories about college I'd practically forgotten I knew. She's hilarious, and smart, and a great vegetarian cook. We hung out drinking tea and listening to the kids play until I heard Evan getting grumpy, which meant it was time to eat and I hadn't planned anything. Veronica whipped through my kitchen and put me to work slicing an onion while she did something with lentils that amazed me and James. We'd already eaten by the time Chris and Perry got in, around the same time, each one dirty and tired. Chris had been helping at a construction site, and it turned out Perry had been doing similar work across town--and was paid less. Chris is seeing if he can get him on his team at the site tomorrow. I have to teach most of the day, but Veronica offered to take Evan and pick James up from school. This is great--otherwise Chris would probably have to say no to the day's work; usually he stays home the days I have class. I'm already thinking about what we might do with the cash.
Perry and Veronica didn't get ready to go until the boys got sleepy. I wondered where they were going to, but we'd all been having so much fun I didn't want to remind them of any misfortune, or remind everyone of the disparity between our full-but-snug apartment and their . . . campsite? van? I know they're not in a refugee center, because it came up when we told them about the theatre thing. They liked the idea--I think both because the prospect of doing something for the refugees felt good, but also because it cemented that they weren't there yet, in the camps, and maybe won't have to go. If Perry can get enough work, if they can find a place to live . . . Jesus. I think we're living on the edge, and then imagine the four of us in a van with an ice chest and a Coleman stove.
Anyway, Perry offered to help construct some kind of moveable, portable stage platform--something we could hang a few lights from, something that would mark a performance space as special (maybe more importantly, something that'll fit in the trunk of our subcompact). We're having some theatre folk over for dinner day after tomorrow . . . I think this is really happening. I also think I'm serving them that lentil dish, if Veronica can help me make it. So good.
Anyway, Veronica was in pretty good spirits. We talked about a lot of stuff--I'd forgotten that, how much there is to catch up on with someone you've just met. I told stories about college I'd practically forgotten I knew. She's hilarious, and smart, and a great vegetarian cook. We hung out drinking tea and listening to the kids play until I heard Evan getting grumpy, which meant it was time to eat and I hadn't planned anything. Veronica whipped through my kitchen and put me to work slicing an onion while she did something with lentils that amazed me and James. We'd already eaten by the time Chris and Perry got in, around the same time, each one dirty and tired. Chris had been helping at a construction site, and it turned out Perry had been doing similar work across town--and was paid less. Chris is seeing if he can get him on his team at the site tomorrow. I have to teach most of the day, but Veronica offered to take Evan and pick James up from school. This is great--otherwise Chris would probably have to say no to the day's work; usually he stays home the days I have class. I'm already thinking about what we might do with the cash.
Perry and Veronica didn't get ready to go until the boys got sleepy. I wondered where they were going to, but we'd all been having so much fun I didn't want to remind them of any misfortune, or remind everyone of the disparity between our full-but-snug apartment and their . . . campsite? van? I know they're not in a refugee center, because it came up when we told them about the theatre thing. They liked the idea--I think both because the prospect of doing something for the refugees felt good, but also because it cemented that they weren't there yet, in the camps, and maybe won't have to go. If Perry can get enough work, if they can find a place to live . . . Jesus. I think we're living on the edge, and then imagine the four of us in a van with an ice chest and a Coleman stove.
Anyway, Perry offered to help construct some kind of moveable, portable stage platform--something we could hang a few lights from, something that would mark a performance space as special (maybe more importantly, something that'll fit in the trunk of our subcompact). We're having some theatre folk over for dinner day after tomorrow . . . I think this is really happening. I also think I'm serving them that lentil dish, if Veronica can help me make it. So good.
Monday, October 13, 2008
That conversation again
We had that conversation again, my mother and I. She keeps dropping hints about us moving back down to Olympia and staying with them. I can't tell if it's just that these are relatively uncertain times, or she's lonely, or if she's really worried about ReDS. I mean, we're all worried. And I don't think being in a smaller town provides much relief from that anxiety. It's not like my hometown is an isolated wilderness. It just lacks what a city lacks: theatre, museums, ethiopian food . . .
This is where my mother points out that we no longer go to the theatre, to museums, etc. And she's right; we don't have much money for babysitters. But Chris got a long email from a friend yesterday about matters theatrical, one that I found sort of exciting in spite of myself. A lot of our circle of friends are actors, directors, or playwrights (or some mixed-bag of the three), and as the last seven or so years have gone by, we've seen more and more of them drop off the radar as far as the theatre scene goes. There's a lot to worry about right now, and blowing $120 at seattle rep to see a play doesn't seem to be high on anyone's priority list. There never was much acting work, but now? Chris is lucky if he gets a regional commercial once in a while, and spends the rest of his time doing odd jobs and taking care of James and Evan.
Anyway, his friend Brian finally got tired of theatre being "missing" from his life, and is starting a volunteer group to take shows to the refugee camps. Chris got pretty excited. I can remember day when working in filthy conditions for no pay would have been something he called the union about, but today I saw his eyes light up at the thought of being a creative performing artist again. We both got excited, honestly. Going into refugee camps with a production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is probably the opposite of what my mother had in mind when she suggested we leave the city for the comparative saftey of a small town, but it sounds like something we can do to help.
(I'm kidding; we won't be doing Albee. I think.)
Final note: there was a letter pushed under our door over the weekend--from Veronica. It was beautifully written, a thank-you for having taken in her son, even just for an afternoon. I have an inkling that they haven't always encountered the best in the people they've run into on their journey to here, and it made me grateful I'd been able to be (for the most part) my best self during the Michael/James issue. She left an email address; sounds like she doesn't get to check very often, but I'm thinking of inviting her over for coffee. Jasmine might be able to wear some of the stuff Evan's outgrown, for one thing, and we really don't have space to keep old baby clothes around for no reason. Or maybe I'm just hungry to have coffee with a friend. Either way, I'm hoping she'll say yes.
This is where my mother points out that we no longer go to the theatre, to museums, etc. And she's right; we don't have much money for babysitters. But Chris got a long email from a friend yesterday about matters theatrical, one that I found sort of exciting in spite of myself. A lot of our circle of friends are actors, directors, or playwrights (or some mixed-bag of the three), and as the last seven or so years have gone by, we've seen more and more of them drop off the radar as far as the theatre scene goes. There's a lot to worry about right now, and blowing $120 at seattle rep to see a play doesn't seem to be high on anyone's priority list. There never was much acting work, but now? Chris is lucky if he gets a regional commercial once in a while, and spends the rest of his time doing odd jobs and taking care of James and Evan.
Anyway, his friend Brian finally got tired of theatre being "missing" from his life, and is starting a volunteer group to take shows to the refugee camps. Chris got pretty excited. I can remember day when working in filthy conditions for no pay would have been something he called the union about, but today I saw his eyes light up at the thought of being a creative performing artist again. We both got excited, honestly. Going into refugee camps with a production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is probably the opposite of what my mother had in mind when she suggested we leave the city for the comparative saftey of a small town, but it sounds like something we can do to help.
(I'm kidding; we won't be doing Albee. I think.)
Final note: there was a letter pushed under our door over the weekend--from Veronica. It was beautifully written, a thank-you for having taken in her son, even just for an afternoon. I have an inkling that they haven't always encountered the best in the people they've run into on their journey to here, and it made me grateful I'd been able to be (for the most part) my best self during the Michael/James issue. She left an email address; sounds like she doesn't get to check very often, but I'm thinking of inviting her over for coffee. Jasmine might be able to wear some of the stuff Evan's outgrown, for one thing, and we really don't have space to keep old baby clothes around for no reason. Or maybe I'm just hungry to have coffee with a friend. Either way, I'm hoping she'll say yes.
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