My internet is down so I'm limited to one-finger typing on my phone and I suck at one-finger typing on my phone. This is what it's like here in Nashville during "the worst weather event in years!" - according to the news dudes. My day teaching theatre had just been cancelled - which is good because I couldn't have gotten there in my dinky Smart Car. But it means I've been watching the the news since 5:30am and really, this is what they should just say... Happy day off to the snow/ice/cold bound. And you all in California with your 80degree weather, shut up.
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My friend “Betty” is seventy something. She is more adventurous at seventy than I ever have been and has lived a thousand lifetimes, a million adventures in that short time. Spending time with her is an automatic smile - usually followed by a dropped jaw in disbelief. She is a drug of positivity and joy and filled to the brim with hilarious stories about her escapades. One day, I’d like to sit down and read the story of her life, when slows down and has time to actually write it all down. Because my friend Betty has done some absolutely fascinating things! Among a dozen other fabulous things she’s done to make a living, Betty is a jazz singer. At one point in her life, she was traveling around the world entertaining troupes. As she put it, she was in a particular glamorous time of her life; always dolled up, false eyelashes and a full face of make-up, every thing that goes with that showbiz life. One day, she found herself out of eyelashes, which had her desperately searching the shops of Hong Kong, coming up empty. And then finally she came upon a store that had them featured in the window. Weirdly, all the packages had the eyelashes in a one-piece unbroken circle but they had them. She would have to cut each circle into pieces but they were beautiful and she needed them and so Betty bought a few dozen. She wore them for months, dancing and singing her heart out for the troupes all over the world. They were, she said, the best false eyelashes she’d ever had. And then she found out that they weren’t eyelashes. They were - wait for it - cock ticklers! Yup. You read that right. Her beautiful eyelashes were in fact, COCK TICKLERS!!! Betty had toured Asia and beyond, singing her jazzy heart out, wearing cock ticklers on her eyelids. And she continued to wear them after she found out because they were, "the best I've ever had." I. Love. Betty. She told us this story on Saturday. On Tuesday I was teaching a creative dramatics class. As it was the final class, I had the parents play a game with us where we pass an object around the group and, use the object as something else. Like using this broom... ...and pretending it’s a beard or something.
Things were going well. We had someone pretend the broom was a hat. Another person pretended it was a tail. The six year old pretended it was a bomb, counting backwards from ten and we all mimed blowing up in slow motion. See, going well. And then one parent very shyly put the broom up to her face and pretended it was her eyelashes. And. I. Lost. It. Like hysterical snickering while trying to pretend I wasn’t. Like trying to keep myself together and pretend I wasn’t twelve. Like wide-eyed, big crazy smile, encouraging the others as they participated when all I could think of was my friend Betty wandering Asia with cock ticklers on her eyelids. Needless to say, I won’t be using the broom in class again. And that false eyelashes will forever make me laugh. And that Betty is all kinds of awesome!!! This is my friend who has the uncanny ability to take pictures of feelings. And always manages to find the perfect quote to frame those feelings. Like this - I envy her gifts of expression. Her feelings in print. I admire her dedication to finding the breath in an object. Seeing the life in the light.
But we all have something. I wake up with words, imperfect and unformed but my words. Making pictures of light is her favorite - a totally butchered quote of hers but you get the idea. We all have something. What's yours? I wake up with words in my head
Muddled, jumbled words twirling about Mini tornados of thoughts and dreams and remembrances At times I can make sense of them Wrangle them into form and function Organize them in a way that pleases me and doesn’t offend the masses But often I only let them play, swirling in the midst Until I can grasp a sentence, hear a phrase I wake up with words in my head They ping pong about the walls of my skull Occasionally landing in sequences that resemble a thoughtful, a somewhat concise statement. Other times they fall to the page in a jumble And I leave them there, flat and uninteresting When I return, they may make a feeling clear But for now they are useless, impractical, unrealized Until I can I coax the shy ones out of the corners Temp the boisterous ones to share space, they cannot help me I wake up with words in my head Sometimes a chaotic attack of feelings needing a description A dream needing explanation, a panic waiting to be soothed Some times I lie still, waiting for them to organize themselves Find their purpose, make their path known Keeping myself immobile, lest I scare them off Back to that corner of my mind I cannot reach That space where I can only faintly hear them Where echoes of what they are trying to say will irritate me, and tempt me And will never be resolved I wake up with words in my head But sometimes, I wish I wouldn’t Sometimes I wish the way were clear and quiet A bright blue morning sky on a crisp winter’s day Sometimes I wish for that peace that settles on a field before the sun drops down behind the hill For that calm that lingers behind a contented baby’s eyes But I know I would be lonely without my tornado of text I would be lost without the cacophony of verse I wake each morning, hopeful, and nervous Excited and terrified And each morning, I wake up with words in my head Years ago, when I worked for the City, a rather ambitious “I will be city manager someday” guy came up with the ingenious plan for us to all wear name tags. “It will make everyone more friendly and approachable,” he said. Sure – if we remembered to wear them. And if they weren't put on upside down. And if people knew how to pronounce your name. You would not believe how hard it is to pronounce ‘ej.’ AND how hard, apparently, it is to spell it. I have had millions of variations of pronunciations and spellings, especially in places where you give your name and they call it out at the end and you have no idea who they might be talking about because not one part of what they’re yelling resembles your name. But a two-letter nickname is much better than a double-barreled first name that everyone shortens to something that makes you itch. I was named after my great grandmother, who also must have had issues with our double-barreled first name since she went as ‘Nellie.’ Ironically, here in the South, double-barreled first names are the norm and nicknames like ‘ej’ for girls are not. But when I moved to America, not one teacher or kid in California would call me by my full name; try as I might to convince them in my very painfully shy way of wincing when they said it wrong. That isn’t to say, I didn’t have nickname amongst the kids. I just found my sixth grade yearbook and, apparently, for a brief time, I accepted Jell-O as a nickname. Can you imagine a grown woman introducing you to herself as “Jell-O” and not having questions about why? Anyway, when we switched schools from elementary to middle school, I took the plunge and actually spoke up on the first day of school and told my teachers to call me ‘ej’. Which was a huge undertaking for the weird accented African kid trying to not get noticed. It took some doing but two years later, most folk were calling me ‘ej’ and my butchered first name was left alone. Of course, you can’t have one name in school. Even if your name is a technically a nickname, it’s got to get it’s own nickname. I was ‘Edge’ – long before that dude from U2 appropriated it. (In fact, it’s what my mother calls me. Well, that and ‘daughter.’) One of my besties called me ‘eh-hje’ which is obviously my Spanish name. Some called me ‘e’ because apparently that ‘j’ was just too much of a mouthful. Anyway, yesterday I was doing a workshop with second graders at a school. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” they shouted when I walked in. Second graders only have one volume; Eleven. “What do you think my name is?” I asked and I pointed at the old city nametag attached to my shirt. "Eeee jay” said one kid. “Edge.” Said another. I laughed. The teacher called the kids to attention. Amused and thinking of happy childhood memories, I went back to getting my stuff together for the class. Two minutes later, I walked up to the front of the room and called the class up to participate with me and promptly got a chorus of excited second graders shouting out “YES, MRS. EDGE!” as they scrambled to the front. Happiness can be found in small things - like shouty second graders and old nicknames. (The part of me in this fascinating story will be played by Judy Dench. I really think she would bring it to life. I see Oscar all over it...) |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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