and then there was one

  Drew usually visits bearing some sort of gift or another for me. It's not usually the kind of gift that I would think to get myself, true (read: clothes and cards. Not that I get myself cards; that would be quite pitiful, wouldn't it?), but still, his gifts make me very very happy and generally make life better.

   This time, he brought me ipod speakers that magically hook up to my mac's itunes through the equally magical device called an airport express (which was a gift when he came to visit me in Toronto).  Because of this, music is filling my hotel room, transforming what was once so generic and bland into a place filled with creativity and individuality.

   Oh, and I prefer to call scientific things that do not make sense to me magical. It's just fun.    

   He also brought me a toothbrush. A pink, electric one. He knows that I am pretty hard on my toothbrushes and they wear out quickly, and I appreciate his thoughtfulness.  It makes me smile. 

   And for Valentine's Day?  

   A website. 

   This is not roses, not chocolate, not even anything that is remotely pink, but I love this gift. And though it is still under construction, I am psyched about it. Again, how thoughtful.  

   And since I have absolutely no idea how to make a website, I call it magical. You can join me if you like. Or you can try to explain all of the html and bytes and other nerdy things that don't sound nearly so magical.  

   I will let you know when the website is ready. It's exciting for me because it is one specific place for all of the things I am currently doing--my music, my blog, my acting, my boxing (ah, kidding)--all of those facets are going to have to learn to get along because they will be sharing space on the site.  

-----------------------------------------------

    Have you ever started fake crying and then surprised yourself with real tears and before you know it you are sobbing?

     Yeah...I haven't either.

     Okay, so actually I have.

     See it was today, just before Drew was leaving. I was in the bathroom and Drew was being cute and started splashing water on me. It didn't really make me upset, though I feigned indignation. And when that didn't make him stop I started a good fake cry.

     I screwed up my face into my towel and only moments into it I started really truly crying.

     Oops. Didn't know that was going to happen.

     Poor Drew started profusely apologizing for splashing me, promising me that he would stop, while I threw myself onto the bed in a torrent of tears.  

     note: the dramatic arts are not just for the stage.

     He caught on to what was happening and asked, Are you really crying about me splashing you (at this I shook my head), or is it more about me leaving (at this I nodded my head)?

      The truth is he can splash me and yeah, it might be annoying but it generally won't make me break down and have a fit.  But when he leaves, which is something that happens all too soon after he arrives, it has a way of breaking me down. Turning my faux fits into the real thing. Causing me to say, I quit the show! in an over-the-top British accent.

     Almost.

     I just really hate the part of our story when we have to say good-bye. I can't wait till Somebody writes us another ending. 

key west or bust

   Some Monday nights I go to the grocery store, watch Intervention, and call it a night. I am content in the fact that I am not working, that I have snacks and peanut butter nearby, and that my feet don't hurt. 

   Or sometimes I end up in Key West, sitting on this balcony with Drew, 

listening to a live band with a fierce trumpet player crank out some bossanova. And while they break, I can hear the ocean lapping against the shore while the rest of us stand mystified, happy to be party to the nightly pull between waves and sand, moon and wind. 

  Last night we decided to drive to the bottom of our country, so well, we did. 

  We set out this morning, after having eaten out oatmeal and raisin bran crunch, respectively.

   Drew was lucky enough to put on my red sunglasses and I was lucky enough to be with him.  

   Even if we hadn't had a GPS navigating for us, we would have known we were on the right course as soon as we saw this:
   And any lingering doubts we might have had were completely erased by this:
  Truly, this was one of the most beautiful drives we have ever been on. Just a clear expanse of water as far as one can see on either side; the horizon barely indistinguishable from the gulf of Mexico as we drove through, aware of how small we really are, amazed by the beauty of this world.
   And this is what it looked like on our GPS. It looked more like we should have been on a duck tour than in a car, but there you go.
   And then we got here, just 90 miles from Cuba. Every hotel, every restaurant, every thing that could be bought or sold boasted being the southernmost (hotel, restaurant, seashell, etc.) in the country.
    But no, we are not staying at the southernmost hotel in the country. And frankly, we are okay with that. We are staying here, however, and frankly, we are okay with that too.

    Just beautiful. 

Just us.

i don't mind this at all

   Today was idyllic. Work was just a minor distraction; I had to fit in two shows around admiring this sunset besides Drew. 

     It was tricky, but I managed to do it.

    Yes, I had two shows today and no, I would rather have not had two shows today but I have learned that nurturing a feeling of dread is really just a waste of energy. If something has to be done, you might as well plant yourself there and do it with gusto. But then there's nothing wrong with packing up your make-up, pulling your jeans on as fast as humanly possible, and darting out the theater through the crowds of patrons to meet your husband. There's nothing wrong with not looking back and being really very glad to have taken that well-worn leotard off for the day.  

   As we walked along the marina we were happy to notice our own Delaware representing here in Ft. Lauderdale.  The writing is faint in this photo, but you can make out the Wilmington, De if you look extra hard. 
  And yes, I realize I need a camera with a zoom lens.  

  We sat on a bench and just dreamt together for a while. 
   We painted pictures of our future with words. 

   Looking back through the prose, you can clearly make out a boat--which Drew informed me is named either Brian Dawkins or Weapon X--a dog that will either be a mutt that we rescue or a puppy we adopt from a breeder, depending on which one of us you ask, I guess, and a little boy who has long hair. 

   We like it when little boys have longish curls. So, until he wants us to cut it, his hair will grow. Unless, of course, we change our mind. Or unless ,of course, he has no curls. 

   And tomorrow? No need to fit sunsets between two shows because I don't have two shows.

   I don't even have one show...

awkward

    Taken just moments after an awkward conversation with a very drunk man.

     Not sure exactly what he wanted, but when he was at a loss for words, he simply stared at us.

     Like I said, awkward.  

      Drew very kindly then tried to explain to him that he was only in town for a few nights and wanted to spend them with me. Just me. I, maybe not as kindly and certainly not very discreetly, slowly reached for my purse that was unsettlingly within his reach.  

      Drew waved, said a deliberate good-bye, and the man simply started laughing and spit out just a few words, Don't flatter yourself; she's very pretty.

      I know, Drew responded, Which is why I want to enjoy this time with her alone.  

      Not taking the hint, the man simply sat down at the table adjacent to ours and continued to stare at us. Thankfully the bouncer, noticing the situation, came over and proceeded to pull out his chair and tip it over.

     The drunk man spilled out and shuffled on his way.  

      And we were left alone once again. 

      Perfect. 

        

judge not...

     I suppose that feeling judged is bound to happen at some point. 

     At least, if you choose to live a life in which you interact with other humans. Although, even Tarzan, who was raised by gorillas, probably felt judged for not being a gorilla.   

    Yeah, so judgement. It's so simple to condemn others for their differences. It's a pretty easy place to go.  Just as accessible as those other touristy locations, Fear and Pride. Yep, I hear you can travel to any one of those and hop to their sister locations with no extra charge. I hear it's really easy. 

    But I don't want to live like that.  I don't want those thoughts clouding my mind, distorting my relationships, keeping me from expecting brilliance from each person I come across.

   I want to expect good things from others, just like I'd hope people would expect that from me. 

   I'd hope being the operative words there. Doesn't always happen, though. Not in this world. And let me tell you, it's not fun to be on the receiving of another's judgement. And it generally doesn't bring a ton of goodwill feelings to the situation. 

 

   Let me explain.

   I recently received a message in my music myspace inbox. It is from somebody who apparently met me years ago when I was playing and singing with a band from my church that is very dear to my heart, Gate Called Beautiful. The fact of the matter is that I still play and sing with them whenever I am at home. They are a part of what makes home home for me. And I am so honored to make music with them--to bless God with them--whenever I am able. 

   Before I show you her email, please bear in mind that she came to her conclusions after simply looking at my pictures and listening to my music. 

   Hi Jessica,

 

     I know you don't know me, but I know you. I was checking to see if ECA or Gate Called Beautiful was still around. But I guess I could assume they are long gone by the looks of it. I googled you name because I had one of the cd's you made from way back when. I must say I am sad to see the changes that you have made in your life. You don't seem anything like the pesron I met and who my friends met in all of those summer training camps. Either way, I hope you are doing well, and I hope that you find God and let Him lead you back to Him and separate you from the world...and not fall more into it. I know the day is coming when Christ will return for His church. Will you be ready? God bless.

  Well, being me, I of course had a lot to say in my reply...

   Hi. Um, yeah you are right that I do not know you. At all. And I find it funny that you say you know me, because judging from your email, I would say that you really don't.

   Why would you say that I don't seem anything like the person you met way back when? Why would you write that you hope I "find God and let Him lead me back to Him and separate me from the world...and not fall more into it"?

  How can you possibly begin to think that you know the state of my heart, or to where God has called me by looking at some myspace pictures? Or listening to my music? Or worse--how can you judge and decide how very far "into the world" I have fallen AFTER viewing those pics and listening to my music?

   I find this amazing, actually.

   Not nearly the same kind of amazing that I find grace to be, though.

   And although you have not asked, the truth is that I LOVE God. I am absolutely convinced that it is His grace and peace and hope that keeps this world together. And I am so honored to be working in a medium that is close to his heart: I tell stories.

   Stories that move people. Makes them laugh. Makes them sad. Gives them a glimpse into the lives of others and accordingly, drums up something akin to compassion in their heart. I am doing musical theater professionally and I know without a doubt that God has opened this door for me.

  How small minded to assume that the only way to "minister" to people--which, let's face it, is just a fancy way to say helping our neighbor--is the kind that is done underneath a church spire. If that were the case, then there would be so many people--dear friends of mine who, at this point for one reason or another, has not found their way into a church--that I would not be blessed to call friends. To love. To be gracious towards, to share myself with and therefore the God-stuff within me.

  Please feel free to ask me any questions. About the important stuff--you know, the state of my heart. My relationship with God. The things that just might not be as evident as you'd think from viewing my myspace page. 

  I hope this finds you well. Sincerely, Jessica

  

   Her little message did take me aback.  It also has caused me to examine my own heart; finding some unfairness towards others there, I am wanting to practice grace a little harder. 

   Because bottom line, it sucks to feel judged. Especially when you aren't even given the courtesy of a conversation, a dialogue, a moment in their presence--something! Anything that actually reveals your heart.  Anything that can dispel the misguided assumptions we make as effortlessly as we open our eyes first thing every day and begin to see.

   Because the fact is we don't always see. Or when we do, we see dimly. Or partly. Or barely at all. And I am sure I don't need to remind you what we make of ourselves when we assume, right?

  That's what I thought. 

   Anyway, any thoughts on this matter that you would like to add? You know I like hearing from you;-)

the best parts

        Okay, those of you who read this blog know about the tough parts of touring. 

         The away from Drew part. The living out of a suitcase part. The long-distance with friends and family part. The hard to find real solitude part. The away from my piano part.  

         What if I told you about the absolute best parts of my job? 

          Um, besides the obvious of getting paid to dance, sing, and act; to tell a moving story to a brand new audience every day; the honor of being part of such an iconic piece of American musical theater history.

         And last but certainly not least of this list of the obvious best parts of my job is having to work at most, 6 hours a day and at least, 3 hours a day. 

         Yeah, I know. It rocks.

         But really, one of the best parts of touring was presented to me once again. Today. All wrapped up and pretty in the guise of a canopy of blue skies which, after the grey and endless snow skies of Detroit would have been enough for me, but then it had to go and get better with an ocean. A warm ocean that this habitually cold girl could actually swim in for a good long while. 

        Perfect, right? Well somebody didn't think it was quite there yet, so the day was made even richer. I mean, really--what more do you want than a sun drenched sky and an ocean that is actually refreshing?

        Um. Friends.

 

         Laughingrunningswimmingteasingfrisbeeingsnackingtruebluefriends.  

         It was so so good. And don't you worry, me and Kevin were prepared. We aren't dummies when it comes to sharks. We kept a constant and vigilant look-out and were always trying to make sure somebody was acting as our sharkbait.

        Oh, and we threw in a new twist this time. We stuck twenties in our bathing suits thinking to pay the shark off not to eat us if it came to that. Hey. We're all in this recession.  Even the sharks. And they say money is a universal language, so...

       Okay. Maybe we didn't actually swim with the twenties. Maybe we did stick them in our bathing suits, but really just for our walk to the boardwalk in case we saw a snack or something we wanted to buy. Cause hey. We're all in this recession. You think we'd throw away twenties to the ocean? 

        But we did talk about how Kevin's twenty had a big red stain on it that we called blood and how much more appetizing that twenty was to our would be attacking shark. You know, if it came to that.  

       Right, but we were certainly vigilant in our goal, which was not to be eaten by a shark. 

       So, check.

      Oh, we also saw this humongous horse shoe crab skittering along the bottom of the ocean. And this one wasn't dead, which you may have gathered by the fact that it was skittering.  But for some reason, I think almost every horse crab I have seen has been washed up on shore, decidedly dead.  Sure, we do have fun grabbing it by its tail and trailing it along the shore, making it look like it's alive, a la Weekend at Bernie's, but almost any animal is way better alive than dead.  Or at least more exciting. 

      The thought just occurred to me that the whole making a dead horse shoe crab seem alive might be weird. Oh well, not too worried about it, actually. 

      We also played Frisbee in the water which was so fun. I always think I am going to be better than I actually am at throwing the darned thing. I guess because I am married to such a Frisbee champ I just assume that all that talent has had to have rubbed off on me in the last three years. But no, still not great at throwing it. Still anyone's guess as to where it will land when it flies from my hand.  

    Guess it's time for another lesson, Drew.  

    So yeah, these are the days that make me happy to be here. Seeing the beautiful parts of the world and getting paid to do something I love at the same time. Though I miss so many with a constancy that ranges from a dull surround-sound type of ache to a sharp, take-my-breath-away pain that causes me to again doubt the decision Drew and I made for me to walk through this open door, this is my life.

    That bears repeating, I think. 

    This. Is. My. Life. 

   Right now. This day, the next--they are gifts, not simply a prerequisite to be endured before I really jump in. I don't want to waste it wishing I was somewhere else, or even with someone else (though that one may just be impossible to keep all the time).  What is that saying again?

     

   Let not our longing for tomorrow slay our living for today.  

    Yeah. That sounds about right.        

image

    I like everything about this picture.

   The hint of a white fence bordering stairs that lead to somewhere that is left up to the imagination. 

   Maybe a cottage. 

   Maybe the boardwalk. 

   Maybe one of those awful souvenir shops that beaches never seem to lack; and no matter how tacky they are you are secretly grateful for its presence because when you need a sweatshirt or some once-again-forgotten sun block, you know exactly where to go.  

   And that's how they get you, I guess.

   However, allow me to note that those souvenir shops have never once sold my favorite parts of the beach. I suppose a shot glass is a lot easier to sell than boxing up the tide along with all of the tiny sand crabs whose instincts burrow them deep deep deep when a wave sets them down somewhere. I guess one of those oh so classy lady-in-a-bikini oversized t-shirts make for an easier purchase than a glimpse of the sun, large and looming and passionately red while making a spectacular final bow for the day before it dips under the horizon.  

  It's funny how most of the souvenirs sold at the beach don't even come close to capturing the mystery, the vastness, the many changing moods of the shore.  And I think it's better that way. Those things should never be for sale. 

  But pack to the photo...The tall palm trees that stand like sentinels on the shore. 

  They remind me of the way America was constantly looking over her shoulder for German U-boats during World War II. When I drive to the Delaware shore I always make sure to watch for the lookout towers that still dot the sand today. According to lore, some of our navy men did spot one or two of those underwater enemy ships off the coast of Delaware.  That's the extent of the story since no coastal battle ever took place their during WWII, but it was enough for me to imagine those U-boats rising like some monster from the deep.  What that would have been like to see, how it would have felt to raise the alarm.  

  Speaking of raising the alarm, my brother Jason and I got really close to doing just that in Cornwall. We were exploring a small coastal town with our family and saw that there was a bell tower connected to a restaurant of some sort. We got the idea to go in and ask them if we could ring the bell.

   Why not? Bells are for ringing, are they not? 

   We burst through the doors of the restaurant only to discover that it is a very tiny restaurant indeed and basically once you get through the doors you are standing in the middle of the room, much like when you were a kid in the pickle pot.  

    Only this time the ring of people around you are definitely not playing duck, duck, goose. Instead, they are a very sophisticated set of Brits drinking their midday tea--a pastime that they happen to take quite seriously. 

     Another thing they take quite seriously is bell ringing, in case you ever wondered.  Trust me, I know. Now.

     We find ourselves the center of attention and why not? It's not every day two young American teenagers disrupt tea in Cornwall. Not actually having rehearsed what we were going to say to get these kind and mannerly people to allow us to ring their bell, Jason simply stammers out, We were wondering if we could ring the bell?

     Gasps emit from around every beautifully laden tea table in the room.  Tea cups are hastily placed back into their saucers with decided pings adding some treble to the cacophony of shock.  

    Someone recovers their sense enough to ask us in a beautiful lilting accent, Why ever would you want to do that? 

    Jason continues, We just thought it'd be so fun...We've never rung a big bell like that before...

    Truth be told we'd never rung any bell before.

     That same someone puts the whole matter to rest by telling us, No, no, no--the whole town would think there's been an invasion!

     We both murmur our apologies and sheepishly back out of the room.  

      An invasion? In 1994?! Huh. 

      It is their bell, after all. If they want to reserve it for the sole purpose of alerting the town of an imminent invasion, so be it.  

      But I'm guessing that bell won't be ringing anytime soon.

     

     Anyway, I love that picture of the beach here in Ft. Lauderdale and wanted to share it with you.