Reality Check

My humble apologies to those who have patiently been awaiting an update. It's tech week and that basically means I have been stuck in a dark theatre from about 3:00 pm to midnight the last 4-5 days dealing with hysterical actors, deluded directors, and cynical techies. Last night I had terrible nightmares about being in Florida with a pig that was about to be slaughtered*, and this morning I made the mistake of turning on the Lifetime channel while doing laundry and subjecting myself to a badly-written drama about a teenage couple in love and then the boy gets cancer. It's terribly constructed, badly acted, and so sickeningly sweet I went into a diabetic coma just by turning up the volume, and yet, I watched the entire thing rooting for these stupid teenagers. The boy dies, of course (on Lifetime, they always do), and I am reluctantly reduced to tears, angry that something this dumb manipulated emotion out of me. This ALWAYS happens whenever I watch T.V. I should just throw the whole stupid box out.


*The vividness of my dreams are both blessings and curses: I often get my best creative ideas for directing, writing, etc. from my dreams but the payoff is the occasional swine-slaying nightmare. Such is life.


So, after consoling myself with an episode of The Office (more T.V.) and the remains of a Ben and Jerry's pint of ice cream, I checked back into real life and remembered I hadn't posted an update in a while.

So, here we are.

I do want to talk about what a lovely day Monday was. That is, what Monday was before I entered the theatre. T and Rhett and Ethan and Emmie and I went to Julian to pick apples. I gotta hand it to my sister. I am utterly amazed how she handles three children under the age of four. After discovering the first two apple orchards are closed, T doesn't give up but somehow finds one that is open and our adventure begins.

After two closed orchards, super-mom T checks out our options at the info. booth while we hang out on Main Street. Over-heard conversation between Rhett and Ethan...Ethan: Rhett Kaya, stop! Rhett: My name is Rhett Kaya; not Rhett Kaya Stop.



"Are we ready to go?"

"On your mark..."

"...get set..."

"...GO!"

On our way

It's a beautiful October day

"Hey, I got one!"


"Me, too!"





"Ethan, how many do you have?"


"Rhett, how many do YOU have?"


The heroes' journey


lots of hard work



"Let's take a break."


Emersen contemplates the universe.

The boys discover picking them up off the ground is easier.


"These apples are getting heavy...can you carry them?"


T pulls double-duty with the apple-picker and stroller-watch


Rhett is prepared for battle.

















lunch break, finally!



Hard day at work.


"We're pretending we're in a time-out!"


Good buddies

Second wind


From Emmie's viewpoint


From Rhett and Ethan's viewpoint

The boys wanted to have their picnic on the ground, so they spread out the big blanket, and proceeded to sit on the very edge of the corner.

At this point, my camera ran out of memory, but we ended up getting a pretty good record of the day. Everyone but T fell asleep on the way home. Now, we're looking forward to the pumpkin patch on Thursday. Who says there's no nature in the city? This certainly beats the Lifetime channel.

If there is one thing at which I excel, it is procrastination. Even the things I love to do I procrastinate. For instance, right now I have about a half dozen phone calls to return (all of which are people I like), errands to run (to places I like to go), and music to practice (which I love). However, instead of doing any of these, I am spinning webs of nonsense into cyber-space. Go figure.

It seems as if the second that I "have" to do anything, it turns into work, and that makes it fair game for procrastination. That goes for the boundaries I set for myself as well, like cleaning house or working out. Why do I rebel against myself like this? It's like this lazy teenager that perpetually lives in my head telling her parents that she'll get around to it. Does that ever go away? Maybe that's what everyone else calls discipline, or in my case, lack thereof.

Is this part of what Paul meant when he said , "I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate." (Romans 7:15)?

It's Time

I think I may have started and abandoned half a dozen blogs that are now floating around in cyber-space. With T. as my primary blog-accountable cheerleader, I'm hoping I can keep this one reigned in and updated.


It's funny. There are various times throughout my average day that I say to myself, "I have to remember to write this down," or "this is a great anecdote/quotation/story...log it so you don't forget it" but now that I'm actually sitting at the keyboard shoving fingerfuls of dry cereal into my mouth, pondering the vastness of the universe and all of God's creation, I feel mute and somewhat paralyzed.

Now that the pressure is on, I can't think of anything to say.

crunch, crunch, crunch...

Politics? Nah. My indignant, self-righteous hot-air is no different from anyone else's. There are more than half a gazillion blogs dedicated to the art of tearing down or building up whoever currently holds 'the power".
Besides, politics can get boring.

crunch, crunch, crunch...

My day's events? Hmm...considering it's 11 am and I've done precious little so far except brush my teeth, make my bed, and let Molly (the feline and owner of all she surveys) outside for daily vermin-hunting, there isn't a lot to write.

Okay, so I lied about brushing my teeth. I haven't done that, yet. I was just going for effect.

crunch, crunch, crunch...

Shoot, I got sugar on the keyboard.

crunch, crunch, crunch...

I got it. I GOT IT! Here it is: It's Fall! Finally. As much as I love the sunshine and laziness of a California summer, I am renewed by the overcast, cloudy chill that is sometimes October, usually November, in San Diego. It is invigorating. In my idyllic fantasy, I wrap myself in a lovely autumn-inspired sweater, peruse the paper over a hot cup of whatever-is-in-vogue-at-Starbucks-this-season, surveying my immaculate, cozy, chimney-lit living room and am looking forward to an afternoon of apple-picking, pie-baking, or Christmas shopping with my family, followed by an evening of inspired rehearsal in my wildly-successful theatre career.

This, by the way, has never happened.

The reality: After arising an hour-and-a-half later than originally intended due to the malfunction of my snooze-button being roundly abused by my fist, I am freezing because I neglected to pull my "winter" (ha! "winter" in San Diego!) pajamas out of storage the weekend before. I use the word "storage" liberally. "Storage" does not mean neatly packed color-coordinated clothing with cedar-scented moth balls cunningly tucked into the corners of a handsome, winter trunk. "Storage" means shoved into a Hefty bag with the clothes I can't bear to get rid of because I swear I am going to be thin-enough-to-wear-them-again-someday-even-if-they-are-grotesquely-
out-of-fashion. The entire plastic mess is relegated to a dark corner of my garage with other neglected Hefty bags containing treasures I could not live without but now have no idea they exist. They lay there like so many dusty, patient walruses waiting for me to notice them.

Anyway, I arise after accidentally stepping on Molly's tail for which I am rewarded with a yowl and a vampire-like bite on my ankle. I immediately ignore the Bible by my bedside and head for the computer where I am convinced that in the eight hours I have been away from it, the internet has miraculously provided me with e-mails simultaneously informing me that I am now a millionaire and Prince Charming will be proposing to me in the next 24 hours. What I actually get is an e-mail telling me I bounced a check last week, one obnoxious chain-mail-forward telling me that if I don't pass its contents on I don't really love Jesus, and three advertisements for virility pills.

I then proceed to put out the fires of the day: cancelled rehearsals, postponed piano lessons, cat vomit, bills and more bills, etc. I am in no way complaining. There are people with far more busy schedules than I, responsible for far more people or children than I, making far more important decisions than I. I just find it humorous that, in spite of my J.Crew/Pottery Barn yearnings, I feel forever stuck in the kitty litter aisle of Ralph's grocery.

At least Ralph's is located next door to a Starbucks...the dream lives on.
And I still love Fall.