Me and Ida Lod Solrosgatan at July 4th Contact Jam It’s dusk on a train headed west to Rochester to see my Aunt Nancy again, and I’m listening to a wonderful 6pmDusk-themed mix that a new friend made me. There’s a bunch of Amish in the seats ahead of me and my mind turns to the end of the day after a hard days’ work. A returning home. A returning to comfort and the familiarity of family. As I’m settling into this incessant moving about, I’m developing the ability to drift to where I need to be at the moment. And so I drift home. Inside. Into my living room with a cozy cup of tea.
Been on the road for two months now. How am I doing with my fears/goals. “They” do like my show. At the Montreal Fringe, I got great audience buzz. There are people telling me that my show has the potential to ‘go far.’ And only two people have left in the middle of the show (anchorage) and I think that they were drunk and so maybe needed to go and throw up. And my show still isn’t PERFECT. If it were where would the work be? But the work that’s happening on it is organic, and isn’t bruising my ego that much. (yes, Elsbeth, you told me so. It’s time to lose the Dead Bird at the end). And regarding making new friends. I’ve made friends with folks from Japan who want to bring me and my pup to do a show there and make clown there. I’ve met a few Clowns in the Northampton area who will be creative collaborators in the future for sure: Rose, Dana, & Tanya. I made some cool couchsurfer friends in Montreal. If you’ve not done couchsurfing yet. DO IT. It’s like MySpace, but REAL. Folks all over the world are opening TheirSpaces to strangers in the name of making the world smaller and friendlier. Within 4 hours of posting a profile and my plea for a cozier place to stay (my former accommodations was smokier than I had bargained for), I had landed a place for two weeks with my own room and a really cool quebecwaa (how is that spelt?) woman who brought me to a wild dinner party where I learned the quebec swear words “Tabernac,” or “Chalice” the most holy objects in a church, sputtered and flung across the kitchen with mean, sexy gestures.
I made friends with a guy on the train who had logged more than 20,000 miles in his boat after three back surgeries. He retired and bought a boat and travels on the rivers, canals and inner-coastal waterways all over the country. The guy was a nut. I’m definitely inspired. Just think, I could float my home from town to town and jump off and sell my show…gypsy-circus-style. Pea would develop his sea legs and be my alarm system at night. Speaking of Peaknuckle and safety, my fear that he’d get hurt. So far so good. Right now he’s in his Green Room (his green hideaway bag under my feet-trains and buses don’t like dogs), and has been kept the nights un-lonesome and generally ensures that I don’t spend much time by myself…the great Icebreaker that he is.
As for my fear that I would be too small a fish down here…I feel like my work sits nicely amongst the work that’s done down here. There are shows more polished and they’re on Broadway (is this where I want to be anyhow?) there are shows that are not as…intriguing as mine. I’m an artist in the world. Having developed my work in Juneau, Alaska just means that I need to get out in the world and make connections so that the world can see it. As for my fear that I won’t want to return to Juneau…I AM psyched to return there and direct a Christmas Clown show. Superfun. What happens after that…well…I’m psyched to get out in the world and show more of the world my work.
All and all, I’m going for the ride. And I’m enjoying it. Doing Contact Improvisation in the woods with wonderful artists and peeps for 6 days doesn’t suck. Getting really sick at the end of that week didn’t even suck- a rotation of friends came up to tell me stories, sing me songs, tell me a really dirty joke (even if it was a joke that ended with a river of S%#$, all too pertinent to my plight-it’s okay Megan, I’m over it-the joke and the plight).
Getting my first Standing Ovation the other night (at P.A.C.E) didn’t suck. Especially since even ME, my worst critic, thought it was a great show.
Hmm…so. The young Amish boy in the row ahead of me cozies his head onto his dad’s lap, the sun’s honey bright is almost out of sight and it’s time for me to make my way upstairs to bed…I’ve got to save some energy for hanging out with my Aunt Nancy in Rochester…otherwise she’ll squash me at Scrabble.
G’night. �
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