Biography lends to death a new terror

So, for almost three years, now, I haven't really used my work room. I've been sewing in other locations, for various reasons. As a result, the work room became sort of a neglected storage area, where boxes and bags of random crap were just tossed in to pile up, so they'd be out of the way of the rest of the house. It has become the Deepest Darkest Jungle of Borneo, and I've been afraid to even approach it.

A couple of weeks ago, Jason suggested that I just peck at it, a half an hour a day, while the baby's napping. So, I did. And, amongst the dead spiders, and encrusted coffee mugs and dust, I've discovered long-lost treasures, thrown out bags and bags of unwanted and unusable detritus, and found myself actually having a weird kind of fun.

AND NOW IT'S ALL CLEAN!

The Impassable Entrance Way:

Before:

Now:

The Enormous Mountain of Crap, Under Which Were Buried The Boxes The Crap Belonged In:

Before:

Now:

The Unworkable Workspace

Before:

Now:

Now, of course, I'm afraid to make anything in there, because I don't want to mess it up...

Current Mood: ecstatic

So, after two months of being a stay-at-home mom and a better housekeeper than I thought I could be (which isn't saying much), I have another job!

Collingwood High wants me to the do the Crucible. Which opens in six weeks. And requires 45 late 17thC costumes (for some reason, I thought he'd said he was going to stage it in the 1940's, which is just too bizarre, and I was all prepared to talk him out of it, but it appears that he's not crazy, I am, because he never said that).

I talked to him Thursday. I watched the movie on Friday. I sat down and divvied up the budget, booked the costume shop, arranged for Emma to do my childcare*, called to make rental appointments and did my research yesterday. Made a turkey dinner today.

*I'm not really ready to send Elizabeth to daycare. I think it would be too weird and scary for her. She knows Emma and her kids, and likes being over there. Plus _I_ trust Emma. Plus Emma could use the money. Plus I don't even think I could get her into a good daycare with no notice for only two weeks.

I can rent a lot of the costumes, although the Arts Club isn't renting and Bard probably isn't renting (I'm to call back after their meeting on Tuesday). I couldn't get through to the Playhouse and UBC because it was Saturday.

The costume shop is $100/week, which is sweet. I'm putting aside $800 for sewing crew, which will be 2 people, 20 hours a week, for two weeks, which makes my total labour costs $1000. Of course, _I'm_ going to be making about $3/hour, but that's the joy of being the boss.

So, I've got this week to do all the buying, and the renting, take the measurements, make the patterns, get all my shit together, and find two professional sewers.

Sunday night (hopefully) I can get into the costume shop and set it up.

Monday I get up with Elizabeth, feed her breakfast, drive her to Emma's at 10:30, get to the costume shop, sew for five hours with my crew, pick up Elizabeth at 4:30, get her home for her second nap, make dinner, eat dinner, put her to bed, and (and this is SO COOL), go back to the costume shop for another four or five hours, because it's all mine, 24/7 during those two weeks.
Although, another option would be to have my crew make bodices during the day, and I can sit at home and cartridge pleat in front of the TV in the evenings.

That continues until Thursday, and then Monday-Thursday the next week. Fridays will be fittings-at-the-school days. Jason's usually home by 4:30, so I can get down there by the end of their after-school rehearsal for that. Then we're at the end of October, and I'll still have three weeks at home to do the rest of the work, which, hopefully, I'll have made a huge start on with my little crew.

Frankly, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

AH! for a life in the Arts....

Current Mood: crazy

So, we had a big debate about sleep-training, when I started it with Elizabeth a few months ago. We decided to sleep-train her because I found that I was spending the vast majority of the day putting her down for naps or bed, and then getting her up when she cried, letting her play a bit and trying again. Putting her down involved cuddling and rocking and singing until she was completely asleep. She wasn't getting enough sleep, and this ate up so much of my time that we weren't getting enough time to do much else.

I got a lot of support for the decision, and a lot of friendly, respectful debate about it. It's been five or six months now (I think), so I'm back to make my report.

Elizabeth goes straight to bed, three times a day, without complaint. She sleeps through the night, except for a brief wakefulness around 2 am, which she handles herself.

She does not appear to have any kind of attachment problems. She's incredibly loving and affectionate, calm and cheerful. She has had almost no separation anxiety. When she's hurt or scared during the day, she comes straight to me, as someone who she can count on to comfort her. She's rested, she's growing like a weed, she's developing at a ferocious pace and we have time to do other things during the day.

It was very hard. It's the worst feeling in the world, to sit outside your baby's room and listen to her scream like her heart is broken. There have been occasions when Jason has had to throw me out of the house, because I can't hack it. I would go for a walk, and, when I got back, she'd be asleep, and I'd be much calmer.

It's one of the best feelings in the world to have your baby contentedly go to sleep on her own. Which she now does, nineteen times out of twenty. There have been a couple of relapses. When we switched her from formula to water in her bottle, we had to go through the whole process again. But I learned that if I don't force to her lie down, but just put her in her crib, she would just play quietly by herself for half an hour or so, and then go to sleep, even if she wasn't interested in the bottle. Now she takes the bottle again.

I am SO glad we did this. It was very painful for everyone involved, but the pay-off is HUGE. I have a rested, happy, thriving baby, whose regular, reliable schedule keeps us all sane. No more guessing games about whether or not she's tired enough for her nap, yet. No worries about leaving her with our room mate after she's been put to bed, and I need to go pick up groceries. I know when she'll go to bed, and that she'll stay asleep. AND, this was established before the toddler power games.

Our lives are significantly and materially improved.

Current Mood: accomplished

So, what do you do when your lead actress loses her cap right before the photo session?

Before:


No problem. Nothing a little Photoshop in the hands of a GENIUS can't fix.

After:

Current Mood: accomplished

So, we were having a little casual birthday party for Elizabeth (my dad and his wife are in town), with my parents, my sister Emma, her husband Jonathan, and their two girls, Aidan and Arabella. Elizabeth was cruising around the coffee table, and Emma said, to my dad, "She's going to start walking any minute now. She just needs someone to motivate her. Offer her a toy that she'll have to reach for her with off-hand (Elizabeth was holding a toy in the hand nearest my dad). So, my dad offered her a toy and she took a step towards him, unassisted. I was in the kitchen and I missed it. :(

So, they all started shouting, and I grabbed the camera, and they got her to do it again; two nice, sturdy steps.

I think I can safely aver that this is the Greatest Event in the History of Humankind.

Current Mood: ecstatic

So, I got involved in a conversation online with a self-proclaimed born-again Christian, who claims to print out pamphlets about her faith and leave them in public bathrooms and laundromats and the like. She showed a complete lack of interest in my salvation, claiming that so long as she got the word out, what I did with it was my business.

I must admit, I find born-again Christians uniquely puzzling. As a secular humanist, I find all religions fascinating, and I love to discuss and debate religion, and do so with a great effort at being respectful and open-minded. All religions have their beauties and their horrors, in my opinion, and, while I have no intention of joining any of them, I find them a fascinating and omnipresent facet of the human experience.

But, more than any other, I have observed that born-again Christians are the least tolerant of other people's points of views. I'm not accusing them of being intolerant of non-believers' existence; just of our disagreeing with them. This woman didn't get antagonistic. She didn't call me names or tell me I was going to hell (although I'm sure she believes I am). But she was absolutely, categorically unwilling to hear what I had to say. And, since what I had to say related to her self-assigned task of saving souls*, and how to more effectively accomplish it, I found that strange.

I have a theory. I could be completely ass-backwards, but here is my theory. It appears to me that those who call themselves "born-again" tend to be those who have, in some crisis of their lives, found relief and help and new identity through the help of some church. Grateful and awed, they have not only joined said church, but have embraced its tenets to a fierce degree, espousing them constantly as the only Truth, the only salvation, the only rescue.

They did not (or so I assume) come to their faith through internal means (study, meditation, soul-searching), but were offered it from an outside source who, through their faith, gave them the path to changing their lives, and escaping their crisis.

It is my theory that, because the source of their faith was external, they need the world outside of themselves to constantly reinforce it. If a person can give you the path to God, cannot another person take it away?

Now, it could be argued that, because religion is cultural and not instinctive, all theists are given the path to god. They are taught the tenets of their faith as children, or as adult disciples of some found faith. We learn all our views of the universe and its function, and our function in it, from others.

So, what makes the born-again so particularly diligent, so particularly intolerant, so notably fearful of opposing points of view? If their way is the only way, if their relationship with God is nurtured on both sides, how can a conversation with me threaten that?

(It sort of reminds me of the gay marriage issue. How can the marriage of gay people have anything to do with mine?)

The Catholic Church, famous for centuries of absolute intolerance, doesn't seem to have the same issues nowadays. Most of the Catholics I know feel sorry for my eventual damnation, but are quite comfortable debating the issues with me. The Jews are the Chosen People, and make you _seriously_ work for it if you're trying to join their gang. Buddhists don't care. It's part of their faith; not caring about things. My mother, who is studying to be a minister of the United Church, finds great comfort in her faith, and occasionally asks to pray for me if I'm going through a difficult time, but otherwise is quite comfortable with my athiesm, convinced that, as I get older, I'll change my tune.

Only the born-again cannot abide the _conversation_. They even seem to have trouble explaining their own point of view, beyond the route rhetoric printed on the pamphlets...

I dunno........




*I was trying to explain that, if you want someone to cross a bridge of faith, standing on your bank and shouting is less effective than taking their hand and leading them across. ie: Backing your arguments with "The Bible says.." when we have neither agreed on the existence of God nor the validity of the bible is ineffective. Whereas starting with, "The world is a miraculous place, unique in the universe, which is best explained by a higher power" and then moving on to God, and THEN moving on to the Bible, which you have actually studied, strikes me as a much better and more effective way of converting people.

Elizabeth started walking at her birthday party yesterday!!

Alright. So, I need a weekend event, by myself, with no husband and no baby. That's established.

I wanted to hang out with Davin and Dana, specifically, on my responsibility-free weekend. They said they were going to Coronation and Sport of Kings, both of which are down round Portland. So, I started saving my spending money, packing it away, $20 at a time, three months ago. I ordered my passport, etc, etc. Then I couldn't get a ride. Couldn't get a ride. Really couldn't get a ride. Started to panic. Started to inflate the importance of this particular event. Started to become hysterical at the thought of losing my ONLY chance to have a weekend to myself all summer, and, thus, all year.

Then Magnus agreed to rent me his van, cheap, and I got all excited again. Maybe I could even bring Rosamund with me for a girls weekend of debauchery. Then Davin told me he wasn't going. Then Rosamund said she wasn't going. The van is stiff, and heavy and makes me nervous, and guzzles gas, and I can't shoulder-check in it. It only has AM radio, which is going to make for a very lonely six hour drive, all by myself. And Krenn still hasn't completely recovered from the Plague, and I'd be missing Imaigne's party, and we're leaving for Clinton in five days and I have a week's worth of sewing to do....

But, Magnus will be taking the van to Sport of Kings, and can't give me a ride, so if I don't go now, I may not have another chance.

I'm so on the fence about this, I'm getting hemmoroids. If I had someone else to drive down with, to share the financial load, and keep me company, I'd go. If I knew for sure I could get down to Sport of Kings, I wouldn't go. I feel like I should go anyway, but I really can't decide.

Any thoughts?

Current Mood: apathetic

ARGH!!!

So... The SCA has changed completely for me. I used to go to most of my camping events alone. I'd sleep in, take classes or do contests, or not, as I liked. Hang out with friends. Eat out of my cooler. Smoke clove cigarettes and drink. Sometimes I'd end up bedwarming with some cute friend or stranger.

Sometimes Krenn would come along, and then the fun/work ratio would tilt, slightly. I'd set up the whole kitchen and get up early, so I could make him breakfast before he went off to fight. He'd go off to fight, and I'd clean up around the camp, and then go hang out with friends. If it was a tourney, I'd go and watch him fight. At some point I'd make him some lunch and take it out to him. He'd finish fighting and I'd make us dinner, and do the dishes. He'd go to bed early, usually, and I'd go off and have a few drinks, and then climb into bed with him.

Now, we go as a family. We set up (while trying to keep a cranky baby entertained), and I prep a bottle for the baby. We go straight to bed. She wakes up early, so, so do I. Usually Krenn sleeps in a bit while I feed the baby and make breakfast for us. Then he goes off the fight. I put the baby down for her first nap, and sit around the encampment, maybe do the breakfast dishes. She wakes up, I feed her lunch, and then we do a sedate walkabout and visit with friends who admire her. We bring Krenn his lunch. Then it's back to the tent for afternoon nap. Then Krenn comes back and plays with the baby while I make dinner. Then he goes to bed early, with the baby, and I can go and have a couple of hours of sedate fun. But, I can't smoke or drink, because I'm sharing a bed with the baby, and there's certainly no bedwarming with any cute boys.

I'm not really complaining. I knew what I was getting myself into. Which may be part of why I fought it for so many years. But, while Krenn's SCA is pretty much the same as it always, with a baby added, mine is unrecognizable.

So, we agreed that I should go to at least one camping event by myself, each summer. One weekend of no baby, no husband, no curfew, no morning alarm diaper. I can just go and relax and have fun.

I discussed it with some particular friends I want to go and have fun with, and decided on July Coronation. I ordered my passport, and started saving up my spending money a couple of months ago.

I just can't get down there.

The van stays with the baby. My rule, and I think it's a good one. Besides, Krenn's not comfortable with the van making that kind of trip (it's old and cranky). For weeks I've been trying to track down a ride, but nobody seems to be going! One friend said she could give me a ride from Bellingham, but by the time I got a ride TO Bellingham, her plans had changed. I can't afford to take the bus, and, even if I could, it's 10 hours each way, and I can't find child care for Elizabeth for the whole day on Friday.

I'm just so fucking disappointed. I've been looking forward to this for months. Clinton's coming up, and I'm looking forward to that, too, but that's going to be seven days of taking care of Krenn and the baby, and three days of taking care of Krenn, the baby, my mother, my niece and two nephews. So... not quite the same thing at all, really.

I'm sick, and so's the baby, so she's not letting me get any sleep. I'm working desperately to make garb for all my various family members, and friends. I feel really ground down. And, I feel like this was my one chance for a weekend for myself.

This sucks.

So, I've been dabbling in a little directing. Des Hussey and I have co-directed a remount of "Pyewacket", the story of a little orphan girl and her creepy rag doll, who only comes to life when none of the grownups are around. It's always been my favourite Spectral script, and it was an awesome experience.

Des and I were spookily in-sync, often giving the exact same note at the exact same time. But we have different strengths; Des is good at the blocking and the big-picture stuff, and I'm better at the detail work and motivation and stuff. So, we complemented each other beautifully.

The cast is great too. A newcomer to Spectral, Lesli Brownlee plays the sweetly naive Miss Hummel, come from the orphanage to check on little Claudia, and she's absolutely hilarious in her wide-eyed obliviousness. Fija Callaghan plays Claudia, and is so convincing in the role that one of our audience members flatly refused to believe that she's twenty. Crystal Sevigny is the manipulative and creepy rag doll, Pyewacket, and has the perfect combination of silly childishness and disturbing adult intensity. And Seth Little plays the evil Widow Gorie with such beautiful realism that it makes me want to cry. That boy is truly a genius.

It's such a good show. I'm SO proud of it. I want you all to come and see it. It's really something quite special.

I've also come to the conclusion that directors are absolutely spoiled by their hard working crews, which I would have enjoyed more if I wasn't also doing the costumes and props. ;)

Please come see it. It's part of Spectral's Late Night Double Feature, along with "How I Became a Killer Clown" (which manages to combine blood-splatter and gore with slapstick and juggling). You'll enjoy it. I promise.

And there's a bar.


Details:

Spectral Theatre's Late Night Double Feature,
"Pyewacket" and "How I Became a Killer Clown"
July 2nd to 25th, Thurs-Sat, 10 pm-Midnight
Spectral Studios, 350 Powell St, Vancouver
Tickets $10. Reservations: 604-569-2013

Current Mood: jubilant