“Reading is the sole means by which we slip, involuntarily, often helplessly, into another’s skin, another’s voice, another’s soul.” — Joyce Carol Oates (via ilovereadingandwriting)
(Source: writerzblox.wordpress.com, via ilovereadingandwriting)
Manners cost nothing until you add up the deficit the lack of them leaves over time
Why don't more artists use noisetrade to promote to presenters?
from Martha Stewart weddings. Love.
Thriving Mama: A teacher in New York was teaching her class about bullying and gave... -
A teacher in New York was teaching her class about bullying and gave them the following exercise to perform. She had the children take a piece of paper and told them to crumple it up, stomp on it and really mess it up but do not rip it. Then she had them unfold the paper, smooth it out and look…
(Source: thrivinglife-thrivingmama)
Listening to a guy on my office phone right now who is pitching me on “Broadway shows” that very obviously not Broadway shows. It’s C level performers (from what I can tell) in tribute shows.
And, yes, I’m going to rent the theater to them. And do a deal, I’m sure.
Sigh.
If you don’t love dogs, you won’t understand this. If you’ve never had your face licked by a long, rough dog tongue, you won’t understand our joy and our pain. If you’ve never been smacked in the leg by a wagging tail, never been gazed at like you are a perfect genius by big brown dog eys, never had fluffy dog hair permanently attached to all your clothes, never been slobbered on, never watched anticipatroy dinner drool hit the floor in your kitchen, you won’t feel what we feel today.
Our sweet PJ went off to his better place this morning, just before his daily breakfast drool hit the old linoleum. Dog people speak of the Rainbow Bridge, a magical heavenly place where dogs go when they leave our earth. I hope he is in the real heaven. At least, I hope the real heaven has a way of showing me my sweet PJ running a fenceline, chasing a squirrel, smiling at me with his whole body. Because that’s what I want when I get there. One more glimpse of my sweet boy.
When my son wandered into the kitchen this morning he called the dogs and only two came. He went to the backyard to find sweet P.
My son said, “Mama, PJ’s dead.”
I said, “No, he’s not.”
Because that would be impossible. My sweet boy will surely last forever.
But sure enough.
Sure enough my friend, my old friend, my confidant, my love, my sweet boy lay so very quietly in the still cool grass. I knelt to pet him. Perhaps he hadn’t heard us; his aging body had started to slow in the last months. But sure enough, he was gone.
We put our hands on him. We softly stroked his fur. My son tried to close PJ’s eyes. Tears. So many tears rolled down our cheeks as we realized our sweet P was gone. We sat back on a porch chair that fits us both. My son took pictures so he could remember. I looked back in my mind at pictures of road trips throughout TX, NM, CO. I saw him prancing through the Museum and the two performing arts centers where I’ve worked. I saw him running the perimeter of our yard, keeping watchful eyes in the trees in case that darn squirrel family was at it again. I saw him lazing in the sun, bounding through the snow, curled up at the foot of my bed.
My son and I told each other that we were all so lucky to have had such wonderful times together. My eight year old wiped my cheek and told me that PJ is in a better place. We hugged and held each other as we cried and looked on our old friend. Peace for a moment until my son revealeed to me that “now I know what it feels like to lose someone you love.”
In this blessed life we have so many opportunities to learn and grow. We learned some painful ones today. My son learned about loss and how your heart can actually hurt. But he was also reminded that it’s okay to cry when you are sad.
When his dad came over to say goodbye to PJ and help bury our old dog, our son learned that his parents still care for and respect each other. And, that they can still cry together.
When his future step-dad and step-brother arrived my son was reminded that his step-dad is a man of graciousness, character, strength and caring. My son saw that is stepfather and his dad can shake hands and hug each other when our family experiences a loss.
My ex-husband and my future husband. Two really good men. They helped me dig the grave. They let me cry and pick up my old friend and cradle him one last time. They let me get in the hole and place him in the ground. Our son put wildflowers on his old dog.
Everyone told stories about PJ. We told about our favorite moments, favorite stories, what we’ll remember most about our sweet boy. They asked me to put the first scoop of dirt on him and I almost couldn’t do it. They let me walk away while they finished. Then my almost step-son, sensitive, caring and teary-eyed, even at thirteen, gathered flowers and put them on the fresh grave.
And then live moved on. We went to the baseball game, where my son pitched and played a great game. I went to work and tried to feign happy Halloween. And tomorrow we’ll get up. We’ll go to church. Our family will share a meal. We’ll shop for a new house. We’ll move on.
But our sweet PJ, who was patient and gentle, who lived a life adoring his family, whose ears perked when he saw us, who licked away our tears and hurts, who loved us so hard, our sweet PJ will always be.
My sweet, first-born son. I love you. I miss you. You really are with us and we really won’t ever forget you.
Some days I think I’d be better off if I just planned parties. Weddings. Reunions. Anniversaries. The celebrations of our lives. I’m really great at it and people appreciate my skill and customer service and outcomes.
People don’t appreciate outcomes at the theater. Because, mostly, these outcomes are difficult to measure. Certainly, I can create a budget, adhere to it the best I can, and reassess it at the end of the run. I can count ticket sales, sponsorships, other income, and track that against expenses.
But, do people in charge appreciate The Feeling? The Change? The Impact? that a performance can make? One of this season’s worst attended productions was one of the most powerful. My audience left the theater very quietly, very thoughtfully. As they left they had difficulty finding words to tell me how they felt about what they had just seen because they were moved.
Fortunately, our rental business is trending towards performance rental and away from social rental. This is, of course, the goal of every presenting/rental house, I suppose.
Breathing. Praying. Wishing and hoping for a better day tomorrow. Remembering how challenging mothers of the brides can be. Feeling fortunate for the many ways in which God has blessed me.
Excuse me, what?
(Source: ameliepoutine)
Once I purchase one it is mine. I own that seat for the duration of the performance if I choose to use it. I can give it to a colleague, neighbor or friend. Because, you see, I bought it and it is mine. If I choose to take the ticket and use it as starter for my fireplace that is my choice. It is mine because I bought it. I own it.
This is basic commerce.
Not everyone I know understands this. You simply cannot resell my seat. You cannot offer what is no longer yours (It’s mine. I bought it.) to someone else. It’s double dipping. It’s unethical. Even if the pain you experience by seeing my empty chair (if I’ve chosen not to use it) pushes you to the brink of thinking that you can make money twice off of that chair; you are wrong.
That seat is Mama’s seat. And Mama is going to be mad if she gets to the 7:00 curtain at 6:59 and you’ve sold her seat to another person.
So, understand, promoters and resident companies and rental clients and producers, there is only one ticket for that seat* in my house.
*unless, of course, you have worked out in advance with the management and box office, AND notified the purchasing public in writing in advance that they must be in their seats X number of minutes before curtain or their above mentioned transaction is null and void.
And, quite frankly, I’m not sure that that is good practice either. Ethics, anyone?
