Aug 18, 2022
The good, The bad, The ugly.
I was f-f-reezing from swimming in the canal at the end of our field. The air was cooler than normal, and it was dark by the time we came back home.
But because my upstairs bedroom/workroom is like an oven, I don’t like to be in in much. But I thought it would warm me up to spend some time writing up there. Hence this blog post might actually get finished.
Bess and I have adopted swimming in the canal more than usual. It’s very convenient, we can bike to the end of our field, and swim, like two ducks gliding along, unnoticed by anybody. It has been a delicious floating meditation. You can watch the sun set, the mountains light up, the beautiful pink, puffy clouds, as you float along. You can smell the cooking plants, the water, and sage brush, and drink in nature, all just by stepping in, and letting the water pull you along.
I’m staring at the screen feeling odd. I have about ten-bazillion things I want to say. It would be nice to feel comfortable, and safe expressing myself if it was as easy as floating along in the canal is. There are always so many people always talking, talking, sending out endless thought streams into the air that are more like whirlpools where I feel stuck listening.
And when I go to write, either have a really hard time finishing anything. And if I do, all that comes out is poetry. So then I write poetry. And when I’m going throughout my day, the words swirling around in my head clink together in odd rhyming notes. It’s annoying. Like a strange brain rhyme stutter.
I’m sure there’s a name for this condition.
Rhyme-i-ts.
The cure?
Maybe reading something stodgy---like an encyclopedia, or a math book.
But, maybe not…those would probably make my mind rhyme all the more to self sooth.
So if this post comes out with nothing rhyming, you will know I have, at least, for the duration, kept the words from turning into some odd poetic stanza.
I’m just enjoying the peacefulness of this day. I haven’t done one really useful thing, and it’s delicious. I highly recommend it.
I’m feeling the full moon energy---well not so full now. But you get the point. The competed ending of a cycle. There has been some good times, some bad, times, and some ugly times.
What comes to mind, is my sister, who was looking for some new music for one of her violin students, “What about, The Good, the Bad, the ugly,” she asked her student.
Her student, gasped. “We don’t say those words at my house.”
“What words?”
“Those words.”
“You mean, the Good, the Bad, the ugly?”
“Yeah.”
My sister looked confused. “It’s the name of a song.”
“But we don’t say those words.”
It makes me laugh every time I think of that phrase.
Even if you don’t say those words at your house, life will hand you the good, the bad, and the ugly, sometimes all at once, sometimes one at a time, like a hot potato that you have zero idea to do with. Maybe make some soup?
The summer musical my sister and I were involved was also, good, bad, and ugly.
And honestly, I’m relieved it’s done. And so happy to have my evenings back. Happy to not be cooking my brains out in the sizzling heat.
Happy to not dance around and sing for an audience.
It was stressful. Traumatic. Like some endurance test, where you knew you couldn’t quit, even when you wanted to because who would fill your spot? If Bess hadn’t chosen to try out, I may have not followed her. I admit, we have had some very interesting adventures together.
There were so many things that seemed to just go wrong.
I’m wondering if It’s worth re-sharing or should I abbreviate?
Make a list of the bad things, like a shopping list?
There were good things too.
But enough to balance them out?
Depends on how good at alchemy you are.
The summer musical was Chitty chitty bang bang. If you dropped the ch-and added a Sh, that might describe how the play felt as it progressed. (here’s hoping no one from the play ever reads this) It was a small cast to begin with, but as the summer sped on, we had people drop out, and Bess and I had to be several different characters to fill in the gaps. When I tried, out I asked to be cast as something small, as I didn’t want to be married to it.
But, hah. That’s a laugh.
Bessie was cast as the child catcher, junkman/woman, a dancer/chorus member.
I was Mr.---miss, Coggins (the mechanic) A scientist, dancer/chorus member. There was a drought of men, so we ended up playing guy rolls. I thought I could lower my
This play had so many, many props, more than I remember any of our plays having. So much so that we were all jam-packed behind stage. One of the props that was especially big, and heavy, got dubbed, “Big ugly,” It required brute force just to wheel it on and off stage.
We’d practice out on a cement stage when the sun felt its hottest, and sweat would be sprouting from everyone’s foreheads.
One night, on a late rehearsal, driving home, our car had a bit of trouble pulling out of the parking lot.
I got out and looked at the tires. They seemed okay, so we kept going. We went down a country road, and a badger bolted in front of the car. I’d never seen a badger shoot in front of our car before.
Bess was driving, and she swerved to miss hitting it, and then the car’s steering went out.
It would not turn, left or right. I can happily say that, perhaps it was the badger that helped us slow down, so we didn’t end up in a worse situation. The car was able coast to a stop sign, and that’s where it stayed. It wouldn’t budge at all.
I wasn’t in the best of moods. My head was aching. It was around twelve at night. We were both tired. And had zero idea what was wrong with the car.
We got out, and surveyed the wheels. They were cross-eyed, we thought the rod that holds them together broke (later we found out that the mechanic we took it to prior to this hadn’t tightened the bolts tight enough) Either way, we were stranded, on a lone road, not even able to push the car off the road.
Luckily, Bess brought her cell phone, and first called the director of the play, as he was the closest to us than anyone, and we were 30 miles away from home. Plus, the only other person we could think of calling would have been my brother, who would not be in a good humor. But we ended up calling them both, as we wanted to let someone know where we were.
At that moment, we thought that having a Chitty, chitty Bang, bang magic car that flies, and starts when you ask it nicely, would have been fortunate. I may have been a mechanic in the play. But in real life. I don’t know much about how cars work. Though my sister, and I did ask our car to keep going. “Please!” we said this in unison. It did not budge.
Sitting in an unmoving car in the dark, at a stop sign, time seems to drag on.
We weren’t sure if either one of our people we called were going to show up. After what seemed like an awfully long time, there was one car that slowed way down, and out popped the director, and the director’s son. They seemed to get a kick out our predicament, and seemed to enjoy how funny our tires looked. “You’re not going to be able to have your brother tow this tonight. “
They helped us figure out how to push the car off to the side of the road. And then, my brother arrived, so we had a way home.
We were both very grateful not to have to spend the night in the middle of the road, in a dead car.
The next morning Bess arranged for someone to tow the car, only to find out that someone had burgled it---taken the Catalytic converter off it in the middle of the night. So what would have been an easy fix, was much more complex.
Little buzzard thieftains, picking our cars carcass in the middle of the night. Sheesh!
So out a car, getting to the play became tricky.
Carpooling became our friend, and sometimes not so convenient for all parties.
When we finally did get our car back, as it was out its converter, and we are still wondering what to do about that, it sounds like a roaring jet that is so loud it could break the sound barrier. When we drive it, we have to wear earplugs. I used to have a judgey attitude about cars that were loud. Now I when I hear a noisy car, I wonder if maybe someone stole their car’s fart cover? Maybe it can’t help it.
Either way, now the entire world knows we are coming when we go anywhere. Nothing like showing up anywhere ‘quietly,’ or unnoticed as I would like to be.
Back to the play----one night, for full run throughs, we had to take a ton of extra props. I had a pile of birds I made out of feathers, and tarp, because our paper birds got rained on. The birds were for a scene where Chitty flies off a cliff, and we pop on stage, with clouds, and birds. In Besse’s words the birds I made looked “Nifty, like flying carcasses. Because they looked real-ish, but deadish.”
Then right before we were about to do our opening act----Rain! Lightening! Thunder! Then more rain. Everyone ran for cover; hid under tarps, or anywhere that could keep them dry.
Bess and I ran to cover stuff. As most of our props have some cardboard element to them. And our scripts were all sitting, open, getting dowsed in rain. Sound systems, and keyboards, and lights, and cameras. All these things had to be covered.
I snapped this shot as everyone was huddled under this tree
The rain would stop for a minute, and then start up again. The kids really liked the rain. I did too. They came out, and splashed around in the water. The air was a lot more enjoyable, even if we were all a soggy mess.
A pile of cast members stood under one of the tallest trees, while one of our lovely leads commented on how he didn’t care if he was struck by lightning.
I snapped a few photos, and felt quite giddy, as I always enjoy the adventure of the rain, and am curious what people do when plans don’t always go the way they want them to.
Finally, the rain let up, and though everyone, and everything was a soggy mess, the director said the show must go on.
The glistening cement, the wet costumes, the wet everything was soggy, but refreshing, and everyone seemed in better moods, at least I thought so.
We began the first act, and it all went well until we started a scene where I and five other girls who sing the ole’ bamboo and dance around Mr. Potts, with wooden rods. There’s a part of the song where we do a sort of hop-scotch move with the sticks on the ground while, Mr. Potts jumps in-between them.
He decided to do a fun move, and put his weight on one of the sticks he was dancing with, a but his stick accidently went down, smack on my sister’s head.
I was confused, because I was on the other side of Bess, and I looked and saw Bess crumpled, and curled up in a tight ball, holding her head. Everything went in super slow motion. I didn’t know how hard she’d been hit. The play instantly halted, and we all gathered in around Bess.
It was the strangest moment. The director of the play shot out from his place where he controls the lights and sounds, and was by Bess’s side, stroking her face. One cast member who is an EMT and looked into her eyes to make sure she was okay. In time, we got her up, and sat her down in a chair with some ice on her head. I felt her head, and she had a lump, shaped perfectly like the stick that had hit her head.
Mr. Potts felt terrible. He’s such a sweet guy, he kept on apologizing, and looked near tears. I felt worse for him than anyone as it was just an accident. Shortly after, the director called it a night, and I drove Bess home, in our roaring, farting car. It was so disconcerting, I wasn’t sure whether I should take her to the emergency room, or if she just needed to rest. I felt bad as the roaring car was not so good to a throbbing head.
It was such disturbing thing to witness, seeing my sister crumpled in a ball, I didn’t sleep at all. I kept on checking on her to make sure she was still alive. Luckly, Bess slept, and woke up, with a sore, head, but she was okay.
Phew....
The play was laced with all these weird little things. The day before our last performance, I slammed my koto playing thumb in my kitchen door, and thought I broke my finger. The nail turned purple, it ached so badly, I put a hot pin into the nail, to take pressure off my fingernail. I was worried all night that I wouldn’t be able to help push props on and off, and dance with our sticks. I soaked it in comfrey cream and salt magnesium. The good thing was, I doctored enough that by the time the play rolled around, I could bend my thumb, and was able to do what I had to do. So yeah, we had some Some good, some bad, some ugly moments. One member started throwing up backstage. Another member had to be gone for the last weeks of practice because he had a relative pass away.
The rainstorm wiped out a lot of the lights, and they had to take apart the keyboards because they got water in them.
By closing night, between all the strange misshapes, and everyone helping everyone out. We were quite the unified group. Everyone, and I mean everyone, worked hard to pull it off. I can honestly say that it was the best worse play we've ever done, because we were like one big family after it all. We had a great turn out, but more importanly, we turned out to be more unified than I ever remember a cast being. Right after closing night, those who chose to come, helped the director pack away props. All the things that we so carefully constructed, or painted, got ripped up, or toted away, and disassembled.
All the costumes got put back in closets.
The scripts got put away
Flying cars.
Farting cars.
The sticks.
The birds.
The clouds.
Everything was packed away until no evidence that there ever was a play, existed. And the crazy group of people who chose to come, and dance around, and sing, all went home.
All done.
All the masks were taken off, and whoever played the good, or bad, or ugly parts, were turned back into the ordinary soul pumpkins that we all are. Scripts, and roles were relinquished. And we all went back home.
We shared some good moments, some bad moments, and some ugly. But as they were just moments, they are already fading. Those who watched it will probably forget the play like eating a happy meal.
And maybe, a few will remember that underneath it all, that life is a play too. And the roles we get assigned are mostly scripts someone handed to us, words we say that aren’t even our own.
But once you realize that all the world’s a stage. That the good, the bad, the ugly, are merely just acts and actors in the play, that there’s not much difference between the actors, and the watchers, that once we strip down the paint, the real raw wood is seen. Then, on stage, as the play is going, when you have this epiphany, it becomes an interesting dance between, knowing it’s not real, and your roles aren’t either. Here, you can choose to break character, switch roles, adlib, make up your own script, or break character completely---the only problem is, when you do that, all the other actors don’t know what to say next. They memorized their lines, and now here you, are unscripted, and everything, the story, the play changes.
And hopefully, before life’s final act draws to a close, you can have this knowing, so when closing night finally comes, when we take the last bow, you will see all the cast members for the souls they really are. You won’t be surprised when the costumes come off, and the villan, and the hero hug, and go back home. You won’t be so attached to the props that rolled on and off stage. You won’t hold onto them as they are disassembled. You’ll just look on, and breathe a sigh of relief. Glad that the crazy story is finally ending.
Here on the empty stage, in the space of your own soul, the good, the bad, and the ugly, can be alchemized into wisdom, into gold, so what you take back home is only the good.
I know I said I wasn’t going to be poetic. But I found a poem I wrote several months ago, or maybe last year. I don’t remember. But it seemed to fit this blog post, uncannily. Shruggs.
Unveiled
Apocalypse.
What a word.
It's something I've always heard.
A solemn dirge.
A refrain of hell.
A wicked thing, like a black spell.
And yet I found a meaning true.
Apocalypse, unveiling, the real, the good the bad, the ugly, all of us, me and you.
And so, I now look at the end.
Wondering if it will be my foe or friend.
When at last.
It's the conclusion.
When all this stops.
When God takes away all our props.
When all that was hidden is brought back to life.
When we see the real, the true.
Our strife.
The things we never considered. When all that kept us from the real, the raw, will be unhindered.
Everything that was old will be made new.
The child of ten, is actually seen as a wise soul of 102.
Things that were crooked, and the things we thought were slanted, and stupid, will be the things that are straight, and things we took for granted.
All will be revealed in God's own light.
The good will be seen, and what was wrong will be made right.
All the lies that were hidden.
Everything that was forbidden.
And the earth will shake off the dust, and darkness will be ridden.
Where we all unfold.
The good, the bad, all the stories we told.
To be revealed. To be finally seen, for what we are, and have always been.
To see ourselves in the naked truth, no embellishments, no hiding behind a silly booth.
We.
Together.
None can hide.
It's the apocalypse.
And it's about time.
For we've all been buried by layers of sin. Things that we never were, and we tossed truth in the trash bin.
And now all is coming to light. The good, the bad, the ugly, things we probably would like out of sight.
An apocalypse.
A dance of doom for those who hide, for those who assume. We who think the masks are real.
But God is doing his work.
And everything is getting revealed.
Like a magician whose tricks were crafty, and clever. All the secrets are now to be seen, and discovered.
And even God's face is now being seen.
It's the face of love. It always has been.
The veil is dissolving.
Like hidden ink.
The words on the page are appearing.
And the truth isn't what we think.
All that made us turn.
Is now causing our soul to burn.
And our hearts start to yearn.
To wake up and see. That being real is the only way to be.
That we can't do what we've always done.
Because we've seen the sun.
Every little crack in our mask, is making us ask.
Our lives are not just about repeating meaningless tasks.
We feel the call.
The real.
The one.
The all.
To awaken our voice. To remember that we've always had a choice.
To stop being a slave. To be strong. To be brave.
To unveil ourselves.
And to be living wells.
Rising like waves, in ripples and swells.
For its getting apparent.
That we can't continue with a stick and carrot.
For its rotted a way.
And we better toss it.
It's a new day.
Everything is getting peeled back, the bones the sinew, all the things we held onto.The skin, and the muscle, even our everyday hustle and bustle.
If it's got a fake skin.
Its not up to you.
It's up to him.
The veil can no longer hide.
The things that were inside.
The ugly and mean.
The monsters in green.
The good and the bad.
The things that made us happy or sad.
It's all in view. Just raw me, and raw you
When brought into the light, will we still be standing bright?
When you hear the call.
When the earth turns into a beautiful glass ball.
Will be caught up in the rapture?
When God says it's time for him to recapture.
Will we want to be chosen? Or will we be fearful. Frozen?
When we see what we've missed, the Eden right here, the bliss?
When we could have been one with it all.
Total unity, without any fall.
Will we want to be seen, pure and clean?
Will we be stuck in our mask? Will we be the water, or the flask?
Will we be more soul, than self.
Will we let go of all the things on our shelf?
Will we dissolve into God.
Like a moth in a lightening rod.
Where there's no difference at all between the short and the tall.
Because the love was the same.
And in God. He will take away the pain.
And in lifting the veil. Our hearts will swell.
Until that's all that's left.
Our souls.
Our every breath.
Brought into the fold.
Love is the true lasting.
Eternal.
The real.
The gold.
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