Place

 

"It's the 'Place' of Oregon that means the most.  We must, first and foremost, cherish the 'Place'. All other good things will follow if we recognize the special beauty of Oregon first in our planning, if we revere the magic, if we protect the quality."--Tom McCall, 1970

Throughout my life, certain places have been a highlight of particular seasons of my life.  In recent times, within the last ten years or so, I have experienced fore-shadowing, of such, of the significance of certain places whose experience I have yet to behold. 

One such place is a little winery in Ruch, Oregon called LongSword Winery.  

The Story Of My Life

You're the story of my life

And every word is true

Each chapter sings your name

Each page begins with you

It's the story of our times

And never letting go

And if I die today

I wanted you to know

When I had only recently returned to life in Oregon in 2011, as a fresh bride and newly-wed with high hopes of wedded bliss and the happily ever after,  my husband would drive me out to the Applegate region of Southern Oregon to visit some ne-er-do-well type friends of his of whom we'd spend the night in secretive revelry.  Our journeys would take us past this winery and I would, for reasons unbeknownst to myself at the time, make a mental note of its place.

As time unfolded through my not so wedded bliss life, I would find in my husband one such of extremity of toxic abuse stemming from his undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenia that my dreams of living the socially acceptable life of the husband, the 2.5 kids, and white picket fence would all to swiftly be smashed in the ruins of my own daily struggles against his railed abuses.  Even before walking down the aisle towards life with him, I had spent years within the confines of a church not unlike a cult in some ways, as well as with others in my life, whose constant presence in my life did its best to devalue and destroy my inner sense of trust of my own ability and self worth.  Thus, I was prime fodder for my husband's destruction of my soul.

So, back then when I traveled past Longsword and other places which would hitherto become essential to my evolution, as a timid shell of a human looking out at the world with diminishing hope and an increasing lack of self worth, I could never imagine that the slight steps I was then taking, auditioning for a few plays, would lead me forward on a journey towards freedom from the abuse, healing through the divorce into relationships that would uplift, not destroy.  Through these strengthening me, I would increase, not decrease.

The journey would lead me to the year 2018 where I would audition for a play directed by my friend, Madeline DeCourcey, who at the time our connection had been minimal but would thereafter deepen in the ascending years to follow.  And, that audition would lead to the casting that would put me in contact with friend, Jae Unker, whose presence in my life would invite me to join her in the building up of a new theatre (Wanderlust Theatre Company) in the Applegate Valley, located at none other than Longsword Winery.

Once arriving at Longsword Winery, it would take some time before I recalled that frightened child of a woman traveling by making a mental note but once done I marveled at the journey and the realization of the Universe's guidance towards this place.  

In this place, this winery, I would become a lost boy, flying about with this new colorful family through the adventure of Neverland and beyond, beyond into the increasing development of my self worth.  

Throughout the separation of the great quarantine of 2020, their presence would remain albeit removed, not to detract, destroy, but to be an ever present reminder of the true purpose of real friendship, one's chosen family.

In this photo seen above, I sit at the read-thru of the next production of Wanderlust Theatre Company's showcases, Dracula.  I am not attending as an actor, as I have stepped back from that, a reality that seems at once strange yet natural to my growth as human and artist.  No, instead I am present as a documentarian, something my heart has longed to showcase in every play I have been a part of, and as I sit there, cross-legged, masked to protection, camera at the ready, marveling at the building up of chosen family to uplift, empower, and with that, I send the message of promise to my younger frightened self of 2011.  She will be freed and increasingly so, both external and internal, and the places she is led will be the catapult to define her soul's journey and evolution. 

In My Life

There are places I'll remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I've loved them all

My Favorite TV Show Ever!

I just wish there was some book, something to explain and help navigate. I just wish it didn't hurt so bad. Endings.

I look at the faces in the photo above and my heart swells with joy.  I grew up in a smaller Northern Californian city, in the outskirts of the back of beyond on five acres in a rural neighborhood. I spent my childhood rambling through the hills, the woods, the streams, freely.  I never claimed to be a tomboy, that's absurd, but I do define myself proudly and always as a country girl.

My imagination was my closet friend and my best escape.  It was then and is still today.

As I ventured into pre-teen and adolescence, my need to disappear from reality as the hormones began to rage within me grew to an increasing wave inside.  After school, I would come home, grab my oreos, and head to the basement to distract myself with the likes of TV shows such as Animaniacs, Abbot & Costello (when I said I studied comedy from an early age, I meant it) and somewhere along the way I discovered Night Court.  And, my world went from the dull sepia to the vibrancy of color.  

One can talk about the greatness of the show, although at the time under appreciated, the talent both onscreen and off, the writing, but for me it went to a deeper level. I was hooked, although most of the jokes went above my head, it mattered not to me.  Something in the story-line, the characters' connection, was very vivid and real to me.  As much as I have affection and admiration for the five other actors, the main focus of the connection was the lead, Harry Anderson.  His presence onscreen was delightfully humorous (even though I did not get all the jokes at that young age), but he also had this sweet sensitivity and warmth within his comedy that resonated with me.  (Also, his last name was the same as my family surname,  keep that relevancy in your mind.)

I was a lonely, sad child despite my many friends and rambling imagination.  My small school did not have a drama department or much to offer in the arena of the arts.  I had to go three cities over to take drama classes and voice lessons.  Worth it it was, but it did leave a big chasm in my social connections close at home.  My friends would marvel and laugh at me over my love of this show, but I cared not.  A friend and I came up with a special swim for this show.  That's right.  It was a version of the breast stroke whereas we pop our heads above water and say "Night", then under the water, up again with "Court" and onwards to the end and back.  I told you I was a comedy geek.  

Also, this was before the onset the Internet, I had to really hunt for information on Night Court.  These actors would not be found in the pages of Teenbeat or the like.  Imagine, Richard Moll, aka Bull Shannon, doing a sexy spread with screaming girls' drooling...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0y-7lcuFHDo

I think not.

Ultimately, I was a lonely, sad child, despite my many friends and siblings.  I didn't feel there was anyone that I could connect to, that could truly understand my creative and weird sense of humor.  And, that's a very lonely place to be.  With Night Court, I found six individuals who demonstrated characters who were unabashedly real in their wacky and weird lives.  I wanted Christine's hair-style.  Wait, let me clarify, you remember the shoulder length one with the bangs, yeah, that one.  That was so stylish and cute.  And, she was strong, sassy, smart, and beautiful.  She was exactly who I wanted to be then and when I grew up.  I watched in awe of the talents of John Larroquette and Harry Anderson.  I wanted to do what they were doing.  Well, I didn't want to lust over bimbo girls or make wacky practical jokes (well maybe the latter) but what I wanted was to act.  They inspired me to pursue my dream of acting.  And, during the close-up end scenes of Night Court, when Harry made a touching monologue of import, I listened and looked deeply at his caring, sympathetic eyes and longed for him to look at me with those eyes and to listen to me.  I was looking for a sympathetic, warm father figure.  I just wanted someone to listen.

As the years went by, I ventured into adulthood and the busyness of life, never truly forgetting Night Court.  In 2006, I was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 which set me on a journey to soul-searching recovery and healing.  I realize now that I have sought for years to fill the hole of caring "daddy" in various ways from my favorite high school teacher to a brief stint in a conservative Christian worldview.  Yes, I now see that whole experience in the mad mad church years was to fill that vacancy.  But, in truth, there was only one that filled that spot in my heart, that of Harry Anderson.  

The Shape Of You

As I got older, I always hoped to tell him just what he had meant to me.  How he helped, without knowing, a scared little girl feel safe and loved, if only for a half an hour each week.  

Then this week, I received a crushing blow.  He was gone.

Perhaps there is some lesson to be learned in his loss before the others.  Daddy's passed on, Lia, time to grow up.  Never forget the joy he brought, the magic he infused into your heart, carry it with you, but move forward.  So, this week as I read the twitter posts and such from his cast-members, those oh so familiar faces, as I scan photo after photo, religiously watch video after video on YouTube of Night Court and his other works all with a desire to connect with others feeling this lack, to find some solace as we all collectively unite in our grief and healing.  

Our Parting Words To Harry Anderson

These last three days I've taken long walks and spent some time in deep pondering.  I've let tears flow from a broken heart.  I've indulged in oreos as I fondly remembered my child-like self.  And, I've felt a message from Harry as I watched the videos left behind:

"Take Life Less Seriously."

I will.  We all will. Thank you, Harry, for sharing your magic, your light, and your love with us.  You were truly one of a kind.  

And, from my heart, thank you to Papa Harry and the entire cast of Night Court for filling a scared, little girl's heart with hope of a better life.  I am alive today, pursuing my art and acting career because of each of you.

The Story Of My Life

I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you

Anywhere, I would've followed you

Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I will swallow my pride

You're the one that I love

And I'm saying goodbye

(excerpt from "Say Something(I'm giving up on you)" by A Great Big World)

Cafe-Girl: A Novella

Deborah sat at the table in the restaurant surrounded by her best friend, Mari, across from her and her ex-boyfriend, Brent, who wouldn't leave her alone, by her side. They both bowed their heads and prayed before eating their nachos and cokes. Deborah closed her eyes and patiently waited for them to finish. Once they had opened their eyes, Mari looked straight across at them and asked in a straightforward, inquisitive fashion all her own,

“Are you guys gonna get married?”

At once, Deborah answered “No” while Brent answered “Yes.” There was a long awkward pause as Brent glared over at Deborah who cowered into her coca-cola. Mari looked back and forth between them, apologetically and a bit ashamed for bringing it up. The rest of the meal was spent in silence as they hurriedly ate their meal, unsure of what to say. Off and on, Brent would question her whether she had started up a relationship with that 'coffee boy', the non-christian sinner who worked at the coffee shop she was now frequenting. Deborah again and again said no, which was true, but denied even liking him, even as she reached into her purse and felt over and over to make sure her cell-phone was on and turned up so she could hear any incoming calls. It had been a whole day since she had given him her phone number but that seemed like an eternity to her. Notably, more out of embarrassment and shyness than any kind of flirtatious ploy, she had not ventured down to the coffee shop that day.

They finished their meal and made their way to her car, where Mari piled in the backseat and Brent in the passenger seat. Deborah drove Mari back to her house in the outskirts of town. Brent berated her all the way, about her spiritual walk with Jesus (what?), her duty to him after three years of relationship (even though she had broken it off last summer), and questioned her repeatedly whether she liked this coffee boy (she continuously denied even as she pined for Matt's phone call).

At Mari's house, they quickly hurried back to her bedroom, saying a quick hello to Mari's room-mate and her children. Mari asked Brent for a massage, and as she laid on the bed, he climbed on top of her to comply, Brent continuing his barrage of insults towards Deborah in hopes she would comply to his wishes of marriage.

When the massage had ended, Deborah's phone rang. She looked down and recognized the unknown caller from earlier that day. Her heart quickened, could it in fact be him? If so, she'd have to ask him why he didn't...Brent tried to snatch the phone from her hand, she held it firm.

“Is that him?” he spat out.

“Uh, no, no,” she responded quickly.

“Let me talk to him,” came Mari's insistent comment, seemingly from far off. Deborah shook her hand and demanded, “no,” sticking her phone deep down in her pocket.

“Let's get you home, Brent,” was all she said and Mari ushered them out the door.

They parked on the hill down the street from Brent's house. The dark of the night emptied itself around her car, shrouded them in secrecy.

“Please, Deborah, tell me,” he insisted in his best seductive whisper. “Do you like him?”

Deborah shook her head, tears springing to her eyes, fighting them back.

“Do you still love me?” he wanted to know again. Deborah stared straight ahead, not sure of how to answer. “Please answer me,” he insisted.

“I need to get home,” was all she could say. “Early day tomorrow.”

“You are going to call him back, aren't you?” Brent demanded.

“I don't know, Brent, I don't know, okay?” was all she could say, hoping he would get out of the car and leave so she could at last be done with him.

“Well, what are you doing tomorrow?” Brent wanted to know, a tinge of hope springing in his heart.

“What?” Deborah seemed confused and then, “Oh, I don't know...”

“You said you had an early day tomorrow,” Brent started. “You going down to the cafe?”

“Oh, no, I, uh, um, have stuff to do around the house, before work next week,” came Deborah's fumbled reply.

“Yeah, okay,” Brent said, grabbing the door handle. “I'll call you.”

He opened the door and let it slam behind him, moving up the steep hill to his house. Deborah started the engine and let the car drift down the hill, slowly making her way home, breathing a sigh of relief. She'd avoided that catastrophe at least for tonight.

At her house, she walked quietly into the back bedroom she rented from the couple upstairs. Sitting on her bed, she pulled out her phone and kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs up on her bed, she pressed “call back” on the number that had called a few hours earlier.

“Hello?” came the familiar warm and friendly voice of her cute coffee boy.

“Hi,” Deborah said, a smile on her face and in her voice.

“Oh, hello there,” he breathed a smile of his own. “How are you?”

“Doing well, yourself?” she really wanted to know.

“All right,” he said. “Doing better now.”

Deborah smiled into the phone. She propped up a pillow, and flipped on the lamp by her bed, then got up and turned off the overhead light in the room. Pressing the phone against the ear, she simultaneously pulled her pants off, letting them fall to the floor and asked,

“So what did you do today?”

“Had to work a double shift,” came Matthew's reply. “Barbara called in sick.”

“Barbara?”

“The girl that works at the cafe,” Matthew explained. “The only one left besides me, although I think Randy is thinking of re-hiring Thomas, at least part time.”

“Thomas?”

“One of my friends, hangs out with me at the cafe, used to work there before me,” Matthew explained. “Sorry about all the confusion and Randy is the owner.”

“Oh I see,” Deborah was thinking. “Is Thomas the one that always wears a tie or...?”

“Yeah,” Matthew laughed. “Except he doesn't ALWAYS wear a tie, only for work. But nice description, I'll tell him you said that.”

They both laughed.

“So tell me about your other, um, friends,” Deborah continued the conversation.

“From the cafe?” Matthew wanted clarification and confirmation.

“Yeah, them,” was all Deborah confirmed.

“Well, there is Shaggy, knew him in high school, James, who I just met, and Ray, and you know Thomas,” Matthew began. “That's pretty much the regulars although there are a few more that come by from time to time.”

“Okay, so which is which?” Deborah asked. “And Shaggy?”

Matthew laughed and began to explain.

“Yeah, Shaggy is the one that looks like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo,” Matthew said. “When you come in tomorrow, you'll notice him, can't miss him. Crazy hippie conspiracy theorist probably at the computer!”

“Oh, so I'm coming in tomorrow, huh?” Deborah teased.

“Well, I hope so,” Matthew admitted.

“Okay then,” Deborah agreed. “So, then there is, um, Ray, and, um, James and they are--”

“Okay, James is the one that always wears all black and Ray is, well, Ray is the other one,” Matthew explained.

“Okay, I got it, I think,” Deborah said. “So, I've got another question for you.”

“So many questions!”

“Sorry,” Deborah relented.

“No, its okay, I just have a few for you, that's all,” Matthew explained. “Go ahead.”

“I got this phone call yesterday after I left the cafe, from an unknown number, but I think it was yours,” Deborah awkwardly began.

“Yeah, you know, I saw a number had been dialed out from my phone,” Matthew quickly interjected. “I don't know what that was about, I mean, maybe it was a butt dial or maybe one of my friends was playing a practical joke or something. Sorry about that.”

“Its okay,” Deborah. “It was just a little weird, I guess.”

“Yea, sorry,” Matthew apologized again.

“Don't worry about it, its fine,” she said again. “So, what are your questions? What do you want to know?”

“Um, let's see I know you just graduated college, so you are one of those transplant types,” Matthew began and then awkwardly sputtered out, “You seeing anyone?”

“Well, not right now, I'm alone in my room,” Deborah joked. Then, she explained, “Not anymore, I was but we broke up last summer. It's totally over.”

And, that was all the information she would give to him about Brent. He didn't need to know anything more about Brent, as far as Deborah was concerned, no matter what Brent wanted or thought, they were over.

“Yeah, okay, good,” Matthew was relieved. “So, where are you from?”

“Well, I grew up in California but I don't like to admit that,” Deborah laughed into the phone. Matthew joined her. The joke around town was how much the townies and the locals hated Californians, the yuppies that moved into the town and took over completely.

“Well, I won't hold it against you,” Matthew reassured her.

“But you will hold yourself against me,” Deborah inwardly cringed at her forwardness and Matthew laughed,

“If you insist,” he smiled into the phone. “So, you coming into the coffee shop tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do that, what time?”

“Well, I'm not working tomorrow,” he began. “So, I thought we could meet and then go for a walk or something, maybe.”

“I'd like that,” Deborah said excitedly.

“How about we meet around 10:30?” he asked hopefully.

“Sounds perfect,” she agreed.

The Story of My Life

Begin/End

As I look back over my life, I'm amazed that my life has been a constant stream of beginnings and endings, death of the old and the dawn of the new life, as it were.  From entering preschool to the day I graduated high school or college, to the day I walked into Calvary Chapel, to the time I walked out of Calvary Chapel, my wedding day and that fateful day I received my final divorce papers, and on and on it goes.

A particular crushing beginning and ending is the moment I was officially diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.   Looking back at myself during that time,  it felt more like the end of it all rather than any sort of beginning.  The end of my career, the end of so many friendships, the end of my sense of self, and almost the end of my life; however today I realize it was, in fact, the dawn of a new sense of self.

A nearby Jewish temple has a "tree of life" stained glass window at the front of their sanctuary.  During the times that I have gone to this temple, for whatever reason, I always find myself transfixed by this image.  The Tree of Life is a design similar to a DNA strand, the bottom part being the beginning and the top part the final resolution.  It's the middle part that really fascinates me.  The middle part being the times of our lives when we struggle to persevere, work our way through hard times, and once we find our way out, find that by working through all of it, our new lives, our real selves, emerge.

The Climb

Today there is a new trend called the "semicolon" movement.  This thrills me completely.  The thought that this ; can signify a person's need to take a break for their mental health is a victory in my eyes.  For I have long sense seen myself as one who goes before, a role model as it were to future generations.  During my time of struggling with my mental illness, there was no such thing as the 'semicolon' movement.   My friends and I who were diagnosed and struggling during that time had to deal with the disapproval of family, friends, and society for having to pause from life.  In addition to dealing with debilitating depression, the rapid mood swings, the suicidal ideation, and sometimes the high highs, we had to face the societal stigma of mental illness.

So, what did we do? We fought.  We stood up and were open and honest with ourselves and the world around at us.  We did it for our own health, our own happiness, and our own futures.  We fought against the backlash of stigma.  And, in the end, we stand victorious with those struggling now showing that they too can overcome.  We stand as beacons of hope, those who have gone through it and survived, and even more so, are thriving.

So, the endings in my life are not always that.  They are also beginnings.

The Story of My Life

Cafe-Girl: A Story of Coffee, Sex, Cigarettes & True Love

The Story of My Life

ACT I

Scene 1

Act One, Scene One Blank stage, with platform where cafe was. Deborah enters from stage right and walks around platform. She pulls book out of backpack, begins reading and walking around platform, deep in thought.

Deborah:

((reading) )

The light wraps you in its mortal flame. Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way against the old propellers of the twilight that revolves around you.

Speechless, my friend, alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead and filled with the lives of fire, pure heir of the ruined day.

A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment. The great roots of night grow suddenly from your soul, and the things that hide in you come out again so that a blue and palled people your newly born, takes nourishment.

Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold: rise, lead and possess a creation so rich in life that its flowers perish and it is full of sadness.

(James entering from stage left, as if walking by, then suddenly stops to notice. He stares for a few minutes, waiting until she finishes)

James:

Kind of shocking, isn't it?

Deborah:

(turning)

James?

James:

(crossing to her upstage)

Yeah. How are you?

Deborah:

Good. Just got back into town.

James:

For a visit?

Deborah:

No, no. For good, this time. Maybe. You?

James:

Not sure. On my way through, maybe I'll stay.

Deborah:

What have you been up to, all these years? What has it been, six years?

James:

Yeah, I think so. Just...traveling.

Deborah:

Oh? Where to?

James:

Here and there.

(Deborah wanders around a bit.)

Got sick.

Deborah:

Oh yeah?

James:

Yeah, I had hookworm.

(Deborah stops and looks at him, suddenly.)

Yeah, then caught pneumonia, almost died.

Deborah:

(crossing to him)

Oh my god. You okay?

James:

Healing, you know. Its like Shaggy used to say, you remember?

Deborah:

Yeah, yeah I do.  Never give up the fight!  How is he by the way?

James:

I don't know, haven't seen him in awhile...

Deborah:

(turning to him)

I knew something was wrong, with you. I could feel it, I remember.

James:

Really?

Deborah:

I could feel you, when you were faraway, suddenly I'd, like, wake up from a dead sleep. We are connected, you know, cut from the same cloth, someone once said.

James:

That's right.

Deborah:

Not like I had a choice, really.

James:

So, you seeing anybody?

Deborah:

Not at the moment, no.

(looks around)

What are they going to put up here anyway?

James:

I heard some restaurant. I wonder what the restaurant next door thinks about that. Like we need another restaurant in this town.

Deborah:

Everyone needs to eat.

(after a moment)

So, you single?

James:

Yes, at present.

(They look at each other.)

Deborah:

Good. I mean, oh.

James:

Oh?

Deborah:

I didn't know what to say.

James:

I know, I get it.

Deborah:

You know, back in my home-town, it wasn't all that nice for me. I got sick too, I went through sort of a mental breakdown. Bipolar, they call me now.

James:

Sorry to hear that. I thought I had that, maybe I do. A lot of my friends have it, to some degree.

Deborah:

What do you do for it?

James:

For bipolar? Not sure if I do, but I wouldn't take any of those "pharmaceuticals!"

Deborah:

Why not? I do...

James:

Oh.

Deborah:

Oh?

James:

There are other ways, alternate ways.

Deborah:

Alternate ways?

James:

Medical marijuana. I believe in that.

Deborah:

Well, I don't know.

James:

Ever tried it.

Deborah:

Not in a very long time. Why do you think that works for you--

James:

Not think, know. And, have seen it with my friends. And, have seen documented evidence of how it helps people with bipolar and other such "issues."  And, what those "pharmaceuticals" really do to a person!

Deborah:

Oh.

James:

Oh?

Deborah:

Yeah, oh. I didn't know what to say.

James:

You see, the government, they give us these types of medicines to control us, to afflict our bodies with these chemicals, in order to bring upon our destruction. To dull our senses so we can't understand when they rise to power and take over--

Deborah:

You sound like Shaggy now!

James:

Well, maybe he was right.

Deborah:

Oh.

James:

Don't know what to say, huh?

Deborah:

Yeah, I guess. I just don't know what to think.

James:

We can talk about this more, if you'd like. Want to go somewhere?

Deborah:

Sure. Where are you staying?

James:

Um...with friends.

Deborah:

Oh.

James:

Keep saying that and your mouth will get stuck. Maybe good for me, that position.

Deborah:

What?

James:

Come on, let's go.

(Lights fade)