I'm Still Here

I wonder at what rate this cursor ticks. Is it once per second? I watch the beat as it metronomes me, telling me that the majority of my page is white.

Blank. Blink. Blank.

I had the words earlier today. Before now. Now is later than then.
Here is what I want to say. You decide if it applies to you. We have all the time in the world.

Blink.

The last two years were not easy ones for me. Some of you are more aware of this than others. The last year was less easy for some of you than others. “Less easy” is a soft way of saying it was hard. Hard may be too soft. For some of us, last year was brutal.

Blinking again.

I’m still here.

There were times that I wasn’t sure if I would be. It wasn’t that I looked all the way to December 31, 2011 and thought, “I wonder what I’ll be doing on that day.” I didn’t think about the future a whole lot at the beginning of this year. I was so deep in a rut that I didn’t even know there was a road, let alone a road leading to any where or when. I was stuck, I knew I was stuck and I was overwhelmingly uncomfortable. I DID know that I wanted to somehow get moving again.

I climbed, I reached, I was pulled, and I got a leg up. I followed the voices and laughter, the murmurs of encouragement pressed into me along with hugs at arrivals and partings of friends I’d long ignored. I moved out of the rut in a hundred different ways, but I’m out.

I think what happened was…I blinked. I stopped staring at my surroundings which had grown familiar and blurry and I looked at them in a different way. I decided to move into light, to seek help when I desperately needed it. I’m still moving toward that which feels as if it’s good for me and away from that which doesn’t seem to be doing a whole lot of anything for me. If it dulls my senses or makes me sad, it’s not for me.

Blink. Blank.

There is still space on this page, still something I want to say.

For those who face challenges this year, next year, the next, and on…

Know that I’m here. I value our relationships and I appreciate the help you’ve given me along the way. Know that I will feel valued if you choose to ask me for help. If I can point you toward an expert, I will. If all you need is to unload, go for it. I’m first-rate at setting boundaries, so I’ll protect myself and won’t let anything get out of hand. It all goes back to how I got out of my rut.

The thing is, we are all so very strong and I would never deny our incredible capabilities as individuals. We are also deserving of encouragement and the occasional assist.


Happy New Year with Much Love and Affection,


Michelle

Bound for Broadway?

I got an end of the year bonus today - sort of. I was able to leave the office at noon. Bonus! I’m also off work Monday so I’m excited to have three and a half days off work. Wish I’d known about this afternoon before this morning. With advance notice I think I might have been headed to the airport instead of the grocery store. Ah well, never look a gift horse blah, blah, blah, right? I was able to cruise the aisles and stock up on some fun foods for the weekend without battling the late day crowds. I’m now ready to make black eye peas and also bought some shrimp and plenty of fresh produce. I’m all set for a healthy and yummy New Year’s weekend.

Just back from New Orleans and Las Vegas, I’m thinking about my next getaway. Last year I said I’d go to New York City and I didn’t. Why? New job, no real oomph. Those reasons are as good and as bad as any. This year I want to do it. I want to: walk, shop, dine, shoot (my camera), and see (A show. Two? Three?). No particular order to the list. I want to stay in a fantastic hotel room and share cocktails with friends and/or strangers in fairly dark venues with lovely music.

As far as entertainment goes, today I watched a documentary called “Show Business: The Road to Broadway”. It’s from 2007. It follows four new musicals from prior to their Broadway openings to the Tony Awards. The shows are: “Wicked”, “Taboo”, “Avenue Q”, and “Caroline, or Change”. The film was a good way for me to spend a little time unwinding (while working a jigsaw puzzle – guilty pleasure).

I vaguely remember the controversy around Rosie O’Donnell funding and overseeing production aspects of Boy George’s “Taboo”. Although I wouldn’t likely be interested in seeing that particular show, it made me a little sad to see the energy invested in what seemed to be a doomed endeavor from the start. I can't imagine seeing "Avenue Q". I can barely handle the Muppet ad that comes on at the movie theatres. Blech. "Caroline, or Change" seemed to be something I would have liked - in a burn through half a box of Kleenex way.

Now to what gets me going: as the documentary opened, my interest was sparked (ignited?) at the possibility of seeing and hearing Idina Menzel in the role of Elphaba. I’ve seen “Wicked” here in Houston and love, Love, LOVE the play. I wish I’d seen it on Broadway with Menzel. I recently watched “Rent” on DVD with the cast that closed the show. Same thing, wish I’d seen it with Menzel as Maureen.

That’s what this piece is about. I wish to go to New York and see the play (or plays) I want to see. I don’t want to say, “Sure wish I’d seen that in New York like I wanted instead of waiting for the touring production."

So I’m going to start researching. So far “Memphis” is topping my list. Suggestions are welcome. Whether or not I’ll heed them is another issue entirely.



©Michelle Scofield, December 30, 2011 All Rights Reserved

Pass(i)on

Spoiler alert. I’m going to write about a movie. I’m not going to get too deep into the plot but I’m going to discuss it a little so stop reading now if you don’t like that sort of thing. If you don’t like that sort of thing, you better stop reading my writing for the next year because I’m planning on weaving a whole lot of talk about cinema, theatre, visual art, photography, music, and whatever other art I can get my brain around onto these pages. Consider yourself warned and please, PLEASE, play along. Comment, write, tweet, text, participate. I’m on a mission to increase my worldscape.

As I often do, I spent yesterday evening at the movie theatre. I was expecting a light comedy. “Young Adult” with Charlize Theron turned out to be darker than I was hoping for. As the story unfolded, I found myself pulled pack to high school, to a mirror I kept in my locker, to a steamy shower room after gym class, to my own bathroom mirror, to any reflective surface I came across in the mid-1970’s. Back then I was seeking a blonde bombshell, Farrah, Christie. I found Michelle, brunette, freckled, NotBlonde. I yearned to be NotMe.

The film was uncomfortable for my fifty-one year old self. I suppose I haven’t stepped as far from my sixteen year old self as I’d like to believe.

The trailers had me believing that Theron’s character would leave the big city, go back to her hometown and reconnect with her now-famous first love. Hilarity would follow, brought on by her acerbic, slightly bitchy antics. Hilarious wouldn’t be my word for it. Pathetic is closer. Theron does pathetic like few others can. Remember “Monster”? Dial that back, put it in a fetching package and you’ve got “Young Adult”.

So, to passion. My New Year’s Resolution is to look past my own (passions) and to learn from others’. I came home from the movie and Google’d the actress. Reading about the Charlize Theron Africa Outreach Project, I’m impressed at the way this celebrity is using her notoriety to push for change. She’s always seemed very glamorous to me - red carpet, Oscar, etc, etc. Working against HIV/AIDs strikes me as the opposite of glamorous. It strikes me as work.

What it comes down to is this. I plunk down my money to be removed from reality for a couple of hours. I make the assumption that the beautiful men and women who’ve been hired to play roles in the films love what they do. Why? Because I NEED them to love it. I’m paying my hard-earned cash for them to entertain me. But if I let it play out just a little further…perhaps I’m actually part of what they need to do. Maybe my cash helps them move toward living their passion? (I can dream.) Perhaps we can all play a part in each others’ passions if we are brave enough and smart enough to step out and do what we are meant to do.

Blessings on you, Ms. Theron, for doing what you’re doing. Who knows how long you will, but I can see now that the acting is a job that you happen to do very well. The work you’re doing, that’s entirely different. There are really no words to describe it.





©Michelle Scofield, December 29, 2011 All Rights Reserved

Attachments

I'm having trouble sleeping. Again. Or is it still? I'm not sure. I wake several times each night, pulling myself out of the current that's pulled me from the dayshore and attempting to stand on the shifting sand of Subconscious. My body aches in the morning, worn down and out from the effort to sink back onto an imagined and longed-for sea of Tranquility. I seem to have it all backwards. I am fighting to relax.

I've become tenacious about my tension. It defines me. I love my yoga classes. I love the power vinyasa flow classes better than the gentle hatha classes. This tells me I should probably take more hatha classes. It's more difficult for me to sit in my stillness than to keep moving. I will do better but if I don't I guess I'll need to be okay with that. I'm smiling as I write this. I'll try. I will.

I saw my doctor yesterday about my blood pressure. It's still a little higher than we'd both like it to be but it's coming down. I expressed my frustration about not being able to run very far because of this old foot injury. Every time I increase my mileage, the pain flares up. Her advice was nothing short of sage. "Don't do that."

I was so active prior to this and I am unbelievably hard on myself.

"Don't do that."

I like this doctor. I haven't opened up to a medical provider in this way for a very long time. She had some good ideas and spent time with me, getting to know me. I know how hard that can be and it's appreciated.

As I was walking out the door today I realized my keys felt a little light. I'd detached all the keycards when I went for a walk last night. I retrieved them from the dining room table and snapped the apparatus back together. Looking at the keychain I realized the letters are beginning to fade. Dad gave it to me so I could hand my carkeys to valets and not give them my housekeys. He always wanted me to be safe. Now I have a seperate key for my car, but I think I'll always keep this keychain. It reminds me of him, even though some of the memories are beginning to fade - just a little.

Lately I've been realizing just how much of my social life was tied up in my father. We were travel companions. We were very good friends - I didn't know father and daughter could be such close friends. I talked with him on the phone every Sunday morning and often one or two times additionally during the week.

I feel a strong need to move on - to let go of old attachments that may very well be holding me back. I also want to strengthen my existing attachments and add new ones. It's there for me. It's up to me to decide what to do with it.

For now:

My favorite place is Grand Cayman. I can recall the sound of the waves when I close my eyes. Tonight my bed will be a raft and I will drift away on waves remembering the greens and blues of the ocean. I will stay as long as I stay and then I will allow myself to return when I am able. For now.

Location, Location, Location

Some of you may remember this trip when I met a couple and reassured them about their son who would be coming to Houston for evaluation of a tumor about which I happened to know quite a bit. I was able to provide information about The Big Medical Center, The Very Big Cancer Hospital, and even The Big Department (where I worked) they would be visiting. I let them know that he would be in capable hands then we all went on our way and I enjoyed the rest of an extremely memorable vacation.

I was in the right place at the right time.

Yesterday I met Mr. and Mrs. Idaho. I was at a local Farmers' Market and they sat down next to me on a curb to take a breather and watch people - same as me. He was wearing a John Deere hat. My homesickness swelled. They asked me if I lived close. I told them I did and then I asked about them.

They are in the area so Mrs. Idaho can be treated for a cancer, specifically with radiation therapy - something I know a little about. Mrs. Idaho is a patient at the Very Big Cancer Hospital that used to be my Employer. I left there when the physical stress of operating hour-upon-hour each day got to be more than I wanted to handle. I now work for a different Very Big Hospital, a direct competitor.

So here's the deal.

I was able to give Mr. and Mrs. Idaho a little bit of reassurance that they were (indeed) in the right place getting the right treatment. I let them know that I was proud to work at the Very Big Cancer Hospital when I was there, that it employed some of the best doctors in the world. I lessened some of their hesitation about the doctors that were from places that weren't Idaho, Kansas, or Texas or anywhere else in the United States. I told them that I've worked with residents and fellows from all over the world and I'm comfortable with these brilliant minds who leave their families for a little while (or longer) to work at the Very Big Cancer Hospital.

I also told Mr. and Mrs. Idaho about some of the other things they can do in Houston area for free - besides the Farmers' Market in my neighborhood. I told them about The Menil and about free Thursdays at the Museum of Fine Arts.

I hope Mr. and Mrs. Idaho went to sleep in their hotel last night knowing that this Kansas transplant cares about them. I think they did. I hope tomorrow is just a little easier for them, with a little less stress and worry over things over which they have so little control.

Today I pulled my bright pink Physician Assistant T-shirt out of the closet and wore it to get coffee, then to a movie, and to dinner. I used to tell myself I didn't want to talk about medicine when I wasn't at work so I didn't want to "advertise" my profession. I'm starting to realize it's not about the medicine at all and I really need to stop worrying over things over which I have so little control. If I'm supposed to talk to someone, I'll know it.

Reset, Review

Yesterday I stuck a foreign body in my eye and raked it across my cornea. Just like that. I knew the moment I did it that it could be trouble. It was one of those moments like watching a glass fall from your hands or running through a stop sign in full view of a police car. I couldn't take it back. I was in a hurry and applying eyeliner. I swooshed the pencil across the place where my lid should be except my lid wasn't closed - it was open.

Crap.

I blinked, blinked, and blinked some more. I pulled out a magnifying mirror and attempted to see what I knew I'd never see without stain and someone else's eyes. I went on with my day. I more or less forgot about it except for a little mild irritation and a couple sneezes in the afternoon. Then I got in my car to drive into Houston for an art opening. It was dark and I was facing oncoming headlights and I had a telltale halo effect.

Well, this wasn't good.

I stayed out a couple hours and headed home.

When my eyes aren't feeling good I experience fatigue. I arrived home around 9:30, feeling like I'd read about a hundred pages of a difficult book but still without any scleral signs: no redness or discharge. My goal was to get to bed as soon as possible. My phone rang and I reluctantly answered. I'd been expecting this phone call.

Could I see clear to ignore the last few days of noncommunication? A difficult situation had come up and he didn't really know how to handle it but it had nothing to do with me. Maybe we could just pick up where he had dropped us off?

Suddenly I saw the red (flags).

My fatigue became overwhelming enough to prompt me to end the phone call and the day. Wishing him a healthy, happy life I bade him goodnight and goodbye.

My pillow felt cool and welcoming as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

This morning I awoke to the relief of the realization that I'm still young enough to heal pretty darned fast. My eye is fine and my sight seems to be normal.

Here's looking at you.

If Only Life Were a Magic Show...Yeah, I know.

In light of the events of last week, the most recent Houdini is only a puff of smoke. Still, it never hurts to go back over life's lessons. Abracadabra! May you all have a wonderful weekend.


How to Handle a Houdini(originally published March, 2008)


"He pulled a Houdini."

It's a phrase that's batted about dating circles with disdain and disgust. Everyone seems to hate The Houdini. He's the man who shows fairly intense interest, perhaps takes a woman out on several dates and then, poof! He's gone leaving her behind in a cloud of bewilderment and confusion. There is no white dove, no rabbit, no Siberian tiger on a platform to wow his audience. He leaves behind an empty stage and a theater so silent you can almost hear the digits change on her cell phone LCD time display as she checks it once again from the third row back. The soft green glow lights her face as she hits "messages"...just in case. Nothing.

Harry Houdini (3/24/1874 - 10/31/1926) was a master illusionist. He was an escape artist. He didn't really disappear, although some wondered if he might have had the power to do so, given the sheer audacity and difficulty of his illusions and stunts. His profession required incredible physical and mental training, practice, and precise timing. The Dating Houdini doesn't really deserve the title, because disappearing from a dating situation isn't nearly as grand - when compared to what Houdini accomplished. Houdini had to work at what he did. He had to struggle, sweat, and at times risk his life. Most dating escape artists simply stop showing up. That's pretty easy in comparison.

The offender (the escape artist) can also be female. Nothing is to say that a Houdini has to be a male. There are two basic ways to handle being Houdini'd. I promise the first option is the most attractive to future suitors who might be paying attention to your behavior, but feel free to attempt option two. My guess is that if you're reading this and you have any inkling that option two has merit, my words will effect you in the same way a false cut would a shuffle.

Option One: Move on after taking a very brief personal inventory. How's your grooming, mood, manners, general presentation? I want this inventory to be ultra-brief. This is most likely, almost certainly, I can almost promise you, not about you! There, there, isn't that better? Forget about it. Take a walk, ride your bike, go to the movie, call a friend. Oh, and leave the booze and ice cream out of this. They have no part in it.

Option Two: Call him or her. Texting is good, too. Email? Why not? Perhaps write a poem, odes are nice. Do you know any of his friends? Perhaps know where she works? You getting my drift? You can investigate, make sure, make really, really, really sure that nothing happened to him. He COULD be in a ditch somewhere, bleeding a steady, marching stream of blood cells out of a gash in his groin. Oh my God! If only he could. just. reach. his. cell. phone!

Now that you've considered your options, I'd like to cover one more point, the followup. There may be a time when you encounter your Houdini out in public. I suggest you smile, nod and keep on walking. That's what you would do with any stranger, is it not? Resist the urge to take up with the escape artist again.

I'm going to let you in on a little bit of personal history here. I rarely give out my own dating dirt, because I think it can be tacky, but this little resurrection of my own personal Houdini happened on Halloween, the anniversary of the Great One's death, so I think it's fitting. I hadn't heard from Mr. Man since he disappeared seven months earlier. Suddenly he's standing next to me at a party. He's talking to me and he seems quite interested. This was all quite surreal. I nodded, smiled and told him it was nice to see him. I couldn't very well have not talked at that point. No...I didn't hook up with him. I truly believe all that was attracting him was my stockings, or corset, or maybe it was the handcuffs. Remember, it was Halloween, and he is an escape artist, after all.



©Michelle Scofield, September 16, 2011 All Rights Reserved