Back In The Saddle

Just to stay in the spirit of the blog, I'll begin by mentioning that Yinny Yin Yin is back in the habit of inhabiting my desk chair. I tried the dry food in the dish trick, but she didn't fall for it. So I'm back on the back-killing bench. Some juggler I am!

It has been decades since I've done any real theatre. Sure, I've built set pieces for theatrical productions, but in a huge shop with twenty other non-theatrical things going on at the same time. I went to two little theatre shops today, where the stuff I build will be set up behind actors who will be rehearsing while I work. One is for The Legend of Sleepy Hollow at Albuquerque Little Theatre, and the other for The Secret Garden for Musical Theatre Southwest. I'm excited to do theatre again.

To top it off, Carmen and I talked it over today, and I'm auditioning for Secret Garden on Saturday. There is a part for a gruff but cute old gardener who sings in my range. It doesn't get any better than that. So I'll be working on scenery and (possibly) acting in the same show. I haven't done that since the early nineties, and not in a real theatre since the mid-eighties. Having something productive to do is wonderful enough. But OOOHHH how I've missed doing theatre!

From 1980 to 87 I was immersed in it. I was working on scenery and rehearsing two parts in Damn Yankees when I met Carmen in 1986. Twenty three years later, I'm doing it again. If I get the part. How can I miss? I'm a gruff but cute old guy who sings in my range!

Bustin' Out

For years I have been working in a business (there's no business like it) which features totally unpredictable hours and days. There was no way I could commit to anything like a theatrical production. I could have volunteered to help build scenery for a show, but who wants to build scenery all day and then build more scenery during precious time off?

For two months now I've had my name and interest in volunteering my scenic production skills on file with two groups here in Albuquerque. After the apparent fall-through of the only two jobs I've interviewed for, I sent emails to both groups asking what was up with that. Rule number one in volunteer organizations: if someone volunteers you don't leave them hanging, even if hangin's too good for 'em. And then, on Craig's List, there was a call for people who like to sing Broadway songs to audition for upcoming "paid" gigs in Broadway revues at various venues around town. I answered that on Sunday afternoon.

Everybody responded. I did a preliminary phone audition for consideration for a real audition some time during the next couple of weeks. Within seconds after that, both theatre groups invited me to come check out their facilities in preparation for both groups building sets for their next shows. It never rains but it pours.

My next ray of hope came from an ad for a Facilities Tech/Groundskeeper at the New Mexico School For The Blind. It just so happens I was Facilities Tech for the house we lived in in Watertown, Massachusetts, owned and occupied by the Volunteer Coordinator for Perkins School For The Blind. Mike said he'll give me a rating of 17 out of 10 when they call him. So I'm guessing I'll be a busy busy boy soon, even if I don't get the Facilities job. That's a very good thing. One more week of slogging through the dozens of online job search sites, and I'd be slinging this fancy-dancy computer into the Rio Grande.

Sunday Morning

Carmen left at 8:00 this morning. She's doing church stuff until 2:00, stopping at the grocery store, and coming home about 3:00. I don't envy her.

I have a long-standing tradition on Sunday mornings. Since my rejection of religion 42 years ago, there has been a vaguely melancholy hole in my life around this time of the week. Susan Werner sang about it in her song "Sunday Mornings" on The Gospel Truth album. I have long spent this time musing on the meaning of things, when the opportunity has presented itself. Like today.

After cleaning the kitchen and the litter box area within an inch of their lives and sweeping the back patio, checking email and catching up on Facebook, I couldn't wait to navigate here to muse 'out loud' to my faithful followers- all four of you.

I was a devoted Unitarian Universalist atheist for about ten years. It was an opportunity to share with a (mostly) caring and open minded community. I put together some of the more popular lay-led church services, delivered passionate god-free sermons, sang in the choir and used some of my vast array of talents in service to said community. I enjoyed it, mostly. But I have one fatal flaw that eventually caught up with me, even there: humans make me crazy.

It comes as a shock to me every time I see on my Facebook profile that I have, as of today, 49 friends. Who, me? I have friends in Vero Beach, St. Augustine and Orlando, Florida. A few are in Maryland, land of my birth. I have a bunch in New England and one in New Zealand. A new one- someone I've never met but who reads this fascinating crapola- added herself to my list today. She lives in New Jersey. How did this happen?

Possibly this next piece of information helps: I have none in Albuquerque other than Carmen. I'm pretty sure that before we leave I will have added one or two here- maybe more. Even if I never find a job here, I plan to get active in the large local theatre scene as a volunteer. I have already sort of connected with a couple of Background Actors. But it seems to be distance that keeps the fires burning. I am an introvert to the nth degree, which surprises people who know me by my wild and crazy persona at work or my love of performing in front of audiences. I get a big rush out of entertaining, but my sanity, such as it is, comes from solitude.

So therein lies the paradox. I need people in my life. I even enjoy being around many of you in small groups. But I need to be alone even more. So come and be my friend- then go away!

Keeping My Eye On The Ball

I guess I can be pretty sure now that the job I really REALLY wanted, Facilities Service Tech in the Biology Department at UNM, has gone to some younger, more Facilities savvy person. There were probably hundreds of applications for it- I know that the job was posted nearly everywhere Albuquerque jobs are posted, which are a lot of places- and I should be proud to have made it as far as the interview. I am. But pride doesn't pay the rent.

Working one day a month as an extra on TV shows doesn't pay the rent either. Some groceries maybe. And now I can't work on Crash or Breaking Bad for a long while, because they don't want to use the same people over and over.

Even Marshalls, who called me in for an interview two weeks ago for a possible part time merchandise restocking gig hasn't called me back. That doesn't disappoint me.

So Thursday, when I was going around the circuit of movie/TV casting websites updating my acting resume, I came across a production company I'd never heard of: Chiliwood Productions, based in Albuquerque. I emailed them for information, sent them a scenery-building resume, and cooked them up a wacky acting resume and sent that. I don't know if anything will come of it, but they are wacky guys and I think I'd enjoy working with them.

The lesson here for me is that there is always another layer to peel back when I think I've reached the bottom of the possibilities for employment. I tried to keep that in mind yesterday, when I was trying to narrow a job search on Helpwanted.com, and the imbedded search engine took me to...Helpwanted.com. Keep looking, keep expanding my parameters. Something will come along.

Busy Week

I was recently directed to someone's blog site to read his fascinating postings. It is my fervent hope that my entries are way more entertaining than his. Perhaps this is a vain wish.

Since my last writing, I have had what I consider to be an interesting week. Monday and Tuesday were spent on Turtle Watch and Phone Monitoring, hoping to see Buckbeak and Fluffy on the back patio, and hoping for a call from UNM inviting me to begin working in the Biology Department. Also, Tuesday afternoon I was supposed to get a call from Crash 2 Casting about my Wednesday gig as a background actor. I was only halfway disappointed. Bucky came out both days as soon as it warmed up out there. Crash 2 called at 7:25 Tuesday evening.

I had been seeing casting notices on Craig's List for a while. There were two main categories: homeless people and millionaires. I was hoping to be advised as to which end of the wardrobe spectrum to prepare myself for. By 8:00 the night before, I finally knew that I was to be a millionaire. An hour after that, I knew to be at the Albuquerque Hilton at 2:00pm. Plenty of time to put together three millionaire wardrobe choices and haul them to the Hilton. Too bad they didn't get some footage of one of their millionaires arriving on the bus.

Wednesday went as expected, after my Breaking Bad experience. Lots and lots of waiting. There were 43 of us itinerant millionaires hanging out at the Hilton, shooting the breeze, eating the free junk food, waiting to be called into the ballroom where the scenes were being shot. I took a picture of Dennis Hopper with my phone. If you look closely, you can almost tell that the grey blob in the picture is a human-like shape. Shooting actually started around 6:00. There were five or six scenes, each shot from different directions, with a half hour or so between set-ups. We were finished at 1:30am, and I called for a cab home.

Remus Lupin was sympathetic to my sleep deprivation dillemma. He let me sleep until 6:15- almost four hours of sleep. He's a good boy.

Yesterday, after my daily job search regimen and Facebook catch-up, I looked out back. There was Fluffy, her first appearance since Sunday. Buckbeak didn't come out.

Carmen left work around 2:15. We went to the New Mexico State Fair for a couple of hours, and then finally had our anniversary dinner at Zea's, our favorite restaurant in Albuquerque.

Today it's back to job search, Facebook and Cat Juggling. It's a fascinating life...I hope.

Turtleversary

Everyone knows, I think, that 23 years is the Turtle Anniversary. If not, it is now. A nice lady at Carmen's church brought us two box turtles- a full-grown male we named Buckbeak, and a cute little female we named Fluffy. They are living outside as I write, scouting the perimeter of the walled-in back yard for a way out. Bucky has at least three times stormed the gate near the front of the house, but the cat juggler he's dealing with had put up a (I hope) turtle proof barrier. Fluffy is trying the other side of the yard.

We were told they will eat the snails that "run" rampant all over the patio and surrounding plantings. Bucky actually saw and went over to sniff one, scaring it to death, but he didn't eat it. They are both too freaked out to eat yet.

Remus J. Lupin has watched them from the safety of the living room, very curious, but he doesn't really seem interested in going out to meet them. He's a chickenshit boy. So now I have two turtles to juggle. I trust that this new task will prove as rewarding as cat juggling. And I'm pretty sure Buckbeak and Fluffy won't be getting me out of bed at 4:00 in the morning.

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

It was 1986. She was twenty three, I was thirty three. We had both seen and heard about each other for months. We actually met while working on the scenery, designed by my dad, for the Vero Beach Theatre Guild production of Damn Yankees. She had already become friends with my dad while I was rehearsing my two roles in the "men-intensive" baseball musical comedy.

I was an actor who worked on scenery, a rare bird in theatre. She was in charge of the scene shifts- there were seventeen of them- and I was the only actor certified on scene shifting. We fell in love backstage. Six months later we were married. My promise to her: the road will get bumpy, but life with me will never be boring." I believe I've kept that promise.

Our first adventure was moving to St. Cloud, Florida, starting fresh in a new place. I started working in show business, and she invented a new kind of law firm. We joined the Unitarian Universalist church in Orlando, where I became a rising star in the choir, in church plays, designing and building wacky party decor, and doing a dozen or so highly entertaining Sunday services. She was backstage, subconsciously working on a coup.

Today, after four years of seminary in Massachusetts, she's onstage in Albuquerque, and I'm backstage, pack-muling, photographing, researching, printing, publishing, fabricating in support of her role as a rising star in the Unitarian Universalist Association.

We have both had many great moments on our respective stages over the past twenty three years. Everything we do we do together in some way- support, reflection, allowing space. I wouldn't trade a minute of our fascinating journey together.

Albuquerque Critters

This is a different world from the places we've inhabited in the past. The climate is wonderful, but I've covered that. The big difference I want to tell about now is the critters. Our first night here, I went outside to experience the cool dryness of a desert night. I wasn't disappointed. But the bestest bestest thing- No mosquitoes! No biting bugs of any description.

Day two brought us our first critter problem: ants. The cat food dishes were full of them. Big black ones. Although they provided some limited entertainment for the kids, a certain female human member of the household was not amused. Luckily, in one of the utility room cabinets, there was a selection of three styles of ant bait left by the previous tenants. So this was not a new problem. They helped. A lot. Also, we soon discovered, there was a small cadre of spiders living here, feasting on the ant population. We decided to share our space with them. Then one day suddenly the kitchen counters were infested with tiny brown ants. The baits that worked so well for the black ones did nothing. So I tried the liquid bait. BAM! Gone in a day. Another morning I discovered a twelve-foot trail of little browns in the living room, feasting on a dropped pecan piece on the carpet. Liquid bait. BAM!

Crickets don't last long inside. Remus Lupin has made it his job to be our cricket monitor, leaving me only the job of removing the carcasses after he's done playing with them. I do so cheerfully.

Out on the back patio there is a largeish population of snails. Carmen was telling a parishioner about this, and was advised to get turtles. They love to eat snails. So today we are scheduled to hook up with a congregant who has a turtle overload. Hopefully, today, our twenty third anniversary, we are going to become turtle jugglers!

Back To Cats

It has been a while since I wrote about cats. Last night Carmen reminded me of one of the most intensive cat juggling episodes of my career- a three-week car trip from Massachusetts to Albuquerque.

After the huge ordeal of packing two sixteen foot PODS, dispersing the rest of our crap, cleaning the apartment and cramming the car brim full of easily accessible stuff, it was time to load up the kitties. Luckily, my cat juggler's eye had noticed when spelunker Remus J. Lupin snuck into the end of a rolled up area rug. I was able to magically produce him when Carmen asked where he was hiding. Poor Yin was out of places to hide. We packed them into their carriers, packed the carriers into the car, and off we went. The date was June 24th, 2009, four years and two hours after Carmen's arrival in Massachusetts.

For the first hour on the road, we heard the constant whining of two cats: "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" Not for three weeks, kids. We bought gas in Sturbridge, before jumping on Interstate 84 toward Scranton. When we were ready to go again, I grabbed Remus from his carrier and sat in the car with him. He dove for the floorboard and stayed there. Carmen then handed Yin to me, and Carmen got in the driver's side. This system seemed to work. The whining stopped, and all I had to do was prevent Yin from meandering over Carmen's way while she was driving- a cat juggling trick if ever there was one.

We spent the night in Scranton. This is where we learned that we needed to use those extra motel pillows for the purpose of sealing the gap under the bed between the bed base and the wall, where both kitties immediately scurried.

We settled into a routine on our second day. Pack them in their carriers until lunch time; let them out in the front seats while we ate lunch, with the litter box and some water on the floor on my side; pack away the litter and hit the road for the long afternoon. A cat juggling extravaganza in busy, noisy parking lots with two ultra-hinky kitties.

After three days on the road, we were ready for a week in Georgia with my parents. We were able to let the kids explore the cabin, and renew their relationship with Mr. Butter. But by the time they got over the shell shock of the road trip it was time to pack them up again.

It was the fourth of July when we spent the night in Biloxi. Not only were there amateur fireworks around the motel, there was a horrendously violent hours-long thunder storm that knocked out the power for several hours. All four of us were miserable.

Then there were four days in Crosby, Texas with Carmen's family. Cat jugglers they are not. Cat jugglers don't leave doors ajar. Cat jugglers are ready to block cats when they open doors. Cat jugglers don't keep caged birds in accessible locations. I was a busy boy, trying to keep the kids fed, scooped, out of harm's way and away from the caged birds. It was a long four days.

The next two days on the road were surprisingly uneventful, considering we had a pink-haired, cell-phone-texting thirteen-year-old girl riding with us. The worst of it was Oklahoma City, where we hit rush hour traffic, the temperature was 105 degrees, our hotel reservationist gave us bad directions, and the room on the third floor never did cool down. The best thing about Oklahoma City was when we got on Interstate 40 westbound the next morning, and the GPS said "drive 435 miles and exit right." We did.

We were many days in Albuquerque before the kitties settled down. But settle down they did, and I'm back to just routing juggling. Whew!

Busy Busy Busy

So two things happened yesterday. We opened a checking account, and I applied for one of the strangest job descriptions ever.

First the checking account. You have to have proof of residence to do that. Carmen wanted to wait until she got her driver's license. Fourth time's the charm. The first MVD trip was when we were told we didn't have the correct documents to prove residency. The second time I got my license, but she saw it was a temporary license while one waits for the real one in the mail. She needed a real ID the next day, so she kept her Massachusetts license. The third time she was told that they couldn't accept her Social Security card because she laminated it about thirty years ago. So yesterday she went to the SS office and got an acceptable document, and then she went to the MVD for a driver's license, then we got a checking account- two months and one day after arriving here. Yay.

Now the job. Exhibit Technician, the ad said. Someone who can help us build and install computer-based multi touch tables and custom exhibit installations. Someone with fabrication shop skills, electric skills and some experience with computers. Someone with strong organizational skills to help manage our tools, equipment and small shop space. Additionally... detail oriented, strong verbal and written communication skills, experience with Word and other Office software, basic drafting and design skills, familiarity with CAD, experience working with optical equipment, an understanding of the Windows operating system, a basic understanding of networking and components, programming skills, experience in museums, and an engineering or physics background.

If they don't hire me, I want to meet the person they hire. I figure I've got about 80 percent of what they're asking for. The other twenty usually don't come with a person who operates the saws, routers and drills. I've never met anyone who measures up to what they are looking for, but if I did, I bet they wouldn't want to work for the pay these guys are offering. I would- it's good pay for what I do. But a physics background? I mean I understand the basics of physics, but not to claim as education or experience.

If nothing else, I want to meet these people, just to see if they're as nutty as they sound.

Blank

Ah, the intimidation of the blank page. What to write today? I owe my followers- all three of you- a new posting.

The kitties have been cute, of course, that's their primary function. How much cuteness can we stand? Remus caught a leaf this morning- not much there. Yinny Yin Yin still wouldn't come outside. Nothing new. They got me up at 4:40. Big whoop.

I've applied for about seven jobs since Wednesday. Things seem to be picking up in the post-summer carpentry market, but there are at least 82 other guys after every one I apply for. Persistence is the key, I guess- once those 82 guys are working it will be my turn. Right?

I'm up to 43 friends on Facebook- Who'd-a-thunk-it? Not me, I'm flabberghasted. The strangest thing, though, is that many of these friends don't seem to be open to extra-Facebook communication. Maybe "friends" is a bit too strong of a term for our Facebook connections.

So life goes on here on the high desert. Maybe something worth writing about will happen today.

All Hail!

Remus J. Lupin was sitting at the back screen door, longing to go out this afternoon. The skies were blue with a few puffy clouds; the back patio was bathed in sunshine, balmy breezes blew. Then suddenly the dark clouds rolled in, and there was a clap of thunder. Big Bad Kitty was under the bed in a flash. Seconds later the rain started. Seconds after that, hail began hammering the skylights- my first New Mexico hail storm. BBK stayed under the bed.

I watched the hail stones, the size of peas, bouncing off the driveway and street. It was a cloudburst of Orlandoan proportions. Then it stopped, the sun came out, and less than two hours after it started, the world was dry again. It's almost chilly out this evening. I like New Mexico weather. Remus is not so sure.

Just Cuz

Through a convoluted series of events, including the fabrication of a Facebook account for my dad (who couldn't give a crap about Facebook) I emailed a couple of pictures to my cousin Evelyn, the family historian. She said that she was glad she was sitting down when my email appeared in her inbox. Why? Because the last time I ever had any contact with her was probably in the mid-sixties, during one of the family reunions where everyone sat in a circle in somebody's living room and talked. I was maybe twelve or thirteen at the time, all of my cousins were years older than me, and those reunions were enough to drive me nuts-- short drive, I know.

I've sometimes wondered at myself and my relations with my family. I used to hang out with a family in Maryland that I felt closer to than most of my own. They were a tightly knit bunch, and I was glad to be around them. I was best man at Michael's wedding, an usher for one of his sisters' wedding, and chauffeur for the other. When Michael died, I was a pall bearer. Carmen and I were seated at the family table at the luncheon after the funeral, and had Thanksgiving dinner with them the next day. I've never been that close to my own family, other than my parents. When my brother died I went to the funeral home and picked up the box with his ashes in it, and it's stored in my parents' attic. Touching.

I can name all of my aunts and uncles, I even think I can name all of my cousins. But I haven't seen any cousins since the early seventies, and the Delaware branch of the family- I have only the vaguest recollection.

My Uncle Jim was my favorite, and my dad's best buddy growing up. I saw him more than all of the rest put together, and he didn't provide any cousins.

So Cousin Evelyn, I can only say that somehow the importance of family escaped me, either by nature or nurture. I can easily believe I will go to my college (I don't get a grave- I'm donated to medical study) without seeing any of you again. How sad is that?

Soup's On!

It was just about eight years ago that the soup began to bubble. The meat had been there since early in her life, hanging out with her grandfather- who showed her the unsung wonders of the natural world- and her grandmother- who shared with her the joy of community service; the church services she attended in Arkansas, where the hellraisers and opressors of her small town spoke loudly of the pious life they would never actually live.

The vegetables were selected, washed and sliced as she found the satisfaction of stage managing high school theatre productions, and later, the hard work of keeping a law firm on an even keel. She encountered a man who had quit religion at fourteen and set out on a journey toward understanding the universe without the drama of gods, heaven or hell, and who believed that her journey was at least as important as his or anybody else's. We became a formidable team.

The fire was lit as they joined the First Unitarian Church of Orlando, finding a large group of humans who understood and cared about their journeys. That first sound of singing in the pot was heard when the Worship Associates program was begun, and she was learning the magic of turning an idea into a one-hour worship experience for a room full of people she cared about. Then there was Leadership School, General Assembly, and then working in the Florida District Office. Her Professional Organizing business, she came to understand, was ministry without the credentials. She wanted the credentials. Bubble bubble, toil and trouble.

She spent two years mopping up the remaining credits and requirements of a Bachelor's Degree, then four years ago began the joyful hard work of earning a Master of Divinity degree. We lived in Massachusetts for four years, she graduated with honors in May, and now we're in Albuquerque, with her name in lights on the corner of Commanche and Carlisle.

She still has to face the Ministerial Fellowship Committee in December. If all goes well there, she can begin her search for a congregation lo lead and follow- cats to herd. Good thing she's married to a world class cat juggler.

A Night On The Town!

Carmen had to work last night, so she brought me the car and her debit card and rode away with her boss. This was my big chance, the break I had been waiting for!. I jumped into the car and fired 'er up.

First stop: Jo Ann Fabrics. Nothing says wild and crazy like a trip to Jo Ann. And yes, I found what I was looking for- twist pins. Our bed skirt just wouldn't stay on without them. And just to assert my independence, I threw in a pack of chewing gum!

Next stop: Wal Mart for peanut butter, coffee filters, toothpaste, eye drops and (don't tell Carmen) a bag of tortilla chips! Then on to Smith's for groceries: fish, chicken, ground beef, veggies, all those guilty pleasures. What a night! I didn't get home until 7:05- late for kitty feeding time. And don't think they didn't know it.

Big Bad Kitty Triumphs!

We went out back again this morning, Prof. Lupin and I. He wanders through the foliage back there, nosing around, looking for the unfortunate cricket that happens to wind up in his clutches. This morning, however, he scared up and vanquished a new kind of prey.

He came strutting out of the plantings, tail held high, head erect- and something in his mouth. Yes, my boy ReLu, Mighty Hunter, Big Bad Kitty had chased down and captured a snail!

It Ain't Boston

There are many things to like about Albuquerque. The scenery is breathtaking. The climate is much more comfortable in summer than Orlando or Boston. The streets are well marked, unlike Boston, and the intersections are easily navigable, WAY unlike Boston- where an intersection nearly always includes six or seven ways to turn, none of them marked- but today I decided to try out Albuquerque buses.

As some of you know, when we moved to Boston four years ago, I sold my vehicle. Parking in Boston sucks. Driving in Boston sucks. I spent four years living and working in and around Boston using only public transportation. I heard many people there complaining about the MBTA, and I had my share of snafus during those four years. But at least I could get where I was going. I walked quite a bit, but I like to walk. I rarely walked more than a half mile at a stretch. I enjoyed it, and I wasn't shy about saying so.

Today I rode two buses from the First Unitarian Church, about four miles away, and I got home in two hours. I walked a mile and a half. Because, from 10:00am until 3:00pm, the #2 bus doesn't run the full route. Instead of getting off at Ventura and Freedom Way, I had to get off at Layton and Academy. I guess I should have known. The #2 only runs once an hour middays. I don't even want to think how long it might take on weekends. If I ever find a job out here, I might have to buy a vehicle. Is it worth it? Hmmm.

Happy Birthday!

Not since the last century have I known the birthday of one of my cats. I guessed that Yin and Yang were born around Tax Day 1999. Mr. Peanut Butter was probably around Thanksgiving 1995. Harvie was the only one I ever knew, and I've forgotten. I think it was in March, 1980. But Remus J. Lupin was definitely born Labor Day, September 1st, 2003. He's celebrating by sleeping in my desk chair. Yin isn't as keen about this extravaganza as ReLu is. She's sleeping on the bed right behind the chair and wearing her Grumpy Face.

So this and the next entry are written from the uncomfortable little bench. Like a cheap hairpiece, it's a small price toupee for this gala celebration. Happy birthday, Professor!