No fooling!

Happy April Fools’ Day!

There aren’t really any miracles surrounding April Fools’ Day.

Unless, of course, you count the miracle that I’ve never really been the victim of a big April Fools’ hoax. I’ve never really been able to pull one off, either—except for that one election year where I managed, for about five minutes, to have my mom convinced that my crazy uncle had decided to run for Congress.

The only reason that was plausible is that he was just crazy enough to do it.

He’s passed on now, but he was an entertaining character—for those of us who didn’t have to live with him or be responsible for him in any way. And he gave me the great gift of verisimilitude in my first play where I managed to build a pretty good character out of some of his sayings and doings. It was a bit of a miracle the moment I realized that Uncle Vance had wandered into the pages of the script.

Truly, I suppose much of my family might think it appropriate that Uncle Vance should come to mind on this day. Certainly, he devoted much of his life to activities most people would consider foolish.

For instance, he was soon parted from pretty much any money he ever had.

On the other hand, he seemed to enjoy himself and to get by without working very hard. And, when he wasn’t threatening to throw you into the swamp with the alligators—just to hear you scream as he carried you thither—he’d do anything he could for you.

I think the miracle of April Fools’ Day might be to remind us all that the world doesn’t come to an end if you do something foolish. After all, the only way to get the life you want is to risk being thought a fool—and to actually be one, now and then

A double miracle

New glass. No lizards!

Two for the price of one today.

I have new window glass!

When we bought the Casa, we had four windows that were either fully or partially fogged. That’s when the seal gets broken, whatever inert gas that was inside the double panes leaks out and condensation and dirt leaks in. You can’t see out of the windows, and you can’t get them clean.

Right after we moved in, we had a visit from a company called Miracle Windows. They have a great product, seemingly. Windows you can jump up and down on without breaking them. Built in screens.

There were only three problems.

One, their opening estimate was $50,000 to replace all the windows in the house. The fact that, in the same breath, they came down to $25,000 didn’t really inspire me with a desire to hire them.

Two, they lied. They told us that we could not get replacement windows the full size of our picture windows because this is now against code. And, they told us that we couldn’t get the bronze color frames we have because this, too, is against code. I see new construction all over town with bigger windows and bronze frames. I haven’t checked the code, but I am fairly confident that they lied.

Three, they didn’t mention that they were going to have to cut the coquina stucco to replace the windows or that somebody was going to have to repair and replace that. I know that adds an additional $250 minimum to the cost per window.

So, that was the end of Miracle Windows. I’m not the sucker born in the minute they needed.

Having had the glass alone replaced in our NYC co-op apartment after the building next door burnt down several years ago and the glass cracked from the heat, we knew that it is possible to replace only the glass and not the entire window.

We began collecting estimates for that, and—golly! I think this post is a triple miracle!—the whole job, all four windows (six if you count the upper and lower sections), came in well under $1,000.

I call a savings of $49,000 a miracle, don’t you?

So, Glass Doctor of Jacksonville came out on Friday. Three hours later, I can sit in my desk chair and see the creek. The front window looks like somebody could accidentally walk through it. It’s so clean it’s practically invisible. I now need curtains or a shade or something for the laundry room window, and upstairs in the Easter Egg Room, the view is clear!

That’s miracle number two.

The third and final miracle?

Those intrepid lizards never once even attempted to take advantage of the big holes in the house occasioned by the removal of the windows. As far as I can tell—and believe me, I was on lizard patrol—none of them came into the house.

Yay!

Mighty proud…

…to have spare beds

Samuel Pepys wrote in his famous diary, “Mighty proud I am that I am able to have a spare bed for my friends.”

I know how he felt.

When we lived in NYC, it was nice to have visitors and to have a sofa bed and a spare bathroom. With sleeping bags and air mattresses, we could sleep a few more.

Here, at Casa Lagarto, we could likely house a small regiment if a number of them didn’t mind sleeping on the floor. Of normal people, expecting a modicum of comfort and privacy, I believe we could take in five, assuming two couples and one single.

Of course, the various rooms are in various states of finalization—by which I mean they all have walls and doors and lights and air—but evidence of being decorated according to some plan varies.

Miraculously, however, there is one guest room that is “finished.” (Well, maybe not completely. I expect it could use a picture or two on the walls.)

And this is a good thing because the second miracle is my niece is coming south to spend spring break.

She will be with her grandmother most of the time (grandparents having a pesky prior claim), but I expect and look forward to her coming here for a night or two. (Woohoo!)

It does make me feel old to find that the toddler who used to ask for help with the toy box via a loudly voiced, “uh-oh” will now be expecting to drive my car. On the other hand, the conversation is better.

And we will have a reason to go on excursions to places we would be otherwise too lazy to visit. (I only ever went to Ellis Island or the Empire State Building in the company of out of town visitors in NYC.)

So, the upcoming visit is a triple-header of miracles: An available guest room, a beloved niece, and adventures in store.

What could be better?

A strange and wondrous place

The universe, that is.

My play has had the most amazing life for a first play.

Readings at prestigious theatres, nominations, awards.

Participation by fabulous actors, not least of which is Linda Hamilton, whose extraordinary generosity was only exceeded by her stunning performance.

All kinds of miraculous serendipity and synchronicity on the long journey from page to stage.

It has been a long journey, indeed. Geographically, for sure—NYC, New Jersey, Virginia, California, Maine. Professionally as well—so many smart people sharing their expertise and their advice. Personally—maybe personally, most of all, as I’ve had to challenge myself to master new skills, to be more assertive, to stand up for myself and others.

I’ve learned so much along the way. Did a few things right and several things wrong. Had a fabulous adventure, and the play hasn’t even been produced.

Yet.

And that’s the miracle today.

I have signed a contract.

At long last, Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us, will be getting a production!

The specific time slot hasn’t been set, yet, but at some point before the end of 2014, you can see my work at New Jersey Rep.

I’m so looking forward to the opportunity to see the play on its feet. Costumes, props, a set! Maybe I’ll get to tinker with the script, make it better.

And what’s even more of a miracle is that maybe I will finally be able to turn my attention to writing another one. (Although, you know, I’ve never been sure how I came to write this one—so we’ll see. No promises.)

I’m just going to take a short break from worrying about all of it and enjoy the newest part of the ongoing miracle.

I’m getting a production!

But, first, I’m getting some cake.

Priorities, you know.

What’s a celebration without cake?

Abundance

Even when you can’t tell.

Here’s an interesting little fact. Interesting to me, anyway. Maybe not so interesting to you. But this whole blogging process is a challenge. (That’s not the interesting part. It’s not even an unexpected part.)

One of the things that has helped me keep it going this long is the little bit of structure I’ve set up. If you follow the blog, you know we have a different general theme for each day of the week: Smith Sundays, Monday Miracles, Tuesday Tips, etc.

I can’t tell you how much easier that makes it to come up with a specific subject for each post! It totally supports the idea that you need to have a few rules and regulations in order to be creative. Inspiration needs a few boundaries, or it just escapes into the ether.

The interesting thing to me has been the discovery that certain themes are harder to keep cranking out than others. I try to keep a little ahead of blog posts. Just in case I want to take a day off. Somebody might want to fly me to Paris for lunch, you know. (Well, you may not know. I do. That’s not gonna happen, and I’d rather go to Rome, anyway.) Or there might be a hurricane that knocks out all power for a week. (That could easily happen.)

So, I’ve got a few posts lined up in advance.

It’s easy to keep ahead of Smith Sundays. Nobody will ever run out of Smiths. There’s always something to wonder about on Wednesdays, and Friday Finds—there’s a lot of good stuff to share. Books, music, interesting websites. Not usually a problem to find something. Tuesday Tips are a little harder, but they usually pop up.

The hardest days, sometimes, are Mondays and Thursdays. The “happy” days. (Saturdays aren’t so easy either, but silliness is a special case.)

In the beginning, the Monday and Thursday posts were relatively easy to turn out. As time has passed, however, it begins to seem harder and harder to find a miracle or something for which to be thankful. Which is odd to me, because I have been and (knock wood) continue to be pretty lucky in my life. Many good things have happened, continue to happen and I am thankful for all of them.

It seems, however, that there is a miracle even in the difficulty. When the miracles start to run into each other, and I have trouble picking one out, it might be that I am unobservant. But I prefer to think that I am living in such abundance that it’s just that the whole thing is a miracle.

The trick is to remember it.

Minor miracles

Are sometimes the best

I have a new notebook (the old-fashioned kind—with paper) today. And a newly filled fountain pen. The possibilities are endless.

It doesn’t seem like much, does it? But this is the notebook and pen I will use for Morning Pages for many weeks to come. Having a new one means a) I’ve filled the old one—proof of adherence to a habit I’ve come to value and b) a renewed commitment to it.

Of course, I’ve always loved new notebooks and pens since long before Morning Pages. The best thing about a new school year was the new supplies. Notebooks, pencil boxes, a lunch box. (I’m thinking I may shop for a lunch box again. I’ve nowhere to go that requires me to pack a lunch, but maybe a nice lunch box would prompt me to think ahead about a decent meal every day. Maybe.)

I do love computers, but a notebook and a pen are slightly more versatile. You can take a notebook out on a boat, for instance. It will function without electric cords, adapters or batteries. They come smaller and lighter than cell phones, even, the better to scribble notes on the go.

I like my notebooks to be of the non-fancy type. Don’t get me wrong. I dearly love to look at the leather bound beauties in the stationery store or the ones with ornate cloth covers. It’s just that I am intimidated by the artistry of the binding. Surely a notebook of this type, I think, must be reserved for thoughts of the highest order. Consequently, I never have any thoughts at all when faced with such an exquisite holder for them.

I did once see something that might have given me the best of both worlds, but I didn’t buy it in time, and they don’t carry it anymore. It was a leather cover for the old-fashioned composition books. You know the kind. You can get them for $1 now. This cover was removable. You could have the pleasure of a leather-clad notebook, but it could be replaced when full.

Self-indulgence without waste.

If I ever see it again, I’m buying it without hesitation.

Meantime, I have a new notebook!

Lifelong learning

Or, you know, for however long you want.

One of the things we forget when we’re using our computers and phones to tweet and facebook and skype and look at lolcats and YouTube videos is what an incredible educational resource we have now.

Just last week, somebody shared a link to 650 Free Online Courses, and I got a little ambitious.

Right now, I’m taking a course in Computer Science and Programming from MIT, Astronomy from Penn State, Shakespeare from UC Berkeley, Real Estate Finance from Columbia, Marketing from Texas A&M and Chinese from Cambridge—and I don’t have to leave my living room. I don’t even have to leave my pajamas.

Granted, I’m not going to get course credit or a diploma from any of this, but I’m going to learn some things. There’s another 600 plus courses to go when I finish these. And that’s not even counting the online resources of software tutorials, websites on how to crochet or knit or play guitar or lay brick. Plus, you can find DIY info on almost anything you need. (I once saved $150 bucks by repairing a DVD recorder myself with the help of an online forum, a $15 soldering iron, and $5 worth of capacitors. I was amazed the thing didn’t blow up! But it worked for another five years, and I’m going to try to repair it again as soon as I figure out which capacitors have blown this time.)

My point here is that there’s a miracle here. Maybe not quite the full sum of human knowledge, but an awful lot of it is available 24 hours a day. A little initiative, a little discipline, and you could design yourself the most amazing Independent Studies curriculum in all of history.

We are rapidly approaching the point, if we haven’t already passed it, when we have absolutely no excuses for not stretching our brains and our skills. Our worlds are bigger than they have ever been.

Have a ball!

Producing without pain

Or money

Producing, in the theatre, is a risky business. Most shows never recoup their investment, so losing money is a very real possibility. We still have producers, though, because it is also possible to make a lot of money. They say (I’m not sure who “they” is), ‘You can’t make a living in the theatre, but you can make a killing.’ So, there’s that. A high stakes gamble.

But, mostly, we still have producers, because it’s a lot of fun. A challenge.

I like almost everything about producing except for the part about raising money. Which, unfortunately, is probably about 90% of the job. In the course of trying to get my play, Angels and Ministers of Grace Defend Us, off the ground, I got involved in an organization called Theatre Resources Unlimited. TRU is devoted to helping producers learn to be better producers. I found their seminars and readings and boot camps to be enormously helpful.

I wouldn’t mind being a producer.

Except for that part about the pesky money.

So, it is a miracle that I get to do a lot of producer-type things with Round Robin Shakespeare. Finding a space, making sure that all the needed materials are on hand (needed to acquire a few copies of The Collected Works, remember?), doing the PR. I don’t have to cast it or find a director or get a set built, and I’m not heading toward opening night and make-or-break reviews, but it’s a really good way to start small.

Playwrights are always their own first producers. Nobody will back your script like you will, nobody knows it better. We have to learn those skills, much as some of us might want to be left alone to write.

You can do that. Got a room? Got a pencil? A little piece of paper? You’re good. But if you want anybody to see it, there’s going to be at least a little marketing involved.

Learning all I can about that can only help me.

So, here I am, with this other kind of “production.” The library as “co-producer,” gets us a free space. Choosing Shakespeare gets us royalty-free material. Choosing a round-robin format spares us rehearsal costs in time and money. But the organizing and preparing and publicizing?

That’s producing.

And I get to do it. And I don’t have to ask anyone for money.

And that’s a miracle.

Brush up your Shakespeare

Start quoting him now*

I am very happy to announce the launch of Round Robin Shakespeare!

We’re going to embark on Thursday, March 21st, on a 3 year mission to read the entire canon of Shakespeare’s plays aloud. All of them!

This is a community project, open to anyone in the area, organized by me (!) in association with the Clay County Public Library. I am especially pleased to be doing this with the Library because my grandmother was the very first employee of the Clay County Library system. She put the first books on the first shelves, and she worked there for decades. I rode the bookmobile with her when I was seven.

I never thought I would be living here in the area of my grandparents’ farm—I was only a summer visitor throughout my life until now—and I certainly never thought I’d be working with the library. It does almost seem like fate, however.

Anyway, I think this is going to be fun!

I have a lot of work to do. Press releases, reaching out to local high schools and community theatres, maybe senior centers. I’m thinking a notice on Craigslist and maybe a Meetup. Certainly, I need to set up a Facebook page. If you’ve got any other suggestions for getting the word out, perhaps you could post a comment.

I have faith that this will go well once I get over the initial announcement hurdle. It may start small, but I think there will be enough interest to keep us going until we make it through all 38 plays. (Some people say 37, but I intend to be large-minded and inclusive about this.) The big hurdle will be getting folks out to the first meeting. I really hope I don’t have to do a solo rendition of Henry VI. For everybody’s sake, we’ll hope a future Monday Miracle post reports massive attendance for Part 1 of Henry and Round Robin Shakespeare!

* Cole Porter, Kiss Me Kate

See Brush Up Your Shakespeare in concert: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJIpp2Jj8AQ

He looks like me.

And that’s why last Monday was a miracle.

Last Monday, President Barack Obama was sworn in for a second term. For some, this was a hoped-for event. Others were not so pleased. Most of us, however, might be able to understand and agree that, regardless of our political opinions, there is a miracle here.

The miracle lies in a picture that one mother posted to CNN in response for their requests for photographs of viewers watching the inauguration.

The picture was not of an adult all bundled up on the mall surrounded by thousands of enthusiastic, cheering supporters.

It was a picture of a little 5-year-old boy in a t-shirt in front of a television. He was watching the official, constitutionally-mandated swearing in on the day before the big outdoor ceremony—when President Obama took the oath of office indoors in a semi-private ceremony. As the President raised his right hand, so did the little boy, and the mother’s camera caught that moment.

She asked him why he had his hand up, and he said, “Because the President looks like me!”

It reminds me of an episode of The West Wing in which Jimmy Smits as Matt Santos, the first Latino candidate for President, counters Josh’s warning not to mortgage his house for campaign funds with a story. He tells him that when he’d first gotten out of the Marines, he had applied for a Pentagon job but was having trouble with the background check. The FBI agents couldn’t find anybody in his old neighborhood who knew him. He went back to Texas, and a bunch of the neighbor kids came running up to him.

“Tio Matt, Tio Matt! The Feds. They were here lookin’ for you. We told ’em we never heard of you.”

He tells Josh, with great determination, “I am running for President in that Texas primary, and those kids are gonna see me do that.”

Life often imitates art.

Elected once, it could have been a fluke, a reaction to what is widely perceived as the abysmal Presidency of George W. Bush.

Elected twice? Those kids have seen him do that.

And that may be the biggest and best legacy of any modern President.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Tag Archives: Monday Miracles