Love Rain O'er Me

I'm listening to the sound of rain outside my bedroom window tonight. In a little while I will be lulled to sleep by its song. I love to fall asleep listening to the rain. The sound is so soothing. It quiets my brain as I drift off, allowing me to focus on the patterns I hear, rather than the traffic of my day.

One night last fall, I slipped out the door and went outside in the rain. I walked around feeling the water on my face. My family, warmly tucked inside the dry house, had no idea I'd left. I walked down our driveway and looked back at our house with its windows lit up and I smiled. The phrase "she doesn't know enough to come in out of the rain" came to mind. But there is something magical about being out in the rain. And let's face it, there's little sexier than being kissed in the rain. Musicians sing of rain repeatedly. We all know of the romance and the power it contains.

When I learned years back of the spelling of The Who song "Love Reign O'er Me" I have to say I was a little disappointed. But once I listened to the lyrics of the song, all was forgiven.


Only love
Can make it rain
The way the beach is kissed by the sea
Only love
Can make it rain
Like the sweat of lovers
Laying in the fields.

Love, Reign o'er me
Love, Reign o'er me, rain on me

Only love
Can bring the rain
That makes you yearn to the sky
Only love
Can bring the rain
That falls like tears from on high

Love Reign O'er me

On the dry and dusty road
The nights we spend apart alone
I need to get back home to cool cool rain
I can't sleep and I lay and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Oh God, I need a drink of cool cool rain

The Interrupted Service

I love a good power outage every once in a while. Unless it goes on for too long, making the house cold or causing worry for the contents of the refrigerator or freezer, having that quiet stillness overtake the usual routine brings a welcome pause. In my neighborhood, outages are more common than they ever were when I lived elsewhere. I do not remember having too many in my hometown for example nor do I remember them being a frequent occurrence at college or in my apartments.

When we lose power during the day the televisions go silent and the internet connection halts. Prepping a meal means no use of the oven and entertaining ourselves is redirected. The kids and I grab a few candles if dusk is quickly approaching. If we lose power after dark, we use our electronic devices as flashlights until we can get the candles lit. But the outage always brings us together.

Thursday night we did not lose power but after I went to bed I realized that the blog site where I post daily was in “read only” mode. I would not be able to post my writing for the day. This would not be a big deal to most folks but it was of particular interest to me. For 135 days I had posted to my blog and now, despite having one ready to go, I could not follow through with it. A few months back I had driven a couple of miles to post on my blog when our internet was down at my house. This time it would not have mattered where I was in the world--the site wasn’t operating and no travel anywhere was going to change that. After blogging for over 19 weeks in a row, I realized I would be ending my streak and strangely enough, I was okay with it.

It felt like a power outage. It was out of my control and despite the strange stillness that came over me, I felt relief. I already had a post written for the day so it was not that I was given a furlough day from my self-imposed challenge to write, but instead a wrench was thrown into my overall plan to post on the blog site each day until I "cried uncle" myself. I liked being reminded that I only have so much control over my goals, posting, writing, or otherwise. It's not always up to me. Well of course it's not! That's cool. Very cool.

The site was restored Friday afternoon and once again, I was able to post. I added the writing I’d done the day before and I smiled as I saw the one “missing day” in an otherwise perfect line of posts. I questioned whether that now meant I should take a day off from writing or whether I wanted to post a second time on the same day. Hmmm. I shrugged and decided not to decide until later. I took a fabulous nap, watched a movie with my family, and headed to bed at a decent hour. And then I found myself reaching for my laptop. I wanted to write.

Taking the moment when things were out of my control to stop and regroup, to find a candle or two to light so as not to stumble later, has brought a welcomed stillness over me. Posting to the blog is fun but it's not what this is about for me. The interruption in the blogging site's service wasn't an inconvenience; it was a good reminder that this creative outlet is not a contest. It is not a test for me at all. I love writing. That's all.

All the World's a Stage

It's not only fun to step out of oneself and into another persona, it's educational and life affirming too. As I think I have noted before, I have been an actress since the first grade. Over the course of my life on stage I have become a number of different things and/or people. I've been a run-away pancake, the Queen of Hearts, Cinderella's evil Stepmother, a snobby rich lady, an affable talk show hostess, Tolkien's Thorin, King of the Dwarves, Marion the Librarian, Mrs. Petronella VanDaan, Dolly Levi, Neil Simon's Karen Nash, an elderly woman, an opera singing witch, Thornton Wilder's Mrs. Webb, Ado Annie, Maria Von Trapp, Lady Larkin, Charles' Dickens' Nancy, The Wicked Witch of the West, Rosalie, a back up singer, and a Victorian housekeeper.

These different roles allowed me the chance to try on different faces, costumes, and scenarios. I had the opportunity to change my speech and to think in different ways. I find myself recalling a particular play or character from time to time. Each one made an impact upon me as I grew from childhood into adulthood.

Today I found myself thinking of my high school production of “The Diary of Anne Frank”. That particular play, the most serious play I'd ever been involved in, affected me greatly. In the role of holocaust victim Mrs. Petronella Van Daan, I went to the secret annex, protected by the Frank family who shared the space. Petronella's spirit was broken when she had to give up her fur coat so as to pay for necessities to be brought in from the outside. The final scene in the play when the Nazis find the group's hiding space is especially haunting and as an actress, it was the scene that made me want to pursue acting beyond the high school drama club.

I have only one life, but in my hobby of theater I have been able to live other lives. I have been able to “try on” the experiences of people very different from myself. I have experienced this to some degree in my reading, creative writing, and viewing of films too but an added dimension of stepping into another's shoes is present on the stage. It's something that I cannot get enough of. I find performing music also allows me a certain transformation into other time periods and experiences, but on a smaller, more limited scale.

My past experiences with acting have given me greater insight and understanding of differences. Not all of my characters have been admirable people but their individual challenges or struggles are worthy of respect. Each has strengthened my ability to become more tolerant and empathetic in my dealings with others in “real life” off stage. Actors typically draw inspiration for their craft from the real world. Their study of real people helps them as they work with characterization on stage. I suppose I'm reflecting upon the fact that I do the reverse.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.

Working Through It

In all honesty, this first sentence was written as I neared the end of tonight's post. I found myself needing to apologize for what I am writing about tonight. I find myself contemplating whether to hit the "delete button". If you're reading this now, I've obviously not done that. I hope this choice to "publish" isn't a mistake...

I have been pretty disgusted with myself lately. To be this sad or angry and despondent doesn't bring much value to others so I have been trying incredibly hard to shake this dark cloud over my head. More sleep. Let the tears fall. Ask for help. Talk to a friend. Put on a happy face. Wear yellow. I'm an actress after all, right? I should be able to feign a good mood and then have it become real for me. I think of all the blessings I have, of how fortunate I am and I feel guilt for being down. I see my husband's face and I hear him sigh and I know that this funk of mine has lasted too long. My children give me more hugs than usual and I know my disposition is affecting them too. Shame on me! Knock it off! Enough is enough! But it lingers...still.

I try to pinpoint what it is exactly that has me this way. Is it grief for those I've lost this past year or for people or relationships I can never get back? Is it work related? Should I even BE in this profession? Am I good at what I do or am I a fraud? Is it the changes in my aging body that I haven't accepted? Is it the turmoil of taking on too much? Am I bored? Am I overwhelmed? Is it the weather? Are my expectations for myself or others set too high? Should I keep trucking on thinking "this too shall pass" or do I make big changes? Oh God. Am I hormonal? Is this what they call a midlife crisis?! Wait?! Does that mean I'm OLD enough to HAVE a midlife crisis?!

I pride myself in being a strong woman, a positive role model, and someone with wisdom to heal herself. So in trying to be wise about this, I am angered by my cynicism, apathy, and temptation to crumble. I have no will power. I give myself pep talks that are forgotten minutes later. I grow more resentful and bitter. And then I begin to lose hope. I lose my sense of humor even. Damn it. I must be SUCH fun to be around...NOT.

To lose my confidence and the faith I have in myself is the scariest feeling. To become that vulnerable and weak is perhaps my greatest fear realized. Giving up, giving in can't be an option. I think of all that I have to lose and I grab hold of whatever thread I find above me and I think to myself, "Hang in there Anne. It'll get better. It has to".

So realizing that some things are better left unsaid, here I am wondering whether to delete this or publish it. Well, if I am nothing else, I am honest. I am honest about who I am and who I am not. I am honest with my emotions and I have courage to let people see the real me. Is that wise to do? I'm not altogether sure. Some people, despite thinking otherwise, really don't have a clue about me but in all honesty, if that's the case, or if they do see me for who I am and they turn away, that's okay. I get it. I may not want their company either to be honest. The real me is strong yet sensitive, patient yet demanding (especially of self), confident at times and then incredibly insecure and needy. I look in the mirror some days and like what I see; other times I cannot stop listing my faults. Some days I am incredibly lonely. Other days the love and support of my friends overwhelms me. And I then realize, the friends I have are there for a reason. I'm there for them. I'm a damn good friend in return.

I think the trick to feeling better is to realize that I AM in need of a good friend. I need to be my OWN best friend and give myself the time and the patience to find my way out of this. I won't let myself down. It may take a little time and a little more searching, but I'll be okay. I'll be MORE than okay.

Ashleighkins

I waited an awfully long time for a niece. Meaning no disrespect towards nephews, I could not wait to become an aunt to a baby girl. I'd become an aunt to Jason when I was just 4 1/2 years old and don't get me wrong, I was the proudest aunt. Later, when John, Ben, and Geoff came around, to be called "Aunt Anne" was wonderful. But for 17 years, after being an aunt for nearly 13 years, I still did not have a niece. So when Ashleigh was born in 1985, I was ecstatic.

We even shared the same middle name, Elizabeth. When her first birthday rolled around, I was excited to give her the present I'd bought and saved for her, a frilly white slip for her to wear under her dresses! Yes, having another girl in the family was going to be fabulous.

When she was a toddler however, she wanted to be "like the boys", her two older brothers, so she ran around topless most of the time at our family camp. I didn't like that her Dad jokingly started referring to her as "Al". She was a girl! But whether she was covered in sand or polished and pretty, I was still incredibly proud of the little pumpkin.

Soon after she turned three, she became the flower girl at my wedding. She wore an adorable dark red dress with little white tights and black patten-leather shoes. Holding hands with her cousin Geoff, Ash walked with a basket of flowers down the aisle in front of me and upon seeing her Dad in the pew, sprinted into his arms. It was adorable. At the reception Ashleigh was so excited. She pointed to my husband and I, ran around us as we danced, and kept repeating, "You're silly".

Of course, as a baby she had initially developed a stranger-fear of my boyfriend, now husband. Thank goodness she outgrew that! Later she'd travel down to our apartment for an occasional picnic in the park or a few days' stay. As a teenager, she'd play with my daughter and we'd all don facial masks and make-up. As she grew older, I saw her less frequently, but when we would meet up, often on the dock at camp, everything still seemed natural and easy. We'd fall back into the habit of teasing my husband or our brothers and we'd laugh.

Ash became the mother of a beautiful little boy not too long ago. She's a good mom and has grown to be a lovely young woman. She was quick to open her home to my daughter when she needed a place to stay for a week when she had rehearsals at college when her dorm wasn't open, and upon discovering that she was alone for Easter, Ash once again came to the rescue. Like her mother Ash is generous and kind, loving and humble. She is fun and funny but devoted and trustworthy too.

I eventually became the aunt to four more little girls and a few additional young women when they married my nephews. But Ashleigh or Ash (or Ashleighkins as I like to refer to her as) was my first niece and will always hold a special place in my heart. My time with her as she grew from babyhood gave me insight that I later appreciated when I became the mother to two girls of my own.

So at the risk of once again being called "silly", I wanted to bring attention to this beautiful niece of mine. I love my nephews too but it's simply been a joy to be her Aunt Anne.

Magical Shortcuts

Do you remember Barbara Eden as Jeannie? Growing up I would watch Jeannie clasp her arms together and nod, bringing about magic just like that! These were the days when my biggest stressor was my messy bedroom. I'd run upstairs, clasp my arms together and nod, hoping against all hope that the toys would magically return to their shelves and that the bed would make itself.

Then there was Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha. Dressed more normally than Jeannie, she too could clean up a room with one quick move. For her, it was the twitch of her nose. I tried that too but I never did seem to be able to make it work. I even tried the trick of pulling my ears as Samantha's daughter Tabatha had done.

Nowadays my troubles are a bit more than a messy bedroom. There are piles of research papers needing scoring and lessons to be planned. There are multiple rooms in need of a pick up, and the yard has yet to be raked. I wish I could say I enjoy gardening so I could be motivated to add some color to my front yard, but unless a gardener appears with yet one more nod to make it happen, I'm afraid I will not get to that until at least the weekend.

There are bills to pay and finals to organize. There's training for work and staff meetings too. There are meals to prepare and doctor appointments to drive to. I think again of how wonderful it'd be to have a transporter like Captain Kirk used on Star Trek, oh the hours I could save, but no, another trip to the gas station will be what I need to make it to each appointment and back.

If I had those magical powers I would be sure to share them. Any ice cream scoop falling from a child's cone would be saved! The construction in town would be complete! Those neighbors' dogs would have their master home and they'd have no reason to bark! School would let out for the summer months as everyone would complete their homework and their final exams without any more tutoring needed!

There simply aren't any shortcuts in life. I suppose I have always known this, but that doesn't stop me from trying to pull a Jeannie every once in awhile.

Meaningful Moments

At times I think there seems to be a lot of hype concerning Mother's Day. Big flower bouquets, shrubs and trees on sale, candy and jewelry too. Brunches and lunches out are heralded and celebratory dinners too. Don't get me wrong; I appreciate the sentiment of taking a day to honor mothers. I certainly believe it's important for the world to stop and share in the gratitude for the role we play. And yes, I like the special attention. But to this Mom, it doesn't take a pretty card or a big gesture to show me how much I'm loved. The little things mean just as much, if not more.

I started my Mother's Day as expected. I heard my alarm going off and hopped in the shower to get ready for church. In my towel afterward, I went to see if my children were awake. I planned to wake them up to tell them it was time to get ready. But as I stepped into the hall, I noticed my son was already out of his bed. I opened the bedroom door to the girls' room and saw my younger daughter already dressed too. So I headed back to my bedroom. There was a knock at my door. My older daughter stood with a card and a small present for me. "Happy Mother's Day Mom", she said. Albeit awkward to stand in the doorway in a towel opening a card, I did so and gave her a hug.

I finished getting ready. My son came by to tell me that he had a present for me too but that he couldn't find it. "That's okay" I said. He found it a few hours later, a self-made windsock made with poster paper and colored streamers. I smiled as I hung it in the dining room, realizing it just might not make it through a single day if I hung it outside.

After Mass, my husband asked if I wanted to go out to brunch. Surprisingly, I didn't. Although breakfast is the best meal to enjoy out in my opinion, I was not in the mood to be out in public with other families celebrating the day. Call me weird but I just wanted to be at home. So upon arriving home I went upstairs to change my clothes. I then reached for the phone and I called my Mom.

After wishing one another a Happy Mother's Day, we talked about the sunny weather and of our both wanting to take a drive up to camp. She said Dad was out raking and that she'd received flowers from my brothers. I told her of my college girl's arrival home for the summer and we talked about various things before again saying "Happy Mother's Day" and "I love you" to one another and hanging up.

As I headed downstairs, a little teary-eyed from missing my Mom, I spotted my daughter at the stove making pancakes. On the table was a card from my husband and a pretty rose plant. The rest of the afternoon would be a mix of school work and lazy movie viewing, but I repeatedly received hugs from all three of my children throughout the day and several "I love you"'s from my husband.

Although eating brunch is nice, and although I was tempted to spend the day out and about as seemed to be the expected trend with others celebrating the day, I am glad I followed my heart and asked to come home for Mother's Day. The little moments of my day have meant more to me. Being ready to join me at Sunday Mass, the hugs, the "I love you"'s, the bedroom knock at the door, the pancakes, and the poster paper windsock are the gestures that show me I'm loved.

Being the lucky Mom of three healthy, kind-hearted children, and being the youngest daughter of a beautiful, devoted, fun, warm, and selfless woman who showed me firsthand what it takes to be there for your kids... how to surround children with love that never dies...that to me, is what is cause for the most special and treasured celebration this Mother's Day.

To God's gifts on loan to me...Sydney, Emma, and Paul...to my special Joy in Heaven...and to my own Mom... THANK YOU. I love you all so dearly.