Thursday, February 23, 2012

"i go with my strengths and forget my weaknesses" (willy mays, baseball icon)

at this point i'm driving myself crazy. my lower back stiffens and i'm sure i'm finished. i yawn too wide with a tight jaw and the bones crack every time i chew (400 lbs of pressure). every body in the house tells me a loud, high whine coming out of the stove fan and i can't hear it. deafness around the corner. the problem is: i could live to be a hundred like my grandfather. do i desire such a fate as a crippled clown?

okay, i can come to terms with all this. by evening my body's straightened out, but what about my desire to further human evolution? have i done my little bit? i'm convinced we accomplish  the most when we do what we do best. yet...i'm always concerned with my flaws and trying to fill in the cracks. not only that, i love doing all kinds of creative activities and i have no idea which might count. so, i've asked two of my oldest friends, laurie and marilyn, what do i do best? both surprised me. laurie feels i'm happiest directing plays. that may very well be, since i spent forty years learning how to do it and it draws on all my knowledge of language, visual art, music and sound, people. 

alas, at this moment in time i don't simply want more satisfying experiences, nothing to show for it after. theater feels this way. what's left: photographs! no wonder i've focused on taking pictures of other people's shows. and i weep when one of mine ends, the family scattered to the wind. truly, i should promote productions of my own plays. trouble there, they exist in my imagination and on paper, already tangible. i no longer have the urge to tell their stories, even as i flagellate myself, attempting to reach a reliable level of motivation.

marilyn surprised me even more, though she quoted the thoughts of her friend elaine. he likes to wander around, gathering bits of information and passing them on .wow, i had to believe her, since i'd had just such an urge at the bookstore cafe. a mother and teen-age daughter read two tables away. the girl looked miserable, as though she'd lost her vampire lover. i decided the problem was her nose, a nice shape except for the bulb on the end. kind of cute, and not what would make any women happy. i remembered a french movie from years ago. the heroine had just such a nose, a dormouse, then she had it fixed, pared down by a plastic surgeon. suddenly gorgeous she now had new and better problems.

boy, how could i tell the mother to get her child's physiognomy repaired? should i slip the daughter a note? just before they left, they separated as mom tossed out the trash. this my golden opportunity, and i couldn't take the chance on be jailed as a weirdo. the point is, elaine right. i like passing on the strangest stuff. i did tell another young woman reading about amanda knox in the italian prison, the victim herself had just signed a contract to write her version. we'd a delightful and enthusiastic exchange. not quite like telling her, get thee to a hairdresser, you look like hell!

there, i have an idea of what i do. however, who's to say what is best? having taking on the furthering of the species, i'm doomed to failure. i will say i am captivated by all forms of art. here's the last example: