Category Archives: personal

Back on Stage?

Ilion Little Theatre is moving right along with their 2014-15 season. Noises Off still has another weekend to run (Nov. 21, 22, 23; catch it if you get a chance!), but they are already holding auditions for their next production, Busybody.

My public will be pleased to know that I auditioned last night. OK, I guess my public mostly consists of my husband, Steven, and maybe my Mom and Dad. Steven thought it was cool I tried out. So did I.

The theatre is located in The Stables behind Remington Arms in Ilion, NY. It is a short drive from Herkimer, where I live. It was pouring rain and I was nervous. What if I’d forgotten how to act? Worse yet, given the weather, what if I’d forgotten how to drive? I managed to arrive safely, so I trusted I would be OK on stage.

The director greeted me and introduced himself. Very polite of him, since I’ve known him for five years, ever since I joined the theatre group. I filled out my audition sheet, pausing only when I got to the “experience” section, because I couldn’t seem to remember my character’s name in And Then There Were None (good God, I think that was before I started writing a blog. Did I even have a life back then?) (Note to self: answer that question on Lame Post Friday).

Another auditioner was looking at the script.

“This smells awesome,” he said. “It smells like elementary school.” I just love a good description like that. Ilion Little Theatre gets the coolest actors.

When I checked out the script myself, I was more worried about sight than smell. I had neglected to bring my reading glasses. My regular glasses are progressives, but I like a wider reading area, just to give myself every advantage.

It turned out pretty OK. I think I did all right on the scenes I read. It seems like a really fun play. I’m looking forward to reading the whole script. Or, you know, seeing the show, if I don’t get cast. I hope I get cast. I’ll write numerous blog posts about it if I do.

For more information on Ilion Little Theatre visit their website at www.ilionlittletheatre.org, and Like their Facebook page.

A Fun Saturday Night

Saturday night Steven and I combined three of our favorite things: time with friends, dinner out and theatre.

First we met our friends Phyllis and Jim at Crazy Otto’s Empire Diner in Herkimer, NY. This is one of our longtime favorite spots, and I have given it several shout-outs. It is a regular destination for Phyllis and Jim as well.

After a delicious dinner and enjoyable conversation, we all headed over to Ilion Little Theatre for Noises Off, their first production of the 2014-15 season. Ilion Little Theatre (ILT) is another Mohawk Valley institution which I have given many a well-deserved shout-out. I love the historic Stables that houses it. I love the intimate size of the performance space. And I love seeing my friends from the theatre group on stage.

Noises Off features some players who are new to the ILT stage as well as returning players. All the actors are very talented and they had the audience laughing heartily. My favorite was Act II, which involved whiskey and an ax.

We had originally thought to go out for drinks after the show, to discuss the production. We’ve worked on plays with Phyllis and Jim, so we often find a lot to say about plays we merely watch. However, by the time the play was over, it was late and we were tired. We had a great time and plan to do it again. Perhaps at the next ILT production, if we’re not onstage.

For more information on Ilion Little Theatre, visit their website at www.ilionlittletheatre.org or you can Like their Facebook page. For more information on Crazy Otto’s Empire Diner, their website is www.crazyottosempirediner.com, and they also have a Facebook page.

My Wrist Has Been Busy

So there I was about to write my Wrist to Forehead Sunday post, when my husband, Steven, told me of his plan to rake the front lawn. He nicely said I did not have to help, despite my natural feelings of guilt. I thought, Ah! I will write a Wrist to Forehead post about feeling guilty while he is doing that, then he can get right on the computer when he is done (he was working earlier in the day while I was… not).

Then a friend of his called on the phone and he was talking to her. Tabby and I went outside and I started raking. I am not a completely useless wife. Steven came out and worked too. I kept saying, “I’ll go in now and do my blog post while you finish this,” then deciding to do just one more thing.

At last I came inside while Steven was still outside. Oh, I would just put away the dishes I washed earlier (I am famous for washing dishes, leaving them to air dry and further leaving them for Steven to put away). Then I started thinking about how I had not yet showered for the day, and I got this tantalizing mental image of taking a hot shower and putting on some cuddly, brand-clean sweats and THEN getting on the computer. Maybe with a glass of wine.

By the time I was clean and cuddly, Steven was inside, but nicely got me a glass of wine and let me get on the computer (did mention that I have a very nice husband? Well I do). BUT first I had to check my Facebook notifications. When I finally logged onto WordPress, blogs I follow popped up. Since I was about to write a Wrist to Forehead post without feeling particularly Wrist to Forehead-y (Hello! Hot shower, cuddly sweats, would you feel like putting your wrist to your forehead?), I stalled by reading Return of the Modern Philosopher, one of my favorites.

And then I just had to comment. My comments tend to get a little long-winded, so then I had to edit.
Then I read Modern Philosopher’s post to Steven. Before I got to read him my comment (which after reading the post again I again had to edit), he said, “I want more wine!” Could he be feeling wrist to foreheady because I am hogging the computer?

And now I have to check if the Modern Philosopher replied while I was typing all this, before I hit publish.

Yes, he did respond, and I responded to his response. I wonder if my poor husband will ever be able to get on the computer.

Not Bad Ass Yet, But Getting There

Earlier this morning I made a note to myself: When you plan to run Friday afternoon instead of Saturday morning, do not talk yourself out of it. You will regret it Saturday morning. However, shortly after I made that mental note, I realized I was enjoying my run quite a bit and ceased to repine.

We got snow in the Mohawk Valley Thursday night. Friday it started sticking to the ground. Not a huge amount. We did not have to break out the shovels. Still, it was snow, and it was not warm, even by the standards of someone who spent years living in the North Country (that would be me). I almost talked myself out of it again. After all, I could run in the afternoon, when it might be warmer but would certainly be daylight. Surely a better time to run.

No, no, I told myself. Just put on some leggings and long sleeves. Find your winter running socks. Get going. Steven had cleaned out the living room closet yesterday so it was no problem finding a hat and gloves. I put on a sweatshirt for good measure. I hesitated about the sweatshirt, because I also intended to wear my reflective vest. If the sweatshirt got too warm it would be awkward to take off with the vest on top of it. Then I thought, it’s under 30 degrees. Put on the sweatshirt.

Snow covered the sidewalk but not thickly. I ran with a low, shuffling gait, in case of slick spots. You would think with the amount of padding I carry around my hips and midsection that falling would hold no terrors for me. Well, let me tell you, fat can bruise painfully, too. Spoiler alert: I didn’t fall today.

I was happy I had worn the gloves and hat. I only wished I had something covering my face, because that got cold in a hurry and never warmed up. No matter, I didn’t intend to run very far. 20 minutes would be sufficient, I told myself. I have been running 25 minutes. I thought I ought to think about increasing it by the recommended 10%. After all, I’ve been running for more than a week. Not as many times as I perhaps ought to be running, but I can work on that. For now I just kept going.

Occasionally my trailing foot would slip as I shifted weight to my leading foot. Nothing too worrisome at the speed I was going. I did not increase my pace. I felt so comfortable. Sometimes when I run a slow pace I feel it is too slow. I feel I am plodding like a fat snail, just slogging along in a pathetic, embarrassing fashion. Today it did not feel too slow. I felt awesome! I was so glad I was running!

I knew I would not end on a sprint. Too dangerous. I decided as I went which way to go. When I had mapped out in my head which streets would bring me back home, I thought I would just get home when I got there and that would be how long I ran. I was on the opposite side of the street. As I approached the house, though, I ran by to the corner then crossed the street and ran back. Yeah, I felt bad ass.

It ended up being 27 minutes, an increase of less than 10% but an increase nonetheless. As Tabby graciously walked my cool-down with me I started to feel cold. I suppose that means I did work up a sweat, even at my slow, shuffly pace. I still felt pretty damn good about myself. I will build up my run time. I will be bad ass.

I Just Write

How many different things can one blogger think of to say about not writing, that is the question. I know, you thought it was “To be or not to be,” but you were mistaken. It is Lame Post Friday and I am feeling even more lame than usual.

Hmm, that was not a bad first paragraph, or do I flatter myself? I would feel more comfortable about my future as a blogger if I had not just sat here staring at it for ten minutes unable to think of another thing to say. OK, I just said that to be dramatic. I’ve been blogging for three years and I intend to continue, lame post or not.

One accepts when one begins at a writer that some days will be better than others. At least, I accept that premise. There are those who claim that “you just write.” But we’ve covered “There is no such thing as Writer’s Block” before. And anyways, it’s Writer’s Blank.

Where was I? Oh yes, not writing and apparently unable to think of anything new to say about it. How embarrassing is that? This has been a pretty long dry spell. I mean, I have had some not terrible blog posts (or do I flatter myself?), but the novel remains at a standstill. I don’t know how good my last couple of magazine articles were. I may have had a couple of good lines in some letters and post cards I have written.

Oh hell, Cindy, just end it and get off stage. This post is lame. Try again tomorrow.

And looking back, I’m not sure how good the first paragraph was either.

After Dinner Memory

For today’s Non-Sequitur Thursday post, I shall recount for you a memory which is not one I have shared many times in conversation. In fact, I don’t think I have ever shared it, although it is neither traumatic nor even particularly significant. Oh good job, Cindy, way to sell it. This is what I get for posting after dinner at Applebee’s during which I consumed a Perfect Margarita. Never mind. Just keep typing.

When I was in kindergarten, the teacher told us that when you get a cut, the skin grows back. This was news to me. I knew you got a scab and eventually the scab went away, but I had never really inquired into the biological aspect (especially since I believe I did not know the words “inquired,” “biological” or “aspect”).

Later that day or perhaps the next day (this was a long time ago; I can’t be exact about these things), the teacher cut her finger.

“Oh dear, I cut my finger,” she said. “That’s OK, it’ll grow back.”

I remember thinking that it was the stupidest thing to say. I knew she had only said it because we had just learned about skin growing back. I mean, who says a thing like that? Who even worries about the skin growing back? We all knew: you get a scab and the scab goes away eventually. When you cut yourself you are upset because (1) it hurts and (2) your mother might put that stuff on it that stings. Your other concern is that you might get a band-aid, which of course was considered cool, but that was rarely the first consideration.

My esteem for my teacher was not too seriously damaged (no, I didn’t know what “esteem” was at that time), because in general she was a pretty OK grown up. And yet, that is one of the few things I remember about the woman (I don’t even remember her name): that one time she said what I thought was a really dumb thing.

And speaking as a person who has said some really stupid things myself, I gotta worry about what others remember about me.

Another Fine Blog Post

Oh, I’m a bad blogger. I say it in a Lou Costello voice. At least, I don’t recall Costello ever saying that in any of the movies, but cartoon versions of him always found an opportunity to say, “Oh, I’m a bad boy.” I was never a huge Abbot and Costello fan to begin with. I prefer Laurel and Hardy (This is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into!).

As you may have guessed, this is another Wuss-out Wednesday. I had thought to have a Mid-Week Middle-aged Musing, but it got no further than the first two sentences: Discombobulate is a good word. I declare discombobulate to be the word of the day.

I wrote those two sentences while at work today, thinking I should not wuss out for at least one Wednesday. But I could not think of anything to add. I thought, “That’s OK. Steven and I are doing laundry tonight. I’ll write at the laundromat.” That did not work out as well as I had hoped. I had a dreadful sinus headache. I could not write a blog post. I could not work on my novel. I did manage to finish a poem I had started, about a couple of co-workers. I can’t share that here, though, because it names names.

I’m afraid today is veering beyond Wuss-out Wednesday and into Blogger’s Sick Day. The thing I feel bad about now is the title. I thought of it when I made the parenthetical comment referencing Laurel and Hardy. I thought better words would surely be forthcoming after that. It turns out not so much. I guess that’s what I get for composing at the keyboard.

Rocking the Tired Tuesday Run

Note to self: When you run on a Tuesday, so you can write about the run and not have another Tired Tuesday post, write the blog post as soon as you are done running. If you wait you may become too tired.

Well, never mind how tired I think I am. I ran and I am going to write a blog post about it. I ran Saturday but not Sunday. I had thought to run Monday but took my dog, Tabby, for a long walk instead. I know I won’t run Wednesday, because we are doing laundry (may write a blog post about that). So I thought walk Monday, run Tuesday (for anyone concerned about my getting enough exercise, Steven, Tabby and I all took a nice walk on Sunday) (for anyone concerned Tabby misses her walk when I run, she always walks my cool-down with me. A shorter walk, perhaps, but she seems OK with it).

Be all that as it may, today was an unseasonably warm day: in the 60s. I reminded myself all day that I intended to run, just to get in the proper mindset. I changed into running clothes right away when I got home. Bicycle shorts and a t-shirt. Woo hoo! That is my favorite running outfit. I took off.

I ran up to German Street and turned right, so the sun was behind me. My shadow in front of me looked tall and slender. Look at those long legs! In reality, my legs are short, even for someone of my meager height. They are fairly shapely for all that, if I do say so (and why not say so? I have low enough self esteem; let me give myself a compliment once in a while). As I continue into middle-age, my legs are perhaps a trifle less shapely than when I was in my 20s, but running will no doubt help. You go, girl, I told myself.

Only I wasn’t going very fast. My best runs are certainly not the ones I take after working a full day. At least it wasn’t a 10 hour day, although I used to run after those, too. Back in the days when I was getting the sweet overtime (NOT complaining; I’m happy to still have a job. Also, it’s easier to work for eight hours than for ten) (just saying).

So I shuffled along, trying not to feel too self-conscious. I mean, I really felt that I must look pathetic. Then again, somebody pathetic who just keeps going is to be admired. And there is every chance she will look less pathetic as time goes on.

I cheered myself up by looking at people’s fall decorations. Lots of scarecrows, mostly with friendly smiles. One had a pumpkin head and an especially toothy grin. I do love fall. There are still colored leaves on some trees. I saw one large yellow tree that was still full. Later I saw three smaller bright yellow trees with two completely bare trees in front of them. I like the look of bare trees too. I am quite the tree lover.

As I kept running (I realize that is a generous term for what I was doing), it did not get any easier, but it did not get substantially harder either. I ran for 25 minutes, matching my previous few runs. As Tabby walked my cool-down with me, I felt happy that I had run. For a middle-aged shuffle on a Tired Tuesday, it was not too bad of a run. I did not feel at the time that I was rocking it, but I realize in retrospect that I was.

Tasty and Different Wines

Regular readers know I am something of an oenophile (I pronounce it oh-nee-oh-file, to give you an idea of my level of wine knowledge and snobbishness) (just to be extra clear: not high). I am always delighted to increase my knowledge and discover new wines when Vintage Spirits holds a wine tasting. Bronson, who usually does the pouring, is very knowledgeable, and he has good taste in wine.

The first wine I tasted was a Tangley Oaks Chardonnay from 2012. This is an unoaked (my computer seems to think unoaked is not a word; must not be an oenophile) California wine, which makes it an unusual California Chardonnay. I was pleased to hear this for two reasons: that Chardonnay is aged in oak or stainless and it makes a difference in the taste is one of my few bits of wine-making knowledge. Also, I like unoaked Chardonnay. I liked this one. I noted that it was tasty, light and bright.

I moved on to Laurent Miguel Chardonnay-Viognier 2013. It is 65% Chardonnay, 35% Viognier. I pronounced it yummy (my highest praise) and different. This is where I would like to educate my palate a little more, because I would like to be able to articulate how it was different. Bronson said the viognier gives the wine an apricot taste. I have not eaten an apricot in years (and the ones I ate then were dehydrated) so I had to take his word on that. Still, I enjoyed the differentness (I guess that’s not a word, but it says what I mean better than “difference”) (or should I say more betterly?).

Next I tasted CK Mondavi Blond Five 2013, another California wine. The five are Chardonnay, Moscato, Pinot Grigio, Sauvignon Blanc and Viognier. It was sweeter that I usually like but tasty. I enjoyed that a lot of different flavors are present. Once again, I must educate my palate to describe it more clearly. For now I can only say, it tasted like a lot was going on.

The last white was Rosemont Estate Traminer-Riesling 2013. This Australian wine is 83% Gewurztraminer, 17% Riesling. It has a definite crispness to it. I pronounced it tasty and a little different as well. Once again a little sweet for my tastes, but I liked it.

The first red on the list was Lost Vineyard Rosso, an Italian wine. Sangiovese is the grape used. It is made in Italy and imported by a Rochester company, in case like me you’re a sucker for a New York State connection. I found it tasty but plain. Another taster pronounced it too light. Bronson agreed that it did not have a whole lot of depth. Steven liked it, as did other tasters who prefer a light wine.

I felt there was a little more to the Melini Chianti Riserva DOCG 2010. It also had the coolest shaped bottle. I pronounced this one tasty as well. Bronson warned me that the Estancia Reserve GSM 2012 was a little sweeter (he knows I like dry), but I liked it. It’s made from three grapes, Grenache, Syrah and Mourvedre.

The last wine had a cool-looking bare tree on the label. It was Old Soul Zinfandel 2012, made from old vines. Bronson told us that vines must be 25 years old to be considered old vines (that was my new bit of wine knowledge for the day). Some California vines date back to the 1860s. During the gold rush, Italian immigrants brought vines of “Primitivo,” which became Zinfandel. I thought the wine smelled sweet but did not taste overly sweet. Still, it was my least favorite wine of the day (although I did like that tree on the label). Tasters who preferred a sweet wine liked it best.

Vintage Spirits is located at 246 Mohawk St., Herkimer, NY. Phone number is 315-866-6800. They are open Monday through Saturday 10 a.m. to 9 p.m., Sunday 12 to 6 p.m. For more information you can visit their website at www.vintagespiritsny.com or you can Like their Facebook page. You can also get on a email list to receive notifications of future tastings. Perhaps I’ll see you there.

Let Me Know When You Perfect Time Travel

Today in lieu of my usual Wrist to Forehead Sunday, I offer a little half-baked philosophy which has been on my mind today.

A Facebook meme posed the question: if you could say something to your 20-year-old self, what would it be?

This is the kind of hypothetical question that gets on my nerves. YOU CAN’T SAY ANYTHING TO YOUR 20-YEAR-OLD SELF! That person no longer exists and we do not have access to time travel. The asker will say, “Yes, but what if you could?” YOU CAN’T! What is the point in talking about it?

That is not a rhetorical question; I seriously want to know what one can learn from such a question. You can’t go back and not make the same mistakes (see previous paragraph that we don’t have time travel). It is unlikely one will face the same problems one faced when one was 20 (one could argue that point, I suppose, but I think one would be full of beans if one did).

Perhaps the point is to articulate what one has learned since one was 20. One can thus feel wiser and not just older (now there’s a feeling I would like to experience). More likely, some folks just find it fun to talk about such things.

I personally do not like that sort of discussion. It is a short step from looking back to regretting past mistakes. I HATE regret. It is an almost completely useless emotion. I strive always to move on from here.

One final thought: If time travel ever becomes feasible and one can in fact say something to one’s 20-year-old self, I suggest you do not bother. I would submit that very few 20-year-olds ever listen to older and wiser advice. I know I never did.