The Missoula Public Library and The Book Exchange

I was literally plugging in my laptop so I can check my e-mail from a public wi-fi site (because my parents only have dial-up) when my cell phone rang.  It was Kendall asking if I’ve sent out the e-mail blast asking for donations for the troupe. Yikes I haven’t.  GUILT.  I’m a bad friend.  I am a bad company member.  I dropped the ball. Twice that I’m aware of–maybe three times if end up not making it to the Bigfork Summer Playhouse Reunion this weekend.  I’m here in Montana without a car and just today getting passwords and such so I can walk over to my brothers house in order to use my laptop outside of a coffee shop with wifi.  

Last night I really missed being able to check e-mail and facebook as part of my bedtime routine.  At the hotel in Seattle I’d go to the lobby for wifi or use The Husband’s bluetooth connection because I don’t have a crackberry of my own.

In Brooklyn before we left we made it to the good-bye party for the friends moving to Uganda but I didn’t get back to the friend running for office in Brooklyn who needed me to fax him our info because his campaign lost our donor card.  The Husband was too busy at work trying to get ready to leave town for a week.  I was cleaning and packing and trying to say good-bye to the friends who will have moved away by the time we get back to Brooklyn.  Things were dropped. Things were missed.

Now I’m at the public library where I have come with My Kid, Girl Cousin and The Grandparents.  The girls are signing up for the summer reading program (grand prizes provided by Dairy Queen) and searching the shelves for matching books to read to their dolls.

And now we’re at The Book Exchange where my father has a lot of credit and his grandaughters are sure to acquire some new books in the next few minutes.  While I try once again to go on facebook and see who I know from long ago who is in Missoula, Montana at this point in time.  Yesterday I got a call on my cell phone from an old friend and we were so excited to speak to each other that it took a while to figure out that I who live in Brooklyn am in Missoula and she who lives in Montana is in New York.

Now that I’m sitting here looking across the street at the fairgrounds where the rides and animal pens are being set up for the Western Montana Fair and My Kid is otherwise occupied I can’t remember what I wanted to say.  It’s just so weird being back in my home town, a not-young (this is a college town) mom, just visiting from my Brooklyn, New York.

And the girls are ready to go.

Running Out of Time

 

I thought we would spend some time at the Pacific Science Center with My Kid.  But, that didn’t happen.  We enjoyed hanging out in the hotel room as a family until it was time for The Husband to go have lunch with a former work colleague.  My Kid and I went swimming in the hotel pool.  Then when The Husband met us at the pool so I could go meet an old friend, My Kid decided to get out of the pool.  Then she decided she wanted to ride out to the sewing machine repair shop at the far North end city limit with a drive-throu McDonald’s thrown in for fun.  The errand took so long that they didn’t get back downtown in time to visit Seattle Center and the Pacific Science Center.  Instead they met me at the wine bar where I was with my friend who hadn’t seen Ken since our wedding.  I think I stopped by her office with my new baby once.  My new baby is going into 4th grade.  We had some catching up to do.  We talked about the summer she played my older sister in both Gypsy and Fiddler on the Roof  and the same actress played our mother in both musicals performed under a circus tent in an asphalt parking lot in Missoula, Montana

 

When The Husband and My Kid showed up at the wine bar where we were sitting with our happy hour flights of Italian red and truffle flavored popcorn (eyes rolling yeah I know) we talked a little more and then we went up to The Mother-In-Law’s apartment to deliver the repaired surger and for The Husband to program the new phone and hang pictures and some other small chores.  We were at her apartment long enough for My Kid to watch the entire movie Mousehunt.  At 10 p m we had to leave even though there were still more things on The Mother-In-Law’s to do list because my kid hadn’t had dinner yet.  We parked downtown and thought we could find a restaurant downtown but the kitchens were closed so we went back to the hotel and ordered room service.  The Husband walked two blocks to buy beverages at  Ralph’s grocery on 4th Ave. where we used to buy food so often on the way to rehearsals or shows when we worked at Annex.  I remember shopping for snacks at Ralph’s once to eat while hanging out with one of my many housemates from that big white house on Queen Anne Hill.  He was an engineer at Bad Animals music studio at the time.  I think he moved to Austin, Texas to be a musician.  I wonder if he found success.

 

I had a nice visit with an old friend  from the same Montana hometown as the theatre friend we had lunch with the day before.  They weren’t friends growing up but they had siblings who were in the same class.   Remember when 2 or 3 years difference in age meant you wouldn’t even have cause to meet or talk to a person.   Some of the parents of my daughter’s classmates are probably younger than anyone I ever babysat.  Thoughts of who were we as children growing up in 1970’s Montana, then making the decisions to become actors and life for all of us beyond that which now includes aging parents.

 

Today will go quickly, we have to make a promised stop at Magic Mouse Toys in Pioneer Square.  We’ll start with breakfast (or brunch or lunch depending on how long it takes us to get up and out of here) in Pike Place Market and check out the stuffed animal store My Kid saw last night when we were looking for a restaurant.  She’s looking for a toy lemur but the ones we’ve found so far are apparently the wrong breed.  (She’s looking for one that looks like “Mort” from The Penguins of Madagascar.  It’s a search that began on Sunday at the Woodland Park Zoo on a day spent with The Husband’s father.  (Yes in addition to juggling work and family and friends and sightseeing The Husband must carefully coordinate the time he spends with each of his divorced parents.)

 

There are more errands to run and things to fix and check off the list of things for The Husband to do for The Mother-In-Law.  At least it is Saturday and The Husband won’t be dialing into his office.

In Pennsylvania during the campaign, I contemplate regional diversity

We were in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania this weekend.  It’s not at all like Brooklyn. The biggest lifestyle difference was driving everywhere.  There were things that reminded me of Montana where I grew up and Nebraska where my parents grew up, historic places and times where and when we could go around on our bikes by ourselves as kids.   My friend lives in a beautiful neighborhood of cul-de-sacs that has much in common with the home of my relatives in Orange County, California, beautiful houses on a hill but nowhere for a kid to ride a bike.

 Sometimes I fantasize about living in a house in a neighborhood where my kid can go outside by herself and have some autonomy.  But, that’s not possible in many suburbs, built in my lifetime, without sidewalks or street lights.  I wouldn’t let my kid ride her bike along the side of the two lane highway anymore than I would let her ride up Fulton and cross Flatbush on the way to school or a friend’s house in Brooklyn. Whatever happened to riding your bike and playing with the neighborhood kids and “Come home for dinner when the street lights come on.”?

 Pennsylvania was insurance company calendar rural instead of what I think of as farmland which is mile after mile of mathematically straight rows of wheat and corn with giant tractors and combines.

Subtext being the presidential campaign, it was gratifying to have the woman selling pumpkins by the side of the road and the biker chick waitress at a restaurant both complement me on my Obama t-shirt.

Our friends  took us to Lake Tobias Animal Park, a family farm that has been turned into a zoo.  I wore my bright orange Obama Mama t-shirt, but nobody commented at all.  I’l bet the people there saw it with disdain and disapproval. The tour driver told us they called the longhaired breed of Scottish highland cattle on display, “hippie cows”.

The kids loved Lake Tobias, a popular local school field trip destination.  It was disturbing (although not deeply disturbing if I thought of it as a farming operation) to ride in a topless bus and watch people give crackers to small children who held them out to the bison that loped up to the side of the vehicle.  This, goes against everything I know about wild animals.  But, I suppose technically these were not wild because they live with a steady parade of topless busses full of outstretched arms and crackers.  Who knew such eclectic private zoos existed?   It was bizarre to see elk and yaks and water buffalo together in the same pasture

 I grew up with regular visits to the National Bison Range in Moiese, Montana. (The Snake Pit tourist trap on I-90, notwithstanding, it was the closest thing we had to a zoo.)  When comparing notes on our childhoods with a college roommate who grew up in Annapolis, Maryland we discovered that the big 3rd grade field trip where she was from was a day at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.  At Lewis and Clark Elementary in Missoula, Montana, the big 3rd grade trip was to the bison range maintained by the US Department of Fish and Wildlife Services.  The bison range is deeply educational, you can go there and experience the animals as brown spots miles away because the 18,500 acre preserve is experienced via a one-way 2-hour car drive.  (There is oh so much for a disaffected teen to ignore and it’s the kind of place where parents feel compelled to go to battle with their children to put away the novels and video games in order to look for the distant wildlife that only adults paying attention can see.) There is ample time to read the brochure cover to cover learning more than anyone outside of the Department of Interior needs to know about native prairie grasses, birds, rodents and the breeding habits of the elk, deer, bighorn sheep, antelope and black bears that share the range with the bison. 

Because of our visit to the Lake Tobias wildlife park in Pennsylvania, I now understand how it is that the tourists in Yellowstone National Park come to make the kind of stupid mistakes that get them killed.  In Montana we never cease to marvel at the tourists whose deaths and injuries we read about every summer in the local paper.  They are gored while walking toward a moose or a bison in order to pose for a picture, or got between a mother bear and her cubs on a trail or most mind-blowing of all to a kid raised in the Rockies, attract bears by cooking in their tent.

Women’s Theater Project

Yesterday I received an e-mail, forwarded to me by Kendall Cornell.  The Women’s Theatre project was papering their Off-Broadway house for a play about a clown.  So I went.  It was a much nicer theater than the ones I usually get to play.  The stage was large and the grid was jam-packed with lighting instruments. Most of the primary people involved in the production listed a Yale degree in their bios.  That theatre seemed out of my reach and yet the play was obviously written by someone who is not very old and reminded me of shows we produced at Annex Theatre in Seattle where, incidentally, quite a few company members had gone to or would go on to Yale.

After the play, “Aliens with Extraordinary Skills” by Saviana Stanescu (MFA, NYU); directed by Tea Alagic (MFA, Yale); featuring Natalia Payne (BA, Yale); Set Design by Kris Stone (MFA, Yale); Costumes by Jennifer Moeller (MFA, Yale); Lighting Design by Gina Scherr (MFA, Yale); Music and Sound design by Sarah Pickett (MFA, Yale), I walked alone to the Times Square subway station.

My heart raced, as I looked at the marquees and the after theatre crowd brushed by me with their playbills in their hands.  I was remembering my very first trip to New York.  I took the train from Washington D. C. (where I had an internship in the Women’s Division of the Democratic National Committee when Geraldine Ferrarro was running for Vice President on the Democratic ticket with Walter Mondale) to visit Kathy McNenny, who I knew from home.  She was attending Julliard and living in a room, not much bigger than her mattress, in a very scary building in Hell’s Kitchen across the street from Studio 54.  I was afraid I would be raped every time I got on the elevator.

I saw 6 shows in about 48 hours.  I went with Kathy and her boyfriend to see a play at The Irish Rep because a friend of theirs was in it.  There was a lot of real dirt on the stage.  I saw ” A Chorus Line” because I had always wanted to see it.  I had received the album as a birthday present in grade school and had listened to, memorized, and performed, for my drama class, a deeply felt rendition of “Nothing” (just like all the other high school theater geeks my age).   After “A Chorus Line” I went directly to another theatre to see Whoopi Goldberg’s late night performance, because Kathy told me that was the must see show everyone was talking about.  I was blown away proclaiming that we would soon hear of her in Montana.  “The Color Purple” was in movie theaters the next year.  As soon as I woke up I went directly to the TKTS booth in Times Square to see what I could see.  I wanted to see “Sunday in the Park with George” because I wanted to sing like Bernadette Peters, even though my voice teacher was always telling me not to (apparently I had a lovely voice of my own or some such drivel…)  But, there were no TKTS tickets for “Sunday in the Park with George” so I got a ticket to “Forbidden Broadway” and went and sat on the ground outside the box office of the theatre where “Sunday in the Park with George” was playing and waited with a few other people until curtain time to see if there were any returns.  I blushed with pride when someone in the ticket line, told me I looked like a real New Yorker and not at all like a tourist, sitting there on the ground and scribbling in a notebook, in my dark oversized coat full of pockets.  The woman in the ticket booth told me she had some obstructed view seats but they weren’t worth it because they were way off to the side and you couldn’t see the amazing set come and go.  So I waited until almost 8 o’clock and then ran down the street to use my ticket to “Forbidden Broadway” which I didn’t find funny since I wasn’t familiar with most of the shows and certainly none of the personalities being parodied.  I went to Greenwich Village to see “The Fantastiks” because I adored that musical, having seen a such sweet chamber production of it in Missoula, accompanied by two grand pianos (or one grand piano and a harp–anyway it had been beautiful) and ever after wanted to be a good enough soprano to sing the role of “Luisa”.  I believe I also saw “Le Cage Aux Folles” on Broadway that weekend. (“I Am What I Am” is a favorite song and I harbor a fondness for drag queens.  “Pricilla Queen of the Desert” is one of my favorite films.)  Between the shows I walked around and ate bagels and slices of pizza.  My first bagel in New York was schmeared with an enormous amount of cream cheese and the man behind the counter said something to me that made me think he gave me extra for good luck on my first day in New York.  All the money I had went for theatre tickets.  No restaurant meals, no drinks.  I didn’t even know at that point in my life that I ought to buy food or wine or a gift for my host who I actually never saw after joining her for the one play.  She was so busy with classes and rehearsals.  She told me when she first came to New York she tried to live in Queens (where the rent was lower and the rooms were bigger) but it was just too far away.

If Queens was too far away from Broadway, how very much more difficult must it be to get there from Missoula, Montana.  Although both Kathy McNenny and JK Simmons succeeded.  They represented the only two ways I knew of to get to New York.  JK Simmons didn’t go to New York until after he had his Equity Card.  I knew this because his brother David was a friend of mine and his father was my freshman advisor at the University of Montana.  I also knew that his skills included the ability conduct an entire orchestra!  (He was very nice to me and invited me out for a drinks with the cast after I sent a note backstage, via an usher, letting him know someone from Missoula was in the audience, when I saw the touring production of the short-lived broadway musical “Doonesbury” in which he played a small part and understudied most of the others. –It was during same fall term of my political internship as that first trip to New York.)  The other way to get to New York, as I understood it was to get into a school, scholarship necessary.  Kathy McNenny was able to do this after first attending the University of Montana.  I remember other drama majors, eager to get on with their lives after college, talking about Kathy’s decision to go to Julliard where she would have to pay for another bachelors degree, instead of going to the Globe in San Diego which offered her a full-ride, an MFA and an Equity Card.  But it wasn’t in New York.

 Kathy knew what she was doing and I was not in the same league.  In high school she was a competitive swimmer with a near perfect GPA,  president of the Thespian Society, in the select show choir and involved in many other organizations that involved having her photo in the high school year book.  She taught swimming lessons and visited schools as Captain Power for the local utility, possibly the only paying costumed character gig in the entire region.  When she was a senior and I was a junior, she played the title role in our high school production of “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie”.  I played one of her pupils who grew from child to adult under her tutelage.  I was the only actress who did not have to bind for the first scene and had to stuff my bra for the last scene.  That pretty much says it all.