Monday, January 18, 2010

The Inner Eye of the Beholder

"The best mirror is an old friend."

.............Peter Nivio Zarlenga

It was lovely to begin the New Year in Northern California. The 60 degree weather was a delightful improvement over the 12 degree agony I'd left in New England. I had coffee each morning with the fat cat, Archer, and would walk a couple of miles in the residential neighborhood being amazed by palm trees and Dr. Seuss shrubbery. Soon after my return to the house, the family would begin to awaken, one by one. My son, my daughter-in-law, my teenage grandchildren -- I'd slide from role to role to role without realizing the adjustment. A few days into the visit my son drove me out to a town near Modesto, to visit with a dear friend from my college days. We were good buddies at school; both in the theatre department. Lloyd has had a substantial career in theatre and film. He's a brilliant talent as actor, director, writer. We had reconnected after -- what? -- 24 years -- and had been speaking through email, and mailing writing samples to each other since summer.

His charming companion of 12 plus years was as welcoming as he, and we toured the wonderful little house and property. We lunched at a great "Greek joint," as he called it, and visited a performing arts center in Modesto, designed by another classmate of ours. And we talked and talked, trying to catch up -- make up for 24 years of silence. It was amazing. We started school together 54 years ago. And we were grateful to look at each other and to say -- We're still here.

A whole rush of memories followed me back to my son's home, and more slip through my offending mind each day now back in Massachusetts. But equally remarkable is the strange, almost familiar feeling I walk around with. It is not mother, mother-in-law, grandmother. It is not friend, job applicant, teacher, etc. It is me; bare-naked soul, disconnected to anything or anyone except my own affections, my own space, the me-of-me. When I was teaching actors, we used an improvisation where two people were talking on stage, and one by one other characters would join the scene revealing a different relationship with the original actors. For example, two lovers are speaking; a girl arrives into the scene and turns out to be the granddaughter of one of the characters -- a change happens. And so on. That's what happens to us in our real day. For me, I am constantly struggling to own my identity as just me -- not the perennial mother, caretaker, grandmother, etc. Trying to find the balance -- remaining me and still able to contribute to the lives of those around me without losing me in the process.

A bit obtuse? I guess. I'd forgotten, you see, what it felt like to have someone speak to me as me -- not as the life-role I am playing. My friend does not know me as grandmother, mother, caretaker, etc. He sees Mickey; he speaks to Mickey. A wondrous thing!