When I was 24, I stage managed the musical The King and I at Paul Bunyan Playhouse in Bemidji, Minnesota. Part of our set included an enormous gong that was struck with a felt mallet at key at dramatic and comedic moments. You really can’t have The King and I without a gong.
And you really can’t have a gong without a mallet.
In the 90s, I bunched up tube socks around my ankles.
One tech rehearsal I was made aware that the mallet was missing so I quickly fashioned one out of a tree branch, my tube socks and some gaffer’s tape.
I brought it to the director for approval. I remember watching the muscles in his forearm twitch as he tested the weight and movement of the mallet.
“It’s the right size and it’s a good weight,” he said.
When he finally struck the gong, he was pleased. He said, “You’re an artist.” He handed it back to me and walked away.
Did I immediately fall in love with the director? Naturally! Did I instantly commit my entire being — even more than I already had — to theatre for the rest of my life? Absolutely! And did the director’s compliment render me so unfocused and flustered that I proceeded to screw up the rest of my tech cues at that rehearsal? Of course!
There are two morals to this story:
(1) Don’t compliment nerds. We cannot handle it.
(2) Every home should have a gong.
We have one and it regularly gets “gonged” for dramatic and comedic effect. We’ve had it for years and I think of my “sock mallet” every time it gets gonged.
Thanks for reading! -Connie
My bio inside the program for The King & I. I never noticed the ad for the “certified sex therapist” until today!
President Joe Biden’s middle name is Robinette. It’s his grandmother’s maiden name. He shares his first and middle name with his late father. It’s a family name and it suits the soft, middle part of him. He’s sensitive, understands the wide range of family dynamics and is respectful of women.
***
President Joseph Robinette Biden, Jr. delivered a strong State of the Union speech on Thursday night. He’s a compassionate speaker and can think on his feet without saying “um” or relying on idiotic sound bites. He shuns gimmicks and looks his opponents in the eye when he speaks. He’s brave, sincere and unflappable. He’s human, confident and a good president. I was pleased with his speech.
***
I watched Katie Britt’s “response.” She’s the junior senator from Alabama. Her middle name is Elizabeth which means “God’s promise” and, if you watched, you already knows she sees herself as a savior. With her cross necklace dangling above her cleavage, Katie invited America into her bedroom kitchen for her “response” to the president’s address.
It wasn’t a response. Her pre-written cliche-driven speech only once mentioned the State of the Union. Zero insight.
But what a performance. She leaned into the camera and gasped for air while her chest flushed red with passion — all while warning us about immigration! I bet she can burp on command, too.
I would have been interested in what she had to say in responseto the speech. But she didn’t. She didn’t work Biden’s speech. She worked the camera. While it’s a skill to know how to look into a camera, it means nothing if you can’t think for yourself, on your feet and respond to the newest information.
***
After Britt’s speech, I decided to watch Jimmy Fallon. I thought a little late night TV would help me drift into sleep. It did not.
Fallon kicked off his monologue with ageist “jokes” against Biden. Within seconds, he mocked the president’s eyesight. I turned it off.
***
Fallon’s middle name is Thomas which means “twin.” Last night he was Britt’s twin in that neither of them said anything new, insightful or honest.
I have no respect for politicians or entertainers who can’t be bothered to listen to the most current information and truthfully respond. Relying on stereotypes, ageism and someone else’s marketing isn’t progress.
***
Fallon and Britt seem older to me than the president.
***
Like the name “Robinette,” President Joe Biden is unique. He’s a visionary who deserves a second term.
***
My middle name is Valerie which means “strength” and I need some to get me through this election season. Vote Blue. Anything else is for the birds.
I have a read-thru of my new play The Quarter Millennial Experience today. As is often the case before my writing gets a reading, my mind and heart are flashing with “the experiences in life” that helped me grow and — to the point of this blog post — inspired me to write my play.
***
My parents had our house remodeled during the summer of 1976. That was the year of the Bicentennial, the 200th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. In the days leading up to the remodeling, I remember my mother sitting at the kitchen table poring over a wallpaper sample book from Ethan Allen.
The book was enormous. I had never seen one so big. It was wider than it was tall and it smelled of different fabrics and paper and paste and staples.
She motioned me over and we looked through it together. I was fascinated. There was a whole section dedicated to the Bicentennial. It was filled with red, white and blue wallpaper embellished with patriotic touches glorifying the “Spirit of ’76” which confused me.
I had to ask her what the “Bicentennial” was. When she explained it to me, my six-year-old mind was blown. I had just finished First Grade at a Catholic school — I was shocked to learn that America was younger than Jesus. It was my first “WTF” moment.
***
My parents did not choose any of the Bicentennial-themed wallpaper.
***
My parents wallpapered their kitchen with scenes and icons from farm life. It was glorious.
It had a farmer and farmer’s wife. It had a dead hog. It had a basket that said “eggs” on it. It had a woman milking a cow and a farmer plowing a field. It had a rooster and a hen and horses and a bundle of wheat and a tomato. I. LOVED. IT.
I used to sketch scenes from it in my notebooks. I also made up stories about the wallpaper characters. I remember writing my parents a note and signing it “The Lady on the Wallpaper.”
The wallpaper is nearly 50 years old. It is still up in my mom’s kitchen. My mom and the wallpaper continue to inspire and amuse me to this day.
My mom in front of her kitchen wallpaper.
***
A few days ago, I shared a picture of the kitchen wallpaper on Facebook. My brother texted me and said he liked the picture. I told him I thought it was the best wallpaper in the world and he wrote, “Naaahh, their old bathroom wallpaper was even better.”
I had forgotten about their old bathroom wallpaper. Couldn’t remember a single detail.
My brother texted, “Oh boy…it was something…included slightly ribald imagery suggesting male and female parts.”
I still couldn’t remember it, even if it was ribald.
He added, “Also great graphic design and colors.”
Nothing clicked in my brain. My mind was blank. A few minutes later he sent me pictures and said, “The internet comes thru.”
The wallpaper in my parent’s bathroom.
I immediately remembered it! I also immediately wondered how in the heck I could forget something so risque?
The year the wallpaper went up was also the year I was learning to read and write in cursive. As an emerging reader, I thought the towel that said “his” actually said “let’s” on it. It made sense in my brain: “let’s take a bath” or “let’s read in the tub.” I remember I was confused by the squiggly lines on the newspaper. I didn’t know they were just squiggly lines and admonished myself for not being able to read them.
I thought “his” said “let’s.”
Who was George? Why was he drinking in the bathtub?
The bathroom wallpaper is long gone. I’m glad the kitchen wallpaper remains.
The Quarter Millennial Experience takes place several months before the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. It’s a romantic comedy about racism. Madeline and Bryce learn that both their grandmothers have the same kitchen wallpaper. At one point, Madeline fondly recollects her grandmother’s wallpaper and says, “When I own a home, I’m going to wallpaper the whole house.”
I’m 54 years old. I thought by now I would have wallpapered something but I still haven’t wallpapered a single room. Maybe this summer…
Thanks for reading. Yikes! It’s time for me to go to the read-thru! I have to go! -Connie
When I was a kid, my family received a Christmas card that included a recipe for “The Perfect Christmas.” It was a red card with gold lettering and for reasons I still don’t understand, the “nice” words were capitalized. It went something like this.
Take one cup of Joy and mix in a teaspoon of Peace. Add a pinch of Magic and stir with Hope. Sprinkle with Love. Serves EVERYONE.
When I read the Christmas card, I was immediately disgusted. “Add a pinch of Magic?” “Sprinkle with Love?” Why would anyone write something so corny? And why would someone send us something so stupid? Did they think we were morons? Was this person a moron?
***
The person, I later learned, was not a moron. At the time, they were pursuing degrees in math and nuclear physics. They graduated with flying colors and for decades have taught at an Ivy League school. So…not a moron but a brainiac who was just being nice.
This was neither the first nor last first time I got something completely wrong.
***
I don’t know why I was so “triggered” by that silly Christmas card. Nowadays, I love to send and receive Christmas cards. The cornier, the better.
***
In the classic film “It’s a Wonderful Life,” George Bailey gets something “completely wrong.” Long story short: He attempts suicide but through divine intervention and community goodwill, survives. At the end of the film, the whole town gathers in his living room and sings “Auld Lang Syne,” a Scottish song that includes the line, “We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet for the sake of auld lang syne.”
***
I do my best to drink eight cups of water a day but maybe I should start drinking eight cups of a kindness a day, too. Can’t hurt and maybe it will make me less judgmental.
Thanks for reading. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go hydrate. -Connie
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot And the days of auld lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear For auld lang syne We'll drink a cup o' kindness yet For the sake of auld lang syne And surely you will buy your cup And surely I'll buy mine! We'll take a cup of kindness yet For the sake of auld lang syne We two have paddled in the stream From morning sun till night The seas between us Lord and swell Since the days of auld lang syne For old acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind Should old acquaintance be forgot For the sake of auld lang syne? For old acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind Should old acquaintance be forgot In the days of auld lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear For auld lang syne We'll drink a cup o' kindness yet For the sake of auld lang syne
I am an optimist but things don’t happen on an “great, amazingly fantastic” level in my world. They also don’t happen in an “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” way. But anytime I have “news,” I talk to my husband.
There have been the “biggies” that I’ve, of course, told him immediately:
I’m pregnant
I got the job
They turned me down
There have been texts that aren’t necessarily urgent but are important.
Paul Reubens died
Wordle in two
They closed the Starbucks at the Belvidere Oasis wtf
I have texted him news that may seem ordinary but is actually quite shocking:
I just saw the mayor and he was wearing shorts
Karl is being nice to me today
Tiffany told me she likes anal
And I’ll text him quick photos like the one below that require no words. Because you don’t know me, I’ll explain the photo: Our son Sam fell asleep while strumming his guitar.
Sharing our daily news, breaking or boring, is our “great, amazingly fantastic” way of life over here and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Thanks for reading my not-so-great, un-amazingly non-fantastic blog! -Connie
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I’ve never “reblog” button before but thought I’d share our Rockford Fringe blog post with you because some of you have asked me where we hike. My dad once told me, “If one person asks, then twelve people care” and I’ve been operating on that scale for as long as I can remember.
We hike all over, but I’m including a short blog (above) about where we hike in the winter.
Hope this information helps and remember, our hikes are free and open to the public so join us!
For as long as I can remember, I have gained weight every winter. I usually lose it in the spring and summer, but once it starts to cool off, I pack on the pounds.
A few nights ago I asked my husband Jesse, “How much weight can I gain before you stop loving me?”
“I won’t stop loving you, Connie.”
“You sure?” I asked. “It’s getting pretty bad.”
“I’m sure.”
“We have months to go before it’s warm again.”
“I’m sure.”
***
And of course he won’t stop loving me and I won’t stop loving him.
***
When you are lucky enough to love — and be loved — unconditionally, it’s unnecessary to spend even one second publicly complaining.
***
Jesse and I are headed to Tuesdays@9 so I only had a few minutes to write a shorty tonight. Thanks for reading a blog post I will resist calling “Fatty’s Shorty.”
-Connie
P.S. The photo is from the holiday show at Tuesdays@9 Chicago when I played Santa. No padding needed for my costume!
The morning after the Cubs won the 2016 World Series, I saw my neighbor in his front yard. I was neatening my little library and he was walking toward his car which was parked on the street. It was unusual for his car to be there. He usually parks in his driveway, which has a “Cubs Fan Only” sign in it.
“You must be in a pretty good mood today,” I said to him.
He crossed over to me and said, “I am.” He was smiling and looked joyous.
He shared with me me how he had “watched” the game with his adult daughters over the phone and how stressful and fun it was. He told me how happy they all were when the Cubs won. He was still smiling.
“I picked up a few extra copies of the paper this morning,” he said as he patted the newspaper that was tucked under his arm.
He told me he was on his way to meet his brother at their dad’s gravesite. He unfurled his newspaper. It had CUBS WIN plastered across the front page.
“I’m going to leave this for my dad,” he said. “He won’t believe it, not even in heaven.” And off he went.
I loved that moment, but I don’t watch or play sports or necessarily believe in heaven. But I love it when my friends’ and families’ teams win.
Thanks for reading. -Connie
P.S. I live in Rockford have been commuting weekly to Chicago for several years. It was fun to see the city skyline light up in different ways to support their team during the games.
In 8th grade, we read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson in English class. We watched the film, too. Reading the short story, seeing the film and, several years later, reading the Brainerd Duffield play, still feels like a literary win to me. It is one of those rare stories that is excellent on the page, on the stage and on the screen. I just asked my two youngest kids if they’ve read it and they shook there heads. I texted Sam and he said “no.” Jocelyn is at college but I’m pretty sure she hasn’t either. How did I let this happen? Note to self: Show kids The Lottery during Spring Break.
***
At Cornell College, where I went to college, there was a dorm lottery every year. If your number was drawn, you and your roommate(s) could pick whatever dorm you wanted. Some dorms, especially in the old Victorian houses, were more spacious than others, so if your number was called, you could nab one of the nicer rooms. My friends Ishanee, Betsy and Mona won this lottery and lived in the sprawling “attic” in Rood House. I lived in the same “house” but in a different dorm but was over there all the time. It felt like my win because they were awesome theatre friends and we had a lot of laughs. After every rehearsal or performance or class or whatever, we’d meet in their room and talk it over. More than 30 years later, I still need to “deconstruct” after every rehearsal, reading and performance.
***
And there was that lottery with the Minnesota Fringe Festival. In the early aughts, so many people would want to perform, the administration was forced to draw names to see who could participate. I was one of the winners! My name was drawn and my four short plays The Rub, The Catholic, The Mason Jar and Mother’s Nature were part of the 2002 Minnesota Fringe Festival. This blog post’s “featured image” is a cast photo. Can you find Jesse in there? He still has that t-shirt.
Two Bonus Lottery-like Wins
In 2003, I unexpectedly received a check for $450.00 It was a state tax return and to this day, I have no idea why I got it. I thought it was a mistake and made several calls to verify the veracity of this windfall. Once I knew it was true, I got a manicure at the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota and bought new work wardrobe from Old Navy, also located at the Mall of America. Do I know how to have a good time or what?
In 2004, I had a day job at Coldwell Banker Burnett. After working there for several months, I was promoted from receptionist to listing coordinator, probably because of my sharp business wardrobe. A few weeks into my new position, I received a paycheck that was a few hundred dollars higher than what I was supposed to receive. I talked to my boss Roberta about it. I was sure she’d tell me I have to give it back but she said something about things being in “arrears.” Later, she verified that “monies” from my first paychecks had been in some type of holding and now were deposited into my bank account because I had a new position. I couldn’t believe my good fortune! Why did God love me so much? This was definitely a win but I still don’t know what “arrears” or “monies” are.
***
There haves many lottery and lottery-like wins in my life and it stands to reason there will be a few more and that’s more than enough for me.
Thanks for reading! -Connie
P.S. Verify the veracity? There has to be a better way to say that, but I have to go.
Today I’m reading “Beach Read” by Emily Henry. It’s a romance.
The protagonist, January, writes romance novels. Don’t worry, she’s fully aware of what people think of romance authors, aka “women.”
January’s funny and smart; but also disillusioned, grieving and competitive. Her nemesis is Augustus and she thinks he’s pretentious. She calls him “Gus” and says he writes about “white guys wandering the world, misunderstood and coldly horny.”
He says she writes about love-struck pirates.
They were writing rivals in college and now both are successful authors of different genres. She calls his work “Hemingway circle-jerk fan fiction.” He refers to her work as “happily ever afters.” By the end of page seven, even the dumbest reader (often me!) figures out that “Beach Read” is a love story about January and Gus.
I’m not reading it for the plot. I’m reading it because it’s clever and fun. January drives a shitty Kia, drinks too much and connects a farting Labrador retriever to her late father’s mistress. What’s not to love?
I’m also reading because there’s insight into the publishing world: She and Gus are writing each other’s books with a promise to endorse each other’s books. Interesting.
And I’m reading it because it’s never a bad idea to learn something about the younger generation: January is 29. I’m not sure how old Gus and her best friend Shadi are, but they’re probably very close to 29, if not actually 29.
Oh! And on page 8, I learned that a “grow house” is a house where people illegally grow weed. Knowing that will come in handy, watch.
Emily Henry writes memorable tertiary characters. There’s Shadi, a waitress, who lives in a tiny apartment in Chicago and “saved the day by shaving her her head in the bathroom.”
And Grace! She’s in her fifties and “has the rounded shoulders of someone who’d spent a lot of time sitting, but not necessarily relaxed.” (Truck driver.)
And there’s snappy dialogue:
JANUARY: Any ideas for the not-terrible version of this book?”
AUGUSTUS: I mean, I liked the south-of-France pitch. That’s shit’s fire.”
Out of context, that probably reads terrible, but I assure you it’s snappy and hilarious.
***
As a struggling playwright, I like to study how successful authors write dialogue, comedy, tension and chemistry.
Correction: As a struggling playwright, I like to study how successful authors write.
***
I just realized the prompt isn’t, “Why are you reading what you want, Connie?”
Oh.
As Gilda Radner’s “Emily Litella” once said, “Never Mind.”
Constance Kuntz 