Staying Up Too Late

I have this pattern that has played out at least since high school: when left to my own devices, I will stay up as late as possible.

If I need to get up at 5am the next morning, I will stay up until midnight – later than that is bound to mess with my mind. Of course it would be better in that case to go to bed at ten. But I never do that.

And now, being technically unemployed with no morning commitments, what I would LIKE to do is go to bed at one and hop out of bed promptly at nine, bright eyed and bushy tailed. But that is not what I do. I stay up until 2 or 3 and sleep in until 11 (or 12:40, which I am ashamed to say was my waking time this morning).

There’s nothing wrong with this, really. As soon as I have a morning commitment I will adjust accordingly. But it bothers me that I fall into this pattern and can’t seem to change it. Especially since I’m often staying up late for no reason. I mean, right now I’m staying up to write this post, but before that I was watching back to back episodes of LOST (I got caught in a hopeless addiction two months ago and have made it to midway through season 4 in record time), listlessly surfing the net and checking facebook. Why do I feel the need to do that until the wee hours and then sleep away the morning?

I could blame my mom, she has this trait too. Buuut… I’m 32, and theoretically capable of making my own way in life. And too old to be blaming my own behavior on my mom.

I could say there is this quality of absolute quiet that I like about night time, that is different from the morning. I guess that’s part of the reason. But there’s also a very nice quality about early morning that I miss. And the day passes so quickly when you don’t rise until noon.

Hm. Well, that’s it, folks. Nothing more than that. I guess I can't even pass it off as a side effect of being a Very Sensitive Person. It's just something I do.

Palm Reading

While I was in NYC, I performed an impromptu palm reading session that surprised me because, though I was mostly bullshitting, (a) I found myself taking it seriously as I was talking, and (b) others found it satisfying, even though they knew I was mostly bullshitting.

Bear in mind, all I know about palm reading I learned from some book that was sitting around my house when I was fifteen. Probably this one.

But I do kind of believe in palm reading. I notice the lines of my own hand changing as I grow – and it’s hard not to think this means something. Right?

On the other hand… it’s silly. Once I paid a lady $10 to read my palm and she told me I would be a teacher and a doctor. And I am neither a teacher nor a doctor. (Unless you count “theater artist” as teacher and “palm reader” as doctor).

Today I did some serious (really really serious) research about palm reading on the internet. And it struck me as silly.



And yet, I am drawn to the idea of being a palm reader! Which is not really that surprising as I am drawn to sudden drunken insights and random fits of inspiration. I am an American after all and we basically invented the idea of satori – sudden blinding enlightenment. So I roll my eyes at this desire of mine, to stumble upon insight with no effort whatsoever.

On the other hand… many good things in my life – the big steps & AHA moments – have come about this way. So there is a reason I take it seriously.

Two examples:

+ As I’ve mentioned before, I moved out to Oregon on a whim with my best friend, Aryn. We both had a strong, gut instinct to get in the car and drive, and maybe settle down somewhere along the way from Michigan to Oregon. All I knew about Oregon was that it had a climate like Ireland’s, that my Aunt Diane lived there, and that Portland was a cool town. Ten years later I’m still here.

+ I joined Hand2Mouth on accident after I met some guy at a party who said he was going to a meeting about teaching in schools. I was so eager to meet people that I found out where the meeting was taking place and drove there on a dark rainy Tuesday night. Nobody else was there yet, except for this guy with intense blue eyes named Jonathan. The dude I’d met at the party never showed up, and in fact the meeting was not about teaching in schools – these people had been invited by Jonathan to discuss starting a theater company. I immediately knew that this was the group for me, even though they were all badasses and the only theater training I had was doing community theater in Lansing, Michigan. Ten years later, everyone who was at that meeting (except Jonathan) has gone on to other things but other people have joined and it’s become an even stronger group than I could have imagined, one I still feel so lucky to be working with. And somewhere in there I fell in love with Jonathan and we got married. Who would have seen that coming?

So... I don’t know if this means I should go into palm reading.

But if anyone out there knows someone in the Portland area who is a respectable palm reader, introduce me. I’m curious.

Question

Why can't I ever, ever remember to bring my reusable shopping bags INTO THE GROCERY STORE WITH ME? So that I might actually USE them?

I have three bags by the front door at my house, in plain sight, and I have a bag in the car in case I decide without planning to stop for groceries which is what I usually do. I even have a note taped to the front door of my house that says BRING BAGS.

And yet... I never remember to bring a bag in with me. I always find myself blithely shopping with my cart and not thinking for one second about the bag until I get to the checkout. And stop. And ask myself, Did you forget to bring the bags in AGAIN?!

My brain just seems to have been permanently set to bring nothing in with me save purse, keys and a grocery list. Maybe I should write my grocery list on the reusable bag.

Thank you for listening. Advice welcomed. Unless the advice is, "stop ruining the environment, you selfish idiot."

Embracing the Diva (or learning how to be a better sensitive person)

I wrote about my lovely experience performing Undine in Seattle over on the Hand2Mouth blog. But I wanted to write more about one aspect of it here that relates to being a Very Sensitive Person.

I know I have hinted and talked around this topic a lot here, but to address it directly: the last six months I have basically not been sure I wanted to continue with Undine at all. After doing it in New York in August, I just felt burned out and used up and unable to get excited about it anymore. I thought I might be done.

As I mentioned in my last post, being in New York last month restored some of my hope & energy – and at the very least made me realize that the issue was not the city of New York.

This weekend made me realize that the issue is also not performing Undine.

I think what has been going on is this: I needed time to figure out how to handle the rigors of performing alone, and the particular stress it puts on my body and mind. It’s much more difficult than performing or rehearsing a H2M show, where there are built in support networks and ego checks. With Undine, though I have incredible collaborators, it’s still a lot more pressure falling on me directly, and it feels more personal. I needed some time to get my strength back up to the point where I could face those pressures.

One thing I’ve realized in this time of reflection is that I have to pay very, very close attention to my body and mind-space after the show, and I can’t expect too much from myself. I get into trouble when I want to be the life of the party, or for some reason think other people want me to be. I usually don’t have the energy for this, and nobody actually expects it of me anyway, but for some reason it’s been hard for me to demand the right to not talk about myself or the show or field questions from strangers. Or try and impress important people. Dear god.

One way to do this has been to embrace my Inner Diva.

A lot of people think being a Diva is all about gigantic ego. But I think it’s more about needing to shield yourself from attention and demands. And the more you put yourself out there on stage, the more you open yourself up to attention and demands offstage, and to (some) people wanting a piece of you, or wanting you to be who you are onstage.

That is, for me, the most difficult part: handling what people read into my personal life & character based on the show. I’m not blaming them for doing this – I purposely blur the lines between reality and performance, so it’s a fair assumption – but sometimes this makes talking after the show, or just being around people after the show, weird. So I’ve learned I have to be super protective of myself and what I need.

Maybe Diva needs to drink a hot toddy in the corner booth flanked by friends who protect her from the hordes. Or maybe Diva would like to speak to her public. Or maybe she would rather go out dancing.

Diva doesn’t need to be consistent. And Diva doesn’t need to apologize.

Anyway, this weekend was an amazing way to get back on the Undine train because the audiences were warm and receptive and actively supportive. I remembered that it’s FUN to do this show, that for all the energy I pour into it, I get a lot back. And I ended up having a great time talking to people after the show. It was not difficult at all – but a lot of that was because I’ve learned to not be mad at myself for having limits and reaching them. I was ready to leave whenever I felt like it, and I had people I loved & trusted around me to read my signals and support whatever I needed.

Maybe these insights seem obvious... but man, not for me. It's taken me a long time to figure all this out. Not to suggest that "all this" has been by any means figured out.

The Importance of Shoes

I have never considered myself a style conscious person. Which is to say, I like to pretend I live in a realm outside such petty concerns as clothing and status and how one presents oneself, though I’ve come to realize that no such realm exists and that when I say I “don’t care about how I look” I am carefully choosing to align myself with a certain segment of bohemian society that rejects consumerism, but actually cares WAY MORE than your average soccer mom in middle America about how they present themselves, so it’s all bullshit.

Which is all a longwinded way of saying… hello, my name is Faith Helma, and I have a sense of style. It may be a style that is one part goodwill jeans, one part monochrome t-shirt, and one part unraveling sweater – but it is a style. And lately I’ve been realizing that most important component of one’s style is: shoes. I know this is not news to anyone but me. But it’s been a big insight: if you have a pair of shoes that make you feel awesome, it has an effect on every other aspect of your life.

Kick ass shoes = kick ass life. That’s my new philosophy.

I will give three examples to prove my point.

The sandals I had the summer I was seventeen. I remember so clearly being with my mom at a shoe store, and that these sandals were expensive. I even remember how much they cost which reveals a lot about my warped sense of morality/frugality (aka morgality*): $35. She insisted on buying them for me even though I stubbornly maintained that I was fine wearing clogs made out of old bathmats. And thank god she did because those sandals and that summer are fused in my mind. In fact I don’t even remember much about what exactly happened that summer – I just remember that it was fun, and that I loved those freaking sandals and wore them every single day and kept wearing them for years until I wore out the leather. They were beautiful and delicate and strong, and they made me feel that way which, let me tell you, was a sensation that was sorely lacking at that point.

The hiking boots I wore when my dear friend Aryn & I road tripped across America. I felt so strong when I was wearing them. They embodied the kind of tough woman I wanted to be. They made me feel sexy even though I was greasy and smelly – they made me feel sexy BECAUSE I was greasy and smelly. I was still wearing them up until last winter when the soles literally fell off. And whenever I wore them I remembered: oh yeah, I can kick some ass in these boots. As I’ve said before – you can’t kick ass in flip flops. Or in spindly high heels (unless they’re those gladiator ones and if you can kick ass in those, more power to you).

The sneakers I bought the day before I flew to New York a few weeks ago. My old sneakers were fine, but they were slightly too small and I was always happy to take them off (a sure sign you are not wearing the right shoes – if they’re the right shoes, you’ll want to sleep in them). Anyway, I was at my secret-favorite store, Ross Dress for Less, and chanced across some sneakers for sale. And bought them even though it seemed frivolous, and morgality* still burns within my breast. Well, I’m glad I did, because I can’t believe how much better I feel AS A PERSON when wearing them. They are my style. They make me walk with more confidence. I feel light on my feet, but also savvy. I don’t know why. But that’s why people wear what they wear, right? So they can present themselves as they’d like to be to the world. I didn’t even realize it until I bought these new shoes, but the old shoes were making me feel pinched and knock-kneed and kind of frumpy. Now I feel like a superhero! All because of my new sneakers!

Thanks, America.

* oh, and you’re welcome for coining a new word.

NYC, Take Two

So you know what’s really weird?

Last time I traveled to New York City, I felt totally overwhelmed and freaked out. I just wanted to get away from the noise and the people and find some green space.

This time I had the opposite experience. I didn’t find the mass of people overwhelming at all. In fact it felt like less people were there somehow – even though that can’t be true. And it felt quieter! Maybe because it was winter? I have no idea but I was not bothered ONCE by the noisiness of New York.

I went in prepared for the worst – I even brought my I Ching for emergency consultation, and wrote a list of “things that make me feel good and less freaked out,” a list I did not have to consult once. I’m just blown away by how easy it was this time. I didn’t have to try to have a good time – I got up every morning excited and walked out into the street and gained energy and momentum with each step. And this despite going to bed every night at 4 a.m!

And the weirdest part is: somewhere during this trip I got my desire back for working on Undine. A desire I kind of lost after performing in August (which is weird in and of itself, because the performances went well and I loved working with the people at the Ontological and sharing space with Helsinki Syndrome – so I’m not sure why it was so hard exactly). Anyway, I woke up yesterday morning, my first day back in Portland, and immediately dived into work on Undine and didn’t even have to make myself do this – I wanted to.

I am honestly baffled by all this. And thankful. I am chalking up my different experience this time around to:

+ Being there with the whole H2M crew. It was so much easier to be able to share the pressure and burden of performing with my fellow artists. And it’s just more fun to be on tour with H2M. It’s like going out dancing with your best friends versus going dancing by yourself. Even sharing a small living space (and one bathroom) with 7 people wasn’t too bad. There were lots of chances to talk over what was happening, to process and vent and give support and make each other laugh.

+ Wintertime. I think I just like NYC better in the winter. It’s sunny and bracing, the kind of weather that makes you want to go to museums and drink coffee and educate yourself. Even when it was super cold I enjoyed it. Maybe because I got to wear sweaters and scarves and cowboy boots, which served as armor to insulate me from the noise. And in general, boots make me feel more capable. You can’t kick someone’s ass in flip flops (though I’m not sure if I could kick someone’s ass regardless, but I’d be more likely to if I was wearing boots).

+ Knowing the city better – and going in ready to be proactive about figuring out which subway lines to use. I still got lost, but I wasn’t as anxious when I did because I could ask people how to get where I wanted to go, and understand the directions they gave me. This sounds so blithe and breezy but it is a new thing for me.

Other things that struck me as awesome on this trip:

+ Goddamn it, the food! Korean, Polish, Japanese. The soup options alone are dazzling. And you know how I feel about soup. And so many things you can eat late at night. And bagels. And things to eat with bagels like pickled tomatoes. Offered up by the two sweetest men on earth, Larry Krone and Jim Andralis. Larry's bathroom was an inspiration, filled with books by such luminaries as Rue McClanahan, and I’m pretty sure a Dolly Parton action figure.

+ Halfway through I took a day to just putter around the apartment and make borscht (I mean BEET BLAST) and read my lowbrow books. You know what I’m really coming to realize? This is not a searing insight but lowbrow books are fun to read. Especially on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep at 3:30 a.m. after a night of shouting about theater over bar noise. I love smart, fierce, complicated books – of course – but when you’re trying to relax, nothing beats The Shelters of Stone.

+ Oh man – I got to see a lot of shows, from companies I admire, like Banana Bag & Bodice, Wax Factory, 31 Down, The Debate Society and Vivarium Studio. Highlights for me included BBB’s Beowulf (they had me at the trombone section and backup singers) and the little booklets that Vivarium Studios were handing out – gems of subtle, gentle absurdity that expressed the nature of the company’s work as much as their show, L’Effet de Serge, did.

+ Oh yeah, and our show. We had a great time performing it. We got pretty solid crowds and good feedback from everyone who came, and we will likely be back next year having learned a lot more about how to prepare for a run in NYC. Unfortunately, no reviews (we were, after all, competing against every other theater performance in the entire known world). But I did get an email today from someone who came and saw the show, who said:

I just wanted to tell you that I thought your show was beautiful. Really so beautiful. I rarely feel as touched or delighted by theater, and I rarely laugh that hard out loud. So I just wanted to say thank you, because watching the wonderful work of theater you created makes me want try to create wonderful things as well.

And really, that’s all you can ask for.

So thank you, New York! And I’m sorry I blamed you for my nervous breakdown back in August.

Beet Blast!

The time has come, to give the world my recipe for BARSZCZ. That’s Polish for borscht (you can read about the variations on barszcz/borscht elsewhere).

Some background on my Borscht obsession.

People of non-Polish or Jewish descent never get excited when I talk about my fabulous borscht recipe, so I call it beetroot soup. But that doesn’t really get people excited either. So now I’m thinking about calling it BEET BLAST.

I’ve seriously been considering starting a company where I bottle up my special BEET BLAST and sell it as a miracle cure for colds and hangovers*.

Because, no joke, that is what it is. In the last year I have made up a big pot of BEET BLAST at least once a month, and I’ve only gotten sick once – and that was over in a day.

I originally tasted this soup when I was in Poland, land of endless tasty soups (including pickle soup). Just about every restaurant and bar mleczny offered the delicious red barszcz (pronounced badly by me as BAR-shuh-chuh). At train stations you could pay like a dollar and get a styrofoam cup filled with steaming red broth.

I loved it but didn’t even think about making it myself because I assumed there was some complicated soaking/extracting/fermenting process involved, and anyway I’d never eaten a beet before or held one in my hands so I had no inkling of how to cook with one.

Flash forward a couple years, and our beautiful, mad Polish director friend Luba is staying with us while she directs a play. I learned a lot from her but the most profound, simple thing I picked up was her approach to cooking. We would come home after a long, grueling night of rehearsal and whereas I might throw a frozen pizza in the oven, she would pull out lentils and carrots and celery and onions and toss things in a pot with water and before I’d even taken my shoes off she’d have a delicious, thick lentil stew bubbling on the stove ready to eat.

One day we had a party. I think we were barbecue-ing, and everyone came bearing six packs of beer and hot dogs. While we sat around the kitchen table gossiping and drinking beers, Luba calmly filled a gigantic stock pot with water and threw in carrots, celery, onion and freshly scrubbed beets. At the end of the night she cut lemons in half, squeezed them into the pot and announced that the barszcz was done. Now, I don’t remember how it tasted that night – but I do remember the next morning when we all woke up and stumbled into the kitchen. Luba ladled rich ruby red broth into mugs and passed them around, saying, “Here. Polish cure for hangover.” OH MY GOD. It restored order to the world.

So, flash forward some more. It is a week before my solo show opens and my throat is sore and I can feel sickness coming on. I need my voice for the show. I panic. I am pacing the aisles of the grocery store late at night throwing garlic and oranges and cough drops into my basket when I wander past some beets in the produce section. The memory of Luba’s delicious soup comes floating back to me, and so I buy them and take them home and boil them up in a big pot of water. I squeeze in some lemon, and then I drink the broth.

People, I have tried the various “cures” for colds – popping vitamin c, gulping cayenne, lemon and honey in hot water, chicken soup with ten cloves of garlic. I’ve always gotten a cold anyway. But after I drank down this elixir, the oncoming cold was GONE. And this despite a punishing schedule of tech rehearsals and neverending singing!

So, I am a believer. I am a proselytizer, even though I know that preaching about something is the surest way to turn people away from it. I can’t help it. I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW ABOUT BEET BLAST.

Here is my simple, lazy, very untraditional** recipe for…

DELICIOUS MAGICAL BEET BLAST

+ Fill up a big old pot with water and set it to boiling on the stove.

+ Take 2-3 beets. Scrub them clean, and if they’re especially gnarly, peel them. Cut them into quarters and toss them into the pot. The water will immediately turn dark pink or red… if it’s more pink than red I might add another beet.

+ If the beets have greens attached, wash those and toss them in as well.

+ Chop up onion, carrot and celery. One each is good, but if you have less it’s ok. I just use whatever I have on hand. And don’t chop them pretty – you won’t be eating the vegetables themselves.

+ If you have parsley, throw in a generous handful. And throw in a clove or two of garlic.

Honestly, that’s about it. If you’ve got other bits of vegetables around you want to throw in – potatoes, turnips, mushrooms – anything you’d add to a regular vegetable stock will taste great.

+ Let it simmer on the stove for at least an hour. The house will smell so healthy and delicious. Then take a lemon, cut it in half and squeeze both halves into the broth. You can use lime in a pinch, though I don’t think the flavors mesh quite as well. Taste it – you may need to add more lemon.

+ Add salt and pepper. And then you can either drain out the mushy used up vegetables (saving the broth, of course!) or just let them sit in the bottom of the pot while you ladle out the broth. Luba said if you leave them there the flavor will get more intense each day. But some people get kind of grossed out seeing the vegetable parts floating around in there.

What I do nowadays is make a big old pot of this stuff, freeze half the broth and drink the rest over the next 2-3 days. Then you’ve got some on hand if you get sick and can’t get out of bed.

* This will fit in nicely with my kindergarten classroom/karaoke lounge/therapeutic dance party business.

** Supposedly the traditional Polish way to make this is to let the soup naturally ferment and sour (as opposed to adding the lemon). I’m not badass enough to try that yet, though.