Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

So...here are my thoughts on Glinda. As I prepared myself to step into her shoes again, I read all of the "conspiracy theories" suggesting that Glinda was a power-hungry, manipulating bad witch. I love the theory, but I disagree. 

Dorothy longs for adventure, to see new places, and to make true friends who understand her. My Glinda knows this, and therefore, sets her on a path to experience all of those things. The Wicked Witch of the West, although frightening, turns out to be an easy-to-defeat foe. (And Glinda is always keeping an eye on things and just a quick bubble trip away should Dorothy and her friends get in over their heads.) Dorothy must learn that she has power of her own and that even the scariest monsters have grave weaknesses. She comes to realize that the truest friends met along life's path may not look the way we expect them to look, but those unlikely companions hold our hands and stick by our sides through the darkest and most uncertain times. Like every child, she must also learn that there really is no all-powerful wizard who can solve our problems for us.  "She had to learn it for herself!"

Glinda is a good witch!  She watches protectively from the sidelines while Dorothy sets off on the adventures she always dreamed of having.  She allows Dorothy to experience beautiful and awful things.  If Glinda had immediately sent her home, Dorothy would never have been content in Kansas.

Don't think for a moment that I don't see a bit of myself in this story.  What a perfect show for me and my family to revisit during our first year back in North Carolina! As a young adult, I couldn't wait to get away from here and see the world.  During my ten years away, I met the most wonderful, unexpected friends.  I saw beautiful places, and I experienced different cultural traditions.  I also suffered through darkness, depression, anxiety, and homesickness.  And I wouldn't trade that journey for anything. I agree with Dorothy, "There really is no place like home." But I didn't truly comprehend the richness and wonderfulness of home until I left it far behind.

So...for me a wicked and conniving Glinda just doesn't jive. Let the haters hate, but I know the truth, and besides, "Only bad witches are ugly!".

Finding Friends Along the Yellow Brick Road

A Muslim hipster, a vegetarian drag queen, a good ol' boy from out in the sticks of Randolph County, and a feminist who loves mystery novels all walk into an audition... No, it isn't the beginning of a tedious joke; its exactly the sort of thing that regularly happens when my local community theatre group holds auditions for shows.

It's easy to gaze upon your smart phone and feel a bit of discriminating superiority as you read acid-tongued tweets about those "other people" who disagree with your political, social, and religious beliefs.  Viral memes which ridicule anyone who could possibly support idiotic candidates or policies are so easy and fun to share.  It is now simpler than ever to lump all of those ignorant buffoons together and dismiss them into the category of persons for whom nobody has time.  Sometimes I yearn for the pre-social media days when I didn't have to know that the nice lady I just met at the gym was a member of the Facebook group "Albino Lesbians for Sara Palin", but those days are gone, my friends.

I adore the opportunities to sing, dance and perform that the Community Theatre of Greensboro affords, but my favorite thing about working with CTG is that it has allowed me to develop real and deep friendships with people I might otherwise have dismissed or simply never encountered (including my wonderful husband).  Rehearsing and performing together creates trust and intimacy among cast members whether they come from similar or completely different backgrounds.  When we work together to perfect a scene, when we help each other learn lines or harmonies, when we collectively hold our breath and behold a cast member's spot-on portrayal of a character, we form a bond and we find common ground despite being told by the rest of the world that our differences make us incompatible.

I am so in love with the cast of this season's production of The Wizard of Oz.  Something rather wonderful and magical is happening with all of us because we respect, trust, and admire each other.  If you're in the area, I would encourage you to come out and see the show.  A cast of nearly 100 has worked with such commitment bring new life to a favorite classic story.  With so many people of different ages, abilities, and world views working together to produce something so magnificent, I started to wonder...perhaps Congress should try working together to put on a musical? I'd like to see more shimmying across the aisle and less division, wouldn't you?

A Meandering Path Somewhere Between Michigan and North Carolina

Recently I have had this niggling desire to write.  It has been a niggling desire that I have hushed up with social media, Food Network, and Utz potato chips. If I am honest, I have been unmotivated to empower my writing self because I am afraid.  I am afraid that I do not have anything new or relevant to say.  Additionally I have realized that most of my obsessive thoughts spiral around my children, and, as they grow older, I do not feel as though I have permission to write publicly about their experiences.  Sharing an anecdote about the cute thing your three year old did at the park is completely different from venting about your fourteen year old’s friend drama.  (I was recently mortified when I read a blog in which a mother had written in detail about her daughter’s experience with puberty along with a self-congratulatory description of all the cute things she had done as a mother to make her daughter’s first period a “special celebration”.  Could you just die?)

All of that being said, that niggling voice still calls out to me regularly. Most often, it clears its throat while I’m in the shower.  While I’m waiting for the conditioner to work, I mentally fuss about with a few different opening sentences.  By the time my feet hit the bath mat, I discover that some kid at my house has gotten into some summertime shenanigans, and any in-process word constructions dissolve like sugar cubes on a hyperactive five-year-old’s tongue.

Here in sunny North Carolina I find it much easier to cut myself some slack.  When our family lived up in Michigan, I had to be very mindful about my behaviors and habits.  In order to combat my weather-related seasonal depression, I forced myself to write, exercise, and interact with other humans.  On many days, I had to force myself to crawl out of bed and stay out. Here there is no need for such discipline.  I am energized and ecstatic when I accomplish a lot in a day, and I am content when I do nothing but feed my kids cereal and play Old Maid on the front porch.  It’s all good.

However, it probably isn’t ALL good.  I’ve been very sluggish when it comes to making new friends and committing to anything.  I have only plonked my behind in this chair to write one other time this year.  I’ve been stoned on sunshine and the indescribable euphoria that accompanies seeing one’s childhood home with different eyes.  Instead of inspiring creativity and any sense of urgency, I feel like the embodiment of a Southern drawl, slowly and contentedly oozing through the days.

No longer needing a rigid checklist of things to do, I feel a little lost--happy, but lost.  Somewhere between Michigan and North Carolina, there is a happy medium.  I’ll update you in six months and let you know if I’ve found it. 

Impatience

Here I am in the place I’ve longed to be for ten years.  I’m back.  It all feels rather surreal. 

Thomas Wolfe had already warned me that I couldn’t ever really go home again.  I knew this.  I have never been this age, had these children at this point in time, or been the me who lives in this skin in this place before.  Everyone here has also grown and changed.   The roads have changed.  The barbecue, hushpuppies, and sweet tea, however, all seem to have remained constant.  Praise the Lord.

I am elated to be back in North Carolina.  Yesterday I ate my lunch outside in the sunshine.  Folks up in Michigan are buried under a foot of snow and enduring sub-zero temps as I shut my eyes and feel the vitamin D being absorbed through my cheeks.  It is wonderful.  But I am impatient.

I feel the burden of impatience when I wake in the morning.  I want to feel at home at home again.  Reinventing myself here should feel exciting, but it feels daunting, overwhelming, and even a little baffling.  What if I invent a self that is all wrong, a self who isn’t authentic?  Anxiety creeps in as I slide between the sheets at night.  What if my children are never happy here?  What if I have made the worst mistake ever?  Breathe.

My eldest daughter was determined to be unhappy here from the moment we indicated that a move might be in our future. Her first day at school satisfied her expectations.  Everything here is different, and therefore, bad.  There have been lots of tears.  We have both cried as we contemplated the perceived awfulness of starting over in the middle of middle school.  The horror!

Fast forward one week.

The older children have finally started to smile more.  This mama has started to breathe normally again, and I have put down the M&M’s and Doritos in favor of homemade meals that make this new place feel a little more familiar.  Hanging family photos and cooking big pots of soup make everyone feel more cozy and settled.  Family trips to the cinema and the Krispy Kreme doughnut factory remind certain twelve year olds that life may indeed still be worth living.

Bit by bit I have begun to calm my impatience and embrace the new journey that lies ahead.  We are all learning new and valuable lessons.  “Starting over” may not be easy for a ten or twelve year old, but they are developing skills that cannot be learned when one never leaves her wonderfully supportive and nurturing comfort zone.  Throughout this journey we have bonded and been reminded of how much we all love and need each other. 

This morning my oldest daughter was excited about taking a test on 100 Latin and Greek root words.  “I shouldn’t have to take this test because I missed the first part of the unit, but I have memorized them all, and I am going to kill it!”

Everything is going to be okay, friends.  We're going to kill it here.