Trip down Memory Lane

When I go home, one of the things I really enjoy is watching home videos. Last time I went home, after my mother stopped speaking to me, on my final day, I started watching some videos, unprompted. Eventually, as was my goal, my mom joined me. Even my dad joined us for a bit. Because my sister was away, we watched some very early videos, pre-her, like camping trips when I was two and three, my parents still so young and “without” and trying to make it all work. I love this picture of my parents, and it reminds me of how much they do love me, even when the going gets tough.

So here’s a little photo retrospective, mostly for my own nostalgia, but maybe it’ll trigger your own too. 🙂

This is exactly the kind of home movie image that would make my parents melt and love me all over again.

This boy and his brother were the exact age of me and my sister. His parents were my parents' best friends when they worked in CT. Now, he's dating a girl from my hometown at a prestigious East Coast school. Oh, and he spend 6 months in Chile. What have YOU done lately?!

 

This is a beach in CT where my grandmother had a home, and where both my mom and I spent a LOT of time growing up. What I wouldn't give for us to still have that place. (P.S. we definitely snuck in. My mom's still a badass)

 

This is what most days looked like when I still lived at home (pre-age 15). At least how it looked when no one was in tears.

 

That hammock replaced an ancient swing set after I went away to boarding school. The swingset had survived a cross-country move, and an accident with the milk truck. At least there's still something that swings there, and that, my friends, is what summer looks like.

And THIS, my friends, is what winter looks like. (i.e. miserable)

 

This is called a "yurt." Would you be amazed if I told you this was luxury compared to how my family and I used to camp? This is nice... warmer, cleaner, a destination. We have still, however, been snowed out of a yurt in June. Yup, JUNE.

 

My final class in high school. It was Acting Shakespeare. GOD, I miss that wonderful, wonderful school. (PS See those sexy uniforms? Yeah, "uniforms.")

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This is the Moscow Art Theatre. If you're a theatre connoisseur, MXAT was founded by Chekhov, Stanislavski, and Nemerovich-Danchenko. If you're a newbie, this is the national theatre of Russia, and was founded by the guy who invented modern acting, plus a kick-ass playwright and another cool dude. It's a fascinating history if you like those Ruskis.

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Chekhov's grave. Note a couple of things: A) There's the emblem of a seagull on his headstone, which indicates that he was a founding member of MXAT. We don't honor one's theatrical affiliations in this country like they do in Russia. B) It's fucking FREEZING in Russia in December. I can barely remember this day I was so freaking cold.

 

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Snowvum Godem! (that's phonetic for "Happy New Year" in Cyrillic) I would like everyone to ackowledge that this entire group of nerdy Americans survived New Years in Red Square, despite numerous checkpoints and pat-downs, the fact that they blocked off our path home, forced us to take the Metro for the first time, and not even the POLICE OFFICERS spoke English. That's how I know that people are capable of anything. I mean, look at us.

 

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Curtain call of UNCLE VANYA by Anton Chekhov in the theatre where it first premiered in 18something. Freaking crazy experience, if you're a theatre nerd/actor like myself. P.S. They always get flowers. Every night. Someone brings the cast flowers. Unreal.

This kind of stupid picture has a lot of meaning. This stage, the "mainstage" at my school, was where I spent many long hours building things and hanging lights as a freshman, and also had some of my most rewarding onstage work. Here, it is the set for the very first scene in my Senior Showcase, which, if you've been following my blog long, you know was QUITE the emotional event in my life.

 

My most prized possession. The amazing story won't move you unless you know who Maria Irene Fornes is, but long story short, she has dementia, no one thought she'd ever write again, someone encouraged me to ask for an autograph despite this, after a bit of pressure on all sides I said, "no, it's fine, I don't mind," and then all of a sudden Irene wrote in my book. Her documentarian, friends, agent, etc. all passed this around. Who knows-- I may have one of the last specimens of Irene's writing.

Finally, for true nostalgia, look at these lovebirds. My mom and dad just celebrated their 26th wedding anniversary a few days ago. Those crazy kids.

Thanks for indulging me, all. More thoughtful stuff to come. I just really like to look through old pictures (and I haven’t seen those Russia ones in years!!)

B.

“I think that as a writer, you are — I’m already thinking I’m wrong — you are riveted from the day you begin writing. And you are obsessed with it and you are entertained by it, and when you stop, it’s because you’re tired and you’re dying the next day to go back to it; you are the first audience to your own output. You are in heaven. It’s like a love affair. And everybody else can disapprove of it and think you’re an idiot, but when you had it, you never forget it, and that is really what lives inside you. And it is in the work. Because you always find one person or another who has experienced the same thing that you experienced.”

— Maria Irene Fornes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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