Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Lisa's Private Thoughts December 11th, 2012 - "Nathan, Mirrors and My Sweet 16th Birthday Party" Part 1...
OMG!!! Uncle Natha... no he asked me to stop calling him that because I'm no longer a little girl. Nathan and my family totally ROCK! Today was my 16th birthday in case you hadn't guessed. Though from the number of birthday wishes I got in my e-mail and FB pages, you all knew that. BTW, thank you all again. I love you guys.
The day started out with my mom serving my favorite breakfast, and dad taking the day off of work at the college. Even my baby brother Geoffrey seemed to know it was a special day, even though he's all of 10 months old. He seemed to want to be with me more than usual. I've never known him to be so cuddly and affectionate, but then again, I'm usually doing schoolwork or practicing special make-up effects and don't always have time for him. I think I'm going to change that. After all, I am his big sister and mom could use a break once in a while. Besides, I'm going to have kids myself one day, so I better get used to handling and playing with one. And so I did.
I helped feed and play with him until I had to go to school. God he squeals so loud when he's happy, and I loved every moment of it.
He cried and fussed a bit when I had to leave for school, which really touched me. I felt guilty and told my parents that birthdays, especially when a girl turns sixteen, should mean a person gets to take the day off. Dad started to agree until Mom shot him a look and he quickly told me to get ready so he could drive me to school.
By the time I was ready, Geoffrey was fast asleep in his playpen. I apparently wore him out, which earned me a grateful smile from Mom. Anyway, school was pretty good. Got lot's of birthday wishes from my classmates, as well as a few conspiratorial looks.
Obviously, something was up, but I had no idea what. Oh, I knew my parents had something special in mind, but they'd been real quiet about it. All they'd tell me was that there was going to be a party at The Crypt. I kept hoping it meant that Nathan was going to be around. I hadn't seen him since school started in September. I know he has other families and friends who live around the country and even overseas, who he likes to visit. But, I was really hoping he'd come back today of all days.
Needless to say I wasn't disappointed. But before I get to that, I wanted to tell you about Marisa. When she saw me at school today she gave me a little present which thrilled me to no end. Even before she gave it to me, I gave her a big hug just for remembering my birthday.
We've hardly spent much time together, but that's been because she's been staying close to her folks. Her dad's been fighting cancer and she's wanted to be there for him as much as possible in case things go bad. I've wanted to be there for her, but she's kept her distance for some reason I still don't understand. But in any case, getting to hug her and know she still cares meant a lot.
Afterwards we spent a bit of time together just catching up a bit, but every so often I noticed a sad look on her face whenever she glanced at my outfit. I know my style has changed a lot since I came back from England last year, but I'm still the same. I started going for a Gothic look after I came back and a lot of people think I'm now a 'Goth', but I'm not. I'm the same person I was before, I haven't gone all gloomy and talk about dark things. I just love the outfits and experimenting with make-up effects.
In any case, we had a good lunch but then had to split up for our respective classes and I didn't get to see her again for the rest of the day. I kept hoping she'd show up to whatever party my parents had planned for me.
By the time I got home, I knew Mom was making my favorite dinner. I could smell her spaghetti sauce from outside and my stomach started growling in anticipation. We had dinner a little earlier than usual as we were supposed to be at The Crypt by six o'clock. Needless to say I was excited. I almost didn't taste my dinner I was so worked up. Just after we finished eating Mom and Dad presented me with big box with a bow on it.
"You'll want to wear this tonight," they told me.
I swear my hands were shaking I was so excited as I pulled the ribbon off and opened the box. For a moment, I couldn't speak. It was a dress, one that I had been dreaming of ever since we came back from England last year.
It was a wine-colored, shoulderless dress, with bodice that tied up the back. I'd seen it back in an antique shop some months ago and had fallen in love with it, but hadn't had the money to get it at the time. It was still there up until a month ago, when I'd finally saved up enough money to buy it, but it was already gone. Now I knew why. I didn't stop hugging my parents for a good five minutes I was so grateful. This was turning out to be the best birthday ever.
But they had more in store for me. After I raced upstairs with the dress I spent a good hour fixing my hair and doing my make-up just so. I have really long black hair, which I knew would look great against the dress, so I took extra care getting my look just right. Once I finished, I headed downstairs where my parents were ready with cameras.
I didn't mind one bit. I wanted to be able to remember this day as vividly as possible.
Soon we were out the door and headed downtown to where The Crypt awaited. It felt kind of funny walking down the lonely alley where the entrance to the club awaited, all dressed up like this. I was expecting to see a crowd waiting around the steps that led down to the door of the club, but no one was in sight. Naturally, I assumed everyone would be waiting downstairs, but instead as we walked down the stairs there was only silence until we reached the door which opened by itself and bathed us in a magical blue light which revealed the most amazing winter-themed room I'd ever seen...
...TO BE CONTINUED
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Another night and I stand once more in my artist's studio located on the top floor of the building that houses my club "The Crypt". No one's allowed up here unless I say so, and tonight I wish to be alone with my thoughts. For two days now I've been wrestling with the idea of trying my hand at writing novels.
In some ways the idea seems ridiculous. Me? An author?
Then another question comes to mind in the form of one word, why?
That's the sticking point for me. Why would I take up writing? Because I'm bored and want to try something new that I've never done before? It wouldn't be the first time. When I joined vaudeville, it was simply to keep myself busy and working behind the scenes as a stagehand at night seemed ideal. But then I started to get to know the performers like Julius, Arthur, Herbert and Leonard... better known as the Marx Brothers. Their range of talents fascinated me. The number of instruments they could play, or the snappy patter they should spout on a moments notice never ceased to amaze me. Plus, they seemed to sense the feeling of being 'lost' and 'adrift' in me, which made them reach out so I could be a part of their comeraderie. But it didn't stop there. Others in the troupe welcomed me as well, like "Fatty" (Roscoe Arbuckle), the Keatons, Harry and Bess Houdini, the lovely and sweet Mae West and so many others...
Before I knew what was happening they'd be teaching me all kinds of skills and even dragging me out on stage to help out in their acts. I could write endless stories about those days and the ones that came before.
My days on the battlefield while serving in the Union Army. So many stories were lost there that only I know about. The hopes and fears of my brothers in blue, as well as some of those who wore the rebel gray. In 167 years of walking this world, I've not forgotten a single person who I've met, good or bad, I remember them. I also remember the stories they shared, the sweethearts they pursued and the outcomes.
So many stories to choose from, but where would I begin?
I brought up the idea of my taking up writing to Brian and his family last night at dinner. Much to my surprise no one laughed. Instead they eagerly supported the venture. Brian in particular urged me to take a couple of creative writing courses at the college where he teaches history. "We've got some really good instructors there and they could really help you hone your skills?" Brian pointed out. "I've taken a couple of them and they were really helpful. Of course, you'll need to decide on a genre to write in. Agents and publishers like to represent someone who has a specific kind of novel."
"You should write romance," his daughter Lisa suggested with a twinkle in her eye as she looked at me. Even though she's only a child I have a feeling she's developing a crush on me. I've seen that look before in girls her age and even younger, over the decades. But only one ever managed to land me, but she was extremely persistent.
Even now I can feel her eyes on me after seven decades. Looking up I find myself staring into a pair of dark eyes, forever captured in oil. Dark hair frames those eyes along with the lovely face and strong chin. "Magda," I whisper and smile.
Our time together was not nearly as long as either of us had hoped, but it was magical. Our first meeting and her prolonged pursuit for my love could fill several volumes. Her persistence paid off and after three years she became my wife at the young age of sixteen.
As I stand there lost in thought, the sounds of music reaches my ears from several floors below. The Crypt is now open and is already filling up with the usual crowd. Even from here I can sense the whirl of emotions and life down there. Laughter, sorrow, broken hearts, lust, hopes for love...
A flash of light through the window catches my eye. After several nights of gathering clouds it looks as rain is finally drawing near. I make my way up the stairs and onto the roof of the building to watch the approaching storm.
I see lightning in the distance over my hometown, it's going to be a good one. But instead of retreating back inside, I stay where I am and feel the breeze on my face and close my eyes. I can feel the storm's energy on the wind and without thinking, several lines of words describing the feeling come to mind. Some of the words are trite, but they still help paint a picture within my head.
Suddenly my eyes shoot open as realization sinks in. Painting a picture, but with words instead of oils or acrylics! No pencils, no paintbrushes, just words that form an image or a scene within the readers mind. That's what an author does. But they don't just paint one picture, they paint a whole series of images, coupled with emotions and thoughts. Yet, I can still use my skills as a painter as well. Illustrations and book covers... yes.
And I have so much material to draw upon. My own experiences as well as those of people who's memories lives I keep alive within me. I've shared their stories countless times with descendants so they are never forgotten.
But what kind of stories to write?
From down in the alley I hear the sound of raised voices. Looking over the edge I see a young couple having a heated argument. The boy is obviously breaking up with the girl and leaves her in the alley alone. But she does not remain that way for long. Three others, friends of hers arrive and comfort her. One of them is a young man who obviously has feelings of his own for her. But instead of being foolish and declaring his affections, he merely gives her the support and comfort of the friend she needs right now.
But I can sense a change in her. It's not big, but her gratitude to him and the two girls with him is obvious. I hear her say she wishes more guys were like him as they step inside. Perhaps something will come of it eventually.
However the thing that gets me most is the image that forms in my mind. Just like the other night down in the club, I could see other figures, superimposed over the trio. Their outfits changed several times within the span of a few seconds. I saw flappers, soldiers, suits, gowns, hippies, but their actions were all the same and leading towards one thing... romance.
"Love Across Time..." I murmur as the first drops of rain start hitting my head.
Why not? I've seen and experienced it so many times in the last fifteen decades. Oh, the settings and ways one behaved have changed over time, but the feelings never do.
Feeling elated at the idea, I spread my arms wide and let the rain and story ideas pour over me.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Summer in West Virginia hasn't changed all that much in a hundred and fifty years and tonight is no exception. It hit the upper 80's which in and of itself isn't so bad, but the humidity makes it feel much worse. Brian and his family are out of town, so I spent part of the evening with Jack, the town's physician, and his family. They know my secret and have kept it to themselves for the past one hundred and twenty years. It was nice spending time with his mother and grandmother. As much as time has passed I still see them both as little girls who I used to take up into the evening sky on a warm summer night.
But only when the sky was clear. Tonight there are clouds overhead so I can't even enjoy the stars. I'd have spent the rest of the evening with Jack and his family, but they were hosting a party with others from out of town and I didn't want some of our conversations overheard, so I left early and headed to The Crypt.
One of the nice things about having a private club that's located in the basement level of an old building is that it doesn't get too hot down there and I'm not the only one who knows this fact. Even before I turned down the alley and reached the stairs that led down into my club, I could hear the music playing, accompanied by laughter and cheering.
Upon opening the door I find the room is full bodies gyrating to the latest hit tunes my new disc jockey is playing. He goes by the name of Scar-Man due to on old wound that runs from his forehead and across his face. Thank God I got to him in time, otherwise it could've been a lot worse. I've offered to help him get it fixed but he always refuses. "I need to remember where I've been... so I don't forget where I'm goin'," he always tells me, so I leave it at that.
I quietly make my way through the crowd in my own unique way. I pass between bodies that only a fly could navigate without anyone noticing. Soon I've reached a dark quiet corner of the room where I can observe without being noticed. There is a table here and I settle in and let my eyes roam. Oddly enough they fall upon one of the old vaudeville posters I have lining my wall. My mind begins thinking about how things were back in the 1910's and the 1920's. Without realizing it, my eyes swing back to the crowd on the dance floor and I see something wondrous. My eyes are clearly seeing the young people moving back and forth, flirting, and kissing and having a wonderful time. Yet in the same moment in my mind I'm seeing another image super-imposed over them. I see uniforms from bygone eras. One moment I see the Union blue, then the brown ones we wore back in World War I, in another instant I'm seeing the dresses become flapper style, while the young men are decked out in the old Zoot suits.
The styles continue to change, yet the emotions and feelings are still the same as I watch the figures both before me and in my memories. Something stirs within me as I stare. Soon I leave my little corner of the club and head upstairs. Normally, I'd take the actual stairs themselves, but tonight I take my 'mist' form and head upwards until I reach the door that leads to my art studio and slip through the open transom above it.
Once inside my artistic sanctuary I solidify and stare around at my surroundings. Canvasses, both finished and still under way, line the floor and walls.
I soon find myself studying each one intently. My mind begins to think back to when I created each one and the story that led to their creation. But more than just the stories return, so do the emotions that inspired the imagery. Before long I find myself exploring where those stories and feelings began which culminated in these artworks. I've often heard people say, "I wonder what the story is behind this art piece..." Well, I know each and every story behind my works. Some of them are simple, others could fill page upon page of a number of books.
"And I'm the only one who still knows most of them..." I murmur to myself as new thoughts enter my mind. "Do I dare..." I whisper to the silence that surrounds me.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Sunday, March 15, 2015
*A note from the author: Terry Pratchett has long been one of my all time favorite authors. He's made me laugh and think so often it never ceases to amaze me. It's because of him there are so many moments of laughter in my own work, but never enough to distract from the main storyline. However, I've never reached the levels of hilarity and pointedness he could. With his passing this week, I knew I had to do some kind of entry to say how much he and his work influenced me. I struggled with how to come up with something to say, when I remembered Nathaniel who has been around for so long and has known so many people. So, through him I share some thoughts and feelings on the passing of a wondrous author, as well as provide more insight into my vampyre and what makes him so special sometimes. I hope you enjoy.*
My last class of the day got cancelled over at New River Tech, which is also where my dad teaches. Marisa still had some classes as well, but I didn't feel like hanging around the campus. So I decided to go and hang out over at Nathan's place. He was probably still resting down in the ground, but at least I'd be there when he got up.
You can imagine my surprise when I got to his place and found he was up and about in the middle of the afternoon. I found him sitting on the floor with his back me, with a bunch of books laid out in front of him. Surprisingly, none of them were the old worn hardback kind that lined the walls of the room. Instead, these were all paperbacks, some going back as far as the 1980's.
Naturally, this piqued my curiosity so I quietly went over to him and took a look at the covers. They were colorful with amusing artwork. All of them were by the same author... Terry Pratchett.
Immediately my heart sank. "Did he...?"
Nathan nodded. "It was all over the internet this morning," he sighed and looked up at me. "I'm surprised you didn't already know."
"Marisa and I have a dance class at 8:00 AM, so I didn't have a chance to get online," I replied and sat down next to him. As soon as I settled in, I rested my head against his shoulder. "I remember when you introduced us to him when we went to England with you. He was really nice. I like him."
"He was amazing," Nathan smiled. "Not that he thought it, but you, me and a lot of other people out there did."
"At least we have his books and stories to remember him," I pointed out.
"I have a lot more than that," Nathan said with a smile that aroused my curiosity.
"Oh? What did you two have wild night together or something?" I asked innocently, while batting my eyes at him.
"We had a few nights where... HEY!" as cut himself off as the penny finally dropped.
I was still laughing at his reaction as he desperately tried to explain that nothing 'unnatural' as he put it, ever happened between the two of them. "We just had a few good laughs together, that's all," he finished with scowl that was not remotely intimidating.
Taking his hand I squeezed it and said more seriously, "I know it's hard losing another friend. It's not something you ever get used to, is it? No matter how long you've been around."
"No, it isn't," he said quietly, as that curious smile suddenly reappeared on his face. "But, I can take solace in the fact that for me they're never really gone. My memories are different than most people's."
"How so?" I asked curiously.
For a moment he didn't answer. Instead he seemed to be gathering his thoughts and then said, "T think Terry put it best when he said..."
"Now most people, can recall a number of things from their past. But I can recall everything!"
I stared at him in wonder for a moment. "Everything?" I repeated.
He nodded. "Our brains are taking in all kinds of information all the time. The feel of the breeze on our skin, someone's smile, how it felt to kiss a person you've longed for the first time, the works. But it's so hard to remember every little detail."
"I can remember a lot of things," I pointed out.
"Of that I'm certain, but how hard is it to remember all the things that you saw and witnessed in 1999?"
I started to say something then stopped. "You mean, in the entire year? Everything I saw or did within that time?"
Blinking I shook my head. "No, I don't think I could. I've probably forgotten most of it."
At that point Nathan shook his head, "No you haven't. It's all there, but it's stashed away in different areas of the brain where you can't always access them. But it's all there."
Immediately my mind began picturing photos and letters all scattered about in a huge room inside my head. Only it looked like total chaos. "But you can keep track of it all, can't you?" I asked.
"With effort, but yes," he smiled. "I can recall everything friends like Terry ever said or did in front of me. Plus there are always the stories other people told me about him."
"And you never forget any of it?"
"Not a single thing," he replied.
"Then, you remember 'everyone' you've ever met and all the things they did?" I whispered in awe.
This time his smile became even wider. "Now you got it."
"So you're like a walking repository of other people's lives. The ones who only family and friends knew about, because they never became famous or well known," I murmured in growing awe.
"That's definitely one way of looking at it," he nodded after thinking it over for a few seconds. "And I share those memories with their descendants so they're never forgotten."
"So you make sure their memories stay alive," I smiled.
"I can do better than that," Nathan winked. "If the person is in tune enough with me, I can share those memories so they can have them as well."
This was news to me so I quickly begged him to share one with me, which he did. It might not have been the one he'd intended but I saw Mr. Pratchett holding a broom, next to the actor who played "Death" in one of the Discworld movies. Both were pointing at each other with amusement and camaraderie, then I felt something... calm and at peace. I knew that last part came from Nathan. It was how he was feeling about losing another friend.
Having read the Discworld books myself I knew that when Death collected someone there would be a desert for them to cross. "Do you think Mr. Pratchett's already crossed it?" I asked Nathan as we were still linked.
To my surprise Nathan shook his head and said, "No. Somehow I think he's in a cottage that is much bigger on the inside and colored in different shades of black, which is filled with all kinds of cats. Across from him Death is holding out a cup of tea saying, "ALBERT AND I WERE WONDERING IF YOU COULD STAY A WHILE AND TELL US A STORY...", That's where I think he is, anyway."
"I think so too," I smiled and gave Nathan a kiss, knowing the memory of it would never be lost.
**Special Note: The section where Death is talking to Mr. Pratchett was created by my wife Helen, who gave me permission to share it in this entry. Thank you my love.**
Monday, March 2, 2015
I won't be on around very much for the next two weeks. I have a 10-12 page advocacy paper due a week from this Friday, as well as a group presentation for another of my classes.
So I won't be around much, but I hope to visit from time to time until everything gets settled.
Needless to say, I won't be getting much of my own writing done either, so there won't be any updates on "The Door", so sorry to everyone who's waiting for word on that book, as well as new entries here on "The Vampyre Blogs - Private Edition".
All this being forced to put aside so much is making me have some serious second thoughts about the path I'm on at the university. Will be giving this a lot of thought in the next two weeks.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
I had just gotten back to Pointer after doing some book signings up in Allentown Pennsylvania. The night was still young, but I didn't feel like dropping in on Brian and his family. After spending hours talking and signing books I felt like having some alone time. So I headed downtown to where my club awaited.
Being a Thursday night, I knew it wouldn't be open to the public so it was a safe bet I'd have the place to myself. After quietly leaving my car near Doctor Jack's office, I walked the streets for a while in order to stretch my legs. It felt good.
I never knew being an author could be so tiring at times. Oh the late nights writing suit me fine, but ever since I signed a few deals with Hollywood, my presence has been in demand. Meetings, lectures, book signings, and personal appearances have kept me busy lately. So not having to be anywhere in particular and being able to wander a bit is very relaxing.
But as I drew close to the alleyway that led to my club, I spotted a familiar figure lingering nearby.
It was Teddy, one of my regular customers. He's a nice kid who I helped out a few weeks ago when one of the jocks tried to bully him for asking a cheerleader to dance. I put a stop to things rather quickly, especially when I realized he suffered from Fibromyalgia. Ever since that night I've felt a kind of kinship towards him.
Although I never got a diagnosis, I know I shared his affliction when I was even younger than him. The constant pain left me tired and unsteady at times. But I was labeled 'lazy' and 'clumsy' by many, including my father. So I had to learn to hide my constant discomfort and fight my body's tendency to not want to cooperate at times. I don't think my father ever realized how much work I put in to just trying to appear to be normal. My mother on on the other hand knew better as did my little sister Isabella who often asked that I accompany her places to read to her. Being so young and blessed with eyes like an angel's, Father barely ever refused her requests thus getting me out from under his watchful eye.
It wasn't that he was cruel, I think he simply believed that being firm with me would lead to my becoming a 'real' man down the road. The idea of disappointing him always haunted me, which was part of the reason why I joined the Which is part of the reason I joined the 7th West Virginia Volunteer Regiment when the Civil War started. The day I appeared before him and mother in uniform for the first time I could see the pride in his eyes.
But I also saw something else, fear. This is probably what led to his pulling me close, something he rarely did with me and said, "I know how much you hurt sometimes and that your body can betray you. They say this'll be over before Christmas, so don't be foolhardy. Come back in one piece and know I'm always going to be proud of you, my son."
Oh how I would've loved to have heard those words so much sooner, but just hearing them once was more than enough.
Looking at Teddy I knew he could use some words of comfort as well. His shoulders were slumped and in his face was a trace of tiredness I knew only too well.
After a brief greeting I invited him inside the club. He seemed surprised but was more than willing to accept my invitation. We both knew the seats were comfortable and that the place would be nice and quiet.
Soon we were sitting quietly near my piano, chatting away. He was now dating Tina, a member of the cheerleading squad. She wasn't the one he'd been asking to dance when the trouble started, but she had been on hand and had helped him up after I intervened. Like him, she too suffers from Fibromyalgia, but that was not the reason he was alone tonight. She had gone out of town to visit relatives, leaving him with time on his hands.
"So what brought you out this way?" I asked him. "You knew the club wouldn't be open tonight."
"Nothing," he replied, a little too quickly. "I was just in the neighborhood and needed to take a moment to rest when you saw me."
He was hurting. That much I was sure of. But he also wasn't telling me everything. I decided to dig a little deeper. "You know, when my Fibro was acting up I didn't always feel like taking long walks."
Teddy gives me an odd look, but says nothing.
"And I know you live all the way over on the other side of town," I continued.
This time I saw realization sink in and his shoulders sagged. "Okay, I came all the way over here to try and get to the music store before it closed, but I didn't make it."
By this time my curiosity was aroused. "What were you going to get there? Sheet music?"
"No a guitar," he tells me. "I've been getting lessons from one of my cousins for years now and I've gotten really good. But I only really get to practice when I can borrow his or at school. But I can't take the ones from school home with me. So I saved my money and was going to finally get my own, but my Fibro slowed me down and... well, you know the rest."
I was both impressed and a little confused by his determination to get the instrument. "You came all this way, even though you were hurting like hell to buy that guitar? How come? Why was it so important to you?"
He looked away from me and stared down at his hands. "When I play, I lose myself in the music and I can forget the pain for a while. I don't feel like a loser or a lame-o," he replied quietly.
"I know what you mean," I told him and stood up. Wandering over to my piano I continued, "I cannot tell you how many times I've sat here and just cut loose so I could become lost in the music. The same thing happens when I'm dancing as well. I can forget whatever's bothering me and with that respite my mind can clear itself for a time. Then, when I've finished, I feel recharged. Invigorated and ready to face whatever's coming."
My fingers brushed the white keys ever so gently. This piano and I were old friends. It had been given to me by Jimmy Durante, the great Schnozzola himself, as a gift some years ago and I treasured it. His charitable nature extended way beyond his friends. I remembered all the work he did for boys, girls and teens all over.
Just then I heard his voice as if it was coming from behind me saying those immortal words, "Do it for the kids."
Without a second thought, I asked Teddy to stay put while I went down into the storage area. After a brief search I found what I was looking for and came back with a guitar cases. It had belonged to one of my many nephews who had given up playing after less than a year and had gone onto working on cars instead.
Opening the case I pulled the instrument out. It looked as new as I remembered.
Teddy gasped and came over to take a closer look. "Oh man, it's a Gibson! And it's in mint condition."
Smiling, I handed it to him and said, "See if it's still in tune."
It wasn't, but my companion quickly fixed rectified the problem. He had a good ear and definitely knew his stuff. Soon he was treating me to a display of his skills that held me in awe. I've learned to play a number of instruments over the decades, but I'd never mastered the guitar. Harps, keyboards, violin and a couple of wind instruments were my limit.
But Teddy knew exactly what he was doing. Watching his fingers flying up and down the guitar's neck and picking those strings was a marvel to behold. He played for an hour and then we talked until it was time for him to go home. I sent the guitar with him on 'permanent' loan. To say he was grateful would be an understatement. But I knew it would do better in his hands than just sitting in the storage room. Especially since I knew it would help him through those difficult times when the Fibro was getting too much.
I don't feel those pains anymore of course. My condition freed me from the shackles of Fibromyalgia and a great many other infirmities. But I never forgot what it felt like, or how even a small respite of any kind could mean so much.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Uncle Nathan is the coolest guy ever!
Back when we'd been in Europe he'd promised to take me to some places that had vintage clothing and today he did just that. It was a raining today so we didn't have to worry about the sun bothering him as we drove around. At the first place we stopped I found this really nice-looking old bustle skirt in black that fit just perfect. Unfortunately, it was a little out of my price range, but not Nathan's. He bought if for me.
"It looked perfect on you," he explained. "And I would know, I spent a lot of time looking at women from the front, from behind, all around in fact."
I gently slugged him on the arm for that one and called him a pervert to which he replied, "Excuse me, I did work in theater for a coupled of decades doing a lot of different jobs, including helping with people's outfits. I had to make sure they looked right before they went on stage."
"Sure, you did," I teased back.
"Right, that does it," he announced and took me to a theater that was running a burlesque show.
Now before anyone freaks out, the show wasn't going to be on until later. So the only people there were a couple of the girls who were rehearsing and the troupe's leader, a woman named Olivia. Much to my surprise when she spotted Nathan her face lit up and she came running over to give him a big hug crying, "Uncle Nate! Oh, how I've missed you. Hey, everyone Nate's here!"
I swear one of these days I'm going to find out exactly how many people are part of his 'extended family' besides mine. Back in Europe there were quite a few, but now I'm beginning to think that the the actual numbers are much larger.
In this case it made sense. Apparently a number of friends and cousins were in charge of this burlesque troupe. I don't think all of them know his real secret as a couple of the people mentioned how unusual it was to see him in the day. "You usually only come around at night when we have a show going," one mentioned.
Uncle Nate merely waggled his eyebrows and said, "Well, you have to admit the sites around here are much more interesting at night."
While everyone burst out laughing, I was given the grand tour backstage while Nathan was giving people a hand here and there with the backstage equipment and event he costumes. Apparently he was telling the truth as several of the girls asked for his opinion and help with some of their outfits. I think a few were trying to flirt, but mostly they did want his advice and help.
It was interesting to see all the inner workings of a theater backstage. I'd never been behind the scenes before, so this was a real treat for me.
Plus I got to see inside one of the dressing rooms where they kept all the clothing and make-up. One of the things they all stressed to me was although I wanted to go for an authentic look I should also keep in mind, be able to move and breathe.
"We don't just get out there and start stripping, we're dancing," one girl told me. "We do splits and a lot of other acrobatics. And some of us are wearing corsets and those can be constricting so if you're not careful you could make your life really miserable. So choose items that allow movement and fabrics that breathe and you'll be okay."
I thought this was great advice, because the theater teacher at my high school has been complimenting me on my outfits lately. She says I have an eye for style and authentic looks and has been hinting I should maybe join her class. I told her I'd think about it and now I really am. This could be a great experience for me and open up some doors down the road. I may do it since I have more time to myself these days. Marisa is still being distant, but at least now I know what's going on. Her dad is fighting cancer and she's spending as much time with him as possible in case things go bad.
I'd love to be there for her, but my parents say I should respect her wishes to be with her family more, so I'm giving her her space. I'm still going to try and be there for her as much as possible, especially at school. But I'm going to do as my parents say and giver her her space. I just hope things go well so we can start hanging together again. I really miss her.