A pretty little play by Philip Dawkins:

Twas a month before Xmas
And –between you and me-
Not a gift had been purchased
To place ‘neath the tree.

The nephews and nieces
(Of which I have NINE!)
Don’t know Santa’s gifts
Come from paychecks of mine.

So, if you’re like I am,
With gifts to be getting,
But you’re broke, no denying
You’re panicked and fretting,

Then may I suggest for the stockings of one young ones:
A play that I wrote that got published by someone!
Head to this website, for that’s where they’re sellin’
My dark play for children called EDGAR AND ELLEN.

What joy when they spy in the sock by the heater
The perfect surprise for the young adult reader!
And when you tell Junior that you know the author,
He’ll think that you’re famous. And, if not, whatever.

On Monday! On Tuesday! Go purchase your playscript.
Online and on credit! On break from your day gig!
A joy for the kids on a bright winter’s day.
Break a leg with your gifts, and to all a good play!

Ho ho ho,

Cynthia ( and Philip will thank you)

In thinking about whether or not I was going to go home for the holidays I got overwhelmed with facing them. My family that is, not the holidays.

This has not been a good year for us. I personally think that my parents are doomed to repeat their mistakes over and over again. (I don’t think I know of anyone with worse luck then they do.) As for me my personal life has been trying to say the least.

The holidays to me mean family. A packed house full of people you see a couple of times a year, usually DNA similar.

Now instead of blood relatives, I have a house full of people I am truly thankful for. Friends and loved ones that get me through each year.

So I’ve decided to be thankful for all those that love me and call me family. And deal with everyone not here at Easter.

Happy Thanksgiving.

What might be hard to see is the cane that this man was using to help him see. You can just see the white ball at the end of it. Regardless someone should tell him that people are laughing at the irony in is choice of luggage, I didn’t. I just took a picture.

Ignore the woman in the foreground and let’s talk about the pawn shop that dresses up for holidays.

Just a little something to brighten your day.

When you see the president at first you have to remind yourself that you are not watching a T.V. You are in fact seeing THE real live President of the United States.

I was performing an underwater dance on the north lawn of the White House decked out in a faux scuba gear with a bubble machine strapped to my back pumping out 1000 bubbles a minute, staring at Barack and Michelle Obama pass out candy on Halloween.

I went there with Redmoon Theatre Company and shared one side of the driveway with Chewbacca and R2D2 and a hand full of drone soldiers on lent from Lucas Films I guess. I mean I overheard someone saying that the guy playing Chewbacca was the real thing; you know the one from the movies. The other half being flanked by the minor characters of ‘Beauty and the Beast’, Belle and the Beast curiously missing.

What was I doing here?

For a split second I pictured Secret Service agents flanking me and dragging me out while children cried and bubble juice leaked down the driveway. Michelle would look up and see me, I would reach my gloved scuba hand out to her. She would turn to have someone do something, anything, but it would be too late. I would be out.

I was snapped back to reality when the Press Core attacked me to get my picture, fifth-teen cameras all clicking the same frame, while I stood frozen with fear of doing the wrong thing. My first paparazzi moment and all I could do was stand there and wave my hand with a stupid grin pasted on my face.

After the Press Corps left, the kids swarmed around me with their parents all clamoring to get a picture with someone that was clearly important. And I was wasn’t I? I was an actress on the front steps of the White House.

“Whoever is in the that costume must be special! Quick Alvin, go stand in front of her! It is a girl, right? Ok, now smile!”

Then Malia and Sasha came out a side door and I was deserted. My moment had passed. I was left standing in a puddle of my own bubble residue on those presidential steps.

The girls left and the line continued to snake past me. Every once and a while kids would come up and try to catch my bubbles or pull on my costume, a family here or there would ask for my picture. But the magic was gone; I was just a costumed performer. And although my costume was designed by amazing artists and looked really cool, the person inside the costume wasn’t famous so therefore didn’t matter to an 8 year old or more importantly to that 8 year olds parent.

Just I was struck with the reality of the situation, Frank Maugeri the director who thought of me for this gig in the first place, said something along the lines of “Yep, that happened.” ,he smiled, congratulated me, and went inside for the company’s photo op with the President and First Lady.

I realized then that if I wanted to have my moment with the President, to shake his and the first lady’s hand, I was going to have to do more then just be a performer inside a costume. I was going to have to be something special in my own right, costume or not.

I don’t think I will ever not tear up when i read a letter or an essay from a parents perspective about growing up.

It’s been 10 years this fall since I left for college. Playing ‘she’s leaving home’ by the Beatles till the cd broke. I still tear up everytime I hear it. I wasn’t grieving for me I was grieving for them, my parents.

I know how much they wanted for me. How much the person I had become was a direct result of what they did or did not want me to do.

As so many of my friends start having children I see the countdown begin. You really have only 15 years with this child. The puberty hits and turns them into this unknown hormonal adult that you hope by the time they are 25 they have worked out all the kinks of.

In the meantime this is pretty darn cute. The hat = totally my idea.

Listen I get it. You don’t like me, I don’t like you. We are for sure different. You like killing ants with a magnifying glass, I like leaving them a sugar trail. You like spoiling the end of movies, I like having friends.

Regardless up untill now I’ve ignored our differences. That was UNTIL you put this sign up in the employee eatting area.

I hope you realize who you are up against.

So far this summer i have a lost a close friend, quit most of my 11 jobs, got a full time job, had a guy shot to death in front of my house, and finished the book I am working on.

There have been a lot of ups and downs.

All of it has me thinking about how best I can make the most of my time. Should I make promises to start blogging every day, making a funny video every week, or finishing all those projects that I have started? Probably not.

what do you want out of this blog besides stories from my life?

I’ve been working with the Chicago Park district and having a pretty great summer because of it.

I mean who doesn’t want a job where daily chores include water coloring and chalk on side walks?
No. One.

At first I have to admit that there was some reservation on my end about what exactly I would be doing. But when realized it would be just be doing arts and reading and nature! I figured that getting paid to make kites rules.

My favorite memory will be having them coloring pictures of Lincoln and have them for the most park color him black. It is right out of Philip Dawkins’ play,”homosexuals”. I thought it was funny then. The fact that it’s true= funnier.
Why do you think that is ? I think they believe that if you helped end slavery you have to be black. No white person would want to end it. It led to some very interesting conversations and questions.

” would you own slaves if you could Ms. Cynthia?”
” what do you mean if I could?”
“like if it wasn’t all illegal, would you?”
” would you ?”
” I can’t have slaves! I’m black! You gotta be white. ”

Hence the black Lincolns.

The below kids were amazing.

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But this picture describes how the summer is been so far –dark with
glimmers of sunshine.

I promise more regular contact in the future.

It is summer after all!

view from the window. Storm battered windows .

Sofa pulled close and tea nearby. 

Sleep, nap, and reflect. 

Grass for laying, dock for sitting,

sun for laying underneath. 

For books and bugs, 

water lapping at the sides. 

This is all I ask.

So I have been at Stroger hospital recently.(3 times in the last 3 months)

Having some moles that have gotten uppity, removed. It took a referral from my clinic and an appointment with an intern to set up a surgery date, surgery , and stitches removal. a shit-ton of people for a little ol mole. 

Needless to say  I’ve gotten a pretty good feel of the workings of this place . The people are nice. I must be a bit of relief for them needing only a little care and not life necessary attention. 

As I get older and continue to be uninsured, I wonder how I have been so lucky as to not need extensive medical care for anything? I mean minus the tooth of 2003.But even as I type this, I know that a real disaster could be lurking around my uninsured corner.

I am currently battling the attitude of my youth; the I- don’t- wear- a- helmet -brush- my- teeth- three- times- a- day- use- soap, without having to pay the price for that stupidity out my own pocket.

If only I wasn’t so stubborn. and well, stupid.

muffin photo shoot

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The heroine of my upcoming book with Gwynne Johnson. Get excited this is awesome.  

The story and sets turned out great. I can’t wait to let you know where to find it in stores.

stream of nonsense.

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