Jul 30, 2013

July's last hurrah.

all stills are from my instagam and were edited with vscocam.

i. fresh strawberries from saturday morning market. 
ii. tea from a dear on an under-the-weather type of day.
iii. fandom teas are cool. 
iv. my fellow sherlockian and one of my dearest friend from the cast. 
v. part of the colony cast. 
vi. memories i collected from all of the cast members // a time capsule. 
vii. cosmos & nasturtiums & light leaks.  
this past month has been so full. 
it's quite an odd feeling to wake up and feel as though you are missing someone - and for me, i'm missing quite a few people. we celebrated our neighboring town's centennial by putting on a play with over 45 strangers from all over the central coast. over that course of two weeks, we became close-knit friends, sang in front of 1400 people within two nights, gathered a community together, and we made history. but sadly, history we had to leave in the past {until october comes, anyhow}. on sunday, we all gathered in the park for one last reunion. there was a lot of laughing involved and reminiscing of fond times over good food and embraces that we were all reluctant to break along with a lot of teary goodbyes and sweet hellos and faithful promises of more adventures in the future.

july seems to have grown her wings and has become restless and all too eager to go on. august, is summer's gift of one last farewell, summer's last hurrah. 

i keep having to remind myself, "it's called living, honey." 

Jul 25, 2013

backstage // the colony

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one || step into the dressing room. it's a game trying to avoid bumping into each other. street clothes are cast away in a corner and long forgotten, while pleated skirts are a fairy tale. the hat and shoe boxes are out of order again. perhaps the layers of skirts feel foreign, but to me they feel like home. tuck and pin your hair back, while you chat over your lukewarm picnic dinner.

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two || say a quick 'ello as you squeeze past in the dim hallway to the cast members just arriving through the door. the mirror reflects a whole new character, and i wonder if i can fill her shoes properly. straighten your bow tie and cameo pin. refreshen the lips. how's my sash? twirl to complete the effect. a rather lively game of checkers proceeds on the table, while the pastor gives another history lesson in the corner. simply a hop, skip, and a jump to the gardens. check your props: tadpoles, bouquets, parasols, poles, hats, hangers - and fly back to the dressing rooms. twelve minutes to spare until warm ups. 
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three || link hands and give a prayer of thanks. warm your voice with a honey-sweet drink of song. ten minutes until places. try hard not to bit your lip. tighten pearl's braids. tease with your friend and play the game of making the introverts smile. 
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four || places are called and a whisper of "break a leg" ripples through the crowd shortly after. squeeze any hand  that comes within your radius. are you reassuring them or you more? the audience is hushed as announcements and welcomes are spoken. the music starts and your world is made. the audience swims in and eventually, out of view as you step into the world of 1914. 
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to the crazy brunettes, to my long-lost cousin, to the one who sang les miserables with me, to my younger paradox, to the blond one with her obsession of cosplays, thanks for the fangirling and the laughs. to the one who laughed in my face, the one i worry about {constantly} and who never caught on to my references, to the one who's hair was simply perfect, to the one who had to wear overalls, and the one who i yelled at, to the one who did not do any of us a favor of dying and the one who spun me in the air, thank you for always putting a smile on my face. to the two little monkeys, thank you for being adorable. to the swoon-worthy voice and the school teacher, thank you for sharing your talent. to the wicked skeptic, thank you for keeping me sane. to the pianist and the voice trainer, thank you for your time and help to achieve something i never thought i could/would do and motivation and overwhelming encouragement. to the british one with her honey-sweet accent, thank you for the notes and the encouragement and love and addressing me as "darling." to the director from scotland who sneaked away to yosemite and to the parents who surprised me with a dozen red roses on closing night and drove me to wherever i needed to go from the bottom of my heart: thank you. and to everyone else in this incredible, remarkable cast: you're the best.
xx from your fellow actress

Jul 22, 2013

a little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now...

she did not need much. wanted very little. a kind word, sincerity, fresh air, clean water, a garden, kisses, book to read, sheltering arms, a cozy bed, and to love & be loved in return. - Starra Neely Blade - 
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july 22nd || twenty thirteen 
it's raining to-day. i can't even recall the last time the skies decided to don a grey cloak, sigh, and brush the earth with rain drops. especially in summertime. 
two intense weeks of blocking, choreography, line-memorizing, and several run-throughs,  were wrapped within the final performance of the play last night. 
i wake up divided: free as a bird & hopelessly sad - the missing, aching type of sad. i am missing something - missing someone, nay - everyone i had been blessed with the opportunity of being with every single day for the past two weeks. a family in its own right. a family knit together with the strands of song and laughter and memories - missing the luxurious comfort that i wasn't alone anymore. with a long sigh, i step outside, filling the wispy breeze with my empty thoughts. 

exhale || the day had to begin as a show must always go on.
 inhale || petrichor smells bittersweet sometimes. 
postscript :: i hope to have some stills of the play to share very soon. ;)