Colorado Update

Mum update:
I am exceptionally pleased with the results of Mum’s laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Her surgeon’s skill is apparent in regard to how little pain she is experiencing. The procedure itself is minimally invasive (I underwent it in 2001) so we will not have to worry about caring for a large abdominal wound over the next few days. Mum is recovering nicely, with the exception of her voice. Her day began with boundless energy, however she did “crash” into a lengthy nap around 2 PM.

Weather update:
We had snow overnight and I was incapable of getting out and about today. Better Half has had to make due with consistent rain in OH, so I have included a picture of the sidewalk by the front porch (Mum’s house.) Although it will be in the “single digits” tonight, we are anticipating plenty of sunshine tomorrow. Colorado is the only state in which one must wear shorts and a parka in order to survive the weather changes.


Better Half update:
My house is still standing. The dogs have not thrown any wild parties, although the transspecies cat (the cat which considers itself a dog) has been wearing a lampshade for most of the afternoon. My handsome Better Half completed some yard work (i.e. dog shit removal) yesterday, and has managed to get our office cleaned. I am quite proud of him!

In other news:
My fabulous friend Michael sent out a copy of “Kate: the woman who was Hepburn”, by William J. Mann. He arranged for Mr. Mann to sign the copy – a spectacular surprise for me! I have spent a very serene evening reading about one of my favorite actresses as the snow drifts down outside. My God, this book blows me away.

Being back at home:
I really am enjoying my stay in Colorado, although I do almost feel like a teenager again.

I was not a “horrible teen”. My mother and I had our share of arguments (as all Italian mothers and daughters do) yet I never reached that phase where I hated my parents. My upbringing was rather European; I am a dutiful and proper daughter. Mohawks, leather and combat boots aside, I was never so ugly as to put my needs above those of my parents’. Coming home is therefore a very joyful thing.

I have been blessed with gifted parents. They have never dwelt on negative things. Should my mother mention my hair or weight, it would be out of love for me. She has focused on my positive attributes, praising my decision to grow my hair out. My father and I share a very dry and sarcastic humour, which has allowed us both to endure the stress over Mum’s surgery. We talk, as a family, and our discussions can cover a variety of topics. We “dish” theatre, church, God, social trends, etc. We can thrash out science and literature. We laugh our asses off at the nose dive the entertainment industry has taken (there really is nothing but crap on TV at night.) I find it comforting.

Nearly two decades have passed since I have lived with my parents. My childhood home is back in California, so coming to stay with them is not nearly as nostalgic as it could be. I find myself chasing Ghosts of Toni. The plaster casting of my toddler hand rests upon Mum’s bedroom wall. Pictures that I drew long ago are tucked here and there in the other rooms. I can reach out and pick up small knickknacks that I gave to them over the course of thirty-five years, and (strangely) I can recall what I was thinking when I selected each one.

I am composing this while sitting in their office. A lifetime of memories surrounds me like the warmest of downy comforters. Playbills from our various shows are displayed in glass frames. Bookcases overflowing with Dad’s technical manuals, Mum’s plays, and other media stand sentinel over my airbed. I can curl up in bed at night, reach out and caress the phantoms of my youth.

Where is that girl with the curly hair that used to run her Matchbox cars along the bookcase shelves? Where is the tiny tomboy that would sit quietly for hours at countless rehearsals? My stuffed toys, frilly dresses (ugh), and school work are packed away in boxes and hidden in my own basement. I can see the fleeting shadows of my childhood and I can still taste the joy that always surrounded me. Home was always Sanctuary. It was a place that enriched my mind while nourishing my soul.

They say that one can never go home again. I beg to differ. We can not return to the past but we can relive the positive things from it. My experience this week is proof of that.

Must wrap this up and get to bed. Better Half, I miss you terribly!