"In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer" — Albert Camus My CarA SidewalkA StaircaseA Walking Path We Cleared The Night BeforeThe "Backyard"A Job Well DoneShoveling snow has a lot of life lessons in it.
Shoveling snow is about endurance Patience Taking care of and speaking up for yourself Caring for your community And your nose Digging your way out of and through torrential storms And saving your toes Acting while you can Preparation, anticipation, recreation Doing what you can The "I'm about 35min into shoveling and I'm having an existential crisis" The knowing that someday this will all melt away, but feeling helpless because today is not that day. So you dig through all that white powder And pave your own way, Not trying to get rid of it - because you can't - but living with it, beside it, piling it up so you can still see it, staring back at you, risking snow drift, risking that the pile you just built could become spilt Could destroy the pathway you just built, Knowing you are doing your best, Feeling as if this is all some test, Doing what you can Leaving what you can't Because it's what you have to do right now to get where you need to go. And you need not always do it alone. And sometimes ... you just gotta buy a snow blower. But even then - There are some places snow blower's don't reach And there are some lessons snow blower's don't teach Like not to shovel loose snow into the wind, only to have it to be thrown in your face, back again. Or to appreciate a good shovel. Or that friend who dug your car out for you. Or the plow person who got up at 5am so the roads could be cleared for you by 8am Or that thought that you don't have to live here. Or that thought that some people choose to live here And that there are people you can pay to do this. If you can pay to do this. "But there is a deep appreciation that comes from doing it yourself," I imagine some father saying, "A strength," he says, holding his shovel proudly over his back. A pride only paralleled by that of mowing a lawn and seeing the finish product. Only, when you mow the lawn, typically, the grass and leaves get taken away, bagged up by an automatic mower, tossed in the trash, set out for disposal. Your freshly cut grass stands tall, proud of itself, a freshly combed hair on a balding man's head. Cleared and cleaned. Ready to impress in-laws and neighbors a-like. You step back and say, "Damn. That's a nice lawn." But this? Usually, by the time you're done you're too tired to sit their and appreciate your work. It's more like, "Are we done yet?" and "Where's my breakfast? I think I deserve a good breakfast after this." And that sense of entitlement that so many men of our history have is made clear to me. After working so hard, it does sound nice to have someone cater to your every need. I digress... Don't get me wrong, there are absolutely gorgeously shoveled and cleared pathways during the winter season. But sometimes you're just lucky if you're able to scrape out something wide enough for you to get to your car. Sometimes you just gotta get it done. Sometimes you don't want to make a snowman just for fun. So, don't ask me, "Who won?" What's done is done. Goodnight, everyone. Running I imagine him running around and around in circles on a track around the audience running sprinting until he can’t until he collapses onstage for a while just breath just breathing is all we hear and then music music a girl enters no, not a girl more than a girl – a woman, no, more than a woman - a goddess knowingly, she enters, knowingly, this has happened before like a memory in her blood if she has blood she enters and begins to tend to him a few moments, gently with the music suddenly he wakes and looks at her, aggressive, ready to fight, the feral cat he fights and she restrains him He is calmed and relents he relaxes into his wounds and sits still that’s what I imagine The perfect pair of yoga pants? They never slide down and never stretch out They mold to your body like a child that cuddles its small body into yours They curl tight around your skin and give you more support than a man has ever given With pockets So you can carry all the things you have to carry in this life with you And so you can have room to pick up new things A material so breathable, it breathes deeper and stronger than you've ever been allowed to in your daily life A material as flexible as you, that stretches past a point you ever thought possible That conforms and reshapes you into the person you are already becoming A material that keeps you warm in winter storms but cools you off in the summer sun, that reflects your own light outside of you so that all can see you shine, glisten, "Listen," you say, "To my call," "Join me," you say, "Ye, young and old, Ye, bless-ed and told, Ye who have worked your entire life for this feeling This feeling I have right now. This freedom To take up space This freedom To move in the ways you’ve chased This freedom To be exactly as you are To use every muscle in your body the way you hoped to The way you weren't told to The way that makes you feel wild That gives you the joy paralleled only by a child A child who has been set free “Go play," they say, "go play!” “Be free," they say, "be free!" The one place they can't tell you to “be quiet” The one place they can't tell you “sit still” To “be silent” To live your life without thrill To build your own skill To create your own window sill To the world The most beautiful world The world you create Free of hate Full of change Change that you make Change that let’s you know it’s okay to make mistakes You awake Unable to return to the sleepy life you once knew Lost in only one shade of blue Now you have color Now you have sound Now you can feel the solid ground Support your foundation Your body Your soul You can, if you wish, lose all self-control "Let go! Let go!" You finally let go You breathe, And you run You run and you run And that’s when you know Something’s begun 1: I can protect your honor. 2: I'm not sure I have much honor left. And then what? Then, what would you do? Once you get the thing, you're waiting for to come through? Falling asleep with a smile knowing I'm speaking with you. Recent AdventuresThere have been so many. Puppetry day with my acting class. Running my first rehearsal as a choreographer. Me. A choreographer. Teaching. Listening. Repeating. Creating. Devising. Writing. Curating. Anticipating. Waiting. Stillness and movement. Light and dark. Deep and heavy. Soft and light. Movement. Voice. Quiet. Sound. Where to begin? When to stop? How to end? When to drop? Riffin' and singing my own sort of bop. Hippity, hippity, hippity, hop. By Christmas, I want to be the star on top. So Many Things To Be Grateful For:DIY Shadow Puppets I Made for My Acting ClassTea with RhodaSeeing Lamar Jefferson in Blues for an Alabama SkySeeing poetry and playwriting co-mingle in perfect harmony in Locomotion at the Children's Theatre CompanyMeeting Emperor ConstantineTurning my office into a puppet workshopTeaching "First Folio Method"Went to that one place I love...I learned how to fill a bird feederAnd how to reset a wireless router
I still don't quite know what's happening
I'm not really sure if I'm here or not Just trying to establish a plot But how does it end? Do I need to know? Where my last step will land before I even go? Try to approach me but I run fast Walking around my emotions like they're broken glass Trying not to bleed but I'm already crying How do I help myself if I'm already dying? "That ain't it, kid! That ain't it, kid!" How do you wait for eternal bliss? How do you stay single and still get a kiss? It's not as easy as it looks, all of this And why, why, does America run like this? How is someone expected to survive? Getting paid month to month, barely alive - Thankfully, I have friends and family members to keep me going - But is this time well spent - Is it worth all this going? Going and going and going Never knowing When you'll next get to rest Rest, rest, who knew that Machinal would tell it to us the best? Thank you, thank you, thank you, While I do feel constantly stressed - I do have to admit, I am blessed, blessed, blessed, blessed So, God, please help me, Angels handle the rest, I need you, I accept you, cover me with your love, and please let me rest.
Slip, slippin' away,
I can feel it starting to - Slip, slip anyway Can I begin to Grip, grip, anyway Can I begin to to to too Can I begin too?
I guess if I'm gonna call myself a writer I should probably write things, right?
No Pickles: A Monologue by Amy Abrigo
A college cafeteria. A Victorian woman. British accent if you can manage.
W: No pickles? No pickles?! What were they thinking? On a day like this? Don’t they understand their entire existence? Don't they know their purpose in this world? Isn’t it but to serve this student body and ensure their nutritional needs are met? Is this not a university? Is this not a cafeteria? Did I not provide adequate compensation for vinegar flavored provisions? And where did the pickles go, if I may ask? And when will they be back? Do they plan to return? Will there be, as they say, a “return of the pickles?” Happy tidings to Mr. and Mrs. pickles! And, what of tomorrow? Will they have overcome this shortage? Or will they still say, “No pickles?” And what then? What then?! Do I simply continue living my life without the crunch that is pickles? Without the delicacy that is pickles? Do they not understand the importance of this phallic-shaped existence? Pickles can be diced, sliced, quartered, halved – served cold or warm. They represent the very foundation of flexibility, of compromise, of creativity in edible form. How am I to continue? How am I expected to function in the high tide reality that is undergraduate education? Do they not understand the importance of nutrition to our capabilities as students? This is vital. This is imperative. This is critical – a cataclysmic calculation that need not be peer reviewed. So, I say, again, dear sir, do you, or do you not have pickles?
To Create Doubt: A Lesson in Scene-Form on Super-objectives
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About the Author:Amy Abrigo is an actor, director, writer, and much more currently living in her hometown of San Antonio, Texas. Archives
April 2024
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