Thankful.

Thank you, Hans, for alwaysalwaysalways being there for me, even when I'm crazy. Especially when I'm crazy.

Thank you, Mom, for the delicious chocolate torte, and the coffee, and for listening.

Thank you, Grandma Judy, for still laughing when I joke with you, and for letting me help even though it's hard after a lifetime of taking care of others, to be taken care of. And for sometimes reading my mind in that uncanny dementia way, because you've always known the thing to say to make me feel better.

Thank you, Susanna, for dropping our cold war when I really needed you, and nobody but my sister would do. I'm glad we're friends again.

Thank you, Dad and Valerie, for solid advice, ironic perspective, and fun times. I'll visit soon.

Thank you, all of my family, for your love. Thank you, David, Deanna, and Emily, for the way we've been able to work as a team in caring for Grandma.

Thank you, everyone who works at an elder-care facility. You are angels on this earth.

Thank you, Anomaly Orange, for being such a fun and familial troupe, for sticking it out through our growing pains, and for looking ahead with a sense of adventure. Thank you also to former Hypothetical Seven-ers with whom I was lucky enough to play.

Thank you, Roving Imps, for helping me stretch my wings and making me feel welcome!

Thank you to all the improvisers who entertain and inspire me.

Thank you to the knowledgeable and supportive improv teachers in this town. Really, what does Chicago have that we don't? (That's rhetorical; you don't have to answer it.)

Thank you, Lisa, for dragging me kicking and screaming back into opera production! Okay, there wasn't much kicking and screaming. Thank you, Kathleen, for giving me a chance after such a long hiatus from stage-managing anything with a script. Thank you, Shane, for the changeover calls - it really feels good to focus lights again!

Thank you, Shelly, for reminding me about the Pittsburg Library Sale, and for being my running-away-from-it-all destination for so long. Thank you for the books! And thank you for being the type of friend who can go a month or so without a phone call, because I tend to lose track of time.

Thank you, Julia, for landing back in my life, and for being the quintessential Chicago host!

Thank you, Pandora, for coming back to snuggle and purr. I was lost without you.

Thank you, Allegra, for somehow repairing your own endocrine system and sending your diabetes into remission. Good kitty.

Thank you, Mocha and Dylan, for the unpredictable entertainment you provide on a daily basis, and for keeping me safe from the pizza delivery person.

Thank you, people who care about the planet and act accordingly. I could do better at the "act accordingly" part... thank you for setting a good example.

Thank you, researchers, for looking for the cure to any number of horrible diseases from which I'd rather not die.

Thank you, everyone who doesn't go on shooting rampages, for not going on shooting rampages.

Thank you, artists, for holding the mirror.

Thank you, holders of public office who try to do what's right for our country and our communities. Thank you even to the ones I disagree with, when you do it from a sincere desire to do good. Thank you for not playing political games that turn citizens into pawns.

Thank you, religious people who promote love and tolerance. Thank you, irreligious people who promote love and tolerance.

Thank you, everyone willing to speak out against injustice and bigotry.

Thank you, friends who understand that every human has a few contradictions, maybe even hypocrisies, because it's a damn complex world.

Thank you, Leonard Cohen, for smudging the air with your song.

Thank you, everyone who adds beauty to this world in big or little ways.

You Say I'm a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing...

When I started stage managing and production-assisting at the Lyric, I got adopted by my two big sisters, Flawn Barber and Lisa Anderson Bongers. I was twenty-five, and they called me "The Baby" (they're five-foot-ten and five-foot-twelve, respectively, and had lots of fun high-fiving over my head). I made rookie mistakes, tons of them, but I fixed the mistakes and learned.

In stage management - any management, from what I hear - you can't give everyone what they want all the time. If you see a behavior that's hurting the organization and/or the production, you have to do something about it. Being nice and accommodating, excusing the behavior, deferring to (for example) a heavenly vocal talent that happens to belong to a total scrote-bag... all of it only compounds the problem. And when you do something about a problem, someone's going to think you're a Bitch, because someone isn't going to get to do whatever the hell they want anymore.

Flawn and Lisa, though never bitchy, were The Bitch when it had to be done, and we all drank a lot of wine on those nights, because nobody ever wants to be The Bitch. For a naturally nice person, it's a little traumatic. And I knew I'd grown up, and learned to stand up for myself and work for the good of the production, when they started calling me "Baby Bitch." It was a badge of honor.

There were a couple instances when I tipped the scale a little too far, and threw what could only be called a Crazy Screaming Bitch Fit. In public. At the workplace. Not the proudest moments of my life. That sort of thing doesn't say "respect my authoritah." It does indicate that things have gone too far, and something should have been changed before that point. And eventually, I found balance (which, technically, must be found at every moment, but I don't want to get into metaphysics just now).

Fast-forward to 2009. Baby Bitch is a baby improviser, in a troupe with nobody in charge. I don't want to be in charge - I'd rather focus on learning the craft and having fun (which is an important part of the learning, too). It's not fun to be in charge. The worst thing about stage managing was having to be The Bitch when everyone else was having fun. "Sshhhh!" "You missed your costume fitting." "Please don't eat the props until we've gotten through the scene they're in." "When you peek through the curtain, the audience can see you. I know you're the lead tenor, and they're here to see you, but right now you're in a cell waiting for the guillotine."

Side note here: 9:KCiF will probably be the most fun I've ever had as a stage manager, and I can't wait! The best thing about stage managing is that you get to make a show run smoothly for amazing people.

Anyway... nobody in charge. Not fun to be in charge. Then some problem starts, nobody deals with it, and it reaches a point that makes everything else less fun. I wasn't the only one to recognize it. So, The Bitch paid the troupe a visit this week. She'll probably hover nearby for a while to gently point out problems at an earlier stage next time, so they can be fixed and we can move on to the fun.

I miss Flawn and Lisa, and I want some wine.