For Father’s Day, I would like to post this picture that is not really of my Father, but of Myself very dressed up looking adoringly at my Father, because Father’s Day and he’s wonderful and supportive and always there when I need him but LOOK AT MY DRESS WILL I EVER LOOK LIKE THAT AGAIN OR WILL I JUST GET OLDER AND SQUISHIER UNTIL I AM THE AGE OF MY FATHER IN THE PICTURE SORRY DAD I MADE IT ABOUT MYSELF

…..when you look at a picture of your Dad as a kid with your Grandparents are your own current age and recognize faces you’ve made and feelings you’ve felt and are suddenly in a single moment aware of past, present and future and it all feels like one thing and you can almost see yourself as a tiny piece of salad caught in your Grandma’s teeth, or in her mind?

As I may have mentioned here before, I tend to read most of my reviews because a.) GOSH, I LOVE PAIN  and b.) I truly feel like I can learn from them,  if I read them with one eye open  (keeping the other eye that scans every moment and room I’m in for reasons to doubt myself carefully closed.) I happened upon this review of the Chicago production of the Cake the other day, and for reasons I decided NOT to unpack in a middle of the night email to the critic, it upset me deeply. I let it go for a few days, then yesterday, decided to revisit it, because again, I LOVE PAIN and also because with the initial sting having settled, I wanted to see what I could learn, as I’m still tweaking the play. And lo and behold, an angel woman named Andrea G. had left this beautifully articulated comment on the review  (my favorite parts in bold):

You are missing the point. Hear me out. There it was- my life on the stage. That NEVER happens. The real side of being a gay woman. Finally something REAL. You still have to love your family. You still have to reach across the table. Because we still need to live in our current lives. Della is lovable because most of the time your family member is lovable. I have a ton of Dellas in my live. And I wish I could be braver like Jen and work through them all. But you choose those like Della who really love you and you work it through. So you both grow. And it HURTS. Are you not gay? Or are you not a woman? Because that is the way women deal with things. Slowly and painfully. I’ll give this, then you give that, slowly. If you are really really lucky it ends well. I am still bruised as I am sure every lesbian who left the theater. You say it is intellectually and emotionally unnutritious. That is INSANE. This is family not the government or your job. You have to give people time to change, reevaluate and change some more. Dissuading others from seeing it because it doesn’t fit into the cookie cutter liberal “should,” is keeping people from actually seeing their lives in art. Not a fantasy of how life should be, but how it is. Because the play you are asking for wouldn’t hit home for me. It is a fantasy for me- where I sit down with my aunt and have a conversation about identities It wouldn’t be emotional because it would never happen. Because that is what your said privileged people do- conversations about identities. Not us poor blue collar folks. And your attitude towards Della is elitist and condescending. Yes she is a bigot. But your (and Macy’s attitude) is not so nice either.

ANDREA G., you are why I write plays. Thank you for speaking for me, with me.

College friends and soul sisters Blaine and Carrie and I barely get to see each other, especially now that I live on the other side of the country and they each had small humans exit their bodies recently. So being together in the same place requires great forethought and planning,  and whenever we manage to make it happen, we take so many pictures it’s like we’re members of a sacred endangered species, like we might soon disappear from the earth, which really, WE MIGHT, AND OTHER DARK THINGS YOU DISCUSS WITH YOUR FRIENDS WHEN YOU’RE 35 BECAUSE YOUR MORTALITY HAS NOW SETTLED AROUND YOU LIKE EVERY SPRAY FROM BATH AND BODY WORKS . We also discussed Pants. Lookit these beautiful Rhinos:

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The happiest of birfdays to my Mama, who just a few weekends ago, in a 48 hour visit, played yard games, SKIPPED ROPE and did an Irish Car Bomb all while remaining classy, virtuous, kind as pack a monks, aspirational and GOSHDARN ADERABLE. Love you ma!

Facial giving person (technical term?): Aw, You guys look like sisters! 

Later, my Mom snickers.

Me: What?

Mom: Sorry!

Me: For what?

Mom: That’s an insult for you, and a compliment for me! 

(BUT REALLY MOM THANKS FOR THE SKIN.)

This weekend is tiny baby brother Tim’s bachelor party in Boston, and since I can’t be there (BUT REALLY, WHY WOULD I BE THERE) I asked other best man / bachelor party coordinator brother Dan if he might send me a picture for my blog. These are not dudes who take pictures, so the fact that I received this last night is NOTHING SHORT OF A MIRACLE.

I imagine it going something like this:

Dan:  (to bartender) Hey, could you take a picture of us real fast, my sister wants a picture of us, I don’t want a picture, it’s for my sister. (to group) Hey guys, this is stupid, but my sister wants a picture for her blog, everyone like, hold your whiskey and smile. (bartender takes picture) Awesome, that was stupid, that’s done, everyone be normal now. 

THANK YOU DAN FOR PUTTING YOURSELF OUT THERE FOR ME, AND HAPPY BACHELOR WEEKEND TIM!

A few moons ago, I found myself filming for two days in a creepy westside mall that seemed to include only a Baby Gap, a pretzel place a store that sold only dream catchers, and memories of walking by Abercrombie and Fitch just to smell it and be smelled. Smelt?  Naturally, I spent my lunch breaks losing my mind in said Baby Gap, and spent basically my wages for the week on sweaters for my niblings. Just  yesterday, I happened to receive status reports of said sweaters from their said parents and just — HERE.

Olivia, in pink:

Luke, in Charlie Brown:

I continue to be obsessed with said sweaters. Is this how said works? You say something, and then you say you said it by saying said before it? ENGLISH WHY ARE YOU SO OBSESSED WITH YOUR SAID SELF

EVERY LITTLE STEP SHE TAKES

Happy first birthday to this blessed flower, my sweet niece and soon to be confidante (like as soon as she speaks words) Miss Olivia Grace.

Presenting a new player on the ever expanding team Foster-Keddie roster:

Elizabeth ‘Birdie’ Lee Miller, born ON FREAKING VALENTINE’S DAY to Morrison’s sister Anne and her husband Michael.

JUST IN CASE THIS MESSAGE WAS NOT THOROUGHLY RECEIVED THE FIRST TIME, I REPEAT, A LITTLE NIECE NUGGET NAMED BIRDIE WAS BORN ON VALENTINE’S DAY. Put THAT in your drawer of stickers and bows. I love her already, and I already feel a little bad for every person she ever dates. Y’ALL BETTER BRING IT.