“True genius without heart is a thing of nought — for not great understanding alone, not intelligence alone, nor both together, make genius. Love! Love! Love! that is the soul of genius.” – Nikolaus von Jacquin, in Mozart’s personal souvenir album, 1787
Lord Thunderin’ Jaysus!
I know, I know.
After my last installment, you were left with so many questions… questions like, “What is a froninja? Why is a froninja? And, of course, what, in God’s name, is a Texas Tunnel?!”
These answers and more, live at 10.
This just in: there will be no live at 10 because I am still in a coma after eating an ungodly amount of ice cream… wait, how am I writing this?
The older I get, the more I realize how quickly time seems to pass.
I also realize how much I repeat the same lessons/mantras in my head over-and-over again. Hey, you quit your noddin! I mean, yeah, yeah, okay I repeat myself here and there. You’ve got to make those life lessons stick somehow though, don’t-cha? Ya know what, go kiss a fish!
Ya, dat’s the one! Photo by Keegan Richard
Sidebar notwithstanding, it seemed to me that I’d only written here just yesterday.
Turns out, that was a whole three months ago (at least)!
My Mom always told me that having kids is what really makes time fly… so what gives?!
Of course, between my the dawn of my 30s and upcoming marriage to Maranda (*high pitched, excited squealy noises*) I’d say I’m feeling a mix of “I blinked, we’re here!” and “All that time passed, look at us now!”; the two go hand-in-hand, of course – experience as it happens in the moment and the paradoxical perspective which distance gives us over time, as though everything happened in a flash.
And experience, as I’ve pointed out here many times, includes the good, the bad, and everything over, under, in-between.
Life is a rollercoaster of emotions and milestones and major declarations of love.
An excerpt from Is God Is by Aleshea Harris.
I write all of this to remind myself.
Everything comes back to love, in my mind. Love, and accepting what we cannot control.
A good friend of mine, Zach, passed away quite suddenly and unexpectedly a few weeks ago.
And he really was a good friend… the kind of friend who makes me wish I’d been a better friend, myself. His sense of humour, his style, and the way he made everyone feel – how he made me feel, so included and understood at a crucial time (high school) when I couldn’t have felt more awkward or unsure of myself.
I was standing in the kitchen with Maranda when I got the call from another good friend of mine, Miles.
I didn’t start crying until I was off the phone.
Suddenly, it felt like there weren’t enough times or ways to remind Miles (on the phone), that I love him and that I’m here for him (despite the physical distance). I wished I could tell Zach the same thing.
Instead, I have our memories. Goofing off at sleepovers with Gonzalo and Matt, singing musical theatre and Beatles’ songs at the top of our lungs, evening walks around the old hood, watching bad movies with Miles and Julian and laughing until we cried, karaoke at Poachers Arms.
Zach and I shared the stage together. I was in my first musical (Hairspray) with him.
I remember watching him perform his solo at the end of the year for our Beal Musical Theatre class and thinking, “This man needs to be in a band or shows touring the world.” His rendition of “Gethsemane” from Jesus Christ Superstar will forever live rent-free in my head. Seeing and listening to him perform that song – and hitting that crazy high falsetto note that Ted Neely did in 1973 – blew my mind.
He blew my mind even when he was just being himself.
When we formed a little friend group within the BMT class – him, Gonzalo, Matt, and I – and called it the Rat Pack, he was like our de facto leader – he just had a natural charisma that made every scheme and every prank that much better. We’d hangout between school periods in our hideout beneath a then recently-built stage extension, wondering what the future held for us all and working up the courage to ask people out… that, and nerding out about movies, comics, and our favourite music.
I feel blessed knowing we have those memories.
My friend, you helped me find so much of myself simply by being yourself. Although things seem dark here, the stars will shine brighter with you among them. In that way, your light will always be felt. In that way, you’ll keep guiding us towards love.
Me: “…” The World’s Most Sensible Plan:
Perhaps, contrary to any of the questions laid out at the beginning of this post you’re instead asking what I’ve been doing with my time (other than wedding planning)?
The TL;DR – closed an entirely sold-out run of Come From Away at Badanai Theatre a couple of weeks ago (more on that later in this post!). Maranda’s side of the wedding party threw us a shower in August. We get married in 10 days, now!!! An old friend moved to Thunder Bay with their partner, who graciously began offering their time to volunteer at Cambrian Players – where our season has gotten off to a strong start with our first Improv show and a star-studded Green Room, Ransacking Troy (featuring my favourite actor aka my soon-to-be-wife).
Pictured: my soon-to-be-wife and her magnifcent beard.
Before all that, we took a trip to Sioux Lookout for a family reunion on Maranda’s Dad’s side – and to give me the lay of the land (also more on that later).
Before that, we helped our friends Rourkie and Ana move into their new place.
Somewhere in between, Maranda and I continued Dungeons and Dragons sessions with the Miscellaneous Adventurers (as we are so named on Facebook Messenger).
Oh, and we said “goodbye for now” to Ken – who moved to Toronto – in suitably dramatic fashion.
Shoutout (and apologies to) the wait staff at Lot 88! You’re time and patience were appreciated.
I’ve written here about the connection between love and grief, depression and ambivalence, the fact that everything in existence is spectrum-based and nothing is cut, dry, signed, sealed, delivered in whole – no one personal experience is exactly the same as someone else’s.
But what about expectation versus reality?
Well, reality is many things, isn’t it? And we’re a reflection of that complexity, in our very being.
I’m not like other guys, Bella. Yes, I took pictures of the crazy skies and ash raining from the clouds but I didn’t post any of them to social media… until now I guess. Damn it!
Just a few months ago, I was standing in the parking lot at Intercity Mall with Maranda, taking in apocalyptic views and pondering our ever-fabled ‘human nature’.
The air became smoke and the clouds were ash.
Many remote communities, Indigenous communities such as Collins First Nation, privately-owned camps, and more were evacuated, buildings and forests lost to the flames.
After about a week Thunder Bay saw the Sun again but it was rain that we, and everyone else across the Northern region, prayed for. I’ve never seen nor experienced anything like it before, in my life – just another reminder of the privilege I’ve lived-in.
Whether you’ve come to this realization or not yet I think now is just as good a time as any to note it here: we face the fire together, one way or another.
It was just another solid reminder not to take anything in this life for granted.
Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Blueberry Bert in the (fruity) flesh.
Lately, I’ve found myself wandering through the past. Not in a listless, ‘whisked off-and-out-of-the-moment’ kind of way but more in a ‘this thing happening right now reminds me so much of [insert memory here]’.
And there was one place this summer (other than literally travelling south to visit my parents and brother) that really brought that out in me – that sense of familiarity, of home.
In July, we packed up the car with all of our favourite snacks, an illegal amount of lunch meat, and a barbecue we didn’t pay for, and made the epic trek to the mystical/mythical place called Sioux Lookout, the land of Party Marty’s origin.
That’s right – the Party Marty!
It was literally a DREAM COME TRUE to finally meet more of Maranda’s extended family and take a road trip into the region. If you’ve never been to Northern Ontario, you’re missing out! Between my intense FOMO and the simple fact I love the outdoors, I’m right where I want/need to be.
Baby’s first float plane ride (it’s me… I’m the baby).
Ah, there’s ye ol’ digression.
Exploring Sioux Lookout and meeting Maranda’s aunts and uncles and cousins felt long overdue, in a way. I’d heard so many stories.
With the Blueberry Festival in full swing, the town was bustling with visitors from across the region (ourselves included). I couldn’t be more thankful to Danielle, Jake, Edison, and Addy for letting us tag along for some in-town adventures and giving me the ultimate tour!
Every time Maranda mentioned her family in Sioux Lookout, I had visions of my own family and the parties they used to have out at the Funny Farm. I remembered being a kid and how, even then, a small part of me seemed to know that what I was experiencing was a memory, something that would stick with me forever. And there it is, every time Maranda shares a new story, like I’m standing and looking out through my vivid little nine-year-old eyes: the party games, the laughs, the unmistakably simple mirth of sharing each other’s company.
As Maranda and her Uncle Shag strummed their guitars and we all sang, I was reminded of my Dad pulling out his guitar to start a jam session; nights in his living room or outside under the patio lights, singing and chatting and laughing the night away.
In Sioux Lookout I felt connected. I felt the music and the magic. I also barely touched my phone.
Three words to describe my Sioux Lookout experience: Family. Fun. Frying Pan (cast iron), iykyk.
Also, 7-11.
Now, if only I knew how to count.
Photo by Keegan Richard.
I could dedicate a whole documentary’s worth of material to my thoughts and feelings about Come From Away – my FIRST Badanai Theatre show!
Besides the fact that the show itself is enough to move anyone to tears, sharing the stage with such an immensely talented, kind, and supportive array of artists was a vastly moving and affirming experience – led by our dutiful director, Candi, and wrangled kept sailing by our ever-talented stage manager, Courtney.
Did I mention I hadn’t seen Come From Away until right before I decided to audition?
How I’d managed to avoid seeing such a beautiful show about what it means to be human (and Canadian to boot) may never cease to amaze me. When Maranda finally sat me down to watch it, I had vivid flashbacks to my friend, Laura, mentioning that Come From Away was her favourite show. At the time, the proshot didn’t exist yet. I guess we could have bootlegged it somehow, maybe, but I think it was still too new.
All I really knew was that, by the end, I was a mess of tears, laughs, and heaving sighs.
What other show has you laughing til you’re blue in the face one minute and then somberly considering the weight of existence and loss the next in such an effective manner.
And Bob (based mostly on Tom McKeon), who I had the absolute honour of playing, rides the wave of emotion everyone else in the show does; maybe one of the things the show captures so brilliantly is how we all cope with traumatic events and loss – how moments of darkness can lead us to the light.
Breanna Kettles, who plays our Janice, recently said this in a Walleye article and it really stuck with me because – in all my years of existence and observations about life, the universe, and everything – it really cuts to the quick of what it means to be human: “… you don’t have to be extraordinary – you just have to be somebody who will open your door.”
Heroes are people just like you and me.
They’re people like Derm, the Mayor of Appleton, Newfoundland, who opened his door to Tom. They’re people like Jamie, Greg, Daniel, Breanna, Neil, Marianne, Leigh, Mandi, Robert, Cameron, Cady, Courtney, Candi, Lawrence, Emmy, Mike, and Dan – who all welcomed me into an incredible theatre family and trusted me to take this journey with them.
They’re people like Maranda, who continues to shatter through and exceed all expectations of what an amazing human being looks, sounds, and thinks like – and who I can’t wait to marry in less than a week and a half.
They’re people like Zach.
After exchanging beautiful gifts – although let’s be real here, there was NO WAY I could EVER top Greg’s insanely creative Lego re-creation of the cast (a man after my own heart), Cady’s personalized airline tickets with pilot pins, Neil’s signed LP, Breanna’s hand-embroidered patch of one of my favourite lines, Jamie’s beautifully mushy letter, and the list goes on – the gratitude I felt was (and still is) immeasurable.
The love I feel is priceless – marked in memories that will shape me forever. That’s the legacy found in the embrace and open homes of strangers on September 11, 2001 in Gander, Newfoundland.
My hope is that, in attempting to portray the spirit of these events, we spread that love too.
And isn’t that already built into the nature of community theatre?
Every person involved in this show put their heart and soul into action, onstage and offstage.
To those who didn’t manage to snag a ticket before the run sold out, we missed you! On that note, however, we’ll be flying again in the Fall…
Come From Away 2: Lost in New York didn’t land at the pitch meeting. We’ll just stick to what works.
Maranda and I were getting ready to leave the house, but she needed to call her Grammy first so I puttered around loading things into the car. I left the main door open to let some air in through the screen. As I finished something up in the kitchen, I listened to Maranda and her Grammy chatting on the phone about the wedding and an upcoming cousin visit but there was something else – some sound behind it all I couldn’t quite make out. I returned to the living room, giving Maranda an obligatory kiss on the forehead as I passed her by, and as I got closer to the screen door I could hear the sound much clearer: meowing!
Being a man of many cats (well, a man with a love of many cats – Maranda and I don’t currently have our own cat to call fur-son or fur-daughter… also, we will never call them that, no), I stepped outside and searched frantically for the source of the meows.
Finally, from behind the driver’s side wheel of a Dodge pickup beamed two large green eyes piercing through the shadows and straight into my soul.
I knew I had to pet that cat.
More than that, I wanted to check on it and make sure it was okay. I’m happy to report the little black cat that greeted me, as I crouched in front of the truck and held out my hand, seemed very well-groomed and fed – and was super friendly, to boot!
While I knelt there and gave it some much-needed scritches and pets, my mind turned to Zach. He loved cats. It was one of the things we bonded over when we first met.
And, suddenly, we were both there… even if just for a moment; a memory.
Afterwards, I told Maranda about the cat and she seemed stunned – she hadn’t heard a thing. Or even really seen me leave the house to pet the cat in the first place.
We both saw the cat tonight, though, so I guess that confirms it wasn’t something only I could see.
I have a coworker who always answers “how are you” with the utmost honesty. It’s impressive, to my anxious/people-pleasing mind – impressive and inspiring.
I think she may have rewired my brain!
Similarly, this article I read recently (written by KYO on Medium) exploring the Japanese phrase okagesame also rewired my brain a little.
KYO writes,
Take the phrase apart and it becomes stranger and more beautiful at the same time.
O is an honorific prefix. Kage means shadow, or shade: the dark shape a thing casts, and also the sheltered side of it, the place where something stands between you and the sun, the rain, the harm. Sama is the honorific Japanese attaches to what stands above you. It is the suffix used for gods.
So when a Japanese person answers the question “how are you” with okagesama de, the sentence, taken literally, says: thanks to the honorable shadow, I am well.
Whose shadow? The word refuses to say.
I don’t know about you but I don’t often think about thanking the ‘shadow’, not as much as I’d like to think I do anyway. The “dark shape” and the “sheltered side”. Isn’t that interesting?
Maybe not, if you’ve got this all already figured out.
Some days, I feel like I’m waking up to what it means to be human again-and-again. Most days, I fall in love in some way, shape, or form. Every day, I know I’m living in love. That doesn’t mean fear and loss don’t still play a role in my life either, though. The shadow is real. The dark shape can take many forms.
At the office. In an airport. In a house. On an island. In a classroom. At the station. In a car.
In a highschool musical theatre class.
“Wherever you are, you are here.”
Welcome to The Rock (reprise) – photo by Keegan Richard
I’m reminded that, every once in a while (see: always), I should answer “how are you” as if the question were real.
Aim the ‘thanks’ in ‘thanks to the honourable shadow’ a little wider than the person standing in front of me, and see who or what it touches, as KYO notes.
As wedding planning winds down to the wire and everything seems to be swirling to a grand head, I find myself imagining what dreams may come when so many of mine are already coming true; that, and daydreaming the next few major milestones of mine and Maranda’s lives as an epic montage to the tune of Tom Tykwer’s Cloud Atlas score.
I’m ready as ever to dive into the madness of life with my favourite person by my side.
I’m scared to face the losses that I know we’ll face in life, the older we get, but less scared now because I know I get to face it with her.
And, there it is: the essential turbulence of being, tethered by strands of experience and woven with emotion – woven, in this case, with the warmth of deep affection, understanding, admiration, and respect.
Maranda and I being serenaded by Mackinley of Mackinley’s Delusions at our wedding shower.
We can all summon a powerful magic through Love.
And that brings me to my wish for you, in the face of uncertainty, grief, fear, hangry-ness, and more: feel so deeply you’re overcome with awe. Do that thing you’ve always dreamt of doing. Summon eldritch horrors from beyond this dimension and siphon their vitality. Become the Dread Lord of M’kl’thkt’l.
Stay dramatic, folks.
And, above all else, tell the people you love that you love them.
“Be somebody who will open your door.”
“Just for one day.”
Top contenders for ‘best score’ in my book are this, Thomas Newman’s Angels in America, and anything Phllip Glass has ever written for the screen (or otherwise).
