Maybe it's the green hoodie I wore yesterday...

I confess: I struggle with feelings of jealousy. But, see, they're really stupid feelings of jealousy. They're not even justified, not in any way. You may argue that all jealousy is stupid...read on, dear friend. Example: I read that several of my talented friends have been cast in a movie, for which I did not audition, and I'm jealous. No, it gets worse...they're men. I'm jealous of men getting roles in a movie for which I didn't audition. Stupid, right? It's like seething with envy because Hugh Jackman* got the role of Wolverine...AGAIN...and I never got a shot at it.

Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I just be happy for my amazing friends? Do I feel like I don't get enough opportunities to shine? Is this Middle Child Syndrome?


*Okay, it's a little different than that scenario, because I don't personally know Hugh Jackman. But wouldn't it be awesome if I did? You'd be jealous of me, then.

No One Is Alone. Truly.

I have often had a nightmare where I'm to play a leading role, and it's time for the performance, and I realize I've never been to a single rehearsal, never read the script, don't have a costume, don't know my songs or my lines.

Last night I was on stage with someone who lived it.

Many of you know that I'm performing the role of the Baker's Wife in "Into The Woods". We've had a terrific run and tonight is our closing night. Last night's performance came to a screeching halt partway through the first act, and thereafter we were thrust into a most surreal set of circumstances.

Right after Little Red's solo "I Know Things Now", she went back into Granny's House, a moving set piece that is a three-in-one (Granny's House, Rapunzel's Tower, Cinderella's Mother's Tree). It is pivoted from behind by a member of the tech crew for each scene. As the piece was being turned, there was a horrifying high-pitched scream. At first, we wondered what had happened. Did someone fall from the tree? Was something wrong in the audience? And then:

"Turn the tree back! My leg is broken!"

I leapt on stage and helped Cody, our tree-moving-tech, pivot the tree back. The father of one of our actresses jumped on stage and yelled into the audience, "Is there a doctor in the house?" And then the grand curtain came down.

I ran around to the front of the tree. Marissa (our Little Red) was laying there, crying. There was an EMT and a nurse in the audience, who immediately came forward to help. Marissa was moved off stage. I stayed back. I didn't want to crowd anyone, and I knew I couldn't do much to help. Someone was calling 911. I felt an overwhelming urge to pray. I stepped into a corner of the stage behind the tree and fell to my knees. I pleaded with the Lord, "I know I can't do anything to help. But I KNOW I have enough faith. Please heal Marissa's leg. Please take away her pain." After quite some time, I felt calm, and I stood up and walked to where the commotion was. Three men in the cast had just given Marissa a priesthood blessing. I stood by Marissa and stroked her hair and hugged her and made sure she had clean tissues while we waited for the ambulance to arrive.

The EMT asked her, "On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst pain you have ever felt in your life, how would you rate what you're feeling right now?"

"Well," Marissa said, "this IS the worst pain I've ever felt, but I'm only 16, so...I guess I'd say it's about eight-point-seven."

Laurel (our Jack's Mother, and a member of the Scera faculty) pulled Samantha (Step-Sister) aside and asked her if she could go on for Little Red. "I think so. Maybe," she replied. Laurel told her that there was no maybe. Either she could, or she couldn't. If she could, we'd continue with the show. If not, we'd have to call the show and send the audience home. "Okay," Samantha said. "I'll do it."

Marissa's mom and the ambulance arrived, and took Marissa to the hospital. She left wearing her costume, leaving behind only the apron, the cloak, and the wig. The cast circled up in the green room. Samantha was given a costume to throw on. Another actress was brought in to fill the empty Stepsister role. We prayed together, and then re-started the show where we had left off.

It was truly amazing. Samantha learned her lines for the next scene whenever she was off-stage. Everyone covered for everyone. We helped each other and held each other up. We prayed for each other. Samantha was brilliant. Nicole covered nearly all the stepsister lines, and never dropped character for a moment. It was the most remarkable theater experience.

Our audience was terrific. We were playing to a packed house. We felt such love and understanding from them. When Samantha came forward to take her bow, the entire cast joined the audience in their applause.

Near the end of the show, Marissa's mom called Laurel. After looking at the x-rays, the doctors said it was merely a bad sprain. Nothing was broken. It's quite possible the hard leather ankle-boot saved Marissa's leg. She's wearing a fiberglass splint. We don't know if she'll do our closing night tonight or not. If she does, it will probably be on crutches, and we'll be overjoyed to see her. If not, we will love her and completely understand.

I wanted to write this all down before I forgot the details. It was surreal. Everyone was so brave. I'm so proud of every single member of this fantastic cast, and so grateful to be a part of it.

Persistent

I am a super-hero. This is my alter ego, "Persistent", as drawn by my talented friend Jeremy Young. My super power is that I can perform any action indefinitely, which is particularly useful if a choreographer needs me to keep the beat for a musical number. So says the artist, anyhow...and his word is law when it comes to things like this.

I would not, could not, with a mouse.

Mice are cute in cartoons. I loved "Ratatouille" and "Cinderella" and "An American Tale". But in real life, mice are disgusting thieves who think they can just move in to your house and eat your food and have babies in your attic. Freeloaders.

I've had problems with mice thrice since I moved into this house. Every time before, all I had to do was set a few traps with peanut butter, put out some poison packets, and we caught and killed mice.

This time is different. Not only have I seen evidence of their existence, I've seen MICE, several times over the last few days. I've set four traps: two snap-and-kill types with peanut butter, two live traps with bacon (any live mice I catch I'm giving to my friend to feed to his snake). I've put out poison. Those %$&*#@%$ mice are getting around everything! I do NOT want them living in the house! I especially don't want them having babies in the walls and the crawl space and the attic and under my bed. I don't know where they're nesting.

It's futile to wonder how they're getting in. There are probably dozens of places. This is an old house with weird nooks and crannies.

I really am tempted to get a cat, but on some levels, for me at least, that's like trading one pest problem for another one. I'd call in an exterminator, but I can't afford one.

I wish I had x-ray glasses that could see where the mice have crawled, then I'd be sure to set the traps or glue strips or whatever right in their paths. I'm not above sprinkling flour on the floor at night to figure it out.

Moments in the Woods

First a Witch, then a child,
Then a Prince, then a moment-
Who can live in the woods?

I can!

After a grueling five-and-a-half-hour callback yesterday, I was nearly sure I wasn't going to get the role. The room was filled with talented actresses. I went home feeling very down, quite certain that I wouldn't be in the show at all. My best friend Jacob was amazing, and I knew they'd cast him...every set of lines they handed him, he handled with ease and skill. I was so proud of him.

I was gone visiting some women in my neighborhood this evening. When I came home, my girls told me my cellphone had been ringing a lot while I was gone. I checked my messages. Sure enough, Jacob had been cast. And my wonderful friend Bradin also! I was ready to send them each a congratulatory message and then go cry in the corner, grieving the loss of one more show, when I listened to my voicemail. The director needed me to call her.

"Great," I thought. "The obligatory call since the director is my friend...we'd-love-to-use-you-and-think-you're-very-talented-but..."

But I went ahead and called her back. I was steeled and ready for it. I nearly fell down when she said she'd like me to be the Baker's Wife. I think I was quite incoherent for several seconds, and my voice escalated a good octave. She laughed and said, "I guess this means you accept?" My girls gathered around me and jumped and squealed. I nearly cried.

I'm so excited! I've just been cast as The Baker's Wife in Into The Woods!

*happy happy happy sigh*

Rick Rack

With all the brewhaha (there's probably a fancy...and correct...spelling of that nonsense word) about foreign fuel and saving the earth and the rising cost of gasoline, I believe more people are riding bikes. I could be wrong, but I believe it.

Whether or not the rest of the country is riding bikes, summer is a time when I ride more and attempt to drive less whenever feasible. So, I ride to the grocery store in my "second car"...



...and when I arrive at Wal-Mart, there is absolutely no bike rack. Anywhere. I've been riding my bike to Wal-Mart for a few years now, and it doesn't seem to matter how many courteous requests I make to the manager, there is no place to lock up a bike. Okay, that's not entirely true. I have locked my bike to the shopping cart return, to the chainlink fence around the Garden Center, and to the railing outside the Fire Exit. I was curious, so I did a quick search just now on commercial bike racks. A model like this one...



...costs around $470. I think I'm right when I say that's peanuts for Wal-Mart...especially considering that shopping carts cost around $145 each. Yes, each. Did you know that? How many shopping carts do you suppose Wal-Mart has?

In the name of trying to save fuel, do something good for the earth, and be a good example to my children, couldn't Wal-Mart give up four measly shopping carts for a 16-capacity-bike-rack?

Names will never hurt me.

I got tagged in one of those "three things about you" memes. At least, I think they're called memes. I'm not really sure what that means, except that it's supposed to be all about me...meme...mememememememe!

Okay, I'm done with my vocal warmups.

I don't often fill those out, except if I'm really bored, and I'm much to busy to be bored currently. However, one of the questions asked for three names I go by. I have more than three. Some of them you may find surprising...or, at least, weird.

Mom (no more "Mommy". My kids never call me that anymore.)

Uncle Julie (I never did like the sound of Aunt Julie. Even as a teenager, the term sounded old and archaic to me. I told my siblings that their kids should call me Uncle Julie. Uncles are fun, and so am I.)

Crazy Aunt Julie (Well, if I have to be an aunt, this will work.)

Sister Webb (This is me at church. Most grown-ups are referred to as Sister So-and-so or Brother So-and-so.)

Mister Webb (There's that gender-boundary thing again. Pflower's daughter calls me this. We're pretty sure it's a mix-up on "Sister Webb", but I thoroughly enjoy being called Mister Webb for some reason.)

Pokey (It's an affectionate old nickname. Only one or two people even use it anymore.)

Persistent (My alias on my theater friends' message board. It came from Nothing if Not Persistent, which is how I signed my first posts, which was before modern message board technology -- so the format was a little more like letters to Dear Abby -- over ten years ago.)

Jules (or "Jewels", as my brother likes to spell it, which I think is really cute.)

Madre (my kids slip into this sometimes. None of them speak Spanish, but I like to think they use this term when they're feeling especially affectionate towards me. Or when they want something.)

Sis (my dad used to call me this. I miss that.)

My cousin and I used to chant an old nursery rhyme her parents taught us, which always runs through my head when I hear the word "names". Her older brother's name is James, and we imagined we were the blackbirds in the following:

"James, James was walking down Thames,
Two little blackbirds calling him names."

To which we added (because we felt we were so clever -- imagine it with the singsong feeling of the derisive Na na-na NA-Naaaaa na!):

"Na-ames! Na-ames! James is Na-ames!"

Man, we were a riot.