I've always acted in my life in one way or another. During elementary school summers, my friends and I put on shows on a patch of grass in the middle of our circle. Today we'd call it a cul-de-sac. The guy wires from the telephone pole in the middle held the bed sheet at an odd angle, but we had our curtain. Later, I had the lead in our eighth grade play which was about a girl who had lost her parents. At a rehearsal, I cried during one very poignant scene. It surprised me, but confirmed to me that I was supposed to be on that stage. In high school, I chose to debate primarily, but appeared in an odd production or two. I felt happiest with eyes on me.
Acting was not to be my career, but there seemed always to be an audience...a theater audience, a group of business associates, a client. Sitting with a friend or two, if I can tell you a story and you're listening, I'm happy. My husband used to say, "Don't give that girl a microphone because you'll never get it back!" True words.
So this weekend, after a couple of months of rehearsal, I put on a little black nightie, a boa and feather-laden slippers, and strode in my character's most dignified way, nose in the air, across the stage. Even in character, there is a part of the real me who is observing. So Andrea was a little bit present while Bertha Gale, the floozie, walked past the would-be lover, his wife, his sister and the nun. As Andrea, I felt not the least bit embarrassed or exposed. In my 35 year old mind's eye, I was voluptuous and appealing, not chubby and well past middle-age.
My eyesight is very good. Everyday I see the current me, warts and all, when I look in a mirror. Once the mirror is not in front of me, however, the image is gone and my mindset takes over. I like it that way. My dad, still terrific at 93, told me years ago that he never felt his age. "Age is a only a number," he always said. It must have stuck in my head because today I enjoy the freedom and confidence to be the Andrea I was at 35...and that's a good thing.
So this weekend, after a couple of months of rehearsal, I put on a little black nightie, a boa and feather-laden slippers, and strode in my character's most dignified way, nose in the air, across the stage. Even in character, there is a part of the real me who is observing. So Andrea was a little bit present while Bertha Gale, the floozie, walked past the would-be lover, his wife, his sister and the nun. As Andrea, I felt not the least bit embarrassed or exposed. In my 35 year old mind's eye, I was voluptuous and appealing, not chubby and well past middle-age.
My eyesight is very good. Everyday I see the current me, warts and all, when I look in a mirror. Once the mirror is not in front of me, however, the image is gone and my mindset takes over. I like it that way. My dad, still terrific at 93, told me years ago that he never felt his age. "Age is a only a number," he always said. It must have stuck in my head because today I enjoy the freedom and confidence to be the Andrea I was at 35...and that's a good thing.
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