SOL #18 (should be #21) See below to find out what the Slice of Life Challenge is all about
Yesterday I was in a small theater all day. Yes, it was a gorgeous day, weather-wise, so I missed most of that. The black chairs, the black stage, the small spotlights--they were in stark contrast to the bright sunshine and the warm breeze that was happening right outside the double doors. However, I got to witness a different kind of beauty.
All day (and the day before, as well) writers were auditioning for the Listen to Your Mother show. We heard nostalgic pieces about mothers. We heard pieces of fierce motherhood--stories about mothers who had to be warriors for their children for a variety of reasons. We even heard a story about recovering from years of harsh treatment from a mother.
The stories were healing. It was obvious that for the writer--writing the story, along with telling the story to an audience, was therapeutic. It either brought the mother back to life--if only for a moment--or it was a balm that helped alleviate a past pain.
If you're in the St. Louis area and you're free on May 7 (the day before Mother's Day), I suggest you save the date. The show will be at the Grandel Theater, and I think it will be wonderful.
I really do need to get my ass there one of these years :(
ReplyDeletethanks for the opportunity, it was a pleasure to meet you
ReplyDeleteWish I could attend! I had started writing about my mother's life, from her point of view, as a way to fully understand her. We were not speaking when she died. It no longer matters who was at fault. She had a horrible childhood from the stories she chose to share with me and my sister. She has been gone for 20 years now and I gained a lot of insight talking to her relatives she grew up with. It is a painful endeavor. She had a baby when she was 14 and I am pretty sure it was a product of incest. He was sold to the highest bidder by her father and most likely the one who fathered the baby. He would be close to 80 now, but a mid-wife attended the birth with no paper train to follow. My sister and I knew nothing of this until Mother died. After that if we happened to see a man of the correct age range who looked a little insane, we would look at each other and say, "Are you my brother?"
ReplyDeleteI'll bet you heard some great stories. Bet you had a great one to tell!
ReplyDelete