Missing My Real Life 'Big Chill' Reunion

Last February, I learned of the passing of a friend and college classmate with whom I and a group of other Theatre friends had shared some rather ridiculous, outrageous and very fun adventures in the 1980's. Of course, as many college friends do, we drifted apart after graduation. Some of us stayed in touch through an annual Christmas card or the occasional meeting. Then along came Facebook and we started finding each other again. And then Chris passed and we vowed to get together in Florida over this holiday weekend. 

Then a whole bunch of other crappy stuff happened and my mother passed, causing a major shift in my personal paradigm. I didn't want to be home alone for the holidays, so I opted to spend Christmas in Florida with my sister, making a second trip so soon after financially infeasible, much to my disappointment. These 12 or so folks and I spent a whole lot of time together doing theatre, camping and traveling and just hanging out. There was a particular rental house nearby where we tended to gather and inevitably, we'd end up around the piano, belting out show tunes, out-of-season Christmas carols and always, this song:

Of course the other song I so closely associate with this particular Band of Brothers and Sisters wasn't in our repertoire at 'The House,' but was often the last song of the night at special events:

Cheery, eh? But we were a cheery group of misfits and artists trying to figure crap out and having a hell of a time doing it! I have several very close friends from the same era, whom I see regularly. These folks I don't get to see nearly enough. These are the people with whom I shared 'escapades.' I was lucky enough to visit with the weekend's hostess at her farm while down in December. We tried Skyping earlier tonight, but I can't seem to make it work, also much to my disappointment. I shall try again, tomorrow. Honestly, I'm lucky I figured how to post this blog...

So this post is dedicated to my (mostly, slightly younger) TSC 80's Theatre Friends! I miss you guys and wish I was there with you. And while it's really apropos of nothing other than the 80's, here's a silly video that made me laugh. I hope they see it and laugh, too.

Love you guys! Missing you all so very much!

More, anon.
Prospero

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A Bit of Advice

Mom feeding a lorakeet at the Lowry Park Zoo in Tampa, a few years ago.

It's almost 2 weeks since Mom passed away and the logistics have been a bit of a nightmare. 

Several years ago, Mom made arrangements to donate her remains to science. Noble, yes? Undoubtedly. Successful? Eventually.

The company Mom used is located in Omaha, Nebraska. They promised quick pick up and the eventual return of cremains once she'd given all she could. The problem? Bodies are very difficult to transport across state lines. Of course, my sister and I didn't discover this until today, when we went to get death certificates for her.

The ICU staff at the hospital where she passed assured me they would take care of everything. Needless to say, they didn't. Rather than contacting the company Mom had used, they contacted their local donor network, which doesn't accept full body donations. The hospital never bothered to let me know this. 

Today, my sister and I tried to get death certificates so we could close out her various credit cards; transfer her car to me and collect on her life insurance, only to find out that the certificate hadn't been filed by the hospital because her body had yet to be released. She was still in their morgue. After a trip to the Trenton City Hall, we made our way to the hospital where three lovely ladies came to our aid, descending on us en masse in the cafeteria. They clucked and made phone calls and did everything they could to help. Bizarrely, in all of their collective years in the health care industry, they'd never come across a case where the decedent wanted to donate his or her body to science. Both my sister and I were astonished, but they all agreed this was a learning moment for all of us. After an hour at the hospital and many phone calls, they were finally able to arrange donation to the Mercer County Community College's Mortuary Sciences program, where Mom will (hopefully) be treated with the respect and dignity we all deserve upon passing.

When all was said and done, I was able to procure 2 copies of my own birth certificate (ironically needed to request the death certificate), get Mom to a place where her last wishes could be fulfilled and gain some insight to the problems associated when one eschews the rip-off that is the Funereal Industry. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the required documents before I return to the Day Job on Wednesday.

Add this to cleaning out 40+ years of clothing; shoes; accessories; makeup and doo-dads and we have had quite a few days. We donated 13 large trash bags of clothing; three large boxes of shoes and her left-over medical supplies (including her walker; shower seat; leg-lifts and more) to Goodwill. We were able to sell her jewelry (a rather extensive collection) to cover additional costs associated with her passing and start to prepare for a Spring yard sale for the rest. I still have a full 12 foot closet and two armoires full of clothes to get through, as well as lots of paperwork; insurance claims; document shredding and assorted other things to get through, but we're well on our way. I don't imagine everything will be settled before next summer.

My house already looks very different and will continue to change over the next several months. My family, friends and co-workers continue to be amazing and I can't imagine getting through all of this without them.

But I want to give all of you out there a bit of advice.

First: Make sure your last wishes are well-known and well-documented. And don't let anyone tell you "We'll take of it."

Second: Keep accurate, up-to-date and easily accessible records. Nothing Mom had was labeled or organized. I still have mountains of paperwork to go through.

Third: Destroy all financial documents after 5 years. I have stuff to shred dating back to 1989!

Fourth and finally: Document EVERYTHING! Keep well-labeled, organized multiple copies of everything your family and/or loved ones will need. I had copies of my grandmother's birth-certificate, but not my own.

Plan ahead. We all die. Make sure you don't leave a mess for those left behind.

Well, this was not a happy post, was it? I just hope I've helped a few readers who may be faced with some of the same problems, down the line.

Tomorrow night is the Family and Friends gathering to celebrate Mom's life at one of her favorite places to eat. And while it may very well give closure to less immediate family members, my sister and I still have a ton to do. Ugh!

Anyone interested in buying several hundred flocked clothes-hangers? I could put Joy Mangano out of business....

More anon.
Prospero

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Goodbyes Are Never Easy

After four weeks in and out of hospitals and rehab, Mom passed away peacefully at 10:02 PM Eastern Time. I was by her side, accompanied by my three dearest friends in the world.

Mom's favorite flowers were carnations and I am posting this one in her memory.

If you would like, you can make a donation to the American Heart Association or the American Diabetes Association in her name.

RIP - Sallyann Grobels Bara, 9/28/1941 - 10/13/2013.

Loved and missed so much. She always said the best thing she ever did was raise two great children. My sister and I would like to extend our thanks to everyone who has been so supportive in the last few weeks. We couldn't have gotten through this without you.

More, eventually.
Brian

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Uncle P's Mom (Updated)

Waters Edge Rehab Center, Trenton, NJ

The past few weeks have been rather difficult for your old Uncle P. My mother (aka Malaprop Mom) suffered a heart attack last month which left her with kidney damage, requiring regular dialysis. It also left her very weak and debilitated. After two and a half weeks in a local hospital where she ranged from ornery to recalcitrant, Mom was moved yesterday to a rehab center in an attempt to regain her strength so she might come home. But I fear she has given up and may never come home.

To understand how distressing this is, you have to know a bit about my amazing Mom. Both strong-willed and emotionally vulnerable, as kids, my sister and I were always asking her to slow down so we could catch up with her. She taught both of us to read before we ever stepped foot in a school (and got yelled at by both of our First Grade teachers because we were already ahead of the others). Mom never wanted to be anything else than a Mom. She wanted 5 children and ended up with 2, the second of whom was born prematurely but fought and grew into one of the strongest people I know (and one of the best friends I could imagine). Nothing was too good for us, growing up. When I was in High School, I had the opportunity to travel to Europe and Mom went out and got her first job since she was a teenager to help pay for it. When my father left her, she soldiered on, dancing her way through my sister's wedding, just a few weeks after her own father passed away. 

A self-confessed "shopaholic," Mom was always smartly dressed with a killer manicure and the perfect heel for every outfit. And after arthritis required a knee replacement, she switched to smart and stylish flats. Mom loved the sun and maintained a year-round tan, naturally. And an avid reader herself, it wasn't unusual for her to go through three or four novels a week. She read mostly thrillers and mysteries, but was not above the occasional romance or even a Stephen King novel (she just finished "Under the Dome" a few days before she went into the hospital). Her current favorite TV shows include "Castle;" "Parenthood" and "The Good Wife," along with "The Walking Dead" and "Falling Skies." Since my first High School role in Bye Bye, Birdie, she has been a staunch supporter of my theatrical and artistic endeavors.

After my a-hole father left her, she actually 'found' herself. She dated several guys (including an old High School flame and one hot Russian who was actually two years younger than me!), but gave up on romance when she realized most men are a-holes (something which seems to apply to both straight and gay men). When I finally came out to her, she said she already knew and cried because I thought she'd be upset.

Of course, ever since being forced to retire when the auto-dealer for she which she'd worked for almost 18 years went out of business, her health has declined significantly. In the past four years, I've lost count of how many times I've had to call 911. This past February, she spent a week and a half in the hospital for congestive heart failure. She seemed fine after coming home and I never imagined she'd be back in the ER so soon.

My father passed away in 1999 from brain cancer. He was living in Las Vegas with his second wife (a whole other post could be devoted to that wedding, alone) and I hadn't seen or spoken to him in at least three years. I was in Provincetown, spending 4th of July weekend with my then boyfriend, Ric, whom Mom adored. We got home late that Monday afternoon and Mom informed me that Dad had passed. And I felt... well, to be honest... nothing.

 Today, watching Mom get dialysis while drifting in and out of awareness, I felt... everything. Anger. Remorse. Pity. Fear. Anger. Frustration. Worry. Love. Anger. 

Of course I know we are all human, and being human means we die. We all will die. But that doesn't make it any easier to watch someone you love; someone who was always there for you; someone who loves you unconditionally, come closer to that final milestone.

It is my fervent hope that rehab will help her gain her strength so she can return home and spend at least a few more years with me. But seeing her tonight, covered in bruises and scabs; weak and drifting in and out of coherence; hooked up to a machine which does a job her own organs can't... well... that's just not right. Not for the Mom we had to tell "Slow down" when we went to the mall to shop for Back-to-School clothes. Not for the Mom who fought when I was unjustly accused of misconduct my freshman year of High School. Not for the Mom who taught me to love to read and write. Not for the Mom who made me crazy so many times. Or the Mom who made me laugh so many times. Or the Mom who, after I made her watch the premiere episode of "The Walking Dead," knowing she'd appreciate the show's humanity, loved it. 

Not my Mom. 

Not yet.



More, anon.
Prospero

Update: Not long after I finished this post, Mom was rushed to St. Francis Medical Center ICU with internal bleeding. I saw her briefly today. She is very pale and hallucinating, but recognized me and held my hand. I'm hanging on by a thread, myself. I can't stand to see her like this. I know we all go through it, but I thought I'd have a few more years...

Uncle P

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The Anti-Bucket List

#3 on My Anti-Bucket List

I didn't tell this story on the blog last night, because I had posted all I thought I had to say about it yesterday on Facebook. But a little distance and a day spent trying to stay out of pain have led me deeper and deeper into the labyrinth until the beast had to be confronted head on.

Late last week, I started to notice a twinge in my lower right back, in the muscle known scientifically as the Internal Abdominal Oblique. It was annoying, but treating it with heat, ice and OTC NSAIDS seemed to be working. Sunday night, I barely registered more than a small twingey reminder or two and I thought I had made it through the worst of it. 

Yesterday morning, I woke up feeling fine and had my shower as usual. I made it back upstairs and sat on the bed to put on my pants. I stood, like I always do, and was instantly struck with pain the likes of which I have never experienced. Honestly. I have had a nasal cauterization and several oral surgeries. I know pain. This was far worse than anything I've ever experienced and I quite literally screamed. If this is half the pain of childbirth, I wouldn't wish it on any woman ever, even my mother!. But it passed quickly and I gingerly made my way downstairs with every intention of going to the Day Job. Once down on ground level, it quickly became apparent that I was in serious trouble. And the idea of folding myself into a car and driving myself for help was patently absurd. 

So, for the fourth time this year, EMTs were called to my house though this time, it was my mother calling them for me. The entire morning was rather surreal and I joked with the EMT's* (who arrived very quickly) - "Well, I can cross this off my bucket list!" They politely laughed and as I was later lying almost flat on my back, dozing and waiting for the drugs the ER nurse had administered to take effect, I realized that an ambulance ride to the hospital should really be on everyone's 'Anti-Bucket List'

I posted a few more things on my Anti-Bucket List and asked my Facebook friends to list theirs. There were quite a few amusing answers and they got me thinking about other things I never need to experience before I die. So here they are:

Uncle P's Anti-Bucket List: (A Work in Progress; Subject to Change at Any Time without Notice)

Ride in an Ambulance
Handcuffed Ride in the Back of a Squad Car
Getting Stabbed in the Shower by a Maniac
Being Bitten By Zombies
Being Trampled in a Stampede
Being Trapped Aboard a Sinking Sealiner
Forced to Watch another High School Production of Grease
Forced to Eat Poutine.
Being Surrounded by Russian Skinheads
Get a Haircut so Bad It Makes Me Cry
Buy a Pair of Crocs
Drink PBR
Associate with Anyone Who Actually Drinks PBR
Give Myself Over to the Cult of The Boy Who Lived.
Wear a Utilikilt
Marry a Woman
Have Gallons of Baked Beans Poured All Over Me
Have Leeches Pulled from My Body (don't click, K!)
Be Struck by Lightning
Be Burned at the Stake
Be Forced to Watch Every Episode of Every 'Real Housewives' Show
Three Words: "Chilled Monkey Brains"

I have a few more, but I realized they are really rather depressing, so I thought it best to leave them out. Luckily, the ER was literally empty at 8:30 AM and I was seen and treated right away. The Attending ER doctor put his finger right on the spot and said "Oh! I can feel it spasm!"  I was given a 10mg Valium (Seriously? Did you not hear me give my height and weight?) and a gluteal injection of a muscle relaxer and two prescriptions, along with instructions to rest with continued heat and ice for three days. This is the end of Day 2 and while I think I feel better, I thought the same last night, as well.

So, are these the kinds of things other people think about while recovering at home, under heavy medication, after a frighteningly intense bout with pain? 

No... It seems right up there with my usual nonsense, if you ask me.

Now I am asking you: What's on your Anti-Bucket List? What thing(s) do you never need to do before you die? 

More, anon.

Prospero

*And no, neither of them were the cuties from last month, though both were pleasant, patient and professional. Everyone in the ER was equally so and what started out as a rather scary experience was quickly getting better. I'm sure it helped that I was the only one in the ER, which undoubtedly facilitated my treatment but it seemed to me this was how they probably handled every patient and I was very impressed.

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Another Friend Lost

My Friend, Chris

I took my time in college, attending several schools; starting out full-time and ending part-time (mostly because I couldn't afford to do so any other way). One of the advantages of taking my time was that I got to do and learn from lots of great theatre and lots of great directors and acting coaches. The other was that I got to meet and make friends with a whole lot of people, many of whom I still know and love to this day.

One of those people was my friend Chris, seen to your right in a rather blurry photo taken by our mutual friend Marly while on a trip we took to Salem, MA to do 'research' for a production of Arthur Miller's The Crucible. Chris lived close to campus and we had many parties at his house. We also went on lots of adventures together. 

One of those adventures was a Spring Break road trip to Florida, which probably deserves a post of its own one day. Myself, Chris, our friend Rich and his future wife Dawn all headed down I-95 in car I rented (because I was only one old enough to do so). We took turns driving and I remember waking up around 3 AM somewhere in the Carolinas, as Chris was driving. I glanced at the speedometer - the needle was pressed as far right as it would go. I simply shrugged and went back to sleep, knowing that someone who had once been pulled over for speeding on the Autobahn was at the helm and we would be fine. There's a ton more to tell about that trip, but again - that's for another post.

As much as Chris had a reputation among our clique for being for being a madman, he was sweet and kind and gentle and often very, very funny. A talented carpenter (his father was a cabinet maker) and an often reluctant actor, Chris was known to have a bit of a temper and once infamously and very completely destroyed a beautiful art deco set he'd built for a production of Dinner at Eight after a dispute with the director (the show had closed). We all knew who'd done the deed, though none of us told, even though the incident made the local papers.

Many years passed and while some of us were still in touch, it wasn't until the advent of Facebook that we all reunited (as much as folks can on Facebook). It was last fall when Chris joined Facebook and we were all glad he had done so. 

Then news came in January that Chris had gone missing. Suffering from bi-polar disease, Chris was visiting his sister who noticed he wasn't himself and set out to take him to a local hospital for treatment. She went to get her coat and upon her return found him gone. Scent dogs traced him to a footbridge on the Delaware-Raritan Canal. While Chris was an avid outdoorsman and knew how to survive in harsh conditions, the situation didn't look good. Although we were scattered all over the country, our mutual friends expressed concern and worry. This past Sunday, a family canoeing the canal stumbled across a body which was identified by a driver's license as Chris. Local police are speculating that he committed suicide, though there is no hard evidence to support that theory.

It doesn't matter to me how or why Chris passed, only that he did. And that my life is all the better for having spent time with him. And I can only hope that his was better for having spent time with me and our mutual friends. While I and our friends mourn his loss, we can all celebrate the many wonderful; hilarious; joyous; confounding and exciting times we shared together. I only hope he is finally at peace.

Tonight, at 10 PM Eastern, our mutual friends raised a glass in Chris' memory and posted photos of ourselves doing so on a private Facebook page dedicated to him. I can imagine him smiling at the thought. 

Here's the thing: None of knows how long we'll be here. Take the time to tell the ones you love that you love them. Do so often and sincerely. Savor the joyous moments of your life because they are truly few and far-between. Spend as much time pursuing the joyous moments as you can. Spend even more time pursuing time with friends and family. Be kind to everyone you meet - you never know who'll be part of your life for all of it, or just some of it. Laugh as often as you can. Love as much as you can. Share your joy, but never gloat about it. Slow down. Live the life you want to live and make no apologies to those who disagree with that life. Take time to remember everyone who touches your life, no matter how briefly.

This was one of Chris' favorite songs, and while it isn't exactly a 'happy' song, it's one all of his friends will always remember him by:

I truly hope that Chris' pain has receded, even while his family's and friends' is peaking.

More, anon.
Prospero

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Fighting It...

If you've been reading Caliban's Revenge for a while, you know that Uncle P suffers from occasional bouts of depression. I'm not afraid or embarrassed to admit this. In fact, I hope that doing so might help others who suffer in the same way.

My worst struggle with the disease came about in 1996, while directing a production of Romeo and Juliet. I won't go into detail, though I will say that seeking the help of a therapist was the best thing I ever did for myself. My therapist gave me tools to cope and introduced me to a group of men whose circumstances were very similar to my own and after about a year, I was able to move on. 

Out of that group, I remained friends with one of the sweetest people I've ever known, my dear friend Bill. Bill and I would meet for dinner, attend to movies and just hang out. Eventually, we lost touch. But thanks to Facebook, Bill and I reconnected a few years ago and struck up our friendship, anew. 

We left snarky comments on each other's walls and he came to see my shows and supported the JTMF. In March of this year, Bill emailed me that he had bought tickets to see Hairspray and was looking forward to the show. Then I didn't hear from him for a while. I went to his Facebook page and posted something to the effect of "Where have you been? I miss your snide comments." It was only after I posted that I read some of the things other people had posted on Bill's page: "I miss you so much!" "I pray you are at peace." "I can't believe you're gone!" What?!? It turned out that Bill had died a few weeks earlier of a heart attack, while brushing his teeth before work. I was devastated, to say the least. Bill was three years younger and in much better shape than me.

A few months later, a fairly new friend and exceptionally talented painter (who had donated a rather beautiful painting to the JTMF silent auction the previous year), also passed away from an unexpected heart attack. Ed was five years younger than me.

Last weekend, while in Miami for the day job, I learned that the young man who'd been cutting my lawn since he was teenager, passed away at the age of 34. Granted, Luke had been in and out of rehab several times in past ten years; had been ill enough to be placed in a medically-induced coma earlier this year and had recently ballooned to twice my size thanks to the medications on which he'd been placed. Still, 34 is far too young... The tox results are still pending, though his family suspects a blood clot in his leg may have moved into his heart. His mother and brother found him that morning, at first thinking he had fallen asleep in front of the TV.

I don't think after all this, the fact that I am contemplating my own mortality should be any surprise. It has also been almost three months since I've done any theatre (the one thing that actually makes me feel whole) and almost as long since I've spent any quality time with the friends who are always there for me. Combine all that with money being particularly tight and the lack of a truly fulfilling intimate relationship... Well, you can imagine how I've been feeling these past few weeks.

I know... all this means nothing, especially when each event is taken on an individual basis.But I still can't help but feel a bit disturbed.

What I need are hugs from my besties, a show to distract me and the attentions of someone who can see past all my nonsense. Of course, a date with Jon Hamm or Jason Statham would do wonders...

Oddly, it's lesbian singer/songwriter Melissa Etheridge who gets how I'm feeling right now...

Sorry for rambling. Thanks for "listening." I'm fighting this with every tool I have at my disposal (though I may up my daily vitamin D dosage) but it's not easy. Letting it all out here helps, a bit. And don't worry - I'm not planning on going anywhere, soon.

More, anon.
Prospero

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The Tie that Binds Us All

Neil Armstrong

It astounds me that there are still people out there who think the July 20th, 1969 Moon Landing was faked. These are probably the same people who think our President faked his birth certificate; women can will their bodies to prevent pregnancy from rape; all gay men are pedophiles; AIDS came from a man having sex with a monkey and Jesus rode a velociraptor around Jerusalem.

Two days after my eighth birthday (yeah, do the math), Neil Armstrong became the first human to set foot on Earth's moon. Armstrong, along with Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins, traveled over 220,000 miles, risking their lives to make history. I sat up late to watch the event with my parents. I don't really remember my parents' reaction to it, though I know I was excited and entranced as Armstrong stepped down from the Apollo 11 lander and uttered those iconic words. 

Personally, I would have been terrified to make that trip. Sure, everything had been tested and retested and tested again but there was no guarantee that they would actually make it to the moon. And even less of a guarantee that they would make it home again. Still, the rush of setting foot on an extraterrestrial body for the very first time must have been nothing less than astounding. As Collins orbited above, Armstrong and Aldrin planted a US flag; played golf  and bounded about in the reduced gravity. They must have felt like Superman. I can't even imagine what it was like for them to look back on Earth from that barren landscape. Talk about breathtaking views! 

At the very respectable age of 82, Armstrong joined the Great Majority today, leaving behind him a legacy even greater than those of Columbus, Magellan or Vespucci. In the future annals of Human History, Armstrong will be remembered as the man who led the way in exploring the places we will be forced to go, once our rapacious appetites have depleted Earth's resources. And while I am personally unlikely to have antecedents, I do take some comfort in knowing that the human race may actually have a chance for survival after we have finally, utterly and inevitably destroyed our home planet.

Armstrong's passing also serves as a reminder that we all share the same fate. Rich or poor; famous or anonymous; successes or failures; we all will eventually pass from this life. What lies beyond is anyone's guess (though I'm guessing it's nothing). Of course, Armstrong's feat might have been just a little more exciting had it gone like this:

Personally, I'm looking forward to the day when space travel is more like this:



And, hopefully, not like this:




Rest in Peace, Commander Armstrong. The entire world owes you a debt of gratitude. In a year in which so many pioneers have passed, yours is among the saddest.

More, anon.
Prospero

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