When the Water is the Runner

I have always been a lover of cross country, I was never a runner in said sport but was always a supporter of it. My brother ran it all through high school, and one of my sisters ran from middle school through high school. I always remember screaming and cheering them on but more than that watching them. I would watch their faces. While I would stand at the finish line and watch runner after runner complete their 3 mile race, I would notice the vast assortment of faces they would be making as they ran. You had some with full concentrations, some you could tell that 3 miles was hurting pretty bad, some look determined to pass the person in front of them even if they were quite a ways in front of them. But no matter what look was on their face there was always a thought going on to produce that face. I once asked one of my friends who is an avid runner, "Why would anyone choose to run for so long?" She told me it was a great way to clear your head. Huh? Although the idea of running for pleasure never really struck me, and I was unable to run cross country due to poor ankles that may or may not have been caused by me running away from a bee. But I have always been jealous of those who could run long distances, like my family, so yesterday I decided I would start running.

I got back to my room following my afternoon rehearsal, changed into some workout gear, took two puffs of my inhaler and then double checked with myself that I was actually going to do this. I headed outside into the humid warm air, and as I turned away from tower hall I began to run. I ran down the street and after I past four blocks I started to get a pain in my side. The wuss in me was saying "Hey chicka just Stop!" but not now. I kept running until I arrived at Stephens Lake Park. It is absolutely beautiful and was the perfect setting for my first day running. I made the goal for myself: Run around this entire lake. As I ran I found that I couldn't think of anything except, "Breath Danielle keep breathing DONT DIE!" That during this first lap around the lake I couldn't imagine running long distance when the only thing I could think of was reminding myself not to die. As I completed my first lap, I stopped and let the pride swim over me. But what I realized was I spent the entire lap looking at the ground following my minds direction of not to die on my first time out running. Pride quickly turned to being ashamed, ashamed at the fact that I didn't take in the enviornment around me. So the new goal was to take another lap looking up this time. As I started this next lap I looked up and realized that this was a pleasant day outside. About half way around I realized that this 2nd lap might have been a little ambitious for a virgin runner. As my run turned to walking I looked and saw a gentle waterfall trickling over some rock. One of the unique parts about the lake is the bridge things that connect the shores to a little green island in the middle of the lake. As I walked onto the first bridge I noticed on the green island the perfect sitting rock...

I mad my way out to the perfect sitting when I passed the the bench that you see in the picture. That bench had a plaque on it. There was someones name on it but I don't remember who, but there is one word on that plaque that set the meaning to my running adventure. "Memory" Although in the context of the bench it was to immortalize someone, because someone thought they deserved it. Now I don't if they deserve the bench I didn't know the person but I'm sure they did but then I got another word that added meaning to my run "thought." So as I sat down upon the sun warmed surface of the rock I looked out upon the sapphire lake and put the two words together: memory and thought, both dealt with same thing, the mind. As the concept came to me a little came to a toddler got away from his mother ran by me picked up a stone and throwing into the water. As the parent took her child  back in her arms, I watched the ripples. I watched them spread. I leaned in viewing and saw my reflection in the mirror water. Red faced, hair sticking out everywhere, sweaty, it wasn't my most glamourous moment. Leaning back against my rock I continued looking at the calm again water. I noticed several small fish swimming franticly around. Giggling I began to wonder what were they thinking. Once again I leaned back and just gazed over the horizon of the lake. As the worry's and problems of my own life began to return to my own head, the same problems I was hoping to figure out on my run but I was too busy trying not to die, I began to try to figure solutions or remedies to help the stresses of my world. For a moment I wished I could be water. So pristine and calm and beautiful, I was jealous of the  its incredible appearance. The frantic fish were still swimming along the edge of a rock, apparently trying to sort their own problems out when I realized a lake is no different from our minds. 

Now before you think I have gone off my rocker think about it. As calm we want to appear on the surface something is always moving. At every lake you look at it is always moving it ebbs and flows all the time even at its calmest it is still moving back and forth. Back and forth like our own humanly doubts. We go back and forth on issues, whats right? whats wrong? why yes? why no? they are the true ebb and flow of our minds. Now take those frantic fish, we all have those moments where our own frantic troubles take hold, where we are looking for something or finding the answer to an important question. Our mind is always franticly moving to some answer. Just as small children throw rocks in the lake causing ripples, do others say or do things that create ripples in our minds. Whether it is an insult, that causes us to wonder what we did wrong or what is wrong with us, or a compliment that causes to think a little bit more positive about the world or ourselves. But then I wondered why do we think the way we do. As I looked to the water for answers I heard the trickling answer of the creek water coming down the waterfall. Just the same way that creek water that has hit every rock on its journey and that creek water that has seen the many miles that it rushes past finally makes it to the lake, the people we know and the events that we witness change or cultivate the way we view or think about things. So you wonder where stress comes from, well it comes from fish, children with arms for throwing stones, ebbs and flows, and water that has been traveling for a long time. We all have our own fish, stones, ebbs, flows, and water. And we all release them differently, a lake releases it through a stream that eventually reaches the ocean. We all release stress, thoughts, memories differently. Some place write, some sing, some make music, some complain, some place benches, heck some even run, but no matter what you do it the letting go and allowing your own thoughts to become the creek water to someone elses mind. 

As I felt the sun warming my back as it began to set I got up from my rock and took one last look over the lake. I realized from far away it appears calm but only when you stick your feet in it do you feel the tide. Only when we take a moment to understand the other persons mind do we understand their own thoughts. So next time you say something to someone what kind of ripples are you creating, what stones are you throwing, or are you adding panic to their already existing fish. Or is your wisdom or action adding creek water to the lake. Are we the clear water in someone's mind or are we the pollution? 

DW

P.S. I wrote this at like 1 in the morning, so if there are words missing, I usually skip over somethings when I get to writing. Whoops I will edit some time when I am not tired.

Pen Name

I have a challenge for you. Go home and open that one drawer or bag that keeps all your pens and pencils. The challenge is, can you name where each pen came from? Now I am not talking about this one says 'made in China', but rather, where do you acquire that pen. Was it part of a bulk pack you bought at Walmart or Sam's Club? Maybe you borrowed from your friend, child, or parent and just never gave it back. Or you are probably saying 'I don't know it was just always in this drawer.' Well this is where my story begins.


When I graduated high school one of the things that I really wanted from my mom was a set of her CBEFAA (Cut Bank Education Foundation and Alumni Association) pens. They were long and purple and where my absolute my favorite to write with. So before I left my mom gave me 50 pens wrapped in a rubber band. I remember my first day of Comp 1, new notebook, new pen, new year. It was the greatest thing. Well as the year passed and this new year began I went to get a new pen and realized my stache of 50 was down to 4. I thought where did they all go?!?

 I remember only throwing away one after using all the ink. But where were the other 49 pens. I think of the countless people I lent pens to and those pen hoarders who never gave them back (I am just as guilty as them). I recently went to one of my favorite restaurants here in downtown Columbia, La Siesta. I used to go there all the time with my friend Brooke. Well one time when I was signing my name on my debit card slip I pulled out one of my pens and I must have left it, because when I returned it was still there. Just sitting on the counter, out there for more satisfied customers to sign their names. I can't help but wonder how many names did my little pen write. How many people have held this pen? and if you aren't completely mysophobic, fear of being contaminated by germs, it is a pretty interesting thought. Just the other day I was working on a scene from  The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. My scene partner, Chrissy, and I met up with our teacher, as we entered the rehearsal space I noticed a little purple thing hanging out on a shelf and was amazed to find my pen just chillin'. How on earth did that pen get from my pencil bag to a shelf that I surely did not put it on. I collected my missing object and took it home with me after the rehearsal. And even more recently, on Monday, I was sitting in my Performance Technique class when my teacher came and between her index and middle finger she had balanced a purple pen. My eyes widened and when I went in with her for some critique on a song, I inquired as to how she came across that pen. She gazed at me kinda funny and said it was just sitting on my desk. When I pulled the twin pen out from my ponytail, where I usually put my pens when I am not using them, her eyes got wide and said, "Huh?." I let her keep the pen, as she stated she liked how it wrote. But just think of how it travelled. First a manufacturer, to Cut Bank High School, to my mom's office, to my pencil case, to my hand, and then somewhere along the line it ends up in a resturant, a rehearsal room, my professors, desk. So suddenly you wonder where the rest of those 50 pens are now and who is writing with them, and how many people did it take to get to where they are now. How many hands have held it, how many people have chewed on the end wondering what to write, how many names has it written, how many mistakes has it made, how many different opinions has it wirtten to answer a question, how many pictures has drawn, how far away from its original setting is it? But one thing for sure is that no matter where it goes it will always be a proud purple pen with a good yellow writing tip, and proudly display the words of the place it represents. Isn't that kinda like us. We travel away from home, we meet different people that help us along our journey, we meet people who "chew" on our nerves, we make mistakes and we try to scribble out the effects of them, but no matter where we go or how far we travel we are always us. We proudly display who we are and where we originate. As you look in your pen drawer what do you see? do you see measly little objects or do you see a connection to life? That might sound pretty corny. In fact I know it does, but next time you hold a pen to write whatever important sentament you need to say just think, how and where did I get this pen. And just in a matter of a short time and a few exchanges someone halfway across the world could hold the same pen and think the same thing. 

Wow did I really just write all that about a pen? wow. nifty!


DW

The Mirrors in Which We Look

This morning I woke up with a 10lb weight on my chest. The realization that 10 years ago I woke up like it was any other day no real emotion, it was just another Tuesday. And now this wasn't just any other Sunday. A true sense of nervousness wrapped us all in a blanket, as we woke up thinking. I know my feeling was probably shared by many. The idea of not getting out of bed, so you wouldn't have to turn on the TV or look outside. The attempt to turn off your mind so you don't have to think about it. And trying to turn off any emotion so you don't have to feel. But doing any of these is no real option. Because we all wake up, we all think, and we all feel. As I took the metaphorical weight off my chest I climbed down from my bunk and I took a deep breath in and looked at my roomie. She gave me a giggle and said "Good morning!" I couldn't tell if she was giggling at the fact that I probably looking pretty funny coming down the ladder, or the fact that the makeup from the evening before was still on my face. I gave her a "Morning'" and shuffled my way to the bathroom. Turning on the hot water to remove the cement off my face I look into the mirror and there it was. One single tear begin forming, as choked back I realized this was where I heard. Through a mirror. As a fourth grader one of the grueling tasks that was part of my daily routine was getting my bangs curled. This things girls suffer for beauty. As an accident pronned 9 year old my mom hadn't quite taught me how to curl them myself. So I would come into her room and sit and she would curl them. I was in the room when she received a phone call. I watched as the color left her face and she quickly grabbed the remote. By then I had gotten off the chest sitting at the end of her bed and moved to the mirror to examine the hair hanging in my eyes. As the tv took a few seconds for the picture to come up I was making faces while my mom eyed the tv. When the picture finally appeared, the corner of my mirror was filled with smoke. I quickly turned around asking my mom what was wrong and why the building was on fire. She responded, "Someone hit them." Someone. She sent me on my way to the bus stop, bangs still uncurled. Someone. This meddled with my mind. The fact that someone hit a building. Why? When the bus pulled up to my elementary school. I just got off, and instead of hanging out outside we were rushed in. To me seeing 'someone' hit a building and being denied my morning recess this was very wrong. I went to my desk and a sat and watched as Mrs. Lewis began teaching. You could see it was difficult for her to teach, something was wrong. Moments later she stopped away, put the marker down, wiped the marking from board and pulled the tv into view. When she turned it on, all there was smoke. The smoke that filled my mirror was quadrupled in my own eyes. The building that 'someone' hit had changed into a lesson. A lesson where little 9 year old 4th grader with bangs hanging in face, learned the meaning hatred. No longer were caddy girls on the playground considered evil, or my sister constantly  annoying me made her a jerk. As I watched the towers fall and the ash and smoke rise, I began crying. Mrs. Lewis quickly seeing my tears pressed the power button. Immediately I shouted, "Turn it back on!!" She obliged and we all sat there silent for 7 hours of our school day watching as our little world turn into chaos.
We all learned, not every lesson is the same for everyone, but we all learned. We watched people die. We couldn't do anything. We were helpless. But have we learned the true lesson. TV stations blarred the idea of a coming together. A great nation United and strong. And as a nation thats true, for a moment. But as the years gone on have we learned the united lesson? This evening I was watching a documentary about the rebirth of freedom. As the haunting images filled the screen I quickly turned before I could display any emotion. As I flipped through the channels I saw 3 channels where girls where slapping other girls. 2 channels where I guys where screaming in each others faces. And 4 channels where curse words filled the speakers. Hatred according to television. Then I turned one more channel and then there were pictures of hatred according to the world. We all have personal problems, with friends, with family, with both. We argue and we quick talking to people assuming that problems will work themselves out later. If we learn anything from this event 10 years later is that is no later there is only now. As I looked my self after washing the final remains of cement off my face, I looked in the  mirror. The little girl with bangs her face was now an adult watching a world a change in a mirror. Life holds a lot of lessons that we are suppose to learn. As reruns fill my screen and the chills roll up my spine I know what my lesson is. 'Someone' is a mirror of 'many'. The someone that I watched destroy a building was an exact reflection of the feeling of many. And it was that many that shaped a single day into THE day. The day we would be given a single definition of fear, hatred, and evil. The day that we all remember more clearly than what we breakfast had for yesterday. The day that defined the person in your mirror.
10 years, we have seen every vivid image, video, word that was produced that day. But have we learned. When you look in the mirror what someone are you seeing?

DW

Summer Lovin'

This summer has been one wild ride. In my final video blog I depict how incredible it truly was. Thanks to everyone who helped make this as memorable as it is!

When a Harmonica Tugs at the Heart Strings

The summer before my senior year of high school I spent a morning at my local nursing home. After sitting with one gentlemen for what seemed like hours I had heard tales of WWII, his own service in the military, his wife, his kids, and what had brought him to be living in a Cut Bank nursing home. After having lunch with him I was getting up to leave, he wrapped his arms around me and said, "You are the first person to have sat down and truly visited with me in over three years, you are an amazing young lady come back again soon." As I walked away from the table I realized that three years is a really long time to not talk to anyone. Of course he had nurses, and the occasional school group out to entertain the elderly, but to not have a long one on one conversation with someone for three years, or have the enjoyment of someone coming to see just you, thats very sad. I visited him 2 more times before the terrible excuse of "I was too busy" set in. At Christmas I joined up with Santa Clause and we made a visit to the nursing home. We entered room after room delivering a little Christmas spirit to all. When we reached my old friends room I rushed right in excited to see him  again, as Jolly Old Saint Nick gave him a present, he looked at me and said, "And what  is your name little elf?"As I responded thinking he was joking, I began to see that he really forgotten who I was.

Flash Forward to Today:

We had our final promotional performance for All Shook Up, and today it was taking place at a local nursing home. Upon arriving one of the resident got up from his wheelchair and came over to talk. After talking to us for a few minutes, we learned two things, first that his name was Paul, and that he entertained the residents by playing the harmonica. He noticed that that sparked our interest. So he rushed back to his wheelchair and literally jetted back to his room nearly taking out a nurse that was apparently in his way. Before to long he was wheeling himself back to the group with a black harmonica on his lap. Without a moment to spare, he quickly began to show off his awesome talent. Within minutes of the music beginning, the entire cast accompanied by a 91 year old harmonica player was singing "You Are My Sunshine," in four part harmony I might add. As we headed into the main room to perform Elvis for the rest of the residents, Paul wheeled himself right up front. As Jailhouse rock finished up, he told our star, "You pretty good for just starting out." Paul let his opinion be heard no matter what song. As Maddie got up to sing "Fools Fall in Love", Paul wheeled himself right up to her feet to let her know that he was having a hard time hearing her. He was completely hilarious, and it was hard to stay in character while he was getting so excited to hear us sing. When Bella and Justin got up to sing "Its Now or Never," you could tell he knew the song. He quickly lifted his harmonica, and joined in. When Bella began to sing her part of the love song, instead of taking it to Justin, she threw her actions and gestured to Paul instead. The rest of the cast that this was both cute and funny, but not Paul. As soon as he realized that Bella was singing to him, he lowered his harmonica, smiled the widest smile I think he could do, and began to cry. As the cast began to sing "Can't Help Falling in Love" he continued to wipe away tears and mouth every word to the song. Obviously striking something within him, I watched as a happy go lucky harmonica player was moved to tears by a song that the audiences we normal entertained could laugh at. It truly brought a new feeling and meaning to the song. We finished with "All Shook Up" a song that he had been requesting since seeing our matching tshirts. He was all smiles as we ended our set. Before leaving with took a group picture with our elderly admirer, and began to leave. Before I could go, Paul grabbed my hand and said, "Thank you."

Its amazing how in a matter of a few minutes and with only a few words you can touch someone in someway. By merely giving time to those who probably only have nurses for friends you can change their day and maybe even more. The only thing I fear about becoming old is being put in a nursing home, because I have don't want to be forgotten. We all get so caught up in our own lives that we forget that there are people stuck in a building who are probably starving to be heard, to tell their story. Or just to have someone come and see them, to enjoy the company of compassion. I am sure Paul is probably entertaining the other residents but would love to entertain new faces. And obviously not being visited for three years makes for one lonely place to live. I just hope that when the day comes that I am sitting in that bed in that white room of a nursing home that someone will come a touch my heart by merely listening to the stories I have to tell or the songs I still have in my soul.

"Wisdom doesn't automatically come with old age.  It's true, some wines improve with age. But only if the grapes were good in the first place."--Abigail Van Buren

"How are we ever to know?"

When you tell any musical theatre student, "Hey guess what? I am going to do a Stephen Sondheim show in only 8 days!!" The normal reaction would be breaking into a giant burst of laughter and then someone checking to see if I am still sane or not. But its true! I have been working on a show for the past 2 weeks and we opened it last Friday after only 8 days of rehearsal. Stephen Sondheim is an amazing AMAZING composer who did the music for an award winning show by the name of Into the Woods. And when I was cast in it for the summer stock season at Grandstreet Theatre, I received an email that with an attachment of the schedule. The body of the email warned me that if I wasn't scared by the schedule I should be. And believe me I was! Upon arrival to Helena we immediately got to work. After only 3 days, all the songs were learned and the show was blocked. So when the opening day came we had quite the day. When you think of the things to do on an opening day you may think rehearse, or doing showy type things. Well not at the Adams house!! No we went to the carousal. Now if you are not familiar to the Helena area the Carousel is a magical place where they have made the amazing combination of ice cream and riding hand carved ponies. So Josey, Josie, Marianne, Jess and I went to this incredible fantasy land!

Josie hanging out on a horse!!

Jess on an otter

and this is Josey

After taking two trips on the magical circle, we took a break and met up with Sam. Then we went to enjoy the second pleasure of the is incredible facility. That is ice cream. They create their own unique flavors and to all my friends in Missouri, its kind of like Sparky's. ONLY BETTER!! They had flavors like Hot Chocolate (Chocolate with cayenne pepper in it, I heard it was very delicious), pecan cinnamon roll, the montana classic Huckleberry, and many other brilliant flavors. I was suffering from a bad cold so did not participate in the eating of dairy instead drank a huckleberry italian soda, just as good but not nearly as awesome.

So after slaving the afternoon away we got to the point where it was show time. As the the lights came up so did the thrill and as the show ended the adrenaline kept moving. As tradition stands after every Grandstreet show there is an after party down a few blocks at Bert and Ernie's. It was so fun to hang out with the cast, crew and our supporters. It was our moment to breath as a cast and revul in the accomplishment that is an amazing created by all of us in just 8 days. There is one line from the show that has really stuck with me. "How are we ever to know?" As I stood around looking at all the faces that made up this show, and thought how could people ever to know? How could people ever know that simply 8 days before we were complete strangers? How could people ever know that for 8 days we eat, breathed, and slept this show, only for the simple enjoyment of hearing the clapping and cheering during the show (and of course the purchase of tickets ;) ;) ) But how could people ever know the back grounds that brought each of us to this point in time? I look around the after party and think of all the successful people that make up not only Grandstreet but the amazing acting community that was surrounding me. I was with people who had come all across the United States to simply make amazing theatre. A true blessing!

Julia (Cinderella), Myself, Lysa (Baker's Wife), Jess (Stepmother), Kysta (Lucy)

The Step family!

If you still want tickets there are only three performances left!

Thursday @ 7:30

Friday @ 7:30

Saturday @ 2:30

COME SEE YOU US!!!

A Rose by Any Other Name.....

I got to come home for a few days!! "Into the Woods" took a 3.5 day vacation from rehearsals to enjoy the holiday. As most of my cast went to the cabin, I came home for the first time in 6 months. It was so weird coming home, but wonderful none the less. I walked into my room and saw that my sister was storing some of her grad gifts in there, which was fine. And someone had been sleeping in my bed, goldylocks was no where to be found, so like most things I blamed it on Amanda. As I got unpacked and settled back into my original surroundings I notice sitting on the dresser was a prom corsage. The sparkly black ribbon and dried roses were a beautiful combination. But as Amanda came into my room to grab the remaining stuff she had left from sleeping in my bed. I asked, "Amanda, is that your prom corsage." She replied, "No its Alexis'." Later on in the day I asked "Alexis is that your prom corsage on my dresser." She too replied, "No its Amanda's." Well thats not frustrating at all. So now I have this dried up prom corsage sitting on my dresser and it just magically got there.

As I starred at it, my mom called me downstairs. When I responded to her she said, "Will you take those roses up stairs they have been down here for months." Now before you think that I got some dead flowers stored in my room, let me just tell you....you're right. I collect dried flowers. No, not wilted probably should throw away flowers, but turned upside down for a long time and preserved flowers. I know it is an odd thing to collect, but it is a true representation of happy memories, and accomplishments. I have been collecting since I was about 13 years old and some of my favorites are....

When I was 16 I was in my first musical EVER!! It was "The Secret Garden," at Grandstreet Theatre, where I am currently working. I played a ghost/ a nurse. The whole thing was amazing and beautiful. As I looked down on our closing night show, I began to tear up. I wasn't ready for this to end and I knew now more than ever I wanted to be on stage for the rest of my life. As I scanned the audience during curtain call I looked down and saw my mom and my dad. My mom was crying, things that are typical! And as I met them after the show my mom presented me with these antiquely looking roses. The color was the mix between pink and off-white. They are definitely the prettiest of my dried collection.

This one was a flower my 2nd dad Craig Rude gave to me on my senior night for Cheerleading. I was running around, like I usually did before a game, trying to make sure everything was in order when I spotted my 2nd family. The Rudes!! Wanda and Craig are literally like my 2nd parents. I ran up to them to get my usual hug and Craig pulled me into a Craig Rude Bear Hug and the gave me this boutinere. The purple and yellow carnation wrapped in baby's breath, just about sent me into tears. As some of you know my dad was transferred my senior year and was not able to come to senior night. I completely understood, but as Craig pinned the flower on he said, "that's from your dad.....and me :)" As my sisters, mom, and myself walked across the gym floor, I looked up and there was Wanda and Craig. They made sure that even if my dad couldn't be there in person, he was going to be there in some way. 

Some others from my collection:

Bouquet I received from my parents

Junior year prom corsage

Senior year prom corsage

My Montana Jr. Miss winning roses

Flowers I got after winning Cut Bank's 

Each flower is not a dried up leaf but rather a picture onto which I keep memories. So its kinda sad when I see a beautiful corsage from a probably amazing night simply laying on my dresser and no one wants to claim it. People say to stop and smell the roses or as Walter Hagen puts it, "You're only here for a short visit. Don't hurry, don't worry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way." To me these phrase are simply putting that if you don't take time to make memories and smile onto the beauty of your life and surroundings, life is gone in a flash without you truly knowing how to live. My collection is a constant reminder to me to continue taking advantages of the opportunities life has been giving me. That life is only as beautiful as the memories, experiences, and the thoughts that you fill it with.