Bea Arthur died today. After a lovely brunch with dear friends and a lazy afternoon in Central Park I was told that she had passed.
Bea has been on my mind lately. Recently uncovering the Sniff, Swig, Puff video on You Tube I had a Bea infusion. Finding funny pictures of her and rewatching her and Angela Lansbury performing Bosom Buddies at the Tony's.
I don't even know where to start. She was the character actress's actress. The scene stealer, the slow turn master, the one that always had the last word. Genius, poetry in motion every actress should wish to have a career that might even resemble her body of work. As much as I loved Mame it was her Vera Charles that brought the smart, witty one liners to their crispiness.
She was the voice of the new American woman in the work force who pushed the glass ceiling, broke it and looked forward beyond it's constraints. Maude gave a voice to a female movement that I proudly stand upon. My voice is louder and funnier because of her being. A TV and Broadway legend we all live in a shadow of humor and talent that will not be forgotten.
She lived. She worked. She made us all laugh and forget our own pain. Showing our flaws and our strengths with grace and timing.
The power is in the pause. I hope that is her epitaph. Thank you Bea. Tell my mother I love her and make sure you and Estelle do shots at the gate.
You made your mark and we will not forget. Not ever.
And then there's Bea.
All my love,
-brandy
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
To conjour...
I myself lie somewhere between Virginia Woolf and Albert Brooks. Perhaps more aptly in the realm of Oscar Wilde, Noel Coward and Cole Porter but for arguments sake lets just say that I am a product of all. They all conjured the best out of themselves and produced works of great magnitude, so much so that they still ring upon our stages and in our hearts.
Words. We all use them everyday, thoughtlessly, to get us from A to B. Asking, inquiring, making bold and brass statements of truth or falsehoods. As babes we learn slowly the language that will ultimately get us what we want out of life or conversely leave us wanting.
Magic words. Please and thank you are not enough. What more can I say to get what I want? How shall I utter them? Who will listen and act on my request, my mandate or exclamation?
Words require speakers and listeners. Perhaps that is why I stand alone on a stage in hopes that someone out there in the dark is listening. Comprehending my rag tag analysis of life and how I view it.
Words are remembered. If they are any good at all. People want them to cling to them in some desperate attempt to learn, find or justify their being. It only takes one.
One work of words to find yourself remembered forever. Read, reread for all time. Taught, or just spoken aloud in some numbered coffee conglomerate amongst the unwashed masses all burning to be told the key.
When spoken aloud I learned early that I could be beautiful, that my soul only truly found it's way into the world when written down on the blank page. Scribbled or typed it doesn't matter as long as it found its way into the tangible world I existed.
What to say, what to write, how to write it, even how to finish it, if I finish anything at all. Will it cover the silence? Will it matter at all? Finish what you start. The lesson of my parental unit, only what's to finish if I never start? If I wait until it's too late?
The goose bumps come, as I was told they would but I do not heed their call to action. I relish those moments that are a gift from the beyond. Maybe it's just my own mind recalling a distant voice I can't hear anymore that makes the hair stand on end. A coping mechanism for all the pain, a way of dealing with loss, but I don't believe that it's just my will of wanting those who have left me.
Needing to create more than I am, more than droning along in a cube filling a need that is not my own. One must overcome the fear, push away the doubt and move forward into the unknown to find words of ones own. I've had the room for 7 years, let's put pen into action and destiny into realty. Easier said than written.
post script-just now I felt if something was wrong...that I had misspelled Virginia's name so I googled her and yes according to wikipedia I had left out an O. I read thru the entry only to find that April 18 is the day they found her body in the River Ouse. This evening I finally put in The Hours after purchasing it as a Christmas present to myself, today of all days I slid it into the DVR player which prompted this entry.
For all the universe is and will be, it unfolds to show us the way to ourselves in small tiny signs. Prayers, salutations, perhaps reminders that we are not alone, no matter how solitary we might feel.
Words. We all use them everyday, thoughtlessly, to get us from A to B. Asking, inquiring, making bold and brass statements of truth or falsehoods. As babes we learn slowly the language that will ultimately get us what we want out of life or conversely leave us wanting.
Magic words. Please and thank you are not enough. What more can I say to get what I want? How shall I utter them? Who will listen and act on my request, my mandate or exclamation?
Words require speakers and listeners. Perhaps that is why I stand alone on a stage in hopes that someone out there in the dark is listening. Comprehending my rag tag analysis of life and how I view it.
Words are remembered. If they are any good at all. People want them to cling to them in some desperate attempt to learn, find or justify their being. It only takes one.
One work of words to find yourself remembered forever. Read, reread for all time. Taught, or just spoken aloud in some numbered coffee conglomerate amongst the unwashed masses all burning to be told the key.
When spoken aloud I learned early that I could be beautiful, that my soul only truly found it's way into the world when written down on the blank page. Scribbled or typed it doesn't matter as long as it found its way into the tangible world I existed.
What to say, what to write, how to write it, even how to finish it, if I finish anything at all. Will it cover the silence? Will it matter at all? Finish what you start. The lesson of my parental unit, only what's to finish if I never start? If I wait until it's too late?
The goose bumps come, as I was told they would but I do not heed their call to action. I relish those moments that are a gift from the beyond. Maybe it's just my own mind recalling a distant voice I can't hear anymore that makes the hair stand on end. A coping mechanism for all the pain, a way of dealing with loss, but I don't believe that it's just my will of wanting those who have left me.
Needing to create more than I am, more than droning along in a cube filling a need that is not my own. One must overcome the fear, push away the doubt and move forward into the unknown to find words of ones own. I've had the room for 7 years, let's put pen into action and destiny into realty. Easier said than written.
post script-just now I felt if something was wrong...that I had misspelled Virginia's name so I googled her and yes according to wikipedia I had left out an O. I read thru the entry only to find that April 18 is the day they found her body in the River Ouse. This evening I finally put in The Hours after purchasing it as a Christmas present to myself, today of all days I slid it into the DVR player which prompted this entry.
For all the universe is and will be, it unfolds to show us the way to ourselves in small tiny signs. Prayers, salutations, perhaps reminders that we are not alone, no matter how solitary we might feel.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April's Fool
Bea Arthur on stage
staring in Avenue Q
psych, but it would rock!
(after seeing spry and nimble Angela Lansbury on The View this week I totally bought this Theater Mania advert email this morning...I turned it into a haiku for fun!)
staring in Avenue Q
psych, but it would rock!
(after seeing spry and nimble Angela Lansbury on The View this week I totally bought this Theater Mania advert email this morning...I turned it into a haiku for fun!)
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