Brooke Berman's Blog
April 5, 2012
Upcoming Events
New York City, April, 2012:
April 16: reading of MY NEW BEST FRIEND, directed by Trip Cullman, featuring Laura Heisler and others. 7pm, The Lucille Lortel Theater. 121 Christopher Street. More info:http://www.mcctheater.org/literary/pl...
April 22: CASUAL ENCOUNTERS at "Cino Nights" -- produced by Rising Phoenix Rep in residence at Jimmy's 43. 7pm. More info: http://www.risingphoenixrep.org/upcom...
Reservations: 212.946.5198
April 16: reading of MY NEW BEST FRIEND, directed by Trip Cullman, featuring Laura Heisler and others. 7pm, The Lucille Lortel Theater. 121 Christopher Street. More info:http://www.mcctheater.org/literary/pl...
April 22: CASUAL ENCOUNTERS at "Cino Nights" -- produced by Rising Phoenix Rep in residence at Jimmy's 43. 7pm. More info: http://www.risingphoenixrep.org/upcom...
Reservations: 212.946.5198
November 18, 2011
"Buy yourself a few things,"
I'm my mother's daughter. So in the quest to grow up, I thought I'd start by shopping.
So yesterday, I bought myself a cashmere sweater. 1) I feel like I need a few pieces of clothing that aren't from the Goodwill. And I thought cashmere, expensive, in a rich color and classic cut, might be the way to go. Thus, Barney's. But 2) I may not be an expensive sweater kind of girl (I mean, woman). I don't feel right about spending the money if it's not amazing. And 3) when I put the sweater on and asked Gordon, he said, "You have big boobs and a beautiful little waist - why do you persist in buying clothes that make you look like my bubby?"
Today, I am taking the sweater back.
So yesterday, I bought myself a cashmere sweater. 1) I feel like I need a few pieces of clothing that aren't from the Goodwill. And I thought cashmere, expensive, in a rich color and classic cut, might be the way to go. Thus, Barney's. But 2) I may not be an expensive sweater kind of girl (I mean, woman). I don't feel right about spending the money if it's not amazing. And 3) when I put the sweater on and asked Gordon, he said, "You have big boobs and a beautiful little waist - why do you persist in buying clothes that make you look like my bubby?"
Today, I am taking the sweater back.
November 16, 2011
"In Hollywood, 40 is the new 80" -- Jeanne Tripplehorn
It started when I was buying a moisturizer a few years ago. I said, "I need something with anti-aging properties."
"Oh Sweetie, you don't have to worry about that yet." Said the (definitely younger than me) lady behind the counter.
I said, "I'm turning 40 this year, so in fact, I do have to worry about it."
"WHAT? You? Forty? Do you mind -- can I tell, do you mind if I tell my friend?" And as quickly as I could nod, she was yelling towards the opposite counter, "DENISE. GET OVER HERE" and when Denise arrived, "You are not going to believe how old this girl says she is."
And so it went from there. A twenty-minute "What do you do to look so good?" routine. I cited both my Grandma Ida, who has flawless skin and has never had a facial or a Botox treatment (She credits Oil of Olay and good genes) and clean living, or at least partial vegetarianism and yoga.
And when I turned 40, a few months later, I thought, What a crazy, cosmic joke, this turning-40. I'm still the same, still wearing clogs and pigtails, writing in my journal, thift-shopping and so on
So the fact that I am the age I am is rarely a concern. At cosmetics counters and doctors' offices, not to mention the Mommy and Me group, I am often mistaken for someone much younger – 30's, sometimes even 20's (if they're not looking too closely, I think.)
But this week, a few things have happened to give me pause. For one, I need reading glasses. Another, I have a miserable cold and can't breathe. And I've been watching television, realizing, slowly but surely: I am no longer the "girl" of either Gossip Girl or New Girl. I am now the "wife" (both "Desperate" and also "Good"). And the mama. (And yes, I am up all night.)
I called a good friend of mine and suggested, "We need to reinvent ourselves." "YES" she echoed.
But how? How do we become the next version of ourselves? Strong, graceful, real?
"Oh Sweetie, you don't have to worry about that yet." Said the (definitely younger than me) lady behind the counter.
I said, "I'm turning 40 this year, so in fact, I do have to worry about it."
"WHAT? You? Forty? Do you mind -- can I tell, do you mind if I tell my friend?" And as quickly as I could nod, she was yelling towards the opposite counter, "DENISE. GET OVER HERE" and when Denise arrived, "You are not going to believe how old this girl says she is."
And so it went from there. A twenty-minute "What do you do to look so good?" routine. I cited both my Grandma Ida, who has flawless skin and has never had a facial or a Botox treatment (She credits Oil of Olay and good genes) and clean living, or at least partial vegetarianism and yoga.
And when I turned 40, a few months later, I thought, What a crazy, cosmic joke, this turning-40. I'm still the same, still wearing clogs and pigtails, writing in my journal, thift-shopping and so on
So the fact that I am the age I am is rarely a concern. At cosmetics counters and doctors' offices, not to mention the Mommy and Me group, I am often mistaken for someone much younger – 30's, sometimes even 20's (if they're not looking too closely, I think.)
But this week, a few things have happened to give me pause. For one, I need reading glasses. Another, I have a miserable cold and can't breathe. And I've been watching television, realizing, slowly but surely: I am no longer the "girl" of either Gossip Girl or New Girl. I am now the "wife" (both "Desperate" and also "Good"). And the mama. (And yes, I am up all night.)
I called a good friend of mine and suggested, "We need to reinvent ourselves." "YES" she echoed.
But how? How do we become the next version of ourselves? Strong, graceful, real?
May 19, 2011
Settled
SETTLED
Just after the events described in the last chapter of my memoir, NO PLACE LIKE HOME, I came into a discrete sum of money. This money -- I won’t talk about how much -- enabled me to get health insurance through The Freelancers Union. I had been uninsured for ten years, since the day my grad school policy ran out. The health insurance, while nice in of itself, gave me the courage to get pregnant. (Little did I know that even with the insurance, I would spend roughly 10,000 out of pocket on this birth – and that’s for a straightforward vaginal delivery – but that’s another article altogether.) The point is, just after the release of NO PLACE LIKE HOME, I found myself married and pregnant – or rather, pregnant and then married – and moving into a new apartment with my newly forming family. I also adopted a cat.
A year earlier, my ex-roommate Rick, a fancy celebrity hairdresser was doing hair and makeup for a fancy reality TV starlet and as they were discussing the movie 2012, she exclaimed, “What is this life?” These are the words that pass through my head now, on a regular basis, as I sit feeding my baby – baby on one knee, cat perched on the other. What is this life? The one in which I have little creatures – one human, one feline – depending on me for their very survival? What is this life? Because I like it.
When I did press on NO PLACE LIKE HOME, journalist types would ask something to the effect of, “Would you say you’re settled now?” When they asked, they’d get this look on their faces – something like, “Come on, Brooke. What’s the deal?” They would ask, “This new apartment…. do you think you’ll stay?” And I had no idea how to answer. The point of my book is, despite the best laid plans, who knows? Shit happens. The Universe has curve balls up its proverbial sleeves. What does it mean “to stay”?
My husband and I are renting our apartment, a small two bedroom in a city that we have chosen in order to be close to the action of the Hollywood thing – playwrights need to earn money. Our baby is small. So a small 2BR suits us. But I don’t imagine we’ll rent “forever.” And we’re still working out our relationship to Los Angeles. Daily I worry about where to raise our son – here or back in New York, near his grandparents, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and my own home-base, the theater.
So when answering “The Question”, I’d stumble through some version of, “Wow, I don’t know. Eventually I think we’ll wind up back in New York. But for now, sure, we’re here.” And of course that doesn’t give anyone any closure – one journalist even called me “a flake”. I think he was looking for something definitive, something like, “Yes, after the journey of NO PLACE LIKE HOME, I have learned my lesson, and I now know how to create stability.” Had I said that, maybe I’d also have sold the movie rights because there would be a discreet transformation. Girl goes from unstable to stable, from transient art “flake” to settled wife and mother. But that’s just not the point.
What does “stability” look like to you?
Just after the events described in the last chapter of my memoir, NO PLACE LIKE HOME, I came into a discrete sum of money. This money -- I won’t talk about how much -- enabled me to get health insurance through The Freelancers Union. I had been uninsured for ten years, since the day my grad school policy ran out. The health insurance, while nice in of itself, gave me the courage to get pregnant. (Little did I know that even with the insurance, I would spend roughly 10,000 out of pocket on this birth – and that’s for a straightforward vaginal delivery – but that’s another article altogether.) The point is, just after the release of NO PLACE LIKE HOME, I found myself married and pregnant – or rather, pregnant and then married – and moving into a new apartment with my newly forming family. I also adopted a cat.
A year earlier, my ex-roommate Rick, a fancy celebrity hairdresser was doing hair and makeup for a fancy reality TV starlet and as they were discussing the movie 2012, she exclaimed, “What is this life?” These are the words that pass through my head now, on a regular basis, as I sit feeding my baby – baby on one knee, cat perched on the other. What is this life? The one in which I have little creatures – one human, one feline – depending on me for their very survival? What is this life? Because I like it.
When I did press on NO PLACE LIKE HOME, journalist types would ask something to the effect of, “Would you say you’re settled now?” When they asked, they’d get this look on their faces – something like, “Come on, Brooke. What’s the deal?” They would ask, “This new apartment…. do you think you’ll stay?” And I had no idea how to answer. The point of my book is, despite the best laid plans, who knows? Shit happens. The Universe has curve balls up its proverbial sleeves. What does it mean “to stay”?
My husband and I are renting our apartment, a small two bedroom in a city that we have chosen in order to be close to the action of the Hollywood thing – playwrights need to earn money. Our baby is small. So a small 2BR suits us. But I don’t imagine we’ll rent “forever.” And we’re still working out our relationship to Los Angeles. Daily I worry about where to raise our son – here or back in New York, near his grandparents, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and my own home-base, the theater.
So when answering “The Question”, I’d stumble through some version of, “Wow, I don’t know. Eventually I think we’ll wind up back in New York. But for now, sure, we’re here.” And of course that doesn’t give anyone any closure – one journalist even called me “a flake”. I think he was looking for something definitive, something like, “Yes, after the journey of NO PLACE LIKE HOME, I have learned my lesson, and I now know how to create stability.” Had I said that, maybe I’d also have sold the movie rights because there would be a discreet transformation. Girl goes from unstable to stable, from transient art “flake” to settled wife and mother. But that’s just not the point.
What does “stability” look like to you?
April 30, 2011
...
i want my grandma to think i'm a good mom.
March 14, 2011
"Mommy and Me" ... and I
I recently joined a "Mommy and Me" class in Hollywood.
At first, I was afraid of it, the class, afraid it would be like an episode of "Desperate Housewives" set on repeat, and I'd run screaming. But also, secretly, I craved a little maternal guidance, and never having held a baby – when I babysat, the kids were always old enough to tell me just what they wanted and needed, whether that be dinner, a story, a made-up game where everyone is a kittycat , or some new toy) – I needed some information.
As a new parent, it seems like the learning curve is monumental – how do people ever learn to put their babies to bed? To create structure, but not too much structure? To attend to Baby's cries and offer Baby the specific help s/he needs at each juncture? How do you navigate the new world of parenthood? I wanted to learn about child development – age appropriate play, how the brain develops, what my baby was seeing and hearing and feeling and mostly how to attend to each and every one of his needs so that he grows up safe and secure, believing that the Infinite Universe will take care of him.
The first group meeting, two weeks ago, was Heaven. I cried when they welcomed each baby with a song. I cried when I realized how much I missed my own mother. I cried, comforted by the solidarity of a circle of women all going through the same thing. Here was a sacred sisterhood! Each woman told her birth story, and I thought, "We have so much in common." And then I thought, I always was a sucker for 1970's Second Wave feminism. I love circles.
But in the ten days since that first meeting, since our second class and the addition of an email chain, I have learned that every mom except for me (and maybe a few ladies in Compton) own a 400 dollar "jogger stroller" in addition their carseat/Snap N Go set-up and their "umbrella" city stroller, and that they seem to have inexhaustible (okay, maybe that's an unfortunate word) energy and time for emails, lunch and hiking dates, and the ongoing purchase of "gear." I feel like I'm back in high school taking note of who just got cute new shoes. Maybe these are not my mommy peers after all? Where are the artists? Where are the working moms? Where are the moms who, like us, are trying to make do with less?
And now I'm debating whether to stay in the group or else, surrender to my growing workload and use the hours to take Baby on a walk (in lone stroller device, a totally viable Snap and Go hand-me-down) and then, write! After all, aren't I supposed to be writing?
Mostly what I am realizing is, my son needs me to listen to him -- and trust myself.
PS: Gordon says, technically, if one were minding one's grammar, it should be called "Mommy and I." Just saying.
At first, I was afraid of it, the class, afraid it would be like an episode of "Desperate Housewives" set on repeat, and I'd run screaming. But also, secretly, I craved a little maternal guidance, and never having held a baby – when I babysat, the kids were always old enough to tell me just what they wanted and needed, whether that be dinner, a story, a made-up game where everyone is a kittycat , or some new toy) – I needed some information.
As a new parent, it seems like the learning curve is monumental – how do people ever learn to put their babies to bed? To create structure, but not too much structure? To attend to Baby's cries and offer Baby the specific help s/he needs at each juncture? How do you navigate the new world of parenthood? I wanted to learn about child development – age appropriate play, how the brain develops, what my baby was seeing and hearing and feeling and mostly how to attend to each and every one of his needs so that he grows up safe and secure, believing that the Infinite Universe will take care of him.
The first group meeting, two weeks ago, was Heaven. I cried when they welcomed each baby with a song. I cried when I realized how much I missed my own mother. I cried, comforted by the solidarity of a circle of women all going through the same thing. Here was a sacred sisterhood! Each woman told her birth story, and I thought, "We have so much in common." And then I thought, I always was a sucker for 1970's Second Wave feminism. I love circles.
But in the ten days since that first meeting, since our second class and the addition of an email chain, I have learned that every mom except for me (and maybe a few ladies in Compton) own a 400 dollar "jogger stroller" in addition their carseat/Snap N Go set-up and their "umbrella" city stroller, and that they seem to have inexhaustible (okay, maybe that's an unfortunate word) energy and time for emails, lunch and hiking dates, and the ongoing purchase of "gear." I feel like I'm back in high school taking note of who just got cute new shoes. Maybe these are not my mommy peers after all? Where are the artists? Where are the working moms? Where are the moms who, like us, are trying to make do with less?
And now I'm debating whether to stay in the group or else, surrender to my growing workload and use the hours to take Baby on a walk (in lone stroller device, a totally viable Snap and Go hand-me-down) and then, write! After all, aren't I supposed to be writing?
Mostly what I am realizing is, my son needs me to listen to him -- and trust myself.
PS: Gordon says, technically, if one were minding one's grammar, it should be called "Mommy and I." Just saying.
December 12, 2010
Making Cookies and Waiting
A labor activity is something you pick out beforehand that you can do whilst the early contractions of labor begin. These early contractions are, from everything I hear, far apart and not entirely horrible, and one needs something to do to take one's mind off the fact that one is starting the long journey of labor. Three weeks ago I decided my labor activity would be to bake cookies. I have probably not baked cookies in 20 years. But I have been seduced into cookie-making lately by my friend Yvonne, who makes them pretty regularly, and her house always smells good, and each time I go over there and she's baking the aforementioned cookies, I feel a sense of calm. Besides, how better to start life as a mom? Right? Won't my kid want me to bake him cookies?
But here's the thing. The baby has not yet come. So every day for the last 2 or 3 weeks, since buying the ingredients, I stare at the package of Toll House chips and the Neiman Marcus recipe downloaded from the Internet, and I wonder, "Will it be today?"
Finally, this morning at 6AM I could wait no more. I woke up and never got back to sleep. I wept. "When is this baby coming? Why is he taking so long?" And I vowed, "Today I'm making those fucking cookies. At least THAT is within my control."
So I'm not in labor.
But I am baking nonetheless.
And the house smells good.
And we're still waiting....
But here's the thing. The baby has not yet come. So every day for the last 2 or 3 weeks, since buying the ingredients, I stare at the package of Toll House chips and the Neiman Marcus recipe downloaded from the Internet, and I wonder, "Will it be today?"
Finally, this morning at 6AM I could wait no more. I woke up and never got back to sleep. I wept. "When is this baby coming? Why is he taking so long?" And I vowed, "Today I'm making those fucking cookies. At least THAT is within my control."
So I'm not in labor.
But I am baking nonetheless.
And the house smells good.
And we're still waiting....
November 14, 2010
Wendy Is Turning In Her Grave
This year's Wasserstein Award committee has decided *not* to give an award because they feel that not one of the 19 submissions is worthy of the prize.
My colleague Kirsten Grenidge has written eloquently about the matter on her blog:
http://onmywaytotherevolution.blogspo...
As has the ever-articulate Michael Lew (in addition to writing a fantastic letter to TCG)which got excerpted on Jezebel:
http://jezebel.com/5688991/no-wassers...
Read about it.
And there's a petition:
http://apps.facebook.com/petitions/1/...
Which you can sign!
I won 2 emerging playwright awards, in 1998 and 2000, respectively, which changed my life. We need these awards! And unfortunately we're still in the dark ages where we need awards specifically targed to women's voices, otherwise, we fall into the larger canonical trap of "I don't know what the event is, I can't follow this play because there's no male protagonist" or what have you (see Julia Jordan's Female Playwrights campaign circa 2008, 2009, 2010). Sad, I know. But necessary.
I was also lucky enough to meet Ms. Wasserstein a few times, and I can say wholeheartedly that she would be pissed right now. Wendy was a tireless advocate for the voices of young women. She helped many of us "emerge." She was one of those rare and beautiful souls who makes room at the grown-ups table when the kids arrive.
My colleague Kirsten Grenidge has written eloquently about the matter on her blog:
http://onmywaytotherevolution.blogspo...
As has the ever-articulate Michael Lew (in addition to writing a fantastic letter to TCG)which got excerpted on Jezebel:
http://jezebel.com/5688991/no-wassers...
Read about it.
And there's a petition:
http://apps.facebook.com/petitions/1/...
Which you can sign!
I won 2 emerging playwright awards, in 1998 and 2000, respectively, which changed my life. We need these awards! And unfortunately we're still in the dark ages where we need awards specifically targed to women's voices, otherwise, we fall into the larger canonical trap of "I don't know what the event is, I can't follow this play because there's no male protagonist" or what have you (see Julia Jordan's Female Playwrights campaign circa 2008, 2009, 2010). Sad, I know. But necessary.
I was also lucky enough to meet Ms. Wasserstein a few times, and I can say wholeheartedly that she would be pissed right now. Wendy was a tireless advocate for the voices of young women. She helped many of us "emerge." She was one of those rare and beautiful souls who makes room at the grown-ups table when the kids arrive.
November 11, 2010
From the Pregnancy Void
I am getting really, really spaced out. I sit on the big green plastic "birth ball" eating noodles and watching weird movies on my laptop. I think about writing. I take notes. I answer email. I nap. I have never been a "nap person" but right now, I like to nap. I fall asleep an hour earlier each night and wake up (well, I wake up every two hours but also….) slightly later than usual, each day. This baby is coming any time now, any time….. I can't believe it.
But I've also been thinking, apropos of the recent midterm elections, about the right to choose.
Because I have been pregnant before. And chosen to terminate. It was 1998, and my then-boyfriend, who I adored, smoked an inordinate amount of marijuana – or at least, enough to make me uncomfortable – and said he didn't believe in making a commitment to a relationship, but if there were a child, he'd stick around. I told him I couldn't do it that way, that I needed the base before bringing a child in. He'd recently moved out of his dad's place and into a house in Brooklyn where he grew pot in the closet that also acted as shelter to a family of very small mice. His hipster roommate Mary said the mice were "cute." Neither of them owned a bed. Both slept (separately, I think) in sleeping bags, on their respective floors. A part of wanted very much to have this man's baby. But the smarter part of me knew it was a set-up.
After I had the procedure, which is no easy thing to go through, I called him, long distance, in tears. And he said, "You sound needy." And I said, "I feel needy" And he said, "Don't look at me. I would have had it." And I understood that I was alone. The mourning process was unbelievable. I cried a lot and looked for answers. But I never doubted the termination itself. I believed, I still believe, I did the right thing.
It's so important that women have the power to choose. Abortion isn't easy – it's no picnic, as they say. And we do kill something, maybe not a "baby" – but certainly the beginnings of life, a potential. And yet, I think that owning that choice, making it consciously and responsibly, helps us grow up, helps us make different choices down the road. I promised myself that I would be a mother someday. And I'm delighted (and scared) to become one now.
Mostly, I'm grateful to see it unfold this way. And to have a child with this wonderful man, Gordon. At just the right time in both of our lives….
But I've also been thinking, apropos of the recent midterm elections, about the right to choose.
Because I have been pregnant before. And chosen to terminate. It was 1998, and my then-boyfriend, who I adored, smoked an inordinate amount of marijuana – or at least, enough to make me uncomfortable – and said he didn't believe in making a commitment to a relationship, but if there were a child, he'd stick around. I told him I couldn't do it that way, that I needed the base before bringing a child in. He'd recently moved out of his dad's place and into a house in Brooklyn where he grew pot in the closet that also acted as shelter to a family of very small mice. His hipster roommate Mary said the mice were "cute." Neither of them owned a bed. Both slept (separately, I think) in sleeping bags, on their respective floors. A part of wanted very much to have this man's baby. But the smarter part of me knew it was a set-up.
After I had the procedure, which is no easy thing to go through, I called him, long distance, in tears. And he said, "You sound needy." And I said, "I feel needy" And he said, "Don't look at me. I would have had it." And I understood that I was alone. The mourning process was unbelievable. I cried a lot and looked for answers. But I never doubted the termination itself. I believed, I still believe, I did the right thing.
It's so important that women have the power to choose. Abortion isn't easy – it's no picnic, as they say. And we do kill something, maybe not a "baby" – but certainly the beginnings of life, a potential. And yet, I think that owning that choice, making it consciously and responsibly, helps us grow up, helps us make different choices down the road. I promised myself that I would be a mother someday. And I'm delighted (and scared) to become one now.
Mostly, I'm grateful to see it unfold this way. And to have a child with this wonderful man, Gordon. At just the right time in both of our lives….
October 19, 2010
News and Musings
So first, some lovely news, via old friend Danielle: SMASHING is play of the month @ Drama Books in NYC:
http://www.dramabookshop.com/october-...
it's recently been published in book edition by Broadway Play Publishing (with a rad cover, a graphic from the show, sketched by Erik Flatmo). Check it out!
And a few thoughts while wandering San Francisco. In my book, I talk about a particular week in August, 2002, when I went to Chicago to rehearse a play. During my free time, I would find myself wandering around "looking for the past." I'd grown up in Chicago and had all sorts of nostalgia about both the city itself the friends I'd loved so dearly (and lost, eventually) in my 20's. But I discovered that something inside of me had shifted and thus, I "the past has no business with me." It was, I wrote, as if the receptors through which this nostalgia -- the past, the ghosts -- could reach me had closed themselves off. There were no receptors and thus, no sentimental experience. I was free.
Being in San Francisco this weekend has been like that. I've been wandering 16th Street looking for the ghost of the me who lived here the summer of 1996. She's not here. The one corner with any nostalgia is Valencia and 21st, where "Noah" and I got busted for eating out of the bulk food bins at Valencia Street Whole Foods (okay, once!). We were on that corner a lot.
But San Francisco isn't about the past for me. It's about a very rich present in which I am pregnant and expecting a child, workshopping a new play with wonderful collaborators and buying ABC books for the little boy who's coming to join mine and Gordon's life. In this present, I visit museums. I walk up Mission Street. I explore without any expectation of the past meeting me or informing me. It is unwritten. And unfolding....
http://www.dramabookshop.com/october-...
it's recently been published in book edition by Broadway Play Publishing (with a rad cover, a graphic from the show, sketched by Erik Flatmo). Check it out!
And a few thoughts while wandering San Francisco. In my book, I talk about a particular week in August, 2002, when I went to Chicago to rehearse a play. During my free time, I would find myself wandering around "looking for the past." I'd grown up in Chicago and had all sorts of nostalgia about both the city itself the friends I'd loved so dearly (and lost, eventually) in my 20's. But I discovered that something inside of me had shifted and thus, I "the past has no business with me." It was, I wrote, as if the receptors through which this nostalgia -- the past, the ghosts -- could reach me had closed themselves off. There were no receptors and thus, no sentimental experience. I was free.
Being in San Francisco this weekend has been like that. I've been wandering 16th Street looking for the ghost of the me who lived here the summer of 1996. She's not here. The one corner with any nostalgia is Valencia and 21st, where "Noah" and I got busted for eating out of the bulk food bins at Valencia Street Whole Foods (okay, once!). We were on that corner a lot.
But San Francisco isn't about the past for me. It's about a very rich present in which I am pregnant and expecting a child, workshopping a new play with wonderful collaborators and buying ABC books for the little boy who's coming to join mine and Gordon's life. In this present, I visit museums. I walk up Mission Street. I explore without any expectation of the past meeting me or informing me. It is unwritten. And unfolding....
