Awareness

"But me, I'd rather plant a tree
That grows up tall for all to see,
Until I need a pencil,
Then I'll chop it to the ground.
At night falling down,
Will it make a sound?
Should I even wonder what it'd say?"


-- The Ditty Bops, "Walk or Ride"


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It's Earth Day, according to many Facebook friends' statuses, and I can honestly say I've seen nothing else out of the ordinary today. Except for a woman in a green shirt planting flowers outside my work window.


I saw a sign above a stretch of Kentucky highway that proclaimed this week (April 19-23) "National Work Zone Awareness Week." I'd like to say that as a result I am more aware of the road work going on around my community, but I'd also like to believe I'm generally well aware of it, especially when it diverts my routes to work, the nearest bank, Kroger, etc. Most recently, they've closed the blue suspension bridge for repainting, which adds an average fifteen minutes to my morning drive. I'm well aware of the gas bill.


When I'm told about all these Awareness weeks, days and months, I wonder if this is all because of the college Greek system. Think about it. The lobbyists who get these Awareness periods onto the calendars went to college, and (based on stereotypes of lobbyists and fraternity/sorority members) they go about it in the same way the Alpha Beta Gamma (?) chapter historian might go about "raising awareness" of any number of topics. Obesity, conservationism, whatever.


Not sure where the idea came from that picking an arbitrary period of time and christening it for National Awareness would actually do much good. I guess it's just a symbol, but of what? Did Work Zone Awareness beat out other awareness groups in some kind of bizarre lobbyist competition where the winner got award money and the week of their choice?


Awareness of the elephant doesn't get it out of the room.


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We have visitors this week. The Cincinnati Opera is using our space to rehearse La Bohème, which we have figured out will be entirely sung in English. Apparently, this new production was a huge hit in London last year.


I'm not too familiar with all the music, shame on me. Some co-workers, however, are swooning in their cubicles as the beefy baritone declaims his jealousy; and just a few hours ago the artistic director informed us, while a formidable soprano rattled the downstairs windows, that this was his favorite aria. When asked which aria that was, he replied with a smug grin, "Doesn't matter, as long as it's in Bohème."


And just a few minutes ago, one of the male singers was in the bathroom, and we heard him singing his strain. "Are they rehearsing in the bathroom now?" a co-worker asked the room.


"No, I think he's just taking a really amazing poo," I said.


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With only three more shows of Tom Sawyer before my acting career at TCT comes to a close, I've been thinking a lot about whether to audition for summer gigs. Because I'm teaching during the day all summer, they have to be nightly local groups, which limits my options substantially. They also gotta pay.


New gig or no, it doesn't change my timeline. I'll be in Cincinnati until the end of August, at which point I hope to have my furniture sold and my possessions crammed into my Neon. Assuming I'll join the Navy this fall, this could be my last self-planned trip for a while, and I plan to take my time, maybe only driving a few hours per day and making a week of it, crashing at campgrounds or friends' houses at night, visiting wineries and Midwestern oddities by day. I always feel bad on hurried road trips for not stopping to investigate weird places. If anyone knows of anything particularly worthy of a detour on the potential route (see below), please let me know.



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Tonight I am going to see Nativity Players' production of Godspell, to see my good friend Leslie play Jesus Christ. Yes, Leslie is a woman, and yes, this is a community theatre, so yes, the small group of us who are paying $10 a seat have already decided to enjoy ourselves.


Last night, some of us went to the Party in the Park, which is sort of an excuse for people in this area to try to get drunk on Wednesday nights. It was fun, though. Flyers appeared in our hands early on, flyers advertising a new kind of "awareness" program. I actually never found out what the group is really about, but they had a photo booth that was mostly unused. We used it five times, for a total of twenty awkward pictures.


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In Tempest-Tost, a show we did in college, there's a child who brews her own cider (or wine or beer or something). She says you have to wait for "the psychological moment" to open the bottles, and it's one of those strange lines that has stuck with me ever since. Over time, the phrase "the psychological moment" has meant to me many things and the same thing, an expression of something really undefinable.


In lieu of a true definition: It's the instant when you suddenly know, or you smell or see or sense, that the ripening is over; picking is inevitable, the harvest has come; change is upon you. When it's time to hit the ol' dusty trail, to close up shop, to let the paint dry overnight.

The awareness is growing within me of a great psychological moment forming. I now claim the next four months and ten days for my personal awareness of...whatever.

My time in Cincinnati is drawing near its psychological moment.