Memory Moments

So many moments from this weekend of our 3rd Listen To Your Mother in Chicago are burned into my memory. Even more of them are already fading. It's one of those tricks of fate that causes the moments that you actually DO remember to become even more precious, I suppose.

Coffee at my table before I woke up the boys.

Curling my hair and having it actually all take and hold.

Watching the temperature gauge on our van rise and rise and rise and DINGDINGDING on the way to the theater, and trying to not lose my shit over what we would do if the van died. Call a cab to pick up me and my family and several bags and boxes of supplies in addition to the awkward music stand? Call a cab and leave said family behind on I94 because they didn't fit into the cab with all of my paraphernalia?

Walking through the doors into the auditorium and seeing that massive, empty stage. Knowing that in just a few hours, hearts would be touched by the stories we had chosen to showcase. Knowing that in just a few hours, the 2014 Chicago show would be over.

Seeing the variety of excitement/nerves/fear on the faces of our cast.

Calming some tears.

Hugging some friends.

Running through details. Smiling for photos. Laughing and laughing and laughing.

Holding the curtain for traffic-bogged latecomers...

Watching the curtain rise and feel like I'm floating through the show. Smoothly and happily and without any monumental hiccups.

Seeing so many alumni faces and realizing, during a group picture, just how many lives we've already touched... feeling floored at the knowledge that the stories we put on stage continue to touch and move and change countless viewers on YouTube. Knowing that I'm a part of something so vast and important and monumental... it moves me. It absolutely rocks me to my core.

I can't wait to see the posed pictures of all of the cast in attendance!

Meeting a sweet baby cousin for the first time and holding that tiny little soul in my arms. Remembering the moments of my own babies and how they seem to have just slipped away like little bits of mercury; the more I reach out to touch them, the further away they race and divide and disappear.

Seeing a set of pink boots that used to belong to my daughter upon the tiny feet of a friend's toddler. Remembering their walks to the park and the trees that they climbed; wishing I could still be a part of the future adventures they have yet to experience.

the little pink boots in 2008...

All of the moments and all of the feelings and all of the slippery bits of mercury rolling away from my memory... All that and a ball of wax.