Strangely enough, the internet at Ian and Tessa’s farmhouse is not cooperating, and so here I write into a Word document rather than my usual tempting of fate, writing directly on the Blogger server. I don’t really enjoy writing blogs this way; it weirdly takes out the immediacy I feel when I’m writing directly on the ether-world of cyber-space. This feels way too permanent. Also, I hate how Word doesn’t recognize “blog” or “email” as valid spellings. I mean, really.

I’m sitting in my usual bed here at the farm, once again looking at the far side of midnight, even though tonight there is no one to play pool and drink beer with and to keep me up until dawn. Instead, it is sweet baby Lucy’s laundry and dinner for her mom and dad and time spent with all the above that kept me up tonight. And what a blessing. Ian, Tess, Lucy and I went on a walk today that was the highlight of the whole weekend- and that is saying MUCH. It was stunning, breezy, sunny and sweet, and we walked by the house I’m going to buy someday- the white house with black shutters and a sun room and a porch painted sky blue on the ceiling, just in case the hue of the day is grey. But no grey today- just more beauty and wonder and reflection on yet another fabulous weekend here. It is so damn great to be here, to see all these people and sleep four to a room and remember what the dawn looks like from this side of the day. But it also reminds me- cements in me- the wants I have in my own life, and what it might take to get from here to there.

Only a day and a half left in New York- never, never enough time.

When I first got up to the farmhouse on Friday, I ran gleefully up the hill, cartwheeled about, ran down and into the barn where I breathed in the memory of dozens of parties, conversations, pool games, dinners, songs, kisses, and so very much more. You may say I’m sentimental or silly- I don’t mind. This here is sacred ground.

I have no pictures of my brother Ian to post on this, his holiest of days (except, perhaps, the day a few weeks ago when his first child was born). But boy will I have pics after the Jartacular this weekend! And really, in my world, birthdays last for roughly a month or so (we are about to enter my very own birthday season: the month of June) so the celebrations continue. Happy Birthday, Ian- may it continue to get better and better.

Love,
Michelle

It’s strange to be back in New York, not having been here in five months, which is the longest I’ve been away since moving here in August of 2000. Stranger still to be here on exactly no sleep and to come straight to Sean and Jordi’s new home, which is expansive and wonderful and homey, even if it doesn’t yet feel that way to them. There are, indeed, many boxes, and exposed beams and spots needing paint and trim, but it’s really quite extraordinary- and that’s without me having seen the outside yet (it’s raining like crazy here, and cold, and who needs to go outside anyway).

I think the only way I could come back and have the kind of trip I wanted would be to be here for a solid month. Or, you know, move back, but I’m not ready to do that just yet. There are so many people I want to see, but at the heart of it all is my family, who I simply want to see more. Adding Lucy to the mix makes the draw, the homing beacon, all the stronger. I’m sort of stunned that I still haven’t met her, and I kind of can’t believe I have to wait a whole nother day and a half to do so. But soon, my sweet.

I have a picture of Lucy on the desktop of my computer, the one where she is postively guffawing, and as I was shutting down the movie I was watching as the plane started to descend, the very sweet older couple next to me said, “Oh, is that your daughter?” And I said, no, it was my brother’s, and that I was coming to meet her for the first time.

I guess it’s obvious why, but I’ve been thinking about having kids a lot lately, and as much as I want my brothers to all squeeze out sweet little chickens for me to covet and love, I’m sort of awed by the prospect of doing it myself. I mean, the fact that I would truly be doing it *by myself* right now is awesome enough, but then I think about the fact that having a baby is not just having a baby, but making a life-long committment to love and support another human being that will be largely helpless for the first several years of its life and it makes me reel with the weight of responsibility. Maybe it would be different if I could conceive of having a partner in that responsibility, but even then… I mean, there really is no question- I want to have kids, and glacially speaking I want to have them soon. But the idea of it also absolutely stops me in my tracks. And scares me like hell.

So, instead, for now, I hope to meet and love Lucy, and Jackson and Lyra and all the other lovely beings that have just joined us here. For now, I’ll love other people’s babies… and wonder and think and prepare and dream of my own.

I went to the dentist today, and as I was lying in the chair with long, sharp objects in my mouth, I heard a woman’s voice say, “Is that Michelle Williams?” I moaned an assent, and she came and towered over me- a hygenist or something, in full dental regalia- and said, “You don’t know me but I’ve heard about you and I’m just so glad about what you’re doing with the arts. This town is lucky to have you.” I moaned an acknowledgement- how could she know that my blood pressure was through the roof with fear, my right arm was asleep, and my right foot cramping something fiecre? (I kid you not. It was the most painful dental experience I’ve had in years, simply due to the cramp.) I suppose the point here, though, is that while it’s awfully nice to have someone say that, it also feels like… I don’t know. Pressure of a strange kind. So many people in this valley have told me how lucky we are to have my father here, and what he’s done for arts and culture, and now people are saying it to me, and it just really makes me think.

It makes me think about intention versus accomplishment. Yes, there are great things in the works, with which I’m involved, but what has been *accomplished*? It also makes me wonder what it would be like to have someone say that to me in a very different setting, i.e. somewhere where I’m affecting the lives of the truly unfortunate, as opposed to the slightly disenfranchised but reasonably well-off.

Don’t get me wrong- it’s wonderful to hear such things, and renews my commitment because it means I truly am affecting positive change. But it is also always a reality check. If you aren’t an artist, you won’t understand how little it means when someone in the audience comments on your work. Of course, you want them to comment, and you worry when they don’t, but whatever they say is largely meaningless. The want for them to comment is more just a verification of existence- that they showed up, that you really did the work you were supposed to do- but you know EXACTLY how good or how mediocre your work was that particular night, or in that particular piece, and what anyone else says about it is prattle. just noise. I know exactly what I am and am not accomplishing, I know how often my phone rings, I know how often I’m left out or looked over, I know what is happening. I know when I fail and succeed on tiny levels every day. I know when I’ve really put the hours in, or when I’ve whittled away an afternoon. I know.

When I bought my car, the pathetic fartknocker who was trying to wheedle more money out of me was also hitting on me while ALSO trying to get my advice on becoming an actor. It was repulsive on every level. He was asking me about my work (far more impressed with bad extra work in Hollywood than off-Broadway in New York) and telling me that he felt he could really “channel the angry stuff” and all sort of sickening clueless crap. At one point, he said, “So what do I do? How do I become an actor?” And I looked at him, controlled the seething, savage hatred I was feeling, and said, simply, “Go to class.” “What?” “Go to class. Learn. Start with a very basic acting class. There’s tons of them around here in the Bay Area. Go to class.” And he laughed out loud and said, “Class? No, I mean, don’t I just show up at auditions, and, like, when they say to act *mad*, I act *mad*, right? I think I’m gonna be really good at that stuff.”

I mean, I hardly even know what to say. Sean could rant about this far better than I, but the fact is, people know exactly nothing about most things, me included, so when a random person tells me I’m doing a good job, I sure as hell better not let that be a metric by which I gauge my success.

In other news, a week from tonight, I’ll be in New York! Huzzah!

I’m really confused about this movie being advertised on TV right now called “Tidal Wave: No Escape” or something to that affect. Um, pardon me, but is this something that we need to see in a movie? Could we not, if we found hundreds of thousands of people dying in tidal waves amusing, just search the internet for home footage of this past December’s tsunami? Wouldn’t that be easier, and *more dramatic* since it actually happened? I’d love to know the original release date for this made-for-TV movie. I bet it was in December, but they couldn’t really show it then, right? Who sat at the meeting when it was decided how many months needed to pass before the tsunami dropped out of the collective consciousness of us oh-so-brilliant Americans? They were probably pissed because there were so many darn *relief* shows and Red Cross fundraisers that it took us *weeks* before we utterly forgot about it… and therefore were ready and willing to palate a movie so banal, stupid, and unforgiveable.

I seem to be one of the few people who caught the very early Spiderman previews four years ago. There was this incredible scene where the bad guys were getting away in a plane, but then they hit this huge web which stretched and stretched, then catapulted them back- but they were stuck fast in the web, and as the camera panned back you saw that the web was woven between the two towers of the World Trade Center. It was gorgeous, and in my opinion, a loving, stunning tribute. But it was made before the towers crumbled, and thought insensitive, and cut from the film. THAT’S insensitive- reminding us that those towers once stood, that they were beautiful and strong- but showing a pathetic made-for-TV flick about people drowning in a tidal wave is AMUSING.

Tonight’s post was supposed to be a photoblog covering the last couple of weeks of my life- a wonderful week-long visit from my best friend in the whole wide world, the bluejay that has taken to harassing my cat, my friend Mollie back from Argentina, my friend Russ visiting from New York, and the crazy dividing daisy, but I just can’t concentrate on any of that stuff.

Okay, maybe I can share the crazy dividing daisy:

Check it out! The daisy on the left is normal, but the one on the right is slowly splitting in two. It’s like daisy cell division. Today, four days after I took this pic, it’s even more separate, as if it was trying to fully split, and also it’s dying. Now that’s just crazy.

I’m having a slightly profound Sunday. So many strange things are happening to me, but these strange things are so small, that I’m sitting here in the fading sunlight wondering how to process them. And they are not even happening specifically at this moment, but sort of in lyfe in genrul, to quote Depeche Mode.

I’ve made peace with the universe that I will not see baby Lucy for a few more weeks. I’ve made peace with myself, figuring that self-love is way more fun than self-hatred. (Not that this isn’t a battle I’ll fight every day, but it seems worth fighting.) I’m close to making a decision about the next year of my life professionally. I sang at an event today, and although I was singing at about 70%, I decided afterwards that that was okay, that I’ll sing better next time. (And, to be honest, no one noticed I was singing at 70%.) And I’ve decided to fully wrap my arms around living in this gorgeous place. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, so it seems high time to lean into it and enjoy it as much as possible. I want to look back at my time here and know that I went on every hike, tried every wine, smelled every flower, and played a hell of a lot of pool. I want to look back at this time and think, “Oh yeah- that’s when I figured out what I want to do for a fair amount of my life, and that’s when I started running, and that’s when I got all my confidence back, and that’s when I remembered that there is exactly nothing I can’t do, which I forgot when I was about thirteen”.

My bestest friend Stacey is coming for a visit next weekend, and I’m taking some time off of work to be with her. I’m going back to New York to see Sean and Jordi’s new place, and Ian and Tessa’s new, well, YOU know, over Memorial Day. I’m stupid with happiness about all of these events, and more staggering still, what’s happening at work is almost as exciting. Which makes me think I might be lucky enough to keep doing it for the rest of this year.

So I’m sitting in the fading sunlight, half-reading a book about day hikes in Napa Valley, and I’m taking inventory of the good things in my life.

If you don’t have family like I have family, then I wish you could spend a day in my shoes. I wish everyone in the entire world could know what it’s like to have so many interesting, wonderful people love you.