Thanksgiving

The first weekend of October, my friends Walter and Marci and their adopted greyhound Joey picked me up in their bread delivery truck and we headed up to Fielding for a dog show. Other than an afternoon trip to Scorching Bay, a tiny blue alcove with penguin crossing signs and a 125 year-old graffiti covered battlement built to watch for Russian attack ships, it was my first real adventure out of Wellington. Five minutes north, the countryside looks remarkably like Ireland: rolling green hills dotted with sheep, wide open skies, glimpses of the ocean. The highway swoops into small towns and drivers slow at crosswalks, a scenic way to travel, the only way unless you go off the highway and take even more time. We stopped in the seaside beach village of Paekakariki. Joey, all smiles, relieved himself on the sidewalk, the rest of us laughed and got coffee. We walked down to the beach and took pictures, the ocean wind making us shine. In a little wooden church, people sold used things, and I bought two shirts and a sweater (jumper in Kiwi) for ten bucks. The next stop was Otaki, where I picked up a fresh loaf of pumpernickel and a couple of apple tarts for all. Once in Fielding, we walked up to the exhibition hall where the dog show was being held. Behind the place was a raceway, and dragsters roared over the barking dogs. At the entrance, a group of people pointed at us and waved and said, “Look! It’s Joey!” Greyhound folks from the adoption agency, they recognized the retired racer, and greeted him and his new family. I used to show dogs when I was a kid. We raised Belgian Sheepdogs and some of my fondest memories are of arriving early morning, talking with people about their dogs, the excitement like a the dressing room on opening night. The thing about subcultures, whether they be dog shows, churches, rodeos, state fairs, racetracks or bowling alleys, most of the people there, the ones actively taking part, have found a place where they belong. In their element, they feel at home, and it feels like Thanksgiving dinner.

Today, I’m heading over to Nicole’s house. She’s another American postgrad student, one from our Saturday night dinner group, and I’ve volunteered to bring a green bean casserole, though in truth I’ve only fixed it once, and that was 20 plus years ago. Because I have no oven or casserole dish, I will go over early, take the ingredients that I bought last night, and mess it all around once I get there. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, the one with the least amount of pressure and the one that, to me at least, actually means something. A respite from the constant message of being told what we lack and how much better our lives would be if only we had a new this or that, Thanksgiving reminds me to take inventory and give thanks for such amazing friends and family; to live in these times when so much is possible; to have a healthy mind and body; the freedom to travel and the opportunities to reach out and try and make the world a more caring, loving and interesting place. .

It’s been a busy few months. A few weeks after the dog show, I took a road trip up the west coast to a town called Wanganui, then drove around Cape Egmont to New Plymouth. In Patea, I stood inside a whale bone sculpture, took a photo of a Maori memorial, and stopped at a garage where an old guy with bright blue eyes showed me some vintage cars he’s restored. Some of the new pics here are from that trip. Now, the first trimester is over. My students sent cards and emails thanking me for a great trimester, and I have applied to do so again starting in March. The film department’s closed during the “summer” months: December, January and February, but I’ve been trying to work seven hours a day on my first chapter, Louise Brooks and her Delsartean training; it’s due a week from tomorrow, and it’s coming along nicely. I’ve organized a play reading a week from Saturday, and I’ve also been taking an Advanced Improvisation class on Thursday nights. The teacher, Anton Van Heldon, is a great guy: patient, exuberant, and the group seems eager to try anything. Last week after class, Anton and I went to Café Ice, one of my favorite places in Wellington. We strolled down to the water eating ice cream, and as we neared the Te Papa museum, Anton asked if I wanted to see something cool. We went inside and up the escalator to the giant squid. Anton told me all about squid life, and how the one on display is shrinking because of the gelatinous pool it’s embedded in. However, that was not the cool thing. He used a swipe card to take us into a room behind the glass wall. Inside, the room was filled with stuffed sea lions and sea birds, whale skulls, whale skeletons, and a jaw bone longer than my apartment. Besides being a musician, clown, magician, teacher and improviser, Anton is a cetologist, someone who studies whales, and he told me how whales hunt and communicate, how some whales eat only krill and others eat anything they can, especially giant squid and seals. Best of all, I learned once again that each person is filled with treasures, and getting to know someone new is a grand adventure indeed.

I’ve also been given the opportunity to teach a four-week Meisner class at the Wellington Actor’s Studio. The studio’s founder, Barbara Woods, had invited me to observe some of her classes, and while there she asked if I wanted to jump in. I did, and they liked what they saw, and so for the past couple of weeks I’ve been teaching. I’m handing in my first chapter December 4th, my friend Alan Price comes for a visit on December 5th. The acting workshop ends December 7th. Alan and I will rent a car on the 8th and drive around the north island for 12 days. I’ve bought a tent, two air mattresses and two sleeping bags. Summer’s almost here, and it’s going to be a great trip. I will spend January doing a rewrite, and reading up on my next chapter, which will either focus on Maria Ouspenskaya and her training with the Moscow Arts Theatre, or Ethel Waters and Black Vaudeville. I’m spending the month of February in the states, flying into San Francisco, then Austin and Tampa. I miss my friends and family so much it hurts. In dreams, I see the people I miss most of all; we have conversations, and sometimes I wake up confused about where I am, wondering where someone it seems I was just talking with has gone.

The best news is that I’ve decided to make a long-held fantasy a reality. For years now, I’ve fantasized about building a five or six-storied movie screen atop a desolate mesa, located along I-40 or I-10, somewhere in West Texas, Arizona or New Mexico. Also atop the mesa will be a fortified projection booth and a solar or wind-powered projector which can be programmed remotely from a computer. At night upon the screen will be projected clips of old Westerns or restored documentaries. People driving cross-country in the middle of the night will look up and seeing Geronimo sitting astride an appaloosa, shimmering in the clouds, or Gary Cooper, striding across the empty west, black and white, immortal. I plan to have the mesa-top project up and running by Thanksgiving, 2015, five years from now. If you’re reading this and think of some way you would like to help, whether helping design a website, advising on equipment, raising cash, or calling your film buff grandpa with land in Arizona, please let me know.