Living Happily Ever After
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Blog Articles

On Stage

Date: May 18, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“You are never so alone as when you are ill on stage. The most nightmarish feeling in the world is suddenly to feel like throwing up in front of four thousand people.”  (Judy Garland)

The next adventure of my business trip occurred shortly after my impressive vocal solo performed backstage for Donny Osmond. It actually took place while he was onstage. When I joined him in the spotlight! (Unfortunately, it wasn’t because of what you might think.)

In the middle of his performance, a few women from the audience joined him onstage. When the first few made it to him, I watched light dawn in the minds of many women in the auditorium. The room began to look like one of those gopher arcade games—where creatures pop up at various intervals, at various locations, and you have to bop them on the head to score. Each woman appeared to be heading to the stage to get close to Donny! I looked around me and started feeling sick to my stomach. I’d been to an autograph signing with Donny and I’d seen firsthand not only how much women love him but how out-of-hand things can get without the proper control (and security.) I knew somebody had to do something. I sat there for a few seconds more, observing women here and there, leaving their seats and heading for the stage and not really sure of what to do, but frantic to prevent a situation that could become out of control. So…I joined them!

As I climbed the steps to the stage and walked out into the spotlight, I felt sick. “I am NOT doing this. I cannot believe I have to do this. What am I doing? Why in the world am I going onstage in the middle of a Donny Osmond performance?” But I did it anyway (someone had to) and began directing the adoring female fans back to their seats. Donny was attempting to do the same and must have seen me out of the corner of his eye and thought I was one of the fans because as I directed the last one back toward her seat and prepared to follow her back to mine, he grabbed my arm, looked like he was ready to tell me to take my seat, but instead realized who I was and said, “Oh, it’s YOU!” and with relief, continued the show.

I returned to my seat and cringed at the unexpected adventure I’d just had. Disaster averted. The story of the time I joined Donny Osmond onstage—in the middle of a performance—and lived to tell about it. (I’m sure if I’d had to sing, the outcome would have been drastically different. I’ll leave the performing to Donny…and Marie.)

“If you take my performance or my understanding of the role and my appreciation for story…I guess becomes an action film.” (Vin Diesel)

You Have To Give A Woman…

Date: January 19, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I am my own experiment. I am my own work of art.” (Madonna)

Apparently, I am too.

Lets just say there has been a lot of “experimenting” (as in a lot of new, unexpected experiences) since 2009. All seeming to take place during karaoke on a cruise ship lately, for some reason. Here’s how the worst one happened:

I remember the karaoke hostess asking if anyone could sing Madonna. I looked around, I was the youngest woman there (and the only blonde) and no one was standing up, so for some reason, I did. I sang my first solo. “Material Girl.” (It must be that it was Madonna. Madonna and Abba are my weakness, haha! A carryover from my 1980s upbringing, I guess.) After I sang I was handed a packet and a MP3 player to practice for a special performance—no wonder no one volunteered!

I worried to my husband, “I can’t sing Madonna to a bunch of people in the karaoke lounge.” He assured me I wouldn’t have to. I would be singing Madonna at the cruise’s final show, on the big stage with the red velvet curtains!

“I can’t do that!” I exclaimed.

“Too late,” he replied. He advised me to memorize the lyrics and practice the song. He told me that up on stage before thousands of people, I’d be nervous and forget everything; that’s why I needed to practice, so my mouth would have “memory” and be able to sing the right words when I didn’t have a clue what I was doing because I was terrified.

Reassuring, to say the least.

“At least you’ll get to sing with a live band, that’s really fun,” he encouraged. “Most people go their whole lives without that opportunity.”

Somehow, I think I would have survived my entire life without the experience, however, you know what they say: ”Opportunity knocks for every man, but you have to give a woman a ring.” (Mae West)

The Glamor of Performing

Date: December 16, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I don’t enjoy public performances and being up on a stage. I don’t enjoy the glamour. Like tonight, I am up on stage and my feet hurt.” (Barbra Streisand)

Speaking of the public performances on a stage, tonight I had the opportunity to attend the Christmas program at my youngest child’s preschool. I had high expectations—it was the last such program of my last child, and last year’s program had been a bust. (I had been recently divorced, was new to the area, was completely reeling from the shock of so much life change in such a short amount of time, was REALLY feeling my aloneness and was, of course, all alone at my son’s Christmas program.

But I went and tried to make the best of it. He was dressed festively, I had the video camera ready, I was doing a pretty good job ignoring the fact that everyone in attendance seemed to be married and there with family…there was just one problem. My son wanted nothing to do with performing on stage. He left the stage before the first number was even over, cried, wandered around the room and eventually out of the room, during the performance. I was disappointed, mortified, stressed out and a host of other emotions.

As the sole and single parent of four children, there is never enough of me to go around. If I attend one child’s function, I miss another child’s activity. Every time. And last year, apparently for nothing, I missed one of my other children’s events to let the youngest have his experience. Too bad it was a bust.

I’d NEVER had a child pull something like that! But I cut my 4-year-old some slack and blamed it on all of the trauma he’d lived through in his little life and we carried on.

Cut to 2010.  I anticipated a VERY different experience at this year’s program. I wasn’t alone, Bachelor #5 went to great lengths to join us. My son was a year older and a year past the trauma. (The only thing the same as last year was that to support my youngest’s performance, I had to miss my daughter’s winter dance concert at her high school.)

We arrived early. My son marched up to the stage, found his seat and acted happy to be there. He tried on all of his costume props. He helped the teachers. And then, before the performance even began, he was already finished and ready to go home. In fact, he left the stage to tell me that. And I advised him to return to his seat because we were there for his performance.

He returned to his seat, and less than two minutes later was back. This time, with a medical excuse. “Mom, I just threw up in my mouth. We need to go home.”

I knew he wasn’t sick, so I instructed him to return to the stage. He moaned, cried, fussed, complained…and left the room right as the performance began. He wouldn’t come back, so after watching half of the program (without my son’s participation) we  finally left.

What a performance. A bust—two years in a row!

In all my years of child raising, I’ve never encountered a child like my youngest.

“Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children, and no theories.” (John Wilmot)

The bright side? At least he was wearing underwear.

“Simper ubi sub ubi.” (“Always wear underwear,” Andrew Rdings)

But that’s a blogpost for another day.

Life Is Like A Marathon

Date: December 3, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I thought about running a marathon a long time ago, but I’m just not a runner.” (Shannon Miller) I thought about it, too, long enough to laugh. Then I sat down and rested because even the thought of it depleted my strength!

There are a lot of similarities between running and life. Unfortunately, in life, you can’t decide you’re not a runner and quit. You have to keep living. And you have to put something into the effort.

“Running is the greatest metaphor for life, because you get out of it what you put into it.” (Oprah Winfrey)

My dad was a runner and he got me out of bed early each morning to go running as a teenager. I didn’t love it, I did it because I didn’t have a choice. And of course, it wasn’t until much later that I looked back and saw how much that experience helped me. The coaching from my dad, and his insistence that I get up each morning and face the task ahead even though I dreaded it,  is what helped me get out of bed every morning to face the misery of my unexpected life in 2009.

His insistence that I run even when I was tired or didn’t want to, helped train me to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how much I wanted to quit, until I finished what I had to do. Because in running, if you quit, you miss out on the “high” that eventually comes. You don’t get the thrill of victory as you cross the finish line. But if you endure it well, hang in there, make it through adversity when life is the hardest and most challenging, it’s your opportunity to shine, with your finest performance.

“I ran my fastest marathon in the rain.” (Bill Rodgers)

So as the challenges of our unexpected lives rain down on us, may we rise to the occasion and even above it, and perform to the best of our ability. Turn in our best times. And eventually, be able to look back and see that the hard times were even possibly some of our best times.

That’s what my unexpected life is teaching me.