MOTHERS' DAY 2014

I have reached an interesting time in my life: the time when you begin to realize that you are watching the halfway mile-marker of your lifetime, but it’s retreating in the rear view mirror, and it’s quite likely that it has been for quite some time. I mean, think about it like this: I am about 51½ years old today. If this very day were to be the halfway point of my life, that means I would be about 103 years old when I die. Now, I’m not about to speculate on how old I should be when I finally cross the Rainbow Bridge, as it were, but I somehow don’t think that 103 is a very likely number, nor am I sure that I would want it to be. Frankly, I don’t see much to look forward to at 103, except maybe being wished “Happy 102nd birthday, Mr. Paul Hadley, of Providencetown, Massachusetts!” by the weatherman on Good Morning America; or a color piece on the local news where they say things like, “Even at 103, Mr. Halley still brushes his own tooth every day, and he’s a regular feature at Senior’s Night at the local Applebee’s.”
I suppose what I’m getting at is that it has been dawning on me lately that the number of days I have in front of me are probably a lot fewer than the days behind me, and that realization seems to be changing the way I think in many ways. Today, it seems to have affected the way I think about Mothers’ Day.
For the first half of my life, my thought process about Mothers’ Day was usually something along the lines of, “What? Mothers’ Day was when? Shit.” And for the past 23 years, I am reluctant to admit, my first thought at the annual onslaught of Hallmark commercials and “He went to Jared!”, has been, “Mothers Day? Ha! I’m off the hook for that one.”
But then this morning, as I scrolled through Facebook and the inevitable Olan Mills portraits and clichéd poems about twinkling stars and roses, I began to think differently. I began to think about Mom.
What can I possibly say about Mom? How does one begin? I had just turned 28 when she died, old enough to be a grown man, but too young to be a wise one. I think about her every day. My regrets, such as they are, are usually about things like unresolved issues and not having enough time to allow life to play out. For instance, I don’t think my mother ever really came to terms with my being gay. I mean, she had accepted it, but more the way somebody accepts the price of milk or being treated like a criminal at the airport: like it’s a fact of life, something you can’t really change, although you’re not necessarily happy about it. Over the years, I’ve wondered whether she ever would have been able to embrace me as a whole person, whether the person I grew into and the changes in the world around us would have been able to convince her to finally make that leap. Would she have loved Mark, or would she smile feebly and refer to him as “that Mark person” when we talked? One can never know, one can only hope.
It’s hard to pin down something like memories of your mom. There are so many, and they are all so different. There are those early memories, when Mom was a warm hand to hold at the shopping plaza. There’s Angry Mom; yeah lots of Angry Mom. There’s the Mom who used to ride her bike to the pool club every day in the summer, and the Mom who was so frustrated a few years later because some unnamed disease had made that impossible. There’s the Mom who once in  a while would spend the afternoons having one too many glasses of sherry with her girlfriends from the neighborhood; and the Mom who knew exactly which buttons to push, ‘nuff said. 
There can be no doubt that I am my mother’s son. From her I have inherited my wicked sense of humor, the slightly off-center way I have of looking at the world. She taught me not to fear or disregard people because they look different than I do, or believe in a different God or speak a different language. She taught me that blind people see with their hands. 
She smoked Chesterfield Kings, with no filter, right up until the day she died. Do they even make Chesterfields any more? She may have been the last person alive who smoked them. For a while, they came with coupons attached to the cigarette packs, which you could save up and redeem for things like lamps or dart boards, or, presumably with enough points, an iron lung. We had a drawer in the kitchen which was stuffed so full of these coupons that it could barely be opened. I don’t think we ever got the dart board.
One day, I was up in my bedroom and I heard what I thought was popcorn, somehow being furiously popped downstairs. When I went down to investigate, I saw that it was actually my mom, pounding away manically on the old manual Underwood typewriter we kept in the basement. Some muse or other had struck, and she was writing away, probably one of her Erma Bombeck-style commentaries about life, or a funny poem about Little League, or something like that. This is definitely a behavior I have inherited from my mother, except now I am pounding away furiously on the keys of a laptop and my husband is eyeing me dubiously, always suspicious that I’m actually conducting some kind of online affair. 
My mother was always what I would call a staunch Kennedy Democrat. As a matter of fact, in our generation of Irish-Americans, Jack Kennedy was a de facto saint; every good Irish Catholic household had at least one crucifix, one plaque declaring “Erin Go Bragh” and one portrait of JFK somewhere in the house. She would have looked at the current, rather unfiltered view of Kennedy as a kind of philandering bon-vivant, as blasphemy. What all this means, though, is that she instilled in me that sort of early-1960s view of America as being full of promise, a country which at heart knows what is right and where it must head. The old “I see things that never were, and ask ‘Why not?’” mindset. What would she think of America today? Well, if she could have survived the George W. Bush presidency without committing outright rebellion, I think she would be hopeful, if not pleased. 
My dad went to my wedding. I wish my Mom could have.
So, today, I will remember my mom. I will remember her at her best and at her worst all in the same moment. I will remember the things she said, which I still say; and the thousands of ways which she made me the man I am today. And I will try to remember the person she wanted me to be, and the mom who, when it was all said and done, just wanted me to be happy. And possibly give her grandchildren. 
Happy Mothers’ day, Mom.

Look Up

So, look up from your phone

shut down those displays

we have a finite existence, a set number of days

Don't waste your life getting caught in the 'Net, as when the end comes, nothing's worse than regret.

So, when you're in public,and you start to feel alone

Put your hand behind your head! Step away from the phone!

You don't need to stare at your menu, or at your contact list

Just talk to one another - learn to coexist.

THOSE WHO WAIT - a ten-minute play

OK, so last night's 24-Hour Theater experience got me wondering if I could meet the challenge faced by the playwrights. Mind you, I have never written a play before. That being said, I may have to allow myself more than 12 hours to produce a finished product. (plus, I do have to work the next four days...)
Here's what I need:
3 mystery props, which must appear in the play at some point. They should be fairly commonplace objects, small enough to be carried or moved by a single actor on stage.
3-4 "actors": their gender, approximate age, and one special talent or performance ability (e.g.: "can juggle" or "good at accents" or "blindingly handsome") The "special talent" may or may not appear in the script.
My challenge is to write a 10-15 minute play (about 10 pages in 12-point, so I'm told) encompassing all of those elements. Let's see if I can do this.

 OK here's what we're going with: a whisk, a toothbrush, and a timer.
 Male, 30-40, female, 20-30, and male 55-65.

THOSE WHO WAIT

a 10-minute play

by Paul E. Halley

CAST

GEORGE  - 60, café owner

PENELOPE - 25, his employee

JASON - 30,  a soldier

a note about the TIMER,  a critical prop: should be the type of timer which makes one single "ding!" chime, like the ringing of a tiny bell, not an electronic beeping, not a ringing like a classroom or firehouse bell.

LIGHTS UP on a typical diner. A counter with stools, some tables or booths. Could be a roadside café almost anywhere, and almost any time. A flat-screen TV, which plays silently at one end of the counter, could be the only reminder that it is the PRESENT DAY. Perhaps a ceiling fan might be turning slowly, the only movement in an otherwise still tableau. We get the sense that not much has happened here in quite a while. We see GEORGE seated near the cash register, reading the newspaper. He turns the page.

GEORGE

Sons of bitches!

PENNY enters, bustling through the kitchen door, a huge mixing bowl in one arm and a WHISK in the other.

PENNY

What? Someone here, George?

GEORGE

No, Penny, I was just talking to myself, reading the newspaper. Those idiots down in Washington… Just make me so goddam mad! We’re paying the sons of bitches to go in there and behave like a bunch of ten year-olds.

PENNY

George…

GEORGE

Yeah?

PENNY

Are you sure you want me to keep on making these pies? I mean-

GEORGE

Of course I want you to keep making pies! What kind of question is that?

PENNY

It’s just that- Well, business has been, well…

GEORGE

A little slow.

PENNY

A little slow? George! The last customers we had in here was two days ago! And that was your niece Brünhilda and those awful kids…

GEORGE

Her name is Rebecca. Becky.

PENNY

Whatever- the point is, they didn’t even pay! Why should I keep on making these pies if no one’s going to buy them?

GEORGE

Because, somebody might  buy them! What’s the point of being open at all if you have nothing to provide the customers?

PENNY

It’s just that-

GEORGE

It’s the same reason I keep buying lettuce and tomatoes, the same reason I pay the goddam electric bill. Look, Penelope, I know times are bad. Believe me. But we’ve been through worse - things will get better. You just keep on making those pies and leave the worrying to me, OK?

PENNY

OK, George, if you say so, but-

GEORGE

I do say so. And besides, those pies must be made, Penny! How long has it been since you tasted one of your own pies, huh? They are like music, like art! For me to deny the world one of your White Chocolate-Banana Cream Pies because business has been a little slow, would be like denying the world a Beethoven symphony, or a Renoir masterpiece!

PENNY

Oh, George…

GEORGE

And if I’m going to lose it all and end up in the poorhouse anyway, I might as well go out fat and happy and eating your pies.

PENNY

(smiling) Alright George, if you say so. I’m doing blueberry today. (She looks up at the clock)

GEORGE

Are you expecting someone?

PENNY

God, no, who would I be expecting?

GEORGE

Beats me, but you’ve been looking at that clock all morning.

PENNY

No, not expecting anyone. It’s just… one of those days when I sort of woke up with a feeling… probably nothing.

GEORGE

What kind of feeling?

PENNY

Like maybe something was gonna happen today. I don’t know. I’m sure not expecting anyone.

GEORGE

Your dad?

PENNY

My dad? God no. I haven’t even spoken to him in, I dunno- six, seven months.

GEORGE

I thought the two of you got along OK.

PENNY

We do. I mean, it’s not that we don’t get along. It’s just that, I dunno, we don’t really have anything to talk about, really. I mean, ever since he moved out to Arizona, you know, I’ll call him and after a while we’re just sitting there, listening to each other breathe. You can practically hear us both trying to think of something to say. Until eventually one of us says something like, “Well, I gotta run…” and that will be that. So after a while, it was like, why even bother?

GEORGE

Don’t you have a brother, too?

PENNY

Yeah.

GEORGE

What about him?

PENNY

What about him? Nothing, really. He lives in Virginia, he’s got a wife and three kids, a life… I just don’t think he has the time to worry about mine.

GEORGE

That’s too bad.

PENNY

No, it’s alright. I’m sure that if the chips were down and I really needed it, I could count on my brother… (again, she glances up at the clock)

GEORGE

Are you sure you’re not expecting someone?

PENNY

No, George… But I’ll tell you-

GEORGE

What?

PENNY

There is one person…

GEORGE

Yeah?

PENNY

One person who I sure wouldn’t mind seeing walkin’ through that door…

GEORGE

Yeah? Who’s that?

PENNY

Did I ever tell you about Jason?

GEORGE

Jason? No, I don’t think so.

PENNY

This was like, three years ago or so, so I guess it was a while before I got the job here. I had just graduated from community college and I actually thought I was going to take the world by storm with an Associate’s Degree in Managerial Accounting. Yeah, well, look how far that got me…

GEORGE

Hey, watch it!

PENNY

You know what I mean, George. Anyway, one night I was just sitting at Starbuck’s, having a coffee, and I met him. He actually just sort of bumped into me and when I looked up, my first thought was that he was someone I already knew, and before I could think about it I had flashed him this big smile and this big ol’ “Hi! How are you?” like he was my long-lost best buddy from band camp or something.

GEORGE

And…?

PENNY

Well, as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I was actually talking to a complete stranger, but by then it was too late. He was already sitting down next to me. The two of us just started talking.

GEORGE

Yeah? About what?

PENNY

I dunno, everything, I guess. You know, small talk at first, and then just, whatever. Big stuff, little stuff, just life, I guess. 

GEORGE

Sometimes, I think it’s actually easier to spill your guts to a stranger than to somebody you know really well.

PENNY

Yeah, you’re right. I think that’s true. Anyway, we just kept on talking, it was like time just stopped for a few hours. We ended up sitting on that big hill in the middle of the park and just watching the sun come up. By then I think we had talked ourselves out and it was just quiet.

I remember just sort of looking over at him, and seeing that face, and those eyes, and the morning sun made everything look so beautiful… And I remember I just wanted him to kiss me.

GEORGE

And did he?

PENNY 

(smiling demurely) Yes. Yes he did. And then, then he sort of pulled away, and he looked at me. He didn’t look happy, he looked kind of sad. And then he said, “Goodbye, Penny.”

GEORGE

Goodbye? Really? Why? What was that all about?

PENNY

He was a soldier, George. He was shipping out to Afghanistan that morning.

GEORGE

Oh, my god.

PENNY

Yeah. So, we sort of made our farewells. He walked me home and we kissed one more time before I went in… But that was the last I ever heard from him. At this point, I don’t really hold out much hope that he’ll ever be back. I mean, I never even told him my last name or anything.

GEORGE

I can’t believe you’ve never told me that story before.

PENNY

I am still a woman of mystery, George!

Anyway, I still think about him from time to time. At first, it was like, all the time, and it made me ache a little bit, like I had somehow let something precious just slip through my fingers. And then, you think about it a little less and a little less, and then one day you realize you’re having a hard time just remembering his face…

You know what I remember best about him at this point, George?

GEORGE

What?

PENNY

His hair. He had this one lock of hair that kept falling into his eyes… I suppose they cut all that off in the Army. And his breath.

GEORGE

His breath?

PENNY

Yeah, it always smelled minty, nice - like he brushed his teeth fifteen times a day or something.

SFX - we hear the single “ding” of a TIMER going off in the kitchen

Oh! My crusts! (she exits into the kitchen)

GEORGE  goes back to reading his newspaper. The ceiling fan turns. After a few moments, JASON enters. He is in military uniform and carries a large duffel bag.

GEORGE

Hello, young man.

JASON

Hello, sir. Are you open?

GEORGE

Absolutely! Absolutely, young man. Here, have a seat. Coffee? Coke?

JASON

Coffee sounds really nice.

GEORGE

Just made a fresh pot a few minutes ago. Are you hungry?

JASON

(looks at his watch) Not really. Little late for lunch. But you know what? Those pies sure look good.

GEORGE

They are good, son. Here, try a piece of this one. Strawberry-Rhubarb.

JASON

Well, alright…

GEORGE

On the house, young man. Least we can do for a military man. Are you heading home?

JASON

I am home, sir. Landed last night in Chicago. Been in Afghanistan.

GEORGE

(takes Jason’s hand and shakes it ernestly)

Thank you, young man. Thank you for your service.

JASON

Oh my god, this pie is amazing.

GEORGE

I told you they were good! Homemade, son.

JASON

Nothing like it.

GEORGE

From the hands of our very own Penelope.

JASON

( finishing the last of his pie, hungrily) 

Penelope? I knew a girl once…

(He rises and takes a TOOTHBRUSH, perhaps in a travel case, out of his jacket pocket, along with a tube of toothpaste.)

Would you excuse me a moment, sir? I’m a little fanatical… My dad was a dentist.

GEORGE

No problem, son, I understand completely. The restroom is straight back that way.

JASON

Sometimes it feels like I brush my teeth fifteen times a day… (exits)

(PENNY enters from kitchen, carrying the TIMER. She sets it on the counter.)

PENNY

Just a couple more minutes and they should be all done. (she notices the dirty plate on the table) Did somebody come in?

GEORGE

Yes.

PENNY

Well, did they order something?

GEORGE

He had some pie.

PENNY

That’s it?

GEORGE

That’s it.

PENNY

Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing. (beat) Did he like it?

GEORGE

He loved it, Penny.

PENNY

Good. (beat) Well, George, if there’s nothing else… What are you smiling about?

GEORGE

Me? Nothing?

PENNY

Well, you look like the cat that ate the canary. 

Anyway, if there’s nothing else, George, I figured I’d just head on home after those pies come out of the oven. That timer should be going off any second now.

GEORGE

Sure, sure Penny. Take the rest of the day off, darlin’. And the night, too.

PENNY

The night, too? What the heck are you talking about, George?

GEORGE

Nothing, Penny. Don’t mind me.

PENNY

Well,  Ok then. I’m just going to grab my purse and I’ll go out the back way. (She bends down to retrieve her purse from under the counter)

JASON enters

JASON

Well, thank you, sir. Thank you for that fantastic piece of pie.

PENNY stands, and turns to face JASON. 

A moment. We see PENNY and JASON as they realize that they recognize one another. At the very moment of recognition, as the merest hint of a smile begins to creep across their faces, we hear SFX - the single “ding!” of the timer rings out.

BLACKOUT