Erin

Posts Tagged ‘radio plays’

Performing

In Uncategorized on September 18, 2009 at 3:03 pm

The camcorder and the cassette recorder (the black one had an orange “Record” button–and I would swear in a court of law that there was a plastic red and white one, too) remind me how prominently performances figured in our playtime.  Sometimes we’d require our ever-so-patient parents to watch or listen to the performances, and sometimes they were just for us.  I mentioned before how much I loved the feeling of spoken words and phrases…though I don’t remember consciously articulating that thought as a kid, my memories of performing–radio plays, church skits, mugging for the video camera–are thoroughly visceral.  Embodying a character (my over-the-top acting notwithstanding), feeling a different voice come out of my mouth, experiencing physical expression in an unfamiliar way: this is what stands out to me now as pleasurable.  This, and the making things up part, of course.  I love that Sharon remembers this as my not being afraid to be silly–because while I think this is absolutely true (I’ve always been a little on the side of ridiculous), it’s something I never really conceptualized in that way, because (at that young age, anyway) it never occurred to me as something to be afraid of.  Being larger-than-life felt good, and though I actually was shy around people I didn’t know well, I reveled in the opportunities to perform when they arose–or better, when we created them.

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What I remember about houses

In Sharon on September 18, 2009 at 2:56 am

We’re off and rolling now, and I’m ecstatic about the way things are going. I’ve already found at least two places where our memories are different, and countless places where hers fill mine in seamlessly, as though she were carrying around half the story in her brain, and I the other half. That’s not necessarily what I expected, and it’s fascinating to me. I have responses, but first a quick bit of business. We’ve elected to go with first names, so I will go ahead and explain that I am Sharon and my fellow poster is Erin (a revelation that should explain the rhyming names fiasco. Add on to that that we once went to winter formal with guys named Rob and Bob, and that we have simultaneously dated guys named Josh, and you have a real banana-fana-fo-fana mess on your hands.)

And now, to the memories: Read the rest of this entry »

Giving an Account of Myself(s)

In Erin on September 17, 2009 at 3:12 pm

When Sharon asked me to be a part of this blog, I really couldn’t say yes fast enough.  I’m still trying to parse the reasons for this eagerness, but my hunch is that they revolve around a deep love for stories and the sense that I’ve lost so many of my own over the years.  In the course of my nearly 30 years on the earth, I’ve had what I think of as several different lives–and these sweeping changes have had a way of disconnecting me from former iterations of myself, such that I actually find myself (often pleasantly, but sometimes unpleasantly) surprised when someone tells a story that reminds me of one of those former lives.  It helps me to remember that the disjointed narratives I think of as dead or clumsily tacked on in fact form a shared history, and that–despite the fact that I may sometimes wish otherwise–we carry our pasts with us, even as those pasts are continually shifting.  So I’m glad to be part of telling our stories, because I think this re-telling both retrieves something lost and creates something new.

I don’t remember meeting Sharon.  I do remember the first day of our second grade class, but my thoughts of that day primarily circle around an outrage that I was not assigned to the classroom with a treehouse in it.  In fact, as I recall, there were two other second grade classrooms, both equipped with forts made of 2x4s, which, in retrospect, must have been built by one of the teacher’s husbands, who apparently did not like the third teacher enough to be so accommodating.  So we  were stuck with this less popular woman, who, for whatever reason, had a poster or pin displayed above her desk reading, “No, I’m not TINA TURNER.”  At any rate, Not-T-T used to call each of us up to her desk individually, in what now strikes me as a rather creepy scene, to recite the Bible verse we had to memorize that week.  My earliest memories of Sharon are set during that trek to the desk: our names rhyme, and in the narcissism of childhood, this is enough to cause constant confusion–we were forever both responding when the other was called. Read the rest of this entry »