The Former Van Buren Street Theatre - Mid-Michigan's Only Comedy Dinner Theatre
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One Year
No, Really, How ARE You?
Unpacking, Sorting, and Packing
Life is Short
Sisu

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My Blog

Asiala

One Year

I'm a writer.  Alright, I enjoy writing.  I don't make any money doing it, but I use it as an outlet.  It's a part of me.  Every writer has their own methods when it comes to writing.  Some outline.  Some free think.  I use a little combination of the two.  And every once in a while, you get stuck.  But you learn little tricks to get through those moments of "writer's block".  I'm sure they are different for everyone.

Unpacking, Sorting, and Packing

It's been a while since I've had a visit with my blog.  Trust me, it's not for a lack of emotion (or opinion).  Mainly, I think, I needed a breather.  An opportunity to sit back and re-evaluate things.  To unpack.  To sort.  To pack.
 
Next Friday (February 3rd) would have been our one year anniversary.  I'm sure we would have done something romantic and spectacular, as was always Mike's way.  Nothing expensive or overdone.  Just he and I being together.

Sisu

My husband was Finnish and very proud of his heritage.  The Finns are quirky.  Their traditions a little different.  As Mike taught me - they don't say kiss my ass, but instead say "heista nupa" - smell my belly button.  One thing about the Finns I admire is what they call Sisu.
 
Google "Sisu" and you'll find a plethora of explanations.  Wikipedia states that Sisu is a compound of bravado and bravery, of ferocity and tenacity, of the ability to keep fighting after most people would have quit.

My Husband Created a Monster

Seafood?  Yuck!  It swims in its own feces.  Why in God's name would I eat that?  Sushi??  Even a bigger yuck.  Not only does it swim in its own feces, it isn't even cooked to get rid of some of that nastiness.  Nuts???  Yuck!  Ever since the whole "crunchy peanut butter" fiasco as a child, not a chance in hell!  Red wine????  That's only for communion and, I will confess, and as many of you know, I rarely drink the stuff.  Cheap vodka?

Happy Birthday

Fifty-two years ago, my angel arrived on Earth.  There was no big fanfare.  No parades.  No news announcements.  Just proud parents Lorraine and Richard Asiala welcoming their first born son, Michael, to this world. 
 
All parents hope that their children achieve greatness.  They want us to succeed on varying levels and mainly, to be good-hearted human beings, always giving to our fellow man.  As is the case with Mike, I'm not so certain people understood how successful he was at doing just that.

38 Years Young

I turn 38 today. 
 
In the 38 years I've been on this Earth, I haveneverbroken a bone, had major surgery, been to Europe, had a child, owned a sports car, been to the Colorado Rockies, won the lottery - I have  never done alot of things. 
 
In those 38 years, Ihavewitnessed at 15 year old boy die; went through the divorce of my parents; watched my mother battle through breast cancer; lived in a foreign country; suffered mental and physical abuse at the hands of a significant other; been married and divorced; went through financial ruin; watched the events of 9/11; made friends, lost friends; fell in love, fell out of love; gained pets, lost pets; held a steady job; faced medical scares; lost grandparents; purchased cars and homes; lost cars and homes; acted, produced, directed, and wrote stage plays; discovered the true love that is a niece and a nephew; found the love of my life, and then, in a twisted fate, lost my one and only true love - my best friend, my lover, and my companion.

We Will Never Forget You

The 10th anniversary of 9/11 was honored with memorial services across the country.  I had the privilege of performing "The Guys" with William Federspiel at Saginaw's Pit & Balcony Theatre on Saturday.  A moving production about a fire captain who needs assistance writing the eulogies of eight of his men who perished that morning.  During rehearsals for "The Guys", I was able to pull from my own experience at losing my husband to bring my character's anger and sadness to life.

The Competitor

Mike loved competition.  In every avenue of his life, he was a competitor.  Whether it was in his youth playing baseball and basketball or, when I knew him, darts.
 
He would argue a point, sometimes just for the sake of arguing.  If he felt the need to compete, he'd bring up a controversial subject with whomever he was with so they could debate it.  Even with me he did that from time to time.  Fun, loving debates.  My favorite was "I love you", he'd say.

My Track

I'm currently rehearsing for a new show - "The Guys", by Anne Nelson - and Ms. Nelson references "tracks".  Everyone's life operates within a certain track.  The people you know are co-workers, parents of your children's friends, friends of friends - and, as was the case in "The Guys", following 9/11, everyone in New York City was jumping tracks and meeting people they never would have met before the incident.  This got me thinking about my own track.

Sundays

Sundays were our day.  Mike and me.  Together, all day. 
 
We'd get up in the morning and usually lounge around watching television.  Most times, something on the History Channel.  He loved the History Channel.  Whether it was theories about the Kennedy assassination or the history of the hammer, he would watch it.  I haven't been able to watch the History Channel since April, but I don't really need to know how the #2 pencil came to be. 
 
After a little History Channel, one of us would mention food.