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Since I’ve had breast cancer I’ve tried very hard to be loving and kind in all aspects of my life. I’ve made a concerted effort to stop judging and to accept just how marvelous all of our differences make the world. In my perfect world, birds are singing, the sun is shining, and people are talking.
Perhaps I should explain this “vision” in greater depth. Since 1996 I’ve made it a point to redirect errant ants from the confines of my kitchen or bathroom to the luxuries of the great outdoors without spray or stomping. When a spider decides to invade my space, I no longer run screaming from the room (unless said spider happens to be on me); rather, I calmly grab the nearest very long thing (broom handles fall into this category) and march my eight-legged friend out the door.
With rare exception, I’ve been able not only to live and let live, but tolerate things that at one time would have driven me crazy… But even I have my limits. Forgive me if you are a mime, or if someone you know and love is a mime — I have to draw the line somewhere. And when I do, I won’t be acting like I’m drawing a line, I will be using an actual pen, pencil — or stick!
Did you know that mime is actually one of the oldest forms of expression? I think Marcel Marceau made that up — but who knows? It seems that before we created the spoken word we communicated by acting out what was going on. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if one of these days an archeologist in Ethiopia uncovers some fossilized remains of a mime (probably with someone else’s hands around their neck)!
The ancient Greeks (bless them) decided mime could be a form of entertainment. Just remember the ancient Greeks were also known to drink Hemlock, which probably started right about the time they realized mimes were not all that entertaining.
I have come to realize there are a few non-speaking comedians I love, but at least Harpo had the good sense to use a horn and his whistle to convey sentiment! And the silent film stars would have talked if technology had allowed it. It’s not their fault they are forever trapped in celluloid with mouths moving, arms and legs flailing, and subtitles abounding!
Perhaps it’s not so much the act of miming that drives me to distraction — it’s the white, goofy face, black beret, and striped get-up. Come on! Where’s their fashion sense? Where’s their individuality? Where’s my rubber mallet?
I once toyed with the idea of being a talking mime. I cracked myself up thinking how hilarious it would be to dress like a mime, walk on stage — and then never shut up. I just couldn’t bring myself to really put that white stuff on my face, although I do sort of like the blinky black eye makeup and the great big red mouth — a look, sorry to say, I’ve managed to achieve after too many drinks and a failure to remove my cosmetics before bed!
So, I ask you, how can I reconcile my dedication to accepting the world and all it has to offer without judgment or prejudice — and my overwhelming disdain for people who paint their faces and act like they’re trapped in a box while following me down the street? I wonder if my solution to the spider problem would work? Perhaps it’s just that simple! I can grab a broom and gently escort them to the nearest exit — and if there isn’t one close by — I’ll just pretend like there is!