Marissa Price

Somewhere along the Seine, a scene. We’d come across the ocean to ground ourselves. We’d be spending 10 days living off the land, in a cave, like paleo people. But first, a few days in Paris. While we were leisurely ambulating along the river, a kind friend took this photo. In so taking he also gave us a gift. An impromptu family portrait. So glad I spent enough of the limited luggage budget on this particular garment. Something I made from a scrap of fabric purchased at a flea market. At last my taste-and-skill-levels married to make something beyond what I’d envisioned. And for this custom fit to garner the odd “wow!” in Paris was its own kind of wonder. It’s a small thing. A way I like to shine for (and with) my family.

I Glove You Too.

Whist walking some months ago, I came across this glove. It had been smooshed, squished, run over, discarded, forgotten. It was one of those gray but beautiful mornings. There was an unaccountable cloud over my heart. That inner yammering I have yet to master, hammering at me again, cataloguing my shortcomings, measuring my ambitions against my achievements . . . you know: the stuff of being a person. And then I came across this subtle, stunning tableau. This glove. It sang to me, frozen as it was, in a mid-street, soiled silhouette of the sign for “I love you.” The sight of it made my soul smile. I laughed out loud. I’ve always loved sign language. Its form and beauty and utility, its ballet of digits, force and meaning. It felt to me like a signal, a sign (get it?!), a simple message from the interplay of order and din. “I gLove you too,” I thought. The fog lifting from both my spirit and the dawn.

You never know where life will take you. I made these suits for my family when Eric and I were asked to officiate a ceremony for some dear friends of ours. Friends who decided to announce their commitment at the same place we did, only a year later. Shelby was in my tummy when we were wed, and just over a year old when we presided. We wore these as the “officiants.” Another year on, we found ourselves in Italy. Shelby wouldn’t fit much longer in these cute, cute shorts, so we trekked across the ocean, suits in tow, for a chance at a truly unique family portrait. I love it! Eric was in Italy for work, and Shelby and I were able to tag along thanks to my Hubby’s accumulated airline miles. What a gift. This photo was taken in an abandoned fascist tobacco manufacturing plant, by a lovely and talented photographer, Clara Vannucci. Despite our stern countenances, we really don’t take ourselves too seriously. One of the greatest joys of my life is having a partner who is willing to play with me. Willing to dress up together (or at least let me get gussied up), and have fun all the while. He’s game, and I LOVE THAT! One year we dressed up as characters from Bob’s Burgers and spent all of Halloween grilling sliders for neighbors and strangers. It was an awesome way to be our giddy, goofy, generous selves. Together. I often joke that I’m the luckiest bleep I know. It’s funny because it is true.

Sometimes the scope of my ambition rouses me from a dead sleep. Or prevents me from getting to rest in the first place. It extends that ramp that should lead to respite and, instead, I find myself wrestling with all my wishes and would-bes and to-dos. Can there be more hours in a day already please?! How else am I going to be a present wife and a playful mother, a preparer or thoughtful, healthy meals. Where can I fit in that work out, that audition, the class I want to take, sell that home, put those pennies in that jar, write that idea out, sew that costume, weed the garden, plant all those organic vegetables in the yard, see that play, walk the dog, start that business, yadda and yadda and yadda. And those are just the day-to-day ambitions. To say nothing of what I might be capable of over my lifetime. Mine has always been a dreaming mind. The immensity of my imagination is, occasionally, Atlas-ian. As in Atlas the mythical figure who holds the world atop himself. It. Is. Awesome. And I love it.

I knew mine would be a life lived widely. Owing largely to this sweeping sense of the possible. [Sidebar- I’d like to say that my faith in myself has always been syncopated with all those target-dreams of the soul, but that is, I suppose, a conversation most of us have with ourselves throughout our lives]. All of this is to say that this furnace in my belly has let me take on and taste so many things in life: acting work, writing, motherhood, partnership, entrepreneurship, real estate, travel, designing and sewing, improv, yoga, gardening, pickling, the general making of things, not to mention love in its myriad forms. There is no stinting the curiosity, no way to prevent each beautiful thing I see in a day from lending further kindling to that fire. When I was young, I imagined myself as everyone around me: a babysitter, a parking attendant, a loan officer, a professional baseball player. A seed. A frog. The wet grass. The inked creatures in every book. That is why being an actor, one-who-acts, was always in the cards for me. I am thankful that I have this privilege. That all the choices I made, even out of fear, have afforded me a life so fully stitched of love, beauty, opportunity, generosity, vast doings, simple pleasures, and constant, constant, gratitude. I mean, Wow! I see so much and want to taste it all. In both sips and heaping gulps! With every day we become more mortal; I’m grateful for every minute and the chance it brings to be as alive as possible!

I’ve made a lot of things in my life: messes, bad puns, good puns. Good decisions. Poor ones. I’ve made so many fun costumes and gifts and bits and bobs and baubles. I’ve made suits and gowns and headpieces and stickers and messes and dresses and songs and people’s days. But the damnedest of them all - is a person. I made a person! I had some help, of course. But what a thing it was to play host and portal for a human fish; the unknown beast swishing and growing in my guts, and then to sing it into the world with the dark and serious music of creation. To muscle and howl and relax, and, after, to hold a human in my arms. A vessel. A teetering, teeming cup. A trampoline. A converter of dust into matter. A mother. I am a maker of things - and most especially, this.

The world somehow felt lesser. Green wasn't as green. Wasn't sure why. And then the news. My dear friend and oft-time co-star, Wesley Rice, had passed away. What to say about the man except that he was a Man in the keenest sense: Always in motion, he made no excuses, ever a-grin, eager for everyday. He made things happen. Essentially, he was everything I hope to grow into. Losing him was a gut-kick for those of us who love him. The world without him is Beauty without the capital B. Others I've known and loved have gone on, sure, but this was the first time I felt the absence of someone. In the year or so since he shuffled off to a higher way of being, I have felt the urgency (and privilege) of being. In that time I've made a better pass at tasting everyday: every sip, every pang, every wince, every kiss, and each kindness; every dose of good news, every ounce of love, every bleeping day. Wesley, Dear One, thank you. You make my life richer, better, more present. You were a superior man. A real man. A gentleman. A leader by example. Much love to your wife, your daughter and to all who knew and continue to love you.

3.14.14