About Me


 The greatest thing we can do is to show up for our lives and not be ashamed.

 -Anne Lamott


I'm a creature of the word, learning to tell my honest story.

I offer it here because telling stories is the road back home.

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Delusions of grandeur, and other things that are hard to admit.

It started with attending Mill City Church.

Mill City is a new church plant in our town that meets in the Colorado State University Arts building. 

The first time I walked through the door, I felt eighteen again, walking into my undergraduate music building, faced with posters advertising auditions for plays, senior recitals, faculty showcases, vocal master classes-an entire subculture of creativity and opportunity.  

Mill City's worship space is in the CSU recital hall, a honeycomb colored space with stadium seating and incredible acoustics, roughly the size and look of The Kennedy Center's Family Theatre.

Every week on Sunday morning, I have to wrestle with an onslaught of memories, with longings for an old life, with my still deep desires to sing in a musical again, act in a play, interpret a story on a stage, with my ache for a creative community and the purposeful life of being a student of the arts.

It's terribly painful for me, more than I even expected- a full in the face reminder of the season I am not in, may never be in again, and a weekly reconciliation with the hidden season (the one no one claps for) that I am in.


A few weeks ago my parents came to visit; they attended church with us, connected with lots of lovely people, and got so distracted by all the goodness that when we left for home, my Dad left his Bible somewhere in the auditiorium. I called the church office, they gave me the number for the University Arts Lost and Found, and I left them a message.

At 3 am on the final day of my parents' visit, with plans to head to Boulder later that day, I turned over in bed, felt the room spin, and rushed to the bathroom to puke out my Mexican dinner from the night before. 

Six throw up sessions later, I'd shot multiple black beans out my nose into the toilet, and emptied my stomach of everything including the 1/2 cup of gingerale I tried to keep down.  


Somehow, I always eat massive Mexican on the eve of a puke session.

Last time, it was Chipotle; I got it in my head that I would throw up in the shower because it's so much cleaner than kneeling at the poop pot; only all the Chipotle toppings, like corn salsa and littls bits of cilantro, pinto beans and black beans (because I always get both kinds of beans), clogged the drain, leaving me with no option but to lift the drain cover and push my toppings down the drain with my foot while trying not to puke even more from the sight of my own puke.

I was still lying in bed at 3 pm, too achy and sick to read or watch a movie or do anything but lie there, when the phone rang.

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Yes, this is Dan, the director of the School of Music, Theatre, and Dance at CSU. Is Trinity there?"

My eyes popped wide, I sat up, put on my best classically-trained vocal student voice, and sang, "This is her!"


I am glowing with hope; they've found me!

Their talent scouts must have seen me at Whole Foods pushing the kids through the aisles; they could probably tell by my shining presence that I had Equity acting experience. 

Or maybe they saw the Vimeo videos of me singing in my grandmother's nursing home. 

Probably they read my blog. Or happened to bike by my house while I was inside vacuuming and singing with the screen door open. Maybe one of them visited Mill City and sat in front of me and heard me singing hymns to the Lord and could tell I had the nuance and vocal chops to interpret Sondheim.

Dan's voice interrupts my reverie. "We checked our Lost and Found, and we couldn't find your Dad's One Year Bible."

"Oh." I puke a little in my mouth.  "Ok. Thanks so much for letting me know."

I hang up.

"Well, it's a start. He heard my voice. He knows my name," and I fall back on my heating pad and try to get down another sip of blue Gatorade.



Reader Comments (2)

SO funny, SO honest, SO relatable (to me, at least)! Marvelous post, Trin.

January 14, 2013 | Unregistered Commentercara

oh cara! So good to get a little snippet of connection with you! I miss you, my friend. And love you a lot.

January 17, 2013 | Unregistered CommenterTrinity

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