A Fine Line

"There's a fine line between chaos and creation."

-Sir Paul McCartney and probably someone else

This weekend my daughter said, "One of my favorite things about my mom is that she can imitate anything in world."

One of my greatest imitations was of a tastebud. A fine moment in living room entertainment history.

But I love to imitate people the most.

For as long as I can remember, I have imitated people. It's a compulsion. When I see an interesting character, hear an accent, an uncommon manner of speaking, a twitch, a facial expression - I HAVE to imitate it. I have to copy it until I have mastered it. I can't help myself.

I have had people tell me that I am mean, cruel - as if I were making fun of that person. I used to feel guilty, but I have come to peace with that accusation. I really am not making fun of people, I truly enjoy uniqueness. I know I can appreciate it without having to copy it, but I don't know why I do it - it just feels good - I guess that's the way obsessive handwashers, toothpick counters and lock lockers feel.

I love to watch movies. I love to watch good actors. When I see something that an actor does that is surprising or interesting, I watch it over and over and try to figure out why they did what they did.

I love to watch interviews with actors when they discuss their work.

When I was acting, my favorite part was deciding how a character would respond, what they would do with their bodies when speaking a line or in response to a line, would their voice go up, would there be a pause? What would they do with their hands?

When I write stories, I end up writing acting directions more than dialogue: "she looked and turned, put her hand on her face..." stuff like that.

I love to watch people. I love to watch their movements. Sometimes a person may not be immediately attractive, like perhaps in still photos, but when you see them move, they become more beautiful or handsome. The combination of movement, voice, manner - becomes a beautiful human ballet.

My husband and his father work with their hands a lot. My husband works with mechanical things and my father-in-law is a woodworker. I love to watch my father-in-law rub his hand across a sanded board or the spindles of a chair. There is understanding and appreciation in his touch. My husband's hands are big, but amazingly agile when doing intricate work. He, too, percieves through touch. My son is very tactile, also, it must run in the family. He has long, slender hands, though. I've always thought they were beautiful. I love to watch his hands, they are very careful and specific, deliberate, like a surgeon.

Then there are people's eyes, the way they hold their mouths, what they do when they are nervous. I love seeing, noticing things like that.

The problem is, like when I got caught up in the Scottish accent at Home Depot, I have to work hard to actually listen to what people are saying. Also, if someone says a word in an interesting manner, sometimes I will walk away saying that word to myself in order to say it just like they did. Then I look like some mumbling crazy person.

I don't know. I'm glad my daughter loves that about me. I'm not sure if it's good or bad, a problem or a gift.