STREAMING!

I know. .  it's been a couple of months.   No excuses.


"Streaming" is a technology word.  And you know I love technology.  I just had a technological miracle happen about 10 minutes ago.  Here's what happened:

A couple of weeks ago I discovered that when I plugged the power cord into my MacBook Air, the light did not go on.  Hmmm. . . only a little over a year old and something is wrong?   Seriously?  Eventually I discovered that the cord was bad,leaving me with no way to charge my computer or to be connected to power once the charge had run out.  YIKES! My computer is a daily companion.  Kind of like a spouse that never talks back.   Now, apparently, it was talking back!  Unacceptable.  

Unable to divorce my computer, I hustled off to Best Buy, a mere 30 miles away, to get a new cord.   Came home with said cord, and discovered that in the year and 2 months since I bought my computer, Apple has redesigned the cord, and it did not fit my computer.  Again. . . .seriously?  A call to Best Buy confirmed that they did not sell the "older" cord.   A call to Apple resulted in them sending me a new one in the mail. . . for a mere $80.  It should arrive on Monday.   So for the last week I have been driving my computer to Sandy's to use her cord to charge it up.   I'm leaving this afternoon for two days at the beach with Dave, so I decided just to use up the power and hope the cord arrived on Monday.  Today I sat down and the charge was 24%.  On a whim I decided to plug the defective cord in and just pray that it would work.  And the light came on!  It's charging right now!   So. . . is it really broken?   Did I need the new $80 cord and the two trips to Best Buy (second trip to return the cord that didn't fit!).  Time will tell.  But now that the juices are surging through the computer, I can blog about STREAMING.

To be honest, I can't stream here at my house.  My silly little MIFI card which is my internet connection is not powerful enough to stream anything for more than 4 seconds without then stopping to reload.  And with my plan only allowing for so much downloading , streaming just becomes too expensive.   So technology-wise, I can't live in the country and stream anything.

But I am streaming.  Not Apple's definition, but my own.  I'm in the middle of an exciting stream right now.  I love it when this happens.  Technology aside, I have been streaming off and on my entire adult life.  I never know when it is going to happen, but once in the streaming mode, it can last for months and months.   Technology does play a part in my current episode.  I shall explain.


For whatever reason, I am a person who becomes obsessed with a person or topic and then have to find out eveything I can about it.  I'm never quite sure what sets it off.. . maybe a movie, or a newspaper article, or a book.    But once my interest is piqued, I have to go after the topic full throttle.  In the early days this involved going to the nearest library and finding every single book ever written about the topic.  I have stumbled through the door, my arms brimming with books more times than I can name.  Here are some of the topics I have poured over:  Cherokee Indians (this got started when I used to vacation with my kids in the Smokey Mountains),  Apartheid in South Africa (I think the movie Cry Freedom did this one to me. . . .I read and read about Apartheid, wept when Mandela was released and eventually played hookey from teaching to go into DC and stand on a street corner outside the hotel where he and Winnie were staying so that I could catch a glimpse of him. . . which I did), Eleanor Roosevelt (which resulted in my visiting the FDR home in the Hudson Valley and Val-Kill which was ER's home close by, and Warm Springs, Georgia.   Yet to see but am determined to go: Campobello in Canada where FDR contracted polio), Lewis and Clark (culminating in the horseback riding adventure across the Lolo Trail in Idaho where my brother Chip and I rode the exact trails L&C rode over the Bitteroot Mountains).   

To name a few.   I become obsessive and voracious and then one day I'm sated and stop.   And wait for the next topic to hit me.   Haven't had a topic hit me in awhile, but while I'm in the middle of a topic I'm a happy girl.

Well. . . . . I'm happy to report that I'm in the middle of another deluge and technology has helped me in wonderful ways.  Here's how it's going down:

Last spring I had found out that Julie Andrews was going to be one of the speakers at Chautauqua last summer.   I've always been a Julie Andrews fan beginning in my childhood when my dad brought home the original Broadway cast albums of My Fair Lady and Camelot.  I listened to those records dozens of times.  I could sing every lyric.  I have always been a theater junkie.  I love plays and movies more than I can say.  I could very well have been a theater major in college, but I didn't have the confidence to try.  

So anyway,  back in the spring I was in our local thrift shop and low and behold there was Julie's memoir.   I bought it and took it to Chautauqua with me thinking I would get around to reading it before I saw her.  That never happened.  I have too many other reading obligations at Chautauqua!   But she was a delightful speaker, and I brought the book home.

A month or so ago I was between book club selections and looking to "read up" one of the books I owned so as to be able to get rid of it.   I grabbed Julie's book, Home, A Memoir of my Early Years.  The book begins with her childhood and stops right after she does the show Camelot on Broadway.   I was riveted, especially to the sections about her time in My Fair Lady and Camelot.  I was hearing behind the scenes stories about those albums I used to listen to!  Did you know that she found Richard Burton nearly irresistible?  No surprise actually, but apparently she did not succumb to his charms.

In the book she mentions her admiration for her director, Moss Hart.   Okay, gang, the stream is about to start!

I remember that Moss Hart had written a very well-known biography called Act 1 which I never read.   So based on Julie's book, I quickly ordered the Moss Hart autobiography and while I was at it, the Dick Van Dyke autobiography.   Dick Van Dyke, Julie's co-star in Mary Poppins,  came from Danville, Illinois where I grew up, so he has always been a hero of mine.  Then I remembered that one of the books I had owned but donated to the thrift shop without reading was the autobiography of Alan Jay Lerner, lyricist for My Fair Lady and 
Camelot,  called On the Street Where I Live.  Geez. . . I had to get in the car and go over to the thrift shop and BUY IT BACK!!!!!  This is the nature of my streaming obsessions.

So I read ACT 1, by Moss Hart and it was RIVETING!   I couldn't put it down.  His life was just so interesting and he is a gifted writer (duh. .. . he wrote plays) and it was just a complete delight from the first page to the last... . especially for a theaterphile like me!  I honestly did not want that book to end.  It was especially thrilling when he told his side of a stories  that I had read in Julie's book!  

From there I had to order the autobiography of Kitty Carlisle, Moss Hart's famous wife who I only knew from being on the panel of I've Got a Secret, or To Tell the Truth. . .  one of those.  I needed to hear her side since his book stopped before they were married.  And I also needed to buy a copy of a book of plays by Moss Hart and George Kaufman.  Because Moss Hart's stories about their collaboration were so vivid that I needed to read the actual words they wrote.  So I got a book that has: Once in a Lifetime (the creation of this first play by Moss Hart was a major gut-wrenching section of his book), You Can't Take it With You,  and The Man Who Came to Dinner.

Here's where technology is kicking in:  I just have to go to Amazon.com to get all these books delivered to my door!!!  Not only that, but I have ordered You Can't Take it With You from Netflix!!!  

IT'S A MULTI-MEDIA STREAM!!!!!

So following the reading of ACT 1, I read Alan Jay Lerner's biography.  Which tells many stories of Moss Hart and Julie Andrews.  And the step-by-step process of staging the musicals and the movie Gigi.  And the fact that, during Camelot,  Robert Goulet commiserated with Richard Burton about not being able to start an affair with Julie Andrews!   She was one strong woman!!!  All this is nirvana for me!  And in a burst of further serendipity: Dave and I had tickets which we ordered last spring for the DC Arena Stage production of My Fair Lady!  I love it when it all fits together!

From there I ordered the DVD of Pygmalion, the play on which My Fair Lady is based.  It should arrive today!

Yesterday I hiked the Devils Knob golf course listening to the Camelot CD and delighting in every lyric Alan Jay Lerner wrote, and knowing the story behind the struggle for those lyrics.  It was a whole new album!

So to date I have read Julie's book, Moss's book, Alan's book.  I've watched My Fair Lady live within the past month, listened to Camelot on my IPhone.  I am awaiting Pygmalion and You Can't Take It With You on DVD within the week.  I'm three chapters into Kitty's book, and I've read the first act of Once in a Lifetime.  

Waiting for me is Dick Van Dyke's book.  Who knows where that will lead?

I'm on a roll, one interesting and enlightening thing after another. In one of my favorite fields: Theater.   It's like taking a college major without leaving home.
All of it branching out like a huge spiderweb from a notice last spring from Chautauqua that Julie Andrews was going to appear.  This is learning at its best!

Seriously. . . who needs TV?

EXQUISITE TORTURE

So I'm home from the bike trip.  And I'm trying to find out what life without choir is really like.  I'm taking it day by day and seeing what is in store for me. And battling some of my demons. . . . .like how to structure an unstructured day.   But all in all it's going well.

But the days are getting shorter and I don't have TV yet because I'm DETERMINED to not have it until the elections are over.  I can't bear the ads.  But I'm missing the Redskins games.   And Downton Abbey.  And the other 3 shows I truly like but can't remember right now.

So I have been working myself through my CD library of about a dozen movies I like.   Done.

And then there are the VHS tapes.  Luckily, one of the things that made the radical cut when I was throwing away almost everything I owned was the tv/vhs combo.  I kept it because I still had VHS tapes I love.   So I've watched my favorites.  Because the nights are longer now and I'm alone and books are great but sound is nice too.

So tonight, for the first time in several years, I dug out the old home movies.   I bought  my first video camera in 1992.   That seems so long ago.  But my boys were already 10 and 14.   And on Christmas of that year, the taping began.

Tonight, on a whim, I put that very first of many VHS tapes in the machine.  And I was carried back to Christmas of 1992.  Dave was spending Christmas with us because I guess his kids were with their mother.  So we have him taping Christmas eve and Christmas morning.  And suddenly tonight, I'm watching my life, almost 20 years ago.

And there are my precious boys. . . . ages 10 and 14.  There is our townhouse.  There is Clyde our beloved rescue dog.  There are the presents.  There is the dynamic of our household.  And I am transported back in time.  

There are no words to describe how it feels, now that I know what my kids are doing these 20 years later, to see them back then.  To watch them open each and every gift.  To see how I wrapped up socks and underwear so that they would have a pile of gifts to unwrap.   To see how they bravely acted excited when they opened the package and it was books!!!  To remember what it was like as a single parent to be up for weeks prior to the day buying and wrapping so that Christmas could be magic.  And to really see that it was magic.

And technology!   Don't get me started.  In 1992 when Chad's "big" gift was a CD stereo set from Kmart, and Casey's was a set of roller blades, what really got them focused was the "Language Master," an electronic dictionary with a voice that pronounced the words you spelled.  I bought it ostensibly for Casey. . . who, due to his Learning Differences, needed it for definitions and spelling for his school work.  But to see Chad usurp it on Christmas morning and proceed to type in "dirty" words so that the machine would pronounce the words. . . . well. . . . tonight, like that morning so long ago. . . I laughed til I cried.  Seriously, I had to get a second glass of wine.   Chad's idea of a "dirty" word back then. . . . "castration."   So I'm sitting on the couch tonight, watching my beautiful boys, attended by the unforgettable Clyde the dog, open gifts.  And I see Chad typing into the new machine and hear the electronic voice saying "ca-stra-tion."   And I hear my boys cackling and I am just tortured by the memories.   I'm laughing and crying at the same time all over again.

People often talk about their "lost loves."   And, as a single woman, I have my lost loves.  But my true lost loves are those boys that I raised.  And I am so happy that they are off in their adult worlds living their remarkably successful lives. . . Chad now a successful radio personality in a major market.  . . . Casey beginning his new job as a big shot at IBM.   And I remember them chortling over "castration"  and "ass" and all those words boys find hilarious.   And now, 20 years later, I watch that scene that I remember  having lived , and I know the ending. . . .at least up til now.  And it's a whole different story.   It's gut wrenching.  And sad.   And hilarious.  And lovely.   All at the same time.

Remarkable.

WILD TURKEY AND COMPULSIONS

Day 2 of the Biker Babes 2012 Tour!

Wild Turkey has nothing to do with drinking.  On the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway this morning was group after group (gaggle?  flock? bevy?) of wild turkeys by the side of the road.  Just strutting around like they own the place.  Which perhaps they do. . . . But I wanted to encourage them to get out of sight, what with Thanksgiving around the corner.  But I'm used to seeing deer all over the place on the parkway. . .but wild turkeys?   Very cool.

Now compulsions are interesting.  Everyone seems to have a compulsion of some kind.  And they are ingrained, and involuntary.  For me it's eating.  But I'm not going to go into that.  For the Biker Babes it's Biking. .  . . especially for Mary Dudley.  She HAS to bike.  It's in her soul.  She's not right unless she's biking.  I could not be farther away from her on that continuum.  I can SOOOOOO not bike.  Especially around this area of the country when 95% of the time you are either struggling to grind the bike up a frickin mountain, or defying death with a free fall down the other side.  Neither of those scenarios appeals to me in anyway.   But they love it.

And today my 4 Biker Friends hauled ass all the way to the top of Mount Mitchell. . . the highest point east of the Mississippi. . . over 6,000 feet.  I was bursting with pride and admiration for them all as we saw them struggle their way into the parking lot at the very top.  Amazing. . . not one of them under 50 years old.  Sandy and I had the nerve to pose with them at the pinnacle.  We had boldly driven the cars up those miles.   YAWN!!!!!

But here we are!  Back row from left:  Beth, Mary Dudley and Sandy.  Front row from left:  Me, Jackie, Annie.  At 6,578 feet on a crystal clear, wind-free day.  I'm guessing that less than 5% of the days of the year are like that on Mount Mitchell.  Boy were we all lucky!

And speaking of compulsions. . . . Sandy has a compulsion to hike.  She cannot sit still for a moment if there's a trail in sight.  She convinced me to try a trail at the top of Mt. Mitchell.  The ranger intimated that it was fairly easy.  Sandy's pace of walking is about 3 times mine.   Part of that is that her legs and stride are longer than mine.  Part of it may be that she's hauling around less weight.  Part of it might be that she actually wants to hike whereas I'm being dragged along.  Anyway. . . off we went.  Within about 4 minutes she was so far ahead of me she was out of sight.  I was plodding along this absolutely beautiful, but NOT EASY (as a matter of fact the sign said "very strenuous")trail.  It started by having you walk down about 100 stone steps to the bottom, only to climb back up on the other side.  I gave it about 20 minutes and then turned around and climbed back out.  For me it was a great 40 minute hike full of cardio vascular goodness.  I'm guessing my heart rate was in the 180's a couple of times.  Sandy made the whole walk, but said even for her it was a challenge.  Two other times today, as we were waiting for the girls, Sandy disappeared on a random trail.  She just can't stop hiking.  Which is why she can hike circles around me. . . . 10 years her junior.  SIGH!!!!

We stopped at the wonderful Folk Art Center on the Blue Ridge Parkway right outside Asheville.   Haven't been there in years and the craftsman ship of the products is breathtaking.  So glad to have had the opportunity to stop there again.


Tonight we were joined by MD's son Carter who lives in Asheville with two buddies from college, who also joined us.  What lovely, smart, personable young men.  We all had a delightful late supper at the hotel having genuinely interesting exchanges with these guys.   A multi-generational love fest.  This does not happen often in life.  A lovely bonus of this trip!

On my own home-front, I had a lengthy exchange via text with Casey.  Always a treat.  He starts his new job with IBM on Wednesday.  Despite the Redskins imploding again early in the season, he seems upbeat about his life right now.

We have one more biking day left.  Sandy and I have little to do tomorrow. We will explore the Asheville area as the girls tackle 27 miles of straight uphill biking.  WHO DOES THIS VOLUNTARILY??????

So onward to tomorrow.  As I type Sandy is working with her latest compulsion. . . her new IPhone.  This one I understand at least. . . . .  . . . .  Sending you all the best from North Carolina!

BIKER BABES 2012

The Biker Babes are back on the road.  Since it's been a year, I should remind you that I am NOT a Biker Babe.   I am a Biker Babe Sherpant.  As is Sandy.   The 4 Biker Babes are Beth, Annie, Mary Dudley, and Jackie.  They are riding the entire length of the Blue Ridge Parkway, one segment at a time.  We are now on their second to last segment.  We finish this up next fall.

Tonight we start where we left off last year. . . .At a hotel/resort called Little Switzerland on the Blue Ridge Parkway north of Asheville, NC.  This is the greatest place.  The rooms are huge, the view spectacular, and as sherpants, the Biker Babes insist on paying all the bills.  What's not to like about this deal?

I awoke at home at 5:45 this morning and was at Sandy's by 6:45.  We then drove to Jackie's where we got into the two cars and headed south to North Carolina.  We're driving Beth's Subaru, and Mary Dudley's Forrester.  The only issue is that MD's car is stick shift.  Sandy, who is brave enough to walk the Appalachian Trail for 10 days by herself at the age of 70, and to go into the jungles of Uganda to see the gorillas at 71, is too chicken to attempt to relearn driving stick shift.  So since it has only been 35 years since I drove stick shift. . . I got the job.  And to be honest it came back to me in a heartbeat.   Although today when we got into the mountains it was quite a challenge.  I anticipate being better at it tomorrow.

We dropped the Babes off on the Parkway about 15 miles south of Little Switzerland and they rode north to where we are staying.   Sandy and I drove to Crabtree Falls where we took a 1.5 mile hike to the falls and then 1.5 miles back.  It was all downhill to the falls, and all uphill on the way back.  So a great workout.  The falls were fabulous.  The weather crystal clear and in the mid 60's.  Saw some color in the leaves in Virginia, but down here, not so much yet.    With our hike we arrived at  Little Switzerland right about the time the BB's arrived.  They had brought dinner.   We drank wine and ate dinner on the deck overlooking the mountains.   A year ago when we stayed in this same unit, the weather was so misty and foggy that we barely knew there was a view.  What a treat to be able to come back!   After dinner we donned out bathing suits and braved the cold to walk the 150 yards or so to the hot tubs.  Quite a few guests were amazed that anyone would be in the hot tubs in this cold weather.  And then Sandy and MD went in the pool!  God knows how cold that was.  Sandy is heartier than I am!

So we're back in the room settling in for the night.  Tomorrow. .. Mount Mitchell!   Who in their right mind would want to bike Mount Mitchell.  Well. . . there are 4 women in the next room that are going to give it a shot tomorrow. Glad it's them and not me.

Crabtree Falls!

POOR PITIFUL PEARL!

Pearl is a black cocker spaniel.  She belongs to Sandy, my Afton BFF.   Sandy attracts animals.   No really. . . they come to her.  Her ability to attract animals has been responsible for her having 3 cats:  Sippy, Menina, and Topsy.  Topsy arrived as the world's tiniest kitten in the top of a very tall tree.  Only Sandy was able to call to her and get her to "go out on a limb" and drop into Sandy's hands. . . almost literally.  Then there are the two dogs: Winnie and Pearl.   Pearly arrived three years ago into the back property of Sandy's mountain retreat.  At first they didn't know if she was even a dog.  She was a pile of black fur, full of such severe matting and neglect that when Sandy stumbled upon her, she was not even sure what she had.   General anesthesia later, with all the mats cut out of her coat, what was left was an adorable little black cocker spaniel, whose owner had died and who had wandered the woods for weeks, maybe months.  But she found Sandy.  Under those circumstances, it seemed only logical that she should be named Pearl. . . . as in Poor Pitiful Pearl.

A matted coat was not the only problem little Pearly had. . . she had one eye so severely glazed over  that removal of the eye was the only solution.  Which left her with very limited vision in the second eye. . .which was clearly going the way of the first.   Winnie, the resident pug in Sandy's life, immediately became the caretaker of "Poor Pitiful Pearl."  A couple of groomings later, and some time for her hair to grow in, and she turned into a gorgeous, sweet, affectionate cocker spaniel.  A worthy companion to the  other dog and three cats in the house.   

Over the last three years Pear has thrived in Sandy's care.  Although she has also lost her hearing.  But that little girl has bravely carried on.  Like all dogs. . .she is the most unaware of her shortcomings.

When I left for Chautauqua, Sandy and Bill were becoming more concerned about Pearl's quality of life.  She was bumping into furniture in the house, and if she got out without her leash, could become lost in the woods.  It was impossible to call her back since she could not see nor hear.  About half way through the summer Sandy and I talked on the phone and she said that they would be confronting the "hard decision" about Pearl in the near future.

But low and behold, Pearly Girl rallied and was still holding strong in the family when I returned at the end of the summer.  Bill and Sandy were making sure she got outside before the accidents on the floor, and they watched as it seemed that Pearl was enjoying life even given her disabilities.  Isn't it wonderful how dogs live in the moment with no knowledge of their own mortality?

So this past week when Sandy threw a tea-party (the old fashioned kind, not linked in ANY WAY to a political movement!!!!), and 16 of us turned up in hats ( I only owned a cowboy hat so I wore that.  I won the prize for Most Bizarre Hat), I was anxious to get reacquainted with Sandy's menagerie.

When I arrived, out came Winnie the Pug, as he always does, to greet me.   Then came the perilous parking of the car given that it's hard to see where Winnie actually is.  Eventually I got parked and greeted my little canine friend with all the affection he gives me.  My first thought was,  "Where's Pearl?"

I went into the house where Sandy was in full pre-tea-party preparations and I asked about Pearly.  "Oh she's outside with Winnie," came the reply.   I said I had not seen her.  And the tea-party preparations became tainted with the worry that always accompanied  a disappearance of this precious dog who can not see or hear.  And all through a lovely party with a lot of women in hats who ate cucumber sandwiches, drank tea, and reveled in being alive and well and together, was the dark awareness by all of us that Pearl was missing.  We took turns combing the surrounding woods.  Calling her name even though we knew she could not hear us.  Sandy was a trooper playing hostess, all the while knowing her heart was breaking with worry about her little black fuzzy charge.

As the party was cranking down, the hat prizes awarded and people getting ready to head for their cars, one woman called out,  "Oh there she is off in the woods!"  And sure enough, we caught glimpses of that little black body as she tried vainly to return home.  She was close, but heading in the wrong direction. Sandy got the leash had headed out in her white tea-party dress.  We watched breathlessly as she intercepted Pearly who was clearly worn out from her adventure in the woods.  We clapped wildly as Sandy led her little cocker across the back yard.

This little dog who was left for dead three years ago when her owner died and no one was taking care of her, who found her way through those same woods, virtually unrecognizable as a dog to the home of Sandy, and then had somehow found her way back again that day, showed her spirit and determination.

Sandy leaves for a trip to Italy soon, and she and Bill again have to consider what to do about her.  It's likely that this time the decision will be made to let her go.  But what a banner three years at the end of her life she has had thanks to my wonderful, animal-attracting friend.

Here's to Poor Pitiful Pearl. . . who in my book is really Precious, Perfect Pearl.  And here's to Sandy. . . who gave her such a wonderful last chapter of her life.

HERONS AND LIZARDS AND FROGS.....OH MY!

I'm in Sarasota, Florida.   Clearly I did not let any grass grow under my feet once I returned to Afton from Chautauqua.  And truth be told, I did not want to turn around in one week and leave on another trip.

But I'm no longer planning weekly trips to DC to sing in choir.   I can turn around and leave on a dime.  And my siblings called.   Bonnie, my older sister, and Chip, my younger brother and I have not all been together since our mother's memorial service and none of us can remember when that was.   If you're getting the idea that we aren't a particularly close family, that would be partially true.  But it has been years since we've all been in the same room at the same time.

Couple that with the fact that Chip's wife, Sue, is currently undergoing chemo/radiation for a serious cancer, and it became clear that rallying the troops was called for.

So Bonnie and I rented a condo within about 10 minutes of Chip and Sue's house.  I'm staying a week, and Bonnie will be here for two.  And then there was the fact that on the second day here I developed a slight sore throat which is turning into a cold somewhat like I had at the beginning of the Chautauqua season, and I'm not the best person to be too closely around Sue right now.    There must be something about long drives in the car that cause me to catch stuff!

Besides the family time which we are enjoying, and the supporting of our lovely sister-in-law as she goes through this treatment, I am in the market for a place to stay during the month of January.  One of the by-products of being mortgage-free and choir-free is that I'm freed up financially and time-wise to go places.   Florida in January sounds better than Afton in January.   I had perused the VRBO (Vacation rentals by owner) website and narrowed my search to the downtown area of Sarasota.  Last January's trip down here with Sandy, where I took off on my own for several days and explored the Tampa/Sarasota area,  Venice, Fort Myers, and Naples to see what I liked best, resulted in my current love affair with the downtown Sarasota area.   I love being able to walk everywhere. . . . particularly to Whole Foods.  Found the Laurel Park area with excruciatingly charming, funky wildly colored bungalows on palm lined streets.   My first choice of abodes was not available for this January, but the same owners had another place around the corner which will be perfect!  And it will have an extra alcove/bed in case any of my friends want to make the trek for part of the month.  Today I go sign the papers.

In another mystifying stroke of serendipity, the owners of these cottages used to live in Northern Virginia, are big Redskins fans, and the husband listens to Chad on the radio every day.  Imagine his surprise when he discovered that I'm Mama Dukes!!!  However, I don't think a discount is in the works.

Florida is teeming with exotic birds, lizards EVERYWHERE in abundance, and little tiny frogs that we find swimming in the pool with us at our condo.  I don't remember every having that happen in a pool up north.

So buoyed by the Redskins win against the Saints last Sunday, some already meaningful one-on-one time with each of my sibs, the promise of warmth in January, and the Biker Babes' annual trip in a couple of weeks when Sandy and I will again serve as official "sherpants" for the group, I would say that I'm solidly back to moving forward.  Trying not to miss Chautauqua or Choral Arts.  Eager to see what opens up.  With or without a cold, this is living!

FINE (pronounced Fee-nay)

And so tomorrow I go back to Virginia.   This has been my longest season ever.  I've never stayed three days into the post-season before.  It's a whole new place. . . . and yet it is the same place.  Only quieter, and sleepier.

I'm sitting on the 2nd floor balcony of the Disciples house.  I've stayed here in years past before I came for the full season.  Betty and David who run the place are dear friends.  It took me staying here to even get to see them this season.  That's how it is at Chautauqua.

From my perch I can see the roof of the amphitheater.  Totally empty now.  All the benches deserted.  Nobody warming up.  No stage crew running around getting ready for the next thing.  It has stood in that location for a very long time.  And now they are talking renovation for this icon of the grounds.  We don't know when the actual construction will start.  But for people up here it is excruciating to give up something that has stood for decades.  Yes, the benches are uncomfortable.  Yes there are support posts that block the views from some of the seats.  Yes the storms cause a large portion of the audience to get wet, even under cover.  Yes, it smells of must and bat droppings.  And still we don't want to part with it.  

Below me is the brick walk. . . the main walking thoroughfare connecting all the major buildings on the grounds.  No bikes or vehicles allowed.  There are no people walking there tonight.  I can't hear snippets of conversation as people leave a lecture and keep the conversation going.  I don't hear children and dogs playfully dodging the walkers or those on  scooters.

I can hear the bell tower chiming the quarter hours.  Carolyn, the bell ringer has gone home, so no songs are coming from there at 8 in the morning, and 6 and 10 each night.

The regular season is over, but other things are starting.  Today I walked down to the Atheneum Hotel to see the arrival of the seniors participating in the chorus/dance/theater program called Encore.  And in stark contrast the "major league fishermen" have arrived in huge 4-wheel-drive vehicles, bedecked with graphics of  advertisers.  They look like Nascar folks.  The fishermen are wearing jackets adorned with the names and logos of their sponsors.  More cigarettes in that group than have been on the grounds all summer.  I guess they are going to fish competitively in the lake in the next few days.  Who knew?

As for us,  the "interim" librarians, we have put away the music, weeded out old moldy music for disposal, and put all the detritus of a choir season to bed for the winter.  We could have done more.  But we knew when to stop. And if Jared is successful in getting us a fair pay rate next summer, we will be back doing the job again.

Nancy and Jared and Janet and I had our last lunch at the fancy La Fleur restaurant.  We invited Jared to be our guest, but he double-crossed us at the door when we weren't paying attention and told the waitress to let us pay for his lunch, but then he paid for the rest of us.  We'll have to plan that better next year. . . . . . 

Day is dying in the west (as we sing every Sunday night to start the Sacred Song Service) and I'm going to retire, get up and try to leave by 6:00.  It's been my best season ever at Chautauqua.  But I must move forward.  If I get out of here at 6, I'll be able to join Sandy at the Afton Mountain Winery for "Thursdays at 3:00."   I've missed 10 of those now, and it's time to get back in the groove.  And it's time to face the music with George the Trainer.  My working out and eating pristinely took a hit starting about week 4.   Oh well. . . back on the horse.

Goodbye Chautauqua.  You are my heart and soul.  I look forward to missing you.  I'll be back in 10 months.  My cup of gratitude overflows.

THE PERFECT DAY

It seems silly to call this the perfect day because then what have all the other blissful days at Chautauqua been, if not perfect?

But this is hump day of week 9, the last themed week of the summer, and the days events unfolded in the most glorious and memorable way.

Earlier I wrote a blog about "Just Saying Yes."   Because as it turns out, I have loved my library job.

Last night at dinner at Andriaccio's Italian Restaurant, so close to the grounds that we can walk there, Jared and the three librarians re-enacted the evening during week 2 when we had our beginning of the season discussion.  Only this time we were 8 weeks better friends than we had been back then.  And among other things discussed, we mutually decided that we loved the job enough, and Jared loved us doing the job enough, to agree to go again next summer.   That felt really good.   And allowed us to have discussions aimed at closing out this summer with next summer in mind.

So after that lovely evening I woke up this clear, crisp, sweatshirt demanding morning and walked over to the amp, as I do every weekday morning.  We set up our third-to-the-last Motet Choir rehearsal, practiced a piece, and sang it at the church service.  I have enjoyed singing in this choir.  It's not the Choral Arts Society, but it has it's own personality, culture, and challenges.  Learning a piece every single day during the week and performing it after one rehearsal has been fun and not at all easy.

After choir when we finally got all the music put away, I attended the lecture.  It was Lynda Johnson Robb and Susan Ford  Bales. . . . presidential daughters who gave the most delightful talk about what it was like to have a father as president.  Both of these fathers took over their presidencies under traumatic conditions.  Both of these women were young women at the time. . . Lynda was in college when JFK was assassinated.  She had the most fascinating story about being in college and finding out about the death of JFK and what happened next.   Susan was a senior in high school when she was thrust into the life at the White House.   I remember all these years vividly as I was a young woman at the time also.  So to see these women and hear their stories was wonderful.  Chuck Robb (former governor of Virginina)  and Susan's husband were in the audience.  Both women were very poised and funny. . . particularly Lynda Robb.   So that was a memorable lecture.  Perfect!

Next was Jared's final organ recital in the amp.   He had told me that he needed me to turn pages for all 4 pieces.   I was still feeling the post traumatic stress of having turned for last week's concert.  I guess I never blogged about that.  But it was a scary ride for sure.  He played the music of Franz Liszt which can tend to whiz by.  The score is nothing but black notes that move at a breakneck speed.  And then he opens a score called (I'm not making this up) "Death Dance" which is really a piece written for two pianos.  There is no pedal part in the score (when the going gets tough I follow the pedal part!).  He's flying through this piece playing a little from both parts. It is virtually impossible to follow this music.  All I could do was hang on for dear life and hope to not mess him up.  After that performance last week, I was seriously doubting my competence to do this job.  But he needed me today.  So I remembered my favorite graphic which shows the big circle that has written inside "Where the magic happens."  Then separated from the circle is a little square that says "Your comfort zone."    So I boldly walked up to that organ and faced down my demons (solidly out of my comfort zone).  And boy did the magic happen!  The four pieces were challenging but follow-able (not sure that's a word).  And one of them was the spectacular Franck Chorale in a minor, which I played on my junior recital in college.  To be up there watching that score go by as Jared played it was like seeing a long lost friend that you had loved from college but had not seen in 40 years.  My fingers practically itched with the memories of how it felt to play that piece. It was all I could do not to just be reduced to tears during the playing of that one.  What a gift to me.  And then the last two pieces went well and were spectacular.  Even the finale, again by that wild Mr. Franz Liszt who traumatized me the week before.  But I held on tight and was transfixed and transported by the splendor of the music and by Jared's virtuosity.  I floated out of that amphitheater and straight into the company of my choir friends who had attended the concert and were waiting for me.

Because we had been invited out on the lake for a boat ride by one of the tenors in the choir.  I have been longing, no aching, to get out on that lake every summer since I started coming here.  And now, as a choir librarian, I was in the select group that was invited to get on the pontoon boat for a 30 minute ride to Bemis Point across the lake where we docked and had lunch at a restaurant called the Italian Fisherman.  Such a nice time.  Complete with spiked coffee for the boat trip back.   Sweaters were needed, but sun was shining brightly.  Paul drove us north so that we could see the complete shoreline of Chautauqua from the water.  Such a blissfully fun getaway!

I got home in time to get ready to go see the last classic movie!  It was The Mortal Storm with Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan.  Not a happy topic. . .pre Nazi Germany, but a wonderful movie.  Had never heard of it.   So glad I saw it.

The Capitol Steps perform in the amp tonight.  I'm going to complete my perfect day by NOT going to see them.  For some reason I find no humor at all politics these days.  I'm so tired of the whole thing that I don't even want to see anybody make up funny songs about it.   

Nancy's coming over for a glass of wine on the porch.  The perfect ending.  In a week I'll be home and Brigadoon will fade away for another year.  And I will always remember how this beautiful day made me feel.  From beginning to end.

NECESSARY MELANCHOLY

Before I start I just want to mention that I don't think I've ever gotten 8 syllables out of two words in a title before.  Of course I haven't checked.

It's Saturday afternoon at the end of week 7.  I have been to the gym and Wegmans.  There is cabbage cooking on the stove and Les Miserables on the IPhone/IPod.  It's a grey day with occasional misting showers.  And it's a perfect set up for the close-to-the-end-of-the-season melancholy.

The list of all that I've seen and done so far this summer would be pretty long. And yet, I can hardly believe that we begin the second to the last week tomorrow.  

During week 8 the last play closes, the opera company finished up last week, the orchestra has the final concerts this week, the dance company has their last concert as well.  All the interns are packing up to get back to school. . . including Amazing Grace, the intern we have had for help with weekend choir rehearsals. The good news about Grace is that she is attending graduate school at the University of Virginia, and we have already made plans to meet for lunch in the near future.  She scored one of the historic "dorm" rooms as designed by Mr. Jefferson.  Can't wait for her to show me her digs.  This is a testimony to the strength of her graduate school application resume.  But I'm not surprised. . .  she came into our job and just mastered it the first night.  Tonight I do the job without her, and I'm more than a little nervous.  I would have never been assigned one of the historic rooms!!!

The evenings are getting a little darker earlier.  The leaves are already showing signs of wanting to change color.  When we sing "Day Is Dying In the West" at the beginning of every Sunday evening Sacred Song Service,  the day has died a little bit more with every passing week.

All of the signs that soon we must depart this Brigadoon so that it can close down, go to sleep and wake up again next June.

So yeah, it's a little bit sad.  My summer family will be absorbed into the mist to be relegated to emails and Facebook postings over the next 10 months.

But truth be told, I also have the sense that I don't want this to continue for the rest of the year.  This is such a stimulus-rich environment.  It is Utopia.  But even Utopia gets to be mundane if it goes on and on.   It needs to end so that we can be sad and then anticipate it for 10 months.   So much joy when we all come back together.  So much energy and enthusiasm to tackle the new season each summer.   Without the melancholy, the joy doesn't come.

Hmmmm. . . . metaphor for life?   I think so.  Without the knowledge that in two weeks we will be cranking down the next two weeks would not be magic.  I would not be consciously paying attention to each and every moment.  I would not be treasuring every encounter with friends that I won't see for 10 months.

I truly try to live my life that way now.  Treasuring and paying attention to each and every moment.  Because at 63, there's way more behind me than ahead.

So welcome MELANCHOLY!  You are a gift that reminds me to pay attention.  Live in this moment.  And for heavens sakes. . . . SNAP OUT OF IT!!!   Being sad is no fun!!!   

Nothing says "Stay in the moment" more than the smell of cabbage boiling too rapidly on the stove!  LATER!!!!

TYLER AND JARED

Two men.  One my age, almost exactly.  One just barely a man. . . . . maybe early 20's.

Jared I've spoken about.  Born in the same year I was.  Virtuoso organist.  Child prodigy.  This year he's my boss and my choir director and my friend.

Tyler. . . stage hand.  He's tall and lean and warm and friendly.  Most even- tempered young guy ever. He is all smiles, and positive energy.  Never says no to any request.  Does everything with a smile on his face.   Turns out in addition to working full time on the stage crew in the amp, he also lives on a farm.   And by the time he gets here in the morning he's been up for hours doing his chores.  Also turns out he has a pet bull which he recently rode in a bull-riding contest locally.  He won 5th place.  When asked how he got his "pet" bull to be angry enough to try to throw him off, he explained that the cinch around the middle for the saddle irritates a bull's "privates" in ways that make him "out of sorts" in the extreme!   The things I learn at Chautauqua.

So these two guys, Jared and Tyler played a part in a brief drama this morning during church that was one of the most wondrous things I've seen up here.  And if you've been reading for the last couple of years, you know that there is no dearth of wondrous things to see up here.

So the choir files into the choir loft for the daily church service.  I noticed right off that sitting in the front row this morning was none other than Andrew Young, civil rights activist, former UN Ambassador, former Atlanta mayor.  He spoke this afternoon.  It was a thrill to sing for him!  But that wasn't the amazing thing (imagine. . .that NOT being the amazing thing!).

Apparently after the opera production last night in the Amp, all the microphones and hook-ups were all catty-wompus.  Which meant that the choir member who was supposed to be the scripture reader and who was supposed to read the scripture from the choir loft using a floor microphone, was going to be unable to do that.  Which was not discovered until after the service had started.

Now having set that scenario, let me digress a minute. . . As most of you know, I was an organ major in college.  I only started playing the organ my freshman year because I needed a minor.  I wasn't that good on piano which was my major!  But I loved organ from the start and just wanted to practice it all the time.  So I switched it to my major in the middle of my freshman year.  And then switched to a performance major at the end of my freshman year.   Learning the organ is difficult.  What I found most difficult was playing hymns.  You had to play the bass line with your feet, and I just wasn't that experienced.  So playing in church services was always a source of huge amounts of anxiety.  I know, now that I'm 63, that if I had played for years and years, I would have eventually become a competent hymn player.  But I quit altogether before I could get there.

So here comes Jared.  Our service books for the daily services has hundreds of hymns.  At least 60% of them are printed with only the words. . . no music.  Jared plays all of those by memory, or maybe by ear - probably a little of both. Which means he's only looking at words when he plays.  He modulates keys, improvises between verses, plays them in different styles and moods depending on the service.  For someone like me who struggled so badly with hymn playing, to see this guy do this with such ease and virtuosity and creativity is a marvel of nature each and every service.

So back to the story.   Poor sweet, sensitive, competent Tyler was faced this morning with a microphone that didn't work.  He needed to let the choir member who was going to read the scripture know that the mike didn't work.  He didn't know which choir member it was, and we were already in the loft for the service.  His only option, as he saw it, was to go out on the stage and ask Jared, who was at the organ, to tell him which choir member he needed to see.   Jared, by that time, had launched into the introductory verse of the hymn.  One of the ones that has words only.  He's about 6 bars into it and here comes our own little sweet cowboy, Tyler, creeping on the stage and around the organ.  Jared does not skip one single beat.  He sees Tyler, looks him directly in the eye as Tyler asks about the choir member.  Jared then turns his head 180 degrees up to the choir to see where Mary Ellen is sitting, turns back to Tyler and describes to him where she is sitting, at which time Tyler turns and sneaks back off the stage.   The whole time he is having this CONVERSATION his hands and feet continue to play the hymn.  We are up in the choir loft watching all this go down with our mouths dropped to the floor. Once Tyler has gone, Jared just continues to the end of the verse, cranks up the volume and leads the congregation into the singing.

For me who struggled with hymn playing this is like watching a miracle.  It certainly drives home the notion that there are certain gifts that people get at birth that will remain a mystery to others.  Most people in the congregation missed this exchange.  And maybe no one who wasn't a musician would have appreciated the unbelievable demonstration of talent that it represented.

I've seen big stuff here. . . . . big stars,  operas, New York level plays, international celebrities, breathtaking virtuosity and talent.  But nothing I've seen anywhere can eclipse that 30 seconds of magic brought to us by Tyler and Jared.

JUST SAY YES!

This has happened to me over and over in my life.   Somebody calls me out of the blue and offers me a job or asks me to do something and my first reaction is:  NO WAY!!!  Don't want to do it.  Won't do it.  You can't make me.


My first teaching job.  I wasn't qualified to teach!  I didn't want it.  I told them so.


My job teaching pregnant middle school girls.  Are you kidding me?


Those are just two examples.


Early in June I got the call from an acquaintance from the choir up here in Chautauqua.  She left a message.  She wanted me to call her back about something.  I was with Dave at the time.  The only thing I could figure out was that they were going to try to pawn off this music library job on me.  I told Dave. .  .There's NO WAY I'm taking that job!   I don't go to Chautauqua to work!


Turns out they were offering me 1/3 of that job.  I still have no idea why my name came up with the other two.  But it was NO, NO, NO from the beginning.


Until we started to chat about the job and my NO, NO, NO went to MAYBE, MAYBE, MAYBE  and then to OKAY, BUT ONLY FOR ONE YEAR AND I'M NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT.


I need to trust that when the universe comes at me out of the blue to suggest something that was not formerly on my radar screen,  I need to pay attention, and yell out a lusty YES in spite of all the voices in my head to the contrary.


Because now that I'm 6 weeks in, not only do I enjoy this job enough to accept doing it next year,  but this week alone demonstrates why YES is a good answer.


On Monday, Jared took his librarians, their intern, and one of the husbands out to dinner at a restaurant in Mayville called Le Fleur.  Fancy schmancy.  With prices to match.  French all the way, obviously.  He had been there before and assured us it would be 1. his treat, and 2. an unforgettable dining experience.


Well I have had some fabulous meals in fancy and not so fancy restaurants.  But nothing approaching this one.  From the kir cocktails  (champagne and lilac. . . the most amazing color of soft purple) to the breads before dinner, to the 1st course pear tart with mixed greens, to the rack of lamb, to the sublime Shiraz that accompanied my dinner, to the key lime macaroons for dessert, and then the long stem red rose that each woman who dines there receives at the end, this was nearly 5 hours of pure dining bliss.   Every morsel, every sip was memorable.  And the conversation and laughter around the table was such a pleasant way to spend an evening.  We all got to know each other outside the Chautauqua gates.   Jared was showing his appreciation for our efforts thus far in the most extravagant way.   I would not have been there for that evening if I had said no to the job!


My chance encounter with Peter and Paul last week would not have happened if I had not been on library business!


Today I turned pages for Jared's Massey concert.  He played all Bach.  Only my musician friends will appreciate that I turned pages for the magnificent Prelude and Fugue in Eb . . . .the St. Anne!  An epic piece.  I was so excited standing on that organ watching him play that piece that I almost forgot to keep track of the pages.  Then he followed that with the behemoth Bach Passacaglia.  OMG!!!  I positively floated out of the amp after that experience.  I would not have become Jared's page turner without the library job.


Tonight Nancy and I went to the choir room to stuff the folders for the weekend choir and the bluegrass band which performed Monday night while we were at the restaurant was back to accompany an extended dance piece called "Shindig" for tonight's dance concert.   While we began getting the music ready, they began warming up and practicing in the same room.  Live professional bluegrass music 10 feet away from us.  They played for about 20 minutes while we danced around sorting music.  I was in hog heaven.  I adore bluegrass.  I know that somewhere out there my daddy was appreciating that I was in that room with those guys.   Without the library job, I would not have had that experience.


The richness of my experience up here this year is eons more-so with this job.  I could have never dreamed that something I didn't want to do so badly would end up so well.


No kidding. . . . just say YES!

MISSING MARY. . . . . .KISSING PETER

This story starts about 50 years ago.  I was a teen-ager.  I was musical.  I was walking down Vermilion Street in the downtown section of Danville, Illinois.  This was before the downtown section was torn up and made into a large outdoor mall.   In the past 50 years it has been returned to it's original condition.  But I digress.


So I'm probably 13 or 14 years old, and I walk past Thomas Music Store.   I don't think it was Kamp Music, the store I went to more often.  Thomas Music store, on that particular day, had a smallish used guitar in the window.  The price tag was a whomping $17.50.  It had a treble clef printed on the front.  I'm sure it was about two steps up from being a toy.  But I had to have it.  Mostly because the main musical loves of my life at the time, besides the Beatles, was a group called Peter, Paul, and Mary.  I can't describe what their folk sound did for me, but I knew I had to learn how to play the guitar.  So I marched into Thomas Music and put that guitar on lay-away.   For weeks I would revisit the store with the weekend's babysitting money, and methodically pare down that debt, one weekend after another.   Eventually I was able to take the guitar home.  But not before I bought a book of Peter, Paul, and Mary songs.  The guitar chords in the songs had little charts that told you where you put your fingers.  It was the easiest thing in the world for me to go home and figure out those chords and start playing those songs.  And I would listen to the records.  I learned all of Mary's parts.  I thought she was so pretty with her long straight blonde hair.  And Peter and Paul (whose actual name was Noel) were pretty cute too with those little goatees!  I wore those albums thin listening to them, literally hundreds of times.  As time went on I replaced the albums with 8 track tapes, cassette tapes, CD's and then downloaded them on my IPOD.  


So in 2009 when Mary died, I could have kicked myself nine ways to Sunday for never getting off my keister and going out to Wolf Trap where they performed every summer.  I couldn't believe that I had not ever heard them live.  They were one of the most influential groups of my musical life.


So of course I was excited to find out that Peter and Paul were coming to Chautauqua this summer.  I wasn't sure how it would be without Mary, but I was eager to see their show.


Here's how this all went down tonight.   We had our regular Saturday night choir rehearsal in Lenna Hall which is about a 10 minutes walk to the amphitheater.  Nancy and I were going to go to the concert.  I rode my bike to the rehearsal so I could get back early enough for us to get a seat.  Now that we are librarians, we can't just leave right after rehearsal.  There's collecting music, discussing issues, and putting everything away.


So I'm at the rehearsal by 5:30, a half hour before the beginning.  People are coming in and new people are signing up to sing on Sunday.  Tonight was the last night for new people to join.  And there was an issue about whether or not we had enough music.  And sure enough, we ran out.  The drill is to have people share while we figure out what to do.  Nancy came up to me and said that Jared (the director) had driven the Department of Religion golf cart to rehearsal.  I am the official golf cart driver for the librarians.  So Nancy suggested I go back to the amp to get some more music folders.  I agreed right away because I knew that Peter and Paul were back there warming up, and that their catered dinner would be held in the choir room.  MAYBE I WOULD SEE THEM!!!!!


I get in the cart and tear over to the amp.  I'm admitted through the back because I am "official" since I'm the choir librarian.  As I pass the main floor I can hear the sounds of Peter and Paul singing on the stage, checking the sound.  When I get up to the choir room the smell of fancy catered food fills the air.  There's a feast ready up there, but the stars are down on the stage.  I grab the folders and chat with the caterers for a second.  Then I head back down the stairs feeling a little disappointed that I had not seen the "guys."


As I got to the bottom of the stairs I casually looked down the hall that leads to the stage.  And standing there, big as life, guitar in hand, is Peter Yarrow himself!   He's looking right at me.  Now at this point it's appropriate to mention that through my choir experiences with the Kennedy Center Honors and other miscellaneous celebrity encounters in my life, that most celebs have their on-stage personas, and their off-stage personas.  And I don't blame famous people for having a limit on the amount of interacting they want to do with the public.   I'm used to knowing that you don't try to chat up the famous people.


But come on. . . there he was.   Peter Yarrow.  He didn't know me, but I had known him for years and years.   My eyes met his  and I just simply said,  "You are my hero."   And he walked toward me with the warmest smile you can imagine.  I told him he had no idea how many hours of my life had been spent with his music. . . either listening or playing it.  And he came over and put his arms around me and gave me a big bear hug and then kissed me on the cheek.  And he asked me my name and we chatted a bit more and then he repeated the hug and kiss and I told him how much it meant to me to meet him.  And how much I missed Mary.  And I think he was delighted that I wasn't clamoring for an autograph.   I turned to go feeling so grateful that I had had this encounter with him as he walked back into the dressing room. And then out of the corner of my eye I saw someone else.  Also with a guitar.   Noel Paul Stookey!  I had turned to go and I turned around and said to him,  "You're my hero too!"  And he said,  "What?  I'm your thrill?"  To which I replied,  "Okay. . . let's go with that!"   He also walked towards me with a warm open smile and we chatted and I told him I had lived in the DC area and always managed to miss them at Wolf Trap.   And he said he performed at The Barns there and then said,  "I have to get Peter to perform at the Barns."  At that point I had to leave with my folders and they had to eat.   What a thrill to have that private moment with them.  They both are, in private, exactly as nice as they are on the stage.  What a treat!


And the concert was great.  Everyone singing along.  They are still fabulous.  And even though I miss Mary, I sang her parts right along with them during the concert.  I literally have always dreamed of singing Mary's parts with Peter and Paul.


I had no idea that moment would happen tonight.  A delightful serendipity that I will remember all of my life.


I bet right now they are in a hotel somewhere kicking themselves that they didn't get the phone number of that cute little music librarian!  Yeah, I live in a rich fantasy world. .. . . . 

ROSEBUD. . . . . AND SHRIMP!

Well, finally, here at the end of week 5, I am kind of back in the groove, movie-wise.


I saw three movies in three days!  And they were all good.


The first one was a romantic comedy (hey. . . . . I'm a girl!) called Your Sister's Sister.  Apart from the fact that I liked the previews, it had Emily Blunt in it, and I'm a big fan of EB.  I like everything I see with her in it.  And it had Mark Duplass in it.  I had never heard of him.  But he was great.   While I was waiting for that movie to start, there was a preview of a movie called Safety Not Guaranteed.  The star?  Mark Duplass!  HUH?  Twice in one day?


Then on Tuesday night I saw People Like Us with Elizabeth Banks and I loved that.   Her downstairs neighbor looked familiar.   Oh yeah.. . . . . Mark Duplass!  How can I not have heard of this guy?   He is the anti-movie star looks-wise, but he has a sweet vulnerability that, let's face it,. . . girl's love.   I love me some Matt Damon too, but I think Mark Duplass is worth watching, and it's a good thing, because he seems to be stalking me from the big screen.


On Wednesday night I did not see Mark Duplass in a movie.  Mainly because the movie was Citizen Kane, and I doubt if Mark Duplass' parents were born yet when that movie was made.  Heck, I wasn't born yet when that movie was made.  And believe it or not, I had never seen that movie before.  And yes, there is Netflix and all, but I was glad I waited to see it on the "big" screen.  This was the third classic movie of the summer, and only the first one I have been able to see.   It was terrific!   I've seen so many references to this movie in various movie overview programs.  I knew all about the "Rosebud" line.  But I had no idea what Rosebud was, or who Rosebud was.  All those years and no one ever gave away the ending.   I won't give it away either.  Because it makes for a very compelling movie.  We were lucky in that the guy up here who introduced the movie was able to give us a few things to watch for that added to the enjoyment of the picture.


So I'm back in the saddle, movie-wise, and happy to be there.


Now as to the shrimp.   This is just a weird story.  More weird than Rosebud because there is no answer.


Last night before I went to bed I was aware, through my new favorite web-site, Wunderground, that there was a very serious group of storms on the way to our neck of the woods.  In fact, it was showing that this was very likely to become a derecho.  Now a derecho is very much like Mark Duplass.  Up until a few weeks ago I had never heard of this.  But this is the kind of storm front that hit DC and Virginia with such powerful, straight-line wind.  I heard all about it after the fact when I kept getting messages from home that my house was okay!  Okay?  Wasn't worried.  And then I started seeing the radar pictures from this groups of storms and became acquainted with the concept of a derecho.  For the record, I enjoy Mark Duplass much more than a potential derecho.  I look forward to seeing Mark Duplass again.  A derecho?  Not so much.


So last night here were the huge, long blobs of yellows, oranges and reds, stretching across states coming across Lake Erie and headed right towards us.  And they promised that somewhere along 2 in the morning we could expect to be hit.   Well, it was more like 4 AM and it was an impressive thunderstorm, but the winds never kicked up too much, just lots of rain and thunder and lightening.


So I had to be in the amp at 7:30.  I checked the radar when I got up and found us between bands of these storms at  around 7, so I  decided just to walk across to the amp then so as to be undercover when the next round hit.  As I walked out the door of my apartment, turned right so as to exit the porch via the two steps, I noticed that there were two cooked shrimp(s?) on the floor of the porch.  Like from a shrimp cocktail.  Just sprawled on the porch floor.  Hmmmm.  I thought to myself.  Barb or Susan must have been bringing shrimp up on the porch and spilled a couple.   Weird.    So I got over to the amp.  And it being early in the morning, the crew was setting everything up.  And one of them comes up to me and says,  "Did you see the shrimp?"  And I thought. . . .what was this guy doing on my porch?  Is it possible that 63-year-old me is irresistible to this 20-something hottie in cowboy boots?  And before I could say "yes" in my most sultry tones, he explains further that there were shrimp up and down the aisles of the amphitheater!   What?  No seriously. . . . what?   I asked him where they came from and he said he didn't know.   So. . . was it raining shrimp last night?   Was there a wind I wasn't aware of that blew the shrimp from somewhere (where?) all over the grounds?   What is the answer to the mysterious appearance of cooked shrimp in those two locations?  Are there more locations?  Should I put a bowl out on the porch tonight in the hopes of catching them before they land on the ground?  Would I feel safe eating them the next day?


So many questions.  Three mysteries in a couple of days!  Who is this Mark Duplass?  What is a derecho?  Where the hell did the shrimp come from?


My brain is tired!

DEAR SARA,

I remember the day this picture was taken.  I was living in Old Towne Alexandria, and Chad called to say he wanted me to meet his new girlfriend.  I was so anxious to meet you.  It was clear from the tone in his voice on the phone that he thought you were really special, even back then.


It was not hard to love you from the very beginning.  You were cute and sweet, and bubbly.  And it was clear that you two were crazy about each other.  Chad is a special guy.  And it would take a special girl to see all the genuinely wonderful qualities that he possess under that sometimes tough exterior.  You were just that girl.


Throughout the six years that you two have been together, I have never seen either of you waver in your commitment to each other.  My favorite thing about the two of you is that when I am with you, you always treat each other well.  Even after all this time.


I have loved and appreciated your kindness and spirit.  I have always felt welcomed by you into your home.  I treasure the times you and I have had the opportunity to spend time together. . . just the two of us.  Like when we went to your folks place for Thanksgiving.  And when we had tea in Leesburg after running into each other at the Cooley gallery!  And when we shopped for patio furniture for your new home.


I am delighted that you and my treasured son have decided to make a go at this marriage thing.  I think you have a strong foundation which started in genuine delight with each other, and has progressed over the years as you have made a life together.  You've traveled to Phoenix and back.  You've settled several apartments and bought a house together.  You have "parented" that crazy Murray.


My heart overflows with welcome and delight that you have decided to join this crazy family in a formal and legal way.  We're not so bad once you get used to us, and apparently you have.


So welcome to the family, my lovely daughter-in-law.  July 21st will be a special day in my life now too.  My baby boy has taken a wife.  I hope I will always be your friend.   We both love the same guy.  I wish you both so much happiness and patience and perseverance through all the times to come.  Congratuations and love to you both.   

SPACE MOUNTAIN!

I never really liked roller coasters.  Or scary rides.  When I was in the summer between 6th and 7th grade, my sister and I went on a trip with our aunt and uncle and their two small children.  Ostensibly we were going along as babysitters for the cousins.  I'm not sure the trip turned out exactly as my aunt and uncle planned.  But that's another blog!   But we spent the bulk of the vacation at a beach house at Myrtle Beach, S.C.   And there was this big amusement park we went to.  And they had this ride called the Hurricane or something like that.  You got up in a stand-up cage, the big ride started going round and round really fast, tilted up, and then the bottom dropped out of the cage because the centrifugal force kept you in.   I stood at the base of that ride for what seemed like hours and wanted so badly to be brave enough to ride it. I just watched and watched as group after group got on, survived the ride, and got off again.  I never did.  Couldn't muster up the courage.


I took my  kids to Disney World when they were 4 and 7.   They wanted to ride Space Mountain but they were both too small, and anyway, I had no intention of riding it with them.  I was a stultifying mother of boys in that respect.  It was a miracle that my kids did not grow up with my fears.


So taking risks. . . . not so much for me.  Although looking back on my life I can see where I've done some pretty scary things that others wouldn't do.  I guess it depends on the situation.


Today I "rode Space Mountain" for the second time this summer.  That is. . . .I turned pages for Jared's organ recital.   Today I wasn't sure if he was going to need me, but I told him I would always be in the front row so that he could just  wave me up there if he needed.  The good thing about not knowing this time is that I didn't have time to get all nervous.  So when, after the 2nd piece, he beckoned to me,  I just jumped right up.  I got on that ride, right in front of everyone who had gathered in the amp to hear him.    I don't know ahead of time what the pieces are.


I'll try to describe how this goes.   So he introduces the piece, jumps up on the organ, opens the music.  I have about 30 seconds while he is adjusting the registrations on the organ, to look at the first page and determine the time signature, the tempo (speed) and the look of the piece.  In the case of two of the pieces I did today, I could tell they were going to be fast.   With FLYING notes in one hand or the other.  When the music is flying by, it's easy to get lost.   So I look at the pedal part which is usually easier to follow.  Unless he has the organ registered so that the pedal part is not clearly evident in the texture of the whole piece.    So he's off and running and I'm standing there with my heart beating a mile a minute, and I'm wishing I had not just had the iced coffee that is not helping in the palpitation department.   For the most part I stayed with the program today.   But a couple of times I was totally lost!


Luckily Jared is no ordinary organist.  In spite of the unbelievable calisthenics that he is accomplishing with both hands and both feet (we're talking such virtuoso playing that it's all I can do to not get swept away by the spectacle of it all), he is completely lucid.  I actually think that he and I could be up there telling jokes while he's playing and he could keep up and laugh when appropriate.   So I just end up saying to him,   "I'm lost here, you'd better nod!"   And he pretty much starts laughing and then he'll say,  "I'm on the second to last line. . . .. . last line. . . . . last measure. . . . TURN THE PAGE!"  Of course this is going on in such a way that the audience is unaware that we're having this conversation.  It's totally surreal.  And I'm sure I'm having the same kind of rush that people that love roller coasters get.  Because when you think about it, they are safe, but it feels dangerous.   Today I was safe.  No one is going to get hurt if I miss a page turn.  But it feels so dangerous.  And when it's over, it's such a rush that I want him to try another piece that I can attempt to get!   Scary in the extreme.  But totally exhilarating.   Space Mountain!


The other phenomenal thing that happened today was that the daily lecturer came to us from under the ocean!   She was a famous ocean explorer who is currently residing in an underwater lab off Key Largo.  There she was on the live feed, taking questions, giving us a tour of her lab, describing her studies!

Here we are watching our lecturer on a live stream from under the sea!


And here's what the experts are telling us.  We are killing our oceans.  And we're almost to the point of it being too late to do anything about it.  And the solutions are not that hard given the oceans ability to replenish itself if areas are left alone and allowed to do that.  The speaker yesterday was able to show pictures of several of the most remote areas in the ocean which have had virtually no human contact at all.  In those areas the coral reefs are lush and healthy, the large fish are abundant.  The water is crystal clear.  But those areas are infinitesimal when compared with the areas of ocean that have been over-fished and depleted by human contact.  It's gut wrenching to hear about.


Okay. . .  so the bad news about water issues is coming, but not without a dose of optimism about the ability of humankind to turn this around if they so desire.  


And the good news is that I probably will get several more shots at Space Mountain this summer.  I may be becoming an adrenaline junky!