Practically Perfect in Every Way...

When given an option for a post-show talk back, Don and I often aim for that performance. It adds value to our experience. Similar to why we would hang out at the stage door before COVID. 

Our subscription for Langhorne Players is for the Wednesday night show, even though mid-week is a challenge, because the Wednesday night performances have a post-show talk back. When we decided to see "not the Disney version" of Mary Poppins at the Quintessence Theater in the Mount Airy section of Philadelphia, we aimed for the performance with the post-show conversation.

Other than this being the Broadway or West End version, and not the Disney version, I wasn't sure what we would talk about. Rather than talking about the nuances of the show, we were treated to a post-show conversation led by the theater's director of education and local Disney expert Dr. Christen Mandracchia. Dr. M earned her PhD studying the "Disney Renaissance." It has been a while since I've been around someone who geeks out talking about Disney. We had a mini-lecture talking about the different stages of Disney movies -- the Golden Era, the Silver Era, and the Renaissance. 

We also touched upon how Mary Poppins changed from P.L. Travers' book to Walt Disney's vision in the 1964 movie to the West End (though the West End was not mentioned, I recall it appeared in London before appearing in New York City) and Broadway version. I would have enjoyed dissecting more about the differences, but as is we were gathered mesmerized for 45 minutes.

The Quintessence Theater is small. It was a fancy Art Deco movie house that has clearly seen better days. The theater was gutted. Now they have bleachers that can be moved around to suit the production and no stage. Rather than feeling run down, it felt charming. We hope to return. I did not see any information about season tickets, but now that we know about them, we will hear more in the future.

Controversial Topic

It seems once you state an opinion, no matter what the opinion, it becomes a topic for controversy.

For me, it was stating how much I do not like the advent hymn "Lo, How a Rose e'er Blooming." 

Due to a desire by some pastors to only celebrate Christmas once Christ has been born, and not during the four weeks leading up to it known as Advent, "Joy to the World," and other joy-filled tunes must wait their turn. That leaves only a few hymns acceptable to be sung in worship during Advent, most notably "Lo, How a Rose e'er Blooming." Even the title is a mouthful.

In the first week of December I heard this hymn THREE times -- once in Muhlenberg (which Ashley warned me about), then at Ewing Church (which Don warned me about), then again at PTS's Carols of Many Nations service (which the man behind me warned me about). At least the last one was sung in German. Had I gone to church at PCOL the Sunday earlier, it would have been four times in ten days. Don warned me off, so I attended virtually and tuned that out.

I find it humorous that people know how much I dislike this hymn, and will warn me in advance. After publicly sharing my distaste for it, people have shared with me how much they love it, and articles about how wonderful it is.

To me it just shows how divisive we are as a culture -- no one shared on my Facebook post they could take it or leave it, they all either loved it, or hated it. Much as we seem to be about the rest of life.

Though no one as ever asked, I will share my favorite hymn, the one that always gives me goosebumps: "Once in Royal David's City." It tells a story. It has a varied tune. When they start with a soloist acoustically singing the first stanza, with his voice filling the church, and not a sound other than the voice can be heard, it is magical.

 

Christmas is Back!

After a couple of years of modified Christmas celebrations, for better or worse, celebrations seem to be back!

Last weekend we went to Muhlenberg College for their Candlelight Service. It was just as beautiful and magical as people told me it is when she decided to go there. We attended last year, but less people were allowed and it seemed shorter.

When the soloist started singing "Once in Royal David's City" I could feel goosebumps!

We were asked not to take pictures, but I tried to discretely snap a couple to remind me of the magical feeling.

A few days later we attended one of our favorite Christmas services each year, Carols of Many Nations at Princeton Theological Seminary. When the service became super crowded, and super popular, they switched to a ticketing service. My parents got tickets for the 3:30 pm service. Don and I went at 6:30 pm. There is also a service at 8:30 pm.

Similar in format to the Muhlenberg service with a twist. The PTS service has pre-selected members of their community read the scripture in their native language, with a translation in English printed in the booklet. In-between each scripture a song or two are sung, often in a foreign language. In the margins of the booklet are a couple of sentences about the history of the song, notes about how the holiday is celebrated in that song's country, and sunrise and sunset times for Christmas Day in those place.

One of the most interesting stories was about the song "Betelehemu" It was written in the 1950's by a young Nigerian drummer Babatunde Olatunji, who enrolled at Morehouse College on a Rotary scholarship. He collaborated with the Glee Club director to arrange this traditional Yorube Christmas song. The piece is a staple of their Glee Club's repertoire. 

I was entranced by the background. The next line blew me away: "it is conducted this evening by Morehouse College alumnus, Otis Byrd Jr.

Most songs most years are new to us. Each year the lights are turned off and each reader returns to light the candle and say "You are the light of the world" in their own language. Then candlelight fills the sanctuary and a combination of "Peace, peace" is sung by the choirs as the congregation sings "Silent Night." We walk outside and continue caroling together before being dismissed by the benediction. 

As with Muhlenberg, they modified the service the past two years. Other than seeing a few people wearing masks (and, yes, we all should have worn masks indoors) it felt magical once again.

May we return to walking around NYC to see the holiday displays and other traditions. May we all remain COVID-free, too.

Let there be peace, peace on earth.

"You Can't Take it with You"

 As I wrote the previous post about Don's parents' bequests I thought of the play "You Can't Take it with You." The play has been on my mind since seeing it last month in Notre Dame's black box theater.

Returning to the school was both familiar and odd. I feel much of my life has been a dichotomy lately, why should this have been any different?

As we walked up to the doors we bumped into Ashley's friends' parents. Since it was general admission seating, we sat with them, too. 

That was familiar.

Sitting across the aisle from one was the teacher who used to direct this show.

That was odd.

The conversation leaned towards the comfortable: what are our children up to. Of the small group, Ashley is the only one of her high school friends studying abroad in college. The other parents are encouraging internships that will lead to jobs and careers making money.

Before the show started I felt I had to justify that we are happy Ashley is going to Italy on exchanged. Thrilled she is studying art -- especially because on the surface it is useless (deep down, I know it is not).

I could hear the judgment in one mom's voice about squandering time to do that. I was seated next to her son who is thinking about going to Australia over the summer with a team to implement a bridge he has been working on. I implored him to go. He was on the fence. I know the experience will change him.

The play, for those of you who know nothing about it, is a bunch of eccentrics living in a house pursuing their passions. Grandpa left corporate America 30 years earlier. He wakes up every day and does what he wants -- attending commencements, enjoying fresh air, etc. His son makes pyrotechnics in the basement. His daughter-in-law is writing plays. His granddaughter keeps twirling and dancing. Over the years they've attracted others who stay for years. No one is particularly good at anything, but they all enjoy life.

By the end of the play, the mom seemed to understand why we are encouraging Ashley to spend a few months in Italy studying art. We anticipate none of her classes will advance her towards graduation, but she will still be on track to graduate in four years. None of them will likely lead to a career.

I can only hope and pray those few months have as much of an impact on her as a person as the year I spent in Belgium and the few months I spent in Paris have had on my life.

I also hope and pray, she won't bury the experience for decades like I did.

As for Don's parents, they couldn't take it with them, but they did what they felt was best and make sure others benefit from their savings.

Dedication at Ewing Church

When Don's mom, affectionally known to us as Honey Bunny, passed away in 2017 she left a couple of bequests. One was to Otterbein College (see page 32) where she and the love of her life met. The other was to Ewing Presbyterian Church.

Last weekend the church held a ceremony to dedicate the new front porch on the church office and the new handicap lift in the education building. During the two-part dedication ceremony, church representative Don L. added they tithed the bequest, and local organizations received surprise donations on her behalf. As he read the list, it felt endless. I mean that in both a good and bad way.

We also donated a picture she painted of the Victorian house next to the picture and asked that it be in lieu of a plaque. They bought a bronze plaque anyway. Thankfully that is smaller than they intended. 

My feelings that day were torn. I am proud of my mother-in-law for thinking of others upon her death. Don's parents were faithful donors to both the church and their alma mater (though, after Don graduated from college, he learned learned they did not graduate from the school). Both organizations were surprised by the generous bequests (I am glad they did not announce a dollar amount, nor will I since it is not my story to tell). Many say they'll do that, but don't.

On the other hand, I wish they had spent more of the money on themselves while they were alive. Honey Bunny collected many travel brochures, but the only trips they took where when we physically took them on vacation. Even those trips were only three or four days long (Don's dad's expression was after three days fish and friends smell, or something to that effect). Their home was modest. Honey Bunny was a packrat spending much money on UFOs (a nickname given by crafters to UnFinished Objects) and books. Stuff.

We come into this world with nothing. We take nothing into the next world.

A few pictures from the day:

Thanksgiving Celebrations Over the Years

Once again this year we attended our town's ecumenical Thanksgiving service. It was hosted by the B'hai community and hosted at the Lawrence Community Center. Though better attended than last year, the world is still recovering from COVID. Best estimate, we had between 75 and 100 people.

What stood out to me was a homily by a member of the B'hai community. He started to tell us about his favorite Thanksgiving. For him it is the current Thanksgiving as he is thankful for the fairly quick repair of his heater, something his friends in war-torn Kyiv can only dream about happening.

His opening made me ponder my past Thanksgivings and try to identify my favorite one.

Growing up our Thanksgivings usually involved a blending of my mom and dad's families to the extent it took me years to figure out who belonged on which side. Something I yearned for my future children to experience, but, alas, did not. 

Once I started dating Don, Thanksgiving dinners were always a formal dinner with the adults in the dining room and the kids (all cousins) in the dining room. As a college-aged person at first I was excited to graduate from the kids' table, but often I yearned to be back to those a decade younger than me instead of a decade older. Thanksgiving shifted to being celebrated Veterans Day Weekend instead because it was an easier travel weekend for the Massachusetts crew. 

Like the tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving with the Koetting extended family, celebrating with the Pillsburys fizzled. We were back to celebrating with my side of the family, first in Paramus then in Robbinsville with whomever my parents invited.

Then there was the first year of COVID. And the second. Now the third. The family celebrations are just my parents, siblings, and our children. With Melissa missing it this year due to strep throat, and Stu having another obligation, we actually all fit around one table. We dressed more casually than we did when celebrating with the Pillsburys. There is no "kids" table or "adult" table -- even when there are two tables, people sit where they want. Though there have been a few celebrations when mom sets up "the sisters" table, and they take the grandchildren for themselves. Dan hides in another room because smells bother him. This is less annoying than when Cousin Lindsay used to hide under the dining room table like a pet dog (before anyone had a dog). She is about 30 now, but I still remember those days.

My worst Thanksgiving was when I was an exchange student in Belgium. I was homesick for a holiday they did not celebrate, they probably didn't even realize was happening back home. My vocabulary was not yet strong enough to explain why I was feeling so moody, or why I cried (or at least pouted) when they decided to have fish that day instead of (at least) chicken. At the time I did not like fish and was adamant about not eating fish, or not liking the smell of cooking fish. I think they loved fish, but (with the exception of that day) did not eat fish around me.

Ironically, my absolutely favorite Thanksgiving dinner was the year I was an exchange student in Paris. I lived with an assortment of expats, people who were extremely important in my life at the time, but 32 years later whose names I don't recall. We made our own "friendsgiving" before friendsgiving was a thing. I was in charge of cranberry sauce -- an item (at the time) cost about fifty cents in our local grocery store (I can still find it for $1.19 at Wegmans). One I paid close to $10 for in a specialty grocery store in Paris. It was worth it. Thanksgiving is just not the same without cranberry sauce. As this was before I learned how easy it is to make cranberry sauce, I needed a jar with the ridges. 

Mulling over what made that Thanksgiving so special reminded me of other Friendsgiving celebrations I have enjoyed. Kevin, a friend from my college fraternity days, used to host an annual celebration on Thanksgiving weekend. In his small, one bedroom apartment he would cook a feast and invite everyone he knew in the area to attend. Don, Ashley, and I often won the furthest traveled "award," while Adam (who lived next door) won the award for traveling the least. All in good humor. I have often been amazed by how easy he made it look entertaining about 30 people in his small space, when I struggle to host groups in our home. I found it easier (somehow) to entertain in our row home than I have found entertaining in our four-bedroom colonial. I wish I could figure out the difference. There is certainly more space for entertaining here -- but also more spaces that have to be cleaned. Our lives shifted from entertaining other couples to entertaining other families, which meant calendars became more complicated. For a long time at Kevin's parties, we were the only ones coming with children. He now has some friends with kids.

Another Friendsgiving celebration is with Debbi and Mike. This year's celebration was fairly small by their standards -- about 25 guests. The adults all fit around one table. The teens around another. As their parents moved to Florida, they realized they still wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving, so they began hosting friends the weekend before Thanksgiving, and making 130+ meals for shut-ins on Thanksgiving. It is all quite generous of them. We enjoy catching up with their friends whom we have not seen since the previous Friendsgiving. The setting is formal, yet not. They use china, which then goes in the dishwasher. There are linens on top of a plywood table. We sit on folding chairs. It is quite an interesting dichotomy. 

This feels like an odd place to end, yet, two days after Thanksgiving, I don't know how to continue. Maybe I should end with some dreams for future Thanksgivings. As long as my parents (well, mostly mom) wants to continue hosting, we'll let her. I'll continue to do what I can to make it happen (make side dishes, wash up afterwards). When things change, we are the most likely people to host. As we learned with COVID, it is nearly impossible to make plans for the future. Best to just go along and make changes as need be.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We knew it would happen ... COVID

Throughout this COVID-19 journey I have been among the first to receive my vaccine and booster shots, including receiving shot #5 only six weeks ago. I thought I was doing enough to keep it at bay. Perhaps I was, since it took this long for me to test positively.

The weekend before leaving for Barcelona Ashley came home for Fall Break. Two days after returning to school she called home to say she tested positive for COVID. Like us, she was fully vaccinated. 

We studied every twinge, every possible symptom and decided to move forward with our plans to go to Spain. While in Spain we walked about 30,000 steps a day and enjoyed life. The day of the return flight Don had a runny nose. I felt so great I was doing laps in the airport in an attempt to wear myself out for the flight. Once we came home I took my usual post international flight nap, but couldn't find the energy to walk the last 2,500 steps needed to reach 10,000 steps that day. I figured I'd feel better the next day.

When Don woke up feeling worse, we knew we should test for COVID. He was positive. I took the test, too, because by then my nose was dripping. The souvenir no one really wants.

All along I knew it was a matter of WHEN we caught COVID, not IF. My wish was it would be at a time when it was not going to disrupt my life too much. I go lucky in that sense -- our post vacation plans were minimal. I was given permission to just rest for a few days.

Don and I seem to take turns on who feels better. He is napping while I am watching Netflix and blogging. I suspect later I'll need a nap and he'll be the one doing something productive.

Instead of averaging 30,000 steps a day, I'm averaging 1,500 steps a day. I look forward to feeling stronger, but trying to embrace this is where I am right now.

Update: it took me two weeks before I was testing negative again. Don didn't bother to test. Day 9 we went to Muhlenberg to see Ashley Deck Stage Manage "Three Penny Opera." It was a three-hour show. We were so glad to only have to drive across town to a hotel as the next day we were back again to enjoy Family Weekend. We clearly were not feeling as well as we wanted to since by 3 pm we drove home and didn't do much the rest of the day.

Grateful for the vaccines, though frustrated we received our most recent booster only 6 weeks earlier and it did not stop us from getting COVID. At no point did we feel the need to go to the hospital. For the most part we felt well enough to drive for curbside pick up. Don did take a few days off from work. I was not scheduled to work on the days I was the most tired, which helped. When I did return, I was still working from home and able to stay away from others (which they appreciated). 

It lingers. I've run a few times since catching COVID, but I've also noticed I'm less restless and more content to sit on the couch with a book than go out and DO SOMETHING. 

The best advice for those who have not had it, is to continue to avoid it. Barring that, take it easy and listen to your body.