The Family That Plays Together

Every other year or so, the theatre group that I perform with puts on a show called “Remembering the 40’s.” The show is a revue made up of songs, dances, and sketches from the 1940s, starting just before the U.S. entered World War II, and ending with a celebration of New Year’s Eve, 1949. There are scenes of the soldiers at the front receiving letters from home, the women back home working in the factories and selling war bonds, several scenes from the Rodgers and Hammerstein classics South Pacific and Oklahoma, dance performances by a group of alumnae of the Radio City Rockettes and others, and a full-scale radio show. There are actors portraying such celebrities as Jack Benny, George Burns and Gracie Allen, Bob Hope, Rita Hayworth, Abbott and Costello, Jimmy Durante, and Mel Blanc.

This show has always been very special to me (see this blog entry). I often comment that it is my favorite show to perform with this group. Seeing the people I portray on stage in the audience watching my performance is both humbling and exciting. But this year’s performance was extra-special to me because not only did I get to perform with my husband, but with both my children as well.

One of my favorite scenes in the show is the song, “Be a Good Soldier.” The song is sung by a father who is in the army and going off to war. He is reminding his young son to take care of his mother, to obey her, and to remember and pray for his daddy while he is away overseas. The scene is sung to the side of the stage while it is acted out in a spotlight in the center of the stage. This year, my son played the part of the young boy. He is a rather intense and sometimes serious young man, and he took his part very seriously. The man portraying the soldier was absolutely wonderful with him. He whispered to him quietly to coach him about what was going on, “Give me a big hug,” “Let’s look out to the audience,” “Now give me a salute.” Any changes or corrections he was given (look back at your dad when you leave, turn towards the audience instead of away, nod when Daddy gives you the baseball glove), he remembered every time. I was so proud of him. And I was so pleased that he genuinely enjoyed being up there on stage.

The opening of the second act of the show was another opportunity for my son to be on stage, along with my daughter. The second act is a radio show, so at the opening, a family is sitting around an old-fashioned radio, listening to snippets of “The Lone Ranger,” “Abbott and Costello,” “Amos and Andy,” “Jimmy Durante,” and “Henry Aldrich.” I dug through our toy box and came up with an old wooden fire truck and a jointed teddy bear that both looked like they came from the 1940s, and our wonderful costumer came up with a flannel nightgown and some striped pajamas for the kids to wear. The kids behaved exactly as kids would have at that time: My son played with his toy and reacted to what was playing on the radio; my daughter was somewhat oblivious and just wanted to curl up on my lap and snuggle. It worked.

But as much as being on the stage with my kids was wonderful, being backstage with them was even more wonderful. My son camped out in the men’s dressing room with Dad; my daughter camped out in the women’s dressing room with me. And when I say “camped out,” I really mean “camped out.”

She had a little nest in a corner behind a door, and between shows she took a little nap there. But when she was awake, she flitted around the room, admiring people’s hair and jewelry and dresses, and chattering away to anyone who would listen to her. I was a bit worried that she would get in people’s way and make a nuisance of herself, but instead, she became the darling of the entire female cast.

And I hear that my son was just as much of a hit in the men’s dressing room, laughing uproariously at the cheesy jokes the men were telling and chatting a bit himself.

But perhaps the most exciting thing about doing this show with my kids was discovering the interest they both took not only in the process of performing, but in the history of what we were doing. Obviously, at age 4, my daughter doesn’t really understand the historical context. But she does understand that when I put on my plaid flannel shirt and bandana, I am playing a woman who went to work in a factory, and that when Daddy marches across the stage wearing a helmet and a green uniform, he is playing a soldier. She understands that people didn’t always have television but that they used to listen to stories on the radio and use their imagination, like we do when we read a book. It may not be history, exactly, but it is the foundation that will help her understand the past better later on. My son, on the other hand, at age almost 6 (going on 37), understands a lot more than I expected. He asks questions about the songs he learned just from sitting in on a few rehearsals, and we’ve had some incredible discussions about what it’s like when there’s a war going on, and what kinds of things cause countries to go to war. We compared war to a fight at school when two kids want the same toy, and we talked about how it’s better to figure out a way to share or take turns or work together to find another of the same toy, instead of hitting each other and both pulling at the toy and often breaking it so no-one gets to play with it.

Throughout my discussions with both of my children, I was continually reminded of the quote, “Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it.” By beginning to learn history so young, I hope that my children can incorporate their knowledge of human history throughout their lives, carefully choosing what parts of history are worthy of trying to repeat, and which parts they want to work to avoid repeating at all costs. If they can learn that and use it in their lives, then I’ve done my job as a parent.

Who knew that would be the result of having my kids sitting on a stage in their jammies pretending to listen to a radio?

Swing Time

Although I know that many of my friends who read this blog are theater performers, I’m sure that some of you reading this are not, so let me give you a bit of background on today’s topic: Theatrical understudies. Actually, not just understudies, but also standbys and swings.

As you all probably know, an understudy is someone who learns a major role in a production in order to provide coverage if the original actor has to miss a performance. Most major roles in professional theater productions have an understudy. Sometimes the understudy knows well in advance when he or she will perform; for example, if the star is going on vacation for a few weeks. Sometimes he or she gets a few hours’ notice if the star is ill and unable to go on that day. And sometimes he or she gets tossed onstage mid-performance because the star begins a show but can’t finish for whatever reason. Some stars are afraid to let an understudy go on for them for fear that the understudy’s performance will be better than their own, and some stars are such passionate work-a-holics that they don’t want to miss a moment in the spotlight even if they’re not feeling well. The result of both situations is that occasionally the star will start a performance and not be able to finish it.

But besides an understudy, there is also a job called a “standby.” Much like an understudy, a standby learns a role and is prepared to step into it at a moment’s notice. The main difference between an understudy and a standby is that an understudy is generally a member of the cast, whereas a standby is an outsider. A standby is usually required to come to the theater (or at least be nearby, much like a doctor who is “on call”) just prior to a performance and stay until intermission. An understudy, being a member of the cast, is of course already at the theater for the performance. But when an understudy steps in for a lead, the understudy’s role – usually a small role or featured ensemble part - is often left open, which brings us to the third category: swings.

A swing is a member of a cast, usually someone in a minor role or part of the ensemble, who learns multiple other minor chorus or dance roles. Sometimes a swing will step into a role because the actor in that role is ill or injured, but most often a swing covers the role normally played by an understudy who is stepping into the star’s shoes. Unlike an understudy or a standby who usually gets the opportunity to perform their role during a rehearsal or two, a swing is pretty much expected to pick up his or her covered roles by seeing the show and reading the script. A swing often steps into a role for the very first time in front of an audience.

Being an understudy or a standby is a tough job, because you’re always stepping in for the star, and often people are disappointed by your mere presence, regardless of how talented you are or how fine a performance you give. But to me, the toughest job of all is being a swing. Not only do you have to know two or three (or even four or five) different roles, you don’t get to rehearse any of them, you don’t usually have costume fittings so if you don’t happen to be the same size as whomever you’re covering you wear whatever the costumer has on hand in your size that sorta kinda suits the period and the character; and worst of all, nobody really notices how amazing you are when you do all that.

And yet, if I had to choose whether I wanted to be an understudy or a swing, I’d be a swing every time. How much fun to be able to play a whole bunch of characters in a show! What an adrenaline rush from jumping into a role cold in front of an audience and knowing that you’ll either sink or swim! What fun to know a show so well that you can step into any of a number of roles and cover their vocals, their blocking, their choreography, and their character so perfectly that no-one in the audience will know anything’s different. I know someone that has performed in the Broadway cast of Phantom of the Opera for 20 years. He is a swing who covers half a dozen roles, but I have no doubt that at this point he could successfully step in to any role in the entire production, including the Phantom and probably even Christine. I’m sure that after 20 years, he knows every nuance of every performance in the show and could mimic each one faithfully. How much fun to know a show that well!

This may not be true of non-theatrical types, but I bet that all my theater friends, just like me, have at least one show that you’ve seen or listened to the cast album of enough times that you can recite the entire script and score verbatim. And be honest: you’ve totally acted out all the characters in your living room while you were home alone, haven’t you. Yes, yes, you have. And so have I.

And that’s why it’s so fun for me to be in Reagle’s annual Christmas show – we’ve all done it so many times that 90% of the cast could be swings for any given role. And the best part of it is that we often are! Sometimes someone needs to miss a performance or two, or someone gets ill, and whomever is available to fill in for that bit part just steps up and does it. No hoopla, no curtain announcement, often no chance to run it through ahead of time. Just remember what you’ve seen dozens of times, do the best you can, and trust everyone around you to steer you in the right direction if you’re off.

I haven’t had much opportunity to be a swing so far. I think my second year I filled in for one of the “girls wearing the same coat” – a role that lasts for all of 12-1/2 seconds, but it was fun and gave me a taste for it. A couple of years ago I got to be a swing in the barbershop quartet of the Irish show. But this year I get to be a swing for a slightly more featured role: “Second Clerk.” I get to sing in a quartet that repeats 8 bars of music four different times. It may not sound like much, but it’s still pretty exciting! There are an awful lot of people in that scene that I need to work around and with and fit into traffic patterns. I need to hand off a prop (to my own husband, of all people, so I’d BETTER NOT screw it up). And I need to wear a microphone, something I’ve never had to do before in the Christmas show. It’s very exciting.

It’s swing time!

 

Curtain Up, Light the Lights

Tonight is opening night of Reagle Music Theatre’s annual production of “ChristmasTime.” It’s the 5^th time I’ve performed in the show, and I know it well. I know where my entrances are, how much time I have for each costume change, and which props I carry in each scene. I’ve memorized my music and I know my blocking. I’m even solid on my choreography (which is officially a Christmas miracle). I have no fear of making a mistake or not knowing what to do if something goes wrong. And yet, I still have butterflies in my stomach.

The first time I performed in this show, I was terrified on opening night. But that time, I wasn’t entirely sure of my entrances, I depended on others to tell me what costume to change into next, I still wasn’t solid on all my lyrics and blocking, and I was definitely shaky on some of the choreography. But I got through it with the help of veterans who nudged me into position, made sure I was in the right costume, whispered upcoming dance steps, and just generally shepherded me around. And each succeeding year, I was more comfortable and more confident, and the terror subsided into fear, then jitters, and now, it’s pure excitement.

It’s exciting to be a part of a performance that plays such an important role in so many people’s holiday seasons. There are audience members who have seen this show every year for the past 20 years or more. There are people in the audience who used to come with their parents and who now bring their children. There are parents in the audience watching their children play elves who used to play elves themselves. There are new audience members who, by intermission, have already decided to make the show an annual tradition with their family. I have never yet not been thanked by someone in the audience for making their Christmas extra-special.

What a joy to be a part of something with such a rich tradition! What a blessing to be a blessing to others during this holiday season. What a privilege to bring a message of hope and joy and thanksgiving at a time of year when that message is so often lost in the busy shuffle of shopping and entertaining and chauffeuring kids to parties and activities. We may be up on stage to bring joy to the audience, but we can hardly help bringing joy to our own hearts, as well.

No wonder it gives me butterflies.

Same Time Next Year

Five years ago, I performed in the Reagle Players’ annual production of “It’s ChristmasTime” for the first time. I was newly in love with the man who would soon become my husband, and that new love was imprinted on every scene that we did together. And every year since, re-staging those same numbers brings back the thrill and excitement of falling in love, truly in love, for the very first time.

I’ve often said that because we were older when we got married (I was 39; he was 45), we cherish our relationship more than some. People who marry young and who have been in the same relationship for basically all of their adult lives must find it so easy to take that relationship for granted. And as the often-exhausted parent of two small children, I can see that it is also easy to let the husband-wife relationship fall to the bottom of the priority list once you’re busy playing mom and dad all the time. So I am thankful that I have this event every single year that brings back to my mind everything that made me fall in love with my husband.

This show is really the perfect venue to sum up our relationship. Since it’s a similar production from year to year, it’s put together very quickly with a minimal rehearsal schedule. Which is great for the veterans, but it means that the newbies get a LOT of stuff thrown at them in a very short time. Those of you who know me personally know that I don’t do well with last-minute information, and any of you who have ever performed in a show with me know that I totally stress out about last-minute changes to blocking and choreography. So to get music one month before the show, learn choreography a week before the show, and see a costume plot two days before the show was incredibly stressful for me. Not to mention not knowing the order of the show until dress rehearsal. Most men would have been ready to wring my neck with my constant questions and anxiety, but my sweetheart was patient and understanding, and constantly reassured me that I would be just fine – and, more importantly, assured me that he would be by my side to make sure nothing went wrong. During that first production, I learned that I could trust and rely on him. And he learned that I was willing to step out of my comfort zone to make him happy. Interestingly enough, we now have several scenes where I arrive on stage first and look around for him, then he comes from behind and takes my hand or puts his arm around me. That, too, is a good symbol of our relationship: I was right where I was supposed be, but I was alone and looking for someone, and as soon as he appeared I felt happier and had more of a purpose.

So every year, as we once again step on that stage, my heart goes back to the place where it was all those years ago seeing my husband through the eyes of love, fresh and unspoiled. It’s good for me, and it’s good for US, to be able to remember so clearly what our love was like before it was clouded with the cares of children and money and jobs and reality. And so every year, I look forward to that magic reset button. What do you say, sweetheart? Same time next year?

In 2007, we were newly in love

In 2008, we were newlyweds

[In 2009 I didn’t perform because I was busing having a baby the day of the first rehearsal]

In 2010, we found out on opening night that we were expecting baby #2

In 2011, we were officially "married with children"

And in 2012, we will be happily continuing the tradition in a few short weeks!

June 3 Photo: On My Plate

When I first saw the assignment “On Your Plate,” I thought about it quite literally. I imagined a photograph of either a beautiful gourmet meal waiting to be eaten, or possibly the remnants of a beautiful gourmet meal sadly waiting to be washed away. But as I thought about it a bit more, I was reminded of the many projects and tasks I currently have “on my plate.”

As most of us do, I have a mental list of things I would like to work on (or start, or finish) over the next few days, weeks, and months. Some of them are pretty major, like repainting the living room or building a three-season porch. Some of them are pretty minor, like putting my winter clothes in the attic or dropping off the kids’ outgrown clothes at Goodwill or cleaning out the toybox. Some of them are somewhere in the middle, like buying my daughter a dresser or putting away all the laundry in the laundry room or getting my car inspected. Some of them are interesting, some of them are exciting, and a lot of them are pretty mundane and boring. But one of the most interesting – and challenging – tasks currently on my plate is refurbishing the Wooden Soldier costumes.

Some of you who live near me may be familiar with the Reagle Music Theatre of Greater Boston. One of their most well-known productions is their annual Christmas show. And one of the most beloved numbers from the show is a recreation of the Radio City Rockettes’ famous March of the Wooden Soldiers from their Christmas Spectcular, a precision military march that ends with a line of Wooden Soldiers being “shot” with a cannon and falling slowly, like a line of dominos. It is my understanding that Reagle is the only performing group in the country other than the Rockettes themselves who have the legal rights to perform this original choreography, and even better than that, we own a set of the original Radio City Rockettes’ costumes. It is an amazing number, and one of my personal favorites of the entire Christmas production.

And I am honored to have been asked to help to refurbish those costumes. Over time, some of the bright colors have begun to fade. So the Reagle folks spent hours of time researching and finding suppliers for the original fabric and trim, or as close to it as possible. And I, along with several other seamstresses, was tasked with analyzing the existing costumes to faithfully recreate the pieces that needed replacing. I carefully created a pattern, put it together, compared it to the original, tweaked it a bit, compared it again, and kept adjusting until I was certain that my recreation was a perfect match to the spectacular (no pun intended) original. And now that I have made all the replacement pieces, I have a set of the costume jackets in my living room waiting to be brought to new life. It’s exciting, it’s intimidating, and it’s beautiful!

And that’s what’s on my plate.

Giving a Little Bit Back

Tonight, a group of singers from Reagle Music Theater are dressing up in our Victorian garb and going caroling. But this isn’t just any caroling outing. This is a very special gift of caroling, because we are caroling at a hospice facility. (http://www.parmenter.org/hospice.cfm)

Those of you who know me personally know that both my parents were served by hospice care at the end of their lives. In my dad’s case, he had hospice nurses caring for him at home for several months; in my mom’s case, she lived at an inpatient hospice facility for about a week. In both cases, the workers we met were unbelievably caring, compassionate, and helpful to not only the patient, but to the family. They offered us support and understanding. They made all the difference in the world in incredibly difficult circumstances. And with my dad passing away in September and my mom passing away in April, we had some time to process our grief before the holiday season arrived. I can only imagine how much more difficult it must be for families that have a loved one in hospice during the Christmas season.

How does someone “celebrate” what they know will be their last Christmas? How does a family celebrate the holiday knowing the grief that is soon to follow? Giving presents isn’t really appropriate. Most hospice patients are ill enough that they can’t enjoy a special meal or edible treat. Many of them are in too much pain or too semiconscious to even appreciate conversations with family. But nearly all of them can hear and enjoy music. And most of them know Christmas carols from their earliest childhood and associate them with happy memories of family celebrations. So hearing Christmas carols is one gift that we can give both patients and their families that is a way for them to celebrate the holiday one last time, something that can be a happy memory for them of their final Christmas with their loved one.

Both of my kids were up in the middle of the night last night and I’m sure by the time this evening rolls around I’ll be pretty tired. But knowing that I might be bringing a small bit of joy into the lives of some people who are struggling to find joy in this usually joyous season is enough to motivate me to get going and do it. And when I get home, I’ll give my little angels (and my big angel, too) an extra-tight squeeze and an extra-long kiss, in thankfulness and joy that they are healthy, happy, and home, and I’ll say an extra prayer for all of those whose loved ones are none of those things.

"ChristmasTime" Is Here!

For the past four years, my kickoff to the Christmas season has been performing in (or at least watching) the Christmas production of Reagle Music Theatre. Reagle has been performing this show for nearly 40 years. It’s modeled after the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, and includes Rockette-style dancing (including the March of the Wooden Soldiers, complete with the impressive fall at the end); a large vocal ensemble; a teddy bear Nutcracker; dancing and singing Santas, elves, schoolgirls, and Raggedy Anns and Andys; an audience singalong; a visit from Santa; and a living Nativity. It’s a treat for all ages, and it’s a wonderful festive celebration of Christmas.

I first performed in this show when my husband and I were just dating. He knew I was a performer, and he told me that he only wanted to do the show that year if I did it with him, since the rehearsal schedule for the month of November is intense enough that we wouldn’t be able to see each other much unless we both performed in the show. I was flattered that he considered me talented enough to join the group, and I warned him that I tend to get very anxious and a bit crazy during tech week, so if he saw me at my worst and still wanted to date me, I’d know we were on solid ground. He reassured me and coached me throughout the process, and I made many wonderful friends during that first year. And they were all delighted for both of us just a few weeks later when we announced our engagement.

The second year was much less stressful, because it was just refreshing my memory instead of having to learn everything from scratch, plus I was among friends from the very beginning. I was no longer one of the “newbies”; in fact, I was able to offer some help to the newbies that year because I had put together a bunch of notes and cheat sheets that I shared with them. It felt great to be able to offer help instead of asking for it. And of course, being a starry-eyed newlywed, every scene reminded me of the previous year when we were newly in love.

Our third Christmas together, we missed out on performing because I was busy giving birth to our son when rehearsals started. The wonderful specialness of that year was being in the audience and appreciating the performance from a spectator’s perspective, and also in having my son in the audience with us, at six weeks old, fascinated by the bright lights and beautiful music. His wide-eyed wonder was the perfect symbol of the season.

Last year was perhaps the most special performance at all, because I found out just a few hours before curtain on opening night that I was pregnant with our second child. And to make it even more special, during one performance, my husband sneaked our son into one of the scenes with kids.

This year marked my return to the stage after our daughter was born, and it was a special time for my husband and I, once again, to spend “couple time” together at rehearsals. Thanks to his wonderful mother and daughter, our kids were well taken care of while we rehearsed and performed, and we were able to enjoy some much-needed social and musical relaxation. And once again, as I was on stage, I recalled each past year of performing: falling in love, being a newlywed, being a new mother, and being a new mother again. This show is, in many ways, a symbol of both our growing love and our growing family. The message of the show is the peace and joy of the Christmas season, and the birth of Christ the Savior, and it reminds me that the holiday is not about giving or receiving physical gifts but about the gifts of love and sacrifice.

May we all be reminded of that as we go through this often hectic and tense Christmas season. May the joy and peace of the Christ Child fill each of your hearts in the coming days and weeks, as we approach the birthday of Him who brings salvation to the world. Oh come let us adore Him!

30 Days of Thanksgiving: Day 12

Today, the “person” or “cause” I am thankful for is not exactly either a person or a cause. Today, I am thankful for the Reagle Music Theatre of Greater Boston (http://www.reaglemusictheatre.com/).

I first performed with Reagle when I started dating my husband. He had performed with them for a number of years, and since I was also a theater performer, it was natural that he would invite me to do a show with him. The show we did was called “It’s ChristmasTime” and is based on the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. The binder of music I had to learn was intimidatingly thick, and the blocking and choreography, although not extensive, was a lot to learn in such a short time. Since the show is basically the same from year to year, and includes many of the same performers year after year, the rehearsal process is more of a refresher course than a full-out learning process. I was somewhat (read: completely) overwhelmed, but the performers around me all encouraged me and helped me out, reminding me of costume changes and subtly whispering the name of the next number or the next step when I drew a blank. It was a wonderfully warm and welcoming group and they made the experience so much fun.

In the years since that first show, I have appeared in a number of Reagle productions and have made many friends in the group. As theater friends often do, they have become my family as well as my friends. Ryan and Katie have dozens of honorary aunts and uncles who delight in hearing about their latest exploits and who love to visit with them. Cast parties feel more like family reunions. Despite varying ages, backgrounds, and political leanings, we all enjoy each other's company and can always find common ground.

I am so very thankful for all these people who share the joy of performing with me, and who have become such a dear part of my life.

Three things that I am thankful for today are: a wonderful pediatrician with a nearby office, the smell of my favorite shampoo, and the consistent good manners of a certain young boy who lives in my house. 

Happy Anniversary to Us!

Yesterday was our third wedding anniversary, and my wonderful husband spoiled me rotten by whisking me away to Newport for a whirlwind 24-hour trip. He made all the arrangements in secret and surprised me with a lovely, romantic, relaxing celebration.

We dropped off our son at my in-laws’ and headed down to Newport. When we arrived, our hotel room wasn’t quite ready, so we left our bags and took a stroll through downtown Newport, checking out some lovely boutiques and finding a quaint pub for lunch.

We found the glassworks shop where we had bought a lovely glass vase last year, and since the third anniversary is the glass anniversary (under the contemporary calendar, at least), we decided to find another knickknack as an anniversary present to ourselves. We chatted with the shop attendant and after considering a sculpted glass wave and a charming, curly-tentacled octopus, we settled on a lovely, deep amber glass vase similar to the one from last year. That wrapped up, we headed back to the hotel.

We had spa appointments, and since our room wasn’t ready, they took us in early; Herb for a massage and me for my first-ever facial. We disrobed and snuggled into the spa’s plush robes and comfy slippers and waited in the comfortable love seat of the lounge, listening to the soft trickle of a fountain and enjoying lemon-scented water until our attendants came to get us. The aesthetician settled me comfortably on a heated bed and examined my skin, which she pronounced “beautiful”, once she recovered from her horror over my admission that my skin care regimen consisted of soap and water plus an occasional dab of moisturizer. (If she knew I was lying about the latter she’d probably have fainted.) But she laid out an array of lotions and potions, told me to relax, and commenced the most thorough cleaning, exfoliating, massaging, steaming, masking, toning, and tightening that my skin has ever experienced. My pores have never been so clean and tight as they were when she finished with me, and my skin has never been as velvety smooth and glowing. I met Herb back in the lounge and he looked as relaxed as I felt. We dressed and went to check into our room.

Our bags were waiting when we arrived, and we took a few moments to check out the view before we began dressing for dinner. It was quite foggy by then, so there was little to see, but we could hear the haunting but lovely call of a horn buoy echoing through the mist. We found a television station that was showing clips of historic and beautiful sights around Newport, so as we relaxed, we enjoyed learning more about the fascinating city we were in. After that quick break, we got all dressed up for dinner – Herb in an impeccable white dinner jacket and onyx studs in his collar and cuffs, and I in a brilliant blue cocktail dress with the beautiful pearl necklace and bracelet Herb had given me for Valentine’s Day and my birthday. As we headed through the lobby, arm in arm, the concierge noted how elegant we looked and wished us a lovely evening. Herb brought the car around and the valet opened the door for me and gave me a smile and even a slight bow as I went through. Ever the gentleman, Herb opened my car door and made sure I was comfortably seated before closing me in.

Our dinner reservations were at the Castle Hill Inn, where we had eaten last year. After our meal last year, I pronounced it the finest meal – and in fact, the finest dining experience – I had ever had. I wondered if this year would be able to meet that standard. I never should have doubted. From the moment Herb dropped me off and went to park the car, I was treated like royalty. The hostess opened the door for me and escorted me to our table. We were the only diners in the room, which was a round, glassed-in section of the building that looked across a narrow lawn and out onto the ocean. The fog was so thick that the world seemed to vanish past the hedges with no glimpse of ocean in sight, but still the sound of a lonely foghorn echoing over the sea. A few wild bunnies were having their dinner at the edge of the hedges, adding a bit of country charm to the scene. And as the evening wore on, the gray fog took on a deep blue hue, eventually fading to a midnight blue-black, turning the windows to mirrors reflecting the glow of the candles on the tables and the sconces on the walls.

Our waiter remembered us from last year, as he had been our server then as well, and immediately brought us complimentary glasses of champagne. We toasted ourselves and then began to peruse the menu. Several dishes were familiar from last year, but several different items had been added to the menu. Herb recalled what a delightful way the waiter had of describing the various dishes, so we asked him to elaborate on several of the menu items. I was thinking of either the lobster or the duck, and was leaning towards the lobster, but after his vivid and mouth-watering description of the duck, I decided to go with his recommendation. He returned shortly with two freshly baked rolls still steaming from the oven, which he served by masterfully manipulating a pair of spoons like tongs. I enjoyed the bread while Herb studied the wine menu, eventually requesting a taste comparison of two different choices, again beautifully described by our waiter.

Shortly after the wine arrived (I didn’t have a glass, but I did thoroughly enjoy swirling and smelling Herb’s glass, and sampling a tiny sip), the waiter returned with an amuse bouche. This year’s tantalizing mouthful was a tiny slice of delicate veal served over a bed of chopped spring vegetables and garnished with a artistic swirl of veal jus. The meat melted in your mouth and the vegetables tasted like they had come from the garden less than five minutes ago. It was the perfect taste to stimulate the appetite and the senses.

Our first course arrived: Herb had scallops, served three in a row on a long narrow plate, with colorful and tasteful sauces and accompaniments adding both beauty and flavor, and I had a bowl of sunchoke soup. The soup was presented as a shallow bowl with a cake of lobster and other seafood topped with spring onions in it, and the waiter poured the rich broth over it with a graceful flourish. (Can you tell that the presentation of the food at this restaurant delights me as much as the food itself?) The soup was rich and flavorful, but somehow magically managed to not be filling, but instead to stimulate my appetite for the main course.

After a pause during which we were presented with two tiny bowls each containing a perfect scoop of strawberry-mango sorbet as a palate-cleansing intermezzo, our main courses arrived. Herb’s lamb was elegantly presented as two “lollipops” gracefully leaning against each other over a bed of vegetables and gnocchi. My duck breast arrived on a long, narrow plate, the tender, juicy slices leaning against each other like a splayed deck of cards, surrounded by swirls of salsify puree (no, I’m not sure exactly what that is either, but I can assure you it tasted magnificent) and laying over a cake of something marvelous involving potatoes. Neither of us spoke for several minutes as we took our first bites, both of us closing our eyes in ecstasy and making small, involuntary moans of pleasure as our taste buds were overcome by delicious sensations. We quickly exchanged bites, assuring each other than both meals were equally exquisite. I paused between bites, both to give myself time to thoroughly enjoy each succulent mouthful, and also to be sure to pace myself so I wouldn’t run out of room to finish the magnificent meal.

The crowning glory of any meal, in my opinion, is dessert, and I had no doubt by this point that the dessert could live up to the glorious dinner. Herb and I both selected the chocolate trio – and for once, we opted to each get our own instead of sharing. Our accompaniments of coffee (mine) and cognac (his) arrived just before the elegant desserts. On each plate, the words “Happy Anniversary” were spelled out in chocolate in an elegant script.

And they did not disappoint. From the rich chocolate cake with hazelnut ice cream to the spicy sponge cake with whipped cream topping, to the rich smoothness of the pot au crème, the dessert was the perfect ending to a perfect evening.

We arrived back at the hotel in time for a quick dip in the pool and soak in the whirlpool. The mist and rain had begun to cause my knees and hips to ache a bit, so I carefully perched myself on the edge of the whirlpool, soaking in the soothing heat of the water and letting the powerful jets massage my feet. I found a step that was the perfect height to stand on to get my hips in the water without immersing my belly, and dangled my hands in the water while I watched a pair of sisters frolicking in the swimming pool. Herb and I laughed and imagined Ryan and Rutabaga doing the same eight or ten years from now. Soothed and relaxed, we headed back to our room and were soon sound asleep in our soft, comfortable bed.

We woke up to a clear morning with only a few high grey clouds and a temperature at a very comfortable 60 degrees. We took another look at the view from our patio and could now see the harbor full of boats and the picturesque Newport shops. We shared the view with a pair of huddling seagulls.

We stopped at the concierge desk to ask for a breakfast recommendation and the question was hardly out of our mouths when the concierge told us firmly, “The Corner Café” and handed us a map, while wishing aloud that she could join us. The walk was just the right length to work up an appetite, which was a good thing, since the breakfast was both generous and delicious. There were a few other diners, several of whom seemed to be regulars who ordered without a menu and were handed their morning paper as if it had been delivered to the restaurant specifically for them. The waitress/proprietress had a charming Irish brogue and brought me a perfect mug of tea that immediately flashed me back to my days in Zimbabwe and my visit to England. Herb had a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a sprinkling of cocoa powder that he immediately pronounced delicious. My French toast was made from thick slices of homemade Portuguese sweet bread and served with maple pecan butter that melted into a rich glaze. I dipped each succulent bite into a puddle of real maple syrup and cooed in ecstasy, alternating the sweet gooey bites with crispy, smoky bacon. Herb’s pancakes were fluffy and light, and he managed to clean his plate. Sadly, I had to bid a sad farewell to the last half of my second giant slice of French toast, because I simply did not have enough room for all its rich goodness. We bid farewell to our charming hostess, promising to return next year, and headed off for another stroll to burn off our breakfasts.

We stopped by a few more quirky boutiques and admired the local architecture, stopping for a few more souvenirs before heading back to the hotel to reclaim our bags and head for home. As we were driving out of town, Herb spied a formalwear shop and decided to make a quick side trip, since he’s been looking for a new black bow tie. As he chatted with the owner about how difficult it is to find a tie-it-yourself bow tie and they commiserated about what a shame it is that no-one wears white pique shirts any more, I browsed the selection of cufflinks and shirt studs, and found a beautiful set of Masonic links and studs. I had been looking for something similar as a gift for Herb for several years now, so I was delighted to stumble across this treasure. But there was yet another treasure to be stumbled across in this shop: there was a photograph behind the counter that seemed to be of a man dressed as Tevye from “Fiddler on the Roof”. When we asked him about it, the owner admitted it was him and immediately began quoting lines from the show in a marvelously rich, sonorous voice. He was delighted to hear that we were also musical theater performers, and we exchanged stories about the groups we worked with. He pulled out another photo of himself in character, this time as Jud Fry from “Oklahoma!”, and broke into one of Jud’s songs in a rich, resounding baritone voice. Of course, we took his contact information and invited him to check out the Reagle Music Theatre of Boston – especially since the shows Reagle has on the schedule for this summer just happen to be “Fidder” and “Oklahoma!”. He was so delighted with our chat and with the fact that Herb was a Mason that he gave us a generous discount on our purchases, and we left feeling that we had made a delightful new friend.
 
We arrived at Herb’s folks’ just before Ryan finished his nap and were able to fill them in on all our adventures and hear the report that Ryan had behaved himself admirably and had thoroughly enjoyed his own adventures before he woke up. It was wonderful to get away, but it was just as wonderful to be back home. It was such a lovely anniversary that I think we’ll have another one next year at the very same time.

 

Opening Night! It's Opening Night!

Tonight is opening night for the Reagle Music Theatre’s annual production of “It’s ChristmasTime”! This is my third year performing in the show (I missed last year because I was busy giving birth and all that), and it has really become one of the main kickoffs of the holiday season for me.

The first time I did the show, Herb and I had only been dating for a few months. He had done the show a number of times previously, and really wanted to perform in it that year, but he admitted that the rehearsal schedule for the two weeks before the show and the performance schedule for the two weekends of shows was time-consuming enough that he didn’t want to do it unless I did it with him, since otherwise we wouldn’t be able to spend much time together. So I agreed, and dug an audition piece out of my repertoire, polished it up, and proceeded to totally plotz over it. Herb kept assuring me that I’d be fine and I shouldn’t even worry about it, but being the somewhat tightly-wound person that I am, I drove myself crazy, and then after the brief (probably about 60-second) audition and the official nod of approval, I wondered what I had been so nervous about.

For first-time performers, there’s an awful lot to learn. Some of the Christmas carols are familiar, but some are new and even the familiar ones are often unfamiliar arrangements or unusual harmonies. Some of the numbers have a bit of choreography, as well: step-touch here, raise your hands there, turn out to the audience on this word, turn off your candle on that. Nothing too complicated, but one more detail thrust into a brain that’s already full to overflowing. And then you need to know the order of the numbers and what you’re wearing in each – including shoes, hose, jewelry, and props. Herb made me a CD of a pervious performance and I kept it in my car at all times, listening carefully so I could pick out the correct harmony line and be sure I was singing what I was supposed to be. Herb reassured me over and over that it was okay if I forgot some of the words, and that people would nudge me into the right position or whisper the upcoming choreography if I needed it, but I was determined to get everything right all on my own. (Of course, I screwed up all over the place, but at least I made the effort. And Herb was right, nobody noticed.)

And yet, somehow I was able to get past my nerves and apprehension and enjoy being on stage with Herb. The singers are paired off for many of the numbers, and it was always reassuring to have my hand firmly tucked into Herb’s, knowing he’d be sure I was in the right place at the right time. I could see how much he was enjoying being on stage, and his pleasure made me enjoy being on stage, too. I remember watching him during a few of the men’s numbers and just enjoying his calm stage presence, listening to his wonderful voice and watching him come alive with the audience’s reaction. I fell even more deeply in love with him during those shows, if that was even possible.

And so now, after doing the show a few more times, I still get that new-love flutter in my heart when he catches my eye and takes my hand before we make our first entrance together. I still beam like a lovesick teenager when he puts on his sunglasses and grins impishly at the audience at the beginning of “Little Saint Nick”. And my heart still melts as he interacts with the children who come onstage for the sing-along. I remember the first time I saw that and I thought, “I wonder what he’ll be like with our children?” Because now I know exactly what he’s like. And it’s even better than I’d imagined.



On the First Day of Christmas

Since Herb and I perform in the Reagle Music Theatre’s annual production of “It’s ChristmasTime” every year, which runs the first two weekends of December and which generally involves us hosting a cast party, we always put up our Christmas decorations on the weekend after Thanksgiving. And by “Christmas decorations”, I don’t mean just the Christmas tree. We transform the entire house into a Christmas wonderland, inside and out. The top of the piano hosts an entire Christmas village, complete with a carousel, children throwing snowballs, a swan pond, a trolley, a theater, and a cobblestoned footbridge. The mantelpiece is filled with greens and berries and glitter-adorned candles, with an array of nutcrackers standing at attention. We drape swags of greenery over the entryway, across the living room ceiling, over the banisters, and around the mirror in the front hallway. The sideboard is cleared of its usual array of wineglasses and candlesticks to make room for the manger and the Magi. The chandelier gets bedecked with festive red bows. White icicle lights twinkle from the eaves. Wreaths adorn every door. And of course, the stockings are hung by the chimney with care.

But the crowning glory is always the Christmas tree. We are among the diehards who refuse to give in to an artificial tree. The feel, the scent, the imperfections and variations from year to year just can’t be imitated by an artificial tree. So we made our annual trek to Seasons Four in Lexington to get the complete tree-picking experience. We began by grabbing an unused flatbed cart in the parking lot, plopping Ryan onto it, and then making our way through rows and rows of fragrant green trees until we reached the section with the hardy Fraser firs. I love the rich smell of the balsams and the dusty color of the blue spruces, but when you put your tree up as early as we do, nothing beats the longevity of a Fraser fir. So while Ryan attempted to eat the red berries that were rolling across the flatbed, Herb pulled out tree after tree and we evaluated each one for symmetry, fullness, height, freshness, and overall personality. We soon found a lovely tree that had a beautiful shape and was full without being too big around for our room, and I evicted Ryan from his throne on the flatbed so Herb could have the tree trimmed and wrapped for the trip home. While he was doing that, Ryan and I went to visit the alpacas and the baby goats at the back of the tree lot. Ryan was more interested in the other children who were feeding the animals than he was in the animals themselves, but once he was standing nose to nose with a little grey goat who licked his fingers hoping for a treat, he got a little more interested.

It was getting a bit chilly by then, so we went inside to warm up for a few minutes and to check out all the theme trees inside. Ryan’s eyes were like saucers as he contemplated tree after tree full of twinkling white lights and glittering ornaments. We even found a Sesame Street-themed tree featuring Bert, Ernie, Cookie Monster, Oscar, Big Bird, and of course, his buddy Elmo. But leave it to Ryan, even as we were checking out the Sesame Street tree, he looked over my shoulder and announced, “K! K! K!” (which means “clock”, his latest obsession). I told him that no, there weren’t any clocks in here, but then I peered into the corner where he was pointing and wouldn’t you know, there was a clock with a 6-foot wide face. So we stood in front of that clock for a while as his face lit up with the wonder that is usually reserved for seeing the full stockings on Christmas morning, or sitting on Santa’s lap.

Eventually we tore him away from the clock and headed back home to unload the tree. We weren’t sure how he’d react to all the chaos and temptation of decorating the tree, so we waited until he was in bed to put up the tree and start decorating it. I’ll admit it: decorating the tree is my very favorite part of Christmas. And I especially love our tree, because we created a very special tree all our own just before we were married. I was living in an apartment with a cat who would have decimated a Christmas tree, so we decorated his house together. I don’t remember exactly what inspired us, but we decided to do a bird-themed tree, using glass icicles and baubles, snowflakes, pine cones, and every kind of bird ornament we could find. We cover the tree with hundreds and hundreds of tiny white lights and don’t use any tinsel or garlands (I’m a tinsel girl who hates garlands and Herb’s a bead/garland guy who hates tinsel – it was a very convenient compromise). We have dozens of feathered cardinal ornaments that add splashes of red everywhere, with a few bright blue jays, a goldfinch or two, a couple of robins, and even a jeweled hummingbird adding a dash of color here and there. The result, in my opinion, is breathtaking and glorious:

The crystal snowflakes, baubles, and icicles move gently with the warm air currents, catching the light and adding a gentle, ever-changing glimmer to the tree.

The cardinals nestling cozily into the crook of a limb, the chickadees perched pertly on the tips of branches, the blue jays seeming to cock their heads and fix their dark eyes on the observer, the majestic pheasant, the graceful dove, the proud peacock, the goldfinch flashing its bright gold feathers, the owls peeking wisely and watchfully from their perches, all the birds bring such a sweet, natural, peaceful beauty to the tree.

And so our bird tree is once again the centerpiece of our Christmas décor. It is festive, elegant, simple, and beautiful. And I hope it still will be when we have to put the playpen around it to protect it from a curious one-year-old who is just a bit too fascinated by it for his own good.

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar

Today, I am Superwoman. I am wearing so many hats that you can’t even see my head. I am mother supreme, I am master baker, I am prolific author, I am seamstress extraordinaire, and I am professional chanteuse. Fortunately, I am also an organizational whiz, otherwise I would never get everything done that needs doing today.

Ryan has been a bit clingy and whiny over the past few days, so he’s claiming a bit more attention than he otherwise might. And since he’s had a few babysitters lately and will be having a bunch more next week, I feel the need to give him extra cuddles and snuggles to reassure him that Mommy isn’t going anywhere. I want to be certain he feels secure and loved, even more so than usual. (Daddy would probably say I’m spoiling him a bit and he’s just fine – which of course he is – but that’s why babies have Mommies AND Daddies.) So instead of just letting him whine in his playpen for a few hours while I get other things done, I’m spending a lot more time playing with him, sitting and reading with him, and just generally keeping him company.

Next on the list is my one make-ahead item for Thanksgiving dinner: Parker House rolls. I love Parker House rolls. No, that’s not exactly true. I ADORE Parker House rolls. I could probably live for a week, quite happily, on nothing but Parker House rolls. And I have fond childhood memories of having Parker House rolls at family get-togethers like Easter, Christmas, birthdays, and of course, Thanksgiving. So since the pies are being contributed by various family members, I decided the one thing I’d make completely from scratch for Thanksgiving dinner (I’m not counting heating the veggies or gravy or even cooking the turkey or making the stuffing – there’s very little culinary finesse involved in those) would be a batch of fresh Parker House rolls. Making these rolls is not especially difficult, but it is time-consuming. And not just time-consuming, but time-dependent, since there are long pauses while the dough rises but when it’s ready, it has to be dealt with NOW! (Motherhood has prepared me well for that kind of demand, actually.) So as soon as Ryan went down for his nap, I went to work scalding and measuring and kneading. And providing that Ryan’s nap schedule cooperates (ha!), I should be able to get in the next step right before he wakes up from his nap and starts demanding his lunch.

And until that stage is reached, I have a few minutes to get my blog going. I often think about ideas for a blog entry at random times of the day or night, as something strikes me. Sometimes I even lie in bed at night, mentally composing the next day’s blog. (Sometimes I even remember them the next morning!) And then some days, I sit in front of a blank Word document and discover that my mind is just as devoid of ideas as the screen in front of me. Fortunately, most of the time all I need to do is mentally review the previous day and there’s something that Ryan did that is fertile material for a blog entry. And today was one of those days when I did have a nervous moment staring at the screen – but even while I was staring, my inside voice was reminding me, “You need to check the rolls! You need to finish that hem! You need to memorize your lyrics!” And I knew what today’s blog would be. So here I am, inviting all of you into the glorious chaos that is my life.

If by some chance I manage to finish this entry and the rolls aren’t ready for the next step and Ryan is still napping, I’ll have a chance to jump back into my role as seamstress. As many of you who know me personally are aware, for the past few years (with the exception of last year, when I was kind of busy with a new baby), Herb and I have performed in the Reagle Music Theatre’s annual Christmas production, “It’s ChristmasTime!” This is a wonderful show that I look forward to every year. Herb and I first performed in the show together when we were just dating, so it will always have a special place in my heart. But aside from that, it is a show full of wonderful performers who are also my dear friends, and it is a show full of wonderful Christmas music, both familiar and a bit less common. And it is a delightfully festive way to begin the Christmas season, both for the audience and for the performers. The interesting thing for the performers is that every year, the cast is a mix of new performers and cast members who have done the show for ten, fifteen, even twenty or more years. It’s a joy to us veterans to watch the newbies flounder but then find their feet, to recall our own moments of terror and feeling of unpreparedness, and to reassure them that no-one will notice if they sing the wrong words, and that if they forget where to go next someone will nudge them into the right spot.

But part of the challenge in having so many newcomers in the cast is that they all have to somehow get costumes. Reagle has a pretty extensive stock of costumes, but there is still a limited number of sizes to fit an unlimited number of various-sized bodies. Which means that there are always piles of last-minute alterations. A skirt to be hemmed here, a vest to be let out there, a zipper to be mended, a hook to be re-stitched, a pulled seam to be re-sewn. So after last night’s rehearsal, I found myself heading home with a stack of costumes needing little mends and tweaks. I spent last night taking my seam ripper to this and my needle and thread to that, digging through my sewing box for a length of fabric in the right shade of brown or a hook the right size to fit an existing loop. And this morning most of the pile was still remaining, so while Ryan is either dozing upstairs or curiously peering over the playpen wall to see what I’m doing, I’ll be continuing to sew up a storm until everything in the “to be done” pile is finally in the “done” pile.

The reason that I need to get it all into the done pile today is that we have one more rehearsal tonight, and I need to deliver everything to their rightful owners in case any more tweaks are needed. Which means that as well as finishing all my sewing, I need to polish up my own music. It’s amazing how much two years and having a baby can dissolve blocking and lyrics out of a person’s brain. But I have no doubt that a few more run-throughs and it’ll all be back in my head. (And if it’s not, I’m sure some of the 20-year veterans will nudge me back into the correct spot.)

Hm, did I remember everything? Oh wait – I forgot to put eating on the schedule. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll make up for any missed meals on Thanksgiving Day.

Remembering the 1940s

This weekend, Herb and I will be performing in the Reagle Music Theatre’s production of “Remembering the 1940s”. We did the show together two years ago, and as we rehearse, not only do the lyrics come back to my mind and the dances come back to my feet, the emotions also come back to my heart. I had intended on writing a new blog entry today reflecting on the show, but I don’t think I can put it any better than I did following the production two years ago. So today’s entry is a reprint of the entry I wrote back then. And if reading it makes you interested in experiencing the show yourself, please visit Reagle’s website at www.reagleplayers.org for tickets to any of this weekend’s performances, at 2pm and 7pm on Saturday, September 25th and at 2pm on Sunday, September 26th.


War and Remembrance (originally posted on September 28, 2008)

This weekend I performed in the Reagle Players' production of "Remembering the 40s". The show is a revue of 1940s era music, mixed with scenes and skits from that time period. The first act opens with a fun dance number with youngsters dancing and romancing, without a care in the world, and then we see a projection of a newspaper headline announcing of the bombing of Pearl Harbor and a voiceover of President Roosevelt solemnly intoning, "December 7th, 1941, a date which will live in infamy." Suddenly the carefree young men are being drafted into the Army and sent overseas while the young women are on the homefront, raising money for the war effort and waiting for their men to come home. We see the troops bidding farewell to their loved ones, being entertained by the USO, and huddling miserably in camp, waiting patiently and hopefully for letters from home. We see the women working in the factories, patiently carrying on life at home. The act ends with their joyful reunion, and then Act 2 continues as a 1940s radio broadcast, complete with Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, Burns and Allen, Abbott and Costello, and cheesy radio commercials ("Try Rrrrrrrrrrrexall Bismarex!!"), as well as the "Cavalcade Singers" performing patriotic and traditional numbers from the time, from "Sentimental Journey" to "In the Mood" to "Cuanto la Gusta" to "The Stage Door Canteen".

When we started rehearsing the show, I thought of it as a delightful time capsule; patriotic Irving Berlin songs that made me want to sit up straight or march in place, charming jazzy songs like "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" and "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" that made me want to jump up and dance. I understood that these fun, upbeat songs were the generation's way of keeping their chins up, of cheering up a dismal nation, of boosting the morale of people who were tired of war and just wanted their loved ones to come home safely. But until I was singing those songs in an auditorium full of men and women who had lived it, who had sat at home and wondered if they would ever see their father/brother/husband/boyfriend again, who had lived in cold, dusty, insect-infested war camps, who had taken refuge in foxholes and trenches amid enemy fire, I don't think I got the full impact of the show. I was re-enacting USO shows for men who'd seen the original. I was playing the part of a Rosie the riveter who was sitting in the audience right in front of me. These people were the very youngsters we'd seen spooning in the soda shop in the opening number - and the same youngsters whose lives had been shattered by Roosevelt's words. Suddenly the scenes we were portraying had a lot more significance.

As a performer, the best reward I can get is for members of the audience to tell me how much they enjoyed my performance, and I love being in the lobby as patrons are leaving, seeing their glowing faces and hearing their appreciative comments. But the comments after these performances were extra-special, as arthritic hands reached out to touch my arm and tiny women with white hair and sparkling eyes thanked me for reminding them of their youth, or stoop-shouldered men wearing hats or pins with military insignias wordlessly and solemnly nodded their thanks. I felt so inadequate as I thanked them for their service, for their sacrifice. All I did was get up on a stage and sing and dance. They are the heroes who gave their youth, their lives, for our country, so that my generation still has all the freedoms they prized so highly. I am honored and humbled to represent them in this show, and I hope that by being part of it, I am a little more aware of and grateful for the freedoms that I enjoy every day because of their bravery and sacrifice.

My White Knight

Let me preface this blog with a warning: Schmoop Alert! Schlock Alert! Soppiness Alert! Treacle Alert! Gross, Slobbery Romanticism Alert! Okay, you’ve been warned. Read on at your own personal risk of drowning in gooey sentiment.

Yesterday, I went to see a production of Meredith Willson’s “The Music Man” put on by the Reagle Music Theater in Waltham, MA. Over the past few years, I’ve seen a dozen productions at this theater and I’ve performed in a number of them myself. But Music Man has a special place in my heart because it’s the first show I ever saw here. And when I saw it, I had no idea that within a few short years I’d be married to the show’s photographer, I’d be the aunt of the adorable pair of child dancers, and I’d be friends with both leads and the majority of the cast. So of course, I listened to every line and every lyric with a certain sentimentality.

But the song that really touched my heart was Marian’s song, “My White Knight”. Her mother is accusing her of setting her sights too high for any man to attain, and she sings this lovely number explaining to her mother what exactly she’s looking for:

Being in love used to be my fav'rite dream. Oh, yes.

I've been in love more than anybody else has, I guess.

My first love heroic'ly ran the streetcar. I tingled at ev'ry clang clang.

Next I fell for the principal

But, oh that teacher who sang "In the Gloamin'."

Knee-deep in love--what a lovely dream! And yet, somehow,

Me deep in love's only half of what I'm longing for now.

I still love my being in love with someone,

But tell me, why couldn't there be somebody being in love with me?

All I want is a plain man. All I want is a modest man.

A quiet man, a gentle man, a straightforward and honest man

To sit with me in a cottage somewhere in the state of Iowa...

And I would like him to be more interested in me than he's in himself

And more interested in us than in me...

And if occasionally he'd ponder

What makes Shakespeare and Beethoven great,

Him I could love 'til I die. Him I could love 'til I die!

As I listened to those lyrics, it struck me that not only were those words an excellent description of what I had always wanted in a husband, but that they were a description of exactly what I'd gotten. My white knight IS plain, modest, gentle, straightforward, and honest. He IS happy to sit with me, if not exactly in a cottage in Iowa, certainly in a Colonial in Massachusetts. There’s no doubt that he is more concerned with me than with himself, and I know he is more concerned with us than with me. We’ve been known to have conversations now and then about Shakespeare and Beethoven (and Mozart and Rodgers and Hammerstein and Sondheim) and what makes them great.

But the best part of the parallel is the last line – not only COULD I love him ‘til I die, I WILL love him ‘til I die. Yes, I will indeed!!