The Mig Spot

Wheeeee! (Opening Night Party)

2010-03-08T09:38:00.023-05:00

The opening night bash for Ragtime was held at Tavern On The Green in Central Park. Many of us had had our fingers crossed that the event would be at the Roseland Ballroom, largely because it was right across the street from the theatre. But the Tavern it was, and shuttle buses were ready take the cast members from the theatre to the party. Guests had to find their own way there, so John and Debbie had instructions to take a cab and go on to the party, since I still had to get ready.

Savannah and I dashed to our dressing room and frantically started repairing the damage from the opening night performance. Both of us had long hair that had been in pincurls all night, so our hair was curly, if nothing else. I had a curling iron to fix the curls that were bent at weird angles, but eventually realized the best way to go was just sweep everything off my forehead, spray it in place and call it a night. Savannah fiddled with some hairpieces but then decided just to go with her own lovely locks. We'd both agonized over our dresses; she'd ended up having hers made, and I finally found one I liked at Lord & Taylor. So we went from this:

To this:

And all in the space of about 30 minutes, which may be a new world record. We did pause long enough to drink a toast with some prosecco that had been a gift from two of the ensemble men (in champagne flutes provided by our wonderful dresser, Rose Keogh). Savannah was ready first, so she scurried down to meet her boyfriend and was gone before I knew it, I took a more leisurely speed of necessity, since I was wearing VERY high heels and they were turning out not to be terribly comfortable. I paused in the stage left wing to get a photo with some of the ladies of the ensemble:

From L to R, Carey Brown, Carly Hughes, Mamie Parris, me, Tracy Olivera, Lisa Karlin, Jennifer Evans.

The shuttle buses were parked across the street from the theatre, so I picked up the train of my dress, started across the street in a stately and elegant manner, and promptly caught the heel of one shoe in a manhole cover. I had to actually step out of the shoe and stand on one foot before I was able to yank the damn thing free. Then I got on the shuttle and we were rushed to the party.

Upon arrival, I was culled from the bus riders by our PR people and hurried into what I can only call the photo corral. I waited in line until they called my name, then stood like a ninny in front of the a bunch of photographers. Savannah had been ahead of me and coolly posed like a pro, laughing and smiling, but I was flummoxed by the whole experience (particularly the photographers calling "Look here, Donna! Look here, Donna!") and the photographs that showed up in the press the next day showed it. This is one of the better shots, but I still look a little befuddled. The PR people hustled me out of the photo corral and sent me in to the party, bypassing the area where select company members were actually asked to SPEAK to the press - which is probably just as well, as I think the most I could have provided at that moment was a dumb look. I was waylaid by a reporter in the hallway and didn't even realize he was taping until midway through the conversation when I saw his recorder; I doubt I said anything of any significance and fortunately never heard or read any of my quotes in any subsequent publication, which was probably a good thing. Finally I made my way into the party and spent nearly half an hour in the crush of people trying to find John and Debbie. We kept missing each other on the cell phone, and I was having a terrible time juggling my drink (club soda - I was parched) and the cell phone and trying to keep my train from under other guests' feet at the same time. I was actually starting to get a little teary when we finally located each other.

Then came the struggle to find a place to sit down. I had been on my feet for less than an hour and was already discovering that the Very High Heels were a Very Bad Idea. All the tables seemed to have reserved signs on them, but finally we found one that was largely vacant and the few folks sitting there welcomed us to sit with them. John dutifully went off to get us some food, and I took a moment to breathe and look around. It was absolute madness - crowded and loud and sparkly and festive, but in a really overwhelming way. I saw a few famous faces go by but was simply content to look at them and drink my club soda. Eventually John returned with a plate of food and a more festive beverage for me; we shared the food (I really never eat much at parties; someone always stops for a chat or a kiss when you've just taken a bite of something greasy). There was a band nearby and Debbie promptly went off to dance.

At one point John turned to me and said, "Tell me how you're feeling right now."

"I wish everything would just slow down - it's all going by so fast!" I answered. So we slowed down for a minute.

I love this photo. John looks so happy, and I look almost normal at this point. I was finally starting to relax and enjoy myself (I think my feet were also going a bit numb, which was a relief). After our nosh, we got up and socialized a bit. It was an unseasonably warm night, particularly for November in New York, so we went out onto the Tavern's patio, with its topiaries and sparkling lights. Everyone had a camera and we kept stopping to take pictures. Here are a bunch of "Me With ______" photos:

Director Marcia Milgrom Dodge....

James Moore, conductor and music director...

Playwright Terrence McNally...

Robert Petkoff (Tateh)...

Max Woodward, Vice President of Theatre Programming, John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts...

Mark Aldrich (Willy Conklin)...

Nicole Powell (Ensemble)....

And a giant topiary bunny.

I think John would have happily stayed much longer, but the combination of a long week, a long night, numb feet and the knowledge that I would have to be back at the theatre at noon made me less inclined to stay. We gathered up Debbie and made our way out of the Tavern. I'm glad John thought to get this photo of Debbie and me at the Tavern's entrance. A month and a half later, the Tavern went out of business after decades as a New York City landmark.

The cab dumped us out at the corner of 54th and 8th. Debbie walked down two blocks to her hotel, and John and I walked up to my building. We got out of our glad rags and I sat down at the computer to look at the reviews as they rolled in. Many were quite good, but the New York Times, was a little tepid - although Ben Brantley called my performance "rousing," which was nice to see. By the time we climbed into bed, it was close to 3 AM, and I regretfully set the alarm for 9 AM, knowing that it would arrive all too soon.

The People Called It RAGTIME! (Part 2)

2010-03-05T09:27:00.015-05:00

While I was getting ready to go onstage, John was outside taking video of the crowds outside the Neil Simon Theater. Even though my dressing room faced 52nd Street where this footage was shot, I was completely unaware of what was going on outside.

Inside the theatre, the cast was assembling on the multi-level set, calling out good wishes, waving and blowing kisses. We could hear the crowd on the other side of the curtain talking excitedly as they made their way to their seats. We got the call to "stand by" from our stage managers and everyone took their position. Our final warning was the orchestra tuning up; as soon as they finished, there was a moment of silence, then the curtain rose.

Photo by Joan Marcus

There was a ROAR from the audience. Granted, this was an opening night audience and we had a lot of friends, family and producers in the house, but over time we learned that this would be the standard greeting from the audience to the show. It never got old. There was an extended ovation (which also became the norm) and we all stood stock still, waiting for it to subside so the show could begin. I can't be dramatic and say that my heart was pounding - it wasn't; I was pretty calm. But I admit to a tweaking in the corners of my eyes at the outpouring of love and hope and good wishes coming from that opening night house.

There was another ovation when the opening number pulled back before exploding into the full-throated final chorus. It's always been a goose-bump moment for me, whether listening to it on the original cast recording, rehearsing it in a studio or performing it onstage. Yet another ROAR greeting the conclusion of the number, and again we had to stand completely still until the ovation abated enough for us to hear the blast of the ship's horn that signaled the change of scene. I hurried downstairs for my first costume change, and the opening performance was on its way.

I don't remember a great deal about the performance except extended ovations were the norm after most of the numbers. I do remember making certain to husband my vocal resources so I would be able to make it through the show - remember that I was still recovering from the respiratory crud, and that we had already done a full week's worth of performances (not to mention all those rehearsals). But my chops didn't let me down - I felt strong on my solo moments in both "The Night That Goldman Spoke at Union Square" and "He Wanted to Say." In fact, I felt good all the way through the finale, when the company reprised "Wheels of a Dream" and received yet another ROAR from the crowd that lasted throughout the curtain call.

The company acknowledges conductor James Moore and our wonderful orchestra:

The company waits for director Marcia Milgrom Dodge to take her own well-deserved bow - that's Quentin Earl Darrington's heel in the right foreground as he heads to the wings to escort Marcia out.

The creative team takes their bow:

From left to right, front row: Quentin Earl Darrington (Coalhouse Walker), Lynn Ahrens (lyrics), Stephen Flaherty (music), Terrence McNally (book), E.L. Doctorow (author of the novel "Ragtime" on which the music was based), Marcia Milgrom Dodge (director) and Christiane Noll (Mother). I wish I could remember the source of these opening night curtain call photos so I could credit them properly - they're really terrific photos (I'm pretty sure they're from www.broadwayworld.com). I think the photographer was one S. Mack.

As the final curtain came down, the company scattered in all direction because, after the weeks of rehearsals and previews, it was finally time to CELEBRATE!

The People Called It RAGTIME! (Part 1)

2010-03-04T15:44:00.018-05:00

The Broadway opening of the Ragtime revival was pretty darned spectacular. Of course the company was still exhausted; all during previews we'd been on a full performance schedule while still rehearsing during the day. We also had our share of illnesses - the weekend prior to our November 15th opening, I'd caught the respiratory crud that was making its way through cast and crew, and ended up missing both performances on Sunday the 8th. I can't remember when I've been so sick. I had a hacking cough and was terribly weak - no joke when you're dashing around trying to climb those stairs to make your costume changes. I stayed in bed all day Sunday and most of the day Monday, and by Tuesday I was able to perform again, although I wasn't back to full voice for a while.

John and our friend Debbie Hren came up to enjoy the opening festivities. I spent part of the day Sunday walking around New York with them; we visited Rockefeller Center and did a little shopping, but my mind was on the show and I doubt I was very good company. I headed over to the theatre well in advance of our 6 PM call time; never in my life have I been able to get ready for a show in under an hour. In fact, for Ragtime I was usually at the theatre an hour and fifteen minutes early. Opening night I think I was there slightly more than an hour and a half before showtime!

And a good thing, too. I should have known something was up when I signed in and remarked to one of the Neil Simon staff about the masses of flowers waiting at the stage door. She said, "you haven't been up to your dressing room yet, have you?" I said no, and her response was "hmm."

I saw why when I walked into the dressing room I shared with Savannah Wise (Evelyn Nesbit). Actually, I could smell why as I stepped out of the elevator. Our whole floor smelled like a garden, and our dressing room was simply one flower arrangement after another. I couldn't even see my station for the flowers. I had flowers on the shelf above, flowers on the table, flowers on the chair, on the radiator and on the shelf above the costume rack. In addition to the flowers, there were cards and gifts piled high. I was in a state of shock.

I only had a few minutes to open cards and to make space at my station before I had to start getting ready. Pincurling my hair and pinning on my wig cap usually took about twenty minutes, and I knew at the one-hour call we'd be summoned to the stage for the presentation of the Gypsy Robe. I didn't want to miss a minute of it, and I'd also been given permission to bring John and Debbie backstage so they could watch. All the while, more flowers and gifts and cards kept arriving. Somehow I got my hair partially prepped, stuck a hat on over the wig cap, met John at the stage door and got to the stage just as The Robe arrived.

For those who've never heard of The Gypsy Robe, there's a great explanation of the history and significance of The Robe at the Actors Equity Association website. It's a Broadway tradition, and one that neither John nor I wanted to miss. I was lucky that John was there to take photos and movies, and I'm mostly going to let the movies speak for themselves. Here's the moment when all of us who were making our Broadway debuts were recognized:

And here's where Michael X. Martin, who played J.P. Morgan (among others), was named the recipient of The Robe:

The previous recipient of The Robe (from Finian's Rainbow, I believe), explains how The Robe came to be, and the responsibilities of The Robe recipient:

And after a false start, Michael X. begins his Gypsy Robe duties:

After The Robe ceremonies were over, we all went back to our respective dressing rooms to get ready. The cards, gifts and flowers continued to pour in; I think I ended up with a dozen arrangements (the one from John was ENORMOUS and GORGEOUS). I didn't have time to open all of them (in fact, it would be the next day before I got a chance to look at everything carefully and read all the cards). Savannah and I hurried into costume and went downstairs to get ready for our Opening Night performance.

Picking Up Steam

2010-01-31T10:50:00.021-05:00

The company of Ragtime was well into previews on October 29th, when we had our big full costume photo call. This took place during our daytime rehearsal slot; we had a performance the night before and a performance that evening, so everyone was tired but surprisingly good-natured. When we weren't being used onstage for a shot, we were able to sit out in the house and see what the show looked like to the audience. Not every scene was photographed since photos had been taken from the house several times over the dress tech and preview period. This particular session was to set up some posed shots; this photo is from early in the session, with Robert Petkoff and Sarah Rosenthal in "Journey On."

It was also a chance to take some photos of Derek McLane's set from angles not seen by the audience, and to get some closeup photos of Santo Loquasto's wonderfully detailed costumes and Edward J. Wilson's meticulous wig and hair designs. The lighting is doing funky things to this shot, but here's a look at the stage from my perspective during "New Music":

The set had five levels: the deck (or stage level), Level One (a balcony that wrapped the perimeter of the playing area), Level Two (a catwalk that ran across the rear of the playing area, just above the center balcony of Level One), Level Three (balconies at left and right, attached by a catwalk that could be moved up and down), and Level Four (a stationary catwalk above Level Two and at the extreme upstage of the playing area). During "New Music," I stood at the downstage left edge of Level 1; this view is looking across at the stage right part of Level 1, with the catwalk visible at the upper right of the photo. From left to right, standing on Level One are Jonathan Hammond and Savannah Wise (in full Houdini and Evelyn Nesbit gear), Catherine Walker and Associate Director/Choreographer and cast member Josh Walden fidgeting with his costume. Just to the right of Josh, on Level Two, is Eric Jordan Young. On Level Three above are Carly Hughes and Nicole Powell (I think that's Corey Bradley just behind Carly), and Stephanie Umoh seated on the Level Three catwalk in the foreground.

This is ensemble member Mamie Parris on the Level One center balcony, with Christopher Cox (Little Boy) lounging on the rolling stair unit just below. There was a gate built into the railing at that point, and Mamie is opening it so that Christiane Noll (Mother) can climb from the deck level up the stair unit and enter Level 1. The stair unit and another gate at the downstage right section of Level One were utilized similarly in the scene leading into "Goodbye My Love". If you look at the floor of the balcony, you'll see that the carpet lining the walkway has been painted with a grate design, one of the many details that made this set so amazing. Its welded steel design meant that it was extremely sturdy, and because it was "hung" rather than built, this means that it was constructed from the top down, rather than the other way around. I was told the weight of the set at one point but it's since slipped my mind; I do remember that the set piece that was flown in for the Morgan Library scene in the second act weighed in the neighborhood of 6,000 pounds. Knowing this, is it any wonder that those connected with the production wince when others refer to this Ragtime as "scaled down?"

Here are ensemble members Jennifer Evans and Benjamin Schrader, fellow denizens of Level 1 Left during "New Music" (that's Christiane Noll holding one of the many Coalhouse babies in the background). You can see more of the set details in this shot - the filigreed angles are particularly pretty, I think. You can also see the loving work that went into Jennifer's wig, and the gorgeous hat that Ben is holding - one of many in the show. One thing that is missing from this shot are the body mics all of us wore in performance - since this was just a photo shoot, we weren't wearing them. I've never been a big fan of body mics (I'm one of the dinosaurs that learned my craft before the era of personal amplification), but I learned a new trick with this production - we wore the mic packs inside our wigs! The mic packs were only about 2x3 inches and the mics themselves were tiny; maybe half an inch long. Those of us who wore wigs (all the females except the Little Girl) prepped our hair into pincurls, then pulled a stocking cap over the prep. Our mic packs were placed in little pockets mounted on a stretchy elastic base, and the wig crew pinned those onto our wig caps, drawing the mic cord along the top of the head and pinning the mic into place so that it would hang just below the hairline of our wigs. Then the wig was fitted and pinned into place on top of the whole rig. It was heaven not to have a mic pack on a belt on my body, nor to fiddle with the cord at the back of my neck, and it certainly made quick changes much easier. Since the gentlemen of the cast didn't wear wigs, they still had to wear the belts, but I was always tickled at how cleverly the mics themselves were concealed (for example, the Little Boy's mic was attached to the glasses he wore throughout the show).

We moved from the first act into the second, and spent some time setting up "What A Game." Here's a picture of the gentlemen in that number showing off their very fine hats and facial hair. From left to right, front row: Josh Walden, Benjamin Schrader. Second row: Dan Manning, Jonathan Hammond, Mike McGowan. Third row: Ron Bohmer, Christopher Cox. Fourth row: Aaron Galligan-Stierle, Mark Aldrich, Michael X. Martin. I always thought it was clever the way the dining room set from the previous scene was transformed into the bleachers for this number.

One of the unsung heroes of our production was John Mara, the child guardian or "wrangler," who was responsible for the safety and well-being of the six children in our cast: Christopher Cox, Sarah Rosenthal, Benjamin Cook, Kaylie Rubinaccio, Jayden Brockington and Kylil Christopher Williams. Here he looks on as Jayden and Robert Petkoff share a quiet moment while "What A Game" was being photographed. John was a constant presence backstage, escorting the kids to places, keeping the ones who weren't onstage occupied and happy, dealing with all the small dramas and little tragedies of which the grownup cast members were largely unaware. The kids in the show were a pleasure to work with, and that was in no small part due to John

We moved from "What A Game" into "Atlantic City/Buffalo Nickel," and some of the prettiest costumes in the show. The costumes for the Atlantic City band were a beautiful bright red with blue details, but for some reason they came out looking pretty electric when I photographed them (probably due to the setting I was using on my camera). From left to right are Carly Hughes, Wallace Smith, Corey Bradley, Nicole Powell, Valisia Lekae and Arbender J. Robinson. Behind them you can see the bright blue cyc that formed the backdrop for the Atlantic City scenes.

Tracy Lynn Olivera is wearing one of the more elaborate hats in the show. You can't see the crown of it, but it looked like a whorl of creamy meringue. What you can see is the black lace detailing around the hat's brim, as well the amazing amount of detail in the neckline and bodice of her dress and the intricate styling of her hair. It was hard for us to appreciate the workmanship of these costumes during the show, as we were usually tearing in and out of them in our rush to make a costume change, so it was nice to get a chance during this photo call to relax and admire the costumes under the stage lighting.

I'll finish with a little video clip I took as the photo session was drawing to a close. There's a certain amount of goofing around going on, but it's a nice pan of the set, including the stage crew setting up the prop camera on the rolling stair unit, as well as some costumes you might not have seen before. Savannah and Catherine, I apologize for the "up" shot at the end of the clip!

New Music

2010-01-27T22:04:00.027-05:00

Just like that tune

Simple and clear
I've come to hear new music...

On the 17th of October, the company of Ragtime reported to the studios at Carroll Music for our sitzprobe. For those not conversant in the language of musical theatre, a sitzprobe is a German term for a rehearsal in which the singers, seated, sing with the orchestra, focusing attention on integrating the two groups. I apologize in advance for the quality of these photos; I didn't use a flash as I didn't want to be obtrusive, so they're a little blurry. You may also notice that the cast looks very tired; this was because the sitz took place at the end of our first week of tech, and we had been working some very long hours.

(From left to right: Stephanie Umoh, Quentin Earl Darrington, Christiane Noll and Ron Bohmer.)

Even though we were all so tired, there's an excitement when a cast and orchestra come together for the first time. In the rehearsal studio our only accompaniment was a piano, played either by Associate Conductor Jamie Schmidt or Assistant Conductor Sue Anschutz (you can see Jamie in the background of the first photo above). But when you get to hear the full orchestra for the first time, it's always a thrill. For Ragtime, we were fortunate to have an orchestra of 28, and when you add in a cast of 40 - well, that's a LOT of sound. Here's the cast as we were getting started, and you can see how excited everyone looks:

(Back row, from the background forward: Michael X. Martin, Michael McGowan, Mamie Parris, Bryonha Parham, Valisia Lekae, Carly Hughes, Carey Rebecca Brown, Wallace Smith, Arbender J. Robinson, Terrence Archie. That's Dan Manning and Robert Petkoff in the front row, with the noble profile of Eric Jordan Young just peeking into the left hand side of the photo. Standing in the background, also at extreme left in the blue sweater, Asst. Stage Manager extraordinaire Jim Woolley.)

Music Director, Conductor and Maestro James Moore was running the rehearsal. Can I just say a word about Jim? I don't think I've ever worked on a show with a more loving and encouraging person at the musical helm. I don't think I ever heard Jim say a cross word, or be in a bad mood - and he's a veritable font of funny stories. Sometimes in the middle of a music rehearsal, he'd stop conducting us and say, "I just have to tell you what happened to me last night," and in moments we'd be in hysterics. Can I also just tell you that he conducted the show, performance after performance, WITHOUT THE SCORE IN FRONT OF HIM? He knew the score absolutely stone cold. I used to love to watch him conduct the show; he clearly loves the music and would look absolutely transported as he guided the orchestra through the score.

Here's the orchestra tuning up:

One of the unfortunate things about the Ragtime experience was that it was difficult for the orchestra and cast to mingle. Generally speaking, the only times the orchestra members were out of the pit, the cast members were in their dressing rooms either getting ready for the curtain or changing clothes during intermission. We didn't get the chance to learn each other's names, much less socialize. So I can't tell you who all the talented people are in this photo. That's Concert Master Rick Dolan in the pink shirt; Maxine Roach in the red jacket was one of our viola players. James Moore is the plaid-clad blur, and that's Jamie Schmidt again, standing in the background. The gentleman at extreme right in the blue sweatshirt and jeans is Peter Lawrence, Production Supervisor and Master of All He Surveys.

We had a round of introductions, then got down to work, starting at the very top of the show. Jim Moore gave the downbeat, Jamie played the piano solo which begins the show, and then the Little Boy speaks: "In 1902 Father built a house at the crest of the Broadview Avenue hill in New Rochelle, New York, and it seemed for some years thereafter that all the family's days would be warm and fair." However, if memory serves, Christopher Cox (here in the striped shirt) bobbled his first entrance, and we had to back up and start again. That would account for his somewhat abashed look, and for the grin on the face of Sarah Rosenthal (Little Girl) in the background of this photo. That's Director and Choreographer Marcia Milgrom Dodge looking over the top of Sarah's head.

As the company moved into the vocal section of the opening number, and as more instruments came in, I began to realize just how amazing this show was going to sound. The surging voices blended beautifully; the thrum of the swelling sound from the orchestra made my heart race. It was simply thrilling. Orchestra and cast finished the title number with a bang; everyone cheered and applauded, and I wept a few tears from the sheer joy of it.

We worked our way through the score, stopping and backing up when we needed to, orchestra and cast feeding off each other's energy. I shed a few more tears when we got to "New Music," one of my favorite numbers in the show. The song's wistful quality has always been lump-in-the-throat inducing for me, but when Maxine played the viola solo that occurs under the lyric "Why? Why can't you hear the song?" I'm afraid I just dissolved. It was poignant and pensive and simply wonderful.

We only had three hours to rehearse with the orchestra, so every moment had to count and consequently, there wasn't a lot of time to joke around. We had some moments of glee occasionally - this photo is extra blurry, but it captures the intensity as well as the fun of "What A Game":

(Aaron Galligan-Stierle, Mark Aldridge and Michael X. Martin)

Most of the time, though, everyone was pretty focused and serious. I'll close with few more photos. This is Sumayya Ali, clearly moved...

Eric Jordan Young really laying into one of Booker T. Washington's moments...

Ron Bohmer, Robert Petkoff and Bobby Steggert listening intently...

Bass player Jeff Cooper and cellists Laura Bontrager and Sarah Hewitt-Roth hard at work...

Catherine Walker and Tracy Lynn Olivera during one of our breaks...

And finally, the entire company sings the show's finale:

(Photo by Jenny Anderson, courtesy of Broadway.com)

...Breaking my heart
Op'ning a door
Changing the world
New music
I'll hear it forevermore!

A Salute to the Immigrant Stranger

2010-01-24T15:23:00.014-05:00

In early October, on one of my first days off from Ragtime rehearsals, I resolved to do a little research and took the ferry out to Ellis Island. It was a bright, crisp day and clearly other people had the same idea as me. Since I wasn't interested in visiting the Statue of Liberty (hence the "No Monument" wording on my ticket), I was able to procure a ticket pretty easily online. I took the subway (first time by myself; was I proud or what?) to the tip of Manhattan Island and walked over the Battery Park ferry dock.

I picked up my ticket from will call and went to look at the ferry that was currently boarding. I was actually scheduled to take a later ferry, but in the spirit of High Adventure I decided to see if I could board right away. I was a little bit disappointed that no one even looked at my ticket; all the ticket-taker did was scan my ticket with a reader and send me on my way. I passed through security (just as stringent as airport security, and no wonder) and boarded the boat.

I made my way through the crowd to the upper deck and wormed past all the people to a spot as far forward as I could get. It was nippy outside and I was glad I'd worn a scarf and a windbreaker; many of my fellow passengers seemed perfectly happy to stay in the cabin downstairs, close to the refreshments, but I wanted to have the wind in my face. This is me with the wind in my face.

Our first stop was the Statue of Liberty, clearly visible in near distance. There was plenty of traffic to and from the Statue and nearby Ellis Island and I enjoyed watching the other water transports chugging through the water. As we drew closer to Lady Liberty and the ferry starting jockeying toward the dock, I realized I was going to be on the wrong side for a good view. So did the other passengers nearby, and there was a polyglot outburst and a general surge to starboard. I stood my ground and got an interesting shot of Miss Liberty looming over the boat:

The vast majority of the passengers debarked, and there was a lull before the ferry crew allowed those waiting to board. I left my portside post and went to the opposite side of the ferry so I could get a better look at the Statue and take a gander at the people on the dock.
The masses were definitely huddled and some looked a little bit tired, but not too many of them looked poor although some could have been yearning to breathe free. Mostly what they seemed to want was ON BOARD. They shuffled from foot to foot impatiently and I enjoyed listening to all the different languages blending together as they were allowed to walk up the gangway. I held my position on the starboard rail, and finally got a good view of Liberty as we pulled away:

It was just a short jog from the Statue of Liberty to Ellis Island; in fact, I was giving some serious thought to how the average immigrant in the early 1900s would have felt, passing by the Statue which promises so much and heading to Ellis for processing. Since my main role in Ragtime, Emma Goldman, had arrived in the United States prior to the establishment of Ellis Island as an immigrant processing center, I was more focused on what an average immigrant would have gone through upon arrival. It sounds terribly "actor-y" to explain why, but the reason was this: in the "Shetl/Success" number in the show, I started out costumed as a generic immigrant. This character left the stage as the other "immigrants" in the number are winding their way downstage, as if in the processing line at Ellis. The reason for me - the actor - to leave the stage at that point was to make a quick change into the Emma Goldman costume, but I wanted a reason for this generic character to leave. To those in the acting business, this search for motivation makes perfect sense and is simply part of the process; to those who aren't, it probably sounds like a lot of hooey, and I've probably made it sound a lot crazier by trying to explain.

The main building at Ellis is red and white, and as we docked it was a striking view against the blue morning sky. Many of the passengers who'd boarded the ferry at the Statue stayed on board; I debarked with the others, walked under a large canopy and through the doors of the building. I found myself inside the Registry Room, a large and echoing hall with an impressive vaulted ceiling. Giant windows in the shape of half moons let in light from the outside to either end of the great room; American flags hung from a second-floor balcony that surrounded the main room. Hallways led from the Registry Room to other, smaller rooms where the immigrants would be examined and questioned. I tried to imagine the place packed with lines of immigrants, carrying their belongings in suitcases and boxes and sacks, wondering what this New World would have in store for them. In one of the side rooms, I found a placard with a quote from an immigrant about the experience:

I went from room to room, looking at the displays of photographs from the early 1900s and reading the information posted with them. I found that the vast majority of immigrants were processed and left Ellis within a few hours, but if you had a criminal background, were suspected of having a contagious disease or being mentally unbalanced, or if the officials thought you would be unable to support yourself and might end up as a "public charge", you could be denied entry into the United States and sent back where you came from. If you were ill and lucky enough to be hospitalized at Ellis rather than sent home, you could be stuck on the island for months. I decided that my "generic immigrant" had some kind of contagious disease, and that's why she left the stage during "Shtetl/Success" (later on, when I caught a bad cold the week before the show opened and was hacking my way through every show, I decided my immigrant was tubercular).

I spent about two hours touring Ellis, and toward the end of my time there I walked into a room and saw this display:

It made me catch my breath. While Emma Goldman hadn't been processed through Ellis when she entered the country, I had forgotten that when she was deported (for seditious activities relating to the WWI draft), she had been held at Ellis prior to being sent away to Russia. If you click on the photo, you can see the headlines regarding her hearing and that of her partner, Alexander Berkman; there's also a photo of the two of them which is, unfortunately, hard to see because of the reflection of the flash from my camera.
Seeing the display gave me a lot to think about. My return ferry was due in half an hour, and I spent that time walking around the grounds at Ellis. The hospital area of the complex has not yet been restored, and it's somewhat depressing to see the boarded-up buildings. It made me wonder how the people felt - the ones who waited, looking out the window at the Statue of Liberty and wondering what would become of them. It made me feel more empathy with my little "generic immigrant," and a lot more sympathy for Emma Goldman, the outspoken activist.

Back to Before

2010-01-24T15:06:00.010-05:00

photo by Joan Marcus

It seems both sad and strange that I wrote so little about Ragtime and my whole New York adventure while I was experiencing it. My excuse is that I was busy or tired or sick or crazed with rehearsals/opening/
the holidays/closing. In addition, I don't write about a production until it's over, but I kinda wish I'd broken my rule for this one, if only for the immediacy of the telling.

But now it's over, and I have to write in retrospect - not always the easiest method. It's probably going to take me a few days, so bear with me as I sort through a lot of photos and memories.

My NYC Digs - The Apartment

2009-09-26T20:44:00.019-04:00

Instead of doing something useful like washing the dishes or scrubbing the tub, I thought I'd write about my little studio sublet in New York City.

Let's start with the front door. That peculiar coffin-shaped thing on the right is the peephole. It's the oddest peephole I've ever seen. You turn the knob on the right and that opens the little white window. You look through that to see the hallway outside. I have no idea why the peephole cover is so large, or why it's shaped like a coffin, but it's rather charming, particularly as the person I'm subletting from has painted the door with blackboard paint. This makes it a handy-dandy place to write messages to yourself (such as "don't forget your sunglasses" or "buy spinach," but thus far I haven't availed myself of this convenience.

Here is the whole door, in all its blackboard-painted glory. The rectangular thing at the top is a funny postcard John sent me from a recent trip to Chicago. It makes me smile, which is why it's where it is. The round things on either side of the peephole cover are metal containers with magnetized backs. The one on the right is full of colored chalk. The one on the left is empty. I can't think what to put in it so I'm taking suggestions.

As if having the whole front door as a blackboard wasn't enough, there is also a three foot-wide, floor-to-ceiling section of one wall which has also been painted with blackboard paint. I am not providing a photo of this, as it has the code for the apartment's internet on it as well as some personal notes from my loving husband, none of which fall into the need-to-know category for those of you who read this blog. The wall blackboard is surrounded with a scalloped border in a cheery shade of orange.

If you walk in my front door and turn left, you will find yourself in my teeny-tiny kitchen. Don't get me wrong; I am grateful that it's in a separate room (so many studios have the kitchen in the living room, or even the bedroom - when I was apartment hunting, I saw one place where you could literally roll out of bed and stand in front of the kitchen sink). However, it is teeny and has very little counter space, although it has plenty of pots and pans and plastic containers and a full-size fridge and a gas range and a microwave. In this photo you can see the dirty dishes from dinner which I haven't washed because I'm writing this blog. For those that need to know, I had sauteed spinach with garlic and a baked sweet potato, along with a glass of wine, followed by a slice of week-old cake that still tasted pretty good. Like I need cake. Seriously, we keep having cake in the afternoon at rehearsal - lots of Virgos in our cast. However, John bought the cake for us last week when he moved me in, and I feel somehow obligated to finish it up. For week-old cake, it's holding up pretty well.

Next is the bathroom. If you recoiled in horror from the teeny-tiny kitchen, staggered down the hall and made the first right, you would find yourself in a wee anteroom where my closet lives, with the door to the bathroom on the right. The bathroom is also on the wee side, but it has, at least, a full bath with tub, a sink and a commode. I have been provided with some linens by my landlady, and I must point out that the marks on the teal-colored towel draped across the shower rod appear to be from bleach. Most of the provided towels have these bleach marks. However, they still do their job fine, and anyway, they are not the outstanding feature of this bathroom. The outstanding feature is the shower curtain, which fascinates me. It is covered in silhouettes of animals - hedgehogs, deer, rabbits (LOTS of rabbits), birds and insects - in various styles, none of which match. There's a cluster that looks as if it was taken from an vintage edition of "The Brementown Musicians;" there's a fawn that looks a bit like Bambi; there are some birds that look like Japanese woodcuts, and then there's the gem of the collection, The Rabbit With An Attitude:

I do not know why this rabbit is so annoyed, and I can't tell whether it's pruning flowers or eating grapes. Whatever it's doing, it's not liking it. My morning shower is not complete without a few moments' contemplation of The Rabbit With An Attitude, usually while I'm giving my conditioner a few minutes to sink into my hair. I also like the tattoos on the Rabbit's body. What with the tats and the 'tude, this is clearly a badass Rabbit and just the sort of thing one needs to see before one starts one's day in the Big Apple.

Once you leave the bathroom (mind the step; for some reason the bathroom floor is about two inches higher than that of the rest of the apartment, a detail I sometimes forget when I am stumbling in for my first bleary-eyed visit of the day), you will find yourself in the main part of the apartment. This is the living area:

As you can see, the main part of the studio has been rather cleverly divided using a shelf unit, tension rods and curtains, so that the sleeping area at the rear of the apartment can be closed off for privacy. The blue sofa is quite comfy although I could live without the Pepto-Bismol pink throw pillows. The throw over the right side of the sofa is one I brought from home, which coincidentally has rabbits on it, although none have an attitude. The wall with the blackboard paint on it is to the right, out of sight. Facing the sofa but out of the photo as well is another large shelving unit, which is the home of a crooked lamp and a teeny-tiny television. When the mood strikes me, I can watch many many cable channels on this tiny TV which is why I usually fiddle on the computer or read when I'm home.

If you parted the curtains to the right of the sofa, you would find yourself in the bedroom portion of the studio. It's a full bed, which is fine for just me but a bit too snuggy when John is visiting. On the bed is an extremely heavy down comforter. It looks nice, albeit somewhat lumpy, but as of now I'm not sleeping under it as it's still too warm outside (I don't know yet how warm this apartment will be in the winter; there is no thermostat in the apartment and I'm told that the building management determines when to turn on the heat. Right now the a/c is running, but I expect that to change in the near future). When I go to bed I roll the comforter up and put it on the floor, along with the pink throw pillow and the two striped pillows. I brought my own pillow from home which lives behind the striped pillows when the bed is made. I have been sleeping under a lightweight blanket, which is nice and soft but clearly made for a much larger bed - in fact, all the linens appear to be for a queen-sized bed at the very least. This makes for wrinkly sleeping insofar as the fitted sheet is concerned. Sitting on the bed is Road Pig, who has traveled with me to all my out-of-town gigs. He doesn't sleep in the bed at night, though (he hogs the bed yukyukyuk). If you look at the previous photo, you will see a large yellow object in the shelving unit; that is Dug the Dog (from the movie Up), which John gave to me to keep me company in New York. Road Pig sits next to Dug at night. Dug talks to me. No, really, he does - he has a voice box and if you press his left paw he says things from the movie like "I have just met you, and I LOOOOVE you," which is nice to hear first thing in the morning, if only from a stuffed animal. (If your eyes are really good, in the cubicle just above Dug you can see a small plastic Po the Panda from Kung Fu Panda, which was given to me by my friend Matt Anderson. Po also talks, although his vocabulary is not as expansive as Dug's, being limited to kung fu screams and the occasional "skiddoosh." He will move to my dressing room at the theatre eventually.)

This is looking from the bedroom area back toward the front of the apartment. From here you can see the little dining table and beyond it, yet another shelving unit which has a desktop. This is where I sit when I'm at the computer. Since I don't have a closet large enough to house my shoes, they are in a line in the bedroom area - if you look at the bottom of the photo on the left-hand side, you can see a few representative pairs. The blackboard which has information on it which is none of your business is on the other side of the curtain on the left. I took this photo with my back against the windows at the rear of the apartment, so this will give you an idea of how small this studio really is.

And here is the living area as seen from the sleeping area. The dining table and desk are to the left. You can see just how teeny the TV really is, and you can also see the somewhat eccentric but cheery random teal edging in the corner. If you look back at the Dug photo, you can see more eccentric edging along the top of the window, only this time in a rather odd shade of green. But the dividing curtains pull it all together. Kind of.

So that's pretty much where I'm living in New York. I make fun of it, but it's actually quite pleasant and usually fairly quiet. I'm told that the walls of the apartments are concrete, which may account for the quiet and for the occasional cell phone signal difficulty I have in the apartment. I don't get a great deal of noise from the street below, except on Saturdays when everybody seems to go a little crazy. Since my apartment overlooks the Midtown North Precinct, this may be why. Last Saturday was my first night in the apartment; now, a week later, I'm interested to see whether this is going to be a trend. There have been a few whoops and hollers from the street below and some loud car stereos, but it's not been too bad. Which sort of goes for the whole experience thus far.

First Bites of The Big Apple

2009-09-20T19:12:00.007-04:00

John and I drove up to New York on Saturday morning with a couple of suitcase and mixed feelings. While I am tremendously excited about making my Broadway debut, it's also extremely difficult for an old bird like me to make a life change. Moving from our quiet little house in Virginia to a tiny apartment on a noisy street in the busiest city in the U.S. is quite a jolt. I shed a few tears as we drove away - I'll miss the town Halloween parade and Christmas walk; I'll miss cooking elaborate meals in my kitchen and decorating my home for the holidays, and I'll miss all my friends who've been so wonderfully supportive of me through this process. But mostly I'll miss John, who will be holding down the fort in Virginia while I'm away.

Our drive up to New York was uneventful and the weather was nothing short of spectacular. Our only slowdown was getting through the Lincoln Tunnel (no surprise there) and then we basically shot up 8th Avenue, parked the car at a nearby garage and humped the suitcases half a block to the apartment building. The doorman was very nice and welcoming, the apartment had been nicely tidied for our arrival, and once John got over how small the place is, he allowed as how I'd done pretty well finding a place.

Once I got stuff unpacked (and cried over encouraging cards John had tucked into my suitcases), we walked the few blocks to the Neil Simon on 52nd Street so I could show John the marquee. He had me wear his The Big Lebowski "Achiever" shirt so he could post the photo at the Lebowski Fest website, but both of us were a little sorry I'd worn it later since it clearly typed us as tourists when we walked uptown to Columbus Circle and Central Park. We finally gave in and did the tourist thing: hired a pedal-cab to give us a tour.

It was actually a lot of fun. Our guide had a thick accent so it made it difficult to understand him much of the time, but he pedaled with a will and was very pleasant. We saw all the major sights - or at least, those that are on the southern section: the Sheep Meadow, The Boat House, The Lake, The Pond, Tavern on the Green and so forth. We got of the cab to walk through Strawberry Fields and see the "Imagine" mosaic, then rejoined our cabbie to finish up the ride. He very kindly took a photo for us before we parted company.

We headed back to the apartment to rest for a bit, stopping off to pick up a few groceries (I'll do a bigger shop later). John caught a quick nap while I continued putting things away and getting settled in and making lists of what I would need to buy to make things a little more homelike (I need a shower organizer and a soap dish and a paper towel holder, for starters). Then we went across the street to a local pub for dinner, walked around a little more, then returned to the apartment, shared a celebratory bottle of champagne and called it a night.

We were both exhausted but neither of us got a very good night's sleep - my apartment overlooks the NYPD's Midtown North precinct so there was a good bit of noise all through the night. In addition, we're accustomed to sleeping in a king bed and sprawling all over, and the bed in the apartment is only a double. It'll be fine for just me, but kind of tight for the two of us. In the morning we walked over to 9th Avenue for breakfast, then went down to find the Ragtime rehearsal space on 43rd Street. Eighth Avenue was closed for a street fair, so we walked through that most of the way down. Then we cut over to Times Square so John could see what that was like, then walked through the street fair some more, and ended up back at the apartment, watching an old movie like a couple of zombies.

Around 3:30 we walked over to the garage to claim the car so John could head home. Tears were shed but we bravely went our separate ways. I headed back to the apartment which was just as well, as John called needing me to look at directions for getting to the Lincoln Tunnel (turns out the route Yahoo! Maps gave us is closed on the weekend). He called again once he was on the Jersey Turnpike, and I expect as I type this that he's home in Virginia, or very nearly so.

So here I am, ensconced in my own little piece of New York, grateful for a loving husband and an opportunity some people can only dream about. I'm still a little shell-shocked and disoriented, but I'm sure once I start work on Tuesday, things will settle into a routine and I'll start to feel like less of a stranger here. I'll keep you posted.

Broadway Bound

2009-08-28T08:40:00.002-04:00

Okay, now that it's official, I can talk about it.

I will be heading to NYC in September to start rehearsals for the Broadway revival of Ragtime. This is the transfer of the production I did at the Kennedy Center this spring, and I will be reprising my role as radical anarchist Emma Goldman.

To say I'm excited about it would be an understatement. To say I'm scared would also be an understatement. It's a big move. I'm subletting a studio in midtown Manhattan for the nonce; I will probably shift elsewhere after the first of the year. Meanwhile, John will be holding down the fort at home in Virginia.

The show goes into previews on October 23rd and opens November 15th for an open-ended run.

While I won't comment on the show itself on this blog beyond the usual Crass Commercial Announcements, I will definitely be blogging about my Big Apple Adventure - so stay tuned!

Crass Commercial Announcement - "It's Baaaaack!"

2009-08-25T10:16:00.004-04:00

For those of you who missed this show when it had its area premiere back in 2007 - well, we're doing it again.

The 2009 revival of The Musical of Musicals: The Musical! begins previews at MetroStage in Alexandria, VA this Thursday, August 27th. Bobby Smith, Janine Gulisano-Sunday and I are returning from the original cast, joined by the wonderfully funny Matthew Anderson and the multi-talented Doug Lawler at the piano.

Performances are Thursdays and Fridays at 8 PM, Saturdays at 5 PM and 8:30 PM, and Sundays at 3 PM and 7 PM. The preview on 8/27 is a pay-what-you-can.

The show runs through October 18th; however, I will only be with it through September 13th, when I'll be replaced by Heather Mayes. More about THAT in the next exciting installment!

The Bear

2009-08-06T18:29:00.008-04:00

Remember a month or so back when we bought an unfinished cedar bear in ? He looked like this:

Well, the finished bear arrived a week ago, and now he looks like this:

He's a handsome bear, and we're very pleased with him. We tried to come up with all sorts of clever names for him, but unfortunately, none of them seemed to fit - so he is simply called The Bear. We decided he was too pretty to leave outside, so he has a place of honor in the living room, where he can greet all our guests.

From the side, he has a rather winsome and winning smile:

Some people have a welcome mat; we have a Welcome Bear.

Eastward Ho

2009-06-26T23:27:00.010-04:00

After breakfast, John and I got back on I-5, heading toward Sacramento, where we'd pick up I-80 East. We decided it might be more fun to take some state highways and byways to I-80, rather than get tangled up in the traffic around Sacramento, so we jumped off the interstate at a town called Williams and bore east through the California farmlands. It was actually restful to have something else to look at, and the time passed quickly. We stopped at a roadside fruit stand and bought locally-grown plums, cherries and pistachios (they were delicious; I wish I'd bought more). Eventually we picked up I-80, but jumped off it again when we got into the vicinity of Lake Tahoe.

John had seen Tahoe before, but I had never been there, so we cruised around the northern part of the lake for a bit, then stopped for lunch, then found a place where we could get down to the lake itself. We'd tried at other parks, but discovered that they were private parks and not for the likes of us, so we were grateful to finally stumble on a public park around the east side of the lake. There were a lot of big boulders to climb down, and the weather was bright and beautiful, with a nice breeze coming off the lake.

The downside was afterward, when we got into the car and I discovered that my left ankle was bruised and swollen. I don't know what I did to it or when (I only had a twinge from one knee when climbing on the boulders), and it didn't really hurt, but it was disconcerting all the same. After we got into Nevada, we stopped to get some ice and I traveled the rest of the day with my foot elevated on the dash and an ice pack on my ankle. Nevada was not terribly exciting to look at, and we were glad to stop for the night in Elko.

In the morning we continued on into Utah, and after a wrong turn or two, found ourselves on the road to the Bonneville Speedway. John is a racing buff and was very interested in seeing the place where so many land speed records have been set; I found the area to be just plain unearthly. I guess it would have been plenty weird if the Salt Flats had been its usual dry self, but apparently the area had just had a good bit of rain, so there was a thin film of water across this very flat and salty area. The sky was blue and cloudless and there was not a lot of wind, so the water reflected the nearby crags and jags in a very weird, otherworldly way:

Had there not been water on the Flats, I believe I would have been hard-pressed to keep John from racing the truck across the Speedway, which we really didn't need for him to do, it being full of our luggage, traveling accoutrement and a lot of Oregon wine. We found a spot that was mostly dry, and he walked out a good ways to get a feel for it. Even so, he said there were moments where his feet broke through the damp salt layer, and I was glad that we didn't drive on it.

From the Salt Flats we continued east into the Salt Lake City area. I really didn't care anything about stopping in Salt Lake City, but we knew we HAD to stop and see the Great Salt Lake. Now, we'd SEEN the GSL on our way west, when we picked up I-84 near Ogden, but we hadn't actually VISITED it, and certainly had not paddled in it. Swollen ankle or not, I was going to paddle in it. As we approached Salt Lake City, I kept getting fooled into thinking we had reached the Lake by the same kind of standing water we'd seen on the Bonneville Speedway. Eventually, though, we saw the Lake to our left, took an exit just past a marina to have a look, and stumbled on a very strange-looking edifice.

It was a rectangular box of a building, with Moorish "onion bulb" towers at the corners and gateway. We found it quite peculiar - nothing seemed to "fit," and it seemed to be abandoned, although there were signs directing the way to an indoor gift shop. We opted to check it out after walking down to the edge of the Lake, which shimmered in the distance about a quarter mile away.

The Lake had salt flats of its own, covered with a scummy film of water and mud, and this made walking a little dicey. I kept slipping, which was no fun with the messed-up ankle. We passed little wads of what looked like bunches of bleached grass, but on closer inspection turned out to be bird carcasses. It was fairly disconcerting, and the smell wasn't much to write home about, either. Things got a little better as we neared the shoreline, and I pulled off my shoes, rolled up my pants legs and had myself a little paddle. Other people passed me, heading out to deeper waters for a float:

I liked that guy's stylin' headgear.

After my paddle, we went back toward the oddball building, which turned out not to be abandoned after all, as there was a young man mowing the lawn. We found our way inside to the gift shop and discovered that the building is a fairly famous one, or at least, the rebuilt version of one: The Great Saltair. This was a turn-of-the-century resort, and as was often the case with resorts of that era, it burned down more than once. The current Saltair is located a little ways from the site of the original, and its Frankenstein-like appearance is due to the building actually being an airplane hanger in its previous life, with the onion bulb decorations planted incongruously on top.

Due to the capricious nature of the Great Salt Lake, the current Saltair was flooded shortly after it opened. Several years passed and the waters receded, but retreated so far that the Saltair now sits in its high and dry position. Given time, I guess, it might find itself flooded again; meanwhile, it's home to rock concerts on a semi-regular basis. It's a bizarre sight, all the same - and just a wee bit depressing.

We got hung up in highway construction traffic as we headed out of Utah into Wyoming, but eventually we were backtracking the very path we'd taken when we'd headed west. We stopped for the night again in Rawlins and stayed the next night with my sister and her family in Nebraska. Our final night on the road was in Greenfield, Indiana, and we reached our home on Monday the 22nd at about 9:30 PM. Unlike the conclusion of our cross-country trip two years ago, we did not have any disasters waiting to greet us. The A/C had moved out of its vacation programming and the house was nice and cool. Our neighbor had mowed the grass. The garden was growing nicely and the potted plants in the house and on the deck were doing just fine. We were home again, home again, jiggety jog.

Oh, and John creamed me in Punch Bug again - 168 to 111.

Heading Back

2009-06-26T22:22:00.008-04:00

On Wednesday the 17th, we reluctantly checked out of the Elizabeth Street Inn to start our homeward journey. My heart always hurts a little bit when we leave Oregon - it's a wonderful place, whether you're on the coast or in the high desert. Or anywhere, for that matter.

We made a brief side trip back to the town of Seal Rock, which we'd passed on our way south two days before. We'd noticed a woodcarving shop with a big sign that said BEARS there. John and I have always wanted a wooden bear. Not a big bear, like the eight-footer that stands outside our local Famous Dave's BBQ joint, but a wooden bear that could, perhaps, sit outside on our front stoop, or maybe on our deck. Anyway, we decided to duck back down to Yachats and see what we could find.

We parked in the gravel lot by the woodcarver's shop and had a look at the bears outside (all too large) before moving into the shop itself. We could hear an electric saw running somewhere nearby but there was no one in the shop, although there were plenty of smaller bears. Many were the size we wanted, but we really wanted a bear with its paw raised in greeting, and these bears were doing everything else. After a bit the saw sounds stopped, and we were joined by Karl Kowalski, who had been working on a sculpture in the back. He and I chatted about his work, and John wandered off. After a minute he called me outside, where a new sculpture had been added to the ones outside.

"I just finished carving him and put him outside to dry," Mr. Kowalski said. The bear was about a foot and a half tall, carved of red cedar, with a winsome expression and the all-important raised paw. In other words, he was perfect. The bear wasn't finished yet (he would still have to dry before getting a finishing coat and some eyes), but we bought him anyway, and Mr. Kowalski says he'll be shipped to us in early July. So we'll have a little piece of the Oregon coast in a few weeks.

The receipt from our bear purchase tucked away securely, we took a few moments for a quick farewell paddle in the ocean, then pointed the car to I-5 South. Our ultimate destination for the day was Redding, California, with a stop at what we were sure would be the cheesiest of tourist traps - The Oregon Vortex and House of Mystery.

It took a while to get there. We had to get off I-5 between Grants Pass and Medford and make our way down some narrow backwoods roads that finally ended in the parking lot of the attraction. We were surprised to find quite a few cars there. We parked, paid our admission and were invited to join a tour that had just started. Now, all of us at one time or another have been in "mysterious" crooked houses, where the laws of gravity seem to go awry. There was a great one at the now-defunct Opryland theme park called The Angler's Inn (my youngest sister Joan worked there way back when, as did fellow actress Sherri Edelen). But the people who work at the Oregon Vortex sort of pooh-pooh the House of Mystery. They remind you frequently that the House is not the Vortex; it just happens to be in the Vortex. According to the guides, the House was an mining office built in the early 1900s, which slid off its foundations a few years after its construction. The Vortex, however, has been here for a much longer time.

Our guide was a college-aged girl who was clearly new on the job; she didn't quite have the patter or the display routine down, but this gave the experience a sort of raw credence. If someone had given us a slick line of talk, I would have been more skeptical than I was. According to the literature available at the site, The Oregon Vortex is a spherical field of force, half above the ground and half below the ground. It is an area of naturally occurring visual and perceptual phenomena. Right. I did the Angler's Inn tour with my sister; I know that a building that's on a tilt is going to make you feel like gravity has gone awry. And indeed, our guide had all the usual props that go with these kinds of attractions: billiard balls that run uphill, a plumb line that hangs at a angle, a broom you can stand on end. But let me show you the weird part:

This is John and me, standing between two posts on the site:

And this is John and me in the same spot, but after changing places:

See what's happened? I should note that we took this with the timer on our camera, and the camera was in the same pace for both shots.

Now I know someone is going to come along and debunk this with physics and perspective and talk of Ames Rooms, but all I can tell you is that it's super weird. It would have been fun, too, except that almost immediately upon entering the area I got a headache and felt slightly nauseated. I don't know what that was all about, but about half an hour down the road after we departed, I felt better. All the same, it was a funky good time.

Before long we saw Mount Shasta looming in the distance, and we crossed into California. We passed Shasta Lake, which seemed very, very dry (I found out later that the water level is, indeed, quite low). Eventually we pulled into our hotel in Redding, an old-fashioned two-level motor lodge with an outdoor swimming pool. We hadn't been there an hour when the power went out. Appparently a bird had flown into a nearby transformer. It was hot outside and without air conditioning, it rapidly grew hot inside as well. People propped open the doors and windows of the room; men took off their shirts and stood outside smoking by their trucks. It looked like a scene from My Name Is Earl. I didn't help matters by standing barefoot in the doorway of our room, filing my nails (the outage occurred when I was in mid-manicure). Eventually it got so dark outside that there was nothing to do but lie in bed and hope for a breeze. Fortunately the power kicked back on after an hour and a half, and we cranked the A/C down and went to sleep, dreaming of the ocean breezes we'd left behind.

In Vino Veritas

2009-06-25T11:14:00.002-04:00

In reviewing the photos I took on June 16, I find that there are - none. This is not surprising, as this is the day John and I drove from Newport up into the Willamette Valley region of Oregon. We went there to sample wines, specifically pinot noir. We are big fans of Oregon pinot noir.

I do believe we took the camera, but be honest: who really wants to see pictures of people sampling wines? A lot of people treat a tasting as a pub crawl, but John and I were really tasting - swirling the wine in the glass, taking a big ol' sniff of the contents, sipping a bit and swilling it around our palates and then - I know, it's kind of horrible - spitting the wine out.

My guess is that a lot of people who visit the vineyards to taste the wine are actually drinking it, because a a couple of the tasting rooms we had to ask for a dump bucket, and at least once got an odd look for doing so (and at another, were complimented on our "restraint"). But we visited about ten vineyards/tasting rooms and sampled between two and six wines in each of them. The average-sized pour when you're sampling is about an ounce. If we drank every pour we got, we'd have been legless within two hours.

So anyway - no pictures of that day. We had an 11:00 AM appointment at
Adelsheim, an old favorite that never disappoints, but we arrived in the area half an hour early, so we went up the hill to Bergstrom Winery, which was already open, and sampled their wines. Then we backtracked to Adelsheim and spent a good hour there. Many of the wineries in the area do tastings only by appointment, and still others are not open during the week (we were there on a Tuesday, which is definitely an off-day), so our tasting selections were largely based on which places were open. Other than a break for a leisurely lunch, we tasted from about 10:30 AM to 5 PM, when most of the tasting rooms closed. We tasted a lot of wine: Ponzi, Sokol Blosser, August Cellars, Rex Hill, Hip Chicks, Fox Farm and another old favorite, Erath, plus some others I can't remember. On our way back to Newport, we stopped at another favorite, Flying Dutchman, which is located on the coast, right by the Devil's Punchbowl.

And yes, we bought a LOT of wine.

More Westerly

2009-06-24T12:44:00.012-04:00

John and I slept in the morning after the MGM 3-Gun match. After repacking everything and grabbing some breakfast, we jumped back on I-84 and headed westward into Oregon.

We have visited Oregon twice before, but this was the first time we'd been in this particular part of the state. Our original plan was to make a side trip into the Wallowa Valley, but it would have taken us several hours out of our way. Because of our late start, we had to scotch that plan and instead, allowed ourselves the luxury of getting off the interstate whenever we saw something interesting. Hence, when we saw signs to "Oregon Trail Interpretive Site," we jumped off the interstate and took a couple miles worth of back roads to have a look.

One of the interesting things about Oregon is its honor system for state park usage. There's a nominal fee for entering the parks; envelopes are provided and it's up to you to put in the correct amount and deposit it in the fee box. The fee for the Oregon Trail Interpretive Site was $5.00, but we only had a $10 bill. We took the envelope along with us, hoping for a chance to make change.

The site itself was self-guided, and the first thing we saw was another couple looking through binoculars. "What do you see?" I asked, and they pointed out a doe with two tiny spotted fawns, right at the edge of some nearby woods. We got a glimpse of them before the doe spooked and herded her two tottering infants into the trees. We wandered on, down a trail that meandered for a half mile through trees and meadows. We met up with a volunteer guide who pointed out ruts left by the wagon wheels of the Oregon Trail pioneers so many years ago, and we visited a mock campsite (where I took this photo of a reproduction wagon). In all, it was a pleasant break from our highway travels, and we ended up leaving the $10 bill in the fee box.

We continued up I-84, traveling through the Columbia Gorge and alongside the Columbia River for quite a few miles. If there was a scenic turnout, we took it. We stopped at a restaurant near the river's edge and had a leisurely lunch. We got into the vicinity of Portland and jumped onto I-5 South, and by the time we turned off the interstate to head to the coast and Newport, it was already starting to get dark. We arrived at the Elizabeth Street Inn around 9:30 and checked in. We've stayed at the Inn before and I knew there was a laundry room on premises; I asked the nice lady if there was a cut-off time for using it in the evenings and she said no. We went up to our room and immediately opened the doors onto our balcony to enjoy the ocean breeze, even though it was too dark to see the water. I ran a couple of loads of wash and made us a quick dinner, then John and I collapsed for a good night's sleep, with the beating of the waves providing a pleasant lullaby.

In the morning we had some breakfast, then took Highway 101 (the coastal highway) south. In our 2007 visit to the Oregon coast, we had spent most of our time headed north; this time we wanted to see what lay in the opposite direction. Our ultimate goal was the Sea Lions Caves near Florence, a couple hours south. We had expected the typical cool, damp and overcast day that you get on the Oregon coast at this time of year, but it stayed sunny and pleasant all day.

First we visited the Devil's Churn:

From there we continued to Cape Perpetua and took the scenic drive up to the summit. It was a truly spectacular view - a coastal panorama encompassing approximately 150 miles from north to south. We looked for whales but didn't see any, and a kind gentleman took our photo:

Upon our descent from Cape Perpetua, we continued to Heceta Head Lighthouse. I decided I'd rather not travel up to the lighthouse, but was content to look at it from the beach below, particularly after John asked if I wouldn't like to spend some time looking at the tidal pools. Now this was a great thing - during our 2007 visit, I really wanted to poke around the tidal pools on the various beaches we passed, but that sort of thing bores John to death, and I only got a few minutes of tidal-pool-poking. I think he felt guilty about it then, and as I'd been such an Exemplary Spouse during the 3-Gun match, I guess he figured he owed me. He even found me a Poking Stick to enhance the experience. The tide was coming in rather quickly but I still had time to play with a few crabs and snails and to find an enormous dead sea star - it must have been nearly a foot across. I toyed with the idea of taking it home to dry out, but was afraid it would stink too much. Now I wish I had it.

Oddly, the best find of the tidal pool was John's. While I was playing with a crab, he noticed these purple sea stars and pointed them out to me. They were really quite pretty - about five inches across, a lovely pale lilac color and stuck firmly onto their rocks (yes, I Poked them - gently). I looked them up on the Internet later and discovered that they are Ochre Stars, and like to dine on mussels and snails, via the charming starfish method of turning their tummies inside out.

From Heceta Head we went to the Sea Lions Caves, just north of the town of Florence. It was a bit touristy, but the owners of the site seem to be going out of their way to provide sightseers with a good look at the Steller sea lions' hangout and breeding site, and at the same time give the sea lions themselves plenty of space. You can watch the sea lions from a cliff lookout far overhead, then take an elevator down a couple hundred feet into the cave itself. The observation area is fenced off from where the sea lions like to hang out, and you're not allowed to use flash photography in the cave.

Those slug-looking things are the sea lions hanging out on the rock. There were about fifty of them in the cave, and another hundred and fifty or so on the rock ledges outside the cave. The cheeping sounds you hear on the video are swallows, which were swooping all over the interior of the cave.

From the Sea Lion Caves, we went to Florence and had a late lunch of chowder at Mo's, a well-known seafood place (well, places - there are five Mo's on the Oregon coastline). Then we had a little ice cream, bought some salt water taffy and headed back to Newport. It was a really satisfying day, but when John asked me if I'd had enough tidal pool time, I had to confess that there will never be enough tidal pool time. Particularly when I have a good Poking stick.

(Heceta Head Light, on the right)

Manly Men Doing Manly Things - Day 3

2009-06-24T11:05:00.008-04:00

The final day of the MGM 3 Gun was supposed to be a shorter day than the previous two, with John's squad scheduled to shoot only their remaining three stages. It ended up being surprisingly long, but some interesting things went on.

The gentlemen of John's squad were excited to shoot Stage 5, as it included a machine gun and a lot of running. Stage 6 had even more running, as well as the job of having to carry a 90-lb dummy through part of it. Much huffing and puffing ensued. The squad broke for lunch before its final stage, and just as well, since there was quite a delay getting into Stage 7 - a "secret stage."

Let me tell you: the MGM 3-Gun folks were serious about that secret stage. The entrance to the stage was cordoned off and you were not allowed to enter the area until it was your turn to shoot. There was a big sign proclaiming the penalties for unauthorized entry into the stage, not the least of which was receiving a DQ (or disqualification) for the match. It was also a long stage - I'm guessing that, between the actual running of the stage and the setup for the next shooter, it was probably 15-20 minutes between shooters. The previous squad was still on the stage when we assembled after lunch, so we had to wait.

By that time I'd read two and a half books and looked at all the birds on the range, so I was getting fairly bored. I amused myself by annoying a colony of antlions, or as they are more familiarly called, doodlebugs:

Eventually the previous squad finished with Stage 7 and one by one, members of John's squad were called into the secret stage. Once a shooter disappeared into the stage, they didn't come back - they stayed to assist with the stage reset. Even if they came back, they didn't talk about the stage, as there were serious penalties for doing that, as well. Eventually John's turn came and off he went. Before too long, we heard the shooting begin inside the stage, and about that time, this dopey-looking dog came loping down the range, his tongue hanging out and his tail a-wag. Before anyone could do anything, the dog disappeared inside the secret stage. We were still wondering what was going on when the shooting stopped, and after a moment John came out of the stage and informed us that he would get a re-shoot, as they'd had to stop the shooting when the dog got into the line of fire. About that time the dog was shooed out of the stage, and John went back in.

Unfortunately the dog had no collar and apparently no owner on premises, so there was no way to control it. Back it went into the stage, and this time the shooting continued. I was standing on high ground with some of the other members of John's squad, and at one point we were able to see John popping up to shoot at distant targets. The whole time the dog was running in and out of the line of fire. Apparently it was hunting the ground squirrel population, and it even caught one and ran around merrily with the carcass dangling from its mouth for a while. Eventually it ran off into a nearby field, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief.

All during this episode, the skies had been turning dark and forbidding, and the wind picked up considerably, bringing with it an absolutely indescribable stench. One of the other shooters informed me that a cattle feedlot was upwind of the range. It was so bad that the nearby port-a-potty smelled good by comparison. John's squad was fortunate in that they were waiting under cover, but most of the nearby squads were not so fortunate. When the downpour began, some of the shooters at other stages retreated beneath the stage sun screen, but those were rapidly uprooted by the wind and had to be collapsed down.

Was the shooting postponed while the storm came through, you may ask? The answer is NO. The shooting went on apace. Even the zip line stage, which we could see from our shelter, was still running. Apparently the rule at the MGM 3-Gun is: "If it starts to rain, keep shooting. If it starts to rain hard, shoot faster."

After about twenty minutes the rain let up, and by 5 PM John's squad and most of the other squads had completed their final stage. Estimates were that it would take roughly an hour to an hour and a half for the last shooters to finish up and for the scores to be compiled, so John and I went back to the hotel, had a shower, changed clothes and returned to the range. We were anticipating going out for a nice dinner after the awards ceremony.

Well, of course, things ran late. In fact, they ran REALLY late. It was close to 7 PM before the awards in John's class were announced, and right away it was apparent that there had been some kind of scoring error. John and all the other shooters in his class converged on the scoring table to sort things out, and I retreated to the car as it was starting to rain yet again. I read for a while, shook the Idaho dust out of the car floormats, fidgeted and got hungrier and hungrier. At about 9 PM John arrived back at the car, plenty steamed. He'd ended up finishing tenth in his class, which was good. The bad part was that the organizers of the event hadn't made the class wait until the scoring was corrected before starting the prize tent - which meant that lower-scoring shooters than John had been allowed into the tent before him and made off with the good prizes. (Here's how a prize tent works: vendors who sponsor the match donate products - guns, gun parts, gun bags, gun supplies and gift certificates, etc. - which are put on display on tables in the prize tent. Shooters enter the tent in the order in which they finished the match, first to last, and have just a few minutes to choose a prize and then leave the tent, after which many of them depart the match.)

In addition, the top ten finishers in John's class had received plaques, but because of the scoring snafu, someone else got the plaque John should have received. To add insult to injury, it was so late by the time we left the match that all the local restaurants had stopped serving, so our "nice dinner" ended up being at a nearby Denny's. Much to my surprise, however, they served liquor, so at least we were able to have a drink to celebrate the end of the MGM 3-Gun. John and his buddies are eager to attend next year's match - so in spite of the scoring issues, I guess they had fun all the same.

Manly Men Doing Manly Things - Day 2

2009-06-24T08:18:00.009-04:00

The second day of the MGM Iron Man dawned much like its predecessor - a bit misty and damp, but clearing off by mid-afternoon. Once again, John hauled his firepower and accessories back to the range; his Dutiful Wife hauled her sleepy butt and a book or two.

Since John's squad had finished with Stage 11 the previous day, they began with Stage 1, which featured a maze which had to be passed through (with pistol) at a crouch, followed by a belly-crawl (with rifle) beneath some netting. Stage 2 involved shooting from a large swinging platform, which made the shooters appear as if they were firing from the deck of a ship in choppy seas. No one fell down, which was a relief. Lunch followed, and this time the lunch folks seemed to have a better handle on things - John's squad also ate earlier in the day than previously, for which I was grateful. We usually didn't have breakfast before the start of each day's shooting, and Jack Link beef jerky doesn't really do much to fill you up, although it does give your jaws a workout.

The post-prandial stages were REALLY interesting. Stage 3 featured a steep slide that must have been at least 20 feet tall. The shooters began at the top of this slide with their rifles, and after completing that part of the stage, slid down the slide, landed at the bottom and continued with the balance of the course. The slide was so steep that a large, fat rope was provided to slow one's progress coming down; some shooters opted not to use it, and consequently the stage was the site of several visits from the local EMS teams. One shooter slid down so fast that he tripped at the bottom and did a face-plant into the sand; another shooter shot off the bottom of the slide, bounced on his backside a couple of times and had to be carted away by ambulance. Did I mention that the ambulance was a frequent visitor to the range?

We had a long wait before getting onto Stage 4, which was a two-parter. 4A involved shooting at clays with rifle and shotgun, then in 4B you strapped on your pistol and a harness and climbed to the top of a 40-foot tower, where they hitched your harness onto a zip line and sent you careening down toward a bunch of targets. Oh, hell - let me just show you what it looked like:

John was so entranced with the zip line and so eager to share the experience with me that he convinced the kindly R.O.s of 4B to let me do it after shooting was finished for the day (sans weaponry, of course). Even though it lengthened our day by another hour, it was worth it:

Manly Men Doing Manly Things - Day 1

2009-06-18T01:39:00.027-04:00

Ah, the smell of testosterone in the morning. The air was fairly crackling with it the first morning of the MGM Three-Gun competition in Parma, Idaho. Butch guys loaded down with weaponry were everywhere, talking incomprehensible shooting talk, grinning and shaking hands, earnestly reciting the Pledge of Allegiance ("amen," someone said at the conclusion) and in general, being Manly Men. The fact that most of these Manly Men tote their firepower in little red wagons (such as John, here) or more popularly, in converted baby jogging strollers, is a dichotomy that I find particularly endearing. (There are Extremely Manly Men who compete in a class called "Super Troopers," and they have to hump all their stuff on their backs, without benefit of stroller or little red wagon - but I think they're a little loopy.)

I always feel a bit odd at these events, but I attend because I am (a) A Good Wife On Occasion, and (b) they're always interesting, if only to watch the goings-on. If the goings-on get dull or tedious, they always take place out in some field somewhere, so there's usually wildlife to watch. With my chair, a book or two, a pair of binoculars and my trusty Audubon guidebooks, I can be happy just about everywhere. The only downside is that I have to wear eye and ear protection whenever I'm on the range, which are ever so stylin' but uncomfortable after a while. And no, I am not wearing the ear protection properly in this photo; there was no shooting going on at the time so I have the earmuffs parked at the back of my head, which makes me look a bit like a mutated Minnie Mouse.

Lest you think that there could be nothing more boring than watching a bunch of guys plinking at targets, let me assure you that the MGM Iron Man was a lot more than that. In the first place, the style of shooting is what's called "practical shooting," and I can't give a better definition than the one supplied by the U.S. Practical Shooting Association's website, which states: Practical Shooting attempts to measure the ability to shoot rapidly and accurately with a full power handgun, rifle, and/or shotgun. Those three elements - speed, accuracy, and power - form the three sides of the practical shooting triangle. By design, each match will measure a shooter's ability in all three areas. To do this, shooters take on obstacle-laden shooting courses (called stages) requiring anywhere from six to 30+ shots to complete. The scoring system measures points scored per second, then weights the score to compensate for the number of shots fired. If they miss a target, or shoot inaccurately, points are deducted, lowering that all-important points-per-second score. If shooting has an "extreme" sport, USPSA-sanctioned practical shooting is it.

I've sat in on a lot of these matches over the years, but the MGM Iron Man is a whole 'nother ball game. Here's the description from their website: The match includes 10 stages, an 1100 round count (if the shooter doesn't miss), and EVERY stage requires the use of all 3 guns...Over 3 days, the participants will shoot from the back of a moving vehicle, while driving a golf cart, from the top of a 20 ft tower, and while carrying a dummy. Every stage has a 10 minute time limit and the average time spent shooting on EACH stage is about 7 minutes.

What this translates to is three days, each roughly 12 hours long, of hauling a lot of heavy guns, ammo and other shooting equipment over a couple miles of dusty Idaho back country. If you're not actively shooting a stage, you're helping reset the stage for the next shooter, assisting with scoring, or helping the Range Officer in charge of the stage. Everyone helps, and I do mean EVERYONE. At the end of the day, you go back to your hotel room and clean your guns and get ready for the next day, so on average these guys get about four to five hours of sleep. And yes, folks, they do it for FUN.

The match ran from Thursday to Saturday. Thursday morning was the orientation, which meant we were at the range before sunup. It was cold, and it stayed cold until mid-afternoon, so I was actually grateful for the earmuffs. John shot four stages the first day. The first stage was relatively uncomplicated (compared to the majority of the Iron Man stages). I've posted the video here so you can see what it looks like. This is just the first part of the stage; later on he runs to the back part of the stage and shoots at a lot of metal targets, so quickly that it sounds like bells chiming - but this part is just to give you a flavor. The tall guy in the fluorescent yellow shirt is Andy, the Range Officer (or R.O.) for the stage.

The second stage was a mystery stage, which meant that I couldn't see anything of what was going on (although I was told a wheelbarrow was involved). A golf cart was featured on the third stage, and the final stage of the day was on the most far-flung of the stages and, according to John, "all uphill." A lot of the day was spent sitting around waiting. The downside of the day was lunch; John's squad was one of the last to break for lunch, and due to some miscommunication the lunch folks hadn't prepared enough food, so we had to make do with burgers and chips, missing out on the cole slaw, potato salad and BBQ. There was surprisingly little grumbling (well, I grumbled a bit). Then it was back out onto the range. During the downtime I did a little binocular work: saw a lot of Western Kingbirds, scared up some California Quail, and watched a pair of peeved-looking Red-Tailed Hawks standing guard over their nest. There were also a number of Townsend's Ground Squirrels at the range, which live in prairie dog-like villages. They disappear into their holes if you approach, but whistle to each other, managing to sound like they're right under your feet.

Because of a delay on Stage 9, John's squad was backed up for the balance of the day. They finished shooting Stage 11 at about 8:15 PM, so after getting dinner, returning to the hotel room, cleaning the guns and tumbling into bed, both of us were pretty tired. But once things warmed up, you couldn't have asked for prettier weather, better fellowship and a more beautiful sight than the Idaho high desert.

Way Out West

2009-06-10T21:42:00.019-04:00

Well, we are finally landed up in south-western Idaho, or northeastern Oregon, depending on what time of day it is and what the heck we're doing. We are staying in Ontario, Oregon but going back and forth between Parma, Idaho, so if I seem a little confused, that's why. If we jogged much further west or north we would be crossing back and forth between Mountain and Pacific time, so I should be glad we're at where we're at.

It took us four days to get here. Fortunately they were relatively easy travel days; about nine hours in the car per day. That is not as awful as it sounds. John's Honda Ridgeline truck is exceedingly comfortable - leather seats, plenty of legroom, storage for everything, XM/Sirius satellite radio, six-disc CD player - and we manage to keep each other occupied as we drive along. The first day out is always kind of dull. We didn't get going until nearly noon, and didn't stop for anything except gas once along the way before we ended up in Brownsburg, Indiana (just west of Indianapolis) for the night.

The next morning we got an earlier start, after a quick compli-mentary breakfast at our Hampton Inn motel which, coinci-dentally, was pretty nice. In spite of the breakfast, John had to stop at the local White Castle and get himself some sliders. Longtime readers of this blog will remember two years back, when we made a similar trek west and also stopped in Brownsburg for the night, and also got White Castle burgers the next morning on the way out. In fact, this photo is a lot like the one I took of John on June 5, 2007 (you can look at it if you want by clicking on the June 2007 archives to the right).

Personally, I don't get the attraction of White Castle burgers - to me, they taste like meat-and-onion flavored sponges. I took one bite and that was enough. But John always has to have them. It's a tradition when we're out in this part of the country.

Continuing westward through Illinois, we lost an hour as we passed into Central Time. Things got flatter and flatter as we drove through Iowa. We pulled into a rest stop for a quick break as we drew closer to the Nebraska state line, and upon coming out of the restrooms, were startled to hear an alarm bell going off. There were no signs explaining the alarm, and other travelers were standing around in puzzlement. Someone wondered aloud if the alarm was a tornado warning. John and I shrugged it off, got back in the car and continued west on I-80. We hadn't traveled more than a few miles when the sky began to look reeeeeally ominous:

We could see lightning striking the distance. Before long, big fat drops of rain began spatting against the windshield - hard. We kept on going. The sky got darker and the rain got heavier and harder, eventually coming down so hard that we could barely see the road ahead. We pulled onto the shoulder and hit our emergency flashers (many other drivers were doing the same) and waited. After a bit the rain seemed to let up, so we got back on the road. I don't think we went more than a couple of miles when the big fat rain turned into penny-sized hail. Again, we pulled onto the shoulder. If there had been any substantial wind I would have been nervous. Eventually the hail tapered off and became rain, and we started off once again, eventually driving out of the storm.

We crossed into Nebraska, checked into our motel, got a bite to eat and then went to visit my sister Anneliese and her family. Niece Johanna had just graduated from high school the day before, and Niece Eileen from college the previous month. All four Kennedy girls were home for the summer. This photo is of Johanna, Amanda and Caitlin; Eileen was otherwise engaged with her beau, Steve. We shared the remnants of Johanna's graduation cake and generally whooped it up for a couple of hours, then went outside to show off John's truck and say our farewells. The "saying of the farewells" always takes at least another half hour. This is Liese and Craig, looking like they're giving John a hard time (they weren't), but what's fun is Eileen and Steve in the background. They had been snuggling on the hood of the red car, and appear to be smiling sheepishly after coming up for air. We'll be stopping with the Kennedys again on the return trip, and will, I hope, have pictures that are actually taken in daylight.

The next morning we continued west on I-80, traversing Nebraska, which is pretty darned flat until you get into the westernmost portion, where things start looking a bit more interesting. John and I stopped at the Great Platte River Road Archway Monument, which is a big arched thing that stretches across I-80 near Kearney, Nebraska. We passed under the arch but had to continue several miles down I-80 before we got to the exit ramp - and then had to double back down a service road before we pulled into the parking lot. We got out of the car and I had a brief cuddle with a big fiberglass bison before heading toward the monument entrance.

We were greeted by extremely friendly "pioneer" folk as soon as we got near the door - but the $10 admission fee was off-putting, so we opted out of touring the monument. Instead, I bought a refrigerator magnet and squished a souvenir penny for our collections, then John and I went outside where there was a bridge across a nearby canal. The canal has been stocked with giant black Japanese koi, which is, of course, very Nebraska. It was a little surreal. However, there was a handy machine on the bridge stocked with koi food, and for 25 cents you got about a dozen pea-sized nuggets. We spent about 75 cents on fish food, which we then doled out to the grateful koi. I was interested to see one fish lurking near the bank that was clearly not a koi, and clearly not interested in the koi food. The koi, however, went nuts for the stuff. This is John feeding the koi (the north end of the Archway Monument is visible behind him), and these are the koi having a koi feeding frenzy:

We fed ourselves on sandwiches from the cooler, then got back on I-80, passing into Wyoming and stopping for the night in Rawlins, about halfway across the state. The next morning we continued west, amusing ourselves by learning Italian from a CD program ("Vedo una macchina bianca!"), listening to an audio version of Blink by Malcolm Gladwell, and playing Punch Bug. (I have decided I suck at Punch Bug. Our current score is 64 to 33, favor of John - of course.) As we approached Green River, Wyoming, we picked up a stone chip in the windshield courtesy of a passing truck. From Wyoming we moved briefly into Utah and picked up I-84 east of Salt Lake City. As we traveled north of Ogden, yet another angry sky loomed up on the horizon:

Fortunately, this storm simply contained rain and no hail, but there was a LOT of rain. As the storm passed by, we saw cars coming to a stop ahead of us on both sides of I-84. Water was boiling down the hill on the far side of the highway, filling the culvert and ponding across the eastbound lanes, the median and the westbound lanes. The culvert on our side of the highway was also filled to the brim and spilling into the fields beyond. There had been a collision between a small car and a large truck, but fortunately everyone seemed okay. I'm guessing the flash flood was at fault.

As we crossed into Idaho, most of the rain had cleared off. We passed through Boise and then over the state line into Ontario, Oregon, where we checked into our hotel and got a bite to eat. This morning, we drove back into Idaho to Parma, the location of the MGM Ironman Three-Gun match, which John will be shooting starting tomorrow. I waited patiently for a couple of hours while John wandered over the range, getting a look at some of the stages (I know, this is a lot of jargon - it will all be explained in a subsequent post). Then we took a drive around the Snake River Canyon area.

There are a lot of small towns, wide fields and spectacular scenery along the way, but we also saw an awful lot of closed businesses and empty houses for sale. We stopped for a late lunch at a place called Boy's Better Burger, where I saw this sign taped on the counter. It isn't the first sign of this type we've seen since arriving here. Its reluctant stinginess made a sobering contrast to the generous and sprawling landscape around us.

Westward Ho (Again)

2009-06-06T08:04:00.003-04:00

That's right, we're heading west again. I'll be posting reports along the way. Y'all come back now, hear?

(turns and walks into the sunset, whistling a few bars of "Happy Trails")

Potting, Planting and the Anti-Squirrel Cage

2009-05-31T14:59:00.008-04:00

Now that my time is my own and the weather has finally become more conducive to gardening, I've been outside getting my hands dirty.

John tilled up the garden for me some weeks back, but it was too wet and cold to do much planting until the middle of May. At last we had a couple consecutive days of warm, dry weather, and I was able to rake the earth into garden rows, cover everything with weed blocking fabric and put in my seedlings and support systems.

This year I decided against planting green beans and yellow wax beans. They've been big producers for me the past two years, but to be honest, after eating them two and three times a week last summer, John and I are sick to death of them. I also opted to plant potatoes in containers this year (see previous blog), so I had a lot of arable footage freed up. I put in seven tomato plants: four Romas and one Sweet 100s Cherry (I put these in every year), as well as a Black Krim and a Mortgage Lifter. The latter two are heirloom varieties which I haven't attempted before - I decided to give the Brandywines a rest this year and try something new.

I also put in a jalapeno pepper, sweet basil, two varieties of cucumber (Straight Eight and Bush Whopper). Last year I tried out a new kind of vegetable support called a cucumber trellis; the idea is to get the vines and their resultant produced up off the ground, and I was really happy with it. I bought a second one, and this year I'm using it to support two Sugar Baby watermelon plants (the melon seedlings are on the right in this photo; the second trellis arrived the day after I took the picture). It looks like there's an awful lot of room in the garden, but trust me: once the cukes and melons get going, they'll take over the joint.

The potatoes are doing quite well in their deck containers. They started sprouting within a week of planting and I've already had to unroll the planting bags almost completely in order to "hill up" the sprouts. I've potted up sage, cilantro, dill and lemon verbena and have those out on the deck, as well as most of the house plants.

Our big challenge this year was devising some way to keep the squirrels out of the tomatoes. Last year I lost roughly eighty percent of my crop to marauding gray squirrels and their little cousin the chipmunk. A late attempt at netting up the plants turned into a giant and ineffectual mess (see last year's blog here, so I knew if we were going to do it, we needed to have a plan and we needed to start early. I described what I wanted to John, and together we went shopping for nine-foot poles, deer netting, ground staples and zip ties.

We started by planting poles upright at each corner of the tomato patch, forming a rectangle. Then we laid perpendicular poles across the top of the rectangle and zip-tied them in place. We unrolled the deer-netting (it's ten feet wide) and zip-tied it around the perimeter of the rectangle, leaving a good four to six inches of excess at the bottom. While John worked securing the netting at the top, I went inside the cage, pulled up the weed-blocking fabric at the edges of the rectangle, drew the excess netting inside, then pinned the excess netting underneath the fabric. This way, if a critter tries to go underneath the netting, it'll be blocked by the fabric.

John placed two poles at right angles on top of the cage and zip-tied the resultant cross to the rectangle. We then spread more deer netting across those poles and zip-tied it down, creating a roof to the cage. On the off chance that a squirrel attempts to climb the netting, it still won't be able to get at the tomato plants.

For a doorway, we designed the cage so that the deer netting overlaps at the front, and at this overlap I didn't pin the netting into the ground. We wove some shorter poles into the netting at both vertical edges of the overlap. Using the two shorter poles like the edges of a bathrobe, we wrap the netting past itself and poke the shorter poles into the ground to hold it in place. This closes the "doorway" to the cage; to open it, we just "unwrap." Although a determined critter could burrow under the netting at this point, we think that the multiple layers of netting might be somewhat off-putting.

So that's our grand experiment for the garden this year. I'm hoping the Anti-Squirrel Cage will do its job and keep those bushy-tailed varmints out of the tomatoes, and that I'll reap the benefits of a bumper crop this year!

The Vegetable Garden 2009 - This Year's Experiment

2009-05-07T15:34:00.008-04:00

Between the endless rain and my Ragtime schedule, I've been a little swamped lately. John got the vegetable patch tilled but it's filled with standing water, so until things dry out a little bit and I have more time, my springtime gardening has been limited to containers.

About a month ago I bought some seed potatoes (three varieties: Kennebunk, Pontiac and Yukon Gold), resolved once again to see if I can find some way to grow these tubers. Regular readers will remember that I've tried to grow them for the past several seasons and have been disappointed in the results. My father-in-law advised me that my soil was probably too heavy and wet, which seems reasonable since some of my taters were actually rotting when I tried to harvest them. But how to remedy this problem? I'd tried hilling the plants with straw, but even that didn't really work.

During the holidays I worked part-time for Plow & Hearth in Fairfax, and discovered a potato-planter-bag-thingy that they carried the previous year (now discontinued). I was intrigued, because if I could grow the potatoes in containers, then I could control the amount of water they got. I was able to find a set of the potato bags at another P&H store, had them transferred to the Fairfax store, purchased them and put them away until I was ready to plant. This morning when I looked at my seed potatoes, I realized that I needed to get them into the planters pronto.

I bought a compost/humus mixture and some potting soil at Home Depot, then assembled soil, seed potatoes and potato bags at my potting bench. This is one of the potato bags:

They are made of a heavy-duty green plastic, with reinforced drainage holes in the bottom and along the sides at the bottom. I folded the sides down until the bags were about eight inches high, then covered the bottom drainage holes with rocks:

filled the bags with about four inches of the compost and soil, and then laid the seed potatoes on top (these are the Pontiacs):

Then I filled the bags with more soil, making sure to crumble the big chunks (observe the spiffy new gardening gauntlets; thanks, Mom):

With the soil patted down firmly over the seed potatoes, I then transferred the three bags to rolling plant caddies on the deck. I labeled each planter by writing the name of the potato variety on a clothespin, then clipping it to the side of the bag.

As the potato plants begin to grow, I'll unfold the bags and fill them with more soil as the plants' height increase. With the caddies, I can roll the bags into the sun (or out of the rain), thus controlling the moisture level of the plants. With the potatoes in containers on the deck, I'll have more room in my vegetable plot, too - now if things would only dry out a bit so I can plant...

Yes, It's Another Crass Commercial Announcement

2009-04-02T19:25:00.006-04:00

Ragtime has been extended an additional week at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts! Our first performance is April 18th and we are now running through May 17th. If you haven't gotten your tickets, hurry - the show is selling like hotcakes!

Hearts, Flowers and the The Battle of The Electric Map (Part Two)

2009-02-22T15:28:00.014-05:00

The morning of the 15th dawned bright and clear, and John and I were up at an unreasonably early hour - for us, that is. We were showered, dressed and packed by 8:15, and when I bemoaned the fate of my Valentine's Day rose (I really didn't want to leave it behind), John found an empty soda bottle, rinsed it out, filled it with water and voila! instant vase. It traveled in the truck's cup holder with us all day.

After checking out, we went to the Avenue Restaurant for breakfast. We'd scoped the place out the night before and decided it looked like a decent enough place. We got there shortly before 9 AM and were seated immediately, as the restaurant was only about half full. That changed within 20 minutes; the place was packed, a wait list had been started and there was a line out the door. The kitchen was a little slow, but we had a good diner-style breakfast, although there were a couple of menu items that gave one pause.

After breakfast we drove back over to the Visitors' Center and parked. We got a place in the closest lot, although we observed that someone had realized the need for additional parking, as the overflow lots were also open. We bought tickets for the movie about Gettysburg (nothing special), which also allowed us to view the new museum and the old Gettysburg Diorama. The Diorama had been moved from its building closer to the battlefield into the new Visitors' Center, so I assume the Powers That Be at the National Park Service had decided that it, unlike the Electric Map, wasn't too outdated to save. The Diorama was quite impressive, and the museum, with all its bells and whistles, very interesting - although I kept finding myself missing the sweet simplicity of the Electric Map. We spent better than an hour in the museum, then decided to get a couple of sodas and start touring the battlefield again. A 20-ounce soda in the Center's snack area was priced at more than three bucks, and I told John I was NOT going to pay that much for a lousy Diet Coke. Instead, we bought our large Diet Cokes at the local McDonald's and paid for both what we would have paid for a single bottle at the Center.

Refreshments obtained, we decided to start at the beginning of the Auto Tour suggested by the Park Service on their map (again, if you want to look at the map, go here). We drove over to the northwestern part of the battlefield to McPherson Ridge, where the Union army first sighted the Confederate forces about 8 AM the morning of July 1, 1863 and the battle officially began. From there we drove on to the Eternal Light Peace Memorial, which was dedicated by some 1800 Civil War vets on the 75th anniversary of the battle. Odd sheets of plywood were fastened to the memorial here and there; I was puzzled but John realized right away that the plywood wasn't some kind of jury-rigged repair, but had been placed there to cover graffiti that defaced the monument. Lovely. We continued on to the observation tower at Oak Ridge, which gave us a sweeping view of the first day's battleground and the numerous monuments that dotted it. We walked out to this one:

but I can't remember now what it memor-ialized; probably the left flank of some defending Union line (or the right flank of an attacking Confederate line). It just looked lonesome, out there by itself. The first day of fighting ended in this area, with the Union troops retreating in a southeasterly direction, through the town of Gettysburg up to Cemetery Hill. John and I swung up to visit Barlow Knoll, then drove through town to Cemetery Hill to catch an 1 PM "ranger talk" about the Soldiers' National Cemetery, the site of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. About 12:50 we parked in the lot by the old Visitors' Center, and as we got out of the car, John nodded at a green-coated figure striding past us toward the cemetery gates. "There goes our ranger," he said.

And indeed, it was. We caught up with Ranger Eric Campbell just inside the gate, and while we waited for others to arrive, we quizzed him about the missing Electric Map. Ranger Campbell filled us in on the wrangling over the Map's fate; he said that originally the NPS had intended to simply destroy the Map along with the old Diorama building and Visitors' Center, but that feeling was running so high on the subject that plans were currently on hold. An historical group was also trying to save the Diorama building, claiming that it was of architectural significance, whereas the NPS wanted to clear out the entire area so that visitors could see the sweep of the battlefield from Cemetery Hill as it was in 1863. Other battlefield visitors joined us and the talk drifted into other channels (such as parking). Eventually about 25 people had gathered to hear Ranger Campbell's lecture, but as he led the group into the cemetery, a latecomer piped up: "Where's the Electric Map?"

Ranger Campbell gave a dynamic and interesting talk. He told us about the original town cemetery which gave Cemetery Hill its name, and about the dedication of the Soldiers' National Cemetery right next to it, which occurred several months after the battle and where Lincoln (NOT the featured speaker) gave his famous Address. He moved on to discuss the battle itself, pointing out from this high vantage point the area John and I had just toured (and which was visible through the trees beyond the town). Then he talked about the burial of the Union soldiers, many of whose remains were unidentified, and how the Confederate dead were left in shallow mass graves on the battlefield where they had fallen. He talked about the miseries of the Gettysburg townfolk, left to deal with the wounded, dying and dead in their streets, farms and fields. It was a sobering lecture, and Ranger Campbell was clearly passionate and well-read on his subject.

By the time we got back to the car, it was well past lunchtime and we were both hungry and cold. We went back to the Avenue Restaurant on Steinwehr Avenue and had a bite to eat (no, we did NOT have the deep fried pickles), then drove back over to the top of West Confederate Avenue to continue our auto tour. We passed this sign and puzzled over what it could mean (quicksand? big sale on tires? hoopskirts ahead?). We drove through McMillan Woods to the North Carolina Memorial, marking one of the areas where the Confederate Army positioned itself early on the second day of the battle. We continued south, coming to the Virginia Memorial and a view to the east of the scene of the final assault of the three-day battle - the infamous and doomed "Pickett's Charge," where nearly 12,500 Confederate soldiers advanced for three-quarters of a mile through open fields under heavy Union artillery and rifle fire. More than half the soldiers were killed during the assault, which was ultimately repulsed by the Union.

Continuing still further south, we solved the mystery of the odd sign - off to our right was an Ampitheatre. I guess the sign made sense, but only if you knew there was an Ampitheatre in the area. We passed through Pitzer Woods and could see ahead of us the Observation Tower of the first day of our visit. Since we were going back over the previous day's track, we didn't stop as we passed by Big Round Top, Little Round Top and the turnoff for Devil's Den. However, we missed our turn for Stops 9, 10 and 11 of the Auto Tour - The Wheatfield, The Peach Orchard and Plum Run. Owing to the layout of the battlefield and the number of one-way roads in the area, the only way we could have doubled back would have been to drive up to Steinwehr Avenue, make a hard left and pick up the Auto Tour again way back near Warfield Ridge. It was getting dark and we still had a couple of places to see, so we regretfully passed on, heading north to the Pennsylvania Memorial.

Clearly the Pennsylvanians have the home field advantage, as their Memorial is the largest and most elaborate of all the monuments on the battlefield (even the Virginians, with their Memorial crowned by a statue of General Lee on his horse Traveller, are overshadowed by the PA boys). Unfortunately, the Memorial is in bad shape, owing to structural problems which have been exacerbated by both weather and age. All the same, John and I decided to climb the interior spiral staircase so we could see the view from the top. (It was a fine view, but I found out later that the Memorial is in such poor shape that there's a good chance it may be closed to the public. Because of that, part of me is glad we made the climb, and another part of me is kind of horrified.)

Night was falling rapidly and John very much wanted to visit the East Cavalry Battlefield Site, which is a couple miles east of the main battlefield. Because of that, we made the High Water Mark our final stop. This is as far as the Confederate Army got, both in the battle and in the entire Civil War - the finale of the ill-fated Pickett's Charge. The following day, the Confederate Army retreated and began its downward spiral toward final defeat two years later. With the fading light, we couldn't linger; we bypassed Spangler's Spring and East Cemetery Hill, and drove the few miles east toward the Calvary Battlefield (remarkable mostly for the presence of George Armstrong Custer, who led his Michigan Brigade against General J.E.B. Stuart's Confederate cavalry). We had a quiet drive through this far-flung portion of the battlefield, then turned the car south again and headed home.

Total casualties (killed, wounded and captured) in the three days of fighting at Gettysburg: 23,000 Union soldiers, and as many as 28,000 Confederates.

Hearts, Flowers and the The Battle of The Electric Map (Part One)

2009-02-19T08:36:00.007-05:00

Since John's birthday, Valentine's Day and the three-day President's Day weekend all coincided this year, we did something we've been intending to do for a long time - take an overnight trip to Gettysburg, PA. We'd made a quick visit through the battlefield many years ago, but we'd always wanted to tour it in a more leisurely fashion. Accordingly, I made a reservation for a king room at a local motel (I briefly considered a B&B, but John and I are not really B&B people - we like to do things on our own schedule) and reserved a table for two for a nice dinner the evening of the 14th. On Saturday we had a leisurely breakfast, ran a couple of errands, threw a few things in an overnight bag and took off. The drive up to Gettysburg takes less than two hours, and once you're out of Metro DC, the scenery is pleasant.

We arrived in Gettysburg around 2 PM and drove around in confusion for a bit until we got our bearings. I wanted to stop by the Visitors' Center and pick up a map, but there was no place to park in the closest lot and the overflow lots were closed (!). I cursed myself for not printing out the map at the Park Service's website. John and I decided to just start driving around the battlefield and glean what information we could along the way.

If you've never been to Gettysburg, a word of warning: the battlefield area is ENORMOUS. After a few wrong turns, John and I ended up at the southwestern edge of the battlefield. If you want to see where we were, look at the map on this page. We noticed an observation tower in the distance and headed toward that. It was quite a tall tower, but we climbed it and stood gasping at the top, looking out over the view but not quite certain what exactly we were looking at. Handy placards were here and there to read, but we're not Civil War buffs and it was difficult to get our bearings, both on the topography and its significance in the battle. The view was nice, though. The Eisenhower estate was off to the west, looking serene, and the fields were pretty.

We climbed back down the tower and drove south. The road ascended through some woods and we got out of the car to examine monuments. There are monuments everywhere at Gettysburg, in such proliferation that you can barely spit without hitting one. We read them but again, weren't really grasping what was significant about the site, even with the help of the informative placards. John and I both recalled that on our last visit, we had enjoyed a display called The Electric Map - a huge topographical map that let you see the whole battle unfold before you. We agreed that seeing the map again would be helpful.

As we continued along the road, I started seeing signs for Big Round Top and Little Round Top and felt that we were getting into an area we at least knew a little bit about. We opted not to climb Big Round Top and instead parked our car on the slope near Little Round Top and walked up. There were a lot of people at Little Round Top and I hated to imagine what it must be like in the summertime, in the height of tourist season. We climbed up the rocks and looked down at Devil's Den below (in the photo, Devil's Den is off to your left). The helpful placards explained how strategically important Little Round Top was and how both sides had struggled to possess it. Looking down at Devil's Den and to the south, the area known as the Slaughter Pen, I began to feel more and more somber.

We drove down to Devil's Den and climbed around the rocks for a while. People here seemed to be in a jovial mood; kids were leaping from rock to rock and shrieking with laughter, grownups were engaged in lively chatter. John got a cell phone call and while he dealt with it, I found a quiet spot and just looked over the area. It made me sad at the thought of so many lives lost in such a desperate struggle. The overcast and gloomy day, growing darker as the sun set, wasn't helping matters. It was also getting colder by the minute, and I huddled in my coat, waiting for John to finish his phone call. The screaming kids were getting on my nerves, so I wandered further up the rocks, reading the placards and looking out over the nearby fields. By the time John finished his call, the sun was nearly set and we decided to head back over to the Visitors' Center to try for a map before the place closed down for the night.

To our surprise, there was still no place to park in the main lot by the Visitors' Center. We finally noticed a "buses only" lot off to one side, and saw that it was mostly filled with cars. We went ahead and parked there with everyone else and walked up the hill to the Center. Both of us needed to use the bathroom (there are a few public facilities on the battlefield, but they're only open in the summer), so we dealt with that first. I was out of the bathroom before John, so I went down to the far end of the Center to visit the Information desk. I asked the gentleman working there for a map and picked up a few other flyers and brochures. Then I made the fatal error of the day: I asked the gentleman, "Where is the Electric Map?"

I wasn't prepared for his response, nor for his vehemence. The gentleman barked, "Have you visited our museum? It's got multi-million-dollar, state-of-the-art technology! I don't understand why people want to look at the old map! It put the kids watching it to sleep! We can't get parts for it any more! You're the tenth person to ask about it today! Are you a local?" I said no, I wasn't local; I remembered the map from a visit a long time ago and I'd found it very useful in understanding the battle. The gentleman finally calmed down enough to tell me that the map was locked up in the old Visitors' Center, which is slated for demolition "sometime soon." I thanked him and walked back toward the restrooms, where John was just coming out. I told him about the gentleman and the status of the Electric Map, and he got a familiar glint in his eye and turned toward the Information desk. "Where are you going?" I asked. "I'm gonna go ask the guy where I can find the Electric Map," he said with a grin.

By the time we left the Visitors' Center, it was beginning to snow. We hadn't had lunch and our dinner reservation wasn't until 7:45, so we drove into town looking for a place to get a snack. We opted for Ernie's Texas Lunch, which I'd picked out as a potential breakfast place Sunday morning. Good thing we stopped in; we discovered they weren't open on Sundays. We shared a plate of french fries with gravy and John had a cup of soup (both were fine, but really needed some seasoning). Then we checked into our motel (the Quality Inn on Steinwehr; nothing special but clean and well-appointed), and I had a shower while John relaxed in front of the TV. By the time we left for dinner, the snow had just about stopped but to our surprise, the motel parking lot was full and the indoor pool downstairs was full of families.

We had a pleasant dinner at the historic Dobbin House Tavern, where I was presented with a red rose, it being Valentine's Day and all. I had roasted duck and John had prime rib; again, both dishes were under-seasoned but the service was attentive and we were seated near the fireplace, so we were warm and had a little more light to see by (the Dobbin House gives you a single candle on your table - reading the menu is a bit of an adventure). After dinner we returned to the motel, watched some more TV, looked at our maps a bit and then went to bed.

A Quiescently Frozen Confection

2009-01-24T16:50:00.011-05:00

John and I headed north to visit his folks last weekend. Central New York is very cold and snowy right now, and the decrease in temperature was sometimes a bit much for my thin Southern-girl blood. Thank goodness for the heated seats in John's new truck. I liked them so much that there were a couple of occasions when I got out of the truck and couldn't wait to get back in - such as the evening we stopped at the local ski slope to see what was going on. I took about five steps, announced that it was too cold and got back in the truck. John laughed at me, and justifiably so.

There was one place in our travels where I was glad to get out of the truck, cold or no, and that was at Chittenango Falls. I've seen the falls before in warmer weather (I'm a sucker for waterfalls, no matter how small) and they're very pretty. Actually, the falls aren't really that small - it's a 167-foot cascade from top to toe, the same height as Niagara Falls. As we headed back home after our visit, I told John I'd like to stop by the falls, just for the heck of it. I was pretty sure they'd be at least partly frozen and worth seeing.

You have to drive up a winding road to access the falls, but John's truck handled the trip easily (the road was clear, which was good). It was a darkish day, with the threat of more snow in the forecast, so I was paying more attention to the road than the view outside. Suddenly John pointed out my window; I looked and boom! there were the falls.

Now, this picture doesn't really do Chittenango Falls justice. It just looks like a bunch of ice and snow (if you click on it, you'll get a larger image and a much better idea of just how gorgeous it was). We continued driving up the road to the little park at the top of the falls. There was only one other car in the snowy parking lot, and it clearly belonged to a little family that was making its way through the foot or so of snow on the ground near the top of the falls. As we pulled up and parked, the youngest member of the family (a toddler who was manfully trying to make his way through the snow) decided he'd had enough, stopped where he was and had himself a good cry. Mom and Dad gathered him up and headed back to their car as John and I got ourselves zipped and bundled up for our own trek to the water's edge.

There is a stairway you can take to the base of the falls, leading to a little footbridge that crosses Chittenango Creek, but the stairway was closed due to the snow. We contented ourselves with trudging to the brink and gazing over.

The view was breathtaking. Chittenango Falls was about three-quarters frozen, with a stubborn and very forceful cascade of water churning down the very middle. Long icicles hung from the frozen sides of the falls, and the evergreens growing at the edges of the cataract were frosted with ice, which made them look like something you'd find on a fanciful holiday card. Far below, the footbridge arched across the dark water.

John and I spent about twenty minutes enjoying the view. Eventually we made our way back to the parking lot, where the little family was headed back to look at the falls, this time with Junior togged out in a snowsuit which made him look like a baby Michelin Man. We wished them a good visit, got into the truck and snapped on those heated seats. As the warmth returned to our bodies, we headed down into the town of Cazenovia, got a quick bite at Dave's Diner, and headed south, out of the snow and toward home.

Kicking Off the New Year With MORE Crass Commercial Announcements

2009-01-09T20:50:00.003-05:00

John reminded me that I haven't been blogging much lately, and while I'm aware that this hardly qualifies as a true blog, it'll have to suffice until something else piques my interest and little gray cells.

First, I'm scheduled to teach at Theatre Lab starting this month. I taught a six-week course in "Auditioning for Musical Theatre" back in November/December, and I'm now booked to teach "Musical Theatre Workshop," a six-week course starting January 26th. Originally we were going to start on January 12th, but what with the Inauguration and post-holiday craziness, a later start has been deemed a better start. The class will meet Monday evenings from 7 PM to 10 PM at the Theatre Lab classrooms at 733 8th Street NW (close to Chinatown) through March 9 (no class on March 2). If you've been on the fence about taking a class of this kind, this gives you another week or two sign up! I'm still finalizing the curriculum, but I promise you that if you take the class, you'll get a lot of one-on-one attention - and you won't be bored!

Second, I'm pleased to announce that I've been cast as radical anarchist Emma Goldman (pictured above) in the Kennedy Center's upcoming production of Ragtime. I've always loved this show, but to be involved with a production of this caliber is really thrilling. It opens April 18 and runs through May 10. Tickets are already selling briskly, so I urge you to make your reservations ASAP. The full cast has yet to be announced, but what casting I know thus far promises an extraordinary production!

Here's to a bright new 2009! Hope yours has been happy so far!

The Last Crass Commercial Announcement of '08

2008-12-11T08:22:00.002-05:00

If you're not doing anything this evening, come on down to the Greater Reston Arts Center and see me in a reading of Charles Mee's Big Love.

The reading is a presentation of The Hub Theatre a brand-spankin' new theatre in Reston, Virginia. The cast features Hub Artistic Directors Helen Pafumi and Maggie Ulmer, as well as Jeremy Brown, Evan Casey, Rose McConnell, Jon Lawlor, Megan Dominy, John C. Bailey and Tim Getman, and is directed by Patrick Torres.

Some of you might remember Woolly Mammoth's production of this show several years back. For those who don't, the plot is, in short: Fifty brides flee their fifty grooms and seek refuge in a villa on the coast of Italy in this modern re-making of The Danaids by Aeschylus. I play Bella, an Italian uber-Mama.

The Greater Reston Arts Center is located at 12001 Market Street, Reston, VA. We're in suite #103. The reading starts at 6 PM and it's free. Spend your evening seeing some wild and crazy theatre, and support a fledgling company in its premiere year!

Halloween '08 Part 3 - Punkin Chunkin

2008-11-03T11:51:00.018-05:00

You know how sometimes you anticipate something and imagine what it will be like, but when you're actually experiencing it, it's nothing like you thought it would be? The World Championship Punkin Chunkin was kind of like that for me.

John and I first heard about the "Chunk" some years ago, when Discovery or TLC or one of those smart cable channels ran a show about it. It looked like such wacky fun: slightly deranged people build machines designed to hurl pumpkins into a field, and the winner is the one whose pumpkin goes furthest. The field in question is out in the vicinity of Seaford, Delaware, which is only about two and a half hours from our house, but in previous years our schedules never allowed us to make the trip. This year, however, we discovered that we were free the weekend of the Chunk, so I made us a motel reservation, and on Saturday after lunch we drove north.

It was a beautiful day - warm for November, sunny and clear. On our way out of the metro area, we passed a truck with an engine fire, which was smelly, and further up the road there was a three-car fender-bender with people standing around looking perturbed, but there wasn't a whole lot of traffic and all in all the drive was a pleasure. The further north we traveled, the less traffic there was and we had plenty of time to enjoy the sights, such as pretty trees:

and bridges and bays:

We got into the vicinity of the Chunk around 3:00, but it took us another twenty minutes to find the parking entrance and then another ten minutes to get parked. The nice Chunk people charged us $2 to park and $9 per person admission, so it was a round $20 for us to attend (I should add that the event spans three days, and you have to pay admission and parking each day). We knew that in advance so it wasn't a surprise - however, what was surprising was the scope of the whole thing. I'd had visions of us being able to cruise up to the firing line to watch; no such luck. The parking area was huge and packed; we had to park about a quarter mile from the entrance to the event and walk through the remains of a cornfield to get there. That didn't bother me, but having to run the gauntlet of drunken tailgate parties and clusters of inebriated college students did.

The food vendors at the Chunk don't sell booze, but there's no prohibition against bringing your own, and it was clear that vast amounts of beer had been consumed during the day. The parking field was awash with beer cans, piles and piles of them, drained and tossed aside. The few trash cans we passed were overflowing with more beer cans. We stopped at a port-a-potty in the field and were startled at how nasty they were. Now, a port-a-potty is unpleasant at best, but the inside of these things had been treated like extra garbage bins, with empty beer cans stacked on every available surface and even thrown down into the latrine.

You can also tote your brewskies inside the gate. Once we got inside, it seemed like everyone had a beer in their hand, and I do mean everyone. Miller Lite and Bud Lite seemed to be the booze of choice, and there was much raucous laughter and staggering going on. To their credit, the drinkers were cheerful and friendly, but it was an aspect of the Chunk that I wasn't prepared for. Don't get me wrong; I'm not a prude about drinking and I like a drink myself occasionally, but I don't understand the drinking-to-get-drunk attitude (one individual was hawking t-shirts imprinted with ARE WE DRUNK YET, as if that was the purpose of attending the Chunk). I was also troubled by the hordes of what were clearly underage drinkers (the individual in this photo excepted; she couldn't get the bottle cap off, thank goodness).

The second letdown is harder to put into words. When we saw the TV piece on the Chunk, what was most appealing to me was the amateur aspect of it, a sort of Judy and Mickey let's-put-on-a-show attitude. There was a earnest and whimsical feel to what the Chunkers were doing. That whimsy might have been in more in evidence if the pumpkin-hurling devices hadn't been at such a remove from the onlookers. I realize there are safety issues here and that the crowd (particularly those who had been imbibing) was better off kept at a distance, but it was still a let-down to find that we couldn't get any closer than about twenty feet to the nearest machine. When we arrived, the day's competition had just ended and a "free-for-all" was beginning, which meant that the various machines were firing off pumpkins for the fun of it. The big compressed-air cannons were popping out pumpkins every once in a while and they are certainly the largest and showiest (and noisiest) of the chunkers, but I had hoped to see some of the big trebuchets and catapults at work (there are 15 classes of machine; if you're curious, you can look at the rules here). They were lined up perpendicular to the air cannons but none of them were participating in the free-for-all.

Some of the junior division machines were taking part, many of them clearly Boy Scout projects, and one or two centrifugals would let fly once in a while, but we weren't able to see any of the big medieval-looking monsters in action.

I kept hearing that one could pay an additional fee to be allowed into the "pit" area, but we couldn't find out how to go about doing it. So John and I wandered up and down the fence perimeter, looking at the machines, while most of the onlookers drifted off to indulge in the other attractions available. This was my third disappointment: the "carny" atmosphere surrounding the Chunk. There were midway rides and games, food vendors of every type, rock concerts at a nearby stage, a kiddie beauty pageant, cooking contests, and stalls hawking everything from Chunk souvenirs to bedsheets (I'm not kidding). And of course, many folks broke out fresh brewskies and the drinking continued apace. Hardcore Chunk fans had the closest parking spaces and had some of the most elaborate tailgating setups we'd ever seen; one included a platform with its own bar and beer taps and a flat screen TV.

In case this sounds like the day was a complete downer, it wasn't: we bought a big bag of fresh, hot kettle corn and munched on that as we walked around; we were amused by the 800-pound Championship Trophy (the only prize the winner takes home; there is no cash award for the competition), and we got to see a rare Pumpkin Retriever at work:

By six o'clock it was getting dark and we were getting a bit tired and hungry. We decided to head into Seaford, check into our hotel and get some dinner. We threaded our way back through the denizens of the parking lot - drunks tackling each other, drunks tickling each other, drunks crying, drunks shouting and throwing footballs back and forth haphazardly, drunks toppling beer bottles and treading beer cans into the dirt - well, you get the picture. In the car, I turned to John and said, "Okay, I don't need to see any more Punkin Chunkin," and he agreed. We stayed the night in Seaford because it was too late to cancel our hotel reservation, and the next morning we got up early and headed back home, all Chunk'ed out.

Halloween '08 Part 2 - Halloween Itself

2008-11-02T16:19:00.010-05:00

This guy is Mister Screamy. I should point out that his sex is in question, as he has no lower body - just a head, shoulders and arms - so "Mister" is supposition on my part. I should also point out that he no longer screams - he used to scream and shiver when I first bought him, many Halloweens ago. He was, in theory, voice and motion activated, but I discovered that one had to either clap hands right in front of him, or give him a little shake, before he'd do the shiver/scream thing. So we attached a length of fishing line to the tail of his robe and ran it inside the house, where one of us would give it a yank as trick-or-treaters approached. Mister Screamy would do his thing and the kids would be suitably impressed. Over the years, we had to take more and more stringent measures to get Mister Screamy to perform, until finally it took a major whomp upside the head before he'd do his thing. Last year he refused to scream and shiver at all - no amount of coaxing or new batteries would get him to act out. In spite of this, Mister Screamy is still the centerpiece of my Halloween decorations, and his appearance in front of our picture window is the harbinger of spooky times to come.

I usually put up my decorations about a week and a half before Halloween, depending on my schedule. This Cat has occupied my stoop for many years; I also have some orange lights that go in the bushes in front of the window, a bunch of ceramic luminaria (in various spooky shapes), some black and purple plastic garland that looks like icky vines, and the bane of my existence, three sets of blood drips that stick on the front window (you can see them behind Mister Screamy in the first photo). I hate the stupid blood and wish I'd never bought it. It's made of that gummy stuff that sticks to surfaces like glass and mirrors, and it is a royal pain in the butt to put up. It comes in stiff plastic packaging from which it must be peeled, inch by stubborn inch, in order to adhere it to the window. It takes forever and the only reason why I put it up year after year is that it looks pretty cool. But I still hate it, and taking it down and storing it for the season is every bit as tedious and annoying as putting it up.

I also put up a little side display in the garden plot where I have some ornamental grass. The grass puts out tall frond-y things about this time of year, which look suitably spooky when surrounded with some of the luminaria, a couple of plastic skulls and a few odd bones. The finishing touch is a crooked street lamp with a flickering light that adds the perfect ambience to my little graveyard.

The day before Halloween is jack o'lantern carving. The jacks go out on the front stoop Halloween afternoon; any earlier and they become a Convenient Snack for passing squirrels and chipmunks. That's also the time I add any finishing touches and make certain all the various ceramic lightables have sufficient tea candles or votives to last them for the couple of hours we have our costumed visitors. This year, however, I had to do a lot more last-minute decorating. About three weeks ago we had our front yard leveled and re-seeded; the tender new grass just popped up last week, and I knew I would have to do something to keep our Halloween visitors on the sidewalk and off the grass. I bought about sixty feet of what looks like yellow police tape, but in fact has CAUTION! ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK! printed on it in big black letters. Using lengths of rebar (recycled from this summer's potato patch), I strung it along the front of the yard. I didn't have enough of it to go up the sides and along the walk next to the house, so I used a sparkly orange and black tinsel garland to mark the edge of the drive and the front walk, and my neighbor Dennis loaned me about forty feet of yellow rope to mark the opposite side of the yard.

I was worried that these barriers wouldn't show up in the dark of Halloween night, so I bought a bunch of small orange sacks, drew simple faces on them, cut out the designs and then taped the resulting paper luminaria to the barriers. I dropped a battery-operated tealight into each one and voila! a flashing, decorative (and cheap) way to point up the barrier. Driving past, my neighbors would slow down (no doubt wondering why my house was surrounded by police tape), then laugh as they realized what I was up to. The pièce de résistance for the barrier was this year's purchase: a pair of motion-activated eyes that blink, flash and emit spooky sounds. I clamped these to the rebar that marked the entrance to our front walk, where our visitors would be sure to brush up against it as they turned into the walk from the driveway.

I finished the barrier about 4:30 PM on Halloween, and felt pleased with the results:

It looked even better when I went out and lit everything about 6:30 PM:

The only downside was that in the two hours that the jack o'lanterns had been on the front stoop, some hungry critter had snacked on the eyes of the smaller of the two jacks, giving it a very peculiar look.

I got my first dozen trick-or-treaters shortly thereafter, in two sets of six. To keep from having to open the storm door to pass out candy (thus knocking the kids off the stoop in the process), I had taken out the top half of the door, allowing me to simply lean out to hand out the goodies. It's a trick John came up with a couple years ago and it's been a lifesaver. I watched the kids march back down the front walk, jumping with frightened glee as the blinking, screaming eyes did their thing (some stopped to play with it). I was congratulating myself on the success of the barrier when a kid coming from my neighbor's yard blithely ducked under the barrier and ran across the yard to the front door. Five other kids followed in rapid succession. I gave them their candy and asked them to leave via the sidewalk, and they did, but it was as if some strange, silent kid signal had passed magically up and down the block - subsequently, about every tenth kid did the same duck-and-run routine.

Our last visitors (my neighbor Dennis' son and his children) showed up around 8 PM, and around 9 PM I went outside, blew out the candles and turned off all the lights. John and I were pleased to note that we didn't have a lot of candy left over (I bought something like six bags of various kinds). We got more trick-or-treaters this year than we've ever had in the ten years we've lived in this house. Last year I don't think we got more than two dozen; this year I think we had at least double that and more. It's nice to know the demographics of our neighborhood are changing; I like having kids around, even if I don't own any myself. It makes Halloween that much more fun.

Halloween '08 Part 1 - Parade

2008-11-02T13:17:00.018-05:00

I love Halloween. The costumes, the candy, the scary decorations - I love it all. This year our Halloween seemed exceptionally lengthy, starting with the annual Vienna Halloween parade on Thursday the 30th. The event has a certain home-grown, small-town charm to it, as people line Maple Avenue (Vienna's main drag) to watch the passing show. The street is blocked off to thru traffic for the duration of the parade, which results in a charming backup of traffic heading from Tyson's Corners to Vienna (Maple Avenue also happens to be part of Route 123).

In past years John and I have parked on a side street and walked down to Maple. This year we decided to drive over to the Taco Bell on Maple, park and have dinner, and watch the parade from there. It was a good plan. We noshed on tacos and nachos and amused ourselves watching people in costumes go in and out (the parade's staging area was only a block or two away). Shortly before 7 PM we finished our Fine Dining Experience, refilled our sodas, strolled out to the curb and found a good spot to watch.

Among the first marchers in the parade were the Kids in Costume. Although there's a lot to love about the parade, the reason the parade was created in the first place was so Vienna's kids could show off their costumes. It's my favorite part of the parade. We didn't see a whole lot of super-creative outfits this year (well, there was a kid in the Taco Bell dressed as a Whoopie Cushion, which was pretty darned original) and there seemed to be a plethora of princesses and Star Wars characters this year. Last year there were a lot of witches, but clearly witches are So Last Year, as I saw very few marching down Maple. This little cutie in a peacock costume was a favorite.

The kids marched past (I'm sure they put them early in the parade so they can get to the end and backtrack to watch the rest of the fun) and then we got the usual quota of politicians in cars and on foot (McCain's people were vastly outnumbered by the Obama gang, but most of the Obama crowd looked a little too young to vote). We had bands (brass and bagpipe) and dancers (pictured is a local troupe getting down to Michael Jackson's "Thriller") and every form of transport known to man.

We had one wheelers:

Two wheelers:

Three wheelers:

And four wheelers:

We had four-legged transport - size Large:

And small:

And some in between:

There were car clubs (Mustangs and Corvettes), biker clubs, karate and tai kwon do clubs. Local hardware stores, restaurants and other businesses sponsored floats with still more costumed kids.

There were a lot (and I do mean a LOT) of South American dance groups, from various countries and in varying numbers and costumes but all doing the same basic dance (the girls and women switch their hips back and forth and the boys and men jump and stamp). This little guy was doing his best, but was clearly getting tired.

The local branch library had a parade of decorated book carts. There were two vintage tractors, chugging and puffing down the street. There were Kiwanis and Shriners, the latter wowing the crowd with synchronized routines in their signature little race cars. One happy boy near me shrieked, "AWESOME! This is the best part of the WHOLE PARADE!" There were more politicians, including all the members of Vienna's Town Council. There were lots of dogs, many of them in costume (although the group of Great Danes from last year's parade were sadly absent). The parade finished up with an array of fire trucks and ambulances of every age and description, brought in from all the neighboring jurisdictions.

And oh, yeah - this guy.

The Town of Vienna Halloween parade just isn't complete without a cement mixer.

Season's End

2008-10-19T20:15:00.007-04:00

I pulled up the majority of my vegetable garden a couple weeks ago. The green beans and yellow wax beans were just about spent, so up they came. I got a LOT of beans out of the garden this year - so many that John and I were sick of them and I was giving them away to friends by the sackful. Planting the vining green beans against the fence was definitely the way to go. They got plenty of support and weren't crowded by other plants. I only wish I'd planted the yellow wax beans in their own row, because they did so well that I could have used space to walk between them and the green beans. Live and learn.

I picked all the oddball gourds from the volunteer plant that came up in the early spring and basically crowded out the cucumbers. I had a good initial crop of cukes but the gourd plant just took over that part of the garden (and any other part it could get into). I kind of wish I'd pulled it out when I realized it was a gourd and not a melon or squash plant, but by then it was too late in the game. I did start cutting it back rather sharply, but I still got more than two dozen gourds off it. This is my kitchen stoop, with the basket of gourds at the top and another basket of tomatoes, late beans and kung pao pepper.

Speaking of peppers, I had a good crop of both the kung pao variety and the red bell peppers. The latter were late to get started; in fact, both plants are still producing as I write this, in mid-October. Today I roasted four big bell peppers and put them into an olive oil and balsamic vinegar marinade - yummy. I've been picking the kung pao peppers as they ripen and stringing them up to dry. If nothing else, they're pretty:

The big disappointment of the growing season was the potato crop. Once again, I only got a disappointing two dozen potatoes out of all the labor involved. Other people tell me they don't have any difficulty growing potatoes; I've planted them three years running and just can't seem to get it right. Buying potatoes in the grocery store is a lot cheaper than growing them myself, so I don't think I'll be growing them again. They're labor-intensive and take up a lot of room, so not growing them will free me up to trying something new next year.

As far as the tomatoes go (and are still going - still producing as of today), I had a pretty good crop - that is, what I was able to salvage once the squirrels got through with them. I've had squirrels snatch a tomato or two in the past, but this season was ridiculous. Squirrels were stealing tomatoes before they even ripened, and I feel like I spent all summer chasing them out of the garden. The chipmunk that lives under the kitchen stoop always helps himself to a few tomatoes every year, but I don't mind so much because at least he/she eats them all up. The squirrels, on the other hand, will eat about a third of the tomato and then drop it. I've found chewed toms in the front yard, on the deck rails, on the front porch - squirrels are definitely old hands at al fresco dining. I fear I will have volunteer tomatoes all over the yard next year.

The really annoying thing is that I have volunteer tomatoes at the edges of the garden this year. Rather than pull them up, I left them for the squirrels. They are producing tomatoes about the size of a large grape (a scuppernong, say) and they're perfectly edible. About the same time the volunteers started producing, I covered my cultivated tomatoes with netting to keep the squirrels out, hoping they'd start taking the volunteer fruit instead. No such luck. The little buggers would run right past the volunteers (right over them, in fact - they are on the fence line) and worry their way past the netting and start raiding my cultivars. When I'd come out to shoo them off, they'd act the fool, flinging themselves hysterically through the plants and against the netting because they're too stupid to remember how they got inside the netting in the first place. I'd have to unpin the netting and chivvy them out. I also had to unpin the netting every time I wanted to pick tomatoes, which meant I did my picking on hands and knees - not fun when you're being devoured by mosquitoes. I finally gave up and cut much of the netting away, so the squirrels are having a field day. I'll have to put my thinking cap on and think of a good way of keeping them out before next spring.

I was pleased with the performance of the two kinds of plant supports I bought this spring: the cucumber trellis did extremely well and I liked the way it kept the cukes off the ground (and the gourds later on). The two tomato towers I bought also performed well, even with the squirrels ricocheting off them on occasion. I was looking at the garden this morning and it appears that the basil plant is pretty much finished for the season, although the flat-leafed parsley seems to have gotten a second wind. Since there was a freeze warning for my area last night (as well as tonight), I picked a lot of semi-ripe red bell peppers and are hoping they'll ripen on the windowsill. Tomorrow I might have a dead garden - or I might not. Gardening continues to be a grand experiment for me, one I look forward to year after year - successes, failures, squirrels and all.

A Crass Commercial Announcement

2008-09-25T08:42:00.003-04:00

Here's my next project - three musicals in one night!

Broadway: Three Generations is presented by the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in celebration of the grand re-opening of the Eisenhower Stage. It's a compilation of three shows, representative of three generations of the Broadway Musical: Girl Crazy, Bye Bye Birdie and Side Show. The shows are presented in abridged versions, with Shirley Jones providing narration.

You'll spot me in the ensemble in various oddball roles: a grouchy (and slightly sadistic) chaperone in Girl Crazy, a confused traveler and a no-nonsense makeup artist in Bye Bye Birdie, and a carny with attitude in Side Show.

There are only five performances of this one-of-a-kind production, so visit the The Kennedy Center website to get your tickets.

I Made A Funny

2008-08-24T11:33:00.002-04:00

Thanks to the good folks at icanhascheezburger.com.

A Little Household Tragedy

2008-07-25T09:33:00.005-04:00

I mentioned in a prior post that we have a nest of cardinals right next to our house. Had a nest of cardinals, now.

The eggs hatched about a week ago and the mother cardinal was very busy, going back and forth to feed them. The three nestlings were pretty quiet - I'd hear the tiniest chorus of peeps when Mom was off the nest, and if you peeped back at them, three little naked heads would stretch up on naked little necks, yellow beaks gaping.

They had a bad time of it on Wednesday when an early evening thunderstorm came through. Dark clouds were bunching up overhead as John and I battened down the hatches in the yard and on the deck. The babies were peeping lustily, but the mother cardinal wouldn't approach the nest while we were nearby. She sat on the fence, chirping loudly. I made John hurry up so we could get in the house and she could get onto her nest before the storm hit. All three of us just made it to cover as the wind began to blow.

The mother cardinal sat tight all through the storm, even though the bush in which the nest is situated was swaying back and forth. I felt particularly bad for the little family when the rain came down in such force that our gutters and drainpipes couldn't move it fast enough. The nest sits just under the eaves of the house, right next to a drainpipe, and when the deluge happened, water jetted out of the seams of the drain right into the bush - and right onto Mom and the nest. For a few stupid moments I ran salvage ideas through my head, such as putting an umbrella or tarp over the bush, but decided that would probably frighten the birds more than the storm, and probably just blow off in the wind anyway. Nature would have to take its course.

Yesterday morning the mother cardinal was out and about, and in the early evening I heard the babies peeping as I grilled steaks on the deck, so I figured everything was okay. I went out on the deck early this morning for my usual look around. I glanced at the nest and noticed immediately that it seemed to be off kilter. I took a closer look and could not see any babies. The mother bird was off the nest but nearby, but she came up onto the deck rail, chirping loudly, when I got too close to the nest. I don't want to be accused of anthropomorphism, but she looked anxious and disheveled. There was no evidence of foul play; i.e. no little bits of the nestlings in the nest or on the ground nearby. It's clear, however, that something got into the nest and took the nestlings.

My guess would be squirrels. I have a lot of them in my yard - they've been taking green tomatoes out of my garden on a regular basis. This is breeding season for them, too; and yes, squirrels are known to be carnivorous on occasion. It could also have been crows or owls, except I haven't seen any lately. I saw blue jays in the yard yesterday for the first time in a while, and jays are also carnivorous when the mood and opportunity strikes.

The mother cardinal is still in the yard, chirping. More learned minds than mine say that animals don't feel emotions; they don't know hate or joy or sorrow. One can only hope this is true. I can't hate the squirrels or the jays or any other wild creature that may have been responsible for the tragedy - they are only doing what nature tells them to do. Still, my heart aches for the mother bird, and for her lost babies.

Okay, NOT a Melon

2008-07-22T09:15:00.002-04:00

Or if it is, it's a melon I can't identify.

In the previous post, I gloated that I had a volunteer melon plant that showed up at the back edge of the garden. I've been letting it grow up and over the cucumber trellis and along the fence line, and it is certainly a vigorous grower - I keep having to pull it back through the fence, as it wants to invade my neighbor's yard as well. It's also fruiting like mad - in the photo, I'm displaying the largest of the babies. I think I've got at least a half dozen fruit thus far. The thing is, the bigger the fruit get, the less they look like melons. This larger one is starting to look ridged and a bit warty. More like a squash; or specifically, like a Carnival Squash:

How, you may ask, did I get a Carnival Squash in my garden when I didn't plant one? Well, there's always the chance that a squirrel or chipmunk buried a squash seed in my garden. (The rodents have begun their summer attack on the tomato plants and I already lost the most promising Brandywine to them - it looked like it was going to be over a pound when it was ripe but I came home last week to find it on the ground, with about a quarter of it nibbled away. It wasn't even ripe yet!)

I think it more likely that the seed came out of my compost bin. I frequently buy decorative squashes in the autumn, and over the years I'm sure several have gone into the compost bin once they started to mold. This spring I emptied the contents of the bin into the garden (several years' worth of household compost), so it's entirely possible that's how I ended up with this plant.

Think of it: that squash, mushy with mold, got dumped into the composter on some cold, late-fall morning. Could have been last year, could have been any time in the past four years. The soft parts of the squash fell away, exposing the seeds. Some of the seeds may have rotted as well, in the dark cool of the compost bin (my compost bin sits in the shade - I guess it's what you'd call a cold pile). But this seed waited patiently until it got dumped into the sunny garden plot, rich with composted leaves and horse manure and watered with loving care. It waited until conditions were right and then POW! it exploded out of the ground and took over the garden.

The next time I have a chance to go to the Farmer's Market, I may take a cutting of the plant and one of the fruits with me. The Fairfax County Extension office frequently has a booth there; maybe they can give me a positive ID on the thing. If it is, indeed, a Carnival Squash, I don't quite know what to do. They can be cooked like an acorn squash, but John doesn't eat squash and I certainly can't eat 'em up by myself (I learned this after I planted ONE zucchini several years back). If they are Carnivals, they're awfully pretty. I guess I'll be giving them away to friends, like I do when I'm inundated with cucumbers and tomatoes. So this fall, if you see me coming bearing a large, lumpy paper sack - LOOK OUT!

How Does My Garden Grow?

2008-07-17T08:58:00.008-04:00

Very well, thanks.

Since the weather has been so obliging, with warm, sunny days and plenty of rain, I've had to do very little this season. Everything is growing like gangbusters, from the kung pao peppers (pictured here) to the potatoes and tomatoes. The only disappointment is the cilantro, which wants to do nothing but bolt to seed. I keep pinching off the blooms, but it remains leggy and obstinate.

I am also constantly pulling up "volunteer" tomato plants. There must have been a lot of tomato seeds in the soil when we tilled it this spring, since baby plants keep popping up in the oddest places. A few that came up along the fence line have been left as an experiment - if we have a warm spell in the fall they may produce yet. I also had a volunteer melon plant come up. Fortuitously, it appeared at the back edge of the garden, behind the cucumber trellis, where it could get some support. I'm training it along the fence line and up over the trellis, so right now it and the two Fanfare cuke plants are jockeying for position on the trellis. That little round yellow and green thing just to the upper right of center is a baby melon. I've harvested over a dozen cukes in the past week; I had so many that I took a bunch to the Liberty Smith workshop (my current project, for Ford's Theater), where the team snapped them up.

The Super Marzano tomatoes are currently over five feet tall and the toms themselves are just beginning to ripen (I had my first small tomato in a salad last week). There are plenty of baby tomatoes on the Sweet 100s plant; not so many on the Brandywines but one of the green fruits is looking like it's going to be quite large.

The bean patch is a flurry of activity as well. The green beans are twining madly up and along the fence line. They just started blooming about five days ago so no beans yet, but the yellow wax beans (the shorter plants with the bamboo stake supports) are producing like crazy. I've got about two quarts of them to cook up; I'm waiting for tomorrow, when I will have an evening off from Liberty Smith.

My potatoes are looking well. The largest of the plants is hip-high and I think I'm going to have to buy another set of planks to build the potato boxes up one more level (I'm pretty proud of my picket-and-rebar box construction - I wanted something I could put together and take apart easily, so I came up with the design last year). I'm using straw this year to hill up the plants and it seems to be working and is certainly a lot easier to deal with than a comparable amount of soil. Last year's crop was disappointing and the year before that I did everything wrong, but I think I may I finally sorted out how to "do" potatoes. Of course, I won't know for sure until I harvest in the fall, but I'm feeling pretty hopeful right now.

A couple of weeks ago I noticed a partial bird's nest just above eye level in the bushes near my potting bench, which is opposite the vegetable garden. I thought it was just an abandoned attempt and didn't pay it much attention. Last week my nieces Jillian and Quinn were visiting, so I thought I'd show them the nest; I pulled down on the branch the nest was sitting in, and was startled when a female cardinal erupted out of it. Later on, when the nest wasn't occupied, my brother-in-law James lifted Jillian up so she could look into it, and she reported that there were two small speckled eggs inside. I felt bad because I can't avoid getting close to the nest on occasion; the outside spigot is right next to the bush, and of course I'm in the garden and at the potting bench a lot during the summer. I don't want to disturb the birds and make them abandon their nest. However, Mrs. Cardinal has been sitting tight - that reddish horizontal thing at the right center of the picture is her tail. I'm looking forward to watching her raise her babies while I tend to mine.

House Wars

2008-06-30T13:36:00.007-04:00

As longtime readers of this blog may remember, I like to walk for exercise. Lately I have eschewed the W&OD Canal path and have just been walking in my neighborhood. It's a nice neighborhood and I can vary my route from day to day. Of interest (and some concern) to me are the number of large new homes which are being erected in the subdivision. These McMansions are going up in the place of the 1950s-era tract homes which typify the neighborhood, and because they are large homes on small lots, they give the impression of shouldering the smaller homes out of the way.

Nowhere is this more evident than on the latter part of my current two-mile route. Here is a small house that's clearly been around for a while:

And here is a very large home which is being built on the adjoining corner lot:

Now, at first glance one would think this is simply another case of a big-shouldered new house crowding a little old place. But look again:

No, look REALLY close (click on the photo for REALLY REALLY close):

Isn't that fascinating? Someone is clearly over their property line. I expect it's probably the little old house. Note the location of the construction fence. And that white area between the Big House's bay window and the Little House's back porch is not a space - it's some form of wooden or metal partition that's been placed between the properties. But regardless of who's at fault here, seriously: who wants to live this way? Would I buy a great big fancy new house if my bay window was literally inches from my neighbor's home? And what a great view my neighbors have!

Every time I walk past this site, I'm awestruck. The little house is currently occupied. The big house is not and is, in fact, still under construction. But soon it'll be finished, and soon someone will want to move in. What happens then? What's the story here? Is this an amicable arrangement? I'm so curious I can hardly stand it.

Who will win this House War? Stay tuned for further developments.

Roughing It

2008-06-30T08:41:00.004-04:00

John and I had a taste of our childhoods this weekend - a weekend with but a single car and no air conditioning.

Since the beginning of the month, we have had a/c issues. A few days after the Big Storm of June 4th, we discovered that our a/c wasn't cooling the house properly, and when the HVAC guys finally arrived to take a look, they informed us that our elderly unit was leaking freon and should probably be replaced. They charged it with four pounds of freon (at $100 a pound, thanks so much) and left us to deal with the problem. We decided it was probably time to bite the bullet and replace not only the a/c unit, but the furnace downstairs. After a week's worth of getting estimates and interviewing companies, we got a deal we were able to live with and the whole works will be replaced this Wednesday. Meanwhile, the old unit seemed to be working fine.

On Wednesday of this past week, I was driving home from a rehearsal and realized that my car was making an odd thumping sound which seemed to be coming from the rear right quarter of the car. At first I thought I'd gotten a flat tire; I pulled over to have a look but no, the tires were fine. I got home and called John; he advised me to look for rocks caught in the tire tread - nope, no rocks. When he got home from work we took the car out and drove it around so he could hear the thumping sound, and he concluded that something was wrong with the brakes. I remembered that I'd set the parking brake while I was at rehearsal (something I rarely do, but I was parked on a sharp incline) and John surmised that the parking brake was somehow stuck. He called our trusty auto mechanic, who advised us to try driving in reverse to see if that would release the brake. That didn't work - the car began making that awful high-pitched squeal one associates with faulty brakes. We called the mechanic again, and naturally he was slammed and doubted he'd be able to look at the car before Monday. To add to the problem, John was driving to Pennsylvania first thing in the morning and wouldn't be back until Sunday, so that meant I'd be without wheels while he was gone. Since I wasn't going to drive my car with faulty brakes anyway, we decided that we'd drop it off at the garage on the off chance that they'd be able to look at it before the weekend. We toyed with the idea of me renting a car for four days, but the price was just silly, particularly in light of our upcoming Major Home Purchase. I made a few calls to arrange transport to a couple of appointments, and resigned myself to hanging around the house by myself most of the weekend.

John left bright and early the next morning, and I fiddled around the house most of the day. My friend Chan was kind enough to drive out to take me to lunch, so that made a nice break. I caught up with some housework and some gardening and felt very June Cleever. That evening, however, I noticed that the a/c didn't seem to be cooling right - in fact, I'd heard it kick on in the late afternoon and by evening it was still cranking away. The house's internal temp was sitting at 80 degrees even though the thermostat was set for 74 degrees. In fact, the vents seemed to be pumping warmish air into the house. Uh oh.

I turned the system off, opened the windows and set up fans. Have I mentioned we have a lot of fans? I don't know why, because we've always had central air, but we own three oscillators and two big box fans. I got those cranking and went to bed, and in the morning when John called, gave him the bad news. He suggested I call the HVAC company that's installing the new system and ask them to bring us some freon, but I was reluctant - it would just leak out again, and we'd be throwing money away and adding more pollutants into the atmosphere into the bargain. So I told him I'd tough it out.

The next morning I had to go to a reading. One of the participants kindly gave me a ride, but since it turned out that the creative team was going to have a work session after the reading, I opted to walk to a nearby Metro stop and take the subway home to Vienna. Fortunately my house is less than a mile from that station; unfortunately I hadn't worn shoes conducive to walking. I arrived home hot and footsore. The internal temperature of the house was around 87 degrees so I changed into a few clothes as possible, parked myself in front of a fan and wondered how my parents had done it back in the day. Not only was the house hot, the humidity levels had stepped up as well. Any activity drenched me in sweat, so I spent most of the day watching TV, reading and surfing the net. I did find this helpful article, which gave me a few tips. The garage called and told me that my car's parking brake cable would have to be replaced, but the part wouldn't be in their shop until Monday. Damn. On the upside, late in the afternoon John called to let me know he was coming home early and to expect him sometime around 10 PM. I gave him the update on my car and told him to expect the house to be hot.

I have a resourceful husband who also has a genius for hanging onto odd things that turn out to be extremely useful. When John got home, he unearthed an old attic exhaust fan that he'd scrounged somewhere during his bachelor days. This same beat-up old fan was helpful during the Great Basement Flood of '07, and now he set it up in the doorway to the deck and turned it on so it would draw the hot air out of the house. And it worked! The house temperature dropped down several degrees, and then a helpful thunderstorm blew through and cooled things down outside considerably. We reversed the direction of the exhaust fan so it drew the cool outside air in, and by morning the house was at a comfortable 74 degrees. That didn't last, of course; as Saturday warmed up, so did the house, but at least we now had a method for dealing with it.

It's Monday morning now, which means we just have to rough it for two more days. It's not been too bad, actually. We'll probably have my car back tonight, so I can get where I need to go, but we managed with just one car for five days and could probably do it longer if we had to. We've survived without air conditioning, too, although the weather has cooperated by cooling down from the 95 degree days we were having last week. The exhaust fan is currently pulling the morning air into the house but it's already getting warm outside; when I finish writing this I'll shut the fan off, close the deck doors and draw the blinds against the sun. And we'll carry on, in the old-fashioned way.

Too Many Cherries

2008-06-22T14:43:00.005-04:00

Today I tackled the issue of what to do with the nearly 17 pounds of cherries left from our cherry-picking adventure of yesterday (see post below). John had a shoot today, so after having a breakfast of - what else? - cherry pie, he headed off to be a Manly Man Doing Manly Things, leaving me with all those cherries. At least they were pitted.

The first thing I did was make room in my freezer for the pies. Hmm - the remnants of that Easter ham can be thawed out for sandwiches, and it's about time I used this Tupperware container of chicken curry. And that can go there, and that can go there... Finally I reckoned I had enough space for five pies - no more. Uh oh.

Next I made a double recipe of piecrust and put it in the refrigerator to chill. I toyed with the idea of tripling or quadrupling the recipe but fortunately common sense intervened; it's hard enough to cut in all that butter and shortening in a double batch. I was also nursing a knife cut from the day before (note bandage on finger in photo) - I am the only person I know who can cut herself badly with a butter knife. The sad thing is, I've done it before, trying to scrape a stubborn mussel out of its shell.

About an hour later, I put together a double batch of the cherry pie filling and made two pies. I was careful to keep all the trimmings of unbaked crust, as I was fairly certain I would have enough to make another crust when I was done. I really hate using those tin pie plates to make a pie - they're flimsy and tend to scoot around the counter when you're putting the bottom crust in - but I only own two pie glass pie plates and they would have taken up too much precious freezer space. At least the tin plates come with plastic covers - both a bottom and top cover.

I repeated this process, resulting in two more pies and enough crust trimmings to make to make the fifth and final piecrust. Then I fought with the plastic covers (why do they give you three sets of covers for two pie pans?), which did not want to snap down securely, and which make the stacking of the pies a little dicey. But at last they were all in the freezer, and I decanted the remaining cherries into plastic containers. I'm guessing I have enough cherries for one more large pie, or maybe just a cobbler. I also have a little patty of raw pie dough left to make decorations on the frozen pies when the time comes to bake them (just let them thaw in the refrigerator, then bake at 400 degrees for 50 minutes).

So that's the end of the weekend's Great Pie Adventure. I have a freezer full of cherry pie and have no idea how the two of us are going to eat them all (when I made noises about giving one or two away, John became positively Cartman-esque), but I expect by the time we finish the last one off, we're going to be fairly sick of sour cherry pie.

Right about the time apple-picking time rolls around, I bet.

Life Is Just A Bowl of Cherries - And Then Some

2008-06-22T13:02:00.013-04:00

Yesterday, John and I went out to Damascus, Maryland to pick cherries. John had been chatting with a co-worker who told him of this great little pick-your-own place called Rock Hill Orchard, and when I called to find out what was in season and they told me "tart cherries" - well, we HAD to go.

My favorite kind of fruit pie is sour cherry pie. A regular old cherry pie is fine, but a sour cherry pie is a rare taste treat. It's got a flavor that's out of this world, and tart (or sour) cherries are far easier to pit than sweet cherries. However, the fruit has a notoriously short picking season and is so delicate that it isn't a great candidate for shipping, so you don't see them in stores very often. I can occasionally get them at my local farmers' market, but you've got to snap them up when you can.

We arrived at Rock Hill Orchard around noon Saturday. We were outfitted with a plastic bag-lined red bucket apiece and instructed to drive up the hill to the cherry orchard (next to the strawberry patch). It wasn't a huge orchard but every tree was loaded down with bright red cherries. There were only a few other pickers, but even if there had been fifty people, there still would have been plenty of beautiful ripe cherries for everyone. We wandered well back into the orchard, chose a tree and started picking.

The sun was warm, the air fresh and there was a nice breeze. Amazingly, there were very few bugs about (I had been expecting to joust with wasps and bees for the fruit). The cherries were so ripe they practically fell into your hands; in fact, many of them simply slid off their pits when you pulled at them. I was choosy and careful and did not take stems or any fruit with debris on it, and in no time at all I had a bucket full of rosy, immaculate fruit.

John's bucket was equally full, but over my protests, we kept on picking, pulling the plastic bucket liners up so the buckets were over capacity. Knowing that I was going to be the one to make cherry pies, I finally called a halt and we carried our brimming buckets back to the young man at the entrance to the orchard, who weighed our produce and gave us the price. Forty bucks and change! We'd picked just over eighteen pounds of cherries. Here's our take: I am grinning but I think I was still a little shell shocked.

It took us just under an hour to pick all those cherries, and all the way home I was thinking, "what in the world am I going to do with all that?" We stopped at an ice cream stand so John could get a soft serve; I had a diet soda and thought about cherries. We stopped at a motorcycle place so John could look at all the toys; I thought about cherries. I was like General Patton planning my attack - shopping lists were forming in my brain. As we headed back toward Virginia and home, I announced: "I have to go to the grocery store."

John waited in the car while I shopped for flour, shortening and disposable pie pans. When we got home, I started making crust for a double-crust pie; John set himself to pitting all those cherries (not so bad, really; you just give them a squeeze and the pit pops out where the stem was attached). He had three bowls - a giant one full of cherries, a small one for pits and a medium one for the pitted fruit.

Here is my recipe for piecrust, courtesy of Real Simple magazine:

Simple Pastry

2 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp kosher salt
1 stick unsalted butter, chilled
1/2 cup solid vegetable shortening, chilled
1 egg
1 tbsp white vinegar

In a large bowl, using a pastry blender (or two crossed knives, or your fingers), combine the flour, salt, butter and shortening until the mixture is crumbly and the size of peas. Break the egg into a measuring cup and beat lightly; add the vinegar and enough cold water to measure 1/2 cup. Slowly add the egg mixture to the flour mixture and stir until a soft dough forms. Divide in half. Shape each half into a flat disc and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate for at least one hour.

After I had my dough chillin', I joined John at the table to help with the pitting. We were just about finished when the timer went off, letting me know that an hour had passed and it was time to make the pie filling and assemble the pie. Here's my pie recipe, courtesy of allrecipes.com.

Baked Fresh Cherry Pie

1 recipe pastry for a 9 inch double crust pie
4 tbsp quick-cooking tapioca
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup white sugar*
4 cups pitted cherries
1/4 tsp almond extract
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/2 tbsp butter

*Note: I use 3/4 cup of Splenda in place of the sugar. I also use a little less butter - I think 1 tbsp is sufficient.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (205 degrees C). Place bottom crust in piepan. Set top crust aside, covered. In a large mixing bowl combine tapioca, salt, sugar, cherries and extracts. Let stand 15 minutes. Turn out into bottom crust and dot with butter. Cover with top crust, flute edges and cut vents in top. Place pie on a foil lined cookie sheet --- in case of drips! Bake for 50 minutes in the preheated oven, until golden brown. Let cool before serving.

John finished up the pitting and started cleaning up the kitchen as I assembled the pie and put it in to bake. It was a beauty, if I do say so myself, and smelled wonderful as it baked, and I have to say that it was one of the best-tasting pies I've ever had. As we treated ourselves to a second piece, we agreed that the freshness of the cherries was clearly evident in every bite. Less than twelve hours from tree to plate: now that's a fresh cherry pie.

For Joan

2008-06-19T13:44:00.005-04:00

I'm posting this recipe for my sister Joan, who has asked for it many times. Today is her birthday and she's not been having a particularly good day. Joan, if I was in your neck of the woods I would make this for you - and I would use a U-cumber, too. Happy birthday, Joan - here's hoping your day has improved!

Cucumber-Yogurt Spread

1 16-oz container plain nonfat yogurt
2 small cucumbers, peeled, seeded and finely chopped
2 small garlic gloves, pressed
6 small mint leaves, minced
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
Garnishes: cuke slices, fresh mint sprigs

Line a mesh strainer with a paper coffee filter. Spoon yogurt into filter and place strainer over a bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for 24 hours.

Spoon yogurt into a bowl, discarding liquid (yogurt will have a thick consistency). Stir in chopped cucumber and next four ingredients. Cover and chill up to three days. Garnish before serving if desired. Nice on crackers, crudites and even grilled chicken.

Day Brightener

2008-06-17T09:56:00.002-04:00

Things were not going so well yesterday morning.

I was tired and cranky after closing David in Shadow and Light the night before. We did two shows that day and both performances were marred by ringing cell phones, noise from other parts of the building and chatty audience members. I didn't stay long at the closing night party because I had to go to an audition the next morning, for a role I was pretty sure I wasn't right for. With the close of the show, I became officially unemployed. I woke Monday morning feeling like I was coming down with something. I was hungry for some breakfast but I didn't have any cash. On my way in to the audition, I stopped at an ATM so I could at least buy a breakfast sandwich from a fast-food place. The ATM charged a $2.75 "convenience fee." I was cursing under my breath as I counted my money from the ATM.

And then, on one of the bills, I saw this:

Now, maybe some doting Grandma wrote this on her gift to a graduating grandchild. Perhaps it had been tucked inside a birthday card, or slipped into someone's wallet as a gift. I know it wasn't written to me, but all the same, it made me stop and smile.

Because I know someone does love me. In fact, I'm lucky enough have at least a couple fistfuls of people who love me. In spite of being tired and grumpy and borderline sick and unemployed and not right for the role, I am loved. Things aren't so bad after all.

I'm carrying this bill around in my wallet right now. Eventually it'll be handed to a cashier someplace, who will add it to her till, where it will be counted at the end of the day and perhaps go to the bank, where it might be added to the kitty for another ATM machine with an outrageous surcharge, where it could be coughed out to some person who's having a rotten day and needs to be reminded that someone, somewhere cares about them. I hope it helps them. It sure helped me.

A Remedy

2008-06-14T08:27:00.002-04:00

Courtesy of Icanhascheezburger.com.

Some Like It Hot (And Wet)

2008-06-12T09:37:00.008-04:00

Although the weather has been a bit rough for warm- blooded creatures of late, the green growing stuff has been extremely happy - if you judge by my garden.

I just put the veggies in about three weeks ago, and everything is sprouting up like mad. This photo is of the bean patch; green beans on the left and yellow wax beans on the right. My plan is for the greenies to twine up the chain link fence, but I'll have to stake the yellow wax beans as they're supposed to be a bush variety.

June is bustin' out all over in the rest of the veggie garden, too. Here are the cucumber plants, already starting to send tendrils up the cuke trellis:

You can't really see them because the sunlight is so bright, but there are lots of blossoms on the plants already as well as a couple of wee little cucumbers. I always like seeing the first cucumber vine tendrils - they look so tentative and fragile (nothing like the monster tentacles that will take over the garden in deep summer).

All three varieties of potato have begun vigorous growth as well. I've had to hill them up once already, but you can see that they need more still. I use rebar and pickets to build up their boxes as they get taller, but I need more rebar and either some hay or more dirt to be able to hill them up as fast as they grow. A trip to Home Depot is definitely in order. In three years of trying, I haven't gotten this potato thing right yet, but this year I feel like I may finally have a handle on it.

If this hot, wet weather keeps up, I should have a bumper crop this year. Next to the actual harvest, this is my favorite time in the vegetable garden: early summer, when the little seedlings have made their first big growth spurts, the weeds are still under control and everything's neat and tidy. In a month this garden will probably look a lot different, and I'll give you updates as my babies grow.

Too Darned Hot

2008-06-10T09:38:00.006-04:00

Ever since the Big Storm of last Wednesday, things have been a bit too warm at Chez Migliaccio.

I was at home when the storm hit, with such violence that I actually thought about going down to the basement for my safety (the only other time I've felt that way was when we got sideswiped by Hurricane Isabel). I had just gotten back from shopping and was unloading groceries when I noticed the sky had gone very, very dark. I'd just turned on the Weather Channel when the storm hit, and I do mean HIT. The wind was howling in the trees and branches were crashing down all over the neighborhood. The power came off and on several times as the front passed through; then, after the worst was over, the power went off for good. There was no visible damage to the area power lines that I could see. John came home early because his office was also without power, and when I left to do my evening show, the power was still off. Oddly, when I got back about 11:30 Wednesday night, the houses at the top and the bottom of our cul-de-sac had power, but about eight houses in the middle of the street (including ours) were still dark.

Fortunately, post-storm it was relatively cool and we had a reasonable night's sleep. The next day was a different story. We were still without power and things were heating up fast. John's office was also without power so he trekked down to Fredericksburg for some errands and blew a tire on the way. By the time he got home, I'd had several confabs with the neighbors and was relieved when a Dominion Virginia Power advance team came by to diagnose (but not fix) the problem. They assured us that a work crew wouldn't be too far behind. Our neighbors Dennis and Priscil produced a gas generator and generously offered to run an extension cord from it to our yard. We hooked up extension cords of our own and were at least able to power the refrigerator, an oscillating fan and a lamp (the welter of extension cords is featured in the picture). With the threat of spoiled food out of the way, we spent the evening reading and sweating gently.

Friday dawned hot and bright and we were still without power. The gas generator was still chugging valiantly and John's office was still closed. We went out for breakfast and then decided to see a movie in air-conditioned comfort (Kung Fu Panda - just the ticket to take our minds off our troubles). We got home from the movie and eureka! the power was on all over the neighborhood. We closed all the windows and cranked up the A/C, and all was well - for two days.

Sunday evening I arrived home after a two-show day to be informed by John that something was wrong with the air conditioning. The evaporator was leaking water so we assumed the coils had somehow frozen. We spent a reasonable night cooled by the trusty oscillating fan and Monday morning I made calls to various A/C service companies. The earliest we could get a service call was Tuesday "between 12 and 5." John went off to work (his office got power over the weekend) and I hooked up all the available fans to cool the house. By afternoon the outdoor temps were around 95 degrees; inside it was not much better at 85 degrees. I was miserably hot after making dinner and it took a cool bath at around 1 AM to get me comfortable enough to sleep - this time with TWO fans blowing over us.

So now it's Tuesday morning, with another scorching day forecast and the house temp still holding in the mid-eighties. John and I will be tag-teaming today so that someone will be home during the 12-5 service call window. We are trying to be philosophical about the whole thing and think about how people survived in the days before electricity and air conditioning, but I expect those folks were probably cross and miserable, too.

Green Thumbing

2008-06-01T10:17:00.003-04:00

At long last, I got my vegetable garden put in. I had to hold off until David in Shadow and Light was out of previews and I had some hours to myself, and then the weather in mid-May was all wonky and cold, but finally a confluence of spare time and good weather kicked in. I got the vast majority of my seedlings courtesy of a gift certificate for Cox Farms (thank you, John and Barbara), and my husband and I spent part of a day turning and breaking the soil and amending it with compost from the bin in the back of the yard. I think I toted about six wheelbarrows full of compost from the bin to the garden plot. When everything was raked to my liking, I covered most of the plot with weed block fabric and started planting.

In previous years, I have had to contend with a lilac bush that occupied the northwest corner of my little plot; however, the bush went into a rapid decline two years back and was mostly dead by the fall (it's a bad sign when any tree or bush in your yard is being visited regularly by woodpeckers). John dug it up before the winter set in, so that gave me an additional couple of feet of gardening space. I changed up my usual planting pattern a bit: the green beans went right up against the western fence, the better to support them when they start twining, with the yellow wax beans next. Heading eastward, I planted two Brandywine tomato plants, a Sweet 100s cherry tomato, and four Super Marzano paste tomatoes, a Kung Pao style pepper and a sweet red pepper, basil, cilantro and flat-leafed parsley, Fanfare cucumbers and three kinds of potato (Irish Cobbler, Norlund and Yukon Gold). I also planted some giant sunflowers along the northern fence.

This is the view from the eastern edge of the garden. I'm trying out some new support systems this year; last year I bought five heavy duty tomato ladders from Gardeners Supply Company and found them to be a vast improvement over the traditional cone-shaped tomato cages, which buckle under heavy plants and are prone to toppling over. The tomato ladders were sturdy and a cheery red; my only gripe is that they're not tall enough for most indeterminate tomatoes, although they work great for bush tomatoes like the Marzanos. The good folks at Gardeners Supply offered Tomato Towers this year, which are taller and square and look like they'll do the trick for the cherry tomato and the Brandywines. I couldn't resist another new product GS offered this year - a cucumber trellis. The idea is to get your cukes up off the ground (thus avoiding both bugs and rotting issues). The trellis wasn't terribly expensive so I thought I'd give it a whirl.

It's been a week since I put the garden in and already the beans have begun to pop, the potatoes are just sprouting and the tomatoes look like they've grown an inch or two. Yesterday I caught a squirrel in the act of digging up one of the sunflower sprouts so I'm wondering if any of those will make it to maturity. It's been a more promising spring than last year - plenty of rain, and now turning warm and humid - and I have no out-of-town trips planned this summer, so I'm hoping that the veggie garden of 2008 will be an improvement over the dessication of 2007.

Moving Through "Shadow and Light"

2008-05-25T09:10:00.004-04:00

Click on the image to make it larger and more legible.

Well, David in Shadow and Light is well into the second week of its run and has, unfortunately, been universally clobbered by the critics. I'm one of those actors who reads reviews, and while I haven't taken any personal hits (not yet, anyway), it's still distressing. The good folks at Theatre J are in a state of shock; it's hard when you've lavished time and money (not to mention love) on a project like this, only to have it blow up in your face. God love them for not pointing fingers or trying to assign blame, but for simply picking themselves off the floor and soldiering on.

I was talking to fellow cast member Larry Redmond backstage last night, and he remarked that he admired everyone in the cast for their dogged commitment to doing the show they were directed to do. At first I was touched and a little amused, but then I started thinking: is "dogged" really the best I can do with my performance? Yes, the show has flaws and I have been troubled throughout the process by the particular flaws of my character's track (I play the Angel Metatron). But "dogged?" I think I can do better than that.

So my goal for the rest of the show is to keep searching and trying. I don't think the show is the complete write-off that some critics have painted; it has beauty and creativity and sincerity. Audience members cry at the end of the show, and I don't think it's because they're just a bunch of saps. It's because David's story is both heartbreaking and uplifting.

I'm urging you to look carefully at the ad above. Movie tickets cost about what Theatre J is charging, and for that money you get LIVE THEATRE. You're supporting a non-profit performing arts company that has the courage to put its heart and soul into something new. You'll be seeing a cast of terrific DC-based performers. You'll hear music that's a fusion of styles, performed by a kick-ass band.

So I'm challenging you to give the Indiana Jones film a miss this week. Go to Theatre J instead. See the show and make up your own mind. Indy will still be there next week. David only runs through June 22nd.

Personally, I promise you better than "dogged." A lot better.

I Stole This From My Sister's Blog...

2008-05-20T08:03:00.004-04:00

Thanks, Margaret.

Bold for read books, underline for books read in school, and italics for started but didn't finish (Margaret's note: "I assume that "books read in school" means books read FOR school and not simply for pleasure while I was of school age."). I think it's an odd assortment of books and wonder where the list came from, but that's the nature of these internet memes. Also, I can't figure out how to underline on this blog, so I've stuck an asterisk on the titles I had to read for class work. Lest you think by the dearth of asterisks that I didn't have to read in school, it appears to me that this list post-dates my schooldays - for example, it doesn't contain one title which made me most want to put my head through a wall - "Silas Marner."

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice*
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulm
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse*
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince*
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners*
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter*
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield

Crass Commercial Announcement - at last

2008-05-16T10:05:00.004-04:00

After a long rehearsal period and the single most difficult tech and preview period I've ever experienced, David in Shadow and Light will have its official world premiere at Theatre J this Sunday night.

I feel privileged to work with such a wonderful cast and especially blessed to be singing the music of Daniel Hoffman. The score for David is something extraordinary.

I hope you'll come. We run through June 22nd. Here's the link to the Theatre J website.

Catching Up

2008-04-10T09:25:00.013-04:00

What a busy little bee I've been since last I wrote. Lots 'o news:

Shlemiel the First at Theatre J closed at the end of January, and I did a little of this and a little of that to fill the time. I wrote some trivia for a company that needs that kind of thing on occasion (and since the trivia is geared to kids, there's a lot of "kewl" and "dude"-ing that always makes me roll my eyes a bit, even as I pocket the generous paycheck). I traveled down to Tennessee to celebrate my mother's 87th birthday with her. John and I visited his family in New York state. I constructed another unlauded Peep Diorama (see previous entry below). John and I made our yearly visit to Dunya the horse and picked up a load of composted manure for the garden.

I picked up another Helen Hayes nomination, this one for last summer's The Musical of Musicals: The Musical! at MetroStage, and went to an ever- so-swell nominees' reception at the Four Seasons hotel. And I added a new skill to my resume: artist's model. NO, NO NUDE POSING. That's the first question everyone asks. Good ol' Craig's List gave me the lead, and I did a couple of sessions for an artists' co-op before I had to give it up to go to work on my current production (more on that in a sec). I found the artists extremely pleasant and the work pretty easy. I discovered I can sit very still for a long period of time (all those theatre exercises in my past helped - thanks, Joe Calarco). And I must add that it's gratifying to have someone murmur, "ooo, that's beautiful - look at her bone structure" when you strike a pose. I am hoping to pose for them again once my current production has opened, and that production is:

David in Shadow and Light, a new musical by Yehuda Hyman and Daniel Hoffman receiving its world premiere at Theatre J. We are in the third week of a generous six-week rehearsal period, which is a good thing since there is a lot of tough material to learn. As the opening draws closer, I'll have all the details in a Crass Commercial Announcement; meanwhile, I'm enjoying being back at the J. Ari Roth and company have always treated me fabulously, and there's something really homey about the DC Jewish Community Center, where Theatre J lives. Little bitty kids are always around since there is a daycare center in the building; good smells come from the first floor cafe throughout the day; folks come in after business hours with their workout gear to utilize the very nice gym facilities; there's an art gallery and a library and classrooms, all of which are always in use - in short, there is a sense of thriving community. Most of the time we theatricals work in a fairly rarefied, sterile atmosphere, cut off from the world swirling around us and often, the people for whom we will perform. Not at the J - the theatre there is as much a part of the everyday world as the kids in the daycare, the mah-jongg players in the lobby, the scholars in the library and the sweating runners on the treadmills.

I also love the neighborhood around the DCJCC. I frequently take the Metro to Dupont Circle and walk up Q Street to rehearsal, and I find the whole area really interesting. As soon as you come up from the subway, you're greeted by a Walt Whitman quote (from "The Wound Dresser") engraved into the stone surround at the entrance:

There's the Cairo apartment building, with its ferocious cornices:

And this bird bath in someone's little pocket-handkerchief of a yard. Note the building across the street relected in the upper windows, the squiggly grillwork on the ground floor windows, and in the fountain itself, a sparrow posing nicely. During the run of Shlemiel the fountain was frequently iced over; I wish I'd taken a photo of it then:

And of course, there's the DCJCC itself, here looking particularly welcoming on a bright spring morning:

And to add to all this happiness, spring is sproinging all around. I've been enjoying it thus far; I hope you are, too.

Peep Rejection Redux

2008-03-17T14:42:00.008-04:00

Those of you who are regular readers of this blog may remember this time last year, when I was a hopeful first-time entrant into the Washington Post's first Peep Diorama contest. My 2007 entry was George Peepington Crossing the Delaware, and I labored long and hard on it. I didn't win - didn't even make the semi-finals - but I vowed that I would make another attempt when the contest rolled around this year.

Well, roll around it did, and I made haste to assemble the diorama I'd had in mind since before Christmas (John actually came up with the idea for it). Because I thought it would be amusing to have a little visual fun with the yellow Chick Peeps and the pink Bunny Peeps, my diorama design for 2008 was the famous "Rabbit Suit" scene from the beloved holiday film, A Christmas Story.

Since I knew I would need a semi-to
-scale Christmas tree for the diorama, I had already snapped one up during the post- Christmas sales (the one I bought actually lights up, a nice but unnecessary fillip). I stowed the little tree away for safekeeping, and waited in breathless anticipation for early spring and the arrival of Peeps in the local shops. I bought a DVD copy of A Christmas Story and watched the pertinent scene several times, making note of the scene's layout, characters, set dressing and costumes. I also checked the Post website periodically for the announcement of the contest.

Naturally, said announcement was printed on a weekend that I happened to be out of town. When I finally discovered that the diorama contest was in full swing and I was a week and a half behind, I frantically began my search for Peeps. I needed four yellow Chick Peeps and one pink Bunny Peep for my design, but for the first several days of my search I could only find yellow Bunny Peeps and green and purple Chick Peeps (green and PURPLE???). Where were the classic yellow Peeps? Where were the all important pink Bunny Peeps? It was several days before I finally found a package of yellow Chicks at a CVS, and the pink Bunnies at a Safeway. Hustling home with my booty, I unwrapped the Peeps and put them on a table with my mini Christmas tree. The scale was perfect. Then I dashed to the local Michael's craft store and bought styrofoam, scrapbook paper, a tiny dollhouse-sized wooden sideboard, some bits of wood, marbles, itty-bitty package bows and some odds and ends.

A Peepmas Story actually came together much more quickly than last year's Peepington Crossing the Delaware. Perhaps it was because I learned from last year's winning entries that in spite of the Post's somewhat nebulously-written rules, one does not need to mount one's diorama inside a shoebox. Perhaps it was because the Peepington diorama had a lot of characters, all of whom had to be dressed and posed inside a very small space, whereas A Peepmas Story only had four characters to costume (I was careful to pick fabrics which suited the characters, although there are limits as to how creative one can be in costuming the lump that is a Chick Peep). Altogether, I think A Peepmas Story took only a day and a half to assemble. I used styrofoam to create the living room floor and walls, the all-important staircase and the sofa on which the parent Peeps would sit. I put down a layer of brown foam sheeting for the wooden floor and steps, and covered those with a patterned scrapbook paper that approximated the carpeting from the movie scene. I covered the styro walls with a striped scrapbook paper and mounted the Christmas tree on the left and the mini-sideboard on the right. I covered the sofa in green felt and draped its back with a small knitted doily, then glued it to the right of the stairs. I printed out Peep photos from the internet, reduced them down and made little frames for them, to provide artwork for the walls. I made a teeny dish of clay cinnamon rolls and put them on the sideboard, along with a little whelk shell and a tiny piece of coral I found on the beach years ago. I wrapped half-inch wooden blocks and matchboxes of various sizes in scraps of tissue paper and adorned them with minature ribbons. I partially wrapped a blue marble in tissue and glued it next to the "Dad" Peep (remember he got a bowling ball for Christmas in the movie?), and I gave the "Mom" Peep a mass of tangled reddish hair. To create the "Ralphie" Peep in his bunny suit, I took a pink Peep Bunny, dug out its face and replaced it with the face of a yellow Chick Peep. I clipped the ears off another pink Peep Bunny and glued them onto the legs for big bunny feet, and I made a tiny pair of glasses for "Ralphie" to finish him off. The Dad Peep got glasses, too.

I crumped bits of tissue and glued them around the tree, as if the Peeps had been unwrapping presents with abandon. The finishing touch was a long matchbox, wrapped and beribboned and set beside the little sideboard, representing the all-important Red Ryder BB Gun present. And my diorama of A Peepmas Story was complete. If you want to really appreciate the minutiae, click on the photo.

Proudly, I took several photos of the diorama and emailed them to the Post on Friday, with a return receipt attached, well in advance of the March 2nd deadline. And then I waited. And waited. Finally, I got my return receipt back on March 5th, and my heart sank. If it took them that long to even open my email, the folks at the Post were undoubtedly swamped with entries. And so they were; an article in yesterday's Post stated that they received more than 800 entries - and the same article stated that the semi-finalists and finalists had been chosen and will be featured in the Easter Sunday edition. I guess they had to make the announcement so anxious diorama designers would leave them the hell alone.

So siiiiigggghhhhhhhh...once again my Peeps were rejected by the Post. I'm fully prepared to be dazzled by the winners when they're announced on Sunday. John and I are betting that there will be at least one variation on the "No Country for Old Peeps" theme(a serial killer Peep - yeah!). But I admit that I'm disappointed, and I don't know if I'll compete again next year. It's a lot of work, and then when you don't make the cut, all that work just goes in the trash. I will probably cannibalize A Peepmas Story for parts, though, and I will likely buy some Peeps to stow away, on the chance that inspiration will strike between now and next spring.

And it's easier to work with stale Peeps, anyway.

Community Chest

2008-02-23T20:51:00.013-05:00

I am not a big fan of the game of Monopoly. It's probably because I'm not very good at it; the last several times I've played, I've struggled to hold onto even one monopoly, and have been the first player to be bankrupted out of the game.

John, on the other hand, loves Monopoly. Consequently, it was no real surprise to me when he unearthed a Monopoly tournament and signed up to play this weekend. In the interests of Supporting Spousing (God knows John has suffered through enough of my endeavors), I told him I'd go along. Bright and early this morning we set off for the Lorton Glory Days restaurant, the venue of the event.

John hadn't given me too many details about the tournament, except that there were two rounds of about a hour and a half apiece, and breakfast and lunch were included. I'd brought along a magazine to occupy myself while he played, since I expected to be somewhat bored. Much to my surprise, there was a good-sized and enthusiastic turnout for the tournament; approximately thirty to thirty-five players, ranging in age from kids to senior citizens. There was a preponderance of males - probably a 4-to-1 male/female ratio. The main sponsor of the event, Ronald A. Kowalski of Long & Foster Realtors, had gone all out with a display in front of the restaurant. I didn't know until I got inside that Mr. Kowalski was sponsoring the event as a fundraiser for The Lorton Arts Foundation, which is in the process of creating a visual and performing arts complex out of the old Lorton Prison. I've been driving past the defunct prison for years and have always thought, "Gee, wouldn't this be a great place to put a theatre?" Well, there will be a theatre there eventually, along with lots of other exciting things. So that made me feel better about spending my morning surrounded by Monopoly wonks.

There were five tables set up with brand spankin' new Monopoly games and seating for six players. Each table was sponsored by a local business (this is a photo of John's table, sponsored by RGS Title). Coffee, donuts and bagels were provided by Glory Days, and the older players occupied themselves with grabbing some breakfast, while the younger players headed immediately to their table and began laying out their money. I parked myself at an empty table, cracked open a V-8 juice (I'd brought along a small cooler with some snacks), and read some of the flyers about the Lorton Arts Center (it's going to be rather amazing). At 9:30 the players were summoned to their tables, a brief rundown of the rules was given by Mr. Kowalski, and the tournament began.

At first, things were fairly quiet as the players focussed on getting around their boards and snatching up properties whenever possible. The table closest to me was comprised of two young men in their twenties and three boys somewhere between the ages of nine and twelve (their sixth player never showed up). I expected them to be fairly rowdy, but they were a pretty silent and intense crowd.

John's table was livelier, with a nice mix of an older lady, a fellow a bit older than John, a thirty- something guy and a perky young lady in her late teens/early twenties. The Perky One kept up a barrage of constant chatter, but she was actually rather sweet and her presence loosened up the proceedings quite a bit. I tried not to hang around the table too much; but it was clear early on that Bernard (the thirty-something) had a killer instinct. He quickly finagled Judy, the Older Lady, into trading with him for his first monopoly, and from then on he never looked back. The first hour ticked by, and eventually Bernard bankrupted the Perky One, then the Older Fella. Bernard and John were at a standoff; John held the remaining Railroad that Bernard wanted, and Bernard had Mediterranean Avenue, which John needed to go with his Baltic Avenue. Bernard wanted a straight trade, but John refused to give him the Railroad monopoly without something to sweeten the pot. They stayed deadlocked throughout the game, right down to the end. John and Judy hung on by their fingernails, but it was clear that Bernard had triumphed and would move on to the finals and eligibility for the big cash prize of $1,000.

There was a half-hour break between the first and second round, and Glory Days dished up a nice lunch for the players and their hangers-on. Mr. Kowalski presented a round of door prizes (John won a 20-minute version of Monopoly, of which I heartily approve) and introduced some of the other sponsors of the tournament, as well as a rep from the Lorton Arts Center. Judy, John and I ate some salad with grilled chicken, then I went over for a chat with the Art Center rep as the final round started, on a fabulous deluxe version of the game. Eventually I finished my conversation and joined John and the others watching the game, which was quite intense.

The finalists consisted of Bernard, two young men roughly Bernard's age, one boy about eleven and another about nine, and the younger boy's mom (they must have spread the family out so they didn't play at the same tables during the first round; Dad was also present, along with another son, slightly older son). With the onslaught of the weekend lunch crowd, the restaurant staff had turned on the multiple televisions in the place, and the nine-year old, whose name was Matt, was constantly distracted by them. In this picture you can see him watching a nearby screen intently, while play continues around him. I figured his inattention would get him bumped from the competition early, but I was wrong. The little stinker snagged Boardwalk and Park Place in short order, and nearly bankrupted himself by buying houses for his monopoly just as fast as he could. There were a few tense turns where he landed on others' properties and had to sell a house or two just to keep his head above water, but then the tide turned, and people started landing on Boardwalk. And just kept on landing on Boardwalk. Down went the first of the two young men, down went the other kid, down went the mother. Matt took all their money and all their properties, still keeping one eye on the omnipresent TV sets. Bernard was starting to look worried, as was Amin, the other remaining player. Matt bought houses and hotels for his new properties (the onlookers began referring to him as "Trump"), while Amin and Bernard struggled to stay afloat, heaving sighs of relief when the Community Chest or Chance cards sent them careering safely past the death corner of Boardwalk and Park Place. Even jail was preferable to the tension of traversing young Matt's Board of Death.

Eventually, inevitably, Amin landed on Boardwalk and was wiped out. Matt carelessly scraped Amin's holdings into the pile in front of him and bought a few more houses. Bernard was on the approach to the Death Corner. If he rolled a four or a six, he would be destroyed. Anything else, and he'd pass "GO" safely one more time.

Bernard rolled a four and landed on Park Place. Matt, who was watching "Spongebob Squarepants" on the TV over his shoulder, was completely unaware of his victory until the groan rose up in unison from the onlookers. Amin got the third place award of $250, Bernard took the second place prize of $500, and the nine year-old kid with absolutely no expenses and almost no interest in the game took the grand prize of $1,000 and went home with Mom and Dad. There's irony for you.

John had a good time, though, and it was nice to see the local businesses coming out to support the new Arts Center. And I even had a good time. John and I went home and relaxed for the rest of the day. After dinner we even played a round or two on his new 20-minute Monopoly game.

He won, of course.

You Must Look At This

2008-02-19T20:43:00.001-05:00

Yes, you must.

Step 2 is my favorite.

How To Hug A Baby.

Talking Stain and Screaming Animals

2008-02-05T23:35:00.001-05:00

For the first time in many years, I actually went to a Super Bowl party and actually watched the game. It was pretty pedestrian stuff, except for the fourth quarter. Tom Brady was sacked so many times his head must have been spinning.

However, I did enjoy the Super Bowl ads and thought I'd share my two favorites. First, the Bridgestone screaming animals ad:

And second, the Tide talking stain ad, which I thought was brilliant:

I don't know squat about Bridgestone tires, but I have used and recommend the Tide pen. I used one yesterday to remove a long-standing stain from a vintage beaded top, and it worked like a champ.

P.S. The stain didn't talk.

Iconography

2008-02-02T13:27:00.001-05:00

Please join me for a moment in mourning the passing of the pleasantly whimsical icons of Weather Underground. This has been my go-to site for weather information for the past several years, partly because it's an easy-to-navigate site with good information, but also partly because I loved their weather icons. I apologize for the quality of this photo, which is the icon for "Sunny" or "Clear" - maybe it's because of the originals' small size, but Blogger makes them all distorted. But look at that happy face! That's just the way a sunny day makes you feel. You can look at the whole lineup here, for as long as WU has them up. Just look at the icon for wind! And the night-time icons - you gotta love that crescent moon!

Their new icons are, to be honest, quite dull. This is the new icon for "Sunny." A glowing hot ball - yay. It could be the yolk of an egg for all we know. I suppose it's a no-frills, no-nonsense way of getting the information out, but it's the sort of thing I expect from The Weather Channel - boring, corporate and unimaginative.

Goodbye, WU icons - I'll miss you.

Fun With Seafood

2008-01-30T23:06:00.002-05:00

Emboldened, perhaps, by the Turducken episode of last week, today I decided to venture into semi- uncharted waters and do the Expensive Seafood Thing at home. Now, I've steamed lobster in the past, so buying a pair of live lobsters was no big deal. In fact, back when I was a struggling bachelorette living alone on a legal secretary's salary, my big treat at the end of a typical exhausting, infuriating week was to buy a small lobster, a bottle of Grolsch ale and a baguette. I would steam the lobster and then devour it with butter, lemon, the ale and the bread. Looking back, I'm not sure if I was trying to pamper myself or, after five consecutive days in the poisonous atmosphere of my job, just wanted to kill something.

Yesterday I was cleaning out a basket full of kitchen implements (an apple corer? an egg slicer? a gravy separator?) and discovered that, for some reason, I own an oyster knife. I don't know how this could be; I've never opened an oyster in my life, but it's just the sort of oddball thing my mother likes to stow in my Christmas stocking (like an apple corer, an egg slicer, etc.). Or I might have purchased one years ago on some kind of whim. At any rate, the discovery of the oyster knife, coupled with the recent knowledge that Wegman's carries fresh oysters, sent me scurrying to Fairfax, where after consultation with the fellows at the seafood counter, I purchased two chicken lobsters (not cowardly crustaceans but lobsters that weigh about a pound) and a dozen Blue Point oysters. The lobsters were stowed in a paper bag and the oysters in a net bag that was in turn placed into a plastic sack left open so the poor suckers could breathe, and I took my ocean bounty home. I popped the net bag full of oysters right into the refrigerator but couldn't resist playing with the lobsters for a bit. Their claws were banded so there was no danger of being pinched, so I gave them a quick promenade on the kitchen counter. They were pretty lively. Then I stuffed them into a large metal bowl, draped a damp towel over them and put them into the fridge as well.

While the appetizer and main course languished in the icebox, I threw together a lemon cheesecake and then headed for the computer to Google "opening oysters." I found all manner of information, including a nice video from the good folks at Epicurious which had useful step-by-step instructions. Feeling both knowledgeable and brave, at about a quarter of six I went back into the kitchen to start prepping.

First I dumped all the ice in the icemaker into a plastic bag and crushed it with my meat hammer (so useful in the previous Turducken episode). I spread that out on a platter. Then I got out the oysters, dumped them in the sink and gave them a good scrubbing to knock off any loose sand and dirt. Then, with my left hand protected by a mesh meat-cutting glove and a clean dishtowel at hand, I picked out a nice plump oyster.

Did you know oysters have a top half and a bottom half? The bottom half is more cup-shaped, the better to hold the lovely briny juice inside. With the bottom half clasped in my gloved hand, I worked the oyster knife into the mollusk's hinge. Not a great deal happened at first, but with the application of more pressure, the knife suddenly slid into the oyster, which spat a little juice. Rocking the knife back and forth, I worked the blade around the oyster's lips and finally, the whole thing just came loose and I was able to lift the lid, so to speak. I used the knife to cut the abductor muscle inside, took a good whiff of the oyster's innards (it smelled briny and fresh, not fishy), discarded the top shell and placed Oyster #1 on the prepared bed of crushed ice.

I was struggling with Oyster #7 when John arrived home from work. #7 was the biggest of the bivalves and I was having some trouble with it, so John changed clothes and took over oyster duty while I prepped the lobsters. I filled a big stewpot with about two inches of water, put a steamer tray in the bottom, turned on the heat and gave the lobsters one last stroll. As John placed the last oyster on the ice, I popped the lobsters into the steaming pot and clapped on the lid.

As the lobsters cooked, John and I started slurping oysters. I'd made a cocktail sauce which John dabbed on his selections; I prefer mine with just a squirt of lemon juice. We opened a bottle of Linden Vineyards Seyval, which has really nice citrus notes that complemented the fresh, briny taste of the oysters. They were really fine oysters, plump and sweet, and it was great fun tipping them down our willing throats. We finished them up in short order, then had just a short wait before the lobsters were finished. That's the beautiful thing about seafood; it's ready so darned fast.

I dumped the oyster shells in the trash, tossed the ice in the sink, wiped off the platter and used it to serve up the lobsters. They were glorious: red and steaming. I don't see why people order whole lobster in restaurants; eating them is such a messy procedure that you can't enjoy it if you're worried about keeping your clothes nice. And of course, they have good entertainment value:

After dinner, we retired to the living room to watch TV. We saw a trailer for a movie called Strange Wilderness that's probably nothing we'd pay money to see (in fact, my bet is that it'll be on Comedy Central within a year). However, the trailer contains footage of a shark that made me laugh so hard tears squirted from my eyes. I don't really know why. Maybe it was dealing with seafood most of the day; maybe it was the bottle of wine. All I know is that it made me laugh until I hurt. So, since you couldn't share our seafood dinner, I'll share the relevant part of trailer with you. Enjoy:

Turducken, or a Variant Thereof

2008-01-22T20:31:00.000-05:00

John has always been intrigued by the concept of "turducken" - a Cajun dish wherein a deboned chicken is stuffed inside a deboned duck, which is stuffed inside a deboned turkey, with layers of different stuffing between each bird, and the whole mess roasted for hours and hours. I've been unwilling to try it simply because it's way too much food for the just two of us, and I didn't want to experiment on dinner guests. Also, there's something a bit revolting about the photos I found online of the creation - it looks like nothing so much as roasted roadkill.

It occurred to me that one could probably do a more manageable version of this dish with breast halves, rather than the whole bird. Since Shlemiel the First closed Sunday and I have two months worth of down time before starting work on my next show, I figured now was as good a time as any to experiment. On MLK Day, John and I went to Wegman's (my new favorite place), where I bought a half-breast of turkey, a package of boneless duck breast halves and a package of boneless chicken breast halves. After lunch today I skinned and deboned the turkey breast half, then gave it a good beating with my new meat mallet (a Christmas gift from John - thank you, dear). I gave the same treatment to half a chicken breast and half a duck breast. I sweated some onions in butter, added some celery and some chopped apple and sauteed until soft, then combined the mixture with just a little Pepperidge Farm herb stuffing mix, crushed into crumbs. I added enough chicken broth to make it pretty soggy and adjusted the seasoning, adding a healthy shot of cayenne pepper as a nod to its Cajun roots.

I laid out the turkey breast, covered it with a layer of stuffing, put the chicken breast on top of that and followed with another layer of stuffing, then put the duck breast on last with another layer of stuffing. I ran some cotton string underneath the whole thing and tied it off in the middle (just to keep it together), then stretched the reserved turkey breast skin over the whole thing, flipped it over and used a big curved upholstery needle and more of the cotton thread to stitch the skin in place. When I turned it back over, I had a neat little package of poultry and dressing, weighing about three pounds. I put it on a rack in a small roasting pan, brushed the skin with a tablespoon of melted butter and gave it a sprinkling of salt and pepper. There are no photos of this process because I really needed three hands and the two that are attached to me were a mess of meat, stuffing and cotton thread. The whole wrapping and stitching process was accompanied by a certain amount of cursing and much hand-washing, as it's difficult to wield an upholstery needle when your hands are coated in poultry and stuffing. I used the remains of the turkey breast carcass to make a little stock.

At 350 degrees, my Package of Bird took roughly an hour and a half to roast to an internal temp of 155 degrees. The skin was a beautiful rich brown when I took it out. I let it sit for about ten minutes while I made a little gravy/sauce with the pan drippings and stock and steamed some veggies. When I was ready to serve, I turned the whole thing over, removed the cotton string, turned it right side up again and sliced it. I have to say that it was a thing of beauty - more of a poultry roulade, perhaps, and maybe a bit more refined than the meatfest that is a true turducken.

I was stunned at how moist and tender all the meats were - juicy and done to a turn. We didn't even need to use a knife to cut it. In future, I would probably back off a little on the broth in the stuffing mix as it was a bit on the mushy side, but the flavor was insanely good, with a little sweetness from the apples and just enough kick from the cayenne. We had a little Chardonnay to go with it, but in retrospect a red wine might have been better - perhaps a pinot noir. Would I make it again? Probably - that is, if I can make myself forget about the stitching and cursing part. Maybe I'll even get brave enough to serve it to company. And maybe - just maybe - I might try it one day with whole birds.

Yeah - when I grow that third hand.

Potlucky

2008-01-14T20:31:00.000-05:00

We had a potluck dinner between performances of Shlemiel the First this past Sunday - everyone brought their speciality and we had a nice sit-down in the old lobby of the DCJCC. This has been a really nice cast and we've had a lot of fun, in spite of the anxiety of switching directors midstream and mixed reviews (which means, in the words of the late George S. Kaufmann, "good and lousy").

For me, one of the highlights of Shlemiel has been working once again with Amy McWilliams, whom I've known since 1983 when we appeared together in a community theatre production of Grease. She was just out of college and played Sandy; I was 27 and played Rizzo. We've worked on a double handful of shows together over the years: I was Annie Sullivan to her Helen Keller in the Fairlington Players' 1985 production of Monday After the Miracle; we both made the jump to professional theatre in the nineties, during which I played her mother in the fairly awful and unlamented production of The Pirate at American Century Theatre; we were in Working and Urinetown and The Fix at Signature Theatre.

In all these shows and more, Amy has delivered consistently honest and solid performances. She serves no temperament; she comes in and gets the job done; she makes intelligent, thoughtful choices and basically does the director's work for him/her. She makes real, meaningful contact with her fellow cast members, onstage and off. She's considerate to the crew and basically self-sufficient. And she's a riot to work with - you might think that the photo above was just Amy showing off for the camera, but no: she was amusing herself while waiting for her contribution to the potluck to heat in the microwave, and I happened by with camera in hand.

It's somewhat embarrassing to me that over the years, I've got a buttload of Helen Hayes honors for showy performances in showy roles while Amy quietly does her excellent work and has yet to receive a single nomination. I love her and admire her. I think she's the most underrated actress in town. And I consider myself extraordinarily lucky to have had the chance to work with her again.

'Til next time, Amy.

For some reason, this photo makes me ridiculously happy.

2008-01-04T08:26:00.001-05:00

I realize that CuteOverload is probably old news to many, but in spite of its oogie-woogie narrative voice, it's still one of my favorite websites. This particular dog was featured on January 1, and I can't think of a nicer image to start the New Year.

P.S. There are three other pictures that go with it, so it's worth clicking on the link to see the whole photo essay thing.

Pay What You Can

2007-12-18T09:41:00.001-05:00

A reminder that tonight and tomorrow (December 18 and 19) are pay-what-you-can previews for my current production, Shlemiel the First at Theatre J. Both shows are at 7:30 at the DCJCC, located at the corner of 16th and Q Streets.

We run until January 20th, with performances Wednesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 PM, Saturdays at 8 PM, and Sundays at 3 PM and 7:30 PM. There are no performances on Fridays, this being a Jewish theatre and all.

The show is a lot of fun - hope to see you there!

Back to Work

2007-11-26T09:06:00.000-05:00

Today is the first day of rehearsal for Shlemiel the First at Theatre J. I can't wait to get going again - it's been too long since my last full-blown production.

The photo below is of Dan Manning and me during the concert version Theatre J mounted last fall - I play the town shrew, Yente Pesha, and Dan plays my husband and head of the town council, Gronam Ox. The show is based on the short stories of Isaac Bashevis Singer and has a rousing klezmer score - sort of like Fiddler on the Roof without all the angst. I'm delighted that Theatre J has decided to give it a full production.

I'll have more information of the Crass Commercial kind as the December 18th opening gets closer, but for now let me just say that I'm happy to be back at Theatre J and to be working with the terrific company of Shlemiel.

A New Footing

2007-11-13T08:06:00.000-05:00

In the decade or so since John and I bought our little 1950s-era house in Vienna, we have made alterations and improvements as our budget allowed. We have done most of the work ourselves - some years back we had a contractor remodel the master bath, and it was such a hellish experience that we decided we couldn't do much worse on our own.

When we bought the house, we knew the kitchen was eventually going to need a complete overhaul. The appliances were all about twenty years old, there was a cheap roll-out vinyl floor, and the previous owners had stenciled the cream-colored cabinetry with a pink and blue design. However, our budget hasn't extended to doing the whole job all at once; we've gone at it piecemeal, as time and money allowed. John and a buddy replaced the countertops a year or so after we moved in; the existing counters were badly dinged. What we have now is not what we would ultimately like to have, but it was what we could afford at the time. We replaced both the refrigerator and the dishwasher this year - some of you may remember the great refrigerator breakdown of the summer. The dishwasher was our treat to ourselves - the existing dishwasher was so noisy that you could hardly hear the TV when it was running, and it had gotten to the point where it just wasn't getting the dishes clean. Over the Columbus Day holiday (when Virginia gives a tax break to those buying energy-efficient appliances), we popped for a super-quiet dishwasher and consider it money well spent.

We started talking about replacing the kitchen floor a year or so ago, but never got around to actually doing it. Over the summer, the roll-out vinyl looked worse and worse - it was starting to curl and tear here and there, and the quarter-round trim that held it in place had some cracks. It didn't matter how often I swept it or how hard I scrubbed it - it never looked clean. We agreed it was time to bite the bullet and choose a new floor (That's a photo of the floor above - it looks better in the photo than it did in reality). We spent a couple weeks discussing the various kinds of flooring available and looking at samples. Because our kitchen is so small, we knew we could pick pretty much any kind of floor we wanted and it wouldn't be too expensive. Because I like the look of a wood floor but didn't want the maintenance issues, we settled on a laminate floor - Pergo is the most well-known version of it, but we went with a Dupont product, which happily was on sale at Home Depot. We took careful measurements, John placed the order, and in about a week our floor arrived, in the form of five large flat boxes (the floor itself) and one very long tube (the quarter-round trim to match).

Since this particular kind of snap-
and-lock laminate is a "floating" floor (meaning it isn't glued to the subfloor - it just lays down over your existing floor), John originally thought we would just be able to lay it over the roll-out vinyl. However, there was a place in the floor that was uneven for some reason, and we were both worried that the flooring wouldn't install properly over it. The night before we were due to start laying the new floor, I heard John moving around in the kitchen for a few minutes. What followed was a tearing sound, and when I went in to investigate, he was ripping up part of the vinyl roll-out. "I think the flooring underneath this vinyl is warped," he said. He surmised that since the uneven part of the floor was right by the refrigerator, the ice-maker's water line had probably leaked at some point before we bought the house. He was right. Under the vinyl roll-out was a thick vinyl tile, and it was clear that it had gotten really wet sometime in the past - some of the tiles had swelled slightly and there was mildew between the roll-out and the vinyl. We knew that not only would the roll-out have to come up, the vinyl tile underneath would have to come up as well.

John set to work with hammer, crowbar and scraper. It took him a couple of hours and he discovered that beneath the roll-out and the vinyl tile was a thin layer of ugly red linoleum which had been glued over an unattractive brown-and-blue linoleum, which may have been the kitchen's original floor. You can see all four floors in this photo: the roll-out is visible behind John, a couple of the heavy-duty vinyl tiles are in the foreground, and there's the brick-colored stuff and the blue stuff as well. It's as if there's four decades of floor there - fifties utilitarian linoleum, late sixties "harvest" red linoleum, thick vinyl from the seventies or eighties, and the cheap roll-out which we're now convinced was an effort by the previous owners to hide the damaged vinyl tile (in keeping with some of the other stuff they "hid" from us during the buying process). John is holding a large piece of quarter-round, which he just pulled out from beneath the cabinets on the left. Also visible is the sticky brown residue of the old adhesive, which smelled funny and made walking across the floor pretty interesting.

My part in the destruction was pretty much limited to helping John move the refrigerator and the stove. I've mentioned that it's a small kitchen, and there just wasn't room for two of us in there with the appliances pulled out. Once the stove and refrigerator were back in place, I put on gloves and helped scrape, but my involvement with the whole flooring operation was pretty much limited to gopher and interested observer, because the next afternoon, Big John Soma arrived to help.

We're fortunate in that my husband has many handy friends. Buddies have helped him install bathroom tile, replace counter tops and even move a safe. John Soma is the handiest of all of them; he's been over to the house to advise John on the intricacies of plumbing and power washing in the past. I call him "Big John" not just to differentiate him from my John, but also because he's a big guy - probably stands somewhere in the neighborhood of six-four. He's lost weight lately so he's not as big as he has been (not that he was ever fat), but he's still a lot of man. My John is not pint-sized, either, so the two of them working shoulder to shoulder in my little kitchen was pretty funny. There was no room for me, and large power tools were being produced and revved, so I banished myself to the study, where I idled on the computer. I did make several runs to Home Depot for various items, as well as a gallop to Famous Dave's for barbeque later in the day, and I also helped lay a bright red plastic moisture-barrier film before Big John arrived - so I wasn't completely useless, but very nearly so.

It took the guys about eight hours to get the floor laid, and they knocked off around ten o'clock with the kitchen door landing and a lot of the trim left to do. Since both of them had things to do on Sunday, they covered all the big tools out on the deck with plastic against the resumption of work on Monday. Big John went home, and John and I cleaned up as well as we were able. On Sunday I made yet another run to Home Depot (the boys had decided the transition trim the laminate company recommended was crap, and I had to buy more standard metal stuff).

Early Monday morning Big John returned, and the tricky work of fitting the landing floor began. The two guys in the kitchen space was funny enough, but seeing them both trying to work on the landing was hysterical. Big John draped himself down the basement stairs, while my John crouched on the kitchen floor just above the landing (that's Big John's elbow just visible in the photo - the red stuff is that moisture barrier stuff I talked about earlier). It took a couple of hours to get the landing floor pieced out and laid, and then Big John packed up all his gear and left because he had family things to do. I don't know how we would have gotten the floor done without his help.

I helped John install the remaining quarter-round on the landing as well as the step trim on the landing and the transition trim from the kitchen laminate onto the dining room carpet. We messed up the transition trim so I made yet another run to Home Depot for a replacement. At long last, John drove the final nail, and we took a quick inventory and determined that everything was finished. We cleaned up the mess, put the tools away and restored all the stuff we moved out of the kitchen. Neither of us had eaten all day and I had to go teach my audition class at Signature, so we went out for a comfort-food dinner together, where we congratulated ourselves on saving the money by doing the work ourselves, having good friends like Big John Soma to help out, and on the final result - which is pretty damned impressive.

Of course, the new floor makes the cabinets look worse than ever, and John informed me this morning that he's made an appointment this week for us to meet with a Home Depot rep in their kitchen remodeling center. I'm a little frightened...

FOOTNOTE (snicker): My favorite clogs, which have been my "wear around the house" shoes for the past several years, were a victim of the remodeling. The aforementioned sticky residue from the old linoleum pretty much coated the bottoms of the shoes, which were already cracked and beat up. I took this as a sign from God that it was time to buy new clogs for in-house use, but I will miss my old clogs, which gave me good arch support, were easy to slip in and out of, and were amusing in that the fabric tops combined many knit patterns, my favorite of which was the brown "monkey sock" knit at the very toe. I don't know where I'm going to find ones with the same combination of comfort, ease and humor. So long, clogs.

Photo Essay - Hallowe'en a Week Later

2007-11-08T09:14:00.000-05:00

The top pumpkin is still valiantly grinning, but the rot has clearly affected the lower two. While I'd love to watch them continue to quietly decompose, John has politely requested that I get rid of them. Happy week after Hallowe'en, ya'll.