Bringing Back Some Light

 Tuesday night was a rough one for me.  I put some ribs in the crockpot, went searching for our Peking ribs recipe.  Never found it, but uncovered a memory that had me on the rocks for a while.  It was a letter that Robin wrote to a Teen Moms conference, telling them about all the bookcrossers that helped her gather 600 books for the teen mothers and their kids.  I don't remember the year, and the letter wasn't dated, but I can probably find it on the BookCrossing forums.  

She was always doing stuff like that.  The world is a dimmer place without her light.

After I had hold of myself again, I did the only thing I could do to bring back some of that light:  I picked someone that I barely know -- I only knew that they needed a little help, I knew that I could afford it, and I gave it.  

That's what she would have done.

What charity is

When Robin and I were first married, we were dirt poor. I'm talking, our staple diet was plain rice, harvesting dandelions from the yard for greens, and meat only when hot dogs went on sale poor. Her parents helped, quite a lot actually...but every monetary gift came with strings attached, and heaps of guilt & judgement if we didn't behave exactly as her mother believed we ought. If we managed to scrape together a couple of dollars for entertainment, say for a movie, or an hour or two at an arcade, that bit of frivolity was worth a severe dressing-down if the secret got out. Because that sort of thing was not what dirt-poor, getting charity from your parents people, ought to be doing.

Fast-forward many years, to when we had children of our own, and income enough that we can afford to help someone out now and then. And we got a taste of how it feels to dig someone out of a tight spot, then later learn that they've spent money on something that we considered frivolous. It can be irritating. "Well," one thinks, "If they can afford to do that, then why did they need our help?"

But you see, unlike my mother-in-law, we remembered some important lessons from our lean times:

* People can't work 24x7. If you don't take some time to be a family, and treat yourselves, you're headed for some serious trauma.

* We don't see everything that's going on in someone else's life.

* A gift that is not given freely, out of love, is no gift at all.

So we learned to squelch the impulse to kibbitz by adopting this simple philosophy: "We gave this thing (money, food, books, clothing, etc.) away, because we wanted to help and we thought it was the right thing to do. This thing is not ours anymore, and we have no right to say what is done with it. We will not let it bother us if something is done with it that we wouldn't approve of."

This is what charity is.

Tuck Everlasting - BLT

This month I decided it was time to take the first steps in reconnecting with the theater community.  I renewed my membership in the Theatre Arts Guild, and attended TAG night for Bellevue Little Theatre's "Tuck Everlasting - The Musical."  My emotional state seems better when I spend time with friends and family, and I need those connections.

What I didn't take into account was that I was headed out to see a show that centers primarily around the theme of what it means to be mortal. 

What struck me first as I entered the auditorium, even before I laid eyes upon the beautiful set, was the size of the audience - respectable for a TAG preview - and how I recognized nobody.  I've been away from theater for far too long, ever since I started working second shift.  I expect that to change, hopefully sooner than later.  I'm very pleased to see the community thriving, in spite of the rumors of plague circulating, and I look forward to making new friends in the near future.

Speaking of the set, I'm impressed with the minimalist design.  Patrick Ulrich has chosen not to hide the orchestra, nor shunt them off to the side.  Rather, they are seated at the rear, highlighted in cameo, with only a token separation from the foreground.  A couple of elevated platforms frame them, while also granting an extra level to serve as bridges, tree branches, and attics.  Ensemble cast carry extra set pieces in, away, and even change position during scenes, incorporating the movements well. 

Speaking of the ensemble, props to choreographer Kelsey Schwenker.  They looked like they were enjoying themselves, something that I often forget to do when I have to dance.  During one particular number ("My Most Beautiful Day"), it looked as if one woman was missing a partner, but she didn't look at all awkward, which had me questioning whether it was done that way on purpose. 

My reaction to the actors is the hardest for me to analyze, because here's where I find it difficult to separate what I'm feeling inside from what I'm seeing onstage.  I kept wanting to see more from everyone, and I'm not sure that's fair.  Or maybe it is fair, and they were doing their parts so well that it pulled such strong feelings from me, because I've been all those people.

I've been Winnie Foster, feeling fenced in at every turn and just wanting to taste some freedom.  I could hear it in Eva Cohen's voice during "Good Girl Winnie Foster."  I watched Eva reacting to everyone around her, watched Winnie's character learn and grow.  Pay attention to this girl.

I've been Winnie's mother, and her grandmother, simultaneously scared and overprotective, and rebellious of authority, wanting the kids to have some fun (my late wife would tell you that I was always more of the latter).  Both these behaviors are borne of intense love.  Sara Mattix and Rose Glock gave me that sense, it fed what I was feeling, and the fire wanted more.  I wasn't disappointed.

The hardest character to identify with, and the most fun to watch, had to be The Man in the Yellow Suit, yet I've been him too.  Patrick Wolfe showed us someone who has allowed his dreams of wealth and power to overshadow his connection with humanity.  And honestly, isn't this what we do when we spend so much of our time and energy pursuing a career that we ignore our families?  When we allow ourselves to believe that striking it rich would solve all of our problems?  Okay, sure, it would solve a lot of them, but not all.

The interplay between Constable Joe and Hugo (Jeff Klemme and Jake Parker) is deliberately light, and I think the show needs that, but in my eyes it didn't properly set up the relationship to follow, to view Hugo as comic relief.  That seems like a script problem, not the fault of anyone here.

And the Tuck family.  These people, being immortal, might seem to be the hardest to understand.  But their problems are not so very much removed from ours, because we often behave as if we will live forever.  I know I have.  Angus Tuck (Chris Ebke) spends his time lazing about, ignoring his wife.  Oh, I've been you, Angus, believing that there will always be tomorrow.  It's a tragedy of mortality that we're wrong.  Can you imagine the tragedy of being right about that?   I wanted to beat some sense into Angus.  Winnie was far gentler.

Miles (Travis Manley) has suffered loss, and never recovered.  I'm you, right now, Miles.  It's hard.  Travis made me feel that pain anew, with his anger, and I wanted to comfort him.

Jesse (Elliot Kerkhofs) is forever frozen in adolescence, for all of his years.  I'm not proud to say that this describes much of my own life.  Many of us take far too long to grow up.  By the final scene, brief as it was, he did seem to have matured a bit.  Maybe it was that very curt goodbye that did it.

The only character that I have never been, is Mae Tuck.  Jennifer Gilg portrayed a woman who looks back on a long life that has contained multitudes of sadness, and still smiles, and still sees hope.  She remembers the best days, the good times.  I aspire to this, but cannot claim it.

I won't go into detail on the final dance number.  It recaps the entire moral of the story, without words, and it utterly destroyed me.  I should have stood for the curtain call.  The cast and crew deserved it.  But I was busy blowing my nose.

Tuck Everlasting - The Musical runs weekends until March 29, at the Bellevue Little Theatre, 203 W Mission Ave, Bellevue, Nebraska.  (402) 291-1554.  Performances start at 7:30 pm on Friday and Saturday evenings and 2:00 pm on Sundays.  Admission Prices are Adults: $20.00 Seniors: $18.00 Students: $10.00

Another Death In The Family

Tonight I received word that my Aunt Kay has passed away.

I don't know any of the details.  She hasn't been well for quite some time.  The last time she posted anything on Facebook, she thought that she was talking to my father.  Still, she was a decent and loving person, and will be missed.

Kay (Katherine May Payton) moved into an apartment before I reached my teen years.  She used to let my sister and me spend alternating weekends with her.  I think, looking back, that maybe these visits were her mother's idea, so that she wouldn't be out partying with her friends all the time.  If that was the plan, it backfired badly.  Kay turned Granny's little spies into her co-conspirators by bringing whichever kid she happened to be stuck with along for the ride.  Well, that's how it worked for me, anyway.  I can't speak for my sister's experience. 

I consumed my first mixed drinks at Kay's apartment.  I also had my first experience with weekly cleaning chores.  She never treated me like a child, even though I was one, and never excluded me.  What little social skills I gained during those years, was probably thanks to her.

Kay loved life, and I'm glad she made a family for herself.  I regret ever losing touch with her.

Haiku to an empty theater seat

Luke Skywalker says:
"No one's ever really gone."
I reach for your hand.

2019 Hogswatch Letter

December, 2019

Dear friends and family,

2019 has been a rough year for the Payton clan.  After struggling with a recurring infection, Robin succumbed to congestive heart failure on July 5th.  For some reading, this is the first you're hearing of it, and I apologize for that.  Kyrie did the best she could to notify people, with very little help from me.  None of us are completely recovered.  

In a frantic burst of obsessive energy, I gathered what I could find of Robin's creative writing and had it published.  If you don't yet have a copy, please inform me of my oversight.  It was a promise I'd made, and I couldn't rest until it was fulfilled.

We hosted a dinner in October in her memory.  It reminded me of the dinner we held for our 30th anniversary, and I wish we could have repeated for our 40th.  I tried to speak with everyone, but know that I failed – I hope we get more chances.  Some people even brought owl-themed gifts, which made me cry.  Some of them are on my Christmas tree.  

In an eerie stroke of serendipity, the manager of the venue (the Starlight Chateau) wants to retire, and there is a possibility that Arthur will take over the business.  We've spent a few hours in meetings, and it's all very tentative.  Still, one can almost feel a bit of spiritual intervention in how this has come about.

I put the books out again this Halloween, as I will do every year.  There were more visitors this year than I can recall ever having before, and I was ill-prepared for them.  Later I learned that a nearby neighbor, who runs a daycare and a community garden, had sent them over.  Robin has made small donations to that garden.  I may never know how many lives she's influenced.  

Arthur and Anita took me along with them on their Disney cruise.  They'd planned it a year beforehand, and by the time we lost Robin, nothing was refundable, so instead they expanded the package.  We wanted Kyrie and Rick to come too, but they couldn't take the time off.  Overall, it was a healing experience, though I did think a lot about those not present.  I appreciated the time spent surrounded by family.  We visited three countries, and I left a Bookcrossing book in each one.  Ellie petted a sea turtle.  We nearly got eaten by mosquitoes at a Mayan ruin.  I bought some Jamaican rum, and some touristy junk.  I also spent quite a bit of time watching the ocean.  It reminded me of the time spent fishing off the docks at Rockaway.

As it turns out Kyrie might have had time to go, if she had known.  She changed jobs this year, and now works at Nebraska Medicine.  It was a good move, professionally speaking, and puts her in a position for advancement.  She and Rick are happy together, and would be happier still if they had similar schedules.  

Kyrie had some trouble with a neighbor who built a fence right up against her house.  We finally got them to move it, but they sure weren't happy about it.  The expensive lawyer we retained didn't do any of that; all it took was a land surveyor and a complaint to the zoning dept.

Arthur is still substitute teaching and working front desk at a local motel in Missouri, accumulating just enough hours that he can't be classified as full-time.  He couldn't perform the Renaissance Faire circuit as usual this year, due to helping out so much here, but I did get to see him in October.  Performed with him, actually.  I hope to do more of that.  

As for my own career, I'm one of the UP survivors.  Or perhaps the term “hostage” might fit better.  The company's version of “precision scheduled railroading” seems to mostly consist of doing the same work with a third of the workforce.  I'm working second shift, and will do so for one more year – just to minimize change.  There has been too much change in my life lately, and I need it to settle down.  After that year, though, I will move to another shift.  The reason is simple:  I can't let myself turn into a hermit.  If I have not become more social after a year, then I will have to force myself out of the house.

Early this year, I entered a writing contract to adapt a webcomic to novel form.  I finished four chapters before July.  Hopefully I can get back into a regular writing schedule before he gives up on me completely.

I have two more cats now, thanks to Kyrie.  She rescued a kitten this year, who turned out to be a mama.  Too young for the role, but she performed flawlessly.  The kittens I agreed to adopt are already bigger than the original.  Orange troublemakers.  I spoil them shamelessly.  

I opened this letter with the worst news, and I'm sorry if I rained on your holiday.  The fact is, I wish everyone unbounded joy, this and every year.  Hug your loved ones.  Take all the time off work that you can.  Make happy memories.

I love you all,

John

Frozen

One of the things that I apparently can't deal with: the freezer.

I thought I still had some frozen pumpkin and went to look for it. Instead found some low-carb baked goods that we'd prepared together and stored for later.

Now I'm eating ice cream, because, fuck it.