The Theatrical Days of Summer

Ah, the theatah.

There's been a fair amount of it around here this summer. And we're good with that.

In June, Ramona and I were both involved with the local youth theater summer camp. I had the fun and privilege of adapting a beautiful picture book, The Rough-Face Girl, into a play. Do you know this book? (How did I not know this book before this summer? I mentioned it to Anne-with-an-e, my librarian, who replied, "Oh, yeah, Mom, that's a great book. You can find it in 398.2, Folklore and Fairy Tales.")

I fell in love with the story and the illustrations, and had a marvelous time crafting this lovely story into a play. 

Ramona was in another of the four short plays produced that week. She had a busy, exhausting, exhilarating whirlwind of participating in all aspects of play production. Theater camp has the kids rotate through everything: acting workshops, sets, costumes, lighting, and it all culminates in two performances at the end of the week. I just love the people who run our youth theater camps -- they are talented, dedicated, creative, and so full of heart. What a gift. 

Ramona will have another chance to be involved in a couple of weeks, with the junior camp (for 5-9 year olds). She'll be in a leadership role this time, helping out with the costuming workshops. 

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This week, she enjoyed a quick, two-day, "Short Film" camp sponsored by the library and the community college. The kids produced two short films, complete with fun, Stranger Things-ian special effects. It was fun to hear Ramona's behind-the-scenes stories, which included the fact that the door that mysteriously slammed shut was powered by my daughter, lying on the floor, kicking hard. The magic of movie-making. 

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In other theater news ... our current musical obsession? Hadestown. 

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Speaking of obsessions, our final encounter with theater this week came on Wednesday when tickets for Hamilton went on sale in our area. My daughters joined me as we parked in the virtual waiting room to buy tickets online and even though Betsy was 2,789th in line (to buy for our family) and I was 6,149th in line (to buy for my mom) we managed (in under 90 minutes) to score six orchestra level seats. (We were willing to Wait for It.) So, our whole family will finally be seeing Hamilton, along with my 84-year-old mom, who has never before been interested in hip-hop, but is extremely excited to spend some time with Alexander. (So are we. I mean, I may or may not have mentioned Hamilton a few times in the past couple of years....) 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days: The Facebook Edition

Because I know that not everyone is on Facebook:

June 11 at 7:47pm ·
I'm late to every party but I'm glad the Hamilton party's still going on 'cause I just arrived. Hey, Betsy, I'm holding your cd ransom. Are you young, scrappy, and hungry enough to fight me for it?


P.S. This wasn't on the FB post, but Betsy, who got me hooked, directed me to 21 Steps to Becoming Obsessed With Hamilton.  I don't think I'm obsessed, though. It's just a little addiction.

Updated to note: My family corrects me: I am obsessed.

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June 3 at 9:18pm ·
People often say things like, "Just you wait," regarding the teen years. Tonight, my 13 yr. old took the dog out, and came in saying, "Mom! You have to come see the sunset! I couldn't stop taking pictures!" Yes...just wait. You, too, will have lovely moments with some of the most wonderful people in your life...your teens.

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May 31 at 10:34am ·
Anne-with-an-e: "What are you reading?"
Me: "A blog post about planners, and about how your temperament fits into what kind of planner you are."
Anne-with-an-e (pauses, then laughs): "That's really dorky." **
Me: "I know. That's why I love it."
Anne-with-an-e: "Where'd you find it?"
Me: "Jen sent the link. It's a homeschooling blog."
Anne-with-an-e: "Of course."
Attention, fellow dorky planners: the post is at Wildflowers and Marbles.

** This is a compliment, by the way. :) :)

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May 27 at 12:19am ·
We're finally watching Poldark, which Atticus teases should be called, "Poldark and Handsome."

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May 20 at 8:39am ·
Watched Ramin Karimloo's Phantom last night w/ my girls. We were a sloppy bunch at the end.

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May 15 ·
Intriguing article about Christopher Hitchens, and a mention of my Deathbed Conversions book in this New York Times piece:

Christopher Hitchens Was Shaky in his Atheism, New Book Suggests

A new book says the impious author of “God Is Not Great” might have been exploring faith before he died in 2011. Mr. Hitchens’s secular friends disagree.   NYTimes.com/By Mark Oppenheimer

I'm glad she didn't bring the eyeball home

Or, a short update on our homeschooling:

This week, Anne-with-an-e spent some time shadowing our veterinarian. She watched a dental procedure (translation: teeth had to be yanked out, lots of blood), dogs and cats being spayed and neutered, and a declawing.

She didn't faint or get queasy. (I'm beaming.)

When offered the opportunity to take a closer look at (translation: dissect) an eye that had been removed from a cat, she declined. It was, after all, her first day.

Best not to push those queasiness limits.

This still stuns me. I thought I was raising a writer. She says "writer" is still on the table, but this vet stuff is pretty compelling business.

*****

On the writing front, I hope to get time soon to tell you more about Anne's "Harry Potter Fan Fiction Challenge" -- she issued it to the whole family, assigned two basic plot ideas from which we could choose, and gave us a deadline. The deadline was Christmas Eve, so clearly, I'm a little behind in my reporting on this ....

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Speaking of writing challenges, Ramona took a cue from Anne and issued a poetry challenge. This came right after we had a warmish day, and she was inspired to write a springtime poem she entitled "Hamilton Beach." (Yes, I believe a small appliance was in sight.) She made invitations for the whole family, urged us to accept her poetry challenge, and promptly forgot about it.

*****

The other day, Ramona said to me, "Mommy, tell me if you think this is an in-drawing book."

I said, in that oh-so-intelligent way I have, "Huh?"

"Listen," she said patiently, and proceeded to read the first sentence of a book to me. "Doesn't that sentence draw you in?" she asked. "Don't you want to know what happens next? This is an in-drawing book."

*****

Betsy is still at work on her novel, which features characters with names like Arrow, Pure, and Faith, but recently she has spent more time on a short story that is now up to, I believe, 12,000 words. This frightens me. I never wrote more than 1,016 words at a time when I was her age.

*****

Betsy has also been spending some time teaching herself new songs on the piano. (I generously call it a piano ... it's actually a keyboard, but it works for learning basics, and for me to pretend I can play "Amazing Grace.") She's teaching Ramona what she's learning, too. I love this kind of self-directed stuff.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Whoosh! Where does the time go?

I've been AWOL for a number of reasons, most of which have to do with simply being busy, busy, busy. Some of the busyness was dull and dreadful. (Taxes are done! And I cooked dinner on the same day I finished the taxes! I feel like a superhero!) Some of the busyness was welcome brain exercise, such as an online class of sorts, which kept me busy for a couple of weeks. One other new thing I'm doing is handling the monthly "Celebrate" column for Catholic Digest. It involves the delight of some quote-gathering, and I'm all about that.

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Ramona and I are reading L.M. Montgomery's Emily of New Moon and we are loving it. I'm annoyed with myself that I've lived this long without having read this book. At least Ramona won't have to say the same. 

Can I love a heroine as much as I love Anne-with-an-e? An emphatic yes. Ramona agrees. 

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Instagram snaps: 

Ramona is still helpless for Hamilton. (So am I.) 

When a future Kindergarten teacher lives at your house, you find things like Origami Yoda on your dining room table. 

When your other daughter works at the library, and said library is weeding its collection and selling off old books to get ready for the library renovation, you find things like bunches of new, old books in your living room. 

I'm not complaining. 

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

I like ice in my coffee in July, not on my road in January. But on the road is where the ice is today. School and work were canceled for everyone, but Atticus isn't exactly enjoying his day off. He was hit with a stomach bug last night.

Bleh.

And it's only been six days since I last complained that it's not spring yet.

Six days closer to spring? Yeah, we'll go with that.

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I recently read The Highly Sensitive Person, by Elaine Aron. As Anne Bogel pointed out, the only (and ironic) problem with this book is that some of the case studies mentioned will bother a highly sensitive person. Still, worth the read if you can get through the stories of abuse and are interested in finding out more about yourself, HSPs in general, or your HSP child. 

After reading that, I couldn't decide what I was in the mood to read. I wandered around the house, perused bookshelves, started at least three different books (I'm in the mood for World War II drama! No, wait, I'm not at all. I may never be again. Tiny, Beautiful Things? No. Wait. More abuse. What else? A good bio? No! I don't know! What do I want to read? What do I need to read?) 

Suddenly, I spotted Anne's House of Dreams. 

Bingo. When you need a palate cleanser, run to Prince Edward Island. 

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Last week, when I told Ramona that our break was over and it was time to face the resumption of math, all she could summon in response was a Hamilton quote: "I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory." 

(Not sure what I'll do with myself someday when my daughters aren't around to keep me laughing.) 

Lights, Camera, Corky...and an Ode to Karl

Last night was the youth choir play at our parish. I've written loads about our youth choir plays; it has such a fun and varied history. It was born on Christmas Eve, 2007, when our liturgy director approached me after Mass and said, "Hey, Karen, when I worked at another church, we did this little play called The Three Trees. I was thinking it would be fun to do it here, with our youth choir."

I said, "Yeah, you have fun with that, Karl. That's a great idea."

Karl said, "I was wondering if you'd like to help direct it."

I said, "Yeah, you have fun with that, Karl."

But I relented and gave it a try, because I really do have an inner Corky St. Clair. (I was not a theater major for nothing, people.) Because I had daughters in the youth choir, I helped Karl with The Three Trees, then the next year we did a play called A Technicolor Promise. (That was the year that Anne-with-an-e's Confirmation led me to buy Zoo Pal paper plates as part of the costumes. Yeah. Go read that link.)

Then I took a year off (I think I was writing a book? Or I was just tired and grumpy?) and then directed another play called Joseph: From the Pit to the Palace. I went full-on Corky with that one. I remember Karl having to pull me back from the edge when I was trying to choreograph a group of 30 kids, ages 8-13, as if they were in Hamilton. "This is getting a little too complicated," Karl gently told me as I wiped my fevered brow and said, "No, it could work. It could work!" I'm certain I then laughed maniacally and I'm equally certain that Karl considered having me hospitalized. Instead, I think he sent me home, I had a glass of wine, showed Atticus my sketches for the dream choreography, and then he wiped my fevered brow and put me to bed.

We simplified the choreography, though I might have been shaky as I made concessions.

The next year, with Karl's enthusiastic encouragement, Anne-with-an-e (who was a senior in high school) and Betsy (who was a sophomore), and two of their friends took a stab at writing a play themselves. They were also eager to try the job of directing (and Karl never once had to consider having them committed. Their inner Corkies were a bit more controlled.) The play was a big hit that year, and I was over-the-moon-proud of my girls. And Betsy was hooked on the directing job. (Directing the musical was one of the things that helped her realize she wanted to be a teacher.) She continued to work with the kids until this year (through her first two years of college.) This was the first year for her to sit in the audience for a choir play, and she didn't like it one bit. It killed her that she was too busy this year to direct. (Maybe next year?)

And the last few years have also been Ramona's time to rise through the ranks. She's had speaking roles, singing duos/trios, adores performing, and I was over-the-moon-proud of her last night as I watched her perform for the last time in this annual musical. She's 9th grade-ish this year, and will age out of the choir as a singer/performer,  but she has her eye on some writing and directing in the future. She may have to elbow her way in, as the young man who wrote the musical the last two years has done a terrific job -- he may not be ready to pass the baton. Karl's wife, Danae, directed this year, and she did an incredible job. But all work out and be well. The Edmisten stake in this choir* has been claimed, and we may never fully let go.

Thank you, Karl, for the vision that was born in 2007, and for asking a lazy, former theater major to lend a hand. I told you to have fun with that, and not only did you have fun with it, you gave my family the gift of a lifetime of treasured memories.

*Adding this footnote after Danae's comment: I forgot to mention that even Atticus had a role one year, as the off-stage voice of God. So fun.


Photo credit: FreeImages.com

Poetry Friday: Golden Boy is Dying

I love Poets.org's Poem-a-Day. It delivers almost as much happiness as, oh, say, Hamilton. Or my favorite t-shirt.

Campbell McGrath gets that:

My Sadness
by Campbell McGrath

Another year is coming to an end
but my old t-shirts will not be back—

(You can't resist that lead-in, right? I know. Go read the whole poem here, at Poets.org.)

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Jerry gets it, too:

Golden Boy is slowly dying....

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The wonderful Irene Latham has the round up this week at Live Your Poem.