Curtain Call

On Saturday, July 11, 2009, friends and family of David H. Semmes will gather to celebrate his life. This is sure to be an event filled with over the top storytelling, a skill that David excelled at, and one that he bequeathed to many of us who had the good fortune to venture into his world. David taught theatre at UW-Manitowoc for many, many years, making contributions to both the quality of the arts at the campus and to our community as a whole.

I first met David the year after my senior year in high school. Having dabbled a little in theatre, and wanting to explore more, I wandered into auditions in the tiny theatre at UW-Manitowoc. I knew nothing about the campus, nothing about the play being produced, and nothing about the man in charge. A small group had already gathered when I arrived. In unison, all heads turned when I entered, and a tall man stood and shouted "Welcome. Come on in and join the fun."

Now, I can't explain why I was drawn to theatre in the first place; I was always a background person - dependable wallpaper. The eyes fixated on me, and the bellering voice in my direction sent me running out the of the Fine Arts Theatre, into the lobby, out the double doors. Heading across the parking lot to my car, I heard the voice again. He was following me. I ran...honestly, the only time recall ever running! He was yelling "Come back, we need you." Right. If he hollered at me before we even met, before I had a chance to mess up even a little, what would it be like if I got a part, blanked out on stage, entered at the wrong time, or just plain couldn't cut it ? Nope. This just wasn't for me. My theatre career was over. Short lived. Done before it began.

Still, the thought haunted me, and a week after the great parking lot chase, I saw a tiny article in the HTR, announcing a training session for a readers theatre group. I called. A nice lady invited me to the meeting. Reading with a soft spoken lady seemed more my style, so I found my way to Fairmont Street, where I was greeted by a lovely redhead. Shortly after exchanging introductions in the kitchen, she was called into the living room, and crazy Fred arrived, a dog who announced his immediate dislike for me by showing his teeth and snarling. This was not run of the mill snarling. This was "I want you out of my house" snarling, the kind that includes occasional gurgling, and snorting. Well, old Fred managed to back me up until I was pinned between him and the refrigerator. I had just enough courage to sidle along, finally reaching the living room. doorway- quite a sight for those already at the meeting - me taking sideways baby steps, arms spread slightly at my side, entering the room backwards. It was then that I heard it - that booming voice - calling "Welcome. Come in and join the fun." It was him. I was torn between crazy Fred, and my parking lot pursuer. I chose the later, and am grateful for that decision.

David gave me countless, valuable opportunities over the years. Many of us still puttering in local theatre got our first moments in the footlights, and our love of the art from hours of work and play with David. The list of what I learned from him would be lengthy, and technical. It would make dramaphiles quiver with delight, no doubt. More than anything else, I cherish the peripheral lessons...give everyone a chance; try it, you might like it; nobody likes a diva; dream big; read lots of plays and see even more; be quiet and listen to the stories; be a rock in case someone near you needs a rock; nothing is too serious to chuckle about; be a little scary, it makes those you touch stronger...and so much more.

I am lucky. David and I kept in touch after he retired and left Manitowoc. Each year I got a Christmas card, with just enough of a note to let me know all was well. David still came to his Manitowoc dentist, and, on those days, we would go to lunch. He would talk, and I would listen. The stories of his new life were as engaging as any he ever told, and I never tired of them.

I will miss him.

*****No blog next week. I'll be at a trade show in Chicago Sunday and Monday.

Secret Garden and Some Garden Secrets

In 1911, Frances Hodgson Burnette published her endearing novel, The Secret Garden. The book tells the story of orphaned Mary Lennox, and the magic she works on an ailing cousin, a heartbroken uncle, and a tough talking village lad. The art of gardening bring then together, through the rejuvenation of life in a garden that has been long neglected.

In 2009, our Emily Trask plays Lily, in the the award winning Utah Shakespeare Festival's production of the musical version of The Secret Garden. She can also be seen as Katharine in Henry V.

While on the topic of Emily, I am going to go ahead with some "breaking news," since Emily is not one to fluff her own feathers. She was recently awarded the Danny Kaye Foundation Fellowship, which provides her lots of support as she finishes her MFA at Yale, but also guarantees her a network of professional connections. Unbeknownst to Emily, her professors recommended her for this award which was establish eight years ago to recognize, honor and support actors with outstanding potential in musical theatre. This is the first time the committee administering the award felt there was a candidate worthy of the Fellowship. So there you have it!

Last year, my friend Lucy, told me about Manitowoc's own secret garden. There is a gentleman who dreams up new varieties of peonies, and has a massive plot of land planted with them, and a number of other breathtaking flowers. Some of the peonies are in bloom, but many are still in the bud stage. If you go, and I hope you do, plan for a quiet, 30 minute or so walk through this wonderful place. To get there go west on Custer off Rapids road. Turn left on Edgewood Lane, and follow the twisty road until you get to the garden. You will find it on the right side of the street, smack in the middle of a residential area. Enjoy.

Tracy Kane wrote a series of summer crafty books for families: Fairy Houses, Fairy Boat, Fairy Flight, Fairy Houses and Beyond. She gives instructions on building intricate houses, boats and planes to hide in your garden. Kane stresses using natural objects that have already fallen to the earth, combined with other found objects, and recycled treasures. Brenda did a fairy house building workshop a few summer ago.

The next time you're passing by, scour our little garden for our hidden flamingo flat. The dwelling has a Key West/Margaritaville vibe, and includes not so subliminal homages to Elvis, Beatix Potter, Van Gogh, and Santa.

In State of the Arts news....BBC America is running a fun little show called "How-Do Marias." Andrew Lloyd Weber, oh, excuse me, SIR Andrew Lloyd Weber, is mounting a fresh production of "The Sound of Music" in London's West End theatre district, and is casting his Maria in an American Idol style format. Each week, the wanna-be's sing their hearts out, and are judged by a panel of British theatre professionals, including SALW himself.

The performances are all amazing, Broadway quality, and the contenders do not hide their diva-tudes during the evaluation segment of the show. They roll their eyes, scrunch their faces, they huff, they defend, and they argue. It's all very fun, until the finale when one girl is hurled off of the top of the Alps, so to speak. It's hard to watch, but not as hard as the sign off. The poor girl who is eliminated is forced to sing "So Long, Farewell" from "The Sound of Music" as the remaining contestants wave goodbye and send her on her way. Painful.

I feel like I should say something about Michael Jackson, but am still figuring out why his death has affected me so. Motown was never my style of music, and those intricate, synced moves done by groups like the Temptations, and the Four Tops always made me laugh - although their harmonies were thrilling. But when the Jackson Five + Michael came on the scene, my toes started tapping. Last night the BET Awards paid tribute to Jackson in a way that only his brothers and sisters could. There was no talk of his peculiar life, or speculation about his death. But there were plenty of soulful voices raised in his memory, including one knockout interpretation of "Ave Maria" by Beyonce. The show was a powerhouse tribute to a powerhouse performer, and is sure to be re-run, Catch it if you can.

What am I reading? The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. I am only on page 85, so there's not much to report, except for the unsettling framework. The story of Liesel, young, innocent, and trying to understand the machinations of Hitler dominated Germany, is told through the voice of Death. Yes, Death narrates the entire story amplifying the already troubling nature of the topic. No emotions are stronger than those associated with death, but this narrator is cold, creating anxiety in the reader. It the same technique that Hitchcock used in so many of his movies...little, subliminal tricks to make his audience nervous.

Looks like rain. Harrumph!

The Dark Horse by Guest Blogger Steven Head

It is late June and that means school is out, fire flies in the back yard, and the Tour de France is just around the corner. It also means the latest installment of Craig Johnson's Sherrif Walt Longmire mystery series is out. The Dark Horse is the fifth in the series and this time we find Walt doing undercover police work in Absalom, a town in neigboring Campbell County.

Walt is drawn into the case when the sheriff of Campbell County transfer his female prisoner since he does not have enough female officiers to meet the state requirement of the continuous presence of another woman. The female prisoner is the confessed killer of her husband. A confession she has volunteered and repeated at the scene of the crime and in custody.

One of the things making Walt wonder about this arrest is the prisoner has not uttered a word since entering his jail. And the Campbell County sheriff has expressed his own reservations about the confession and the crime that also involved a fire in both a barn and the house. So Walt agrees to impersonate an insurance agent out of Montana to investigate the crime. But one problem is that Walt grew up near Absalom and he is about as high profile in that part of Wyoming as any sheriff. His cover could easily be blown putting him at risk.

The Dark Horse repeats a storytelling pattern from the fourth book, Another Man's Moccasins, by running parallel narratives in different time periods. In Another Man's Moccasins the time difference was 40 years, this time it starts out as 10 days and progressively shrinks. I will not give away the secret but the discovery of what Walt knew before going to Absalom goes a long way in explaining his approach to the investigation.

While Walt's almost girlfriend, Deputy Victoria (Vic) Moretti, and friend Henry Standing Bear have significant roles in this story, many of his usual cast of players have cameos, at best. I missed the interaction and development of these characters and hope they return in future stories. The title character, the dark horse, ends up being Wahoo Sue who is mentioned early on and then dropped until the final chapters.

Like the other books this one has a happy ending in that the bad guy is apprehended, the innocent are damaged but alive, and there is a trail of bodies along the way. Like the previous books, it is a page turner sprinkled with obtuse references and interesting facts. Craig Johnson remains my favorite Wyoming mystery writer and I recommend him highly.

Thanks for the review, Steve. We're happy you found your way back!

FYI readers...this Blogger program is persnickety. You probably notice that some Mondays there are nice spaces between paragraphs, and on others, there is just one, huge block of type. That's Blogger, not me! Many people using this tool are frustrated by that, but we just can't get it worked out.

You may also notice that Blogger does not spell or punctuate well, especially when I am writing.

Miracles...Grow!

This week I received phone calls from two authors with a common bond...a miracle. The handsome young man at the left is Justin DeCleene. He has written a medical mystery that includes incidents similar to events that Justin experienced in January of 2008. Justin was diagnosed with Glomerulonephritis, a kidney disease caused by a strep virus. In Justin's book, Medical Adventures, two brothers are stricken with the same disease, and the family is faced with the challenges of an uncertain future.

Justin and I had a nice phone conversation. He quickly volunteered that his book is self-published, something that many SP authors are hesitant to say. We talked about his health, and Justin told me that he is "just fine and dandy." We made plans for him to visit our store to tell his story, and hopefully sell some books, in early fall.

Frankie's owner, companion and caretaker, Barbara Techel, contacted me last week to share Frankie's story. It seems Frankie started life just like any other dog, walking on all fours, until a spinal injury left her paralyzed. Frankie was custom fitted for a wheelchair and her life has been rolling along nicely ever since. Frankie the Walk 'n Roll Dog was named National Best Book by USA Book News. In 2009, Frankie was inducted into the Wisconsin Pet Hall of Fame.

The real Frankie and her friend, Barbara, will be visiting LaDeDa. We'll keep you posted.

*****Prepare for the attack of the giant hosta. Check it out. They are already more than halfway to the top of my deck. My plan? Ply them with Miracle Grow
until they reach the top. Hey...everyone needs goals, right?

*****On Friday night, our book group met to discuss The Reader (book and film) and Doubt, the film. The discussion was great - one of the best I can remember. Somehow, we moved from the subject at hand, to the topic of blue zones. Now, I'm going to speak in rather vague terms, here, since I haven't yet read the new book on the subject, but here goes. It seems that someone (scientists? anthropologists? sociologists?) have identified a number of areas throughout the world where people live happy, productive lives well into their 100's. The same group of researchers compiled a list of commonalities in these areas. The one we discussed at length was pacing. People in the blue zone areas aren't driven by time, or arbitrary deadlines. They like to snooze in the afternoon, and enjoy not feeling guilty about not being productive every waking moment. We decided to start a blue zone revolution in Manitowoc! If more plans emerge, I will let you know; but we are in no hurry...too busy sipping guava juice.

Mary brought a delish cake so that we could celebrata Johnny Depp's birthday!

While we're on the subject of conversing with friends, I'll share my Face Book experience. Brendo stopped in a few weeks ago, and before I knew what was happening, she had set up a FB account. It only took a few minutes before I started receiving requests to befriend all sorts of folks. Really, I hadn't even set up my profile, or navigated around the site to figure out what use it would be to me. When I finally dug around a bit, I found the site to be neither fun, nor useful to me. If anything, I could see myself getting sucked into the world of all my new and old friends, looking at their pictures, and tracking all of their friends, as well. I could see urban legends growing out of all the "friend of a friend" connections. I could see nothing but disaster heading my way.

So, I sent out my break-up email, gently stating it was me, not them...and I dismantled my account. Face Book...for about 5 hours! That's all it took for me to realize that I would sooner spend twenty minutes once a year in face-to-face chattering, that a lifetime reading the micro-communications offered in the FB world. I can't figure out why so many friends wanted to add me to their collections. My life certainly cannot be that interesting to anyone. Basically, I have no cell phone, no Ipod, no GPS and now no FaceBook. I own two pair of jeans, three shirts, a dog who dislikes me , and a piano I can't play. Those are the most scintillating facts of my life. How boring!

*****What am I reading? I caved and started Mike Perry's Coop this weekend. My plan was to not start this book until I was sure there would be enough deck time to start and finish in a single weekend. But, the chickens and pigs were calling me, and I couldn't pass up the inviting gap-tooth grin beckoning me from the cover. That, and an email from Mike, got me thinking that it was time. I can hear Mike's voice as I read.

Our book group is reading The Book Thief for next month. Those who have started it say it is challenging, so finishing Coop may have to wait.

I'm not feeling particularly inspired today, and this post is even boring me...must be awful for you. Maybe next week will be better.

Let the Fireworks Soar!

Nothing, nothing, nothing tops summer celebrations in the Lakeshore and surrounding communities. Not only do I get to sleep with open windows, and wake each morning to the rockin' robins outside my bedroom, but I know that each weekend, and sometimes mid-week, I can have tons of fun at festivals, picnics, concerts...there is no end to warm weather fun around here. We've got a great farmer's market, and now we get to go once a week in the evening! Last week we had the garden show...great!

Upcoming events include MetroJam, Acoustic Fest, the new and improved Riverwalk (forgot the the new name, sorry)...there's music in Washington Park each week, music at the Rahr-West mansion, and Music Under the Stars in Two Rivers. If you're not tapping your toes, singing a little song, or whistling a happy tune with all that music in the air, then I guess you are just an old grouch.

We have fishing derbies of all sorts, art events, sports events, oh, this list never ends. How will we fit it all in?

If that weren't enough, we have only to travel a few miles in one direction or another to find even more fun. Milwaukee, of course, is Festival city. Bob Dylan will be at Summerfest this year ( maybe I'll get there and tell you all about it), and after that run, the city parties with a number of ethnic festivals. This Saturday, I am headed to the Lakefront Festival of the Arts. I can't begin to describe how huge, amazing, colorful, wonderful, inspiring, fun and funky, head shaking cool this art fair is. I haven't been able to get there since I opened the store; that means I have missed twelve years of this huge, amazing, colorful, wonderful, inspiring, fun and funky, head-shaking cool art fair.

Head a little past Wapaca and you will find a resort area called King. Stop at Clear Water Harbor on a Sunday afternoon for lunch on the deck, and enjoy a band or two playing on the barge a few feet away.

Heading North? Peninsula Players get my vote. I am looking forward to their first production called "The Lady with All the Answers," a one woman show about Ann Landers. Their entire season looks tempting.

How can anyone be bored? I finished Dog On it. Chet, the canine detective, narrates the story of how he and his person, Bernie, solve crimes. Chet has a neighbor dog friend named Iggy, and they have a Waltonesque good-night ritual. Here's the passage:

I'd never seen a real swan and was wondering how catchable they might be when I heard Iggy's bark. Iggy had a high-pitched bark, an irritated-sounding yip-yip-yip. I barked back. There was a brief silence, and then he barked again. I barked back. He barked. I barked. He barked. I barked. He barked. We got a good rhythm going, faster and faster, I barked. He barked. I --

A woman cried "Iggy, for God's sake, what the hell's wrong with you?" A door slammed. Iggy was silent. I barked anyway. And what was that? From somewhere far in the distance came an answering bark, a bark I'd never heard before. It sounded female, although I couldn't be sure. A silence. and then - yes: she barked. A bark that sent a message, a she-message of the most exciting kind. I barked back. She barked. I barked. She barked. And then : yip yip yip. Iggy was back. He barked. She barked. I barked. He barked. She-"

If you have a dog, you understand that passage, right?

After watching the Tony's last week, I decided it was time to read a play again. Rabbit Hole, David Lindsay-Abaire's 2007 Pulitzer Prize winning drama has been shifted to the bottom of my must -read pile over and over. Not a happy play, that's for sure. One critic called it an "anatomy of grief" focusing on a young couple working through the accidental death of a child. The playwright uses no inflated soap opera technique here, just the realistic dialogue of people too stricken to put words to their sorrow.

Next up? The Wonder Singer. I choose this book for the cover - profile of a beautiful peacock balancing atop a ladder back chair near a curtained window. So far, an aging (I suspect a has-been) opera singer has been found dead in her bathtub leaving the ghostwriter of her autobiography unsure of what to do next.

*****"Dilly-dally". Let's all try using that word at least once this week, shall we? "Plinth' is a fine word also.

School's Out...School's Out...Teachers let the....

Last week, I delivered several boxes of books to Valders High School where I spent many years teaching theatre, and a variety of English classes. The curvy, twelve mile journey on JJ let me slip back to the days I travelled that road daily at 7 A.M., and then again at the end of my day.

My morning routine included going over my day, class by class, scheming and dreaming of new ways to present material no longer fresh to me, but surely new and challenging to my students. Going home my thoughts opened with either, "That didn't go so well," or "Pretty good. We had fun, and we learned something." Then I'd hum along with whoever was in my CD player.

My life is still marked by an internal educational calendar. I cannot shake it. And so, as the end of the year approaches, I breathe a sigh of relief along with my friends who continue to honor the profession with their presence. They stay in touch - those friends from my former life - and, along with many new friends and acquaintances who also teach, allow me to share in their successes, their failures, the happy moments, and the frustrations. Of this group, I can honestly say that not one has ever complained about the long hours and poor pay. I wonder where the public perception comes from that all teachers are underworked, overpaid whiners. Sure, they are concerned about the state of economy and how it will impact their students. They worry that they will have too many students to do justice to them all. They worry they will send some students into the world with a little less math, or English or science than the students before them. Teachers worry that each and every student may not get the best of them each and every day.

Despite the economic challenges facing schools, school boards and teachers and support staffs, the educators I knows will continue to inspire and to motivate. They will celebrate successes with their students, and brush off the dust of failure and try again. They will remember their students when they see graduation pictures, engagement announcements, or the uniformed portraits of those who choose to serve our country. Classes move on; they graduate, but teachers keep them close, fitting them into hearts and minds already grown full from years of chalk dust, red pens, and planning. Teachers teach forever- every hour of every day - and when the final bell rings on the last day of the year , I say, at that very moment, each one of us who has ever been taught, should stand, raise a glass of wine to a favorite teacher, and shout out a valuable lesson learned.

My glass would be raised to Karyl Enstad Rommelfanger and Paul Ingvolstad. For Karyl I would shout "Yikes! Ich kann meine gummischuen nicht finden." Not sure if the spelling is right, but I am quite sure that means "Yikes! I can't find my boots!" For Paul, my high school theatre director, I would holler a phrase I find myself using with frequency and conviction, "Hey, don't sing so loudly, someone might hear you!"

My favorite book teachers aren't teachers at all, in the traditional sense. Atticus Finch, in To Kill a Mockingbird, oozes with integrity. He is noble, honest, and strong. He is haunted by the wisdom of his decisions, yet brave enough to make them. The Miracle Worker highlights a slice of time in Helen Keller's life . Annie Sullivan was hired to teach Helen who lost her sight and hearing at nineteen months of age. We all know the story. Yes, Annie did teach Helen, but Helen also taught Annie. She taught Annie that to teach you must open your heart. Helen taught Annie that teaching is not only a science, but also an art. She taught Annie that to learn, one must see the world through new eyes, and listen to life's murmurings with patience and persistence.

The picture at the top is from a production of The Miracle Worker I was fortunate to direct many years ago. That's Sheila Hansen as Annie Sullivan, and Katie Shaw as Helen Keller.

There are many fine books about teachers and teaching including old standbys like Up the Down Staircase, Good Morning Miss Dove, and Goodbye Mr. Chips. Remember Harrison High ,that steamy Peyton Place type novel for the junior high set!

Among my favorites are The Art of Happiness by the Dalia Lama, and Dr. Seuss' Hooray for Diffendoofer Day. This little know Seuss piece is an ode to creative teachers and the silly things they do each day... with marvelous results.

Just a few more notes before I get back to reading....

Steve Olson sent me this cool picture of the Heart-A-Rama gang singing themselves silly with pride as they end the final show for 2009. That's Steve in the white shirt and black tie, surrounded by the lovelies - Corrie and Kim. They're all dressed like Tom Cruise in "Risky Business" cuz they kicked up some dust in a song and dance number called "The Underpants Dance." Just guess what they're wearing in the part of the picture you can't see. Thanks for the picture, Steve-O.

My friend Mary tells me that Johnny Depp's birthday is coming up. How shall we celebrate?

**********What am I reading?

***Finished The Reader and plan to watch the movie. The book is dense, slow, and suffocatingly sad. Amazing characters, provacative plot, universal themes...yes, there is artistry amid the melancholy.

***I watched Doubt over the weekend. The movie lacks the subtelty of the stage play, and that disappointed me. In my mind, the movie leaves no doubt about the answer to the posed question. The play on the other hand...well, two people can see the same production and leave the theatre feeling they had seen totally different scenarios. However, the movie cast is brilliant, and the plot covers miles of challenging territory.

***I just started Spencer Quinns funny little mystery, Dog On It. Chet, a police dog who flunked out of canine school, helps his detective pal, Bernie, solve whatever cases come their way. Chet tell the story. That's right, I said Chet, the dog, narrates the entire book, making for a lighthearted blend of those doggy habits that defy expalnation, and some solid, intutive sniffing about for clues.

Egads! Murphy Calling!

Smells really good in here today! It's either the lilacs, or the coffee beans...all over the floor. You see, today (Saturday) has been one of those days; you know the kind - the days when everyone else's world is filled with sunshine, roses, and perfect cups of fresh coffee, while your day is haunted by a grayish cloud over your head (and only yours) labeled "Murphy's Law". Yup. My day started with the hand slicing while cutting beautifully aromatic lilacs for the store. Then there was the dog surprise, which I discovered with a bare foot. No details needed. At work, the bean grinder was plugged. This I learned while attempting to fill it with fresh beans, tearing the bean bag thus sending two pounds of beans hither and yon throughout LaDeDa.

This dance of the catastrophe continued until about 2:00, when I decided to hang it all up, and pick up a book for the last hour of my day. Upon the recommendation of several young customers, I selected Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney. I knew I needed to delve into the world of graphic novels sooner of later, and this got me started. It's not a pure graphic, more of a hybrid, combining text and pictures. Adults have trouble with graphics because we don't know how to read pictures. Sometime around fifth grade, book publishers decided we longer needed beautiful illustration to clarify the text. We were ll grown up and could handle 5X7 sheets of paper filled with nothing but, as Hamlet said, "words, words, words, words, words, words," - or something like that.

Thank goodness we have emerged from those dull days of no frills, no fun tomes, to an era where comic book type accents are no longer considered an attempt to dumb down a story. So, I went ahead and started the book, only to discover that twelve-year-old Greg Heffley, the main character, was having a Murphy's Law life - not a single day, mind you, an entire life! Wouldn't you just know it. Not only was I living it, but I was reading it as well. No use trying to flee. I spend the next hour with Greg and his nit-wit friend, Rowley. Greg's a little dorky, and he is the first to admit it. His journal recounts his constant attempts to overcome his dorkiness by doing cool things like becoming a safety patrol, taking on the aggressive role of an apple flinging tree in the school production of "The Wizard of Oz," and participating in Big Wheel races. He never really succeeds is upping his self-image, yet he never stops trying. I'm not big on reading sequels, prequels, or even more than one book by the same author (except for Sedaris, of course), but I need to read Jeff Kinney's second book about Greg. I have to find out if the guy's persona improves, or if he just gives in and joins the local chapter of Losers International.

Come to think of it, I have read a couple other graphic-hybrids, The Invention of Hugo Cabret being the most impressive. Brian Selznick incorporates several iconic themes including the Frankenstein legend, and the story of Oliver Twist. These are all wrapped nicely in the tale of a young French orphan, working to stay one step ahead of the law, and trying desperately to fulfil his late father's dream.

Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical graphic, Persepolis, is the story of the author's unforgettable childhood, and coming of age in Tehran during the Islamic revolution. This skillful piece was transformed successfully into a film.

My occasional desire to get me some culture reared its head last week, and I watched an artsy movie called "Caravaggio". He was a 15th century artist who apparently ushered in the Baroque period. His work is intensely dark. The play of light andshadow is so strong that some of his works look more like sculpture than one dimensional paintings. The enigmatic Caravaggio was a fighter, a drinker. He was a charismatic character who intimated himself into the lives of religious leaders. He had a dangerous side that led to him committing a murder (and getting away with it due to "connections"), attempts on his life, and colorful love affairs.

This is a self portrait called "Young sick Bacchus." Isn't it interesting that he named it after the Roman god of wine and festivity?

The movie didn't work well for me,but it did get me thinking about all the troubled artists, and whether or not they are truly troubled. I guess that history (and psychologists) would indeed say they had problems - people like Poe, Plath, Hemingway, and an all too lengthy list of visual artists, actors, writers, and musicians. But maybe some of them were just ahead of the game. Maybe they were tapped into some fresh vibe that the rest of us had to hear about, be appalled by, reject, and eventually, after years of deciphering and analyzing, finally embrace. I always think that people with edge have so much to say or to show to the world, but they seem to frighten some people. John Lennon sure was edgy in his day, but look how many of his songs have become anthems for peace - not to mention the strength of the poetry in much of his later work. Once again, I have to say how grateful I am that the arts community allows me the privilege of hanging on the fringe of their fringe. They have taught me to look and to see. They have prodded me until I learned to listen. But most of all, I appreciate that they do not laugh at me lack of artistic ability, and my desperate wannabe attempts. In return, I see and I listen with sincerity.

I also saw "The Wrestler," and fully agree wtih all the awards that Micky Rourke won.

I know, I know, you have all seen irises. but, these are a new variety. These are the "OH JOY! Bev did not manage to kill us," variety. There is a nice lady across from the east side of Franklin elementary school, who sells plants dug from her garden each spring. I have gotten some of the nicest ferns, and hosta, irises from her. Her prices are great, and, in exchange for that, all she asks is that your return the plastic pots.

What am I reading? Just finished an ARC called The Blue Notebook, and plan to start The Rivals, an 18th century comedy of manners play by Sheridan. I'm sure I'll be campaigning to bring back the word "Egads" by the time I am done.

She's a Little Bit Country

Anyone who knows me well knows that if I were stranded on a desert island with only one CD to listen to the rest of my life, it would be a Jimmy Buffet recording...doesn't matter which one. My ability to listen to a rotation of five CD's ad infinitum drives LaDeDa employees to the limits of their tolerance, as does my inability to throw out dead flowers. I am thankful that everyone is comfortable enough to know that, by mid-February, it is OK to take out the Christmas CD's, and that when the water in the vases of crispy carnations start to stink, they had best toss both the water and the posies, since I will not do it.

The Buffet vs Bon Jovi battle began within months of opening the store in our Washington Street location - was it '96, or '97? Jenny would know. She has all our significant dates locked in, and happily reminded me when it was time to celebrate 10 years in business. Apparently, I don't mark time the same as most.

Anyway, Jenny started working with us before our doors opened. She was still in high school, and LaDeDa was her first job. I was lucky. Jenny is bright, easy to work with, dependable, loyal, respectful, and best of all, she puts up with most of my idiosyncrasies. Except when it comes to music. She is a head-banging Bon Jovi fan, which baffles me, since she is the quietest person I know. The vision of Jenny in a mosh pit assaults my sensibilities, but for all I know, Bon Jovi concerts may not lend themselves to moshing. While Jenny was attending UW-Manitowoc, she worked at LaDeDa in the mornings while I was teaching. Many, many days I would have to spend the better part of my afternoons searching for my JB CD's. You see, Jenny's dislike of JB was as strong as my obsession, and she took to hiding his CD's. I would taunt her by slipping pictures of him into files I knew she would have to use, or drawers she would have to open. She would retaliate by tucking slips of paper with Bon Jovi song lyrics in clandestine crevices. It was all good-natured fun, and provided some laughter between the nail-biting first months of business.

Buffet fans know that he is a huge Patsy Cline devotee, referencing her in many of his songs. Although country music of the Grad Ole Opry variety hits my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, I decided to give Patsy a try. To my surprise, I found her to be not bad. I found her to be alluring, soulful, funny, and genuine. About the time I began listening to her music, a little play called "Always...Patsy Cline" was stirring up interest around the country. In 1961, a Houston housewife, Louise Segar, struck up a friendship with Cline that continued until the singer's death in a 1963 plane crash. Louise and Patsy are the only characters in the play, with Louise recounting her growing relationship with Cline. Patsy Cline drifts in and out of the picture to punctuate Louise's story with appropriate songs. Wonderful show!

In 1955, Treva Miller Steinbrecker, a star stuck girl from Tennessee, approached Cline in hopes of establishing a fan club. Over the next four years, through an exchange of letters. Patsy Cline became Treva's close friend and confidante.

Love Always, Patsy, is the collection of that remarkable, cherished correspondence - poignant, colorful, humorous and filled with warmth and honesty. The letters reveal a young singer from Winchester,Virginia, excited at the prospects of her burgeoning career - and devastated by its impact on a volatile and demanding marriage. She shares the joy of the birth of her daughter, the strains of stardom, and her loneliness on the road to success. Above all , these letters reveal the dreams and aspirations, the private heartbreak and the public pressures of an ordinary woman who would become one of the most recognized names in the history of country music.

I never dreamed I'd find myself entrenched in the life of a country star. If you get a chance, listen to Patsy's music, read her letters...or better yet, see the show if it comes to a theatre near you.

What am I reading? Finally getting back to Snobs, by Fellowes. I started it months ago, got sidetracked, and am starting over. This biting comedy of manners gives us an inside look at the upper crust of British society, removed in time, but not is spirit from those snarky characters in Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. The author, Julian Fellowes, won an academy award for the his screenplay of Gosford Park.

Over the weekend, I watched Mandingo, the controversial film about relationships between slaves and plantation owners. While I understand the nature of the controversy, for me, the explicit scenes were dulled by the ugliness of the slave trade in America. It is hard to fathom that those attitudes were acceptable, and that a whole race of people could be considered property, and subject to such repulsive indignities. The pulpy 1975 release paints a lurid picture of 1840's plantation life, and although it will never be declared a classic, it pushed the artistic envelope in many new directions.

*****I started thinking about word we don't hear anymore. Do any of you ever say "dilly-dally"? That's an expression worth bringing back, inso?

Adventures with Authors

We had a nice little book signing here on Saturday. Dave Crehore, former Manitowoc resident, read from his memoir, Sweet and Sour Pie. Although I was disappointed at the turnout (not everyone who signed up to come did) those who came spent a lively two and a half hours reminiscing about Manitowoc, and picking Dave's brain about publishing. Like all authors, Dave was proud of his accomplishments, and rightfully so considering his first book was picked up by the University of Wisconsin Press.

Dave's visit got me thinking about the adventures we have had with authors, and how much I have learned about publishing - both paid press and vanity press. Each week, I make it a point to check the forums on my professional association website. At times, I have used the site to ask business questions, or to solve a mystery about a particular book a customer has been searching for. People have funny memories of favorite books..."blue cover with a picture of a dog with a tail," "347 pages long, and ends with a chapter about Albert Einstein,"...and last week's teaser - "the book is about a little Asian boy who takes a tree for a long walk across the mountains." Believe it or not, with a simple post, a bookseller in Maine came up with the answer for me, and my customer is thrilled. That same day, a new bookseller posed this question, "I have been open for one month and am wondering how to get local authors into my store for signings." This first reply came rather quickly. As a matter of fact, it was the only answer needed since it said it all. The reply? ..."Don't worry, they will find you." That was so right.

LaDeDa had been open less than a month when the first "author" came calling. At that point, I knew nothing about self-published/vanity books, and was a little skeptical about why someone famous (aren't all writers famous?) would want to come to Manitowoc. Well, of course, it turns out he wasn't famous, his book was indeed self-published, but he and his wife were absolutely charming. At age 60, Dick Swinnerton rounded up five buddies, and they bicycled across the United States. His wife, Marianna, journeyed ahead of the group in a luxury camper the Swinnerton's bought after selling all their worldly possessions in preparation for the excurusion. Yes, they even sold their house. Marianna was on the lookout for a nice campground for the guys to rest, or some sights to take in. After the adventure, Dick wrote his book, They Passed this Way, and began peddling it to independent bookstores.

My first signing. I had no clue what to do or what to expect. The prospect scared the bejeepers out of me. We had little room in our previous location, and since hundreds of people were sure to line up to hear this big time writer, I conned UW-Manitowoc into letting me hold the event in the campus Fine Arts Room. Dick and Marianna arrived early in the day to get their bearings. I had invited them to spend the night at my house. I thought that might be all part of the author experience, and certainly part of my responsibility as the hosting bookseller. Feed and house the author! Makes sense. They went berry picking late in the afternoon, and brought several quarts of sun-warmed strawberries to share with those attending. The berries were sweet, and Dick pretended he had a room full of avid listeners as he recounted his six month journey, complete with slides, for a captive audience of two.

We've gotten a little better at book signings...known authors, larger gatherings, and my introductions aren't as lame as they used to be. Mike Magnusen (The Right Man for the Job, The Fire Gospels, Lummox) was our first author with a ready made rep. He actually visited us twice, although why he agreed to come back after his first reading, I'll never know. Mike read in our old location, and we crammed in about forty people - far too many for the space and for the 80 degree heat. Did I mention that my landlord had not put the air conditioner in at that point? As I watched Mike read, I also watched him melt. And, he turned out to be so darn engaging (and a little naughty) that everyone kept asking for more...and so he kept right on reading and melting. He came back a few years later. We had relocated to our New York Avenue building, and once again, Mike had a warm welcome. We're not talking temperature, but temper. Oh my! The ex-wife of Mike's former college roommate was living in Manitowoc at the time. She came to the reading, stepped up to him and asked for the money (apparently hundreds of dollars) that he owed her from many, many years ago. Mike graciously signed a book and sent her on her way...sans payment! He hasn't been back since...although he does surprise me with a note once in a while.

We packed 'em in for Mike Perry's impromptu signing and mini-concert stop, and for Jean Feraca. Lesley Kagan had a respectable crowd, and many of those attending called to thank me for the event. I had the flu, and missed her, one of my favorite writers. GRRRRR!

For the bookseller searching for local authors. Just wait. In time, you will be wondering how to graciously decline some of thse requests. You will be torn between the desire to support local writers proudly carrying in cardboard boxes of books they paid to have printed, and the knowledge that just because someone wants to write does not mean that they should. Heck, I have a novel half done, and every time I dedicate myself to another few pages, I laugh at the abusrdity of housing so much nothing in the cyber world. Of course, people who have read partial chapters have loved it. Of course, those "people" who have read partial chapters are all my friends, and they fear I will cry if they say something negative. If and when I finish, I will go the traditional route...find an agent, and have him or her shop it to publishers. I will receive a huge advance; the book will be released first in hardcover, and after several successful printings in that format, it will go to trade paperback; that is where all literary fiction settles. No no no to mass market pocket books. Not for my novel.

The reality is that I may not fnish, although the complete picture is clearly in my mind. I will not seek and agent, because I am not ready to be confronted with enough rejections slips to wallpaper my living room. And because I know it is not good. Neither will I seek out a vanity press and pay thousands of dollars to see my work in book form, sitting on a few shelves, the rest doomed to be remaindered at Big Lots, or worse, The Dollar Tree. Nope...better for me to read than than to write.

I owe the Swinnertons a big thank you for being so tolerant of a new bookseller who was making things up day by day. I tried to contact them a few weeks ago, but came up empty. I just know they are still driving that enormous bus around somewhere, enjoying the freedom of owning nothing but having it all.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

Last week, I watched a movie that violated all my movie rules, and I am glad I did...I think. My notes for this post began with a sheet of paper divided vertically. The left side was intended for those traits that will automatically boot a film off my watch list. The right side was reserved for those qualities that insure I will settle in for the evening with Pepsi and popcorn. The left lane got awfully long awfully fast, but it does help in narrowing my search for an evening's entertainment. Since watching The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, I will re-think portions of my list. This movie would never have made the cut, had I not been tired from Heart-A-Rama, and had my neighbor not dropped the movie off for me last weekend at the very moment I had decided to spend the afternoon watching dreadful, no-brainer movies on Lifetime.

Here's a part of the left column :

1. No swelling symphonic music. That almost always means there will be concentration camp somewhere in the movie.

2. No kids in bad or sad situations, such as missing, stolen, ill, abused, family crisis...

3. No violence toward humans or animals. It can be spoken of, but I don't want to see it. I guess that comes from reading so many Greek plays where a minor character rushes in, describes some messy scene that turns the plot in a new direction, and off he goes, never to be seen again. That I can deal with. Shakespeare, on the other hand, seems to gleefully build plenty of violence into his plays. Take Mercutio's death scene in Romeo and Juliet, for instance. Even though he's stabbed, and his death is imminent, Mercutio manages to gasp out a lengthy (and sort of funny) speech, before becoming "worm's meat." That's typical of Shakespeare. The more drawn out the death, the better. The more deaths in a single scene...oh so merry! My first reading of Hamlet proved a challenge. The truth is, there was so much bloodshed piled upon bloodshed in the end, that I couldn't finish reading. Then, wouldn't you know, I walked into class only to hear those two words that all high school students dread - POP QUIZ. I'll never forget the final question, and confess to using it myself with my own students: How many people died in the final scene? Knowing how bloodthirsty the playwright was, I took a stab at "everyone." Wrong. Close. But wrong.

4. No to movies that begin with any sort of weather (unless set in the British Isles), movies that mention or show rats, snakes, those big part pig, part rat creatures, or swarms of flying insects or monkeys (yes, that means The Wizard of Oz is out for me).

5. I do not like movies that take place on airplanes, or have airline attendants as main characters. No sports movies. No war movies. No ninjas, or doctors, either. Basically, no uniforms.

6. No to most of the big award winners. Cerebral comedies don't work for me either, such as...sorry, can't think of one. Give me a good screwball comedy. I will admit to laughing out loud at Napoleon Dynamite, all National Lampoon vacation movies, and most movies with Will Ferrell.

There's more! But I will spare you.

My perfect movie would begin with a shot of rush hour traffic in some big city with a lot of over and underpasses. There would be no accidents or traffic jams...just people going places, underscored by snappy, contemporary music without lyrics. (add to my NO list, movies with those annoying slo-mo scenes set to under engineered music with cheesy lyrics).

My perfect movie would star all or any combination of the following: the Hepburn girls, Doris Day, Cary Grant, Reese Witherspoon, Gwenyth Paltrow, and Johnny Depp. (Add to my NO list...any movie that has too many big name stars cluttering up the works, with the exception of those just listed.)

The plot? Did I mention that Johnny Depp should be in the movie?

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas has stuck with me since last weekend. I know that "powerful" is a painfully overused word, but that's the only one that works. The sucker punch of an ending is breathtakingly horrifying, and because of it, I hesitate suggesting anyone see this movie. And yet, it's a must-see if ever there was one.

Two boy meet and become friends despite the huge barrier between them. 8 year old Bruno's father has been relocated to Poland, where he supervises one of Hitler's camps. Bruno can see the "farm" from his bedroom window, and goes exploring. On one such journey, he meets Shmuel, a boy about his age, sitting on the other side of the fence in his pajamas. Bruno can see that Shmuel is sad, but Bruno's innocence prevents him from putting the entire puzzle together. He visits Shmuel often, bringing him food, playing catch over the barbed wire, and talking of the future when they will play together with no separation.

Yes, there's symphonic music, and the concentration camp. There are mistreated children -physically and emotionally. There is violence and unexplainable hatred. But the boy's faces kept me watching. Sincerity, fear, hope, degradation, resilience...all in their little faces. Despite the situation, despite the brevity of their friendship, the relationship gave depth to their emotional lives. The impact of the ending comes, as T.S. Elliot would say "not with a bang, but a whimper" and that is what makes it so profound.

See this movie if you can. Check it out for yourself before watching it with your kids. Reviewers point out minor historical inaccuracies, but they aren't enough to negate the larger issue. Ugly as this time in human history was, we cannot afford to tuck it away, and assume that if we don't talk about it, it may not have existed. And worse, we must not assume that it can't happen again.

What am I reading? I hope to start The Boy in the Striped Pajamas if it arrives today. I also have started The Girls from Ames by Jeffrey Zaslow. The eleven Ames girls formed a bond in childhood. As adults, they moved to eight different states, yet managed to maintain an enduring friendship. the girls, now in their forties, have a lifetime of memories in common, some evocative, and many that are resonating strongly for me.

From the Heart-A-Rama files

Our circus packed up and left town on Saturday. Sorry. I was so taken with the show this year, that I didn't stop to take many pictures for you. Every night, I found something new in the show to chuckle at. Of course, there are the behind the scenes adventures,that I some day may recount for you, but all in all, this was a year free of practical jokes, theatre antics, and bad behavior.

However, I must give a standing O to Brad, one of our newest directors. Not only is he a crowd pleaser on stage, he is fast becoming a skilled director. Brad directed two short scenes this year, and, in my opinion, one of them was theatrically the best staged scene in the show. Of course, I am a little jealous of his astute stage eye, but hey, good going Bradley. Be proud!

Last week I was willed a box of HAR photos through the ages. My summer project is to do something with them. First, how to organize them! By theme? By subject? By decade? Maybe an obtuse pattern would be better... chronologically based on receding hairlines, or expanding waistlines. Perhaps anarchy would be best...no organization...randomly pick some and do something. At any rate, no matter what becomes of them, you are sure to see many of them on this blog.

We're done for another year. But guess what the big discussion was at the cast/crew party on Saturday night. Next year's show...and we're off!