Thursday, May 24, 2012

Thinking About Moving?


The house where Christopher Robin Milne, son of Winnie the Pooh creator A.A. Milne, grew up is for sale for  the first time in four decades. Curbed National reported that the estate, known as Cotchford Farm, "spans 9.5 acres of lawns, forest, and streams. The six-bedroom main house, the quintessential English country house if there ever was one, is listed for $3.22 million. There's more to the Milne house than just Pooh, as it was also later owned by Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones, who reportedly died on the property."

Monday, May 21, 2012

Time for Some Drama


After finishing Room, I knew it was time to relax with something much lighter.  I haven't read a play in a long, long time, so I bravely ventrued down the basement steps, maneuvered my way through the yet to be hung Heart-A-Rama costumes, past the heaps of papers, wire bindings, and kitchy stuff set up for my book binding experiments in crafty corner, around the couch, and finally into the sanest, and least used part of my home - the office.  Who knows what I need an office for, but it is there that things are organized, (mostly!) - neatly filed and sorted, easy to find (mostly!) and where my overflow books, my silly Masters thesis, and hundreds of play scripts can be found.  I picked grabbed the Farndale series and headed outside.

Now, if you haven't met the women on the Farndale Avenue Housing Estate Townswomen's Guild Dramatic Society, keep your eyes pealed for a production near you.  These wacky women's earnest attmepts to produce  theatre inevitable clash with Murphy's Law.  On Sunday, I decided to see what happened when this jolly crew prepared Macbeth.

The producer, director, and players hope their version of the Scottish play will guarantee them a place  in the Drama finals at Welwyn Garden City after nine months of painstaking rehearsals.  However, under the carefully mascara'd eye of adjudicator Mr. George Peach, events  conspire to ensure that everything will not be all right on opening night.  Injured Kate bravely troupes on with her leg in a cast only to find her injuries growing more painful as the show progresses.  Lady Macbeth misses her bus stop and gets carried away by public transport. Henry, the nearsighted producer, must step into the role...without his glasses, but clearly undhsven. And, as if that isn't enough, Peach announces they have only 8 1/2 minutes left in which to finish most of the final act, or they will be disqualified from the competition.  As usual, the ladies rise to the occassion - they may not reach Welwyn Garden City - but the do come close to doing for Macbeth what Tom Stoppard did for Hamlet.  (If you haven't read Stoppards's 15 Minute Hamlet, do that before reading this play.) 

The Frandale plays are good for a laugh both on stage and off. 

What will I read next?  Well, The Wierd Sisters by Eleanor Brown is calling.  I don't know if it is an homage to the witches of Macbeth, or if the title is purley symbolic.  We'll see.

I'm still struggling with the changes Blogger made - just to irritate me, I'm sure.  but, at least this version lets me underline.  That's good.  It problaby does other tricks; maybe they will reveal themselves soon.

Thanks for stopping by.

Monday, May 14, 2012




"In the present circumstances, no one can afford to assume that someone else will solve their problems. Every individual has a responsibility to help guide our global family in the right direction. Good wishes are not sufficient; we must become actively engaged." Dalai Lama

  It's good to be back chatting with you and writing again, as you will see from the length of this post.  One of the bonus rewards of doing Heart-A-Rama is that when it ends, I open my door to find that spring has arrived.  Lilacs are in bloom, my orioles and humming birds have returned, and sun is shining in just the right spot so I can sit on the deck and read.  Jimmy Buffett and iced cappuccino season - the best of all things. 

I was MIA for of few Mondays due to HAR, and because Blogger changed the way it works and I have been too tired and am too dumb to figure it out.  I have the basics conquered, so I can at least type and drop in a picture or two., 

 During HAR weeks,  I could only find time to fit in a little light reading...so I turned to The Art of Happiness, one of those books that can be opened on any page.  Just let your eyes fall to a random line, and you're bound to find something thought provoking, insightful, meaningful, and yes, amusing.  Mr. Lama has a neat sense of humor.

The above quote isn't from The Art...but it is one that has always spoken loudly, and has resonated  deeply the past weeks, generating lots of good conversations.  Brad, who co-produces HAR with me, and I have spent time laughing...and complaining...about all the "bliss" seekers we have encountered lately.  We imagine them going off to weekend encampments, holding hands, singing Kumbaya, painting a flower on a rock.  The adventurous ones will take part in a  drum circle where they pound out their troubles and anxieties, before going home, scribbling all their woes on tiny slips of paper and setting them on fire in a ritualistic inferno, in a dangerously designed living room fire pit. 

The take-away from those getaways is a strong sense of what my college Philosophy professor called "me-ness'  - a confusing sense of entitlement.  What contributions those weekenders could make to Heart-A-Rama or any other organization is untold.  Stepping outside yourself is a surer way to discover purpose and meaning.  Heck,  I fear what I would find inside if I ran off for a weekend of digging deep, followed by a cleansing confessional with a 25 of my closest and newest companions.  Pish. 

In The Art of Happiness, the Dalai Lama makes a distinction between pleasure and happiness, and  once that distinction is understood, he says, we can begin to rid our lives of things that detract from our happiness.  Reading parts of it again redefined for me what is important, and what personal paths I should take to get there...and it ain't painting on rocks.  He says that the purpose of life is to be happy; that happiness is determined by one's state of mind rather than by external circumstances or events.  The Dalai Lama says that we can re-shape our emotional lives by reshaping our thinking.  Again, he does not mention painting of rocks in order to accomplish this.

Ironically, while skipping around in this delightful book, two other Dalia-ish events occurred.  First, the DL himself turned up on The Piers Morgan Show.  You can't help but smile when you hear his tiny chuckle, and listen to his simple words.  Some people might say he is naive, but how can you not respect and be in awe of a guy who has been exiled from the home he loves, and shows no sign of bitterness, hatred, or longing? 

Second, out of the blue I received an email from a former student,  now a friend.  We exchanged a couple memory moments before getting into more meaningful discussion.  You see, Heidi and her husband -whose name is Michael Perry! - live in Washington D.C. and both are swamis.  It makes me laugh to say I know, and sort of have, my very own personal swami.  Heidi doesn't take herself too seriously and thinks it's fun as well.  Being a swami hasn't changed her basic spirit.  She is still that same feisty, intelligent, somewhat bawdy person that got my attention when she struggled to fit into a conservative high school, with little room for people with ideas as complex and out on a limb as hers.  So, it was great that we have re-connected, and I hope that we won't get lost again.

Now...time for a disclaimer.  I have been rather hard on the singing, drum beating rock painters.  The reality is, I know many of them and find them to be sincere, engaging, talented individuals.  I also understand that at some point we all need down time where we can explore, try new things, and pound on a fresh drum so to speak.  And, I will confess that, due to years of teaching guitar at Golden Ring Foldlore Center, I do indeed know all the words to Kumbaya!

What am I reading?  Our book group is reading Room.  The slow opening chapters challenged me, but I understand the author's technique here and put up with it hoping she would change directions in the second section.  She did, and I flew through the book from that point forward.  If the Jaycee Dugard case facinated you, try this book, which was written well in advance of the discovery of Dugard's multi-year hostile confinement.

I also started my Dickens for the year - The Pickwick Papers.  I may need Cliff notes to get me going on this one.

Thanks for stopping by.