Of Wardrobes and Rings: A Review

There was a full house for the performance   Of Wardrobes and Rings at Gallo Center for the Arts in Modesto on February 28, 12016.  Perhaps it was general knowledge but it was a complete surprise to me that this was the premier of the show!

In a pub setting JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis meet over beer and tea (tea for Lewis because his recent heart attack has him under doctor's orders to cut out alcohol) which gave the audience a glimpse of the highlights of their famed lifelong friendship. Hattie the barmaid provided a light and youthful backdrop to showcase the somewhat stodgy academic figures of Lewis and Tolkien, or Jack and Tollers as they referred to each other.

At times they reminded one of a catty, gossipy David Niven and Bob Newhart if I must be honest. In other words, while brilliant, successful, and creative, they were so very human. There is an invisible 'fourth wall' we readers often construct that keeps us from understanding such literary icons. It is easy to forget they were people, people that nursed grudges, that wore catheters, that were turned down for promotions, and often misunderstood even by their dearest friends. Despite this laundry list of terribly human realities, the end result for me personally was that I came to respect and admire Lewis and Tolkien in a greater way, and their friendship even more.

Having seen and thoroughly been inspired by Max Maclean's stage production of CS Lewis' Screwtape Letters and The Great Divorce, I was poised for something similar.  Instead, Phil Crowley and David Payne's thoughtful dialogue had a very comfy and almost 'homey' feel, unlike Maclean's clipped stage treatment of Lewis' books. I had attempted a very heroic last minute read of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, which I didn't quite complete, and was rewarded several times with connections to the story that I would otherwise have been oblivious to. In case you were there, I was the gaping fool who laughed a lot, and cried at the end. 

Scat Post

I'm so easily distracted.

In the past hour, after completing my first week's lesson on Futurelearn, an online course that I'm taking on composing a musical score, I've looked up master's degree programs, taken an aptitude test, (it said I should be in an artistic position, thank you) which led to interest in Music Therapy jobs (I was just curious) and then Drum Circles for health, (I planned an entire drumming party for my students in my head) which website then led to drum notation. At this point I realized the folly of my ways.

There are literally dozens of things waiting in line for me to accomplish, and I'm a blubbering internet slave, dazzled by whatever is put before me. I could have had a hundred pages of The Lord of the Rings read by now, and any number of household projects. I sat, blankly staring up at the universe of google before me and wondered, 'What was that burning question I needed an answer to??'

My blog!! I realized about ten minutes ago. I could have been blogging !!!!!

During the writing of the above, I also thought about the dishes, and I'm not getting up to check and see what I've left behind in the wake of frying egg rolls for dinner.

I was supposed to go to the mall with my daughter tonight, but I guess that's out as I've been in webland all evening. Although I have a fuzzy blanket wrapped around my shoulders, my toes are literally ice cubes, but do I stop? No, I continue on bleary eyed and determined. If I'm going to sit at a monitor and keyboard for two solid hours, I will have a blogpost to show for it, by golly.

So here you are, sweet patient readers. 

Review for the Deutschland83 Series

May I say at the outset, that Sundance's Deutschland83 is the FIRST EVER series to be aired in the United States in German! That alone gives it enough credibility to watch. Conceived and written by Anna Winger along with her husband Jeorg,  this amazing creation is truly a feast for the audience. 

Set in the year 1983,  just before the fall of the Berlin Wall, Deutschland83 follows the fictional character Martin, or Mortitz (code name Kolibri which means hummingbird in English) played by a fresh faced, pink cheeked Jonas Nay, complete with endearing scar above his left eye. He lives in East Germany, and with a little cold war pressure he agrees to be a spy for the Soviet government and is sent into West Germany undercover. His mother's health condition requires a transplant and he is promised that if he complies, she will be taken care of, the implication being, if he does not, perhaps even more ominous things may happen (he's already had a finger broken as a 'motivation' to prove his loyalty to the cause). 

In the course of Martin's induction into the army (we never see bootcamp, but he's frequently in uniform) Martin finds himself planting bugs, getting beat up, and almost killed by a tough East German woman spy, and sleeping with various women, including his West German boss's secretary, and his East German superior's daughter--if only that was all. But alas, from back home in the Soviet Bloc there is sweet Annette, who finds herself pregnant with Martin's child. Sweet little Annette is also working for the East German government, and uncovers a trove of forbidden books in Martin's mother's basement. 

In order to save the unfolding of the plot for you, and the center of the storm, into which Martin/Moritz/Kolibri flies at the climax of the series, I will stop here.  Suffice it to say, this series has everything -- original footage of ICBM weaponry being poised to shoot, as well as clips from speeches by Eastern and Western world leaders--and on top of that, hearing the original language beats anything I've seen out of the BBC that is German-related. 

If you happen to have been a teenager or young adult in the eighties, which I was, a further delight awaits you as you see the fashion of the eighties in all of it's (horrible) glory. And the soundtrack!!! If Bruce Springsteen, David Bowie, Stevie Wonder and Queen aren't enough, there are plenty of German artists, such as Metropol, Nena, Ideal to name a few, to make this series a fresh re-thinking of the era before 1989, and a nostalgic trip down memory lane at the same time.   I watched it with a young German friend and she added her stamp of approval. 

You can watch episodes from Season 1 at hulu or purchase at amazon. Avid viewers like myself are awaiting expectantly for news of the next season, but so far, we have no news to report. Please, please, Ms. Winger! We want more!!

What If?

It was a clear sunny day. As I turned slowly through the parking lot, there appeared from seemingly nowhere a car driving approximately 40 miles an hour coming straight at me. I was in too far to the turn to either stop or turn back, so I kept moving as his nose raced pass my tail so close that I was sure we would hit. In fact, I was so sure that moments later I thought how much like a dream it was. Miraculously, we passed within what must have been a hair's breadth of each other. 

Shaken, I thanked God. I gulped oxygen as my body and mind caught up with each other.

The next most logical move was clearly a Russian candy run, so I stopped in at my favorite ethnic market for some exotic candy. After one's life (or car) has been spared, celebration is the only fitting response. 

I downed a couple on the way home, or maybe three, and my gratefulness was far sweeter than the candy.

Oh how often a small thing saves us from catastrophe. How inexplicable when it doesn't, as my father's fatal car accident proved.

My 'almost crash' wouldn't likely have proved fatal, but extremely complicating, as both my husband and I use one car every day for our income generating jobs. 

Did I mention I was grateful? 

Three candies before noon surely demonstrates this, as my children know I never eat candy until after lunch. 

A Letter to My Father

Dear Dad,

Now that you're gone I see your life in perspective like I never could before.

It's been 10 years. You would have been able to count that much quicker than me, because you always carried memories, dates, names, and historical happenings in your head. I didn't. And so often I say, "I wish Dad were here. He'd remember."

I'd like to thank you for a few things that seem more precious the longer you've been gone.

Thank-you for:

Loving me unconditionally.

Being a person that loved other people, cultures, languages. It was hereditary.

Teaching me to wrap a Christmas gift.

Being a calm, safe driver.

Having grandiose ideas.

Writing music. Making sure there was a piano in our home.

Taking pictures.

Marrying my mother.

Moving to California, three times.

Speaking from the Bible so much that it is the voice in my head.

Teaching me to dig a hole and plant things.

Being the reason I have a peach tree in my backyard.

Building things with a hammer and nails.

Loving my husband and my kids.

Understanding that I've gone on with my life without you.

I feel somehow that I am a part of you and that even though you're not here, we still exist together, on some father-daughter plane. It happens especially when I say things you used to say, when I eat black licorice, when I put my towel back on the rod without jamming it in too tight (you always said that would loosen the screws so I never do it).

One more thing. Thank you for not being perfect. For having glaring faults. I have them too and it takes some pressure off.

I love you, DAD!

A Lifelong Love Affair With Words

Few people who know me fail to see my passion for the printed word.

It becomes painfully obvious to several people in my life, namely, my husband, my children and the clerks at the library desk that I love to read.

I also love to write. Writing to me is just another form of reading, a narcissistic one, to be sure. My lifelong commitment to my husband was clinched when I heard him say in answer to my complaint that he's not a 'word' guy, "That's why I need you." For me, it's all about the words. He charmed me with my own needs. I'll be the first to admit that writing gets less attention than reading because writing is plain work, whereas reading anything (and yes even the back of a shampoo bottle) is pure pleasure (read obsession here). But it's not for a lack of ideas. There are those spending ledgers of a compulsive budget-er that my mother-in-law sent me waiting to be made into a story. The two novels I've almost finished but not quite. The musical that needs scoring. The recipes with background stories I'm planning on giving my girls someday. My father's memoirs he entrusted my mother and I with publishing and that friend whose memoirs I'm committed to helping with. And the list goes on. I'm not going to divulge everything, just in case...

I realize that I often push down this need to write because, well, life is so insistent. My regular job as a piano teacher and accompanist is scheduled daily and whatever falls between the cracks must keep the household going, and that consists of cooking, and a moderate amount of cleaning.

Also there is that nagging voice that says. "You're too old to begin writing." I think just exposing this nasty little voice helps it to dissipate, doesn't it? I'm not really just starting. And anyway, every day I procrastinate only gives weight to this fear. And so, I won't.

I am soon to be an empty-nester. Although the usual grieving is following me around like a hungry cat, it occurred to me today (light bulb moment) that perhaps now is the time for my writing to blossom.

I'm committing to you, my dear blog readers that I am not giving up on my dream of being published. Thanks for being the first to get splashed with my ink. Someday, please remind me that you read me first:-)

Post T Day

Well, it's over again. Thankfulness piles on top of thankfulness. It's a glut of good things, it's overhaving.
We are the recipients of so much, and to whom much is given, much is required.

So let's get busy. What are we waiting for?