Whatever became of...

  

After all those leading roles in every play during high school,is it any wonder that my sister went on to get a Bachelor of Fine Art in theater and is now a professional actor and Drama Teacher (both at a high school and at her own school for actors-  link here to see her school  http://njactors.org/faculty.html)

My brother's growth got un-stunted after my family moved to St. Charles and he got to have a real bedroom.  He is now 6'5" and is the band teacher/director at Camdenton High School at the Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri.  

If you have read my blog, you will know, that after a (very brief) attempt to major in Music at the University of Missouri in Kansas City, Mo, I ended up becoming a Psychotherapist.  I actually have a double major in Music and psychology-but now I only use my music degree to write myself mnemonic devices.  

So how did those two end up in the arts and I end up in Social Work? 

Remember the great nurture  versus nature question?  Well this is where is plays out.

I am a big believer in attachment theory.  John Bowlby postulated (Invented?  Came up with?) attachment theory watching chimps or apes or something.  He noticed that the little chimps/apes/monkeys sought the grown-ups in order to avoid being some lion's lunch and to be fed, bathed and kept free of vermin.  He also noticed that the baby primates were choosing their own mother over the other adults.  I don't know about you, but one monkey looks pretty much the same as another monkey to me.  And, lo and behold, the Mama monkeys could discern their own babies, too!

Bowlby also noticed that the babies didn't just seek out their own personal parent money when danger was present or they needed a snack or to have nits picked off their back.  The monkeys went to their moms for a hug after a fight with their monkey friends or they got a monkey boo-boo after falling out of a tree or something.  The monkeys wanted cuddles as much as they wanted bananas!

From monkeys to humans, observation and research proved that people needed someone to attach to as well.  You must have heard about the importance of bonding with your baby.  Bonding is how you feel about that small wrinkled amorphous blob of a person that just emerged from your body.  Bonding is one sided.  The small amorphous pointed headed creature suddenly turns into the cutest smartest funniest being who ever walked the earth and everyone must see this most incredible baby you created. (No really!  They must!  You have the stacks of pictures and videos and Facebook pages and websites just to prove that no other baby even comes close...)  That's bonding,  It's pretty one-sided.

Attachment goes both ways.  Bonding is what makes you want to nurture you amazing creation.  Attachment makes your amazing creation think you are pretty great, too.  Attachment creates the type of nurturing you get.

I could go on all day about attachment theory and what happens to screw it up and how other researchers found differing types of attachment etc.  But What I really want t say is that being attached creates good nurture and nurture brings out our nature.

I don't think the argument of nurture being more important than nature (or vice versa) is stated correctly.  I think nurture allows us to reach our own natural potential for intelligence, talent, drive ability to choose and ability to love and be loved.

In my most amazing family, we were allowed to become our nature and chose our path accordingly.

Enough for today.  Tune in next time for more on attachment and less boring stuff, as well.

Just a word about aging

The other day, I was getting new glasses at Costco (best deal in town, BTW).  David Bowie's Let's Dance was playing in the background.  The (very) young adult women helping me pick out my glasses looked at me and said, "I can't think of this singer.  It's driving me crazy". She didn't know David Bowie!!??  I realizes that David Bowie is no longer a household name and his groundbreaking androgyny is no longer relevant or shocking.  She couldn't recall his name just like I may wonder who sings Rock Around the Clock or I Left my Heart in Sam Fransciso...

My God, I saw David Bowie in concert (The Glass Spider tour for all the other aging hipsters out there).  I was back stage at a Heart Concert.  I had hip clothes like Esprit and Hang Ten and said thing like "Way Cool" and read the Preppie Handbook.  I had a light up Goose lamp before the old ladies started dressing them in costumes for the holidays.  I know who Divine and John Waters are.  I saw the Rocky Horror Picture Show and threw toast and did the Time Warp, Dammit!  I am a hip person....Who happens to be 51 and walks with a limp and wears Women's sized clothing from the Talbots outlet and drinks Metamucil every day and...

Just remember kids, someday,when you are feeling pretty good about yourself, you will hear Vampire Weekend and Nine Inch nails on the oldies station and the new groups will have names like Nintendo Cloud Burst or Knex the Dots because that is what the kids in the bands played with as small children. And the groups you think of as cutting edge or just edgy in general  will be quaint and old fashioned.

One of the guys I dated used to make fun of old people sometimes.  I told him that it was rude and he just laughed and said, It's okay.  Somebody will make fun of you, too, someday.  Well, that someday is now.

I was at the Goodwill (The GW, as my sister-in-law calls it and don't laugh.  I have gotten at least 5 cashmere sweaters and a leather backpack purse there!).  There were two barely-out-of-their teen girls at the counter.  One looked at the other and said HDA and laughed!  HDA?!  I used to work in retail at cool stores in Kansas City!  I know what HDA is!  Hairdo Alert!  It's code for "Check out this chick's terrible hair!"! (We also used to page Mrs. McGillicutty to the front when someone really bizarre came in).  These girls were making fun of my hair!  Granted, I had just come from a hectic Play Therapy session and the girls were throwing glitter and playing hairstylist on me.  So I was probably not displaying the best grooming.  But, really?!!


But here's a good thing about aging.  I really didn't care so much what they thought..  I was happy to have been able to use Play Therapy with those girls  they needed an outlet and they needed an adult who was not judgmental and who did not yell at them for making a mess.  The girls behind the counter didn't know my back story and I didn't really care.

Have you ever heard the 16-36-66 rule?  It says:  At 16, you worry about what everyone else is thinking about you.  At 36, you don't care what everyone else is thinking about you and at 66, you realize that no one was ever thinking about you at all!  If I follow that rule, HDA could have stood for Hard Drink After work or Help do accounting after this, or Hot Damn All Done for today.  Who knows...

Aging and living in an old body has its difficulties, of course, but when all is said and done, I do prefer it to the alternative!

New year

Yesterday was my birthday, so it makes sense that my personal new year starts today.  My New Years resolution is to write everyday and post at least once a week. Most resolutions start off with enthusiasm and determination, but by February, the treadmill has become a tread-nil and the jumbo bag of chips is taking up space in the grocery cart once again.

I actually have made at least two resolutions that stuck around.  I actually do go "workout" at least 4 times a week and I did write a "poem" about Sarge the dog  every day for year.  I use the terms "workout " and "poem" loosely, because, arguably, my workouts are not all that...workout-y and the Sarge poem were really just rhyming phrases.  But I did write one of them every day for a year.  You try it and see how you do after a couple of weeks and then tell me they are not really poems!

I have writing topics in my head, but I over-think stuff and get stuck.  I try to get too pedantic and critical.of my erudition and start to use words like "pedantic" and "erudition" instead of just writing my thoughts.  So expect my posts to be a little disjointed and tangential sometimes.  Otherwise, they start to sound as if I am writing reports for juvenile court (a task I have done frequently) and I start to write run-on sentences and use terms like "tangential"...

Now that I have gotten myself back to the correct frame of mind for my blog-style, here is what I have been thinking about lately:

There are some pressing questions the world has long debated. You know, stuff like the chicken or the egg; is there really a God, (or if you are a dyslexic existentialist, is there really a Dog); when do you actually use a semi-colon in a sentence; and my personal favorite, which way does the toilet paper roll hang?   Over the top or down the back?  (The correct answer is over the top, for Dog's sake).

My other personal favorite pressing question is  Nature or Nurture.  According to Eddie Murphy and Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places or Arnold Swartzanegger and Danny DeVito in Twins, nurture wins out. I thought this way myself for a long time. I wonder if every naive psychology student thinks they have it all figured out.  I had the nurture v nature discussion once with my Great Uncle Al.  Uncle Al was the youngest of ten  He was a psychiatrist when every other sibling was a minister or a minister's wife.  He used to say that he become a psychiatrist in order to take care of all those crazy minister!  When I told him my thoughts on nurture trumping nature, he just laughed and said, "Just wait". He was that kind of guy  Very droll and thoughtful.  Miss him...

Now I get what he meant and I think we are set up for our potential by nature, and nurture helps us to reach that potential,  I think that very good nurture can ameliorate bad nature, but I think that very good nature doesn't stand a snowball's chance against terrible nurture.  But mostly I think that nature wins out in the end.

Since this started off as a blog about having MS, I can safely say that nature can sometimes kick you butt, but I as a psychotherapist, I know that nurture, and specifically connections and attachments can go a log way in managing what nature hands you.

Tomorrow I will write more about my own family and seeing nature being created though nurture, but for today, I hace net my resolution goal and I feel proud!

The year of Sarge

Sarge turned out to be a great dog after the poo incident. He is quirky and docile and affectionate.  His positive sides are many, but he is, in a good dog way, a bad dog.  He used to be a champion runner. An open front door was an invitation to explore the sights and smells of the world .  I once chased him down at a neighbor's barbeque.  Another time, Eli and the Peapod grocery delivery guy chased him around the block. They returned, throwing up their hand in defeat, thinking he was lost, while I watched Sarge chasing behind them!  We got him an ID chip after that.

Sarge settled into the household.  He slept at the foot of Eli's bed and spent the rest of the time on the couch or in the crate.  Dogs can, apparently, sleep 20 hours a day, which Sarge did.  But in those four houses of wakefulness, he was a joyful, sausage shaped log-of-fur and activity.  He chewed up every toys we gave him, dug for grubs in the yard, and begged for table scraps. Eli did get to be kid of the week and Sarge was kind of well behaved at the school for a few minutes.

Then the darnedest thing started happening.  After the first rhyme about poo, I started to hear rhymes about everything Sarge related.  I wrote down two more little rhymes, the three and four, and pretty soon I had about sixteen little verses with no signs of slowing.  I figured Sarge was a dog rhyme channeling genius, so I got him his own Facebook page and started posting.  Since I already had so many rhymes and there seemed to be no end, I started posting one of Sarges poems every day.

At first it was fun and pretty easy to write in Sarges voice.  Eli asked me how long I planned to post Sarge's poems.  "I dunno..for a year?"  I replied.  He said "You won't be able to do that!  Just do one a week." Challenge!   "I'll show you!"  I thought.  Oh my...

After the first two months, thing started to be a tad harder.  There are only so many interesting thing to write about a dog.  Here is a sampling of a few of the originals:

I'm Sarge the dog.
 I frequently whine.
 I whine at your feet while you are trying to dine.
 I look at your food and think "isn't that mine?" 
I wrinkle my forehead and look like I'm cryin'. 
(I know I look cute, there is no denyin'. )
 Sometimes you feed me. Sometimes you decline. 
But that's intermittent reinforcement so you blame ME for tryin'!

I’m Sarge, the dog.

I like to sleep.

I sleep in blankets in a heap. 

When I’m asleep in my blanket heap,

Sometimes a fart from me will creep.

And when it does, it will make you weep! 

I’m Sarge the dog.

I like my boys.

They feed me things and buy me toys.

My mom’s a bore.

She makes no noise, and licking her brings her no joys.

So if you had to make a choice,

Don’t you think you choose the boys?

So think of that ties 365 (It was leap year!)

I got stuck many times.  There are rhymes specific to day.  fourth of July , Eli's birthday, Christmas. There were a few guest spot.  Sarge wrote poems about other people's pets a few times.  He wrote two about the Cardinal's winning the world series.  He experimented with different formats-haiku, limericks.  I ended up buying two rhyming dictionaries. (I think there is a poem about that).  

Despite the writer's blocks and some technical difficulties, I made it through the whole year!  I am sure that there are not very many pets that can boast that they have an entire year of poetry devoted to them.  As great as Sarge is, and as much as I enjoyed the challenge,  I will never ever do that again!

For awhile, I switched to Sarge's tip of the week with a picture and life lesson, but Sarge and his channel (me) are both sort of old and tired. You can still enjoy Sarges's page and even "Like" it.  Just don't expect too much ore activity there!

I am starting in a whole new direction next post, but I hope you keep reading.  I am sure there will be more memories and pets along the way!

Here is a link to Sarge's Facebook page if you want to read the whole series (Sorry about the typos along the way!)

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sarge-the-dog/249325348417598

Cat person or dog person?

All along I have always thought I was a cat person. I felt more pulled to them and I was sure that my destiny was to be a crazy cat lady someday.  But then, my kid begged for a dog.

When Eli was in third grade, his teacher had a "kid of the Week"  This was really just a couple of minutes in the morning to talk about your favorite things and share you favorite snack.  One of the thing that other kids had done, was have their parents bring in his or her pet for the class to meet.  Eli really wanted to be "Kid of the Week" and have a pet to show off.  I suggested that he could put the spider that hung out in the bathtub in a box and take that, but that was a no go, so we started to look for dogs.

There were some specifiers.  No puppies.  Cute as they are, no way was anyone in my household was  housebreaking a dog.  Secondly, it had to be fixed already.  Adopting a pre-housebroken pre-neutered dog was cheaper and easier than a do-it-yourself variety.  I really wanted a pug dog or other dog that looked as if they were running too fast too keep from smashing into into a wall face first.  Eli, however wanted a dog with an actual nose.  Also, no long hairs, no yippee barks and nothing big enough to ride on.  I highly recommend Petfinders.com.  We were able to find a dog that seemed ideal. I contacted the shelter and they invited a to a "meet and greet" event

 I honestly thought we were just going to check out some dogs and come back later to decide.  Instead, we left with Sarge.  He met the criteria.  Real nose (check), not a puppy (check), not too big (check), not too much hair (check), housebroken and neutered (check).  The only thing we didn't get,was a chance to check the sound of his bark.  Eli met Sarge and  was not going to part with this dog, whether or not he had a yippee bark. I just figured we'd have to get a dog voice box replacement or something if his bark  was too high.  Lucky for us, on the drive home, he saw another dog out of the window and we were delighted to hear him explode into a low, boofy sounding bark.  After we recovered from the ringing in our ears, we slapped a high five and finished the trip.  We were now official dog-people.

There are two things you can do to a dog to see how calm and docile it is.  You can poke your finger between the pads on it's feet, and you can grab it's lips and move it around.  Not only will Sarge (who came with that name) let you do those things, he will look bored about it, wag his tail, and roll over so you can scratch his tummy while you do them. He barks ferociously at dogs, squirrels, birds and people who walk within a foot of the house, but if an actually close encounter occurs, Sarge will wag his tail and beg for food.  He is not a good watchdog.

The doggie adoption agency told us that Sarge was crate trained and would prefer to stay locked in while we were gone for the day.  But as I was leaving him alone for the first time, I felt guilty and worried.  What if he got hungry or thirsty?  What if the crate was uncomfortable or he just wanted to stretch his short little legs? So I left him sleeping on the couch and closed the door and went to work.

I was the last out and the first home, so I was able to look around to see how he had fared out of the crate all day.  Sarge greeted me at the door ran to the master bedroom, where he sat and wagged his tail  Was he showing me something?  Was that (hideous, blue shag) carpet more comfortable for him?  Was he confused about how to get to the yard to do his business?  I looked around, but things seemed to be in order, so I breathed a sigh and waited for my husband to get home.

When he got there, I excitedly told him how well the dog did. We were happy that things were going so well. Dana went into the bedroom to change and several minutes later, he yelled out, "Hey!  If the dog did so well out of his crate, how come there's dog poop in my shoes?!!"  So that's what Sarge wanted to show me!   Later we would also discover a chewed up pencil and some other randomly shredded papers and unidentifiable destroyed piles of dog fodder.  It does not need to be said that Sarge spent his days locked i his crate after that.


This incident inspired me to compose a short verse:

Sarge the dog.  He eats and chews
and then he poos on Daddy's shoes.
If Sarge the dog would choose your shoes,
which would you choose?
Chews or poos?

Unfortunately for you, dear blog, I not only composed that silly couplet, I continued to find short rhyming verses about Sarge.  I think he may have channeled them to me somehow.  This led to something I'll tell you about in the next post.

You have heard all about my childhood pets.  But I have had pets as an adult, too.

My first pet was really the dorm cat.  My room mate was a fish outta water on our floor of the dorm. Most of the girls in the surrounding rooms were music majors so poor Doris was exposed to all our musical angst.  We had a great deal of worry about sol feggio exercises.  We all called it sol feg (and probably didn't know this was short for sol feggio, anyway).  Sol feggio  was singing a piece of music using the names of the notes rather than the words.  So do re me is a version of sol feg.  I think we also had to use the hand gestures associated with the note, so practicing sol feggio is a lot like sign language only with singing.  My roommate, due to being normal and all, ask us what was this Soul Fish thing we were all so worried about.  Thus, the cat's name (at least on or floor), became Soul Fish, which I actually think is a pretty good name for a cat.

Did you know that cat's can't digest milk?  Well, neither did most of the kids in the dorm so Soul Fish developed the nasty habit of having diarrhea on the students beds.  Soul Fish disappeared and although the thought is a little disconcerting, the med students had to dissect cats as part of their training. Do you suppose... Nah...

My next pet was a big, blonde, long-haired cat named Marilyn after...well, you can figure it out. I was a year ourt of college and living in a dive apartment with my roommate, Terri.  The apartment was crap, but it was two blocks off of the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City which gave it a certain (small) level of class. I had a job as a "psychiatric technician" (which is a glorified babysitter for patients on the psych unit) at a suburban hospital making minimum wage and supplemented it working retail at a store in nearby Westport.

I bought Marilyn  a pink rhinestone collar and had visions of her lounging on a silk pillow and sipping (something other than milk) out of a swanky silver cat dish.  I thought she made me seem chic...except for two things.   1).  I guess it was the year of the fleas because she was covered in them.  When fleas are too numerous on an animal, they leap off, looking for some other source of food.  My feet and ankles became flea fodder and I looked like I had some rare skin disorder confined to my feet. Several batches of flea dip and multiple cans of flea powder finally got rid of them  but then #2 came up.  As a just-out-of-college trying-to-be-cool young adult, I tended to spend my limited disposable income on things like red leather gloves and tickets to see the Eurythmics rather than on adequate pet care. So Marilyn never got fixed.  A cat in heat is not pleasant.  After suffering through nightly yowling and ruined sprayed furniture (that's okay since most of it was dumpster diving stuff any way), I finally convinced a co-worker to adopt her. I don't like to think about what may have happened to her after that!

When I went to grad school in Michigan, I did not subject any pets to my infrequent presence. Although,  I tried to have some fish in a bowl for awhile.  Somehow, I got the idea that  needed to use distilled water, and Fred and Ginger (so I like old movies, what can I say) went belly up from asphyxiation.

My next pet was after I graduated and had my first real job in Danville.  I adopted a runt-of-the-litter cat.  Cats really are ideal for busy/lazy people.  They are litter trained from the start.  They don't require walks.  They eat cat food without begging for your food.  Since I was an adult (sort of) now, I did the grown-up cat parent thing and got her fixed. Hooray!

I was dating a guy from India at the time, and named her the Tamil word for cat, which is punai  (pooh-nie).  But I never really called her that , and after I broke up with the Indian guy, I regressed to calling her the very original name of Kitty.  Her named was finally The Kitty.  The was actually part of her name.

The Kitty lasted a long time.  She moved to Chicago with me after I got married. She made it through two moves to our current house.  She made it until my son was 6 year old.  Then, she chose a day when we had company for lunch to have a heart attack and die.  If that wasn't awkward enough, My son, who had taken to calling her Creepers" because she was always creeping around, chose to hunt for her to show her, to our company,  after the death event.  I gently took him aside and said, "Eli, The Kitty was very old.  She was so old that her body couldn't live any more and she died".

I was waiting for wailing and tears.  His little face contorted for an instant before changing to questioning wonder.  He looked at me and asked,  "Can we get a fish?"

Our next pet was not a fish.  I will tell you more next time.

Grandparent memories 


When we weren't at the creek or avoiding the outhouse, we spent a lot of time at my grandparent's house.  My paternal grandfather was semi-retired to Owensville where he was a minister at St. Peter's church.  (That's right- my dad is a minister, his dad was a minister, my mom's dad was a minister, my dad's grandfather was a minister, and of my dad's nine uncles, there were eight ministers and one psychiatrist who said it was his job to take care of all those crazy ministers).

My grandparent's lived in, what else, a parsonage.  My great-grandmother (my dad's mom's mom) also lived there. She was a little scary because she was so old!   There were lot's of Victorian antiques, and some of my dad's toys, too. I wish we still had those! The room that my sister and I slept in , had an antique picture of some very stern-looking ancestors.   I thought they would come out to haunt us if we didn't behave, so for us anyway, we didn't act up at bedtime.  My brother slept in a tiny room at the top of the stairs, so the tiny bedroom curse obviously followed him there. 

This is me at my grandparent's parsonage. Loved that dog!!

The other thing that terrified me about that house, was the railroad tracks that ran behind it.  I screamed and cried every time a train came by,  and I remember wondering why everyone else did not understand that the train was going to ram into the house at any minute.  Didn't they know that we were all likely to die? 

The train of doom did not keep me from playing in the park next door to the house.  It was an old fashioned playground with a now obsolete merry-go-round and one of the metal slides that would burn your butt off in the summer.  I also remember the seesaw. My sister was standing up in the center to balance it, when lost HER balance and landed, crotch first, on the metal bar.  I think she lost her virginity that day!  Remember the stress reaction of fight/flight/freeze?  That is the one and only time I have ever had a freeze reaction.  Beth kept yelling at me to run for help, and I remember thinking that I should go, but just couldn't move.  She must have thought I lost my mind!

I loved to go to grandma and grandpas house at Christmas because we used to get a brown paper bag filled with candy. (CANDY!!) It had those chocolate cream domes and an orange, and that yummy ribbon candy.  I think it must have been some sort of law that  little country churches to give the kids that specific mix of candy in a brown paper bag at Christmas!  The only bad memory I have is when my sister puked on my doll on the trip to Owensville.

My sister got carsick almost every time we took a rode trip.  That year I really, really, really wanted a Dancerina doll for my birthday.  She was a blond doll in a pink tutu with a plastic crown on her had.  If you held her crown, she would spin around in a pirouette!  I'm sure she was not cheap, but my parents got it for my birthday.  Mind you, my birthday is December 15, so she was pretty new on Christmas.  I took her on the trip to Owensville, and Beth got sick in the car, of course.  My recollection is that she specifically leaned over on my side so she wouldn't get puke on her side.  By doing so, she puked all over my brand new Dancerina doll!  My mom and my Grandma spent most of that day cleaning her up and fixing her hair.  She still worked, but her hair was never the same.  Good thing I could console myself with chocolate cream domes and ribbon candy!

Just as an aside, I recently was in an antique store and found a Dancerina doll in the original box!  Everything in that particular part of the store was 50% off so she cost a whopping $15!  So now I have a un-puked on Dancerina doll sitting in my closet.  I promise not to take her on any road trips with my sister!

The cabin

No discussion of my previous homes is complete without some discussion of The Cabin. 

My Dad and Mom purchased some property out on a lonely stretch of Highway P near Owensville.  You know it's rural when the highways are called rural route or highways with letter names!  Even though it was right off the two lane "highway", the property seemed to be deep in the woods.  Initially, there were no structures on the property, and we went there to experience the true definition of camping.  No electricity, no running water, sleeping in tents, cooking over an open fire,  using the outhouse.. The outhouse was down a trail far enough away from the camp site to prevent the aroma from impeding our ability to breathe.  It was initially painted pink so it was dubbed "The pink pagoda".  When the weather removed that color, it was painted yellow and renamed ""the golden throne".  No matter what we called it, it was not a pleasant place to be.  Apart from the fact that it offered some measure of privacy and a way to keep from getting poison ivy in uncomfortable places, it was everything you hate about gas station restrooms only twenty times worse.  No matter how much lime you sprinkled on the contents, you could not eradicate that special sewage smell.  When I was very small, there was a little chamber pot that I could use if I had to go at night, but when I outgrew it, I had to trek down the trail with a flashlight and my sister, if I could convince her she had to go, too! Otherwise, I would risk wetting the bed before I would face the potential critter encounter.

The pink pagoda was only one aspect of having no plumbing. The lack of bathing facilities was also an issue.  Washtubs served as general clean up facilities and for more significant bathing we would journey to the creek.  Their are a zillion little creeks and brooks running through central Missouri.  Creeks are tributaries of the rivers running through Missouri, and I am pretty sure the creeks we frequented were fed by the Gasconade River and the Missouri.  Creeks generally have rocky bottoms, so we always had creek shoes. Flip flops don't really work, because creeks have currents and, depending on how rainy It has been, flip flops could be pulled right off your feet.  So creek shoes were usually last years Keds or knock-off white ladies from K-Mart. 

Besides being our giant bathtub, the creek was a kid's paradise! Favorite past times included catching tadpoles and crawdads.  It was really fun to find a mostly morphed frog with a tale or a tadpole with tiny rudimentary legs. What wasn't so fun was getting the occasional disgusting leech! You learned very quickly to avoid the brushy areas near the shore where they, and the native water snakes hung out.
It was also fun (and is still fun) to look for flat rocks to skip across the water and the American Indian arrow heads made from the flint and quartz rocks along the creek bottom. 

We did not spend too many summers sleeping in tents.  My Dad found four trees in a rough square and used them as the corners for the original cabin. As you can imagine, this was not up to any kind of architectural code, but it beat sleeping out in the open.  We had just enough room for bunk beds for Beth and me and a double bed for my parents.  Although I am flabbergasted by the thought, I'm pretty sure, my brother was part of the camping experience as an infant.  And I am pretty sure this entailed diapers.  Cloth diapers.  With no running water.  My mom needs to be a candidate for sainthood.  Initially, my brother slept in a trough or something, and eventually he slept in the "rafters". The cabin was truly a hooterville, and from the one small bedroom, it eventually got a screened in "kitchen" tacked on to one side, and a small living room with a stone fire place built in some how, on the back .  It actually was kind of cool in a rustic very hick way.  We had an antique icebox and we would get a huge block of ice for it.  It actually kept things refrigerated for a day or so.

Next time, I will tell you more about our days at the old cabin.

    

Cows and Fourth of July

All of the mandatory visits, crazy or boring were made up for with visits to Billy and Jere's house

Everyone called their parents  the same names  Billy and Jere used for them, which was Mama and Daddy

Mama and Daddy were hosts for many a cookout for, not just our family, but for the youth group from church or school organizations. There was a lot going on because Billy and Jere were into a  lot of stuff at school.  It seems as if, between the two of them, they knew everybody in Jefferson City and beyond.  I once watched Billy chase a poor girl down the street in Fulton, Mo because he thought she looked familiar!

Mama and Daddy  grew Christmas trees and raised cows, among other things, on their farmland  Jere played the oboe in the band, and I think Billy played the trumpet, so the cows always got named after instruments.  It was  a sight to see Mama, (who stands about 5 feet 'nothin,)  chasing a cow and  yelling, "Bassoon!  You get outta them pine trees!". 

Fourth of July was a memorable occasion with Billy and Jere.  Billy would say, "Mama go put on your asbestos jumpsuit, everyone else stand way back so Mama can use the blow torch and we can all really enjoy that sparkler!"  Regardless of safety jokes, the fireworks were always great and the food was better.  Fresh corn and hamburgers on the grill.  Beth was especially enthusiastic about how fresh and juicy they tasted.  Until she looked around with wide eyes and asked, "Where's Bassoon?"

We also got invited to the farm at Christmas to pick up our Christmas tree.  Daddy always had the biggest and prettiest one picked out for us.  We would ride out on the hay wagon and bring it back to the house for cider and donuts.  Now I am spoiled for Christmas trees because nothing compared to those fresh cut pines!

Visiting the farm was far from the only fun times with Billy and Jere.  Billy wa a budding Cecil B. DeMille with his Super 8.  He and Jere would write, produce and direct their own feature films.  We used the church basement as our set,  of course!  Jere wrote a screenplay called "Are These Lips my Own?" In which I was to play an aging actress whose lips were malformed, looking to find a sweet young thing to use a a lip transplant victim.  I can't imagine why we never made that one! 

I loved Billy.  Beth said he was her "go to" friend.  If she ever needed anything, Billy would be there for her.  Jere was MY "go to" friend.  Probably one of the best friends I ever had.  My sophomore year, when he was a senior,  don't think a day went by when I didn't see him!  He worked at as a delivery man for one of the local pizza joints, and he used to call me to place an order and ask for him  to deliver it.  I would order a sandwich or something, he would come over and "deliver" it to me, but , really, just pay for it and eat it himself! 

When I got news that Billy died, I was married and living in Chicago.  I hadn't seen Billy for years, but the world got a little darker for me that day.  Just knowing that someone like Billy was alive just made the world seem more colorful. 

Jere is still my friend, and even though he is on the other side of the country, I love knowing he is still a part of my life. 

Just another word about Billy.  Even though he was capable of terrorizing small town girls for fun, he was actually a good kind-hearted person.  I remember when one of the youth group members was dying of brain cancer, and Billy brought his movies to her so she could be part of the screening.  That type of kindness and acceptance is what I will remember most about Billy.

Parrots, chickens and cows. Oh My


The minister of a church is frequently asked to have a meal with parishioners.  Often times, the whole family is invited along. For me, this usually entailed sitting quietly in uncomfortable dress clothes while sitting on  doily coved sofas and listening to polite adult conversation.  If I was lucky, there would be  Jordan almonds in  cut glass bowls that I could nibble while trying not to break something.  But,occasionally the yawn inducing visitations would have an unusual twist.

An elderly pair of maiden lady sisters invited us to their antique laden house, kept dark in order to fend off the heat, for lunch. They were the picture of genteel, soft spoken Midwestern ladies, wearing their Sunday best to host the young minister and his family.  Their table was set with their lovely old china and best silverware.  But what was with the extra place setting?

It was for Billy.  Not my friend Billy.  That would have been odd enough.  No, Billy was a parrot.  Bill, the ladies' pet parrot was allowed to roam freely through the house.  He had his own place at the table and ate from the some lovely china as everyone else.

Billy did not really like company.  His first words to use were "Goodbye".  When we didn't leave, he stepped up his tactics and began squawking, "Help! Police!".  The  lovely old sister ladies gently scolded "Billy!  That's not polite"  but he continued chirping "goodbye" and "help me".  throughout our stay.  I don't remember much of the meal-probably finger sandwiches or something- but Billy had what we were having.  I think Billy resorted to some passive aggression by occasionally lifting his tail and leaving a little pile of what he thought of us on the newspaper the ladies kept under his chair. 

This may sound unappetizing and potentially unsanitary, but parrot poop is child's play...

One of the homes where we were invited was out in the countryside on a pig farm.  If you are from farm and ranch country, you can discern between the pungent smell of cattle manure, and the even more pungent smell of a hog farm.  Nothin' like the smell of a good thriving bunch of pigs to whet your appetite.  This family were what you call "salt of the earth" kind of people.  The men folks wore overalls for everything and if they needed to fancy up a bit, they would wear  their better (overalls without stains or holes).  The farmers's wives were just as hard working and strong.  In this case (at least in my memory) the hostess wore a green floral dress with an apron.

I know I have discussed how fickle memories can be, so I am sure that mine are corrupted and only partially correct, but these are my recollections of that visit!

What stikes me as my most visceral memory, is drinking grape Koolaide  out of a plastic cup.  I'm sure our hostess was a great cook.  Most farm ladies are.  But I can't remember what we ate because everything else was so bizarre.  First, I think teeth were optional in the family we were visiting.  Cleanliness was also not much of a concern.  Food was served directly from what ever pot in which it had been cooked.  Dubiously clean utensils were made even more dubious when our hostess used the front of her dress as a towel to wipe them "clean".  I think my focus on drinking grape Koolaide had two purposes.  A). to keep me from having to notice the scary level of filthiness, and B). to keep me from laughing uproariously.

The piece de resistance, however, was not the kitchen, but the bathroom.  Old farmhouses, as I recall this one to be, usually were not built with multiple bathrooms.  Therefore,  I am pretty sure this may have been their only one.  It would not only have been the only toilet, but it was likely the only bathtub and shower.  It was striking that, not only was this not the cleanest bathroom, but the bathtub was being used to raise newly hatched chicks.  That is definitely the only time that I have ever shared toilet facilities with poultry! 

I think we have been invited to eat in that home on at least one other occasion, but if I wentagain, I have blocked the memory.  To this day, I cannot drink grape Koolaide!

Not all visits were uncomfortable, however, so next time I will tell you about Fourth of July at Billy and Jere's house!

Pets III

Jefferson City was, somehow, not any more conducive to pet longevity than past homes had been.  We continued to go through attempts at pet  ownership, but until the very last summer, when we got our long term dog, Sadie, we just had bad luck. 

We had a little dachshund named Gretel, who, I frankly barely remember except through pictures.  I'm pretty sure she never got housebroken and was no longer welcome in the parsonage.  I think we had a cat named Beethoven, as if naming it for a composer would give it more class or something, but running from our family seemed to be our pets favorite pastime, and he didn't last long, either.

My sister attempted to make a go of having fish.  She just had a small bowl and some gold fish, but her busy schedule got in the way of fish bowl maintenance.  A lot of the Jefferson City kids got summer jobs as tour guides at the capitol.  Tour guides rotated from giving tours of the beautiful capital building, the Governor's mansion, and an area called Laclede's landing.  I guess not too many people came to Laclede's Landing, so the days there were pretty boring.  On one of those days, I guess Beth got bored enough to actually think about her fish bowl.

Since I was too young for a summer job, I was busy doing nothing at home while my parents were at work.  In those days, the phone was attached to the wall and there were no answering machines.  If you  were out and about, you were not able to make a call unless you used a pay phone, and if people tried to reach you, they were just out of luck   But, since I was by the old fashioned house phone, Beth called  to ask me to change the water in her fish bowl. 

Previously I have written about how overly dramatic I could be.  Well, I had nothing on Beth.  When I say she asked me to clean her fish bowl, I mean she let me know how desperate the situation was and that the fish would probably die a painful lingering death of fin rot  if I did not clean the bowl and give them pristine, life affirming water.  Oh, and by the way, could you feed them, too?  The idea of taking pity on her or the fish was never an option.  "You can clean it yourself when you get home"  More pleading "But I have a date!  I won't have time!  They're gonna diiiiiieeeee!! And it will be your fault."  Me:  "No."  Her:  "Pleeeease!  They're gonna die!!"  Me: "No.  Clean it yourself"

I am sure this went on for awhile before one or the other of us finally hung up.  About two seconds later, the phone rang.  I knew it was her.  I didn't answer because I was NOT going to clean her damn fish bowl!  It rang, and rang and rang...No answering machines in those days.  No fancy volume controls or cool ringtone.  No, it was a loud, monotonous, persistent sharp bbrriinngggbbbriinngg until you wanted to tear the thing from the wall and shove it into the garbage disposal.   But then I thought, "What if it's Mom or Dad? What if it's an emergency?  What if it's a church member desperately trying to reach the minister?"

So, after fifty-two rings, I answered it.   "Bitch!" loudly emanated from the headset before I even finished saying Hello.  So I hung up and did the only rational thing I could do.  I called Mom at work.  "Beth just called me a bitch".  To this day, I do not know what I expected her to do, but it seemed important to me that my mother know about the great insult to which I had just been subjected!"  Since she was not all that concerned, I made a trip to the Sunday School building and got a Coke for a quarter and came home to nurture my bruised ego.  Actually, I probably would have gone to get a coke no matter what! . 

I think the fish did not die, but they didn't last too long after that, anyway.

Since our track record with pets was not so good, we learned to enjoy other people's pets instead. 


Tomorrow I will tell you about some of the memorable animal encounters while in Jefferson City

A word about lying...

The truth shall set you free; the lantern looking for an honest man; George Washington and the cherry tree...  Telling the "Truth" has become something of great value and personal pride.  But show me a person who says they always tell the truth and I will show you someone who is either lying or has Asperger's Syndrome.

In order to lie, we must have a theory of mind.  That is, you must understand that my mind knows things yours does not.  I tell parents that a child's first lie is a thing to celebrate.  This is  a major developmental milestone.  The child has realized that he or she is a separate individual.  Saying "I ate my broccoli" when the kids knows it is under the napkin or inside of the dog, means they understand that you cannot see inside of their mind.  

Telling kids that they will get in more trouble for lying about what they did than the actual  thing that they did, is simply creating more successful liars.  Kids want to please their parents.  They will lie to avoid getting into trouble and disappointing them.  Sure, the don't want to lose their DS for the day, but disappointing their parents holds more weight.  Most parents try to get kids to tell the truth by trapping them.  They ask "Did you brush you teeth?" knowing that the kids toothbrush has dust and cobwebs growing on it.  The kid doesn't want to stop watching Cartoon Network so will say that they did.  The parent will yell at them for not bushing their teeth and for lying about it.  Rather than break down and confess, the kid will dig in their heels and go for broke.  What the kid learns is , they have to be sneakier in how they concoct their story. 

Parents:  If you know the answer to the question, just make a statement.  "Please go brush you teeth". Don't set the kid up to lie because you will be disappointed and think you are raising the next Tony Soprano.

Also, for teenagers, the opposite of lying is not being truthful. The opposite of lying is arguing. Kids will lie to avoid arguing.  The answer to the question "Will an adult chaperone be involve?" is almost always "Yes" because kids don't want to argue about why they should be able to go to the party even if there is no chaperone.

All this to say that,  yes.   Yes, I did put the hole in the ceiling of the parsonage.  I did not tell the truth because a) I didn't want to admit that I was so stupid and b) I did not want to argue about consequence.  My sister was on the color guard in the band one year.  She was a flag girl and learned to twirl and manipulate the long flag poles..  I though they were cool and, since I was in the orchestra (you can't march with a cello), I just thought I'd try it out right there in the hall where she left it.  Physic and spatial relations require math and I chose not to waste precious neurons on math.  So I did not bother to calculate how far the flag pole would reach as I launched it over my head. Hello ceiling.  This is flag pole.  Oops. 

The other thing to know about lying, is that it is extremely easy to make eye contact if you are really determined to make the lie stick.  Why the idea that liars don't make eye contact has made its way into common wisdom is beyond me.  It's sort of like trickle down economics or standardized testing  as a way to tell how well kids are doing.  Someone just decided it sounded good and no one questioned it. (Some things then become political lies, and political lies are a whole other category)

I would like to believe that no one ever asked me about the hole in the ceiling.  I would like to believe that I just made a sin of omission rather than commission.  However, I am pretty sure I remember my mom asking me about the hole and looking her directly in the eye with a straight face and saying no...and possibly blaming it on Billy, although I think everyone just assumed he must have done it because it would have been typical of him.  I apologize to Billy's memory, although I'm pretty sure he would not have cared if he was blamed.

One thing I can honestly say is that, while in high school I never got drunk or used any substances. I did not go all the way with a boy till much later, either. One of the kids I used to work with told me he thought I was the kind of girl who lost her virginity on prom night her senior year.  I assure that that this is not true since my senior prom date preferred a different body type, if you know what I mean...I left high school with my honor intact.

 And, to this day, I have never smoked a tobacco cigarette.  Although, I did smoke a cigar once at a poker game in college,.  Does that count?

You can go home again...if your old house is a thrift store!


While I was preparing to graduate from High School and go off to college, the rest of my family was preparing to move to St. Charles, Missouri (Suburban St. Louis) so my dad could be the executive director (head honcho, big kahuna, the boss) of the Children's home we left those 7 years back.    I knew they would not be in the parsonage after I moved to Kansas City.   I knew that I would not be coming back to Jefferson City  when I came home for breaks. I knew that the house they moved into would never be "home" for me.  I knew that, in the days before Facebook and unlimited texting, it would be hard to the point of impossible to remain in touch with friends.  The pictures we exchange and the sentiments I wrote  on the back had a poignancy and desperation that surpassed those of my friends (at least in my mind)

I was voted "most dramatic" by my classmates.  While part of the reason was the obvious-being in so many plays.  .But, it was also obvious to anyone with eyes, that I had (had?) a tendency to over dramatize thing.   So little things took on much greater significance and meaning.  I cried Like crazy over everything.  Every tradition, every ending, every goodbye, every filled moving box and empty shelf.   There are some people to whom I said goodbye for the very last time.  My violinist friend Susan, my first crush, Nick, my singing buddy, Cindy.  Those are people I have not seen since, even on Facebook. 

I went to college, made new good friends, went to Grad school, got married...You get the picture.  Friends I have now are just as dear, but their is something about those High School friends...  I consider the parsonage the house where I grew up.  It's where I came of age and hit all those significant milestones.  First dates, first kiss, first heartbreak, first triumphs...

My Dad retired and left the house in St. Charles.  I have lots of good memories there. too.  I even had my Wedding Rehearsal Dinner in that house!  But while I loved it, it was never home.  It was always my Mom and Dad's house.  They now live in a tiny town call Mt. Sterling.  St. Charles was not that far from Jeff City, but Mt. Sterling is a mere 30 minutes, and a trip to the movies or the mall, or the GW (Goodwill) are not a big deal.  Jefferson City has grown a lot.  The northern part of town has a Panera, and Barnes and Nobel.  Arris's Pizza is still the best in town, but now they have a fancy bistro rather than a hole-in-the-wall joint.

The parson had some changes right out of the gate.  New carpet, forced air heat (no more radiators!) and central air.  The new minister moved out of the parsonage, and it quit being a parsonage and served, for a time, as a group home for developmentally delayed adults. I'm sure there are other up grades, too.  Maybe a real built-in dishwasher instead of the portable model we used.  Or maybe even better plumbing...

My sister now lives in New Jersey, so times where we are together are rare.  But two summers ago, we planned  a "girl's outing" in Arrow Rock, Missouri.  We met up in Mount Sterling and had a few days before our scheduled trip.  We went antiquing and to the creek (more on that in another blog), and , of course, went to Jeff for a day.  We went shopping and had lunch, made a trip to Central Dairy(of course!)  and drove by the parsonage.  We were excitedly reminiscing and taking pictures, when a lady came by and asked if she could help us.  When we told her we used to live in the parsonage, she said, "Well! Come on in!  We are closed today, but I will open it up for you!" .

What was she talking about, you may ask.  Well the parsonage  is now a thrift store benefitting a private parochial school!  It is all set up with clothing displays, furniture, knick knacks...You know, thrift store stuff.  We entered the parsonage, our old home, for the first time in over thirty years and the memories poured in.

 Here is the entry hall where I put a hole in the ceiling with one of my sister's color guard flags.  I didn't tell anyone, and Billy ended up taking the blame.  Here was the dining room where my sister used to do her homework.  She always pushed back the tablecloth that covered the big dining room table.  Drove my mom nuts.  Here's the living room where we had the piano.  I used to sit and pound out song melodies and sing along for hours.  Drove my mom AND my sister nuts.  Here's the downstairs powder room where Beth used to practice her flute in the morning.  It still has the exact same wall paper!  We went through each room and talked about all the different aspects of the house.  The kitchen is a private administrative area, but we went in there, too.  We didn't go in the stinky basement and the back staircase is blocked off, but we went upstairs to marvel at how small our bedrooms had gotten over the years.  How could Paul's tiny room curse have been transferred to ALL of us!

The thrift store staff was having a meeting, and they all said how much fun it was to hear stories and think about someone actually living in the house.  Now, whenever I go to Jefferson city,  we head to the parsonage thrift store.  The cashiers always ask us if we have ever been there before.  When I tell the, "Yes.  I used to live here."  they usually think I mean that I used to live in Jefferson City.  I say, "I mean I used to live here" I point down at the floor, "Her in this house"  I can watch their eyes start to get it and the say "Oh!  People come in here all the time and say they used to spend the night in this house, or come to parties in this house!  They must be talking about YOU! 

I have taken lots of pictures in the house and , of course, we took pictures in front of the window! 

I don't always look this horrendous, but it's hard to take a good picture when you are overcome with nostalgia, joy, sadness and million of happy memories! 

 

Long live the parsonage, and visit if you're ever in Jefferson City.  Just be aware, Closed on Wednesday!

Window

One of the best features of the parsonage was the leaded glass window.  I have seen lots of houses with stained glass and leaded glass windows, but I am not that many of them have a big round window like the one in the parsonage.

It was a fairly large  window with a fleur-de-lis in the middle.  It was at the bottom of the stairs and made a perfect photo op.  I have more pictures of that window and those stairs than of any place else in that house.  So today, I am doing a photo gallery of picture of that window and the boys who took me to big events!

Enjoy!

This is homecoming my freshman year with Tom.  One and only time we went on a date.  Nice guy, but no love connection.  Tom recently made the recording of Capital Caroling digital for me.  Maybe I will figure out a way to share it!  Tom is the best!

 This is my sophomore year prom. This is a pretty good shot of the window because you can see the colors. My mom had a giant terrarium on the window sill that was there the whole time.  This is Dan who I had a MAJOR crush on.  I think I like Harry Potter because he reminds me a little of Dan.












This is Beth's graduation later that same spring.  Another good shot of the window with my brother trying to give bunny ears but, even on the steps he couldn't do it!














This is Jere.  One of my all time best friends, who came home from college in Springfield, Mo to go to homecoming with me. You will hear more about Jere in future posts!

This is Jere. too. Home again to be my prom date.  My mom made this dress.  This a better picture of the terrarium than the window.  By the way, Jere is the only person who got to pose by the window on more than one occasion!

This is Kent. He counts as one of my true boyfriends. Good view of the window with Christmas décor. 

 
This is from homecoming with Kent, as well.  He gave ne that doll as a homecoming present. 

This is Senior prom.  I broke up with Kent in March like a dummy so went with m friend Brian.  Mom made that dress , too!  It was beautiful  Two other girls had dresses made from that same pattern, but mine was the prettiest because of the great fabric!

 

So that is the window and a glimpse of me through the years. If we had remained in that house, I am sure we would have had wedding pictures there, too. And I am guessing the terrarium would still be there!

Piggy Pate' and the Polyester  Purple Pantsuit


The rest of the year with Ms. Piggy seemed to get more and more contentious, but the worst conflict yet was regarding yearbook pictures.  I was, I don't remember how or why, the announcement reader.  Every morning, I went to the office at the beginning of second period to read the announcements over the intercom.  Sometimes I did "specials" which were mini advertisements for the new edition of the school newspaper, or the opening of the plays.  ( My friend Cindy and I got in trouble for some semi-off-color jokes a couple of times, but that another story...)

One day, I saw an announcement for drama club yearbook  photos after school.  Since there was an operetta rehearsal after school, I  figured this was an attempt by Miss Piggy to keep me and the other operetta cast members out of the picture.  I also felt as if setting up yearbook pics was my job as president and that I, at least, should have been told that it was happening.  Thinking about this now, I feel I was clueless, a little arrogant and overstepping my place as a student.  But, at the time. I felt perfectly within my rights to refuse to read the announcement until I had some clarity. 

What I remember about the aftermath is probably  skewed, but, somehow, I  ended up being called in to talk to Ms. Piggy and the other drama club sponsor.  I had an okay relationship with her, although  fraught with exasperation on her part.  She was angry and made the point that she had already set up the pictures and talked to Mr. Burkel to have permission for operetta people to be late.  She was understandably mad and was setting appropriate limits.  But Ms. Piggy made it personal and told me I was not special and that I had always acted too big for my britches.  I think she took out all her frustration with the whole program on me and it felt as if her goal was to break me and "put me in my place". 

Since then, I have had encounters with people who wanted me to feel small or who wanted me to grovel, and although upsetting, I am able to understand and manage such things.   But, as a kid who really felt pretty small and insignificant already, it was very puzzling and devastating.  I think that other kids in high school must have thought that  I had a lot of confidence.  When I look at pictures of myself from that time, I can see that I was pretty beautiful.  I see that I was very visible in school and successful in things like getting into plays or having solos in choir, but honestly, I was always surprised when those things happened.  I didn't see myself as one of the popular kids or as particularly cute.  When Ms. Piggy read me the riot act, it hit on all my worst feeling about myself.

I actually really wanted to write about this, even though I know it is not a funny, light hearted story.  I actually had a hard time remembering this incident, and a difficult time admitting my responsibility for all that happened with Ms.  Piggy.  I had my own "mean girl" moments with Ms. Piggy and wish I had been able to have things be different with her.  BUT, Ms. Piggy handled things poorly, too, and she was an adult. 

That day I went to rehearsal and used my feeling and emotions in my scene where I had to tell my father (Tevye) that I did not want to marry the matchmakers choice for me.  I cried for real and think I freaked Robert (Tevye) out a little.  But it ended up being a really good scene, and I thought about having Ms. Piggy come to chew me out and say mean thing every day before that scene!  No, not really.  If I were a better actor, I would have been able to conjure up those feelings on my own! 

Do you know, that after all that, I still tried out for the Spring play and was surprised that I didn't get in?  Duh!  I wasn't sure what I would do with myself without play rehearsals, but I think I had a pretty good time just hanging out with my friends and (gasp) getting homework completed!


There is one more chapter to the Ms. Piggy story.  Ms.  Piggy, whose last name also started with a P and sounded something like goose liver pate', had the unfortunate habit of wearing a purple pantsuit.  Not a good look...Every year, we had a drama club  awards banquet.  We had nominees ala the Oscars and the drama club voted for their choices for thing like best actor and best student director.  Part of the banquet was a student written skit which was a mash-up of all the years plays. I think we named it something like, the case of the purple pantsuit and made some not to subtle digs about Ms. Piggy.

Now, I think that would be a great title for a short story Piggy Pate and the Polyester Purple Pantsuit...

Fiddler on the Roof

The operetta my senior year was Fiddler on the Roof.  I dreamt about being in the operetta like other kids thought of prom or maybe playing the big football  game. I had journal entries from my freshman year expressing the angst I felt when contemplating not getting into the operetta my senior year!  Somehow, it never occurred to me that anything but more talented students would keep me from getting a part.  I thought hard work would be everything I needed.  Now, I felt a threat from within the judging panel itself!   Never mind that I was pretty sure that the rest of the judges would judge me purely on whether or not I could carry the part!  I just didn't know how much weight each judge carried and what clout Miss Piggy had in swaying the other judges opinion!. 

I'm pretty sure Mr. Burkel picked the shows for operetta based on talent pool.  I think he picked Fiddler for the quantity of good female roles since we had so many talented girls that year and barring a bomb of an audition or a broken leg, he probably had a good idea of who would get cast.  But for an 18 year od with esteem issues, it was a much bigger mystery! 

Miss Piggy was always a surprise to me.  I had not really had issues with a teachers in High School.  Even the Phys. Ed teacher liked me, and it was not because of my great athletic ability!  I'm sure that I was annoying and a little demanding, but basically, I was a good kid who was happy to please adults.  I just couldn't please Ms. Piggy.

I did get a good part in the operetta, despite Ms. Piggy's efforts to keep me out.  I should not have been privvy to certain information about the selection process, but it has been 33 years, and some of the key players aren't even around any more, so I am telling what I know/knew.  (I feel scandalous!)

I guess, Ms. Piggy told the other judges that they should not consider giving me a part, because I would probably be unavailable for rehearsals  due to over-involvement.  She then, unwittingly, listed church choir, orchestra, Jefferson City Symphony and probably something else she thought equally as damning.  Unfortunately, Ms. Piggy had not done her homework. She did not realize that the other judges were also involved in those things.  They had known me since 5th grade, knew my dad, and knew that responsibility to those organizations was a priority.  The 2nd/3rd hand story is that Mr. Burkel said to Ms. Piggy, "Miss Baur has been a responsible member of those organizations for years, and she has never allowed her involvement to interfere with participating in school activities"... Or something like that... Rather than ensuring that I did not get a role, she probably solidified it.

I do not want to give the impression that my involvement in Fiddler was just a way to thumb my nose in the face of Ms. Piggy by getting a part.  Contrary.  Being in the operetta was the high point of my senior year if not most of High School.  Rivaled only by having a solo at Capital Caroling, the operetta was everything I had thought about for the last four years.  I got to hang with my friends. I got to sing.  I got to be part of the lead group and feel special.  I got to flirt with the guys and make new friendships with people I thought were too cool to hang with me.  It was just icing to hear Ms. Piggy mispronounce my character's name in front of the whole cast...

Now that I am an adult and have the opportunity to understand her side of the situation, I can see why I was such a thorn in her side.  At our initial meeting, my agenda was to tell her how to run her program.  I wanted her to do things they way (in my mind) they had always been done.  I was bossy and probably seemed entitled to her.  I would have been amusing to an older, more confident, more seasoned teacher.

As a Play Therapist, I have to set limits on kids behavior.  The way to set limits is called  ACT.  I always call it the ACT formula as if it is a Fluoride rinse.  It is, though, equally as effective so, I think that is okay!  ACT stands for Acknowledge the feeling or intention, Communicate the limit, and Target an acceptable alternative. In setting limits with kids, it would look something like this:  "Eli, I know you like to play "cowboy"[acknowledge the intention], but the dog is not for riding like a horse [communicate the limit].  Maybe you could ask Daddy to be your horse". [target the alternative}.  If I was to go back to that first meeting with Ms. Piggy, I would use the ACT method to communicate.  "Ms. Piggy, " (always use the name to ensure they know you are talking to them), "I know how hard it is to be a new teacher, and I am sure you have lots of plans for this year.  However, I am only here for one more year, and I have been looking forward to this year since I was a freshman.  Maybe we can collaborate to keep the old traditions, and blend in some of your new ideas."

Alternatively,  Ms. Piggy could have said, "I imagine that it must be very hard to lose your drama teachers your senior year and I know how important your traditions have become to you.  But since I am here now,  I would love to start some new traditions and share my ideas for the program.  Maybe we could collaborate to come up with some cool ideas."  That's what she could have said and the year would have gone much smoother.

There is more to say about  both Ms. Piggy and about Fiddle on the Roof.  But that's enough for today!

Operettas

The first Operetta I saw was South Pacific.  I was in 7th grade, and the kids all looked so sophisticated to me.  I think my sister must have been playing flute in the pit., and, although I didn't  know him yet, my future friend, Ray/Eeyore, was one of the French children. 

Mr. Burkel was basically the producer/director of the production, with assistance from the drama teachers and the orchestra director.  This, along with Capitol Caroling was his big achievement for the year.  He knew his talent pool, and picked his show accordingly.  I'm pretty sure he picked South Pacific for the girl who played Bloody Mary because she was amazing,  though, to me, all the kids were as good as professionals! (Stage struck!)

The next year, the show was Music Man.  I actually did know some of the kids who were in the band Harold Hill puts together.  And the following year, I was a freshman!

 We did Camelot and I tried out, of course, but since  so did every other drama/choir geek, my chances were pretty much zero.  My sister got the part of Moran Le Fay and I got to play in the pit orchestra.  A word about the pit;  I don't remember any way to get in the pit besides just crawling down the sides.  Over the years, I came to know that many orchestra pits have alternative methods of entry.  At The University of Missouri in Kansas City, where I when to college, the pit was part of the stage when not in use.  During shows, the motorized floor would lower.  The best use of that pit was during accordion concerts.  UMKC was one of the only places where you could get a degree in accordion.  When the accordion orchestra had concerts, they would start off with the pit lowered.  The musicians would start playing, and, as if ascending from Hell, the whole accordion program would emerge.  This really was something to behold!  Here is a link to a youtube of them:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wfx49D_cflc

I remember spending much of my time in the pit attempting so see the show from my really crappy vantage point.  This was especially problematic when I rubbernecked while trying to play!  Intonation be damned, I want to watch the show!  My mom made that Morgan  Le Fay Costume and it got worn for many a Halloween concerts while I was at UMKC.

My sophomore year we did Annie Get Your Gun.  I was pretty sure I would get a part when my Orchestra teacher asked me if I would rather have a  small part on stage or play in the orchestra.  I am sure I disappointed him when I didn't even think about it  and just screamed "Stage!"  So when the cast list came out, I was not that surprised to see my name on it as one of Annie's little sisters.  This was especially apropos since Beth was Annie.  We,were playing a back woods family, so Beths first appearance on stage, was in a gunny sack dress.  Lovely!

 In one scene we were traveling on a ship with Buffalo Bill's Wild West show One of Annie sister's had a line  about playing with the rats below deck.  In another scene, for some reason, my character was not mentioned in the libretto, even though the other sisters were.  During long off-stage breaks, sometimes we would head to Central Dairy.  Since I wasn't in that scene and had awhile until my next appearance, I figured I was due for a junior delight sundae and headed out to Central Dairy.  When I got back, Mr. Bukel said sternly "Miss Baur, you missed your scene."  I was surprised and said, "But I'm not in that scene in the libretto!"  he said, "Well, why not?  Where else would you be?"  And I replied, not even trying to be snarky, "I guess I'm downstairs playing with the rats."  He turned away for a moment, and, at the time, I thought he was angry.   In hindsight, I think he was trying to keep a straight face.  He turned back and said, "Well, I  think you should be in that scene".  Although I was always glad to have more stage time, I did miss my Central Dairy breaks!

The next year we did the  Sound of Music.  I was cast as one of the nuns, and got to sing a little one line solo.  The other nuns and I tried to find the most risqué thing we could to wear under our habits. The other girls always out did me because, the only underwear I had was one step away from granny panties.  I think I borrowed a tee shirt from a friend that said "Bitch" on it and I wore that 'cause I figured that was pretty irreverent for a nun!

That brings us to senior year.  Ms.Piggy (the new drama teacher, not the Muppet) figures in this episode, so I will save it for next time!

Senior serious drama

The saintly, patient drama teachers left the school after my junior year.  I take direct responsibility and blame... No, of course, they needed to move on.  They were a young hip couple who probably found greener pastures.    As the president of the Drama Club (go figure), my goal was to continue to have traditions remain, at least during my tenure!  I asked the new Drama teacher and her assistant to
lunch with myself and the other drama club officers.  I won't mention names here, but the new Drama teacher's name rhymed with Piggy, so I will refer to her as Piggy for purposes of this  blog. 

If you are a teacher and you have a new position replacing a popular teacher, take some advice.  Do not disparage the previous teacher.  Do not change popular traditions, at least not at first.  Get the newer kids on board with your agenda, but please do not get rid of the old guard.  They will graduate soon enough and old traditions will be forgotten.

Miss Piggy did not have such sage advice to follow.  The assistant sponsor was an English Teacher and seemed a tad more savvy.  I did not ingratiate myself with either at the luncheon.  But they, especially Miss Piggy didn't sit well with me, either.  Fasten your seat belts. We're in for a bumpy Senior year!

The Fall play went okay.  We did Cheaper by the Dozen and I actually did not play a maid. We had a good time, and I even hosted the cast party at the parsonage!

Me, my boyfriend, Kent ( who played my brother in the play (eww), and my best friend Cindy in the dining room at the parsonage. See the pocket door behind me?  Love those!

 

 

 

 

 

The problems with Miss Piggy started at Homecoming.  Each club/organization was supposed to put together a float for the Homecoming parade.  Floats take time, and even though I was president, putting together  float was not on my agenda.  I couldn't even ride on it since I had to march with the Jayettes, which was our pep club with uniforms and everything,  The sponsor, who was the PE teacher, liked me for some reason, and I didn't want to tick her off.  Somehow, even though we had meetings about the float and even had a float committee, since I was busy and couldn't attend the actual creation process more than a few times, I took  heat from Miss Piggy for not being involved enough.  The float never got made and just a handful of kids dressed in costumes, carried  banner and marched. 

 

I probably was a terrible president, but it didn't help that the teacher/sponsors were new and couldn't guide me.  I actually take responsibility for many thing, and am aware of my mistakes, but in this case, an adult has culpability for making a relationship with an 18 year old work more smoothly.  That's how I roll now when working with teens,  and I think Miss Piggy could have been A LOT more sensitive. 

 

I think this is a good place to leave you hanging!  Next stop, the operettas... 

 

 

 

Sophomore and Junior Drama

I got some pretty good parts my Sophomore year.  We did She Stoops to Conquer in the Fall, and Beth had the lead (of course).  I got to play the maid.  Hey, wait a minute!  Not so great a part!  Beth took acting seriously.  I wanted to be I plays because we got to mess around and have fun between scenes.  At that stage of the drama game, I was more interested in who was also off stage at the same time. But, I got to use a fake British accent in that show. I had my friend, Christopher Robin...er,  Martin, give me some lessons.  For Evening of drama, I was in Animal Farm and my character was described as a stocky and Matronly.  That was an esteem builder!  I did get to sing, though and that was fun.  Spring play was The Miracle Worker, and Beth was...not in it!  Oh the agony for a budding actor!  I was the old maid aunt and had to wear ugly aging makeup.  More esteem building...

My sister took acting seriously.  She was an artist and being in the plays for her was honing her craft.  For me, it was a way to stay connected with my friends and stay in the public eye! Plus, the smartest, funniest, most creative people I knew were all in drama.  The little theater became  hangout spot.  I even used to sneak down during school because it had a private bathroom I could use.  The girls restroom during breaks, was no place to go if you had to pee!  All the tough girls hung out there and smoked and called "redneck" and "Dork" and worse!  

Beth made up for not getting a part by being a student director.  She actually understood her role and took it seriously.  I didn't get into the fall play my junior year, so did a stint at student directing myself.  The drama teachers must have been saints because, once again they had to put up with my cluelessness! 

The high point of junior year was a play called The Real Inspector Hound. First off, I had a wacky role and actually had a lot of fun.  Secondly, all my best friends were in it, and lastly it's went I started dating my one true high school boyfriend, Kent.  So I managed to combine three of my main reasons for being in high school to that one play! 

Another thing I liked about the Little Theater, was the dressing rooms.  There was an open make-up area and then private dressing rooms for boys and girls.  The one and only time I ever watched the show Dallas, was the "who shot JR" episode.   I don't remember what play that was, but one of the guys had a little black and white tv in the boys dressing room.  Some yelled, "It's on!" , and everyone crammed into the boys dressing room, in various stages of undress, to see who shot JR. 

Martin and I goofing around in the makeup room.  I was the maid (again!   Type casting?) and he was the debonair Inspector or something like that...

 

Stephanie and Phil (doing his Rex Reed impersonation) in costume.

 

Which brings me to my senior year. I'll save that for later