The Side of the Cereal Box

This week is just oozing culture.    Saturday is the “American Voices” concert (which I’m performing in) at the IMA; tonight, I’m going to see an old friend perform in an IU production of Shakespeare’s “Measure for Measure”, and last night, I went to see the Pike High School production of “Aida” (the Tim Rice & Elton John version - not the opera ).

It was good.  There were many powerfully moving moments (the closer of Act I was astonishing), and the female lead was exceptional.  Her voice is still young, but there is great potential.  Give her a couple of years and the proper training, and I could totally see her on Broadway.  She’s really that good.  (And for a hard-nosed critic like me, that’s saying something!)  Another stand-out performer was a freshman in the role of Mereb.  His comedic timing was just perfect, and he used his speaking voice very well on stage.  Because of his youth, his singing needed a volume boost, but he clearly gave it all he had, singing with his whole body, and it was wonderful to watch.

Now, I went because a young man I’ve known since he was 1 year old (J) was in the chorus.  One woman, I’m told, remarked that he was the most Aryan-looking Egyptian she’d ever seen - milky-skinned white boy with a head of thick, curly blonde hair. lol   Another apparently remarked that he looked like a Greek god in his officer uniform, which was a good description.  The boy’s a runner, so he’s got nicely-toned muscles, and their “uniforms” were Roman-esque (in my opinion).  He did a good job in his role.   I was standing talking with him afterwards when a couple came by and said, “You’re the mean one, right?” lol  (He was the soldier guarding the captain who threw him into his prison cell near the end.  It was quite a believable shove to the ground. )

But although that’s why I went, I ended up having running into several other people quite unexpectedly.  Two girls I’ve also known since they were quite young (saw the younger one take her first steps - she’s in high school now) were both there, sitting only a couple seats away from me.  Back one row from them and little further over was the accompanist from my old high school.  (I’d forgotten that her husband works at Pike.)  But the biggest shock of all came as I was reading the performer bios.

I’d already scanned the names to see if I might (on some off chance) recognize someone, but nobody stood out at the time.  As I read the bio for the lead male, I recognized his parents’ names… then his name.  It was a boy I used to babysit, but I hadn’t seen him since he was probably four years old!  He’s a SENIOR now!  Can you believe that?!  I had a chance to talk to his mom and dad, but I chose not to go up and talk to him and creep him out.   My mom used to do that on occasion, “Hey, this is So-and-so, she used to babysit for you!”  I’d just smile and nod politely.  What did I have to say to them?  Sorry if I ever threw a tantrum about going to bed?  It’s awkward when you’re older and all of a sudden confronted with someone who still smiles at you fondly as though you hadn’t aged a day.  It’s weird when people give you a four-year-old smile when you’re eighteen.  So I gave the poor kid space.   But it was fun to see how’s he grown and where his interests lie now.  (Like most kids who get sucked into the performing arts program at Pike, he now has dreams of Broadway. *sigh*  Poor thing.)

But it was a most enjoyable evening, and I’m glad that J invited me.  He’s never made it a point to invite anyone to his choir competitions or orchestra concerts or anything before, so I took this opportunity to show him my support.  I’ve been privileged to watch this one grow up (and even have a meager hand in it), and I will continue to enjoy seeing him grow - in strength, in faith, in passion and discipline - for years to come.

What is it about human nature that makes us rise up against “slander” to defend ourselves?  Everybody gets talked badly about at some point; everyone probably talks badly about someone else, too, but we rarely get offended until the target is us.  Then we feel the need to “set people to rights”, explain, or make excuses.  Are we concerned about what the offender thinks or what the people listening now think?

For my part, I’ll admit that I’m more concerned about what other people will think of me.  I don’t want people who don’t know me, or who hardly know me, basing their opinion of me on faulty (or incomplete) information from someone else (carrying a grudge - real or misguided).  I used to cringe when my family would take jabs at me in front of people I went to college with (friends or professors).  The person they heard about was not the person they knew.  (Personally, I think it’s harder for family members to accept/believe that a person has changed than it is for their friends.)  And it’s worse when people have disagreements and speak from the standpoint of a broken relationship.

Today I encountered some such “misinformation”.  And I’ll be honest: I wanted to lash out angrily or at least “cop a ‘tude” and “set the record straight”.  My mind raced with evidence I had to prove my point and justify myself.  …But I let it go, for two reasons.  The first is simple and probably stupid, but the second makes me glad for the first.  The first reason is that this other person has requested no contact from me.  It may be extreme, and I may be unruly stubborn for sticking to it, but… I’m honoring that request.

The second reason is that I was reminded of Mary (the sister of Lazarus, “whom Jesus had raised from the dead” ).  We did a study at church a little while back about Bethany and the stories and characters associated with it in the Bible.  We all know the famous story of Martha’s complaining to Jesus about Mary, but there is another instance of Mary being “attacked” for her actions (that of Judas and the annointing of Jesus by Mary).  In both instances, Mary remained silent and Jesus stood up for her.  He was her defender.  I remember how that stuck me when we read through our study (even though it wasn’t the main focus), and it’s an attitude I think I ought to be striving for: not worrying about what others think of me, so long as God is pleased.

Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done.

Yes, it has been a while.  So long, in fact, that I don’t know who reads this blog anymore… if anyone reads it anymore.  Perhaps that’s just as well.

Today, I have a story to tell.

Once upon a time, I had a friend. 

We were the best of friends.  We did everything that friends do.  We shared our lives, every last bit.

Years passed.  Crap happened.  Lies defended, lies uncovered.  Secret struggles: questioned, accepted.  Submission, rebellion.  Mistakes, forgiveness; mistakes…

…unforgiveness.

Masks, tension, paranoia, ignorance, rise and fall.

End.

Today is the end.  …But it hasn’t really hit me yet.

…is the Beethoven festival with the ISO.   All through January, the ISO will be performing various works of Beethoven including the 5th & 7th Symphonies and one of the violin concertos, plus chamber music concerts, a film, and luncheon/lectures.   I wanna go to all of it!!!

But even the “cheap seats” will bring the total around $150.  (But that’s including 3 major concerts and 4 smaller ones, as well as the incidentals mentioned above.)  Anybody wondering what to get me?  There ya go.  Beethoven.

Ever since Steve Irwin’s death, Animal Planet has been showing as many Crocodile Hunter shows and specials as they can, and yesterday I found myself stopping on one for a while.

A team from the Australia Zoo along with some men from the Army were working on getting a croc moved to safety. She had been living in deplorable conditions: the pond she was living in was so filled with trash and carcasses and utter filth that she couldn’t even fully submerge under the water. She was teased and taunted by neighborhood kids for years. And she suffered not only the physical effects of this way of living, but the psychological effects, too.

And all these guys risked their lives to go in, grab her, haul her to the ocean where they could clean her up, get rid of the disease and filth, check her for injuries, and basically assess her needs, and then take her back to a new, clean enclosure at the zoo where she would be able to properly submerge and be taken care of.

And I found tears coming to my eyes as I thought, “Why don’t we do this for each other? For people?”

There are people out there living in deplorable conditions, in filth - both literal and figurative, who are suffering both physically and psychologically from surroundings they can’t escape from on their own. And going in after them might be dangerous, but they need help or else they’ll die that way. We should be the ones going in there, pulling them to safety, soothing their hurts, and offfering them hope for a better life. We should be the ones taking care of them, continuing to take care of them after their intitial rescue. That croc wouldn’t have survived if they had just pulled her out, cleaned her up, and then let her loose in the wild. She had scars that ran deeper than the surface, that needed prolonged care. And the folks at Australia Zoo will be taking care of her for the rest of her life. That’s how we should be.

And it especially hit me when Steve, the last one in the enclosure, encouraging the croc to go on into her new home, said (narrating), “I’ll protect her with my life, with my body, with everything I have. I love her.”

An example to live by.

Well, I’m a day later putting it up than I’d hoped, but even yesterday would have been late, so… here goes nothin’.

“We Will Never Forget: 9/11″

And the world stood in stunned silence
as no one dared to breathe
The loss was opressive
the terror, real
the heartbreak, supreme
Whispers carried news on the wing to a disbelieving nation
They flocked to their radios, TVs, and computers for information
but found no reason
They turned to each other, and found little comfort
They looked to God, and were ashamed
they had forgotten Him,
but He remembered them,
He was waiting,
He was willing,
He was there before it,
He went through it,
And He will still be here when they forget again,
…waiting for them to remember.

Written 3/25/2002 @ 12:05am

It’s been 5 years since that dreaded day, and of course, once more (as on every anniversary since then), I’m remembered “where I was” that day. Here’s my story; feel free to share yours:

I had class first thing that morning (music major at ISU). My usual routine was to get up early and get ready quietly (since my roommates, inevitably, did not have class as early as I did). So I hadn’t had the TV or even a radio on all morning.

I was sitting in FA 309 with a few other students, waiting for class to start when the off-campus students started trickling in with news:

“Have you guys heard about the World Trade Center?”

“What?”

“I heard on the radio that a plane hit the World Trade Center.”

“I heard a plane hit the Pentagon.”

Amidst our confusion, our teacher entered, ignored all the import of the news, and conducted class as usual.

My next class was (MIDI basics) was in a computer lab, so I (along with several of my classmates) rushed downstairs to check the internet for news before class started. I hopped onto MSN.com and saw a story that only increased my confusion: the WTC had, indeed, been hit by a plane, and one of the towers had collapsed. What?

As before, our teacher ignored the shocking news break and went on with class as usual. (Can you believe it?!)

After class, with no recital scheduled that day, I began walking back to my dorm room, but saw a crowd of people pushing their way into the campus computer lab, and decided to see what was going on. Their eyes were glued to a TV mounted in the corner of the lounge area. It was showing footage of the tower collapsing. …Make that the second tower collapsing. It had happened just minutes before.

I had never heard the campus so quiet, or felt it so tense. The students were shocked, dazed, afraid, confused. It seemed impossible to be seeing what we were seeing unfold. When I returned to my dorm, I found the floor eerily silent except for the buzz of news coverage - every TV on the floor was on and every door was open. Every room I walked by, the girls were sitting on their beds, hands to their mouths, staring at the TV screen, eyes wide with disbelief. My roommate (who was from Japan) was just gathering up to rush to class; she, too, had been caught up in the horrific story and could manage no more than a “hi” as she handed me the remote, a figurative baton in a gruesome marathon of terror. I sat for a long while watching the coverage, though not much “new” news was being covered (apart from the sickeningly stupid gas price jump - which freaked out all those “away from home” students in the dorms). After a while, I began to hear conversations floating down the halls as girls began calling their families, some just to “check in” (desperate to feel connected during a rather frightening ordeal) and some to honestly see if their loved ones were still alive (some girls had friends or family members going to, coming back from, or in and around New York at the time - especially fathers, away on business). I called my dad to “check in”. It was a quiet conversation with many pauses. Neither of us really had anything to say. It was just that “connection” thing.

No one I know was hurt or had any loved ones hurt or killed in the attacks. But the campus was in a daze for a long while after that. I remember picking up a copy of the Statesman the next day (which I still have); it was chock full of stories and interviews, poetry and artwork, and on the back, an American flag. These flags were displayed in nearly every window of every dorm on campus for the rest of the year. The flag became the new and unofficial symbol of 9/11 - a reminder that “freedom don’t come free”, a symbol of sacrifice, courage, valor, honor, hope and sorrow mingled. The passion and fire of the American spirit came alive again that day, a phoenix rising from the ashes of 220-stories-worth of rubble and countless international lives. (It’s important not to forget that either.) The rage we felt as a nation was fueled into music, art, and action. It was, and still is, an amazing thing to witness.

If I can find it this evening, I’ll post the poem I wrote after 9/11.

Well, I’ve been a homeowner for a month.

…Wild, isn’t it?

Minnie’s adjusted alright. She’s actually quite calm when I’m the only one around. And so far she hasn’t chewd up anything she’s not supposed to while I’ve been at work. (One exception: she got into the trash - prior to when I had a trash can - and licked the chocolate off all the candy wrappers that were in there.) She’s been very good about staying in the yard (so long as we’re out back), but I have to pick her up to get her back in the house (she doesn’t like the stairs).

I’m planning on having a “housewarming party” (of sorts) sometime soon so that I can invite my neighbors over and get to know them better. I’ve talked briefly with a few of them, but it would be nice to be on more than “nod-hello” terms. It also looks like I’ll be having church at my house this Sunday for the first time. (I think they’re mostly coming because Yats is nearby!) I think I’ve got enough chairs, but I don’t really have any toys for the kids (who will probably be constrained to my bedroom as a playroom). What I really wish is that I could get lights and wall art hung before Sunday. That way there wouldn’t be wires dangling from the ceiling, boxed lamps on the floor, and Target bags leaned up against the wall. It’d be nice to have end tables, too… Hm.

I get the distinct impression that I’m never going to be “done” with my house…