Baby It's Crazy Outside

"Words, too, have genuine substance - mass and weight and specific gravity." - Tim O'Brien, from the novel “Tomcat in Love.”

Words are my jam. Putting the right ones together doesn't always happen, but it's always my goal. Just as anything that has substance, they can be used in very different ways. The same words can offend one person, comfort another, or not matter at all to someone else. Some words are sent skyward or into the universe in the form of prayer, and those words vary a great deal in what they mean to each of us. That is why freedom of speech, the press, and religion came first in the Bill of Rights in the Constitution. After "We the people" and all the articles dealing with money, taxes, Congress, etc. the founding fathers thought to add a few other bits concerning citizens and it seems to me that the main concern was how we get to express ourselves.

So, free speech, yes, that means we can falsely yell "MOVIE!" in a crowded firehouse, right? No, it doesn't but honestly, free speech is pretty broad, and that is a good thing. Recently, there has been somewhat of a Christmas kerfuffle over the words to a few songs. Well, mostly one song in particular, "Baby It's Cold Outside." It's only ever played at this time of year, but it never mentions anything about Christmas. It was written by Jewish composer Frank Loesser as a duet for him and his wife to sing at a housewarming party when their guests were leaving. It was never meant as a holiday carol. I don't believe it was ever intended as anything but a flirty and fun song between two consenting adults, but, like everything wordy, the meaning varies depending on who's listening.

It wasn't the only piece of entertainment to be scrutinized this season. Critics went after my beloved Peanuts gang, alleging racism because in the Thanksgiving special Franklin, an African American child, is sitting all alone on one side of the table and he is given a beach chair while everyone else has a sturdier chair. I'm sorry if I'm missing something here, but all the chairs were mismatched because this gang of kids was playing around having a meal together before having to go off with their respective (and always unseen) parents for the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. 


My brother and I used to drag assorted chairs out to our sidewalk, line them up, and play "bus driver.” All the other kids would hop on our bus while Larry, who always got to drive, hollered out the stops. I honestly can't remember which kid sat in what chair, but now I find myself hoping that no one had to sit alone (or G-d forbid in the back of the bus) in the chair that had a wonky leg. Truthfully, they all had loose legs or torn cushions because we kept schlepping them around the yard and the street. 


Reality check people: It's a cartoon special where a dog and his little bird friend cook a meal, could we not make it a thing? It's about friends who gather together and share a meal. Did you think that the tradition of "Friendsgiving" came from a sitcom in the 90s? No, you have Charles M. Schultz to thank for that.

Then Rudolph was in trouble. Because he was bullied. So was Hermey, the elf/dentist. So was the abominable snowman, who was only grumpy because he was in pain. Toys were referred to "misfits" because they were different. Bullying, name-calling, mocking of physical differences, oh the humanity! The story ended well though so can't we just appreciate that? Again, it's a show made up of wooden, puppet-like fictional characters (well, except for Santa, he's real) singing and making toys. This is not the stuff of serious social commentary. It's a kiddy show. Seriously? People are bent about these shows and songs, but no one was ever bothered by a group of kids who hung around a schoolyard every day with a creepy purple dinosaur telling them they were special? What about Family Guy? The Simpsons? It's reached a most ridiculous point, and, given the political climate today, that is saying something.

Are some shows, songs, and traditions from the past problematic in today's world? Definitely. Many have gone away, and as time goes on, we will get smarter and more aware.  As the saying goes "When you know better, you do better." However, we are not ever going to make any progress focusing on the small stuff, and honestly, much of what has come under fire this season is exactly that. Let's look at the big picture, which does not include Snoopy popping corn and making toast, elves that want to be dentists or a song about a snowstorm and a few drinks.

Words do mean things; sometimes they convey some very serious concepts, and when they do we should pay attention. If we are going to get stuck in the muck and mire of dissecting cartoons and silly songs, we won't ever get anywhere. Let Rudolph, Snoopy, Woodstock and the rest do their thing, and let's all do our thing, which hopefully includes time spent with loving family, friends and maybe even an elf or a popcorn popping dog. My words this season are simple and mean only this: "Peace be with you and yours in this season of joy and hope."

Here We Come A-Caroling

"I think you should take your job seriously, but not yourself - that is the best combination."

--Dame Judi Dench

Who doesn't love Dame Judi Dench? I'm still ticked that she was killed off in the Bond movie Skyfall. First, they came for my boyfriend Pierce Brosnan and replaced him with some blond guy, and then they burn the infamous M? Even though she isn't a Bond girl anymore, Dame Judi has always been smart, determined, and talented; she also does it all without having to look like a walking X-ray that's been Botoxed into something resembling a goalie mask without the air holes.

While I am not a professional actor, I was lucky enough recently to be cast in the local production of the Dickens classic, "A Christmas Carol" and let me tell you, acting is hard. It's not just memorizing lines and reading them with some emotion. If it were just that, we'd all be walking around with sacks of Emmys and Oscars. The lines are only the first part of it. Memorization is vital, but it's more than that. It's not simple recitation; it's becoming the character who is speaking the line, walking into their world and taking an audience with you. Sure, no pressure, right?

In the case of Dickens, his characters all have British accents. I struggled with this. In the first few reads, my accent was somewhere between Masshole, the Mason Dixon line and a Manchester United fan. I was convinced seventeen dead Irish relatives would leap out of the graveyard to haunt me for pretending to be a subject of Queen Victoria. Hey, it's a ghost story, it could happen.  

My roles were that of Bob Cratchit's daughter, Belinda, Fan Scrooge, the doomed younger sister of Ebenezer, and the kid at the end who buys the turkey. They call him, oddly enough, Turkey Boy. The show was produced by local director Peyton Pugmire of Creative Spirit, and it wasn't a full-on play, but rather a staged reading. Characters are costumed but have scripts, so it's dramatic, but there's no colossal set with dozens of props. The production was performed in the Jeremiah Lee Mansion, so really, what else is there to add?

My acting talents so far have been limited to some improv, high school, and college plays, and lying to my children about certain holiday icons which will go unnamed here. I found it difficult to believe that in less than two weeks, and only seven short rehearsals, that I could accomplish anything without tripping over something or setting something on fire. Thankfully, the candles were battery operated, and I did not land in a heap at the bottom of the impressive mahogany staircase. That is a massive win for me; often just getting across the room whilst remaining upright is a struggle for me.

After the first rehearsal, which was just a read through by the actors, I drove home and my face hurt from smiling so much. The experience of meeting new people, doing something I'd always dreamed of, and learning more about acting put me over the moon. The cast was amazing; on the first night, everyone there was already in character, with perfect accents and expressions. I was furiously highlighting all 10 of my lines and scribbling notes like "Get a notebook" and "look solemnly at Ebenezer." Oh, and there was singing too. Holy Wassail, Batman, bring out the figgy pudding and don't forget the cup of good cheer. What could be more fun than that?

 (photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire)

Costuming, that's what. The costumer was nothing short of a miracle worker. It's not easy making a big, loud, Irish redhead look like a male Victorian child, but she had it under control. Finally, we got to use the Jeremiah Lee space for two dress rehearsals before the performances. It's very authentic in there, right down to the balmy 40-degree temperature on a windy December night. Jeremiah Lee died of pneumonia after spending hours in a cornfield evading British troops, and I was definitely channeling his shivering, despite some very modern Cuddle Duds under my Victorian garb.

This is a weekly paper, so allow me to step into the role of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and report that all performances were top-notch, got rave reviews, and played to a sold-out house. I'm sure that will happen, but I'm writing this ahead of opening night. Dame Judi is right when she says to take the work seriously, not yourself. I had moments of sheer terror during this process, as well flubbed lines, missed cues and one wardrobe malfunction, but all there is to do at those times is to keep going and not let it get at you. Stuff like that happens to me every day, at least in the play there were actors around me who had the same experiences. Is all the world a stage? Thankfully no, most of us do not dress up like one of those strange Christmas dolls, frozen in song, but if you get the chance to try it? Do it. It's transformational, at least for a few days. You can go back to your real life anytime, spend some time in another world, you'll be glad you did. Cast photo courtesy of Peyton Pugmire.

These are days....You'll Remember

"These are days you'll remember

Never before and never since

I promise

Will the whole world be warm as this

And as you feel it

You'll know it's true

That you are blessed and lucky."

---Natalie Merchant

What is it about the "good old days" that makes us long for them? I'm not a time lord, so no phone box will allow me to pop off to another era that some say was so much better. Recently, a discussion among some friends (OK, it was Facebook, but all those who commented were real-life people, most from here in town) awoke a bit of a controversy over the good old days, how it was, what is different now, and who's to blame for it all. Sometimes I use a social media post as a kind of journal entry. Then I can go back in a year or so and see what was happening at a particular time. This post wasn't meant to be one of those; it was intended to be funny. 

I had taken the very unusual step of pulling my couch out from the wall and cleaning under it. The exact details of everything that was under there should remain unexplained, but it was a treasure trove of spare change, Legos, hair ties and silverware. It was like the mythical graveyard of cutlery. There may have been some bowls too. That is when the wheels came off the Electrolux, and the debate began.

While a few of my friends could relate, in just a few comments it became clear that my habits as a housekeeper and a mother were the cause of all the evils of our modern society. My children and their milk-slopping, Cheerio-chomping, snack-snogging little faces were devoid of manners, and I had let it happen, right under my nose. Sad! Apparently, some of my friends have traveled further along the road of life than I have, and they remembered when mothers stayed at home, served the family meals around a table, and nary a speck of food had ever been near their couches. Well, I remember those days too. I was a little kid in the late 60s, the Mad Men era of little boxes, on the hillside. It wasn't all Dick Van Dyke, tripping over the ottoman while Laura made a roast and Richie was conveniently in his room. There were workaholic fathers who drank too much, and mothers who often smoked like chimneys or nipped at the cooking sherry in the pantry. There was a war on, and it played on the television every night. Citizens were sprayed with fire hoses or pelted with rocks for the vicious crime of trying to vote or go to school. Good times, right?

Maybe it's just a Kelley thing, and I come by lackadaisical food rules the same way I got my red hair and my attitude? Our house did not look like a Ladies' Home Journal spread. My mother was much more Peg Bundy than Laura Petrie, which was probably difficult for her at the time, but she was always a rebel; it was likely deliberate on her part. The one fact most of my friends agreed on though, was that the family has changed. That's because time has marched on and change is necessary. There are blended families, single-parent families, families with two moms, or two dads. Parents work more; social research has shown that. Children are busier, not playing kick the can or tag, but club soccer and lacrosse. There is, sadly, still a war on, and there isn't a day that goes by that the news doesn't show a bombing, a shooting or a violent protest. We all know there are still parents who drink too much or suffer in silence but put on a good face.

What does any of that have to do with my nonexistent vacuuming skills? Nothing. That's the point. While some contended that the previous generation of stay at home mommies and societal expectations was the better way to live, I'm not buying that, not entirely. Rather than looking at a specific decade, we should turn our attention instead to who we are now, rather than who someone else was back in the day. The truth is, our recollections of the past are not always infallible. The brain processes memories every day. There are thousands of minutes and hours of experience, and not everything is retained. We forget because the mind needs to do that to make room for new minutes and hours of what is to come. We can't be fully present in our lives today if we are still looking back at what used to be.

I read somewhere that there is a reason the windshield of a car is usually larger than the rear window. And my father, a member of "The Greatest Generation," always told me "Don't look backward, you're not going that way. Also, you'll fall on your arse." Was this discussion a come to Jesus moment? Am I going to suddenly turn into a hybrid of Martha Stewart and June Cleaver and keep a home worthy of a magazine layout after witnessing my living room landfill? No. Not even close. Are the kids banned from morning cereal on the couch and late-night snacks in the recliner? No. The days gone by hold a lot of sweet memories for me, but they are over. These are the days, and despite it all, we are blessed and lucky.