It began at Thanksgiving time with starting to memorize the Latin words for the many lovely chants and songs offered by the nun’s chorus. The music for the nun’s quartet was easier — in English.
It went on with weeks filled with rehearsals, of which there were even a couple of cancellations because the weather was so bad — even for Minnesota! Mostly, though, the show had to go on no matter how bad the storm and the cold.
It was over with the final performance on Sunday, March 2, 2014.
So here for you to see — some photos of the people involved.
First, the nun’s chorus, against the backdrop of the elegant set.
And the children’s chorus. I’ve been told they hated to see it end, having become a very close “family.”
And Edelweiss. Many year’s ago when my son in Junior High performed the role of the Captain, my father “cried three handkerchiefs worth.” I understand people in this audience teared up too. The song is so touching for people who have left their homelands behind, and even for those who haven’t.
Sister Berthe, Mother Abbess, and Sister Margaretta
The Nun’s Quartet in action, discussing Maria’s suitability for the Abbey.
Sister Margaretta and Sister Berthe, with a little slice of Mother Abbess on the side
And then the finale in rehearsal
Things are getting back to order bit by bit here after the time from Thanksgiving until last weekend was dedicated mostly to preparation for “The Sound of Music.” It was really well received. Some people came a second time because they enjoyed it so much the first time. We had sold out houses and nearly-sold-out houses, with praises still coming in.
Yesterday, in a whole different vein, I did a presentation on “The Function of Punishment” at the Community Center. Today is busy with other stuff. Tomorrow I can’t postpone it any longer — I have to pull together my income tax information. But now I want to share some photos of the set. I promise photos of the nuns, etc., will follow.
Here’s the whole thing, constructed in the sanctuary of Mount Calvary Lutheran Church in Excelsior. That’s why you see the stained glass windows in the background, basically incorporated into Doug’s set. (Remember you can enlarge the photo by clicking on it.)
Turn the Gazebo around and light the photo of the interior of the Salzburg Cathedral above and you have the abbey where Sisters Margaretta, Sophia, and Berte hang out with the Mother Abbess. (I’ll have photos of them in a later blog.)
Turn the altar around again and you have the gazebo in the garden with a shot of the Salzburg alps in the background.
And finally the bedroom side of the set.
In a half hour I’ll be heading off for the last performance of “The Sound of Music,” promising to post some photos in the next few days. But today I want you to enjoy the fun talent of Thelma, my MFA sister. (i.e., she has a Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing.) I love what she writes, and I hope you will also enjoy this little bit of reality-based fiction from a Connecticut suburb in 1926.
I hope for comments I can share with her (which she can see when she reads my blog.) I’m not generally too good at getting reactions to what I post, but I know she would love some feedback on this little gem. Maybe I’ll be more successful this time.
(Some of you may feel echoes of Garrison Keillor in this visit to “Aunt Ellen’s.”)
Off to Aunt Ellen’s
The adventures began in the year 1926 when their father unexpectedly brought home their first automobile, a brand new four-door Overland sedan. Resplendently gray, the square box-like coach rode high above the narrow wheels. The running boards, flat roof and narrow protective metal awning over the perpendicular windshield were in accenting black, an elegant au-courant vehicle. Inside, a braided silk rope hung across the back of the front seat for a snuggling blanket to warm legs in cooler weather. Like others of its generation, it was a fair weather car. When frost threatened, up it went on blocks, drained of oil and gasoline, and the family went back to walking again, until spring. They drove this car for eleven years, while four-year-old Megan went from a little girl to a teen, her brother Ralph from a little boy who insisted on his window to a young man, the family grew from four to five, and the country slid from The Roaring twenties into the Great Depression of the thirties—until it became “the old Overland,” too decrepit to drive.
All but one of Megan’s mother’s five sisters had settled in the small Connecticut town where they had grown up. Only Aunt Ellen had moved away –to Wolcott and become an unreal fairy tale aunt to Megan. (She and her father were up-to-date on fairy tales, some of which he made up just for her.) Aunt Ellen lived on a farm, like the ones in her picture books. She was the only person in Megan’s life who lived far away. The day her father brought home the car, while they were still in the driveway admiring the new machine, she began to wheedle and beg for a trip to Aunt Ellen’s. That made her father smile and wink at her mother. “That settles it, Caroline.” He knew how badly she wanted to visit her oldest sister, enough older to be her mother. “Let me have this week to get used to the car. This is new to me, too, little girl. And the next Sunday afternoon, we’ll surprise Aunt Ellen and Uncle Henry.” When Daddy called her “little girl,” Megan knew she had to stop fussing and be content.
Her mother knew how impossible it would be to ask her little girl to wait eleven days for this red-letter day. It would match the tension of waiting for Christmas. She riffled through the papers on her desk until she found an extra calendar, marked the special Sunday with a star, and showed Megan how to follow the number each day by putting an X in its box. Then Caroline settled at the kitchen table to do her own thinking about this extraordinary Sunday with the new Overland.
Over time it had become a tradition among Caroline’s relatives to drop in on each other Sunday afternoons for a visit that always ended in an invitation to stay for supper. The choreography for this dance was as confusing as a Grand March. But somehow, it worked, and it was part of each Saturday morning to prepare a light meal “just in case.” Aunt Ellen being so far away, was not part of this ballet. She might not spend Saturday morning preparing for them. Caroline made notes that would metamorphose into a chicken casserole and a peach pie (if the peaches were good) to carry to Ellen’s.
Megan had finished her X’s. Daddy had wrapped the casserole in heavy layers of newspaper to insulate it as well as the pie to keep it from spilling. Ralph, who considered himself too old to admit he was thrilled, carried them to the car, and settled them on the floor of the back seat between him and Megan, whose short legs stuck straight out on the seat. Their parents in a flurry of worry, each checked twice to be sure the house was locked before stepping gingerly on the running boards and getting into the car. “No fighting back there. I have to concentrate on driving. This car goes twenty-five miles an hour.” And they were off to Aunt Ellen’s.
When they reached the turn off to Wolcott, the muddy stretch through the woods looked more like a cow path than a street. The Overland’s narrow wheels found their purchase in two parallel, dug in ruts, and with Daddy grasping the wheel tightly to keep the car steady, they flew along at this amazing new speed. Until Mother cried, “Charles, there’s another car coming right at us. There’s only room for one. The children! What are you going to do?” When the oncoming car kept moving, Daddy rolled down his window, stuck his head out so he could see, and backed inch by inch the way they had come, forcing the wheels to stay in their narrow lanes until he found an open field, where he pulled the car off “the street.”
“That was pretty chancey. Caroline, I’ll admit.” Charles leaned over with a quick kiss to restore her confidence. The man who was driving tipped his hat as he passed. They had their first adventure before they even reached Aunt Ellen’s.
When they did arrive, they brought chatter, all around. From the kitchen, Aunt Ellen saw them drive up. Rushing out to greet them, she pulled her little sister into a warm embrace. “Land sakes, I’m glad to see you, Caroline.” She hugged Megan, who moved closer to her mother. Ellen shook hands with Daddy. “And a new car, Charles?
What a special day! Do come in. Henry’s in the barn, but he’ll be in soon.”
Once inside, Megan was a little braver. She looked around at this “fairy tale” house. She whispered to her mother, “What is that big thing in the sink?”
“It’s a hand pump.” Aunt Ellen heard and answered her. “The hired man made it for me so I wouldn’t have to go outside to the well to carry in water.”
“We don’t have one of those,” Megan marveled. “We don’t have a well either.”
“We live in the country.” Aunt Ellen explained. “We don’t get city water. You have shiny faucets you can turn on to wash you hands. Would you like to try it?”
“Yes, please,”
Aunt Ellen hoisted her up, but though she tried and tried, she couldn’t make the heavy handle move.
Just then, Henry came in, wearing overalls with suspenders, like the farmer in Megan’s book, to say hello and to shake hands with Charles. Her eyes bright, she told him, “You look like my farmer. Can we go see the cows? Where is the barn? Do you have chickens? My farmer book has chickens.”
“Whoa, Megan. Uncle Henry isn’t used to curious little girls,” her father interrupted.
Uncle Henry chuckled. “Let’s you and I show Megan around the property and leave the girls to catch up.”
When the boys had returned to the house, Ralph talking non-stop about driving, the men and Megan, too, who was excited and tired after seeing and petting real animals, Aunt Ellen made the first move in the familiar ballet. “Won’t you stay for supper?”
It was Caroline’s turn to say, “Thank you. It it’s not too much trouble?” But the finale belonged to Charles when he went to the car to bring in the casserole and pie Mother had prepared in expectation of this invitation.
When supper was over, the grown-ups relaxed and the children sleepy, Daddy said, ‘We need to go while it is still light. Or the path through the woods will be too dark for our headlights.
Mother and Aunt Ellen washed the casserole dish and pie plate to use for the next adventure. Megan and Ralph settled in the back seat of the Overland, their parents in the front.
“So good of you, Charles, to bring them to see us. Caroline, come again soon.” Aunt Ellen waved them goodbye.
Daddy eased into the by-now-familiar two tracks for the car, drove through the woods without meeting another car all the way home. As they reached their street, a happy Caroline mused, “Isn’t this car amazing, Charles. All the places we can go. What an unbelievable world we’re passing on to our children.”
A day at home. It’s amazing how much has piled up — e-mails, projects, stuff.
I did have one client scheduled to come today, but she postponed because the roads are still so dangerous. Can you imagine? Since last Thursday afternoon. It’s the cold, cold, cold ….. cold. And piled up snow, snow, snow …. snow, and ice, ice, ice …. ice.
Bur all is warm and cozy at home as the sun shines in bright through the southern windows, warming my house and giving the thermostat a rest.
We’ll be back doing the show on Friday and Saturday evenings and Sunday matinee, then strike the set and enjoy the aftermath.
I’d like to show you a photo of the set which Doug designed, but the best I can do for the moment is include a few photos of the model. Photos of the real thing will come later.
Hooray! Last night’s performance went very well, with laughs, some tears, and applause where one would hope for it. Today’s matinee performance is sold out (400 seats). But there is next weekend.
I just hope I don’t stumble in the dark like I did last night. Here’s the deal. It’s dark when the nun’s quartet gets in place for their scene. Sister Margaretta starts out facing the “altar” in prayer. Well, proving what I’ve known since I was a kid who couldn’t learn to skate, I am clumsy. Yup! I stumbled on the edge of the platform holding the altar. To prevent my fall, I grabbed the altar, knocking down the bible placed there. Fortunately I didn’t knock over the whole thing, and I didn’t fall down. Anyway, I picked up the Bible, kissed it, and placed it back on the altar. In truth, no one would know I had done it if I didn’t tell them.
Today it’s Matinee at 3:00 p.m. and a cast party afterward. Cast parties usually happen after striking the set after the last performance, but the director and others decided to have the party today in light of the fact that so many of our players are young and need their sleep on school nights.
And what a sensation those young players are! Wish you could see them
Whew! Last night’s anxiety was reduced with the musical warm-ups we did, and then the production went well. Of course, as actors, we didn’t get to watch the whole thing as we hid out in what I suppose would be called the green room if we were on TV – just a big room with lots of tables and our stuff. The best evidence was the applause at the end — it sounded and looked genuinely enthusiastic. More important personally, I know our nun’s quartet was well received. Since we have become a team, we did correct for a few of each other’s oversights, so no one knew the difference. Tonight I’m sure we’ll all be on target. And we did get laughs where we hoped for them.
So, now that I’m a little more relaxed — and enjoying it more — I’d like to make a comment about the show itself. More than an interesting musical story, “The Sound of Music” is a commentary on the early stages of the spread of the Nazi terror. Focused on the Austrian Anschluss, the issues apply to the whole period.
As a student, I was in Europe shortly after the end of WWII. I saw the devastation in England, Germany, and Austria as well as some of the other countries. Neither the attackers nor the defenders were ultimately spared.
I had a few dates in the rubble. I remember one night, for example, sitting with a G.I. on a pile of cement junk that had once been a building in Munich. There were other occasions when it was clear our local dates wanted marriage as a passport to the United States. (Those were the days when flying over the Netherlands pilots saw “Thanks, Yanks” spelled out in Tulips.)
What I remember even more is one of our German student guides saying, “This will come to your country someday.” I confess to having been watchful ever since. It’s the little things that whittle away at one’s consciousness until, like Pastor Martin Niemoeller one can only say:
First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out–
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out–
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out–
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me–and there was no one left to speak for me.
I have carried two lessons with me from that student’s and Niemoellor’s warning. (1) what happens to other people is important, because ultimately it comes home to me; and (2) be watchful – developments both bad and good happen in little increments. It’s like the frog who doesn’t do anything to escape from the boiling water because he is unaware of the gradual, seemingly unimportant changes in temperature.
So what does this have to do with the “Sound of Music?” The serious part of the message portrays three possible attitudes toward change. There is (1) Captain vonTrapp who sees the danger and refuses to go along with it; (2) Rolf Gruber and others who willingly join the Nazi cause; and (3) Max Detweiler who chooses not to choose but rather to go with the flow.
I want not to be Max Detweiler and, in the end, get caught by surprise. I want to avoid being in a situation where I’d need the courage of Captain vonTrapp, because I’m not sure I’m capable. And I certainly don’t want to contribute, either consciously or by neglect. to the development of the prejudice, cruelty, and violence purposely displayed by the Nazi regime.
SCARIEST OF All: I loved all the people we met in Germany and Austria. They were people like me. Not evil, not deliberately cruel or destructive. I can only conclude that many were the Max Detweiler’s of the time.
Well, so much for the serious side of a really fun production.
I hope good reports will continue,and eventually some photos.
Tonight is opening night — anxiety? Yes, more than a bit.
In the meantime, there are a couple of links I want to share with you.
This one is long and worth it, a great teacher demonstrating an important series of facts and observations.
Welfare for whom?
I think you’ll enjoy this one, but not without emotion.
Genius boy at and on the library.
Apologies to all my blogger friends. I’ll not be responding much for the next two weeks — rehearsals scheduled every night until opening night on Friday. Then performances — and more rehearsals next week. (I guess my performance should be pretty acceptable by the last show on March 2.)
Apologies as well to Facebook Friends, friends of 60 years (more or less), family, and anyone else to whom I should be responding. Life should get back to its usual normal in March. Maybe even the weather will have settled down. Wouldn’t that be nice?
I’m including again a copy of the brochure.
.
It all started benignly enough on Wednesday morning, January 29, as we headed for a three day visit with my daughter in Virginia.
The plane took off on time from the Minneapolis airport heading for Atlanta. The indication was that the second leg of our flight — to Newport News, Virginia — was on schedule.
The information was not so good when we checked our phones again on landing. Our flight to Newport News had been cancelled. That’s when we began to feel the full impact of the storm that had bullied its way through the south. We had plenty of time to think about our next move as we waited for a gate. They were all filled with flights that couldn’t take off because their destinations – many in Florida — were suffering from ice and snow.
When a gate did open up, we waited some 45 minutes for the exit ramp to be attached. The fact is many of the airport workers had been unable to make it to work, so it took time for an exit ramp attacher to make it to our plane.
Then began a day of decisions. First option — rent a car and stay overnight with a friend in Atlanta. We were welcomed, but warned that the roads were treacherous. They would look for the best route to try.
There were no other options to fly to Virgina. As you may have seen on TV, the board was filled with cancellations.
To shorten the story, all airport hotels were full. We did get reservations at a hotel 7 miles away, beyond shuttle bus service. In the meantime, we were automatically rescheduled for a flight early the next morning.
Given the time it takes to return a rental car, we decided it would save time in the a.m. if we took a cab, so we joined the line — the very long line — of people waiting for a cab. (Yes, we did get something to eat in the meantime.) Getting to the front of the line didn’t help much, however. Apparently many cab drivers were unwilling to drive on the treacherous roads, so the hardworking agents were matching up groups of people heading in the same direction.
Finally, after a wait of about an hour, we were directed to a van that was going to a town near our goal. The driver, however, wouldn’t let us board. He did not want to drive to two different sites.
So the agent opened the door of the nearest small cab and told us to get in. That had to be the most panicky thing that happened all day to the driver who told us up front what the fee would be, hoping, I think, that we would refuse and get out. Nope — not at that point.
Now, I hate to sound like a Connecticut/Minnesota driver, but by our standards the roads would be considered clear. My son was ready to offer to drive. To the driver’s surprise, we did make it. If he drinks manhattans, I’ll bet he had a couple when he finally got safely home.
Our next adventure was at the hotel desk where we asked for a cab at 6:30 a.m. to get us to the airport in time for the early morning flight. To get one at that time, we were told, we’d have to call the desk at 4 a.m. So my son agreed to wake up at 4 a.m. to make that call. At 4:10 a.m. I woke him, thinking he’d overslept. Oh no. During the night he’d received notice that the flight had been cancelled. We were scheduled for an afternoon flight.
Still, at this point, we wanted to be at the airport early — “just in case.” The desk clerk did manage to get us a cab around 9 a.m. The driver seemed cool with the driving conditions, and we got there in half the time it took to get to the hotel.
In the meantime, we noticed there was an earlier flight to Newport News. At the airport we headed for the lounge to get help in trying to get on it. The lounge was closed. As was the lounge in the next section.
So we headed for a manned station to ask what lounge would be open. No one knew. But we did get put on standby for the morning flight with the promise that we wouldn’t lose our reservation on the afternoon flight.
Then nail biter after nail biter. At that gate, they announced they had a plane, paper work completed, a destination gate, a flight attendant, and a co-pilot, but no pilot. More nails bitten. Then word that a pilot had been found, but it could be as long as two hours before he/she got there.
Still no seats for us on the plane. But the pilot did arrive. Two scheduled passengers didn’t show. We got on! I didn’t feel safe until the boarding door had been closed.
As we were boarding that flight, we learned that the afternoon flight for which we had been scheduled had be cancelled. Whew!
We made it to Newport News, and my son’s bag made it too. Apparently someone had made the executive decision just to send it on, assuming at some point he’d get there to pick it up. (I finally got my bag delivered the next afternoon, just about in time to pack to go home.)
So we had two nights and one full day to be together.
Heading home, the flight from Newport News to Atlanta was great. Very few passengers. Each of us had a row to ourselves. Things went well in Atlanta too. On board and ready to leave early, the pilot predicted we’d be in Minneapolis ahead of schedule. Then we waited — and waited. The pilot came on to say they were still loading luggage. He came on again to say the plane had come in from Mexico with lots of luggage that took time to remove. We waited. Occasional updates from the pilot. Some 45 minutes went by.
The flight attendant told people they might as well feel free to get up and move about. As half the passengers were standing in the aisles, the plane started to move. I guess the pilot and the attendant were not in terribly good communication. Anyway, everyone scurried back to their seat belts. the flight took off. We arrived safe in Minneapolis 45 minutes late. Whew!
I wasn’t quite home, though. My car couldn’t be removed from the garage in Excelsior where it was staying until the next day when the driveway was shoveled.
What a winter! But now I’m home, once again immersed in trying to keep up as rehearsal’s for “The Sound of Music” are going full force.
I’ll bet you didn’t read all the details. But you get the idea. Glad to be back.
So this is where my time is going, plus all the time it takes to “dress warm” in this wild climate.
Well, actually this isn’t all that’s keeping me busy. I’m still working at “selling” Mrs. Job, whose working title is now “Pomegranates and Special Cheeses.” And then there’s “My Father’s House” which is going to need major repair once rehearsals are done and I can get back down to it.
Oh, and the daily emergencies — computer problems, plumbing problems, and whatever surprises arise each day.
Besides, there are all the wonderful blog friends whom I have pretty much neglected comment-wise, but I have been keeping track of all of you. I’m in touch, even if you don’t know it.
If you are in the neighborhood, come see me doing whatever I end up doing as Sister Margaretta. Who knows, I might even get it all right and add sparkle as well. I guarantee the directors are very talented. And the set! Amazing ..
Sister Berthe, Mother Abbess, and Sister Margaretta
monagustafsonaffinito 
