Dancing in Jeans

As most of you know, I'm a former actress, and I earned a BFA in Musical Theater from the wonderful Syracuse University.  So with that in mind, it probably comes as no surprise that I'm also an enormous fan of movie musicals from the 1940's and 50's.  I LOVE cinema classics like "High Society," "On the Town," "White Christmas," "State Fair," "Meet Me in St. Louis," and my all-time favorite, "Singin' in the Rain!"


I love EVERYTHING about "Singin' in the Rain," particularly the title song, performed with masterful perfection by the brilliantly talented Gene Kelly.  Gene is my favorite performer, from that era or any other.


Gene had an athletic style of dance that he blended perfectly with his ballet and tap training.  The resulting performances were original, creative, and never successfully topped by any other, in my opinion.  He came along when amazing dancers like Fred Astaire were popular.  Gene had an enormous amount of respect for Fred's classy style, and said once about his idol: 


"I...envy his cool aristocratic style, so intimate and contained.  Fred wears top hat and tails to the manor born -- I put them on and look like a truck driver!"


Gene was determined to prove to the world that male dancing need not be effeminate, but rather athletic and female "swoon-worthy."  He didn't think it should be performed solely in Fred's tuxedos, either (particularly because he was convinced he looked terrible in them!).  He wanted to portray "every man" characters, saying, "I didn't want to move or act like a rich man.  I wanted to dance in a pair of jeans.  I wanted to dance like the man in the streets."  

I guess everyone's viewed the famous lamp post swinging, umbrella twirling title number from  "Singin' in the Rain."  I think this number is so brilliant not only because of Gene's superb execution of his own choreography, but also for the wonderful mood he creates.  Have you ever fallen so deeply in love that it made you grin like an idiot, and the only thing to do was run outside and dance in the rain?  THAT'S what Gene captures for us in this piece!


But, if you'll indulge me, I'd like to offer this less popular number from "It's Always Fair Weather,"  made four years after "Singin's" success.  Gene was always looking for new, creative ways to present dance numbers onscreen.  Throughout his long career, he danced with newspapers, squeaky floors, sawdust, chairs, mops, an animated mouse, and garbage can lids!  This one, however, he choreographed for ROLLER SKATES!!  Notice how they're not the modern boot skates of today, either, but those old metal strap-ons that kids wore in the 50's!  Watch how effortlessly he glides, stops PERFECTLY on his mark, then begins to TAP, for crying out loud!!


I think it's just awe-inspiring, and I'd love to share it with you on this lovely Tuesday morning! It's over four minutes long, and I obviously think it's all terrific, but if you're pressed for time, the really amazing stuff starts to happen around 2:15 in!  Enjoy!  And please let me know what you think!  (Please ignore the French subtitles!  This was the only version I could successfully download!)


Thanks for Reading!!  (And watching!!)

Corrie and Cristabel

I've been looking over my last several posts, and noticed that I've been writing quite a bit lately about human compassion.  I've discussed the compassion I received from a sweet couple who helped me through the loss of my pet bird, and the complete absence of compassion from a meter man downtown.  Today, with your permission, I'd like to look at it again, this time combined with my other latest obsession:  history!  Tell me what you think of this...

My husband recently purchased a box set DVD version of the fantastic 1973 miniseries documentary, The World At War.  This take on World War II may not be as well-produced as the more recent Ken Burns version on the same subject, but it was made less than thirty years after the war's end.  Many of the subjects interviewed for the film are actual eyewitnesses, participants in what transpired during that time.  The memories of all they endured are fresh, they haven't yet aged enough to have forgotten precious details. I think all this makes this particular documentary a real treasure, indeed.

Alan has been viewing the DVDs in our basement each time he works out.  This morning I joined him there and watched today's installment as I ran on the treadmill.  Today's chapter was titled, "Inside the Third Reich:  Germany 1940-1944," and I knew before I hit mile two that I was going to write about it here today.

The film covered the usual Adolf Hitler rantings at the podium and the high stepping soldiers saluting their fuhrer as they marched by his grandstand.  Then the focus shifted towards the oppressing and eventual rounding-up of the Jewish community, relocating them to ghettos, then to the gas chambers of concentration camps.

They interviewed a German housewife, Hertha Beese, who described opening her door one evening and discovering a Jewish couple standing there, asking for her help.  She said from that moment forward she became part of this "invisible community" that helped so many Jews escape a horrible fate.

Then a woman appeared onscreen with a furrowed brow and troubled face.  As she spoke, she wrung her hands and clenched her fists.  Her name was Christabel Bielenberg, and here, in her exact words, is the tale she told:

"One day, a friend of ours who used to collect food cards for these Jews, came to me with another woman with dyed blonde hair.  I can see her sitting there now, twisting her wedding ring and telling me that it wouldn't be for long, that she would help me in the house, and her husband need never go out.  He would live in the cellar or wherever."

Not knowing what to do, Cristabel consulted her neighbor and trusted friend, Carl, who told her the risk to herself and her family was far too great, and to forget the whole idea of helping this Jewish couple.

"I was astonished, overcome really, at the response that I got from my neighbor who told me that under NO circumstances, WHATSOEVER, could I house these people, that housing of Jews meant concentration camps not only for myself, but for my husband, possibly also for my children.  I can remember going through and out into the road.  And out of the darkness came a voice saying, 'Have you decided?'  and I simply couldn't say no.  I just said, 'Well, I can't for longer than two days.'  And I let him into the cellar.  They stayed for two days, and after the second day, in the morning they were gone.  The cellar was empty, the bed I had set up, all tidily arranged, and they had gone.  I knew later that they were caught buying a ticket at the railway station and were transported to Auschwitz [concentration camp].  And why I say this is the most painful and terrible story for me to have to tell is because after they left, I realized that Hitler had turned me into a murderer."

Alan finished his work out, returned the TV to the local news, handed me the remote, and went back upstairs.  I kept pounding out my miles, watching the weather forecast.  But I just couldn't shake the image of Christabel's sad, regretful face from my mind.  I wondered what I would've done if I were in her shoes, back in 1940's Germany.  Would I have taken-in someone, anyone who came to me for help, even if it meant my own (and my family's) demise?  Oh, I hope so.  I pray that I would be so strong, but could I?

I'm sure everyone is familiar with the legendary Corrie Ten Boom, concentration camp survivor and author of her autobiography, The Hiding Place.  Corrie and her family helped several Jews escape from their Nazi occupied town of Haarlem, in the Netherlands.  They were eventually caught and sent to Ravensbruck camp in Germany, and all but Corrie perished there. Legend has it that Corrie's father, Kaspar, an elderly man, was approached by a German soldier as they were being arrested for harboring Jews.  Due to Kaspar's advanced years, the soldier offered to let him go, if he promised to cease with all Jew-aiding activity.  Mr. Ten Boom, sitting on the truck, told him he would open his home to any man who needed his help, including a Jewish one.  The soldier closed the door and instructed the driver to take him away.  Kaspar died in the camp ten days later.

For the remainder of her life, Corrie Ten Boom lived with a number tatooed on her forearm, along with the emotional scars of losing her entire family and enduring unspeakable horrors at that camp.  But the night she was arrested, every one of the Jews she was hiding behind the wall of her bedroom successfully escaped to freedom, as did many before them.  Cristabel Bielenberg lived with the burden of a decision she still regretted thirty years later.  Her furrowed brow and wringing hands gave away a tremendously troubled soul, indeed.

I hope none of us are ever forced to make this kind of unthinkable decision ourselves.  But if you did, how would you choose?  Could you live with your decision?

James and Me

Alan and I greatly enjoyed our sixteen years living in Orlando, Florida.  Without question, the jobs we held, the homes in which we lived, and the awesome people we still call friends will always be with us.  But there was also a woeful lack of seasons and an over-aggressive mosquito population.  Add to that a summer heat that made you sweat, as Dad would put it, "like a whore in church!"  The good always out-weighed the bad, however, and I soon learned to accept my adopted state's shortcomings.

But I confess, there's one aspect of Orlando I never quite learned to love: it's complete lack of history.  If you asked any native octogenarian about Orlando's past, chances are the reply would be, "This all used to be orange groves, as FAR as the eye could see!" Unlike historical Key West or St. Augustine, Orlando didn't have much of anything until Uncle Walt showed up in the early 1960's and made it the world's favorite tourist destination.

So imagine what it was like to move from the orange grove history of Orlando to that of the city of York, in Pennsylvania, one of America's original thirteen colonies. Talk about HISTORY!!  York is the city to which the signers of the Declaration of Independence fled once the British overtook Philadelphia.  It was here that the Continental Congress met and established the articles of the Confederation.  You can still walk through the historical courthouse today and view the tables, chairs, quill pens and state flags set up exactly as it appeared during those historic days.  It's really quite something.

From the moment Alan and I arrived here, we couldn't get enough of visiting Pennsylvania's rich past.  We toured every museum and  colonial village in downtown York, and spent our weekends checking out nearby Gettysburg and Valley Forge.  With every tour, every glimpse into our nation's storied past, those old orange groves gently faded away behind us.  We were officially hooked!!

So, with my new "History Geek" status firmly in place, I responded to an ad in the paper requesting volunteers for the York Heritage Trust Library. The ad stated the Trust was in need of "data entry" type help, and I jumped at the chance to go "behind the scenes," immersed in shelf after shelf of hundred year old books, documents, maps, and letters.  I learned the Trust is also a place where people come to research families and trace genealogies.  They have a record of the epitaph of every grave marker in every cemetery and church yard in the entire Southern/Central PA area.  It's really quite staggering!  If you were born here, even if you lived for only a few hours, the Trust has a documented history of you.  You count.  I like that!!

My job the first day was alphabetizing some of these cemetery records. Even that was fascinating:

Sneider, Theodore.
March 26, 1782 -- November 16, 1782.
Aged: 8 months.
Cause of Death:  Diphtheria.

Crazy!

But the next day, my boss came to me hugging a folder.  "Ready for some fun?"  she asked. Then she revealed her treasure:  letters.  Written by James Smith, Irish Immigrant, Lawyer, Pennsylvania Representative, Signer of the Declaration of Independence!!!  IN MY HANDS!!!  She needed me to transpose the letters into the data base in the library's computer.

Many of the letters were lawyer business, stolen cows and wrongfully accused disturbers of the peace.  But then came the letters to his wife back in Lancaster.  He talks a little about war, saying things like, "we should be able to take back New York from the British by week's end," among other unimaginable things.  Then there's the light stuff.  Here's an excerpt that James penned to Elinor on August 15, 1776, just one month after the Declaration of Independence had been signed:

"I have got a touch of rheumatism in my shoulder by sleeping with my windows open. Mr. Adams [this is JOHN ADAMS he's referring to, people!!] says I very well deserve it, for being so careless.  I told him as Mr. Duchee prays for us every day, I thought there was no need to take care of ourselves.  He told me God helps them who help themselves.  Mr. Hancock [John FREAKING Hancock!  You know, "big signature guy!!"] is a better doctor, as he has something of ye gout himself and has promised me some pine buds to make tea."

Is it just me, or is it not just COMPLETELY cool that here, buried beneath piles and piles of historical documents, our forefathers reminisced about their ailments and shared PINE BUD TEA recipes, for crying out loud??!!  Take THAT, orange groves!!

There are so many things that go through my head as I work this amazing gig.  One is how proud I am of the York Heritage Trust and the amazing people who have devoted their entire careers to preserving not just the history of York's rock stars like James Smith, but EVERY citizen therein. It also forces me to realize once again how intensely tenacious our forefathers were in their determination to establish and preserve this country of ours.

My hours spent with James Smith make me want to be a better person. He makes me want to be someone who stands up for what she believes and strives to make things better, no matter what the odds.   I guess that's the beauty of history.  It warns us of the mistakes it's made, and inspires us to mimic their success.

Who knows, maybe someday, many hundreds of years in the future, someone will be typing MY words into a data base at York Heritage Trust, preserving my (historical!) writing for all time.  Someone will approach the new volunteer, hugging a thick manilla envelope.  They'll place it gently on the desk in front of her and ask, "Have you ever heard of a blog called, 'Anything Fits A Naked Man?'"

Thanks for Reading!!

I'm Ba-ack!!

Surprise!  I know, I said I'd be away for awhile, completely immersed in my new Jodi Picoult treasure.  But the truth is, I couldn't stay away!  I'm LOVING Ms. Picoult's latest offering (fa-bu-lous!!), and I'm already several chapters in, but I've decided to try and actually PACE myself with this one.  I'm going to savor it, if you will, rather than devour it in a few days. We'll see how that goes!

I also couldn't bear being away from HERE! And you know what THAT means, don't you?  I'm completely hooked!  I'm crazy about this lovely blogosphere of which I can proudly state that I am a part, and the thought of not being connected to it for even a day is simply unimaginable.  This, of course, means there's going to be a lot of therapy in my future, but I'm not going to think about that just now!!

There's another reason I needed to come back today, and that's because about a WEEK or so ago the lovely B Sparkly awarded me with this "Master of Karate and Friendship" honor!

On top of THAT, my new best friend and stalking victim Kelly, of Kellyansapansa, gave me the prestigious "Lemonade Stand" award, about seventeen EONS ago!  And, like an ungrateful LOSER, I've not acknowledged either.  I, it turns out, royally suck!  But I'd sincerely like to remedy that today!

Thanks so much, B and Kelly, I really am honored and I can't tell you how much I appreciate you thinking of me!  If you haven't already, be sure to check out both of these girls' fantastic blogs.  They're pretty, witty, and fabulous, Dahlings!  I know you'll love them!

For the Karate Master award, I'm to now list six things in which I "master."  Wow, only SIX?  But there's just so many areas in which I excel (NOT!)! I guess I'll go with these:

1.  Running Discipline.  There's very few days I actually WANT to run.  I always do anyway.  I'm kinda proud of that!!

2.  Sticking to My Guns.  Fifteen years ago, the APSCA asked it's members to boycott Proctor and Gamble products because of inhumane animal testing procedures.  Only until recently, when it was announced the company had changed it's policies, did I buy a SINGLE item of theirs (this included Pringles potato chips, for crying out loud!!).

3.  Buying Presents for People.  I LOVE it.  And I think I'm pretty good at choosing the right item for the right person, if I do say so myself!

4.  Drinking Wine.  I've given it up for a few months to help achieve some weight loss goals.  But, MAN, when I'm on my game, I'm REALLY good at this!!

5.  Wearing What I Like.  This one took a while, but I finally stopped worrying about what others think about my outfits, and wear what I want! (See earlier, Christmas Sweater post!)

6.  Gardening.  I LOVE being elbow-deep in dirt, planting flowers that are going to make my yard "pop!"  It's like painting with nature!  In Florida, my flowers won me "Yard of the Month," TWICE!!  I wrote about THAT, too, here!

Ok, now to pass this award on to six others.  This will be tough, because so many of my new friends' outstanding blogs have already been presented with these awards!  I tried to pick ones that haven't, but if this is a repeat for you, feel free to completely ignore it!!  I won't be offended in the LEAST!!  Here are my choices:

Views of a Star Child
Sylvia from Over the Hill
"A" for Effort ("B" for Blog)
Things I Never Knew
Paint Splotches
Darlene's Days

As for the Lemonade Stand award, I'm supposed to present it to someone who's "making lemonade out of lemons," so to speak.  I'd love to give this to sweet Julia over at A Blonde Walks Into a Blog...  She's going through a rough patch right now and I'd love for you all to stop by and throw her some kind words of support!

Welp, there it is!  Thanks again, Kelly and B, I can't tell you how tickled I am that you thought of me!  I promise I'll do my best to live up to the Lemony Karate Master you see in me!!

Ok, back to Jodi!  Bye (again!) for now and,

Thanks for Reading!!

Jodi is Beautiful

My dear friend and former fellow performer, Dave, always aspired to be a great director.  He even wrote, directed and starred in many of his own short features, some of which won several awards at various film festivals across the country.  All his friends, including me, had no problem believing that Dave would fulfill his dream and one day we'd all sit in a movie theater and see his name up on the screen as the credits rolled.

Then, just a little while later, Dave went to see the movie, "Life is Beautiful."  This is the amazing, award-winning film written, directed, and brilliantly acted by Italian artist Roberto Benigni.  If you haven't yet seen "Life is Beautiful," you really must do yourself an enormous favor and rent it immediately. It's funny, romantic, and heartbreakingly tragic, all in one two hour movie!

Dave thought so, too.  In fact, Dave was so moved by all the elements of "Life is Beautiful" that he said it made him want to stop directing altogether.  He said he could never produce anything as beautifully moving as this film, and instead of inspiring him, it made him want to permanently remove his director's cap in respect.  I confess I couldn't fully comprehend Dave's perspective initially.  The movie was awesome, why didn't it INSPIRE him to do as well, instead of the alternative? Until...

I read my first Jodi Picoult novel.  Upon finishing it, I closed the book, dialed Dave's number and when he answered, I simply stated, "I completely get it!" Jodi Picoult is such a tremendous author, and produces such incredible work, she makes me want to quit writing. There's no way I could ever write so eloquently. Have you ever read one of her books?  Don't, she'll ruin you for LIFE (I'm kidding, of course.  You must rush out this very MINUTE and read her entire, vast library!).

Jodi's books are thoughtful, well-written, thoroughly researched stories that are impossible to put down.  Her characters are always deliciously multi-dimensional.  There is no clear black and white in her tales, she makes you feel empathy for bad guys and hatred of good guys.  Her stories take you everywhere from Amish farms to maximum security prisons, and each location is so impeccably described, you swear there is absolutely no way Jodi didn't grow up in that very place.  Until you read the NEXT book, and the setting is a completely DIFFERENT location, and you think the same thing!

Much to my intense delight, even though each of her novels must require a great deal of research and "delving" into the topic at hand, Jodi still somehow manages to produce a new book every year.  HOW does she do this, you ask?  Well, I can honestly say I HAVE NO EARTHLY IDEA!!!  The woman is clearly a freak!!

I was under the impression that the only authors who publish a book a year are those that write "cookie-cutter" trashy or Harlequin Romance-esque novels.  Hers are neither, but I'm SO glad she is such a machine!  The minute I finish her latest book, I immediately crave the next.

WHY am I telling you all of this?  Well, here's the deal.  Jodi's new book, House Rules, hits the bookshelves TOMORROW (squeee!!). Unbelievably, my local Border's Bookstore is NOT opening at midnight for this monumental event, so I will NOT be able to purchase my copy at the earliest possible minute.  But, I WILL be knocking over the manager as he unlocks said doors an excruciating nine hours later.

I'm telling you this because there's a very good chance that once I purchase my new treasure, I will be off line for a day or so while I DEVOUR Ms. Picoult's latest offering (OK, so I'll be checking in from time to time to see if I have any new comments or followers!).  And there's also a REALLY good chance that when I DO return, I'm going to be really, really depressed that: A.) I've finished the book and have to wait a WHOLE year for the next one to be written, and B.) I will NEVER be worthy enough to shine this woman's writing quill, let alone aspire to someday tell a story like her!

So, in conclusion, I'll probably be a big, hot mess next time I'm here, consider yourself  forewarned!  In the meantime, please feel free to look around my place, read some old posts, and make a comment or two if you like.  You can even use the pretty guest towels, and sit on the good furniture!  Hey, why don't you go pick up a copy of  "Life is Beautiful" while I'm gone?  Dave and I think you'll be glad you did!!

Thanks for Reading!

Last Trailer on the Right

As promised, I'm going to write today about my pet cockatiel, Vegas (that's her, left, on a particularly bad "hair" day!).  I read recently that if you want to increase your readership, you must never, EVER discuss your pets in your blog. "Who really cares about your dogs, cats, and lizards besides YOU, anyway?" they tell us. But I truly hope you'll humor me and read this anyway. Because Vegas' story is actually quite touching, and a lovely example of the amazing kindness of strangers.  I think you'll enjoy it...

Vegas' tale actually begins with that of her predecessor, my male cockatiel, Opie.  On Easter Sunday, a few years back, Alan was working in the kitchen while Opie sat on his shoulder (ALL animals, birds, and insects love my husband, that's discussed here.).

Just then, my father, who had just arrived for Easter dinner along with my mother, rang the doorbell and let himself in (he does this ALL the time!  I guess the doorbell part is just to "announce" that he's already coming in!).   The ringing doorbell, my father's loud "Hello!" and Trixie's subsequent barking all created the "perfect storm" to startle poor Opie.  In a millisecond, he jumped off Alan's shoulder and promptly flew over Dad's head and out the door.

I was panicked.  Opie had done this before, startled, then flew up on the curtain rod or on top of the cupboards.  He would always land there, then, still scared,  sit and wait for me to step on a chair, reach up, and get him.  He never seemed to figure out how to fly back to me, I always had to go and get him.

So, I knew I had to try and get him once again, impossible and daunting as the task appeared.  That entire day, I combed the streets of our neighborhood, scanning trees and whistling "Beautiful Dreamer."  This was the song he had learned to sing through a "cockatiel training" CD I had once purchased for him.  I was hoping he'd recognize the tune, respond and give away his location. Soon, I was on my bike, boom box secured in the front basket, blaring his "Beautiful Dreamer" whistling CD. I pedaled down every street, around every pond, scanning every tree and rooftop.  For days.  Nothing.

I was a mess.  The thought of my sweet, defenseless bird, scared to death, clinging to a tree branch and waiting for me to come for him, was maddening.  I just couldn't find him.  I put up signs with his picture on lamp posts, park benches, even our local gas station and grocery store. Surely SOMEONE had seen him. Still, nothing

I took out an ad in the paper:  "Lost: Male Cockatiel.  Grey with yellow head.  Sings 'Beautiful Dreamer.' Please help us find him."  The ad ran for two weeks, and we heard nothing.

Finally, Alan gently told me it was time to let go.  Tearfully, I agreed.  My only hope was that Opie was rescued by someone who decided to keep him, and if that was the case, I prayed his new owners were kind and loving to him.  If he did, in fact, meet with his death out there, then I prayed he was now happily residing on Grandma Simmons' shoulder, waiting with her for me to join them and scratch his cute head once again someday.  But, I truly missed him.

A short time later, I came home to this message on our machine:  "Hello my name's Cindy. I saw your ad in the paper, and I haven't seen your bird.  But I do know what it's like to lose one, and I wanted you to know how sorry I am.  Also, my husband and I breed cockatiels and we have a new clutch of babies that just hatched.  We'd love for you to have one, as a gift."

Before the message had ended, I was weeping.  I couldn't comprehend that so much compassion and generosity was being so lovingly offered by a complete stranger.  I can't tell you how much it soothed my sad, mournful heart!

I called Cindy back, started crying again, and told her I'd really love to come and see the new babies.  She gave me her address and told me to stop by any time.  The next day after work I pulled out the paper with her address and began to follow the directions she had given.  As I got closer, I realized the address was that of a trailer park.  Cindy and her husband lived in a cute, neat unit at the end of the row, on the right.  The tiny yard was beautifully decorated with flowers, bird baths, and feeders. A vintage, mint condition Harley Davidson motorcycle was parked out front.

As I pulled up, a middle-aged couple walked through the door of their screened-in porch and waved.  The man, probably in his early fifties, could easily have served as an extra in any biker movie.  He wore a red bandana tied over his head, thick, mutton chop sideburns, leather vest, and a silver hoop earring inserted through his pierced ear.  Cindy stood next to him in denim shorts and black t-shirt, hair pulled back in a pony tail.  Both of them were smiling.  I loved them immediately.   I walked up, introduced myself, shook their hands, and thanked them again for their kindness.  They explained that they had lost a bird of their own in a similar fashion, they understood how devastating it felt, and they wanted to help.

We talked there in the garden for a few minutes.  Cindy and John had married young and had two children of whom they were very proud. Their youngest had just left the nest, so they decided to move into this trailer park community and start breeding birds to supplement their income.

Cindy liked to paint (later she would show me the exquisite murals she had created on the walls of their tiny home) and John loved working on his Harley and taking care of his birds. After a while, John turned to me and asked, "Well, do you want to come pick yourself out a baby?"  I hugged myself and replied emphatically, "YES!!"

We stepped into the screened-in porch and I immediately became aware that I was standing in an aviary wonderland!  Cindy had painted a lovely tropical scene on the wall, and a giant cage, with plenty of room for flying, sat floor to ceiling in the corner. Dozens of colorful, happy, birds sat on perches, preened themselves, and chirped away inside. In another, smaller cage, huddling together for warmth, were five tiny, partially featherless babies.  I have often said that bird babies fall into the category of "so ugly they're cute," and these were certainly no exception.  John carefully lifted the latch on the cage and encouraged me to choose one and pick it up, assuring me it was OK.

I reached in, grabbed this baby pictured to the right, and fell immediately in love (who wouldn't? LOOK at that FACE!!).  I never held another.  She seemed content in the warmth of my hand and settled in contentedly while I scratched her prickly head.  I held her to my cheek, smiled at John, and said, "This one!"

I visited Cindy and John once, maybe twice a week after that, checking in on my baby bird, anxiously awaiting the day she was fully weaned and ready to come home with me.  Finally, the big day arrived.  I brought my carrying cage along with a sappy but heartfelt thank you note and gift (they flatly refused all of my many attempts to pay them).  It was a colorful wind chime to add to her collection hanging from her porch.  Cindy opened it, gushed and gasped and told me she loved it.  It seemed like such an uneven trade.  I gave her a noisy piece of metal to hang from her roof, she gave me a new member of my family and the solid reassurance that human compassion and selfless giving still exist.

I hugged them both, promised to stay in touch, tearfully thanked them for the thousandth time, then placed my new little girl in the car and drove her to her new home.  I sat her in Opie's old, recently scrubbed-down cage and stood back to let her get used to her new surroundings.  I stared at her for hours, trying to decide on a name.  She has this larger than normal cluster of head feathers, much taller than the ones you'd see of cockatiels shown in pictures and books.  I thought she resembled a show girl with a beautiful headdress and decided to call her Vegas.  She seemed to like it!

I learned later that Vegas' tall head feathers are actually considered a deformity in the cockatiel breeding community.  If I were to "show" her (yes, they have bird shows, just like dog shows!  Can you believe it?), she would be immediately disqualified for her gross abnormality.

But if you ask me, this plain, deformed little ball of feathers is the grandest, most beautiful creature on God's green earth.  She is the tonic for my aching heart, the answer to a prayer, and a constant reminder that kindness, generosity, and compassion still exist in this cold, hard world.  You'll  find them at that last trailer on the right...

Thanks for Reading!!

Missing Sunsets

Those of you who've been with me for a while may remember that my sister, Laura, was a performer like me. Actually, all of the Donnelly children were no strangers to the stage, but Laura and I took that next step and each chose theater as our major when we entered college. Laura attended the prestigious Northwestern University near Chicago, I honed my craft at Syracuse University. But each summer during our college years, both of were reunited in Warsaw, Indiana to perform Summer Stock at a terrific theater named Wagon Wheel Playhouse. There we are at "The Wheel" in the picture to the left.  I'm the one sitting, revealing my enormous thighs, Laura's standing behind me.

Wagon Wheel was an awesome place to apply the skills we'd been honing all year in school.  And we put on some really fantastic, high quality shows, if I do say so myself!! During my three years there, I appeared in musicals such as "Annie," "Music Man," "A Chorus Line," "Girl Crazy," and many, many others!  It was hard work, but we truly loved every minute of it.  To this day, I'll never be able to figure out how we managed to rehearse a show all day, break for dinner, then perform a different musical that evening.  Each show ran two weeks, and we did about six shows every summer.  Ah, the energy of youth!!

At the end of the summer, I'd tearfully hug my sister and fellow performers goodbye and we'd all head back to our respective schools to begin the next collegiate year.

But after all three of the summers I performed at Wagon Wheel, I confess I never got used to that first day back, sitting in my dorm room, gazing out the window, and experiencing twilight again.

When you're a performer, your call times are usually one half hour before show start.  However, if you're a girl, and you have make-up, hair, false eyelashes, and spandex tights to deal with, you arrive at the theater at least one hour before the curtain rises.   Hence, for the entire summer, I had not witnessed one single sunset.  I was always in my dressing room at the theater.  You know that awesome time of day when the daylight is just starting to fade, when the fireflies are beginning to warm up, and the birds are hanging out at the feeder for one more pre-nightfall snack?  I missed ALL of that for three solid months.

I never even realized I missed it until that Fall, back on campus.  Then, I couldn't get enough of it!  Even now, all these years later, when I start to see the light outside start to fade, I always think of Wagon Wheel Playhouse, and the fantastic job that inadvertently made me appreciate sunsets!!

What's your favorite time of day? Early morning with a cup of coffee? Afternoon nap time?  Tell me!  Let's bond!!  And, of course,

Thanks for Reading!!