God Is In the Details ~ Sondheim

                                 

 

After taking in the Broadway production of  "Into the Woods" last December, I was hesitant to see the Disney film version.

Don't get me wrong, Disney's great. But this production was so creatively satisfying that I feared,  you know what I'm going to say, anything else would be a let down. The tickets to the show were a Christmas gift from my grown children, adding more sentiment to the occasion. Elbowing our way down Broadway during the impossibly crowded Holiday tourist season, winter chill on our cheeks, only intensified the allure and adventure.

The production was pared down to one upright piano and ten actors who doubled parts, hilariously at times, like when two guys acting as Cinderella's step-sisters held a curtain rod at shoulder height with cinched double panels that hung in front of them to look  like dresses. Ha. So funny!

What resulted was a most magical, organic and sardonically Sondheim experience. Take a look for yourself and Watch here.

Long burly ropes strung from floor to ceiling formed the backdrop resembling the criss-cross of piano strings and hinting at a forest. Stage left held a wall of piano harps from uprights and grands of all sizes creating the look of woods to the rear and woods to the side. The show did not disappoint.

The entire production corroborated Sondheim's writing philosophy that

God is in the Details. 

Other Sondheim-isms are 
                                                             'less is more'
                                                                                           'content dictates form.' (Take note writers.) But my favorite is 'god is in the details.'

I'm certain Sondheim didn't mean this as a faith statement. For Him, the essence of a well-written play is in the details of craft, lyric and song making a work transcend into high art and excellence.
So true, Stephen.

On the stage and more true in real life. For there the small events of the day are the shadow of God.Quite often it's not the epic miracles, but the small revelations that display the Creator's character and personal touch in our every day.

Couched in comedy and satire of four familiar fairy tales, Sondheim weaves a poignant message of longing, satisfaction and the universal 'fight in the forest' to secure our happiness.
In the the midst of the beautiful and ugly, the ordinary and strange, it's revealed that our deepest "I wish"-es are fleeting and disappointing at times.

Look for the divine in the details in Into The Woods and everyday moments. Your happy-ever-after may be in the very present, rather than in pined-for future things.
 
Alas, because of the sheer perfection of this masterful musical, I may just have to see the movie, after all.

Surfin' Jesus Style

In life challenges are a continual companion. Accepting the fact makes one an adult. Not freaking out makes one a mature adult. Easier said than done.

But what if we view adversity with new eyes? Rather than responding with that lead-weight-in-the-pit of-our-stomach, palpitating-panic-in-our-chest or tear-producing-lump-in-our-throat, we

stop,

breathe

and embrace the roller coaster ride of faith.

Oswald Chambers puts it like this from his March 7th My Utmost For His Highest 
devotional:

"The surf (6ft waves towering over your small self) that distresses the ordinary swimmer produces in the surf-rider (1930's term for surfer-dude) the

Super - joy

of going clean through it. 

Photo credit - commons.wikipedia.com - Santa Cruz

                                                             

Apply that to our own circumstances, these very things, tribulations, distress, persecution, (problems, flat tires, job losses, family illness, car accidents, stress, calls from your child's school, fevers in the night) produce in us the 

Super-joy; 

they are not things to fight.

We are more than conquerors through Him in all these things, not in spite of them. The saint (Believer) never knows the JOY of the Lord in spite of tribulation (turbulent times), but because of it--- 'I am exceedingly joyful in all our tribulation,' says Paul.

Undaunted radiance is not built on anything passing, but on the love of God that nothing can alter. The experiences of life, terrible or monotonous are impotent to touch the love of God, through Jesus." ~ Oswald Chambers

So, bring on the giant swells. Welcome the wall of water.

waterfalls.nias.jpg

Surf's up, baby.

Egyptians, Ancient Artifacts and the Color of A Dress

What was it about the banter over the color of the sequined dress that captivated us? Was it that our opinion was asked of? Was it a mindless distraction to much weightier things going on in the world? I confess I was sucked in to the dress debate just like anyone else. 

I was lulled and lured so I wouldn't have to think about the atrocities that I'd seen on the news this past week. I could not wrap my mind around what I'd seen. I couldn't accept it. Total denial was adopted.

And I turned to the talk of a dress and who was colorblind (or blind?).

Instead of sobbing over 21 innocent Egyptians slaughtered for their faith.

Instead of facing the images of priceless, thousand year old sculptures being viciously bludgeoned and defaced.

No more.

Gone.

History and Art that elevate the human condition.
Art that washes from the soul the dust of life, as Picasso put it.

All gone. Now a heap of ruins. A pile of dust.

I'm struggling to understand the mentality of those that would do such things. In the name of a god that promotes death to any who hold thoughts, beliefs or ideologies contrary to theirs.

This is so far from our ideal of freedom of speech, religion, and press, that I wonder why we aren't crying out over the radicals' blatant hatred and death threats.

I wondered why my mother's generation didn't do more about Hitler. He sounded like a crazy man on the radio, my mother said. She was in her twenties and had more to think about than the possibility of genocide, torture, brutality and the firing squads existing in eastern Europe.

So I sent my email to the White House to ask what their response would be to this slap in the face of our Republic.

We better pay attention. Take care we don't lose the privileges and peace we enjoy,

As we debate about the color of a dress.

I Know I Saw A Pelican!

What a month to have been laid off from my job in! I couldn't be more grateful to be the casualty of a department restructure! February in Florida is when it feels most like California. The humidity disappears, the skies are cloudless and it is 73 degrees everyday!

Just after my son in NYC texted a photo of him bundled up to his nose saying, "it feels like 4 degrees out," and my daughter in Virginia texted back that it was 26 there, I did a gleefully evil thing.

"I hate to tell you all this," I typed away," but dad and I are off to kayak at John MacArthur National Park on this beautiful Sunday afternoon."

"You know you love telling your Northern kids that," my daughter wrote from VA.

Yes, I do enjoy flaunting our fair weather while they shiver.

Surprisingly, there was very little wind as we launched the double kayak into the cool lagoon. Normally we paddle out to a distant island in the greater intracoastal, but having less time we decided to go north into the upper enclosed part of the inlet. As we skirted the mangroves once and a while we put down the paddle and listened to the quiet; the waves barely heard from the beach side of the narrow peninsula, soaking up the weaker, but warm winter sun. Then we'd push forward . The birds were abundant; herons, blue and white, snowy egrets and others we weren't sure of.



Finally, we reached the north side of the pond. A great blue heron stood stately near the water. Above him to the right a huge pelican puffed up his wattle-like pouch below his bill, and fanned his feathers, reaching his massive beak to the sky.

 To his right, after we squinted and paddled closer, there sat another pelican, (am I seeing it right?) yes, on a nest!! Thus explaining the defensive dance of the first pelican. I confirmed with hubby that indeed it was a nest he was sitting on, the white stain of droppings extending below the perch, like snow, showing she had resided there a while, warming her eggs. There is nothing like seeing wildlife in its natural habitat! What an awesome sighting!


After our rowing, we hopped the shuttle across the inlet to the beach side. I excitedly shared with the driver that we had seen some beautiful birds including the nesting pelican.

He immediately discounted my delightful sighting by saying, "Oh no. They breed in North Carolina this time of year. You couldn't have seen a pelican. It must have been a blue heron."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was a pelican. Herons are slender with short beaks and this bird was stout with a long thick bill, " I pleasantly argued (especially after my last post promising to be nicer this year).

"Well," he continued in a condescending tone, "I'm a big Audubon buff and those birds go to North Carolina this time of year to breed. It must have been a blue heron."

I couldn't believe this man was about to kill my joy. It irked me that he would try to tell me something I know I had seen, so much so, that I couldn't let it go all through lunch on the beach with hubby who was siding with the shuttle driver, as being more of an expert!!

The argument with the driver continued in my head. The nerve! Yeah, have you read Audubon in Florida? I know a little bit about the guy. I've read 3 biographies of his and my great-grandfather's original print hangs on my living room wall. I know a little bit - enough to tell the difference between a heron and an pelican, for goodness sake!

I wanted to call my birder-brother, but I'd gotten my iPhone wet, so my vindication never came.
Until I got home and googled where Florida Pelicans breed in winter.

And yes, pelicans nest in the mangroves perched high over open waters, so they can soar in and out after fishing. So There, Mr Park worker!!

 I know I saw a Pelican!

The Birthday Blogs - Saturday Night Live, 1990

I've been thinking about birthdays, as I hit another one today.

This one comes after an difficult job loss. I have more time to ponder.

My husband channel hopped to a throw-back SNL episode with Patrick Swayze hosting, a fine specimen of a man (though not my type) with his Fabio style locks coiffed with a layered cut and blow dry. They did racy skits poking fun at Dirty Dancing, Ghost and other hit films of the day.
I got the impression that it was hip and big and everyone in that New York studio felt cool and with-it and important to be a part of it all.

25 years later, who remembers? Who thinks about it? Are those names revered or reminisced?

Another year gone by, I ask, Did I do anything that was remembered?

What will I do this year that will be captured in anyone's mind?

Or is that the point?

No, it's not. Fame and the pursuit of making a name are foolish ambitions.

Stumbling on Ecclesiastes this morning, I read the same.  Solomon writes "For what has man for all his labor, for the striving of his heart (stress) and for his toil under the sun?....I made my works great, built houses, planted vineyards and gardens, orchards and pools. I gathered herds and flocks and servants, musicians and instruments- all the things that delight the soul."

He had made it.

He had arrived!

But it wasn't enough, for he laments that he will leave his accumulated wealth, possessions and accomplishments to another.

The point is to do good. That is what truly satisfies. Even God said it at the very  beginning.

God created ...... And it was good. Was the 'good ' in reference to the excellence of His created object? Yes.. But might I say it was also referring to the fact that God was satisfied in doing something good.

Do something good and you will be satisfied.

When we cut corners or cheat or hate, it leaves an undercurrent of  anxiety. We are vexed inside. We exist with this sludge in our hearts. All the pleasures and possessions in the world won't alleviate the problem. The quick fix dies fast.

But when we do good, the heart feels light and free and clean. When we resist lashing back when we've been unjustly treated; when we love our enemies and pray for those who have wronged us; when we pursue relationships instead of recoiling in bitterness, the satisfaction of doing right enlivens us. We can put our heads on our pillows in the comfort of peace.

Later Solomon gets it.

"For I know there is nothing better for a man than to rejoice and to do good in their lives.."

Here's to a year of pursuing and doing, to the best of my God-given ability, what is good.

The Day It Snowed Stars on New York City

Photo by Arielle Rudin/Gothamist

God knows how to get our attention. And contrary to public belief, he usually speaks in a still small voice, rather than thunder and lightning and tsunamis. Which is why we sometimes claim to miss Him, though He may speak through our children's innocent wisdom, a stranger's casual comment, a lyric in a song.

Yesterday He came like snow, again. (Check out Winter Snow by Audrey Assad).

And the snow was in shapes of stars. Specifically 6 - pointed stars, like the Star of David.

I wondered if He might be asking us not to forget the country whose symbol that is. Not to ignore their existence; not to deny defending them; not to un-friend them as it seems America has on the worldwide facebook page.

For our leader doesn't have the time of day for our long-time ally.

Oh, he has time take selfies on a talk show with a woman whose you tube video went viral. A woman who filled her bathtub with milk and Fruit Loops cereal, got in on all fours and lapped it up like a dog. He has time for that.

But his calendar's too full to meet with Israel's prime minister on a foreign relations tour

or to march with heads of state to resist growing global terror. Or at least to send his representative who was across that Paris street.

Call it crazy or far-fetched, but maybe Someone is gently reminding us to never forget His people; to support and defend them by sending this never before seen weather phenomena

Photo by Arielle Rudin/Gothamist

 of snowflakes in the shape of stars falling on New York City.

Sometimes Love is Like a Bad Tennis Match

Being married for ages has its ups and downs and back and forth's. Especially in conversation. Communication is the hardest part of marriage my father used to say. I didn't understand it then,  but I'm beginning to now.

The dialog often goes like this.

Love, love.

Do you think the paint treatment will hold? 

Don't know. It will be interesting to see if Canola oil can remove oxidation, or at least cover it up.

Of course when it rained I think the windows got cloudy. So I brought some paper towels and now we can windex them down.

It didn't rain before you left.

Yes, it did. Remember you said, wouldn't you know it rains the day you wash the car! It was covered with poinciana petals from the front yard branches that hang over the drive way.

Love, fifteen.

So I feel like our conversations are like bad tennis matches.

We lob sentences back and forth and keep missing the ball.

I send the ball, he misses.

He sends the ball, I miss, never seeming to connect.

I resist throwing the racket at him.

Fifteen, fifteen.

I serve, he misses, he returns it, I miss. We keep missing each other and mass confusion sets in. It's so maddening,  its a wonder we don't pitch the tennis balls and stomp off the court, the both of us.

Oh, he admitted. You're right.

Thank God! Because I feel like I'm going crazy when I cant' remember events that happened a half a day ago.

No it's me that's going crazy, he says.

Fifteen, thirty.

Well, just for today. I'm sure you'll be in your right mind tomorrow.

I'm working on it with diet and exercise, getting my mind back, that is.

We'll work on it together, ok? 

Ok.

Love, Love.

Christmas Doesn't Get Much Better Than This - Part Two

Letters make the best Christmas presents.

Especially when they are from your 24 year old son who is making his way in the world. He shares a 1920's house in historical Flamingo Park, West Palm Beach, is finishing his engineering degree, has a catch of a girl friend and loves Jesus. He's got the whole package. The world on a string. He's lassoed the moon!

What more could a mother ask for? What else would be on her Christmas wish list?

Absolutely nothing. But I got it anyway!

It wasn't the handkerchief or Stephen Sondheim New York City musical tickets gifted me that made my Chrsitmas morning. It was the note in a little red envelope that brought the holiday glow everyone longs for. The "this is what Christmas is all about" revelation amongst twinkling lights, candles and shiny wrapping paper.

It read like this:

Mom,

The more people I meet and know, the more thankful I am for you. Thank you for being so loving and caring. I don't know how you did it. People always assume that as a middle child of five siblings that I might have been neglected. But never once have I felt so. 

I love your adventurous spirit and your appreciation of the little things. Thank you for being the best mom ever.

Love,
B...

Merry Christmas to me!

Christmas Doesn't Get Much Better Than This - Part One

Of all the Christmas scenes that come to mind, I think the fireplace hung with stockings and garland is the most iconic of all.

The experience was never realized here in my modern Florida Mediterranean stucco home. Prior to this, we lived in a string of apartments and a duplex. None possessed a fireplace. Only my childhood California ranch home did. That was my last Christmas with a burning fire to roast chestnuts over. Well, not chestnuts really, but tangerines, yes.  Dad would peal a juicy tangerine and throw the rind into the flames predicting an imminent roasted citrus scent to invade the living room. The fruity flambe was intoxicating.

But my daughter in Virginia got the goods, mantle and all, and decorated so beautifully this Christmas.

She started a new Advent tradition as well. Instead of a calendar with little windows to open, like the one I had growing up, she gave her kids Advent books - one each day to read.

Usually the boys rough and tumble their way through their day, driving my daughter crazy. But something unusual took place one day.

It was a Christmas miracle!

The boys were sitting quietly in front of the glowing fire poring over their day's book, engaged in an heated, yet civil, adult-like conversation about Santa's  descent into the chimney of every little boy and girl in the world.

"Why do you think Santa doesn't mind getting dirty from all the fire places?"

"Maybe he loved playing in dirt as a boy?"

This unprompted event sent mom running for the canon camera, so as not to miss this rare moment of sibling harmony around the family hearth.

Snap away, young mommy. This warm picture will burn in our memory for years to come.

Thanksgiving and Stargazing

A friend modeled this grand idea of cooking everything ahead for Thanksgiving to preserve one's holiday cheer and emotional stamina for the actual day. So, Monday night I chopped up the 5 pound butternut squash and started my soup recipe from the Silver Palate cookbook. It's a decades old book, but so chocked full of delicious recipes from 2 New Yorker girl friends and their gourmet food shoppe.

photo credit - Butternutrician.com

Still exhausted from the day, postponing cooking was quite tempting. Forcing myself to face the skillet, I sauteed chopped onions in butter with 5 teaspoons of delectable Pendy's curry powder for 25 minutes.

While the squash was boiling in chicken broth I took the dog for a walk on this balmy 78 degree November night. The silky breeze felt lovely against my face and bare shoulders. A walk down the curved sidewalk and I felt the great desire to lay on the dewy St. Augustine lawn and look at the glittering stars.

The tiny orbs were abundant and bright. I tried to count them and noticed the familiar constellations. I randomly wondered:

If Orion unbuckled his belt, would the stars fall down? 

A sirius-ly odd thought. I had no clue where it came from. (I hear the reader begging 'Stop!') There's the little dipper, looking like the teaspoon I just used for curry. There's the big dipper that I will use to ladle my soup.

Oh, that I could rest here all night!  By now every star was twinkling ferociously, like rubies and sapphires set in silver. What energy in those stars! A million leaping molecules making them burn and shimmer.

Surely some of that energy could be redirected to this tired woman facing the marathon cooking day of Thanksgiving. Squinting, I stared past the stars imagining the inky depth of the universe, though it appeared a one dimensional backdrop. Could I have a little bit of inertia God used to create the great expanse? Just a 1/4 teaspoon of the power He employed to speak it all into existence?

Pass the energy, please.

Back to the hot kitchen (AC out again) and my potatoes, green beans, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry salad, and pies.

Just a little stargazing with my Turkey Day cooking, thankful for the strength to cook and love on my family this Thanksgiving.

Daughter, April cooks her first turkey; all with 3 kids under 6. She looks perky!