In L.A. on Wednesday, we rented a van. We had so much luggage among the four of us that we needed a big space to store things as we waited for the 10 p.m. flight to Australia. During the day, in our van, we went to Santa Monica where we lunched on the pier with dozens of pigeons. Then we drove to Malibu where we didn’t see Rockford’s trailer, but we did see many interesting homes along the shore. The beaches were of wonderful fine sand, but the temperatures were such that there weren’t many people sunning themselves. From Malibu we drove to Topanga Canyon Drive, the artist colony, up some curvy moountain roads with no real barriers to the canyons below, and on to Venice Beach where we walked past “muscle beach” with its body builders and beachside shops. We had dinner in Venice Beach, then made our way back to the van rental place, picked up a driver, and headed for the airport.

Most unpleasant was feeling unwashed for nearly three days. We were not a treat if one was downwind of us. Our first stop after we reached Sydney was the harbor with the amazing opera house. We walked out 15 hours of kinks, and prepared for the start of our adventure on the Oosterdam, ship of Holland America Lines.

Today is Monday (Sunday at home). I know it is because the carpet square in each elevator is changed daily, and today is Monday in all the elevators. The wind is blowing at more than 40mph, and we can’t open to door to our balcony. It’s the kind of day to hunker down by a fire and read or watch a movie or nap. We were informed yesterday that part of our trip has been changed because of a storm with 30′ swells and 90mph winds. We’d been looking forward to Milford Sound with its fjords and beautiful shorelines, but that lovely part of the trip and Hobart, Tasmania, were eliminated. I guess I’d rather be safe and not have to deal with the giant swells. The reeling boat is surreal. Just when I’d sort of adjusted to the boat’s movement, I am introduced to lurches and bouncing.

We spent a lovely day in Melbourne yesterday. The sun was warm, spring flowers were in bloom, and the botanical gardens were exquisite. We did much walking in that interesting city, and enjoyed the day. I was tired when we got back to the ship, and my face was a bit sunburned. Do I ever learn? Make that will I ever learn?

There was a storm in the night, with wind, high waves, and much noise. It worked its way into a dream I was having, and it was so real and terrifying that I was lost in in for a time… The sirens warning of disaster were sounding. George went out to check with the steward about the emergency, and he didn’t come back. I dressed in my warmest clothes, gathered our medications, put on my life vest, and sat on the bed to await the next instructions. When the next alarms sounded, we were instructed to go to our lifeboat stations using the stairs. We were on level seven. George wasn’t back. Knowing him as I do, I was sure he’d been enlisted to help some of the wheelchair-bound passengers get to their lifeboats. I knew that 2000 plus mostly old people would never get out of this alive. I hadn’t said goodbye to the family, and I didn’t know where to find George. I was crying, and I woke up. The door to the balcony had blown open in the storm, and the curtain was caught in it. It was whistling and howling. I walked over to it – it was dark – and forced it closed. Then I locked it. The room was cold, and I was still frightened. Whose idea was it to take this trip?

We’d been awake most of the time since 3:30 Wednesday morning. It was then Friday night, actually early Saturday morning. We’d spent a day in L.A., 15 hours on a plane to Sydney, a day walking around the Sydney harbor, and a short time on the ship before we’d had “muster” where we were given all the emergency instructions that were part of my nightmare.

I haven’t figured out how to walk properly on a rocking ship. We are off to an interesting start.

I admire the 5 members of the city council who last night took a difficult stand against greed. A quiet neighborhood is a precious thing to preserve. The appreciation for wildlife habitat and green space has been one quality I have proudly attributed to this city where walking and biking paths have been nurtured.

After a long evening of discussion, civil for the most part, the council members stated their positions. Those who were opposing the motion to approve a building project were thoughtful in stating their reservations about the proposal and about their reluctance to be responsible for a decision that had been brought before them without thorough consideration of all possibilities. The condescending comments of the members who supported the proposal in response to those who voted no was inappropriate.

The advocates of the motion to approve a building project were motivated by the opportunity for increasing the tax base. That was stated. An alternative plan that would satisfy those whose neighborhood was under discussion was dismissed as not being covered by the motion. Taxable properties could be developed with another design. It is not necessary to change traffic patterns by extending a road through green space and wildlife habitat. A no vote was the only way to stop the project and send it back to its developers.

Now I hope the energies will be spent to find a solution acceptable to all who are involved. I was proud to see a system in action that could be sensitive to constituents’ concerns. I also hope that those minority voters will work with the majority to find a way through this. I fear pressures may be put on the members who did not simply rubber stamp the proposal. I’d like to see my city work in harmony when so many lives can be affected by a decision.

A muse provides inspiration, a topic or two, direction, stimulation, encouragement, and more. My muse has a conscience, compassion, empathy, outrage on occasion, and a clear sense of justice. Lately my muse has been silent. I miss the experience of putting thoughts into prose. I enjoy writing.

I feel profound sadness at the state of our nation. What has happened to stir the hornets’ nest of nastiness, violence, hatred? Where is the village that cared for me as I was growing up? Where is the civility, respect, generosity of spirit of the small town that shaped me? Is there a way through the morass that surrounds us?

Upon the altar of greed is the sacrifice of air and water, trees and wilderness, young men and women put in harm’s way in wars that forever change them. How have we come to this place? Where do we go from here?

I suspect I know what has silenced my muse. I grieve.

In spite of the climate crisis, we are experiencing a lovely summer with temperatures in the 70’s and low 80’s. That is the upside. The garden is starved for heat to ripen the tomatoes and to increase plant size. The blossoms need bees for pollination, and bee populations didn’t fare well last winter. All of these things are because of the climate crisis.
We spent a delightful weekend with the relatives. The teenagers were with us Saturday into Sunday, making music together and playing Catch Phrase with us. Sunday we took the girls to a birthday party where we joined the rest of the family. The seven granddaughters enjoy one another, and three family dogs were part of the confusion that is a family gathering.
I’m having a bit of a letdown after the stresses of the annual church rummage sale. We spend many hours in preparation, and we’re proud of the service and outreach to the community. Volunteers enjoy getting to know one another and being part of the event. A sense of ownership is the result, and that is a good feeling. But now it’s over for another year, and I’m feeling useless. Silly thing to say, but there it is.
We will have a summer trip mid-August as we head for the Hamptons where the swimming is exquisite, the bugs are few, the pace is lazy, and I can regenerate. Deer graze in the yard of the cabin, and we can do anything or nothing as the spirit moves us. When we return I’ll be back on the job at church, and my tennis player will be back at his four mornings a week of tennis. There is comfort in our routines. As I grow older, I depend on that. As I’ve said before, I look upon our happy adventures as worth repeating. It’s a reason for not having a bucket list, or at least not crossing things off and moving on to the next place to visit, experience to have. I find joy in simple things, happy moments, comfortable friendships. Pura vida. Live is good.

Janet Newman, of the MVUUF Janet Triumvirate, has become part of the office tapestry with easy grace. We share a love of books, of language and good writing, of music and choral singing, and of movies. Our conversations ranging many topics have been stimulating and refreshing.

Her appreciation of the strengths of each member of the staff has given us the opportunity to utilize our skills in the everyday workings of the church. We function well as a team, and in this brief time have accomplished our goals and explored new ideas to make our working lives more efficient.

The life of an interim minister involves making personal attachments and leaving friends at each port of call, then being ready to begin again in the next location. The tasks involved in readying a congregation for a settled minister meet with resistance that must be overcome, challenge what has always been done with suggestions of tested, easier ways of doing those things, and making the transition go smoothly. It is not always a comfortable role to play.

I am grateful for the time we have spent working together this year. We have developed an easy friendship, and I will miss having her next door where I always feel welcome.

Four days in New York City and four Broadway shows kept us busy last weekend. We traveled in a group of 34 as part the Bloomington Arts Experience for a second year of theater. The event is so well-organized that all of us felt comfortable in New York. We stayed at the Marriott Marquis on Times Square as we had last May. Except for a welcome gathering the first night, lunch at Sardi’s on Saturday before a matinee, and a Sunday brunch at the Glass House Tavern prior to our flight home, we were on our own for meals. Theaters were within easy walking distance, and two presentations by arts people were held at our hotel.

Our first show was called After Midnight, set in the 1920s Cotton Club in Harlem. The host was Dule Hill who sang and danced as part of a wonderful cast that included Vanessa Williams as a featured performer. The orchestra, billed as Jazz at Lincoln Center All-Stars, was outstanding. The music was familiar, the dancing spectacular, the production altogether entertaining.

The second show, on Friday evening, was Cabaret, performed in a cabaret setting with 2 couples at a table. It had an exceptional performance by Alan Cumming as Kit Kat Klub’s host. The story’s dark theme was contrasted by the frenzied, erotic dance sequences. I was not moved by the love stories as I should have been. In past performances of this play I have been caught up in the tragedy of the older couple’s fated relationship. I didn’t feel it in this portrayal. The set was interesting, and the orchestra, whose members were also part of the dance troup was good.

On Saturday, after lunch at Sardi’s, we attended a matinee performance of Bullets Over Broadway, based on a book by Woody Allen. It told a story of a mob boss in New York whose blond, no-talent girlfriend wanted to be a star on Broadway. The mobster bought the rights to a new play and agreed to produce it if the girlfriend would be given a key role. The show has 6 Tony nominations in categories that seem appropriate. Nick Cordero, as one of the gangsters, was nominated for a supporting role. He is worthy of that honor. I’d like to think I’m less enthusiastic about the show because of the show, not because I’m not a fan of Woody Allen. The music was all taken from the period, not written for this production.

Saturday night, at the urging of granddaughters, we got tickets for Wicked at the Gershwin Theatre. It was the best event of the weekend. I loved the story line, and I’ll never see “the other play about Oz” again without thinking about this prequel. It was spectacular with so many memorable performances. It lasted 3 hours that passed very quickly.

We look forward to another adventure next May with the Bloomington Arts Experience group.

Magic-fingered, multi-faceted
Unassuming, understanding
Talented, tenderhearted
Inimitable, an Institution

It’s fitting the Minister of Music is MOM. Our Muti has charmed and shaped a motley group of musical wannabes into acceptable choral performers. People who want to be part of a music experience can count on her accompaniment to make them sound good, and she can play in any key to accommodate voice range.

More than 25 years of clever, silly plays have entertained and amazed us. She takes us out of our comfort zones and makes us feel like stars.

A marvelous cook and hostess, she hosts terrific parties that often end in singing. Her home reflects her eclectic taste, and her gardens are lovely.

All of this is on the surface of a character who gets into interesting predicaments: locking herself out of the house in her shorty pajamas, stalling a snowblower at the base of the driveway on a nasty snowy day when Bob is out of town, taking her dog for a walk and carrying her most of the way, staying home from a concert because thunder has unsettled her poodles, forgetting her music on the piano and calling Bob to deliver it to the church, and all in the same week.

She plays hundreds of popular songs by ear with ease. Her performances with Gypsy melt our hearts. They seem to breathe together, and those moments are treasured by all of us who love them both.

Our church services are enhanced by the music each Sunday morning. Matching hymns and choral anthems to themes and treating us to offertories that show off her special skills make each service a cut above the ordinary. I can’t imagine a Sunday without her.

And so I look forward to having this special friend around for seventy-five more years.

Today we dashed out after church to make a trip to Austin where a former student was starring in a play. We’d packed a lunch that we ate on the way. We arrived early as the roads were clear and the temperature was almost balmy.

James was onstage through the entire production. As narrator he engaged the audience from the outset, took us by the hand, and led us into the world of an eccentric, quirky man who loved musicals. He was billed “the man in the chair” and we learned about him, his life, a failed marriage, and his parents, through his escapes into musicals, especially “The Drowsy Chaperone.” We saw the show in bits and pieces as he saw it each time he played the recorded music. It was the classic play within a play. Unlike the motives of Hamlet who was trying to trap a murderer, the man in the chair wanted to share something that was important to him as he experienced it again with us.

Once James had decided who the man in the chair was, he created a wonderful persona, believable and endearing, very likable and sad. His comments and observations to the audience helped a formulaic play, “The Drowsy Chaperone,” make sense of his life. Musicals with their gaiety and happy endings after predictable complications and misunderstandings were resolved, had kept him going.

I was aware of his love of theater when he was in high school. James became involved in all aspects of play production and often made things come together by taking on thankless chores to help achieve successful performances. Bringing a play or a musical to performance in a high school where actors were also athletes, musicians, and kids busy in their churches and the community, was not easy. James loved it all. His acting potential was present in his early teens. Today I saw a seasoned professional.

I am so proud to call him friend. Thank you for today, James.