Cinderella in Detroit

If I haven't mentioned it before, and I'm pretty sure that I have, our family has a great love for the stage. Shortly before Calvin was born I made an acquaintance who was very involved in children's theater and went to a performance of Charlotte's Web in order to see her perform. At the time she had a three month old waiting for her backstage, and my infant was about three months from making his own debut, but I was already sold on the idea of great children's theater. Calvin went to his first real show just a few years later and sat in rapt attention through the entire performance of fairy tales and legends done by Wild Swan, our award winning local children's theater group. He loved it, and we got season tickets for years after.

Even today we still go see some of Wild Swan's shows for older kids, but children's theater was really just a gateway drug. When Calvin was only five we went with friends to see the traveling Broadway performance of Mary Poppins. That went so well that we tried him out on Pirates of Penzance at the Stratford Festival that same fall.  A few shows in he started performing himself, first with his homeschooling group, then in camps, then, coming full circle, in a children's chorus for a Wild Swan show itself. It's a true love affair, not due necessarily to any strong aptitude, but to a great depth of enjoyment. 

I mention all this for two reasons. First, because a few weeks ago Calvin decided to audition for a coveted spot in a local children's performing troupe for the production of the musical Tarzan, and he won a place in the mid level chorus. The process required a full resume with head shot to be turned in at the audition where he was interviewed and put to the test for recitation, vocals, and dance choreography. I was nervous for him. I think it was the resume with head shot that made it clear how next level up this really was. Calvin was pretty easy about the whole thing, which might have been his saving grace. We'll never know. But the next few months in our house will be all Tarzan all the time.

The second reason I mention all this stagey stuff is because this weekend we went with our close friends (also known as our camping friends) to see the Broadway travelling performance of Cinderella in Detroit, almost four years to the day after we went with them to see Mary Poppins. It was a great show—a really surprisingly fresh and hilariously updated show with amazing costumes and perfect one-liners. It was a great show, plus it was a nice break from Tarzan.

CY365 in 2016, week 8

I'm finally getting caught up on photo organizing. It's only two months into year, what's the rush? I printed the CY365 (capture your 365, photo-a-day) prompts for January and February and am pairing up photos as best I can for the weeks already past. Many days went photoless, I'm afraid to say, but nothing is perfect, and it's never to late to start. Calvin has actually done a better job of keeping up with the prompts, but his shots are on his computer and we've had some difficulty communicating them to mine, so that is still in the works.

So, better late than never, we begin CY365 again.

Feb 19: Cover

Feb 20: Starts with R

Feb 21: Aperture

Feb 22: Rest

Feb 23: Supplies

Feb 25: Motion

Final voyage of the hippo car

Twelve years ago Jon won a composing internship in Los Angeles. It was a well earned honor and a very exciting opportunity, and because we were young and impetuous we threw caution to the wind and wrapped our fairly newly married and very newly house-owning lives around that moment. We arranged a long-term house-sitter (my brother), a hiatus from my job that would allow us to keep the health insurance, and even a job offer for Jon on his return. The one thing that we didn't know what to do with was our cadre of dogs. We had three, one of which was a paraplegic dalmatian with a wheel chair and some very special needs. So what do you do when you have a dog—three dogs—that you can't leave behind on your once-in-a-lifetime journey/exploration/vacation/internship? You trade in your sedan for a car that will accommodate the entire group and you all go together.

That car was a Pontiac Vibe, and all on our long journey, whenever the sun was low on the horizon, first early in the morning as we headed west, then late in the evening as we aimed home again, through mountains and plains, the brown of dry desserts and the verdure of lush valleys, its shadow stretched out in front of us on the open road as a fat, round hippo with adorable ears sticking out on each side. Our hippo car.

This all took place long before our blog, and the story of the two-month journey is a post all its own, but the story of that car, purchased with packing two months of necessities and three dogs in mind, turned into a twelve year saga. It trucked those dogs from Michigan to California, and later from Michigan to Washington D.C. Even later it was the car we brought our baby home from the hospital in, and the car that hauled all the dirt for our first garden, and boxes when we moved, and picnics when we hiked.

It's been a great car—no recalls and no major problems, just twelve years of oil changes, tire rotations, and all other regularly scheduled maintenance appointments. But all good things must come to an end, and, twelve years being a good run, when our hippo car started showing signs of wearing out, we decided it was time to take the money and run towards the down payment on a new car. So we drove our twelve-year-old hippo friend one last time . . . to the dealership where we traded it in for a new car.

I should end there, because this post is about saying goodbye to our hippo car, but when any door closes, another one opens, and there is a new car in our midst. When Jon told me four years ago that he wanted an orange Hyundai Veloster, I thought he was kidding. He was not.

We drove there in a hippo, we came home in a pumpkin.

February 19, 2016

Feb 12: Where I stand

Feb 13: Clutter

Feb 14: Red

Feb 15: Heart

Feb 16: Striking

Feb 18: Blazing 
 

Making Valentines a family party

Saints and massacres aside, in the B.C. years (the years before child), Valentines Day felt like an importantly romantic celebration. We couldn't afford a meal out back then, let alone jewelry or romantic getaways, but we did what we could with what we had to share an amorous evening bordering on schmaltzy. Special meals for two with champagne consumed in candle lit ambiance with the ceremonial delivery of cards and/or often flowers. 

But these are the A.C. years, the years after child, and the romantic Valentines Day has all but completely faded into a thing of our past. Now the "holiday", if it can be called that anyhow, is about choosing the right cards and accompanying candy to give to the multitude of children in our homeschool group. It's about crafts and potluck foods. It's about wearing red (or pink or purple) for the class party on the day in question. 

Romantic it is no longer, but has the day really changed? It was always about love, the form of love has just changed a bit through the years. No longer looking like bubbly and kissy balloons, it has taken the form of a family affair, which is the focus of our love and attention at this moment in life. So after the class party and the almost offensive influx of sugar in our systems, we spent the rest of the heart holiday weekend sitting in front of a fire assembling every Lego set in the house (and through three lives of Lego collectors that is a lot), consuming hot cocoa, Mexican food, and, at the very last, going out for delightful family dinner. 

And, in the time A.B. (the hours after bedtime), there was some enjoyment of champagne (or sparkling wine, for those of you keeping track).