Not Satisfactory

I just returned home from a performance of "The Merchant of Venice" at
the Trinity Rep in Providence. I went with some very special friends who not
only live nearby but who also subscribe, and I may add without prejudice -
really dear and wonderful friends.

Usually, this company inspires, takes creative risks, challenges you as
an audience member, and can often shed new light on old as well as new
works. Once in a great while - they totally miss and tonight was one of
those times. Yes - this particular play is difficult to produce in our current
politically correct landscape, but this was a major miscalculation and not
a qualified risk.

 A great Portia, Shylock or Antonio can save any production, but one out
of three can not. This was a director's piece in this presentation and the
failure to execute the furrows and plantings of this text did not create
a reality that benefited this piece.

The clowns were over the top and distracted from the dark tragi-comedy.
They suspended any truth that might be told and just did not fit, a major
miscalculation from the director. I was left with more unanswered questions
about chatacter relationships and development. If the text is missing any
of this (which is not typical of Shakespeare) then the director must add this
in the visual representation. So much was missed this way that the tying of
loose ends of the plot at the end were left unexpressed.

Shylock did not break my heart, Jessica's issues were left unresolved, Portia
fell short in the trial scene, Lorenzo was underdefined, Bassanio just missed
the mark. In a work that demands a clear focus on each character and their
individual motivation and then the complicated interrelationships, the director
did not create the needed clarity. So we in the audience could only reach
for conclusions that were not expressed in the performance. It should not
be this way.

Thoughts just after midnight

It is late. I feel a certain responsibility to post. This begs the question - where
am I and what am I feeling just now?

I am thankful for the people who persevere with me and who choose to
accept me just as I am. As a person seeking to grow and bloom in new
unexplored ways, I greet those on my way with gratitude to endure with
me the pangs of personal growth.

My inter-relationships with friends are the map and pathway for my own growth
and perhaps theirs as well. There is a mutuality in this journey. I am so aware that
to do any of this, one must accept the reality that it can not be a solo attempt.
Nurture and growth come in the community of experience and sharing that
opens the portal of new being.

My road is open. I comtemplate new possibilities. I shudder with what might be.
Fractured by my own fear, I still have hope. I surge forth with promise. And
I await the next dawn of possibility.


R

Prop 8 California

I do not understand what some folks are afraid of.
How can committed and loving relationships be
something to fear? And if these same couples choose
to adopt unwanted and marginalized children and
give them a loving, nurturing home, where is the societal
error? Who will open their hearts and homes to these
children?

For those who proclaim the sanctity of life, where are they
after the birth? Who will take care of these children after
they are "saved" from the possibility of a termination of
pregnancy? These questions are not  addressed by the
pro-lifers. So my query is not addressed. If life for its own
sake is saved - who becomes the caretaker of that life? If
we as a society do not choose to fund the social network
to support the lives we hold sacred, what are we saving?

And if we hold fast to our religious calling to care for those
who can not care for themselves, what are we doing when
we turn our heads away from that responsibility?

How is this hooked to Prop 8 in California? I think the
answer is just too clear....

And  the question remains the same. What kind of
society do we choose to live into? And do we all share
mutually in its future? Or do we exclude from fear the
very folks who can bring us forward into that caring,
nurture-filled possibility of the better way?


R

"Old Friends"

In the last two weeks I have reconnected with three different sets of
friends from differing chapters in my life. And each was surrounded
by food and conversation for an extended time, not the grab and go we
so often call connection. Grateful sharing and attentive listening were
always present. This has become a rarity in our oft over busy lives, so
much so that when it does happen, it is like the clean, cold air that strikes
your face on a dry winter day. One knows at once that something different
is coming into your life, something too often lost.

Our lives are so hungry for this kind of communication and connection
with others. Being with old friends is like snuggling into you favorite chair.
You are at once totally comfortable and comforted. I am reminded of a concept
in the lines of T. S. Eliot's play "The Cocktail Party" - the true essence of
friendship is present when after a time apart old friends meet again and you
just pick up where you left off as if no time has passed at all.

That is precisely how I feel about these "old friends" with whom I have shared
more than a meal, more than a hurried moment. We have shared a Eucharistic
Moment, at one with one another. I am grateful for these moments.


R

Reflection - Mid Winter Day

Fading light on a mid winter's day on Cape Ann
Fifteen hours of rain, hardly north east winter
The light illuminates the golden marsh grass
The marsh waters reflect the color of the afternoon skies.

Inside
safe
warm
lost in thought
comfortable - yet - sensing loss
not definable

Nature's beauty lifts my spirit
The light is ever changing
Showing scenes most often - unseen
Evolving
Moving

In the midst of this
I can only feel
Comfort
A unique sense of at oneness.

And I am thankful
For this moment.


R

Mom's remembrance of a dinner party.

Mom and Dad were newly married and living in a small three
room apartment in Jackson Heights. She loved to have friends
over for a "fancy" dinner and use all the beautiful wedding gifts
and her sterling silver flatware. Her parents always had extra people
around the dinner table and of course her Father would carve the
roast and serve the main courses from the head of the table. And her
Mother would sit at the opposite end and trade retorts with her husband.

Mother had invited three couples to dinner. To accomodate eight at table,
they had to open the dining table into the living room and elbow into the
table. It was a small aparment. The table was set perfectly, and Mom had
all the food assembled in her high style, showing off those precious wedding
gifts. So the roast beef was placed at the head of the table by my Dad and
Mom said to Dad "Dick would you please carve and serve the beef." And
Dad nodded and obliged her.

Dad had grown up in Ohio. His Father had died when he was eight years old.
He was raised by his sister who had to abandon college after the death of her
Father and by his Mother who never relented on her anger at the early death
of her husband. Her children would support her and be with her always. She
played the long suffering widow until her death at age one hundred. She
represented all the duty centered behaivor of the Victorian Age.

Dad began to struggle with the roast. And Mom made several trips to the kitchen
for a "sharper" knife, Dad chased the roast all around the platter, trying to complete
his task. It soon became evident to all that he was a.) not an experienced carver and
b.) that if he continued butchering the cow in this manner there would not be
enough to go round the table. Dad seemed non plussed. The guests were trying to
control their anxiety. And Mom finally said, "Dick, I think I'll complete the carving
in the kitchen!" There was an unasperated sigh of relief among the guests.

Little known to Mom was that Dad had never carved a roast before. In his
frugally managed growing up, his Mother had prepared and doled out the
portions in the kitchen and presented the meager serving on plate directly to
her very thin children. Mom was unaware of this until the summer visits to
Ohio became part of our childhood.

At future dinner parties Mom decided to carve in the kitchen and let Dad do the
serving from the head of the table. And I remember growing up with a Dad
who never learned the craft of carving, but was always ready to try sometimes
with success, but not always.

When Art Transforms and Informs Life.....

Home from annual meeting at church - always too current and often forgetful of past
contributions from those who tirelessly worked before the current year to plan the
ease of today's protestations of success. I am not bitter or surprised,  and here's the but...

I arrived home to see that that which I thought I'd missed yesterday was actually today
and on line to see - the Bavarian Opera in Munich's simulcast of Verdi's great opera
"Don Carlos." Coming from annual meeting to enter Verdi's world at the scene of the
auto-da-fe was somewhat - how shall we say - unusual? But oh the grandeur and truth,
I stayed with the succeeding scenes and grew anew to the great depth and compassion
of this work. A superior cast of artists ignited this both human and grand offering, I was
moved and elevated to a newer plane of understanding and realization for the
complexities and wonder of this work.

And as we journey as believers, this is the text and music that can enable us to move in
our own time to deeper understanding and commitment. And is that not the work of great
art in our lives?

I feel blessed to see this and offer it to others. I wish that you may seek and see what
I see. Otherwise my words fall on deaf ears and my hope is to open those ears to bring
them to hear what I hear.

R