...the sounds of the earth are like music...

I've written and rewritten this several times over the years. It was on the Window in February of 2018 during what must have been very bad week. I grieve for the bad weeks we've had since then and for the ones that are probably in front of us. But there is joy, too. There is joy. Thank you again to those who give it. Thanks for reading this again. Have a good week. Be safe. Be nice to somebody. - Liz

Oh the sounds of the earth are like music

The breeze is so busy, it don't miss a tree

An' a ol' weepin' willer is laughin' at me -

Richard Rodgers

I’m not a movie person, but the quote above is from Oklahoma. I used it because I love what he was able to do with a few words that give voice to how I feel. But, about movies--I have trouble sitting in one place for two hours and the truth is, I don't like very many new movies--although there are some exceptions to that. I don't like violence, I don't think sex is a spectator sport, and I still flinch at four-letter words, especially when there are a dozen of them in a sentence. I’m not crazy about animation and I hate stupid, so it really cuts down on things to watch.

I am a theatre person. If it’s on stage, I’m probably going to like it. Worse than that for anyone around me, if it’s a musical, I’m going to sing with it.
I can't quote many things from movies and plays I have seen, beyond the obvious. "My dear, I don't give a damn" and "I see dead people" come to mind. But I can remember scenes and how they made me feel. Especially that—how they made me feel.

I remember when Old Yeller died. When Sally Field stood on a conveyer belt and held up a sign saying UNION in Norma Rae. When Chamberlain and his Mainers charged Little Round Top for the third time with nothing more than bayonets and heart in Gettysburg. When Rick Nelson and Dean Martin sang in Rio Bravo. When black soldiers got boots in Glory. When Jimmy Stewart filibustered in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. (Is anyone with me on thinking that should be required viewing for all members of Congress and they can’t swear in until they get it?) The eight times I saw A Hard Day’s Night in the theater. Seeing “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” being sung on Broadway. There are so many I can’t begin to think of them all.

In 1994, I made my daughter’s wedding dress. Also the matron of honor’s, three bridesmaids’, and two flower girls’ dresses. (I bought the Mother of the Bride one--I was tired.) From March until August, I didn’t venture too far from the sewing machine. Over and over, while I sewed, I watched Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea, the ones with Megan Follows and the late Jonathan Crombie playing Anne and Gilbert.

  

I loved how they made me feel while I sewed. They got me over the crying-over-attaching-lace and the many times I said, “I can’t do this,” and all the days I was much too tired to thread the needle one more time.

 

Duane and I went to see The Dixie Swim Club at the Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. While I admit to some bias, I think Peru, Indiana’s local theater group is full of outstanding talent, and it’s never been showcased any better than it is in this play. I laughed so hard I nearly cried, and then there was a brilliant, aching point where I was crying. Several years later I talked to Laura Stroud, one of the stars of the play, and when I tried to talk to her about that one line she had delivered with so much perfection it sliced my heart right in two, I got sniffly again and, oh, it felt so good.
It’s always nice when readers say something that makes you goofy-smile and happy-dance all day. Or when they let you know you got them through something that would have been harder otherwise. It means that even though they may forget your name, the title of the book, or even its protagonists, they’ll still remember how you made them feel. It doesn’t get any better than that.

It’s been a rough week for virtually everyone. Finding this column and changing it made me think of lines from Alan Jackson’s “Where Were You”:

Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'

And turn on I Love Lucy reruns?

I remember doing that during that awful September, when the news became unbearable. Not I Love Lucy per se, but other reruns. Shows that didn’t hurt. Shows made us feel better, as if we could get through the day.

My niece, Sara Nider Biggs, is a teacher with two children. This week, she said on Facebook, “Every day, be sure to tell somebody Thank You.” Sara was starting with her children’s teachers, who keep them safe every day.

 
I join her in that, thanking everyone who does all they can to keep children safe. I also thank all those people who did and do write, direct, and act in movies and plays, and who sing songs and write books that I can’t quote lines from. Because no matter how hard or sad or impossible times are, you make us feel. You make us feel wonderful.

Have a good week. Be nice to somebody.

The sounds of the earth by Liz Flaherty

This is from last year sometime. It's been a week of feeling puny and being behind, so my apologies if you've read this too lately to enjoy it again. The sun's shining today and I'm feeling blessed. Hope you are, too.

Oh the sounds of the earth are like music

The breeze is so busy, it don't miss a tree

An' a ol' weepin' willer is laughin' at me - 

Richard Rodgers

I’m not a movie person, but the quote above is from Oklahoma. I used it because I love what he was able to do with a few words that give voice to how I feel. But, about movies--I have trouble sitting in one place for two hours and the truth is, I don't like very many new movies--although there are some exceptions to that. I don't like violence, I don't think sex is a spectator sport, and I still flinch at four-letter words, especially when there are a dozen of them in a sentence. I’m not crazy about animation and I hate stupid, so it really cuts down on things to watch.

I am a theatre person. If it’s on stage, I’m probably going to like it. Worse than that for anyone around me, if it’s a musical, I’m going to sing with it.

I can't quote many things from movies and plays I have seen, beyond the obvious. "My dear, I don't give a damn" and "I see dead people" come to mind. But I can remember scenes and how they made me feel. Especially that—how they made me feel.

Sally Field in Norma Rae

I remember when Old Yeller died. When Sally Field stood on a conveyer belt and held up a sign saying UNION in Norma Rae. When Chamberlain and his Mainers charged Little Round Top for the third time with nothing more than bayonets and heart in Gettysburg. When Rick Nelson and Dean Martin sang in Rio Bravo. When black soldiers got boots in Glory. When Jimmy Stewart filibustered in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. (Is anyone with me on thinking that should be required viewing for all members of Congress and they can’t swear in until they get it?) The eight times I saw A Hard Day’s Night in the theater. Seeing “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” being sung on Broadway. There are so many I can’t begin to think of them all.

          In 1994, I made my daughter’s wedding dress. Also the matron of honor’s, three bridesmaids’, and two flower girls’ dresses. (I bought the Mother of the Bride one--I was tired.) From March until August, I didn’t venture too far from the sewing machine. Over and over, while I sewed, I watched Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea, the ones with Megan Follows and the late Jonathan Crombie playing Anne and Gilbert.

          I loved how they made me feel while I sewed. They got me over the crying-over-beading and the many times I said, “I can’t do this,” and all the days I was much too tired to thread the needle one more time.

          Duane and I went to see The Dixie Swim Club at the Ole Olsen Memorial Theater. While I admit to some bias, I think Peru, Indiana’s local theater group is full of outstanding talent, and it’s never been showcased any better than it is in this play. I laughed so hard I nearly cried, and then there was a brilliant, aching point where I was crying. Several years later I talked to Laura Stroud, one of the stars of the play, and when I tried to talk to her about that one line she had delivered with so much perfection it sliced my heart right in two, I got sniffly again and, oh, it felt so good. (Note from 2019. We saw this again a few weeks ago at Kokomo Civic Theatre, with our friend Teresa Hershberger reprising the role of Jeri Neal. I think it's still my favorite show.)

          It’s always nice when readers say something that makes you goofy-smile and happy-dance all day. Or when they let you know you got them through something that would have been harder otherwise. It means that even though they may forget your name, the title of the book, or even its protagonists, they’ll still remember how you made them feel. It doesn’t get any better than that.

          It’s been a rough week for virtually everyone. Finding this column and changing it made me think of lines from Alan Jackson’s “Where Were You”:

“Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'
And turn on I Love Lucy reruns?”

           

I remember doing that during that awful September, when the news became unbearable. Not I Love Lucy per se, but other reruns. Shows that didn’t hurt. Shows made us feel better, as if we could get through the day.

My niece, Sara Nider Biggs, is a teacher with two children. This week, she said on Facebook, “Every day, be sure to tell somebody Thank You.” Sara was starting with her children’s teachers, who keep them safe every day.

I join her in that, thanking everyone who does all they can to keep children safe. I also thank all those people who did and do write, direct, and act in movies and plays, and who sing songs and write books that I can’t quote lines from. Because no matter how hard or sad or impossible times are, you make us feel. You make us feel wonderful.

Now showing at Ole Olsen...

 It has been my privilege to take part in the production of this play. I'd never seen the process of "putting on a show" before and asked Kurt Schindler if I could watch if I stayed out of the way. I will be forever grateful that he said Yes and never let me stay out of the way even when I really should have. I can't say enough--and haven't; you'll see that when you read this post--about the actors who brought Dickens' characters to life. I hope you come and see the show.

Photograph courtesy of Sarah L. Luginbill

There’s little indication outside the Depot, home of Ole Olsen Memorial Theatre in Peru, Indiana, that there are big doings going on inside. The building is its beautiful, tranquil self, dressed up by the gazebo and the River Walk and the personalized memorial bricks in its paths. 

But inside, the stage is full. Of props, platforms, actors, and the occasional director. And there in the back, where you can sort of see it but sort of not—it’s full back there, too. The walls are black and so are the clothes worn by the cast of director

Kurt Schindler’s adaptation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. The furniture’s eclectic. Noisy. A pink chair should look out of place but doesn’t. So should a red tutu and a dented barrel and a blow-up chicken that needs to pass for a goose. But they don’t.

Scarves are stuffed into Christmas gift bags. Vests hang haphazard and crooked from wall hooks. There are baskets here and there. Shelves that hold…stuff. At least, that’s what it looks like, but when the show begins, you see that things like a curtain, a boot, and a purple brooch have their places.

Photograph courtesy of Laura Stroud

          Schindler’s treatment of the classic story is different. There are more laughs. Some startling moments—the Ghost of Christmas Present has a lovely Irish accent, some roles are non-traditional, and Turkey Boy is…well, you really need to see the show. I’m not going to spoil that particular surprise.

But there are also scenes that, just as they’ve done in every version of the story you’ve ever seen, will break your heart. Most of the cast are Ole Olsen veterans, and their experience and dedication to their art show in their performances.

Photograph courtesy of Laura Stroud

There are new ones, too. Well, not new now. Not after the hours they've spent learning lines and expressions and nuances that have given them other identities. By now, they're seasoned.

“I wrote it hard,” said Schindler. “Maybe too hard. But I love this show. I love this cast.”

Like any other community theater, production has had its difficulties. Illness created the necessity for a last-minute replacement. People have day jobs. School. Sometimes both. There are a lot of lines to learn. Watching from her place at the table in front of the stage, the assistant director watched the process and wondered how they’d get it done. Actually she wondered if they’d get it done.

Media night was Monday, November 27. The performance probably wasn’t seamless—most worthwhile things aren’t—but it was awesome, not a word to be used lightly, nevertheless.

 Laura Stroud, props mistress, said, “We have a show.” She looked satisfied, maybe relieved. But not surprised.

Of course, they have a show. Of course, they “got it done.”

The assistant director shouldn’t have wondered. Shouldn’t have worried about old Joe or Mrs. Cratchit or Scrooge or how that many people were going to dance on the Ole Olsen stage at one time. “They’re troupers,” said Schindler. “They’re all troupers.”

Tickets are still available for the shows. Call 765/472-3680 for reservations. Friday & Saturday Nights: 12/1 & 12/2; 12/8 & 12/9 @ 7:30 p.m. Sunday Matinees: 12/3 & 12/10 @ 2:00 p.m.