My Newest Merit Badge: Camping

My apologies for how belated this post is--the event itself occurred over Memorial Day Weekend.

By the fire pit on the first chilly afternoon.

I don't camp. I hike, I scrabble up and down steep trails, I sweat with exhaustion and cheer with elation when I conquer a challenge, but I don't camp--my love of soft beds and hot showers precludes that activity.

So, when Jeff asked if I might consider camping with friends (and their friends) over Memorial Day Weekend, "pshaw--as if!" was right on the tip of my tongue. But then I thought about how much my husband has done to support me--always, but particularly since our second loss. When I added up the hours he's spent calming my fears, listening to my frustrations, and letting me cry, it hardly seemed fair to say no to such a simple request. And when he added that another merit badge was in it for me, I was sold.

Merit badges have been a long-standing joke in our relationship. As the adventurous one, Jeff is forever encouraging me to bound outside my comfort zone in ways that terrify me to no end--and yet, because I love and trust him, I often take those leaps. A few years ago, for our anniversary, Jeff gave me a picture frame with several pairs of wallet-sized photos and little circular fabric patches between each one: my merit badges. It's proudly hung on the wall going up our stairs, and it includes adventures like our all-day trek through a snowy New York City, my first experience at a high-ropes adventure park, Jeff's turn as a pilot in an introductory flight lesson (trust me, being the passenger definitely earned me the badge), a snorkeling expedition (Jaws was certainly a concern), and our 9-mile winding journey through the hills and dales of England last year. There was just one space left in the column of photos and badges, and we all know how I like to check things off a list and complete them, so camping it was.

My amazing badges, all proudly earned.

As a whole, the trip was far better than I had anticipated. Jeff brought sundry items to increase my comfort: an air mattress for the tent, peppermint hot cocoa for the morning, a specialty chocolate bar for dessert, and even a comforter from home to keep me snuggly and warm inside my sleeping bag. The company--17 in all, ranging from 4 years old to adults beyond our years--were easy-going and welcoming, and they had no hard feelings about my desire to curl up in our tent at 10PM and read or our need to take a long walk on our own during the day Sunday.

Scrabbling up rocks on our walk.

And so, when we stopped at Perkins for a hot breakfast on the way home Monday morning, and when Jeff nervously eyed me as if to say "now she's going to tell me how awful this was," I surprised myself with my response. It had been a good weekend. I survived with only one shower. I slept well in spite of the chilly nighttime temperatures--perhaps even because of them. I immensely enjoyed sausages and peppers roasted over the fire. I did fine interacting with people I didn't know but was living in close proximity to. And, most of all, I taught myself that accepting the challenge is really the battle for me, because I know that I can always overcome it once I'm there.

Know what we're thinking about doing next weekend? Camping.

Maybe I'm not so bad with kids after all...

It's been the little needling doubt in the back of my mind for the last few months. Just last weekend, as we camped with friends and I watched Jeff take on the role of "additional dad" to the 5 little ones with us, I marveled at how children gravitate to him. By the second afternoon we were there, one little 5 year old girl--who had never laid eyes on him before--was already insisting that he be her "buddy" for a walk in the woods, and the second evening found him tossing a baseball with a couple of the older kids. Children love my husband so much--I imagine they sense his gentle acceptance of them, right where they are at that moment in time.

While I've always been fine with little ones--and back in college seriously considered being a kindergarten teacher--I'm now much more at ease with the high school students who comprise the demographic I work with every day. As a result, I've been secretly harboring the fear that there's something terribly wrong with me in that I feel no desire to hold the newborn across the street or that the toddlers at church don't race around my legs as I talk to their moms. But last night, without even knowing it, little B allayed all my fears.

B is our next-door neighbor's son. He's usually fairly quiet, often sticking by his dad's side. When you ask him questions, the answers usually begin with "no" or "yes, but...", which doesn't exactly inspire confidence in continuing the conversation. Add to that the fact that his favorite things are cars, and my knowledge is limited at best in that arena, and we don't really have much to work with.

Last night, we went over to relax and have wine with B's mom and dad (our good friends). As soon as we walked in, B was on his feet and ready to give me the full house tour (of the house I'm in at least once a week, mind you). First stop was his bedroom, where we admired a dinosaur that belongs in the basement (but apparently we didn't need to return it); next stop was the basement, where we learned all about his favorite basketball hoop, jumping sofa, and alphabet mat. Once we got back onto the main level, he snuggled in next to me on the sofa to explain the complexities of the "Create-a-Car" app on his dad's phone. For the next half hour, we created cars together, carefully adding important details like time warp roof attachments and pontoon boat wheels, then naming them before taking them for a "test drive." Even that, his favorite part of the game, was turned over to me as he studied my technique over my shoulder and commended my accomplishments ("You're doing very well") and acknowledged my mistakes ("You just hit a pirate, Miss Tory!").

After B headed upstairs with his dad for bedtime, Jeff turned to me to announce, "I think he's in love." And you know what the incredible part is? I'd have to agree--but not because I did anything to win B's sweet, innocent affection--simply because he gravitated to me for whatever reason.

Maybe I really can do this mom thing one day.

Community Theatre: A Retrospective

Twelfth Night's closing last night marks the end of my sixth community theatre production. While that hardly makes me an expert in community theatre, it does make me somewhat unique: I have now done community theatre in three different states (NJ, PA, and MD), with six different companies, performing in shows ranging from the contemporary (a new playwright's work) to the traditional (Shakespeare). Though each of those experiences was unique in its own right, I think I've learned a few things that I'd be best to remember should I return to the world of community theatre again.

1) Much depends on the director. My poorest experiences have, unfortunately, been with inexperienced directors who believe no training is necessary to direct actors--beyond watching a lot of movies, apparently. The weakest directors I've worked with have blocked my movements on stage before ever letting me put a scene on its feet to understand it myself; the best ones have focused on the language of the script before anything else. Of course, the trouble is that it's very hard to tell much about a director while in an audition, so my new goal is, whenever possible, to see the director's work ahead of time.

2) The experience, talent, and dedication of cast members will vary widely. In every production I've participated in, I've found at least one like mind--and often three or four. Likewise, I've found several cast members in each show who perform just for fun, who always audition for the same company where they're well known. Unfortunately, these actors are often also the ones who are unfocused during rehearsals and who add costume, blocking, and even line changes mid-performance. A good director might take them to task, but, again, these are usually the people who are "friends" of the company, so everyone just seems to accept their haphazard ways. As frustrating as it is to work with these actors, they are also the reason why I audition for different companies as much as possible; I don't ever want to let myself become so complacent about my work.

3) Know your audience. No matter how much laughter we received each night of Twelfth Night, no matter how much applause I heard during my bow or how much support I received from my phenomenal husband (who attended all but one performance), I cared most about the opinions of my friends and family in the audience. Of course, I wanted them to be proud of me, but, for those who were more regular theatre goers, I also wanted to know if I'd done quality work. I value their critiques--perhaps to a fault--and, while I can see the pitfalls (and, yes, the humor) of a community theatre production, I can sometimes let the words--or lack thereof--of my family and friends change my whole perspective about the work I've put in for three months or more. So, yes, I need to know my audience. And, yes, I need to trust my own work without relying on their feedback. But that's a tough one for me.

Given all of these things, given the late nights and long drives, given the friends willing to drive from CT or NJ or VA to see the show, given the final product, did I do the right thing the night I called my director and accepted the role of Viola? I think so, if for no other reason than that I challenged myself, in one of the hardest seasons of my life, to pursue a personal passion. And I succeeded in that, for five shows, I did become Viola.

Maybe that's all I need to know for now.

"It is the star to every wandering bark..."

July 25, 2009

"Sonnet 116"
(William Shakespeare)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, not no man ever loved.

When Jeff and I were planning our wedding in the spring of 2009, we spent a lot of time with our wonderful pastor, talking about what we wanted to include in the ceremony that would best represent us. We had favorite hymns and had selected Bible verses, but I kept coming back to my desire to include a Shakespeare sonnet. Not only had Jeff and I met at the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey, but I also had "Sonnet 116" in mind already--one that so beautifully expressed what lasting love really is. Finally, we decided to include it, and my brother read it beautifully on July 25, 2009, at our wedding ceremony.

On that day, I thought we'd been through a lot. We'd faced difficult friendships, wrestled with financial concerns, made compromises as we learned what it was to be part of another family, and dealt with the disappointment of not getting jobs we so desperately wanted. As a result, when Ret read the sonnet, I proudly thought, "yes--our love has stood up to some tempests and will endure." It's not so much that I was wrong then but more that I was, perhaps, a bit naive. As my mum and dad would say, there were "rooms of life" back then that I just hadn't walked in yet--that I couldn't possibly imagine ever walking into, if I'm honest. 

Every spring, my freshmen present sonnets to the class, and we always include "Sonnet 116" in the packet. One of their tasks is to state the sonnet's central idea--to explain its meaning in a concise, clear sentence. This year, two of my favorites describing "our" sonnet were these:

"True love is pure and reliable. It is consistent."

"Love is something that will not waver under pressure."

Very little in our last 21 months has been consistent. Very little has been reliable. And the pressure has been constant. And yet, today, as I listened to my student explain the sonnet to her classmates, I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I realized that our love is pure. And reliable. And consistent. And unwavering. It has not bent or altered or shaken, even in the face of grief and trauma we never could have imagined. It has not changed with the passage of Time or been cut down by challenges.

One of my students described the speaker's tone in the final couplet as "smug." She noted how the speaker seems over-confident in what he's stating--so confident, in fact, that he's willing to wager that he's not a writer and men can't fall in love if what he says isn't true. And to that I say, "well played, sir."

There is no error in Shakespeare's words, if the love is steadfast and true. How blest I am to be part of a marriage bound together with that kind of love.

Just because you're going to LOVE these costumes...

I've been trying to think of some meaningful way to tie this post into my current path in life or to make some statement about the phenomenal man I'm married to or to reflect on how much I've grown in the past few months. However, here's the reality: I'm exhausted from rehearsals, I really just want to curl up on the sofa with a BLT and the kittens, and yet I still can't wait to share some Viola photos with you tonight!

So, here are a series of photos from last night's first costumed run-through! (Keep in mind--our production of Twelfth Night, while maintaining Shakespeare's language, is reset in the 1980s at the Illyrian Music Festival.)

Twelfth Night (of the Rude Mechanicals variety)

Viola and her identical--Shakespeare wasn't so into realistic biology--twin brother, Sebastian, 

are a well-known pop duo.

Viola (me) and Sebastian (Amy--who plays a smashing boy, if I do say so myself)
having a cuddly sibling moment backstage.

Upon stumbling upon the Illyrian Music Festival, Viola quickly realizes that she needs a disguise to avoid some excitable fans.

Me and the "rabid" fan who will quickly become my accomplice

A disguise is needed--and fast! The most logical choice? 

Perhaps an undercover roadie is a good idea.

One of my favorite lines in the show--and I'm not giving it away yet
(though Lauren's reaction in the background tells you how fabulous it is!)

The seemingly excellent plan deteriorates as Viola realizes that, 

in imitating her own brother in her disguise, 

she has created such a believable boy that the famous star, Olivia, has fallen for her!

The lovely Olivia (played by the fabulous Lauren), throwing herself at me...

But can you blame her? I mean, check out those legs in those liquid gold leggings!

And so, as more cases of mistaken identity occur by the minute...

Silly Antonio--he thinks I'm a boy!

 The mayhem ensues...

Jiving with Joy!

Kory and I dancing the jive on board the MS Zuiderdam

How to not gain weight aboard a 12-day cruise with food available 24-7:

1) Only eat at prescribed mealtimes. (Exception: add extra meal if up after 11pm, particularly if dancing.)

2) Take joy in everything around you--smiling burns serious calories!

3) Dance for at least 2 hours nightly. (Doesn't matter if you're good or not, just that you're having fun.)

I'm not sure if we actually gained weight or not (as we've thrown out the scale in our house), but all our pants still fit, so the rules must have some validity! Rule #3 was the most important piece of the puzzle for us; we danced with more variety, more enthusiasm, more energy--and for more time!--then we have in our entire seven years together. With two incredible on-board bands and several dance floors to choose from, how could we not?!

But the unexpected surprise came in the guise of Holland America's new program: Dancing with the Stars: At Sea! Though Jeff and I don't watch the ABC show, my parents were quick to fill us in on the basics. As far as we were concerned, though, the excitement wasn't in the name brand but in the opportunity to take jive, samba, and cha-cha classes with the professional dancers on board the ship. What we never saw coming? That we'd be selected as two of the final six guests to perform (with those "pros") on the last night on board, in front of a packed house. Sadly, Jeff and I couldn't perform together (since we were both guests); happily, we became quick friends with our professional partners, Kory and Steph. (Yup, did you put that together? Kory and Tory, Steph and Jeff. Adorable, right?)

So, what you're seeing at the top of this post is Kory and Tory, dancing the jive! (The excellent videographer is my beloved husband, whose laugh you get to hear towards the end as he enjoys my facial expressions.) This was one of our rehearsals; sadly, we neither filmed the finale nor any versions with Jeff dancing--but I wish you could have seen him, because he won over that audience with a few shakes of his hips and winks of his eye. In fact, he was so darn cute that the audience couldn't help but cheer him into first place--which means he's now in the running for the big finale cruise in 2014! (Kory and I came in third, and, for once in my life, it didn't make a bit of difference that I didn't win--it was too much fun just being part of the adventure!)

The next trick? Finding local places to do some swing, foxtrot, and cha-cha--'cause we need to keep fitting into our wardrobes!

One additional note: without the tremendous generosity and unending love of my mum and dad, this trip--and, therefore, these experiences--would never have been possible. Mum, I know you're reading, so I'm wrapping my arms about you in gratitude and love!

I'm still here!

On the bow of a sunset catamaran cruise in Aruba--thank you mum and dad!

I know--it's been a month! As I sit here, watching the sunlight pour in through the open door, it's hard to believe that my last post was about our snow day. In the interim, we've been to the Panama Canal and back, making new friends, dancing the jive, and generally remembering what it means to live our lives as the joyful, fulfilled, insanely blessed couple that we are. There will be plenty more posts about the wonders of our physical journey, but I just wanted you all to know that our emotional journey has left us, well, just plain happy again!

It's remarkable what happens when you stop trying to live joyfully and just start doing it, isn't it?