Monthly Archives: October 2009

October 27, 2009 · 6:46 am

Our First Date 32 Years Ago

October 27, 1977.

Abilene, Texas.  Mid-afternoon, I get a call from my sister who is working for a local radio station.  She’s got two extra tickets for the Doobie Brothers concert at Taylor County Coliseum that night.   Would I like them?  Sure, I say, sounds fun.  The girl I was semi-dating at the time was nowhere to be found, and at dinner, in “The Bean” at Abilene Christian University, I saw a freshman girl that I didn’t know very well, but that I’d thought about a bit, mostly because she had an electric smile.  So gathering up my courage, I made my way over to the table, knelt down and told her the story of the tickets and asked if she wanted to go to the concert.   She thought about it, flashed that smile and said, sure.

If I remember correctly (and I may be making this up), it was blustery night, maybe a bit of rain, and I have an image in my head of us running through the parking lot, heading for “Will Call.”  The tickets were there under my sister’s name, and we went in.  Details escape me, but I remember us talking easily about things, wandering around the coliseum, at one point ending up behind the band, constantly changing perspectives.   We even ran into her brother, who was at ACU as a pre-med major.  The music was great, the night flew by, that smile of hers so easy to fall for, and before we knew it, I was taking her back to Gardner dorm.  There would be no first-date kiss, but as she climbed out of the car, she said something to the tune of “I was a fun date.”   I watched her run to the covered sidewalk (it was raining by now), and she turned and waved, giving me one last smile to float home on, and I as I drove back to Mabee dorm, I reflected on the simple joy of the evening.   I had a thought that this was a girl I could marry, and if I remember correctly, it was either later that night, or perhaps on a night after the second or third date, that I declared rather lightly to my roommate that I would indeed marry the girl with the dark hair and joyous smile.

As it turns out, three and half years later, after some ups and downs (the downs were all my fault), I did just that.   I married her.

I could not be more thankful for that simple decision to walk across the cafeteria and inquire of the girl with the electric smile.

If I had to do it all over again, I’d walk a little faster.

Happy “First-Date” Anniversary, Anjie.

And that smile?

As electric as it ever was…

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October 26, 2009 · 7:52 am

Enchanted April’s Closing Weekend

Friday morning, as I stood with Scott and Pam Nolte in the Gordito’s parking lot watching water cascading into the lobby of Taproot Theatre, one thing was very clear: there would be no performance of Enchanted April that night.  There would be a mountain of work, sorting everything out, getting the theatre back on its feet, making the decisions needed to make the path back to normalcy clear.  But as the minutes ticked by, the staff of Taproot began to show up one by one, and the game was afoot…Enchanted April would continue…somehow.

I can’t give you the blow by blow of how the morning went at the administrative offices of Taproot Theatre as calls and emails went flying through Seattle’s theatre community.   I know there were mulitple offers of spaces from various theatres, and the machinery to move all the costumes and sets (the set pieces that could be moved) from Taproot to a new space was somehow cobbled into place.   (Examiner.com credits a Twitter campaign centered in the offices at A Contemporary Theatre downtown for getting the word out that help was needed.)   A touring show that was scheduled to play at a school Friday afternoon managed to get what they needed from the theatre and that show went on as planned, and there was another performance that afternoon featuring two members of the Enchanted April cast for a convention event of arts professionals.  Sometime late in the morning, the decision was made to accept that generous offer from Seattle Children’s Theatre to use one of their spaces, The Charlottle Martin Theatre, a beautiful 500 seat proscenium space.   The staging of the play would require adjustment–Taproot’s stage is an intimate 220 seat thrust space–so Friday night’s performance was cancelled in order to restage the play for two performances on Saturday.

As costumes were being dried (amazingly, the fire sprinklers in the dressings rooms had not turned on, though they had turned on in the adjacent green room) and treated (they reeked of smoke), as sets and props were being moved, every patron that had tickets for the weekend shows received a call detailing the situation and the options.  Friday night’s ticketholders would have their choice of shows on Saturday, and though some couldn’t make the change, most did.   We had no idea what audiences would be like on Saturday, but whoever was going to be there, we figured they’d bring a lot of love.

The rehearsal Friday night was smooth and fun.  The hospitality of SCT floored all of us; baked treats, well-wishes, kind hand-written notes, and lots of work on their part to help prep the space with lights, sound, and props.  And of course, it also meant altering their own work schedule in preparation for their upcoming production of Peter Pan.   As it turns out, one of the primary concerns about this whole event has turned out to be the inability for Taproot to ever be able to adequately thank or repay SCT and the rest of the Seattle theatre community.

The new digs for the show both demanded and created a new energy among the actors.  The performances had to grow in size to fill the larger space, and it was just great fun making the physical adjustments necessary for the new actor-audience relationship.  Saturday’s shows went beautifully, and as actors, we were thrilled to have the chance to experience a new life in these old lines we knew so well.  The discovery of new nuances, the happy realization that the production could indeed translate the experience well in a completely different venue, and the deeply satisfying confirmation of the support and love Taproot Theatre enjoys among its patrons and the larger Seattle theatre community all made for a rich and satisfying–and memorable–closing day.

Looking back on the experience from a bleary Monday morning, knowing that the Taproot staff is meeting even now to make huge decisions about what the immediate future holds, I count myself so fortunate and blessed to know these good people, and to be a part of this larger community.  In an age of technology, the live actor on a stage in front of the live audience can still deliver an experience that is unmatched and unparalleled by the best of films, the best of TV shows.  I know, it’s just different, but…

Film and TV I enjoy.

Theatre moves me, calls to me…

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October 23, 2009 · 9:23 am

The Near-Taproot Fire

So I’m sitting at the coffee shop at 6:10, when a prayer request from one of the women at church comes across my desktop.  Something about a 3-alarm fire near 85th and Greenwood, and that my good friend Scott Nolte is being interviewed.   It takes a minute to register.  I go to KING 5 News’ website, and there’s a notice about the fire, along with a picture.

I called Anjie, and headed out.

Taproot is a kind of home to me, a place, an ensemble that has given me more opportunities to work than I deserve, and I have such great respect for their longevity, their resilience, and their mission.  Artistic Director Scott Nolte and I get burgers regularly, I go to church with Associate Artistic Director Karen Lund, her Taproot Scenic Designer/Tech Director husband Mark Lund, Costume Designer Sarah Gordon, and others that work there.   I’m just an actor, but I wanted to be there with and for them.

There were fire trucks everywhere, and the first thing I noticed as I approached the neighborhood was the smell of smoke.  I pulled into the Fred Meyer parking lot, called Scott, found out he was in the Gorditos parking lot across from the theatre, stepped over a couple of yellow-tape barriers, and found Scott, his wife Pam, and their actor-son Peter all standing there looking across at the space.

Pho Tic Tac, the Green Bean, and the other two restaurants to the east of Taproot were gutted, black holes in the side of the old brick building.  A water cannon high above 85th was pouring cascades of water onto the roofs, concentrating on an area close to Taproot.   Soon water could be seen dripping from the ceiling in the lower lobby, and we watched at one point as a firefighter took an axe to one of the walls in the upper lobby.   Insulation from the ceiling soon started appearing on the stairs and pretty soon it looked as if it had snowed in a couple of places.

The only flames I saw erupted at the eastern edge of the building, down near the Teriyaki place, a place where I’ve eaten countless times.   The firefighters’ response to those flames was calm and even, which made sense to me given the amount of water they were pouring onto the place.

Our quiet conversation touched on the small business owners whose livelihood had literally gone up in flames.   It’s a testament to the heart of Taproot that this seemed to be the major concern.   Another topic was where to perform three sold-out performances of Enchanted April.   It looked as if it was pretty certain that while the theatre itself had escaped the fire, there was sufficient damage to keep the play from happening in that space tonight and tomorrow.  (No official word has come at this hour, so if you’re reading this, and you have tickets, stay tuned.)   Concerns of next steps, figuring out logistics for a touring company performance for a school scheduled for the afternoon (all the props and costumes were in the basement, status unknown), memories of other crises that have been a part of the Taproot Theatre tapestry over the years…the talk was quiet, thoughtful, hopeful.   Perhaps Pam Nolte said it best as she talked to a friend.  Citing her usual realist approach to things, she said “In crisis, I’m an optimist.”

And there was prayer.  A prayer request is how I found out about the situation, and I would bet nearly as many people found out through prayer request channels as did through news channels.   God has been extremely faithful to this band of people over the 30 years of their existence, and their faith (and mine) is that He will continue to do so.

There was nothing to do, really, at that time of day, but stand and watch.  Eventually, gray light replaced the dark, and the gathered Taproot staff left the Bartell’s parking lot and headed to the Administrative offices down the street to come up with a game plan.  I had a sermon to finish up (I’m preaching Sunday–the new guy is out of town), so I headed to the car.  That’s when the rain started in earnest.

Say a prayer for the whole block.  Some have lost their livlihoods, and the Green Bean, a non-profit ministry/outreach, has lost its opportunity to provide a third-place for so many Greenwood patrons.   Greenwood has a lot going for it, and this now-gutted building was a part of it.

For a report from an earlier perspective, along with some video from the fire, see PhinneyWood.com.

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October 1, 2009 · 7:11 am

Seeing a Master – Andrew Wyeth’s Helga

Braids

So we’re taking one day a month for spiritual retreat and renewal, and I hadn’t gotten to mine yet, so yesterday, I took half a day.  I spent the early morning reading from the prophet Isaiah and from Matthew’s gospel, then went on to Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton, and then to poetry by Rilke.  Then some extended time of prayer, meditating mostly on the nature of God, His immeasurable -ness and the seeming absurdity of our own smallness.   To Him Who Stands Outside of Time as I try to figure out my next paltry move, be all the Glory.

I love going downtown.  I parked on 2nd just outside of Benaroya Hall, and stepped out of the van to confront the long wall memorializing the war dead from WWII, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan.  These names, so precious to their loved ones, yet so small in the great hoards of people streaming through the city.  Again, reflecting on the smallness of our -ness next to God’s.   I wandered past SAM (Seattle Art Museum), and realized the Andrew Wyeth exhibit featuring the Helga series was still on.   A huge Wyeth fan, I’d wanted to see the exhibit–I just figured I wouldn’t get the time.   It didn’t open until 10:00, so I wandered up 1st toward the market, heading for a favorite thinking spot I rarely get to anymore.   The Crumpet Shop at Pike Place Market holds many great memories for Anjie and I and the early days of being in Seattle back in the mid-80′s and then later with our kids in the mid-90′s.   A small counter looking out at the sidewalk, a freshly baked crumpet with raspberry and butter and coffee alongside a journal, and you have what I consider some prime thinking real estate.   (It would help if they would move the strip joint directly across the street.)   I jotted a few thoughts about presence and purpose, the blinding nature of sensation, and how Beauty calls to a Christ-essence inside us, even as we realize all is dust and smoke, the “hevel” (smoke) of Ecclesiastes.

Then it was 10:00 a.m., I was headed up the escalator at SAM.  I asked the first person I met to point me to the Wyeth exhibit.  It was down the hall, past the gray room, on the left.

I turned the corner.

These paintings will be marveled over for a thousand years.

Maybe that’s overstating it, but that’s what I kept thinking as I looked at Wyeth’s mastery.  There are 5 paintings from the Helga suite and two others from his other work.  I am no art critic, but I recognize power and mastery when I see it.   I say “power”…what power is there in a canvas covered in watercolor paints?  Or a piece of wood covered in tempera paint?  It doesn’t change the world, really.  It doesn’t remap the health-care system, and no children will be fed by it.  But there it is.  Oddly, civilizations will pass, and these paintings will continue to call to people, coaxing them to reflect on meaning, beauty, humanity, nature, and in my view, even God.   Yes, we can wonder, even lament and complain, over the relationship Wyeth had with Helga, his subject of over 15 years, and those of more conservative bent will cry foul over Helga’s state of undress in some of the paintings, but yesterday, as I looked at Wyeth’s work, I couldn’t help but think “how amazing.”  The painstaking labor of stroking enough lines to create the fine nature of human hair in Helga’s famous braids, the insight and control of material such that light spills across the canvas in such glorious value and contrasts, the capturing of the distinctively American landscape near Chadd’s Ford, Pennsylvania.  There is deep love in these paintings, and Wyeth’s technical skill serves that love well.  No wonder he is one of the masters of our time.

I left thinking of the work still to be done in my own life.  Knowing that every breath is a gift, every day another bit of grace directly from God’s hand, surrounded always by both brokenness and beauty, I wondered how best to spend my days.  The work of making…I’m sure of that.  Making life, making relationship, making moments, making art.  In the heart of God, may we strive to make moments of work and play as masterful as Wyeth’s art.

Then I did two peformances of “Enchanted April”…

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