♪♫ Could it be? Yes it could! Somethin's comin'. Somethin' GOOD! ♫♪

Back at the end of March I wrote a post about my oldest auditioning for the theatre program at one of the two colleges she had been accepted to for the fall of 2012. The following is an update to all things college that have happened since then. If you read the post, you know that I was not able to take that trip with my daughter to that audition. Working in College Admission myself, I was anxious to hear her impression of the school. She really didn't say much at all. This worried me a bit because having talked to thousands of students and their parents over the last 7 years, I knew that if the fit is right, most students fall in love with the campus as soon as they arrive. They just feel "at home" I didn't get that vibe from her at all. I began to ask questions about the visit. Much to my surprise, my daughter told me that the tour guide spent more time bashing things about the school than talking it up. I was shocked! That would never happen where I work! I also knew my daughter was reluctant to say too much to me because she knew that this was the only school, at this point, where we had tuition exchange. Money was not an issue with this school, so she didn't want to tell me that she didn't want to go there. Yeah, I've raised one of those kids. We waited for about two weeks, and on the last day of spring break, she received information from the school that she had not made it into their theatre program. She was actually relieved because she really didn't want to attend there. I, however, was devastated. I felt like last year was playing out all over again. We were back to all our eggs in one basket again.   We still hadn't heard from the other tuition exchange school. We were supposed to know by the 15th. It was the 13th. I took a chance and called the college. I was put through to the very nice person in charge of tuition exchange. She looked up the account and the next words were music to my ears, "I don't know why she hasn't received a letter. I'm showing here that she received tuition exchange." I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Being the way I am, I clarified before I hung up, "So you're saying she has tuition exchange?" "YES!," was the answer that came back. My daughter was not at the house when I made the call. She was out with a friend. As soon as she walked in the door, I told her the news. She was ecstatic! the first time I'd seen her that way about college since she got accepted to the school last year that we couldn't make happen. It was a GREAT feeling to see her so excited! Fast forward about 6 weeks: We just returned Saturday from a trip to see the college that she will be attending in the fall. It was beautiful! The campus is small, but very welcoming and scenic. I loved it, but more importantly she did! Their theatre program is ranked in the top 10 in the US, and she will be able to audition for any shows as early as the Spring semester of her freshman year. The entire pre-college experience has been very positive and welcoming. This institution really seems to care about their students, and that's what I'm looking for. So, that "plan" seems to be falling into place just as my girl knew it would all along. In 71 days, I will be on the road to move my little girl into her college dorm, her home for the next 4 years. Am I ready? No, I don't think I'll ever be ready, but I am excited for her and what the future holds for her, and I am certain that this college is the first leg on the journey that was always meant to be!

Last Dance

Music is a very important part of my life and always has been, but the time in my life that I really began to identify with music and form my opinions of what I loved and purchased probably started in my middle school and ran through my very early high school years, 1976 to 1979. A new genre of music exploded onto the scene in 1977 with the release of a film called Saturday Night Fever, Disco. You could not turn on a radio without hearing the high-pitched voices of the Bee Gees and the driving beat behind them. Disco became THE music, and I was a huge fan! My middle school days were way before the dawn of the digital age. There were no iPods, iTunes, or YouTube. Even computers were reserved for places like NASA, and they were housed in huge rooms. You certainly couldn't hold one in your hand. If you wanted to hear a particular song, you could do one of 2 things: 1. sit and wait for it to come on the radio at the ready to push PLAY and RECORD simultaneously on your snazzy cassette recorder that allowed you to tape things off the airwaves or 2. you could purchase a vinyl record of the single called a "45" to play on your very own stereo turntable. One artist, in particular, although she was not featured on the soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever, was my favorite singer of the disco era. Her name was Donna Summer. She had this velvet, mezzo soprano voice, and her songs were the songs that I lived for that moment riding in the car when they would come on. I'd yell, "Turn it up! Turn it up!" to whoever was driving as soon as I heard those first driving beats of She Works Hard for the Money, Bad Girls, or Hot Stuff among many others. My absolute favorite above all of her recordings, 5 winning Grammys, was Last Dance. Excitement is an understatement of how I felt every time that song came on the radio. Starting out with her dulcet tones singing the refrain in a slow tempo with an ethereal feel to it, but then taking off in that driving beat that was a Disco dancer's dream. She was the Queen of disco, and she was worthy of the crown. Even if you hated disco, I defy you to listen to a Donna Summer song and stay completely still. No, they weren't filled with thought-provoking lyrics, and, pretty much, all of them sounded the same, but they were about the beat and the voice and rousing you to your feet to do the rope hustle or the pretzel. I wore out that "45" standing alone in my room belting out Last Dance with Donna. She provided the soundtrack to my early teen years. We lost Donna Summer to cancer yesterday at the age of 63. I would say Rest in Peace, but it doesn't really seem fitting for someone who provided so many of us with the music we loved to dance to for years. So I'll just say, "Enjoy your disco welcome party, Donna. You'll never have to worry about the "last dance" again.

Namaste

I have a tradition that I participate in yearly with my girls on the first week of May. We go to "Arts in the Park," a craft and art festival held in Byrd Park next to the Carillon. Vendors have tents and sell their art, pottery, jewelry, furniture, etc, etc., etc. We never miss it! I don't always purchase, and a lot of the items are WAY out of my price range, but I love seeing the explosion of creativity! I usually come away having seen at least one vendor that has something truly unique and wishing I could've afforded to buy one of their items. This year was no different than any other. We made the trek down to Byrd Park. Parked our car quite a walk away and began looking at all the different wares. We have favorite tents that we always look for and new favorites each year. This year, I came away from the Festival with more than merchandise. We saw a tent that was selling decorated, hand painted glass in the form of jewelry. We stopped to look. Words and pictures on little blocks of glass. I showed my youngest daughter one that caught my eye. It was a rectangle with the word "Namaste" I showed it to her because she is fond of saying the word. The vendor asked if we were "yoga" people. I replied that my daughter liked using the word. I knew it was a greeting of some type, I thought, similar to "Aloha", but I thought I would ask the artist what it actually meant. The artist replied, "It means 'the light in you'" As soon as she said that, I was moved. It was one of those feelings you get when you see an old couple walking hand-in-hand or a picture of a small child showing gentle affection to their pet. "The light in you" The light within me acknowledges the light within you. We are all one. We work together for good. Now, before I began to write this post, I looked up the word, Namaste. It literally means, " I bow to you," so before anyone jumps on my lack of knowledge or feels the need to tell me I don't know what I am talking about, I wanted to make that clarification. However, saying and physically manifesting namaste in yoga are connected to the light. From the yoga journal, "The gesture Namaste represents the belief that there is a Divine spark within each of us that is located in the heart chakra. The gesture is an acknowledgment of the soul in one by the soul in another. "Nama" means bow, "as" means I, and "te" means you. Therefore, Namaste literally means "bow me you" or "I bow to you." I thought about how this world would be different if we all practiced Namaste. Why do we refuse, as fellow human beings, to acknowledge the light within, not just in others, but in ourselves? It's like the song we learned as children says, "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine!" If we weren't so afraid to let our light shine, maybe others would be more willing to share theirs with us. “You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden.Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house." ~ Matthew 5:14-15 Needless to say, I bought the piece of glass jewelry for my daughter, but I took away something much more than a piece of jewelry, a different perspective on the way I see others. Namaste. 

What if this were you?

It's late at night, and you are startled awake by the ringing of your cell phone. At first your brain doesn't recognize the sound and incorporates it into some dream you are having. When you finally wake and answer, the words you hear on the other end plunge you into a nightmare. Your friend, your very best friend has been in a car accident, and you were listed as the emergency contact. Can you come to the hospital right away? You bolt out of bed, cursing the darkness as you try to find something to wear. You run down the stairs and out to your car speeding to the hospital and praying all  the way there. You find a place to park and sprint to the doors of the Emergency Room. The nurse at the desk tells you she'll check with the doctor and someone will be with you shortly. You collapse in a chair near the desk and repeat over and over, "Please don't let them die, please don't let them die!" As you wait there it seems time has stopped. You begin to think of all the things you have shared together, the happy times, the sad times. You try desperately to think of the last words you spoke to each other. You rack your brain, "Did I say I love you?"
You hear the sound of the double doors leading to the area where your friend is swinging open. You see a doctor and hope he is coming to tell you what's going on and more importantly that you can see your friend. He stops at the desk to talk to the nurse, she points to you. You breathe for what seems like the first time since you were awakened by the call. You think, "Now, I'll get some answers! Now, I'll be able to see my best friend, hold their hand let them know I'm there. They won't have to go through this alone." The doctor comes over. You immediately stand up and ask how your friend is doing. Instead of responding with, "they're fine, they need surgery, it's touch and go," you hear, "What is your connection to the patient? Are you family?" You pause a second before you speak, and for an instant, you think about lying and saying "yes", but you don't. You tell the doctor that you are close friends, very close friends. And then his words hit you like a tidal wave, almost knocking you down, "I'm sorry. I can only discuss the patient's condition with family." You try, in vain, to explain that your friend hasn't seen their family for years. They don't get along. They had a falling out. You are the only "family" your friend has. You are the only person your friend would want to be making decisions about them. You are the one that your friend would want by there side right now. The doctor tells you he's sorry, but he cannot discuss anything about the patient's condition with you. The family has been contacted and until he speaks with them, you will not be able to see the patient. Whatever he was saying after those words, you never heard because all you can think about is being with your friend. Are they even conscious? Are they fighting to hold on? If you could just hold their hand, see them, somehow let them know that you are there. How frustrated would you be in this situation? It's not fair, why can't they see that? Why are they so blind? In actuality, you are not just friends, you are partners. You have been together for 20 years. The person you love most in the world is going through this horrific experience alone because you happen to live in a state that refuses to recognize how much you mean to each other. Now what's right about that?

"Goober says, Hey" "Hey to Goober"

I grew up as a TV kid! Even with only 3 main channels and Public Broadcasting, I was usually watching something. I had my favorites, just as I do now. That Girl, The Dick VanDyke Show, The Carol Burnette Show, and Jackie Gleason to name a few. I am old enough to have watched these when they originally aired, but I also watch re-runs of these any chance I get. Few shows hold the distinction of being able to watch them over and over again without tiring of them. The Andy Griffith Show was one of those shows. The cast was headed by, of course, Andy Griffith, but what makes the show a classic and a joy to watch once or 10 times is the ensemble cast. Don Knotts - Barney Fife, Ronnie Howard - Opie Taylor, Jim Nabors - Gomer Pyle, Frances Bavier - Aunt Bea, Hal Smith - Otis Campbell, and a host of other recurring guest stars. One of those cast members was George Lindsey who played Goober Pyle, cousin to Gomer, the local Filling Station attendant. George Lindsey first appeared as Goober on The Andy Griffith Show in 1964 and stayed with the show and onto the sequels until 1971. Goober was a simple man who was happy with his job at Wally's Filling Station as a mechanic. I loved to watch Goober. George Lindsey had a way of portraying the character that made you smile every time you watched him, mostly because Goober was always either grinning or laughing at someone else's joke or telling a corny one himself. Who can forget his impression of Cary Grant or his signature  jug head style beanie? He was one of the characters that made Mayberry a town people would love to live in.
George Lindsey continued his career as Goober for many years on the popular show Hee Haw. I personally have a fondness for an animated character he lent his voice to in the Disney film, The Aristocats, a floppy eared beagle named Lafayette who was paired with a hound dog named Napoleon, voiced by another great character actor, Pat Buttram. 
The world lost George Lindsey yesterday at the age of 83, an actor who was content to be just what he was and played it, oh so well! Although we've lost the actor, because of the wonderful characters he created, generations will know his humor and his grin forever.

May Day! May Day!

Today is May 1^st, commonly known as May Day in elementary school circles. I attended St. Catherine’s Private School for girls most of my elementary years. We commemorated May Day by going outside and dancing with ribbon or streamer in hand around the Maypole with our classmates. The beautiful, pastel bands fluttering in the wind looked so bright and vibrant against the lush green of the field. It seems like something so small, but it symbolizes, to me, the pure freedom and innocence of being a child unaffected by what the world will think if you are standing in a field with a ribbon in your hand skipping around a pole. I wonder if they still keep the tradition alive. Life didn’t seem so rushed then, I wonder has it gone by the wayside as another May Day tradition from my childhood has. Directly across from the school is a church called St. Stephen’s. I remember as a child my grandmother and grandfather would take us to St. Stephen’s May Day celebration. I don’t remember everything about it. I recall there was always a “White Elephant” sale (translation: Yard Sale Inside). My grandmother, being the bargain shopper she was, loved that. Me? Not so interested. I’m sure there was probably a bake sale, but the thing that my sister and I looked forward to the most was the “rides” They were not carnival rides like Merry-Go-Rounds or Tilt-A-Whirls. These were rides from a time gone by. Growing up in the city, I had never really seen a horse except in a field as our car would pass by on the highway. The only time I had ever seen one up close was when I was three, a man walked up into our front yard with a pony and offered to photograph us sitting on the horse accessorized with the cowboy hat and bandana he carried with him. I had never ridden a pony or horse, though, just sat on one. St. Stephen’s always had horse and ponies that for a small fee, I think $1.00, you would be placed on the horse and a handler would walk the horse the length of the church grounds (about 2 city blocks) and back. This probably sounds boring to the Youth of today, but my sister and I were thrilled and looked forward to it every year. One year, alas, we arrived and no horses. L We were disappointed, but when we went to the place that we usually got the “rides” we discovered something new and different in place of the horses, antique cars, or as we called them, old timey cars. Most of them were from the 1930’s. This was cool. Children were lined up to have a “ride” around the neighborhood in a car from way before they were born. All the cars were beautiful, but the one that every kid (my sister and I included) wanted to ride in was the one with the rumble seat.

If you don’t know what a rumble seat is, on the back of the car where a trunk would be was a door that opened and as you pulled it up, it created an upholstered seat. I can remember standing in line hoping that the timing would be just right that when it was my turn to ride, the car that would pull up was the rumble seat car. Of course if it wasn’t, I would still ride in another vintage vehicle, but I would get back in line until I could ride the Rumble seat car at least once. So simple, but one of the coolest things I’ve gotten to do in my life. If I ever become famous and I am riding in a parade, maybe I’ll request a rumble seat car to ride in. Sadly, St. Stephen’s no longer has its May Day celebration. As with so many other things, perhaps it became too expensive and attendance declined falling prey to video games and amusement parks, but I wouldn’t trade those times for anything. So today, on May Day, I challenge you to go out and do something that brings you back to the innocence and fun of your childhood. I’ll guarantee you won’t regret it!