There is a certain time in one’s life when she knows she is ready; she is in her prime. That happened for me the summer of 1969, my sixth and final at the National Music Camp (now the Interlochen Arts Camp). Talent matters, but seniority does too. I had put in my time and blossomed before the faculty’s eyes. As I wrote in Dude – A Message of Love, I had known some of my teachers most of my life and I knew they appreciated me. That summer, I was rewarded.

My lifetime friendships were also in place. I wrote about one (and mentioned the others) in Valerie. These helped me to flourish as well. I remain close to all those women (actually, the entire group of voice and drama majors). Many of us have communicated regularly throughout the pandemic, bringing great therapeutic comfort.

We auditioned for all our roles in the first few days of the summer. I was in Morning Drama. We presented three shows, including the Shakespeare. That season, I played Irene Livingston, a sophisticated actress in Moss Hart’s “Light Up the Sky” and Hermia, the young, star-crossed lover in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, both great roles for me. The Featured photo is me as Hermia with Dave Maier (still a close friend) before the opening of the show, outside our theatre. My dear friend Emily did my hair; beautifully might I add! She even trimmed my hair on my wedding day. I trust her with my tresses.

Above I am in the last act of “Light Up the Sky”, wearing a shimmering gold gown and long white gloves, having come from my theater opening (in the play). Years later I spoke with Kitty Carlisle, who originated the role on Broadway that her husband wrote for her. I told her I’d played her part. She asked if I had become a professional actress – regrettably, no.

But that summer I sparkled. In the above photo I’m with Carl Staub, playing the role of the young playwrite. He was also my steady boyfriend for a period, adding to my delight. He even gave me his class ring to wear. It was too large, so I held it in place by wearing mine over it. I so wanted to be in a relationship. We walked around campus holding hands. Puppy love…

It ended, I was crushed. After exchanging holiday cards, I never heard from him again (we now communicate via Facebook), but someone was in touch with him and he showed up three summer’s ago when we all met for the “Celebration of Life” for our beloved Operetta teacher, Dude Stephenson; Simple Gifts. We went out to dinner in excellent restaurants in Traverse City every night and had time to talk. Carl pulled out of his wallet my high school class photograph. He’d had it laminated! I read what I wrote on the back. I, obviously, had sent it to him in that Christmas card and wrote about our relationship. That night, we spoke about it; “You broke up with me”, I reminded him. “You said your mother didn’t like me”, he rebutted. My jaw dropped. “My mother didn’t like anyone!” And the years fell away.

I loved playing Hermia too… “Little again, nothing but lower and little. Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Let me come at her!” Then I threw myself at Helena (the guys caught me) who was after MY guy, thanks to the mischievous fairies, who cast a spell on the other lovers in the forest. I was going to claw her eyes out, or at least tear out her hair; a real, staged cat fight!

Choir and Modern Dance were wonderful classes. I loved them both and always put my all into whatever I did, but Operetta ruled. It was the last class of the day, beginning at 3:30pm. We always performed Gilbert and Sullivan. This summer was the “The Sorcerer”. Here I am onstage, before the show with Dude.

We all auditioned, but there were few leads and only the best actually got parts. I had a decent voice, but not outstanding. I knew that. But Dude favored the theater people and gave us bits to do throughout the show. With about 90 women in the chorus, only those who had special roles got their names in the program.

I had two roles in this show. During the overture, Dude staged a pantomime and I was one of three village belles (yes, that is “Lysander” as my partner; we were well-matched; no, we never dated). And when John Wellington-Wells (the sorcerer) does his conjuring, I was a “sprite of earth and air” in a special hooded costume, flitting on and off the stage as he invokes the spirits in his incantation, as was a certain Marcy Zussman, younger sister of our Retrospect founder, John. It was great fun to do those little bits and get some recognition.

Our operetta was always performed during the 6th weekend of camp. That came to be alumni weekend as well. With such a large group performing, parents came (my own included) from across the country and the shows were always sold out. Now there were only two weeks left to camp. We performed the Shakespeare the next weekend, but Operetta had nothing remaining to rehearse. This particular summer, Dude and Ken Jewell (the music director) decided to perform an all-Irving Berlin concert. There were no auditions; songs were assigned and lots of fun tunes for all to sing. Our leaders even sang “A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody”. I finally got a chance to perform in a small ensemble: we sang “There’s No Business Like Show Business” and brought down the house!

Christie is singing, Steve is on her left. We all remain great friends. Finally Operetta, the last class of the last week of my last summer was over. It was time for Dude to pass out his awards, separate from the big ones that would be awarded after Sunday services the next morning. He had a special award for Best Lead, but also one for Best Chorus person (it could go to multiple people). I had won it the two previous summers. And again, he called my name and pulled me up front to give me a special presentation and accolade. Years later, when he was celebrating the first 50 years of Operetta, he declared (and made a plaque for it) that said I was the Best Female Chorus member over the first 25 years! But here I am, receiving Dude’s praise, which we all craved. It all came together for me.

 

 

 

 

Vegas was totally different in the early ’60s. With 100,000 residents it had one twentieth the population of today, and while it had a certain tacky sheen it hadn’t approached the aggressively grotesque grandiosity you see today. It was quieter, more modest, less inclined to force itself down your throat.
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The third week of August on Martha’s Vineyard always brings the much-anticipated Agricultural Fair or “Ag Fair”, as it is called. The Vineyard has a huge farming community and everyone gets to show off their season’s accomplishments, from the best pies and jams, to livestock and largest vegetables. There is a whole display hall for crafts, photographs, paintings and other handmade items. On the opening day of the fair, everything is judged. If you go on subsequent days (the fair runs four days), you’ll see items adorned with their ribbons for the prizes they took during the judgement period.

Competitions take place on various days as well (the schedule is printed in a special section of the local paper). Our favorite has been dog agility. Who knew that poodles could run like the wind and do the leaps through the various hoops and hazards set up around the ring. Any breed can compete, but we think poodles are the best. Skillets are thrown, oxen are pulled. This is a real country fair. There was a big state fair in Detroit when I was young, but I never attended. This was my first; it was manageable and so much fun to do with our young children.

Junk food abounds – fried dough, cotton candy, soft-serve ice cream. And lots of things to buy including branded souvenirs of the fair each year. We’d buy the tee shirts with that year’s special design (the Featured photo if this year’s design, just revealed in the Vineyard Gazette).

Through the years, we also bought the posters for each year and frequently framed them. But as our real art collection grew, I discovered that I gave most of the posters to the Boys and Girls Club resale shop. I have one left, in our sunroom. It is the same design as the left-most tee shirt above. Look how the sun faded the color.

Of course there is a midway with lots of rides and games. This is particularly popular at night time with the older kids who are trying to score, but the younger children love the game booths. As a child, Jeffrey loved one game in particular; some sort of ball toss, hit a hole and win a prize. If he couldn’t do it, Dan would take over. Little Jeffrey WANTED that stuffed animal. I’m sure he spent more on tickets than the prize was worth, but we’d keep at it until the prize was his. It’s still in his Vineyard bedroom, though she’s now 32 years old. Sadly, she doesn’t visit often any longer.

At a certain point, the kids outgrew the charms of the Ag Fair, and we were weary of the crowds. After years of absence, we went again a few years ago and were again delighted by it, but once every few years is enough for us.

Perhaps we’ll visit again some day with our granddaughter.

 

I love art, music (mostly singing, but listening as well) and now spend much of my time writing for Retrospect; a cultural triple threat.

I have written over 250 stories on everything from my first job; Posing in 3-D, to the harrowing story of my grandparents’ escape from the 1906 Russian pogroms to their trip across the Atlantic Ocean, arriving on Ellis Island and making their way to Toledo , Ohio where Grandpa opened a jewelry store and flourished; My Grandparents’ Story .Thinking of him, I am truly moved and grateful when I exercise my constitutional freedoms of religion and the right to vote. Both seem increasingly imperiled at the moment.

I recently read a long, interesting article by Timothy Snyder in The New York Times Magazine about those (particularly in southern states) who are trying to dictate how history is taught, making it illegal to teach “critical race theory”. He calls these “memory laws” and the article is entitled “The War on History is a War on Democracy”. He likened it to Stalin during the post-war famine in Ukraine, and Nazi Germany. We cannot re-write history. It does not bode well for our country. I WANT to know about my own history and that of my country. The more informed I am, the better citizen I can be.

I began singing with the Newton Community Chorus in 2003, once my husband retired and could stay home on Monday nights so I could practice. We’ve sung everything from Bach to Mozart to spirituals. Of course COVID kept us apart these past 18 months.  Some tried the electronic programs available, but I didn’t, for various reasons.

I miss my friends in chorus very much (we number between 60 and 90, depending on the popularity of the music we are performing that semester; Mozart and Brahms always gets a great turnout). There has been one email that seems to indicate we will try to gather again, even wearing masks, but much is up in the air. Will we be allowed into the parochial school where we rehearsed before? Will we be able to perform in January? Who will return (Newton has one of the highest vaccination rates in the country, so I’m sure we are all vaccinated, but still…singing in close quarters). Much remains to be seen, but I am hopeful. Now the Delta variant has raised its ugly head, so who knows.

I began singing as a small child – the classic Broadway musicals. Though my mother has been gone over a decade now, when she moved into the skilled nursing section of her retirement community, I got to know the music director, who invited me to work up a musical routine with her and we performed familiar Broadway show tunes for the residents a few times a year. Most were truly out of it, but some would sing along and my mother just beamed. The songs were always upbeat. I’d encourage participation on “Do, a Deer”, usually began with “Put on a Happy Face” and end with “Let Me Entertain You” (but only brandishing a scarf). Even after my mother died, I continued to go and entertain for five more years, until the music director retired. I felt like I was doing something good for the community and the staff really appreciated me. It feels good to be appreciated doing something I enjoy.

As I wrote in the “art and art museums” prompt earlier this year, I am a life-long devotee of both art and museums, but the Rose Art Museum (as seem above) at Brandeis has attracted my time and attention for over 30 years. I became an active member when Vicki was seven months old and a Board member 24 years ago (with a few gaps along the way). One could say it is an all-consuming hobby. In addition to loving the shows and learning about the art, I thoroughly enjoy being part of the acquisition process. My husband and I are no longer very active in the art market, so this is the way I can stay active and continue to learn about what is going on there. I keep current and alive. I am involved in two collections committees there.

One, the Sam Hunter Emerging Artist Committee, only considers work of “emerging artists” (a term we constantly debate), but what fun to look at. The committee works on a annual basis, looking at work in depth for about seven months, then going through another in-depth dive on the final candidates and a ballot selection process, until finally, by the end of the year, we determine a single work to add to the Rose’s collection. We have made some memorable purchases; several now on display in the 60th anniversary show. It is a fun activity every year.

I am a life-long learner. Whether being active at the Rose, writing for pleasure or singing new music, these are all ways to use my brain; fun hobbies that keep me moving forward.