My snow experiences

 

Maybe I should have stayed in California. I never saw snow until we went sledding in the Sierra Nevada when I was 15.

So moving east, I had a number of bad encounters with the unfamiliar winter weather:

1965: Why scrape ice off your windshield? In Pittsburgh, I just tossed a bucket of hot water on it. Oh! It cracks? I never thought of that!

1966: I had the bright idea to drive from Pittsburgh to my new job in Portland, Oregon, in March. I got past Chicago and Minneapolis OK, but I wanted to look at Mount Rushmore. When I saw a snowflake fall on George Washington’s eye, it was too late. My U-Haul became unhitched, and I fell on ice while I put it back and broke a rib or two.

1975: I broke another rib at Aspen, Colo., when a cross-country guide took us down an icy road that turned to pavement and I fell. Oddly, that was my only ski injury ever. I went downhill skiing several hundred times and was never hurt.

1978: The President’s Day storm dropped 18 inches of snow in Arlington the day after a big party I held at my house with few visitors. I lived off the leftover chili a friend made for a week.

1987 (Nov. 11): The new company I worked for moved to Vienna, VA, from Boise, Idaho, and managers were surprised to see a foot of snow in Virginia on Veterans’ Day. No snow day for us! The boss picked us all up in his Range Rover to go to work.

2016: During a famous blizzard, my back went out the first time I dug a shovelful of snow. Pickett, who took over, vowed to move us out of our house into an apartment. We did, but we had little snow the five years we lived there.

2026: I became hysterical in Cluster Springs over a threatened snowstorm while Pickett was gone. Fortunately, the storm was a bust and I shouldn’t have worried so much. Where was Pickett? She fled to California, of course.

At least, in snow you often get pretty scenery. Then why, in about 65 years away from the Golden State, did I see only about three white Christmases?

The bad ideas hall of shame

 

Some major mistakes in history:

 

1.         The Segway. The stand-up scooter to ride around town was bulky, hard to maneuver and over-hyped. I have seen them used on tours of Washington, D.C. monuments, but little else.

2.         Hydrogen airships for travel. They were abandoned after a fire on the Hindenburg in 1937 killed 35 passengers and crew. (The Goodyear blimp floats with helium.)

3.         Pay toilets. Still common in Europe, they disappeared from big American cities after angry reactions  in the last mid-century.

4.         Reserved seats in movies. Sorry, but most films I see nowadays aren’t that crowded anyway.

5.         Marlon Brando as Sky Masterson in the “Guys and Dolls” movie. Sorry, I have been focusing on this a lot as we prepare for our show in Clarksville. It hurts to see him sing “Luck Be a Lady” instead of Frank Sinatra.

6.         Napoleon’s invasion of Russia. What was he thinking? I heard that it’s cold in Russia in the winter.

7.         New Coke. Consumers rebelled against this sweeter version in 1985, and the company took it off the market in 79 days.

8.         Google Glasses. I don’t know anyone who tried wearing a computer on their noses.

9.         Audrey Hepburn in the “My Fair Lady” movie instead of Julie Andrews, who played Eliza Doolittle on Broadway. Julie got her revenge with “Mary Poppins” and “The Sound of Music.”

10.  Indoor auto racing. Do they still do that? The noise and smoke really bothered my dad when we attended one in Oakland when I was 16.

 

 

Southside Surprises

I thought

I knew what was going on around  here until I talked to our B&B guests. 

Three of them I met over breakfast had driven all the way from Newport News to see a Renaissance Faire.  Really? Here? Yes, Woodbine Vineyards in Buffalo Junction had 300 visitors in November for  sword-fighting, jousting and costumed revelry, followed by a legacy ball in the evening. 

Who would have thought? (I’ll bet they sold a lot of wine.) Then the two guests were going to visit an aqua-zoo in the afternoon. Huh?  What’s an aqua-zoo? Oh, it is a mixture of an aquarium and an animal zoo called the Hill City Aqua/Zoo at a shopping mall in Lynchburg. 

Another told me about a haunted hayride held every October at Staunton River Battlefield State Park. 

Really? Several years ago, guests told me about a new winery across the border into North Carolina: Tunnel Creek Vineyards. I visited the next day and they hired me to play piano. 

So I looked up a bunch of things people might not have known about in the area. 

—Kirby Cultural Arts Complex in Roxboro. I’ve seen a bunch of shows there including “Hats,” “ A Christmas Carol” and “Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar & Grill”.  It is often overlooked because it is in another state. 

—TJM Center in Cluster Springs is a great venue for community events and meetings. It hosts a seniors appreciation dinner once a month. 

—Moton Museum in Farmville recalls the 

student strike that led to a landmark court decision on desegregation and Prince Edward County’s decision later to replace public schools with private schools. 

—Prestwould Plantation, sandstone Georgian manor  near Clarksville, provides a glimpse of plantation life in the 18th and 19 th  centuries.

—  The Boydton Model Railroad Club, based above the Town Hall at 461 Madison Street in Boydton, maintains several operating model- train layouts and hosts open-house events when visitors can run trains. It is open 9 to 11 a.m. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 

— MacCollum Moore Gardens in  Chase City is a historic museum and beautifully landscaped garden complex showcasing regional history, art, and nature in a serene setting

—  Poplar Forest, near Lynchburg, is Thomas Jefferson’s octagonal retreat home, a beautifully preserved architectural masterpiece he designed for privacy, study and experimental building. 

—Danville Baseball: The city has two summer baseball teams of college players, the Otterbots and the Dairy Daddies. They both play at the stadium in Dan Daniels Park. 

—The Thomas Day House in Milton, N.C., has psostponed renovations until next December. That means you can still visit Tuesdays through Saturdays 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Hourly tours are given of the home of the African-American cabinet maker who was the state’s largest furniture manufacturer before the Civil War.  Info at 336-592-8120.

Me? A Gangster? For an hour, yes

 

The great thing about acting is you get to be somebody else.

When I was rehearsing an unfamiliar role for Prizery Summer Theater, director Chris Jones once told me,“Don’t be Mike Doan.”

Huh? Why not? What’s the matter with Mike Doan?”

Well, as Monica Walter, director of “Guys and Dolls Senior,” told us, “Immerse yourself in your character. Think of who that person would be.” It is a challenge for all of us.

Preston Hubble, whom we know as a mild-oannered gentleman, has to become a scheming underworld gangster, Sky Masterson. Holly Stadtler, an assertive film producer in real life, switches to the role of the bland, shy missionary Sarah. Colleen “Coco” Corrice, a smart lady with a lovely voice, becomes a low-class uneducated dancer in the role of Adelaide.And there is Gary Walter, an experienced actor who claims not to be a singer. Well, he is now!

And me? I get to play music director. Yes, it is quite stressful but mostly fun and good for my aging brain cells.

I’m also portraying an argumentative street-smart gambler who picks horses with his betting buddies. Me? I know nothing about horses. I’m even allergic.

We are having a blast in our pretend roles as we prepare for the musical featuring over-55 actors on Feb. 14 and 15 at 2 p.m. at Clarksville Fine Arts Center. We aren’t even charging admission—donations are welcomed, though.

But then reality occasionally sets in. Something to make you forget your made-up roles for a while. We are all absorbing the recent death of Mike Kimmel, who was going to play the role of Lieutenant Branigan. I barely knew him, yet I am mourning too. We are a family.

Judging our forebears

 Today would be my grandfather’s 150th birthday. My sister and I find it remarkable that we lived with someone born in 1875, when Grant was president, Victoria was queen of England, and the electric light bulb hadn’t been invented.

I have been struggling to write this column about Fred W. Gee, because I have mixed feelings about him, as many of us do about our forebears.

He was a nice, amiable gentleman but wasn’t “warm and fuzzy” or tremendously accomplished. I never thought his English reserve and understatement served him well in the raucous colonies. Blame him if I am not gregarious myself and don’t smile often.

A tailor by trade, he left England for this country at age 17 without telling his mother. When he returned for a visit many years later, she scolded him about it right away.

When his wife died in 1922, his three children, including my mother, were farmed out to relatives and there is no sign that he saw them often. Today that would seem cruel, but I am not so sure that was unusual by early 20th century standards.

With frequent dizzy spells, he was quite dependent on my mother and her brother, taking turns living at each house.My father, his son-in-law, resented this.

I remember my grandfather making high-quality coats for me as a child. I was the best dressed kid my El Cerrito, California neighborhood.

He was a decent baby-sitter, making me stop shooting rubber bands at my sister, Milly.

As a past Master Mason and member of the Sciots, he did have a number of friends but was certainly no extrovert. I was honored once when he took me to one of their gatherings to hear an Oakland newscaster talk about world affairs. I still have the ancient typewriter he used, perhaps an inspiration for me to write.

I’m not sure I ever forgave my grandfather for selling his Walt Disney stock. I was fascinated with the Mickey Mouse drawing on the envelopes. A share in 1957 would have been worth $2,700 today.

I have a few fond memories of his later years: In his nursing home, the man he shared his room with appeared to have bad dementia. Was that a problem for him? “I am my brother’s keeper,” he responded with a “stiff upper lip.”

At Christmas in 1968, his last before he died at age 93, he was fascinated with Liverpool photos on a Beatles album someone received as a gift.

Two things I remember him saying often: “I’ll give you what you want when my ship comes in” and “Don’t get old, Mike.” Well, too late for that.

(Hm. I wonder what my grandchildren will say on my 150th birthday?)

 

Vows for the new year

New Year’s Resolutions for My Electronic Gadgets:

1.  Stop butt-dialing my doctor’s emergency line. I don’t think she likes it. (Turn off the screen on my phone.)

2.  Use more voice commands. Why type everything? And those of us over 60 aren’t used to using two thumbs to enter everything on the phone.

3.  Get my computer and phone to remember passwords. Last Pass is a good app for that, but I can’t remember ITS password.

4.  Stop subscribing to TV streaming services just to see one show. Do you realize how hard it is to cancel them? Often you forget you have subscribed.

5.  Record everything on cable and regular TV networks, even football games, and fast-forward them later to skip the commercials. 

6.  Don’t argue politics on Facebook. You won’t change anyone’s mind, and you will just make enemies and get frustrated. And don’t re-post scams like “I hereby don’t give Facebook permission to use my personal data.” They aren’t real.

7.  Go straight to ChatGPT or another AI site to ask any and all questions. Forget Google search. Don’t understand something you have read elsewhere? Ask AI to explain it.

8.  Stop hitting “Reply All” to group emails when you want to reach one person. It annoys everyone else.

9.  The print on paper is too small? Just take a photo and look at it on your phone or tablet. Make online albums of recipes.

10. Have a sudden thought? Enter it in “notes.” Use voice commands if you can figure them out.

 

Unforgotten in song

How can I become immortal? I know. I should write or sing a Christmas song.

The music goes on for generations. If it weren’t for their holiday songs, how many young people would have heard of Bing Crosby (“White Christmas”), Burl Ives (“A Holly, Jolly Christmas”) or Gene Autry (“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”)

When I hear one of my favorite singers, Mel Torme, I think of what his heirs must be collecting from a song he co-wrote starting “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”

So, what would I like to write about? Well, the commercialism of Christmas.

But I recall now that it has been done already. Satirical song writer Stan Freberg published one called “Green Chri$tmas$”  in 1958. Some excerpts:

“Deck the halls with advertising, fa-la-la-la la la la la la. Get the money, ‘tis the season, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.”

“On the firth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .five tubeless tires.”

“We wish you a merry Christmas and please buy our beer.”

Why haven’t you heard that song on the radio? Well, most stations banned it way back then. Their advertisers didn’tlike it.  Itdid sell a lot of records but then disappeared.

So, skip that idea. No immortality for me!

-0-

I was becoming a Grinch this Christmas after listening to the same music I have been hearing every December for maybe 80 years. IUntil I discovered Pentatonix and its Christmas music on YouTube. Their a capella harmonies are wonderful! (No, they don’t sing “Green Chri$tma$.”)

-0-

Last week, I wrote about the secret diaries I uncovered of Santa Claus. Well, through some investigative reporting, I have uncovered some more lost writings. Excerpts:

Humpty Dumpty: “If I do fall, I don’t want to be scrambled. I want to be sunny-side-up.”

Julius Caesar: “That guy Brutus is such a pal. I would trust him with my life.”

Napoleon: “If they will give me some growth hormones, I won’t invade Russia.”

Dorothy (Wizard of Oz): “A tornado? Let’s not worry about it, Toto. I don’t believe in weather forecasts.”

Abraham Lincoln: “Let’s go see a play tonight, Mary. I think that John Wilkes Booth is going to be famous some day. Let’s give it a shot.”

 

Secret diary uncovered

 History is full of fake diaries - works supposedly written by Adolf Hitler, Howard Hughes, Abraham Lincoln and Queen Victoria.

The writers generally ended up in prison. But I don’t expect to get caught for a book  I would like to write. Who is going to disprove my  diary of Santa Claus?

So here goes: If he likes it, I expect my stocking to be full of goodies on Dec. 25.

Dear Diary: When I lived in Florida, I longed for relief from the heat. Then the good fairy came and told me about a job I could get in a cooler climate.

Yes, the North Pole was cold, but I survived with a long beard and my Santa Claus outfit. My employees, the elves, rounded up a herd of reindeer to help me. Hm, does that one with the red nose have a drinking problem?

But this year, half of my elves have gone on strike asking for the minimum wage. Well then, they can go look for a job at the South Pole. The other half have been deported.  Do I have to do all of this myself?

To save time, I have created a spreadsheet rating everyone who is naughty or nice.  Instead of opening letters, I am requiring kids to use the Santa app on their phones, and AI will decide who gets what.

If I am late this year, blame the Federal Aviation Administration. How am I supposed to avoid air space around all of those airports?

On Christmas Eve, I will still fly my sleigh all over the world, climbing down sooty chimneys and leaving gifts for children everywhere.

If any kids spot me putting gifts under the tree, I will make a deal: keep quiet and I will give you extra candy, but you must sign a nondisclosure agreement (NDA). If you break it, I won’t come again.

The pact was violated only once, by that awful kid who wrote “The Night Before Christmas.” No more toys for him!

As I get older, I am thinking of retiring from his job, which I do only one day a year. I think UPS and Federal Express could be more efficient, though you might get presents at 3 in the afternoon.

And the warming planet means the North Pole may not be a good home anymore either. I may have to live on a sailboat!

But enough of my complaints: Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

 

So I’m not Leonard Bernstein

I can’t believe this is really happening. When I was 10 years old, I used to pretend to put on a show on our front porch. Just like Ed Sullivan and Steve Allen. Now I’m really doing it in my dotage.

We assembled a great cast for “Guys and Dolls Senior,”, made up of over-55 actors, who all seemed to know each other from the Clarksville Community Players.

As the music director, I’m trying for the first time ever to get people to sing correctly. Who, me? I have never done this before. Which way do my hands move—up and down or sideways? When will someone say, “Who is this impostor from South Boston”? When will I get caught? (I’ll bet you know the feeling!) Complicating things: many of the cast insist that they aren’t singers. We’ll see about that!

At the read-through, we decided the actors should be educated about the underlying theme. What could that be? Oh, gambling. Craps—throwing the dice.

As a Las Vegas veteran, I was asked by the director, Monica Walter, to show everyone how it was played. Only one person already knew.

I took out some Monopoly money and dice and had two actors bet against each other. If you throw a 7 or 11, you win. If you throw a 2, 3 or 12 you lose. Then it gets more complicated. I told everyone to gamble on their break (Not serious.)

At the next rehearsal, seven “crapshooters” assembled, and we went through some music. First, we spoke the songs through, then sang them without the background track.

Some kept speaking the music instead of singing it. But repetition works. I was hearing melody!

Another had trouble finding her first note. An actor not in the scene helped her out. I am not alone! We finished another song. I kept forgetting the words . . . got to work on that!

Everyone seemed discouraged. Except me. Am I missing something? These non-singers are together with a melody. Yay! Lots of practicing ahead.

One said, “Thanks for putting up with me.” I said, “You were great.” I meant it. We’ll do that song over and over.

We’ve got this!

(The show is Feb. 14-15 at 2 p.m. at the Clarksville Fine Arts Center. Free but donations accepted.)