Ecclesiastes 3:4

To everything there is a season, and the season where Dr. A and Mrs. B led the theatre department I graduated from has now passed.

When word spread that these two ladies were leaving the department, Laurel from A Little White Noise began coordinating a surprise party to celebrate their combined 29 years of teaching. In the end nearly fifty people would come by to see Dr. A and Mrs. B, either at the actual event or later in the evening as the festivities moved elsewhere.

It was strange to get to see so many old friends from that time in my life, particularly because I've moved so far afield from theatre. Unfortunately, I did not get to stay as late as I wanted to, due to the utter exhaustion I was feeling from a week of staying up until 3 am.

Admittedly one of those nights was because we went to see Thor (and I echo Sherri's high marks for that movie!). However, the rest of the week I was wrapped up in putting together a slideshow set to music. Laurel had contacted me the week before the event to put it together, and unfortunately I didn't get the message and a chance to start work until Monday, when the event was Friday. This lead to a week of late nights: collecting photos, tweaking photos, finding music, changing music, splicing things together, inserting new pictures, and eventually burning it all off.

Yes, that was the week I didn't blog anything. What tipped you off?

Still, in the end it was worth it. Everyone seemed to enjoy the slideshow, especially Dr. A and Mrs. B.

Throughout the weeks leading up to "The Festival," I found myself reflecting back on the four years I spent with them. Like many of the theatre students, I had a close relationship with them both. They each in their own ways taught me how to harness my independent streak and channel it in a useful manner. They opened my eyes to possibilities in myself that had never occurred to me before--talents and skills that would have remained dormant without their inspiration.

Most importantly, they showed me that one can be a Christian and yet still live in the world and influence the people around you. Too often Christians hide themselves away from the world, creating and performing only for other Christians. They taught me that we can use our gifts and talents out in the "real world," surrounded by all manners of people and lifestyles that "the church" would not approve of, and still bear witness and remain ourselves.

When I first went to college, I was a young Christian in pretty much every sense of the phrase. Had the Christian university I attended stressed "Christian Theater," I could easily have ended up the type of Christian Artist who looks down upon Non-Christians and abhors the sight or sound of anything potentially thought-provoking or outside of my comfort zone.

That or I'd have gone crazy and moved to a different school after a couple of  years.

Instead, I found two teachers who did not hesitate to teach us all that theatre encompasses. Sometimes, this led to them locking horns with the administration. Sometimes it meant upsetting their students by forcing them to consider ideas and lifestyles completely foreign. And sometimes it meant teaching us how to compromise so that our message could be heard, even if it wasn't as overt as originally intended.

While it's true that I've left theatre behind in the sense that I sincerely doubt I will ever design, direct, or run a show again, these are all lessons that I apply each and every day to living. I'm able to acknowledge and contemplate ideas without rejecting them out of hand. It influences my writing, conversations, and debate styles. And all of those skills that they developed and honed in me--organization, design, communication, construction, sewing, drawing, analysis--make me better equipped to handle life as it happens.

Our time together wasn't always perfect. There were times when they made mistakes. There were times when their students (especially me!) made mistakes. But we grew together, and we grew well.

So, here's to Dr. A, Mrs. B, and legacy they've left after 29 years of teaching!

Photo taken by Rebekah Byland

¹ There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: ² a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, ³ a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, ⁴ a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, ⁵ a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, ⁶ a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, ⁷ a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, ⁸ a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.
--Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

It's all Star Trek's fault

"I hate driving in Dallas. Assholes," grumbled Sunshine. Long strands of his hair were covered in oil and sawdust, sticking out every which way. It made him look a little like a mad scientist.

Several of us were sitting on the edge of the stage, injecting more caffeine and sugar into our systems on our break.

"Tell me about it," I replied. "Of course, my Dad would consider it a walk in the park. He went to high school in L.A. after all, and learned to drive there. Though, he says it wasn't nearly as bad back then in the sixties as it is today." I then proceeded to take another swig of Mountain Dew in a vain hope of not feeling quite so bloody tired.

"That explains it!" exclaimed Props Guru, looking up from where he was carving foam a little further down the stage.

"That explains what?" I asked, looking at my other coworkers and seeing they were just as confused as I was.

"You. I've been trying to figure you out for over a year. You grew up in Kansas, went to a Baptist school, and yet your whole outlook is incredibly liberal. I just knew there had to be something," Props Guru explained, long fingers flying about and emphasizing his words.

At the description of me as incredibly liberal. Audio Mentor had to suppress a laugh. I could tell. Honey, his eyes seemed to say. you are a moderate. Don't ever let them try to tell you otherwise.

Before I could say anything, however, Props Guru leaned forward, asking eagerly, "Your dad was a Californian hippie, wasn't he?"

For a brief moment, I considered setting him straight. As far as I knew my father was never an actual hippie, and he'd hated living in California. Dad couldn't wait to get back to Kansas.

But Props Guru looked so utterly pleased with himself.

With a bemused expression, I replied, "More of a biker, but yeah. I guess you could say that."

Sorry, Dad, I thought to myself. I don't have the time, patience, or heart to explain it's all Star Trek's fault.

Context

For about a decade of my life, I worked in theatre in one capacity or another. Over the course of that decade, I had a 20 foot A-frame ladder dropped on me (three times), I fell off the stage (more times), I fell in holes on the stage (twice), fell down a flight of stairs (once), and fell off a truss (once). Those are just the major injuries--doesn't include burns, cuts, sprained ankles, etc.

I tell you this not to make you feel sorry for me, or to comment on my klutziness, or even to brag in some perverse way. I'm telling you this to make my next few statements make more sense.

(It's not whining, it's context.)

The past two days saw snowfall (on Wednesday) and sub-zero temperatures (on Thursday). This meant that every part of my body that was damaged over the time I spent in theatre flared up with pain and refused to let me get anything done.

Yes, even blogging.

And, unfortunately, I won't be getting much blogging in today, as it's finally warm enough that I can move around the house and accomplish things. This is good because the poor house has been neglected (Sammy has been amazing about trying to get the essentials done, but he is working from home as well), and as such most of today will go to whipping it back into shape.

This evening, Rapier Wit and Literary Cat will be coming into town for the weekend, and we're hoping to spend a good deal of time with them. At the very least, tonight will be D&D and tomorrow will be Zios (mmmmmm... good stuff) and general hanging out.

All this to say, if you don't hear from me until next Monday, I promise I'm not dead, just out enjoying the world. That's not to say it's an impossibility I'll post stuff between now and then, but the chances are significantly reduced.

For that, here's a picture of a cat:

This is Nala when we were living in Dallas. Picture courtesy of Sherri.

Growing Up

Editor's Note: I meant to post about this earlier, but 3-day weekends have a tendency to make everything go wonky.


Over the weekend, Sam and I attended a local community theatre production of Little Women, based on the novel by Louisa May Alcott. As we walked back to our car after the show--dodging other drivers and trying not to freeze to death--it struck me just how much my relationship with theatre has changed over the years.

Ten years ago, my only real exposure to theatre was the productions our high school had performed and the occasional trip to Crown Uptown in Wichita. Had I seen this production then, I would have thought it fantastic and highly enjoyable, especially since it was based on one of my childhood-favorite novels.

Five years ago, I was on the verge of graduating from college with a bachelor's in theatre. Had I seen this production then, I would have spent the whole time picking apart the acting done in the show. While there were many splendid moments in the show, not all of the actors were strong throughout, and many of the character choices did not match the image I had in my head for the characters. Most likely I'd have attended with several of my fellow students, and we would have spent the next day ridiculing it to our classmates. Not because it was a bad show--because it wasn't--but because all of us at that time were very much theatre snobs, and would have insisted we could have done it better.

Two years ago, I had come to the decision that I needed to get away from theatre, at least for awhile. I'd injured myself during my latest gig, and was finding in myself a desire to settle down. During that time, though, I'd done multiple professional shows and seen Broadway/West End shows. This production of Little Women would never have registered on my radar, and had I seen it then, my focus would have entirely been upon all of the little technical slip ups--the dark spots on stage, the lamp that kept flickering in and out--as well as the mishaps with lines and entrances.

This weekend, however, I had what I consider now to be the better response. It actually made me happy. Yes, a part of me did notice the parts that weren't perfect. However, I had an absolute blast. It was fun for me to see people--many of whom were untrained for this--experiencing the joy of being on a stage and interacting with the energy of the audience. I loved all of the little details that were in the set design, and highly impressed with the period costumes that they'd managed to piece together. Overall, it was a very merry experience.

And I realized that this is what I missed about theatre, and why I had burned out. I missed the absolute joy that comes from creating a good story, and seeing people grow and do better. Having been away from it for the past couple of years, I was able to appreciate the way the whole community came together to enjoy what their local thespians had managed to put together to present to them.

More importantly, I came to the understanding that even if I never actually work in a theater again, I want to be that person who goes to the local plays, musicals, operas, concerts, and art shows. It may not be Broadway, the London Symphony Orchestra, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but it is still the arts, and still needs to be supported and cultivated.

It was a happy discovery.