"The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe" by St. Mark's Players

This weekend and next (November 16-18), the St. Mark's Players are performing a play that is based on the book, "The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe," by C.S. Lewis.

The play is performed in the worship space of St. Mark's Episcopal Church, and the Players are not affiliated with the church (although there are folks who overlap in both groups).

Producer Sherri Haddad and Director Joe Angel Babb have done a tremendous job in coordinating the cast and crew. Tonight was opening night, and the full house enjoyed the performance. Two-thirds of the cast are children. They spoke with English accents and effectively portrayed Lucy, Susan, Edmund and Peter, the children who walk through an old wardrobe into the magical and frozen land of Narnia. Other actors, young and old, protrayed fauns, centaurs and other magical creatures. Aslan and the snow queen were captivating as well.

One of the most charming aspects of the performance was its setting. The parish is 134 years old, and the red-bricked "Victorian eclectic" interior, with its painted iron columns, brick arches, wood floors and stained glass windows, is breathtaking. The play is acted, "in the round," with the stage in the center of the space and audience seated around it. The whole place has an intimate, ethereal feel. When the fauns are frolicking and centaurs emerge from the fog, it's magic.

Warmest congratulations to the St. Mark's Players on a great Opening Night!

A Troubled Texan and the Test of Tears

This entry is a response to a recent note by Grits in the City on an email that we both received from a mutual friend, TxDem. She's been through at least four significant "life losses" this year, and just when she has seemed to hit the bottom, something else goes wrong in her life. It's like she has fallen into a well, and she's drowning, and the escape gets farther and farther away.

She is in despair and has been so for months. Many of her friends have walked away from the drama, intensity and sadness of it all. It has been sad, intensely dramatic at times, and frustrating to be near her. She acknowledges it, but she just doesn't have the energy to be able to do anything about it right now. She's low.

She sent a blind list of friends an email acknowledging her situation and earnestly thanking them for being friends. It was a big move, and it demonstrated great strength. My heart goes out to her.

In my life, there have been some significant relationships that I've let go because they got to a point where they just weren't good for me. And even though my friendship with TxDem lately has been more "give" than "take," I'm not keeping score because it feels good to be able to serve her. I believe in karma and Christ's example.

She's a special friend worth the sacrifice: passionate, gifted, intelligent and genuine. That combination is rare and cherished by me. Her friendship and loyalty are as steady as the promise of Bluebells in the spring.

Her email talked about the value of letting go. Letting go of baggage, of unhealthy relationships, of grudges, and even of friends who aren't meant for the long term.

I won't let TxDem go - because I know that, before long, one day she'll begin feeling much better. She'll be back to her old self and, as a phoenix rises from the ashes, she'll have a maturity and seasoning forged from fire.

Folks who have experienced and conquered this depth of grief are great folks to know, for they have a wisdom from experience, a reality of living that provides a rock-solid, sometimes sobering perspective. In some ways, I can identify with the depths she's in - but only in my rear-view mirror.

I know that she'll be okay. This is one instance in which I'll choose not to let go.

Dupont Circle Drag Race

Last Tuesday night was the annual high heel race in Dupont Circle, and it was mighty impressive. There were Ladies with bright red poinsettias, a quartet of blow-up puffy ballerinas, the classic femmes fatales, a Senator on a toilet, a JFK-Jackie-Monroe threesome, a Washington Monument, and all manner of debauchery, glitz and silliness one could imagine.

And of course, there were the onlookers. "Just-Folks," like me, who came out by the thousands to witness the pageantry. This year, the weather was perfect: crisp as an autumn pear; dry; chilly; definitively autumn.

One thing that I love about DC, is that for all of the suit-stuffiness and pompous parading of Congressional pins and Executive-this-or-that business cards, some parts of the city aren't too politically correct to let their collective hot pink hair down and shimmy in a feather boa. I love the anti-culture of zaniness and liberalism, and the way that it sharply contrasts sometimes with the careful political strategizing that occurs during the day.

Long live the Dupont Circle Drag Race!

Autumn’s Hush

Tonight, I walked home in silence. Autumn’s chill had quieted the crickets, muted the frogs, even people’s voices on patios. The brick sidewalks were a pattern of gray and muted browns, and only the occasional passing car broke the silence: the tires-on-pavement long exhale of a solitary car passing by.


Brittle, drying leaves rustled in a gentle crisp breeze. I imagined winds blowing across the blue and white glaciers of Alaska, making their way along the jet stream and all the way across to Washington, D.C., where they rosied my cheeks and whispered of Eskimos and polar bears. Vintage chandeliers glowed from within bubble glass bay windows.


Shadowy Halloween characters in urban combat attire, one block up, floated across dim intersections. Muted laughter from pumpkined wrought-iron stoops wafted along swirling currents of crackling leaves. Terriers, finished with their last walks of the day, scurried with dog-nails onto glossed wood floors of sparkling warm row-houses.


Somewhere in the distance, far off, sirens wailed: a gentle warning of potential danger. A phone conversation drifted from an open window. A twig snapped under someone's show, half a block away. All were muffled by wind on leaves, sneakers padding on bricks, and sleepy mums in pots.


The sounds of Capitol Hill, in many ways, have probably been the same for two hundred years. The neighborhood, with its autumnal hush, is timeless.

Hillary Curio

Mezmerizing

The Woman Who Won't Hold Doors

Just was passed by the Woman Who Won't Hold Doors For People at the Metro Center station.

After working on the Hill for 5 years, I've passed this woman in the halls and going up and down stairs many times. She's not pretty, but she has a distinctive look.

She's tall, bottle-blonde, wears ballerina flats or kitten heels, and she used to work in Cannon for a member from Florida. I'll never forget, one day, years ago, I was clearly behind her to enter one of the House office buildings, right behind her. I might have as well have been a shadow, though, because once inside, she let that door drop right behind her, with no thought to extending a basic courtesy.

Another time, she stepped on the back of my foot as we descended a Metro escalator.

DC's a tough city. At risk of sounding like a whining Southerner, I will say my opinion anyway. It's basic courtesy to hold the door for someone coming in right behind you. I also think people should wait their turn when walking somewhere and not clip folks' heels or shoulder through a crowd to get two feet ahead in a queue of five thousand.

<Sigh> I've ranted and feel better now. And a life of not holding doors goes on, for the Woman. I'm starting to learn not to expect it anymore.

MLK on Compassion

"On the one hand we are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside; but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar..."

- The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,
from, " A Time to Break Silence." April 4th, 1967

Baggage

Tonight I’m thinking about emotional baggage. The big, big question for me is this: what percentage of people who come from broken/ dysfunctional families actually learn something and improve from the experience? And what percentage of them remain broken, themselves?


The flip side is: do folks who've never dealt with a major relationship blow-out suffer from naivite? Are they unprepared, unseasoned, for inevitable rocks in the relationship road? Will they enter a relationship with unrealistic and unsustainable expectations?




For me, “dysfunctional” means that a relationship takes on an aspect that ultimately causes its demise: abuse, neglect, lying, cheating, disrespect, mean-spiritedness, extreme jealousy, rage, passive-aggression, volatility, etc.




It’s hard for me to understand, because I grew up as the product of a near-perfect family. My parents were Christians and brought me up in a moral, nurturing household. We had family meetings to decide matters and let each individual’s voice be heard. Communication was direct and open. My parents never had major marital problems and demonstrated effectively working through the minor issues. We say, “I love you” frequently. I am still close to my parents and sister, and nowadays, I call them not out of a sense of obligation, but because I miss them and truly want to know how their day is going.




Years ago, I became very close to a person from a broken family. When he was age 15, his father had an affair and told his mother (who had struggled with dysthymia for many years and was incapable of holding down a job) that he didn’t love her anymore. The guy was a latch-key kid, and no one in his family communicated. The divorce was bitter, and none of the children, now grown, have been capable of having a relationship with the other sex for any length of time.




After the initial romance period wore off, he treated me in the same way that his father must have treated his mother: extreme neglect. Avoidance. No communication. Just left. This was, of course, very difficult for me.




So, now I have tasted a significant and dysfunctional relationship, and I can metaphorically peek over to the other side of the fence.




My answer to my own question is that it must be a mixed bag. I am sure a certain percentage of people, probably a majority, who’ve experienced broken families are dysfunctional themselves. They didn’t learn from the experience and carry around subtle but immense emotional baggage that they just can’t shake.




I also know that there is probably a small percentage of people who come from broken homes but who do just fine. One example is the case of Cousin C. She lived in a home with a mean and controlling father and passive mother. She does suffer from a serious inferiority complex, but she has remained happily married to one wonderful man for 20+ years. Success!




On the other hand, there are plenty of folks who grow up in a perfect social environment who somehow come under unhealthy influences and become dysfunctional themselves. Maybe none of the scenarios are correlated with one’s past or upbringing. But I’d wager to guess that they are.




Looking in my rear-view mirror, my hypothesis is that if you grow up in a dysfunctional family: fighting, non-communicating parents or close extended family, then you’re going to be carrying around some baggage so heavy that it starts to show after a while, despite attempts to hide it.




I stand at a crossroads. I’ve been through a heavy, pretty dysfunctional relationship, and it hurt like the dickens. Still hurts to think about giving love and trust to someone who trampled on them, repeatedly. As a result, I know that a major issue going forward is to again cultivate the ability to trust someone the way I need to in order to fully enjoy a relationship with a man. For me, trust must be earned rather than instantly granted. Anyone who rushes that process for me should prepare to see my back as I run away.




What do you think? Do previous dysfunctional relationships and/or broken homes predict future dysfunction?

Elvis Impersonators

Sighted at the Rusty Rudder on Saturday night, September 23rd, 2007. I'll let the video tell the story.

Dating and the Wild World Wide Web

I need to share a dynamic duo of messages from a guy who I met on an internet dating site. I promise that I did not make this up. We "met" online and corresponded a couple times. We set a time to meet in person. My friend spied a wedding ring in one of his profile photos, and I asked him how far along he was in his divorce proceedings. Suddenly, he canceled, saying he wasn't ready to date anyone. I sent back a brief, conciliatory note, saying to take his time. However, I did ask him why was he on an internet dating site, and that I wasn't expecting him to answer.

And then.....[drumroll, please!]......I received the following two messages:

"From: H--------3

Date Received: September 13

Subject: I have a problem lying

Hi [name removed],

I need to tell you the truth. My wife and I separated on August 16, 2007. I told her that we needed to work on our underlying issues. I told her that I would go to therapy once a week to deal with my lying regarding flirting with other women, pot smoking, and cigarette smoking. I just can't help lying.

On that day, I told my wife that I would not date or see other people and I hoped she would not do the same. The separation was an investment so that in the long run our relationship would be better. The next day, after she moved, I started writing my profile for match.com.

The Friday before we made our date, my wife called and asked me if I wanted to still adhere to our guideline of not dating anyone. Right away, I told her "yes." I told her that I wasn't dating anyone and I didn't want her to date anyone either. She had no idea about me being on match.com.

I want to date girls and have my wife on the side. At a very early age, I learned what women want to hear and I tell them it. I have no respect for women. My therapist says it is because I have never developed an authentic self.

You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who is honest and respects you/women. Be relieved that you never met me.

The reason I emailed you and cancelled our date was because my wife's friend saw my picture on match.com. I got caught and had to back out quick. My therapist is so disgusted he can't even speak."

The quick followup message:

"From: H-------3

Date Received: September 13

Subject: oops one last thing

I forgot one last truth.

The first two pictures of my profile were taken on May 25, 2007 by my wife. We were in Antigua celebrating our 5 year anniversary by renewing our vows!

I am such a liar."

He works in the Cannon Building (I know for whom), and I accidentally ran into him on the street the next day. Either he didn't see me or pretended not to see me.