According to our minivan's dashboard instruments, the temperature outdoors today was in the 50s. On January 28. In North Dakota. Remind you of this?
So warm out that one of our daughters had to go indoors to find ice for skating. So warm out that our other two daughters got out their bicycles again to join a neighbor girl in outdoor play. So warm out that we had the windows open. So warm out that I uncovered the grill and made supper outdoors: marinated filets mignons from Omaha Steaks, fresh asparagus, and sweet potato packets (yellow sweet potatoes sliced with onions and wrapped with minced garlic, olive oil, and seasonings in foil packets). Susan sautéed mushrooms and onions to top the steaks and made garlic toast and, for dessert, strawberry-topped cheesecake.
After supper, we went through the girls' handouts from Sunday school, each of which had Bible verses and related activities suggested for each day of the upcoming week. We had a marathon Bible session, reading and discussing all the week's verses--from all the handouts (two or three weeks' worth of verses)--and talking about the suggested activities and conversation starters within the handouts. It was a bit of Bible overload, methinks, at the end of a long, active day and a filling supper right before bedtime; they looked fatigued as I cracked open the Bible for one final verse. But afterward, as I was helping Hillary clear her plate, she said, "Daddy, would you like to say a prayer with me?" I told her, "Hillary, the answer to that question, whenever you ask it, will always be 'yes.'"
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Slipping Away?
At 12:22 P.M. on Sunday, January 27, 2008, a boy phoned our home to ask our eldest daughter, Suzanna, out on a date. It's monumental and disconcerting.
Granted, he and she are good friends in the same fourth-grade class, so it's less of a romantic outing than a platonic play date. Susan is dropping Suzanna off at the Dickinson Recreation Center to meet her friend and his parents . . . and perhaps other friends of his--I don't know. They'll be ice skating in a public setting under the supervision of parental chaperones, not going by themselves to hear a jazz pianist at a cocktail bar late at night.
Still, something is clenching inside my chest.
(Listen to the words as Billy Ray Cyrus sings "Ready, Set, Don't Go.")
Granted, he and she are good friends in the same fourth-grade class, so it's less of a romantic outing than a platonic play date. Susan is dropping Suzanna off at the Dickinson Recreation Center to meet her friend and his parents . . . and perhaps other friends of his--I don't know. They'll be ice skating in a public setting under the supervision of parental chaperones, not going by themselves to hear a jazz pianist at a cocktail bar late at night.
Still, something is clenching inside my chest.
(Listen to the words as Billy Ray Cyrus sings "Ready, Set, Don't Go.")
A Guthrie Evening
Minnesotans and theatre folk will think, from the title, that this post is about having seen a play in Minneapolis. No, not that Guthrie.
This Guthrie.
We have season tickets for the Dickinson Area Concert Association offerings, and last night was a terrific performance by The Vanaver Caravan, a dance/vocal/instrumental troupe that brought to our city their "Pastures of Plenty" concert work. It was a tribute to the music of Woody Guthrie, nearly all of which was completely new to me (except for the night's final song, "This Land Is Your Land"). A handful of musicians stood downstage right, some of them singing, some of them playing (a variety of string instruments--fiddles, banjoes, guitars, etc.), and some of them doing both. They introduced numbers with explanations of Guthrie's life and philosophy and his inspiration for writing each (which was a bit of a history lesson for me). Most of the songs also featured the dance troupe center stage interpreting the music and lyrics with appropriately choreographed routines: Appalachian clogging, the Lindy hop, modern, etc.
This Guthrie.
We have season tickets for the Dickinson Area Concert Association offerings, and last night was a terrific performance by The Vanaver Caravan, a dance/vocal/instrumental troupe that brought to our city their "Pastures of Plenty" concert work. It was a tribute to the music of Woody Guthrie, nearly all of which was completely new to me (except for the night's final song, "This Land Is Your Land"). A handful of musicians stood downstage right, some of them singing, some of them playing (a variety of string instruments--fiddles, banjoes, guitars, etc.), and some of them doing both. They introduced numbers with explanations of Guthrie's life and philosophy and his inspiration for writing each (which was a bit of a history lesson for me). Most of the songs also featured the dance troupe center stage interpreting the music and lyrics with appropriately choreographed routines: Appalachian clogging, the Lindy hop, modern, etc.
Susan couldn't attend; she had to work a shift in the kitchen for the annual Mardi Gras held at the school where she works (a fundraiser for Dickinson Catholic schools). So I took the girls, and we found seats in the very front row (of the very crowded Stickney Auditorium at DSU). We had an unobstructed view, of course, of everything, and the girls were alert to all the details on stage. Dancers themselves, they were particularly interested in watching the choreography. Abigail could hardly contain herself, twitching around in her seat as though any minute she would bound up on stage to join them. Hillary and Suzanna, too, tapped the rhythms of the songs on my legs and sat unblinking with mouths agape and faces grinning throughout.
Afterward they were able to get Bill's (the artistic director) autograph on their programs, and they clogged and square danced their way out of the auditorium, reviewing their favorite parts, their favorite dancers (the ones who wore bright smiles as they danced), and their dreams of someday being on stage like that themselves. Without coaxing from me, they even offered to check with the bus driver of their future tour bus to see if Mommy and Daddy could ride along from booking to booking.
They had plenty more to tell Susan as we all gathered in the kitchen afterward for late-night lemonade and buttered popcorn to compare stories of our evenings, followed by several rounds of Mad Libs. What a great night.
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