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Thoughts From The Back Of The Room

Monthly Archives: April 2019

Heart, Soul, and Spirit

18 Thursday Apr 2019

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Beautiful Cambria, Communicating, Community Involvement, Home, Music and Art, Treasured Finds, Words matter

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Allied Arts, Cambria Center For The Arts, CCAT, Community, Doubt, Jeanette Wolff, John Patrick Shanley, Theater

Arts and Artists

Beautiful Cambria is home to a colorful box of arts, from painting and sculpture to music and theater. There are plenty of opportunities to participate, from studying with established artists and teachers to collaborating with fellow theater lovers. Artist, actor, or audience member, all are welcome.

This past weekend the allied artists at Cambria Center For The Arts  hosted an open house that featured exhibits and presentations from fine artists, theater performers and directors, and the team from the Cambria Film Festival.

It was a treat to see and feel all the creativity and commitment to the arts in one place, and heartening to see all the community members and event sponsors who filled the building with positive energy.

Small Sparks

As my wife and I wandered through the event, I thought of my evolving relationship with art, music, and theater. I am no expert on any of those things, but I am an expert on how they affect me, emotionally and spiritually.

I flashed back to John Stewart’s funny and heartfelt introduction of Kennedy Center Honoree Bruce Springsteen a few short years ago. Stewart started his speech by acknowledging that he was no music critic or historian, and was unable to say where Springsteen ranked on the lists of great American poets and songwriters. He then took a perfect pause and said”…but I’m from New Jersey…” and continued with a description of how Bruce’s work touched him personally.

I get that feeling a lot when I look at, watch or hear art in all its forms, and I wonder how I came to be a guy who is so moved by the grace of creative passions.

Enjoy John Stewart’s tribute here.

What Do You See?

Growing up, the arts were not front and center in my life. In grammar school, art class mostly consisted of the annual street-crossing safety poster competitions. Perhaps there was more, but I sure can’t recall anything beyond needing oak tag and magic markers. I still struggle with drawing even the simplest sketches.

20190416_135838 (2)

Lunch and Mommy – Jeanette Wolff, Artist

Jeanette Wolff is a delightful, energetic and near-fearless artist who can’t help but show her heart and soul in the beauty she produces. Her work is unfailingly identifiable, bursting with unexpected color, imaginative techniques and what I can only describe as joy on canvas. I was delighted to listen to her share the story of her piece, her descriptions and stylistic reasoning flowing out in a stream of consciousness, with hands darting towards the canvas to underscore a point, then dashing off to another quadrant to connect the dots within the whole piece. More than just a storyteller, Jeanette was engaged in conversation at a level that was pure and filled with creative passion.

I can’t begin to understand how to do what she does in her art form, but I definitely connect with her as an artist.

You can see Jeanette’s work on her website jeanettewolff.com

What Do You Feel?

I became interested in theater as I entered high school. In my sophomore year I made an attempt to “do a play” at Mount Saint Ursula Girls High School. Why? All girls school. Boys needed to play roles. Where’s my bus pass!!

I was worse than awful. I had no clue, no skills, and no confidence. I was humiliated but still met a few nice girls despite my complete and utter suckery. In later years I again tried the stage and maintained my reputation as not an actor. My theater mask had two faces, one covering eyes, the other, ears. I did, however, find a creative home in theater as a composer and lyricist.

“Here’s a dime. Go call your mother and tell her you will never be an actor.”

We slipped through the wooden doors at the end of the corridor and entered “The Cambria Center For The Arts Theater.” On the stage, two volunteers were engaged in a theater exercise, demonstrating critical skills every actor must master – listening and reacting to each other. The same lines were exchanged – “I have to go,” and “I want you to stay.” Nuance, inflection, cadence, and pitch altered the meaning with each repetition. I was reminded of a play we attended in New York, starring our friend Robert Newman. For most of the play, his only line was “Come on,” spoken in response to his lover, who was unhappy and working on leaving their relationship. So, a playwright took a theater training exercise and turned it into an off-Broadway play. Huh.

Stage or Screen

Theater moves me more than film, though I appreciate the art form. There are rare exceptions where the two mediums cross paths. One example that is burned into my soul is the brilliant, Pulitzer Prize-winning piece “Doubt, A Parable” by John Patrick Shanley. Mr. Shanley has enjoyed success in both the theater and film. He wrote and directed “Moonstruck” and “Joe Versus the Volcano, ” two quirky, funny and emotionally complex films.

“Doubt” is a theater experience that will never leave me. I saw it, alone, one Sunday afternoon. I had a bit of an idea about the play but was utterly unprepared for what I experienced. The premise, the characters, the dialog, the staging. The ambiguity, the moral murkiness, the very humanness of the piece was breathtaking. After the curtain fell, I paced outside the theater, a busy and frenetic New York swirling around me. I called my wife and tried to describe the experience I just had. We came back to that theater a while later. The play kicked my soul all over again.

A few years later “Doubt” was made into a film, starring Philip Seymour Hoffman, Meryl Streep, Viola Davis, and Amy Adams. I was a bit disappointed that the original Broadway actors, which included Brían F. O’Byrne and Cherry Jones, weren’t cast in the film. Both actors were perfect in their stage roles. Watching the movie made me forget my disappointment, as Hoffman and Streep were just as excellent. For me though, the most electrifying performance came from Viola Davis, who, in a scene with Streep, had me in a puddle as she did emotional battle with Streep’s character.

That is what art – on stage and screen – does for my soul. I have so many other moments like these filed in my memory. “That Championship Season” – the first Broadway show I ever saw, thanks to my sister Patricia and her husband, Ken. The opening scene from “Jerusalem” with a bellowing, bellicose Mark Rylance emerging from a headstand in a bucket of water… and so many more.

Who’s to say if the next mesmerizing writer, actor, composer or director isn’t right now learning to create at CCAT, or another cradle of creativity in a small town somewhere out there?

What Do You Hear?

My early music education was delivered by Mrs. Dean, who may have been a hundred years old, or forty years young. She would go from class to class, followed by a portable organ hauled by one or two boys from the previous class. I recall very little music from those sessions, though I do remember a decidedly non-musical screech from a wire-fingered, comb-like device she used to draw a staff in one long drag across the board. I also can’t forget the bleating of that little organ as Mrs. Dean banged out “Columbia, The Gem Of The Ocean.” Why do I remember that? No idea.

Learning to hear is as important as learning to play music. I can spend hours listening and re-listening to a song, or an artist, finding more pieces of the puzzle with each replay. My wife, who is a much more accomplished musician than I, learns and understands by the repetitive playing of a piece. Her learning is technical and disciplined. Mine is emotional and intuitive. We take different paths but often wind up at the same destination. It is a lovely place to be.

Perhaps next year’s open house will include a music breakout. I’m not sure if Mrs. Dean is still out there dragging that Emenee organ around, or if Columbia is still the “Gem Of The Ocean,” but nurturing the musical part of the artist soul absolutely needs to stand tall alongside the rest of the creative circle.

Support the Arts and The Artists.

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Disaster At The Firehouse!

09 Tuesday Apr 2019

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Cambria Fire Department, Communicating, Community Involvement, Emergency Services, Home, Humor, Satire, Searching for Cambria's Reality, Words matter

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Tags

Cambria, Cambria Fire Department, Community, Community Involvement, Emergency Services, Leadership

Part One – The Mistake

It started innocently enough, just another day in a long stretch of multi-day shifts. The duty crew was settling in for a fitful sleep. Reading lights glowed in small, spartan rooms. Each member of the service reading, texting, or relaxing, near rest but still on the edge of adrenaline known to those who answer the bell.
A television played quietly in the communal room near the back of the station. Jimmy Fallon was doing his usual “laugh too hard at his guest’s every comment” routine. The last few unpopped kernels of Skinny Girl popcorn (with sea salt) sat at the bottom of an old takeout carton from Robin’s. The empty cans of Red Bull lay in the recycle bin. The unique nightlight, thoughtfully provided for the new reserve who had not quite settled into the firehouse environment, glowed softly. Above the beacon sat the station’s whiteboard, tagged with a series of “To Do’s” and “who left the taco sauce uncovered???” complaints written in different colored dry erase markers. Each shift had their color, but as the ink ran dry, everything was captured in that washed-out red/orange/maybe blue color that showed the effects of being dipped in a glass of (non-potable) water to eke out one more scribble.
Times are tight in this tightly run department.
The night turned to morning, just as surely as Fallon turned into Seth Meyers. In the half-light of dawn, a still-groggy first responder shuffled into the kitchen to begin the daily routine. Perhaps it was the lack of uninterrupted sleep. A half-remembered exchange between Meyers and guest Patton Oswalt had him rustling through grey matter, trying to recall the “Ratatouille” punch line that had the audience roaring. Add to all of this slightly impaired vision; an unintended by-product of the commando-style blue blocker sunglasses donned to aid against the rapidly growing sunlight that sliced through the novelty Smokey The Bear window curtains.
In this almost awake and kind of confused state, an error occurred; A mistake that started a chain of events that still reverberates to this day.
The after-action report laid it all out in clinical fashion. It was neither clinical or fashionable. But first, the mistake.

One Job

As highly trained, experienced professionals, the ability to multi-task, even under stressful conditions, was a source of pride for all the crew. The relatively simple and routine morning tasks – wake, pee, wash, and brew – required little thought. Of course, mixing up these steps can prove both embarrassing and potentially sickening. This theory was tested- severely tested.
Reach into the container, remove contents. Put contents into the machine. Start machine. Pee again. Wash. Wait for the aroma that shouts “READY!!!”
The shout that eventually came was not what anyone expected.
In a groggy fog, the first responder made a terrible, nearly unimaginable mistake. He went out of sequence, mixed up container one with container two, and accidentally put the coffee beans where the Tide Pod was supposed to go.
Suddenly, the station was flooded with luke-warm latte.
At the same time, The Chief, still agitated from his commute, took his first sip of what he thought was morning coffee. Bubbles flew from his mouth as he attempted to spit out the soap while yelling “Maalooonnneeeeyyyy!!!!!!!!!” All the stain-fighting power of that tiny pod couldn’t clean up the language that flew that fateful morning.

Part Two – A Dank Place

It didn’t take long for the leak to spread throughout the house. Possessions were submerged. Critical documents were soaked and smeared. Slippers squished, and flip flops floated. It was a mess of epic proportions. A choked expletive escaped from an Engineer as he picked up his latest copy of “Tattoo Today – Heart on My Sleeve.” The colorfully printed pages had fused in a wet wavy clot. Lost for all time were the handwritten notations placed in the margins just hours earlier. Now, there were just runny, swirly lines where thoughtful comments like “cool – I wonder if it will fit in that special place” and “nice, but I like my Keep on Truckin’ guy better” once stood.
Across the hall, the leadership team came together to develop a plan of attack. In an intense brainstorming scrum, ideas were floated and discarded.
“Maybe we can get a sh*tload of donuts to soak up the spill?” “
“No, not donuts – too much sugar. How about rice cakes?”
“Hmmm, maybe, but I think Dan ate the last bag yesterday.”
“Ok, Ok. We need a solution RIGHT NOW!!! Everybody, grab a towel, a mop, an old tee shirt from Pinedorodo 2014, anything that will absorb moisture.”
“Ryan – get the mop. Michael – get the roll of Bounty from under the sink. Other Michael – put down the tattoo magazine – it’s gone. We need to focus!!!! And for the love of everything holy, somebody call Dan and have him pick up some more rice cakes from Albertsons.”
The crew sprang into action, determined to get the upper hand in the battle of the bilge. Obstacles and impediments were moved to the side, clearing a path that would serve as a bridge from which teams could work. To the left, a shift captain quickly had his crew working to soak up the now-bitter coffee/water. Getting into the spirit of close teamwork, a firefighter began softly whistling; others soon joined her, whistling louder and with more enthusiasm.
B shift, working from the other side of the path, took up the challenge and began their own musical rally cry, substituting humming for whistling. The station filled with whistles and hums, so powerful that nobody heard the loud crackle of the radio.
(A second after-action report determined that everyone thought it was merely the sound of Jiffy Pop being made by an eager-to-please member of the FireSafe Focus group, who had mixed up the meeting dates and showed up in the middle of the mess. Subsequentially, A new procedure was put in place, known as the Shirley Rule, which calls for at least two radios to be equipped with an audible, human-voiced alert yelling “ We ain’t poppin’ so you need to get hoppin’!” to alert the crew to an actual call.)
Thankfully, the radio call was just a message from Dan, letting everyone know that Albertson’s had rice cakes on sale, and he had a coupon. Budget saved!

Part Three – Word Spreads

The crews worked valiantly to contain and repair what the flood had wrought. Despite their efforts, the job was just too big, too involved. They needed help, and they needed it quickly.
Surveying the situation, The Chief realized what he had to do. He sighed heavily, took another sip of soapy water, bellowed again, and headed out to his truck.
He turned the key in the ignition, knowing things were about to get even more challenging. He inched his command vehicle forward, looking both left and right before pulling into the busy roadway. No turning back now, he thought to himself. He guided the truck down the winding road, past the Lodge, and towards town. As he turned left on Main Street, a thought jolted him, and he exclaimed, “I hope Dan got the good rice cakes and not that store brand crap.” It was out of his hands; he just had to trust that years of leadership training would lead Captain Dan to the right shelf. And that the coupon was still valid.

The Meeting

Chief pulled into the parking lot of the Vet’s Hall, knowing that the report he was about to give might be shocking and sobering to the regular attendees. He had updated the Board and public many times in his tenure with the department. This one would be different. No amount of slides, no stream of acronyms and codes would provide him cover. He had to let the town know that disaster had struck, and what he was doing about it.
The video was rolling. Allegiance was pledged. The sheriff’s commander was there to give his readout and immediately sensed that something was wrong. Chief didn’t seem quite himself. He smelled slightly of lukewarm latte and soapsuds. Not an entirely unpleasant combination, the sheriff thought, but not what he had come to expect.
When he was called to present his report, Chief took a minute and found his center, calming himself before striding confidently to the podium. He hadn’t noticed, but a contingent of off-duty members, as well as a few ambulance guys, Jerry McKinnon, and for some reason that kid from the Cookie Crock had filed into the meeting space, standing shoulder to shoulder in support of the Chief, knowing his update might not sit well with some of the usual suspects.
It was a touching sight, though it was a bit distracting to hear a voice loudly whispering “Hey, I can’t see…what’s happening now???” The line separated just enough so that the blocked captain could better see the proceedings.

The Report

The Chief began his report, only to be interrupted by a few shouts of “we can’t hear you, turn the microphone on…not, the button…the other button…” Finally, levels were corrected, and he began.
“Mr. President, members of the board and staff, community and the Cookie Crock guy, I had a prepared presentation, which can be found in the agenda packet. However, I need to pre-empt myself and give you an update on a bit of a problem we experienced at the station.”
And he told them everything. The mistake. The wavy clot of magazines. The bridge, the whistling, and the Jiffy Pop. He spared them nothing. Sensing the moment was near, he told them about the mocha mixup and the bubbles. So many bubbles. In a scene reminiscent of Brando in “Streetcar,” he bellowed, as he had bellowed that very morning, “Maalooonnneeeeyyyy!!!!!!!!!”
The crowd was stunned into silence. They had no idea the Chief had those acting chops. Snatches of excited whispering were heard. “He needs to star in the next Follies!”

NOOOOOO!!!

From all the chatter rose a solitary, insistent voice. The sound terrifying and chilling, the noise akin to every alarm in the county sounding at once. Everyone froze, except for the Cookie Crock guy, who figured his break was over and he better get back to work.
“OUTRAGED!!! I AM OUTRAGED!!! REALLY REALLY REALLY OUTRAGED!!! I AM NOT EVEN SURE WHY, BUT DAMMIT I AM OUTRAGED!!!!! I DEMAND THAT WHATEVER HAS HAPPENED, WHOEVER IS RESPONSIBLE, WHATEVER THE PLAN, THAT WE FIND THE LAST GENERAL MANAGER, WHEREVER HE IS, AND BRING HIM HERE SO WE CAN FIRE HIM AGAIN!!!!!” DID I MENTION I AM OUTRAGED?????”
It could be only one voice, one force of nature that could create such a tsunami of sound. The keeper of all things outrage had spoken.

But…

For once, the usually reliable crowd did not rise in support of the outraged. Instead, the good people of the town put their heads together and started churning out helpful suggestions. It was quite a transformational moment until things got a bit testy when “someone” was reminded that the whole rice cake thing had already been discussed. Beyond that one small flareup, no good ideas surfaced.

No Capes Needed

Amid the discussion, the Chief and his supporters quietly filed out. They got in their vehicles and headed back to the station. They were people of action, and there was work to be done. And Dan should have returned with the rice cakes, and, the gods willing, a box from Dolly’s Donuts would have found its way home.
Sent with great appreciation and affection for Cambria’s Bravest.

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Greatest Hits

04 Thursday Apr 2019

Posted by Michael Calderwood in Communicating, Community Involvement, Local politics, Words matter

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Cambria, Community, Community Involvement, Finding the Quiet, Listening and learning

Following Public Comment at a local Board meeting is like listening to Stairway To Heaven. You’ve heard it before. There are many interpretations of the words. Somebody will put out a cover version, usually missing a few of the subtle parts. And, invariably, a prophet will warn that leadership has us on a Highway To Hell.

But I listen anyway.

Am

opening

It starts slowly, calmly, serenely.

The lyrics begin; uh, OK…I see…a bit metaphoric….

It continues, becoming a bit tougher to keep up with the story…

and it makes me wonder…

More aggressive now. Drums. Always with the drums.

there’s a bustle in somebody’s hedgerow…

The voice gets higher. More agitated. Still cryptic though.

Wait – a bridge – this could get interesting…

Guitar solo!

More guitar solo, but with counterpoint!

Louder, faster, wilder!!!!

Definitely listening very hard…

Crescendo…then back to calm serenity.

somebody’s buying a something to somewhere…

Head shaking, wondering “what the *&%# did I just listen to???”

Encore

A month later it comes back around. OK, I’ll give it one more listen…

The song remains the same.

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