The Things We Take With Us And What We Leave Behind

The most memorable and significant trips in my life have been those from which there were many takeaways, whether they were fond memories of warm times with loved ones, new experiences tried and shared, delicious meals savored, or striking photographs documenting interesting, beautiful or unusual places visited.

We had many, many of these moments on our recent trip to Colorado, including seeing my son Justin perform with the talented 2012 company of Rocky Mountain Repertory Theater, which was the initial impetus for our journey.

This visit was notable, though, not just for what we brought home with us from Colorado, but also, for something very special we left behind.

We will remember so much of what we took away from nearly a week in Grand Lake … the number of stars you can see on a summer night more than a mile and a half above sea level, the look of accomplishment on your niece’s face when she climbs a rock higher than she’s ever seen before, the thrill of spotting a moose and her calf in the forest, longhorn sheep staking their long-held claim to the land you have just discovered, and countless elk grazing happily at the bottom of a mountain.

We’ll remember the rain that chilled us while we were out on horseback, and the smiles that warmed us pretty much everywhere else we went.  The beautiful voices we heard in a regional theater graced with superior talent and unparalleled hometown support.  The locally brewed beer, pulled pork, tequila shots, and chili verde that makes your insides hum.  The way your stomach lurches just a bit as you drive close to the edge of the twisting, narrow dirt road through the mountains.

The mountains. 

The Rocky Mountains. 

Our other reason for gathering as a family these past few days at the end of July. 

For longer than any of us can remember, the Rocky Mountains are where my mother wanted her physical remains to spend eternity after she passed on.  It was a desire she expressed over and over to pretty much anyone who was in a position to do anything about it.  Although truth be told, she was slightly more partial to the Canadian side than the lower 48.

Still, with Justin spending the summer at Rocky Mountain Rep in Grand Lake, at the western entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park, this was our best opportunity to gather the Appollo siblings, spouses and offspring, and carry out Mom’s final wish.  Colorado it would be.

And Colorado it was.

On our last full day together this past Sunday morning, the family gathered for a caravan to the park.  As Mom was in our car, she got serenaded with show tunes on the way up to Medicine Bow, an area my sister-in-law Karen suggested after their visit the day before. 

We hiked to a spot rimmed with snow-touched peaks, overlooking a deep valley dotted with the sparse shrubbery and wildflowers that will grow above tree level.  Only the scrappiest and most tenacious thrive here.  If you knew my mom, you’d know just how appropriate it was.

We shared our thoughts about the moment, some profound, some profoundly funny, and each of us took a turn scattering Mom’s ashes in a place we know she would have loved and will be content forever.  We cried.  We hugged.  We laughed.  And most importantly, we were together.  My brother, his wife and their children.  Me, my husband, and mine.  Also with us -- if not physically -- my mom’s friends and all of our extended family, so many of whom had shared their blessings on our journey.  We felt your presence that day, and it made it that much more special to know you were with us in spirit.

We took so many wonderful things away with us from our time in Grand Lake. And yet we left something -- someone -- precious and irreplaceable behind.

Later that afternoon, we gathered once again, this time, to enjoy more wonderful entertainment from the singers, dancers and actors at RMRT.  To be reminded of the magic that can happen when passion, talent and hard work collide.  To cheer, applaud, smile, and be proud.  To feel. To live. To celebrate life.

For while we left her physical remains behind on those mountains, we know that Mom is, and always will be, with us in our hearts and our souls.  And it is the absolute and utter certainty of that which is, I’m sure, the BEST thing each of us has carried home from Grand Lake.

Justin Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Just over twenty-two years ago, I wrapped up my newborn son in a sweater his grandmother made, strapped him into a brand new car seat, and brought him home.

Yesterday, I packed my car seats (and trunk and floors) with most of his possessions and moved him out.

While it's true that we have had variations on this theme for the past four years while Justin was in college, he has returned here when school was not in session.  Now that he has graduated, he is off to make a home of his own, albeit at first, in a summer sublet.

Sublets, I suspect, will be a staple of Justin's existence for a while.  He's a musical theater actor, and will likely be spending a good deal of his time, at least in the near future, on the road or wherever his work will take him.

This is not the first time he has left home, of course.  That distinction belongs to Stagedoor Manor, the performing arts camp where Justin spent six wonderful weeks for six amazing summers learning his craft, making lifelong friends, and working with a phenomenal group of professionals.  (If you look closely, you may still be able to spot a photo of him in some rather interesting headwear on the website.)

At the end of high school, Justin moved to Northwestern University, for four more years of classes and experiences that have helped him continue to grow into the accomplished young man and talented performer he is today.  He spent freshman year in a dorm, then moved into off-campus apartments for the remainder of his time in Evanston.

But always, he has come home.

Here.

Where he eats everything in sight in the refrigerator (along with things that may possibly have been hidden to escape easy detection).  Where he always parks a water glass on the kitchen counter by the microwave oven.  Where he never pushes in the piano bench after he's done playing.  And where the floor of his bedroom becomes increasingly less visible the longer he stays.

Where he sings in the shower, and mindlessly, everywhere else.  Does pirouettes in the den.  Makes me laugh.  Makes me think.  Makes me proud.

I know that my son is ready -- more than ready -- to move out and begin this next phase of his life.  I know that much of what I have done during the past twenty-two years has been to help prepare him for just this day.  Roots ... wings ... check.  I know this is a time to be much more happy than sad, and what I am feeling is more about nostalgia for the things we have shared than any kind of sorrow for what I might miss.

Justin is moving to New York City to pursue his dreams and share his gifts.  He has been wanting this and working toward it for years.  I am grateful that his future looks so bright.

And as he begins this next stage of his life, I am beyond thankful that the first stage was such a profound and wonderful part of mine.

Besides, now I won't have to hide my leftovers anymore.

She's Baaack!

I'll update. I promise.

Next week.

Because first, we've got Seussical, which Justin directed and Jordan plays Gertrude in.

Then we've got a trip to Northwestern, which is on Justin's (very) short list of colleges he's deciding between.

I know. Lots to catch up with. Long, strange -- but wonderful -- trip. oxo

More Than Seven Words about George Carlin

And much more about Didi Conn, his erstwhile colleague.

It all started when our friend Pat Lyons, eulogizer of record, posted the announcement of George Carlin's untimely death to our college radio Yahoo group. (Is there ever such a thing as a "timely" death? I wonder.)

In Pat's words, "George Carlin has died at age 71" are the seven words he wished you couldn't say on the radio. Pat correctly identified Carlin as the greatest stand-up of the last 50 years, bar none, and the wry wellspring to whom everybody from Jon Stewart to Jerry Seinfeld to Robin Williams to Whoopi Goldberg to Penn Jillette owes a deep debt.

That caused Donna Rubenstone to recall George Carlin's role as the narrator of and "Mr. Conductor" character on Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends in the early nineties, as the show was her daughter's favorite during that time of toddlerhood.

Which sparked the following reminiscence on my part.

My son Justin goes to camp and is friendly with Charlotte Maltby, one of Richard Maltby's daughters. (For the rest of the universe that is just slightly less theater-geeky than my family, Richard is a Tony Award-winning writer/director/lyricist and occasional collaborator with David Shire, ex-husband of actress Talia Shire, and current spouse, since 1982, of actress Didi Conn.)

A couple of summers ago, Justin was invited to Charlotte's bat mitzvah, the service portion of which was taking place at the Maltbys' synagogue on Saturday morning, with the party to follow much later that evening at a posh restaurant/club downtown. Being of the belief that the service IS the bat mitzvah, there was no way we'd consider having Justin eschew the synagogue in favor of simply attending the party that night, so it fell to me to drive him in.

The plan was for us to attend the service (with me sitting FAR AWAY from him and his friends, of course), enjoy the kiddush luncheon that would follow, and return home until he needed to be delivered to Meatpacking District that evening.

All went swimmingly. The service was lovely, Charlotte did a wonderful job leading prayers and reading her Torah and Haftorah portions, and it was very enjoyable seeing the friends and family get called up for honors. Among them were David Shire and Didi Conn, longtime bffs of the Maltby family.

So it wasn't surprising when I looked a couple of tables over at the kiddush to see Ms. Conn sitting with their young son. I looked over at MY son, and all I could think of was -- Stacy Jones, Manager of Shining Time Station. Because Thomas the Tank Engine was also Justin's favorite toddler TV fare, and I don't think he would have made it out of those years without it. (I know I wouldn't have!) I can't tell you how many 5 AM videos I popped in to keep him quiet and happy while I took my pillow and blanket to the den floor trying to catch just a few more minutes of sleep.

I KNEW I had to say something. Before I could think, before I could let my easily-mortified teenager talk me out of it, I walked over and said something along the lines of "My son and I wouldn't be here today without you." (Hyperbole much?) I quickly explained my lasting gratitude toward Thomas the Tank Engine and thanked her for being such a wonderful and cheerful presence as Stacy. I told her that as a mom, I just wanted her to know what an important role she played in the happiness and well being in my family.

And, well, I don't think I could have said anything better or more meaningful to her. A HUGE smile broke out on her face and she asked me to point out the charming creature who thought waking up while it was still dark out was perfectly acceptable behavior (and now, ironically, rarely sees anti-meridian hours at all).

We chatted amicably for a couple of minutes and I left her to her son and her lunch.

And I swear it was only on the car ride home that I remembered she was Frenchy in both Grease movies, starred in You Light Up My Life, and spent several seasons on Benson. Sheesh.

For me, she was and always will be Stacy Jones. And I was -- and always will be -- eternally grateful.

RIP George Carlin, Mr. Conductor and so brilliant and groundbreaking a comic mind.

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

While I do admit a certain fondness for raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, and -- most definitely -- for brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are not necessarily among my favorite things.

I expect, however, that over time, you will learn what they are, as I continue to find out, myself. For now, I know I love a good bacon cheeseburger. That first cup of coffee in the morning (and sometimes, the fifth, come afternoon) can really make me smile. Lilac bushes, good books, great conversation and blazing fireplaces make me very happy. And I think a splash of vanilla vodka or smooth, dark Jamaican rum makes just about anything that much better.

Yup, these are already among my most favorite things.

Some things, not so much. And I suspect we will discuss those, as well. For what good is a blog without a rant every now and again?

But not now.

Now, a thing about which I have discovered I have very mixed feelings: the SAT exam. Or, rather, my son Justin's SAT scores.

He did well, mind you. Very well, as a matter of fact. And that's certainly a good thing. I am proud of him. I am happy for him. And I am relieved to have cleared yet another hurdle on the loooong road to college.

But I hated having so much invested in the numbers. I hated the wait until we could log on this morning to find out Justin's scores. And I hate the inevitable comparisons a system like this engenders. What does it say about us that so much of our uniquely talented, multi-faceted, distinctly individual kids is often just reduced to numbers that will dictate a great deal about their futures?

Hmmm...it's beginning to look as if naive idealism could be counted as among my favorite things.

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings, indeed.