Joe Cillo

A Month in the Country Not Always a Vacation
Russian drama requires some effort from American audiences. We must distinguish the Kolyas from the Katyas, the Alexseys from the Arkadys, and then we need to adapt to political and family systems that were in place at the time. Most Russian drama performed here is from Chekhov, but Ross Valley Players’ new production is pre-Chekhovian, “A Month in the Country” by Ivan Turgenev. Its Russian gloom has been brightened by an adaptation from Irish playwright Brian Friel and by lively direction from James Nelson.
First, the audience is warned that cossacks will be on hand to enforce the no cell phone rules, and then the garden wall opens to reveal a comfortably-furnished country estate with a card game going on in the background. The game is being made more difficult by the German tutor’s language struggles. When Herr Schaaf accuses his partners of “stealing the cat,” they stop and correct him: “the kitty.”
Natalya, the lady of the house, lounges on a nearby sofa, wheedling a long-time admirer to read to her and whining how sick she is of these “gloomy, airless rooms, just like those of the lace makers.” Michel, the admirer, clearly adores her, though it’s hard to see why.
Residents and visitors come and go with other complaints and needs. Natalya’s husband Arkady Islayev bursts in, full of enthusiasm for his new winnowing machine, but explaining to all who will listen about the need to supervise Russian workmen. Two household servants, Matvey and Katya, continue their disagreement about Matvey’s marriage proposal and whether or not he’s too old for her.
Anna, Arkady’s dignified mother lives here on the estate, and so does Lizaveta, a snuff-sniffing companion. Neither of them seems to have much to do, other than maintain the status quo.
A new member has recently joined the household: Alexsay, another tutor for the Islayevs’ son. Natalya is besotted with the handsome young man. The possibility of forbidden romance relieves her boredom, though he’s only twenty-one , and she’s twenty-nine. However, an attractive seventeen-year-old girl is also on the premises, a foster daughter named Vera, and she’s interested in Alexsey as well. Seeing Natalya’s distress, Dr. Shpigelsky says he’s found a perfect husband for Vera. It will turn out that the suitor is a rich neighbor, fifty-seven years old. This suggestion brings on more conflict. And when Natalya’s husband becomes dimly aware of Michel’s infatuation with his wife, he comes up with an astonishing way to keep everybody happy. Who will stay here? Who will go?
Director James Nelson sees Turgenev’s play as “the destructive and incendiary nature of desire,” with each character involved in “a web of romantic pursuit” that contrasts with their polite and ordered setting.
Ken Rowland designed the set for them, a garden and interior suitable for country gentility. Michael A. Berg fashioned costumes for the different social classes of the 1840’s.
Shannon Veon Kase has the difficult role of Natalya, petulant, spoiled and sometimes shrill in her discontent. Her devoted Michel, subtly played by Ben Ortega, seems genuinely lovable, though unloved. Tom Hudgens portrays Arkady, the tradition-bound husband, with natural authority, while Wood Lockhart depicts Dr. Shpiegelsky’s self-awareness and good humor.
Zach Stewart plays the appealing tutor, Alexsey, and Emily Ludlow is talented young Vera. The arguing servants, Matvey and Katya, are acted by Johnny DeBernard and Jocelyn Roddie. Robyn Wiley is the snuff-addicted Lizaveta, and Kim Bromley is the estate’s distinguished owner, Anna. The outsider, Herr Schaaf, is given a humorous turn by Mark Shepard, with Frederick Lein as the unwelcome suitor, Bolshintsov.
“A Month in the Country” will be at the Barn Theatre in the Marin Art & Garden Center, Ross, Thursdays through through Sunday April 12. Thursday shows are at 7:30 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., and Sunday matinees at 2 p.m.
(NOTE: There will be both 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. performances on Saturday, April 11.
Ticket prices range from $14 to $29. For complete information, call 415-456-9555 or see www.rossvalleyplayer.com

up with an astonishing way to keep everybody happy. Who will stay here? Who will go?
Director James Nelson sees Turgenev’s play as “the destructive and incendiary nature of desire,” with each character involved in “a web of romantic pursuit” that contrasts with their polite and ordered setting.
Ken Rowland designed the set for them, a garden and interior suitable for country gentility. Michael A. Berg fashioned costumes for the different social classes of the 1840’s.
Shannon Veon Kase has the difficult role of Natalya, petulant, spoiled and sometimes shrill in her discontent. Her devoted Michel, subtly played by Ben Ortega, seems genuinely lovable, though unloved. Tom Hudgens portrays Arkady, the tradition-bound husband, with natural authority, while Wood Lockhart depicts Dr. Shpiegelsky’s self-awareness and good humor.
Zach Stewart plays the appealing tutor, Alexsey, and Emily Ludlow is talented young Vera. The arguing servants, Matvey and Katya, are acted by Johnny DeBernard and Jocelyn Roddie. Robyn Wiley is the snuff-addicted Lizaveta, and Kim Bromley is the estate’s distinguished owner, Anna. The outsider, Herr Schaaf, is given a humorous turn by Mark Shepard, with Frederick Lein as the unwelcome suitor, Bolshintsov.
“A Month in the Country” will be at the Barn Theatre in the Marin Art & Garden Center, Ross, Thursdays through through Sunday April 12. Thursday shows are at 7:30 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., and Sunday matinees at 2 p.m.
(NOTE: There will be both 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. performances on Saturday, April 11.
Ticket prices range from $14 to $29. For complete information, call 415-456-9555 or see www.rossvalleyplayers.com

Vera. The arguing servants, Matvey and Katya, are acted by Johnny DeBernard and Jocelyn Roddie. Robyn Wiley is the snuff-addicted Lizaveta, and Kim Bromley is the estate’s distinguished owner, Anna. The outsider, Herr Schaaf, is given a humorous turn by Mark Shepard, with Frederick Lein as the unwelcome suitor, Bolshintsov.
“A Month in the Country” will be at the Barn Theatre in the Marin Art & Garden Center, Ross, Thursdays through through Sunday April 12. Thursday shows are at 7:30 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., and Sunday matinees at 2 p.m.
(NOTE: There will be both 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. performances on Saturday, April 11.
Ticket prices range from $14 to $29. For complete information, call 415-456-9555 or see www.rossvalleyplayers.com

670 words By ROSINE REYNOLDS

A Month in the Country Not Always a Vacation
Russian drama requires some effort from American audiences. We must distinguish the Kolyas from the Katyas, the Alexseys from the Arkadys, and then we need to adapt to political and family systems that were in place at the time. Most Russian drama performed here is from Chekhov, but Ross Valley Players’ new production is pre-Chekhovian, “A Month in the Country” by Ivan Turgenev. Its Russian gloom has been brightened by an adaptation from Irish playwright Brian Friel and by lively direction from James Nelson.
First, the audience is warned that cossacks will be on hand to enforce the no cell phone rules, and then the garden wall opens to reveal a comfortably-furnished country estate with a card game going on in the background. The game is being made more difficult by the German tutor’s language struggles. When Herr Schaaf accuses his partners of “stealing the cat,” they stop and correct him: “the kitty.”
Natalya, the lady of the house, lounges on a nearby sofa, wheedling a long-time admirer to read to her and whining how sick she is of these “gloomy, airless rooms, just like those of the lace makers.” Michel, the admirer, clearly adores her, though it’s hard to see why.
Residents and visitors come and go with other complaints and needs. Natalya’s husband Arkady Islayev bursts in, full of enthusiasm for his new winnowing machine, but explaining to all who will listen about the need to supervise Russian workmen. Two household servants, Matvey and Katya, continue their disagreement about Matvey’s marriage proposal and whether or not he’s too old for her.
Anna, Arkady’s dignified mother lives here on the estate, and so does Lizaveta, a snuff-sniffing companion. Neither of them seems to have much to do, other than maintain the status quo.
A new member has recently joined the household: Alexsay, another tutor for the Islayevs’ son. Natalya is besotted with the handsome young man. The possibility of forbidden romance relieves her boredom, though he’s only twenty-one , and she’s twenty-nine. However, an attractive seventeen-year-old girl is also on the premises, a foster daughter named Vera, and she’s interested in Alexsey as well. Seeing Natalya’s distress, Dr. Shpigelsky says he’s found a perfect husband for Vera. It will turn out that the suitor is a rich neighbor, fifty-seven years old. This suggestion brings on more conflict. And when Natalya’s husband becomes dimly aware of Michel’s infatuation with his wife, he comes up with an astonishing way to keep everybody happy. Who will stay here? Who will go?
Director James Nelson sees Turgenev’s play as “the destructive and incendiary nature of desire,” with each character involved in “a web of romantic pursuit” that contrasts with their polite and ordered setting.
Ken Rowland designed the set for them, a garden and interior suitable for country gentility. Michael A. Berg fashioned costumes for the different social classes of the 1840’s.
Shannon Veon Kase has the difficult role of Natalya, petulant, spoiled and sometimes shrill in her discontent. Her devoted Michel, subtly played by Ben Ortega, seems genuinely lovable, though unloved. Tom Hudgens portrays Arkady, the tradition-bound husband, with natural authority, while Wood Lockhart depicts Dr. Shpiegelsky’s self-awareness and good humor.
Zach Stewart plays the appealing tutor, Alexsey, and Emily Ludlow is talented young Vera. The arguing servants, Matvey and Katya, are acted by Johnny DeBernard and Jocelyn Roddie. Robyn Wiley is the snuff-addicted Lizaveta, and Kim Bromley is the estate’s distinguished owner, Anna. The outsider, Herr Schaaf, is given a humorous turn by Mark Shepard, with Frederick Lein as the unwelcome suitor, Bolshintsov.
“A Month in the Country” will be at the Barn Theatre in the Marin Art & Garden Center, Ross, Thursdays through through Sunday April 12. Thursday shows are at 7:30 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., and Sunday matinees at 2 p.m.
(NOTE: There will be both 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. performances on Saturday, April 11.
Ticket prices range from $14 to $29. For complete information, call 415-456-9555 or see www.rossvalleyplayer.com

670 words By ROSINE REYNOLDS

A Month in the Country Not Always a Vacation
Russian drama requires some effort from American audiences. We must distinguish the Kolyas from the Katyas, the Alexseys from the Arkadys, and then we need to adapt to political and family systems that were in place at the time. Most Russian drama performed here is from Chekhov, but Ross Valley Players’ new production is pre-Chekhovian, “A Month in the Country” by Ivan Turgenev. Its Russian gloom has been brightened by an adaptation from Irish playwright Brian Friel and by lively direction from James Nelson.
First, the audience is warned that cossacks will be on hand to enforce the no cell phone rules, and then the garden wall opens to reveal a comfortably-furnished country estate with a card game going on in the background. The game is being made more difficult by the German tutor’s language struggles. When Herr Schaaf accuses his partners of “stealing the cat,” they stop and correct him: “the kitty.”
Natalya, the lady of the house, lounges on a nearby sofa, wheedling a long-time admirer to read to her and whining how sick she is of these “gloomy, airless rooms, just like those of the lace makers.” Michel, the admirer, clearly adores her, though it’s hard to see why.
Residents and visitors come and go with other complaints and needs. Natalya’s husband Arkady Islayev bursts in, full of enthusiasm for his new winnowing machine, but explaining to all who will listen about the need to supervise Russian workmen. Two household servants, Matvey and Katya, continue their disagreement about Matvey’s marriage proposal and whether or not he’s too old for her.
Anna, Arkady’s dignified mother lives here on the estate, and so does Lizaveta, a snuff-sniffing companion. Neither of them seems to have much to do, other than maintain the status quo.
A new member has recently joined the household: Alexsay, another tutor for the Islayevs’ son. Natalya is besotted with the handsome young man. The possibility of forbidden romance relieves her boredom, though he’s only twenty-one , and she’s twenty-nine. However, an attractive seventeen-year-old girl is also on the premises, a foster daughter named Vera, and she’s interested in Alexsey as well. Seeing Natalya’s distress, Dr. Shpigelsky says he’s found a perfect husband for Vera. It will turn out that the suitor is a rich neighbor, fifty-seven years old. This suggestion brings on more conflict. And when Natalya’s husband becomes dimly aware of Michel’s infatuation with his wife, he comes up with an astonishing way to keep everybody happy. Who will stay here? Who will go?
Director James Nelson sees Turgenev’s play as “the destructive and incendiary nature of desire,” with each character involved in “a web of romantic pursuit” that contrasts with their polite and ordered setting.
Ken Rowland designed the set for them, a garden and interior suitable for country gentility. Michael A. Berg fashioned costumes for the different social classes of the 1840’s.
Shannon Veon Kase has the difficult role of Natalya, petulant, spoiled and sometimes shrill in her discontent. Her devoted Michel, subtly played by Ben Ortega, seems genuinely lovable, though unloved. Tom Hudgens portrays Arkady, the tradition-bound husband, with natural authority, while Wood Lockhart depicts Dr. Shpiegelsky’s self-awareness and good humor.
Zach Stewart plays the appealing tutor, Alexsey, and Emily Ludlow is talented young Vera. The arguing servants, Matvey and Katya, are acted by Johnny DeBernard and Jocelyn Roddie. Robyn Wiley is the snuff-addicted Lizaveta, and Kim Bromley is the estate’s distinguished owner, Anna. The outsider, Herr Schaaf, is given a humorous turn by Mark Shepard, with Frederick Lein as the unwelcome suitor, Bolshintsov.
“A Month in the Country” will be at the Barn Theatre in the Marin Art & Garden Center, Ross, Thursdays through through Sunday April 12. Thursday shows are at 7:30 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., and Sunday matinees at 2 p.m.
(NOTE: There will be both 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. performances on Saturday, April 11.
Ticket prices range from $14 to $29. For complete information, call 415-456-9555 or see www.rossvalleyplayer.com

When we’re enjoying a well-staged Shakespeare comedy, life’s a beach, and this one comes complete with a lifeguard chair, a parked surfboard and an obliging Pepsi machine. As soon as the Beach Boys launch into, “Surfin’ USA,” the boardwalk comes to life with skaters, twisters, comic policemen and dancers doing “The Swim.” The Bard’s Ephesus, it turns out, looks a lot like SoCal’s Venice Beach.
Instead, it’s “The Comedy of Errors” at College of Marin, and its director, James Dunn, has explained that the play is a farce, with all the characters trying to find out who they are and what they’re supposed to be doing. It’s fast-moving, he says, and Dunn should know. This was the first production from COM’s new Drama Department in 1964, which he founded. The present “Comedy,” being shown in the James Dunn Theatre, is the Department’s 272nd.
But not everybody is welcome in Ephesus. A new arrival, pushing a vendor’s cart, is from Syracuse, and the Duke — the one on the beach trike — says the stranger has to pay a big fine or die at sunset; sorry, but that’s the law.
Egeon, the stranger, using props from the cart, explains his situation. He’s here in search of his missing family, separated from him in a shipwreck five years ago. He had twin sons, entirely identical, even to their names. Both were named Antipholus. (Odd, but there’s more.) On the same day in his former home, a servant girl gave birth to another pair of identical twin boys, and these were both named Dromio. The servant twins were raised to serve Egeon’s twins. So there are two Antipholi and two Dromii.
One Antipholus is already a respectable citizen of Syracuse, while the other is about to arrive, each accompanied by a Dromio. More remarkable still, each pair is identically clothed. Let the fun begin.
Shakespeare loved mistaken identity jokes, and this plot gave him all a writer could ask for: a jealous wife, a lovestruck kitchen wench, an impatient goldsmith and general confusion, another comedy standby.
However, Egeon’s death sentence remains since his ransom money keeps vanishing, and everyone comes together for his scheduled execution, including a surprise witness. Then the Duke turns out to be a good guy after all.
Familiar names have contributed to this antic anniversary show. Kenneth Rowland designed the set, Patricia Polen and Jennifer O’Neill provided the costumes and Linda Dunn arranged the props.
In the cast, former Belvederean Steven Price plays the long-suffering Egeon, Skylar Collins appears as a doubly-confused Antipholus, and a tireless Jon Demegillo takes on the role of the much-battered Dromio. Both Demegillo and the saucy actress who plays Angela, the goldsmith — Trungta (Kae) Kositchaimongkol — also assisted with set and costume construction.
Robert Garcia plays both the trike-riding Duke and the creepy Dr. Pinch, Eileen Fisher is Antonius’ wrathful wife, with Melanie Macri as her sister. Michel Harris doubles as Antonius’ friend and a Merchant. The Beach Police are composed of Jesse Lumb, Evan Louie and Jeremy Snowden. Keara Reardon is a Courtesan, with Jannely Calmell and Ariana Mahallati serving as Apprentices. Jeffrey Taylor is another Merchant. (All the merchants have colorful bits.) Christina Jaqua as the Abbess provides the necessary happy ending.
Another reason to enjoy COM’s production: Shakespeare’s original was five acts; this one’s two.
A fine exhibit of artifacts and memorabilia from all fifty years of shows is open to the public in the College of Marin Fine Arts Gallery. The exhibit, assembled by set designer Ron Krempetz, is a lively collection of costumes, props, photos and mini-sets, with videos around the room to bring previous shows to life. The exhibition will remain the length of the show, through March 22. It’s free, but donations are encouraged. The theatre lobby also has a photo display from the early career of the late Robin Williams, when he was a student at COM.
Opening night’s show was also honored with visits by Supervisor Katie Rice and by a representative from Sen. McGuire’s office, presenting the Drama Department with a Certificate of Recognition for its fifty years in the community.
“The Comedy of Errors” will play in the James Dunn Theatre at the College of Marin Fridays and Saturdays through March 21 and Sunday, March 22. Friday and Saturday shows are at 7:30 p.m.; the Sunday matinee is at 2 p.m. Prices range from $10 to $20.
For additional information, call the box office, 415-485-9385, or see brownpapertickets.org.

750 words By ROSINE REYNOLDS

Beach Blanket Ephesus at COM
When we’re enjoying a well-staged Shakespeare comedy, life’s a beach, and this one comes complete with a lifeguard chair, a parked surfboard and an obliging Pepsi machine. As soon as the Beach Boys launch into, “Surfin’ USA,” the boardwalk comes to life with skaters, twisters, comic policemen and dancers doing “The Swim.” The Bard’s Ephesus, it turns out, looks a lot like SoCal’s Venice Beach.
Instead, it’s “The Comedy of Errors” at College of Marin, and its director, James Dunn, has explained that the play is a farce, with all the characters trying to find out who they are and what they’re supposed to be doing. It’s fast-moving, he says, and Dunn should know. This was the first production from COM’s new Drama Department in 1964, which he founded. The present “Comedy,” being shown in the James Dunn Theatre, is the Department’s 272nd.
But not everybody is welcome in Ephesus. A new arrival, pushing a vendor’s cart, is from Syracuse, and the Duke — the one on the beach trike — says the stranger has to pay a big fine or die at sunset; sorry, but that’s the law.
Egeon, the stranger, using props from the cart, explains his situation. He’s here in search of his missing family, separated from him in a shipwreck five years ago. He had twin sons, entirely identical, even to their names. Both were named Antipholus. (Odd, but there’s more.) On the same day in his former home, a servant girl gave birth to another pair of identical twin boys, and these were both named Dromio. The servant twins were raised to serve Egeon’s twins. So there are two Antipholi and two Dromii.
One Antipholus is already a respectable citizen of Syracuse, while the other is about to arrive, each accompanied by a Dromio. More remarkable still, each pair is identically clothed. Let the fun begin.
Shakespeare loved mistaken identity jokes, and this plot gave him all a writer could ask for: a jealous wife, a lovestruck kitchen wench, an impatient goldsmith and general confusion, another comedy standby.
However, Egeon’s death sentence remains since his ransom money keeps vanishing, and everyone comes together for his scheduled execution, including a surprise witness. Then the Duke turns out to be a good guy after all.
Familiar names have contributed to this antic anniversary show. Kenneth Rowland designed the set, Patricia Polen and Jennifer O’Neill provided the costumes and Linda Dunn arranged the props.
In the cast, former Belvederean Steven Price plays the long-suffering Egeon, Skylar Collins appears as a doubly-confused Antipholus, and a tireless Jon Demegillo takes on the role of the much-battered Dromio. Both Demegillo and the saucy actress who plays Angela, the goldsmith — Trungta (Kae) Kositchaimongkol — also assisted with set and costume construction.
Robert Garcia plays both the trike-riding Duke and the creepy Dr. Pinch, Eileen Fisher is Antonius’ wrathful wife, with Melanie Macri as her sister. Michel Harris doubles as Antonius’ friend and a Merchant. The Beach Police are composed of Jesse Lumb, Evan Louie and Jeremy Snowden. Keara Reardon is a Courtesan, with Jannely Calmell and Ariana Mahallati serving as Apprentices. Jeffrey Taylor is another Merchant. (All the merchants have colorful bits.) Christina Jaqua as the Abbess provides the necessary happy ending.
Another reason to enjoy COM’s production: Shakespeare’s original was five acts; this one’s two.
A fine exhibit of artifacts and memorabilia from all fifty years of shows is open to the public in the College of Marin Fine Arts Gallery. The exhibit, assembled by set designer Ron Krempetz, is a lively collection of costumes, props, photos and mini-sets, with videos around the room to bring previous shows to life. The exhibition will remain the length of the show, through March 22. It’s free, but donations are encouraged. The theatre lobby also has a photo display from the early career of the late Robin Williams, when he was a student at COM.
Opening night’s show was also honored with visits by Supervisor Katie Rice and by a representative from Sen. McGuire’s office, presenting the Drama Department with a Certificate of Recognition for its fifty years in the community.
“The Comedy of Errors” will play in the James Dunn Theatre at the College of Marin Fridays and Saturdays through March 21 and Sunday, March 22. Friday and Saturday shows are at 7:30 p.m.; the Sunday matinee is at 2 p.m. Prices range from $10 to $20.
For additional information, call the box office, 415-485-9385, or see brownpapertickets.org.

African Drama in Troubled Times, Troubled Places

For its first production of the new year, Marin Theatre Company is presenting  “The Convert,” a Bay Area premiere by Zimbabwean-American playwright and actress, Danai Gurira.  The play is important for its originality. It’s an African period piece and a dual-language script set in the present Zimbabwe — Rhodesia in 1896 — at a time when native Africans had begun to strike out against the British colonists and other Africans who sided with them. It’s also another culture’s views of family loyalty.

The play opens with Jekesai, half naked, fleeing with her cousin Tamba from her forced marriage to a much-married older man. This flight will enrage her uncle, who was waiting to collect his “bride price.” Tamba takes her to a safe house, the home of Chilford, a young Catholic clergyman, not yet ordained, where Mai Tamba, Jekesai’s aunt, is housekeeper. The home is furnished with a few pieces of Victorian-style furniture and a small altar on one side of the room. The only other ornamentation is a large, wall-mounted crucifix that startles the young  Shona girl. Before Chilford arrives, Mai Tamba throws a concealing, shapeless gown over her niece, then introduces her as a new student and convert. His claim to have the power of God with him will keep Jekesai safe from her enraged uncle. And because Chilford needs converts to improve his status with the Jesuits, he accepts the protege and changes her name to Ester.

Mai Tamba keeps the house in order, but keeps her beliefs to herself. She recites her prayers as required: “Hail, Mary, full of ghosts,” but privately scatters unknown herbs around the home and later upbraids her niece for not going to the family ceremony to honor the dead.

Others come to the home. Chancellor, a friend of Chilford, affects British dress and language because he wants to be part of the winning team. The two friends speak an ornamented kind of English together, while Chancellor’s fiance, Prudence, presents herself as more British than Queen Victoria.

The play’s accents, bilingualism and length make huge demands on both cast and director. MTC’s Jasson Minadakis has assembled a superb, all-Equity cast from locals and imports. Both Katherine Renee Turner (Jekesai/Ester) and Jefferson A. Russell (Chancellor) were together in MTC’s recent production, “Fetch Clay, Make Man.” L. Peter Callender (Uncle) and Omoze Idehenre (Prudence) have made many appearances in the Bay Area, including in Marin Theatre Co’s “Seven Guitars.”  Elizabeth Carter (Mai Tamba) has multiple acting credits locally, while both Jabari Brisport (Chilford) and JaBen Early (Tamba) are making their Marin debuts in this play.

Excellent actors and direction will be necessary for “The Convert” to continue in production at other theatres. Ms. Gurira’s script is almost three hours long and burdened with lengthy speeches. “Wordy,” was a remark overheard at the first of two intermissions. Further, the accents can sometimes overcome the dialogue and make it hard to understand — especially during the speeches. This script will need a tune-up if it’s going to get “legs,” but meanwhile, Marin Theatre Company has given “The Convert” a fine introduction to the west coast.

“The Convert” will play at the Marin Theatre Company in Mill Valley Tuesdays through Sundays till March 15. Sunday matinees are at 2p.m.  All evening shows begin at 7p.m. Ticket prices range from $20 — $58, with discounts available for seniors and military. For additional information, see the website, marintheatre.org, or call the box office, (415) 388-5208.

 

SLOGANS

Our major obligation is not to
mistake slogans for solutions.
Edward R. Murrow

David Cameron made the headlines not long ago because he refused to wear a t-shirt proclaiming: THIS IS WHAT A FEMINST LOOKS LIKE.  I have no problem with his refusing to wear a slogan like that, because it is just a bunch of words that are meaningless until you act on them.

 

I wonder if people realize that a statement means nothing unless is indicates an action.   Wearing a sentence doesn’t make it happen.  I think we should pass a law that forces you to stand by what you say.  For example, if you are wearing a t shirt that says WELL BEHAVED WOMEN RARELY MAKE HISTORY you better get naughty or no one will believe in you anymore.

I have always loved: THE EASIEST WAY TO GET A HEALTHY BODY IS TO MARRY ONE because it gives me an excuse to have flabby arms and a sagging bum. If anyone sees me in that t-shirt, I always say, “That’s why I’m single.”

I am being an honest woman just like my mother said I should be.

Now you take the slogan: IF WOMEN WERE REALLY LIBERATED, WHO WOULD DO THE DISHES?  The only women that should wear that one are female executives who get up at 6 in the morning to pack the kids’ lunches and make a hearty breakfast for the family, rush off to the office to do important things and then, at five o’clock, slip off the high heels, don the sensible oxfords and drive to the supermarket to buy dinner.  They hurry home, run the vacuum as they rush upstairs to change into something comfortable and loose enough to handle pots and pans, dash downstairs, create a gourmet feast for everyone, light the candles rearrange the flowers on the table and call “Dinner’s ready.”  Yes sir. That is THE t- shirt for them.

Their husbands and children should bow down to these heroines of the modern world and present them with shirts that say MOTHERS ARE MIRACLE WORKERS.

If you wear a t-shirt that says: I DON’T NEED YOUR ATTITUDE, I HAVE MY OWN you better have a smart mouth on you.  Someone dressed in a shirt like that is telling everyone, “Watch out!  I don’t take garbage from anyone.”   Yet invariably, the person sporting that kind of slogan will be a skinny five-foot failed football player.  Doesn’t he realize he is wearing a lie?

I am a woman of a certain age and I am sick of people giving me t-shirts that shout things like I AM ONE HOT COOKIE because I am not, anymore (if I ever was..but that is another  story.)  And what about AGE IS JUST A NUMBER. No, it isn’t .  It is an accomplishment.

I have been shopping for a t-shirt that tells all you youngsters why I stay out late at night and don’t take good care of my liver and I finally found the perfect one: YOU CAN LIVE TO BE 100 IF YOU GIVE UP ALL THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU WANT TO LIVE TO BE 100.

I bought it without even looking at the price.  I wear it when I go to the pub and I admit I flaunt it when I pass the gym and see those wild-eyed, determined people sweating it out on their stationary bikes.  “See this?”  I say as I stick out my chest and lap up my chocolate ice-cream cone. “I have discovered truth.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summary/Abstract

Michael Ferguson, in reviewing two recent biographies of Alan Turing’s life, concludes that to answer the enigma at the heart of Alan Turing’s death, you have to get inside the complex head of the great mathematician.

His book review entitled ”The Man Who Knew Too Much: Alan Turing and the Invention of the Computer’, by David Leavitt and ‘Alan Turing, the Enigma’, by Alan Hodges”, recently published in the, ‘Journal of Homosexuality’, considers the circumstances of Turing’s death on June 7, 1954.

An apple was found near Turing’s deathbed, out of which several bites had been taken. Froth around his mouth was consistent with cyanide poisoning, but according to sources cited by Michael Ferguson, the apple was never analysed. It has therefore never been definitively confirmed that it had been laced with poison, although there was both potassium cyanide and cyanide solution in Alan Turing’s house.

………………………………..

Read complete article here as PDF:

Alan Turing December 2009

ANIMALS GET US

An animal’s eyes have the power
To speak a great language.
Martin Buber

A.R. Gurney created a debutante in his comedy “The Cocktail Hour” who cries, “No one understands me but my horse.”  The line got a big laugh but it wasn’t a joke. Our horses, dogs and cats catch on to our moods a lot faster than our partners or our relatives do.

Mothers, of course, are an exception. One glance from you tells them everything.  My own mother insisted she could read my entire days activities on my forehead.  It turns out that my puppy could do the same thing.

A new study confirms that animals gather information and transmit it through their eyes. This can be very unsettling….especially when sitting down to a holiday meal. There you are digging into your roast turkey and gobbling up your roast potatoes when you feel a forceful presence watching you lift your fork to your mouth and chew those brussel sprouts.  You look down at Fido, his mouth open and saliva dripping down his fuzzy little chin.  He is watching you so intently he doesn’t even blink.   You would have to have a heart of iron to ignore the longing, the unbridled desire on your puppy’s face.

Guilt overwhelms you and you slip him a bit of dark meat and then a bit more.  How can you resist?

Fluffy is even more insistent.  The minute you put your napkin in your lap, there she is, her whiskers quivering with desire. What can you do?  You were the one who rescued her from the shelter.  The other guests at the table try to ignore the fact that your cat is sitting ON the holiday table lapping up your cranberry sauce as if it were catnip.

Horses are even more capable of transmitting their needs to you with their unblinking eyes.  Last year, I had Christmas dinner in the country and as I dug into my mince pie, I froze.  There was Dobbin staring through the window with such intensity that the glass melted.  It was no use.  I picked up my plate and handed it over.

This year, I have decided to fast for the holiday.  It is a lot easier on my conscience.

 

REASON

The heart has its reasons
Of which reason knows nothing.
Blaise Pascal

A member of the Taliban scrawled “Throw reason to the dogs” on the walls of the Ministry of Justice in Kabul. I get that.

All too often, reason keeps us from listening to our hearts.  I think the beauty of life lies in the myths we create.  Take Santa Claus.  Everyone KNOWS he is a fictional character we created in the nineteenth century to whip children into shape and convince them that obeying us would give them marvelous rewards.

It doesn’t take huge intelligence to figure out that if Santa were as big, fat and jolly as everyone says he is, he couldn’t possibly fit into a chimney much less a standard front door what with that sleigh he drags behind him and all those reindeer defecating in the snow. (And you KNOW that’s what they must do if they nibble on the cakes and cookies Mrs. Santa gives them)  A child of four could figure out that Santa could not possibly read all the letters children send him and actually decide who gets what on Christmas morning.

And what about all those clones we see on the street, at parties and ringing bells to make us give them money?  How did Santa manage that?  Did he form some kind of club with admission requirements (weight, girth, long white beard; jolly laugh required).

The truth is that reason would erase Santa Claus and I think that would constitute a criminal offense against childhood.  Way back in 1897, Virginia O’Hanlon wrote the editor of the New York Sun because her common sense told her that St Nicholas was a fraud…a tool to force a little girl like her toe the line.  This is what the editor said: “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.”

I don’t know about you, but I would hate to think my world was governed by logic and common sense.  I would not like a reality without the certainty that there is good karma, the power of love and the faith that life has a noble purpose.

Besides, where would I send my Christmas want list?

 

 

I AM IN CHARGE

There is nothing in the world to which every man
Has a more unassailable title than to his own life.
Arthur Schopenhauer

My friend Helen Osterman was 86 years old when her husband died.  “Now, it’s my turn,” she told me.  “I cannot wait to join him.”

I was 28 when she told me that and I was appalled.  I could not imagine anyone wanting to die.  The urge to live is so strong in us all, I could not believe that someone who was in good health would choose to end it all.  Besides, I did not believe you went anywhere when you were dead.  I thought it was a final finish.

I know now that what you believe is what will happen.  It makes no difference that we cannot prove that we will come back in another form after we leave this earth.  It is immaterial that there is no evidence that our spirits will ascend to a heaven that is described in different terms by different faiths.  It is what you think is true that matters.  Helen Osterman was sure she would see her husband again when she died and she did go to join him just six months after he left her.  She was finished with her life.

I have lived almost 60 years since that day and I have a very different perspective now.  I have seen people tied to tubes and bottles, their brain barely functioning, who have become nothing but blobs of living flesh.  I have heard tales of people riddled with agonizing pain who cannot be relieved of their suffering because it is against the law for a doctor to assist a patient to end his life.  And I know now that those people did not make proper arrangements for their finish.  They did not specify that they did not want to suffer without respite.  They did not insist that they not be kept alive by artificial means.

We are the only ones who have the right to make a decision about our body.  It is the one thing that belongs only to us and it is our duty to determine the way we care for it and when it is time to stop its functioning.  It is not a decision for a doctor or a relative to make.

However, once we make our wishes known it is incumbent upon all who know us to follow our wishes.  I remember a man who was in a coma whose wife insisted he be fed intravenously and on monitoring machines to keep him breathing.  She sat by his side all day into the night holding his hand but he did not know she was there.  He had made his living will.  He had trusted her to abide by his wishes but she couldn’t bear to let him go.  She insisted that keeping her husband alive was an act of love.  I think she committed an unforgiveable crime.

There are times when a physician finds himself caring for a person who has stopped functioning.  I cannot believe he has committed a crime when he simply removes all life support systems and lets his patient expire.

It seems to me that governments have taken over the responsibility for our well-being.  They pass laws to protect us from abuse, from accidents on the road and from habits they have decided will kill us.  Legislators have forgotten that we are unique individuals and it is the responsibility of each of us to listen to his body and keep it in running order.  It is for every person to decide if he wants a particular treatment to cure a diagnoses.  A diagnoses is after all only one person’s opinion.  The amount of cigarettes we smoke, the quantity of drugs we put into our systems and the type of exercise we care to do is a personal decision.  We own ourselves. No one else does.

Just as we all cherish the right to live our lives in our own way, we also have a right to decide when we are finished.  When life gives us no satisfaction…when we are stalled and are repeating the same routine every day, it is time to say goodbye to this life.  Once we make that decision, it must be respected.  The trick is to make that judgment when you still can think and to be sure that it is evident.

I have always loved the story of the woman who had DO NOT RESUSITATE tattooed on her chest and on her back, TURN ME OVER.  That is my kind of gal.

 

 

DRESSING UP THE FRUIT BOWL

One that would serve fruit
Must give it a good presentation.
An anonymous Chinese philosopher

A Chinese fruit seller in Nanjing decided to dress his peaches in fancy knickers and triple the price. He labeled them fancy peach butts and charged £48 a dozen. What a great gift idea!!!

What a great solution for the person on your Christmas list who has everything.  Can you imagine a better present than a cute little peach decked out in lacy underwear?

And why stop there?  Imagine awakening on Christmas morning to discover a banana in a bow tie and a top hat doing a soft shoe just for you?  Think of the delight children would have when they opened up Santa’s gifts to find a pair of plums in tutus and lace bodices tucked into a chiffon lined box?

I cannot think of anything better to give your Nan, than a cluster of grapes laced with garlands of velvet ribbon.  After all, she has received enough lace hankies to last a lifetime.  She will thrill to the novelty of something she doesn’t have to tuck in a bureau drawer to give to someone else next year.

Christmas shopping would be so much easier for us all. No more beating our way through crowded malls trying to outspend each other, piling up mountains of colorful boxes filled with useless trinkets no one wants under the tree.    We would not have to spend hours exploring one expensive novelty shop after another in the Lanes trying to find just the right tie, or the prettiest bauble for our loved ones.  All we would need to do is run over to the green grocer and load up on produce, take it home and dress it up. On Christmas morning, the house would be filled with jolly pears in tap shoes and apples sporting feather boas.  Wow!

And don’t forget the veggies!  They tart up amazingly well. There is nothing as appealing as a mushroom in spats and every potato worth its butter and cheese, looks better in mesh stockings with a flowered garter.

What to serve for Christmas breakfast?  Problem solved.  Just put all the gifts in a large bowl, add some scones, clotted cream  and a bit of eggnog and enjoy.

 

 

LIVING THE GOOD LIFE

There are three ingredients in the good life:
Learning, earning and yearning.
Christopher Morley

Ezekiel Emanuel is 57 years old.  He is a physician specializing in cancer and the Vice Provost professor The University of Pennsylvania. He is a very smart man. Last October, he wrote an essay saying he wanted his life to end at 75.

He is a fool.

When I was 57, I had no idea what fun I could have once I crossed the line where productivity, beauty and fame topped the list of what I needed to make my day.   When I was 57 I cared that my face was drooping, my hearing dulled and my walk slowed, step by step.  I am 81 now and I love my wrinkled face.  It gets me every perc I could possibly want.  I step into a packed car in the tube and at least 3 gorgeous men stand up so I can rest my wrinkled bum on a seat.  I board a train and take a premium seat that is labeled Priority Seating just because I have been around a long time.

When I carry packages up or down stairs, there is always someone to carry those bundles for me and usually with a smile.  I hop (yes I can still hop) on a bus and sit down without worrying about the fare.  I go to movies, plays and concerts and pay at least 25% less than everyone else including all those youngsters under 60 with low paying jobs and expensive taste.

If I am in a queue and it is taking too long I clutch my heart and gasp a little; that gets me to the head of the line before I can exhale.  I stand at a counter rummaging though endless coins I cannot recognize without my glasses and NOT ONCE has anyone said, ”Hurry up, Bitch.”  No indeed.  Invariably there will be some kind soul who will hold my packages while I search for coins I dropped in the bottom of my purse and the clerk will ALWAYS smile and say, “Take your time, darling.”

And that brings me to another point:  EVERYONE, man, woman and even toddlers, address me as “Darling” and they mean it. The very things I did at 50 that annoyed the hell out of everyone; the missteps and accidents I had in my twenties that made both husbands leave me; all are absolutely adorable now that I am in my ninth decade.

But it isn’t just the attitude of everyone around me that has made life so very sweet these days.  It is MY attitude.  I am no longer concerned with what I see in the mirror.  It never got me much when I was younger and I don’t expect it to be the 8^th aesthetic wonder of the world now.  That means that all the time, money and anguish I spent in beauty shops and on countless rejuvenation creams, skin enhancers, hair boosters…all of it is now spent on more rewarding activities like eating anything I want because what the hell: by the time I am too obese for my coffin, I won’t care. I won’t have to spend the extra money for it either.  The welfare department will.

I am at the age now where I can spend as much as I want for anything I want.  If I run out, I can get benefits.  My intention is to reduce my bank balance to zero and then apply for residence in a home.   We take care of our elderly here.  I am not worried about my liver either.  It’s held up this long, hasn’t it?

When I was in my fifties, I anguished because I had not made a visible mark in the world.  No one knew who I was.  My name never made a headline.  Now I realize that it isn’t the publicity you get for what you do, it is what you do that matters.  If it makes me happy and I am involved, then hooray; getting some award or a mention in someone’s column won’t change that.  It took me this long to get that.

“But here is a simple truth that many of us seem to resist: living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world,” says Emanuel.

And I say, “How does he know that?  He hasn’t gotten there yet.”

Well I have and I can honestly say that my walk is slower, but I get where I want to go and I do not feel deprived.  I enjoy my life just as it is.  I do not have the same desires I had at twenty or thirty or forty because that is not the stage of life I am in right now.  My perspective has improved.  I have confidence in myself. I trust my judgment.  I don’t want to go to bars and find a hot sex pot to take me to bed.  That doesn’t interest me anymore.  I don’t want to wear uncomfortable clothes that reveal my nether parts because my nether parts are not the focus of my pleasure anymore.  My mind and my heart are the hungry organs now and I do everything I can to feed them.  It is more fun and not as sloppy.

It took me a long time to figure out that life is like a card game.  You take the hand you get and play it out the best you can. It does no good to bemoan what you didn’t get or begrudge others for what they have achieved.  You do not know what they had to do to get there.  I am happy now with the life I have but I am not content to stand still.  Not yet.

I am living in the now.  What is past is gone.  I am not that person anymore.  I don’t look good in her clothes.  I do not want to walk in her shoes.  They would pinch my bunion.  I do not want to waste the time she did on the telephone bemoaning what she didn’t have.  I love my current life and I am determined to make the most of it.  I will not waste my energy worrying about what I will do when I am ninety because I am not there yet.  When I am, I have no doubt that I will have adjusted to the difference in my motor abilities, my memory and my diminished life style.  I do not know how I will like it until it happens.

Do not get me wrong.  I do not want to waste away in a hospital bed anymore than you do.  I have reached an age where I am determined to let my body fall apart at its own pace.  I do get my flu shots but I am not sure I would allow any procedures to prolong my life if I had a terminal illness.  I am not afraid of dying.  It is after all the most dramatic event in our life other than birth.  I cannot recall being afraid when I exited my mother’s body and I have no intention of being consumed with fear about my death because I have no idea when it will happen or how.  When I am there, I will deal with it. Hopefully it will be a grand and dramatic departure.

My goal right now is to live abundantly.  I will not spend one iota of the time I have in worry because worry never accomplished anything and I have a lot I need to do.  I want to learn to fan dance. I see me shimming and swaying to the music showing off my cute bum and my shapely lets and then turning to the crowd, peeking out of the fans with a face that looks for all the world like an abandoned prune that needs ironing.  It should have an amazing effect on the crowd.

I want to play the ukulele and tap dance while I do it.  I want to explore the nooks and crannies of a Europe I have read about and I want to make a lot of strangers laugh.   Want to fall in love the right way this time…loving who he is, not how he looks, what he buys me or what he wears. The size of his wallet or his dick are not barometers of love for me anymore.  They never were but I thought they were.  I know better now.   I cannot be bothered regretting the hump on my back or the arthritis that has gnarled my fingers.  They still work and while they do, I am using them.

I have done the accepted thing.  I have prepared a directive that tells everyone not to resuscitate me and not to use any artificial means to keep me alive.  I have donated all the organs that work to anyone who needs them although who would want my ears is something I still cannot figure out.  My kidneys however are stellar and I hope the person who gets them appreciates how beautifully they have worked for me.

I do not want to lie in a hospital bed on life support with medical science keeping me alive and i know very well that is a decision I must make while i have all my faculties and can prepare the proper papers to keep an exuberant medical staff from pumping up my lungs and stimulating a heart that no longer wants to beat.  I have done that but that is all I have done.  I am ready and willing for death to happen when it is ready for me.  My mother always said I arrived two moths after I was due.  “You were always slow,” she said.”Right from the beginning.”

But I got here didn’t I?

I hope my exit will be cleaner and faster but if it isn’t well…I cannot know what it will be like until it happens.  I am determined to only die once….and that will be on the day my heart stops beating and my lungs give  me no air.  …not one minute before.

The trick is to live…live as fully, as beautifully and as daringly as you can.  Reach for every star and don’t be afraid to meet the price, do the work and pay the dues to get you there.  There is no dream that is impossible.  Wallace Stegner says we do not die from a disease.  We die because we are finished.

I am not finished.  Are you?