into the ...

A few weeks ago, I took part in a staff production of Into the Woods, Stephen Sondheim’s musical masterpiece. Shortly after becoming *famous* (j/k), I sat for my first interview with the Woodstock Tiger.

The lovely young reporter gingerly set her iPad on the bench and smiled up at me, assuring me that she only had three simple questions. Great, I thought. I’ve got this.  

“So, Ms. Melanie, what do you think the show’s theme or lesson was?” I had underestimated her; I was stumped.

Despite acting the show for several weeks, I had never sat down and really considered this question. Bad English teacher!

I floundered a bit, but latched on to a song that always stands out for its obvious theme-ness: “Careful the things you say, / children will listen. / Careful the things you do, / children will see -- and learn.”

The play explores all sorts of tensions between parents and children, and the very human struggle between maintaining innocence and unraveling the mysteries of our world -- a world that is often much darker than we want to believe. 

But what always strikes me when I hear the song (good English teacher?) is that the play is really about the power of storytelling.

When the Baker becomes the play’s final narrator, he takes on the role of parent, storyteller, and guide. He assumes the burden of reconstructing a difficult narrative, one that will shape his child’s understanding of the world and their broken/re-formed family. I find this to be such a beautiful moment, a hopeful break from a grim, death-filled second act.

The magic of theater is that, as performers, we too are participants in the dangers and joys of storytelling. If we’re successful, our story unfolds upon the stage. It’s daunting (it’s live! no hiding! no turning back!), but the rewards are tangible. Unlike in teaching, when our hard work may bear fruit years later (if at all), audiences give immediate feedback -- laughter, clapping, shocked gasps, crying, etc.

Hearing the audience’s response reminded me just how important it is to celebrate a great story. As an AP English teacher, so much of my time is spent teaching students how to pick apart the various components of story that I fear I sometimes miss the bigger picture -- simply sharing beautiful stories and reveling in how they charm us.  

The other magic of theater is the camaraderie that comes through telling these stories. Repressing laughter under a colleague’s romantic gaze, learning how to jump on someone’s back, practicing the same dance moves infinite times, helping someone get into costume: I guess these are ways to build friendships. It’s always been difficult for me to let go and embrace my silliness, so putting on this show was something like therapy.

Of course, it was easier to let go around such a supportive cast***, a group of talented people constantly lifting each other up under the guidance of an incredible director. Thanks to all of you for making those crazy weeks worth it. 

My only hope is that I can bring the lessons and energy of that creative outburst into my everyday life. Share beautiful stories. Embrace the silly. Connect.

(Okay, now I sound like some sort of Sark poster. I’ll stop here. Later, ya’ll.)

***I have to note that a sadness hung over our time together, since one of the cast-members -- a close friend -- was stuck in the US during the production due to visa issues. We miss you so much!!

Thanks to Prathana Shrestha for the photos!

greece: life is good

Athens is an interesting city, a blend of graffiti, polished marble, cigarette smoke, and passionate conversation. 

We stayed about a ten-minute walk from the most touristy area of Athens. This area, surrounding the Acropolis, boasted gleaming storefronts stuffed with Greek antiquities and toga-style dresses, varied ruins, and cafes desperate to lure us in for breakfast, a drink, a snack – “Please come back later! Take my card!” 

We never did go back later, though we made the walk of shame past these eateries every day, en route from our apartment to whatever sights we wanted to take in.

The apartment was worth the annoying walk; it was an oasis within the city. 

We were able to make our own breakfasts – Greek yogurt with honey and granola (delicious), or a modified Turkish breakfast of tomato, eggs, feta, and olives (also delicious). 

Staying in an apartment also enabled us to explore the regular markets locals shop in – always one of my favorite activities. 

We spotted frozen octopi and squids – whole ones! – just a few rows away from a large section of prepackaged croissants. We were clearly not in France.

Having an apartment gave me the illusion of living in Athens, even though our days were nothing like real life. Case in point:

9am – Wake up, put on some coffee, eat breakfast leisurely while… staring mindlessly at facebook; reading ‘Dear Prudence’ or some other empty internet article; searching for good Athens restaurants.

11amish – Slowly get ready for the day.

Noonish – Head out into Athens. Grab a spanakopita or another flaky stuffed pastry pie and enjoy as we walk to our first destination.

1pmish – Enjoy some lovely sightseeing, like an audio tour of the Acropolis, the National Archeological Museum, or the Agora.

4pmish – Head “home” for coffee/lounging/nap or to the local Starbucks for an hour of caffeinated reading (of fun books, not work books!).

6pmish – Practice my lines for Into the Woods. More lounging.

7/8/9pmish – Head out for dinner and drinks, then home and more relaxing.

What a life we had there – though it was brief! In just a few days, the spring semester will hit us full force and we’ll be missing our travels. Still, it’s good to be home with my own pillow, my bed warmers, my lovely ayah, and my cute lil pup.