The Haldane School's performances of Tim Kelly's "The Face on the Barroom Floor" were this weekend.  It was hard to believe that this was a high school production.  Charlotte Palmer-Lane, who has done costume design for many BBC productions and who did this past season's costumes for the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival, was an absolute wizard.  All the kids looked splendid. 

The set was great, too: the perfect backdrop to a zany Western farce.  Martha Mechalakos's direction was superb, and her husband Jim playing a genius ad-lib piano soundtrack was a deft professional touch.  I was so proud of Christian (who played the romantic lead, Jack "Toulouse" Goodheart) and all his friends; they were hilarious. 

I'll throw in a bonus for you all: Patrick performed the ring ceremony for the daughter of some friends recently.  What a stunning, tasteful reception, and the photography, done by Sheena Jibson, is gorgeous.

 There you have them: my handsome, talented menfolk.  I'm a lucky gal indeed.

I'm not a marshmallow fan (unless we're talking s'mores or homemade marshmallows).  So when I make sweet potatoes, fluffy white goo is not an option.  Here's what I do instead. 

Choose Garnet variety sweet potatoes, if you have an option, because they have the most beautiful deep orange flesh.  Don't pick the skinny ones; go for the fatter, turnip-shaped tubers. 

4 sweet potatoes (about 3-4 pounds)

1 20-ounce can crushed pineapple in its own juice

1 large apple (Ida Red or Empire)

1 cup pecan halves

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup brown sugar

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.  Scrub the sweet potatoes and prick them several times each with a fork.  Put them on a cookie sheet and bake them for 1 hour. 

Drain the pineapple very well and give the juice to your favorite child to drink.  Peel and chop the apple into half-inch chunks.  Chop the pecans roughly.  When the sweet potatoes are baked, cut them in quarters and let them cool for about ten minutes.  Scoop the flesh out of the skins and save the skins for the compost pile.

Put the sweet potato flesh, pineapple, apple chunks, and pecans in the mixer and mix well.  Stir the salt and sugar into the cream, then add the cream to the sweet potatoes and mix well.  Taste the mixture and add more salt and/or sugar if you feel the need.  Spread the sweet potatoes in a 9x13" pan and bake for a half hour.  Serves 12.

Photo courtesy PaulHP, Flickr

"The Dead"

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
   Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
   And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
   Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
   Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
   Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
   Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.

--Rupert Brooke, 1914

A murder of crows (one of the more famous collective nouns) recently appeared in an episode of Flash Forward.  But all this is merely a preamble to David Malki !'s latest genius, which I graciously reproduce for you below.  In the interest of full FTC disclosure, David Malki ! (see here for the explanation for the interesting "spelling" of his name) in no way compensates me for my faithful fandom.

Compound of Five Tetrahedra, courtesy Robert C. Webb/Wikipedia*

I'm feeling meme-ish today.  No one has tagged me for one in ages (maybe they aren't in vogue anymore), so I'll make up my own.  How about five categories with five entries each?  I like it.

Five North American Cities in Which I'd Seriously Consider Living:

1. Montreal, Quebec
2. St. Louis, Missouri
3. Austin, Texas
4. Cleveland, Ohio
5. Portland, Oregon

Five Songs to Which I Know All the Words:

1. Bow Wow Wow's "I Want Candy"
2. "Watchful's Song" from the opera Pilgrim's Progress
3. "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies
4. Rush's "Red Barchetta"
5. "September" by Earth, Wind, and Fire

Five Foods I'd Hope to Have in Unlimited Quantities on a Desert Island:

1. Bread
2. Butter
3. Eggs
4. Apples
5. Chocolate

Five Chores I Should Be Doing Right Now Instead of Blogging:

1. Purging my yarn stash
2. Cleaning out the raised beds in my vegetable garden
3. Sorting through the homeschooling cupboard
4. Sewing a button on my green jacket
5. Taking inventory of our coat/boot/glove situation

Five Childhood Friends I'd Love to See Again:

1. Wendy Hegseth
2. Brad O'Dell
3. Bobby Cecchini
4. Julie Rich
5. Peter Engelhard

Now, for the all important tagging.  I'll formally tag five of you, but if you want to play, consider yourself tagged whether I mention your name or not.  Feel free to adapt or change the categories to your liking.  Charrette, LT Eliot, Goofball, Jenna, and Lee Ann: will you play?

*I know: that's an image of five fours, but just go with it.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 --e.e. cummings

Patrick, Bill, and Bill's sister

I'm incredibly spoiled.  Longtime Novembrance readers know that Patrick does legal work for many Broadway and West End theater people.  Patrick's clients are amazingly talented, and the best, most decorated, and kindest of the whole bunch is a genius named William David Brohn.

On Sunday, Bill was honored at a gala benefit concert entitled "Broadway to West End by Special Arrangement: A Musical Tribute to William David Brohn" at London's Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.  Though our October calendar was already quite inked up, Patrick didn't think we should miss the chance to celebrate with Bill.  Our friend Marucela agreed to watch the kids, so we made plans for our mini-escape.

Saturday night, Patrick and I flew to London; we landed at about 10 o'clock Sunday morning.  We took the Heathrow Express train to Paddington Station, then caught a taxi to Marylebone, the charming neighborhood where our dear friend Carmen "LaFabulous" lives.  After a joyful reunion, we sat in her tasteful and spacious flat and chatted for hours. 

We went to dinner at a lovely little gastropub near Carmen's flat and afterwards visited a new gelateria in Marylebone High Street.  After a stroll down the high street, savoring our dessert and looking in all the fabulous shop windows (including those of this bookstore that demands a visit someday soon), we parted ways with Carmen and took a cab to Drury Lane. 

The concert was top-notch.  Sir Anthony Andrews was the Master of Ceremonies, and how divine it was to see him in person again.  We heard some of the best songs from many of the musicals Bill has orchestrated over the years: Miss Saigon, My Fair Lady, Carousel, Showboat, Ragtime, Mary Poppins, and Wicked, among many others.  I wish they had chosen something from The Secret Garden, but I can't complain.  Highlights for me were "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face" (sung by Sir Anthony himself), "Can't Help Lovin' That Man" from Showboat, "The Wizard and I" from Wicked, and Bill's "Ragtime Symphonic Suite."

Even better than the music was seeing our dear, modest Bill overwhelmed by accolades from producers, composers, and other theater legends.  Blushing and beaming, Bill's radiant face probably could have powered the entire West End all evening long.

We made a brief appearance at the post-concert reception, warmly congratulating Bill and saying hello to several other old friends.  Then we went back to Carmen's and sat up talking until 2:00 a.m.  We hated having to sleep, but a few hours of rest seemed prudent.

Monday morning, we got up at 6:00, hugged Carmen goodbye, and made our way home.  I love traveling with our children, but I also love traveling alone.  Patrick and I watched three movies in a row on the flight home without a single interruption: heaven.

Then, jiggety-jig, we were home again just 45 hours after we'd left.  Of those 45, only about 6 were spent sleeping.  Whirlwind?  Yes.  Worth it?  Absolutely.

The Great French Saga, Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

And here is the list of all the preparations we made.

8:45 Fueling up in Cold Spring.  Anne is in her car seat playing happily with her baby doll.  I love free Full Service, which means I don't have to get gas all over my hands; I love our little village.

8:47 Music or not?  My options are many: XM Vinyl or Rewind or Spectrum or Classical or Public Radio or Bluesville or Quoi de Neuf; Vaughan Williams or Les Choristes or Pride & Prejudice or an iPod mix on CD; or silence. 

I choose to be alone with my thoughts; I can't mull over plot problems or character issues with music on.

8:58 I reach the outskirts of Beacon, the site of my first and only speeding ticket, earned about two years ago.  I experience a frisson of PTSD and make sure I'm driving 30 mph.

9:01 Oh, how I adore the ever-changing sign in front of the Beacon Reformed Church.  There must be a book or a website where pastors get those pithy little witticisms.  Today's reads, "Try God's economic plan: store your wealth in Heaven."  Excellent.  It's almost as good as my all time favorite, "This church is prayer conditioned."

9:07 As I take the exit for Route 32 off of I-84, I realize that Jacques expected me to go another way.  He's now busy recalculating as he sits on his little beanbag. 

Jacques is our new TomTom GPS, just like the one the French family lent us on our vacation.  I have the voice set to the French male option, hence "Jacques."  

But what can Jacques be thinking?  I've been making the milk run for almost eight years; I'm pretty sure I've figured out the fastest, most direct way to and from the farm.  Does he think Route 300 would be faster?  If so, mon ami, you've got some learning to do. 

Can Jacques learn?  Somehow I doubt it, and anyway, all the Asimov I've read makes me think that I probably don't want my GPS to have that skill set.

9:10 I hate strip malls.  Fortunately, Newburgh's only go on in this direction for a couple of miles.

9:12 A sign informs me that eggs are 99 cents per dozen at the Arnold bread outlet.  I am reminded of my favorite quote from the fantastic movie Food Inc.:  "You insist on two-dollar-a-gallon milk, you're gonna end up with a feedlot in your backyard."  I wonder how many of my friends would see Food Inc. if I begged them.  Maybe it will be on DVD by Christmas, and I can give it as a gift. 

But maybe it's an annoying, preachy-type gift.  I imagine one of my friends giving me a book by a noted Republican, hoping I would read it, see the light, and convert.  And how awkward would it be when that just didn't happen?  Hmmm.  So, even though it's a non-partisan movie, maybe ix-nay on the ood-Fay DVD as a gift idea.

9:15 Jacques has finally given up on trying to get me to make a legal U-turn.  Hah, yes: see, Jacques?  You finally realize that Route 32 will cut a good 10 minutes off your projected travel time. 

9:21 Passing the Cherry On Top ice cream stand; their sign announces that there are only 15 days of ice cream left.   I love the theory of Cherry On Top, but they don't make their own ice cream anymore--they sell some down-market regional brand like Hershey's or Blue Bunny.

I think about my friend Lynn Miller in Cold Spring and her fledgling business, Go-Go Pops.  She and her family have been selling these mouth-watering, homemade popsicles at the Cold Spring Farmer's Market all season.  They're now trying to open a coffee-popsicle shop on Main Street.  I hope she can make it happen!  I need to start doing Jen's Local Love Fridays so that I can write a post about Lynn.

9:28 Passing the Maplestone Bed & Breakfast.  SO gorgeous; I'm sad I couldn't convince my sister Angie and her husband Dave to buy this place a couple of years ago, but I love how the new owners have fixed up the farmhouse and kept the well out front.  Must figure out a way to schedule a little getaway there with Patrick.  Maybe sometime soon, before all the apples and leaves are gone....

9:30 Turning onto the treacherous, pot-holed driveway at Everett's farm.  Everett, a cranky old Libertarian whose family has owned this land for over 200 years, comes out the sliding glass door of his house as I park by the milk shed.  "Not many eggs," he hollers.  "Weasel got in the barn the other night and killed most of the chickens!  I gotta start all over."

I give him my sympathies and he goes back inside.  Ramon and Marcello, Everett's farmhands, are nowhere in sight.  I take the empty milk pails out of the car.  I put the eggs that are in the egg basket into cartons and put them in the car.  I put our cash in the lockbox in the fridge.  Still no Ramon and Marcello.  I sigh.

A full pail of milk weighs over 100 pounds.  I can carry them and lift them into our Honda Pilot myself--heck, I've done it all the way through two pregnancies--but it's not my favorite way to work out.  Ramon and Marcello are always happy to load the milk for me if they're around, but they must be even busier than usual, since I haven't seen either of them in weeks.

Oh, well.  I load up two pails in the back, secure them with bungee cords, and get back on the road. Thank heaven for that plastic cargo bed liner that came with the car.  We've never had a big spill, but the liner gives me a little peace of mind.

9:38 Driving back, I mull over how lucky I am to have access to fresh, affordable, chemical- and hormone-free milk from cows who serenely amble about in the green grass and sunshine. It's not certified organic milk; there's no way Everett would invite interaction with any level of the guv'mint.  But I know these cows.  I've looked them in the eye and patted their flanks during milking time.  I've hauled their manure home for my compost pile.  I know how obsessive Ramon is about keeping the milking equipment clean.  I trust the cows and their keepers.

In New York, it's legal to buy milk at the farm.  Connecticut and California allow you to buy raw milk in stores, but in a lot of states, raw milk is illegal.  And that's a shame, since raw milk is far more delicious and nutritious than pasteurized.  Speaking of which, the same technology that makes pasteurization possible makes it easy to get clean, safe, raw milk.  I'll get off the soap box, but read here to learn more.

9:46 The Shawangunks are gorgeous today, their limestone cliffs gleaming white against the crystal blue sky.  I love how fall takes its sweet time; a few trees here and there are already aflame, but most are still green.  All the apple trees are loaded down, reminding me of my favorite Christmas carol.

My friend Tina and I get to sing that with a couple of other women in a few weeks; can't wait! 

I wonder whether I can find a day to go up to Greig Farm and pick raspberries with Tina in the next few days.  We had such a blast last year.  I only have one jar of last year's freezer jam left, and I can't imagine doing without. 

9:48 I also need to find time to stop and check out the Modena Rural Cemetery.  I do love me a good graveyard.

9:51 Passing Cherry On Top again.  The only things one can get in parlors any more are ice cream, tattoos, funerals, and massages.  Fascinating.

10:02 Anne is getting fussy; she knows it's almost naptime.  "Little Baby An-a-kin," I sing in my best faux-opera trill.  She laughs, so I do it again.  And again.  And again. 

I wonder whether Anne will spend any time in therapy someday over the fact that she is nicknamed for a Jedi who goes very wrong.  Though it all comes right for Darth in the end, so maybe she'll be fine. 

10:09 According to signage in many Beacon front yards, a person named Chris Bopp is running for City Council.  I realize how very long it has been since I had any decent Bi Bim Bap.  Must research a good Korean restaurant for an upcoming Date Night.  I start singing "Blitzkrieg Bop" to entertain Anne.  I can see her in my mirror; she's rocking right along with me, though I can see she's beginning to droop.

10:15 I'm home just in time; even my energetic covers of The Ramones can't keep Anne awake.  She's just about gone.  I'll put her in bed, decant the milk, and get on with the rest of the day.