The Play's the Thing

A steady slow soaking rain to start the Sunday, the summer slipping away again.  The tops of the trees are showing more yellows and browns than a week ago and the over-night lows are back in the 'almost need a light jacket' range.  Students heading back to school next week and though the calendar insists we still have another 3 weeks, it seems like Fall is ready to return to her throne to ease us back into the comforts and certainty of our routines and schedules.

We took advantage of the city's cultural offerings these last couple weeks, theatre to be exact, first catching a stunning performance of Wicked, as the latest North American tour set up shop in town for almost 2 weeks at the Centennial Concert Hall.  Then last  Wednesday we enjoyed a local production of Disney's the Little Mermaid at the semi-outdoor Rainbow Stage in Kildonan Park.  A contrast of audiences and show types to be sure, but both shows reminded us of the depth and variety of talents our fellow humans possess, and of the power of story telling to entertain and distract, and why the arts are important.

Transporting audiences to another conscious level through acting, song and accompanied orchestral score is no small feat.  The talents and skills of hundreds of people are needed to successfully produce a 2 plus hour show flawlessly night after night, performance after performance, teamwork of the highest order that culminates in a seamless journey into the fantasy world created on stage. Behind the costumes and make up, ordinary people delve deep to find the passion and the poise to become something or someone other than who they normally are, slipping into and out of characters to delight and amaze, to tell stories and to entertain audiences familiar with their roles.

We get lost in their performances, and accept the absurd and the fantastical without question, delighting in the dialogue, the humour and the banter. Transfixed, we watch in awe as soaring voices and mastered instruments become one in song; solo and ensemble furthering the storyline in grand, and at times unbelievable, fashion.  Until, at the show's finale, we stand and applaud their efforts, selflessly giving our approval and acceptance and heartfelt gratitude for their hard work and determined effort, and then we return to the familiar and routine, enriched by the experience and moved on levels we weren't expecting.
The theatre. A grand art form of shared experience.

Sandwiched between the two shows last week, we learned of my aunt's passing after suffering a massive heart attack, likely linked to the stroke she had suffered 2 weeks earlier at home, where she and her husband were valiantly dealing with her progressively worsening condition.  Like my mom, my aunt had inherited one of the genetic mutations recently discovered to be somehow responsible for ALS, and in this mutation's case, with or without Fronto-temporal Dementia, and or with or without Parkinsonian symptoms.

My aunt battled breast cancer before the signs and symptoms of Parkinson's appeared, and then the dementia slowly crept in too... The timing of her passing in the midst of this summer's ALS Ice Bucket Challenge campaign is notable, especially in our family where the disease(s) are now known to exist.

We attended her funeral last Thursday and in the soaring spaces of the church's sanctuary we listened as her children shared their stories and recollections of her life, working through their loss to find meaning and purpose in their mother's time here with them.  Friends and colleagues shared stories of their times together, of her many years touching lives if children as an early years educator, front and center in the development of future character.  Through song and scripture we sat and contemplated her life and our remembrances of her, of them, of family.

The formality of service makes for quiet contemplation, and as I sat and listened to the outpouring of emotion and the sharing of lessons learned and the ways in which she had affected those around her, I was struck by how different the person being portrayed at the front of the church seemed from the person I had known personally, my interactions and memories influenced and affected by my experiences no doubt, and also I'm sure, by the distance both physical in terms of growing up in different cities, but also spiritually as well - my aunt and uncle having "found Jesus Christ in 1963" as we would be reminded on numerous occasions during the funeral and afterward as we enjoyed refreshments and mingled communally in the church gymnasium...

Whatever you need to help you deal with this reality, I guess.  If it works for you and brings you peace and happiness? Go for it.  

Of course no funeral has ever truly allowed those in the pews to fully realize the nature and true character of the dearly departed. We gloss over the less than pretty warts and scars to which all lives are prone, and we focus instead on the virtues and traits that elevate our final memories of our loved one and serve to give us comfort and closure; meaning and sense from the pain and sorrow.  A life reduced to summary, edited for detail and milestones, punctuated with personal insight and anecdote. Music and song and verses and scripture to tell the story of a life well lived.  An audience solemnly seated in the wooden rows, listening to shared private experiences.

Shakespeare was correct:

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances..."
As You Like It, Act II Scene VII


The theatre.  A funeral. The arts.  Costumes and characters and make up and elaborate sets. Scores and scripts and scenery. Song and dance and storey lines; Joy and sorrow, drama and comedy.  This play has it all.  Let's see what talents we possess.  Show them what you can do. You don't have all day though, get out of the audience and up on stage before the curtain falls.  There won't be an encore...