The Western Montana Fair

Friday, August 14, 2009

OK, The Best Aunt in the World just took the cousins bowling (an excellent choice since it is raining.) and I finally have a moment to myself.

We went to the fair yesterday.

It was not a fair day.  It was raining when we walked the kids over to swimming lessons at Splash Montana.   My Kid’s teacher was surprised that all of her students had shown up.  There they were in the water swimming back and forth just the same as on a sunny day.

The rain didn’t change our plans, only slowed them down.    Because it was raining there was no crowd to beat so the kids took their time showering and warming up and getting dressed.  I pushed My Kid over the edge by insisting on combing out her long hair for the first time in 3 days.

 My sister, The Best Aunt in the World was going spend the day with the kids at the fair.  But in the end we all went, 3 generations grandparents, adult children and grandchildren.

It was a big year on the midway for the kids.  They have all outgrown the kiddie rides.  In fleece jackets they braved the August rain to ride as much as they could on their all day passes and  saw the rain as an advantage because without long lines they were able to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Tornado again and again.

There were experimental forays onto the eggbeater which Boy Cousin is barely tall enough to ride without an adult and the giant pirate ship swing.  Of course we had to ride the ferris wheel in order to get a good look at the fairgrounds and surrounding town and mountains.

We went on the Storm Trooper.  Big mistake.   My Kid started hesitating as we neared the gate.   Her cousins were enthusiastic.

“Come on. It’ll be fun.” I said.

She slid onto the seat and the bar was locked.  

She frowned and sank into herself.

The ride started spinning us fast enough to feel the centrifical force pushing us into the seats, pushing my stomach into my legs.  I  have never felt this way without being either pregnant, hung over or in bed with the flu.  My kid started crying “I hate you Mommy.”

When we called Daddy to tell him about our day My Kid announced:

“Mommy made me go on a scary bad ride and I cried and Mommy threw up!”

 Well, the bunnies in the 4-H barn were really cute!

Wedding dresses and photo albums

My Kid and her Girl Cousin have just run in the front door with their dolls;

“They’re spraying a house and the lawn of the church.  We had to run all the way to get away from the bad smell!  We held our breath!”  They are perhaps a little too aware of environmental toxins. 

 

They’ve had a swimming lesson and Grandpa made pancakes.  The Boy Cousin has disappeared for a play date of his own.  The girls are getting their dolls ready to go to the library with Grandma.  They are dressing them in old baby clothes.  Girl Cousin said she has two baskets full and is letting My Kid borrow whatever she needs for her doll while we are here. 

 

Now the girls are looking at their respective mothers wedding dresses.  In one closet easily accessible are my wedding dress, my sister-in-law’s wedding dress, my mother’s wedding dress and the wedding dress of my grandmother on my father’s side.  I saw it today for the first time.  Brown and fluttery, silk lace with velvet flowers sewn to the back.  She and my grandfather were married Wednesday September 9, 1931–  according to the local paper at the time:

 

 

The bride was a charming pic-

ture in her dress of golden brown

silk lace with hat and shoes to

match.  She wore a crystal neck-

lace and carried an arm bouquet of

bride’s roses and baby breath.

                                   (the) brides-

maid, wore a becoming dress of 

brown silk crepe trimmed in coral

with hat and shoes of correspond-

ing hue.  she wore a coral neck-

lace and carried a bouquet of ophe-

lia roses.  The groom was attend-

ed by…

A wedding breakfast and wed-

ding dinner were served at the

farm home of the bride’s parents,

the thirty guests being relatives  of

the bride and groom and the mem-

bers of the bridal party.  Roses,

arranged in vases, featured the

decorations in the home.

Both…

born and raised in Colfax county 

and they represent two well-known

and prominent rural families.  Mrs.

Paternal Grandmother

 was graduated from the 

Schuyler high school with the class

of 1929 and for the past two years

taught in the rural schools of Col-

fax county.  She possesses a

charming personality and her

many friends greatly favor her as

a young lady with but few peers.

Mr. Paternal Grandfather

is one of our most ex-

empllary and highly respected 

young men.  He ranks with our 

progressive and industrious young

farmers and his numerous friends

hold him in the highest regard.

After a motor trip to western

points, Mr. and Mrs.

Paternal Grand-parents will

make their home on a farm in Wil-

son precinct.

 

The description of my grandparents wedding is amazing to me.  The other day I read an essay by someone commenting on the extreme weddings that show up on TV and in the wedding sections of newspapers.  Modern weddings are bigger but the commitment is smaller.  The big weddings that celebrate the marriages that ultimately end in divorce turn out to have been nothing more than a theatrical productions. The author wrote about small solemn weddings in a church or at the home of the bride’s parents were taken much more seriously and everyone in attendance knew it.

 

This clipping is probably the only newspaper article written about my grandmother.  She is identified as a young woman of some taste and education who has just given up teaching to take up the role of farm wife and respected member of the community for the next 50 years.  The few momentous acts that set in motion the rest of her life are so different from the tangled ball of seemingly random experiences strung together to form my 20’s and the young adult years of most of my friends.

 

I am stunned by photograph of this same grandmother as a little girl in her First Communion dress looking more calm and confident than I ever saw her as the worried farm wife who had lived through the depression after the deaths of her only sister and both parents.

 

”I’ve never seen this picture before“

”Oh I tried to show them to you last year but you were too busy“

 

I don’t remember looking at pictures last summer, but I don’t remember saying I didn’t have time to look at pictures last year.  I know I was running around town on my own a bit more than other visits what with The Husband there, friends’ wedding to go to and a search for an animal skin to use in Clown Axioms.

 

The girls looking at the wedding dresses led to photos.  As I looked at the photos and before I was done more would be handed to me.  I  started to copy down the description of grandma’s dress other pictures would be shown and I couldn’t even get through newspaper clipping description of the bride and bridesmaid’s dresses because of all the other pictures to look at right then as they were taken out of the box and displayed. 

 

The place the photos took me too in my head was wrong for that busy room of bouncing children and talking parents.

 

 The picture of my grandmother in her first communion dress is amazing and I could have stared at it for hours.

 

Sometimes when I have come home for a visit (especially the first couple of times after the move to New York) I  felt stunned almost to paralysis by the overwhelming waves of memories of my own from grade school, high school and college and raising my child in New York City instead of a place like Missoula.  One year when I arrived I realized I had not processed my grandmothers death the previous autumn because I hadn’t  been able to go to the funeral and so from my Brooklyn apartment it felt as though she was still in Nebraska where I couldn’t see her anyway and her death hit me at that moment, a shock I alone felt, amidst a hail of chatter about items from her house and photos from my childhood and conversation about what shall we give the children for their next meal. 

 

A wave of queasiness washed through me.

 

This trip doesn’t feel that way.  This trip is just an ordinary summer visit home.  Perhaps because we spent a week in Seattle first, I’m already used to Western attitudes and natural neutral comfortable clothing.  Other years arriving sprawling Montana town to do sit and do nothing on a day that began fighting the crowds at JFK can be quite a shock.  When we said good bye to The Husband at the airport in Seattle he regretted not having the time this year to come to visit Missoula where we are forced to adjust to a slower pace.  (Well physically anyway–the mind still spins.)

 

The there is so much power in that one picture of my grandmother in her first communion dress.  The child in that picture is absolutely centered.  She knows who she is and where she stands in the world.  It’s a photograph of a strong child.  Then, I imagine, her world fell apart around her.  Her teenaged sister died and my grandmother-to-be finished her sister’s school teaching contract.  Her mother died,  but she kept going; farming with her husband and raising her children and chickens and tending to the apple orchard, vegetable garden, flower garden, kitchen, washhouse and root cellar, sewing, baking, cooking for the family and the hired hands, washing, gardening and worrying.   A woman who worried constantly was the grandmother I knew.

A bit of a clown Friday

Adam’s all gaga over his baby he wasn’t there. Well I wasn’t there either. But, we checked the box office at “Humor Abuse” to see if there were tickets. (Tonight’s show was sold out but we have tickets for tomorrow night.) We got to see lots of clowns I know in front of the theatre. Jay Stewart was there in town for the weekend, and Lisa Lewis with her husband (Their kid chose not to accompany her clown parents to someone else’s clown show when there was an opportunity to play with a Wii.) Michael Bongar was there with his wife. There were others I knew. It’s the last weekend of Larry Pisoni’s kid’s solo show about growing up with a clown for a dad.

It was a clown day for me. After I got My Kid successfully to her daily spring break swimming lesson at the Y (notice how I haven’t had any Pilates classes or lap swims this week…), transfered her care and feeding to The Husband who was taking a long childcare related lunch, I got to spend a couple of hours playing in the studio with Kendall and the other clown women. It was good to do. It’s been a while.

Then uptown on the train with My Kid and The Husband, returning him to his office and accompanying my kid to FAO Schwartz for the last afternoon of the last Friday of her Spring Vacation. She spent an hour hanging around the adoptable baby dolls, so I was softened up and let her paint a penguin in the new ceramic painting section of the toy store. I did one too to keep myself from getting bored. I hope I will have the courage to throw it away as I am trying to clear clutter. It was like buying a sandwich to sit in a cafe because your feet hurt even though you aren’t hungry.

After we didn’t get into the play we went and had a lovely end of the week family dinner at Trattorio Spaggetto in the West Village. It’s not the best Italian food in the city, but it’s the best location between a church and a public fountain.

I had hope of going out and talking with clowns tonight (Jef Johnson is also performing this evening) but after wine and heavy food with My Kid and The Husband, I find myself home in the apartment typing up a quick blog entry while My Kid watches some “SpongeBob SquarePants” before the entire weekend becomes about My Kid and the AYSO Spring Soccer Season which begins for our family tomorrow!!!!!!

Women’s Theater Project

Yesterday I received an e-mail, forwarded to me by Kendall Cornell.  The Women’s Theatre project was papering their Off-Broadway house for a play about a clown.  So I went.  It was a much nicer theater than the ones I usually get to play.  The stage was large and the grid was jam-packed with lighting instruments. Most of the primary people involved in the production listed a Yale degree in their bios.  That theatre seemed out of my reach and yet the play was obviously written by someone who is not very old and reminded me of shows we produced at Annex Theatre in Seattle where, incidentally, quite a few company members had gone to or would go on to Yale.

After the play, “Aliens with Extraordinary Skills” by Saviana Stanescu (MFA, NYU); directed by Tea Alagic (MFA, Yale); featuring Natalia Payne (BA, Yale); Set Design by Kris Stone (MFA, Yale); Costumes by Jennifer Moeller (MFA, Yale); Lighting Design by Gina Scherr (MFA, Yale); Music and Sound design by Sarah Pickett (MFA, Yale), I walked alone to the Times Square subway station.

My heart raced, as I looked at the marquees and the after theatre crowd brushed by me with their playbills in their hands.  I was remembering my very first trip to New York.  I took the train from Washington D. C. (where I had an internship in the Women’s Division of the Democratic National Committee when Geraldine Ferrarro was running for Vice President on the Democratic ticket with Walter Mondale) to visit Kathy McNenny, who I knew from home.  She was attending Julliard and living in a room, not much bigger than her mattress, in a very scary building in Hell’s Kitchen across the street from Studio 54.  I was afraid I would be raped every time I got on the elevator.

I saw 6 shows in about 48 hours.  I went with Kathy and her boyfriend to see a play at The Irish Rep because a friend of theirs was in it.  There was a lot of real dirt on the stage.  I saw ” A Chorus Line” because I had always wanted to see it.  I had received the album as a birthday present in grade school and had listened to, memorized, and performed, for my drama class, a deeply felt rendition of “Nothing” (just like all the other high school theater geeks my age).   After “A Chorus Line” I went directly to another theatre to see Whoopi Goldberg’s late night performance, because Kathy told me that was the must see show everyone was talking about.  I was blown away proclaiming that we would soon hear of her in Montana.  “The Color Purple” was in movie theaters the next year.  As soon as I woke up I went directly to the TKTS booth in Times Square to see what I could see.  I wanted to see “Sunday in the Park with George” because I wanted to sing like Bernadette Peters, even though my voice teacher was always telling me not to (apparently I had a lovely voice of my own or some such drivel…)  But, there were no TKTS tickets for “Sunday in the Park with George” so I got a ticket to “Forbidden Broadway” and went and sat on the ground outside the box office of the theatre where “Sunday in the Park with George” was playing and waited with a few other people until curtain time to see if there were any returns.  I blushed with pride when someone in the ticket line, told me I looked like a real New Yorker and not at all like a tourist, sitting there on the ground and scribbling in a notebook, in my dark oversized coat full of pockets.  The woman in the ticket booth told me she had some obstructed view seats but they weren’t worth it because they were way off to the side and you couldn’t see the amazing set come and go.  So I waited until almost 8 o’clock and then ran down the street to use my ticket to “Forbidden Broadway” which I didn’t find funny since I wasn’t familiar with most of the shows and certainly none of the personalities being parodied.  I went to Greenwich Village to see “The Fantastiks” because I adored that musical, having seen a such sweet chamber production of it in Missoula, accompanied by two grand pianos (or one grand piano and a harp–anyway it had been beautiful) and ever after wanted to be a good enough soprano to sing the role of “Luisa”.  I believe I also saw “Le Cage Aux Folles” on Broadway that weekend. (“I Am What I Am” is a favorite song and I harbor a fondness for drag queens.  “Pricilla Queen of the Desert” is one of my favorite films.)  Between the shows I walked around and ate bagels and slices of pizza.  My first bagel in New York was schmeared with an enormous amount of cream cheese and the man behind the counter said something to me that made me think he gave me extra for good luck on my first day in New York.  All the money I had went for theatre tickets.  No restaurant meals, no drinks.  I didn’t even know at that point in my life that I ought to buy food or wine or a gift for my host who I actually never saw after joining her for the one play.  She was so busy with classes and rehearsals.  She told me when she first came to New York she tried to live in Queens (where the rent was lower and the rooms were bigger) but it was just too far away.

If Queens was too far away from Broadway, how very much more difficult must it be to get there from Missoula, Montana.  Although both Kathy McNenny and JK Simmons succeeded.  They represented the only two ways I knew of to get to New York.  JK Simmons didn’t go to New York until after he had his Equity Card.  I knew this because his brother David was a friend of mine and his father was my freshman advisor at the University of Montana.  I also knew that his skills included the ability conduct an entire orchestra!  (He was very nice to me and invited me out for a drinks with the cast after I sent a note backstage, via an usher, letting him know someone from Missoula was in the audience, when I saw the touring production of the short-lived broadway musical “Doonesbury” in which he played a small part and understudied most of the others. –It was during same fall term of my political internship as that first trip to New York.)  The other way to get to New York, as I understood it was to get into a school, scholarship necessary.  Kathy McNenny was able to do this after first attending the University of Montana.  I remember other drama majors, eager to get on with their lives after college, talking about Kathy’s decision to go to Julliard where she would have to pay for another bachelors degree, instead of going to the Globe in San Diego which offered her a full-ride, an MFA and an Equity Card.  But it wasn’t in New York.

 Kathy knew what she was doing and I was not in the same league.  In high school she was a competitive swimmer with a near perfect GPA,  president of the Thespian Society, in the select show choir and involved in many other organizations that involved having her photo in the high school year book.  She taught swimming lessons and visited schools as Captain Power for the local utility, possibly the only paying costumed character gig in the entire region.  When she was a senior and I was a junior, she played the title role in our high school production of “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie”.  I played one of her pupils who grew from child to adult under her tutelage.  I was the only actress who did not have to bind for the first scene and had to stuff my bra for the last scene.  That pretty much says it all.