Stranger Strobes...

Warning! Warning!
"Stranger Things" is a show fraught with danger.
Not only are there spooky, creepy creatures on this show but the lights, the flashing and the rhythm of it all can be physically disturbing.
On the third night, my eyes were doing the dance they do when I'm getting a migraine. Images were shifting and there were wavy lines all around.
I thought I had eaten too much sugar or danced in the bright sun.
I want to bed with a headache and suffered through the next day with the kind of lethargic funk that usually follows a migraine.
I talked to Marc about it.
We wondered if the transmission from Netflix was weird.
We joked about the aliens on the show having great mental powers that could reach from the television screen into our living room.
We didn't watch two episodes the next night, only one and very carefully.
Then last night we were so interested in what would happen that we gave in.
We watched a couple in a row and I noticed that nearly every scene involved blinking or flashing lights, usually a lot.
I tried to shut my eyes when I could and refuse to admit the light.
I listened instead of looking.
But by the end of the shows, I could feel the tightening in the base of my brain.
I didn't feel swell.
So Marc looked up the show on the web.
Turns out many viewers have noticed that the lights trigger seizures and similar reactions.
Some are saying they won't be able to watch it anymore despite their interest in what happens with El and Nancy and Will and the boys on their bikes.
Some are calling for an apology or a change.
I agree with the ones calling for an apology or at least a disclaimer that warns viewers about the effect.
I can't believe in this day and age somebody had to be told about the possibilities.
Don't we learn from experience?
I think I can. No more "Stranger Things" for me.
Just tell me what happens.

Keeping track...

I was taking four girls to "Wicked" in Salt Lake City and using public transportation.
It seemed a better option than fighting inner city traffic and it was a rider free day so it didn't cost me any money.
However, our return trip had some challenges.
The TRAX train was crowded and we had to split up for a bit.
I was a couple of rows ahead of my granddaughters and near the door.
Four guys were grouped by me, waiting to get off.
They were loud, somewhat drunk and disorderly and they were turning the air blue.
They called back and forth to each other and made a slew of off-color comments.
I think they thought they were really funny.
The swear words were plentiful.
I couldn't decide whether to complain or just hope they would stop.
(It didn't seem wise to make a fuss as there were four of them and I was one weak grandma so I just sat there.)
The situation went on for several minutes and the group seemed emboldened by their words.
I looked at my granddaughters whose eyes were big.
Then the doors opened and they left.
People around us said they felt bad for us.
"They should have recognized there were young girls present," offered one gentleman rider.
"I think we ought to complain," said another.
I've thought about it several times since and wondered if I missed a chance to stand up for clean language and proper behavior.
On the other hand, what's a 67-year-old lady to do? Holler at them? Point out the sign that prohibits obscene language?
I'm thinking maybe, bear spray?

A Whole New World...

“The Little Mermaid” currently on stage at the SCERA Center for the Arts in Orem is totally enjoyable.

Performed by the teens and tweens who are part of the “Acting Up!” troupe and directed by Kathryn Laycock Little, this show is well-timed, lively and professional.

The vocals are strong, particularly those with Ursula the Sea Witch and with the French chef who chases Sebastian with a cleaver and cooking pot.

Ariel is remarkable, watchable and sweet. Her expression throughout retains a guileless quality and charm.

Her mermaid sisters, frustrated with her frequent absences and delays, swing right into their numbers and even tap dance.

Every cast member takes their part and song and moves seriously. There’s never a dead pause.

The staging is clever and colorful.

It’s a familiar show by now but this rendition makes it new and fresh.

It hardly seems like two and a half hours have passed when it’s done.

This show entertains. The little kids in the audience were still singing and laughing well out into the parking lot.

As were we.

Check this out before the run ends on the 30^th.

Must we eat every day?

My mom was a good mother.
She fed us on a regular basis and tried hard to introduce new and healthy foods.
I was a trial for her.
She often lamented that I wouldn't try anything new.
I feel bad for her now, now that I am grown and see the same sort of distress in my husband when he puts together a tasty new dish that I don't love.
And now that we're in retirement, he has to come up with the meals every other day so sometimes he's stressed.
He searches Pinterest and pays attention to new food ideas in the paper and at friends' homes.
He is willing to try out the InstaPot and invest in strange new spices for the cupboard.
I start to worry when I smell lots of garlic and onion. I won't let him experiment with saffron or such.
He only has a tiny bit of wiggle room in his work.
And some dishes succeed.
I've learned to like several Chinese and Asian dishes that include broccoli and onions and Golden Mushroom soup and stir-fry vegetables like water chestnuts and those little things that look like baby corn.
Plus, if I'm home, I can have a piece of toast after dinner if I'm still hungry.
But when I was a child, I often just didn't eat whatever strange thing we were having.
I preferred to starve much to my mother's disay.
I understand her situation more now that I've raised six children and am trying to find things for various grandchildren to eat.
I have one who is always worried about what we're having and another who needs to see how the dish is made so nothing gets sneaked in.
I totally understand when one of them chooses to hide her uneaten food or dump her plate before anyone can inspect what's left.
(I had all kinds of tricks for the lunch ladies in elementary school so I could get out of the lunchroom without eating my canned peas or stewed tomatoes.)
I also understand my mother's lament as she tried to come up with something for dinner.
Her options were indeed few.
My favorite was when she'd cry: "Do we have to eat EVERY day?"

101 Ways to Hurt Yourself

When the surgeon briefed me on what would happen once my rotater cuff surgery was done, he gave me a list of things to avoid so as not to re-injure the shoulder which would need about three months to fully heal.
Basically it said I should wear my protective sling day and night, avoid crowds and take care not to fall or bang into things.
Easier said than done.
The first thing we did was to attend a Maya experience at the Natural History Museum with lots of little kids barreling in every direction.
Then I went grocery shopping only to discover people drive their carts like combat vehicles, taking the corners at high speed and colliding without apology.
I closed the car door on myself and walked into walls.
I dropped the iPad and reached out to grab it without thinking about the consequences.
I found that even my husband - who loves me and has the best of intentions, would hit potholes and veer around corners throwing me into the arm rest, appear suddenly and startle me, wrap an arm around me and pat me on the shoulder and back up in the kitchen without beeping.
He tried to be supportive. He made meals, did dishes, hauled laundry and even rigged up a little seat-belt grabber from a bent coat hanger so I could buckle myself in once I could drive again.
It became a daily challenge to keep my shoulder safe.
We found ourselves choosing our ventures into the outside world carefully but we couldn't stay home all the time.
We would both go bonkers.
So we went to a few movies. The chairs in the theaters are comfortable and once we were seated it was fairly easy to stay away from people who might bump into me on purpose.
My sling fit right in.
So there we were happily engrossed in a show about political intrigue and complicated relationships when a bomb went off in the story.
It startled me and I jerked back and back again reflexively
Ow. Ow!
That hurt, so much so that for the rest of the movie I held onto myself and tried not to cry.
My physical therapist said not worry unduly. "It's probably a sprain," she said as she tried to work out the muscle spasms in my arm. "It happens."
It's feeling better and I'm feeling hopeful.
I'll just add movies to my list of no-nos.

A wickedly good time...

It's been six months in the making but Wicked watching with four grandaughters on a Saturday afternoon was well worth it.

Glinda and Elphaba face off

We insanely bought some tickets before Christmas last year thinking we could take couple of the oldest stars-in-the-making and share some top quality theater with them.
Then we threw caution to the winds and added another pair. No matter that the tickets were pricey. Marc had a friend who could get us early access for good seats for a fair cost.
We signed up for two more.
Marc agreed to be our chauffeur since two of the girls live in Bountiful and two in American Fork.
I agreed to sacrifice and go with them for my fifth time. (Yeah!)
We arranged for places to meet, how to get them out of four schools and where to eat later.
I made a flow chart and arranged with the weather man to keep the skies and roads clear.

Sweet ones at Wicked: from left, Hannah, Adell, Fiona, Alyson

On Friday we headed out.
We parked one car at the TRAX station and headed in on the rails.
Marc stopped at the Woods Cross High School for the others and came south.
Amazingly it all came together.
More amazing was the show.
The story is clever and fun and brings all of the elements of the classic Wizard of Oz together with a blend of lessons about racism, social change, judgement and love and forgiveness.
The songs are brilliant and live long after the show is done.
There are lines that just flatten you, "Take that road for as long as it goes. You'll be fine," says "G-a-Linda."
"There's no place like home!"cries Elphaba, surrounded by green creatures in Oz.
It's a story within a story that turns the trip to Oz as we know it up-side-down and inside-out starting with a green baby and ending with romance between a scarecrow and a wicked witch.
It's magical. It's real and it's funny and it's tragic with characters who appeal even while they shock a bit with pride, selfish intentions and over-the-top narcissim.

Elphaba

Ephaba is the green hero here but then Glinda "the Good" turns out to be made of tough, shiny material.
Everybody in my party was entranced and affected.
Everybody in my party was happy to have been there.
When can we all go again?