Author: Meg Noble Peterson Page 16 of 30

Did you ever think you could get me out of the mountains and onto an eight-story floating hotel with a casino, swimming pools, Jacuzzi, and enough space for me to get lost on a daily basis? Well, it happened a month ago when an old friend of forty years, Peter Beach, a member of my Board of Directors of MEH (Music Education for the Handicapped) made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So I put my prejudices aside and took the leap. 

The Enchantment of the Seas, is one of the premier ships of Royal Caribbean International. Its itinerary was to include stops at every imaginable port on the east coast from Baltimore to Key West to Nassau in the Bahamas. Activities ranged from crocodile and dolphin watching to snorkeling and swimming in the warm waters of the Caribbean. I persuaded myself that these underwater delights, found only on such a cruise, would be a reliving of just such adventures as I had had snorkeling in Elat on the Red Sea so many years ago. And also provide relief from the cold weather in February. How could I resist?

Shortly before sailing we were informed of delays due to a faulty engine (two is the optimum number for a ship that size). There was much scrambling and talk of repair and we sailed hours late…but we sailed. Tensions rose as we realized that we could go no faster than 15 knots and would be experiencing a choppy north Atlantic for a lot longer than we had hoped. Few people had packed warm clothing, so, like them, I braved the wind and cold on the outside prominade and pretended that I was fighting my way around the Annapurna Circuit under less than optimum circumstances. The imagination is a wonderful thing and indispensable in such situations.

Three days into the trip our charming Swedish captain, who was always full of witticisms and gems for the day, announced that a full refund would be given to all passengers, since we could only stop for half a day at Port Canaveral and one day in Nassau. We had to miss Coral Cay, Rose Island, and Key West, which Peter had been so eager to show me.

Nevertheless, the dance lessons continued, the entertainment and special receptions went full tilt, and the dip in the ocean in Nassau was worth waiting for. We met two delightful and very compatible couples with whom we shared dinner, talked, laughed, and lived the good life for those ten fateful days.

It wasn’t easy for me, a recent Vegan convert, but I managed because of the excellent Indian cuisine at the bottom of the menu and the incredible soups at the top. And nobody was looking when I sneaked an occasional filet mignon or dish of ice cream. Oops. I couldn’t be expected to be that perfect, could I? 

So picture two thousand plus people milling about, eating constantly, sunning themselves when the sun was available, Jacuzzi-ing, jamming the two large pools, one heated and one brrr, and enjoying free hot and cold running service at the expense of Royal Caribbean. Add to that incredible nightly shows in an auditorium to rival Radio City Music Hall, complete with a magician, several comedians, and great musical comedy, and you can see that there were few complaints about “the situation.” Fortunately I brought my laptop and some good books, so filled the time that would have been spent snorkeling and exploring the Bahamas with relaxing activities.

M.P. and Peter before the farewell dinner….

Will I do this again? Dunno. I’m keeping an open mind, but have a few mountains to experience in Mongolia, Pakistan, Alaska, and Russia before I return to the ocean. Let’s see how my engine holds up….

Theater update: I don’t want to disappoint my fellow addicts, so here are my recent theatrical experiences. You won’t want to miss Other Desert Cities, headlining the superb Stockard Channing; Look Back in Anger, a powerful revival of John Osborne’s 1956 play; Edward Albee’s The Lady From Dubuque at the stunning new Pershing Square Signature Center, with an outstanding cast led by Jane Alexander, and the riveting Freud’s Last Session. I was very disappointed in the three one act plays, Relatively Speaking, but thoroughly enjoyed my old friend, Adam LeFevre, in the off Broadway production of a new play, How The World Began. A special note about Libby Skala, who performed a one-woman show, A Time To Dance, about her amazing great aunt Lisa Polk, a close friend of mine, who started the American Dance Therapy Association and was a head-liner at two of my MEH symposia.

I shall be enjoying Donizetti’s The Elixer of Love at the Metropolitan Opera next week, and, thanks to my niece, Margaret Magill, a violinist with the Met orchestra, my sister, Cary, and I were privileged to see the dress rehearsal of the new production of Verdi’s Aida. You can’t beat that!

And begorra…a Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you all.

My neighbor shot out of the driveway, dressed in running outfit, her daughter rattling around in the back of her SUV (known to me as a Suburban Assault Vehicle). She drove the three blocks to the elementary school, getting there at the same time I did on foot. Traffic was heavy. Mothers and fathers were parked solid on several streets adjacent to the school. My neighbor let her daughter out of the car and went on to the gym to exercise. She would walk and run three miles. She looked slightly guilty as we exchanged greetings. I suggested that she could get her first mile by walking her daughter to school and going back home for the car. And she’d have a good up and down hill stretch in the bargain. She thinks I was kidding. I was dead serious.

This traffic jam had become a familiar sight to me, but it gets even worse in the winter. God help us if some child should brave the elements, or maybe strain a leg muscle in the process of walking. My children almost never got a ride to school and seemed to enjoy the camaraderie of their peers, from snow fights to shuffling along in piles of leaves. They got plenty dirty, but they also got plenty of exercise. And when they were teenagers they used bicycles as their transportation of choice.

I try very hard not to be judgmental. That only works if you’re Andy Rooney or Lewis Black. Just because I walked two miles to school every morning, then back and forth for lunch, and home, again, in the afternoon…six miles in all…for one day’s efforts, is no reason to behave as if I’m Laura Ingalls Wilder on the rampage. And just because my mother rode a horse to high school in rural Missouri is no reason that I should have eschewed the sidewalk for a comfortable saddle. But I think that what sent me around the bend on this particular day was the rows and rows of cars with their motors running and smoke belching out of the exhaust pipes.

It was a cool, crisp day, to be sure, but not polar bear weather. I walked up to one old diesel van with black smoke belching forth, and knocked on the window.

“Excuse me, M’am, but there is a rule in this town that you can only idle for three minutes and your car is running full blast, emitting black noxious fumes, poisoning the air.”

The lady was civil, but said, tight-lipped, “I have an infant in the back seat.”

“Is this infant clothed?” I asked. She nodded.

“M’am, I had five infants and know that they loved the cold air. I dressed them warmly and left them out in a carriage on many occasions, just the way they do in Norway. That’s why the Vikings were so strong. [I was getting carried away.] And, I don’t know of any babies in an SUV who died of over-exposure, but plenty of people die of carbon monoxide inhalation and lung cancer breathing polluted air every day. The choice is yours.”

After a long hard look and commensurate silence, I went on my way, fuming. She never turned off her car. It was still running ten minutes later when I completed my loop.

I really despair of solving this problem, which stems not from the fear of a pedophile around every corner, but the misguided desire to make sure our children are not stressed in any way, inconvenienced, uncomfortable, disappointed, tired, or have to put forth the effort to get themselves up and out of the house in time for school. I do not blame the children. It’s the parent’s responsibility to set an example of good health and to establish priorities.

We are not doing children a favor coddling them in this way. They are going to find out as they grow fatter and weaker, with less energy and gumption (there’s a medieval word for you!), that the joys derived from walking in the woods or up a mountain or onto a playing field or participating in one of the multitude of exploratory journeys this life presents, will be greatly diminished for them. For as they become older, their bodies will reflect the results of a lifetime of neglect and inertia. And they’re going to wonder why.

Take heed, parents. As a close friend of mine used to say, “Don’t go to heaven with an unused body. Get up and move!” Building a strong body begins when you’re a kid. Waiting is not an option.

And remember, you’re old a lot longer than you’re young.

I have always wanted my prayers answered. Who hasn’t? And I have always wanted to hear a voice of authority, male or female, coming down from on high to direct my life at crucial junctures and in moments of excruciating indecision. But nobody seemed to be giving out instructions from “up there” when I most needed them.

“You have to be still–be quiet–to receive these messages,” admonished my daughters, both spiritual practitioners.

“Still? I AM still,” I insisted.

“No,” they said. “The engine is always running and the clatter of busyness never leaves you. Quiet is not your strong suit.”

But when it comes to taking chances and risking a walk into the unknown, I am assured by my daughters that the unseen spirit I so yearn for is right there keeping me from falling off a cliff, or a moving train, or into the side of an Indian taxicab. Yes, I have had some major close calls over the years and luck doesn’t seem to be the whole answer.

When I hung from my right knee on a strap in the third tier of a third class Indian train a year ago today, plummeting to the floor and being caught by my companion seconds before my head would have hit the floor, it seemed a miracle that I walked—hobbled–away. And when I found a vegetable stand to throw myself into, avoiding a direct hit by another out-of-control Indian driver, that was definitely a blessing, ‘though the owner of the stand might disagree. Obviously, I can’t rely entirely on this hovering helper, but the fact that I keep going back for more says that I have a strong belief in the “protection” of the universe. Still, I remind myself to guard against doing something completely stupid.

I have tried meditation and yoga (I am totally inflexible!) and quieting the inner beast, but action of a rather constant variety seems to be my modus operandi and is securely imbedded in my DNA. Perhaps, someday, the Angel may get through to me, or I may have to wait until she greets me on the “other side” with an “It’s been a great ride, hasn’t it?” Then I will know for sure that my daughters were right and I do have a Guardian Angel. And I will thank her with all my heart.

May your Guardian Angel love and protect you all through 2012….

You’re obsessed, Meg. Get over it and move on. But first, let me groove one more time on those splendid waterfalls that were around every bend as we climbed along the Lewis River in Washington last August.

I know I sound like a broken record, but truth to tell, Jon and I spent three days and nights at the most beautiful campsite of all time beside the Lewis River. We walked in a thick forest with sun streaming through, making the foliage seem almost artificially green. We overlooked the river, sometimes pale emerald and sometimes deep aqua, with cliffs of red soil, moss, and rocks rising from a shoreline of narrow pebbled beaches.

Campsite

The river below our campsite

I photographed the waterfalls from every angle, and stood down below, bathed in the spray and enveloped in its pervasive roar.

Nature can sure make you feel small!

Delicate beauty popping up everywhere

Tiatnapum Falls

Goodbye to the waterfalls

Lunch on the shore

The weary hikers

Before I left Washington I spent a few days with my daughter, Cary, on Whidbey Island, working in the Good Cheer and the Chinook Gardens and meeting with old friends at a final potluck supper. Just like the good old days. How I love the community at Talking Circle in Langley!

Now it’s on to 2012 and the surprises and possibilities lurking just around the corner.

And we have a couple of days of sunshine and warm weather before the Big Day, so I’m keeping my eyes open…and my camera at the ready.

New Years Resolutions are passé and apologies are boring, so I shall just try to catch up this week before wishing you all a 2012 of unlimited possibilities, good health, and prosperity. That about covers it all, unless you want me to throw in World Peace, which has been elusive to me ever since I turned 13. Ah, yes, but I’m still right up there with the hope that springs eternal…. 

Once, again, I’m playing catch up. I was still reeling from Hurricane Irene (remember her?), when along came a storm that flattened my bushes, tore off limbs front and back, and left branches and piles of debris lining the streets of this fair city. So I guess it”s not too out-of-step to write part four of my adventures in Washington last August. Everything else is topsy-turvey!

Before heading south with Jon Pollack to Walla Walla, I spent the evening with my new friend, the incomparable Betty Tisdale, who lives in Queen Anne’s, a lovely section of Seattle. That is, when she’s not traveling to Vietnam, Afghanistan, Indonesia, and a host of places in Asia where she has started orphanages. I’ve written about her before (be sure to check it out), and will, again. Her website, H.A.L.O. , stands for Helping and Loving Orphans.

It was a six-hour drive, south and east, to get to Walla Walla, a rather quaint city tucked into the wine country, and home to Whitman College. This is the first time I’d headed in this direction and I found the variety of landscape enticing. Rugged mountains were followed by an expanse of semi-arid land that reminded me of the Trans Karoo in South Africa. There were fewer and fewer trees, except for the pines along the banks of the Yakima River. It was so different from the lush hills and valleys of northern Washington.

As we approached Selah, however, the countryside began to change. Orchards, farms, and vineyards, perfectly symmetrical rows of plants, stretched for miles. Yes, this was the heart of wine and fruit country.

...stretching for miles and miles

We settled for a couple of nights at Fishhook State Park campground on the shores of Lake Sacajawea, which is really just a dammed up part of the Snake River. It was quite different from most of the campgrounds where we stay. More like a giant lawn sloping down to the lake, facing cliffs. This is the only place where I managed to get a swim.

On our way to visit my old friends, Mary and Jim Carlsen of Walla Walla, we stopped at the Whitman Museum, a national historic site commemorating the work of the Whitmans. This brave couple traveled by covered wagon from St. Louis and arrived in 1836 to set up a mission at Waiilatpu, (Cayuseland), which later became the Oregon territory. Their goal was to minister to the Indians, both in medicine and as Christian missionaries. Many of the Indians died of smallpox and measles, and eventually they blamed the white man, attacking the mission 11 years later…killing and burning. The Whitmans were among those killed. You are struck by the pervasive genocide perpetrated on the Native Americans during that period. You’re much more aware of it in the West than in the East. The killings ended the Protestant missions in the Oregon country and led to war against the Cayuse by a volunteer militia from the Willamette and lower Columbia valleys.

Symbolic covered wagon

Grave of massacred settlers

Jim and Mary Carlsen

Our next stop was Horsethief State Park, where we camped in near-hurricane conditions near the desert and Horsethief Bluff, which we climbed on our first day of exploring. We sat at sunset looking over the craggy rattlesnake-infested grassy area and marveled at the geological structure of the land…basalt melting into ancient glaciers, forming the Columbia River gorge. To use words like spectacular and indescribable are understatements for this whole region. But the pristine-looking lake rimming the campsite was anything but! Unfortunately, flocks of Canada geese had spoiled it, as is so true of many areas they infest. But they didn’t spoil the carefully maintained and beautifully constructed park. Thumbs up for this site.

Our campsite on the edge of the park was desolate and very, very windy!

Horsethief Butte from the campground

Grounds of campsite

A peaceful setting, but look who’s standing watch on the tree branch….

Sunset at the campsite

Starting up....

Close-up of rock clliff

Not an easy climb!

Almost there....

View from the other side

There she is at a distance....

Some of the many petroglyphs in the area

We visited our last historical site before heading to the Lewis River. This was the Maryhill Museum of Art, which houses a world-renowned art collection and was built by Sam Hill, the son of Quaker parents. In 1907 he acquired 7,000 acres in southeast Washington, planning to build a Quaker farming community. This never materialized, but his chateau-like home was turned into the Maryhill Museum in 1917. My favorites of all his collection were the Rodins.

Maryhill Museum of Art with Mt. Hood in the background

Hill was in Europe in WWI and was shattered by the death and destruction all around him. While in England he visited Stonehenge on Salisbury Plain, where he was told that the structure was believed to have been constructed by Druids as a place of human sacrifice. He concluded that there was a similarity between the loss of life in this, the greatest of human wars, and the sacrifices of ancient Stonehenge. Therefore he decided to build a replica on the cliffs of the Columbia as a reminder of the “incredible folly of war.” It took from 1918 ‘til 1930 to complete the construction. He died a year later. His epitaph read: Samuel Hill: Amid nature’s great unrest, he sought rest.”

Replica of Stonehenge

The inevitable Cultural Update: The first concert of the year for the Plainfield Symphony featured Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony, Carl Maria von Weber’s Overture to Der Freischutz, and the stunning Shostakovich Piano Concerto #35. In December we finished the season with a Christmas concert at the Shiloh Baptist Church featuring a chorus that sang both the Quincy Jones rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus and the original Handel. It was, indeed, an inspiring afternoon!

Theater included the excellent Samuel L. Jackson and Angela Bassett in the not-so-excellent new play by Katori Hall, The Mountaintop, about Martin Luther King’s last night on earth. I was also fortunate to see Bonnie & Clyde, a new musical that I felt was charming and homespun, despite its subject matter, and more like an operetta than a robust Broadway show. Bad reviews caused it to close early. Sometimes I’d like to strangle certain reviewers!

To complete the Christmas season of giving, I took daughter Martha and grandsons Thomas and Adam to see Billy Elliot, one of my favorite musicals. I really gave my theater addiction a good feeding this month, with two viewings in one week. Martha is a delightful partner in crime. Shame on me, but it was great. Sorry it’s closing.

I highly recommend Seminar, a new play by Theresa Rebeck, starring the inimitable Alan Rickman. You can’t beat this one! And I was also thrilled by the new production of Brian Friel’s Dancing at Lughnasa at the Irish Repertory Theater. When it comes to Irish plays, they are the greatest.

My only large social gathering this year was a superb reading by my dear friend, J. Carol Goodman of her latest book, Never Lie Down. (Check it out on Amazon.com) I think of it as my holiday party. Forty people crammed into my living and dining room, a fire in the fireplace, good food, good conversation, and good fellowship. It just doesn’t get any better!

In looking back over this varied year, which started in Sikkim at the foot of the Kangchenjunga mountain range, moving through southern India, back to the U.S. for the wedding of my only granddaughter, and on to California for a family reunion and a folk festival, I am filled with gratitude for my good fortune, my good health, my children, and my great family of friends. Thank you all!

I promise to finish this journey before the New Year. We still have the magnificent waterfalls and trails of the Lewis River to explore. Please stay with me. I resolve to be brief in the New Year…yeah!

I asked the young army officer who stopped me at an immigration checkpoint forty miles north of El Paso, Texas. He had just requested that I roll down the back windows so he could check the back seat, and as I fumbled with every lever on the door, fearing that I might eject myself before finding the correct one, I blurted out, “Sorry, officer, but this is a rental car, and I’m not familiar with….”

“Oh, you’re not from Texas,” he replied, which is when I asked him the question, nervously eyeing the large dog sniffing around my tires.  He laughed. “But you’re an American, aren’t you? New Jersey is still in the lower 48. Go on. Enjoy your day.”

If there’s one thing about Texas you can count on, it’s polite and friendly people. If you get lost on the highway, which I did with regularity, the police practically drive you back home. And they send you off with a tip of the hat and a “You stay safe, M’am, ya’hear?”

Why on earth was I in Texas? I promised in my last blog to relate the final three days of my climbing escapades in Washington State and, suddenly, I’m driving through the Guadalupe Mountains and the wide expanse of desert in the Lone Star State. Well, it’s called medical tourism and, if you’re in the over-60 set, find out about it. It can save you a bundle.

Long story short. I had a dental emergency, which was estimated to set me back about $7,800. I could envision selling my house and actually living in that yurt in Mongolia that I keep threatening to do. Several friends told me about Mexico and their excellent clinics just across the border. I went on line and found Rio Dental in Juarez. Unfortunately, I had to move fast, which meant giving up playing in our first Plainfield concert, but they’ve forgiven me. Frequent flyer miles got me to El Paso and a prepaid stay for six days at the airport Travelodge cost $238 (complete with breakfast and pool…what a deal!). Monday morning a van came for me, and several other Americans, and took us across the border to the clinic. On Thursday my crowns were ready to go and on Saturday I headed home, after a day of sunning myself by the pool. Cost was $980.

During my two free days I drove to New Mexico and enjoyed visiting two of America’s national parks. What an unexpected treat! I can thank my musician friend, Phyllis Bitow, who had just made a trip to New Mexico and gave me the details. Her picture is below.

The first park was at the northern end of the Chihuahuan Desert, where the mountain-ringed valley, the Tularosa Basin, gives rise to one of the world’s great natural wonders…the glistening White Sands National Monument. Great wave-like dunes of a rare form of gypsum sand engulf 275 square miles of desert and have created the largest gypsum dune field in the world. As is customary at this parks, there’s an informative film that covers the fascinating history of the undulating mountains of sand and the animals and plants that have adapted to life in the constantly changing environment. As I drove through the dune fields I felt as if I were navigating through snowfields. The roads were plowed where the sand banks flowed onto the road. I rented a flying saucer, just like the ones our children used in the snow, and careened down steep hills like the wind. Too bad my camera settings had been jolted and the pictures were so faded, but here are a few to give you an idea of the striking scenery.

White Sands Visitor Center, typical of New Mexico park architecture

Road leading to the dunes

The long walk up

T

My saucer at the ready….

Trail on which I slid down to the car

The trail from the bottom

Phyllis on top of a dune

Heading for Carlsbad Caverns

Outcroppings and mountains everywhere....

Beyond these rugged mountains and broad plains is a world away from sunlight…the celebrated underground world of Carlsbad Caverns National Park, an incomparable realm of gigantic subterranean chambers and extraordinary cave formations. I started exploring the chambers from the natural entrance route, descending a mile into the earth and following steep and narrow trails through a tall trunk passage called the Main Corridor. Some of the highlights along the route include the Bat Cave,  Devil’s Spring, Green Lake Overlook, and the Boneyard, a complex maze of highly dissolved limestone rock reminiscent of Swiss cheese. The wonders continued unabated as I arrived at the 8.2 acre Big Room, another 1 1/2 mile eye-popping circular  walkway with every possible rock formation from stalactites, helictites, and stalagmites to “draperies,”  columns, “popcorn,” and “soda straws” (these are all laymen names of formations). I ended my four hours underground with a guided tour of the King’s and Queen’s Palaces and the Papoose Room. Exhausted, I took the elevator to the surface, another engineering feat from my point of view.

Here is just a sample of some of the natural wonders I experienced.

The natural entrance to the cave

Scenes along the way

Varieties of "draperies"

"popcorn"

Typical terrain outside the caves

One cultural footnote of the season. I was thrilled with the Metropolitan Opera’s first production of Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, starring the incomparable Russian soprano,  Anna Netrebko. If you get a chance to see it on HD do so.

I came back from my class reunion at Emma Willard School in Troy, NY, just in time to catch the Tony’s, my favorite award show. This year it was stupendous and I picked every winner. The only play I couldn’t get tickets for was Good People, which won a Tony for Frances McDormand, but that’s a pretty good track record.

Forgot to show you a photo of Scott Buck and me in front of the marquee of Million Dollar Quartet, which I mentioned in my May 14 blog. Dynamite show from last year’s picks.

M.P. and Scott Buck under the marquee

I was thrilled that my old neighbor, Norbert Leo Butz won for the best actor in the musical Catch Me If You Can, a must-see, which I saw with another old friend from Florida, Barry Hamilton. And nothing topped the revival of The Normal Heart, Larry Kramer’s watershed drama about AIDS, which I saw with my son, Christopher, in 1985. The play starred Ellen Barkin and John Benjamin Hickey, who won Tony’s, as well as a very moving, powerful Joe Mantello.

A week later I visited the Wyman-Kelly family in West Hartford, CT, and was treated for my birthday (you didn’t know I had a birthday? You certainly must have pegged me as a Gemini by now!) to an excellent revival of August Wilson’s Gem of the Ocean at the Hartford Stage. This was one of my favorite venues when I lived in Sherman, CT 18 years ago.

The season came to an end for me with the revival of Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, a play about the relationship between past and present, order and disorder, and the certainly of knowledge. It’s also a mystery. I suggest you read it before you see it. I finally did, having been mystified when I first saw it in 1993. Stoppard is my favorite English playwright. His use of word play and dialogue are unsurpassed, except, maybe, by Shakespeare.

I’m on my way to the Mt. Laural Autoharp Gathering  (MLAG) in Newport, PA, and then on to New Hampshire and my beloved Lake Winnipesaukee. A happy, “cool” summer to you all!