Weekend Drizzle, or, the Itsy Bitsy Spider Went Down to Iowa

I like the rain. I really do. It ushers me back to a better time, back on the farm, with open skies and a hint of manure in the air.

Among the list of things that would probably surprise people, I grew up on a farm. We moved in to town in 1988 when I was in the 6th grade, having built a home in a community of under 1000. So, in reality, being a town boy meant nothing more than we had to travel further to feed the cattle.

I started to get into the arts as a young child... I had my first real acting gig in a centennial show (also the late 80s) where I said "I think I hear it coming" in reference to the train that ultimately caused the community of Hoskins, North Dakota to pick up and move three miles to the east to coincide with the coming of the Burlington Northern Trains (the same trains that I'd like to move three miles away from me today). Later on in that same production, I somehow came out of a huge glittery box as a child of the future (wearing an awful lot of white) to a rousing rendition of "Celebrate" as sung by our local centennial choir.

Now, when people talk about their home town centennials, they are typically spouting about some tragic "Waiting for Guffman"-esque event where people really overdo their own tragedy. Not Ashley. It was a remarkable event, and almost the entire town was involved. The production was well over two hours long, with a cast of around a hundred and a choir of more. Some of the music required two pianists. The entire show was a tintypes musical, and the backdrop was a multimedia presentation (keep in mind, this was in 87, so it was done with a framed scrim and a slide projector). We converted our high school proscenium stage into a thrust that jutted 30% into our gym. We hired a professional directing staff. The lead was an actor who had Ashley roots (and, as it were, was the Asst. Dean of Students who would recruit me to attend Waldorf College almost 10 years later).

In fact, it was so good, that our choir was selected to represent the state of ND one year later in a touring show for the ND Centennial. This was my second acting gig. I played Flicky the Flickertail, to critical success, I may add. In fact, in one scene, where I'm pulling a tumbleweed, I almost brought a tear to my own eyes.

Ah, the 80's. Bad hair, bad clothes, terrible music and tragedy afoot. But these were the golden years of my youth. Now back to the rain.

When you live on a farm, you almost feel part of nature. I think this comes from the fact that it surrounds you, both the good and the bad. I loved living on the farm - there were vast acres of land to explore, each with its own adventure. There were rock piles to climb and claim as your castle. There were forests to explore, forts to build, and sticks to forge into weapons. There were bales to climb, and buildings to scale. You could truly remove yourself from the world, and disappear in to your own, invented, world. I believe this phenomenon is why so many "farm boys and girls" turn out to be authors, poets, etc. Escape-ism comes naturally, and the imagination runs away from you at times.

That being said, we were connected to the world. We had a dish. We were "in town" every day. My mother was a teacher (and my father went back to that profession when we scaled back the farming in 1997) and so we were always on the go. My parents were unique in many ways. My father, your typical alpha-male farmer with a good heart and a great laugh, who listened to the Statler Brothers and Kenny Rogers on 8-track (I grew up on "Flowers on the Wall" and "The Gambler," and both songs are among the tunes someone now listens to on my iPod). My father, however, had a huge thing for Elton John songs and Queen. In fact, Queen was his first CD, and Elton's greatest hits was his second, and I don't think he's purchased one since.

My mother, on the other hand, had vinyls of Jesus Christ Superstar and was more hip to music than I. I remember driving to elementary school, and my mother jamming out to Alice Cooper's "Poison" and "When I See you Smile." This was when they were all the rage, not when they became tragic throwback. If nothing else, my mother is hip to the world, and since I'm not a huge fan of top 40, keeps me connected to what the kids are listening too. Sometimes I forget I'm still in my 20s.

My grandparents were of the big band era, and it as there I got introduced to the polka, the waltz and the wonder of "dancing music."

What more could a blooming artist want? Nothing. This is what I think of when it rains.

Now, if it were snowing - I'd be thrilling you with a diatribe about heat vents, crocheted blankets, ice cream and saltine crackers. But that's for another time.

James and I were talking last night (en route to prank a friend's car while he was at the movies) about the human brain's inability to be reflective on the now. He and I both live in the past. We reflect on how good it was and hope that in 10 years, we look back on our present and feel the same way. That's not to say life sucks right now, quite the contrary, but I don't think about it in term of qualifying. I just live it.

I often wonder if everyone lives in the past, because they've got both historical perception and a point of reference, or if just creative types live in the past, because it is from those experiences that we draw our inspiration.

This week has been a reflective one because of so many things. The weather... the smell of fall... the rain... It reminds me of football. It reminds me of the first day of school. It reminds me of one of my favorite pre semester rituals - the new backpack and trapper keeper arrangement evening. Oh God - the fun. The sorting. In fact, I was so nostalgic this year, I went out and purchased a new laptop bag, and like a kid in a candy store, converted from old to new with a smile on my face.

Our past is filled with rituals - rites of passage. From the first time we fell off our bike, to the first time our sister's left us on a swing set being attacked by a rabid skunk. It is these rituals that build our historical perspective. It gives us points of reference to analyze our present and our current state of being.

Another ritual approaches. In two hours I pack my car and head to Iowa (sans iPod) for my college homecoming. It's a weird place, and 10 miles out, I always start to feel nauseous. There are places I can't go on campus (the tunnels beneath the theatre) alone because I am overcome with emotion. In fact, my friend Emilie has only been down there once. In silence, she walked... looked at the names, no... the legacy scrawled on the walls, and left. She's never been back.

I heard through the grapevine that the new faculty at Waldorf painted over the legacy wall. Years and years of theatre students leaving their mark and their wisdom for the future to come... years and years of historical perspective gone. Covered.

[update: I went to the tunnels this weekend, and though they are painted, the legacy was left unscathed... it meant even more to me than before to realize it wasn't taken from us... I know, oh, how dramatic... shut up - it was the theatre, we're allowed. lol.]

So, think about what makes us human. What makes us challenge ourselves to push forward and better ourselves. What gives us perspective.

One of the great things about art, is that is what it was designed for. Theatre is the now - taking you away for awhile and giving you a glimpse of topics and concepts. Visual art draws you in. Music surrounds you. Dance entrances you...

This weekend, while it is raining, I challenge you to see something in our arts community, and then actually process it. Sit down with a nice glass of wine after words and really talk with your partner or guest about what you felt, where you were inside your head, and what you take from the play. Share here, in the comment section, if you feel so willing.

Dinner with Friends is in its second week at the Fire Hall, and I haven't seen it, so I can't give you a "go or no go". But, I still say, attend, and check it out. Rebecca Sefcovic Uglem, Steve Augustin, and Allison Peterson all have work on display around town. The moving exhibition Vanished: German American Internment 1941-1948 is on display on the corner of University and Harvard Avenues.

The University of North Dakota Observatory is hosting Star Parties at dusk this evening.

Tomorrow, we've got Farmer's Market and a Mini-Silent Auction: Angela Sweic, Prairie Portraits at the World's Smallest Gallery in Urban Stampede. East Grand Forks Campbell Library has a River Forks Watercolor Society Exhibition. On Sunday, Introductions: Artists Self Portraits opens at the North Dakota Museum of Art.

There is a lot going on this weekend. So, get off your toosh and experience it. Enjoy what we have to offer, and think of me driving to Iowa.

Be reflective. Enjoy the now. Take some time to listen to the rain drops pounding your rooftop and remember. It's a good thing.

Peace::Ben::TeamCulturePulse