They Say It's My Birthday

Today is my birthday.  Because I am a woman of a certain age rumor has it that I am supposed to be unhappy about having another one of these.

That is without a doubt the stupidest thing I have ever heard, and I have heard more than my fair share of stupid things in my life.  Think about this for a minute - if I was not having another birthday, that would mean I was dead.  The only thing worse than getting older is dying young, if you ask me.

Besides, I don't know how I could do anything but enjoy the occasion, when my family makes sure that I feel loved and very special on my birthday each year.  Thanks to all of them, I've been celebrating all weekend with a mixture of new adventures and time-honored traditions.

It all started when my son surprised me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers delivered to me at work on Friday.  On Saturday I had a really nice dinner with family and friends that wasn't planned specifically because of my birthday, but we celebrated while we were there.

On Sunday, my husband and I took a tour of Clayton, the home of Henry Clay Frick, and the Frick Art Museum, which we've been meaning to do for years.  Then, my husband took me to dinner at Eleven, my very favorite restaurant, as he does every year- one of those time-honored traditions I referred to earlier.  We even sit at the same table every year, which he specifically requests.  And Eleven never ever disappoints.

Then there is the barrage of birthday wishes from my friends and families- coming from all directions, in the form of cards in the mail, wishes in person, Facebook posts, and phone calls.  I really cherish each and every wish and each and every one of you.

Of course, there were lovely presents, but the biggest gift of all in my life are the people who gave them to me.  My husband, son, and my son's girlfriend engaged in a veritable conspiracy of gift planning - working together to choose the perfect gifts, and giving me presents that all go together.  I was touched by all the love that went into this planning.

My longest-lasting birthday tradition by far is my annual Birthday Lunch with two friends I worked with back in the 80's.  This started when we decided to spend the day we got off for our birthdays (which were close together) on a day of fun.  The day always starts with a shopping trip to Gabriel's Brothers, followed by lunch, and then sometimes a movie.  Even when we were no longer working together the tradition continued.  I look forward to it every year.

This year Mother Nature reared her ugly head to try to put a damper on my birthday
- and my Birthday Lunch Day- by sending up to half a foot of snow, my old nemesis, to visit western PA today.  Seriously?  Half a foot of snow on March 25th?

Well, I had news for Mother Nature.  I had already had a wonderful birthday, and as it turns out  we did not let a little snow keep us from our Birthday Lunch.  In 30 years we've never missed a year.

The Color Purple

I recently caught an episode of Betty White's Off Their Rockers, a Candid Camera-like hidden camera show, only with old folks the ones playing the jokes on younger folks.

Hey, I thought, maybe this was the reason that strangers had been saying bizarre, random things to me in public places lately.  Perhaps I was the unwitting victim on a Franklin Park-based hidden camera show!

First there was the lady at the YMCA who told me I smelled nice.  Then two days later I was perusing the choices in T-Bones' prepared salad section, minding my own business, when I heard a voice behind me.

"Wow.  Purple."

I turned to see a man who looked like a normal person eyeing my jacket, which happens to be purple.

"I really like the color purple," he continued. "My school colors were purple, and I have a high school reunion coming up."

Well now, that was some school spirit, I thought.  I was never good at guessing ages, but it had to be this guy's 20th or 30th high school reunion.  Did he really think that everyone was going to dress in school colors?  Had I been remiss by not wearing blue and gold when getting together with my high school friends, I wondered.  The man continued talking.

"I wish I had a purple jacket like that," he said wistfully.

I have never been one of those people who was good at thinking of the right thing to say  at times like these.  I always think of the snappy comeback about an hour after I need it. That's one of the reasons I like writing this blog - I can share those never-used snappy comebacks that would otherwise be totally wasted.

But this time was different.

"For the right price, you could have this one," I told him, jovially.

I was basking in the glory of my wit when I realized that this guy might be taking me seriously.  I hate it when people, even purple-obsessed strangers in T-Bones, don't get my jokes.

He stopped in his tracks, and began to look at the jacket intently.  This man was actually considering buying the purple coat off my back, right there in T-Bones. For a brief fleeting second I wondered how much he would be willing to give me for the coat... but then quickly decided that it was time to put an end to the madness.

"I'M JOKING," I clarified, "You can't really buy my jacket."

He looked disappointed, but allowed the lady who was with him (who WAS laughing) to gently lead him away.  I left the store still a proud owner of not just my purple jacket, but also a brand new witty comeback to call my own.

I didn't see any hidden cameras, but that's why they're hidden.

Kinky Anti-Gravity Sneakers

"Be who you want to be. " "Accept just one person for who they are." But whatever you do don't miss Kinky Boots, the brand spanking new musical now in previews on Broadway.

My husband and I took the bus to Manhattan with the Pittsburgh Concert Chorale for a concert appearance on Saturday.  We had Friday evening to ourselves, but we resisted the urge to buy tickets to a Broadway show in advance because, jaded travelers that we are, we knew that you could never predict what might delay your bus from arriving at the anticipated time, especially in early March.

So, we decided to play it by ear.  If we arrived on time and felt up to it, we would go to the TKTS booth located just half a block from our hotel in Times Square, and see what was available.  Of course, we carefully planned for this opportunity to be spontaneous, although one has to ask oneself if true spontaneity can be planned.  Well, I will leave that debate up to greater philosophical minds than mine- or maybe a future blog- but we wanted to know what shows we might like to see based upon availability.

So we narrowed it down to three:  Once, Newsies, or Kinky Boots.  Kinky Boots won out as our first choice precisely because it was a brand new musical still in previews.  The other two choices were established hits and we would definitely have other opportunities to see them either on Broadway or on tour. The future of Kinky Boots was not so certain.

Kinky Boots certainly sounded promising, what with music by Cindy Lauper and a book by Harvey Fierstein, and lots of advance buzz.  I was also excited that one of its stars was the exceptionally talented Billy Porter, a Pittsburgh native.  I'm not bragging but Billy  and I have some mutual friends, (one of whom actually roomed with him in college for awhile) and I've met him a couple of times.

Clearly a lot of other folks were also intrigued, we realized when we purchased our "best  available" seats high in the Mezzanine, an hour before the show.  And Kinky Boots did not disappoint.

Adapted from the 2005 film of the same name by Geoff Deane and Tim Firth, Kinky Boots is the story of Charlie, a struggling shoe factory owner (played by Stark Sands) and a drag queen named Lola (Porter), and how they come to know, like and help each other.  In between exceptional show-stopping production numbers ("Sex is in the Heel") and quiet and affecting ballads ("I Am Not My Father's Son) is a compelling story with a message about fathers and sons, and acceptance and respect.

Sands is engaging as Charlie, a young man in the process of discovering his own dreams among the expectations others have for him, and this man can sing.  Porter is equally effective at portraying the fabulous diva Lola, and the man behind the drag queen Simon.  He brings down the house every time he walks on stage but especially with "Hold Me in Your Heart."

The rest of the cast is equally strong, managing to hold their own with the two leads, but a special shout out must be given to Annaleigh Ashford as shop girl Lauren, particularly for her hilarious rendition of "The History of Wrong Guys."

My prediction is that Kinky Boots is going to be big huge smash hit, and tour for years.  Whether you wear thigh-high bright red boots with impossibly high stiletto heels like Lola, or prefer sensible black Easy Spirit Anti Gravity Sneakers like me, run to see Kinky Boots when you have the chance.  There's room for all of us in the theater...and in the world.

Look Who's Not Talking

Because I am not a bear and hibernation is not an option, I have to use other methods to get through winter and all the woes that come with it.  Call it what you will - positive thinking, determination, a stubborn streak to rival any mule.  But sometimes it just comes down to good old-fashioned denial.

I suffer from seasonal allergies, which means that every time there is any kind of change in the weather my nose runs.  Because I live in Pittsburgh where the weather can and does change hourly my nose is always running.  Hell, my nose is running an eternal marathon.

So last week, when I started to feel that tell-tale "tickle" in my throat, I still chalked it up to allergies.  Then the tickle started to hurt.  Then the cough started, and before I knew it I was making an emergency run from work to the Sunoco station to buy cough drops.

I could deny it no longer.  This was not just my seasonal allergies.  This was a full blown cough-and-cold.  Things deteriorated from there.  Last weekend became the Lost Weekend.  This cold was kicking my butt.

However, I was sure that if I just rested and took my medication, that I would be fine by Monday, especially since my husband took such good care of me. He insisted that I rest. He made me tea and the best Matzoh soup I'd ever tasted.  I felt even more loved than I felt sick.

When I woke up on Monday, I was even worse, and I realized that I could not talk – my voice was completely gone.  Oh, hell no, this could't be happening, I screamed silently to myself.  I had deadlines to meet at work this week.  I had to sing this weekend with the Pittsburgh Concert Chorale in our classical concert "The Three B's" (Bach, Beethoven and Brahms).

Oh, but it was happening alright.  While I might be able to work without a voice, there was no way that I was going to be able to sing without a voice. Mind you, I decided that I was going to be at that concert, even if I had to lip sync.  If it’s good enough for Beyonce (the fourth B) it’s good enough for me.  But I really wanted to sing at the concert. I started mixing up the salt water rinse, and brewing up the tea with honey and lemon, and didn't even try to talk.

On Tuesday, I was no better, but I didn't want to go to a doctor – it wasn't THAT bad, I insisted.  My husband made a convincing argument that I had been sicker than I usually get with no improvement for four days.  Boy, I wasn't going to be able to deny anything this week was I?  The doctor diagnosed it as viral laryngitis and verified that my self-treatment options were probably the best course of action.  He did prescribe continued complete vocal rest through the end of the week if I hoped to sing in the concert.

Well, I went to work “in person” the rest of the week, and I got everything I needed to do done communicating by e-mail, writing, pantomime, and using a “Talk for Me” app on my I-Pad (there really is an app for everything).  And by the weekend, I was happily singing that glorious music with my friends and fellow Chorale members.

People often find it amusing when I lose my voice because I am talkative, although I never think it's that funny. So, when I returned to work on Wednesday, someone joked about my laryngitis, “Oh, your husband must be LOVING it.”  I couldn't grab a pen and paper fast enough to write down the truth.

Actually, when my husband came home from work on Monday, he looked at me sadly, and said, “I miss hearing your voice.”  It was the best moment of the whole week.