Farewell UTH 2015

I’ve never been good at farewells. I’ll give the hugs and the best wishes and the smiles, but I don’t typically express my inner thoughts on such occasions. The words just don’t come to me in the moment. As this wonderful summer ends, I’m left with many feelings. I’ve made some great friends this year. I’ve also made many acquaintances with whom I would not mind becoming friends in the future. I won’t lie and say that I’m going to miss everyone from UTH 2015 equally. But I will miss the community as a whole. I’ll miss the performances and the canteen. I’ll miss the environment and the people that made it a good place to be. And then there are those individuals with whom I shared more than passing conversation, the ones I spent time with, talking, eating, playing games, worshipping, drinking coffee, hiking, fellowshipping. There are individuals who have, whether they know it or not, stolen pieces of my heart, and they’re spreading out across the nation (and in one case off to the nation’s hat).

And you know what? It sucks. I came into this summer cautiously. Last summer was okay, but I often felt alone throughout it—that’s not a jab at anyone from the company of UTH 2014. I just had a lot of emotional baggage holding me down and I was terrified of trusting new people. This year, at the beginning, I was still afraid to let my walls down. But somehow the walls gradually cracked and I’ve opened up to a handful of folk about the things in my head, the internal dramas and harebrained schemes and the feelings I don’t usually share. Somehow, I’ve found new people who I trust, which is both frightening and elating. Some of these discoveries happened early in the summer. Some of them happened recently. Either way, I am sad to leave those individuals who begot my trust this summer.

I’m not going to name specific people. I hope the way I speak to you in person, the moments I’ve let my walls down in front of you, the quiet smiles and eye contact, the hours I’ve spent with you, are enough that you each know who you are, that you know that I am thankful for every moment with you this summer, that I care about you, that I look forward to when we meet again, and that you have, in the brief time we’ve spent together, been a blessing to me. I hope I’ve been half the friend you’ve been to me. You have been wonderful, and I hope our friendship continues far into the future. Thank you. And I do wish and pray and bid you to fare well in all your endeavors. May our paths cross again soon.

With love,

Dan

The table setting for the last family dinner of the season. Love you all.

War and Peace: A brief response

Major spoilers for War and Peace follow.

One day in mid-April, I decided that I was in the mood to conquer the beast of a novel that is Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Well, right around two months later, I have accomplished the task. Why did I choose to work my way through the behemoth historical epic? There are a few reasons.

1.     I like Russian literature. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Chekhov are some of my favorite authors.

2.     I love Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812, which is a musical based on a brief 75 page section of the novel (Volume 2, Part 5).

3.     I felt like reading an epic, which you don’t get more epic than War and Peace.

4.     It is vastly considered one of the greatest novels of all time. Some even say it is a life-changing novel.

The novel surprised me in many ways. Tolstoy laced humor throughout the novel, playing with words and style—I read the Pevear and Volokhonsky translation, as I unfortunately know nothing of Russian. Despite being epic in scope, following big name historical figures such as Napoleon and Kutuzov, my favorite parts of the novel were those following the intimate lives of the fictional characters. Natasha, Pierre, Andrei, Nikolai, Marya, Sonya. The novel’s character development snuck up on me. It began slowly, gradually introducing more characters and subplots. By the middle of the story, I could stop double checking the glossary of character names, because each character had been developed enough that they no longer felt like fictional characters, but real people.

This sense of realism in the characters made the story affect me in ways that I have rarely, if ever, felt from other books. I shed tears during tragic events towards the end of the novel. Prince Andrei Bolokonsky is perhaps my favorite character in the novel. He’s a man who honestly tries to be a good person. He is noble, kind-hearted, and cares deeply about his family. His engagement to Natasha Rostov collapses, as Natasha chooses to have an affair with Anatole Kuragin, a man who “walked with swagger, which would have been ridiculous if he wasn’t so good looking.” Speaking with his closest friend, Pierre, Andrei declares that he is not the kind of man who can forgive Natasha’s betrayal.

I connected with Andrei more than I wish to admit. To then follow his story as he reenlists in the army, as he suffers through the pain of loss, as a cannonball explodes next to him, mortally wounding him, as he seemingly dies in a medical tent next to none other than Anatole Kuragin, who is also dying, having lost a leg (no more walking with a swagger, I suppose…serves him right, ahem), and to have Andrei’s last thought be that he was not ready to die, because he has not yet forgiven Anatole, was a gut punch. I shed tears. Then, Tolstoy had the audacity to surprise me with Andrei still being alive. Still suffering from his physical wound (and his emotional wounds), he is transported to Moscow, where he joins the Rostov family in fleeing from the city, as the French army approaches. Reunited with Natasha, who takes care of him, who nurses him, who, despite her former betrayal, still loves him, who begs his forgiveness, he, the man who could not forgive, forgives her and dies surrounded by loved ones. My heart ached for Andrei and for Natasha and for myself. All of this stirred up memories, bittersweet memories, memories of pain and hurt and betrayal and loss. It was a cathartic experience to read about the tragedy of Natasha and Andrei. I speak with authority when I say that Tolstoy captured the emotions of a broken engagement dead on. The reuniting of the former lovers is a nice, romantic ideal, a break from the stark realism of much of the novel, but Tolstoy reunites them only to kill Andrei, a cruel act, but a necessary one; a beautiful, tragic finish to his sorrowful arc.

The novel continued. Life continued. Further tragedy struck as Natasha’s young brother is killed in action by a stray bullet. Still, life continued. And despite the troubles of family life, the stresses of being a human in this world, the surviving characters continued to grow and change and live their lives, as we do after tragedy strikes.

The Napoleonic wars, like all wars, tore apart the countryside, hurting families, burning cities, making the world a grimmer place. But peace can be found in loving one another, in forgiving one another, in choosing to live, instead of letting the darkness of the world take over. The novel dissects the idea of war, the causes of war, the reasons for war, the why’s and the how’s. Tolstoy is a great commentator on the nature of war, the darkness of the human experience. But despite all the darkness and torment, life continues and peace can be found. Russian life continued despite the destruction that came down upon them, just as human life continues after any tragedy.

I haven’t even discussed a majority of the characters or events covered by the vast novel, but there’s just too much to go into it all. Haven’t even discussed Pierre, oh Pierre, at all. What a man, Pierre. What a complex, human, fully realized man Pierre is. But again, there’s just too much to go into it all. Suffice it to say I am glad I read it. I absolutely loved it. It was beautiful, heartbreaking, uplifting, sweeping, epic, informative, thought-provoking, and truly a pleasure, albeit heavy and challenging. Has it changed my life? I don’t know about that, but it has given me much to contemplate, and it has reminded me that I love people, that people are worth loving, that life is a good, beautiful thing, and that we should be thankful for the time we are given. It truly is a helluva tome. And I am so glad I got to spend time in its world.

Heartful of Food

I really like eating. The world is full of a great variety of delicious food choices. Cooking at home, eating out at nice restaurants, a cheap burger and fries, milkshakes, pretzels, waffles, New York style pizza, Chicago style pizza, Chick-fil-a sandwiches, gelato, cheesecake, cookies, blueberry muffins, cinnamon rolls, sushi, steak, green beans, asparagus, lamb, hummus, carrots, Pal's peachie tea (light ice), hot chai, iced chai, dirty chai, loose leaf tea, apples, peaches, bananas and pears, Oreo's, pie, pot roast, enchiladas, the list goes on and on.

As wonderful as food can be, my favorite meals have little to do with the literal food. Instead, my favorite meals are those meals with food for the heart. Meals with the nourishment of good conversation. These are the meals with the comfort of friends and family.

This season of Unto These Hills has already begun to be full of tremendous meals. We've had two meals provided for the company, during which we gathered around long tables before our evening rehearsals. I have shared my own cooking with company members, as well. I took cookies around to folk one evening and had a small group over for cinnamon apples one afternoon. I hosted a wonderful dinner one day--I made a pot roast, my roommates Other Dan and Carson made salad and broccoli/bread respectively. The literal food was great--we don't get enough legitimate home-cooked meals on the hill--but the highlight of our time together was the time together itself.

Yay "family dinner!"

I've also had great opportunities to eat out with folk. I've made trips to the local Japanese restaurant, Kobe, to the sandwich shop Sassy Sunflower, and today, had lunch at Rancho Viejo, the Mexican restaurant. This evening, after a day of travel, a couple of my new friends from the company (Steven and Jeff--who is a cool dude from Canada and who has been begging to get talked about on my blog; he doesn't say "eh" all the time, though I can see him thinking it....) ate a picnic with my family back in Johnson City, followed by a stop at Dairy Queen. Each of these outings have been lovely times of heart food alongside the tasty items on our plates.

Kobe time!

I am really loving getting to know new folk at UTH this season, as well as reconnecting with old friends from last year. This has kind of been a refrain in my blog so far this season, but it's because it's simply true. I'm generally a pretty introverted person. It usually takes me a pretty long time to warm up to people. While I have not had full conversations with every company member at UTH and suspect there will be folk I never really get to know, I have already found myself warming up to folk here. I haven't even mentioned the many evenings around the nightly bonfire, the afternoon chats at the coffeeshop, or the discussions on the stoop outside my apartment. While I certainly loved UTH last year, I find I am comfortable with people earlier in the season this year. It may be that it feels like returning home to be here in the first place. It may be that I simply feel like I connect with some of the new folk. Whatever the reason, I'm excited about it.

One of the things I'm particularly excited about this year versus last year is that I've begun to attend church on Sundays, an activity I never did during last season. Frankly, I've been lazy about my faith and beliefs for a while now--I'm ashamed to admit that for a while I was even kind of being embarrassed to admit to my non-Christian friends that I am a Christian. Attending church when I'm at home is easy, because my family all go, but when I'm doing theatre gigs away from home, it's easier to let it slide. A few weeks before I came to Cherokee this year, I traveled to Indianapolis to visit my friend Rachel. I chose to go with her to church, honestly mostly because I wanted to hang out with her for as much time as I could--she's one of my favorite people in the world and I don't get to see her very often. That service was very different from those held at Hopwood, my home church, but it woke me up and reminded me that, regardless of where I am, worship can refresh me. I decided then and there that it was time to get back into the habit of being an active Christian rather than a passive one.

As I set off for Cherokee for the summer, I decided I would force myself to attend services this time around. The first weekend here, I attended Cherokee United Methodist. It was a lovely, simple, genuine service, although it could've used a little more singing, in my opinion. As we went into the second week, I discovered that a few other UTH cast members had attended Cherokee Baptist Church. Ecstatic to have found others choosing to attend services, I joined them for the service there this weekend. It was so good to be among friends. I am thrilled to have others who, simply by being present, will help keep me accountable. Worship, especially when done with fellowship, is another type of heart food, as far as I'm concerned.

Fellowship is so important to me. I am an introvert, but I hate being lonely. Theatre's nature forces a type of community into company members. That's one of the reasons this is my chosen profession. Eating good meals together, laughing together, telling stories, spending time with one another, performing together, and worshiping together: this year life on the hill is full of food for the heart.

UTH End of Week 1

Unto These Hills 2015 Week 1 has come to a close. It's a cool, comfortable night after a hot morning, a rainy afternoon, and a humid evening. A fire dances in the pit outside the boy's dorm. Music echoes through the Day Room. After a long week of hard work, everyone feels the need to wind down. For some, this means partying. For some, it means conversation. And for others, it simply means an early bedtime in preparation for a day of rest, a sabbath.

Officially, days have begun all week at 9:30am for the actors at UTH, though of course many choose to rise earlier than that. Days have mostly ended around 10:00pm, though of course many choose to stay up later than that. Lunch and dinner breaks vary drastically depending on a given day's goals and the size of one's role(s) in the production. For many, these breaks are even times of work as we all scramble to learn our lines and get those pesky scripts out of our hands. To say we are all ready for a sabbath is an understatement. Both physically and mentally, our work as performers has been exhausting. This profession is a taxing process at times. It can be extremely stressful. It can be a challenge. But it's also a lot of fun.

Tonight, before making an appearance at the evening's party, I sat in my apartment chatting with Carson, a fellow return actor from last year. We shared stories and laughs and Carson picked up a guitar and began playing some music. I remembered from last year that he, like myself, is a Josh Ritter fan. I asked if he knew how to play any Ritter. Immediately, he began to play the song "Empty Hearts," an extremely fitting song, given the evening.

Together, Carson and I sang,

"I'm inside with my friends
We build fires and pretend
That the night could just bend on forever
While outside in the frost
Are the wolves and the lost
And we sing to the dogs or whoever

Singing don't let me into this year with an empty heart
With an empty heart
Don't let me into this year with an empty heart"

UTH, in my mind, doesn't allow one's heart to be empty. At least, not for long. I love this place. I'm sure there will be drama on the Hill this year, just as there was last year. I'm sure some days will be difficult and grueling and emotional. But for every negative thing that occurs, so many positive ones abound here.

Earlier this evening, a small group of us went out to eat at the local Japanese restaurant, Kobe. We told jokes and stories and shared a bit about ourselves with one another. Throughout this week, I've started the process of getting to know new folk and to rekindle old friendships with those I haven't seen for several months. This is why I came back to the Hill for a second round. It is wonderful to be a part of a community.

But like I said earlier, this week has also been a week of hard work. Tomorrow, our day of rest, our sabbath, is arriving right when we need it. A day free of work when we can relax. A day when groups plan to go to movies--be they Mad Max fans or Pitch Perfect fans. A day when I will likely make my way down to the coffee shop, sip a chai, read a book, and recharge (though even my introverted self is all about going with a group to see Mad Max, let's be honest).

We're off to a good start. Here's to hoping the summer will continue as it has begun. And all the Felixes in the house say, "Cheers to that!"

On returning to UTH for a second season

It is good to be back on the Hill. Hello, dorms. Hello, stage. Hello, sand. Hello, canteen, dining hall, A-frame, village. Hello trees and gnats and creeks and sun. Rain, heat, cool breezes. Sore feet, sore back, sore core. Hello, old friends. Glad to meet you, new. It's good to be back on the Hill.

Today I walked down to one of my favorite places in Cherokee, the Cherokee Coffee Shop. A twenty minute walk down from the Hill, crossing by the backside of the theatre, down by the museum, along the Oconaluftee River with its children playing and its fishermen, the sun beating down on my back, shade relieving the heat, and then I'm there. Chai. Conversation with a new friend from the cast who's made her way to the shop as well.

Then I'm working on lines--I have those this time around, and I'm walking back along the same path, smiling at the river again, and up, up, up onto the Hill. I have a salad for dinner, sitting outside, enjoying the cool evening air. I grab an apple and head to the stage, where we block the powerful Trail of Tears sequence at the heart of Unto These Hills.

It is good to be back on the Hill. To be back among the Cherokee and folk who respect their culture. To be among artists and creators and friends. To be a part of the community.

Yesterday evening, I wandered into the boy's dorm--I've moved up into the new dorms this year (yay AC and clean bathroom and kitchen!)--and laughter drew me to someone's room. I joined the conversation, beginning to get to know a couple of the new guys, hoping I to be welcoming and that they will enjoy the Hill as much as I do. That they will enjoy to wonderful opportunities given to them by this setting. I think they will.

Even as I spend time meeting new folk, being back here feels like a homecoming. It is good to be back on the Hill. Four days in, and I can already tell this summer is going to be wonderful.

Why I Kind Of Love Running

My fingers, with their bitten nails, their scars from cat claws, and their few tiny hairs just above a couple of joints, drag across the old, wire fence, making a ratatat-ratatat ring as I run along the gravel-dust path passed the tennis courts, the football and the baseball fields, the children's park with its playground, slides, swings, seesaws, all as one would expect, around the golf course at the center of it all, sloping hills, sandpits, ponds, and fountains, as I run passed others, some traveling the same clockwise trail as me, some counterclockwise, some running, some walking, with dogs or children or lovers or friends, perhaps in solitude, some smiling and laughing and nodding hellos and others keeping their eyes from mine, avoiding greeting, and then everything slows down to a walking pace, the ratatat long gone replaced only by heavy breathing.

I know a lot of people who don't like to go running outside. They don't like the heat. They don't like the uneven ground. They don't like the lack of privacy. There are plenty of reasons to dislike outdoor running. I understand that. There's nothing wrong with that. A lot of people don't like running in general, and that's fine too. Flat feet, short legs, simply having a stockier build, can all be dissuading to people considering running. Whatever a person's reason, there's nothing wrong with disliking running. I, however, kind of love it.

My description above is relating the basic experience of running around the 3.8 mile loop from my hotel here in Tulsa around LaFortune Park, a trail with which I have become quite familiar in the last two weeks. I generally try to get out and run the loop at least every other day, and I'm happy to report that every time I have gone out, I have beaten my personal record for average minutes/mile--generally around 10 or so, though that number is a little misleading, as that's including the first 5 minutes which I usually walk to wake up my legs rather than starting the actual run cold turkey.

Running isn't a new thing to me, really. I went a decent amount over the summer in Cherokee, and I've had a handful of other times when I've been consistent about it the last few years. I benefit from naturally having a runner's build, being tall, thin, and having the deepest foot arches I've ever seen--a trait which is great for running, though not so great for maintaining the shape of shoes. With that in mind, it makes sense that I would like running, purely on a physical level.

I also like running on a mental level. I like the individuality of it--sure one can go running with friends, but a person's pace and duration in a run is all his or her own. I enjoy running outside, because I like being out in the sun and the fresh air. I like seeing people, be they other runners or families or people walking their dogs or playing Frisbee, whatever they're up to, I enjoy seeing others enjoying the outdoors. I think a fair amount when I go running. It was actually during a run that I began considering writing this very post--the post began with my fingers dragging across the fence, because I actually did just that mid-run a day or two ago. I like being able to let my mind consider and process the various sensory impulses I come across during a run: the heavy breathing, the soreness of exercised muscles, the slick sweat, the brightness of the sun, the wonderful cooling wind. Running is such a sensory goldmine. It's a raw, individualistic exercise and yeah, I kind of love it.

I also hear tale it's good for you, which is a nice plus.

Confessions of an addict

I go to a lot of bookstores. I'm currently sitting in a Barnes and Noble in Tulsa, Oklahoma. There are two of Barnes and Noble in Tulsa, and I have already been to the other one twice, so I thought I would check out this one today. I've also been to Fine Books, which is in one of the malls, Gardeners, which is apparently the largest used bookstore in the state, the Frugal Bookshop, and there was also a small shop in one of the towns in which we had a performance--I didn't catch the name of it, alas, though it had a very friendly black cat which made up for the small selection.

Bookshops come in all sorts of varieties. You have your massive, unorganized piles and piles of cheap books stores. You have your tiny, independent store that mostly sells things the people running it like. You have your corporation bookstores, though these are becoming fewer and fewer as the days go by--a tragedy. You have your rare books stores, those where you mostly just look and don't touch, books not intended to be read so much as peered at. I love bookshops of all varieties (though I do prefer the ones where I'm allowed to touch).

During my first tour for the National Theatre for Children, I went to upwards of twenty or thirty bookstores. I bought thirty-one books over the course of that 10 week adventure. I was close enough to home that I could stop in and drop books off every once in a while. This tour, however, I find I have to restrain myself far more often. I am nearly a thousand miles from home. No quick pit stops to drop off books this time. Whatever I buy, I have to carry with me at all times. I have an unending list of books that I want to find and read. I have had a fair amount of success finding several of them in the last couple of weeks. Yet despite the cheap prices, despite the successful finds, I have more often than not forced myself to walk away from stores empty handed. This has been a challenge.

You see, I have an addiction. A book buying addiction. There. I said it. Don't misunderstand: it's not that I have an addiction to reading--I do read a fair amount, perhaps more than many of my peers, but I have far more books sitting on shelves unread, waiting for me to crack their spines, turn their pages, and invest in their worlds than I can keep up with. My addiction is to the thrill of the buy. The thrill of finding works by great authors that are not always easy to find. See, there's a certain kind of book that is my favorite thrill: I fondly call these books "OOPs. books." Out of print is this terrible disease that sadly befalls works that, for whatever reason, do not have consistent mainstream success. Several of my favorite authors have such books running about the used bookstore circuit. I get excited whenever I find something by Gene Wolfe, Jack Vance, Roger Zelazny, or M. John Harrison (to name a few) that I have never seen in print before. I love coming across a book I've never heard of before written by an author I love. This is a thrill in itself, perhaps not quite as potent as the thrill of finding something for which I have been searching. But still. I revel in the find.

So, why am I sharing all this with you? Well, my name is Daniel. I've been a bookoholic for roughly 14 or 15 years. I hear admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery....

Oh, one last thought: go support bookstores. I buy a lot of books, but I can't keep them in business by myself, try as I might. I urge you to support even the big chains and especially the small, independent stores.

PS. Read a book. It's good for you.