Death Trap - a play in two acts...

“Do something that scares you every day. 

You have nothing to lose but fear itself.”

- Dali Lama

 

 

At six-thirty p.m., on an October evening, a disparate group of five people gathered together for six weeks – give or take a day or two, to rehearse for a community theatre production of Ira Levin’s Death Trap. Most of us knew each other, and for the fifth time since early 2019, I got to ‘play’ with a group of seasoned and talented actors.

 

Act one – a little background…

I left the military and returned to school in the early 1970s. I made myself busy because I was lonely. I joined the track team, worked as a janitor, and had an evening radio show, but I was untethered. In those days, it wasn't popular to have been in the military, particularly as a participant in the Vietnam war. So, packing as much into a day as possible was an artificial means of keeping loneliness at bay. 

 

Had Albert Camus written a sequel to L’Étranger (The Stranger), his theme of absurdist existential crisis, could have used my return to American society as a template.

 

Did I mention I was lonely?

 

Most of my nonevent-filled time was spent in the library. It was a safe place to study and hide when I wasn’t doing other things. Despite being busy, education was the primary reason for being back in school. One day, I saw a flyer announcing auditions for a college play. The notice said the theatre department was looking for two lead actors and two narrators for a production by the Irish playwright Brian Friel called Lovers.

 

Hmmm, I thought. Maybe I could audition for one of the narrators. After all, I was doing radio. It would be another time-filling project to keep my mind busy and stave off the internal isolation I was trying so desperately to ignore. Yeah, this was a good idea! 

 

It was a good idea until I did not get the narrator part, but the male actor in the play. 

 

Hmmm, I thought. I would need to reach back into one of those secret rooms tucked away in my neurochemistry for the resources to do something like this. This was a problem because I DID NOT have a room, secret or otherwise, from which to draw. I had never done any theatre.

 

That play was one of the most challenging, exciting, terrifying, and humbling experiences of my life. It was the first time I realized that the people on stage were only a small part of a team of set designers/builders, costume makers, make-up artists, musicians, in addition to the director. I also realized that all those people were counting on the folks on stage to bring to fruition their hard work. No pressure!!

In the end the experience was a success, thanks to a theatre community that took a young lonely, wayfaring stranger into their midst and made him a part of their family.

 

That was then!

 

Act two – this is now…

In 2018, after retiring and teaching at a local community college, I joined a local theatre board. It was a new venture in our town, the vision of a retired woman who had many years of theatrical experience in Chicago. Tucson has a robust theatre community with several active companies. Oro Valley did not have one. She thought it should. Through sheer force of will, and a ‘with a little help from her friends,’ she brought the company into existence. 

 

The first play was Thorton Wilder’s Our Town. She asked if I would consider auditioning. Because of my vast theatrical experience and rich thespian instincts, I agreed! What was I thinking!!

 

Unbelievably, I got the part of a country doctor. It was odd to appreciate that even though it had been over fifty-one years since being one of the Lovers, the feelings of uncertainty returned as if it were yesterday. As it had been in that day, the experience was challenging, exciting, terrifying, humbling, and in the end – satisfying! 

 

A few shows with minor parts followed, although it should be said there are not many roles for someone of my tender years. Despite my wrinkled machinery, the little fellow that lives inside this organic space suit, still feels the excitement of emerging possibilities, and is happy when there is the opportunity to ‘play.’

 

Preparing the trap…

Once again, the weeks of working together resulted in the cast bonding from the united effort. This could only have happened because of our director's gentle and well-seasoned hand. The weeks sped by, as we pulled together, laughed together, forgot lines together, covered for one another’s mistakes, and polished the text, as words and characters from a one-dimensional script materialized into a three-dimensional theatrical production.

 

Death Trap is a convoluted story of murder, intrigue, betrayal, with unexpected twists and turns. It is an entertaining, and sometimes humorous morality tale of the consequence of lust and greed…a story that reminds the audience that, no matter what, one never really gets away with violating the Creator’s natural law.

 

The play was a success. We sold out all five performances.

 

All good things...

After the last performance, we struck the set (took it down). We hugged, said our goodbyes, and returned to our separate lives. There is always the promise that “…we should get together sometime…” but that seldom happens. 

 

Like the morning mists on a summer pond, it all slipped into the ether. The experience was exciting, and like all of life, temporary. The brief journey complete – the time well spent.

 

The aftermath…

There is a sense of empty nesting, a little melancholy that settles in from the spot that had been filled with so much collective focus and energy. It is not surprising I have similar feelings at the end of each semester of teaching.

 

This is the cycle of life. Nothing is permanent. I don’t see this as a negative. Each adventure brings something new and is renewed with the next voyage we take. The real question is – what do we take away from the experience? 

 

I loved doing this show. Now it is tucked away in my aging neurochemistry. Now there is a secret room from which I can draw if something new emerges.

 

Next? Who knows?

 

I still feel a little like a '...stranger in a strange land...' from time to time. There is still a quietly whispering and nagging voice of loneliness. But I have learned how to turn inward and build a meaningful home within my mind. I have learned that words, ideas, and experiences aren’t just passing scenery, but can comfort and sustain us.

 

Moving forward…remaining curious…seeking the unknown...opening doors without fully knowing what's behind them…stretching minds as much as possible…these are the keys. They do require saying yes. They do require choosing.

 

It's impossible to know what the future will bring. So it is a useless exercise to project the relevance of our lives into tomorrow. All we have is today; dare I say, all we have is the breath of this very moment. We are promised nothing more. 

 

Death Trap was a great metaphor for the consequence of making poor choices. But, trapped by death? That’s not the way I look at things.

 

As far as I’m concerned, I can’t wait to see what’s around the corner!

 

- ted

 

Trust - fragile and time consuming...

“He who does not trust enough 

will not be trusted”

- Lao Tzu

She’s an eight pounder, white, with a grey circular highlighting. Generally, well before 5am, this creature climbs over me and after pacing back and forth from one end of the bed to the other, gently snuggles in. A purring machine, she slaps me with her tail until I pet her, pull on her ears and scratch her sides. It’s an evolving drill in a long distance run with a cat that had been abused before coming to our home. 

 

Cats…a way of life…

We were a close-knit family of five for seventeen years. We all lived in Missouri, Michigan, California, and finally here in Arizona. As our girls aged and began to slip away, our hearts were filled with sorrow.

 

We lost Sarah first. She had taken Molly as her own. It was seldom they were not found together wherever they were in the house. She followed her everywhere. It wasn’t that she didn’t have affection for me, but the focus was my girlfriend. Sometimes I got the glance that said, “Sure you married the girl, but let’s be clear, you need to get in line!”

 

Leah was the second to leave us. She was in many ways mine. If I were outside on the patio reading in the mornings, she sat beside me. Working at my desk, she lay in languorous repose a few inches from the keyboard. She particularly liked to be on my lap, sitting neatly between my arms so as not to interfere with the keyboard. In the mornings she climbed into bed, for a few minutes with the clear message, “Glad you are awake. This is a limited time snuggle because I’m hungry.” 

 

Hannah was the last. If there was ever an independent cat it was she! She was hefty. I’m not sure she would have described herself as overweight, possibly just big boned. Despite her size, she had the physical grace and balance of a ballerina. Hannah did what she wanted, when she wanted. It was like we were in our home for her pleasure. “Feed me and keep that litter box clean. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” She was her own cat. 

 

As with the other two, losing her was heart breaking. We would need to construct a new family.

 

Losing the known and embracing the unknown is a casual definition of change.

 

Who knew - two new...

Our new cats came from a local no kill shelter. Molly had seen one online and had it in her heart to bring it home. As it turns out, Abie had significant problems stemming from being hit by a car in Puerto Rico just before Hurricane Maria hit the island in 2017. He had sustained a broken jaw, a few teeth and a torn soft palate in the roof of his mouth. It required two surgeries and a couple of weeks with a feeding tube, inserted into his esophagus. In the end, the surgeries were a success. He settled in as though he had always lived here.

 

Then there was Lena. She caught my attention because she had isolated herself on an elevated platform where she didn’t have to interact with the kittens in her area. I went to pet her, and she bit me. She wasn’t aloof, she was terrified. We learned she had been badly abused, particularly by males. She had come to the shelter from a county facility and transferred to the shelter where we found her.

 

Working things out...

For months, when I came near the cat, she growled and swatted, frequently drawing blood. Nonetheless, I kept after her, picking her up for brief moments, petting and talking to her. I began giving little chats.

 

I chuckle when I think about these one-way conversations. I would say, “I love you, Lena and am so glad you are a part of our family.” She would hear, “blah, blah, blah, blah.” It’s kind of strange that in those moments I would speak to her as if she understood English (don’t we all do this?). What isn’t so strange is that, over time, she began to understand, dare I say, embrace the message, maybe better said, she got my feelings.

 

Over the next year or so, Lena began wandering into bed by my side in the mornings for a few seconds. Seconds turned into minutes and by now several years later, whether it is the early morning and time to get up, reading just before going to sleep, an afternoon nap, or working on the computer. she comes to be with me. If she doesn’t like something I’m doing, she gently nips as if to say, “Okay, enough of that.”

 

That cat captured my heart, and I continue work on hers. She has taught me that trust, real trust, takes time and consistency.

 

Isn’t this the way life is intended to be regardless of the creatures with whom we interact? Shouldn’t we be nonthreatening and loving to those around us…particularly our own species who have been abused and marginalized? 

 

Yes indeed, when that eight pounder climbs over me in the mornings, I am grateful that I have found such a patient and loving companion.

 

- ted

We who are closer to the end salute you...

"…a man may have lived long and yet lived but little. 

Make use of time while it is present with you…” 

- Michel de Montaigne

 

"Gosh, mom. He's an old geezer!"

 

It wasn’t the best way for a six-year-old to return a greeting to a stranger in her home, but it was memorable. I was in Salt Lake City to give a talk at a state Workers' Compensation conference and had been invited to stay in an attorney's home.

 

Thank goodness it was only my appearance the youngster was responding to.

 

Jogging the memory…

I was reminded of that little girl while thinking recently about aging. I suppose entertaining these kinds of thoughts is natural when 'bathing in soup' of one’s mid-seventies.

 

Several years ago, while also thinking about this topic, I read a book by Louise Aronson, Elderhood. Aronson is a geriatrician at UC San Francisco. Geriatrician comes from the Greek ‘Geras’ (old age) and ‘Iatrikos’ (referring to physician). She suggested most physicians are not trained in medicine for senior citizens, so it is a good idea to find one who is.

 

The elderly, and I can’t believe I am actually referring to myself as such, do not fall into the ‘youth to middle-aged adult’ medical paradigms. Things change as we age. Strength decreases significantly after 65. The immune system loses its earlier resiliency, the liver does not metabolize as well, and the kidneys do not clear toxins as they once did. Intellectual capacities, both processing and memories, show varying levels of decline. 

 

You read about these things when you are young but live them when you are older! 

 

For the most part, we don't think about getting older. Seconds turn into minutes, then to hours, days, and years, and before we know it, the bathing suit we arrived on the planet with is all wrinkled up! It is so insidious that we don’t realize that we can't do the things we used to until, you know, we try to do them. 

 

I love teaching anatomy and physiology in retirement. But every system chapter has a section on what happens to us as we slip toward senescence and the ultimate homeostasis where systolic and diastolic pressures are the same — 0/0! While it can be disheartening, and stopping the process is impossible, one can slow it down.

 

It is not about being “…as young as you feel…” or “…age is just a number….” - often patronizingly expressed by younger folks with cheery voices, rosy cheeks, and mostly painless lives!

 

Whew! I need to change tack before I write myself into a death spiral of the big sleep. 

 

Changing tack…

When thoughts of impending end-of-life slip into the chunk of oatmeal between my ears, it's easy to agree with them. That is why I have some phrases taped to a charcoal drawing of a reclining skeleton on my wall – reminders I might add, that have meaning to me.

 

I look at them every day:

 

·      Don’t believe everything you think

·      Be suspicious of simple solutions

·      Science is not fact. It's a process of revelation

·      Sensation – Reflection

·      Thoughts received – Opinions created

·      Strong opinions…loosely held

·      Yes – no

 

The first three are apparent. The last four probably need a little explanation. 

 

“Sensation – Reflection” is the process by which we know everything. What we sense and reflect on is who/what we are! Touch, taste, sight, sound, and smell provide input from which we decide what to do or think.

 

“Thoughts received – Opinions created” - Opinions are the only things over which we have control. Take a moment to consider this. Maybe we can't regulate what comes in, but we can decide what to believe. What we do accept becomes the opinions we nurture and grow. 

 

“Strong opinions…loosely held” is an addition to the previous note and is one of the most important on the list. I remind myself every day that while I am confident in the things I believe, I need to be open to changing opinions when I discover I'm wrong. Lau Tzu says, “When things are young, they are supple. When they are old, they are stiff." (Tao Te Ching). It takes work to try to remain ‘supple.’

 

“Yes – No”  We are binary creatures. We can only say yes or no. A 'no' means nothing happens – sometimes a good thing… A 'yes' opens the possibility of repeating the yes/no process. Saying 'yes' moves the dial forward.

 

Adding a little meat to the bone – we genuinely have no absolute control over our jobs, families, friends, health, or anything else in life…all of it can disappear in a split second. So while we have a sense of stability, we know life (ours or that of others) is temporary and fragile. 

 

A recipe…

Knowing there are no guarantees, I prefer to think of aging as the continual practice of attempting to acquire wisdom. It goes something like this:

1.     Live

2.     Make mistakes

3.     Learn from mistakes

4.     Repeat steps 1 – 3 until wisdom is acquired

5.     Realize the wisdom gained in step 4 was not really wisdom at all but possibly a kind of wisdom

6.     Repeat steps 1 – 5 for the rest of your life.

 

The bullet points and the list represent daily reminders of the importance of not giving in to time and gravity.  

 

Surprisingly, these small words and phrases are very helpful as the journey continues. I'm not smart enough to have thought of them on my own. But, peeking into the minds of other fellow travelers keeps the pump of life primed.

 

And by the way, some days if I were as young as I felt, I would just go back to bed!

 

- ted

Life - it's shorter than we think...

Each of us is here for a brief sojourn; for what purpose 

he knows not, though he sometimes thinks he senses 

it. But with deeper reflection one knows from daily 

life that one exists for other people.

 - Albert Einstein

 

What would you have said, thought, or done had you known it was the last time you would see someone for whom you cared? A parent…a friend…a lover. The thoughtless expectation there would be another time…and then there wasn’t.

 

I was twelve and in the seventh grade. 

 

The shoes were a size nine, a cream-colored pair of leather slip-ons. The upper, just ahead of the arch, was a tight black knitting. They were very cool and my father’s favorite pair.  

 

I had taken them (without permission) to go to a seventh-grade talent show hoping my dad would not find out. There was a girl in a homeroom across the hall; Marilyn was her name. For some reason, we had been paired to do a free-flowing duet to the strains of Frank Sinatra’s rendition of ‘High Hopes.’

 

            “Next time you’re found 

With your chin on the ground

There’s a lot to be learned

So look around…’

 

Just what makes that little old ant

Think he'll move that rubber tree plant

Anyone knows an ant can't

Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes

 

He's got high hopes

He's got high apple pie

In the sky hopes

So any time you're gettin' low

'Stead of lettin' go

Just remember that ant

Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant…”

 

Those size nines were wonderful but only a transition to a foot growth ending in fourteens. But at the time, I was sure they would fit forever. A few months later, I tried to put them on, but alas, my feet had moved on, and I needed bigger shoes. They fit, and then they didn’t

 

I enjoyed playing the part with that young girl and in fact, relished being around her through high school. She was creative, smart, driven, focused, a little narcissistic, and a worker bee. A person who seemed to know that where she lived was only a transition to where she was going - and it wasn’t to stay in the town of her birth. I thought we would always be friends. But she had high hopes for bigger shoes, and over time, she found them. She was there, and then she wasn’t.

 

My best friend in high school was John. There was little we didn’t do together. Like two peas in a pod, I thought we would be friends "forever and a day…" Like Marilyn, John was brilliant, thoughtful, sensitive, and the best friend a young fellow could have. Then, life happened, and lessons were learned from missteps. It was a hard, in those days, to understand that life was fluid…things would not always remain the same. As with Marilyn, the universe had other plans. He was there, and then he wasn’t.

 

I did not understand the nature of change. Life was supposed to remain constant, wasn’t it? It had certainly seemed that way when I was young. I mean, it did in my brain. But my heart needed to learn that life was constantly on the move, adjusting, and becoming something different and new. Things and people were there, and then they weren’t

 

Losing my high school friends was confusing and painful. As time passed, I learned to be more careful with the people for whom I cared. I came to appreciate that in youth, what appeared to be permanent, so easily slipped away.

 

In my life, there have been many transactional relationships — people I have enjoyed and with whom I have had meaningful experiences. But true friendships? Close and consequential relationships? Folks for whom I have removed barriers to entry in my life? 

 

There have been few. Life lessons have taught me to cherish and cultivate them…they are the ones who have continued to feed my soul.  

 

In the last few years, I have lost some of those few. The ones with whom I had a deep and abiding love. They were there, and then they weren't.

 

When I post notifications about a blog, I generally say, "If you love someone – tell 'em.” This is not a casual comment, because, in fact, you may never be able to let them know.

 

Close friends in my youth slipped away because I did not appreciate the importance of 'tending the garden.'

 

At this time of my life, I understand the uncertainty and the reality of loss. So, I tell people I love them because, you know, it could be the last time…

 

- ted

Out of the darkness came a heart...

“Love is like a child that longs 

for everything it can come by.”

 - William Shakespeare

 

The room was pitch black. 

 

It had been a busy day. More activity than I was used to. It was one of those nights where you hope that when you fall forward, like one of those outward-bound programs, you will land in something soft, safe, and comforting. I think I remember hitting the bed!

 

Sometime in the night and somewhere in the reaches of my mind there came what appeared to be ragged breathing. As consciousness tugged at the curtain of sleep, the irregular hissing seemed to get louder. 

 

I dream every night and have had only one nightmare in my life. Fifty years later and in a state of semi-consciousness, I wondered whether this might be my second one. You know the senselessness of REM sleep when you’re trying to hang on to the imagery of the night. The time when the most outrageous, seems normal and acceptable.

 

Lying on my left side facing inward on the bed, I suddenly felt a sharp poking on my right shoulder blade. This was not a soft-landing ‘return to the world.’ What the heck was going on.  I felt a surge of adrenaline and I was awake – moderately confused but awake! 

 

In this state of moderate bewilderment, I heard the voice of a five-year-old, “I can’t sleep. Can I get in bed with you?” 

 

Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was three a.m.

 

When I am asleep, there is little short of a fire alarm, house security system, or metabolic urgency that can wake me up. I didn’t hear the youngster open the door or come in the room and I don’t know how long he stood by the side of the bed unsure of how to get my attention. But get it he did.

 

Shaking my head to clear the final cobwebs, I said, “Climb on in boy,” and up he came. He may be all of four feet in height, I am unsure, but when I put my arms around him in a gentle hug, it seemed like there was little there. After a few minutes, I said, “Why don’t I turn over and you can hug me?” As his little arm came from behind, part way across my rib cage, we both drifted off to sleep where we remained through the night.

 

Some back story…

My niece and her hubby were looking forward to a little holiday time together. With three young children and two busy medical practices, not to mention the COVID, there had been little time for them to spend together.

 

They asked whether we might be willing to come for a few days to take care of the youngsters, while they were gone. I had not seen the children in person for more than two years because of the COVID, and never met the little girl in person. Molly had slipped east between the Delta and Omicron variants to spend a few days, but I remained home with the cats. I knew the kids really loved her, but how would they react to me? Maybe more to the point, how would I react to them.

 

We were excited about the opportunity to spend time with the two boys, and to meet the two-year-old girl. Since Molly and I don’t have children, my niece and her family are the closest to grandchildren (grand nephews and nieces really) that we have. 

 

When the time came, we hopped on a plane from Tucson and headed out for the unknown adventure in the household of my niece. 

 

As it turned out, it was a great adventure. Any trepidation I had trying to help Molly manage the children slipped away when we walked in the door. They pulled us in to their hearts so quickly, it was as if we had been them every weekend from their births. 

 

Two days after we arrived, my niece and her hubby were out the door for their well-earned, if too short, holiday. The rest of the week was a family bonding that I had not really expected.

 

The boys and I played a little basketball, some board games, and visited a school playground. I was a vicarious participant in the age-appropriate video games they played with a finesse that belied their tender ages. My favorite time with them was in the morning when they reluctantly got up to the strains of “Good morning fellow Campers…” a song my mother wakened us most cottage mornings on holidays in Canada. As I sang to their sleepy faces in the mornings, I felt the softness and joy of my mother’s love. The second best time was reading to them before bed.

 

Most importantly, we all felt safe together. The parents returned from their time together tired but appeared to have enjoyed themselves. 

 

When it was time to leave, we all left a little teary-eyed, vowing to see one another as soon as the time was right again...the memory of the shared experience with that little guy embedded in my heart.

 

I was reminded of Antoine De Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince. The prince tames a fox and they become friends. When it is time to say goodbye, the fox says he will tell the little prince a secret. 

            “Good-bye,” he said.

            “Good-bye,” said the fox. 

“Here is my secret. It’s quite simple: One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.”

 

And so it was…

 

- ted

A small, miraculous event...

“Jesus called them unto him, and said, suffer 

little children to come unto me…for

of such is the kingdom of God.”

Matthew 19:14 kjv

 

Mom and dad were out. She was asleep for her afternoon nap. I was the adult in the house.

 

Full disclosure. While I have had lots of experience with children, my wife and I have had none. I'm the guy who comes, plays, laughs, hugs, reads before bedtime, and then goes home. There are nuances of child management that can only come from the bone-weary, extended exposure to day-in and day-out child-rearing. Did I mention I’m the guy who comes, plays, etc.?

 

We, the boys, and I were playing a game downstairs. The speaker on the counter, connected to the two-year-old napping girl, made a slight squeaking sound. The older boy said, “Maybe I should check to see how she is doing.”

 

A relevant aside…

Being a great uncle, meaning their mother's uncle, I’m pretty good with the kids. There is never a time when I’m not happy to be with these youngsters, but I’m still working on becoming a ‘great’ great uncle! Not being clear on all the household guidelines, I said, “You probably should not disturb her.”

 

“I just want to check to make sure she is alright.”

 

Before I knew it, the older boy was on his way up the stairs, followed by his younger brother. A quick check and back to the game. What possibly could go wrong?

 

The boys were away longer than I expected for a quick check on the baby. Heading upstairs, I discovered the baby was out of the crib. The younger boy was now in it and the older boy was on the floor playing with a wide-awake child who was supposed to be sound asleep! Their joint, 'deer in a headlights' look as I entered the room said it all. This was not good. While not intimate to all the guidelines for the house, this was, no doubt, well beyond the boundaries. 

 

I brought the little girl downstairs, thinking I should play with her since she was fully awake. But, on the other hand, there was a nagging suspicion that this youngster should really be sound asleep in her crib and not playing with her pretty good ‘great uncle.’

 

Picking up, by now, a fully animated child, I headed up the stairs and back to her room.

 

What to do?

Turning off the lights, we slipped on to a large, overstuffed chair. I leaned back, with this tiny thing lying on my chest – head up, alert, looking around the room as if she were on guard duty. Fully stretched out with her head at my shoulder, her toes didn't reach my knees. 

 

I had no plan!

 

Then this primal thing began to happen. I suppose one might argue it was the release of oxytocin (the cuddle hormone), but I was overcome by the wonder of this little one lying there. We were chest to chest, breath to breath, heart to heart. I found myself letting go and channeling my mother…a little humming and singing. I could hear mum’s voice, “Trust the process, Teddy, just trust the process.”

 

You know the expression, “The quieter you become, the more you hear." I could feel her breaths and heart as she glanced from side to side, eyes dancing. I could feel my breath and heartbeat slow as we fell into an ancient rhythm. She glanced up at me, her eyes a little less focused, a little less clear. Her head bobbed up and down, then softly landed on the runway of my chest…she was out.

 

Something was soothing about all of this. I wondered whether I should pick her up and put her back in her crib, but for the moment, she and I were connected, joined in a moment of harmony I was unwilling to interrupt. Eventually, I reluctantly lifted and placed her gently back in her crib wondering whether the movement might wake her? It did not. Her lights were out.

 

My lights? Fully energized. That little girl…those moments shared were pure enchantment.

 

My mother was right. I understood what every loving parent knows. It was, as it always has been, the whole greater than the sum of the parts. Two souls, bereft of time, bereft of age, bereft of gender, floating together in the rhythm of the universe.

 

Magic? 

 

Indeed!

 

ted