To Heather, With Love

Friday September 15, 2017:  
My phone rings and on the display it shows up as "My Baby Girl".  While my head knows that Heather is 18 years old, my heart wants to argue. My eyes see her cleaning her room, folding favorite cardigans and jeans into suitcases, and returning miscellaneous clothing to me that she has borrowed. My hands think that I should still be cleaning her room and folding her laundry.

Yes, the logical side of me sees and recognizes the obvious. My baby girl is now a young adult and she is heading though that door tomorrow into the next phase of her life. My heart still wants to argue a little, but not too much because I really love seeing the woman that Heather has become.

Heather was always my attached-at-the-hip baby and toddler. I called her my high-maintenance baby but secretly, I think I kind of liked it. Maybe not every day, and maybe not at that time, but in looking back, those times are cherished.

When she was almost three years old, she suddenly burst out of her baby girl chrysalis and became my independent, determined, social little butterfly girl. She was not afraid to go after what she wanted, whether it was learning to ride a bike or a horse, dancing in her first pair of ballet shoes, composing a salutatorian speech, or deciding on a future career path.

Remember that Mother Goose poem about the little girl with the curl? When she was good, she was very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid? That could be Heather. She could be stubborn, she could be defiant and had a few conversations with the wooden spoon. This picture of her is one of my favorites because it captured this moment of complete irritation towards someone or something. But for Heather, this look could be transformed into a cheeky grin or belly laugh in the next minute. She was my little tornado; all storm one second and then calmness in the next breath.
 On this last evening before college, instead of hearing girls giggling over an episode of I Love Raymond, I am hearing loud shrieks of laughter, groans of defeat and all manner of sounds in-between as Heather and Ryan play Mario Cart.  How long will it be until I hear these words again, "Mom, we aren't fighting. We're just playing."  These two kiddos of mine....they love to pick on each other even when they know it makes me crazy. And yet, to them, it's their way of showing love.

Yeah, I don't get it either...

...but I'm missing it already.



















Saturday September 16, 2017:  Today is the day. Heather was packed up and ready last evening. She could have driven out by herself and been totally fine, but this was one of those attached-at-the-hip moments and I was thankful for one more trip together. And the two of us, we just get each other; there was no need for deep conversation and the long silences were completely comfortable. We are alike so often in our moods and we know when to give each other space and when we need to reach out.

Sometimes those comfortable silences where punctuated by crazy laughter by the elder party. I like capturing Heather in moments of surprise. She does not enjoy this in the same way and I promised not to put any of those pictures here. But believe me, there were some funny ones!! 

And after about 4 hours and 15 min, we arrived and somebody wanted to change her mind about the whole thing. It wasn't me.  By the time I peeled her clenched fingers off the steering wheel, she'd already changed her mind. (Remember, she's like a tornado sometimes with those moods!)

 There she goes into the dorm and there she is after unpacking and getting settled in. She really will be fine. I'm so proud of her. And yes, I may be wiping a tear away or two. And just like that, we are down to one child at home.

I haven't been outnumbered in this house before. I've always had at least one girl to go to when I needed a shoe opinion or an outfit idea. And when I was PMSing, I always had at least one other person in my corner. Now, so much testosterone. Who am I going to go to my annual Celtic Thunder concert with? Heather has been my steady companion the last couple of years.

Dear Heather,

I love you. Let me start with that because no matter what, always and forever, I love you. When you were a whirlwind of temper, I loved you. When you were a confidently tap dancing to "I've been working on the Railroad", I loved you. When you had a bad haircut (even though I thought it was totally adorable and you weren't a coconut head), I loved you. When you bit Adrienne on the butt even though you were old enough to know better, and then tried to avoid the inevitable punishment, I loved you. When you had a stressful day at school and felt overwhelmed by it all, I loved you. I loved seeing you at work, serving people amazing coffee creations, always with a smile. I loved seeing you a little shaken pulling into Rosedale, but then gathering your courage and jumping in with your shoulders back and head held high.

Heather, you will always be My Baby Girl and I will love you always to the moon and beyond and back. Keep dancing through life. XOXOXO

Love,
Mama aka Dianne

On Baltimore Street

Sitting on a cheerful green bench in downtown Cumberland, Maryland yesterday morning while Ryan was at play practice for an upcoming performance was a most pleasant way to fritter away a few hours. I don't come to Cumberland often and this week, with three practices, I decided that I am rather in love with this street known as Baltimore Street. With brick-paved streets lined with historic buildings and accented with an abundance of trees, shrubs and splashed with color as the day-lilies, petunias, and roses bloom, what's not to love? This is not a street to drive upon, but a street meant for meandering, with stops along the way to peer into shop windows with summer-clad mannequins, a plethora of antiques, and original artwork.
 

Cafe Mark and Jennifer's Desserts beckons with a myriad of signature latte flavors. German Chocolate Latte? Why, yes I will, thank you very much! Caramello Latte? Sure, why not? I stroll. I sip. I savor the coffee and the sights around me. Buildings from another era stand proud: an Art Deco theatre with a facade that makes you think of marble, and many brick buildings of Italianate, Beau Arts, Romanesque, and Georgian Revival styling in shades of burgundy, burnt orange, rust and yellow that house investment firms, art studios, jewelers, insurance and financial services, collectibles stores, a pawn shop, a music store, restaurants with outdoor seating areas, and The School of Hospitality Management and Culinary Arts.

I may even admit to people watching. There are women in yoga pants with earbuds in place as they go up the avenue. They keep pace with the business women with suits and heels that make a staccato rhythm on the bricks as they step out into the sunshine to grab a bite to eat from City Lights or maybe the Cafe. Some have slipped on running shoes that completely mismatch their business attire and yet looks completely normal as they take a quick stroll up and then back down the street before heading back to work. There is a man with jeans worn-out to a comfortable softness and a t-shirt moving a variety of items in and out of The Embassy, and yet another gentleman with biker's gear and a racing jersey headed to the C&O trail-head. A barefoot, gray-haired man in a motorized chair zips by and he tosses a cigarette. A man with a group of other suit-clad men looks down at the cigarette before returning to his conversation and lunch at the Baltimore Street Grill.



A nearby fountain is shooting plumes of water into the air and if the breeze picks up just enough, a fine spray cools sun-heated skin. I wish for an excuse to dip my hands and then my feet into the fountain. Up the street a little farther is an assortment of vegetable and flower plants and some look like they wish they could dip into the fountain too. I stop and make of few selections and soon a variegated sage with purply veined leaves, a green bell pepper plant and another pepper plant (boasting to be both hot and sweet) are in my possession.
 
Occasionally the city quiet, which isn't technically quiet at all, is punctuated with an exclamation point as sirens wail and fire trucks head towards I-68 from the nearby fire station. Traffic is a constant hum with only a brief comma pause in the seconds between lights changing simultaneously from yellow to red and red to green. A few seconds to take a breath before forging ahead.

As a girl growing up in rural western Maryland in the 1970's, going to the big city of Cumberland was an adventure and a treat. School shopping and Christmas shopping meant a road trip on Route 40 and then later, Rt 48 (and eventually I-68). I always felt a little like Laura Ingalls Wilder when they would load up into their wagon and go to town from their home in the Big Woods.  Shopping at Hills, Ames or Murphy's was on the agenda and we'd walk out with notebook paper, folders, pencils, a new book-bag, and new socks and underwear. We'd stop at Goldsmith Black Inc and Mom would pick something from their selection with points she had earned. (I thought this store was boring!). At least that's how I remember it.

Being on this street makes me nostalgic. It reminds me to slow down and take some time to read, to write, to walk slowly and take in my surroundings, to smile and say "Hello" to a passing stranger. It reminds me to take a breath before forging ahead.

Love,
Dianne

 

Jogging in Jeans

I have never been a graceful runner. I kinda thought I was, that is, until I was running a 50 yard dash in middle school for the Presidential Physical Fitness Award and somebody made fun of my leg and how it would kick out to the side as I dashed. After that, I was always self-conscious and never went out of my way to run. Well, there was a time at a family reunion baseball game and I was sporting a post-baby, just-finished-weaning-a-baby-from-breastfeeding body. The video which was viewed later was not one of my finer moments and cemented in my mind why I should not be a runner.

Ba-boom-ba, ba-boom-ba comes to mind.

So, two evenings ago I decided to go for a walk and as I walked, I decided to challenge myself to see just how fast I could do one mile. I decided that if I did a combination of fast walking and some running, I could improve my time. Ready....set.....go.....

Initially my plan was to run only when there were no cars coming because of my funny running gait with the side leg kick thing that I assume I still do but haven't really checked, but all the stopping and starting was messing with my time and seriously, was there more traffic than usual?!? And, apparently I should have thought through my plan and dressed accordingly. Jeans and a regular looking t-shirt aren't "running gear". You'll understand shortly.

Backing up my story a little, let me tell you what my left leg was like when I was born. I don't think it was technically a clubfoot, at least not how I think of them, but it was more just really turned inwards. I wore a brace at night until I was at least 6 years old. It had a shoe on the bottom and my dad cut the toe end off because it got too small. I'd like to think this is why I run "funny", but I actually think I just simply run funny.

I may have heard once of twice: "You run like a girl." Which is okay, because I am a girl and I know a lot of girls who run AWESOME!!

                                 I know, adorable! But here you can see my foot rotated inwardly.                             I liked cake then. I still like cake. This is why I should be running. 

Okay, that's my little backstory.  Now, why shouldn't I wear jeans and a t-shirt to jog in? Well, just as I was bouncing along at a decent pace, deciding that I didn't care who saw me and I was just going to fly like the wind, I hear a car approach from behind. It slowed down and as there was no other traffic, no other reason to stop, I knew I was the reason. 

A concerned woman rolled down her window and asked, "Is everything okay? Do you need help?"
 I replied, in a somewhat breathless voice that I tried to make sound normal, " Umm, no, I'm just out for a walk and decided to run a bit."  To this, she smiled a little and gave me a thumbs up before going on her way. 

Oh dear. Do I really look like a panic-stricken woman running to get help when I jog?? Maybe this just means:
1.)  I was going fast (wishful thinking) like I was truly getting help.
2.) She saw smoke in the distance and thought I was running for help for real despite the cell phone in my hand that could've just dialed 911.
3.) Maybe she thought I literally needed help, like I needed oxygen.
4.) Or it was the oddness of jogging in jeans. 

I'd go with number 4. 

I'm headed out again for a walk, maybe run. If you see me, just wave and smile. I'll be the one in colorful flowered leggings and a t-shirt.

Love,
Dianne

Fit Phenomenon

 Being fit.
             Physically fit.
                          Mentally fit.
                                      Spiritually fit.

Fit. This is one of those words that gets weird the more you write it, but lately it has been simmering in my mind quite often. At Oak Dale Church, we are doing a sermon series "Get Fit" and I suspect this has something to do with this Fit Phenomenon in my brain. (Go to http://oakdalechurch.net/ for more info and video links to sermons).

 Having shoulder surgery is possibly another reason I am thinking about being fit. I learned really quickly that "if you don't use it, you lose it". When simple isometric exercises where introduced into my physical therapy regimen, I seriously thought I had done serious damage to my arm. I was fit to be tied (haha) and so worried I had messed up the surgical repair. My thoughts sounded a little like this:  "Oh nooooooo! I'll be in this crazy sling contraption even longer! But wait...they added some exercises. Really simple exercises. Do you think maybe...? No. I am NOT that out of shape! Or am I? It has only been like, what...three weeks, but could that make my muscles hurt so badly??" 

It turns out that, yes, it was just my muscles relearning and that even though it hurt, I needed to keep on doing those exercises and increasing the number of reps and even adding more exercises. Fast forward about four more weeks and those same muscles that screamed in pain are now stronger, haven't hurt since that first week of doing the exercises, and I can lift a full coffee cup to my lips (victory in the sweetest sense). Another lesson for me here is that I need to follow instructions. When I try to push the boundaries, or I just simply do too much and my husband, a friend or one of my children ask, "Should you be doing that??", I know I need to rein it in so the healing can continue in a healthy way without my impeding the process with my impatience to have full function again. Kind of like life sometimes, eh?

One way I have counterbalanced my limitations with my shoulder is to get out and walk. I get bored easily when exercising and so I've tried to turn this into a time to pray, reflect and review verses that I'm trying to commit to memory. You want to talk about a spiritual workout? Try memorization. I discovered I am quite terrible at it, but it is like my arm and shoulder muscles: I haven't used that skill for a long time and it is out of shape. The other way I have made walking fun and also more of a challenge is to walk with a friend. Kelli and I have logged about 12 miles this week over three days and it was good. Good for my physically and great for me mentally. 

On one of the days that Kelli and I walked, we nearly had to walk home as my car, sweet old Scarlet, left us stranded. You see, Scarlet has run her race (that may or may not be an admission to speeding) and we have been waiting for this day to happen. Part of that may be because of a lack of regular maintenance on my part and that tells me something. It's easy when I start something new, or purchase something new, to keep up with it. But, as time passes, it is easy for me to get lazy or discouraged because I don't see the results I want. Then things fall apart. Kind of like life sometimes, eh?

Andy's outdoor workout zone

I want to challenge myself physically, mentally and spiritually. I met someone this week who has challenged me to set some goals and aim to go the distance. Andrew Yoder is a dynamic, passionate man who wants to help others to create, clarify and build a vision. Two hours spent talking to him and doing an adapted workout outdoors on a sunny day left me motivated and enlivened. Take some time and check out his website:  http://www.lionheartedcoaching.com/ or find him on Facebook Lionhearted Coaching.

FIT Lessons (or something akin to rambling) a la Dianne:

1.) Being physically fit requires movement. I know, that seems so obvious but sometimes I want results without having to do the work. It doesn't work that way. Ever. 

2.) Having a goal, a finish line in sight, is necessary. Gotta keep my eye on the prize and it doesn't matter if it's physical, mental or spiritual, but for me, I need to state my purpose and have a vision. 

3.) Following directions (and doctor's orders) is important. Guidelines keep me on course. This is a good thing as I tend to wander, in my thoughts, my Bible reading, and yes, in my physical exercise too. 

4.) In 1Thessalonians 5:12-24, there is a lot of final instructions that Paul passed on but the verse I want to remember is vs. 23: "Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it."

4.) Here's a bonus one for you. Not all sports bras are made equal. Try getting into one of these one-armed and you'll see what I mean. It is like an entire workout before the workout. And really, even with two good shoulders, it was sometimes a challenge. It gives new meaning to the phrase "fit to be tied".

And on that note, I gotta run. Not literally. I'm not a runner yet; walking is my thing. 

Love, 

Dianne

Final Instructions

12 Now we ask you, brothers and sisters, to acknowledge those who work hard among you, who care for you in the Lord and who admonish you.

13 Hold them in the highest regard in love because of their work. Live in peace with each other.

14 And we urge you, brothers and sisters, warn those who are idle and disruptive, encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone.

15 Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else.

16 Rejoice always,

17 pray continually,

18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

19 Do not quench the Spirit.

20 Do not treat prophecies with contempt

21 but test them all; hold on to what is good,

22 reject every kind of evil.

23 May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

24 The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it. 

 

A Shoulder to Cry On (or About)

Once upon a time last May, I began to notice a pain in my left shoulder and arm and being a nurse, I thought I'd ignore it. Besides, I couldn't think of anything I had done to cause an injury; it's not like I was working out extensively (or ever ha-ha), lifting weights or well, anything really. Maybe I'd just randomly pulled something and it would resolve in a day or two. It didn't. I finally just figured that maybe, just maybe, this was a sign of my body getting older and I'd just have to deal with it. 

Fast forward through the summer and fall. The pain began radiating down my arm and there were certain ways I couldn't get my arm to go and I was being awakened frequently at night by arm pain. Ignore it. Stretch it out. Use ice. Try heat. Try pretending it'll go away on it's own. Finally, admit that I need to go get it checked out because if I'm going to complain and whine about it, then I need to do something about it. 

See my Family Nurse Practitioner. Check.
Get an x-ray. Check.
Go to physical therapy for six weeks. Check.
No improvement noted and it's actually a little worse. Bummer.
Have an MRI. Check.
See orthopedic doctor. Check.
Surgery scheduled for 3/31 to repair small rotator cuff tear and shave the shoulder bone clean of spurs. Check.

What have I learned through all of this? Let me tell you, the practical, not-so-practical, the good and the bad (not necessarily in that order, or any order):

1.)  My parents are really wonderful. They may have sometimes driven me crazy whilst I was growing up (or most likely, I drove them crazy!) but through all of this, they have driven me to appointments, drove Ryan to his PSSA testing three days in a row, ran me on errands, and they were with me before and after surgery. My mom even said I looked good in my blue-striped hospital gown. That's love.

2.) Wear underclothing you are proud to be seen in, or at least not embarrassed by. You may be asking why. Well, beyond your mother telling you to "wear clean underwear in case you are in an accident and someone sees them", here is my rationale. It had been a long time since I'd had a surgery requiring general anesthesia and even being a nurse, I wasn't really 100% sure of the protocol (and these are often changing!) and I knew the bra would come off, but as for the underwear, I wasn't so sure. I was nervous enough that morning and figured my best course of action would be to wear a pair I liked so I would not have to worry about anybody either seeing me in them or helping me put them back on after surgery. 

3.) Always read your pre-op instructions thoroughly. I read them, just not thoroughly. And I really wanted smooth legs and wasn't sure how I'd be shaving them after surgery. It was only Nair Hair Removal after all. I smoothed it on and while I was waiting the required four minutes for optimal results, I then decided to read the instructions that went with the Hibiclens soap that I was to use the night before and the morning of surgery. Do not use any hair removal products. Do not shave. I figured since I don't have hairy shoulders I was good to go. The armpits I would just have to deal with and I decided since I wouldn't be raising my arm up anyhow, it would be okay. As for the legs, the Nair was already on and really, what could happen? My surgery had nothing to do with my legs. But the soap said to use everywhere except my face and most delicate regions. The four minutes were up, I jumped in the shower and rinsed the Nair away and applied the Hibiclens. Let's just say I felt the burn. 
Nair + Hibiclens = Redness, irritation and burning. Ouch.

Behaving myself at therapy

4.) I like medication. I didn't think I would, but when the choice was pain vs. sleep, I chose sleep and comfort. I was nervous about taking anything because I hate nausea even more than pain, but all the advice I'd been given was to take something and not drown in pain that was beyond control. I went with the least amount that was most effective for me and I found that the pain was tolerable and better than I'd anticipated. I tried therapy the other day without pain medication and decided that while I pride myself in having a pretty good pain tolerance, this wasn't a great idea. Therapy - pain medication = a not-nearly-as effective therapy session because I was tense and working against the therapist. If you need it, take it. Don't be a pain martyr. I'd like to say I was the case study for someone with minimal to no pain following a rotator cuff repair, but alas, it is not meant to be.

5.) Ice is one of my best friends. When I strap on the ice-pack, I look like either a Power Ranger, a Transformer or a half-dressed Ninja. I look strong and heroic. But then I remember that I sometimes need help getting dressed, getting the ice on, help with cooking, cleaning, lifting,....but Ice still loves me and I love Ice. When the doctor says to use ice to help with swelling and pain, listen to him or her. At almost three week post-op, I still like to strap the ice on after therapy or at bedtime instead of taking a pill. And I just like looking like a Power Ranger, a Transformer or a half-dressed Ninja.

Can't wait to give 2-armed hugs again!!

 6.) I need to ask for help. I like to think that I am invincible (it's the ice-pack super hero complex),  that somehow I will recover faster, be able to do it all sooner than anybody else, not have pain, and not need help. This experience has left me humbled. My church family has brought in meals and this has been such a blessing. I don't think "Thank you!!" covers it adequately. Doing everything right-handed is exhausting for this left-handed woman. My brain feels tired; I don't think my left brain has had this much activity in, well, ever. And along with this tiredness, I was completely surprised by the overwhelming physical exhaustion I felt, especially the first two weeks. For those that know me, I don't go to bed early and I was ready for bed by 7pm most nights. Some nights it was 5:30pm. 

Thank you Amy for putting my hair back!

7.) Learning to be ambidextrous or maybe it's just learning to be patient.  I've spilled a few things and dropped more than a few. I sometimes eat salad with my fingers. Soup requires concentration but I eat slower and that is a good thing. I can do an entire crossword puzzle with my right hand meticulously filling in the letters; it takes longer but I enjoy the process more. I can't do a ponytail with one hand, but that's okay. And here's a few free hints: a battery operated toothbrush is nice and makes that task easier. Also, if you are ever anticipating needing to use your non-dominant arm/shoulder/hand for toileting needs, practice ahead of time. It'll make your life easier when you have to do it. 'Nuff said. 






8.) Feeling faint happens even to those strongest. The dressing on my shoulder was allowed to come off 48 hours after surgery. Sunday morning arrived and I was ready. I sat on the couch in the quiet early morning hours, took the sling off and began working the tape loose. When I lifted the dressing and saw dried blood and stitches, my ears began to ring and the living room got really hot. "Adrienne...Adrienne....are you awake? I don't feel so good. Can you open the window and get me a cold washcloth?" Adrienne jumped up from a sound sleep and did my bidding. Whew. Fainting averted. But then I wanted her to continue to take the dressing off. She complied and did quite well. Until I moved my arm just a little. She let out a little groan. "I don't feel so good. I'm seeing black spots" I instructed her to go lie down on the other couch and she did. I called Heather on her phone and asked her to come downstairs. She did and she was the best nurse of all. Oh, another piece of advice. Before surgery, it isn't always a good idea to watch the same surgery on YouTube. Ahem.

9.) Prayer really makes a difference. Okay, I may have saved the best for last. I was nervous and yeah, a little scared going into surgery. What if I reacted badly to anesthesia? I don't like to feel out of control or to feel vulnerable and anesthesia makes me feel both of these things. I wasn't sure how six weeks in a sling would be (again, vulnerable) or how I would tolerate it. I decided to put it out there on Facebook, on my church page, my family page, and in general. I was overwhelmed by the response and the prayers that went up on my behalf. I know without a doubt that the calm I felt on March 31 was the result of those prayers. It was a peace that truly passed any understanding. These first weeks, and especially the first week, have been emotional for me and I have cried a lot. Not all sad tears, just overwhelming emotions that have to come out. I know people have prayed and even now, typing this in my right-handed hunt-and-peck, I get teary-eyed. God has put a lot of tears in a bottle for me and I wish I could say weight loss occurs with crying because I would have lost weight. Thank you for praying. It really means the world to me. 

Love, 
Dianne

Oliver! A Production Worth Seeing

I am not a movie critic nor a Broadway reviewer, but I do like to attend live theatre productions, and on occasion, have even participated in local community shows. While this does not make me an expert in stage left vs. stage right vs. down-stage, callboards or Green Rooms, I do know what I like. And may I say that the performance of Lionel Bart's Oliver! being put on right now at the Church-McKee Arts Center at Potomac State College of WVU in Keyser, WV gets more than two thumbs up from me.



From the moment the curtains part and you find yourself in a Charles Dickens' London workhouse, you know this is going to be memorable. As the ragtag orphan ensemble gathers on the stage and they open the show with a fun choreographed "Food, Glorious Food", you get the feeling this is just the tantalizing appetizer with the promise of a delicious meal yet to be delivered. And when young Oliver, played by the talented Donny Ness, requests so innocently, "Please sir, I want some more", he may not have received a second helping, but nobody in the audience is left feeling empty.
 
As a result of Oliver's fated request, he becomes a"Boy For Sale".  Mr. Bumble, the workhouse beadle, and the Widow Corney (Kevin Shreve and Karen Hutcheson) are comically conniving and deserve each other despite her protests of "I Shall Scream". Between the two of them and the Undertaker Sowerberry and his beloved (Robert Godfrey and Danise Whitlock), you begin to wonder what shall become of poor Oliver and if "That's Your Funeral" won't be sung for him next.

But wait....

Enter the young Artful Dodger, played delightfully by Guy Witt, and as he pulls both Oliver and you onto the London streets and the stage fills with pickpockets you suddenly find yourself in Fagin's lair (that is the beauty of this set!) and you may get the feeling that "You've got to Pick a Pocket or Two". 
 Fagin, played by Stephen Gumtz in a way that makes you want to both love and hate this character, is giving to his gang of boys a life, that as Nancy and her gentle friend Bet (Savannah Humberson) say, "It's a Fine Life".

Nancy, dear Nancy, powerfully and emotionally portrayed by Lisa-Anna Maust, grabbed my heart in a way I had not expected. She is a voice for so many others who find themselves in relationships that defy logic, but yet unable to break free. The vile Bill Sykes, played to villainous perfection by Jesse Wilson, has just this choke-hold on her and when Nancy sings "As Long as He Needs Me" and its reprise, I want to cry. Despite a lifetime of misguided judgement, when it really matters, Nancy rises above all that and Oliver may just have the answer to his question, "Where is Love?". 


The workhouse. Fagin's lair. The London Streets and marketplace offering up it's wares in a quartet of musical harmony. The home of the well-to-do and kindly Mr. Brownlow. London Bridge. We are taken there and the name "Oliver!" has taken on new meaning. Why?

This show delivers. Not only with an amazing and talented cast and ensemble, but in the details of the costumes and in a set that exceeds all expectations. Kudos, encores and a standing ovation to the production and creative teams and crew who went above and beyond in every way, working tirelessly to make this happen. There are many, many names that should be recognized in a production like this and I am not going to even begin to mention them all; I don't want to omit a single one because, like a family, each one is valuable. In addition, the live orchestra needs to "Consider Yourself" part of this family as the music is just as much a part of this story as the people on the stage. I was captivated at times watching the musicians and in "Reviewing the Situation" I have concluded that in Fagin's song of the same name, without the masterful Wesley Mason's violin interjecting it's opinion along with the chorus of other instruments, the song would not have been the same.

I've seen the show twice, but this weekend offers three more opportunities to attend and I am pretty sure "I'd Do Anything" to "Be Back Soon". Who else is in? "Who Will Buy?" their tickets and be singing "Oom-Pah-Pah" for the next week?

Signing off with "My Name" (although Bill Sykes, aka Jesse Wilson, nails it so much better!) 
Dianne

All photo credits go to:  Sam Bennett and Greg Ness

For Ticket information and show times:
 http://www.potomacstatecollege.edu/campus_life/student_activities/theatrical_production.html



 http://www.potomacstatecollege.edu/campus_life/student_activities/theatrical_production.html

Producer: Brian Plitnik
Director/Musical Director and Set Designer: Chris McCabe
Assistant Director: Brandon McCabe
Choreographer: Kimberly Rowley
Scenic Artist and assistant: Jill and Mike Baldinger
Lighting Designer: Kathy Ludwick
Costume Designer/Make-up and Assistant: Laurie Clem and Danise Whitlock
Props/House Manager: Amy Linkswiler
Sound Designers: Ken and Josh Nolan