Author: connievkuntz

When I'm not writing plays, I blog about free or low-cost activities such as hiking, mushrooms, foraging, voting, parades, and theatre.

What’s the deal with Cookie Dasher?!

Bloganuary writing prompt
Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.
View all responses

Growing up, we had an Italian feast for Christmas every year with lasagna being the portata principale.

My dad would drive all over Rockford to procure authentic spices, cheeses and oils. He didn’t only shop at “big” grocery stores like Hilander and Logli. There were little markets like Cacciatore’s and the 320 Store he’d visit for fresh meats and produce. One December morning he came home with an armload of stringed boxes containing fresh, homemade cannoli. He said he bought them from an old apron-wearing Italian lady out of her house in southwest Rockford. He called her his “cannoli dealer.”

***

Mom was the Christmas chef. Over the course of several days, she lovingly prepared the meal. Special pots and pans appeared like guest stars in her kitchen. The tall copper-bottomed sauce pan was the dazzling matinee idol. The broiler pan she used for the meatballs was the comedic sidekick. The cheese grater was the foil character: a “Nellie Oleson” character used for grating several pounds of cheese.

There were several others “actors” and Mom directed her huge cast and crew with remarkable ease, artistry and precision. Italian cooking is not necessarily tidy. There’s potential for a lot of splatter, but her kitchen was neat and organized; and her sink always seemed to filled with fresh, hot, sudsy water.

***

Christmas Eve meant pickins. Pickins were select cuts of Italian meats simmering in homemade sauce. There was no ceremony for this meal — we literally just picked the pickins whenever we felt like it — but the meal felt sacred nonetheless.

Christmas afternoon meant antipasti, an enormous board layered with with a sheet of huge romaine leaves of romaine lettuce then topped with delectable Italian cheeses, cured meats, olives and other veggies. It was lightly drizzled with olive oil. Maybe even sprinkled with some red vinegar, salt and pepper.

Christmas Day was when the lovely silverware and the gorgeous gold-plated dishes appeared. The plates were works of art, literally. I think I remember some kind of bucolic courtship scene painted on the plates. The silverware came out of a secretive velvet-lined wooden box that was kept tucked away in the buffet. Over the years, the table was set with different linen napkins, crystal goblets, tablecloths and taper candles.

Christmas dinner was served with salad, garlic bread and chianti.

Christmas night meant we could finally eat the cannoli. The strings were loosed from the boxes and I swear golden light shone from the tube shaped glory! I remember pretending to be stuffed, but I wasn’t. I would sigh with relief when there were enough for each of us to have two cannoli. I loved cannoli and I loved that my sister Rani sometimes called me “Cannoli.”

Christmas late night meant staying up to watch HBO after everyone went to bed so I could heat up the “leftover” lasagna and (to the tune of Silent Night) “eat in heavenly peace.”

Christmastime provided the ultimate comfort food. The comfort started the second I saw my parents sitting at their kitchen table, writing out the grocery list several days before the holiday. The comfort continued when I would see the pantry and fridge populate with new ingredients. And the comfort continued when the house would fill up with the aroma of the sauce and meatballs and melting cheese. It continued when I saw my mom and sister draping long rectangular half-cooked noodles over the “matinee idol” as the prepared to layer the lasagnas. It continued when I stuck my hands in the hot, sudsy water “for fun.” It continued when my dad volunteered to eat a “dirty meatball.” It continued, it continued, it continued. And really, the comfort continues in the form of warm memories.

***

Rani, my brother Dave and his wife Joan still cook these authentic meals every year. This past year, Rani and Mom started preparing the feast together at Mom’s house. My sister Phyllis does it from time to time, too, with a vegetarian twist. I would love to tell you that I, too, continue this glorious tradition but trust me when I tell you I do not have the attention span to cook like that. There is a reason my husband Jesse calls me “Mrs. Burnpots.”

***

Several years ago, Rani started gifting lasagnas to my family every Christmas. She sends over salad, bread, grated cheese and pickins. She also gifts us an enormous platter of fresh baked Christmas cookies a few days ahead of the big day. Jesse has been calling her “Cookie Dasher” for years and at some point, usually early in December, when he’s hungry, he’ll suddenly shout down at me from his upstairs office, “What’s the deal with Cookie Dasher?! She makin’ lasagnas?!” Then I’ll go up there and insist on speaking quietly about this matter because we mustn’t hex our good fortune with unnecessary yelling.

“God, I hope so,” I tell him in as comforting a voice as possible. “But we have to wait and see.” Then I’ll go back downstairs and make him some ants on a log.

***

All of Rani’s masterpieces arrive at our front door in a manner reminiscent of “Ding Dong Ditch.” We rarely see her when it happens. It’s the best and it’s hilarious and it’s awesome and it’s heartwarming and yes: Jesse and I know we are spoiled rotten!

I don’t have any pictures from my childhood Christmases and I don’t have any good photos of Rani’s lasagnas. You can see one of her lasagnas in the photo at the top. It’s surrounded by sides, which is the food I prepare for the holiday. The photo shows how the Kuntz family “traditionally” eats but it doesn’t do the lasagna (that was devoured within 30 minutes) justice.

***

Most meals I serve are on charcuterie boards. Even at Thanksgiving, there is no portata principale. Just sides. They’re delicious, just not exactly “traditional.” At least not yet.

Thanks for reading. This was a long one! -Cannoli

Thanksgiving ‘Kuntz style’: no turkey, just sides and pie.

Push it, leisurely

Bloganuary writing prompt
What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time?
View all responses

I like figuring out what happens when I push all the buttons.

WordPress has all sorts of buttons I can insert into my blog but not a lot of instruction so I learn by trial and error.

(1) I started inserting the “Subscribe” button. If you enter your email, then my blog post goes directly to your inbox.

(2) A few days ago, I inserted a poll into my post Poll-lease come up with a fresh prompt. I instantly became addicted with the poll results. What can I say? I like engagement! Here’s another one.

(3) Event Countdowns make me not want to participate. They also remind me that my brain naturally remembers stupid dates.

1707112800

  days

  hours  minutes  seconds

until

My Ex-Boyfriend’s Son’s Birthday!

Mind you, this was not a serious boyfriend. It was a fling that lasted a few weeks in the 90s. A blip. A flash in the pan. But every year on the fifth of February, I remember my ex-boyfriend’s son’s birthday. Why?

(4) Here’s a “rate button.” (Located below picture of Barbara.) Please give the expression on my dog’s face a five-star rating.

Barbara

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Edited: The rating button does not work. Here’s a “thumbs” option instead. Click the thumb that best expresses your opinion of the expression on Barbara’s face:

(5) This is a “carousel,” apparently. Click an arrow and it will take you round and round my most recent blog posts. Is this merry-go-round fun or does it make you wanna barf?

(6) Often, playbills will include a timeline of plays that are historical or implement time travel or a combination of the two. I used to love studying these timelines.

THINGS CONNIE REMEMBERS BECAUSE OF TIMELINES IN PLAYBILLS

  • 1937 – Tom Stoppard is born in Czechoslovakia.

  • 2024 – Realizes the only reason she remembers that detail is because she co-wrote the playbill timeline for Arcadia by Tom Stoppard when she was the “assistant to the dramaturg.” Damn. Assistant to the dramaturg? Realizes that’s kind of pathetic. However, the assistant to the dramaturg loved the play so much she was willing to do anything for it.

  • 2019 – Immediately resented having to scan QR codes instead of playbills when going to see live theatre. Wondered, “Am I a Karen?”

  • 2024 – Decided inserting timelines into playbills is a silly but necessary part of producing and marketing certain genres and sub-genres of theatre.

  • 2024 – Still prefers playbills to QR codes but will accept QR codes as a supplement. Does not see herself as anti-environment or a Karen.

  • 2024 – Still considers Tom Stoppard her favorite playwright. Still loves Arcadia.

(7) You can also insert verse or a pull-quote.

From the song “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa

Yo, yo, yo, yo, baby-pop
Yeah, you! Come here, gimme a kiss
Better make it fast or else I’m gonna get pissed
Can’t you hear the music pumping hard? Like I wish you would
Now push it

(8) This is a “featured image.” That means WordPress cannot use one of their photos for your blog. This image of my dog napping while a squirrel scurries by, even though it has nothing to do with today’s blog post, will show up on the WordPress reader and everywhere else. The difference between a “featured image” and a regular image is I cannot insert a caption with the featured image.

(9) I am also experimenting with the “category” button. Today’s the first day I assigned this the “bloganuary” category. I wonder what will happen!

There are dozens of other “buttons” but I am out of leisure time. Thanks for reading and letting me experiment with the buttons! Now it’s time for me to publish and see if any of them work! -Connie

The allure of brown signs with white letters

Bloganuary writing prompt
Name an attraction or town close to home that you still haven’t got around to visiting.
View all responses
Missed it again.

You know those brown signs with white lettering that indicate a nearby attraction? I find them irresistible. Jesse and our kids seem to appreciate them, too. In the 19 years of being a parent, I can’t think of a single time anyone in my family has turned down the “opportunity” to follow a brown sign. I can confidently say we have checked out every scenic overlook, city park, museum, historic building, historic district, statue, sculpture, monument, memorial, bridge, what-have-you in the Rockford region.

Except one.

There is a brown sign indicating a train museum about 40 minutes from home in a town called Marengo. Jesse was the first to hear about this museum that’s a “repository of railroad history.”

“We should go,” he said in 2008, when we only had two kids.

“We should go,” he said in 2009, when we had three kids.

“We should go,” he said in 2010, when we had four kids.

“We should go,” he said in 2011. “It’s family friendly!”

We wanted to go, but the museum has limited hours. Every time we tried to plan a trip, the museum was closed.

“That’s too bad,” Jesse would say.

I didn’t think too much of it because I had only heard of the train museum through my husband. I had never seen a single ad — in print or online — about it. I had never seen a brown sign.

***

In 2014, the Des Plaines Oasis (a rest stop) permanently closed. This was bad news for the Kuntz family. We stopped there every time we went to Chicago. It was the last chance for us to use public restrooms without having to pay a toll or buy something. When the kids were little, this rest stop was essential to a successful trip.

When the Des Plaines Oasis was demolished, we were forced to use the truck stop in Marengo on our way to and fro Chicago. They have cheap gas, clean restrooms and you don’t have to pay a toll to exit or enter 90 but it’s somehow located too close and too far from home and our destinations. It wasn’t convenient but it is what we used. When we started going to this “pit stop,” I noticed the brown sign pointing the way to the train museum.

“Is that the train museum you’re always talking about?”

“Yes.”

***

I’ve lost count of how many times we stopped in Marengo to use the bathrooms. At least 100. And we’ve never once followed the brown sign. At some point, going to the train museum just seemed like work. And Marengo, I’m sure it’s a lovely town, but to us it’s where the toilets live. We don’t even call it Marengo. We call it “The Toilets.”

“Where are you right now?” I used to call Jesse when I knew he was on his way home from Chicago.

“Just passed The Toilets,” he’d answer. (Sometimes he called it “The Terlecks.”)

The Toilets = 40 minutes.

***

Now that the kids are older, we rarely stop at The Toilets in either direction but last week when I was driving Jesse to O’Hare, he said he needed to stop. As I drove toward the gas station, I saw the brown sign for the train museum.

“I can’t believe we never made it there,” I said.

“Maybe when we have grandkids,” he said.

***

Thanks for reading. Does your city have brown signs, too? -Connie

Seven free (or low-cost) things I do every week for fun

Bloganuary writing prompt
List five things you do for fun.
View all responses
Witch-adjacent woman waits for Aldi to open during an ice storm. What fun!

Hike. I love hiking in northern Illinois. It doesn’t matter if I’m alone, with the Rockford Fringe, or with my family — it’s always marvelous. But I love hiking out of town (or state) even more. I frequently daydream about where I get to hike next.

Blog. It’s good writing practice and always takes me on new paths of truth. Blogging is like hiking for the mind.

Mushrooms. Foraging for choice mushrooms brings gladness to my heart every single time. I also love cooking ’em up!

Witchcraft. I started reading about witchcraft several years ago when a friend of mine asked me rather seriously, “Are you a witch?” I was like, “Uhhh, no….” He patiently pointed out that I love nature and the outdoors and gave off a certain vibe and should look into it. I don’t usually like being mansplained, but I trusted him enough to read up on the subject and very quickly understood what he was implying. Witchcraft isn’t as scary as it sounds and it’s really just a new way of paying attention to the environment and each other.

If you’re curious about “witching,” here’s something simple you can do: Pay attention to whatever wild animals you see this week. Notice which one you see the most. That animal is trying to tell you something. Google their spiritual meaning and see if you can make sense of the message. Example: If you see several hawks this week, that can mean you are angry about something and need to work through it.

Fasting. In the spring, I fast for 19 days in solidarity with my Baha’i and Baha’i-adjacent friends. I rarely see these friends anymore so this practice helps keep me in touch with them, at least spiritually. It is fun to think of them and pray for them.

Read Romance Novels. Here’s a link to some NPR-recommended romance novels. NPR also introduced me to Emily Henry and Abby Jimenez. I’ll admit I’m a little embarrassed whenever anyone catches me reading a romance novel but the truth is these books can be a lot of fun.

Aldi. I used to detest grocery shopping but a few years ago, I decided to give Aldi a try. My whole world brightened when I discovered this small, approachable store with self-checkout. Now I look forward to shopping. I only wish I thought cooking was fun.

Math. I wrote most of today’s blog when I was in the parking lot at Aldi, waiting for it to open. I don’t usually write on my phone, but I thought I’d give it a try. As such, I wasn’t paying technical attention to what I was writing, lost count and went over the “five item maximum.” I hope you don’t call the #bloganuary police on me!

Thanks for reading. I hope you had fun! -Connie

My first spore print! Another fun thing you can do for free. Place your mushroom “gills down” on a piece of paper and let it sit overnight. In the morning, the spores will have fallen onto the paper and you will be able to properly ID your mushroom AND you’ll have a lovely piece of art!

Pop the kettle on, pet

Bloganuary writing prompt
If you could make your pet understand one thing, what would it be?
View all responses
When I pop the kettle on, I make hot cocoa, not tea.

I fell asleep watching Call the Midwife last night. For those unfamiliar, the series follows the lives of several midwives and their community in London’s East End in the 1960s.

As I was drifting off, I heard a character call another character “pet.” I was half-asleep so I don’t remember who was calling who “pet.” All I remember is it was an adult calling another adult “pet.” It sounded something like this:

“Pop the kettle on, pet.”

“Okay, love.”

I’ve noticed the midwives issue a lot of nicknames. They do not discriminate. The call babies everything from “young sir” to “old bean.” They call old women everything from “sweetie” to “old thing.” They call women who’ve just given birth “brave girl” or “good girl” or “lass” or “precious.”

If I were to witness any of these “nickname moments” in real life, I’d be equal parts suspicious and pissed. But there’s something super special about the way the midwives do it — I listen for the nicknames and love every single one, including “pet.”

***

Why do you watch the telly when you’re trying to sleep, pet? Help me understand.

When my husband is out of town, I tend to sleep with the TV on. I like to watch / listen to dramatic television series that I think are perfectly written. Call the Midwife is one example. Mad Men is another. The Queen’s Gambit is also excellent. I was born in the 60s and am naturally drawn to the decade. Also, I cling to an absurd hope that listening to good television writing while I sleep will help me write better.

***

Why do you write this blog, pet? Help me understand.

I cling to an absurd hope that blogging will help me write better.

***

How do you feel about being called pet, pet? Help me understand.

In my imagination, I like it. In real life, I don’t. So I let the voice inside my head call me pet, but no probably one else.

***

Not a lot of time to write today. Thank you for reading. Do you like nicknames? -Connie

Nice round letters

Bloganuary writing prompt
Write about your first name: its meaning, significance, etymology, etc.
View all responses

My first name might be “Baby.”

Many mothers, fathers and families say something along the lines of “Hi Baby!” to a baby long before it’s officially named or born. There are countless videos, tv shows and films that suggest this.

Example 1: The dad gently puts his ear to to his pregnant wife’s belly. He smiles with wonder and pulls away for a second. Then he’ll speak directly to the belly. “Hi Baby,” he says.

Example 2: Sometimes a toddler-aged big sister or big brother will pat the mother’s belly and sweetly say, “Baby.”‘

Example 3: At prenatal checkups, nurses, doctors and ultrasound technicians sometimes ask, “How’s Baby?”

***

“Baby” has Old English origins. Some argue that “baby” is imitative of the first words babies say: “Ba ba ba ba ba.”

Others argue that babies are gifts from heaven and that’s that.

People — and this is new information — are opinionated about babies.

***

My second name is Constance. My friends call me Connie.

Constance means steadfast and reliable. Connie means knowledgeable. I do my best.

***

When I was in high school my friend Raymond told me I should go by Constance.

“‘Connie’ sounds like a secretary’s name,” he said with disgust.

***

When I worked at Marshalls, my friend Andy used to call me Constance whenever my mood swung from cheerful to pissed.

“Constance is here,” she’d say. “Look out.”

***

When I worked at a Bruegger’s Bagel Bakery, a new hire asked me my name.

“Connie Ross,” I told her.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Nice round letters.”

I remember panicking a little shortly before I got married because “Connie Kuntz” doesn’t have nice round letters.

***

I’m sorry to say I do not remember the name of the gal who said my name had nice round letters. I am disappointed in myself. I should at least be able to remember if her letters were pointy.

I will say this: Many wonderful people have drifted into my life and improved it in nice, round ways. Life is amazing that way.

Thanks for reading. -Connie Kuntz (round and sharp letters)

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Poll-lease come up with a fresh prompt

Fern in her happy place. Photo taken by me in my unhappy place because she always beats me.

Today’s prompt: What’s your dream job?

Excuse me, but Bloganuary issued this prompt in 2023. I wrote Cursive and Curtsies because of it. I wonder if this prompt redux is an “oopsie” human error or the result of “beep boop boop” artificial intelligence. Either way, someone is not very good at their job.

***

My daughter Fern, 15, is at a chess tournament. I dropped her off at 7:30 this morning. She and her teammates and coaches greeted each other with smiles and excitement. The tournament is in Huntley, Illinois. Their slogan is, “The Friendly Village with Country Charm.” Somebody was paid a lot of money to come up with a code for “Whites Only.” I wonder if it was their dream job to do that. Huntley also touts itself as being an outer Chicago suburb located on “The Golden Corridor.” The Golden Corridor is I-90 which traverses 13 states and is the longest interstate in the United States.

***

Yesterday, there was a fatal accident off “The Golden Corridor.” Upon exiting I-90, a UPS truck crashed into a concrete barrier, rolled over and caught on fire. The burnt bodies of two men were found inside the truck. The autopsies are scheduled for Monday.

***

In 2021, my husband Jesse was a delivery guy for UPS for two months. It was a part-time holiday seasonal job. He had been laid off during the pandemic and though we had savings plus my monthly income, we weren’t exactly flush.

***

After I dropped Fern off this morning, I went to Starbucks. I ordered a venti cappuccino with almond milk at the drive-thru. The barista told me to pull around and I did. After a minute or so, she opened the window with a fervor reminiscent of the doorman from The Wizard of Oz. She handed me the credit card reader through the window and said, “It’s going to ask you a question.”

Frank Morgan as the Emerald City Doorman in The Wizard of Oz.

***

Frank Morgan didn’t only portray the doorman in The Wizard of Oz. He also played the Chauffeur with the Horse of a Different Color, Professor Marvel, the actual Wizard of Oz. I can instantly and clearly picture each character. He portrayed each of them with precision, sweetness and cheer. Now that’s a character actor! Was this gig his dream job?

***

Between the two of us, Jesse and I have had a lot of jobs. I’ve flipped burgers, he’s poured coffee, I’ve written plays, he’s acted in commercials, I’ve been a reporter, he’s been a designer, I’ve fluffed towels, he’s hung truss, I’ve guided free hikes, he’s called multimillion-dollar shows.

It’s time for me to pick up Fern so I have to go. Thanks for reading and if you took the time to answer the poll, thank you for doing that, too! -Connie

Playing chess with Angelo while waiting for Fern to finish her tournament.

Oh Canada!

Maybe this’ll work.

Today’s prompt: What makes a good leader?

***

When I was shoveling the front walk this morning, I heard the honking of a skein of Canada geese flying overhead. I looked up and saw them in that familiar V formation, heading west. Canada geese frequently fly over our house but never stop to hydrate, rest or snack. Ducks, turkeys, foxes and owls visit our back yard all year long. We’ve even hosted a great blue heron a few times! But the Canada geese have never appreciated our hospitality. Year after year, they snub us and it hurts.

***

The thing that makes a good leader is also what makes a good follower: awareness.

  • awareness of self
  • awareness of surroundings
  • awareness of others

***

The V formation is is a natural model of efficiency, determination and destination. I’ve read that geese don’t necessarily have the “strongest” goose at the point. I’ve read that they place the strongest and weakest throughout the V and take turns at different “stations” of the formation before exhaustion kicks in. They honk to communicate when it’s time for a shift change. So it’s not a “strongest in front, weakest in back” mentality. It’s “I help you, you help me.” I think this is brilliant. I’ve never seen a goose, strong or weak, fall out of the sky.

***

I’ve known many good leaders and many good followers. The best leaders I know are also the best followers. Likewise, the best followers I know are the best leaders. They know their strengths and their weaknesses. They’re aware.

***

My favorite famous leader is Sir Paul McCartney because he’ll jam with anyone; sometimes leading, sometimes following, sometimes performing alone. I love his music and stage presence. He always seems legitimately inspired. He looks and sounds like he’s honoring something divine whenever he plays music.

Here’s a video of Sir Paul leading and following. There’s a lot going on and I love every second of it but I am a fan. A non-fan might not be that impressed because the crowd isn’t super engaged. I’m showing this because it shows how he leads and follows even when the crowd sort of sucks. It’s still a “joy, joy…such a joy, joy!”

***

Thanks for reading. -Cosmically Conscious Connie

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Geese fly overheard at Indian Hills Forest Preserve.

One ringy dingy

This moment is brought to you by social media. That’s my mom Connie Ross, her dog Willow, and two books by Bob Hill.

Today’s prompt: If you could un-invent something, what would it be?

I was in fourth grade when I learned that Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. I kind of think that’s something that six-month-old babies know nowadays but yeah, fourth grade is when I learned about Alexander Graham Bell.

Moving on: I remember how Sister Margaret Rose told us that Mr. Bell failed numerous times before his contraption worked. She commended him for having “the patience of Job” to get the job done.

Sister loved a good anecdote and told us about Bell’s first phone call to his friend Thomas Watson:

“Watson was in the other room!…within earshot!…and Alexander Graham Bell called him!… It was how he tested to see if the telephone worked!…and when Watson answered, Bell said, ‘Come here I want to show you something!'”

My classmates and I cracked up with Sister. This was comedy gold.

***

A few minutes ago, I heard my 17-year-old son Sam sneeze. He’s in the basement and I’m in the dining room. I texted him, “Are you okay? I just heard a terrible sneezing fit.”

He texted back, “Yep. Sorry.”

***

Growing up in the 1970’s and 1980’s, when the phone rang, my father would say, “One ringy dingy” after the first ring. He rarely said, “Two ringy dingies” after the second ring because the phone was almost always answered by the the second ring.

***

I still do not know who “Job” was but I hear someone reference him and his patience at least once a month.

***

I just looked up “Patience of Job” on my phone. According to Catholic.com, Job was an educated Jew and probably lived in Palestine.

***

When I go to bed at night, I feel a moment of giddy anticipation knowing that when I wake up in the morning, I get to play the holy trinity of NY Times word games on my phone: Connections, Spelling Bee and Wordle. These simple word games are as integral to my morning routine as coffee.

***

After I finish Connections, Spelling Bee and Wordle, I check social media to see if anyone shared their “test results.”

***

When I was in eighth grade, I was in my prime…for making prank phone calls. I called Paesano’s, the local pizza joint, and ordered five extra large pizzas to be delivered to my classmate’s house. (Sorry Justin.) I called another classmate, disguised my voice and said I was calling from “Dialing for Dollars” and that she had just won a lot of money! She said, “Connie, I know it’s you,” and I hung up on her. (Sorry Megan.) I prank-called every single one of my eighth grade classmates, and denied it the second I was caught. Should I be in jail?

***

Most summers I’ll take a month or more off from social media. Last summer, I took three months off. I always lose weight during these hiatuses. And I always gain it back when I got back to social media.

***

Last night, a friend of mine shared a status update on social media stating that he had lunch with a fellow author / journalist. It was a name I recognized because he was friends with my late father. Though I hadn’t seen the author / journalist since the late 1970’s, I remembered him well and fondly. I mentioned in the thread that my parents had one of his books on their bookshelf. I went over to my mom’s today, told her about the “blast from the past” and she showed me two books. I love moments of friendship and books and it happened because of social media.

***

If I could un-invent something, it wouldn’t be my cell phone or social media. It would be electroshock therapy and other treatments that make people forget. Without these #bloganuary prompts that are delivered to my website, I wouldn’t have thought to remember any of these memories.

Thanks for reading. Hope this jogged some of your memories! -Connie

Spoiler alert: Hamlet dies and so does Ophelia

That’s Fern.

Today’s prompt: Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?

I’d rather share about someone else’s moment of love.

It was the winter of 1997 and I was stage managing Hamlet at Park Square Theatre in St. Paul, Minnesota. It was a huge cast and the actors portraying Ophelia and Horatio were dating.

In case you are unfamiliar with the play, Ophelia (spoiler alert) goes nuts and dies. Horatio, on the other hand, is generally stable and a survivor. He’s Hamlet’s best bud. Super loyal. When (spoiler alert) Hamlet dies, Horatio says the famous line, “Good night, sweet prince.”

Back to Ophelia. At her funeral, Hamlet’s mom Gertrude famously says, “Sweets to the sweets” as she sprinkles flowers on Ophelia’s corpse. This signals the other mourners (and there are dozens) to pass by the dead girl and pay their respects in all the typical ways.

Older characters like Polonius move slowly as they shake their heads with old timey grief.

Young maidens scuttle by, carefully avert their eyes, lightly sniffle and generally keep their shit together.

Ophelia’s brother Laertes, on the other hand, weeps dramatically and threatens to throw himself into the grave cuz he’s a dork.

King Claudius (Hamlet’s step-dad) acts corporate and solemn cuz he’s a prick.

Funeral scenes can be a lot of fun. If you’ve ever seen or done Oklahoma! then you surely agree that “Pore Jud Is Daid” is delightful, haunting, hilarious and sad all at once. But in Hamlet, Ophelia’s funeral…meh…it was pretty much what you’d expect.

Except for the following aforementioned “positive example”:

The actor portraying Horatio gave the dead Ophelia’s foot a little squeeze as he passed by her during the funeral procession. It wasn’t blocked — it was never discussed, rehearsed or directed. It was just something the actor started doing once the show opened. He’d pass by the deceased, squeeze her little foot, and move on. It was so sweet and tender. I’m telling you I could feel the love! Not just the respectful love Horatio had for Ophelia, but the love the actor portraying Horatio had for his girlfriend the actor portraying Ophelia.

I always felt that one little squeeze encapsulated Horatio’s character. Horatio saw it all, felt deeply about it all and he lived to tell about it. That little squeeze summed that up for me.

It was a good show — I love Hamlet — but the foot squeeze was the moment I found most impactful. It made Ophelia’s death that much sadder, and somehow heightened the sensitivity of the play for me. Good stuff. And I know that moment only existed between those two actors. I’ve seen may stagings and film versions of Hamlet but only one production had the foot squeeze.

***

A year or so later, the couple married. Not long after that, they had a baby then moved to the north woods of Wisconsin to live off the grid and I haven’t seen them since.

I just googled their names and they’re still living their dream. I love that for them and I love that I got to see the foot squeeze.