My daughter Pickle, age three and half, has been talking a lot about death lately. The other night at dinner she turned to her mother, Cathlin, and said, "Babu and Babshi died." She was referring to the nicknames of my wife's parents who both died before Pickle was born.
"Yes," Cathlin said. "They did."
"A lot of people die," Pickle said. She pursed her small lips and folded her hands one over the other. "Like eight people," she added.
Last spring Betty Burton received a call from a producer for Sesame Street. One of the most respected television programs for children had been branching out recently, from singing songs and learning how to count with fuzzy Muppet friends, to producing shows that educate kids about some of the bigger, more tragic issues kids face today. A new episode in the works was to be about poverty, specifically the issue of kids in America going hungry.
The other day, on a wet and chilly morning, I suggested to my daughter Pickle, recently turned three, that she wear a coat for going outside. Giving my children suggestions about what clothes to wear has been an ongoing battle for me ever since I became a parent. That at age eight I chose to wear the same green T-shirt every day for an entire summer mocks me from my past.
Debra Monk knows a thing or two about accomplishments. Ms. Monk is a star of film, television and theatre. She has a list of credits that if written on the body would march up one arm, down the other, include both legs and most probably the person standing next to her. She has appeared in films as diverse as Quiz Show, Fearless, The Bridges of Madison County and had theatre roles in Chicago, Redwood Curtain and Curtains, to name but a few. On television she has played the ex-Mrs. Andy Sipowitz in NYPD Blue, been a mom to T.R. Knight on Grey’s Anatomy and Rose Byrne in Damages. She has been nominated for numerous Tony awards, winning for Redwood Curtain, won an Obie, a Drama Desk Award, the list goes on and on.
A few weeks ago when Sienna Dice met her grandmother for the first time, the older woman began sniffing her. Big sniffs. Audible sniffs. The kind of sniffs one might expect to receive after not washing for a while.
But her grandmother was in no way upset or even mildly concerned with Sienna’s grooming habits. She was merely welcoming her granddaughter back home, after 10 years, in traditional Cambodian custom.
Theatre has a more vibrant afterlife than other art forms. Each play is a community event, a coming together of actors and directors interpreting a writer’s vision. With each performance the play takes on a new life and so, in a sense, a playwright’s baby never ages. It just continues to grow with each successive generation.
For many months up-Island has been a place of quiet, windswept beauty, the destination mostly for winter walks or slow drives through the country. This will change next weekend, though, as the Chilmark Community Center becomes the place to be on the Island for three days and nights of nonstop movie watching.
The other night, six men of a certain age walked into the restaurant Cook and Brown Public House at 959 Hope street in Providence, R.I. They all looked to be in their 50s, an assortment of working professionals, artists and academics. They had gathered for some drinks, a meal and to be together.
At the bar they caught up on one another’s lives. One man had just returned from Heidelberg, Germany. Another recently had surgery to remove some polyps. They raised their glasses and toasted the evening. It was all done as one might expect of men who had reached this point in their lives. Enjoyable but somewhat understated.
A few days ago, after we had an argument, my daughter Pickle, age three, announced she had another father. His name, she told me, is Bob Cheeks.
Evidently, this Mr. Bob Cheeks fellow never tells her it is time for bed. He can also read for hours without tiring and loves to be splashed repeatedly when giving her a bath.
