Tonight was yet another winsome evening of readers' theater sponsored by the Parson's Nose Productions. This is a South Pasadena-based troupe whose motto is "introducing classic theater to contemporary audiences." Husband and wife duo Lance Davis and Mary Chalon are the mad creative geniuses who direct and devise all things Parson. They would also like a bit of our help.
Parson's Nose is peripatetic, which sounds a lot classier than itinerant or heaven forbid, homeless. There is a mailing address, a phone number, a website; but at present there is no theatrical home. Gamely, Davis and Chalon have mounted a fine series of reading performances in Pasadena's Jameson Brown Coffee Roasters (260 N. Allen Avenue). Also, in January 2010 the company staged a successful run of the full-on production, THE IMAGINARY INVALID. This show inhabited the Pacific Asia Museum upstairs for its performance space. Certainly, the locations bloom merrily where the players perform each rendition. But it's not quite the same feel as having a room of one's own. Parson's Nose is searching for its own dedicated spot. Pasadena tops the wish list, in case anyone knows of a space available for regular rehearsals and productions.
"The Pied Piper of Hamelin" was tonight's hourlong adaptation written by Lance Davis. The coffee shop kind enough to host such a reading closes at 6 in order to be ready for this 7 pm performance. Entering a closed business with others in-the-know feels like we're melting into something exclusive like the Mattachine Society. I kidded with the reservations volunteer when she asked, what's the password? "Nonprofit organization?" I ventured. Now the super part about these readings is that they are FREE, though donations are enthusiastically recommended and received. Tonight I also noticed a ramped-up conviviality among the patrons in the full house. In fact, Davis and Chalon had to play school principals to coax the irrepressible audience back into their seats after intermission. My read on this level of interest is that Parson's Nose is starting to root in our town. And for an organization to succeed, there has to be an emotionally attached following. Davis tapped into that sensibility at the end of the reading when he spoke to us. He said that actors love their work, just as other professionals do. And actors wish to pay mortgages, bills, tuitions, and they deserve salaries steadier than what donations generate. Davis said that he wants to pay his players fair wages and that they are seeking a space in town where the classics will have a home. Brainstorms are welcome. The last readings of this season are scheduled for May 15 (UBU ROI) and June 19 (KING CYMBELINE).
Parson's Nose Productions
1325 Monterey Rd.
South Pasadena, CA 91030
626.403.7667
www.parsonsnose.com
parsonsnose@mac.com
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
WASC Sting Averted
I've had to remove myself from my dating scene in order to complete work on our school accreditation, cryptically known as "WASC." Western Association of Schools and Colleges is the organ's proper name. This organization verifies and upholds the quality of diploma-granting schools. To a school as small as mine, a pair of WASC reviewers was dispatched.
Going through an accreditation is like planning a wedding. Backward design, or setting the end-goal first, that joyous day of affirmation, then allows you to align the months' preparations leading toward the big event. Our school sought a three-year validation of our programs. That's because the last time we were visited, we did not receive the highest seal, the six-year clear term. Oh well. What could we do but use the interim to refine our practices?
No one can say it's been easy, moving continuation school aggressively into standards-based instruction. Data is king nowadays. We've had to retool our teaching in order to generate more of it. Now the data pops up like crabgrass. The data has to be collected and interpreted to drive classroom practices. I accept that data now features in my life, just as a colonoscopy does: each beneficial and each to be endured with grace.
But let's get real. The part that interests me in this whole self-study process is the people. A WASC visit typically runs for three days. Day 1 is a Sunday reception for parents, students, and staff. Days 2 and 3 are classroom visits, interviews, and conclusion-writing. I almost think Day 1's gathering was the most profound of the three, because students and parents testified as to the effect the school has had upon them.
One mother stood to explain how very stressful it is as a parent to keep hearing that your child is failing, your child will not graduate on time, your child is off track at the big school. She told us that now she receives heartening phone calls from our school, telling her about credits earned, improved attendance, her daughter's involvement in extra-curriculars. Another mother echoed this by reminding us all that at the big school, her son was relegated to a sort of permanent underclass of non-achievement. Now to her great delight,he stays after school to volunteer on committees, he's applied for a scholarship, he's certain to graduate by June. Yet another speaker was a lovely girl who has just completed her credits and graduated. She recalled how all her teachers knew her name by the first week. And that daily, as she got off the bus, there were always three or four adults there to say good morning and encourage everyone to have a good day. When she said, "No one gives up on us here. My English teacher sat with me to do my FAFSA because I had no one to help me," I couldn't help but well up. To me, that's the job. But maybe to a student it really is crossing a little Rubicon with adult guidance.
We will not really know the full outcome of this visit until June. Our sense and of course our hope run positive. The pair of reviewers were keen observers of our process. They understood that our students are among the most fragile. But all of our community is held accountable. Back to creative aspirations on a shoestring and other California realities.
Going through an accreditation is like planning a wedding. Backward design, or setting the end-goal first, that joyous day of affirmation, then allows you to align the months' preparations leading toward the big event. Our school sought a three-year validation of our programs. That's because the last time we were visited, we did not receive the highest seal, the six-year clear term. Oh well. What could we do but use the interim to refine our practices?
No one can say it's been easy, moving continuation school aggressively into standards-based instruction. Data is king nowadays. We've had to retool our teaching in order to generate more of it. Now the data pops up like crabgrass. The data has to be collected and interpreted to drive classroom practices. I accept that data now features in my life, just as a colonoscopy does: each beneficial and each to be endured with grace.
But let's get real. The part that interests me in this whole self-study process is the people. A WASC visit typically runs for three days. Day 1 is a Sunday reception for parents, students, and staff. Days 2 and 3 are classroom visits, interviews, and conclusion-writing. I almost think Day 1's gathering was the most profound of the three, because students and parents testified as to the effect the school has had upon them.
One mother stood to explain how very stressful it is as a parent to keep hearing that your child is failing, your child will not graduate on time, your child is off track at the big school. She told us that now she receives heartening phone calls from our school, telling her about credits earned, improved attendance, her daughter's involvement in extra-curriculars. Another mother echoed this by reminding us all that at the big school, her son was relegated to a sort of permanent underclass of non-achievement. Now to her great delight,he stays after school to volunteer on committees, he's applied for a scholarship, he's certain to graduate by June. Yet another speaker was a lovely girl who has just completed her credits and graduated. She recalled how all her teachers knew her name by the first week. And that daily, as she got off the bus, there were always three or four adults there to say good morning and encourage everyone to have a good day. When she said, "No one gives up on us here. My English teacher sat with me to do my FAFSA because I had no one to help me," I couldn't help but well up. To me, that's the job. But maybe to a student it really is crossing a little Rubicon with adult guidance.
We will not really know the full outcome of this visit until June. Our sense and of course our hope run positive. The pair of reviewers were keen observers of our process. They understood that our students are among the most fragile. But all of our community is held accountable. Back to creative aspirations on a shoestring and other California realities.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
NOT THE ORECK STORE TOO?
This week during my drive to work, I noticed the forlorn vacant Oreck Vacuum shop on South Lake Avenue. When did that close? I glanced into its empty storefront, one of how many in the stretch from San Pasqual to California Boulevard? Eight?
I know most of us don't have particular affection for vacuum stores, but the departure of Oreck leaves me a little sad. Some years ago when I was part of a two-income lifestyle, I bought myself a snappy little Oreck upright. Lightweight, smart, accompanied by the perks of an Oreck iron and an Oreck mini-vac, my new vacuum convinced me I would now houseclean like Samantha from BEWITCHED. I pampered my Oreck and I took it to the mother store for annual tune-ups. The clerk would show off my vacuum's prowess on their thick green plush and I felt a certain consumer's pride rise in my chest. But I haven't taken my Oreck in for its tune-up for about 18 months. And now there is no specialty shop devoted to the pride of Mr. Oreck. My reasons for shopping on South Lake are disappearing faster than you can say Pete's Grandburger or Smith and Hawken.
However, if you travel to the east side of town, there is another distinguished vacuum repair shop, Tanner's Valley. I know it sounds indulgent, but I have a second vacuum cleaner. It's a Cadillac to me. This one is a big red Sanitaire, circa 1990 maybe. It's the type professional janitors admire: heavy, serious, with a cord long enough to traverse three rooms. I love the Sanitaire because it belonged to my mom. She had to wait a long time in her life to acquire some of the nicer things, and I count this king of vacuums among them. The Sanitaire I take to Tanner's Valley for its tune-ups because it is an old-timey shop with a love of old-timey machines--Hoovers, Singer sewing machines, Mieles, and come to think of it, I just saw a little clique of Orecks standing around together among the other repaired vacuums awaiting their owners. When I took the Sanitaire in for its checkup last week, the lady who clerks told me the parts themselves are very valuable to scavengers, and not to sell it at a garage sale for $20! Now it's entirely possible I have paid more for tune-ups over the years than the initial purchase price. But the Sanitaire seems eternal so far, and I think my mom would be proud of me for maintaining it.
I may go to pick up the Sanitaire today. It should be standing at attention with its fellows, handwritten tag on its neck. After the lady apprises me of its needs and remedies, I will lug it out to the Honda curbside and take it back home. Next month when I get paid again, I am going to bring the Oreck here. Some things in life just need to be maintained, and that goes for machines and memories.
Tanner's Valley Vacuum Center
2610 E. Colorado Blvd.
Pasadena 91107
626.793.7839
I know most of us don't have particular affection for vacuum stores, but the departure of Oreck leaves me a little sad. Some years ago when I was part of a two-income lifestyle, I bought myself a snappy little Oreck upright. Lightweight, smart, accompanied by the perks of an Oreck iron and an Oreck mini-vac, my new vacuum convinced me I would now houseclean like Samantha from BEWITCHED. I pampered my Oreck and I took it to the mother store for annual tune-ups. The clerk would show off my vacuum's prowess on their thick green plush and I felt a certain consumer's pride rise in my chest. But I haven't taken my Oreck in for its tune-up for about 18 months. And now there is no specialty shop devoted to the pride of Mr. Oreck. My reasons for shopping on South Lake are disappearing faster than you can say Pete's Grandburger or Smith and Hawken.
However, if you travel to the east side of town, there is another distinguished vacuum repair shop, Tanner's Valley. I know it sounds indulgent, but I have a second vacuum cleaner. It's a Cadillac to me. This one is a big red Sanitaire, circa 1990 maybe. It's the type professional janitors admire: heavy, serious, with a cord long enough to traverse three rooms. I love the Sanitaire because it belonged to my mom. She had to wait a long time in her life to acquire some of the nicer things, and I count this king of vacuums among them. The Sanitaire I take to Tanner's Valley for its tune-ups because it is an old-timey shop with a love of old-timey machines--Hoovers, Singer sewing machines, Mieles, and come to think of it, I just saw a little clique of Orecks standing around together among the other repaired vacuums awaiting their owners. When I took the Sanitaire in for its checkup last week, the lady who clerks told me the parts themselves are very valuable to scavengers, and not to sell it at a garage sale for $20! Now it's entirely possible I have paid more for tune-ups over the years than the initial purchase price. But the Sanitaire seems eternal so far, and I think my mom would be proud of me for maintaining it.
I may go to pick up the Sanitaire today. It should be standing at attention with its fellows, handwritten tag on its neck. After the lady apprises me of its needs and remedies, I will lug it out to the Honda curbside and take it back home. Next month when I get paid again, I am going to bring the Oreck here. Some things in life just need to be maintained, and that goes for machines and memories.
Tanner's Valley Vacuum Center
2610 E. Colorado Blvd.
Pasadena 91107
626.793.7839
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Practice of Friending
I was a bit late arriving to the Facebook station, maybe because it takes me such a long time to mull over trends and then weigh whether I can hop on before their hipness pulls away. But thanks to the urging of a former student and my sister, I joined the crowd on the platform. You have to find your way and decide whether social networking even serves any purpose for you. Once you figure out the etiquette (i.e., don't post negative or personal messages, as everything has potential to go public), you can refine your role on Facebook. I myself like to flit around as a demi-Kokopelli, that flute-playing trickster whose image is overused in Southwestern advertising. I like to post my little quips and then see what kind of response comes 'round. (Aside: Kokopelli also has allusions of randiness, fertility, and agriculture, but I doubt much of that fits my Facebook profile.) Anyway, to its credit, the Facebook phenomenon does help link you to friends from the past and it helps acquaint you with those you might not otherwise run into. For me, it's become an entertaining conduit to my more traditional friendships.
From my fog of adolescence, I do remember my mom stating, "Jean, do not ever lose touch with your friends." I was a little know-it-all about human relations in those days, so of course I shrugged her off with my silent retort, "Hummph...what would MY 50something mother know about friends? I don't even see her running around with any friends!" Of course, I'm leaving out the parts like my mom raised 4 kids on her nurse's wages, she worked the 3 pm to 11 shift, there was a time when 5 of us relied on one Ford Maverick...yeah. But her exhortation comes back to me now. How prescient she was. Our friends, virtual, real, remembered, upcoming--these are the figures that stabilize and enrich our lives. Everyone knows this; it's just been crystallizing for me in recent years.
One serendipitous result of Facebooking was re-meeting a teaching colleague from the late '80s. I bet we had not seen each other for 14 years prior to her visit to Pasadena last weekend from Olympia, WA. We had a hilarious, sad, wondrous catchup, cataloging our many life changes and just reflecting how we cope and teach and learn to BE in this life. We also dined at Puebla Tacos #2, a homey little spot for hungry LA ex-pats and local yokels like me. The punctuation of the years fell away as we laughed it up, my mom's words preserved in parentheses.
Too, I credit Facebook for my invitation yesterday to a memorial at Hollywood Presbyterian Church. My long-ago student, now a mother of 3 and my cyber-pal, invited me to her dad's service. She's an ordained minister. As she delivered her remarks about her pop, I realized, this isn't your 17-year old yearbook staffer anymore; this is a polished divinity grad who knows how to structure the story of a life and imbue it with meaning in a way that all of us can grasp. At the reception, I found yet another student, herself a teacher these last 15 years, and her mom, whom I had met at many a parent function as her three kids grew up in our school. It was a delightful funeral, if that is not too oxymoronic, and it was my privilege to connect with these people once again.
Puebla Tacos #2
1819 E. Villa
Pasadena 91104
From my fog of adolescence, I do remember my mom stating, "Jean, do not ever lose touch with your friends." I was a little know-it-all about human relations in those days, so of course I shrugged her off with my silent retort, "Hummph...what would MY 50something mother know about friends? I don't even see her running around with any friends!" Of course, I'm leaving out the parts like my mom raised 4 kids on her nurse's wages, she worked the 3 pm to 11 shift, there was a time when 5 of us relied on one Ford Maverick...yeah. But her exhortation comes back to me now. How prescient she was. Our friends, virtual, real, remembered, upcoming--these are the figures that stabilize and enrich our lives. Everyone knows this; it's just been crystallizing for me in recent years.
One serendipitous result of Facebooking was re-meeting a teaching colleague from the late '80s. I bet we had not seen each other for 14 years prior to her visit to Pasadena last weekend from Olympia, WA. We had a hilarious, sad, wondrous catchup, cataloging our many life changes and just reflecting how we cope and teach and learn to BE in this life. We also dined at Puebla Tacos #2, a homey little spot for hungry LA ex-pats and local yokels like me. The punctuation of the years fell away as we laughed it up, my mom's words preserved in parentheses.
Too, I credit Facebook for my invitation yesterday to a memorial at Hollywood Presbyterian Church. My long-ago student, now a mother of 3 and my cyber-pal, invited me to her dad's service. She's an ordained minister. As she delivered her remarks about her pop, I realized, this isn't your 17-year old yearbook staffer anymore; this is a polished divinity grad who knows how to structure the story of a life and imbue it with meaning in a way that all of us can grasp. At the reception, I found yet another student, herself a teacher these last 15 years, and her mom, whom I had met at many a parent function as her three kids grew up in our school. It was a delightful funeral, if that is not too oxymoronic, and it was my privilege to connect with these people once again.
Puebla Tacos #2
1819 E. Villa
Pasadena 91104
Monday, February 8, 2010
"Different, Not Less"
HBO's current special, TEMPLE GRANDIN, stars Claire Danes as the noted author, animal husbandry expert, and unlikely heroine for many families affected by autism. I found the film spellbinding on several levels. (You can catch it on HBO by demand.)
As a teacher, I love any uplifting portrayal of the educator who never gives up, one who sees potential in even the most truculent student. Temple was an academic misfit whose love of science was stoked by her boarding school instructor, played by David Strathairn. As a parent, I somehow feel ennobled by a film mom who can follow her instincts and try her best to guide a difficult child to independence. Check: that element is present. As a viewer, I eat up transformation stories, starting with the erasure of a starlet and the utterly persuasive replacement with an indelible character. Claire Danes becomes Temple Grandin down to the very way her teeth bite her words. But the way Temple learns to find her place in our chaotic world is the most moving transformation of all.
Temple was born in 1947. In the 1950s, her now-classic symptoms of autism were attributed to "infantile schizophrenia" or bad maternal bonding. Fortunately, Temple's mother chucked much of the medical advice she was given, such as institutionalizing her child. Instead, I suspect this mother worked powerfully but self-effacingly. Her mother coined the phrase, "different, not less," to influence Temple. Once Temple acquired language, her mother insisted on schooling and engagement. As Temple said, "Mother pounded me with manners and rules." This very pounding helped to equip Temple to function out in the world.
I see so many criss-crosses with the story of Temple Grandin in my own life. Certainly when you work in a continuation school, there is a constant need for pounding manners and rules. Manners begin to instill a sense of dignity among those who've been downtrodden. Manners reduce classroom beefs and prevent fistfights. Furthermore, when I volunteer at Club 21, I'm noticing the steady emphasis of learning rules of civility and engagement, of what constitutes normal social behavior. If you are a teen with Down syndrome, you need to learn that you don't hug everyone you meet; you hug your family. Or if you want to join the social group, we sit up in chairs. We don't sprawl all over the floor during conversations. Most of all, I recall my own mom saying, "Just wait 'til you have a child who's different." Sure enough, I did have a child who has endured many learning challenges through life. How often our family has faced dilemmas and decisions, frustrations and missteps. Not as profound as what Temple and her mother experienced, but enough that I can identify with their story.
When you have a child who is different, your job as a parent becomes even more complex. Average can become your aspiration. As one of the moms at Club 21 beamed not long ago, "The teacher told me my daughter got a normal passing score on her spelling test! Normal!!" We all reveled in laughter at the compliment.
Parents who recognize their children may be different, but not less, become searchers. We don't look for grand-scale miracles, but we are always open to the smaller ones that may come our way. A kind, persistent speech therapist;a classroom teacher willing to adapt; the group leader who teaches social cues--as searching parents, we treasure these finds. Only last year did a friend recommend a great resource new to me: Fuller Seminary's Psychology Department. Dr. Stacy Amano and her team conduct thorough, in-depth studies for children, adolescents, and adults with learning and socialization issues, including Autism Spectrum concerns. Appointments need to be made six or more months in advance and the cost is dear. But the interpretation of results, the comprehensive report, and the valuable referrals that follow make it worthwhile. For us it made all the difference.
Stacy Amano, Ph.D
Fuller Psychological and Family Services
180 N. Oakland Avenue
Pasadena 91101
626.396.6044
As a teacher, I love any uplifting portrayal of the educator who never gives up, one who sees potential in even the most truculent student. Temple was an academic misfit whose love of science was stoked by her boarding school instructor, played by David Strathairn. As a parent, I somehow feel ennobled by a film mom who can follow her instincts and try her best to guide a difficult child to independence. Check: that element is present. As a viewer, I eat up transformation stories, starting with the erasure of a starlet and the utterly persuasive replacement with an indelible character. Claire Danes becomes Temple Grandin down to the very way her teeth bite her words. But the way Temple learns to find her place in our chaotic world is the most moving transformation of all.
Temple was born in 1947. In the 1950s, her now-classic symptoms of autism were attributed to "infantile schizophrenia" or bad maternal bonding. Fortunately, Temple's mother chucked much of the medical advice she was given, such as institutionalizing her child. Instead, I suspect this mother worked powerfully but self-effacingly. Her mother coined the phrase, "different, not less," to influence Temple. Once Temple acquired language, her mother insisted on schooling and engagement. As Temple said, "Mother pounded me with manners and rules." This very pounding helped to equip Temple to function out in the world.
I see so many criss-crosses with the story of Temple Grandin in my own life. Certainly when you work in a continuation school, there is a constant need for pounding manners and rules. Manners begin to instill a sense of dignity among those who've been downtrodden. Manners reduce classroom beefs and prevent fistfights. Furthermore, when I volunteer at Club 21, I'm noticing the steady emphasis of learning rules of civility and engagement, of what constitutes normal social behavior. If you are a teen with Down syndrome, you need to learn that you don't hug everyone you meet; you hug your family. Or if you want to join the social group, we sit up in chairs. We don't sprawl all over the floor during conversations. Most of all, I recall my own mom saying, "Just wait 'til you have a child who's different." Sure enough, I did have a child who has endured many learning challenges through life. How often our family has faced dilemmas and decisions, frustrations and missteps. Not as profound as what Temple and her mother experienced, but enough that I can identify with their story.
When you have a child who is different, your job as a parent becomes even more complex. Average can become your aspiration. As one of the moms at Club 21 beamed not long ago, "The teacher told me my daughter got a normal passing score on her spelling test! Normal!!" We all reveled in laughter at the compliment.
Parents who recognize their children may be different, but not less, become searchers. We don't look for grand-scale miracles, but we are always open to the smaller ones that may come our way. A kind, persistent speech therapist;a classroom teacher willing to adapt; the group leader who teaches social cues--as searching parents, we treasure these finds. Only last year did a friend recommend a great resource new to me: Fuller Seminary's Psychology Department. Dr. Stacy Amano and her team conduct thorough, in-depth studies for children, adolescents, and adults with learning and socialization issues, including Autism Spectrum concerns. Appointments need to be made six or more months in advance and the cost is dear. But the interpretation of results, the comprehensive report, and the valuable referrals that follow make it worthwhile. For us it made all the difference.
Stacy Amano, Ph.D
Fuller Psychological and Family Services
180 N. Oakland Avenue
Pasadena 91101
626.396.6044
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Pasadena Playhouse
By now we are all aware that our solid old "always there" Pasadena Playhouse is on precarious footing. She's the grand dame of Pasadena culture. We are shocked and distressed to hear of her misfortune, even if we are not playgoers. How can we make sense of her decline, and is there anything that we ordinary friends or neighbors or even strangers can do to reverse it?
Last night I was at a dinner party with some far more cognizant of finances than I am. One suggested that the Playhouse renegotiate terms of its mortgage obligations, "skinny down" staff, and with the understanding that this recession may continue for another two to three years, work on revitalization. Someone else noted that significant fundraisers really can occur in a generous region like Pasadena. Another said bankruptcy is an option. I listened to all of this, but I admit I don't quite understand how we reached this point. Yet here we are.
I've always wanted to be a philanthropist. My primary obstacle is that I don't have any money. To compensate I suppose I think a lot about how to make things better. Now the Pasadena Playhouse has relocated right into the center of my thinking tank. Its occupation has become my preoccupation. On a human level, I have known Sheldon Epps, the artistic director, and his wife for nearly ten years. They are very understated, earnest, devoted contributors to the cultural scenes of Pasadena and Los Angeles. If anyone can suss out some solutions, I'd wager it will be Sheldon. Still, this is a painful time fraught with 37 job losses and the Playhouse's spectral possibility. I keep thinking about what else could help restore and reinvent the Pasadena Playhouse.
The other day in class a boy suggested, "Miss, if every man, lady, baby and kid in the US gave a penny, wouldn't that help the economy? Even the babies!" he emphasized. This did get me thinking, what if we shifted our view that instead of a getting-time, we now live in a giving-time? And it may need to be a giving-time for an indeterminate period? What if we imagined a new normal? What could that look like?
A new normal in Pasadena could steady the Playhouse. True, someone is going to have to lead the way in things monetary. But why couldn't the Playhouse broaden its applicability to the life of our city? Could it be used for filming? For music or speakers' series? Could its lovely courtyard be rented for private events as those in the oak garden behind Happy Trails Catering on Fair Oaks? Could a drama school be reintroduced? Could improv training like we find at Upright Citizens Brigade or Groundlings be offered? The Hamilton Theatre with its 86 seats is a great intimate space for performances and small-scale plays that itinerant companies like Buzzworks or Parson's Nose mount.
One other consideration is the life and livelihood of Elements, the restaurant which has just arrived and is adjacent to the Playhouse. In its first location, this kitchen has won raves all around town. We've long anticipated its El Molino destination. Elements could prove to be as familial as our beloved old Playhouse, given the chance.
Pasadena has been blessed with its architecture, its sense of history, its ability to craft a particular identity in southern California. There is room for all ages in our city. At some point the scenesters who hang out at the Paseo are going to grow up and start going to the Ice House, the Playhouse, the Gamble House. It's our challenge to link the past and the present, to mesh our getting-time with our giving-time, to continue to foster our vibrant city. The Pasadena Playhouse may be ready for its close-up, Mr. DeMille, but certainly not its close up.
Last night I was at a dinner party with some far more cognizant of finances than I am. One suggested that the Playhouse renegotiate terms of its mortgage obligations, "skinny down" staff, and with the understanding that this recession may continue for another two to three years, work on revitalization. Someone else noted that significant fundraisers really can occur in a generous region like Pasadena. Another said bankruptcy is an option. I listened to all of this, but I admit I don't quite understand how we reached this point. Yet here we are.
I've always wanted to be a philanthropist. My primary obstacle is that I don't have any money. To compensate I suppose I think a lot about how to make things better. Now the Pasadena Playhouse has relocated right into the center of my thinking tank. Its occupation has become my preoccupation. On a human level, I have known Sheldon Epps, the artistic director, and his wife for nearly ten years. They are very understated, earnest, devoted contributors to the cultural scenes of Pasadena and Los Angeles. If anyone can suss out some solutions, I'd wager it will be Sheldon. Still, this is a painful time fraught with 37 job losses and the Playhouse's spectral possibility. I keep thinking about what else could help restore and reinvent the Pasadena Playhouse.
The other day in class a boy suggested, "Miss, if every man, lady, baby and kid in the US gave a penny, wouldn't that help the economy? Even the babies!" he emphasized. This did get me thinking, what if we shifted our view that instead of a getting-time, we now live in a giving-time? And it may need to be a giving-time for an indeterminate period? What if we imagined a new normal? What could that look like?
A new normal in Pasadena could steady the Playhouse. True, someone is going to have to lead the way in things monetary. But why couldn't the Playhouse broaden its applicability to the life of our city? Could it be used for filming? For music or speakers' series? Could its lovely courtyard be rented for private events as those in the oak garden behind Happy Trails Catering on Fair Oaks? Could a drama school be reintroduced? Could improv training like we find at Upright Citizens Brigade or Groundlings be offered? The Hamilton Theatre with its 86 seats is a great intimate space for performances and small-scale plays that itinerant companies like Buzzworks or Parson's Nose mount.
One other consideration is the life and livelihood of Elements, the restaurant which has just arrived and is adjacent to the Playhouse. In its first location, this kitchen has won raves all around town. We've long anticipated its El Molino destination. Elements could prove to be as familial as our beloved old Playhouse, given the chance.
Pasadena has been blessed with its architecture, its sense of history, its ability to craft a particular identity in southern California. There is room for all ages in our city. At some point the scenesters who hang out at the Paseo are going to grow up and start going to the Ice House, the Playhouse, the Gamble House. It's our challenge to link the past and the present, to mesh our getting-time with our giving-time, to continue to foster our vibrant city. The Pasadena Playhouse may be ready for its close-up, Mr. DeMille, but certainly not its close up.
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