Once again, the “Gotta Getta Gimmick” Cabaret series was back in my life for a while. This time Brad had curated an Evening of Rodgers and Hammerstein and I was asked to “play” host. Janice Dunning and Jacques LeMay had taken on the coaching duties for the varied complement of performers who turned up at the first meeting. I worked hard to get the narration just right, not getting too “scholarly” but giving behind-the-scenes information more about the creators than the shows. But since some lesser known material was scattered throughout the evening, I also had to take a bit of time touching on the rather convoluted plotlines for “Allegro”, “Pipe Dream” and “Me and Juliet”. But, as usual, it was always the more familiar material where folks seemed comfortable and attentive.

I’d been referring to Rodgers and Hammerstein’s big hits near the start of the performance and we’d dispensed with the rarely heard material. I thought it might be fun to ask the audience to shout out the name of their “favorite musical on the count of three. Ready? One. Two. Three!” And everyone yelled out “Oklahoma!” or “King and I!” or “South Pacific!” or “Carousel!”. Someone even shouted out “Les Miz”! A bit dryly I said, “No, Madam, Rodgers and Hammerstein did not write “Les Misérables””, much to everyone’s delight. Their song “Edelweiss” was on the program and, like they do during the “Concert Sequence” in the actual production, I asked that everyone join in after ‘von Trapp’ sings the solo. To no one’s surprise, they all did, all one hundred of them, sounding wonderful! When it came to the bridge -“Blossom of snow” – I yelled out “With Harmony!” and they all broke out into a glorious four-part chorale that would have broken your heart! Granted, most of these folks were Musical Theatre nerds, afficionados, fanatics, so they knew the words and music pretty well. The “free-for-all” portion of the evening – out in the Theatre Lobby after the intermission, where anyone could get up and sing anything they wanted – was a high point that a lot of folks had prepared for. This was when you got to hear folks do their party pieces and show off their talent … and there was a lot of it. I was feeling a lot more a part of this community now with a second show under my belt. Before that evening was over, I was asked to be in their next event, an evening of Charles Strouse and his lyricists. Assignments to come.

            I really didn’t know what to expect as we headed into “Spring Awakening” that Fall (2014). The months leading up to it had been happily jammed with lots of out-of-town visitors and the Museum Tours. But now, I was tugging at the bit to get back into a rehearsal hall. Michael (Shamata, our director) and I had spoken a bit prior to things starting. He was, in fact, working for the Performing Arts College in this case. As it was a co-pro of sorts between The Belfry and CCPA, he had given over most of the production process to the College. As a part of their training, the kids of “Company C” (the 13 third-year students, most in their late teens or early twenties) were responsible for every aspect of putting up the show. They did everything from designing the set and lighting, the sound, the costumes and props, filling out stage management duties, creating the marketing plan, all in addition to their roles on stage. So the pressure was off Michael except to direct.

We’d talked about the fact that all of the roles I was playing – nine of them – were, for the most part, monsters in one way or another. We would do a lot of “exploration” during rehearsals certainly, but he suggested that I work on trying to find justifications for the actions of all these Adult Men – there were certainly no obvious redemptive qualities – and to work on “believing it”. Some of the parts are very small – one line in one case – so there wasn’t a lot to establish and grab on to. None of them take any kind of journey, there was some physical violence, and they seem to be representing all the “bad” that the young people experienced with Adults in the production’s setting – Germany in 1893. For me, it was a case of going black and white with very little grey to play.

Michael also requested that I allow myself to mentor any of the young people who might need some assistance and I was very happy to agree to that. I wasn’t the only Adult in the cast. The beautiful Amanda Lisman would be playing all the Adult Women roles and we both entered into the first rehearsals with some degree of apprehension. The young people had been working with Michael for a week prior to our contracts starting, and we discovered that our arrival had been greatly anticipated by the Company. We quickly learned that our every move was being watched, and not surreptitiously either, but openly and with purpose. There was no escaping their eyes even when we weren’t on deck. These kids were sponges, completely focused on how to approach the craft on all levels – how Amanda and I worked on our feet, how we took and responded to Michael’s notes following a scene, what we did in the moments leading up to an entrance. Absolutely everything we did, I found out, was evaluated and talked about by the cast. I was glad to have learned about some this well after the fact, as I’m sure I would have been a lot more self-conscious about what I was doing. I was aware of my demeanor all the time and had thought I was making an effort not to be too distant or curmudgeonly … as, so I’ve been told on occasion, I sometimes am.

            The fact that I had been working on these nine characters for months prior to starting rehearsals went a long way to keeping me level-headed and open to suggestions. The process was much as it would have been for any rehearsal period at any theatre. We all worked very hard and every now and then Amanda and I would sit and watch the kids at work and comment to ourselves on how fresh they were, how avid, involved and unassailably committed they were, and we thought back on how we used to be like that and laugh a bit!

            For the last week of rehearsals and tech, we moved to the Belfry where the show was to be performed in their Studio Theatre. The effect of this change was noticeable if only because the energy ramped up for the kids. They took off their actor hats and put on their stage hand or set painter or seamstress or light-hanger hats and took as much joy in doing those tasks as being on stage. In our actual performance space the sound came to life and with the lights and costumes happening, I could see this was an excellent production. On the afternoon before opening we assembled for Michael’s last notes after a run, and to receive his sail-on message. Just before we broke, I said to the group, on behalf of Amanda and myself, how wonderful they were and how much we’d enjoyed working with them. “We thought you hated us”, said one of them. “What??”, said I, completely astonished. “Oh my Lord, no, no, not at all, we love you” and I fell over myself apologizing that they should have felt that way. That made them happy and they said they loved us too. So much for my trying to keep the impression of distance and curmudgeonly-ness at bay.

            The whole experience was incredibly rewarding and, unexpectedly, very inspiring. They were obviously in love with what they were doing, completely devoted, extremely focused, energetic, positive and dedicated to getting the show on. It spoke volumes to how special these thirteen kids actually were. We experienced a flu bug toward the end of the run but at no point did it take a toll on any of these talented kids. The theatre held only about 90 people and it was packed every night. The College usually only did 4 performances for their “Company C” productions. But in this case, and probably because it was being performed as part of The Belfry’s season, there were 13 shows. I had a great time right through to the end and was sad to leave these wonderful young people.

            Mom was maintaining. Teresa had come into town for a bit as had my niece Samantha and Eric, her husband and Chase, their son, so while there were visitors for Mom to see, none of us were quite sure if she knew who they were. But her learned behaviour kicked in every time and she gave a great impression that she did … I think. Morgan was under the weather for a while. He was having trouble walking and I managed to get him on some new medication that seemed to work for a bit. He was twelve years old at that point and my vets kept cautioning me not to expect him to act like a puppy anymore. It crossed my mind that Mom and Morgan were getting toward the end of things. I couldn’t help but dwell on it when Mom had a fall or Morgan couldn’t walk very well. What would I do when they were gone. Would I stay in Victoria? I admit to growing very fond of the weather here and didn’t think I could face the Winnipeg winters again. I was also still carrying a bit of a grudge toward Winnipeg based on the Rainbow Stage rejection and I couldn’t get my head around getting back into the “swing” with the community. I found life good in Victoria, comfortable and maybe a bit too easy. Doing a show from time to time would be good, but that wasn’t guaranteed anywhere. It would have to be taking one day at a time. And that’s what I did.

            The Strouse Cabaret for “Gimmick” came and went. Got to sing some great music, notably “Once Upon A Time” from “All American”, a favourite I’d done in concerts and recitals many times before. But the experience seemed a bit low-keyed this time round. There were a number of other productions happening around town that took away the “regulars”, the long standing performers who had followings that filled the stands, so it was a bit second-string I felt. But those who attended ate it up once again. Ron Krug was in town from Winnipeg and he saw the performance and raved about the concept and the talent which was nice. Tracy Dahl was in town doing “Lucia Di Lammermoor” for Pacific Opera and I raved about her performance as ‘Lucia’ to anyone and everyone I saw. And I got my five-year pin at the Museum.

But Mom began to diminish by late Spring. Most of the time I was there mid-morning. Dr. Muller had taken her off Aricept (the dementia medication) because it was seeming to make her dozy. She got active later in the day, I was told, but those morning visits lacked focus. She didn’t look up very often and her speech was getting more garbled. Her hand-eye coordination was slipping and she needed help eating. It was very hard to watch. She was still mobile and very strong physically, but the person was obviously ebbing, quickly. She would still wander the floor and end up in someone else’s room, falling asleep on their bed which would initiate a search on my part when I’d arrive for the visit. I’d find her and wake her up with a “Hi, Mom”,  and then guide her back to her room. As we’d walk down the hall, she’d look at me and say, “You’re a good guy”. It was some consolation, but heavily tinged with the fact that, right then, she had no idea who I was. Then, there were moments of lucidity that baffled me – moments when she would pull herself out of the grogginess and very quietly say something like “Be careful, Rick”, out of the blue, sounding like she used to sound, saying my name directly to me. Or “Bye, Dear” as I would leave the room. Those were massive jolts to me because they came out of nowhere, unprompted, as if nothing was wrong, that everything was as it should be. Then on the other hand, she would get insular and non-communicative, like she was getting “ready to check out” as Angie, one of her favorite caregivers, would put it. Then, in the next moment, she suddenly would get feisty and verbal, and rally.

With nothing else to do, I began creating a garden off of my back patio. There was a huge slope covered with ivy that stretched up to a bank of trees and a walkway that passes along the back of the complex. I bricked out a number of terraces ranging up the hill taking the debris and weeds out as I went and the space took shape slowly, but steadily. The photo here is half way up the hill at the beginning of the process where the lower area has been cleared a little … there were another fifty feet to go … straight up. With there being so much shade, the only suitable plant with any variety at all were hostas which I’d grown to love from my Winnipeg garden, and that was where I started. There are over 1,200 varieties and I would go nuts at the various garden centers around town, looking for the out-of-the-ordinary types. The garden grew over time (and space) and was a constant source of physical activity and horticultural challenge. In fact, it became a refuge for me, a place where time stood still and my only focus was on dirt and green plants and creating order out of chaos. At times it was also a place of contemplation and reflection.

            Mom continued downhill as time went on. There was one day when I decided I was going to let her know that she could “leave if she wanted to”. She was lying in the hospital bed we’d rented for her so the care staff could access her more easily than in her own bed. She looked very frail and unfocused. Her eyes wandered as I sat beside her in a chair, singing “A Bicycle Built For Two” to her and talking about nothing in particular. Every now and again she would brighten a bit and smile at me. I could tell she wasn’t really aware of very much. I wasn’t feeling any sadness. It had been such a long journey to this point that my own preparation for the inevitable had settled in and I knew it was coming soon. It had been something of a roller coaster, but a very gentle one – one day I would sit and watch her thinking she would stop breathing any moment, and other days I’d arrive and she’d be sitting having “conversations” with other residents. Mom was going to go out as she lived her life, gently, with dignity. As I spoke the words, “It’s alright if you want to go” I thought of how many times I’d said them in my head. I don’t know if she heard me. Her eyes had closed. But in that moment, saying them out loud was the complete acceptance inside me. I had no idea how long this was going to take but she seemed to be easing away from this plane very gradually. There was no pain, no turmoil, no rancor or angst, just a peaceful retiring from the physical.

            I went into rehearsals for another Cabaret for “Gimmick”, this time Leonard Bernstein was the composer! This was a huge cast – 35 people! How they were all going to fit onto that small performance space in the Belfry Studio would be anyone’s guess, but the sound they would make in the ensemble numbers would certainly be something to hear! There were a number of kids from the CCPA “Company C” taking part this time. It had only been a few months since we had closed “Spring Awakening” and it was a joy to see them again, now under less structured and stressful circumstances but just as exciting for them. It was an easy turn for me. I was only in the “Candide” segment and one other ensemble number, but loved watching the kids trying to get their heads around Bernstein’s complicated melodies and harmonies. The guys kept coming over to stand beside me to learn what they were supposed to be singing in “Make Our Garden Grow”. But I couldn’t be much help as I was doing the ‘Pangloss’ harmony line which was altogether separate from theirs. My big solo was “Best of All Possible Worlds” which I’d done for years but always with the original Richard Wilbur lyrics. Despite my best efforts, I could not convince Brad to let go of the less poetic 1978 revised lyrics by John LaTouche, so had to work to get those new words (to me) in my mouth … and I realized that it wasn’t as easy as it used to be. There didn’t seem to be anything to put on the line anymore, and that was frightening. Maybe it was over for me, and I would have to find something else to occupy my time, something else to do with my life.

            The show was another hit. The “Wonderful Town” and “On The Town” Sequences were great but it was the “Candide” section, in particular the whole cast singing “Make Our Garden Grow” that brought the house down. We had rehearsed and rehearsed it and the sound was overwhelming in that small space, washing up over the audience as we hit the huge a cappella chorale section – “we’re neither pure nor wise nor good …” – with those young “Company C” voices and us older legit voices from the regular crew. It was heavenly and over much too soon.

            For months my daily routine had been anchored by the morning visit to Mom at 10:30 and an afternoon visit at about 2:30. Gradually, what used to be the unexpected became the expected. She hardly ate anything and drank only a little. But I would still chat away at her and sing “Bicycle”. One afternoon, I repeated my earlier sentiment about “going if she wanted to”. She had the covers up around her face. She stirred a tiny bit and, in a small but distinct voice said, “I’m trying, I’m trying”. That rattled me a great deal. All I could say in response was a whispered “okay” and left it at that. Those were the last words she spoke to me.

I forced myself to be upbeat and energetic, but the visits got shorter and shorter. I’d look at her face and wonder what was going on inside her head. I could only hope that she was at ease and free of anxiety. The Staff were making her very comfortable. The sun shone every day so it was always bright and cheery in her room. They would check on her every two hours, and a “butterfly” shunt had been put in her arm to administer morphine should she show any pain or distress. I left after the Wednesday afternoon visit and sat in my car and shook for a little while, trying to calm myself down before driving home. I didn’t feel like eating but forced myself to pick at some leftovers, trying, as I did after each visit, to put things into perspective and always failing because there was no “perspective”. My Mom was dying and that’s what it was. I was putting the dishes in the washer when the phone rang. Seeing “Sunrise” come up on the phone screen wasn’t surprising. It was an instantaneous relief because I knew what it was about. Hearing the actual words “Your Mom has passed” wasn’t traumatic or dramatic. I had a small sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and my mouth went dry. Earlier, the Staff had told me that she was incredibly strong and a “fighter” but I hadn’t thought that. I knew she must have been very tired … trying to “go”.

And she did. At 6:50pm on June 17^th, 2015, flights of angels sang Mom to her Last Rest.