
… for healthy, affordable eggs.





… for healthy, affordable eggs.





Marveling this morning at my grandson Daniel‘s convincing performance as a REALLY messed-up teenager in his latest play, this time at the Tybee Arts Association Black Box Theater on Tybee Island near Savannah.

The play: Marvin’s Room.
Daniel’s character: Seventeen year-old Hank. (D is also seventeen.)
Here’s what Google’s AI says about Hank:

Whew!
Hank, onstage, with his psychiatrist on the right and his emotionally distant mother on the left:

As a grandfather, it was actually (and probably foolishly) somewhat difficult to see the normally exuberantly positive and usually smiling Daniel portraying such a severely damaged young man. (Hank doesn’t smile very much in the play.)
For a moment, I forgot what actors actually do. Act.
Daniel’s now been in over thirty plays, and his specialty seems to be the romantic lead in musical theatre (Prince Topher in Cinderella, Marius in Les Mis), Raoul in Phantom of the Opera.)
Sitting in the audience for Marvin’s Room, I kept having a bit of conflict between watching that mentally challenged CHARACTER I just met and denying to myself that the young ACTOR I knew so well could have ANY of Hank’s negative qualities.
But, uh oh. Maybe we haven’t burned down a house, but haven’t we all pushed a button or two to provoke a reaction from someone else?
Haven’t we all occasionally struggled to express our emotions openly?
Haven’t we all used sarcasm?
And haven’t we all felt (or acted) a little … crazy from time to time?!

The play ends (thankfully) on a positive note with Hank seemingly on his way to a better life.
And here’s Hank — I mean Daniel (!) — smiling his usual smile with HR and me after the performance.

Chatting and joking about his crazy character, we asked Daniel what he was going to be doing after this play ran its course.
“Oh, I’ll probably burn down my high school.”

O


After Robert and I walked through the incredibly vibrant Forsyth Farmers Market in downtown Savannah this morning …


… we stumbled upon the Most Glorious White Camellia.

At first, she was leaning her head slightly in the dappled morning sunlight.
But when she sensed me staring, she perked up, a beautiful sunlit princess.

… of this “president.”
And I’m embarrassed for the United States.


Trump is Insane Evil Personified.
May his arrogant, horrific destruction of our wonderful nation be stopped. Be stopped. Be stopped.
Lord in Your Mercy, Hear our Prayer.
My weekly gratitude journal, of sorts.
1. Signs of approaching Springtime in Savannah.



2. The ability to hear. And to mindfully know, in the moment, that we are hearing.
3. Boardwalks. Especially as they weather and age a bit.



4. This cool sign we came upon this morn in Savannah’s eclectic and edgy Victorian District.



5. Rest.


May you have a restful weekend ahead.





Walking through Savannah’s Colonial Park Cemetery this morning with HR, we came across this bench.


There has to be a story somewhere. Is the story’s central character Mary Helen Ray, whose name is on the bench?
Or maybe one of the nearly 700 folks who died during a yellow fever epidemic in Savannah: “The most macabre bit of history involves a subtly tweaked fact on a historical marker about the yellow fever. According to the marker, ‘nearly 700’ victims of the 1820 yellow fever epidemic were buried in a mass grave, but historical records allegedly show that exactly 666 people are buried in the grave. Nearly 700, indeed.” savannahnow.com.

Here’s a link to an interesting story about Colonial Park Cemetery: 
Oh, and for extra credit, here is Robert sitting in a bunch of ginkgo biloba leaves at one of the entrances to Colonial Park Cemetery …

That’s probably a story in itself.
… of the United States:


