Sue Merrell's Blog: Laughing for a Living, page 29

Smash Finale

So did you see it coming? Did you guess that Ellis spiked the smoothie with peanuts? And Karen would eventually calm down and claim the role we all knew she had to play as Marilyn Monroe? Somehow I knew all that would happen in tonight's season finale of  "Smash," but I didn't foresee that when Karen is singing the new finale song, Don't Forget Me, that Ivy would pull a real Marilyn memory with a handful of pills. Of course. It was perfect. Maybe you can't end a musical with a suicide (the great line from last week's episode) but you can certainly end the season of a hit television show with a suicide attempt. We only saw the pills. Will she take them? Will it be fatal? Tune in next year to find out.

The good news is Smash fans in West Michigan may not have to wait until fall to catch a glimpse of Megan Hilty who plays Ivy. She's planning a guest appearance in Saugatuck July 21 as part of a Broadway Breakthru workshop. Read all about it.

Cycle of life

Almost two months after we had to let Baby be put to sleep, we buried her ashes today next to a beautiful blooming azalea in the backyard of my son and daughter-in-law, Ryan and Angela Wallace. Baby was originally Angela's cat, so it seemed only fitting that her marked grave would be at their home. And it was appropriate too that our little ceremony followed a lovely Mother's Day dinner that Angela cooked for me and her mother, Pamela Barr. The wheel of life keeps turning. I spent the rest of the day planting flowers and vegetables and herbs. Life is so eager to grow, we only need to give it a chance. How blessed I am to have a healthy son, who married a beautiful, loving wife, who shared her adorable cat with me for eight years.

Having fun for a good cause

It might seem like Cystic Fibrosis is an odd topic for a blog called Laughing for a Living. But the family of 4-year-old Logan Tyler is having lots of fun raising money to defeat his disease. It was my privilege to share their story on the front page of today's Grand Rapids Press. Getting the word out is especially sweet because my son, Ryan Wallace, also has cystic fibrosis. He's 35, married, owns his own home and designs web sites. We thank the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, and all the wonderful people who support it, for all the advancements that have lengthened his life and given him the hope of good days ahead. We cheered when they discovered the gene in 1989 and applaud every new discovery. It's like you don't really appreciate spring until you've had winter. And you don't know how wonderful life is until you've faced the possibility that it can be snatched away at any moment. Laughing is the perfect response when you're glad to be alive.

Happy Birthday, Laurie!

Extra, Extra! Read all about it. "Newsies" received 8 Tony Award nominations this morning including Best Musical, Best Choreography, Best Director and Best Actor for Jeremy Jordan. What fun! It's even more fun because Grand Rapids native Laurie Veldheer is in the cast. AND today is Laurie's Birthday. My story in Sunday's Press predicted a good showing. Congratulations Newsies!

Dust bunny bonanza

Did you ever wonder how much dust would accumulate if you didn't clean for four months? Welcome to the wonderful world of Snowbird Spring Cleaning. It's been a week since we returned to Michigan after spending the winter in The Keys and I'm just getting around to finding the house I left somewhere under all this unpacking.

Enough dust to write your name on tabletops? I've got enough dusty surfaces to write the entire constitution, and still accommodate all 39 signers. The exercise bike, which admitedly was never overused, has been tethered to the corner with a maze of cobwebs. The dust bunnies have built nests in the corners and we can expect a litter of baby bunnies any day. The toilet bowls have rings that remind me of the rim of seaweed on Florida beaches after a windy day. What's that about? Did the dust bunnies and spiders use the toilet while we were gone?

I swear I didn't leave my house this filthy. If I found Snickers wrappers and beer cans, I'd know homeless people had been camping here. But no unexpected refuse, just enough dust and dirt to plant a garden.

I could probably charge admission as a haunted house, but it might be more profitable to declare the house a hazardous waste site and apply for an EPA Superfund clean-up grant. Instead, I've been sweeping and dusting, and even laughing now and then when I feel the threads of a cobweb on my cheek. Another spider's home cleared away. Maybe they moved to The Keys for the summer.

So long Seuss-land

The most fantastical palm tree, with a bulbous trunk and leaves shaped like a ratted wig, sways next to the screened room of our winter getaway in the Keys. It looks like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. In many ways it symbolizes our storybook winter, with near perfect temperatures almost every day.

But it's time to pack up and say goodbye to Seuss-land. I'm in the midst of Snowbird Spring Cleaning, which means I'm giving our rented short-term home the kind of cleaning I could only wish it had before we arrived. I'm wiping out the cabinets and silverware drawer, mopping the floors, even under the beds where I've retrieved the hidden treasures of previous renters. Cleaning the window sills and wiping smudges off the woodwork. Getting up on a ladder to dust the fan blades. Erasing the evidence of our criminally ideal hibernation in this perpetual summer. After a three-day drive, we'll be back home and I'll enter the second stage of Snowbird Spring Cleaning, unpacking, restocking the fridge and returning to normal. Whatever that is.

Baby farewell

Baby wasn't supposed to be my cat. I sort of inherited her from my daughter-in-law eight or nine years ago. But with her pudgy little face and big green eyes, she easily nudged her way into my heart. We shared the same pillow many nights, and she was as much a part of watching television as the remote control. She's been my alarm clock for years, butting her head into mine precisely at 7 a.m. And when I was up late at night writing reviews from home, she would lay her head down on the keyboard and go to sleep.  She was always tiny, no more than 11 pounds, but she ruled the roost even after Cloudy, a tom cat twice her size, joined the family five years ago. She started loosing weight last fall and was barely over five pounds by January. Standard blood tests found no easy answers. We tried a few medications, dietary supplements. even found a vet to treat her during our three month stay in the Keys. She was weak and walked stiffly, but still managed to jump up on the sofa to watch television with me and climb into the bed at night. Until about 10 days ago. Since then we've been cheering every morsel we can convince her to swallow. This morning even giving her the daily medication seemed like too much to ask.  So I let Baby go. Baby Gray Cat, you will be so missed.

Counting on sunshine

Rain  chased us off the beach today but before we got home, 10 miles away, it had stopped and the sun was shining. Spending three months in The Keys has changed my view of rain. It's always temporary. Usually very temporary. And it's changed my view of sunshine. I wake up in the morning expecting it. Demanding it. Clouds? Certainly only enough to make the skyscape interesting and provide a brief respite from the searing sun. It makes me wonder how much of our temperament is based on the weather. Perhaps, centuries of long winters have made Michiganders such sturdy stock, delighted with the briefest rays of sun. 

Homesick

I MISS WEST MICHIGAN THEATER! The Keys may have better weather, but Grand Rapids has better theater. Last night I went to see a local community theater production of "Once Upon a Mattress" and I can only say once was more than enough. I have never seen a production, high school or community, with such universally poor singing. I don't dare name the theater, since they didn't ask for my opinion, but I kept shaking my head one flat, weak solo after another. I tried to understand how everybody could be so off base and I decided it was probably the recorded accompaniment didn't provide an easy melody line for these voices, and clearly their rehearsal training hadn't provided adequate help. The few singers who managed to be on key were weak and lackluster.Of course, they weren't using microphones, which can often bolster and add a little pizzazz to weak voices. I longed for the west Michigan theaters that always use live accompaniment. even if it's just a piano or keyboard. Actors', Civic and Circle all have music directors working with the singers to help them to hear their parts and often transposing songs if needed to accommodate an actor's range. They have dedicated sound crews that blend voice and music. Even a small theater like Master Arts, which doesn't use microphones, provides live accompaniment and the vocal rehearsal necessary to deliver powerful performances.  I know that in most of my reviews of West Michigan productions I have failed to credit the wonderful work of the music directors and sound crews. A thousand pardons. But please know that when I see good performers I know it's the result of good support.

Keys Disease

I've got a bad case of Keys Disease. I don't want to accomplish much of anything. It's hot and humid, too hot to sit around the house working on the computer. I need to be outside in the breeze, preferably in sight of the ocean where I can hear the wind whipped surf and take a dip when I get too warm. I am hypnotized by the sun poured like liquid silver on the surface of the water. I have baked my brain. I can barely put a sentence together, and that's before happy hour. Write a book? I swear on Ernest Hemingway's ghost it's just impossible. A friend who has spent the past 20 winters down here calls it Keys Disease. And even he isn't immune. Most people lose track of the date or the day of the week, but it's so laid back here that when I asked my friend if the weather would change much in March and he said. "What month is it?"