Sunday, March 8, 2009

Nanny Goats Gruff


Last Friday, Garion and his glass put on a stunning, absolutely fabulous production of "Nanny Goats Gruff." Garion played "Butterfly Number 1" and had three lines which he delivered with poise, clarity and feeling (i.e. he talked into the microphone and you could hear him if you were paying attention). Nanny Goats Gruff is a musical set in bucolic, pristine mountain meadows and centers on a group of six Nanny Goats who must leave their beloved field to graze on the other side of the bridge. I can't remember why, but I'm sure the reason was traumatic. A terrible troll lives under the bridge and threatens to eat each of the Nanny Goats that cross. I really wish I had a video of the troll's performance to show you, because it would knock your socks off (i.e. you would laugh so hard you might need a Depends). The Nanny Goats are clever and each group tells the troll something along the lines of: "you don't want to eat us, there are bigger goats coming." Finally, the last goat, Big Bertha Lee, crosses the bridge and the troll threatens to eat her. She essentially replies, "bring it," and butts him in the head. The troll rolls down the enormous mountain and the Nanny Goats live happily ever after in their new meadow. Oh, the drama!

For the next performance, I promise to be a better mother and bring a real camera (yes I forgot it this time and had to rely on the cell phone, hence the sketchy photos.)

Monday, March 2, 2009

Sweetheart, It's Not the Sweatshirt, It's the Grey Hair

On Saturday, we went to get lunch a local sandwich shop that is close to the University and does a pretty brisk business in college students. Moses was wearing a Northern Arizona University sweatshirt that he won (in high school--somebody, ahem, has trouble moving on) as part of an academic T.E.A.M.S. competition. I was in that competition too and won the same sweatshirt but somewhere in the course of events, Moses adopted my sweatshirt. So now he has two, one of which he was wearing on Saturday. As a side note, or possibly the third or fourth side note in this tale, I cannot for the life of me remember what T.E.A.M.S. stands for. Anyway, we walk up to the counter to order lunch and the (college-aged) girl behind the counter looks at Moses's sweatshirt and says, "wow! that's like a vintage shirt!" Vintage. As in OLD. He, he, he that's what you get for clinging to the shreds of your clothing until they fall apart or spontaneously combust of their own volition because you refuse to put them out of their misery.