Dear Myah [McKinnie]

 

Myah McKinnie dancing

August 7, 2024

Dear Myah [McKinnie],

When I found out you had passed, I happened to be about to leave to go to the cemetery to check on flowers I had planted on my parents and grandparents’ plot and to bring flowers to the grave of Tony Finlayson, known as Jahmés, a friend since childhood and the drummer at my wedding, a Black man, a year older than I am, who died too soon, shot in an attempted carjacking. And now you had died too soon, a Black woman a year younger than I am, a dancer at my wedding, (a beautiful ceremony for, as you know, a disastrous marriage.) My immediate reaction was anger. I was so so mad. I was so mad I didn’t even know why. I guess I was mad at the world for taking you too soon. Why? Why? Why? I was losing my Black friends. And it was no accident I was losing them first. Statistics show Black people die younger than white people, a manifestation of structural racism … 

A cemetery seemed an appropriate place to go, so I got in my car. Yes. I bought a car. A red Chevy Bolt. I named her Penelope Yvonne Beaulieux. It’s a big change after all those years without one. I moved, too. To Milwaukee, my hometown, after 45 years in Chicago. That’s a whole other story. I looked at the music streaming options. I’d like to say I picked some spiritual music, but I didn’t. I saw Janis Joplin—I don’t know if you ever listened to Janis Joplin. She’s our era. And I put her on full blast and screamed along with her. She was perfect. 

Our friendship crossed religious as well as racial divides. You were an evangelical Christian and I am a Catholic. Unlike some evangelical Christians, though, you didn’t try to save me, and I appreciated that. We learned about each other's worlds and appreciated each other's worldviews. You taught me about spiritual warfare. We also shared very personal stories. I don’t want to recount them here because I don’t know who might find this letter. :-)

Before I moved, I was going through old cards, tossing most, but I kept the one you sent me before the pandemic. It reads: “The food, perfect. The company, great. The memories, sweet. Thanks for the wonderful time.” And then you wrote, “Hey, my sister, I just want to let you know that hanging out with you in your ‘Hood’ was a highlight of my summer. Maybe you can hang out in my hood :-)” 

I had invited you to lunch at my apartment. I remember I had a salad. Maybe soup? I remember I used my grandmother’s art deco dishes. Then we went to the Hyde Park Art Fair. I wore the skirt I found there to your celebration of life. It truly was a celebration of you. We lifted you up in words and prayer, song and dance. Your mentee, Chanelle [Patrick], ministered in dance as we clapped and clapped. You have left a legacy. Here's what I wrote to Chanelle on Facebook about the power of her ministry.

I did go down to your “hood” later that summer to a neighborhood fair and then we sat in your living room, all white, with the colorful artwork by Allen Stringfellow the focal point over the mantel. I loved sitting in that room, so peaceful, the bright colors of the artwork bursting forth in the vast whiteness of the room. Your dancing had inspired Stringfellow, and we were sitting in the aura of the artwork, your glow radiating out through your movement captured in the art into the room and now into my memories. I remember you said that you had thought I would like the art, and I did and still remember it.

Oh, I found the January 6, 2002 Chicago Tribune article, “The spirit moves them: Sacred dance troupes transcend the traditional boundaries of worship,” and typed out your quotes, which I love, just as I love you. I thought you might like to see them, too. After all these years, they still ring true. 

“McKinnie studied dance growing up in Chicago, including tap, jazz and ballet, but she stopped when she joined a Protestant denomination where dancing wasn’t accepted in or out of church. “But one day I saw a lady dancing on a religious program on TV, and I thought, ‘I’ve been creatively dead.’” She switched to a more dance-friendly church, and now she readily refers to Second Samuel 6:16, which says that when the ark of the Covenant was brought into Jerusalem, a witness “saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord.” 

“Dance visualizes the worship and helps the interpretation of the songs,” says McKinnie. “Those who can’t dance themselves see us and hopefully find inspiration. They see a leap or a twirl, and it’s what they’re feeling inside.”

Instead of an ornament, sacred dance is intended as an integral part of the worship. “I tell my children dancers that they’re ministers, not performers,” McKinnie says.

xo

Michele

p.s. I made a FindaGrave entry for you. I included the obituary from the service for you but FindAGrave shows only limited information for the first three months after someone has died. Your family gave you a beautiful casket and there were many big bouquets of flowers.

Memorial Ribbon Banner Flexibility

 

Michele Beaulieux dancing with red ribbon banner
@ 2014 William Frederking
(See more photos by clicking here)

I offered to bring my ribbon banner to the outside memorial service for my friend, Hannah Hayes, who was as remarkable as her death was horrendous. She died in a hit and run accident a block from the school where she volunteered and where the memorial service was held. 

A friend of Hannah's had been musing about when might be appropriate to take down the makeshift memorial under a tree at the intersection where she died. I suggested we could disassemble it the day of the service and bring the mementos to the memorial service—symbolically moving her memory. We learned, however, that the family wanted to keep the memorial up. So I had thought that before the service, I’d walk from the accident site to the school, going from where she died to the school where she lived and where I’d like to remember her, ushering her spirit there with a ribbon banner. 

So the day before the service I went there to try it out. I met some people who were socializing on the parkway near the memorial, including a woman and a man who had witnessed the crash and ran over to Hannah's car to see if she was o.k. They tried to help as best they could. It was traumatizing to witness. When I explained that I wanted to bring Hannah's spirit with the ribbon banner from where she died to the service at the school the next day, the woman objected. "I need my angel here with me," she said. Far from wanting to dismantle the memorial, the woman wanted to use some of my ribbons to wrap the tree underneath which the memorial sits. So we did. Hannah touched so many people in so many ways. We all want her! I did not process from the memorial to the service at the school the next day. The woman provided a perspective I had not considered. I felt humbled.

I usually don't like to talk when I minister in movement: talking and moving are two separate roles. I had thought I could wave the banner as a reflective interlude between speakers to give people a moment to absorb what was said, perhaps with music. This service, however, was very informal, and I was given a five minute time slot. I couldn't imagine waving the banner for five minutes, so I wasn't sure what to do. Then I was asked to represent the Thursday call group that Hannah had started. So I wrote out what I wanted to say. I planned to give my reflections and then wave the banner. But on the way over, it occurred to me that I could talk and wave the banner at the same time. When I got to the park by the school where the memorial service was to be held, I rehearsed. I choreographed movement with the ribbon banner to the refrain I used in my reflection, "I'm so sorry for your loss." 

At the memorial service, I listened to the many speakers. By the time it was my turn, my planned words, while providing a twist, would have been redundant with the previous speakers. I realized that my words would also be redundant with my movement. I decided the ribbon banner would be more powerful without words. So I gave a brief synopsis of our Thursday call group and then I said that even though Hannah is a writer, sometimes, words are inadequate, and I pulled out my ribbon banner and waved it, letting it blow in the wind ... 

So what I did evolved: it was helpful to be flexible, adapt, and improvise. You can see me from 1:01:55 through 1:03:38 at the memorial service, but unfortunately not my ribbon banner too much. ;-) It's too high in the sky! You can see ribbon banners in this photo album, Michele Beaulieux with Red Ribbon Banner, from a photo shoot with Chicago dance photographer William Frederking. I've dedicated the photo album to Judy Clasen who loved good liturgy and appreciated my sacred dancing.

Modern Christian prophets and Mary's lyrics

 In 2021, I did two posts on my ReservoirOfHope.blog about faith. Excerpts and links below:

Simone Biles at the 2016 Summer Olympics in Brazil
(Fernando Frazão/Agência Brasil) CC BY 2.0

Simone Biles and Rachael Denhollander: Modern Christian Prophets

Susan Bigelow Reynolds about Simone Biles. She said that the most well-known victim-survivor of U.S.A. Gymnastics team doctor Larry Nassar’s abuse “has assumed the role of a prophet, ​​publicly calling the institution to account and refusing to simply go away.” As a victim-survivor of sexual violence myself, that framing of whistle-blowing as prophetic is comforting, validating, and powerful.

Continue reading here

Restoring a Lyric for Generations

In an article in National Catholic Reporter, I had noted that in a much loved version of the Magnificat by now maligned composer David Haas, the line with which the prayer is most identified, “lifting up the lowly,” is missing. Inspired by my reflection, Tony Alonso corrected the omission in his new version of “Holy Is Your Name,” published in 2021. Song lyrics embed in our subconscious, influencing our thinking, so it is fun to know that I influenced one phrase in one verse that will be sung for generations!

Continue reading here 

Our Accountability for Composer David Haas’ Abuse

The Soldier Compelled the Passerby to Carry the Cross 

© 2003 Michele Beaulieux

At this point, anything we do about Catholic Christian composer David Haas' decades of abusing women is a little too little and a little too late. My prayer is that justice doesn’t lead to demonizing Haas—a sick man who needs help and accountability—but rather to community self-reflection. I don’t want to sing David Haas songs in worship anymore, not to punish him, but as a community penance in support of the women he violated and we failed.

Excerpt above from my reflection, Our Accountability for David Haas' Abuse, on my Reservoir Of Hope blog.

My Articles on Preventing Sexual Violence in Contact Improvisation Dance Communities

Here is the complete series of three oil pastel drawings that I did to illustrate my article, "Starting by Believing Maria: Responding to Sexual Violence in Safer Brave Contact Improvisation Spaces" in the Summer/Fall 2019 Vol. 44.2 issue of CQ Contact Improvisation Newsletter. (For more of my writing on preventing sexual violence in dance communities, visit reservoirofhope.blog.)

                          

                    Jam with Roland: Just Say "No"
                    Oil Pastel on Paper
                    © 2019 Michele Beaulieux

Believing Maria  
Oil Pastel on Paper
© 2019 Michele Beaulieux

Jam with Maria: Listening for "Yes"
Oil Pastel on Paper
© 2019 Michele Beaulieux

p.s. Contact Quarterly also published my article, "How the First Rule Brought #MeToo to Contact Improvisation" in the Vol. 44 No. 1 Winter/Spring 2019 issue. 

The Holy Dove dancing "Hallelujah"

As the name suggests, Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" is an ode to faith, but it is also a lament to lost love. I have heard it sung in situations in which the title was appropriate, but not the meaning.

So, I was, at first, surprised to see this secular song listed in the midday worship service program for the University of Chicago Divinity School Conference, Fair as the Moon, Terrible as an Army: Sexual Beings in Religious Community, last month.

In the morning of the one day conference, we heard Margaret Farley, author of Just Love: A Framework for Christian Sexual Ethics, describe her seven suggested sexual norms: do no unjust harm, free consent, mutuality, equality, commitment, fruitfulness, and social justice. Then, Amy Frykholm, author of See Me Naked: Stories of Sexual Exile in American Christianity, provided three faith-based pathways to wholeness: wilderness, Eucharist, and resurrection.

Then, sitting in the worship service, listening to Divinity School student, Andrew Wheatley, sing a beautifully wistful "Hallelujah," I came to realize how perfect the song was at a conference about sexuality and religion. And, it was begging to be danced. I sat listening. Will they really do the verse in worship that contains the sexiest song lyric I've ever heard? I kept listening.

There was a time you let me know
What's real and going on below 
But now you never show it to me, do you?
    Oh. My. Yes. They are.

I remember when I moved in you,
and the holy dove . . .
     I rose from my seat, personifying the dove.

. . . was moving, too.
     I danced around the altar.

And every breath we drew was Hallelujah.
    I raised my arms in praise and glory. 

Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
     I joined the congregation singing the refrain. 

While I know the song very well, I didn't know which verses (and there are many) Andrew would sing next. So, as I continued dancing I was truly dancing in the moment, embodying the prayer as it unfolded, trusting God.

In his sermon, Rev. Larry Greenfield spoke of the two hallelujahs heard in the worship service: the hallelujah in the scripture, the Song of Songs, and the hallelujah of Cohen's song (for which Greenfield quite appropriately and humorously donned a fedora). The hallelujah in the Song of Songs is the enthusiasm of new love, an unachievable ideal, while Cohen's hallelujah is a memory. The Song of Songs, Greenfield said, is "for saints, not sinners." Cohen's, he said, is "closer to the reality of those we serve." 

Afterwards, many conference goers, including some of the organizers, were shocked that the dance hadn't been planned in advance. Learning of the spontaneity was powerful for them. Andrew, especially, was delighted that I had felt free to dance.

I am often tempted to dance spontaneously in worship, but I seldom do. The liturgists have a plan. I don't know what it is, so I want to respect their vision. But, at this conference about sexuality at my alma mater, a school dedicated to the life of the mind, I made the choice to integrate the embodiment that is crucial to a theology of sexuality into the worship, to put the theory into practice. As a liturgical choreographer and sacred dancer, I firmly believe that conscious movement in worship can heal and inspire our hearts and minds. I'm glad that I danced, and a lot of other people were, too!

 

Red in ritual

I am moved by these words in Louise Erdrich's NYTimes Op-Ed, 'Rape on the Reservation:"

"Here in Minneapolis, a growing number of Native American women wear red shawls to powwows to honor survivors of sexual violence. The shawls, a traditional symbol of nurturing, flow toward the earth. The women seem cloaked in blood. People hush. Everyone rises, not only in respect, for we are jolted into personal memories and griefs. Men and children hold hands, acknowledging the outward spiral of the violations women suffer."

It's a sacred dance. A powerful image. Deep. The red speaks. The circle grows.

I've been working on a series of oil pastels inspired by the quote from Aeschylus' Agamemmon which Robert F. Kennedy recited in his speech announcing the assassination of Martin Luther King in Indianapolis, Indiana:

"Even in our sleep,
pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until,
in our own despair,
against our will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."


Perhaps, the next drawing in the series will incorporate an allusion to the red shawls . . .

Making my Lord's Prayer choreography even more communal!

The revised movements showing the full range of forgiveness.

So, my video, Movement Meditations on the Lord's Prayer, is now obsolete, but that's o.k. I'm actually kinda excited about it. The choreography I developed for congregations to pray the well-known prayer continues to evolve: it's even better now!

In preparation for the retreat I gave in January for the Northern Illinois Chapter of the Christian Educators Fellowship of the United Methodist Church, I prayed the Lord's Prayer in movement by myself. Even when we pray the prayer alone, we are praying it as part of the community of believers. Alone, I was conscious of the communal essence of the prayer: the very first word is "Our" and the choreography is to hold hands. The "give us this day our daily bread" didn't feel as communal as I thought it could be. The movement was feeding ourselves and then reaching forward offering food to others. I thought, instead, let's go from side to side: receive from the right, partake, and pass it on to the left. Part of a continuous chain. Much better. The retreat goers agreed. 

The next question was how to make the next line communal: "Forgive us our trespasses." At the retreat, I taught the movement in the video: each person individually bowing her head with arms folded over her chest. We had a good discussion of individual responsibility within groups: one woman commented that it was good for individuals to feel their individual contributions to communal sins. We tried coming closer together in our circle, with our arms around each other, hands on the center of our neighbors' backs between their shoulder blades (over their hearts). We concluded that bowing our heads in that position was very powerful, but most appropriate for smaller groups where people feel comfortable being physically close. When we moved further apart, still touching, and bowed, it wasn't as powerful. We agreed that it was better to bow individually in larger groups.

In the retreat, I taught the movements to the participants without explaining the meaning that I had intended. Instead, I asked the participants what the movements evoked for them. For "as we forgive those who trespass against us," the movement I taught is in the video: putting hands up high in front with palms down as in a blessing. A woman brought up that she was really working to forgive a particular person and putting her hands up over him felt like she was lording it over him and that didn't feel good. She suggested reaching her hands out waist high with palms up as an offering. We explored that movement and decided to begin with it and from there move into the original hands high blessing movement. 

So, I'm excited because even though my video is now obsolete, the choreography is growing and evolving and getting better and better! Thank you to all the participants for communally choreographing this communal prayer!

This was a two hour retreat that I'd love to offer to more groups. Please let me know if your church or ministry might be interested in learning to move the Lord's Prayer. The gestures are simple and easily learned. While initially apprehensive, retreat participants ended up thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to pray in a new way. As one wrote afterwards: "I needed this! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Movement is not my most comfortable way of expressing myself, my feelings, or prayers. However, I felt very safe in this space."

Dancing Easter joy!

Mary Magdalene recognizes Jesus.

On Easter, I proclaimed John 20:1-18 - the story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb as part of Pastor Zina Jacque's sermon at the Community Church of Barrington. The sermon, titled "The Story's End: Love Wins," was at the very end of the service, which had been full of lovely singing and Easter joy. Pastor Zina pointed out that we can rejoice now because we know how the story ends, but what if we didn't? Imagine not knowing. That's the state Mary Magdalene was in that first Easter morning so long ago . . . With that introduction, I told the story: the disbelief, the grief, the revelation, the joy! Then, at the end, as I was rejoicing, exclaiming, "I have seen the Lord!," Natallia Revinskaya, the church's incredible pianist started playing, "I've Just Seen Jesus" by Sandy Patti, and I danced up and down the aisle.

Afterwards, many people thanked me. I am heartened when people tell me they cried, and some did. One woman told me that she had danced to that song in that church as a young woman and when I danced, that's when she lost it. Another woman said that she enjoyed the dance because it was how she'd like to express her response to the good news. She's not a dancer but I was moving how she would move if she could: I expressed what was in her heart. I realized on a new level that the scriptural storytelling segueing into dance can be a powerful combination. It is unusual, and it is my ministerial gift.

On Holy Saturday, I also had the honor of proclaiming the story for Felician (Franciscan) sisters in the infirmary at their Motherhouse at Peterson and Pulaski in Chicago. Special thanks to Sr. Carole Mary, my liturgical consultant, for arranging it. One of the sisters cried because she wanted everyone to experience Jesus' love as she saw me expressing it and as she felt it. I'll admit I was a bit perplexed by this. Then, when I told the story at a storytelling lab for Kellogg School of Management alumni (in my other life, I have an MBA) a couple of weeks after Easter, a Jewish man told me that my telling helped him understand the Christian religion in a way he had never understood it before: my love and enthusiasm expressing Mary Magdalene's love and enthusiasm at seeing the risen Jesus was very touching. To be honest, I hadn't consciously realized the depth of my love and conviction until he reflected it back to me. It took someone outside my faith to point out to me what was going on inside of me in my faith. Distance provides perspective!

On that note, I'll leave you with an insight from another Felician sister. She said that when Jesus told Mary not to cling to him, or as one translation poetically states, "Touch me not," he was asking her to take her love for him out into the world. It's a bit counter-intuitive: to get closer to Jesus, go away from him.

Ribbon banners welcome all

Kay dancing the Pentecost tongues of fire!

It was truly the Holy Spirit at work. I was asked to lead ribbon banners for the entrance processional and ending recessional at the Inauguration and Installation of the Rev. Dr. Frank Yamada as the Tenth President of McCormick Theological Seminary. McCormick is Presbyterian but the inauguration took place at the Apostolic Church of God at Dorchester and 63rd Street in Chicago on Thursday, February 9th. (Long ribbons of varying lengths attached on a swivel hook to fishing or banner poles swirl beautifully in the air.)
   I brought all the poles that I have: three 12 foot banner poles and two short 2 foot ones, and, what do you know, there ended up being five of us -- one for each of us! I also brought all the ribbons that I had in all the colors I had.
   I am always concerned about sight lines when dancing in churches. On the ground floor, the shorter banners would not be visible to those seated in the back. So, we kept the three taller banners on the ground floor with the two shorter ones going up onto the raised stage-like altar area.
Kay and I had fun with the short banners. Her big smile exuded joy. We have a similar movement style, so for people who had not moved together before, we were well coordinated. And, the three tall banners looked great, gracefully moving up and down the aisles. The video begins with the entrance procession to the song, "All Are Welcome," by Marty Haugen. The banners appear in the video at 5:30.
   Another issue to work out was the ribbon colors. We made one of the tall banners in blues, one in greens, and one in lavenders. The two short ones were red and orange.
   I feel strongly that if the ribbon banners are bracketing the service in the entrance and exit, they should also emphasize a high point in the service itself. So, Kay and I brought the short red and orange ribbons out during the scripture acclamation, "Preparing for God's word," seen on the video at 21:15. And, the red worked great because the gospel was the story of Pentecost (Acts 2:1-21). The photo of Kay really brings the Pentecost fire to life, doesn't it!

My prayer for dance in the church.

   After his inaugural address, the Rev. Yamada did something that he admitted was "unconventional." He asked people to share their dreams, hopes, and visions of theological education in the church via whatever method they felt comfortable: tweeting, journaling, talking out loud, praying silently. His prayer invitation begins at 1:51:50 in the video.
   I often feel moved to dance during worship services but I seldom act on it unless I've been invited, but this time with his invitation to pray in the form in which we felt comfortable, I acted on my impulse. My danced prayer that dance be part of future theological education is at 1:55:40
   The banner bearers appear again in the video for the ending song, "Going Forth in Song" at 2:04:15. I want to thank Mark Bowman of the worship planning team for inviting me to minister for this momentous occasion. I enjoyed ministering with such wonderfully gifted people: great music, and preaching, and praying! A good beginning for the new President Yamada!

Making Room: Mary and Joseph

I ministered with movement as part of the sermon at the Community Church of Barrington in Advent this year and last year. This year I portrayed Mary; last year, I portrayed Joseph.

Last year, I danced Joseph and the Angel from Matthew 1:18-25: the story of the angel advising Joseph to marry his betrothed, Mary, even though she was already pregnant. Here's what I wrote but didn't post:
The whole experience was such a gift. So much talent coming together. First, the Pastor Zina Jacque had a vision of a dance expressing Joseph's struggle. She said Joseph doesn't say anything in the story but we know he must have been tormented with the whole situation. She began her sermon by asking us to imagine that struggle and then suggested that we'd have an opportunity to see it. That was the incredible pianist Natallia Revinskaya's cue to begin playing the darkly dramatic introduction of the 1st movement of Sonata #8 by Beethoven as I came down the center aisle in visible anguish. The chancel of this church is very small. There isn't a lot of room for movement, but there, as Joseph, I writhed in disbelief of my predicament finally coming to the conclusion to send Mary away. At that moment the music shifts into "All Is Well With My Soul" by Horatio Spafford in 3/4 time, and I pick up a white scarf and become the angel. When the angel leaves, the song the congregation had sung earlier in the service, "Emmanuel" by Bob McGee, begins, and here is where I had a lot of revelations. I had originally thought that Joseph would walk out alone but no he walks out, of course, with Mary. But, I also realized that after the angel appeared, he must have felt awful that he was going to abandon her. He would ask her for forgiveness. I have such reverence for Mary but it was a gift to embody her husband and imagine how he might have felt. The reverence and pride and fear that he would have had for her. To embody that male love. At the end, as I was walking out down the aisle, Zina invited the congregation to sing a verse of "Emmanuel."

The theme for Lent this year was making room, and the title of the sermon in which I ministered was: Making Room: The Innkeeper's No from Luke 2:1-7: the Christmas story of Mary and Joseph being refused accommodations in Bethlehem. Working with the pastor, Rev. Zina Jacque, and the church organist and pianist, Natallia Revinskaya, is a liturgical dancer's dream: Zina understands the importance of integrating the movement seamlessly into the service, and Natallia is a gorgeous pianist.

Let me share with you the evolution. Originally, Zina asked me to dance Mary's response to the angel Gabriel (Luke 1:26-38). The Annunciation is my favorite gospel passage, and I realized that I had never danced it. So, I was excited (and daunted) by the task. I went into the gym to move the passage, and I got into the idea of throwing stuff out to make room. I tossed and dug and tossed some more. (I can really identify with the need to get rid of stuff!) But, then it occurred to me that Mary may not have done that. She didn't have any time to throw anything out before saying yes. She just expanded herself, was just more of her beautiful self. There are two different ways to make room: in a fixed pie, you've got to throw out something, but if you can enlarge the pie, you can keep everything. That's what Mary did.

Then, I realized that the Christmas story about making room is the innkeeper who did NOT make room. So, what a contrast: Mary unquestioningly making room, intuitively knowing she could do it, and the innkeeper just not getting it at all. This contrast, I recognized, could be powerful in a dance.

So, the next time I went to the gym, I brought my double-sided cape: one side is dark olive and the other, shimmering silver.
    Part I: I walk in down the center aisle. Very tired. very pregnant (cape is under my dress making a pregnancy puff). It's been a long journey. Music is dragging. I can hardly get to the front of the church. Natallia later chose "Bethlehem Road" by David Paxton for this section.
    Part II:  I pull the dark green cape out and become the Innkeeper. No. NO. No. No. NO.  The music is crashing chords. Angry. Dark. Natallia chose Prelude Opus 32 No. 2 by Sergei Rachmaninoff
    Part III: I become Mary again, and the silver side of the cape becomes the swaddling clothes. The music morphs into that beautiful "Emmanuel" by Bob McGee. I am the happy mother cradling my infant, fussing over him, letting people in the congregation take a peek as I walk him out down the center aisle.

So, I sent Zina a note with this new outline with a bit of trepidation: The gospel had morphed into the Navity (Luke 2:1-7). I somehow managed to skirt around dancing the Annunciation. To depict the Innkeepers response, I needed to establish the exhausted, very pregnant tired Mary: then, I could show how awful the "No" really was. Zina said she's learned that when she asks someone to co-minister with her, she needs to trust where the spirit leads.

So, a week and a half before the Sunday, I went out to Barrington to rehearse with Natallia, and on the Metra train back from the rehearsal, I realized that the "Dong. Dong" of the recorded message: "Dong, Dong. The doors are about to close." are the first two notes of "Emmanuel." I was singing it all the way home: "Emmanuel, Emmanuel. His name is called Emmanuel. God with us. . . "  I often, for some reason, have trouble remembering the next line but then it came to me: "revealed in us." And, it just gave me the shivers. I'm making Jesus out of the negative innkeeper's cape: Jesus is revealed even in our "no"s. He can find our essence in our darkness. How powerful that that is the song Natallia played as I introduced the infant Jesus to the congregation.

Reading Luke 2 a couple days later, it hit me that the birth is in a different physical location than the inn. One of the gifts of liturgical dance/movement is being able to show the movement, the traveling from place to place: that there are distinct locations where the events of a story take place. (Showing the locations for the Passion story, for example, is particularly powerful.) At any rate, the sanctuary is very small, so the only other place I could think of that would provide decent sight lines for the congregation is the pulpit, which became the innkeeper's inn. Then, Mary went over to the center of the chancel to give birth.

And, then the night before the service, I read the gospel again. (It's amazing how much information is packed into a few sentences.) I had been making the innkeeper out to be the villain, not wanting to put up lowly people, but then reading the gospel, it struck me: There were lots of people going to Bethlehem to be registered. The inn may have truly been already beyond capacity. In addition, it was the first registration, and we all know how chaotic the first time for anything, especially something large scale like that, can be. So, the innkeeper may have truly been at wits end before this pregnant woman and her husband showed up.

This dance (and I use that term loosely - it is probably better described as physical theatre) was the most emotionally exhausting I've ever done. Zina had the inspiration to change the closing song to "Emmanuel," which gave everyone a chance to participate in reinforcing the message. Many in the congregation were moved to tears and thanked me afterwards.

Videotaping Movement Meditations to the Lord's Prayer

Sunday, August 30, 2009, 10:30am,

Sunday Worship with Congregational Movement to the Lord's Prayer

Learn to move through the Lord's Prayer and help others learn how to pray the Lord's Prayer through movement. Immediately after services, everyone is invited to be part of a videotaping of simple movement gestures for the Lord's Prayer. Participants will be asked to fill out a release form and will be named in the credits

New Hope United Methodist Church, Chicago, Illinois

The church address is 7115 W. Hood Ave. -- that's just east of Harlem, North of I-90, North of Peterson, South of Devon.
From the city: Take I-90 toward O’Hare airport. Exit N at the Harlem Ave. exit, go N. 1.5 miles one block past Peterson to Hood. Turn right (East). New Hope is at 7115 W. Hood Ave, at the southwest corner of Nickerson and Hood. It looks like an old fashioned country church painted white. NOTE: there is another much larger church also at that intersection so make sure you go to the right one!

I will teach the movement during the children's time, which is toward the beginning of the service. Children can then go to nursery care and Sunday School during the rest of the service. We will have snacks after worship and videotape more immediately after the service. I'm not sure exactly how long all this will take, but we should be done with most of it by 12:30. There's a park across the street so children can run around, and I hope we can videotape some versions outside, too.

Production of the video is supported by a grant from the Community Arts Assistance Program from the City of Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs and the Illinois Arts Council, a state agency.

Reflections on the Art of Testimony

So I had two very different experiences with testimony in a week last month.
February 1st, I went to a Worship Alive! workshop with Lillian Daniels, who wrote Tell Is Like It Is: Reclaiming the Practice of Testimony. Her focus was on bringing testimony, a practice common in evangelical churches, to mainstream denominations. She defined testimony as a lay person telling a story about God in his or her life. It occurs to me that faith-sharing is also closely related: in small faith groups or retreat environments, people share their stories of faith in a safe, intimate, supportive environment. Giving testimony is a public version.
I am reminded about a discussion I had about a "dialogue homily" at a church. I was upset when I heard some people speaking disparagingly about a woman who had taken a personal risk and shared a very intimate struggle during a dialogue homily. I brought it up during a liturgy meeting and suggested that perhaps some guidelines needed to be stated upfront to provide safety in the sharing. But, what came out of the discussion was that a homily is different from faith-sharing, and faith sharing wasn't really appropriate in that context. A homily or sermon is breaking open the word. So, during a dialogue homily, everyone who speaks needs to consider him or herself a mini-homilist and make comments that reflect on the scripture.
So, testimony is a challenge: it's an opportunity for a lay person to share publicly. Lillian said people will listen to other lay people in a way that they won't listen to the pastor who is seen as a "super-Christian." She said it takes a confident community to "risk testimony." Testimony is risky to hear as well as give.
Lillian's workshop focused on figuring out how to integrate testimony into a traditional worship service. She is the pastor of the First Congregational Church of Glen Ellyn, and she asks one person in advance to prepare a testimony for a service. While Lillian didn't necessarily recommend it, I think if I were coordinating testimony in services, I would ask the lay people to give a testimony based on the gospel (or scripture) of the day. It would make the worship experience more coherent. Here the differences between homily/sermon and testimony can be very nuanced. It's interesting to think about and consider.

Then on February 7th, I attended REV 12:11, a night of up close and personal dance ministry. The evening started slowly, and I thought that I made a mistake, that I should have gone to the Wheat Ridge Ministries dinner where my friend Lisa Wagner-Carollo, founder of Still Point Theatre Collective, was being honored that night. But, now I know I was where I was meant to be. The format for the evening was very simple. After a group opening dance, eight dancers each gave a verbal testimony and then danced to a song that expressed or inspired the testimony. Many of the testimonies were incredibly honest, brave, risky and powerful. The women were courageous to be so vulnerable, and it was the ones who risked the most who gave me the most and, I'd venture to say, probably got the most out of the experience as well. It's one thing to say "there were challenges in my life" and another to confess to everyone there, friend and stranger alike, to drugs and abortions and to tell of murders of loved ones and empty wombs.

As a dancer, I hate to admit that it was the words rather than the movement that really touched me. The dances (all to recorded music), which followed the testimonies, served as meditations on the personal stories. So, this is an interesting question: can testimony be told through movement? Or is movement too abstract? If the most touching testimonies were the most specific, can movement get specific enough? What is/can be the role of movement in testimony?
The most effective combination of words and movement for me was by Myah McKinnie. She told of a mistake she made because she didn't listen to God (I don't feel comfortable going into specifics about it even though the event was public.) and how, with God's help she has worked through it and is now finding joy in her life. It may be that because Myah is a friend of mine that her story of transformation was particularly moving to me. It also helped that I liked her song the best, a very upbeat number, "Identity" by Israel Houghton. Her dance was so joyful: she looked 20 years younger. If I had a photo of her dance, it would be the image for this posting.
The fact that I was particularly moved by a friend's testimony, brings up another issue. Who makes up the appropriate community for hearing and witnessing testimony?

Hats off to the Founder and Artistic Director of The Spirit Moves Performance Ensemble, Glynis James-Watson, who had the vision for the event and created and coordinated it. She wisely had two pastors at the end provide some perspective. In the invitation to discipleship, Rev. Orlando Dallas said something very simple and, as simple things often are, profound: "In order to have a testimony, you have to have a test." (I could write another whole posting on that and maybe I will.) And, then for the benediction, Min. Pamela Sullivan suggested that we could each hear a bit of ourselves in each of the testimonies. And, so I thought, Yes, that's why we share our testimonies, to learn we aren't alone and help others heal, to find and express universal truths. I am reminded of what my spiritual director once said to me, "Helping others helps us heal." Rev. Pamela also suggested that many of us sit on our testimonies. How true, I thought: I certainly am. I'm trying to figure out the forum and format for expressing a testimony of mine (Don't we all have many?). So, this beautiful night gave me lots of ideas and insight and prayer. Thank you!

The evening also brought up a question I keep coming back to: What's the difference between performance art and ministry? I have gone to performances where "artists" have shared very personal stories, and I was very turned off because I felt like I was (unwillingly) attending their (much needed) therapy session. It was too raw and unprocessed. And while in this night of testimony, the women shared incredibly intimate trials, I didn't feel uncomfortable or resentful. On the contrary, I was drawn in. I think there were two differences. The first was my expectation. At a prayer service, we are engaged in a different way, we are asked to fulfill a different role than an audience member is. We are active participants. As Catholic liturgists often quote, the congregation is called to "active and conscious participation." And the second were the presentations themselves. The dancers had done a lot of processing of the events they were retelling. They had prayed and considered how God had been moving in their lives, and those were the stories they were sharing. They had some perspective on the events. They weren't raw. Just as in good performance art, artistic framing can provide the necessary distance and perspective, for testimony, prayer and reflection can provide the mediating presence.

So, this has been a long post, but these experiences provided a lot of food for thought.

BTW, I will be presenting my choreography for congregational movement participation in the Lord's Prayer at another Worship Alive! workshop: Worship Wellspring: A Sampling of Innovative Worship Experiences from Chicago Area Congregations on Saturday, April 25, 2009 from 2:00 – 5:00 pm at First United Methodist Church in Park Ridge.

Also, I will once again be leading the opening and closing rituals for the Third Annual Women's Spirituality Conference on Saturday March 21st 9am-3:30pm in Northfield, Illinois. I wrote about my experiences last year on my blog.

Finally, I'm on the board of the Lakeshore Chapter of the Sacred Dance Guild and we have an excellent workshop coming up which I highly recommend: Tools and Fuels for Sacred Dance: A Choreography Workshop for your BodySpirit on
Saturday, March 28, 2009 9AM-4PM.

Commemorating 9/11 w/Dance

I went to the Joffrey Ballet concert in Millennium Park on 9/11. It was billed as a "tribute to the victims and heroes of the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center." (I might add the Pentagon and the other plane, too.) So I was interested to see how a secular dance company was going to make a concert a memorial. The concert began with the Artistic Director coming out on stage and giving a welcoming statement, acknowledging the day. We were told that at the end of the concert there would be a moment of silence. A woman came out and sang the "Star Spangled Banner" a cappella. Beautiful. Then, the concert proceeded like any other dance concert, except that there was a lighted flag on the side of the stage which was somehow most noticeable for me during Gerald Arpino's "Round of Angels" from 1983, an exquisite dance about parting and death.
The program stated "Through the medium of dance, one of humankind's most fundamental means of creative expression, The Joffrey's performance this evening celebrates the loving connection among us all. It is our hope that this performance also expresses our shared capacity for all that helps us heal from the worst of tragedies -- the human traits of compassion, spirituality and ability to find joy again as we reconcile great loss through memory, ritual and the power of art." So perhaps the connection need not be explicit.
But, the final dance, another one by Arpino called "Trinity" from 1970, was quite profound and appropriate for the evening. It begins with the dancers dressed in loud bright colors walking in with lights that are like candles. Only a couple of the lights remain on stage for most of the dance, but at the end, the dancers bring the lights onto the stage, set them down, and leave them there. It was very profound. We shared our moment of silence, but then the dancers came out for their curtain call. I really didn't feel like clapping, not because they weren't deserving, but because it broke the mood. And, I think most people felt the same way because the clapping was half-hearted. It would have been so incredibly powerful if they had forgone the curtain call. It really would have made a statement that everyone would have remembered, internalizing in his or her own ways as we left the park in silence.

Be like Mary Magdalene

I wanted to add a few thoughts to my last posting about dancing John 20:1-18: the story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb on Easter morning. I didn't wax poetic enough on Dan LeMonnier's song, "Begin Again." What a wonderful synergy to collaborate with a musician who I had just met who happened to have written (and recorded) a song inspired by the same passage that I was dancing!

I absolutely LOVE the line, "Be like Mary. Do not cling to what has been."

Let's take it a sentence at a time. "Be like Mary." There has been a lot of scholarship directed toward reclaiming Mary Magdalene as a woman of faith and clearing her reputation. There is no scriptural evidence that she was a prostitute, but there is evidence, in the Gospel stories of Easter morning, that she was a disciple to the disciples, seeing the risen Lord and spreading the good news. So, what is a disciple, but someone to emulate or be like? So, yes, "Be like Mary." Be a disciple. Spread the good news. When I enact the story, I am Mary, but in real life, I can be like Mary.
"Do not cling to what has been." is inspired by the line in which Jesus said to Mary, "Do not hold on to me (which is sometimes also translated "do not cling to me") for I have not yet ascended." And, what is he really saying to her, but do not stay in the past. I am going forward. Come with me into the future. Thanks, Dan, for this song! I could go through the rest of it line by line like this: the whole song has great theology, giving new twists and lots of insight into the story.

My whole adventure of going to the Biblical Storytelling Festival was partially supported by a Community Arts Assistance Program grant from the City of Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs and the Illinois Arts Council, a state agency. Thank you!

And, a reminder about the upcoming retreat:
Saturday, October 4, 2008, 9:30am-4pm

Moving Through the Mysteries of the Rosary

Portiuncula Center for Prayer, Frankfort, Illinois

The rosary is a traditional Roman Catholic meditative prayer form that combines prayer intentions, scripture stories called “mysteries,” and repetitive prayers. In honor of October as the Month of the Rosary, we will explore how the full cycle of the mysteries of the rosary – Jesus’ birth, ministry, death, and resurrection – is relevant to our contemporary life journeys. After grounding ourselves in movement-based Lectio Divina (scriptural reflection) and faith sharing, we will develop our own moving meditations to the natural rhythms of the spoken rosary. Our movement might focus on any one of the three intertwined elements of rosary prayer – the prayer intention, the scripture meditation, or the repetitive prayers themselves – or it might flow between them. Our leader, Michele Marie Beaulieux, dances the rosary as a private movement meditation, and, as a retreat leader, she guides other people, whether they consider themselves dancers or not, in experiencing how they can deepen their personal prayer by moving to the rhythms and stories of the rosary. The rosary is so rich, so full of layers that it provides a plush opportunity for exploring movement. People who participate in Michele’s retreats find their personal rosary prayer deepened: they expand their movement beyond their fingers to their entire bodies. No rosary, dance, or movement experience is required, merely a desire and willingness to move and pray. Please wear comfortable clothing. If weather permits, we may pray outside. Rosaries will be provided.

Beginning Again with Mary at the Tomb

This summer, I had the opportunity to tell and dance the story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb from John 20 on a labyrinth, not once, but twice!

First, I danced for the Feast of Mary Magdalene as part of the early morning worship service on July 22 at Wisdom Ways Center for Spirituality in St. Paul, MN. I was intrigued when I learned that the worship service would take place outdoors on a labyrinth. I have told the story many times in churches, using the altar as the tomb and going up and down the aisles to show Mary's movement to and from the tomb. If you're not familiar, a labyrinth is not a maze with right and wrong turns, but a unicursal (singular) path to the center and then back out again. So, how wonderful to represent Mary's journey to and from the tomb! This innovation represented an opportunity to expand the traveling movements, adding dance interludes to my storytelling, so I asked about a musician. Erika Schwichtenberg who is on staff at Wisdom Ways is a cellist, and the cello seemed a perfect instrument to express Mary's lament: it's so emotionally expressive. Unfortunately, she hurt her hand and couldn't play. But, a wonderfully talented violinist, Kathleen Olsen who plays with the Minnesota Philharmonic, stepped in the morning of the prayer service. She overcame our intense anti-anything-but-cello bias, putting our prejudices to shame. It was fun to work together to figure out musical sounds that would express the very different emotional tones of each of the trips back and forth to and from the tomb.

People responded very favorably to the scriptural enactment/dance/storytelling. My twin (a tough critic even though or maybe because she shares my DNA) said that I made Mary Magdalene "real," bringing her to life. Very human with real emotions, not just a far-away bible character.

I realized, in the middle of it, that I was recounting a story that had originally taken place in the open air: the tomb was outside after all. So, that made the prayer even more extra special.

On another note, I had always been confused by the "stage directions" in the story which have Mary "turning" two times, which doesn't make sense. A woman commented that that was evidence that the story had been pieced together from different sources. Of course! Why hadn't I put that together? Need to do more biblical research . . .

So a couple of weeks later, when I arrived at Simpsonwood, outside Atlanta, for the Network of Biblical Storytellers festival in August, one of the first things I did was check out the advertised labyrinth to see if it would work to tell the story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb. The labyrinth is in an absolutely magical setting in the middle of the woods, so the answer was "Yes!" (Photo by Simon Camilleri is of me telling the story there.) I recruited Dan LeMonnier to play for me, and his instrument is, of all unlikely candidates: banjo. (After having my heart set on the cello and being blown away by the violin, who was I to know what musical instrument would best convey Mary's story?) After I told the story, ending with "I have seen the Lord" and encouraging everyone to join me in those words and movement, Dan and his banjo broke into the catchy, joyful song that he wrote about Mary Magdalene at the tomb, "Begin Again" (available on his CD available through his website and on iTunes). His banjo music is so contagious, many many joined me dancing around the labyrinth in sheer joy. It was wonderful to dance with a lot of other celebratory people. Dan's music helped me feel the incredible happiness that Mary felt after she had seen Jesus again in a way that I hadn't really understood it before. Just sheer utter joy. That's the power of music. And, that's the power of dance . . . to understand on a kinesthetic level. And that's the power of great literature, such as the bible: every time you read a story, you can get something else, new, out of it. And, most importantly, that's the power of love!

The whole adventure of going to the Network of Biblical Storytelling Festival was partially supported by a Community Arts Assistance Program grant from the City of Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs and the Illinois Arts Council, a state agency. Thank you!

On another note: a not to be missed event

It turns out that one of my favorite storytellers from the Network of Biblical Storytellers festival is coming to the Chicago area this week. So, if you’re available, please consider coming to one of the performances of “Elijah” by Simon Camilleri who is touring the states from Australia. The story of Elijah is found in the Jewish Bible (Tanakh or Old Testament) and is significant in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. The script for the show comes directly from account of Elijah from the books of 1 and 2 Kings. All performances ask a free will offering. I’ll be going to the Thursday night performance. If you opt to go to another one and let me know, maybe I'll go to that one, too. I helped arrange these Chicago area presentations because I wanted to see the whole show. This is the bible come to life! Truly wonderful.

While I'm plugging storytellers from the festival, let me put a plug in for Ed Kilbourne who told great stories, in his very understated way, imagining Jesus on earth today.

Ritual Lamentation

I went to a one day workshop last Saturday at the Theatre School at Depaul University: "Deep Song: Ecstatic Voice and Lamentation; Exploring the Ancient Art of Ritual Lamentation" taught by Marya Lowry, a professor of Theater Arts at Brandeis University. I was in very learned company: voice teachers at DePaul, etc. and was in a bit over my head, but it was insightful and interesting, nevertheless. Hearing what these people could do with their voices was incredible. Listening and watching, I was transported to different ancient cultures and fragments of childhood memories.

Lamentation is a lost concept today. I've only heard mention in the bible. My parish for a long time was Holy Innocents (the children Herod ordered murdered in his attempt to do away with Christ) so I danced and prayed and enacted the shadow side of Christmas and was familiar with the haunting passage, “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for children, and she would not be consoled for they were no more.”

I've been through a traumatic time the last couple of years. And, while the trauma itself has been difficult, the lack of support from friends has been really painful. In the workshop, I realized that part of the problem is that our society doesn't provide any structure, any sanctioned social mechanism, for people to provide that support. Traditionally, lamentation was such a vehicle. It created a space for people to grieve with communal support. When lamenting, the community allows a person (usually a woman) to give full vocal expression to her grief while, at the same time, keeping her safe. There is an ebb and flow. The supporters provide a background "harmony." If the person who is lamenting is going into dangerous territory, the others will rise up with their voices, supporting and validating her grief while at the same time overpowering her, bringing her back to equilibrium. The community encourages, endorses, and protects all at the same time.

Today, psychologists recognize that we cannot process our emotional upheavals solely verbally. Talk therapy doesn't work for trauma. We need to integrate the right and left brain, to do full brain processing. Wailing was an ancient mechanism for achieving that. The community was given an opportunity to support a grief-stricken person nonverbally. There are times when words are just not effective. Friends don't know what to say, and when they try, they often stick their feet in their mouths. By empathizing with the feelings through sound rather than words, people can acknowledge a person's pain without having to articulate logic and reasoning. It's easier and healthier for everyone. Today, we say, "Don't cry" and people don't. So, there's all this suppressed pain in our society that hasn't been given an outlet. Marya said that there's a "flattening" - a narrower and narrower range of acceptable emotions; not being allowed to grieve also diminishes our ability to feel the opposite.

So, in a small group in the workshop, I experienced that supportive role: letting someone wail and then rising up to catch her. It was incredible. Marya also encouraged us to try "chest beating and hair pulling" - actions I've only heard described in the bible. These are lost gestures in our civilized society. And, so in that circle, I tried beating my chest, providing a drumbeat with my body. The combination of beating my chest and vocalizing was very powerful. Traditionally, Catholics "strike their breast" three times during the Penitential Rite, "I have sinned through my own fault . . ." which is at the beginning of Mass. It's not taught anymore (except in very traditional churches) -- why are we stripping all the movement out of our worship? (Because we don't want to dwell on the negative?) I had never felt the primal power of "striking my breast" when I did that highly ritualized version of the gesture, but at least it was there. Now, even that remnant of the ancient practice has been sanitized out . . .

It's clear that lamentation has been suppressed because it's so powerful: through lament, people can rouse themselves to action. The workshop was also referred to as "dangerous voices." Lament can empower and lead to protest. The voice work moved from laughter to grief fluidly. Emotion moves, evolves, transforms.

Marya is interested in lamentation from a theatrical perspective. The workshop was not a place to deal with raw laments. It wasn't a therapy session. But, how would one create a lamentation circle in our current society? People today are not trained in such vocal support. In ancient times, it was part of the culture so people learned it from their parents and grandparents. It's a lost art. How can we reinstitute such a powerful and important ritual today?

On getting out of the way for Mary Magdalene ... and Emma, too!

I went to Chiesa Nuova to see my good friend, Lisa Wagner of Still Point Theatre Collective, perform Deep Listening, a one woman play about death, dying and end of life care from the perspective of a doctor, health care providers, and a dying woman. It sounds depressing, but it really isn't. Lisa gave a wonderful, convincing performance. Afterwards, someone asked her secret to acting and she said that she just tries to "get out of the way and let the people speak for themselves."
Wow, I thought, that's what I was trying to get at in my last post about the mystery as to why my leading the prayer at the Women and Spirituality conference went so well. Three different elements converged so that I just got out of the way, and in that case, was able to be myself, trust myself to be myself. There's a magic that takes over in those moments; it's almost an outer body experience. I attribute it to the Holy Spirit.
It happened again last Saturday when I proclaimed the first three Glorious Mysteries for the rosary after Dennis and Victoria Mervar's wedding. For the fifth mystery, Victoria had had the idea of she and Dennis reading Mary's and Joseph's Yeses from Luke and Matthew. Juxtaposed. She often comes up with a solution to a dilemma that I never would have thought of. Brilliant. Anyway, right before the rosary started, she told me she forgot to bring the script, so I asked the wedding coordinator to find a bible and I was madly writing out the script for them, trying to make my notoriously bad handwriting as legible as possible. Anyway, I think that distraction helped me "get out of the way," because I didn't have time to think. When my cue came, I put the bible down and I was on, telling the story of Mary Magdalene at the tomb. I did the best proclamation of the story I have yet to do. So, thank you, Victoria, for forgetting the script! I was especially grateful that I was able to do such a good rendition for Victoria and Dennis on their wedding day. They're a great couple.

Oh, and about Emma . . .

Friday, April 25, 2008, 11AM - 3PM & Sunday, April 27, 1PM - 3PM

Arbor Day Celebrations

In a diversion from my typical church gigs and in an intersection with my "other life" as a marketing consultant to the Illinois Emerald Ash Borer Wood Utilization Team, I will be Emma the Emerald Ash Borer for the Arboretum's Arbor Day festivities. To impersonate the bad bug that's been destroying the ash trees in the Midwest, I will be wearing a totally great costume made by the multi-talented Edith Makra.

Morton Arboretum, Lisle, Illinois