Tomorrow morning I will begin the first four weeks of the Nutrisystem Advanced program in an effort to improve my overall fitness and physical appearance. I’ve heard everything from “it tastes like dog food” (from more than one person, actually) to “it’s pretty good for boxed meals.” As far as how well it will work… I’ve heard and read of levels of success across the spectrum. If this program is something you’ve been interested in trying, read along to see how it goes for me. I promise to be brutally honest…

I did something this afternoon that I haven’t done in years. I took a new book to the pool and sat in the sun reading from cover to cover. Now I feel a rewarding sense of accomplishment. Reading for pleasure was put to the wayside throughout college. Although, I rarely cracked one of those $300 text books for course work. Anyway, I enjoyed today’s read.

It was a fantastic weekend, and now I’m ready for work.

Today the 45th cast of the Ball State University Singers take the plunge into “Spec Week.” The buzz of excitement and flurry of activities in and around the MU123 Production Center is still familiar despite the time that has passed. Tonight, I find myself reminiscing about an incredibly special time in my life.

I remember that first summer party and my first drink. I remember my first night’s picture. I remember my first song: New Fame. I can still smell MU123 pit. If I close my eyes I can imagine stretching out on the dusty floor and staring at the dark dust spots on that disgusting cottage cheese ceiling. (My abs are sore just thinking about it.)

I remember being pinned.
I remember carrying everything outside in the heat.

I remember how LOUD full sound rehearsals are in MU123.
I remember TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!

I remember how I got the grey paint on the pair of shorts I wore to bed last night.
I remember California, Jan’s tumbleweed, warm pop in Apple Valley.

I remember Mike Arthur’s “Thirsty Thursday’s” every night of the week.
I remember Travel Attire, Family Position, and A Position.

I remember being late (once!).
I remember covering name tags to cuss.

I remember never knowing what the hell was going on. Ever.

I miss beltpacks, smelly B sweaters, old old reds, Big Hair Big Fun. Alma Mater. Fire-up. “Boobies.” Good game pats from Josh Harrison. Flag, Mother, and Apple Pie. Indy Art Walk. Fall Family Weekend. Run-outs.

I Jenny Gibson’s love and sunshine. I miss Becca. I miss hearing Lindsey Helmer say, “Get out of America,” “Diminished finished,” and “Dram.”

I’ve climbed booger mountain. I’ve done scandalous things in the costume room.

There are only a few people who can remember everything in this post. Now we are scattered, one of us has passed away, and the people standing in our places don’t know who we are. It’s strange how something can be so consuming, so big, so important for years and then rush away like water under the bridge.

It has passed, but it won’t fade.

We walk up to a card table on a sidewalk that serves as a makeshift will call window. After collecting the tickets, we follow twisting steps to the choir loft of what used to be a sanctuary. There is a familiar musty smell that I find comforting. A procenium replaces the pulpit.  About 300 theater seats take the place of family pews. Minimal lighting. No sound reinforcement. A surprisingly large orchestra warms up in the pit on house left. With the last few minutes of daylight stream through huge stained glass windows everything in the room is cast into a dusty yellow haze as the seats fill. It’s all quite humble until the music begins.

You’d simply have to see it to believe it. What, at first impression, should have been a community theatre’s hack-job turned out to be a vibrant, sparkling, masterful, enchanting production. And isn’t that what this artform is all about? Transformation. Magic. Things not being what they seem.

Modest as the setting may be, the caliber of artistry blasting from the creaking stage was nothing short of spectacular. But there’s more! This company has shattered stuffy, snooty stereotypes by making opera accessible, comfortable, and affordable for anyone and everyone who might stumble upon this remarkable gem tucked away in one of Houston’s old neighborhoods. That alone would be remarkable even if the productions were ameature… but they are not. Not by a longshot.

I’m grateful to live in a city where little surprises like this one are not so uncommon. And I am thankful to Tyler for making the discovery and inviting me along for the adventure.

Opera In The Heights. Check it out!