Buttermilk Peach "Cake"

 Made from a recipe posted by Melissa Clark of the NYTimes Cooking section that was identified as a Peach Cobbler, I beg to disagree.  This super easy and satisfying concoction is a cake.  

Shakespeare Theatre Company: Othello

 I was eager to see Othello.  So much so, that I actually purchased my ticket over 6 months ago!  This gave me a slightly better price on what became utterly outrageous as the date approached.  Anchored by actors Wendell Pierce and Ben Turner, I think it's safe to say that this is STC's big production of the year.  

Other than Othello is a "Moor," and that this is a tragedy, I also didn't know that much more about the plot.  Of Course I knew the heroine was Desdemona, and the villain (thanks to Disney's Aladdin) was Iago.  So I came to learn the story and experience most especially, Wendell Pierce (of the Wire, Tremaine, and other excellent TV series) fame.  And it was apparent when he first took the stage that I was not alone in my fandom for Pierce.  However, by the time he arrived, I was already captivated by another actor, Ben Turner.  From his first line forward, Iago was the man in charge.  Pierce was wonderful, don't get me wrong.  His timing, especially when squeezing out a humorous moment, was superb.  Yet, Iago was in charge, and he played Othello for the fool with tremendous agility.  The third member of the A-team Desdemona, played by Olivia Cygan, was bright and breezy, innocent and trusting to a fault.  She created the perfect heroine for a tragic demise, and we certainly got one.  In the end, very nearly everyone dies except the person who ought to.  I guess some things never change.

While all three of the principals were excellent and well balanced, (I once saw a production of Romeo and Juliet here were the actor portraying Mercutio was SO GOOD, that every one else felt like they'd just been called up from the minor leagues) so were the B-Team players.  Most notably Lucas Iverson as Cassio and Todd Scofield as the Duke of Venice.  Lucas gave Cassio the same boyish innocents and devotion to Othello that made his downfall feel as tragic as Desdemona's demise.  And Scofield is a master of gravitas.  Grounding even as chaos fraught a scene as the final one with a sense of ... what's the word?  Hope?  

The set was expansive creating an unusually small orchestral seating area and giving all of us on the ground floor a tremendous sense of intimacy with the actors.  Of the supporting elements (sets, props, lighting, sound, graphics, costumes and choreography), it was the choreography that stood out.  With a military theme, the ensemble brought an element of the larger world without.   Between many scenes they also affected scene changes with a precision worthy of a well-honed combat brigade.  

An excellent production and a wonderful way to end this 2025-2026 theatre season for me.

Wendell Pierce as Othello.

Strategizing with the Duke of Venice, [L to R: Cassio (Lucas Iverson), ensemble (Jon Beal), ensemble (Cole Sitilides), the Duke of Venice (Todd Scofield), Othello (Wendell Pierce), and Montano (Derek Garza)]

Iago (Ben Turner)

Othello and Desdemona (Olivia Cygan) in love and carefree

Iago begins planting seeds of doubt.

Cassio (Licas Iverson)

Military Horse-play; Prepping Cassio to play his unwitting role.  [L-R: as members of the ensemble: EM Whitworth, Cole Sitilides, Vish Skula, Derek Garza, (Cassio) Lucas Iverson, and Anna Marzullo]

The die is cast, Desdemona's final slumber.

Driven mad by a circle of unraveling lies.  I thought Pierce's delivery of Othello's final soliloquy was brilliant.  He owned every word, every phrase, every pause to craft his statement, his "take" on Othello's summation of his life.  Even as he spoke, I could easily imagine how it could have a different meaning under the power of an actor who made different choices.  And his interpretation was the perfect conclusion to the Othello he portrayed...and you could have heard a pin drop from start to finish.  

Another visit to the Past: Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

 Having the ability to scan old negatives and slides has proven to be a wonderful way to while away an hour or two of an evening.  I am so grateful for the life I have made for myself, and these images honestly also inspire me to dream of future adventures, too.

This is from my visit to Victoria Falls.  My traveling companions and I arrived in the evening, spent the next day there exploring the trails along the Zimbabwe side and taking in the sights and performances in the living cultural museum located in the little community where our lodging was also located on the rim of the canyon where the water from upper Zambezi River plummeted over the falls to form the lower Zambezi River.  

This was the third stop on our itinerary after spending 3 days on mini safari's at Zimbabwe's largest National Park and Game Reserve: Hwanke.  As I had discovered, by coming to Southern Africa in late December, we were visiting sights at the end of Spring.  This meant lots of newborns at Hwanke.  Spring comes after Winters' rainy season, as well.  By the end of Spring that water flow on the Zambezi has reduced dramatically, but oddly enough that makes it the best time to see the falls!  During the rainy season the amount of water sends up so much mist that falls are erased by its cloud-like mist, and the entire trail is under a constant drizzle, thus making it slippery and more dangerous.  We were told that if we came back in the rainy season the only way to see the falls is to hire a helicopter and see it from above.

I was all of 27 years old!

The hiking trail skirts the southern palisades for well over a mile and the further you get away from the central bed of the Zambezi, the less water is flowing over the edge on the opposite side, until finally all you have to look at is a rock wall made up of an ancient granite.  

The views were simply spectacular all along the trail.  That was 40 years ago, and like so many places that our now global tourist hot spots, I shudder to think what it must look like now.  The area around the falls was pretty simple.  There were a couple of motel like establishments for overnight guests, a mock African Village with artisans demonstrating traditional crafts and performing at set times, and a restaurant where you could take an evening meal.  I'm thinking there were also souvenir shops and other places to grab a bite.  

A statue of the great European Explorer Sir. David Livingston presided over the entrance.  Guests were a mix of White and Black Africans with some Europeans.  I met one other American family.  A Black man with his wife and two children.  They were from Brooklyn, NYC.  His parents were from Zimbabwe and he wanted his children to see the country of their ancestors.  in 1988, it was just 8 years into independence and despotism of its president Robert Mugabe was just beginning to become apparent.  The economy was on the skids, and the whole land reform movement was like the mythical "Pull You Push Me" two headed llama from "Dr. Doolittle"--as tug of war bound to tear things apart.  A nation that had been the agricultural bread basket of sub-Sarahan African was experiencing food shortages and run away inflation.  None of which was overtly present for tourists from far away with Dollars and Rands to spend.

The very first time in my life that I ever flew on a plane so new that it fucking smelled like a new car! was in Zimbabwe.  It was also the only time I have been a passenger on a commercial flight that was piloted by a woman.  As people were losing their ability to feed their families and the public transportation system--particularly in rural areas and cities outside of the capital, Harare, were breaking down for lack of funding, in ability to pay drivers and mechanics, or even but replacement parts, Mugabe's administration bought two brand new airplanes.

The "motel" we stayed in was a basic design.  A series of attached bedrooms with a private toilet, sink and shower, all opening on the same side to a paved walkway with room numbers affixed to the exterior walls next to the doors.  Everything about them was basic.  The most useful amenity was a ceiling fan over the door; although it wasn't oppressively hot or humid.  

In the second morning as I prepared to gather my belongings a sort of passing of the guard occurred in my room.  The white tennis shoes that I'd brought with me that I'd owned for a while finally wore a hole in the bottom of one.  I anticipated this before departing and so bought a new pair that I also brought with me.  (I know, certifiably weird am I?!)  At any rate, I noticed a trash can at the end of the row of rooms.  The air was crisp when I left my room with the old worn out shoes in my hand.  Looking around it seemed like all the tourists were still asleep, but in the blue-hued light of dawn and trio of Black grounds keepers was already tidying things with rakes and clippers.  They all wore Forest green jump suits and floppy hats.  None were particularly close to the motel, and I didn't even think they noticed me.

Back in the room I finished packing and waited for my friends to knock on my door signalling it was time to head off to our next adventure.  I had gathered another little bag of trash and as we left I went over and dropped it in the trash can.  I expected to see the shoes I'd just tossed out.  But they weren't there.  Someone had taken them.

When first approaching the falls.  You can see the line of tourists on the pathway in front of us (upper right)

Continuing to hike the path past where the water is still flowing over the precipice.  In the rainy season, there is basically no visible rock, it's all just massive amounts of water.

Then looking back to where the water is still flowing and down to the "lower" Zambezi River below.

Examples of Traditional homes.  The stilts provide protection from nocturnal predators.  

A Park Employee shares cultural traditions of the Shona and Ndebele peoples 

As the crowd of visitors grow, he is happy to answer questions, too.

A musical performance.

1st Stage: Indecent

 Written by the amazing Paula Vogel, it's the true story of a Yiddish playwright named Shlomo Asch, who writes a play in Warsaw at the turn of the 20th century.  It is deemed too provocative to produce, but many who read it are deeply touched, and so he sets off to tour the play.  It is a sensation in Berlin, and Bratslava, Budapest and Constantinople.  It's so well received that he brings it to America and new York City's Broadway.  Where it meets a swift and self-righteous death at the hands of the morality police.  The play is titled "God of Vengeance," and it is set in a brothel run by a Jew who's pious trappings and middle class life-style are paid for by his sex workers.  He as a virgin daughter whom we tried to keep shielded from the whore house, but she meets and falls in love with one of the girls there.  When her father discovers the liaison he condemns his daughter to a life as a prostitute and throws his Torah in the garbage exclaiming that he doesn't need God because he's got money!  

It's a sort of two for one.  The play within the play.  It's also densely written and a tour de force of controversial ideas from history that are as relevant today as they were in 1908, 1921 or 1938...  This production was 1st Stage doing what it does best, creating beautiful, intimate theatre with actors who are talented and drawn to the format.  The set was relatively simple yet with a few surprises, including the iconic lesbian lovers playing in the rain (real water pouring down upon them) scene that brings the whole tale to a close.

The cast worked like one, and with all of the coordination required to make the work, they'd have to.  However, it was more than mechanical precision, they produced a vibe that made you feel like they genuinely loved what they were doing and with whom they were doing it.  Each member had their moments.  For my part it was good to see familiar faces like Lily Burka, Nicole Halmos and Stephen Russell Murray.  But my favorite was Ethan J. Miller who played the Narrator/stage hand, Lemml.  I first encountered Miller in a child's role way back in 2017 in an Arena Stage production of "Watch On The Rhine" by Lillian Hellman.  He was kid and I didn't give it much thought.  Then he reappeared as a young man in "The Chosen" here at 1st Stage back in 2023.  He'd been away getting a theatre degree in Minnesota.  This time he left an impression.  Now, he's one of a couple dozen actors who when I see their name associated with a play or musical, I know I'm going to get a wonderful performance.  This offering was no exception.  In spite of him still being the youngest member of the ensemble, his character evolves into the moral conscience of the entire show.  A feat he made seem easy.

Glad to see the run has been extended through the end of the month.  This one is a definite go.

The show opens with the cast resurrecting from the ashes in order to tell their story.

Did I mention there's dancing?  Oh, and singing--there's singing, too!

[L-R: Ben Ribler, Stephen Russell Murray, Lauren Hart, Ethan J. Miller, Nicole Halmos, Lily Burka and Zach Brewster-Geisz]

Staging the final scene of the play within a play 'God of Vengeance'.  L-R: Zach Brewster-Geisz as Otto, Lily Burka as his daughter, Chana, and Nicole Halmos as his wife, Vera.

The lovers: Halina (Lauren Hart) and Chana (Lily Burka) as Lemml (Ethan J. Miller) looks on.

Signature Theatre: Pippin

 I'm not sure what I expected.  My only sense of Pippin was from watching a version of the original with Ben Vareen that was filmed while being performed on stage.  To put it mildly, I was not impressed.  Not with the story, not with the sets, not with the choreography and most of all not with Ben Vareen who came across as a sweaty mess.  It was dated, the message was "meh," and it simply wasn't entertaining.  

Enter the recent Broadway revival where the ensemble, known as "Players" presented with a crazy, wild cirque du Soliel vibe.  Now, that's entertaining.  Signature provided an amazingly entertaining crew of Players sans the high wire tricks.  In spite of the lack of flaming hoops--I was not disappointed.  The players were also exceptionally well attired with multiple costume changes--kudos to Eric Teague for a cast full of costume magic!  

The story is set in the 8th century Frankish Kingdom of Charlemagne with a focus on his son Pippin.  After that very nearly EVERYTHING is a fiction, even ignoring the very little assumed factual information about the two.  Roger O. Hirson basically used these historic figures to write a show about the futile foci of a rich boy's pursuit of the meaning of life.  To support him, his father, Charles, is ambivalent; his half-brother and step-mother are adversarial; with only his nympho-maniacal grandmother, and she's always up for fun.  Swirling around all of this are the players with their mysterious, all-knowing leader.  The roll was originally Vareen's, and in this production it falls to Cedric Neal.  Neal comes to the roll with a wide range of experience some on Broadway, more in London's West End, and he spins it like a charming vortex, conducting not only his players, but the mortals all around.  It was a captivating performance that was supported by an unknown actor to the DMV who also had most of his youthful experience in NYC.  Brayden Bambino's effortless innocents and idealism coupled with a wonderful voice made him the perfect juxtaposition to the feline menace of Neal.  

But wait, there's more.  The 5 members of the supporting cast brought together 5 of the most experienced and talented members of the DMV acting pool, and each gave a performance that both befitted the absurdity and the sincerity of show.  Eric Hissom on the ambivalent King Charles was delightfully distract able, but never foolish.  Maria Rizzo as his gold-digging wife, Fastrada, was every voluptuous inch the conniving bombshell that she was meant to be.  Her son, Lewis, was played by Ryan Sellers with great physicality, sexy yet silly.  Awa Sal Secka was Catherine, the real woman who finally brings the meaning that Pippin is so desperately seeking into his life.  (The real Pippin died after a failed coup exiled to a monastery...) Without the archetypal under-pinning of their other supporting characters, Sal Secka's introduction in the second was like a glass of clear, cool water in a world overflowing with cheap wine.  

I've saved the best for last.  Berthe, Pippins amorous Grandmother, played with wonderful lusty exuberance by Naomi Jacobson.  She was funny, physical, commanding with a hint of menace, and once her outwear came off at the end of her song, "No Time At All", she was transformed into a sexy dominatrix!  At the male players lifted her over their heads and carried her off stage, the character Pippin exclaims, "That's my grandma!" to the rousing applause of the entire audience.

The show was done in the round, with members of the 8-player team entering into the audience space at times.  During the aforementioned song, "No Time At All" chorus song sheets were distributed to the audience and we were all invited to sing along--and we did!  At another point, a change in scene was punctuated by a flurry of falling crepe paper leaves from overhead.  The production had a very intimate sensibility from the first to the last.

Is Pippin one of the great American Musicals?  I don't really think so.  BUT, it sure as hell can be very entertaining!  Thanks to the cast a crew of this production for a wonderful experience.

FUN FACT (though not that fun):  Pippin debuted on Broadway in 1972.  Besides Ben Vareen in the role of the Lead Player, there was another rather famous actor in her swan song performance.  Irene Ryan fresh off of 9 years of playing Granny Clampitt on the wildly successful "Beverly Hillbillies" debuted the role of Berthe!  She played the role for five and half months until suffering a stroke in March of 1973.  She never recovered, and died six weeks later at her home in Santa Monica, California.

The ensemble of Players with Cedric Neal in the Center as the Leading Player

Pippin (Brayden Bambino) singing three of the male Players [L-R: Hank Con Kolnitz, Calvin L'mont Cooper, and Ben Bogen)

King Charles (Eric Hissom)

Queen Mother, Berthe (Naomi Jacobson) lamenting her old age while denying it with every twist and turn of her agile body in the company of the players with Pippin seated looking on.

Lewis (Ryan Sellers) and his mother, Fastrada (Maria Rizzo)

Pippin discovers there is no meaning in warfare

Catherine (Awa Sal Secka) and Players: [L-R: Alanna Sibrian and Georgia Monroe]

Catherine with her son, Theo (Ellison Bihm)

A parting shot of the Players!

Stoney Point Nature Reserve, Betty's Bay, South Africa 1988

Re-accessing my old slides and negatives continues to ignited an entire review of moments in my past life. 

How could I have known just how this moment in my life would return to me decades later?

This is the place that my friend Russ and I ended up at on a drive where we spoke truth to one another.

We'd never been deceptive.  I don't want to suggest that.  But the heart is a willy critter.  It is more than capable of concealing things in order to get its way.  

We didn't open a map and say, let's go to Betty's Bay.  We just got into his little white Opal sedan and headed south and then east on route 44.  I don't recall what it was about the exit to Betty's Bay and the Stoney Point Nature Reserve that caught our fancy, but that were we turned off the highway. 

We found a parking lot mostly empty. I remember how fresh the air felt.  A sign cautioned visitors to not approach any of the Penguins.  Penguins?  That was not something I had any expectation of encountering.

After exploring at a respectable distance the beach and African Jackass Penguin colony, we had our heart-to-heart.

I know at the time I was both totally expecting what Russ was going to tell me, and utterly devastated, too.  I just didn't have a back-up plan and that was pure foolishness on my part given the anticipated outcome of our conversation.

It is a testament to his integrity and lesson to the power that a slammed door--even one shut with compassion--can have in the process of becoming an adult.  It was a lesson that I would need to learn all over again in time, but it was also a milestone in my own journey toward personhood.  

Cormorants atop the rocks

African Jackass Penguins (Spheniscus demersus) in a colony at Stoney Point Nature Reserve, 1988

And then from 2018 to 2025 I ended up volunteering as a docent at the Maryland Zoo, home to the largest colony of African Jackass Penguins in North America.  Our lives are webs.

Scaling Sugar Loaf in Rio de Janeiro 1988

 I had the amazing good fortune of travelling to Rio de Janeiro in November of 1988.  I was all of 27.  Had just completed teaching an undergraduate course in Elementary Education at the University of Kentucky.  I decided to use the money I'd made for an adventure!  And the first stop was Rio.

Part of what influenced that choice was an acquaintance I had made at a local Christian Seminary through the young man who sublet a room in my home at the time.  Jonathan attended Asbury Seminary and he brought Mauricio home to work on a project and thus we met.  Mauricio demonstrated a uniquely warm character towards me.  A connection on his part that would only come to light many years later and to his unrequited disappointment, but; hey...sometimes that's just how the cookie crumbles.

Notwithstanding that underlying energy, Mauricio was very generous in his creating connections for me in Rio among his longtime friends there.  One example was a trio who took it upon themselves to take me on an overnight adventure including visits to a local rain forest park and the former summer capitol of Petropolis nestled in the cooler mountains some distance above coastal Rio de Janeiro.  

The other great connection was a woman who lived in Rio and had a spare room in her condo that she typically used to host young Brazilians who were attending a local seminary in Rio.  As fortune would have it, she was in between long-term guests and was happy to offer the space to me for my stay.  I wish to Hell I'd written her name down, because to not recall it is a true sorrow to me now.  She was a psychologist by training, as was her departed husband.  At one point they'd had a therapy practice, now in retirement and on her own she spent her time supporting young Christians seeking ordination and other charitable works.  I recall that I expected to find her a warm and easy to relate to
person.  She was not.  

Edificio Palacia Champs Elysees, Avenida Atlantica 2856

She was all business.  Not cold, but not someone who felt the need to jump in to help.  She believed in the power of productive struggle.  My first hint was that she didn't have any plan for meeting me at the airport other than directions to the train that would take me to a station where I would get a cab and come to her address.  She and her husband were successful in their careers and traveled for both business and pleasure to the U.S. and Europe back in the day.  So how hard could it be?

Now here's what I didn't expect.  She lived in an apartment building called "Edificio Palacio Champs Elysees" on Avenida Atlantica 2856.  This was a 13-story tall apartment built in 1950 with units that faced right out to the Altantic Ocean on Copacabana Beach!  Other units faced the backside of the building, with a view of the building behind it across an access alley.  Her apartment was on the 12 floor on the backside of the building and my guest room had a window that was perpetually shrouded in shade.  But it was free!

November in Rio is like May in New York City.  The weather is leaning toward summer temps.  There was no AC and the days were quite warm, so a fan and an open window were nearly requirements at night.  And here's the wonderful thing about being in a little room on the backside of the 12th floor of the Edificio Palacio Champs Elysees in Rio de Janeiro--Rio NEVER SLEEPS!  The noise, the music, the traffic, the car horns, the screams, the shouts, the laughter just ebb and flow all night long finally subsiding around 4:45 AM when--what for it; the first goddamned rooster crows!!  

And yet, here I was.  In this most storied place...dead center on Copacabana Beach!  I could walk out of the front doors of the building, across the divided Avenida Atlantica and feel the sand of the beach between my toes as I walked toward to surf.   Me.  A kid from Flat Rock, Michigan.  My heart and mind were on overload for the entire 9 days.

My Flight to South Africa was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, November 20th.  I planned to spend Saturday the 19th at my host's apartment resting from all the adventures.  A time to collect my thoughts.  On Friday the 18th, she invited a friend over for dinner to meet me.  It was an interesting meal.  They two of them scrutinized my faith and at one point insisted on praying for me.  This is when I discovered that she was also Pentecostal in her persuasion of the faith.  Okay, been there done that.  And even as tired as I was, I played along.  Once that was established the meal continued on a pleasant, more casual note.

Well, until she asked me if there were anything I wished I would have seen/done while I was in Rio.  It was not a difficult question.  I replied that I was sad not to have gone to the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain (that iconic dome made from the remnants of an ancient volcano's lava crown).  She perked up.  That would be her gift to me.  Tomorrow we would go to Sugar Loaf.  Only one condition.  I was not to take my camera.

WHAT!?  Why?  

"Because," she said, "They will steal it from you."

"Who will steal from me?" I asked.

"The gangs," she said as if talking to an idiot.

"The gangs," I repeated, like an idiot.

"Yes!" she insisted. "Gangs!  They are everywhere.  They will steal anything.  You cannot take your camera."

"If I cannot take my camera, then I don't want to go."  My line in the sand.

"What do you mean?" she asked incredulously.  Hadn't she just made a case for why the camera was a bad idea?

"What you're saying doesn't make any sense," I retorted.  "Everyone brings a camera on their visit to Sugar Loaf.  Are their gangs of thieves just hanging around at the entrance waiting to steal cameras?"

"I don't know," she admitted.  "They steal them on the top."

"On the top of the mountain?" I asked.

"Yes," she said with renewed confidence.  "They steal them on the top."

I would pay a pretty penny for a picture of my face at this moment.  I said, "So, gangs are at the top of the mountain.  They steal cameras.  And then what?  They throw them off the side to someone waiting below?"

Hrrrmph!  She was tiring of the debate.

"Look," I said, "I will take full responsibility for whatever happens to my camera, if you will allow me to bring it along with us."

She was softening a little.

"And," I continued seeing a crack in her demeanor, "I will keep the camera as inconspicuously as possible on the way to the top and back."

She mulled the offer over.  It was clear that I wasn't going to back down.  After what felt like a long time, she agreed.

The parking lot at the base of the tram that will take you to the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain in Rio de Janeiro.

It's a two tram process.  Here I'm looking back down to the base as I head up to the first mound.

There is a park of sorts on the top of the first mound with a pathway to the next tram and a great view of Sugar Loaf in the distance.  At no time did I see any gangs.

And even from this lower platitude, there are great views of the city and coastline.

In the air, on our way to the top!

These are the best views of Rio.  Looking back to the south there is the small cove, and behind that is Copacabana Beach.  My host's building is a little past midway facing the beach proper.

The view on the other side captures much of Guanabara Bay with its fleet of privately owned yachts (even back in 1988!).  Coronado with the Christ statue is on the peak to the left.  Rio's other Icon.

Visit accomplished.  Camera intact.  It's time to go "home" and prep for tomorrow's leg of this journey.  Next stop: Cape Town, South Africa.