Rising Above the Storm

With a musical memory

Mid-winter blues have descended. As I write to you, we are facing several days of a mighty storm that promises to force us to stay indoors, get ready for power outages, and explain to the dog why we don’t want to go outside with him while he does his daily ‘business.’

As an antidote, I forced myself to remember experiences that brought the opposite extreme into consciousness. And I came up with a memory that is even lighter than air. I want to share that with you today – in fact, leveraging your attention for my own selfish purpose. I hope you don't mind.

My joy throughout high school was drama and music – two subjects I could not possibly fail. I carried those loves with me as I became a young woman and began to think seriously about life in the theatre. It's my grand finale on the stage at age 29 that came immediately to mind as I was seeking escape from both weather and time.

I was at a repertory theatre in Santa Barbara and had just landed the prime role of Sally Bowles in "Cabaret" - Liza Minnelli's role in the movie version. I was dancing on top of the world. I had a private dressing room, stagehands who flew to the curtains to help me change costumes (I wore a short, silver lame' jacket with black fishnet hose and high heels), a professional photographer for publicity shoots, and even an understudy. We played to full-house audiences for successive weekends.

To support my stage life, I worked at a family restaurant named Mr. Frimples – where the owner took a shine to my acting talent and endured my lack of people skills as a waitress. He even understood when I threw butter through the pass-through window at the cook who'd dared to call me "sweetie." He kindly made me a hostess rather than firing me. I lived in a tiny apartment with no furniture and only a mattress on the floor – because who needs a couch when you have the stage?

Rehearsals were several nights a week. My understudy followed me like a stalker, hoping I'd literally trip up and give her the break she felt she deserved. We opened to rave reviews, and I relished the comparison of my performance to that of the accomplished Liza Minnelli in the film version of "Cabaret."

But despite the accolades, I was essentially an insecure young woman with low self-esteem from Minnesota – a farming state with scant cultural cachet. Rather than embracing the high praise about my "clear as a bell" singing voice that I got from one reviewer, the words of another critic stuck like superglue. "Ms. Patterson," he wrote, "unfortunately simply mimicked the gestures of Minnelli throughout the performance." Though I knew I'd never seen the movie version (I couldn't afford a movie ticket back then), his words cycled through my brain like a mantra. I felt panned and fried by the critic.

Until one glorious night near the end of the run. It happened as I was singing the show's title song, "Cabaret." The curtains were drawn behind me, and I strode across the stage apron wearing a slinky, pink satin gown provocatively slit to the waist. Rhinestone bracelets glittered on my arms as I moved with the spotlight, reaching out to the audience, inviting them into the bittersweet world of love and war. And in those moments, I was completely Sally Bowles - conflicted, passionate, afraid. Singing about wild nights and parties as the world approached its darkest hours and Nazis marched the streets. But Sally and I forged ahead, wiping tears from our painted cheeks and defying fate.

We ended center stage, encircled by the single halo of light. We sang:

"Start by admitting From cradle to tomb, It isn't that long a stay. Life is a Cabaret, old chum,

Only a Cabaret, old chum …. And I love a Cabaret."

We stood with arms upstretched to the heavens. For precious moments the audience was breathlessly still. And I felt us – Sally and me - rise from the ground and hover above the stage – looking out at hundreds of people frozen in time.

A thunder of applause broke the spell, and my heels once again touched the floor. I slowly lowered my arms to see a standing ovation. In the wings, enthusiastic cast members were waiting to welcome me back from the magical place I'd been.

It was an experience I will never forget and cannot explain. My body … in the air. No longer me with feet on the floor. It's known as an out-of-body experience that can happen for a variety of reasons. I still cannot explain how it happened to me – no drugs, alcohol, or fantastical beliefs on board. But with the gravity of our world today and the approaching storm, I'm deeply grateful I can revisit that moment when I was Lighter than air and lifted above it all.

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I hope you have your own extreme memories that can uplift your spirit in trying times. Thanks so much for sticking with me, reading, and sending me your comments. I read and respond to each message - I value your time and attention. Contact me - darby@darbypatterson.com

Also - if you've read my cozy mystery novel, The Song of Jackass Creek, I'd greatly appreciate a review - positive feedback means absolutely everything to indie authors like me!