Monday, January 5, 2009

The Theater. It made me very reflective.













I'd seen the movie a few years ago, never read the book, written by Alice Walker. Now I've seen the live production of it. The Color Purple.


When my mom and my two aunts and I decided to go see the musical (something we do fairly frequently), I hadn't stopped to think about the fact that there would be several African-American people. But...of course there were! It was an all black cast.


We got there a little early and grabbed a coffee and people watched (something we're all quite skilled at....yes, skilled) and I felt a little minor. You know, the minority. Having two new cute black girls in my family, I felt a pride and a little secretive as I gazed at all the lovely people.


As the foyer filled up, it ended up being more white people than black. Sure, this is Portland, Oregon. But for a few minutes I took pleasure being a white wave in the sea of black and brown.

Being a novice black hair dresser, I was amazed at all the lovely hair do's and slightly confused at how they do it.







This is me and mom. This is me looking in a mirror that shows me what I'll look like in 18 years. We have almost the same brain, too.

Love you ma!



















This is Aunt Shanny and Aunt Tommi. Two of the most generous people I know.











Here we are walking to Virgo & Pisces for dinner before the play.












The sets were beautiful. The singers outstanding.















I was the only drinker at the table that night and I'm SURE the one drink minimum for happy hour food HAD to be alcoholic. Right? Yeah. Good thing I was there to get cheap eats! A-hem.











I could listen to them sing hymns till Jesus comes.










Here we are after dinner but before the play. We stopped over at Trader Joes for a quick roam in the best grocery isles ever.





There was a moment in the play where Celie was forced, for the second time, to give up her child. That put a knife-in-my-gut feeling. And then, later, she wonders about her children, hopes the best for them. I got another feeling in my gut this time, but I'm not quite sure how to define it.


You see, the mother of my adopted children is dead.
What if she could see me taking care of her girls.
Am I making her proud?

Their father hugged me as he said goodbye to his children.
Did he sit in his fishing boat today wondering about his daughters? Does he think about them and hope the best for them? Am I giving them the best love he hoped for when he made the decision to send them away?

Am I fulfilling the call God put on my life to raise brown-skinned daughters?






Here we are at the play. It was truly a night to remember. Bonding with the women in my life. Bonding with the black children in my family.

It's a hard story to swallow, but one filled with such victory, triumph and justice in the end. My emotions swelled throughout the night as I considered this woman's faith in God at all she'd been through. All that I'm going through.
He does work in mysterious ways.


Oh, and Happy 8th birthday to my niece Jill! I love you, baby.


3 comments:

Cathy said...

I've heard that it was wonderful!

...and I think that picture looks familiar;)

ames said...

Poignant Jules.

Tiffany said...

Cliff and I used to go frequently. Will have to get back into it. Would have loved to see that.

Isn't it amazing how the pieces of our lives are so interwoven with other pieces?

That picture of Jill is way beyond cute. It is prize-winnable.