Amy Lu's View

I conducted an experiment and asked AI (Google’s Gemini) to write our 2025 holiday letter. The results were…interesting. Yes, I mean that in the most Minneostan way. The letter I got was annoyingly chipper and over-the-top, and weirdly wrong on some points. Yes, I know that in part this was because I didn’t give Gemini great prompts, but I don’t think I’ll be handing over my blog to Skynet any time soon. 

The AI lies presented in an aggressively perky voice made the holiday letter quite entertaining, at least to me, so I’m sharing it with my editorial comments. I will also admit I did use some AI content from a revised version in our actual letter. Hey, writer’s block is real.

Our Holiday Letter courtesy of Gemini:

We hope this card finds you cozy (I like “cozy” I kept that!) and joyful as the year winds down. It’s been a truly momentous (that’s a bit extreme) year for us—full of robes, resolutions (what?! Gemini really wanted alliteration), and quite a few roles!

The biggest news is that Chad officially graduated from seminary (not sure bold text is called for) in April and is now an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister! We’re thrilled (and perhaps a little surprised he kept the lawyer job, too–we are NOT AT ALL surprised). He’s currently navigating the exciting world of “guest preaching” (like a rock-n-roll roadie, —What? I’m not an expert on being roadie but I’m pretty sure it’s nothing like that— but with more theological introspection) while looking forward to hopefully finding a settled ministry position this fall. In the meantime, he continues to serve as a volunteer chaplain at a low-income housing unit in Minneapolis, somehow balancing that with his continued work as a lawyer—we call it his “Clergy-Counsel” routine. (We absolutely do NOT call it that).

I’m still enjoying my life as a Hennepin County Librarian, managing our public website, staff intranet, and the customer service teams. I essentially get to live the dream: working from home, wearing fuzzy socks, and battling rogue commas. (I was mostly with Gemini until the “rogue commas” bit. Gemini clearly needs some more input about what librarians do. Commas are definitely not a top concern for me). 

In June, we escaped to Baltimore for the UU convention, which meant I got a mini-vacation and managed to sneak in lots of sightseeing while Chad was busy networking.

We spent a decent amount of the year on stage! I had a hilarious and poignant “dream role” in the play Calendar Girls (yes, the one with the calendar—it was liberating!— This is actually a little scary…I know I didn’t give any prompt about being scantily clad on stage or how it felt, but it WAS liberating. How did Gemini know?) —and Chad once again directed a fascinating History Play for the Landmark Center, where I also got to play a small part. I also kept busy acting in two different one-act productions and had some small character roles in a play that went to a community theater festival. We promise next year we’ll just focus on being audience members… maybe. (Gemini definitely pulled this commentary out of its virtual ass. I have never, not ever, said or thought I want to focus on being in the audience. It seems like Gemini has some opinions on how I spend my time). 

We hit a huge milestone and celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary! Where did the time go? We’re so grateful for the journey and all of you who are a part of it.

Life’s other highlights include:

• Becoming great aunt and uncle to our first great niece, Veda (named after my wonderful grandmother!).
• I spent a lot of time playing at open mics—dusting off my guitar (NO, I do not play guitar and resent the assumption that guitars are THE open mic instrument) and testing the patience of Minneapolis coffee shop patrons (I go to breweries, but that seems like an honest mistake, but ouch, Gemini. True, but ouch…did you watch my YouTube videos?)
• I did a lot of hiking and photography in the beautiful MN State Parks, proving that the woods are indeed lovely, dark, and deep (I don’t think I’ve ever felt I need to prove that!)

Wishing you and yours a wonderful holiday season and a New Year full of peace, laughter, and maybe a few well-deserved naps! (I wouldn’t have thought to add the nap bit, but I guess you can’t go wrong with a nap. Maybe having AI overloads won’t be so bad afterall).

With much love,

Chamy

On Christmas Eve we attended a lovely service at the Unitarian Universalist church in White Bear Lake. Some youth participated in the service by reading inspirational writings. Their voices definitely added to the service, and they seemed to enjoy being a part of it. But it didn’t look like they received any paper sacks filled with hard candy after the service in exchange for their efforts. 

When we were kids, we received paper lunch bags filled with hard candy and peanuts after the Christmas Eve service at the little rural Luthern church we attended. I don’t know if the treat bags were intended to be a reward for fulfilling our duty of reciting a bible verse during the service, but that was always my impression. Of course, I was more than happy to get up in front of the congregation to show off my memorization and recitation skills–I was always happiest if I got a long verse. I was drawn to “the stage” from a young age and the front of the church may have been one of my first artistic venues.

I don’t remember exactly what type of candy we got, but I don’t think I was ever that excited about it. I think my brother and sister and I actively laughed about how bad it was. And as a kid, I didn’t really like nuts, so the peanuts were no prize for me either. But still, I remember that I liked getting my little paper bag filled with treats that didn’t appeal to me. Maybe it was because, like my urge to perform, my drive to get free things also manifested early in life. Maybe I enjoyed the opportunity to share in some mockery with Jenn and Charley. Maybe I liked the bags for what they represented, that in their small humble way they signified that Christmas Eve was a special time.

Getting those bags was a holiday tradition. I don’t know if it was a long standing tradition–I don’t know how many years we got those bags, and it’s definitely not something that’s part of any current holiday celebration I have. But thinking about those bags makes me smile and makes me warm and fuzzy. 

I’ll disclose that I’ve been known to get a little grumpy about holiday traditions. Not the traditions themselves–if a certain food or movie or decoration or practice makes people happy or makes them feel connected to the past or to loved ones, that’s great. But sometimes I feel like people forget that a tradition isn’t a mandate, and that there isn’t anything inherently meaningful about a date on a calendar. Sometimes life requires some flexibility. I think not stressing ourselves and each other out is more important than “shoulds” or “this is the way we do things.”

It’s probably now clear that I’ve sometimes felt on the wrong side of someone else’s holiday expectations. Am I defensive because it didn’t seem like our family had that many traditions? Did we have traditions, but it didn’t seem like it because we just didn’t frame our holiday activities that way? We definitely didn’t have traditions that were passed down from “great grand whoever,” and I think we mixed things up from year to year depending on whatever little life dramas we were dealing with. 

We may not have had many traditions in the traditional sense, and my memories of childhood Christmases are fuzzy and jumbled and likely incomplete and inaccurate (a recent reminiscing session with my brother really highlighted my faulty memory). Thankfully, there isn’t too much riding on the veracity of my holiday recollections. It doesn’t really matter how many years I got a paper sack with hard candy of dubious quality, or if the angel hair my mom strewn seemingly all over the house was as prickly and slightly dangerous as it seemed, or if my brother and I spent many Christmas Eves playing monopoly while we waited for our exhausted mom to complete a whirlwind of present wrapping (maybe this just happened once). My memories are more or less factually true and the feelings of nostalgia and wistfulness that accompany them are definitely true. 

I don’t want to be a kid again, and I love the life I have now, but sometimes it just astounds me that those times are gone and I can’t ever go back to them except through memories that sometimes seem to transcend and collapse time (and maybe time travel or alternate realities or something like that but that’s another post). 

I stand by my declaration that it’s healthy not to get too worked up about the “shoulds” of the holidays, or any time. Still, I could look for small and simple and hopefully stress-free opportunities to make me stop and realize how special life is. I’m creative, right? So I should be able to find a few contemporary equivalents of hard candy–little artifacts and habits that will make me take a moment to laugh and appreciate what’s happening. 

And encourage me to more fully appreciate who I’m sharing something with.

*Shout-out to Counting Crows and their song “Hard Candy”

I recently realized it’s been 35 years since I was an exchange student in Winchester, England. 

I took a circuitous journey down memory lane to arrive at this startling realization. The first step was when I heard the Kate Bush song “December Will Be Magic Again” playing on the Current (our amazing local public radio music station.) “Aww,” I thought, “I first heard that song when I was studying abroad in England.”

That led me to reminiscing about music I listened to during this big adventure. (And it WAS a big adventure for 20 year old Amy to be living in another country for three months–up until then I had barely been outside the county I was born in). And I thought, “Hey, wasn’t there a song I really loved that I could never track down when I was back home?* What WAS that song?”

Then it came to me like a flash and I was getting ready for bed…”Wasn’t there a prominent line in the song ‘We share memories’? And didn’t the song have something to do with Ruby Blue? Can’t remember if that was the band or the song title…”

Luckily, I didn’t have to remember exactly, because those few pieces were enough for Google to track down the song: “Can it Be?” by the band Ruby Blue. 

I can’t describe the powerful feeling of remembering (even partially) that song after all these years, seemingly out of nowhere, and then the thrill of Google being able to tell me what the song was (there is even a Wikipedia article about the song and artist). I didn’t actually try to listen to the song until the next day and although it isn’t on Spotify, I was able to find it on YouTube music. As I first started listening I wasn’t sure it was the right song, but soon I heard the “We share memories” bit.

Since I only really remembered the chorus of the song, I was a little nervous about listening to it again: Would I still like it? Would it still speak to me 35 years later? Happily, the answer is “yes”. I don’t remember why I loved it in the first place. I definitely loved the sound–at the time I couldn’t believe it wasn’t a 10,000 Maniacs song, and I was (and still am) a big fan. I also wonder if it was partly because I was struck by the line “Can it be that you’ll wait for me?” I can imagine Young Amy pining for Young Chad and feeling like that line spoke to our then long-distance relationship. When I was twenty, three months sometimes felt like an eternity to be apart from my new beau. 

Anyway, in the midst of rediscovering this song, I actually stopped to think about how many years ago it was when I was a student in England. Even though there isn’t any intrinsic meaning to zeroes or fives I always regard anniversaries that end in them as more significant, so it feels a little cosmic that the strings of the interwebs and the universe let me back to that song now. 

“Cosmic” is just my lazy way of saying that this all feels special and important, although I can’t really articulate why. It’s a combination of reminiscing about a special and unique experience I had, being rocked by the passage of time, marveling at the power of music and technology to help me time travel, and pondering how Chad and I are still together and how we and I have and haven’t changed. 

It also seems rather meta that I was able to find the song because I remembered the line “we share memories” and then the song triggered all these memories about my experience as an exchange student. The memories are warm and fuzzy (due to the passage of time and likely also all the snakebite and black I drank) and all jumbled together. I have memories of incredible historic sites I saw, and lovely friends I met (okay these memories are definitely aided by photos) and quirky memories, like those of the pants I wore several times a week because I tried to pack light. When I left Winchester I gave those pants away to make room in my suitcase and because I was soo sick of them I never wanted to see them again (of course I would love to see them now). 

I’m also thinking about how sharing memories means so much more to me now than it did when I was twenty. I have almost three times as many to share (assuming I can remember most of my 55 years) and I appreciate them more now, especially those of my mom and my sister and others who I can no longer create new memories with. 

Thankfully I’m still getting to experience big and little moments with wonderful people that will add to my store of memories to be nostalgic about.  

*This was pre-internet, and once the internet was a thing, I think I tried to find it but didn’t have any luck and then eventually forgot about my quest. I’m not sure why I didn’t just buy a cassette tape or CD when I was in England–maybe it was too expensive for me?

I was feeling harried.

Now it doesn’t take much to stress me out when I’m shopping, and this was a prime irritating retail situation. I was running late for an appointment (totally my own fault for bad time management) and I was waiting in a checkout line and it was taking longer for the customer in front of me to check out than I had anticipated. I THOUGHT I had chosen wisely when I picked my lane (she didn’t seem to have that many items) but I miscalculated as her checkout process was mysteriously complicated. 

So I was anxious, and annoyed, and grumpy, but knew I had no one to blame but myself (which of course made me more irritable). But finally, the young woman in front of me seemed to be wrapping up her payment, when another woman passed by and handed a gift bag to the cashier.

The cashier was caught off guard. “What is this for?” she asked. The two women had a brief exchange I didn’t hear and then the gift giver went on her way. 

Our cashier was visibly moved and paused for a moment. “She gave this to me because my grandson was born premature and he is very sick,” she explained to us. 

“Would you like a hug?” the customer in front of me asked. And when our cashier nodded, the young woman walked around the counter and hugged her, and then her adorable young daughter (around 5?) also hugged the cashier. 

My heart didn’t exactly grow three sizes, but I did stop fixating on my own self-inflicted problems, if only for a moment. 

I was particularly struck by the compassion of the young woman in line ahead of me because she appeared Somali, so I can only imagine the stress and fear she must be currently living with. But this young woman, this young mother, didn’t let the cloud of danger she’s living under (even if she isn’t Somali just the appearance of possibly being Somali makes her a current target of the Trump administration) get in the way of wanting to reach out to a stranger to offer comfort. 

I didn’t hug anyone at Target that day (or probably anywhere–Chad and StanLee aren’t big on hugs, although StanLee likes to wrestle). But I did make an extra effort to be friendly to the cashier when I was being checked out. I didn’t bristle when the cashier (Connie, I learned once I saw her nametag) chatted away about the Starbucks Peppermint Mocha coffee I was buying (I generally don’t like commentary on my food purchases). I sincerely congratulated her when she told me she has recently lost 120 pounds (wow!), and told her I hoped her grandson came home soon. I added that we had a nephew who was born very premature but that he is now eighteen years old and healthy and happy.

I don’t expect that I will ever know how Connie’s grandson is doing (although I could have her as a cashier at Target again) or know if the young woman and her daughter are accosted by I.C.E. I do expect to think about them, at least in passing, whenever I make my Peppermint Mocha coffee, and to feel grateful for witnessing such a fragile moment of connection and compassion. 

I don’t expect to get any better at time management or patience.

*This is the second time I’ve used this title for a post, which I’m pretty sure no one else would notice, but I feel compelled to acknowledge this. I guess it’s good I’ve written about seeing kindness in the wild at least twice!

I wrote a song–my first ever–and I like it. 

This is rather surprising.

I’ve never had any serious aspirations of writing a song, beyond thinking it would be cool, and would be a good way to have a song that I could ensure was in my vocal range. But when Chad signed up for a songwriting class at Sarah Jane’s, a local music school where I’ve taken voice lessons and been in band camp, I thought, “why not?–this will be a good opportunity for Chamy Together Time, right?” I was a little concerned that the class would be too advanced as it was songwriting TWO, but Chad said he’d help me fake my way through any music theory stuff. 

During the first class, I quickly felt like I was WAY in over my head. If Chad hadn’t had our car keys, I may have bolted at about 10 minutes in and just went home. But I was brave, and I stayed, and in what may be a testament to my acting abilities, I don’t think any of the other students could tell I was on the verge of hyperventilating. 

I think not feeling like I was qualified to be in the class actually ended up as a positive for me because it allowed me to have a beginner’s mind (at least as I understand that concept). I didn’t get in my head about writing “good” songs. My goal was just to be a successful class participant–to show up, to try, to do my best, and not burden the other students or the teacher with my self-doubts and recriminations. 

And thanks to my wonderfully supportive teacher and students (including the one I happen to live with) I wrote a song, a real song! It’s nothing that I expect to be a chart-topper, but it’s something that I can take out in the world–I’ve even performed it at open mics a couple of times (and yes, it’s in a range that I feel good singing in). I even wrote more than one, or at least have a really good start on some other songs. 

My song is called “I Don’t Know About You” and it’s inspired by one of my mom’s favorite sayings. We got the assignment for the song around the time of the anniversary of my mom’s death, so I thought it would be nice to write something based on one of her (many) sayings, and Chad suggested “I Don’t Know About You.” Of course, Chad is the person I want to understand the most but often feel the most confused by, so my song took off from there. 

I didn’t set out to write a Chamy confessional, but I did try to ground it with specifics (I’ve often heard and read that the more specific writing is the more universal appeal it has). So my song opens with a reference to a real “incident” when I was startled by Chad coming home when I didn’t realize he had ever left the house (and yes, our house is not that big) and includes a tad of grumbling about Chad telling me I’m not curious. 

I really appreciate that Chad was okay with me mining our relationship for material especially as the song does end up being rather romantic. 

Most mornings I get up, let StanLee (our dog) out and then feed him, and then I make coffee, clean up the kitchen a bit, and make our very simple breakfast. 

I’m on autopilot and I don’t have to think too hard about these tasks, so I appreciate them. I know what to do without any soul searching (except for sometimes deciding what type of coffee to make or if it’s a cereal or eggs day) and I get to feel purposeful and productive for the first half hour or so of my day.

I’m writing this little ode to my morning routine in response to a journal prompt in the Strange Planet Existence Chronicle: “What responsibilities do you most enjoy?”

Initially I was quite flummoxed by this. Enjoy? Nobody enjoys responsibilities, right? That’s why they are called “responsibilities.” The question is even accompanied by a cartoon with the caption “Responsibility saddens me.”

But of course, I need to define my terms, and think about context. What is a responsibility? Is it the same as a chore, or an obligation, or an expectation? Who am I responsible to, and what are the consequences if I shirk a responsibility?

When it comes to my morning “responsibilities,” StanLee definitely does need to be let outside and fed, and everyone in our little household would eventually be sad if these things didn’t happen. But do I NEED coffee and breakfast? Well, it certainly feels like a need to me, but I’m really only responsible to and for myself to make it happen, and I could get my caffeine and sustenance in other ways. I could just grab a Diet Coke and a Cliff bar, but I wouldn’t find that as satisfying. 

So my little morning rituals may not count as responsibilities, but I do feel like I owe it to myself (and StanLee) to accomplish them, so I’m counting “StanLee care and feeding, making coffee and breakfast, and cleaning up and puttering around in the kitchen” as my first answer to that question. 

In no particular order, other “responsibilities” I most enjoy include:

• Weekend morning “lie-ins” with StanLee and Chad (as in lounging in bed, not in protesting)
• Giving the cats lap time in the evening while we watch TV (and I eat Halo ice cream and drink “a bit” of bourbon)
• Learning and practicing songs to play at open mic
• Booze shopping
• Making plans with friends, buying tickets for concerts and plays
• Putting commitments on our Google calendar
• Posting hiking photos on Facebook and Instagram
• Sending e-mails and texts to friends (and occasionally real letters and cards)

Admittedly, this seems like a questionable list, or at least a list that really stretches the definition of “responsibility.” I’m tempted to defend or at least explain my choices, but it’s bolder and more interesting to let them stand as is and let my dear reader(s) contemplate their validity. 

Afterall, it goes without saying, that my most cherished responsibility is to entertain, inspire, and challenge the world with my blog. 

October 22 is the twenty-fifth anniversary of my mom’s death. 

I don’t know what to do with that. 

Obviously, this anniversary stirs up many feelings–simple, yet deep sadness, as well as more complicated emotions. This anniversary may be a time of reflection and reminiscence. (It will definitely be a time for me to keep thinking “Holy Sh*t how has so much time passed and how am I so old?”).

But I don’t just want to feel and think. I want to do something. 

It could have been cool to have a big party to honor my mom, or maybe have a benefit event to raise money for a charity in her name. Cool, but not practical or feasible, at least not now (maybe I’ll come up with something like that next year when her 90th birthday rolls around–a birthday feels like a good time for a celebration). 

So I’m giving myself a bit of a challenge…(drumroll)…The 25 Miles for 25 Years Hiking Challenge! I am going to try to hike 25 miles in state parks between October 17 and October 22. I even realized that I could set up a little fundraiser for Save the Children using Go Fund Me: https://gofund.me/808a2b021. Save the Children seems like a good choice as children were certainly important to my mom, a teacher for over 40 years. (I also sent donations to them that we received from people when she died). 

Ideally, I would do the hiking on two consecutive days, with one of them being October 22, but weather and my schedule just didn’t align for that. Hopefully, I’ll do the hiking on October 17 and October 20, but stretching it out to the 22nd gives me some wiggle room. 

Why hiking? There isn’t a direct connection between hiking and my mom (in fact it’s hard to think of something further down on my mom’s lists of things to do) but it is something that I like to do that I can quantify. I can’t really envision 25 other things that I can do in a short frame, or that I could document. 

I’m giving myself lots of leeway for what I count as hiking and how I track it. Ideally these will be miles on different trails and at least some of the hiking will be moderately challenging…but I may end up walking an easy trail a couple of times, and/or counting mileage I wrack up on my multiple trips to the bathroom. I did consider using a special hiking app like AllTrails to document my hikes, but I think I’m going to just stick with my Garmin watch and my best guess because I don’t want to drain my phone battery by having too many apps running at once. 

I think my biggest challenges in meeting my hiking goals will just to be getting my food provisions assembled and ready and deciding what to wear–and these are concerns my mom could definitely relate to! 

“The biggest challenge for you must have been acting like you were reluctant to take your clothes off.”

I love this (paraphrased) observation that my friend B made after seeing me recently in Expressions Community Theater’s production of “Calendar Girls.” I interpreted it as praise of my acting chops, and it made me feel very seen. 

It’s not that I don’t have any qualms about taking my clothes off on stage, but I do have a fair amount of experience doing it. Okay, I’m not sure what a normal amount of experience for this is, but since 2010, I’ve been in five shows (including Calendar Girls) that involved me appearing in my underwear on stage. Now Calendar Girls was certainly the most “extensive” of these appearances and I am using a broad definition of what constitutes an underwear-clad moment–my first instance involved a sports bra so that may not count, and I’m also including a scene where I was in a bra and a skirt. 

I do have body image issues and concerns about how I look scantily clad, but (surprisingly?) these feelings aren’t as strong as they can be in real life situations, where I am more fully clad and just trying to look snazzy. The theater scenes are brief, and not presented in a “hey look at this hottie” way. Okay, when I was the Ring Girl (aforementioned sports bra instance) that WAS basically a “look at this hottie” context but I did feel rather hot at that time. And for the other times, being in my underwear has felt like an integral part of the show that audiences would just take in their stride. There are also so many other things to worry about when acting–knowing my lines and my blocking and managing my props–that I’m forced to have a more utilitarian attitude to disrobing. 

Again, I want to be clear that I’m not saying that I wasn’t nervous about being on stage in panties and boob tape for Calendar Girls, but it was a brief scene, and my back was to the audience and my butt was mostly covered. Most importantly, our director was extremely conscientious and respectful, and I was sharing the experience with five other amazing cast mates. It was a delightfully bonding experience–how many people can say they’ve been nearly naked on stage together?

I think I had more anxiety about flashing my undies last fall when I did the monologue where I played an aspiring life model. Maybe I felt more anxious because I was the only one on stage, and it was a small theater, or maybe it was because I had campaigned to do the show and have the role so I felt like I was putting myself out there more. I also had this weird anxiety that I was going to forget to leave my underwear on (not sure how that would happen) and really be naked when I opened my robe up (that didn’t happen).

Despite all these anxieties and logistical headaches (did I mention how annoying boob tape is?) during my “acting in only underwear” career, I think it took the most courage for me to appear in long underwear back in high school. I faced this challenge when I played the Empress in our gender swapped version of the Emperor’s New Clothes (August was so forward looking!) This angst isn’t too surprising–I was sixteen (if I’ve got my dates right), so everything was mortifying, and I was a little bit heavier then and body positivity (and spanx) wasn’t really a thing in the 80s, and long underwear just isn’t that flattering for most of us mere mortals. But I powered through and did it, proving to myself that I was brave and perhaps sowing the seeds for future antics in underwear-clad acting. 

While I’m not exactly eager to take my clothes off on stage, it does make a role feel a little extra and exciting, and it does make me feel bold. So I will admit that I was a bit disappointed recently when I did NOT get to appear in a bikini when I had a bit part as a sexy double agent spy. The bikini scene was in the script, but the director thought it was gratuitous. I couldn’t argue with him in good conscience, and the scene worked great the way he staged it without the bikini scene–it was probably even funnier. See, I can put art ahead of my need for attention!

I’ve used my friend’s comment as a spark to discuss my onstage near-nudity, but maybe she meant I’m looking for opportunities to disrobe in real life? I don’t think so–I actually consider myself a tad on the conservative side when it comes to dressing to show skin. (Yes, I could just ask my friend what she meant, but speculation is so much more fun than direct communication). I do have some sense that being on stage in my underwear can be appropriate, but showing too much skin in real life (unless on the beach or at the pool) can just make me feel a little desperate (not that it should make anyone else feel desperate if that’s how they like to dress–You do you!). Oh sometimes I worry (hope?) I’m wearing a top that is too low-cut or a dress that is too short, but then I usually see others, sometimes even other middle-aged ladies, with more dramatic percentages of their bodies on display.

In the midst of all this excitement and fear, I have always kept my drawers on (literally) and have never been completely naked on stage. I’ve also kept my drawers on in the figurative sense, and have never become totally unhinged about being undressed. And yes, this is a rather tortured route to getting to use the phrase “keep your drawers on” which may only make sense to people over 50 from rural Wisconsin. Or maybe it’s something only my mom and sister said, as in “Keep your drawers on Amy, you will have a chance to shop for Empire Strikes Back trading cards soon.” 

“I can’t answer that question now. I have to blog about it first.” 

The question in question was “What is your favorite line in the show that you speak?” It was posed by one of my awesome Calendar Girls’ castmates, Joanna, a couple of weeks before we opened via our group chat. Joanna thoughtfully explained that we might choose a line because “…you think it’s funny, because it feels good in your mouth, or it is part of something bigger and important.”

Now that it’s been a week since “Calendar Girls” closed, it’s time for me to tackle the question. Of course, I could have answered it when it was first asked, but 1) I wanted time to overthink, 2) I do have a history/tradition of blogging about my favorite line/lines in a show and 3) I’ve been really lagging in my blogging output in 2025, and I can’t squander content!

To set the scene a bit, “Calendar Girls” is about six “mature” women who pose nude for a calendar to raise money in the memory of one of the women’s husbands, who has died from cancer. It’s based on the movie (which I have yet to watch). I played Cora, the pianist for the women’s group the friends belong to. Cora styles herself as a bit of a rebellious rocker, and she’s not ready to conform, even though she’s a middle-aged single mom. 

Cora is rather snarky, so delivers many one-liners and snappy quips–more than any other character I’ve ever played. This makes it both easy and hard to think of my “favorite” Cora lines, as I could choose just about everything Cora says. 

So with that introduction, here are some of my favorite Cora lines (not limiting myself to just one!):

“Why are we not drinking?” A favorite question for Cora, and me in my actual life. This may not even count as “a line”, though, since it’s just something I (frequently) say anyway (even if only inside my head). 

“If I’m not going to get them out now, when am I?” This may be my true favorite Cora line. Cora declares it while referring to her boobs in the moment she decides to pose naked for the calendar. It’s funny, but also inspiring–sometimes you have to seize the moment. This is the line that points to the “something bigger” Joanna asked about. 

“In my experience? Intransigent and hypocritical.” This line needs explanation–Cora is responding to the question “What is the church?” She’s being asked about the architecture, but Cora takes the opportunity to be a smartass. While I love the line because it’s sarcastic and a bit of a truth to power moment for Cora, it was also a slightly dangerous line for me. It was hard for me to pronounce “intransigent” and I originally confused it with “instransient”.

“This place has a mailbox?” Surprisingly, one of my consistent laugh lines from the play. I’m still not really sure why the audience found it so funny, so I love how it illustrates that you can’t always predict how an audience is going to respond.  

“I’ll be a bit insulted if they’re looking at my hands.” A snappy one-liner in response to a friend telling Cora she should have her hands placed on the right keys at the piano when posing for her calendar photo.  

“Whisky.” Not that remarkable or funny a word on its own, but within the context of the play, another reliable, and understandable, laugh line. It was Cora’s response to “Being naked involves detail, being nude involves…” And of course, I do literally like how the actual drink of whisky feels in my mouth. 

It was a kick to portray such a witty character, but of course people (real and fictional) communicate with more than just words. My Cora definitely had some facial expressions. I have evidence of this thanks to dress rehearsal photos. 

One photo makes me ponder and appreciate Cora’s line “Ruby, wherever you are, this is your mother.” I intended it as a bold statement of self acceptance, but in the photo, I/Cora look more than a little unhinged. That’s not what I was going for exactly, but after pondering it a bit, I like how that moment came together without my conscious intent. Boldness, self-acceptance, and unhingeness (if that’s not a word it should be) do often show up together in real life so why not on stage, too.

I could continue to reflect on the meaning of Cora’s lines and the experience of delivering them, but I think it’s time to get this post finished. Just like Cora’s boobs, if I’m not gonna get this post out now, when am I?

The main thing I look for in a hotel is a workout room. The second thing is a bar, but I can usually find one nearby so that’s not a dealbreaker. (A free breakfast can definitely be a perk, but is sometimes more hassle than it’s worth). 

So when I saw one of the recommended Baltimore hotels for the church convention/conference we were attending had a workout room AND a bar, that was good enough for me. The hotel, The Lord Baltimore, was relatively close to the convention center and other attractions, was more or less reasonably priced, and touted itself as “historic” which sounded interesting. 

I didn’t give the hotel much more thought or do much research into it, so I was surprised when we got there and learned that one of its “selling” points is that it’s reportedly haunted–with a reputation as “one of the most haunted hotels in the country.” 

I don’t believe in ghosts with my brain as a literal reality (no offense to those who do) but I believe in them with my emotions. Thinking about ghosts excites me and freaks me out. I’m safely at home and it’s light out and I’m still a little creeped out while I write this. So even though I wanted to take one of the ghost tours that the hotel offered, I knew it would be a bad idea. I’m not what one would call a skilled sleeper under the best of circumstances, and Chad would make me sleep in the hall if I kept him up because I was scared after a ghost tour. Plus, they did sound like a little much–they included a psychic (not to be a hater but that’s just not something I can take seriously). I didn’t even let myself google to find out more about the hauntings (I waited until I got to the airport). 

Even though we didn’t go on the ghost tour, we did get to overhear a snippet of it on the Friday night of our stay when we were in the skybar on the 19th floor. The tour guide said the 19th floor was the most haunted, and in fact the cause of most of the hauntings, because so many people jumped off it during the stockmarket crash of the 1920’s. 

And the next night–our last at the hotel– we got to talk a bit with a delightful hotel staff person about the hauntings. We were once again at the skybar, when the lights briefly went out. “Sorry!” we heard her cry as she fiddled around with some lights. “I didn’t mean to do that. It must have been the ghosts.” 

She then told us about some of her encounters with ghostly happenings, including seeing a girl with a red ball. (I’ve since learned this girl is Molly and her whole family committed suicide by jumping off the 19th floor). But she said the ghosts didn’t mean her any harm and they didn’t scare her. 

So did I experience any haunted happenings? Well, once when I was in the elevator, the young man who was in before me wasn’t able to select the 5th floor (elevator shenanigans are one category of reported hauntings) but that doesn’t seem too compelling. And even though we spent a fair amount of time in the hotel bar–another reportedly highly haunted spot at the Lord Baltimore–we never saw an apparition…no odd patrons in anachronistic dress. Although I was so focused on getting food and drink that I probably wouldn’t have noticed a ghost unless they stole my provisions.   

I did have a nightmare where I woke up screaming (sleep disturbances are also attributed to the ghosts) but as I said before, my sleep is usually less than smooth and I wake Chad up because I’m having bad dreams at least a couple of times a year. (In case you’re wondering, this dream involved me being chased by something, thinking I had made it to safety and closing the door, only to have a skeletal hand with long painted fingernails squeezing into the crack between the door and the frame. I would like to think a ghost would give me a more interesting nightmare. If I indulge in self-directed pop psychology, I interpret this dream as arising from my angst over how my hands are aging and how I avoid painting my fingernails to draw less attention to them). 

The only really mysterious thing that happened during our stay is that I lost my eyemask that I wear while sleeping (or attempting to). (No, I don’t wear it for the sake of any beauty treatment, but because I’ve become almost comically sensitive to any light when I’m trying to sleep.) I checked the hotel thoroughly when I packed but it never materialized. So maybe a ghost swiped it? And I couldn’t blame them–they are probably willing to try anything to get some rest!   

When we talked with the hotel employee that said the ghosts didn’t scare her, she explained “We’re all just energy, and they’re just another type of energy now.”

I like that. I don’t necessarily believe it, but it feels right. And beyond what it may or may not say about what happens after we die, the “energy” we put forth (or “bring” as the cool people now say) while we’re still alive definitely impacts each other. Like it or not (and as a Midwestern GenX German I often don’t) moods and feelings and emotions are contagious. That may seem obvious, but it’s a life lesson I’m only recently learning. 

I don’t think we can do much (or anything) to affect what happens to our energy when we die, but I want to try to be more intentional and thoughtful about the energy I’m putting out in the world now, and more aware of if I’m letting others’ energy haunt me. I’m not necessarily going as simplistic as a “Good vibes only” motto but maybe a “No gratuitous bad vibes” approach. 

But be warned: If I do end up being a ghost, I’m going to haunt everyone and every place and every thing I can. Just as in life, I’m going to want all the attention I can get.