Faribault, Minnesota is a lovely, well preserved town, about one hour and a half straight south of Minneapolis/St. Paul. One of the earliest European settlements in Minnesota, it is filled with beautiful architecture, and prominent institutions.
Month: September 2016
Memory as Tribute, in a Cosmic World
Written a year ago…
This post is a tribute to Edward Albee, in the wake of his death, and to Ron Perrier, who was my Professor of Theatre at University of Wisconsin at River Falls, in 1974. The two converge in my life. The course I studied with Ron, was related to the American Theatre. We read the greats, like Thornton Wilder, Tennessee Williams, and Eugene O’Neil, and yes, Edward Albee, who was just coming out as a very controversial playwright in the ’70’s. Mr. Albee was famous for “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf”, “Zoo Story”, “A Delicate Balance” and many more. Ron directed “A Delicate Balance”, (now one of my favorite plays), for the RF summer theatre that same year.
Dr. Perrier opened my eyes to many facets of the world of the stage, but something very memorable was when he brought Edward Albee, en persona, as artist in residence, to River Falls, the same year I took the American Theatre course. We were to have read all of Albee’s current works, and to be ready to respond, when our visiting artist came to our very small class to speak. For me, as a small town 19 year old, Albee was pretty Avant-garde, and even though I participated in a limited way, I was aware something very important in the Arts, was going on.
Now that Albee is gone, Ron remains, as an emeritus professor at the university in St. Cloud, Minnesota, writing books, loving his students, and still involved in the theatre, as I understand it. I’m sure he’s touched many lives and opened the eyes of many students, other than myself. I’d like to remember him here, and show how cosmic the world really is, when memory is jogged, and to give credit to two very accomplished men.
May Edward Albee Rest in Peace.
Much Needed Rain
As the day commences and the gray skies roll in, on this mid September day, I have thoughtless nothingness rolling through my mind. A vague recollection of a sweet dream, brought on by night fall’s misty stars. I try to wrap my mind around the blissful moment, but reality pushes out groggy sleep, to move onward with the tasks of the day. The vividness of the fantasy, moves ever further away, and I contemplate, that which comes next. The gray clouds loom over head, beckoning the arrival of much needed rain.
The Little Flower Dies
Florinda Udall, born in May 1833, died at age 11 years and 8 months, on January 25th, 1845. She was the daughter of Alva and Phebe Udall, from Hiram, Ohio, and had one brother, named Edward. She was a schoolmate of Lizzie Atwood Pratt and Lucretia Rudolph Garfield.
Lizzie Atwood records the death of Florinda in her diary, on January 24th, 1845, which is in conflict with the death date, on the stone: “I spent the evening at Mr. Boyds. Florinda Udall one of my schoolmates died of Bowel Complaint, after 6 days illness AE 11 years, and 8 months.” On the 26th she writes: “Florinda was buried at the center of Hiram.” The diary entry is true to the tone of Lizzie’s writing, which was matter of fact, and sparing of emotion. This was the style of most of her writing. At 12 years of age, she proved to be an objective observer of events that took place around her, in her village, and does this as well, in the case of Florinda’s illness and death.
Florinda’s name, comes from the word ‘flora,’ meaning ‘flower’ in Spanish, and is derived from Latin. It must have been sad for family and friends, when their little flower died.
On Tiffany Creek 