Give My Regards to Broadway

by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Writer

Well, the holidays are over. It is said that now, we will suffer the �post-holiday blues.�

I�m not blue; are you?

If anything, I am exhausted. I look forward to dull, dreary January. I look forward to snowy, or icy, days when one simply must not leave the house. My social calendar is completely clear for January. Ahhhh.

How, you might wonder, can a single woman with one living relative possibly be exhausted? Well, here�s a brief recap of my holiday schedule.

This year (or was it last?), it began in September. We have a theater troupe here in Bath, the Mountain Valley Players. We put on a show in mid-April, and another in mid-November. We held auditions for our fall show Aug. 31, and began rehearsing right after Labor Day. We rehearse every Sunday, until the week before the show. Then, we�re at it every night until the curtain opens Friday.

I sing in every show. I sing what I love, Broadway show tunes. I have discovered how to channel Ethel Merman, Kate Smith, Peggy Lee � anyone with a not-too-near soprano voice who can belt out a tune. I make up for in volume what I cannot achieve in the high ranges of the scale.

Putting on a production is intense, nerve-wracking work. For months, you mutter to yourself that you can�t wait till this cursed show is over. Until the curtain closes on opening night. Then, by golly, the most fabulously wonderful and warm feeling overcomes you and you�re ready to do it again. And again.

This past holiday season, it was a good thing I felt that way. I also joined the Alleghany Highlands Chorale. Singing in a chorale is, I quickly learned, a whole �nother ball game. These folks are trained and talented, and they instantly recognize a quarter- from an eighth-note. I like to find my own tempo. And key. I also learned that there�s no place in a chorale for a Broadway belter. If you can�t hear the singer in front of and behind and next to you, you�re singing too loudly. Oops.

While rehearsing for the stage show, I was also rehearsing for the chorale concert. That�s a lot of singing, day in and day out. I am an innate singer and hummer � it�s fortunate that I live alone, or I�d surely drive some poor fellow bonkers with the belting and humming and snatches of tunes night and day.

Speaking of �Night and Day,� that�s a favorite song I did for a show at The Homestead in the few days between the play and the chorale concert. What was I thinking, I kept wondering to myself. I guess I�m just a girl who can�t say no. Oops. Another song to hum all afternoon.

Some enchanted evening, when I get the blues in the night, I whistle a happy tune and, suddenly, everything�s coming up roses. Oops.

I muttered to myself after the show and the hotel gig and the chorale that I did not care if I ever again wore red lipstick and nail polish, stockings, high heels, or a fancy gown.

Who am I kidding? Ever since I learned to tie my shoes, I longed for high heels. I loved evening gowns, and couldn�t wait to wear them. I lived for the chance to dress up. Across from my desk are two photos my mother took when I was four years old. In the first, I am wearing what looks like a black velvet evening gown and pearls. I am ecstatic. In the second, rear view, one can see nothing but my underpants and sturdy brown oxfords. Even then, I was all about the show.

Many children have imaginary friends. I spent my childhood in front of an imaginary audience. Instead of going out to play, I�d go down to the basement. There, I had a big box full of glittery, glamorous costumes. They were cast-offs from my cousin, who was lucky enough to live in a town where she could take tap-dancing lessons. Oh, how I yearned to tap dance.

Instead, I�d put on shows and make up my own tap dances. And I�d belt out tunes as loudly as a little girl can.

That little girl couldn�t decide if she wanted to be a reporter or an entertainer when she grew up. Funny how fate has a way of deciding things for you. Que sera, sera. Oops.