Pageantry

Yes, this is a stroll down memory lane. ;) Sorry about that, but I've been thinking about a pageant experience from my high school years. There is a reason why I've pondered this event in recent days. Earlier this summer, I was asked to write the script for this year's Miss Bear Lake Valley Pageant. It took some doing, but I was able to complete it on schedule, despite several last minute changes.

I've never written a pageant script before. I've written countless roadshows, camp skits, a musical for the YW I served with a few years ago entitled: "The Adventure of a Lifetime," and it was; a Christmas musical for the tri-stake area, and a community Christmas production. Writing a pageant script was a new experience for me. As I struggled to pull it together, I began reflecting on the one time I endured a pageant adventure.

I had never planned on participating in a pageant. But when it came time for the 1979 Jr. Miss to be crowned, a couple of good friends talked me into vying for the title. They made it sound like this would be the greatest experience of my life. I believed them, especially when they pointed out that I would have a chance to hone my talents.

A budding performer, I embraced this opportunity to write and sing one of my own songs. Singing and songwriting was something I had been dabbling with for years, and this seemed like the perfect chance to see what professional judges thought of my abilities. And there was a chance at a scholarship that was offered through this venue which was also tempting.

I wasn't thrilled over the idea of dancing in public. Blessed with two left feet, I was very concerned about this portion of the program. But my friends assured they would help me practice until I got the hang of things. I pointed out to them that there were reasons why I didn't do things like march with the drill team. The one time I tried out for this organization was an adventure in humiliation. I always seemed to be doing the opposite of everyone else. It's a gift, I know, to march to the beat of a different drummer, but this tendency of mine was not appreciated by the woman who was the adult adviser over the drill team. I was quickly cut from the team during the tryouts. I tried not to take this personally, and went on to participate in other activities that didn't require me to be graceful, like drama, journalism, Honor Society, and the entertainment club---an organization that provided entertainment at dances, assemblies, and so forth.

True to their word, my friends helped me learn the dance we were to perform during the night of the pageant. I spent hours trying to catch onto the dance steps, and finally, after several frustrating practices, I could almost dance as well as a lame duck. ;) Maybe a little better than that, but I knew that dance routine would not be my strong point.

For weeks, I had been told by the other contestants, the adult advisers for this event, and anyone else who had been watching us practice, that I had the talent award all sewn up. I believed them, and worked extremely hard on preparing for that portion of the pageant.

All too soon, the pageant week arrived. One by one, fourteen of us were interviewed by the judges. I felt extremely tongue-tied during my interview. I was scared to death by the frowning set of adults who faced me in a semi-circle. I was asked questions about my current interests, future plans, and personal preferences. When I was asked who my favorite author happened to be, since I had listed on a form I had filled out earlier that I loved to read, I blew it. That should have been an easy answer, since at that time in my life, my favorite author was Agatha Christie. Instead of sharing that information, I hesitantly stuttered that I thought Erma Bombeck was hilarious. While that was a true statement, and I enjoyed her books, she wasn't my favorite author. I was tempted to kick myself when I left the room that afternoon. I had allowed a tendency to be shy to hamper my interview. Instead of exhibiting confidence, I had displayed terror. Most uncool.



In way of good news, I had two very pretty dresses to wear. Both were extremely modest formal gowns. One was light blue with long sleeves and a high neck. The other was a Gunnie Sax design, for those of you from that era. It was a beautiful dress that you can see in the picture below.

This dress had wonderful lacy sleeves, and yet another high neck. I'll admit it--I was a teenage prude. I wasn't comfortable wearing anything that even smacked of being immodest. It may have been part of my shy nature, but that's just who I was . . . and who I am today. I've never been one to wear anything that causes embarrassing discomfort. Unless you count the times I've dressed up to render silly singing telegrams . . . but I digress. ;)

Back to the pageant adventure . . . the big night finally arrived. We had been told that we would be paired to walk in with members of the high school basketball team. I don't know who paired us up, but I was assigned to walk in with one of the tallest members of the team. This kid was well over 6' 8", and since I was only 5' 2", I was about eye level with his belly button.

Now, bear in mind, this was 1979, and platform heels were all the rage. That night I was wearing a black pair of platform dress sandals that looked sharp with both dresses. They elevated me to nearly 5' 6". I didn't realize these factors would collide into disaster. As I was escorted from the back of the auditorium to the stage at the front of the room, my arm at an uncomfortable angle since my escort was still a foot taller, I managed to step into the hem of my new blue gown with the platform heel of one sandal, and I face-planted it in front of everyone. For a few seconds, I wished for the floor to swallow me. Then I was tempted to kick my escort on the leg. He just stood there and looked at me, while the audience tried not to laugh. As I managed to rise to my feet, he then gallantly took my arm and hustled me up the stairs to the stage. I heard later on that he was mortified over how I had embarrassed him. Ah . . . a true gentleman. ;)

That was an indication of things to come. While I didn't fall down during the dance as one poor girl did, I was still off here and there with the differing dance steps. I hoped no one would notice my continued lack of grace, and I psyched myself up for the talent segment of the evening. Fortunately, my song went better than I had expected. The audience cheered loud and long after my performance, giving my ego a much needed boost. The rest of the night passed quickly and it was finally time for the winners to be announced.

They started with the specialty awards. When it was finally time for the talent award, I waited eagerly. The emcee said quite loudly, "And tonight's talent award goes to Ch . . ."

I knew all of my hard work and humiliation had been worth it. Gathering my courage, I stepped forward to accept the award.

"Ch . . . ari Salter!"

Once again, I wished to be swallowed by the floor. Instead, I graciously shook the hand of the young woman who had won the award, and retreated back to my place in line with the others. When I thought about it later on, Chari really had deserved the talent award. She had performed a singing and dancing routine from a musical production, and she was the epitome of confidence. She had scored the highest with the interview and the talent segments, and she was proclaimed Ashton's Jr. Miss in 1979, going on to represent our school in the state competition. She was awarded the Miss Spitfire award in Boise, doing her best to bring a sense of pride to our small town.

I'll admit, immediately after the pageant in Ashton, I felt disappointed. One of my close friends had placed as the first runner up, and I was thrilled for her (she was one of those who had talked me into participating in the pageant) but it stung knowing I had failed to win anything that night. But when my friends and family came backstage to congratulate me on how well things had gone, (I know, they were being exceedingly kind) my spirits lifted. I knew I had given the pageant my best. Some things hadn't turned out as I had envisioned, but I had learned so much from that experience. Among other things, I learned to laugh at myself. My friends and I would laugh about that pageant for years to come, as we relived my less than shining moments. And so many people talked to me later on about my talent number, it made me feel like I had accomplished something fairly neat.

Because I had been courageous enough to take part in that pageant, a few months later, I was asked to write and sing a special musical number for my high school graduation. That was a highlight of my high school days, and that opportunity was the direct result of my efforts during the pageant.

It is my hope tomorrow night, when the new Miss Bear Lake Valley is crowned, that all of the girls who are participating will come away with a feeling of self-worth, regardless of the outcome. They are all winners in my book, for possessing the courage to get up in front of a crowd to perform. It is these type of experiences that shape our characters, and help us to discover who we really are. And when we embrace the new growth that can be ours from these learning experiences, it doesn't matter who walks away with the crown.

The Music Within

I believe most people are deeply touched by music. This is manifested in a myriad of ways. Some dance, others play musical instruments, sing, or simply enjoy listening to their favorite genre, whether it's classical, rock, easy listening, jazz, country western (I'm trying not to gag---that one's not my favorite), etc.

I was born into a musically inclined family. My paternal grandmother played the piano beautifully, despite suffering from a form of deafness. (She survived the 1918 flu epidemic, but lost most of her hearing as a result.)

My father was blessed with a rich bass voice. He began singing in public when quite young, often accompanied by his mother. In college, he sang solo parts for operettas like Handel's Messiah. It was through this venue that he met my mother. One of her roommates, Jean, also sang solo parts in the musical productions that Ricks College promoted at the time. After singing in several of these musicals with my father, Jean introduced my parents, thinking they were perfect for each other. It turned out Jean was right.

My mother also came from a musical background. Her paternal grandmother played the piano by ear and she would often supply the music for the dances held in Grays Lake, Idaho years ago. Her offspring all sang, and played various musical instruments by ear. Her descendants still carry on in that great tradition.

My brother began singing with our father at the tender age of 3. He was too young to be nervous and he would sing out in a booming fashion that thrilled the audience. Since he didn't know how to read at that point in his life, my mother had to help him memorize the lyrics to the songs. What a dedicated woman! ;)

My mother plays the piano by ear and she often accompanied my father and brother as they sang on a variety of programs. Not long after this, my parents decided it would be good for all of us to sing together, and my two sisters and I started to sing as well. We performed all over the place (or so it seemed to me) and we sang everything from spiritual numbers, to songs from popular musicals, Christmas carols, wedding ditties, and even some fairly silly stuff just for fun.

When I was 12 years old, I taught myself how to play the guitar. For years, my father's guitar had sat untouched in the corner of the living room---it was something he was always going to learn to play. I remember being terribly bored one afternoon, and I felt drawn to that musical instrument. I picked it up, carried into my bedroom, and thumbed through the book that had come with it. For some reason, it all made sense to me, and by that afternoon, I could play 2 guitar chords quite clearly, and a simple little song. My parents were stunned. I'm not sure why. ;) I tried not to be insulted by their surprised reaction, and continued developing this skill the rest of the summer.

That fall I began writing my own songs. True, most of those first attempts were rather silly (I will spare you the lyrics) but it was like a whole new world had opened up to me. As time went on, this budding talent gave me numerous opportunities. It seemed like I was constantly being asked to write songs for high school dances, friends who were in love . . . or heartbroken over a relationship that had soured---I was even asked to write a song for my high school graduation. When I wrote a song I entitled, "Moving On," I was then asked to sing it during our graduation ceremony. This proved to be a challenge, since I was moving from the area the week after graduation.

In college, this hobby provided some interesting experiences. A good friend of mine served on the student council of Ricks College and she asked me write a theme song for one of the preference dances. The theme that year was, "Feelings of Springtime," and they wanted a song written using that same title. It proved to be quite the challenge, but I persevered and finally came up with lyrics and music that worked. And yes, I had to perform this number in every ballroom about half-way through the dance. My poor date spent the entire night helping me haul around my guitar and wooden stool. =)

There were other adventures. I was asked to write a song for our student ward about leaving home and journeying out into the world. I came up with something I called, "Try Your Wings." It was so well received the night I performed it at a special ward fireside, I was asked to sing it the next fall at the opening ceremony for incoming freshmen at Ricks. I sang in front of the largest audience I had ever faced, and I was scared to death. I had moved outside of my comfort zone for this number and played a grand piano to accompany myself. Prayers were answered and I survived, even if I sang the wrong line during one of the verses. I comforted myself with the thought that since I had written the silly thing, no one else but me would know I messed up. ;)

A few months after that, I was given a chance to perform one of my songs at a young song-writer's pop concert also held at Ricks College. I was backed by a live band and it was one of the highlights of my college days. For a while, I toyed with the idea of becoming a professional singer. But after watching what that particular dream did to one of my cousins, I was content with singing for personal enjoyment.

I still dabble somewhat with writing music. Through the years I've written songs for local musicals, YW programs, and was once asked to write a theme song for a compilation of musical numbers that were recorded by several talented musicians in our valley. Music has been a wonderful outlet and an important stress release throughout my life.

Music has always touched me more deeply than the spoken or written word. I can sit, stoic-faced during a funeral, blocking out what is being said over the pulpit. But when musical numbers are performed, I dissolve into puddle of mush. How difficult it is for me to sing at funerals, especially when the person being remembered is a loved one. But that has often been my lot in life. I have had to learn how to distance myself from the loss, to become one with the music, tuning out why I'm there.

There was a time when the music within me died. This took place years ago, when my father chose to exit mortal mode. It was a long time before I could pick up the guitar, brush the keys of the piano, or sing following his untimely death. I tried . . . but it ended badly until I healed.

About 3 months after my father's death, I was asked to sing 2 Christmas numbers at a Christmas Party for the local hospital. A nagging inner voice nudged that I wasn't ready for this yet. But I ignored that warning, and suffered the consequences. I figured I could handle doing something I had done for years. So I practiced two of my favorite Christmas songs and journeyed into town to perform on the program that night. My husband stayed at home with our oldest son, Kris, who was 5 months old at the time, and suffering from a cold. Again, I figured I would fine on my own. WRONG. I made it halfway through the first song . . . and the music was gone. I was still carrying too much pain inside. All I could do is cry. I ran offstage, humiliated and heartbroken.

I retreated to my car and drove around for hours, trying to sort everything out. As I drove around, my hand hesitantly reached for the knob to the radio. Turning it on, I switched stations until I heard a song that seemed to grab me. I drove into a deserted church parking lot and sat, entranced by the music. It was loud. It was angry. This song expressed everything I was feeling and amazingly, it healed a tiny piece of my heart that night. When it was finished, I turned off the radio and sobbed for a very long time. This was also healing. By the time I went home, I was exhausted, but on the mend. It would be years before I could sing in public, but little by little, the music within me survived.

Music is a gift. It is also a two-edged sword. While it can be inspiring, healing, and calming, the opposite realm of the spectrum is available as well. Music I refer to as "noise," can be detrimental to our souls. We have to be so careful about the types of music we allow ourselves to absorb.

It has been a joy to see the family musical heritage passed on to my children, and now my grandchildren. In past years, I've loved watching my sons develop their musical talents. One son plays the guitar and mandolin by ear. Another plays bass guitar and he's currently teaching himself how to play the acoustic guitar. The third plays the drums, guitar, and piano by ear. All three can sing and harmonize.

My tiny granddaughter loves music. She claps her little hands when we sing. She dances whenever music is played. She giggles and tries to help me whenever I dig out my guitar. And, she even tries to sing along. I'm certain she's pure genius. (That's a grandmother's prerogative, eh?)

It fills my heart with joy to know this legacy will continue. I think it's important and I suspect that when this life is over, we will find that music will play an important role in the eternities. It's part of the heritage we received from heavenly Parents who knew how crucial music would be to us during our earthly journey.

The Blissful Tradition of Roadshows

Years ago, it was a tradition in our stake to put together roadshow productions. These were mini-plays based on whatever theme our stake leaders settled upon. Shortly after my husband and I were married and began residing in the realm of Bennington, I was nabbed to write my first attempt at this sort of thing. The end result was an impressive classic: "Dallas in Blunderland," complete with Uno Cards who danced the card shuffle. =) It was a silly thing, but as I recall, we had a lot of fun as you can see from the pictures posted above and below this paragraph.

Through the years, I've been asked to help with several of these productions. It was great training for the future Primary Christmas programs I would be asked to write, the numerous camp skits I had to pull out of the air, and writing\directing\producing a tri-stake Christmas musical I was called upon to put together one interesting year. =) It was a two act production that involved a double cast and lots of sound and light effects. [Yes, I lived to tell about it.] I entitled it "A Christmas Prayer," and believe me, there were several of those offered as we struggled to pull this thing together.

Our dress rehearsal was a complete flop. Someone, who shall remain nameless, (he was a grown man who should have known better, one of our cast members, and not anyone related to me) played around with our light and sound board, messing up all of our computerized settings. So that night, our cast sang acappella, there were no sound effects, and we had to leave the house lights on to see. Good times. ;)

This play was based on something that really happened in my father's family; it was something of a tribute to his memory, and I was crushed by how awful that rehearsal was. A handful of people from our valley had come to watch the dress-rehearsal since they would be out of town the rest of the week, and they tried to be supportive.

"A bad dress rehearsal means it will be a great performance," one brave woman said, patting my shoulder in a sympathetic manner.

"My prayers are with you all," another remarked.

"Have you contemplated moving from the area?" still another person sympathized. =D

We persevered and by the next night, my dedicated group of co-directors had helped me paste our sound\light board back together and the production was a hit. I remember sinking to my knees later that night in grateful prayer, stunned by the complete turnaround that had taken place. Everyone had remembered their lines, the songs had been rendered without a hitch. In short, we had witnessed a Christmas miracle.

Here are three pictures from this tremendous effort:

This first shot shows the nativity scene, and yes, that's my husband posing as an angel in the white suit. =)

These are some of the main characters from one of the casts. They did such a good job!

This is the final musical number---the entire cast came out onstage to perform, including me. (I'm the one holding hands with my angelic husband. What you can't see are the tears that were streaming down my face that night.)

One year, a good friend of mine was asked to write a script for the ward roadshow. That year the stake theme was centered around scripture stories. Her creativity hit genius level as she wrote and directed something she entitled: Mrs. Noah's Prayer. She asked me to compose a special musical number for this endeavor and we worked together to make it a success.

All three of my sons took part in this production (all three were also involved in the Christmas musical I mentioned earlier) and they portrayed some of the animals from Noah's ark. Two were bunnies, and my oldest son was a frog:

One of the neat things that came about as a result of these experiences was my sons' interest in music and the dramatic arts. All three of them took part in various productions in the years that followed.

Our two oldest sons joined a local performing group called "Showcase," and they eventually went on tour in California--an experience they loved. Here's a picture of our oldest son, Kris, posing in traditional "Showcase" attire:

Here are a couple of pictures of my two younger sons who were later drafted\encouraged to take part in yet another stake production. (This time I was merely the supportive mother and part of the audience, a nice change.) This play was based on Lehi's dream and it involved the past and the current time. As such, Derek was cast as the traditional Nephi:


And Devin portrayed his modern-day counterpart. He's wearing his football jersey, standing to the side of Derek in this picture:


These talented sons of mine even formed their own garage (I should say "basement") band. They all play musical instruments by ear and each one has been blessed with the ability to sing.

During his senior year, our youngest son was awarded a starring role in the high school musical "Grease;" he portrayed Kenickie. One night, during his solo performance of the song, "Greased Lightening," the recorded music locked up and ceased to play. Devin continued on with the song like nothing had happened and the neat thing was when the music suddenly cued back on toward the end of that number, Devin was dead on with the pitch. [This means he remained "in tune." I suspect there is an analogy in there somewhere, something about staying in tune despite challenging obstacles. ;) ]

(Devin is the one standing up inside the car)

Through the years, because of productions like roadshows, etc. talents were developed and shared. Confidence was hatched and nurtured. Lives were changed for the better, and most importantly, we all had a lot of fun.

For some reason, roadshows became a thing of the past in our stake. I suspect in part because of the busy pace we find ourselves enduring in these lovely latter days. I was happy to learn that this year, our stake has encouraged each ward to put together a roadshow. And even though I've been drafted to help with our ward's production, I'm still excited. ;) True, we're borrowing a script from the past (Shelley Burdick's creation: "Mrs. Noah's Prayer,") but we're planning on adding a few extra features here and there to make it a little different.

I was able to come up with a set of lyrics for this roadshow that has already inspired a smile or two. I'm hoping our cast will have fun with it, and that the people involved will take advantage of this opportunity to polish talents, nurture confidence, and spread their wings. That's what roadshows are all about, and that's why I'm so happy to see a return to this art form in our stake. I think we live in a time when it's important to encourage people to develop their talents and to boost self-esteem, considering that the adversary is having a hey-day tearing everyone down. It is my hope that the roadshow legacy will live on, providing opportunities for growth that are amazing and important. As with anything else in life, it's up to us to decide just what will be gained from occasions like these.

I'll end this blog entry by pasting in the lyrics I mentioned earlier. May they inspire a smile and perhaps a desire to spread your own wings:

The Smelly, Yucky Ark

(Sung to the tune of “Yellow Submarine)

Lyrics by: Cheri J. Crane

Chorus:
We all live in a smelly, yucky ark
A scary place that’s dark
This is not a lark.
We all live in a smelly, yucky ark
When will we disembark?
Noah’s the patriarch.

1st Verse: This began not long ago
When the world was full of woe
People sinned, and sinned some more
Then the rain came down, began to pour.

2nd Verse: If they only’d changed their lives
There’d be more than us and our wives.
But repent was not their style
Now they’re fish bait down a mile.

3rd Verse: We don’t know when we will land
The whole world is minus sand
We’re just out riding the sea
The only place that we can be.

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