Museum of Life and Death

Last Friday Fitz and I went to the nursing home to visit his father, John Sr. Nearing the end of a long, ugly battle with Parkinson's, these "visits" are bereft of any of the usual social graces that we tend to think of when we imagine visiting with someone. There are none of the usual niceties, no small-talk (any conversation takes a huge effort and focus), we often wonder where John thinks we are - or where he thinks he is.

We like to bring brandy manhattens in a silver shaker - served over ice in the same small glasses that John used when made them in his whiskey pantry in Ironwood and served them to guests at the end of the day. It is getting almost impossible for him to hold the glass, or sip them without a great amount of drama. Soon he (we) will be robbed of even this small pleasure.

We reconfigure our thinking, yet again....the sadness mixed with the mystery and wonder.

Leaving there, we drive downtown to see friends Mark and Isabelle in their new production (with Andy Kishner) of "The Museum of Life and Death." On the way, Fitz remarks that it will take an enormous effort to compete with our visit with Dad. But the piece is an enormous effort - and it doesn't compete - it compliments.

A combination of drama, dance, performance art and mixed media - it is a futuristic retelling of a medievil morality play, "Everyman." Death comes for Everyman and tells him to make an accounting of his life. He comes to realize that no one, not "True Love," "Beauty," "Strength," or "Knowledge" will accompany him on this journey and he must go alone.

The projected images and use of shadows worked with the stage performances to create a stong, universal and sometimes bittersweet accounting of our age old - and universal - attempt to understand death. However it comes.