Happy Holidays

I finished up my last performance of 2008 on Saturday. It wasn't a big tadoo. Just a small, quiet holiday party at a swim club of all places. I did a production of ours called Christmas Cabaret. It's a show I've done for years and years. It's no great theatrical feat to be sure. Just a collection of light vignettes with an underlying theme of slowing down enough to really enjoy the holidays. There's some predictable characters: a harried monologue from Santa's head elf, two reindeer with head colds, a couple of babies singing a duet and a puppy pops out of a brightly-wrapped box.

But a couple of the segments try to strike a more serious tone. No easy task in the venues that this poor little production finds itself; shopping malls, corporate celebrations and the occasional library still secure enough to present something with the word "Christmas" in the title.

In one of these heavier segments, a talking present laments that after Christmas morning you won't even recognize him. He'll be a crumpled mess, scattered all over the place. A regular fire hazard. His shiny paper and curly ribbons will all be forgotten once you open him up. He says it's a rough life being a Christmas present. So, he asks the audience to take a moment to enjoy the simple beauty of all the presents under the Tree.

In another of the vignettes, a sort of "off-duty" Santa Claus tells the audience that he was in the neighborhood and thought he would stop in and see if they all had been good this year. He implores the audience not to forget the true meaning of Christmas and the warmth that comes from loving, caring and sharing.

I tell you all this because on Saturday, there in the chilly rain, as I wrapped another year of performances, I felt that these two pieces worked. There's been plenty of times that perhaps they were not given the attention they deserved. But on this day, a hush came over the audience while a talking present and gentle old St. Nick had their say. I like to think that maybe, just maybe, some sugar-high child that was at this show might slow down for a moment on Christmas Eve to just stare at the beautiful presents under their tree. They might even hold a parent tight for an instant.

As I packed up the show, a little girl in a very fancy dress came for a peek backstage. She looked at Nick and the talking present, hanging side by side on the stage frame hooks. "Are they real?" she asked. I answered her without thinking. "Today," I said, "they were real enough."