Sally and the Cholorrhea

        When my sister proposed that we write a musical together, I asked her what she had in mind.  She thought perhaps a western theme might be good.  This is what came to mind.


Cholorrhea was a little town, where everybody knows everybody.  When someone came down with the dreaded Cholorrhea (the horrendous flu-like disease that had once nearly obliterated the town, and it‘s toilet paper supply) everyone knew within the hour.  When a man got intentions of courting one of the young ladies of Cholorrhea, he parents surely knew before she did.  
Clarence left his wife, Colette, and daughter, Sally, with all he owned: two cows, a horse, a pair of geese, and a lazy old dog.  Regrettably, Hank, the farm hand, took off with the horse after Clarence’s funeral, so Sally and her mother were left without much transportation, and only their four hands to get all the daily chores done.
So Cholorrhea came together, like small towns always do, to alleviate the burdens of their fellow Cholorrheans.  The women of Cholorrhea knew just what to do.  Within an hour after the funeral, they organized suitors for the beautiful Sally, and began planning the wedding.  All they had to do was find the perfect groom, for the surely desperate bride.
What the ladies didn’t know was that Clarence had plans of his own.  He and Sally had not only been Father and daughter, but had also been the dearest of friends, and he had wanted what was best for her.  Ever since she had been small, Clarence and Collette had known that Sally would be beautiful, and sought after.  Indeed, so it was when she grew up that every man in the town wanted her for his wife.  So Clarence left his daughter a map to finding out whether her prospective groom came with sincere intentions.  When that map goes missing, Sally becomes desperate to avoid all attempts at personal contact with any member of the community (more especially the proud mothers of Cholorrhea) until she knew how her Father could recognize the heart of a man. 
It bothered Collette that she couldn’t protect her daughter like her husband always had.  Clarence had been the only reason all the suitors in the town hadn’t approached Sally before.  But Colette simply had to laugh though.  When it came to sincere intentions, not a man in Cholorrhea seemed to have them.  Nor were any of them willing to work on the farm which Sally‘s groom would inevitably inherit, as eager as it seemed they all were to have it as dowry.
None of them seemed sincere, but for the one Sally wanted to marry least.  Seymour may have been the very last on her list of desirable suitors, for his clumsiness with a rope (he could hardly tie his shoes, let alone rope a wild colt), for his frivolous parents (they had once offered to buy Clarence’s farm from him), and maybe it bothered her, the way he had always been the first one to ask her to dance.
But most of all, it was because she knew her father hadn’t liked him, and Sally was sure she would never marry a boy her father didn’t like.  Poor Sally.

Northern Star

    I like metaphors for life.  I'm just trying to say something here about dreams, and ambitions.  The inspiration, could be from my dream of becoming a writer, or a musician.  Lately, it would have to be musician, since I've spent the last four months with a bassoon in my hand twenty-four hours a day.  Chasing your dream is a lot of work (thanks for mentioning that, Jiminy), but there's almost nothing that I would trade for it.
 
    There is a lot to be said about small town life.  As a teenager I did not know whether to love all the space I had to myself, or to hate being stranded at home.  I grew up where our neighbors lived two miles away, and there were more cows than people.  A trip to the store was at least a thirty-minute drive.
    Here is one thing about which people from the country will always be able to brag.  On a clear night you see one of the most amazing displays known to man.  I have marveled at the splendor of the night sky from my back yard again and again, wishing only that I could gaze longer, and see more.  Throughout the year a captivating exhibition of distant light moves across the blackness.
    Of particular interest to me in the night sky is the one feature that does not change.  It is a speck of light that might seem less than unique in a sea of numberless lights.  It is the North star; the only one of which I am aware that always remains constant--which stays fixed, and was just as central to our sky last night as it was when Columbus sailed the ocean blue in . . . in . . .  1497? Oh: ‘92.  (Sorry.  Dates are so hard to remember.)  I became aware of it through stories of sailors on the open sea, who used it to determine their bearings.
    I have never needed to follow that particular star to find my way, but I have found myself in a position in life when I felt I could go left or right and it wouldn’t make a difference.  I imagine that a sailor, at some time in history, wondered whether the slight turn of the helm made a difference at all in his ship’s path through the wide, featureless ocean. 
   It is interesting to me that this small speck has played a significant role in history.  What the northern star has taught me is that in moral matters, there is a single standard to which we ought to hold.  Each individual needs to determine for himself, in earnest, what that standard is, and then follow it unflinchingly.  Some people trick themselves into justifying each action based on their circumstances.  This is like following directions that change over time.  Surely this will not take you to the destination you intend.
    In our mental, and physical endeavors, I think that each of us has enormous potential.  Not just anybody can be a world-class musician, or bench press five-hundred pounds, or engineer brilliant software.  Potential is not necessarily referring to what we do, but how we do it.  Any given person has the potential to progress and become something more than they were to start with; whether they start with a love for great food, or a knack for juggling. 
    The great gift of life is that we can choose for ourselves. Only you are accountable for the choices you make.  Only you can act in the unique position you have been placed, with the resources you have been given.  Whatever it is we choose, doubts may arise which test our resolve in pursuing what we have chosen.  One of my favorite sayings comes to mind: ‘Don‘t make the mistake of giving up what you want most for what you want now.’ What is your greatest desire?  What do you want to become?  What are you willing to do, and to give to have and to be that?   
    I am inspired by the majesty of something as common as the night sky.  I am persuaded that life, by it’s existence, means something magnificent, and wonderful.  Often it takes work just to recognize what goals we ought to set before we seize this wonderful voyage of life.  I hope that we don‘t let tempting shores, or strong gusts of wind prevent us from choosing our greatest desires. Clouds will get in the way, and sometimes we’ll find ourselves blinded by smog, but the northern star of our desire will remain fixed if that is where we put our hearts.
    If you don’t understand entirely, spend a couple days out in the country.  Then go out at night to look at the stars.  It’s just one miracle in life to fill you with inspiration.