The Arrogance of Power

Once upon a time in Liberalville Indiana, there were elected government officials who thought they knew what was best for their misinformed, ignorant constituents. After all, these elected officials believed thety were the smartest and brightest in all the land. The officials knew that once the constituents learned their reasons for controlling the use of personal land, keeping all growth to a few square miles and minimizing economic opportunity, that the people would embrace and accept the officials' wisdom.

But alas, it wasn't to be. The people weren't stupid. They did understand. And guess what--they didn not agree. So they spoke out. They created a website. They signed petitions. They attended public meetings. They tried to get their issues heard.  But the question is, did the elected officials listen? Will they try to find common ground and room for compromise? Or will the arrogance of power prevail?

The Winter Blues

This was supposed to be Blue Monday: the day after the Super Bowl when the entire Hoosier state was celebrating our Colts' victory--or in this case NOT. Sure I watched the game wearing my blue Super Bowl sweatshirt and felt my stomach churn and ache as the game wore on. But the reality and the finality struck. The Indianapolis Colts had lost. The Lombardi trophy would not be coming back to Indiana. I'm not sure why this loss is so difficult. After all, I went to Indiana University. We nearly always loose, especially in football. So we should be immune to it. IU fans don't often have the fun and excitement that comes with a winning season like our northern Indiana folks have with Purdue and Notre Dame. The IU Hoosier national had our favorite rant  "wait till basketball season." (But now we don't even have that to fall back on.)

The Indpls Colts finally gave us bragging rights. We IU fans had our winning team at last. The Super Bowl was our bowl game and our chance to show team pride and spirit. Regardless of the score, we still have our Colts and the best quarterback in the world. But the season's over and our blue has turned to the ugly, drab gray of winter.  Ironically, though, two former Hoosiers play for the Saints. Congratulations, Tracy Porter and Courtney Robey. Well done.

Is it over yet?

According to the Pew Research organization, 50% of Americans have a negative view of the last decade. Well, DUH! Of course we're ready for it to end, especially those of us here in B'town. This blog's too small to recap all the weird things from the last 10 years so I'll just mention some that come immediately to mind. First and foremost were the fighter planes intercepting an Amish farmer's plane over Bloomington the week of 9/11/01. My poor parents, remembering Pearl Harbor, thought we were under attack. For some reason, the pilot just didn't get the message that the airports were closed to everyone--even Amish farmers from southern Indiana.

Then who would have imagined that Miles Brand would have the balls to fire Bobby Knight or hire those athletic directors McNaulty and Greenspan? Could hizzoner, the President, have dug any further down in the barrel of green slime? Then not to be outdone, his successor supported the hiring of Kelvin Sampson who must have been lurking at its very bottom. Thank goodness for Fred Glass.

This also seemed to be the decade of "traffic calming." That's the Liberalville synonym for building hazardous obstacles in the middle of the street. It's a wonder that complete neighborhoods have not been destroyed due to a fire truck's inability to maneuver the roadway or round the round- abouts...especially on 7th Street. This must have been the reason so many Bloomingtonians converted to "Smart" cars. They were the only ones intelligent enough to traverse our dangerous but "calm" streets.

Another marker of the decade was the invasion of the "Coasties," a form of locust. They arrive en masse each August and leave every May in 4-year cycles. The females are easily identified by their UGGs, black leggings, huge sun glasses, Longchamp tote bags and North Face jackets...The male species are seen in pajama bottoms, flip flops, stubbly beards and bed heads. Both sexes swarm through downtown in Beamers, Escalades, Porshes and the like all bearing license plates from New York and New Jersey.

Oh, I could go on and on and rant and rant. But in the interest of starting the next decade on a high, up-beat note, I'll just say au revoir and adieu to the aughts. Good riddance. Bring on the teens.

Where' Are the Christmas Cards

Remember those? Before the days of social media and email, cards were a regular part of Christmas. Back in the day when I was a politician's wife, we'd make our pilgrimage to Keystone at the Crossing to buy more than a 100 cards with our type-set signature line and stamped return address. I could address more than 25 an hour--stopping only to change pens and wet my mouth after all the licking and sealing.

But not only were their McDaniel cards to send there were political candidate cards to to as well. We, no, I mean my husband was in charge of stuffing, hand addressing and stamping cards to a candidate's 10,000+ friends and family. That process started way before Halloween. Fortunately, I complained and wined enough that I was only forced to engage in the candidate card brigade earlier in the marriage. But that was then.

This is now. According to USA Today, Christmas mail has dropped 11 percent this year. Postage is 44 cents a card (last I looked) so maybe that's the reason I've only received three cards and it's already December 18. Or maybe it's because my friends' children are grown and there's no need to send family pictures. Maybe folks have just lost interest and think YouTube, Flickr and Facebook surfice. Or, sadly, some have died.

Frankly, I miss the cards...even the ones stuffed with the three-page, single-spaced Christmas "note" archiving a family 's every move the past 365 days. A Hallmark card with a family picture and a Christmas note was always a highlight of my holiday. I couldn't wait to get home and find mail that came sans postage paid envelope for a payment or donation. I loved catching up with everyone's comings and goings

Now the only way I get to do that is to settle down with the stack my parents still receive, probably because their friends aren't on Facebook, don't tweet or email and still believe, as I do, that cards are an integral part of the Christmas tradition. So I'll stop lamenting and start addressing. Merry Christmas and a healthy and happy new decade to everyone.

Bloomington's Local Weekend

It's the Bloomingtonians last weekend before our small summer community explodes into a metropolis filled with people going the wrong way on our streets, crowding the bike lanes and making the wait time at our "watering holes" unbearable. So over the last two weeks, I've dined at most of my favorites. Let's start with Finch's Brasserie on Kirkwood. Lunch on the patio with a view of the Sample Gates at the entrance to campus is perfect. The food is always wonderful--particularly the pizzattas. Just to be different, I tried the smoked brisket on ciabatta bread. It was certainy smokey and flavorful. The homemade pommes frites were also super. Finch's needs to go on every person's short list of Bloomington favorites.

Then there's the new "Scenic View" on Hwy 446 on the way to Lake Monroe. The restaurant's gone through a number of reincarnations over the years but this one has to be the best. As the name implys, there's a spectacular view of Lake Monroe from either the patio or the indoor seating which should only get better as the trees begin to turn. Go for the burgers (either beef or lamb) or the baked-on-site pizza. I've also heard good reviews on the barbeque sandwich as well.
There are also some other changes on the restaurant scene since the students left. One is the new menu and chef at Chapmans. Evidently, a former chef from Truffles has returned to town and hopes to breath new life and business into this far east side, recently remodeled eatery. Loads of dough had to have been spent on the refurbishing of the interior. Evidently, now the owners are doing same with the menu.

Lastly, Nicks Old English Hut, a Bloomington landmark since the late 1920s has expanded its seating for families on the mezzanine. The tall tables have been replaced with regular tables and MORE OF them to accommodate the grandparents, parents, teenagers, children, toddlers and even babies. (I'm leaving it at that and not going any further for fear I'll go too far.)

So, now that locals' weekend is nearly over and the 30,000+ folks are on their way. Bloomington is ready...as we are this time every year. Target is stocked to the ceiling. The mattress salesmen are back on the street corners and we've eaten at our faves, I say, Bring 'em on. Go Hoosiers.

New Digs for IU's Rock

As the lazy, crazy days of summer morph into "back to school", IU students and football fans hav a real surprise when they return to Bloomington. Finally, IU has a "Big 10" class football stadium. The newly built north end joins the east and west stands so for the first time, the stadium is nearly enclosed.

Maybe the rehabed stadium will magically draw the fans into the stadium away from the acre after acre of tailgate parties that start at dawn, hours before the gates open and the first notes of the Marching Hundred can be heard. If nothing more, the new stadium certainly offers two huge benefits over the grass fields--brand new flushing toilets and running water. Hopefully the stadium will be a respected point of pride with the fans of the Hurrying Hoosiers and they'll want to come on in--not just party on the outside. Go Hoosiers!

JFK and Cell Phones

Forgive me for showing my age, but the more I learn about the power of cell and smart phones, video sharing, Web 2.0, Twitter, Facebook and the like, I've been pondering a "what if," that might have changed the last 48 years of history. Thinking about the speed that news travels the globe and ever-growing army of citizen journalists, think what the assasination of President John Kennedy might have been if all the social media we have today was available then.

For me, that day in November has been forever etched in my brain. After all, Mrs. Grace, my 7th grade English teacher charged me to go to the principal's office to see what was being said on the only television in my school and report back to my classmates. As a result, I remember every detail.

Sadly for many of us, we had to wait to see Walter Cronkite or Chet Huntly and David Brinkley spell out the details of that awful day. I shall never forget seeing Mr. Cronkite remove his black rimmed glasses and sadly report that our president had died while trying to ignore the monsterous lump in his throut. News that day and the ones that followed chronicled the funeral of our president as fast as possible given the state of broadcasting technology. After all, most people only had black and white televisions with only four channels.

But what if the spectators along the President's Dallas parade route had the tools we have today? Every second would have be captured--from every angle and every perspective--even from the "grassy knoll." Conspiracy theorists would have thousands and thousands of video and images to review to arrive at a definitive answer if "he acted alone." Images of the tragedy would have been flashed around the world on Twitter within seconds much like the first image of the USAirways flight landing in the Hudson River. The course of history might have completely changed. So if you've got any ideas of how social media might have altered the historical recording of that day add a comment below.

Oliver Daffi

Today dawned as a gorgeous, warm spring Saturday in Bloomington--the perfect day to visit Oliver Winery. While Oliver's has a broad and tasteful selection of wines for tasting, that's not the reason Mom and I went. It was the flower display! Thousands of daffodils, hyacinths and early tulips were on grand display. The daffis, in all sizes and colors of white, cream, gold and peach were showing off like bonnets in a Easter parade.

I love gardening to see perennial beds in pristine shape without a a single dandelion to spoil to spoil the view makes me turn spring green with envy. Even with my foot still in its protective walking boot, I hobbled my way through gardens admiring the evenly spread mulch, the crystal clear water features and kaleidescope of colors and textures. I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to Oliver Winery and look forward to returning in the sunny days ahead. Maybe next time I'll even have a taste of the grape.

Frozen peas are my new best friends.

I confess, I grew up moving the peas around my plate so it appeared like they had disappeared--likely by magic. And there were times I fed them under the table to Kinky, my cocker spaniel. Even my father's coaxing with "Eat your peas, they'll make you smell good," had absolutely no affect on my dislike for those little round green things that wouldn't sit nicely on the fork as it moved toward my mouth. There was the Thanksgiving dinner that my Grandpa made me sit through desert until I ate those little stinkers. It was me versus the pea. Oh ick.

But now at the age of 56, frozen peas have found their way back to my heart --or should I say foot--in the form of ice packs. I have two large bags of generic peas in the freezer at the ready --anytime I need a cold pack for an injury--like right this very minute. Tuesday I broke my ankle while taking my daily exercise on the new sidewalk at the corner of Third Street and Daniels Way in front of Ivy Tech. (I've always heard exercise will kill you, but that's a discussion for another day.)

I couldn't wait to get back from the doc to grab those bags of instant pain killer. No muss. No fuss. No drippy bags and towels or having to make numerous hops to the freezer. My pea friends conform nicely to my foot and last for what seems like hours. Best of all, they numb the ouchy.

While one bag's on the foot, the other's in the freezer waiting for its turn. The swap can go on for days, weeks or months and and those little things can reinvent themselves for new injured body parts. These actual bags of peas were originally purchased in 2006 for my friend's nose job and then his oral surgery. Noses. Gums. Ankles. Are these multi tasking peas, or what? No freezer or first aid kit's complete without them.

Our State Fair is a Great State Fair

The 1960's musical about the Texas State Fair always comes to mind this time each summer when our Indiana State Fair opens to thousands of Hoosiers from the rural farms and urban communities across our state. Sure the fair goers enjoy the deep fried pickles and Oreo cookies, elephant ears and funnel cakes and the games on the midway but the Fair's so much more. It's a wonderful opportunity for our rural young people to get the recognition they deserve for carrying on their family's farming tradition, for exploring new crafts and hobbies and preparing themselves for their futures. I watched them today as they tended their livestock and painstakingly washed and curried their animals to prepare them for judging. Their pride was unmistakable. I'm sure they had a few laughs too as they watched the city dogs, lemon shakeups, the "world'd biggest hog" and the midway. It's a wonderful Hoosier tradition.

Breakfast Bisquits

The best bisquits in town aren't really here--they're in Nashville, Indiana, only about 16 miles away at the Artist Colony in the heart of Brown County. Its a wonderful bed and breakfast with a restaurant open to the public. Its an ideal getaway for Sunday breakfast, particularly for lovers of art and those familiar with the "Hoosier School" of impressionists such as T.C. Steele.

That aside, the subject is breakfast and more specifically bisquits. No where else do bisquits rise as high as these--sometimes as much as two inches. And no others are as light and fluffy inside as these palm-sized perfections. Having never tasted artery clogging bisquits and gravy, I can't attest to how these hold up to a slatthering of white gravy with big chunks of pork sausage. But let me tell you, these gems are perfect, served warm and split in half with a speading of real butter and maybe some strawberry jam. Yum. Yum. There's nothing better. They truly are a work of art.

The Balloon Trial

Everyone's heard that politicians repeatadly send up "trial balloons" to test public policy or public opinion. But here in Liberalville its the balloons that are on trial. Literally. Our lack-luster planning commission has cited a local businessman with a violation of our city zoning ordinance related to his use of common, plain, everyday balloons to draw attention to the signs for his rental property. Not a single word was printed on said balloons. No daunting message beckoning visitors or promoting the rental of his property. The balloons said NOTHING! Even more outragious the said fine for said wordless balloons was an outragious, whopping $95,000.

I guess the Liberalville signage gestapo thought that nailing the balloon perp was an ideal way to finance some of their other more important endeavors. Not sure what those might be, but I'm sure they'd come up with something. Maybe they were thinking the extra revenue would support their flock of investigators that travel the courthouse square measuring unsuspecting retailers' sidewalk sign boards.

Or maybe they're wanting to recruit extra investigators to measure the homemade bed sheet signage hanging from fraternity and sorority house windows throughout the college school year. I'm pretty sure those signs violate some kind of city signage ordinance. Or why don't they consider hiding behind bushes ready to trounce on graffiti artists and hall them into court. I have an even better idea. How about slapping the IU Alumni Association Homecoming Committee with the same fine. Look at those balloons=>.

It just isn't right

One of the highlights of summer in Bloomington is our farmer's market (see a previous post). But this season, it's so pricey that its comparable to shopping at Dean & Deluca or the food hall at Harrods. Now I know the farmers have suffered this spring. The continuous torrential rains and cool temperatures didn't make for ideal gardening or growing conditions. And I also realize the flooding all around Bloomington probably damaged many of the farmers' gardens and they have to pay upwards of $4 a gallon for the gas to get them here (if they use motorized vehicles). But charging us as much as $4 for a quart of green beans is ludicrous. Two dollars for six green onions is even worse. But $3 for a pint of small red skin potatoes is totally absurd.

Being the daughter of a home economist, I've been taught from a very early age to choose my fruits and vegetables wisely and with great care. I also know my way around the kitchen and appreciate locally grown, quality ingredients--yes, even those grown with pesticides and non-organic fertilizers. (Miracle Grow is the fertilizer of choice for my own garden.) But I will not pay those prices for any produce any where and I can't imagine I'm alone in my thinking. One can only hope that as the summer progresses, the law of supply and demand will return sanity to the farmers' marketing process.

Barak Obama in Bloomington

I've been a life-long Republican and an advance person for Presidents Reagan and the first President Bush (when he as vice president). I've been to three Republican National Conventions, and I've been around many charismatic candidates. But yesterday I had an epiphany. During his surprise visit to the Women's Little 500, I pushed my way to the fence line and Barak Obama shook my hand. Dare I say it--I might take the democrat ballot in the Indiana Primary, May 6.

The excitement Mr. Obama generated with the young people was electric. They were screaming and shouting "We Love You" by the thousands. Mr Obama held up the beginning of the race to shake hands and encourage all 32 teams of racers. Not one single boo was heard from the crowd as so often happens when politicians appear at sporting events.

My experience yesterday confirms the truth. The country needs a change--a total change--not eight years of reliving the embarrassment of one family's first eight years in the White House. They can't have and don't deserve"Do Overs." Equally, this nation doesn't need more of the same old Republican leadership with McCain.

Its time to clean house, sweep out the cobwebs and give a new, young guy a chance. That's what happened with John Kennedy and I think the nation's ready for it one more time. (I'm just having trouble coping with the idea of asking for a Democrat ballot. Maybe, just this once, I'll take one for the country.)

Easter in Tudor Style

Today's Easter Sunday and despite the cold gray sky and snow flakes, I indulged myself for an Easter treat...lunch at the Tudor Room in Indiana University's Memorial Union Building also known as the IMU. Since my first visit to the Union Building when I was only in 5th grade, the building has seemed like a castle with its fire place that's always burning, the leather club furniture and English Tudor style archways and beamed ceilings.


Situated in the heart of the campus, the Union's proud history dates back nearly 100 years t0 its founding in 1911 as a gathering place for students, faculty and visitors. While the smoke filled lounges and bridge games in the Commons have been replaced with franchise fast food, computer kiosks and bank machines, the Tudor Room remains today as I have always remembered it with its stained glass windows and two-story vaulted ceilings hung with tapestries and banners.


The Easter brunch buffet probably wasn't the tastiest holiday fare in the area and certainly less opulent than Easter buffets in larger cities, but it honestly reflected the tradition and tastes of the collegial community. Today was not a day to stick with the Weight Watchers point counting. It was time to enjoy ham and lamb, spring carrots and delicious desserts and to be reminded that spring will soon arrive. Once again Bloomington will shed the grays of winter and burst into pinks and greens with the Union Building proudly standing in the center of the colorful display.



One more important point about the IMU is its incredible art collection. The IUM's web site describes the art collection as follows:

"Indiana University and the Indiana Memorial Union have a rich history of commitment to the arts and creative expression. Started in 1923 when IU students purchased six paintings from artist-in-residence Theodore Clement Steele, the Union’s collection now boasts more than 1,200 two- and three-dimensional pieces including works by distinguished Indiana artists Wayman Adams, C. Curry Bohm, Marie Goth, William Forsyth and Rudy Pozzati."

Breakfast Down at the FARM

I took Mother to FARM this morning for breakfast. It's Bloomington's newest up-scale restaurant with a real twist. I've seen the Chef-owner, Daniel Orr, highlighted frequently in the Indianapolis Star and the Bloomington HT lately. A home-grown Indiana boy, Chef Daniel has a long and distinguished culinary petigree that includes stints in New York and Anguilla. I had been to FARM for lunch and wanted to try it again at a different time of day.

The Saturday brunch menu was really unique for the area. Usually brunch in town consists of various versions of omelets, eggs to order or as sandwichs, bisquits and gravy and French toast. Sometimes yogurt, granola and fruit are also available. The FARM menu had many of the same (no bisquits and gravy) but with combinations of ingredients that were truly unique. Mother chose the French toast made with locally baked bread soaked in a flavorful custard flavored with a combination of cinnamon and other spices and a liqueur (I think it was grand marnier, maybe not). The soaked bread was then baked and served with a very light butter carmel sauce rather than syrup. It was delicious--a little too crusty on top--but enjoyable just the same.

I selected the omelette of the day made with only two eggs (started Weight Watchers this week). It came filled with small slivers of ham, brie cheese and cranberrys. An unusual combination--but it too was tasty. I'm glad I asked to have it downsized (at least I think it was). The side house potatoes were too plentiful and a bit too dry. So the next time I'm there for brunch, I'm going with the French toast. (Note, photo left was copied from the Indpls Star website.)

Chef Daniel was there meeting guests even at such an early hour (10AM) on a Saturday. As it turned out he's from southern Indiana where my mother's family farmed. The Farm decor deserves a peak-see. It's eclectic, mid-century (1950's) farm design spotlights some of the area's finest antique farm tools and object d'art.

(As a side note, the FARM Bloomington web site is one of the finest I have ever seen. The photography and design is superb. The link to its web design firm goes to Anguilla, a Caribbean island. All that bright sun, blue water and white beaches have given them an extremely keen eye for color and visual appeal.)

Who's Watching the Children

Outrageous is a strong term. No word better describes the Monroe county prosecutor's decision not to press charges against parents who chose to leave their three-year old toddler unattended in their unlocked car while they went to a movie. I don't subscribe to the philosophy that it takes a village to raise a child, but I do believe it's the prosector's duty to protect the children. In a town like Bloomington, strange crimes are always occurring (many based on drugs). Any parent who thought for even a brief moment their child was safe in a parking lot needs to be shaken back to reality. Prosecutors usually can do that.

But back to the parents. Haven't they read about amber alerts, stolen children, kidnappings and the like?Are they so isolated that they've escaped the tons of mail and milk cartons with missing children's faces. Don't they see near-daily reports of children being mistreated as a result of parental neglect. If nothing more, the prosecutor should have at least brought some kind of charges. It's too bad that parental stupidity isn't an arrestable offense especially for the sake of the children. Maybe they all need to watch a few episodes of Law and Order.

Traffic Control: Liberalville Style

Liberalville takes pride in making life miserable for those of us who live inside its borders and traverse its streets in cars. Our city fathers would prefer (and truly believe it's feasable) that we rode camels, horses, bicycles, skateboards or any vehicle not requiring carbon- emitting fuels. If Liberalville was a utopia, that might be feasible. But it is not. People have to drive cars to work, to shop, to school and to the hospital. That is the reality. Driving cars is a necessity--not the luxury it might be perceived.

To combat their "carsaphobia," Liberalville neighborhood groups coerce city engineers to erect barriers, concrete planters, flapping plastic obstacles and any other device they can construct to prevent or encumber a person from driving from the east side to the west side of town. They literally dare anyone --emergency vehicles include-- to drive through their neighborhoods unscathed.

The elected Liberalville city council sit in its ivory tower and rubber stamps any random thoughts, ideas or outrageous concepts regarding traffic control brought before them. It pays little or no regard for public safety or convenience. The city constructs traffic barriers with total disregard for merchants, business owners or anyone else that might be relying on customers arriving in motorized vehicles.

Liberalville's scholarly lords and masters just turn their collective cheeks and choose to simply ignore the oublic safety and economic problems they've created. So we, as their constituent serfs, are forced to navigate our way through traffic purgatory while diligently watching for obstacles in our streets that could harm us, our passengers and our vehicles.

Saturdays Backwards and Forwards

On this, the last Saturday of 2007, a Saturday retrospective seems appropriate. For me, Saturday mornings more than likely included a mother-daughter breakfast or lunch at a B'town eatery. In fact, I've frequently described many of those meals including breakfast at Cafe D'Lish and lunch at Truilli Flatbread. Saturdays from May through September more than likely also included trips to the eclectic Bloomington Farmers Market. It's a cacophony of cultures, religions, ethnicity and lifestyles that truly epitomize Liberalville.

Once a month, Saturday afternoons were spent having my hair tinted and trimmed at Champs Elysee Aveda Salon. And what would Saturdays be without regular trips to Sam's Club. As I've said many times, when memberships are listed in my obituary, Sam's Club will be the only one. The "sample" ladies now smile when they see Mom and me coming towards them...except when they're offering goo in a hot pocket.

Then Saturday evenings are always spent relaxing at Chateau Hamm in the country, watching for snowfall or the barn swallows to return in the spring. How I love spending Saturday nights on the patio and listening to the tree frogs, crickets and the mother cows calling their calves. Many cold winter Saturday nights, I'm curled up in the recliner with a glass of wine, my crochet project and Lord of the Manor watching a movie or in the steamy summertime, discussing our plans for Sunday on his boat at Lake Monroe.

Now as one year ends and another begins, I look into the future and the 52 weeks of Saturdays ahead. Will the new year bring any changes? Change is always inevitable. But equally as cliche, "The more things change, the more they stay the same." I can only hope that's true for my favorite day of the week.

A Night at the Ballet. Christimas Can Come Now.

Let Christimas time in Bloomington officially begin. For some people,the holiday season begins with the flipping of the switch on the canopy of lights on the Bloomington courthouse square. But for me, it's the Mother-Daughter night at the yearly debut of the Nutcracker ballet at the IU Jacobs School of Music. Last night was the ninth year my mother and I have seen the holiday spectacular and in some cases, watched the community young dancers grow from small candle fairies to important dancers in the company. We've also been fortunate to sit next to parents' from as far away as California who come to see their daughters dance on point to a complete, live orchestra with the direction of some of the world's finest choreographers, costume designers and stage managers.

But for me, its an evening and a holiday tradition my mother and I share like so many other mothers and daughters (and fathers) in the audience. Many times over the years, I've been tired from a stressful week at work, saddened by events out of my control or just wanting to be somewhere else. But then, once I see the towering Nutcracker in the theatre's lobby and see my mother waiting patiently, dressed for a night out, I realize, the evening is about the beautiful music, the wonderful dancers and most of all the Mother-Daughter holiday tradition. I'm so fortunate to be able to share it with my mommy.