Writer's Block, A Bit of Old Mexico in Chittenango, and A Visit to Zecheriah's House

I am writer's blocked. Never, since I took to writing almost daily, have I ever been so unable to come up with an idea. Nor do I have my usual desire to write. What concerns me most is that I have to get rolling on a script for SUMMERPLAY 2011 in this muddled creative state. My block is probably due to the fact that I have written three plays and directed three in the last 11 months or so... So, I'm going to take a brain rest until mid-January and not even try to write. I'll do some blogging, but I guess I'll let SUMMERPLAY, whatever it will be, simmer, wherever it is.

Now to other things.

Waldman's was in the building forever, but restaurants like Java Joe's and the Old Hotel Cafe, though really good, struggled to survive in that spot on Genesee Street across from the Episcopal Church, over the past few years. Ahora entra (now enters) La Cocina, a really terrific little Mexican restaurant that I hope will make it in 'nango because it's so good and so different from anything else we 'nangoites have. Linda and I had two of the specials for lunch on Friday, total price $9.98 + tax. For that very reasonable cost we were able to share the #4 which includes a burrito and two tacos and the #10 which consists of two beef enchiladas and a chile relleno, plus a bag of their homemade taco chips and a container of homemade salsa. We loved every item. I really liked the chile relleno, which I had never tried. It's a moderately hot pepper (a little kick) sliced open with a cheese and tomato sauce inside. I spoke with one of the owners, who told me that they hope to be able to acquire a beer and wine license soon. So. . .va a La Cocina. (Go to The Kitchen Restaurant). They open at 11:0 a.m. and don't close until 9:00 every night except Friday and Saturday when they're open until 10:00.

After a few weeks of fun and work, the CrossRoads Community Church Musical, SPOKEN, was presented yesterday and today in the high school auditorium. With music and story by Steve and Sue Case, the one hour play told the story of Zecheriah and Elizabeth and the miraculous birth of their son John. I was really knocked out by the production that we put together together. (Both "togethers" intended.) The music was beautiful, the story delightful, the performances and music inspiring. Many kudos to Steve, Sue, Mark Campitello, John Spiridigliozzi, Jodee Osborne, the entire ensemble, orchestra, and technical staff. I'm glad I was part of this special show.

I've had a lot of requests over the last few weeks to get myself back to blogging. I'll try but with no guarantees. I'm not sure if you can still go to my blog through the ONEIDA DISPATCH website. (I canceled my subscription, you see.) I'll check, but remember that you can always get to THE BLUE MOON GRILLE at wwwmotleyplayer.blogspot.com/ (The lack of a (.) after the w's is intentional.)

It Tolls for Thee

Headlines at this moment on Syracuse.com include: "Hundreds gather at funeral for Jenni-Lynn Watson" and "Syracuse toddler's death blamed on gang revenge." I can remember few if any times that reading headlines like these was so difficult for me. The tragedies our small Chittenango community has recently experienced make those of which I have only a peripheral attachment, I know Jenni-Lynn's cousin Mark, and those to which I have no actual attachment at all, the death of 20 month-old Rashad Walker, Jr., even more horrible than they would be under normal circumstance. The violent death of anyone is awful; the violent death of children, and in this group I include both Jenni-Lynn and Rashad, is despicable. I hurt deep down inside for them and all. I'm not going to try to explain this "species pain" I feel. I will leave it to John Donne who said it with nearly impossible eloquence when he wrote,

No man is an island, entire of itself;

every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,

as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were:

any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind,

and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls;

it tolls for thee.

These words come from Donne's "Meditation XVII," an essay, although the lines above are often printed as a poem. Reading the whole essay might take 5 minutes. It's a worthwhile read with the only logical conclusion.