Am I the only one having a hard time remembering that today is a Friday? That it’s December 25th? Christmas Day?

Above-freezing temperatures in Chicago today are making it feel more like opening day than Christmas day. My great-niece Floey and I celebrated birthdays this week that pretty much trumped (oh, that word!) Christmas. This past week two dear friends lost their mothers, too. We find ourselves reflecting more on their losses, and our losses, than we are on the “magic of the holidays.”

And then there’s this: We already celebrated Christmas with our extended family last Sunday. Shouldn’t Christmas be over by now?

About my extended family: All six of my brothers and sisters are grandparents. My oldest sister Bobbie and her husband Harry have three great-grandchildren. As Mike Knezovich likes to say, “It’s not a family, it’s a nation!” Buying Christmas presents for the entire Finke Nation is out of the question. So we pick names, and you have to make a gift for the person you choose.

The gifts were pretty outstanding this year, but the one our son Gus got from his Aunt Bev in Michigan was my favorite. Some back-story to explain the gift: my sister Bev’s son (Gus’ cousin Brian) came to the United States for a visit in August, 2015. Brian teaches English in Japan, he’s an accomplished photographer, and…he’s a Cubs fan. Anyone who follows this blog knows that Mike Knezovich is an ardent White Sox fan. The Cubs were playing the White Sox when Brian was In town. It was a given. They’d go to a game together.

The Cubs have a tradition: When the Cubs win, they fly a W flag at Wrigley Field. When they lose, they fly an L flag. Cub fans love waving their own W flags in the stands when they win, especially when they’re on the road. They don’t wave L flags when they lose, though.

When crazy ol’ Uncle Mike realized that White Sox all-star Chris Sale was likely to pitch on the day he’d be going to that game with Brian and family, he got what he calls “a brilliant and evil idea.” Mike went online, ordered an L flag (yes, they sell them), secretly folded it up and stuck it in his back pocket on game day. Mike’s Monday’s with Mike post about that game explains what happened in the ninth inning:

White Sox leading 3-0 after a dominating, 15-strikeout game by Chris Sale. Top of the ninth inning. Two out. I reach into my pocket. And then…a home run by Jorge Soler off our closer David Robertson. I took my hand out of my pocket.

A joyous Mike and a disbelieving Brian after the game (photo credit Bev Miller).

A nerve-wracking ninth inning for sure, but the Sox did end up winning, and with that, Mike reached back into his pocket again, and this time he unfurled the L flag –ordered just for this purpose. Five of our family members there at that game were Cub fans, but they took crazy Uncle Mike’s antic in stride. Once home, they described Uncle Mike parading the flag down the ramp as they exited the ballpark and unfurling it on the subway, too. “You wouldn’t believe how many people stopped and asked to take his picture!” they marveled. “He’s gonna be all over Facebook.” Cub fan Bev was one of those photographers, and for Gus’ Christmas gift she framed one photo in an “I heart Dad” picture frame.

Funny. Writing about all this, and thinking of Brian’s time with us in August, family coming from near and far to see him, the joy Aunt Bev put into taking and framing the photo for Gus, Mike’s hearty laugh when he opened Gus’ gift last Sunday,our upcoming train trip to Wisconsin to deliver the gift to Gus…I’m finally feeling the Christmas spirit.

Hard to imagine what our son and the very polite Brewer-fans who work with him will make of the photo when we hang it on Gus’ bedroom wall tomorrow, but I do know this for sure: Gus really does love his crazy old dad. And what a coincidence. So do I. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Here’s the guest post you’ve been waiting for! Floey’s account of her tenth birthday celebration in Chicago Monday…

by AnnMarie Florence Czerwinski

Here we are at Chicago’s Christkindl Market after the polishing.

I experienced a birthday of a lifetime. I got to go to the ocularist with my great ol’ Aunt Betha.

It was a little freaky but it was really cool. First probably the weirdest part. The doctor pulled out her eye with a suction cup thingee! Then he let me watch him clean it.

He rubbed this gooey stuff on it rubbed it on different wheels and then rinsed it off then we left.

We walked to the Christkindl Market to eat some good food and then walked to the Bean.

By the way I fixed Betha’s cell phone, too.

The end.

Back to Great Ol’ Aunt Betha: It’s true! Floey did fix my cell phone – the VoiceOver app I use to make it talk wasn’t working, and like all ten-year-old kids in America in 2015, Floey knows how to slide and tap her fingers on an iPhone screen to make it do what it’s supposed to do.

PS: Janet, Floey’s mother, asked me to add one detail her ten-year-old neglected to mention in this guest post: before Floey and I left his office, the ocularist did remember to use that “suction cup thingee” to pop my prosthetic eye back in.

This holiday season has me more moody than I can ever remember at this time of year. Part of it is just missing departed loved ones more. And then, well, just about everything going on in the world seems to be stupid right about now.

So early Saturday afternoon, as we rode the Blue Line to The Gift Theater in Jefferson Park, I wondered if attending “Good for Otto” — a play that focuses on people’s struggles with depression and other mental health challenges — was such a good idea.

A scene from “Good for Otto.”

It turned out to be just what the doctor ordered.

First, the backstory. Beth’s posted here before about The Gift Theater, and its co-founder Michael Patrick Thornton. The short of it is, Thornton befriended the renowned Tony-winning playwright David Rabe years ago. And when Rabe wrote “Good for Otto,” he chose to make its world premiere not in New York, not at the Goodman or Steppenwolf here in Chicago, but at The Gift.

The theater itself is tiny. It’s a storefront theater, to be sure — but it must have been a very small store. The production features an alley set — that is, a bank of people (two rows here) sit on one side of the stage, and two rows sit opposite. Each side of the audience faces the other as the players carry on in the middle. And you do see each other’s reactions.

The main stage was the same floor our chairs sat on. One of the therapist’s chair used throughout the performance sat not four feet from Beth and me, and we had to mind our own dogs not to obstruct actors as they came and went.

And they came and went in that tiny space a lot  — 15 of them — impossibly and gracefully thanks to an ingenious loft staging.

I’ll spare details —  not for fear of letting a spoiler out — it’s not the kind of play that can be spoiled. I’ll say this: It runs three hours. I never last three hours at these things. But I wanted the intermission to end so I could get back to all these people. They are troubled. But there are laughs. A lot of them, and they’re all laugh with but not at.

Don’t take my word for it  — read this glowing review in the NY Times  — yes the Times had a reviewer go to a theater that holds 47 people and is located in a relatively obscure (but charming) neighborhood in Chicago. Even better (to us locals) is Chris Jones’ review in the Chicago Tribune.

If you’re in the Chicago area and love theater, go. It’s a gift (sorry). And it’s been extended until February 7.

If you’re not a theater buff but have experienced depression or other mental health struggles  — or have been close to someone who has (in other words, everybody else on earth): Go!

In the play’s array of portrayals of struggling characters you may well see bits and pieces of yourself or a loved one or friend who has struggled in the same ways. And that may be uncomfortable, but to me — and clearly it was  for other audience members  — it was an opportunity to connect, and to not feel alone.

More than anything, for people who have struggled with mood issues or brain chemistry, the play makes clear that the struggle is worth it.

Happy Holidays everyone.

December 21 is our great-niece Floey’s tenth birthday, and I’m giving her the gift of a lifetime: on Monday she’ll come along to watch an ocularist polish her Great Aunt Beth’s fake eye.

Eye surgeons did all they could to restore my vision when retinopathy set in thirty years ago. One of my eyes is still intact, but the other one shrunk so much from all the surgeries that I can’t hold that eyelid open.

I wear a prosthesis in that eye, every once in a while it needs a polish, and Floey is the lucky girl who gets to come along with me Monday and see how its done.

The best way I could think of to prepare Floey for what she’s in for on her birthday was to send her the link to a guest post our friend Charlie Gullett wrote four years ago when he accompanied me on a visit to the ocularist. I reread his post before sending it Floey’s way. It was so good that I thought it worth publishing here again. With any luck we can get Floey to write a guest post with her impressions once her birthday is over, but for now…here’s Charlie.

That’s a whole lotta eyeballs right there. (By Chuck Gullett.)

A trip to the ocularist

Between Harper’s retirement and Whitney’s training, I had the great opportunity to accompany Beth as her “Seeing Eye Chuck” for a visit to the ocularist. The ocularist, as I learned, is the place to go when you need a new glass eye or just a little glass eye maintenance. The ocularist’s office, on the 16th floor of the Garland Building in Chicago, has a spectacular view of Lake Michigan, Millennium Park and Navy Pier. Ironically, the hundreds of eyes in the office are all neatly arranged in drawers and never able to enjoy the view.

On this visit, Beth was going in for a routine cleaning. As an observer, the process is fairly straightforward…

1) Remove glass eye with a device that looks like a miniature Nerf suction cup dart.

2) Try not to make an immature sucking sound as the eye is being removed.

3) Sit back and chat until the eye returns from the onsite laboratory, which I pictured to be somewhat like Grandpa’s lab from the “Munsters.”

When the ocularist returned with the beautifully polished eye, I asked a few questions and Beth talked him into showing me the lab and explaining the cleaning process. What I got was an enthusiastic lesson in the history, making and care of the good ol’ ocular prosthesis, or what we commonly refer to as a glass eye. First off, the eye is not even made of glass. Modern glass eyes are actually made of acrylic, which is extremely durable and more cost effective to manufacture.

The guys in the lab area told me about the heroic GI’s returning from WWII having a large demand for glass eyes. The glass eyes would tend to break by accident or “accidentally” around the time a GI wanted to visit the big city. A shortage in high quality imported glass and the cost of replacement eyes prompted the government to find a better material to make artificial eyes. Now, we have the modern version in durable acrylic.

So, what’s your guess? (By Chuck Gullett)

To give you an idea of how durable the eyes are, Beth has had the same peeper for 25 years and the last time she had it polished was 4 years ago. Each eye is hand crafted for its owner and is a true piece of art. I looked through the drawers of sample eyes and the level of detail is really stunning. The blood vessels are recreated with silk threads while the pupil and iris take laborious hours to hand paint so they look realistic. The ocularist had notes from Beth’s last two visits where they recommended that she get fitted for a new eye, but Beth just smiled and said, “Yeah, I kinda like this one.” I like that one, too. I had no idea that Beth even had a glass eye. One eye is real and one is not. You can try to guess which is which, but good luck.

Anyway, I also learned that the cleaning/ polishing process is much like polishing jewelry. There is a buffing wheel and several different compounds to remove build-up and leave a nice smooth surface. The ocularist works the eye until it is just right, then rinses it off and you are ready to go. I associate the feeling of a freshly polished glass eye like the smoothness your teeth have after a visit to the dentist.

All in all, it was a great afternoon. I got to spend some quality time with a friend, feed my odd curiosity with something out of the ordinary and learn something new. Anytime Whitney needs a day off, I’ll be happy to help out.

The biggest surprise in last Thursday’s performance of Bel Canto at Chicago’s Lyric Opera came in the second act. and it didn’t happen on stage.

I wrote a post last week about preparing to see (okay, hear) my first live opera.

• I reread the book Bel Canto.
• I heard the book’s author Ann Patchett talk with Renee Fleming at a Lyric Unlimited presentation about transforming a novel into an opera.
• I attended a panel discussion by the Bel Canto composer, librettist, director and conductor about the work involved in developing a new opera.
• I used my talking computer to study the word version of the playbill (thank you, Lyric Opera of Chicago, for emailing that to me ahead of time).
• I convinced a friend to accompany me to the opera Bel Canto Thursday.

A scene from Bel Canto.

As far as that last bullet point goes, I must say, it hardly took convincing. My friend Jenny Foucré Fischer is a musician herself (flute) and met her husband Dean (French horn) when we were all in the York Community High School band together. Dean and Jenny Fischer raised three talented children. All three play musical instruments. Jenny attended operas with them when they were growing up, and, like me, she loved the book Bel Canto. Jenny has worked at The Bookstore in Glen Ellyn for 17 years and is, by definition, a book nerd. Want proof? When I told Jenny that Mike and I often listen to an audio book in bed together to help us fall asleep, she responded, “That’s my idea of foreplay!”

Neither Jenny nor I wore ballgowns to the opera house, but we did dress up some –- she wore a glittery sweater, and I went for the tuxedo look: black wool slacks with a long white button-down classic shirt. We arrived early for yet another preview discussion, this one about the score.

Composer Jimmy Lopez is originally from Peru, where the opera is set, and the presenter we heard before the opera gave us specific scenes (“he’d say stuff like “In Act One, Scene Two” for example) where Lopez has a huge conch shell in his instrumentation. “It will sound like a horn, but a horn you may never have heard before.” He told us which scene would feature cellists plunking strings rather than using their bows, and how the composer brought whistles from Peru to depict the sounds of birds in one scene. The ability to read the playbill ahead of time was extremely helpful. I could imagine where the bird sounds might be used and looked forward to hearing them.

He acknowledged that many in the audience were probably here because we liked the book Bel Canto so much. “Raise your hand if this is your first time at an opera.” My hand shot up, and I sensed Jenny turning around to count how many hands were up behind us.  About a third of the audience was in my boat.

When the presenter advised us not to compare the book with the opera, I recalled Ann Patchett saying in conversation with Renee Fleming weeks earlier that she was perfectly happy to hand her novel over to Lyric and allow the creative team to do anything they wanted with it. “I’ve read the libretto,” she said. “And, really, it’s better than the book.”

The presenter at the opera said he was confident we’d go home later tonight loving both, and then, presentation over, Jenny led me out to the lobby and treated us each to a glass of wine before the show. I went on so much about the opera that I didn’t have time to finish my wine. Tant pis.

We were settled in our seats when Lyric’s Facility Operations Manager Nora O’Malley tapped me on the shoulder. “You want a headset?” We were there the night of Lyric’s accessible performance. Nora explained that a sighted narrator was in the balcony to translate subtitles and describe visual effects into an earphone I could wear. The earpiece would just be in one ear so I could listen to the music with the other.

I’ve tried these headsets at plays, and sometimes the person talking in my ear distracts too much from what’s going on onstage. But this was different. The panel discussion I’d been to a week earlier clued me in that Bel Canto would be sung in nine, count them, nine, different languages. I nodded yes.

The small rectangular receiver Nora placed in my palm felt familiar. I immediately knew how to work the dial. “It’s a Steppenwolf device,” she said. Sure enough, I’d used this same device at Steppenwolf Theatre a year or so earlier, and then again last month at a Straw Dog Theatre production featuring puppetry. When the Straw Dog staff offered me a headset, they, too, described it as a “Steppenwolf device.” It’s not a brand name. It’s a nod to Steppenwolf Theatre for spearheading efforts to make Chicago cultural events more accessible. Steppenwolf is generous with their accessible equipment — they loan it out to a lot of Chicago organizations offering audio description.

But on with the opera. The presenter of the preview talk that night mentioned that the opera would begin with the chorus singing about how delighted they were to be in Peru. “Listen for hints of that same melody at the end of the opera,” he said. I kept my headset off for the opening. I didn’t need to know the words, I already knew they were happy to be in Peru. I just wanted to take in the music and keep my ears open for the conch.

Throughout the first act I’d put the earphone in my left ear, dial up the volume for short bits of dialoguelibretta and turn the volume off and take the earphone off for the more orchestral bits. At times the music was so discordant it made me feel anxious, but over and over again, just when I was feeling uncomfortable, one of the stars would burst into a gorgeous aria (I think that’s what they’re called) to release the tension. And wasn’t that the point of the story? Music easing the tension between people with different political views and languages?

During intermission Jenny had questions about what the man in my ear had been saying throughout the first act. Does he describe the look on their faces? Their movements? The props? Nora the facility operations manager walked up just as I was offering my Steppenwolf device to Jenny to sample. Nora said they had a few extras. “You want one of your own to try?” Jenny said yes, Nora darted away and returned with a second headset.

I showed Jenny how to use the dial, she plugged in, I plugged in and the second act began. I did my usual headset on, headset off, and assumed Jenny had taken hers off completely after the first couple minutes. When Nora returned to collect the headsets after the standing ovation, Jenny told us she’d kept the headset on for the entire second act. “It was awesome!” she gushed. The subtitles projected on stage had distracted Jenny from the action during the first act. “With that guy translating I could pay more attention to what was going on up there on stage,” she said. “During the second act, sometimes I just closed my eyes and listened.”