My book club is reading Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast for this month.  The title comes from this quote on the title page:

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." (Hemingway to a friend, 1950)

I'm sure that exactly what Hemingway meant by that will be part of the discussion of this work.  When I read it, I thought about parts of my life that I could fill in for "Paris" in the quote.  A couple came to mind.  One of them is my experience growing up on a farm.  I've been thinking about the farm because it was 45 years ago this past week that our old stanchion dairy barn burned down.  That's an event that marked our family life indelibly--with some positive results rising out of the ashes, so to speak. (Mainly in that category was the forced modernization of our dairy operation, a factor that is probably one of the reasons the place is still in operation under a third and fourth generation of family.)

I think of the richness of growing up as I did almost every time I am outdoors.  It was in the nearly unbounded wanderings of childhood in the country that I learned to appreciate nature.  When I mow my grass, as I did this morning, I think about my dad's exacting instructions for how our huge farm lawn was to be mowed (that was BEFORE the folks bought a riding mower).  When I name flowers or bugs for Melanie, I'm passing on what came to me as a farm kid (as well as under the tutelage of my city grandma).  A cool and pleasant summer evening anywhere zings me back to after-supper ballgames out in the big yard with my siblings, or to August evening rounds of the county fair (in my childhood, there were summer dog days in August--usually about a week's worth--but I also remember some sweatshirt evenings).  Kids playing in sprinklers, carefree bicycle riders (minus helmets...sorry), Saturday night cookouts (I love the smell of my urban neighborhood on summer holidays and weekends)--they all take me back to that place--the sights, the sounds, the smells--I hold in my head and my heart.  That is one of my moveable feasts.

Question of the Day:  What is a "moveable feast" in your life?

I grew up in a town of about 1200 people.  No stop light--only strategically placed stop signs.  The main arts and entertainment in town centered around the school--sporting events and the seasonal high school band and choir concerts.  Sometimes one of the churches in town had a special concert or guest artist.  Other than that, one had to go elsewhere for a fine arts performance. 

In spite of that, I knew about standing ovations.  Those were the appreciations that went beyond mere applause...and, up until recently I thought, were reserved for those outstanding performances where applause when seated just won't do to express one's response.

The dictionary defines an ovation as a "prolonged enthusiastic response", "a show of public homage or welcome."  I read that historically, a standing ovation was offered as a lesser recognition than a "triumph" to returning Roman victors during the heyday of the Empire.  If you google "standing ovation" you will even find that the SOP (standing ovation problem) has been researched and analyzed mathematically for its social implications in a broader context. (You can't read the research without grinning, in my opinion.)

As a fairly frequent attender at arts events, with that status having been ratcheted up this year as season ticket holders for the Philharmonic concerts, I have increasingly wondered about standing ovations.  I cannot recall the last concert or play I attended where, by the time the performers left the stage for the last time, the audience was not on its collective feet.  We have excellent fine arts opportunities in Fort Wayne, so I can't remember ever going to an event that didn't deserve hearty audience applause.  But, as I went to a play on Sunday and people were out of their seats and on their feet before the cast had even taken their first bow, I wondered again:  Has the standing ovation lost its meaning?  On the big stage of world events, this is a rather insignificant question.  But it has been on my mind for some time and here is as good a place as any to get it out in the open.

I will applaud as long as the next fellow--every person who sets foot on a stage to do anything deserves deep audience thanks and recognition for the effort and skill that got him or her there.  But it is past that point that I struggle.  I always thought that a standing ovation was reserved for those extraordinary, "wow" performances that set them apart from all the other good ones in their class.  So, sometimes, I choose not to stand as I offer my hearty, enthusiastic applause.  But then, as all other bodies around me rise, I begin to wonder:  Am I a fine arts ingrate?  Is my taste lacking and have I not recognized what an exquisite performance I have just witnessed?  (The aforementioned research dealt with the "herd mentality" that sometimes comes into the picture at this point.)  My husband, whose fine arts sensibilities are more sharply honed than mine, is usually my gauge:  if he offers a standing o, I will join in if I have not already been inclined to do so. (Peer pressure even then?)

I'm curious.  Has the standing ovation lost its meaning in your experience?  I'm especially curious about your thoughts on this subject if you are frequently on the other side of the footlights--the musician in the Philharmonic, the band member at the high school, the actor or actress on opening night.