Dickens Meets Disco Having not seen my dear friend Adriane for two weeks, I practically jumped at the opportunity when she asked me to see a play with her last Saturday. she has been living with a family from her church, and the "matron" of the household had been given a part in Dickens' classic tale, "A Christmas Carol." Little did we know that the evening would bring rain and wind blasts just below the freezing point, so that every driving surface was transformed into an ice-coated "insta-hazard." Having been bed-ridden for the previous few days recovering from a horrific case of "sick all over," however, I was determined to seize the opportunity to get gussied-up, feel like a human again, and break out of my house, which had come to feel more like an infirmary. Undaunted by the slick roads, I set off to fetch Adriane and, from there, glide my way to the Playhouse if I had to. Thus, after a 30-minute crawl downtown (that would have normally been 15), we pried my ice-coated cardoors open and clung to each other for dear life as we inched our way to the box office - true to our natures, 10 minutes before the show started. Although I've crossed the threshold of Mansfield's Playhouse at least half a dozen times (mostly by the coercion of high school friends who had landed a role in the city's most recent production), somewhere between that night and the last time I had been there, I misplaced the memory of the small theater's atmosphere. It seemed fitting that we were to see a play set in the Victorian era, for as we entered, I felt as if we were stepping back into the 1800s. The wooden door creaked as it closed behind us, and even after I heard it latch, a curious breeze still seemed to continue through some unseen fissure. The lighting was dim, having been installed decades earlier, and rather reminiscent of candlelight. The wooden floors, warped from time and harsh Ohio weather, rose and fell like gentle ocean currents, and the uneven stairs to the theater itself most certainly would not have passed any current building inspection. Happy that I had chosen to go the long-johns route with my attire that evening, Adriane and I cautiously climbed the stairs (while, donning my new stiletto boots, clinging to the banister), and snuggled into two of the 100-some seats just before the curtains parted. "Marley was dead...as dead as a doornail," the narrator began as the lights came on and revealed brightly colored, hand-sewn costumes and simple, hand-painted sets. No microphones were used, and lighting was spare, giving the impression that we were viewing a quaint, living-room version of the production. With my coat pulled up over my lap and snuggled tightly beneath my chin, I basked in the sense of the "home-made" emanating from the stage and the weathered walls around us. It all seemed to fit the particular story - all about the simple, important things in life and a return to the basic lessons of the heart. The peak of this sense, however, came not from the old building, the patched costumes, nor the simple sets. It wasn't until the ghost of Christmas past entered the scene that the audience experienced low-budget ingenuity at its finest, for as the spirit took the hand of Scrooge and flew with him through time (AKA walked across the stage), I noticed a peculiar sort of light coming from the ceiling of the theater. Glancing up to see what it was, I was surprised, and amused, to behold none other than a genuine 1970's disco ball - spinning and twinkling in all its glory. Out of respect for the cast I had to stifle a chuckle at the bizarre usage of the mirrored sphere. It spun and glittered throughout Scrooge's journey to the past, adding (or attempting to add) an element of the magical to his quest for the true meaning of Christmas. Though I found its first appearance quite bizarre, the second time the ball spun, this time with the ghost of Christmas present, it didn't strike me as quite so odd, and b the time Scrooge was traveling to the future and facing what might be (save a change in his heart), I hardly the tiny-mirrored apparatus at all. It had been transformed, in my mind, to a charming element of mystical enchantment. As I left the theater, and several times throughout the following week, I thought of the disco ball and the childlike simplicity of the entire play - script, sets, lighting and all. Maybe it's because I worked in a small, lower-income country school for two years where uniforms were usually hand-me-downs, classrooms were heated by potbellied stoves, and anything decorative was handmade, but since being back in America, I have ben struck by the utter lack of imagination in U.S. kids. Books have been replaced by DVDs, self-made toys by those with flashing lights and batteries, and dolls that we once pretended talked to us by ones that actually do. Not that these technological advances are all negative, but I guess it made me appreciate the childlike simplicity of the disco-ball version of Dickens' story. It truly showed the creative ingenuity of those behind the production. And I guess I'm thankful to know that there are still some "grown up kids" left in the world not afraid to use their imaginations, and even more, not afraid to inspire others to do the same. I think at its core, the true beginning of Christmas requires a very similar childlike wonder and almost imaginative faith - for how else can we begin to grasp the astounding miracle of Christ's birth? In our adult minds truly, the first christmas - a virgin mother bringing the king of all time into the world in a smelly, animal-filled cave - could, most likely often does, seem absurd. In his preface to the book, Dickens writes, "I have endeavored in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea...May it haunt their homes pleasantly..." I pray that we have not grown to old or too caught up in the "material" to be "pleasantly haunted" by the birth of our Lord and to think on the miracle of the season with enchanted, childlike wonder.