JANUARY 5, 2026 – Today, I have two questions (and corresponding answers) for you:
QUESTION NO. 1: What do you do when a kid posing as a journalist on YouTube joins forces with his in-your-face-mom to spread a wicked falsehood, thereby upending the lives of countless innocent victims and sinking an already politically damaged vessel (the re-election bid of Governor Tim Walz)? (See widely reported allegations of fraud associated with the funding of Minnesota daycare centers.)
ANSWER: You distract yourself by watching the honest-to-goodness Cable News Show, “Rogue Nation – Real Time / Dateline: Caracas.”
QUESTION NO. 2: What do you do to distract yourself from the distraction?
ANSWER: You (a) ignore the forecast of widespread freezing rain and attendant travel advisory; and (b) drive clear across the entire Twin Cities Metro Area to the Chanhassen Dinner Theaters to attend a sell-out performance of Irving Berlin’s White Christmas.
Beth and I have watched the film classic 42 times. In other words, it’s played a central role in our annual Christmas routine since the year we were married. A while ago, our friends Ann and Ravi presented the idea of attending a stage version produced at the locally famous Chanhassen Dinner Theaters (“CDT”) in downtown Chanhassen, which used to be in the boonies west of Minneapolis, but has long since been absorbed by suburban sprawl. Beth gave the green light, and tickets were procured—for the four of us, plus Mark and Phyllis, our mutual friends, fellow travelers, and work associates (Mark and Beth having worked together eons ago in the same special education program; Ravi and Phyllis, for years in the same medical clinic).
It’d been decades since we’d last been to a CDT show—Brigadoon in 1998. My recollection was positive, though I couldn’t tell you what my dinner entrée was. As is Beth, I’m a softie for the movie, White Christmas, but it’s such a classic, Bing Crosby has such a mellifluous voice, Rosemary Clooney was such a star, and Danny Kaye, such a versatile entertainer, I was skeptical that the players of Chanhassen could give the film a run for its money.
But my doubts were misplaced. I forgot all about the sad fact that our rogue president has turned America into a rogue nation. And “the YouTube kid”? Ha! What YouTube kid? In other words, the CDT production of Irving Berlin’s White Christmas was a bona fide hit—solid entertainment sufficient to dull one’s anxiety-ridden sensitivity to Bad News.
Yet, first came the food. My palate had low expectations, given that when I hear the term “dinner theater,” I consider the operative word to be “theater.” As long as the food component is a step above the Swanson TV dinners that my mother served on Wednesday evenings[1], by my admittedly low standards, a “dinner theater” qualifies as a “(dinner) THEATER”—as long as the theatrical production, of course, is worth the price of admission.
Well, well, well. By unanimous agreement among our party of six seated at ringside, the dinner was all of five stars. Beth, whose culinary standards are much higher than mine, raved about her sirloin steak—and trimmings. Ann and Ravi were impressed by their vegetarian choices. Mark, Phyllis and I agreed that the “Famous Chanhassen Chicken” was topflight. I went so far as declaring to Tawney, our server, that it was quite possibly the best chicken I’d ever tasted. Part of the reason was the Hollandaise sauce and the wild rice stuffing, but the meat itself was so tender and juicy, it nearly melted upon contact with my palate . . . well, okay, in my case, my taste buds. The unadulterated green beans and carrots were steamed to utter perfection, making the whole presentation worthy of a Blue Ribbon at the Minnesota State Fair—haute cuisine division.
My only criticism of the meal is that it came with only one fresh, warm homemade dinner roll per person. I could’ve devoured an entire basket of those splendid rolls. Otherwise, the meal was so fine and the service so extraordinaire, I forgot all about the show until Rex, the announcer, strode out on stage to humor us in advance of the downbeat of Andy Kust, director of the live ensemble. “Oh yeah,” I said to myself. “Forgot! It’s a dinner theater.”
To accommodate various limitations imposed by the physical constraints of the stage and theater, the screenplay version to which we’re so accustomed was subjected to major modifications. The essential threads of the film classic, however, were left intact, along with the musical numbers, major roles, and even much of the script. “Bob Wallace” (Bing Crosby) was played by Michael Gruber, whose voice was good enough for a favorable comparison, versus a “rip ‘im apart” contrast with the Bingster. Likewise, the rest of the cast, especially Joenathan Thomas in the role of “the General” and Kersten Rodau, as “Martha Watson.”
Then there was Jon Andrew Hegge, as “Ezekial,” a character created especially for the stage version of White Christmas. A lanky mime artist, he brought down the house with his hilarious antics—then surprised everyone with a very decent singing voice.
The casting, costuming, and directing were excellent, and the coordination of singing on stage and instrumental music aloft behind a screen was impeccable. Then there was the choreography of multiple complicated song and dance routines—not only pairs but the whole troupe of some two dozen players. Watching their moves was hardly a passive undertaking. Seated straight out from center stage with unobstructed sight lines in all directions, I found that taking in what was happening on stage often required every ounce of mental energy I could summon.
The older I become, the more I’ve learned to appreciate “good stuff” and “good people”; people who by their wits, will, and training, and above all, years of really hard work and discipline, turn out amazing results, usually interwoven with the efforts of other people. This appreciation is amplified particularly in the case of the performing arts, but in so many other fields of endeavor, as well.
Putting a nice ribbon on the whole experience, though, was a musical number that I’d heard . . . 42 times . . . before. Except this time was the first occasion I’d heard it live. I don’t know if it was this live aspect or some other ineffable quality about the rendition, but it actually caused me to get “choked up.” Fortunately, I was able to lean my elbow on the table and use my hand to hide my emotions the best I could.
The number was “Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep),” with lyrics by Rosemary Clooney. The opening lines, of course, are:
When I’m worried and I can’t sleepI count my blessings instead of sheepAnd I fall asleep counting my blessings.
As I say, I’d heard this sung 42 times, and never had it evoked the response I experienced yesterday evening. This time around it caused me to think metaphorically in a manner I’d never associated with those lyrics. It realized they were more than a simple formula for fighting insomnia. The song conveyed a critical life lesson, one often repeated by my mother, especially, but just as often, causing me to roll my eyes whenever I heard her say, “Count your blessings.” But as I sat there listening and hearing, really hearing, and taking the phrase to heart and applying it to my life, I felt deep gratitude and appreciation for . . . well, all the “good stuff” and “good people” along my path, notwithstanding all the negative distractions that fill the daily news cycle.
I know our group enjoyed the show, and I’m sure the other audience members were also well-entertained, but for me, anyway, the CDT version of White Christmas will always have special meaning. And this afternoon, while ferrying our fourth-grade granddaughter home from school, I told her so—and exactly why.
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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
[1] During the school year, Wednesday evening was “youth orchestra rehearsal” night for my two older sisters. The rehearsals were at some venue in Minneapolis, 40 minutes away, and to get there on time, Dad had to rush home after work, wolf down dinner and drive off with the two aspiring violinists. To facilitate the process, Mother served TV dinners, her version of culinary efficiency. My favorites were the “three course” dinners, including soup and what passed for a sweet roll.
