The time is now 10:28 PM. I like to make note of these things. Sometimes I look at the official timestamp generated at the end of each post, and it says 5:13 AM, and I wonder if my collection of thoughts somehow transmitted to Mongolia on the way to being posted.
It’s been a long two days.
For the first time since July I’m not directing any plays, coaching any actors, holding or attending meetings, or writing furiously to beat real or self-imposed deadlines. Yesterday morning I spent almost half an hour just staring out my back door, zombie-like, willing myself to recognize the colorings of leaves covering my yard. When I turned back into my kitchen, the dog was asleep in a heated pool of sunlight. In closing the door, he muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t quite catch the inflection. Probably just as well.
I spent part of yesterday going through a collection of emails that had been ignored or set aside for far too long. Nothing earth shattering – those I had answered as they came in. Rather, here were requests of one kind or another – usually for information. And there were those friends who simply wanted to talk. I answered every one of these, often with sheepish apologies for not responding sooner. My friends understand.
One of the emails was from a close friend who has invited me and my wife to spend Thanksgiving with her and her family. Since I have no family who loves me within several states from here, I happily said yes. My friend’s daughter told me I have been adopted into the family. This brought me to tears. I miss large family holidays.
I have a project going. I tore out the carpet leading to my second floor, and am slowly refinishing the hardwood stairs. Right now I’m striping off old paint and varnish. The wood underneath – in a 60-year-old home, will be beautiful. When I finish. Some day. In the meantime, the dog is perfectly happy scampering UP the stairs, but, with no carpet to dig into, he’s afraid to come down. So he moans. (Did you know a dog could moan?) About fifty times a day he waits pathetically for somebody to lug his fuzzy … self … down to the living room. Man’s best friend? HA!
For most of today I read plays. I’m on the play reading committee for a local theatre, and – since I’m w-a-y behind in this commitment, today I played catch up. Here’s a couple of theatre facts for you; some theatres specialize in plays that are over a hundred years old. (Don’t ask me why.) Second fact – most of these plays are absolutely unknown today. Third fact – the reason they’re unknown is because they are bad. Bad! Bad bad bad! I suppose (I know) that there were good things written after Willie Shakespeare and before G.B. Shaw. Must be. Just my luck to be part of a theatre group that is trying to prove otherwise.
Tomorrow starts the third weekend of INHERIT THE WIND. As the director, I tell myself I’m there to make sure the show is consistent in presentation from one performance to another. In truth, that’s one of the tasks the stage Manager handles. Largely my job is to appear sage at the cast party. As do the others, I’ve learned to play my part well.
jb
On my own, with all of my falls.
10 years ago
1 comment:
Well, if you ever want to do "The Iron Chest" which was the play Edwin Booth was acting in when his brother shot the president, I dramaturged it in college to make it more palatable to modern audiences. You'd love it. melodrama oozing out the windows.
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