For the people I care about, far and near.

Transitions

     I am being called again ...

     I look over the past few years and realize with a growing clarity that I have missed my mark. I don't know how it happened. My goals certainly were clear enough, and for a period of time I was meeting them on a regular basis.

     Perhaps that was the problem. I never had a real struggle - doors always opened for me, and I had a lust for achievement that sent me down a number of most interesting paths.

     And I still lean heavily toward those activities in my life that have always been enjoyable, notably, directing stage plays. I joke - and it's true - that the best therapy in the world is to yell at people and constantly tell them where to go ... and they thank me for it. Apparently I have skill to some degree. I have one room filled with awards, certificates, engraved commendations, and on and on and on. Nice, but constantly in need of dusting.

     Would you like to know my secret? I'll tell you my secret - actually three secrets.  And I will give them to you - no charge.

     When you cast a show, bring in the very best people you can find, and then have the good sense to stay out of their way while they do what they are supposed to be good at.

     In herding actors around the stage, make pretty pictures with people.

     Never ever ever ever bore your audience. Pace a play fast, so that the people watching your production will still have time for a drink or two after the show.

     That's it. All my secrets. Now go out there and direct something!

     ... because I won't. Maybe I'm finally growing up. I went to see a show the other night that had several talented friends in it. I couldn't wait for it to end so I could leave and ... and ...

     Ah, the mark I missed. I am directing plays I should be writing. I have a number of works in progress, inching painfully forward. It occurs to me that since I bill myself as a writer, perhaps I should actually take some time and write something.

     And there is a chance that I will.

     j
     

ANNIE, OVER AND OUT.

Okay, so ANNIE opened this weekend. In the span of less than a week it went from being still dismally God awful to marginally acceptable. Like an elephant in a tutu it lumbered around the stage for two hours pretending to be Tinker Bell. The dozens of stage mothers were entranced. Their small unwashed spastic and tone deaf  children had been magically transformed into small unwashed spastic and tone deaf stars of the stage. With the exception of a few seats available on opening night, the entire run is sold out! The theatre is making a $1,500 profit per performance.

It's not fair. It's just not fair.

Rotten orphans.

I'd love to give you more details, but I've been nursing a cold now for a week, lovingly given to me by a chemical weapon in pigtails.

j

ANNIE

I'm acting as an unofficial coach (for want of a better word) on a production of ANNIE. I figure that if I have to suffer thru this, you should too. 

OF MICE AND MEN final

I kept five of the slats that made up part of the wall in the barn. They now hang in my living room.

j

j

 

from j

The future ...?

This I could afford ...

j

What Kind Of Fool

      About a year ago I started experiencing a vague restlessness. I recognized this was not my normal wanderlust – I have always been drawn to what is around the next corner, over the next hill. This was not even my companion desire to slip away; to avoid the very repetition in which others find comfort.   

      This was something new – a slowly growing “awareness” of my surroundings as if I had been living for years in a fog, and for no purposed reason on my part, that masking grey shroud was lifting.

      When did adequate become acceptable? When did mundane become marvelous? It occurred to me that I’ve been directing more and more plays of late. I thought I had been moving toward something. But what? True, the work is enjoyable, but the thrill only comes now when the shows are bigger and bigger and bigger …

      I’ve become jaded, complacent. Blindfolded.

      Last weekend my eyes were opened. For the first time I realized that I had been settling for considerably less than I could have. I had dreams once, and a very keen appreciation of more than manufactured truth and beauty.

      The dreams eroded. Can’t blame anyone but myself. I sold myself cheap. 

      The dreams came back. Inspiration unexpectedly handed to me; a gift.

      What shall I do? What will I do?

      I shall take inspiration by the hand and look for bright horizons.

     This time I will settle for nothing less. 

     j        

Writer Retreat



In spite of popular belief, our Writer Retreat was not strictly for the birds.

j

Suzie! Please! Tell me it's not true!

j.

AIDA

     Today I was informed that of the directors applying to direct AIDA next spring, I had been selected.

     A-A-A-A-A-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H-H!!!! E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-!!!! O-O-O-O-O-O-O-H-H-H-H-H!! (Pause for breath.) H-H-H-H-E-E-E-E-E-E-E. WHO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O!!! (Oh baby.)

     I thanked the committee politely, and, in as dignified a manner as possible, informed them that I would be pleased to present my plans at the first opportunity.

     ... whatever those plans are. At this point I have no clue.

     j 

Memories

     Someone asked me about the music that influenced my life during the time when my life could still be influenced by music.

     Her she is; the voice that defined a generation and the song that so reflected my own wander lust.

     j

Xanadu

A picture taken by my writing partner during her quest west, while researching background material for a book based on a play we co-authored.

Not exactly the way I pictured it, but the thought was there.

j

Post Script

     Just learned that the production of OF MICE AND MEN that I directed has placed as the third largest ticket sales in the fifty year history of the theatre.

     La-de-dah.

     j