Contending and bed bugs.

What am I doing?

I coulda been something. I coulda been a contender!

No, that just came out. But, don't we all feel that way sometimes? I don't know. I find I am exhausted, and the wise choice would be to GO TO BED!

I will be wise.

I asked my mother once what she meant when she said, "Don't let the bed bugs bite." She told me. Yikes.

A bit of advice to save you from yet another nightmare. Don't ask that question. Some things are better left unknown.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

I ended the evening watching a small rabbit run across a lawn in Balboa Park. I briefly wished for what I perceived: the rabbit's idyllic life. Then I wondered how many wild rabbits die of old age. A little bit of perspective as I made my way home. (I am, after all, the one who calls them "coyote food.") "It is nature", my mom would say. "It is okay." But, I can appreciate not being the rabbit.

If you were an animal what animal would you be? Now THAT is a ridiculous question. You are an animal. Hate to break it to you. You have pretty much three choices: animal, vegetable, mineral. I choose to be an animal. The animal I am.

"...Calves are easily bound and slaughtered, never knowing the reason why. Those who've learned to treasure freedom, like the swallow have learned to fly." I don't "fly" in any literal sense. I don't even run. Well, not very well. I do walk. I walk. And I always feel as if I am walking toward something. The walking is the journey. The journey may be everything.

The last time I ran it was to Hawaii. Not a bad place to go when one is running away. I was 18. I thought I was on an adventure, but what I was really doing was running away from college, my boyfriend, my parents, but mostly from myself. Hard to run from one's self. Good lesson. Haven't done that since. The need to stay and solve is now too great. The solving is satisfying on a profound level and lets me sleep at night.

Ah, to sleep. Well, in my case, to snore. But in those dreams of sleep what glorious solutions may be found. (Not to mention, a little rest from the day.) Wait. That makes me wonder. Is dreaming the escape we need? This is not physical travel, but perhaps this is more profound. Just wondering aloud. I do enjoy my dreams.

My husband says I sometimes call cues in my sleep. Hmm. Well, he sometimes speaks Arabic in his sleep. I think we are even.

Hope.

I've come to realize that maintaining hope sometimes requires an end in sight. Hope sometimes stands on its own too. It sort of depends what one is hoping for, and how much control one has over a particular situation.

I live in hope living with someone who has a chronic disease. We hope everyday will be a bit better and this or that new medicine will help improve or at least maintain a certain "quality of life." This kind of hope takes a certain amount of faith. Faith in oneself, faith in one another, faith in medicine, faith in courage. This kind of hope can be a life-long endeavor and part of it is in accepting and then inventing better days, because we have to.

I also live in hope where we have some control. This kind of hope can be remarkable. We just need to make choices and do better, or work harder, or be more prepared and my experience is that things do get better.

But then there are the kind of situations that come up in life where hope becomes difficult, because one can't see an end. I don't see an end right now. I know time will take care of the passage of the difficulty, but it doesn't repair the experience. I can see the ending, but not an end to the here and now loss of art and ease. Will this patch-work last until the end of this experience or will it finally get better? I don't know.

I can only hope.

Wash Your Hands.

There is a pandemic. Check out http://www.cdc.gov/h1n1flu/ if you don't believe me. That is the website for the Center for Disease Control. The first thing the CDC talks about with this pandemic is that they are reporting widespread outbreak, not severity of the disease. Okay, yes, I am talking about the "Swine Flu." Newspapers and News Organizations have demonized this pandemic to such a degree that they have created a certain amount of panic. Yes, it is contagious and in my experience, very contagious. It can be deadly. EVERY FLU can be deadly. Are there precautions? Of Course! Are there treatments? Um, what your mom did for you when you were 10 and couldn't spell pandemic, (the chicken soup, the saltines, and the 7-up) that seems to work as well as anything else.

I don't want to talk about it anymore. What I want is for individuals to be smart about this. The information is released so you can make some adjustments... things you probably should be doing on a daily basis anyway. Get enough sleep. Eat well. Exercise. Don't hang in crowded places. Cover your mouth when you cough. Don't kiss symptomatic people. Don't share water glasses, cola, martinis, or grab someone else's french fries. The single biggest defense: WASH YOUR HANDS!

Wash your hands people. Your hands spread many diseases. People who wash their hands do not get sick as often. Sometimes it is the simplest solution. And, sometimes there is nothing for it. So, alas. You may get sick anyway. It is the flu. It is not cancer. It is not the plague. It is not AIDS. It is not trivial, and we need to be informed so we can protect ourselves, but let's face it, we all get sick from time to time.

We have access to clean water and otc drugs. Make use of them. Doctors will tell you, "Drink plenty of fluids, get enough rest, take aspirin or the equivalent for fever and pain." Okay, wait, I am not trying to be your doctor, I'm just saying...

You know the drill. Do it. Buck up. Take a shower, eat something.

Come back to your work and your life, as soon as possible!

Smart Tomorrow.

Too too busy. A day on the phone and a night (hopefully) free from distractions. I am as tired as I ever remember being.

That is it for now. I will be smart tomorrow.

Jung

Whoa. Crazy. An adventure every night. I like the challenge. Bring it on. Make me use my brains and I won't have to do crossword puzzles every morning.

I am eating a fantastic black plum, 49 cents at Ralph's. I was smart enough to buy three. I should of bought 47. Ah, regrets.

The days are wild and busy, the nights are joyous and strange and new and wondrous. I spend a lot of time figuring out how to cover my shows. Everybody is sick. But, we are nothing if not inventive. Our director may appear onstage tomorrow night!

Strange, strange. And yet.. Let us figure it out and do a show. It is almost Jungian. We are in each other's heads. We are in each other's hands. Wow. New ways. Inventive solutions. The show must go on.

Stepping Up!

Crazy frigging night. There is some kind of virus going thru my company and we started off with one understudy and ended up with four, not including the crew man we had to replace. (He was too sick too.) Crazy. Rep.

I warn the understudies, but this is a good lesson. BE PREPARED. We never know when something is going to happen. It maybe tomorrow morning, it may be tomorrow afternoon. It maybe at intermission (as it was tonight) You have to be prepared.

I am only here to help you. You have to do the work. I love you all. All 4 of you who had to perform tonight. You were GREAT. You stepped in and you did it! Kudos. Congratulations to all.

And tomorrow will bring its own challenges.

My Hero.

Chronic: "persisting for a long time, or constantly recurring."

Disease: "a disorder of structure or function in a human, an animal, or a plant. Esp. one that produces specific signs or symptoms or that affects a specific location and is not simply a direct result of physical injury."

Chronic Disease. Multiple Sclerosis is a chronic disease. The disease has its own personality. It wears and tears on the human nervous system. It fucks with the brain. It makes life extraordinarily difficult. Getting up is a challenge. When one is alone, making coffee is a big deal. Struggling not to be an invalid, forcing... picking up one's legs with stronger arms to get in the car is exhausting. Finding the handicapped space... difficult. Getting out of the car, sometimes seems impossible. But, groceries have to be bought. Bills have to be paid. Errands need to be run. The lawn needs water. The will, for now, insists. Chemotherapy and bravery. My heart breaks.

I love the man. He inspires me. He is so much more than his disease. Yet, every moment of his life is a struggle. And every night he goes to bed thinking, "tomorrow will be better." This is the heart of courage. He faces life, he contributes, he loves and he'd dance if he only could.

Those of you who know, know. Those who don't, well, wake up and see how glorious and unique and special he is. He belongs to the world and he is confined to his house. His music is his life, and he can't play it much anymore. Yet! He goes to bed looking for tomorrow to be better.

He is my hero.

Be Here Now.

My staff and I hate to say things that may bring the theatre gods' wrath down upon us, but... dare I... I may have the best three shows, the best company, the best crew, the fewest dramas ever! We have reached the final stage of my summer adventure. With 10 weeks to go, no more scheduled rehearsals! (Except for the one "put-in" in August.) All of our days are now free. We are outside and don't do matinees. We have what is called "a six show" week. Heaven. Very civilized for theatre.

My compatriots and I have decided the words to live by are "Be Here Now." Very many things are changing for us, and we discuss, we ponder, we wonder and worry about the future. Well, ultimately, how silly! This is so good. Let us revel instead and "be here now." Right now, we have each other. Right now we have these marvelous productions. Right now is the place to be. In both body and soul.

I have long ago given up wishing the day, the hour, the experience would end. I've realized that is the equivalent of wishing one's life away, waiting for something better. Well, something is better right now! I will be here now.

And yet. I can still miss. Inside all of this.. glory, I can still miss you.

My Summer.

Summer and it is hot. I work outside and we are melting during the day and sweltering in the evening. At least, I don't wear a costume, though I have to wear black or I see my reflection in the window of the booth. This is my fourth summer in San Diego and the air conditioning in the booth has never really worked. It is hot. Oh, my gosh and the weird bugs!

We have these flying monsters. The carpenter bees are everywhere. I rather like them. They are curious and friendly. Then...we have these really stupid jade colored beetles. They fly around, no, really, a round, like in a circle and right into you. They fall to the ground, roll over and fly into the side of a building. They crack me up. Harmless, yet disconcerting. They are EVERYWHERE. I think they have escaped from the zoo. I've only seen them in San Diego.

Balboa Park is loaded with bunnies too.

.Everywhere you look. I think they account for the presence of ...(ominous music)...

It is a very strange and magical place of employment. It is wondrous and joyful. Confusing and fun. Oh, have I told you about the planes that fly right over our stage?

Out of Focus 2

...or maybe I'm just coming down with something.

Out of Focus.

I feel a little out of focus tonight. I don't know why. The day went extremely well. The evening was wonderful. What is it? Waiting for the other shoe to drop? I feel creepy-crawly and very hot. Like a premonition is coming on. Something is happening that concerns me or some member of my extended family. Something is out of kilter. I just can't put my finger on it. It is all just a little unnerving.

Sometimes I feel the earth move. I mean, I think I feel it spinning in space, traveling about the sun, traveling through time. We are time-travelers all. Duration is our 4th dimension. We witness and feel, we remember the past. We revisit the past through captured images. How long ago did this comet exist in this particular place at this particular time? We look through a window in time. Our technology allows us to do so. So, how big a stretch is it to think we can feel and see the future? Or, less improbable, feel and see the present, the present of someone else...

I do think we have innate abilities we are just beginning to understand. I know we have more than the five senses drilled to us in grammar school. My poet-grandmother would understand. This is not mysticism. It just sounds like it is.

I dream things. I feel things. I get a completely inexplicable random feeling and it means something broader than myself. I've learned to pay attention to these feelings. Because something has happened, or will happen, or is happening now, and it is important.

Everybody Inhale!

On some level I am interested in everything. I am a news junkie, when I have the time. I'm interested in politics, though lately, I find I end up disgusted and frustrated and change the channel. I am interested in music and poetry and the poetry of music. I appreciate simple declarative statements. I enjoy proper syntax. I do. I hate when I've sent some note along that makes less sense than I'd intended. I've learned to stop correcting other people's syntax, without permission. I want to know more about science and nature. I want more time to read and do crossword puzzles. I do find time to walk alone, everyday. It saves me.

I've forgotten a lot of what I've learned, but I remember just enough to stay in the conversation. Gossip is fun, but there are oh, so many more lustrous topics floating around out there. I want to talk about the nature of the universe. I want to talk about why dogs will respond to people pointing and apes will not. I want to talk about sentience in animals not human. I want to talk about star clusters and star maps, ocean currents and current events, theatre and television, film and trashy novels, Van Gogh and Basquiat, my poet grandmother and e.e. cummings, PDQ Bach and JS Bach, Woody Allen and The Firesign Theatre, Genesis at it's genesis, and Gentle Giant, Football, Basketball, my family, yours, the future, today.

My interests are wide and varied. I noticed that the thread in my long list is that, I want to talk! Pick a topic. I can listen too. Or, I should say, I'll try.

I do space from time to time. I go to some other place, some other memory, and I forget to listen. (I also forget to breathe sometimes. This alarms my doctors. They say, "Oh! But you have to breathe!"... duh.)

Breathe. Maybe that is the solution. We all just have to stop. We need to listen. We need to breathe. Ah.

Stuck in Time

Summer may be the best time to eat plums. I like the red ones especially. Tart and drippy juicy. So good. Heirloom tomatoes too, in a spinach salad. A little grilled swiss gruyere and fontina cheese sandwich with fresh basil. Hmm. A perfect dinner!

Yet another reason to be content in Southern California. The produce! The marvelous selection of cheeses, the cheap (really good) wine, the toasty days and the cooler nights. I am close enough to the coast right now that I do need to put on sleeves when I am outside. Not a sweater, just a shirt with sleeves.

And yet, I can't help wishing for something more. Someone more. I have my colleagues, many of whom have become good friends. I have my neighbors (who are my colleagues). Yet, I still spend most of my off time (spare though that may be right now) alone. It is okay, it can just be a little bit strange. In a big way, I am used to this. I even thrive. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

When work is all consuming spending time alone is the best use of my time. (Oh, here we go again with this "time" thing!) But, once work falls into a routine of sorts, and my free time increases, I wish for more. I wish for my someone in particular. In the flesh. Where I can see him.

I think we call this love =). Then, I think... isn't it amazing that after all this time I want to spend my time with the same man I met when I was 21? If all the world were to fade, and all the people go away, I'd be fine, as long as he stayed and shared time with me.

I was pretty and astute at 21. I found my life partner. (He was in this bar...) And, happily, there is no going back. We are stuck in time together.

Random Thoughts

I had a thought. They also serve who only stand and wait. It is such an original idea that John Milton wrote it in the 17th century. But, it works for me. I tell it to my interns AND to my assistants. The interns become confused. I see the look on their oh, so young faces. So, I explain. "I need you here doing nothing because when I need you to do something, I really need you. Especially during tech and previews". However, I don't need them when I am calling a show, I am too busy. Go away. (This must be very confusing for them.. Hadn't thought about that. hmm.)

I continue to my assistants.. "I know that backstage is either hectic or not. But, some shows have a lot of down time for the deck stage manager. You also serve... standing around and waiting. Live theatre. Things go wrong. You are the answer. You are the solution. It is your job to be available to handle those crises. You are the only one free to find a solution. That means, standing around, waiting, you also have to pay attention." So.. in a way, standing and waiting is doing something.

Sometimes we stand and wait for life to happen. Maybe not such a good thing. Sometimes we have to "take the bull by the horns." Sometimes, we just have to get out of bed and do something. Take a shower. Read the paper. Make coffee. Open the front door.

J. R. R. Tolkien wrote:

"The road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began,

And I must follow if I can

pursuing it with eager feet.

And whither then?

I cannot say."

He also said something along the lines of "you open your front door and you never know where the path will lead." This is a total paraphrase. I am sure he was more elegant than that. But the point is clear.

Okay..indulge me. He wrote this too. I love this poem. Without looking it up, this is what I remember.

"There was a merry passenger,

A messenger, a Mariner,

He built a gilded gondola

To wander in, and had in her

A load of yellow oranges

And porridge for his provender."

My poet grandmother (as we called her) liked Tolkien, mostly because I liked him. I liked the way he used rhymes. Grandmother (Never Grandma!) critiqued my poetry heartlessly. She critiqued Tolkien's! I still have her notes. I was hurt at the time, but she was teaching. And now those notes are very dear to me.

(Eddy are you okay? Are you okay, Eddy?)

A Good Day.

Today was a very productive day. Today we moved five steps forward. Today we cheered. Today we cheered-up some people. Today we encouraged and complimented. Today we watched in admiration. Today we worked hard. Today we earned our day off tomorrow. Today we were proud. Today was a good day.

I love the summer. I appreciate the heat, because it is part of the cycle. I need to rethink walking when it is this hot. My gosh, the heat makes me tired. But the work is so engaging that I forget I am sitting in the sun. Yes, sun block. Don't leave home without it! I've lived in Southern California so long... I never leave the house without sun block, or the hat I never wear. (I hate hat hair, on myself. On others I think it is funny.)

I've come to realize that the people who know and love me see me with rose colored glasses. They don't see or think about the pimples that have inexplicably grown on my face. They don't see my hair is flattened (okay, from the hat). They don't see that I am wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday! (Hey... It is the coolest outfit I have. And I mean... it is hot, these clothes are more comfortable.) They only see what they need to see. I am there for them. Good news! What is important to me is important to the very people I supervise. We are all in this together, dedicated and striving. How can my job get any better?

I miss my home, and my beautiful husband. A perfect day... and yet. That reminds me of a parable. I will try to recount it. Hmm. There was a woman, so beautiful, perfect in every way. Except for this one tiny birthmark on her face. Her husband loved her beyond all measure, and told her constantly how beautiful she was. She looked in the mirror each night and thought, " I need to be the perfect person my husband thinks I am. I need to get rid of this flaw." So, she saw an alchemist, or a sorcerer or who knows..a podiatrist. Whoever it was, he made the flaw fade. As her flaw faded, she became sicker and sicker. At the moment of perfection, she died. She deprived herself and her husband of her infinite being. I think it is right and good to strive for perfection.. .but, maybe the point of this story is to know we don't need to be perfect to be perfect. Life is the journey, and maybe the point is perfection is unattainable or, attainable and then you die. I don't know. Wait, I just reread this and it is a stupid parable. Who taught me this? I can't find it online.

I think one should always seek perfection. But, perfection in work. Who really cares about beauty? Really. It is all so very subjective. And it is all so fleeting. That takes me to another thought. About youth and the loss of youth. To quote Shakespeare:

"Come and kiss me sweet and ... twenty. Youth's a stuff will not endure."

Not About Michael Jackson. So Long.

BET was playing Michael Jackson videos all day today. I forgot how much I like "Smooth Criminal." I got sucked in, then had to change the channel. Too sad, too engrossed, needed mindlessness so I could doze. My mother (who'd be 85 now if she'd lived) would have been sad too. She used to worry about him. On her death bed, waking up from a coma, she asked me if Martha Stuart had gone to jail, and if Michael Jackson had been convicted. Both quagmires were as yet unresolved. She told me "Michael Jackson will never survive prison. I hope he'll be okay." To clarify, she wasn't exactly talking. She was on a respirator attached to her throat. She mouthed and pointed to a pre-printed card-with-words to communicate. It was fascinating to me that waking up, after we thought we'd lost her, her concerns were for two individuals I didn't even know she followed. Her heart was that big.

My mother forgave people. She understood people and she had a tremendous love for her fellow man. I've rarely seen such compassion since. She had a Master's in Sociology from USC. She was a Professional Girl Scout, and supported our family while my dad went to school. Later, she stayed active in the Catholic Church, Politics and the Community. She and my father opened our home to anyone who stopped by. The nuns. Long lost cousins who spoke only Swiss-German. Students needing a place to stay. Visitors to LA for the Olympics in 1984. With 5 children and 8 grandchildren, in-laws and out-laws [her word], extended family and friends, more beyond that, the house was always full. She started a Girl Scout Troop for adult women (that ultimately included the husbands.) She used to joke that the main activity was drinking gin. Not true. She was training new leaders, and providing a needed social environment for a particular group of people dedicated to serving and supporting young women. My father still opens the house to this Girl Scout Troop. She named it 007. The Girl Scout Council approved. Mom was a big fan of Sean Connery... Gosh. She was so funny! She joined the Navy in WWII. (Where she met my dad.) She was a W.A.V.E. She was stationed for a while in NYC at Columbia University when she saw the first Broadway Production of Oklahoma! She loved theatre, and even stage managed a show once. (I didn't know this until I had been stage managing for 15 years or more.) Mom started losing her hearing when she was in her 20's, but could sing perfectly any song she'd learned before that. She never learned sign language because, she said "none of you know sign language, so who would I talk to?" She was very adept at reading lips and faces. "Look at me when you talk to me. Enunciate!" All of her children are loud and speak very clearly! My mother hated people who mumbled. Oh, and she liked only her own children, and later, her children's children. And yet, she always fed the entire neighborhood.

She told me once, "there are just things about your life I don't need to know." Thanks Mom. That was important.

And it was important to her that her kids could think for themselves and be independent. She gave me Kahlil Gibran's book, The Prophet. "Your children come through you, not from you." Mom was a tremendous reader. Voracious really. She said she could travel the world through her books. She taught us all to love literature. She told me once, " You may read anything you can understand." What a gift! (So, I read about genetics. I was interested, ask me about Gregor Mendel, I was 11 or 12.)

Mom thought California was the most beautiful place on the planet. So do I. She showed it to us. She took us on one journey after another exploring the hidden, beautiful places in the state. She took us to most of the missions. She took us to the Redwood Forests, the Mountains, the Beach, San Francisco, the Central Valley and Mohave. Tahoe and Yosemite and The Cascades. I know California like the back of my hand. I could never get lost here in what I now perceive to be a little bit of heaven. Because of Mom.

Hm. So, seeing Michael Jackson videos made me sad. For Michael, but not just for Michael. I thought of my sweet mother. The real Queen of Everything. We will miss some people until we join them in death. Sorrow and sadness are okay when complimented with the joy of knowing and loving someone for so long. So long.

The Counter.

Okay. The counter is beginning to annoy me. It advances every time I check my own blog. This is a serious flaw in the system. I will have to think about retaining the information. (I have clearly become so spoiled by technology that I want it to work the way I expect it too!)

Maybe that is what I get by installing something "free." Caveat Emptor.

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Change

Change is hard. Change is new. Change may make an endeavor more challenging. Change can change one's life.

I could walk away from change, or I could embrace it. The thing is, walking away from change is change in and of itself. Change is life.

Sometimes we are lucky enough to settle in. We can look at the future with a bit of confidence. This is rare in my business. When we find this we want to hold onto it. Maybe too tightly.

Clearly, what I need to do is relax my grip and remember, there is a world elsewhere.

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Places

Hey, Y'all. Places please.

Let's get another show up and happening for the audience. And you know we do. Sometimes it kills me that I am that person. I am the one starting the show. (NO, of course I know it's me, It is part of my job.. I just wake up to it sometimes. I can't explain.) Here we go. Huge. I don't think about it, I just do it. Sometimes, I am in the ladies' room and I hear "the festival is starting now, please take your seats." I think, well, no, it is not. I will get there when I get there. But we are always ready, when the house is ready. Or, we try. You give me the house, I call 'house to half' , and off we go!

Oh, gosh, does it still come down to time? I have to stop talking about this.

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Two Pigs

At a construction site recently, after a disagreement about who could use the giant earth-mover tractor thing, I overheard the following comment from the worker who gave up the giant piece of equipment:

"How do you make two pigs? (Referring to the guy who took the piece of equipment) With that asshole!"

Colorful, yet I don't understand. The worker he spoke to completely got it. I have been thinking about this for days. It is kinda funny, but I don't know why... What did he mean?

I am all about precision. Precision in language, precision in work execution, precision in paper-work, precision in performance. I believe we want to communicate as clearly as possible. The one thing I may hate above all else is being misunderstood. (Okay... I hate poverty, war, disease, sloth, lazy coworkers, environmental disasters, yeah. But, this is more personal.) Hmm, and yet, I find myself thinking that perhaps a certain amount of poverty, crime, disease, laziness and war can be prevented with better communication. Environmental disasters stand on their own. It is only our response we can control. And yet, again, isn't that about communication? Think about it.

We had a wild and wicked show this evening. Twelfth Night. Loved calling it, loved watching it, loved the strange and new things that occurred this evening. Kept us on our toes, and keeps the performance exciting.

Yes, I can be cryptic. A poetic choice in communication. Those who know, know. Maybe that is the lesson from the construction worker. He was speaking to his colleague and the communication was perfect. A language I don't know and am not meant to understand. I am the outsider. Every occupation has its own language. What would that construction worker make of "Dry Tech" or "Vom" or "Break a Leg!" or "I can't, I'm in rehearsal." ("I'm understudying tomorrow, I have a fight call, I missed my cue, I got sliced by the sword last night, no, the fight was just right!, the audience was smart, the audience was weird, where did my timing go? What show is this? Can I have a cue light there? I need more glo-tape. My quick-change went well tonight. My dresser was late. I spaced. I was in the green room. I waited for you at the stage door. They are trying to make their nut.")

K. Our language is incomprehensible too. But two pigs?

Yet. I will tell you. All the construction workers to whom I've spoken get: "I'm a member of Actor's Equity. A professional union for Actors." Cool.

See if you remember this song: "Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union..I'm sticking to the union..." (Hint: Woody Guthrie) From my wee standpoint, it unites me with the construction worker. I am extremely grateful. Wonder if he knows the song?

I may never know. It is okay. It is okay I don't get his reference. Each discipline, each environment calls for its own sort of communication. As long as those that need the info get it.

I may be too prickly on this point, but I do in fact, think everything comes down to communication. Let's talk.

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The Cheshire Cat.

Well. That was a wonderful come-back. The thing about Rep is that one doesn't do the same show every night. So.. every night is a new adventure. We did our second performance of Cyrano and although not flawless, (it is live after all) it was perfect in the big way. Fresh. Charming and luscious and huge and glorious. What a way to spend an evening. Tomorrow Twelfth Night. Thursday Coriolanus. We have a fantastic selection of shows. We have nearly 12 more weeks to enjoy. I am in heaven.

We've opened them all. (The designers are gone, the directors are gone. The support crew is around, but working on the next show. Gosh, it is so quiet!) We've moved to the next stage. Understudy rehearsals. We start tomorrow. (What? Opened and back in rehearsal?) Yes... this is what we do. But, there is less stress. I try to make it fun. We take breaks when we feel like it, or it is too hot (we eat otter pops), or if we need to pee. It is just me and my actors. It is a different world from "rehearsal." Okay. It is a rehearsal but, trust me. Things have changed. We concentrate on "covering" the show. We aren't creating. This is so much easier. And joyful in its own way. And, not to be contradictory, but we are very creative during this process. I can't explain, so I won't try.

Satisfaction. Satisfaction is far better than its press.

I very much needed to step back into time today. I did. I'm satisfied.

Time and again.

Time. Having time. Using time. Wasting time. Killing time. Too much time. Too little time. Subjective time. Real time. Fleeting time. Passing time. Past time. On time. In time. Out of time. Gaining time. Losing time. Alone time. Lost in time.

Today, I was outside time. Weird and lonely. A little like Stephen King's The Langoliers. Waiting for time to catch up to me. Waiting to slide back into time. Still waiting.

So today I lived 3 dimensionally. Not 4. I need 4. It is about duration, or an awareness of duration. Without time one floats. I float. Floating along, affecting nothing, effecting nothing... floating. Resting? Not sure.

Some times too much happens. Some times one needs to step outside and not think. Some times one needs to be solitary. But it is lonely here, right now at this moment in time.

Learning from the birds.

I took these pictures outside the zoo yesterday. I was walking home from work. I often see peacocks on my walk, but have never run into one displaying full regalia. It was quite impressive. People encircled the bird. The peacock seemed to be posing, turning from time to time to face his paparazzi. I think he was really just trying to scare the adults and the children who only wanted to get closer. Perhaps in his mind he was making himself larger and therefore more threatening. Maybe in the bird world this works. We, the people, are too fascinated, even to the smallest child. We want to touch nature. We want to know somehow, we are part of nature. This is encouraging.

Also encouraging were the comments from the adults to the children. "Don't get so close. Don't scare him. Don't Touch Him! Peacocks can be dangerous. Stand back and look. Come over here and see." Very encouraging. Good parents, good!

What a wonderful adaptation the peacock has made. So beautiful. So blue and green and turquoise! Those peahens must be a picky lot. I love the theory that birds in general have descended from dinosaurs. Exquisite beings who grace us with a random appearance. The peacocks and peahens in Balboa Park run free. We have them wandering around our backstage some evenings, all hands trying to keep them from trotting onstage. We always see two peacocks to one peahen. Competition! (They fly to the trees and "talk" in that weird call that is uniquely peacock.) We've called the zoo, and they've said, "we don't care... we have lots of peacocks." They can't control them, and the peacocks wander where they will.

"Proud as a peacock." Well, if one can be proud of one's beauty... it would certainly be the peacock. (It works for them.) We are just anthropomorphizing them though. All the peacock wants to do is attract the peahen and make a donation. His other motivation is self-preservation. Okay, I am imagining... trying to walk a mile in the peacock's claws? feet? talons? um... Doesn't translate. (UNAW - CAOW!) (They are Sooo LOUD!)

Well, this fine bird was a hit, I'm happy to say. He brought a unique experience to those of us just walking by, on our way to or from the places we go. Clearly not the bird's motivation, or intent, but there it is. This dear bird has to share the planet with us. This bird has learned to share the planet. We can learn something here.

Oh! A Happy Meal!

By the by..

I am SO done with casseroles.

I think I may have to buy a "Happy Meal" tomorrow.

What a Ride!

I'm hanging.

I had a great rehearsal today for Coriolanus and a really terrific 3rd Preview. I love this show. It is just so much fun! It is a wild ride, and oddly, not unlike The Manchurian Candidate. My cast members are so good and lovely people to boot. We have to work out some solvable kinks, and then we will open the 3rd and final show of this Rep. So cool. Gotta love the work.

I was recently reminded of my other job. I teach. I teach stage management at a well-known university. I love it. I love teaching. I teach everyday anyway, I might as well get paid for it. During the school year, I teach on my day off. Yeah, seems like that would be a bummer, but the only thing bad about it is that I have to get up early. Once I am there, I am so happy to talk to all these beautiful young men and women about what they want to do when they grow up! It is thrilling. I teach a 3 hour class. It is never enough time. (We take Equity breaks.) I can talk about my business, apparently, incessantly. I miss my kids in the summer. (Though I hired one of them to work with me this summer. So great.)

To steal from a commercial: "When I grow up, I want to be an old woman"! Love that! Brilliant advertising. I particularly like the woman who cheer-leads. That could be me one day. Either that or I'll just be dead. Either way, it's okay.

I've Preview #4 tomorrow. Whoa.. what a ride.

On Time.

We had a beautiful opening night for Cyrano de Bergerac. The weather, the audience, the gorgeous set and costumes, the cast. Fantastic! We just opened Twelfth Night, last night now, though it only came down 97 minutes ago. Again, a lovely evening with uproarious laughter filling the air in San Diego. Marvelous feeling. Marvelous company. I say, "Hooray."

One more to open, then the next stage begins. (So to speak...)

There are 4 distinct parts to creating a piece of theatre. The first is prep and rehearsal. We spent 5 long weeks in a basement rehearsing our three shows. The second is tech/dress, 15 actual working days, where we work out all the ins and outs, the costumes and the cues, and as a second thought do a little more acting work. The third is, of course, Final Dress and Previews. (An additional 15 working days.) We finally get to add that missing element. You, dear reader. The audience. We need you and we depend on you to let us know when something is working and maybe more importantly, when something is not. We still have time, this precious preview time, to fix what is lacking, so, by opening we can present a fully realized piece of art. Fourth and finally, our gift to you and our gift to ourselves. We get to run all three in repertory for 12 weeks. Fantastic and Glorious.

We are now very close. 2 down, 1 to go. Send us all your good "break a leg" wishes. (Break a leg... means: on your 3rd ovation, you do not simply bow, you "break a leg" you bow deeper, with appreciation for your audience. When you say to an actor, "Break a leg" what you are saying is "I hope you get a standing ovation." These things get lost in time.)

Hell, I get lost in time. If somebody didn't comment that the next day was a day off (and therefore Monday) I'm not sure I would ever know where I was in time.

And yet, I am always on time.