I got distracted looking up Duff McKagan on Wikipedia. My goodness, he’s more than just pretty. Yum!
Okay, must behave.
A little bit more on the money situation. The thing is, our only income is from my writing. We cashed in any stocks we had to pay for the therapeutic schools (read that as “keep ’em off drugs” schools) that kept my son alive during his teenage years. Money well-spent.
But we’ve never figured out how to budget if we never know what kind of money is coming in when.
But still, a professional will probably be able to help us. And while the conversation was depressing I just went down and worked on cleaning up my sewing area so I can sew some more, so that was good.
I’ve got this sort of angst/worried/edgy feeling going on. Everything feels wrong and out of place, but that’s logical. We live just a little ways past the nursing home, and I always expected my mother would go in there and drift away, not go out with a bang like that.
Then again, in my family we never get any warning. People just fucking die.
The good thing about that is that no one gets cancer. The bad thing about that is they mostly die too young to get cancer.
Saw the Bourne Legacy last night and really liked it. Jeremy Renner is 41? Damn, 41 looks good nowadays. Then again, Duff McKagan was born when I was a junior in high school.
Eh, age ain’t nothing but a number.
Gotta figure out a way to get rid of this edgy feeling. Maybe some low-key nesting. Maybe better living through chemistry?
I got replacement stuff for my c-pap machine and had a better night’s sleep. I also had pool-floating time, which always helps.
So here’s your final treat. Alastair and Lani put these shaky, shadowy clips into one file and you get to see glorious Sister Krissie in full regalia, acting, damn it.
We had our final performance last night. OUr sleazy nylon nun’s habits were pretty rank by then — even in 65 degrees you sweat on stage. We had a great wrap party, and then I drove home, cried a little bit, went skinny-dipping and went to bed.
Now we’ve got real life again. I’ll talk with my cousin Ian (the reverend) and plan the service this afternoon, I’ll pack up some of the remaining books, start catching up on laundry. Drop off some books for the people I worked with.
Richie had a huge vase of flowers for me when I got home, bless him. I feel … not sure. Life begins again, I guess.
I’ll weigh myself tomorrow morning. Today I’ll just do what I have to do, not push too hard. Maybe on the seventh day I’ll rest just a wee bit.
I haven’t seen the videos yet, but I’ll put one up a day because god knows we can’t have all that fabulousness in one swell foop.
You know, doing this play has been a key part of reinventing my fabulousness. I hadn’t acted since I was sixteen. Hadn’t sung in public in maybe 20. (Not counting the skit Crusie, Dreyer and I did at RWA). This was me, changing and embracing new things.
This was good.
I’m sitting here in a pool of sweat while I wait to finish the lasagna I got assigned yesterday afternoon (for the after show party). Went down and packed and packed. Now I’m exhausted and I have a show to put on. I think I need to take a nap.
I had a dream about Ian Somerhalder last night. We were driving in a truck, the Mother Abbess (Cara) was driving and Ian was in the middle, and our director (the divine Sabra) told me to stop flirting with him because I was a nun. I said I was a saucy nun, and was cuddling up to Ian, but he decided to marry the Mother Abbess because she was younger, and that was just fine because I was only flirting.
I didn’t have time to post pictures of the dressing room (Richie will be there tonight with camera in hand). So here goes:
This is Sister Berthe, the mean one, and Sister Remarque.
Here’s my cousin Emmie (on the left) and the Mother Abbess on the right, with demure Sister Margaretta in between.
And of course the demure Sister Margaretta on her own, looking pious.
The Hills Were Alive
(A review of The Sound of Music)
The Lakeview Inn, the venue for The Sound of Music, produced by Greensboro Arts Alliance and Residency, couldn’t have been more perfect. Picture an open sided tent surrounded by what must have at least a couple of acres of blooming Daylilies. It was wonderfully picturesque. And we were quite literally sitting in the hills as they filled with the sound … well you know the rest.
The location is Idyllic, but kind of tricky to find. We left home at five for a seven-thirty curtain time, and very nearly didn’t make it. Granted I had scribbled the instructions on the back of an envelope, we stopped to pick up a few groceries and then hit a drive through for dinner, so I was handicapped to begin with. And if the sign at the crossroads had sported an arrow indicating the correct direction, that would have cut a good twenty minutes off the drive! Although, to tell you the truth, it was a drive through some of the most beautiful countryside I’ve ever seen, so I’m not really complaining.
Despite the drive, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Remember the acres of Daylilies I mentioned before getting side tracked by the drive? Imagine my delight when a – what is a group of nuns called? A huddle, gaggle, pack? Ah, a superfluity of nuns appeared from behind the tent and scattered throughout the gardens. They talked quietly among themselves before gathering on the stage to sing the beautiful music that begins the play.
Theatre in the round can be challenging. The performers’ backs are inevitably facing an audience member. However, skillful directing insured that no one ever had to view any one backside for overly long. And besides, the singing more than made up for any lack of face time. I was thoroughly impressed with the quality of the production. I smiled the entire time. More than that, my twelve-year-old daughter was entranced, no small feat.
As for my favorite nun – Sister Margaretta, played by Krissie Ohlrogge – she was a delight! She has all the best lines of the nuns and Krissie delivered them out with aplomb! Krissie has a lovely voice and brings considerable presence to the stage. I was delighted to see her perform.
Would I make the trip back up to Greensboro to see this group perform again? You bet! It was well worth the trip.
The show went well last night, and I got to hug Kate and her daughter (who wasn’t so sure about being hugged by a stranger). I muffed a line … well, Captain Von Trapp muffed a line and I didn’t pick it up, but no one noticed.
And again, I loved it! I enjoy giving talks, and after I’m done I’m similarly jazzed, but I don’t look forward to it as much as I do to this. Probably because I get to be a different person.
Though frankly, Sister Krissie and Anne Stuart aren’t really me, you know. Well, anyone who reads here definitely knows it. That’s the public me, bouncy and charming, without a care in the world. It’s an easy role to slip into.
But I enjoy slipping into Sister Margaretta even more, playing with her lines, singing her songs. It’s just fun.
So the obituaries are done and have run in the newspapers. Here’s the link: http://tinyurl.com/cozff94 Next, figure out the arrangements and time for the graveside service. I suddenly realized that Richie could go and get another quote for the headstone, taking that off my plate. And I asked Cousin Emmie (Sister Sophia) to sound out her sister about hosting the after graveside gathering. Otherwise we can have it here, maybe, or rent a place. I’ll call my niece tonight. Work on the apartment.
Then, starting next week, just balance the writing with clearing the apartment and dealing with the strange sense of loss. Oh, and starting to pay more attention to healthy choices.
I haven’t gone crazy. There was one McDonald’s visit when there was no other choice and I was out of time and devastated. (On my way to the shrink). I was nibbling at the fruitcake at rehearsal yesterday before it hit me that it was a sweet (duh!). Eating too many goldfish because the kids eat them non-stop (it’s the official snack of our production). I bring one of those huge containers every night and they almost disappear. Hungry little Von Trapps.
But I haven’t been eating chips or sweets (I could have had peach cobbler made by Julia Child’s editor and the author of one of the 10 best cookbooks on 2009). I did eat her broccoli and divine pork.
So it won’t be too hard to get back on track. And my clothes are still loose on me, so I couldn’t have done that much damage.
We’ll know on Monday.
I’m being pretty boring, I know. Play and mother stuff, play and mother stuff. But really, that’s all my life is right now.
I loved hearing what you guys are doing. But I think the consensus, and I agree, is we change lives by being who we are. Doing what we do. Maybe that’s why I was surprised by hearing that my mother and sister changed lives. They didn’t set out to change lives or make a difference — they were both too wounded and self-protective to look outside themselves. But for a while Taffy worked the program (AA) and worked it well. And my mother, in passing on her writing knowledge, made a huge difference that she hadn’t expected to make.
So I guess we have to keep on being who we are, but remembering kindness and attention to others makes the world a better place. It’s probably up to the other people to change their own lives, take what they can from you and others.
Okay, that’s my great thought for the day. Now off to my mother’s to be depressed. I think I’ll play an audiobook to keep me distracted.
We get an extra day off from the play, which is a mixed blessing. It enables me to get work done at my mother’s house, and do the various other things like send out the obits, cancel insurance, find an alternative for the gravestone (the first place was outrageously expensive and they have a shoddy reputation) and start packing stuff for Goodwill, the food bank etc.
But I wake up in the morning, in a fairly good mood, and then a brown funk starts creeping over me. Not the blues — blue is too pretty a color, even in its darker, inkier shades. These are the browns — thick and foggy and slow-moving, settling over me like a … not a shroud. But a heavy mantle. And despite my darling Richie, it makes me feel very alone.
It’ll be all right. Once the play is over I’ll balance the work on my mother’s stuff with writing, and that will be a joy. I’ll get through it. Except — shit, the next three books are about three sisters whose parents have just died, including a difficult mother. Crap — there’s no way out of it. I could change the mother — make her nice, maybe. Or have her die earlier. Unlike Crusie, I don’t really have a problem with working out my issues in fiction. In my case it can enrich things, not distract from the story.
So we’ll see how things go.
And I’ll have to start watching food.
It’ll just have to be one day at a time.
Ah, but Kate’s coming to see the show tomorrow.
And Richie’s going to dress rehearsal to film stuff and take some new photos, so we’ll have fun stuff in the next few days.
The good things way outweigh the bad. You just gotta remember to look for them.
I think maybe pastels aren’t as good for me as they were when I was young.
You know, I was so foggy last Monday that I wrote a post and then never hit “publish”?
Much better now, though some days (like yesterday) feel like a brown funk.
But today is better — it’s gorgeous, and I’ll go food shopping, then work on my mother’s place for a few hours, then float in the pool and listen to audio books. Lovely.
My plan for the week.
Grieve for my mother and the loss of family in a healthy way — don’t stuff it.
Enjoy the hell out of the play!
Don’t sweat the rest of it. It’ll come together.
What’s on your agenda?